The Indescribable Odds That Go Against Unbreakable Bonds

A young apprentice awakens to the morning sun. Her yawn is so loud that it echoes into the halls of the Sanctum Sanctorum. Her bedroom is plain and small, it could probably only fit one young woman. But it was the view from her dormer that made the confines of her plain bedroom worth every inch of space.

Every sunrise, the aspiring spell-caster took in a breath of fresh air. She pondered aimlessly at the chartreuse pastures just outside Cullmaine Tower. The tall grass would wave at her, greeting the apprentice ‘good morning’.

Sabryn gets out of bed and makes her bed sheets, quickly tidying up the studies she’d read the night before. One of her books, “Contract Between Familiars”, was left open, as she dashed through the corridors.

Rushing into the kitchen, the apprentice prepares tea for both herself and her master. Sabryn lights up the room by casting fire into the stove with her fingertip, filling a pot with water by simply muttering a few incantations. While the fire boils, she hums a little tune.

As the tea whistles, it sighs a puff of spry steam. Sabryn brings out a little silver tray from one of the cabinets, along with two decorative tea cups and a bowl of sugar. Still humming her tune, she exits the cookery and walks past her master’s alchemical lab, a room cluttered with test tubes and instruments. None of them being dusted for quite some time.

Finally, the young apprentice takes her step into the great library, where the bookshelves loom over her, resembling a size that could match the great Parthenon.

“There you are!” A voice rings from the corner, turning Sabryn’s head. She strides along the clay floors, careful enough so as not to drop her tray, and quick enough to ensure that the tea stays warm. Albert was certainly not one to enjoy a cold brew.

“Good morning, master.” A bedraggled, yet youthful looking man sits on an oak chair, closely studying several books in front of him. His glasses were grimy and covered with fingerprints on the lenses. His black cloak was as dusty as the lab equipment that rested in the other room. Without so much as a simple glance towards his novitiate, remaining focused on his texts, Albert expressed, “Thank you for the tea, Sabryn.”

Her master points to his cup, “Mind stirring in a few spoonfuls of sugar for me?”

The young lady, with a twirl of her finger, produces a teaspoon out of the steam. “I often wonder whether I’m your apprentice or your servant.”

“And often you should find no distinctions between the two,” he chuckles to himself, “you have no one else to blame but the Compendium for sorting you with a disreputable sorcerer like myself.” Sabryn couldn’t help but grin at the remark.

The two had a single common trait, they held a shared disdain for the magical order. Neither teacher nor student were great examples of following the natural rule. In fact, they were considered misfits of the community.

While she continues to stir his cup, Sabryn, sipping on her own cup of tea, stands above Albert’s shoulders. She starts to shuffle around dozens of scrolls and parchments in front of him, irritating him.

The man querulously exclaimed, “Would you please?! I have a lot of material to research and I won’t get anything done with you buzzing about like a little fruit fly!”

“Well, you’re in quite the delightful mood.” Sabryn grabs her waist. He was always irascible on nights when he hadn’t slept. Albert couldn’t help but remain deeply engrossed in his studies, especially if the subject intrigued him.

“I heard you failed your exam on contracting familiars.” Albert grumbles and shakes his head disapprovingly. “I always tell you that there’s more to magic than just incantations and spell casting. There’s more to just frivolous words and extravagant displays of power!”

Sabryn’s iridescent smile fades. “Had you been a better teacher…” Suddenly, a sound interrupts her. A flourishing gust flies across the aisles. A hooded man slowly walks towards them. As he gets closer, Albert begins to recognize the man. He had a russet beard and a scar across his face. He wore a smile that was charismatic enough to overlook his crooked teeth.

“Albert Cullmaine! The Misfit of Wales!”

The renowned spell-caster bursted out, “Sir Carl Vorhees, my old friend!” The two rumpled men embraced one another. “What is a Revenant of The Epitaph doing in my spell tower?”

“The Compendium sent me,” Carl hands Albert a parchment with a magical sigil, “they’ve tasked the Epitaph with capturing a Bandersnatch that’s been let loose in the small town of Llanwrtyd Wells. I’m to be your ward for the assignment.”

Albert, disinclined to take the envelope, glowers at the knight. Hesitantly, he breaks apart the waxed sigil keeping the letter enclosed. Sabryn takes a brief look at the seal as it is being broken. The stamp was a blinded woman carrying a torch with the waning moon above her head. It was Selene, Greek Goddess of the Moon.

“Dear Albert Cullmaine, we ask that you and Sir Carl Vorhees-,” he stops. “Why am I being assigned this task?” Albert frustratingly exclaims.

“Wales is your domain. You’re the closest to Llanwrtyd Wells.” Carl shrugs his shoulders. Sabryn’s naive eyes glares at her master, she asks, “So when are we heading out?”

Albert makes the proper introductions, “How rude of me, Carl. This is Sabryn, my other unwanted assignment.”

The well-suited gentleman bows before the young miss, “Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am an old friend and a Revenant to the Epitaph of Knights. So you’re the unfortunate child. How many of his messes have you had to clean?”

She snickered, “Nice to meet you, Sir Vorhees. So may I come along with you two, or not?” Both of the men shake their heads in refusal. “Absolutely not. Bandersnatches are too dangerous. You’ll be a liability.”

Offended by the remark, she swipes the tray from Albert’s wooden desk and walks away.

“I suppose we wait till nightfall for the Bandersnatch to freely roam,” asked Albert. The chivalrous man nodded his head.

The moon lights the skies as the evening arrives. The sorcerer and knight fashioned themselves with their attires. Carl fashioned an iron breastplate, and Albert wore a simple cloak over his shirt. Around his belt, the Revenant carried a sheathed blade to his right, and holstered a pistol to his left.

After porting into the town, the two men carefully surveyed the vicinity. “You canvass the neighborhood around the post office, I’ll go craft the protection spells,” whispered the sorcerer.

As they go their separate ways, Albert hears a rustle in the bushes. “Oh, you little twmffat.” Surprised that her master could catch her so easily, Sabryn blurts out, “what’s that?” Twmffat was the Welsh phrase for ‘idiot’.

Inside a nearby brick house, a little girl watches behind her window sill as the master and apprentice continue to argue. She sneaks out of bed in her onesie pyjama, almost seemingly aware as to why the two are in her little unsuspecting, ordinary town.

“You’ll have to wait for your scolding until we port back. For now, we’re going to cast some magic around the area so as not to spook the ordinary folk. You remember the incantations for protective crafting?”

“It’s the first thing they teach us. Or have you forgotten that much since it was so long ago?” The spell-crafter stung the pupil with a stink eye.

Out on the grassy outskirts of town, the two sorcerers chant an ancient tongue blending different mystical words, flaring lights into the air forming spell circles. The town was a mile or two away, so the lights would remain unobtrusive. Hidden in the darkness of the stretch nearby, the little girl from the window sill, notices all the sparks blanketing the air, spells being casted around Llanwrtyd Wells. But a faint growl could be heard from the distance.

“The Bandersnatch!” Albert quietly mumbles. He shoves his apprentice as he expels a charm from his hand. The creature charges at both of them. The little girl gets in the way as the Bandersnatch is knocked unconscious. She shrieks, “Don’t hurt her!” Tears rushed down the little girl’s face. “Please don’t hurt Alice!”

Sabryn pushes Albert’s hand away. It’s fur is soft, and although it had a beastly demeanor, it was scarred all over it’s abdomen and back. It groaned with pain. Master and apprentice looked at each other with concern.

On the far side of the town, the Revenant continued his search for the creature from corner to corner. The neighborhoods were all in the middle of grasslands, the homes were similar and ubiquitous. Yet each one was respectively quaint and unique, they had fences made of different kinds of stones in front of them.

Sir Vorhees paces back to the square, disappointed in his failure. As he walks back to the heart of Llanwrtyd Wells, dark clouds in the night sky reflect a bright glow, flashing four times. He runs towards the shine and meets with Albert and Sabryn. “What was that light?”

The Welsh sorcerer explains how the Bandersnatch charged at them, and that he had no choice but to cast a fatal spell. “We were tasked to capture it,” the grisly knight murmured.

"It was unexpected,” Albert replied.

“Well, perhaps we can still bring back it’s remains.”

“No remains to be found,” Albert looked down to the ground with impassivity, “I casted an incaensio charm on it.” An incaensio charm, Carl knew what that meant, exactly how Albert said it. There would be no trace. No remains to be found.

“I’ll report the incident back to our superiors, I suppose.”

They ported themselves out of Llanwrtyd Wells, with sour expressions supplanted on their faces. Sir Carl Vorhees returned to the Epitaph, while Albert and Sabryn retired to their study.

“I don’t understand.” Sabryn has a curious look to her.

Her master turns to look at her as they enjoy a fresh cup of tea. “What don’t you understand?” He asks as he sips his brew, leaning on his oak chair.

Sabryn, sitting in the adjacent oak chair across her master, raises a baffled eyebrow. “How did you form a contract between a Bandersnatch and a little girl? Much less an ordinary one.” Albert smiles back at his apprentice, “I told you. There’s more to magic than incantations and spell-casting.”

The little girl in the town of Llanwrtyd Wells sits by her window sill, happily peering out at the townspeople. A small, white cat leaps towards the girl sitting on her lap, and written on it’s collar is “Alice”. The cat purrs as she rolls on her new owner, jubilant to have a carefree life alongside someone she’s bonded with.