Bluestone

by C E Johnson

  Duck, kick to the chest, Emily’s ki warned her of Delores’ next move, but she was off balance, and the screaming kick landed solidly on her chest protector, smashing her backwards. Knees buckling, she let out a pained moan while falling to the floor. The red padding was cold on her cheek, and she could barely hold back the tears that begged to be released.

  The referee darted forward to look at Emily as she painfully rose to one knee. She looked at the faces around her, the myriad of emotions. Her father was half out of his chair, eyes begging her to stop the contest, while her friends appeared concerned, but confident. The men in suits were hard to read, their expressions cloudy. Doeg Quadmire, meanwhile, looked especially pleased, with a proud grin stretching across his large face.

  “Do you want to stop?” Oliver asked as he advanced, but Emily shook her head to tell him she wanted to continue. The crowd let out a cheer as Emily gingerly stood, and she was surprised at the solid support. The warm salty taste of blood spread through her mouth, and she realized she somehow managed to bite the side of her mouth through her mouthguard. She kept her lips tightly closed. If her dad saw blood, she knew this match would be over.

  Blue magician, her ki directed her to an aura in the back of the room. Her godfather had arrived to watch her match. Dr. D rarely came to watch her contests. She felt proud that he was present, and a newfound burst of energy surged through her body. She solidified her wobbly toes, assessing the damage. I’m ready, she thought.

  Attack her, Xena urged. Go on the offensive. Xena began infusing what strength she could across their link. The referee nodded to Emily and the match was allowed to continue.

  The girls began to spar again with Emily scoring the majority of the hits. Her heart pounded steady and she dismissed the throbbing pain in her chest. She could tell Delores was beginning to tire from the effort of continual blocks and strikes with sweat flowing down her face. Emily felt a calm descend on her mind and she focused on her ki, attacking more and more rapidly. Doeg was staring at his watch with his original smile fading away.

  Time will be called soon, Xena warned.

  Leg sweep, Emily’s ki whispered, and she instinctively jumped in the air. Delores’ leg, the size of a small log, swept below her in a clean miss. Delores smashed a fist against her own leg in frustration before rushing Emily, attempting to drive her to the ground. Emily dodged Delores’ attack, gracefully moving to the side, but her mouth was dry, and her joints were feeling sore and stiff.

  “One minute left,” a judge called, prompting the crowd to cheer louder.

  Sensing Delores’ moves before she made them, Emily’s ki was nearly deafening. Despite Delores’s attempt to put on her own burst of energy, Emily was in a zone and her movements were now precisely coordinated. She threw up block after block, all with instinctive reflexes mixed with her magical sixth sense. She went on an offensive roll rattling off series after series of kicks that were embedded in her mind after years of training—front snap kick, side kick, axe kick, crescent kick, and reverse side kick. Her blows were slamming into Delores, eliciting grunts of pain as the bully winced and gritted her teeth. Can I win this? Emily wondered. Momentum was sitting squarely on her shoulders.

  Round off leg kick! Emily’s ki roared the final blow, an instruction that would surely injure Delores. However instead of following through, Emily stopped herself from performing the movement that would have scored a win. In this moment of indecision, Delores didn’t hesitate. The muscle-bound girl launched her own kick straight to Emily’s head.

  Duck! screamed her ki, but Emily was a millisecond too late. She avoided the brunt of the attack, but the connecting blow of Delores’ foot was still powerful, and she felt an immediate electric shock branching down through her body in a network of pure pain. The impact cascaded in waves through every fiber in her body like a concussion grenade. As the sensation drove the air from her lungs, she felt darkness cloud her peripheral vision. She collapsed for a second time to the mat.

  Are you okay? Xena asked.

  I’m fine, Emily whispered bravely. She felt tears once again brimming. Her eyes went immediately to Dr. D. Why do I care more about his opinion than anyone else’s?

  He’s your mentor, Xena answered.

  While Emily was sharing thoughts with Xena, the fight was stopped. Time had expired. Victory was given to Delores. Emily was wavering slightly, off-balance, and a little dizzy as she bowed. Her eyes stung, but she didn’t let a single tear escape. The pain of defeat was actually stronger than the throbbing in her head.

  Delores flashed a confident, condescending grin. “Couldn’t fly from that one could you, bat ears?” She ran from Emily to her father, and they both jumped in the air and bumped hips like football players who had just scored the winning touchdown for their team. Wishing she was jumping and celebrating like Delores, Emily tenderly trudged over to join her father and her friends.

  “How do you feel?” her father asked. “That was a huge hit.” Richard began a quick scan, looking over her body.

  “I’m okay.” She really was hurting and felt sluggish, but her godfather had taught her how to overcome even this level of pain.

  “Your flips were awesome.” Anna’s encouraging voice only partially veiled her concern.

  “Do you have to fight her anymore?” Elizabeth asked. She had tears forming at the corners of her own eyes.

  Emily gave Elizabeth a hug. “I’m okay, Little Bit.”

  “You could totally have taken her.” Isabelle smacked a fist into her hand. “You’re so much better than that

  ogre.”

  Dr. D approached and her father and friends all parted for him. He was confident without being arrogant, inspiring and always fearless. He gave Emily a fist bump. He’s so cool for an older guy, she thought.

  “You were impressive.” He gave her a hug and spoke in a low voice, so quiet Emily had to lean forward to catch his words. “There will come a time when you will have to fully rely on your inner voice, and you will learn there can be no hesitation.” She knew he was trying to be supportive and instructive in a positive manner, but she cringed at the touch of steel in his hushed words. “You will have to overcome your fear of hurting others.”

  “Yes, sir.” Emily whispered, feeling herself flushing pink under the weight of his words. She glanced at the three men leaving the gym. She wanted to discuss them with Dr. D, but she would wait until they were in private to discuss the warning of her ki. No one else would understand.

  “See you at our next lesson.” He gave her a warm wink, and Emily knew he was trying to take the sting out of his words, but it didn’t work. He talked briefly with her father and her friends before he left the gym without another word to Emily. She felt as if she had somehow let him down.

  Luke strode over, honey-colored hair flopping into his brown eyes. Emily couldn’t help but smile as he approached. When they were near enough, they began their special handshake they had created during fencing practice rounds. The handshake involved a series of hand bumps and motions which sequentially got faster as each tried to finish the final move first. Luke barely beat her through the pattern. “Not too bad,” he said gently. “Maybe you should challenge Delores to a handshake contest.”

  “I’ll take her down the next time we fight.” Emily tried to sound more confident than she felt. She put on the necklace Luke had given her. “Thanks.” She leaned forward to give him a hug, savoring the warm rush that the close contact brought. She felt a steamy flush run through her body before he pulled back.

  “I hope she didn’t hurt you too badly,” Luke said softly. He held her hand for a fleeting moment and Emily felt breathless even at his light touch. “My parents are waiting for me,” he began, looking to the exit where his father was gesturing to him. “See you at fencing lessons.” He departed with his usual carefree happiness.

  “Home please, my good chauffeur.” Emily waved her hand dramatically to her father. The gym felt warmer than before, airless and she wanted to b
e anywhere but in that room.

  “Of course, my dear girl.” Her father did a meager attempt at an English accent. She could tell he was worried about her.

  Jean and Xena were waiting for Emily when she came in the door. Xena licked her face intently, as if she thought that action could take away a portion of her pain and her mother held her tightly. “I’ve got your bath ready.”

  “I may be soaking for a while,” Emily said, wishing she didn’t sound so weak. She attempted to mask the ache in almost every joint in her body from her parents, but she was certain they knew her too well and were seeing through her act.

  “Don’t let Xena get in the bath with you,” her mother called as Emily went upstairs with Xena firmly applied to her hip. As she entered the bathroom she could hear her mother talking quietly to her father, “Now, give me the full details of the match.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Professor

  Samil stared out a window from high in his castle, delighting in the beauty before him. Acacia was purity and vivid reality, such a difference from the drab, gray muted planet of Earth. Tall, slender white stone towers soared over matching stone feasting halls, markets, inns, warehouses, and places of worship, all with gleaming red tile roofs. Wide, wooden bridges spanned slow moving rivers, with water cold as ice, streaming down from the cold gray mountains with jagged peaks and promontories that ringed his island. Bashan was spread out before him in a rich patchwork of colors, a hundred times more dazzling than that dark planet across his Prime Portal.

  “This is a blackstone.” Samil whirled from the window to face his pupils in a grand lecture hall. He handed a smooth rounded stone to a particularly unruly young pupil with a deep black aura, with components suggesting insolence and disrespect. The boy had thick coal-colored hair, and challenging dark brown eyes. Samil was conducting a presentation to a large group of students entering the Acacean School of Magic on the inborn benefits of different colors of mages and magestones. The magicians in this group were all eight to ten years of age.

  Samil had been elected the head of the council of twelve arch-mage instructors on the Island of Bashan after Vadimas died, and as such he was the current ruler. Although he had a cabinet to advise him and help make decisions, his position was nearly equivalent to a king, and he ruled with an iron fist. He was often gone from the school on clandestine trips to Earth which his fellow teachers thought were sabbaticals. In fact, in the opinion of those on Bashan, this was his first lecture on Acacia in over a year. However, he had actually only been on Earth for a day to discuss Blackbarb with Droth, but time was different between the two planets, and one day on Earth was equivalent to one year on Acacia.

  “What does this one do?” the feisty young student asked brazenly as he fingered the magestone.

  “What does it do, Professor Samil,” Samil corrected the young upstart sharply. He knew Earthlings thought patience was a virtue, but personally he wasn’t behind that philosophy.

  The student ignored Samil’s attempt at etiquette and again blurted, “What’s it for?”

  Samil fixed an icy gaze on the student while sighing. Why do I do any of these foolish lectures?

  You need to remain an instructor, so you can continue your half-dead experiments with a ready supply of magicians, Skyler whispered in his mind. Our eventual conquest is at hand.

  I can’t wait for the battles to begin. Samil wished he had a fraction of his dragon bondsmate’s restraint. He grabbed the blackstone back from the student. “This is a magestone, and all magestones amplify the power of magicians. Each magestone has a dynamic underlying potential that a magician has to experiment with to fully discover. They come in every color and they can channel our power.”

  “Where do they come from?” the boy asked while fixing Samil with a sullen gaze. Samil could tell he wanted the stone back.

  “They’re buried so deep on our planet that only gnomes and Lacerta dare to mine for them,” Samil answered thoughtfully.

  “Do the dragons keep them in their treasure rooms?” The boy put out his arms and acted like he was flying. He opened his mouth and simulated a great dragon taking bites out of the air.

  Not even close, Skyler scoffed, watching the boy through Samil’s eyes. Dragons do not bite like that at all.

  Samil hid his smile at his bondsmate’s words, he didn’t want the boy to think he was amused by him. Instead, he did his best to ignore the youth’s antics. “Dragons don’t need magestones to tap into the energy of the planet, but wise magicians do. Surprisingly, dragons don’t even collect magestones, and ....”

  “What powers do blackstones help with?” The boy interrupted without compunction. His blurting was beyond rude and he seemed to be asking questions now just to hear his own voice.

  Samil shot daggers at the student with his eyes, but the boy wasn’t perceptive enough to realize the danger he was playing with. “I use this blackstone to give me energy to let me talk longer with the wraiths in their spirit world of Ater,” Samil explained testily, his patience was certainly wearing thin.

  “Doesn’t your black aura help with that?” a small girl with hair as black as obsidian and a pale white aura asked. Her aura suggested intelligence, wholeness and order.

  Samil eased his glare. Thank goodness someone else is asking a question. “Yes, my black aura helps me with spells in the black class of magic, but this blackstone helps to further potentiate my spells.” He studied the young girl’s wide brown eyes, as innocent as a doe. “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Brytam,” she answered, appearing thoughtful as her jet-black hair swayed questioningly on her shoulders. “My aura is white. Will I be able to perform black magic?”

  “A magician with any color of aura can learn any spell, including these black spells,” Samil taught. How can I make this easy for the little idiots? He tapped a finger on his chin, considering the proper example. “If you take two magicians of an equal level, one with a blue aura and one with a black aura, the blue magician will simply never be as powerful at black magic as a magician with a black aura, and vice versa concerning blue magic. Another arch-mage blue magician will always be better at shielding class spells than me, and I will always be better at interacting with the dead.”

  “I don’t understand who you talk to.” Brytam wrinkled her brow. Flecks of white were floating in her tan irises. “Why do some spirits go to Ater, Professor Samil?” Her etiquette was perfect. She was polite to an extreme, smart as a whip.

  Samil liked her immediately and wondered if she might serve on his council one day. “I don’t know,” he answered Brytam slowly. The room became quiet. The students appeared stunned that there was a question that had stumped their famed instructor. “But I do know that only an extremely small fraction of the dead goes to the gray world of Ater at all.”

  “Do you think it’s a punishment?” Brytam persisted. “It doesn’t sound like a happy place.”

  “No one knows,” Samil answered quietly. Where will I go after my death? he wondered. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “What I’ve discovered is these spirits crave a purpose for their existence. They are hoping for the chance to escape their monotonous, mind-numbing world, and we can use this fact to gain advice and intelligence

  from them.”

  “You can pull the wraiths back to Acacia, right Professor Samil?” a young blue magician with bouncing pale-yellow curls asked him in a clear voice. Her aura spoke of tranquility, sincerity and peace.

  “Yes, using spells we will teach you, I’m able to pull wraith-spirits from Ater back to the physical world, making them flesh and blood again as Mavet raa.”

  “Why would spirits want to come back to Acacia as blundering, hideous creatures?” the insolent black male magician asked, his black bangs overshadowing his eyes. He moved his arms up and down in a lumbering fashion as if he were a zombie.

  Samil didn’t even attempt to correct him this time. He had already decided that he would likely deal with this painful young boy
far in the future. “They are eager to come back to life because they long to see colors, feel the wind and sunshine, savor taste, and smell the cool rain.”

  “But this act binds them to your will, correct?” Brytam asked.

  “Yes. The wraiths will have to agree to do the bidding of the magician who frees them from their dark world.” Samil thought of all the Mavet raa he had created. Magus-thirsty creatures so different from the youths before him. These children were eager to learn, all dreaming of becoming an arch-mage one day. He closed his eyes, remembering his first day on Bashan. He had loved this place more than anything in the world. He and his brother had come to Bashan together with aspirations higher than the sun. They thought they would conquer everything set before them with ease. No one knew they were brothers, and somehow, they had kept the secret from all of their peers.

  “But they don’t all remain Mavet raa, do they?” Brytam continued in a hushed voice. The Mavet raa seemed to disturb the symmetry she saw in the world. Samil wondered if she would be able to be at peace with the disarray she would encounter in the world of magic. She straightened the papers on her desk and she placed her books precisely at the edge of her desktop.

  “They can become half-deads,” the blue magician volunteered.

  “Correct,” Samil rasped. “If a Mavet raa manages to kill a magician, magus will be released to form a change. The process is called the ukcabala. Then, like an ugly caterpillar performing a metamorphosis into a butterfly, a Mavet raa will transform into a more agile half-dead based off of the color of the aura of the first magician killed.” Samil fancied himself an artist, and he had learned how to direct the shape of half-deads by supplying their first kill, but he wasn’t about to inform his young students of his favorite pastime. He was sure he looked like a monster to them, but they still treated him with respect. He didn’t want that to turn to terror … unless they deserved it.