A Wizard's Tale

by Natasha Weber

stone…

  I backed up, started running away. The crowd laughed again, thinking I was a coward. I hoped the ball wouldn’t clobber me in the back…

  It barely missed me—throwing up the sand right where I had been running, and blowing me forward as I ran. I tumbled to the ground, and once again got to my feet. I ran all the way to where the wall of the arena shot high up above and formed the stands.

  The Dwarf thought he had me cornered. He threw the spiked ball; I dove out of the way—

  The ball crashed into the wall with such force it was stuck in the wall. While he was trying to tug his weapon out of the wall, I was safe for the moment; I used my Anima to lift the shield I’d dropped from its resting place. I was losing energy fast with all this magicking. But with a yell of rage, I swung my arms back, and the levitating shield slammed the Dwarf on the back of his head. The Dwarf collapsed—unconscious, not dead.

  I fell to my knees, panting with exertion. The crowd was absolutely stunned.

  After a moment, a Dwarf sitting in a throne at the top of the steps of the stand sitting in a throne, stood. At the top of his lungs, he shouted, “you have won the battle, little warrior; you must now take his life.”

  I shuddered inwardly. Taking a life, according to the religion of Pan, was wrong. In my own, an eye for an eye was prized above all else. This man had tried to take my life; I supposed it was just to take his…

  But every-time I thought of it, it just made me sick. I shook my head, and shouted back. “I will not kill him!”

  The Dwarf king—or so I thought he was, due to his obnoxious golden crown-- leaned forward in his chair thoughtfully. He shrugged. “Then let’s move on with the battles.”

  I breathed in a sigh of relief. The large double-doors behind me opened, and two Dwarves dragged me inside.

  “You will rest here in preparation for your next battle.” They stated, and took seats that were up against the wall.

  I myself sat on the floor, my mind a muddled, frightened mess. I leaned against the stony wall, and closed my eyes. At least I could regain some of my magic. Why had I been able to conjure up some magic this time? I thought. I remembered suddenly, how it was that I’d mastered it in the first place.

  I had seen the scars on my wrists, and thought of the blood. Perhaps, all along, it was the release I got from seeing blood that allowed me to master magic in the first place, and the subtle emotion of pain I got from it.

  Maybe it was emotions after all, and not being emotionless that allowed Anima to flow. But it just needed to be a subtle emotion.

  Either way, I was happy just being alive. Even if it was just for the moment.

  “So… your life was saved by your scars?” Mr. Serious contemplated. “That is your miracle? That there was a reason for your pain all along?”

  I shook my head. “That’s not my miracle. My miracle was less subtle. Because of your scars, I must think you share the same fascination with blood that I do?”

  He blinked slowly, irritated. His anger was palpable. Being someone who was once like him, I knew what he was feeling. It was a touchy subject,and even I had avoided talking about it for many years in my life. “Continue your story, Mr. Aled.”

  “Oh, very well.”

  When I was let back into the arena, nearly thirty minutes later, I was feeling only a little bit more energized. I had some of my magic back, but I didn’t have much.

  As I was depressed to find out, I was still stuck with the shield as my weapon, which was back on the table. I picked it back up with a grunt, and looked to see my new opponent. A Human, like Pan this time--where the Dwarf was gigantic in width, this Human was gigantic in length--A lean young man with toned muscles who towered over me.

  The young Human chose a mace for his weapon—less menacing than the destructive ball and chain, but just as potent—and he advanced quickly, definitely outdoing the Dwarf in speed. And, as I was to find out, sheer anger.

  He charged me with a shriek of rage. I ducked behind my shield, this time so it covered all of me. I heard—and felt—the mace cling and clang against my shield over and over. He was screaming at me, but I only caught some of it. “A shield is a coward’s weapon!” Was one of my favorite remarks.

  After my large ears nearly went deaf from his yelling and the clangor of steel, I used a little bit of my Anima to give me extra strength.

  This time when he hit the shield, I stood up and pushed forward with the shield with all my strength at the same exact time his mace slammed into it. He stumbled backwards from the force, his body wringing with the power of which he hit my shield.

 

  I was panting with exertion, and my Anima was draining fast. Freedom was so close at hand, but I was about to faint.

  The Human regained his balance, and I barely had the strength to get my shield up. With his loudest yell yet, he kicked my ankle, the one thing that was not covered by my shield.

  I fell over, pinned once again by my own shield. My face was an open target for the Human to hit. I heard his laugh of victory, heard his feet scuffling toward me—I struggled to get out from under the shield—his mace was coming down—

  Suddenly, the brightest light I had ever seen shined down and hit him right in the eyes. My pupils shrank with pure incredulity. He backed out of the sunlight that had hit his eyes, looking up in disbelief.

  I took this moment to summon the last of my strength. With my Anima, I shifted the sand beneath his feet. He fell over.

  I managed to lift the shield off me and get to my feet. I dragged the shield over to him and hit him on the head.

  I didn’t know how or why I had lived. All I knew was that it was a miracle. What else could it possibly be?

  “And even after that miracle,” Mr. Serious said skeptically, “you decided not to believe?”

  “I told you, I did believe, for the longest time. It just… became too hard after awhile.” I said under hooded eyes.

  “Why?” He was getting annoyed, having to listen to someone so flighty. Well, more offended than annoyed, I suppose. At any rate, it was amusing watching his giant eyebrows knit in frustration.

  I looked into my reflection thoughtfully, and then looked back up at him. “Because of what happened.”

  “Did your friend Pan die?” He prompted.

  “Of course he did. He was a short-lived Human. All Humans die. It was so difficult for me. I wasn’t even sure what was happening to him at the time. You see, after the Dwarves freed me, I spent about another month with Pan and his family before I finally decided I wanted to see this big world I’d been living on. Every now and again, I would go back to see Pan, he was my very best friend. And everytime I went back, there would be something different about him.”

  “He was getting older,” Mr. Serious interjected.

  I nodded. “I did not know at the time… that Humans were short-lived. There were very few Pixies in my old village who were old. If it weren’t for our using Anima, we wouldn’t age or die at all.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Anima is a life-force magic. Everytime you use it, it takes the tiniest bit of your lifespan. That’s how I got myself into this situation. If you rest for long enough each day, your Anima and lifeforce will return to normal. But if you use too much all at once, you will be drained and become stuck as an old man, and your magic can no longer build up. But anyway, everytime I went to see him, he would look just a little older. I knew deep inside something was wrong, but I was naïve, and I didn’t want to acknowledge it. And eventually, when I went to see him, he was gone… I inquired of his relatives what had happened to him, and they said he had passed away. I was heartbroken.

  There were few harder things in my life than having to watch someone I loved waste away day by day, year by year. But at least, before he died, he taught me what it meant to love just being alive. From then on, I was no longer pathetic.”

  Mr. Serious was curious. But, he was so cold he didn’t ev
en feel bad for me. “But this is not the reason why you stopped believing?”

  I shook my head. “After Pan died, I was captured. Again. This time by Elves. Do you know what Elves are capable of?”

  He thought about it. “…dark magic?”

  I nodded. “That’s right. Do you know what dark magic requires?”

  “The Order doesn’t tell us about it.” He said.

  I smiled smugly. I knew something he didn’t. It was always fun to tweak a know-it-all’s nose.

  “It’s a nasty type of magic, if used wrong. Anima is life-force, light magic is sun-based, and dark magic… dark magic comes from corpses and shadows, or, worst of all, sucking life from things that are alive.” I explained. “It’s an extremely dangerous power.”

  “And they captured you to use you as a spy? Like they do most Pixies?” He guessed.

  “Yes. You see, I wasn’t being careful. I realized I hadn’t used my wings in a whole year, and that, I had forgotten I even had them. I was embarrassed to call myself a Pixie. So, without another thought, I took to the air, and I was promptly shot down…”

  It was a pretty rough landing, as I remember it. And Elves, being the dastardly beings that they tend to be, had it all planned out. They had a rough net ready to catch me with, which they wrapped me in. I struggled and struggled, but I was stuck in the mesh.

  They were speaking in their primitive Elf language, refusing to speak common even back then. They were arguing, I thought, over whose