Power Nexus (Vorcian Imperial Chronicles Book 3)

by Taki Drake

  “Poor baby. Maybe we should send her back home to finish growing up before she comes out here and plays with the big girls and boys. It’s probably too far for her, can’t somebody move it to a spot where she could actually hit it? Like maybe five feet away?”

  Why is that man so hateful and cruel?

  Corda’s face flushed with embarrassment, and she fought the urge to run from the practice grounds in tears. I won’t give that creep the power to make me run away, she thought to herself.

  Although she was shaking, the young girl straightened up and stared at the upperclassman that was four years older than she was and easily sixty pounds heavier. Raising her head up straight, the tiny girl pictured steel in her spine and turned to look down the target slope at the dummies.

  The young girl blocked the titters that were coming from the audience from her mind because she knew that splitting her focus would erode her control. A sideways glance told her that Gerald had his hands clenched and was on the verge of storming out into the middle of the sands and trying to protect her.

  << Please don’t! You will only make it worse. If I’m going to do this, I have to do it for myself. >>

  He replied, << How can they be so cruel? You are 13-years-old to their 18 to 20. You wouldn’t even be here if your father hadn’t wanted to discard you! This is intolerable, and I won’t stand for it! >>

  A warm flash of comfort filled Corda’s being as she realized how much her friend cared for her. Wordlessly, she pushed the equivalent of a warm hug to him before turning her attention once again to her target.

  Chapter 42 – Tantrums

  “Come on, pipsqueak. Even you should be able to at least singe the straw on one of the targets. Either that or they’re just going to flunk you out of the school, and you will be begging on the streets. I know from my father that yours doesn’t even expect to make a marriage for you. You are pitiful and just taking up space that somebody more deserving should be occupying in this school,” snarled her tormentor.

  Corda’s attention was on her target, not in the stands. If she were looking that direction, she would’ve seen the older military man from her hearing reach over and put a supportive hand on Gerald's shoulder, murmuring something in his ear.

  Gerald gave the man a nod of respect and visibly calmed himself, turning his eyes back to the figure of his friend on the arena floor. Standing beside him, the older man watched the tiny girl just as intently.

  Corda felt the heckler’s hateful words impacting on her body as if they were pellets of sharp ice. Wrapped up in a ferociously-focused beam of mixed disgust, fear, and incandescent rage, the young girl heard the Weapons Master start to call a halt to the exercise as she felt the internal wall that contained her anger and pain smash into pieces with explosive power.

  Taking that emotion-laden energy, she flung both hands up in a pushing motion. The slender young girl slammed her beam of fury at the leftmost, untouched object standing at the end of the target range.

  Painting the faces of those that had hurt and belittled her on the stuffed scarecrow, Corda was initially oblivious to the impact of her spellcasting.

  An instant later, she was aghast at what she had done. The power that she had shoved at the dummy smashed it into dust, leaving only pieces and debris that were no longer recognizable.

  The power shockwave that was reflected back at her was partially contained by the warded walls of the arena. Feeling as if she were moving in fast motion while everything else moved slowly, Corda knew that she was in danger of being hurt by her own actions.

  I will not bow down, she vowed to herself as she mentally grabbed the ground underneath her and braced. There was no time to abort her attack because, by the time she felt the reflection of the force returning, her action had been completed. There was only time to survive.

  The wave of power slid over her without inflicting any damage. It was as if her Magic recognized her, parting around her. If Corda did not know better, she might have thought that the power was sentient and knew that she was not to be hurt.

  Whipping her head to the side, she checked to make sure her friends were unharmed, breathing deeply in relief when she saw that they were standing, untouched, amid the smashed bleachers.

  The force of her blow had not only destroyed the targets but smashed into the warded wall of the arena, toppling the very supports of the building. The end pillars had crashed down, breaking into small chunks. The fire that had been woven into her force had scorched the entire surrounding area with an incandescent flame, leaving charred remains.

  There was a moment of silence, as shock held sway among the spectators.

  Finally, the Arms Master said in a bemused tone, “Thank you, Corda, I believe that is a passing grade in Magical Attacks.”

  Relieved, Corda stepped out of the first test lane and was going to go back to the sidelines since she had passed the minimum requirements. The young girl wasn’t sure if she had enough energy to throw two more of such attacks, but at least she wouldn’t fail her final and be held back.

  Seemingly driven by a death wish, the heckler started up again, oblivious to the gaping mouths and the angry looks around him. He kept erupting with insults, “Well, now we know how to get her to actually pull together enough Magic to be useful. Anytime we want to get her to attack something, we will have to beat on her first!”

  Pressure began to build in Corda’s skull, ramping up to dangerous levels. The cruel laughter of the man heckling her from the stands kicked off a flashback of Pharyl touching her and the aching punishment delivered by her father.

  Shaking so hard that she didn’t know what to do, the young girl marched over to the second lane and without a thought, flung a sphere at the target crying out loud, “Burn!” The second fireball was about the same size as the first and obliterated both the second target and the wall behind it.

  Without stopping to see the results, she charged over to the third lane, only fifteen feet farther, and fired another spell at that target, screaming at the top of her lungs, “Burn!” As she fired off her attack in the third lane, Corda felt as if her mind was being pulled into pieces. The mental resistance was rubbery and resilient, but the overwhelming pressure in her head was too much for it, and a wall she never knew existed was shattered.

  The fire that came out of her hands was like a roaring inferno, converting the target instantaneously to ash. Looking like a thick tongue of light and heat had erupted from the maw of a gigantic Dragon, the wall fifty feet beyond the target flared up instantly.

  In disbelief, Corda saw a plume of flame rising up into the air with such force that it smashed open the Academy roof. Looking in fear at the direction that she had sent her five Magic Missiles of supercharged inferno, she saw that each had grown to an immense twenty-foot diameter hungry ovoid shape that was consuming the surrounding woods and rushing toward the populated parts of the city.

  “No!” Corda cried. Desperately, she reached out insubstantial hands and attempted to pull her fire back. The young girl's hands felt scorched, and the agony of her burns smashed into her, coming close to overwhelming her willpower. Drawing a deep into her soul, Corda grasped her spell in her mental hands and gave a mighty heave, finally ripping the furious force back to its origin.

  Rushing like a fast-flying shuttle, the fire splashed against the shields that Corda did not remember raising, engulfing her. The young girl frantically reinforced her defensive barriers, trying desperately to channel the roaring heat and power into the ground.

  Springing out onto the arena ground, the Armsmaster slapped a containment shell around the remaining fire and stuffed it out. Lead Enkill turned the other way and threw a shield over the stands, protecting the spectators.

  Without worrying about their own well-being, Corda’s friends scrambled, ran, and jumped to get down to her. Gerald was the first to reach her, sliding painfully on his knees to get next to the young girl's unconscious body. Ignoring the intense heat of the ground that scorched his leg
s, he was calling her name in desperate gasps, “Corda, come on. You have to be okay. You have to stop doing this! Corda!”

  The older, military man that had been standing next to Gerald arrived only a split second later. The gray-haired man gasped for air.

  When Gerald would have picked the unconscious young Mage up, the older man prevented him from grabbing her. “Wait for the Healers, boy,” he said.

  Tears pouring down his face, Gerald stared up at the man, demanding brokenly, “General, what can I do? I can’t just stare at her! What if she’s dying?”

  With hands that shook, the older man checked for a pulse and heaved a deep sigh of relief when he felt the rapid, faint beat. Reassuringly he said, “Her heart is beating, and she seems to be breathing. It is probably just a Magical Backlash.”

  As the General finished his comment, the bodyguards that had accompanied Corda to the arena dropped to the scorching sand on the other side of the young girl’s body. One of them was muttering a litany of soft curses as she yanked out her canteen and gently rinsed off Corda’s reddened face. The other was giving a fast report on her comm-unit. When Matthua looked up at her, he saw the tears running down her face.

  Echoing the curses of the bodyguard, although not so quietly or softly, the Triage Healer Mage dropped to the ground and begin a rapid, gentle examination of the unconscious girl. Without taking his eyes away from his patient, he ground out, “A stretcher team is on the way. A quiet room in bed will be prepared by the time we get her to the infirmary. I told them to set it up for the worst damn case of Magical Backlash anyone has ever seen.”

  While the Healers were getting Corda transported to the infirmary, Ricee grabbed his comm-unit and called a stored contact number. When a man answered, the young man broke into and voluntary sobs, saying, “Bonpa, Corda got caught in spell backlash, and they are taking her to the infirmary. We are all going there. I’m calling you, and Liz is calling Bertor.”

  In a shocked voice, Advocate Amity asked a couple of questions and then reassured the now deeply sobbing young man, “Nona and I will be there in less than 15 minutes. We will see you at the infirmary.”

  Pushing the words out through a clogged up throat, Ricee almost wailed as he said, “Bonpa, she threw a fifty-foot fireball.”

  “By the 1001 gods! Stay with her boy, we are on our way.”

  Liz had already dialed Bertor and updated him. The Master Healer was an hour away but was leaving immediately to be with them all.

  Watching the young woman carried out of the arena and shaking in reaction, Matthua felt stunned and disoriented. He recognized had that Magic, feeling its familiarity resonating deep in his bones. Desperate for an explanation, he dialed a comm number that he never thought he would use again.

  When the woman answered, he asked, “Misha, is there something you need to tell me?”

  Her pain-filled gasp and the beginning of her stuttered response was too much for the man to bear. Stabbing a finger onto the surface of the comm-unit to truncate the call, he walked quickly toward the infirmary.

  I pray that the Universe doesn’t take her away, just when I know she exists.

  Chapter 43 – Trauma with Friends

  Off-white ceiling tiles, dappled with faint shadows of green and gold. The movement of light was soothing, and nothing in the color palette made her want to blink or look away. Slowly, Corda realized that she was awake. Awareness returned, enough to tell her that she had fingers and toes. Moving gently, the young girl made sure that her sense of self returned sensory feedback from all her extremities, feeling the smoothness of the sheets on her feet, and the vibration in both her right and left hand.

  Cocooned within a pain-muffled environment, Corda managed to turn her head and found at her right hand with her eyes. It was warm, and now she saw why. Nona looks so sad in her sleep.

  The Seer had her head resting on Corda’s bed and age-spotted fingers wrapped around her granddaughter's lax hand. Staring in confusion, the young girl couldn’t resolve the number of digits that she could see touching hers, but when her eyes were drawn by a small motion, her focus flew to the tired face of her Bonpa as a trembling smile grew on his face.

  Neither of them spoke as Corda looked from his face to where his left hand was interwoven with her Nona’s fingers, cradling the young girl’s own hand. Too tired to move her whole face, she tried to let him know with her eyes how much his presence mentor. She knew that her message was received when a single tear slipped down his cheek.

  Feeling content, Corda closed her eyes and slip back into the cushioning arms of unconsciousness.

  << <> >>

  The next time the Corda awoke, it was to a lively discussion. Even before her eyes opened, the young girl knew that most of her friends were there. A faint smile shaped her face into a strange-feeling expression as if even those muscles had been unexercised for a long time.

  Gerald’s voice was the first one she heard, as he said quietly but with an edge of anger in his tones, “… can’t believe that there wasn’t some formal reprimand to the creep that was heckling.”

  Ricee answered, saying with satisfaction, “Did you hear that Lead Enkill corner him in the middle of the cafeteria and told him off?”

  Argah demanded, “No! Tell me because I’ve been dreaming about catching that man in a quiet alley and beating him up!”

  Ricee laughed, saying, “What happened was so much better than a beating. Lead Enkill told him that he obviously needed to find a position that isolated him from having to deal with real people. When the creep asked him why, Enkill told him that an arrogant and condescending attitude, coupled with the inability to accurately judge power levels would get him fired or killed fairly quickly.”

  Argah laughed and asked him, “Did he then slink off? Or was he stupid enough to argue?”

  “He didn’t have a chance to do either because another first-year student was walking by and slammed his tray down on the table and walked over to confront the creep. The kid, who is only about a year older than Corda, was poking him in the chest and telling him that he better watch out because if the jerk ever tried to bully anybody else, that as far as he and all of his friends were concerned it was open season on him for Mage duels.”

  “Good! I heard that when he went in to try to get his singed hair and beard trimmed, the barber refused to work on him. Something about the loss of prestige for trimming an arrogant idiot’s hair.”

  Ricee was smiling, Corda could hear it in his voice. “After the confrontation, he went over to sit with his buddies, but apparently there wasn’t any room any had a go sit at a different table all by himself.”

  “Good. Hecklers shouldn’t go unscathed.”

  Multiple voices shouted, “Corda! You’re awake!”

  The young girl could feel people crowding around her bed, and her bleary eyes could tell their shapes. Their voices pummeled her with buffets of words, and the young girl felt herself falling back into unconsciousness.

  << <> >>

  Awakening to another conversation, before Corda opened her eyes, she knew that Gerald, Argah, and Liz were the only people in the room. About to say something to her friends, the young girl froze as the impact of what she was hearing hit her mind like an icy dagger to her heart.

  “… admit that she’s dangerous! She could have wiped out half the town or killed everybody in the Academy. How can you say she’s the same as before?”

  Liz responded hotly, “Argah, all of us are dangerous. We are training as Mages. That means that we can throw spells, both constructive and destructive. All of us can kill, as you well know. How can you say that you don’t trust Corda any longer because you now think she is too powerful?”

  “Liz, that’s not what I meant. I just suggested that we move out and give her her own room. That way, if she accidentally has a problem, we are not going to be affected by it.”

  Gerald’s voice was tight and well-controlled as he answered. Corda wondered with a pang if he was going to decide a
lso that she was a monster. Listening to his words, the young girl felt a relief so intense that tears started to stream down her face, and her heart began to gallop in her chest.

  She clung to his words as if they were a life raft, branding each one into her heart, as he said, “It sounds to me like you want us to agree with you so that your own fear can be justified. Neither Liz nor I agree with you. Each of us has abilities that the others don’t have, and those abilities come in different power levels. Corda just has certain abilities that are strong in areas that you have never considered important before, and I think that frightens you.”

  “I don’t need you to justify how I feel. I’m not sure I could sleep in our room, worried about her killing me in my bed!”

  “Argah, that is the last thing she would do!” Liz was infuriated as she almost stuttered, “in that alleyway, she defended us with her life! Not to avoid ridicule, not to avoid somebody cranking her, but with her blasted life!”

  Almost whispering, Argah said, “It was all because of her, that we were in that alley, to begin with. Hera hates her, and if we stayed away from Corda, we would not be in danger.”

  Corda’s heart pounded even faster, and suddenly there was not enough air to breathe. It felt like a piece of her heart was being ripped out, and pain pounced on her to slice through her eyes and drill directly into her brain.

  There was a shout from the hallway, and bodies came crashing through the door.

  “Move away, damn you! What have you done?” It was Jerroy’s voice, and he sounded furious. Corda wanted to speak to him but couldn’t seem to get enough breath to talk.

  The familiar warmth of Healer Magic flooded the young girl’s chest, and her respirations came more easily. Corda could open her eyes now, and she glanced at Jerroy and the other Healer Mage as they clutched her, soothing her bruised channels and body.

  Immediately searching for the face that she wanted, Corda felt her tears fall, and her heartbeat stuttered in her chest as she said, “It is okay, Argah. You think I’m a monster now, and you blame me for being scared and hurt. I guess you’re right.”