The Prince of Warwood and The Rise of the Chosen

by J. Noel Clinton

  “Whoa, wait a minute! Few months? Just how long am I going to be here?”

  “As long as it takes to accomplish control.”

  “And how long will that be, Dad?”

  His father hesitated before responding, “At least until the spring equinox.”

  “The what?”

  “Spring equinox, March 20th.”

  Xavier looked up at his father incredulously. “But…but, that’s nearly six months away! You mean I’m going to be locked up here for six months?” he blared.

  Jeremiah tensed and his hands flexed out at his sides. The boy was working himself up into another eruption. “Xavier,” he intoned firmly, “settle down before you lose control and I’m forced to restrain you.”

  He lowered his voice a decibel. “But…but six months? Six months of solitude stuck here? Six months trapped underground? Six months without my friends, without Robbie?” Xavier jumped to his feet and began pacing, his voice rising with each word. “It’s not fair!” He could feel the powers surging inside him and he tried to push them back.

  His father sensed the building powers and approached him cautiously. “Son, you need to stop it now. Close your eyes and think calming thoughts.”

  “No, damn it! I want to know why I have to stay here for six months!” he shouted and the room lurched, sending the king to the floor.

  “Damn it, boy!” he shouted, army-crawling over to him and grabbing him.

  Xavier felt, saw, and thought nothing as everything went black and he sunk into the sweet abyss of sleep.

  Chapter 28: First Training Lesson

  When Xavier woke again, he was alone in his bed chamber. A covered tray of food sat invitingly on the table. He could smell the roast beef from his bed and his stomach rumbled.

  He sat up and nearly passed out from the pounding in his head. Slowly, he sank back into the bed and released a long sigh. It was several long minutes before he ventured to sit up again, and when he did, he did so very slowly and made his way over to the food. When he lifted the tray and saw the food, his stomach growled again in response. He eagerly grabbed the plate, hurried back to his bed, and wolfed down the first sandwich without tasting a crumb of it. He savored the second, closing his eyes to the juices and flavors exploding in his mouth. God, it tasted heavenly. When he was finished, he brushed the crumbs from his shirt and stared at the metal door. He knew it would be locked, but he got up and tried it anyway. Confirming his suspicions, he walked to the small shelf with books and magazines, picked up Rugby Today, sat on his bed, and began to leaf through it.

  An hour ticked by and Xavier tossed the magazine to the floor. Energy swelled in him, and he itched to move, to explore, to do something, anything! He jumped to his feet and did a hundred jumping jacks, but the energy continued to eat at him. He dropped to the floor and did as many push-ups as he could before collapsing. He lay against the stone floor, worshipping the cool surface before rolling to lie on his back to do sit-ups. Another hour ticked by as Xavier tried to work off the excessive energy pulsating inside him. Finally, a loud click from the metal door announced he had a visitor. He scrambled back to his bed as the door creaked open and his father and Ephraim entered the room. Ephraim closed the door and leaned casually against it as the king approached him.

  “How are you feeling, son?”

  He shrugged, staring at his father’s shoes, embarrassed to make eye contact.

  Jeremiah grabbed the plastic chair from the table and twirled it around to face Xavier. As he lowered himself into the chair, he studied the boy sitting meekly before him and chuckled softly.

  “There’s no need for the long face. I expect you to struggle with control, son. If this was going to be an easy fix, I’d never have brought you here. All that I ask is that you make every attempt to follow all directions and instructions given to you,” he requested, softly.

  Xavier nodded, still staring at his feet. For a brief moment nothing was said. Finally, he looked at his father and muttered, “Why do I have to stay here until March, Dad? Why can’t I return to the kingdom when I’ve learned how to control my powers?”

  He sighed deeply and stared at his hands clasped in his lap for several seconds before answering. “Son, the prophet has provided us with a lot of insight into this period of your life. You must stay here until the Spring Equinox because, quite simply, you’re still a danger until then. Even if you think you have complete control over your abilities, there is still a chance you will hurt someone. Do you really want to risk that, son?”

  He squirmed under his father’s questioning stare before sighing with resignation. “No, sir. I don’t.”

  “I thought not,” his father replied firmly and patted his knee. “I know it’s tough to be isolated from your friends and the kingdom. But it’s for the best.”

  “Yes, sir,” he muttered.

  Jeremiah tousled his son’s hair and stood. “Why don’t we get out of this chamber and get some training in before dinner?” He returned the chair to the table and waited expectantly for the boy to get to his feet.

  With a nod, Xavier followed his father out of the room and into the hall. Ephraim followed close behind as Loren and Henrick filled in on either side of Xavier with tense, taut bodies as though expecting him to attack them at any moment.

  Loren and Ephraim entered the fencing room with father and son, fanning out in strategic positions across the chamber. Only Henrick remained outside the doorway. Once the men were in place, Henrick closed and locked the door behind them. Xavier’s brows rose with surprise and he looked at his father.

  “Henrick’s orders are to secure the room until Loren, Ephraim, or I tell him otherwise,” he responded to his son’s alarmed, questioning stare.

  Xavier’s eyes widened. It had to be some kind of joke. “You’re kidding. Right?”

  But the men weren’t smiling and they exchanged knowing, anxious glances.

  “You’re serious. Why? Why would you lock the door?” he questioned, his smile disappearing.

  “Son, your powers are out of control. And during these exercises, I’m afraid we must simulate highly stressful circumstances,” his father answered.

  His stomach dropped with dread and he whispered, “What? What does that mean?”

  Again, the generals looked at their king apprehensively.

  “Xavier, we must provide situations that produce strong emotional responses from you. How else will you learn to control your emotions?”

  He shrugged. He understood what his father would need to do, but he didn’t like it. He was still afraid.

  “Now, are you ready to begin?” Jeremiah asked.

  His entire body tensed. “Y…yes, sir.”

  “Okay, then. Your fencing lessons are suspended until you’ve learned some control over your emotions and powers. In the meantime, we’ll start hand-to-hand combat training,” he announced, stripping off his sweatshirt and tossing it aside.

  Ephraim tossed boxing gloves into the center of the room. Xavier approached the equipment, butterflies going mad in his gut.

  “Hand-to-hand combat? So you’re going to teach me to box? How is that supposed to help me control my feelings?”

  His father smiled dryly at him before answering. “Are you saying that the thought of fighting your father doesn’t worry you in the least?”

  He frowned. “But it’s training. You wouldn’t really hurt me. It’s just boxing.”

  “First of all, hand-to-hand combat isn’t a sport. It isn’t boxing. It’s survival; it’s war. As for me hurting you, I don’t want to hurt you, son, but there’s a war coming, and I’m more interested in you surviving that war. I’m sorry, but I will not hold back my skills or abilities. I will fight you with all my strength,” his father answered solemnly.

  Xavier gulped, suddenly very nervous about the training he was about to begin.

  “So,” Jeremiah began, picking up a pair of gloves and fitting them to Xavier’s hands, “the first rule in hand-to-hand combat is that
there are no rules.”

  “No rules?” he responded weakly as his father pulled on his own boxing gloves.

  He nodded. “That’s right. Before I teach you techniques and strategies in fighting, let’s see what skills you already possess. It will help me determine what we need to work on. I want you to give me all you’ve got, son. Don’t hold back because you know I won’t.”

  Xavier gulped and nodded. When his father began to dance around him like a professional boxer, his anxiety pulsated throughout his body. Trying his best to mimic his father’s actions, he moved with him, his hands instinctively rising to protect his face.

  “Come on. Hit me, Xavier! We’re not here to dance!” Jeremiah taunted.

  He hesitated, still unsure.

  As if sensing weakness, his father jabbed hard at his face, striking his gloves and knocking them into his face. Tears swelled to the surface almost immediately. As he tried to readjust his hands, another punch barreled at his head and he barely ducked and avoided it.

  “Jeez, Dad!” he snapped.

  “If you don’t want my punches to connect, you better start blocking or dodging my blows,” Jeremiah answered nonchalantly as he threw a hook, grazing the boy’s left temple.

  Xavier backpedaled quickly and stumbled to the floor. His father was over him in an instant, his left foot sweeping toward his ribcage. Xavier rolled quickly to avoid the blow, jumped to his feet, and scurried away from the king. But Jeremiah was relentless and was on the attack again. Xavier dodged another jab, ducked under a left hook, before straightening and striking his father’s exposed underbelly with a quick, hard jab. With a soft grunt, the king spun around and swung his gloved fist at the rapidly moving boy, missing again.

  Loren’s snicker echoed from the corner and Xavier’s confidence soared.

  “Seems the boy isn’t the only one who could use some work on his technique,” Loren commented dryly.

  Xavier advanced, dancing within range, throwing a jab at his father, and dancing out of reach again. “What’s the matter, Dad? Am I too fast for you?” he bantered, giggling.

  The king answered his son’s insolence by lunging forward and using his forearm to shove the boy backwards. He continued to advance in long, powerful strides as his son staggered and wobbled backwards, struggling to keep his footing. Xavier toppled and landed hard on his butt, jarring his confidence and pride in the process. Embarrassment and humiliation clung heatedly to his face and rushed into his extremities.

  “Get to your feet, boy,” his father ordered, standing imposingly over him.

  He scurried to his feet and was met with a quick jab to his chest that knocked the breath from his lungs. Again, he stumbled backwards, barely managing to remain upright.

  “Not feeling so cocky now, are you, son?” he taunted.

  Heat exploded over Xavier’s face and began to gather in his hands. A left hook swept into his view a split-second before pain exploded across the right side of his face and a burst of white flooded his vision. He staggered into something hard and unyielding. Disoriented, he started to push away but strong arms encircled him, holding him in place.

  “Xavier, listen to my voice. Listen, breath, and relax your body and mind,” Ephraim whispered.

  Xavier took a shaky breath. “I…I can’t. I…I’m afraid. I can’t do it. I can feel it coming.”

  “Son.” Jeremiah stripped his gloves and tossed them aside. “Son, take deep breaths. You can do this!”

  He looked up at his father, shakily. “I…I don’t…I don’t think…”

  The room lurched throwing its occupants to the floor.

  “Holy Hell!” Loren yelled.

  “Xavier!” Jeremiah barked. “Stop it, son. Concentrate!”

  “I can’t. I…I…” Another tremor rattled the chamber and a loud crack echoed around the room as a long, thin fissure snacked across the floor.

  “Ephraim!” Jeremiah yelled. “Stop him!”

  The general’s arms tightened around him. Then Xavier felt, saw, and thought nothing.

  When he opened his eyes again, he was back in his “cell”. He had no idea what time it was or for that matter, what day it was. Moaning, he rubbed at the dull ache behind his eyes.

  “Lie still for a few minutes,” Ephraim instructed softly from the plastic chair across the room. He stood and moved toward the bed with a glass in one hand and Tylenol clutched in the other. “Here. This will help the headache.”

  Xavier tried to sit up, but the room spun.

  “Take it easy,” Ephraim whispered, moving to sit next to him. He helped him up enough so he could take the pills and drink a bit of water. “How do you feel?”

  “How the hell do you think I feel?” he blurted, pulling himself out of the general’s grasp and propping himself up against the wall in a sitting position. “What time is it?”

  Ephraim’s brow rose at the boy’s cheek, but he answered, “It’s 8 o’clock in the morning.”

  “What? You mean that I’ve been asleep since yesterday afternoon?”

  “Aye.”

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Working.”

  “Oh,” he muttered, absentmindedly rubbing his right cheek.

  “It was a rough lesson, eh, laddie?” Ephraim commented, not missing the boy’s action.

  He nodded. “Yeah, no kidding,” he muttered before finally meeting the general’s eyes.

  “What techniques did you use to try to control the surge?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped. “I’m trying! Okay? I tried the mediation techniques Mike taught me in telepathy lessons. They don’t work. I don’t know what to do! I just don’t know how to stop it, okay?”

  “Calm down, lad. Letting yourself get worked up to begin with doesn’t help. Controlling an influx of power is a lot tougher than wielding telepathy. It will take more than mediation to command it.”

  “Like what?”

  “You’ll need to develop a strong focal point.”

  “A focal point? How is staring at a stone in the wall going to help anything?” he spat.

  Growing tired of the boy’s disrespectful tone, Ephraim shook his head. “That’s not what I meant and I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your temper in check and a respectful tongue in your mouth, young sire.” After pinning the boy with a hard stare to let the message sink in, he continued more conversationally, “As for the focal point, I was referring to an emotional focal point since it’s your emotions that hinder your ability to control your powers. You need to choose a memory, a person, a feeling, something that gives you the greatest sense of peace and emotional strength.”

  Xavier sank against the wall with a furrowed brow. After giving the boy a moment to work through his thoughts and memories, the general pressed him. “Can you think of something that could serve as a strong focal point?”

  “Uh, maybe.”

  “No maybes. If you’re not sure the thought will work, then it won’t. Keep thinking.”

  “Well, the memory I’m thinking of calms me, but it’s complicated. It calms me, but makes me a little sad at the same time.”

  “What’s the memory?” Ephraim asked.

  “Horse riding with Mom. It makes me smile thinking about riding with her and hearing her squeal whenever Brewster would take off in a full gallop.” Xavier smiled as the memory flooded into his thoughts. “But then I remember she’s dead…and… how she died.”

  “I see. Under those circumstances, I don’t think it would be the best memory to choose, young sire. Keep thinking.” Ephraim stood and crossed to the door. “We’ll be back around lunch time for training.”

  “Mr. Hardcastle? C…could I go look around? I’m tired of being stuck in here. I feel like a prisoner. Please!”

  The general began shaking his head long before the boy finished his plea. “I’m leaving the mountain and won’t be able to supervise you.”

  “What about Loren or…or Henrick?”

  “Sorry, Loren’s not here and
Henrick doesn’t have clearance to open this door unless your father, Loren, or I permit it.”

  “Great, thanks for nothing. Why don’t you just lock me up in a real jail then?” he spat, scowling.

  “I’m sorry, laddie. It’s for your own good.”

  “Yeah, I’m getting tired of hearing that,” he muttered, pouting.

  “Well, work on finding a good focal point. When you’ve got that out of the way, you could write letters to your friends. I know Courtney would like to hear from you.”

  Xavier nodded but continued sulking.

  Chapter 29: A Focal Point

  It was after lunch before Xavier’s door opened again, and his father walked in, smiling.

  “Hey there, kiddo! Sleep well?”

  “Is that a trick question?” he responded sullenly. “Ephraim used that mojo on me. Of course I slept well. I slept like the dead!”

  “Well, look at it this way; you’ll have plenty of stamina for this afternoon’s training.”

  Xavier moaned. “More boxing?”

  His father stifled a grin. “No. More hand-to-hand combat. Ephraim told me he talked to you about a focal point. Did you find one?”

  “Yeah.”

  He had put a lot of thought into his memories and had determined that the relief and security he had felt when his father rescued him from the Institute was extremely strong. This was the memory he chose as his focal point, but it felt awkward to tell his father this, and he hesitated to say more. Fortunately, the king didn’t ask him to reveal his decision.

  “Good, let’s get started then.”

  He got to his feet and followed his father out of the room. As before, Ephraim, Loren, and Henrick flanked him. Xavier, the king, and his two generals entered the fencing room as Henrick once again closed and secured the door behind them.

  Ephraim dumped the boxing equipment onto the floor between father and son before stepping back and standing against the wall.

  Xavier stared down at the gloves, his mind suddenly blank as to what to do with them. Jeremiah turned, pulled off his shirt, threw it aside, and approached the unmoving boy. Xavier’s eyes widened as he studied the well-defined muscles across his father’s torso and arms. Next to the king he was nothing more than a puny, little boy. There was no way he’d ever beat his father at hand-to-hand combat.