The True Master
They called him the master. He shook his head in denial. The masters selected him, trusted him with their secrets, their knowledge and their tools. His studies had consumed most of his life, the work became his love, his passion, his escape. Long hours transported him, released from the nightmares of a world he could not control. A true master controlled the worlds. He often called on the magic from the ones who came before him but it did not bend to his will. No matter how much he tried, the work of his hands was merely beautiful. His work would never exude the qualities of a masterpiece.
It was not his destiny to be a master. It was his destiny to find the next true master to fulfill the prophesy. His task was to pass everything he knew to the first new master after the old masters died. At first, he did not believe the stories, but time proved the stories true. The teachers he revered, were now dead and gone. Only he remained.
Years passed and still he searched for the new master. He accepted any man interested hoping he would fulfill the prophesy. He trusted the stories, but he was getting old and he feared he would fail his teachers, that their craft would one day die with him. The first time she came on a day when dark clouds filled the sky, promising rain. He told her to hurry home and bolted the door to block the rain.
Many months later she came again. This time she pleaded with him and as she spoke dark clouds formed in the sky and hail pounded the earth surrounding her. He told her she could not be the master the stories foretold. The masters were men. She tried to persuade him, but he would not listen and once more barred the door against her. He soon forgot her.
One day as he made his way outdoors a small figure near the door caught his attention. It was like the ones destroyed years ago with the masters. He questioned everyone, but no one confessed to knowing where it came from or to having created it. When he clutched it in his hand it pulsed with the magic.
Several days later storm clouds gathered on the horizon and she stood once more at his door. She asked if he received her gift. He didn’t understand. She pulled a second figure, a perfect match to the one he found, from her pocket. He demanded to know where she had gotten them. Her response was that she made them, and he laughed as the rain fell. She pleaded, and he agreed let her create a third figure to prove herself. She worked for three days while the storm raged and he watched. When she finished, she placed the triplet in his hand. The new master had found her teacher.
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer