Prayer: Champion of Light

by C. J. Krüger

  Still, life at the palace is pretty dull, and the secrets of Arkana keep me busy. My father constantly tells me that I won’t achieve anything if I don’t give myself completely to a goal, and with that in mind, I shove aside my doubts. It may not be today, but one day, I will advance magic. Maybe then I’ll stop being ‘the King’s half-breed heir’ among Humans or ‘the mongrel’ among my Elven kin.

  My nose wrinkles at the thought, and I push my scrolls aside and lean back against the firm trunk of the oak tree. I close my eyes and drink in the warmth of the day and the fresh air, attempting to push hurtful thoughts away. Forget what they say, I tell myself. My father and mother care for me deeply, and so does my grandfather. The Twin Lights watch over me and bless my life. What does it matter if a few ignorant people hate me because I am of mixed race?

  Feeling better, I open my eyes and reach for one of my scrolls. It’s just a list of basic household spells, like making clothes fold themselves, and having the bed make itself, and one to dry my hair instantly in the morning. That’s a useful one.

  “I wonder if I could conjure breakfast, too,” I think to myself. I know that conjuring food in general is possible, but often frowned upon because it lacks taste. Maybe if I were to include base ingredients like sugar and flour, I could transmute food instead of creating it from pure Arkana.

  It’s an exciting idea, and I reach for my feather quill and write my thought down as a note. I won’t be able to test it until later, but already I am thinking of how to phrase the spell and what raw ingredients I’ll need.

  “Oh, what’s this?” a snotty voice asks. “Little Prince doing homework on break? Such an overachiever for a royal brat.”

  I look up and am surprised, after his earlier apology, to see David Rickson and three of his goons standing in front of me.

  “Please, go away,” I tell them firmly as I roll up my scroll. I’ll just have to finish my notes later. I reach for my bag to put the scroll away, but I feel everything ripped from my hands and see it fly into David’s outstretched arms.

  “Give those back,” I say, standing up, my eyes narrowed.

  “Or what?” David asks. “Your father is going to behead mine?” The others laugh at this and David’s lips turn up into a cruel smile. “But he outlawed that after he murdered his own father, didn’t he?”

  “To me,” I say, reaching out with my mind and magic. The scrolls and bag come flying back at me, but stop in midair before they barrel me over.

  David and the others look surprised, but that quickly turns to anger. “You think you’re clever, eh?”

  I roll my eyes as I stuff my notes back into my bag and sling the heavy sack over my shoulder. “I don’t have time to deal with you, Rickson,” I say through my teeth. “You think you’re the first one to give me trouble? Think you’re a big man to try and pick on royalty? Just shut up.” My heart beats quickly in my chest and my fists ball up tightly.

  “I know I’m not the first,” David says, his lips pulling into a sneer. “No one likes a filthy knife ear half-breed.”

  How is this the same boy who apologized to me? I shake my head and try to walk away, feeling done with this conversation.

  “Don’t leave now,” David calls after me, and I feel him stretch out with his mind. There is a surge of energy and the air itself claps like thunder.

  It’s as though my feet have iron balls chained to them, and I struggle to move. I turn my head around and shove at David with my mind. Another surge, but the sound I make is considerably more quiet, like a whisper. He is taken off his feet and is pushed back into his goons. I feel the weights around my ankles vanish and I run back to the castle as fast as my feet will carry me. The last thing I want to do is fight.

  As I run, an explosion next to me nearly takes me off my feet. I turn my neck to see David and the others shouting at me and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as the air surges with Arkana. I lift my arms and instinctively raise a shield of Arkana to block their assaults. As individuals their attacks are weak, but the four of them together wear me down. Beads of sweat form on my brow as they unleash a barrage of magic missiles.

  “There isn’t a teacher to save you now,” David says, lifting his hand and gathering energy from everything in the field.

  Does he mean to kill me? “I don’t need one,” I tell him through my teeth and lower the magical barrier around me.

  I take a deep breath and as David is about to unleash his spell I counter with my own magical pressure, as Professor Duvox had done. My Arkana unleashes itself as a bright blue light and the air itself stagnates under the weight of my magic.

  The four boys drop to their knees, panting and struggling against its weight. As one is about to speak, I increase the magical pressure and he falls flat against the ground.

  My father is going to kill me for doing this. “I am your Prince,” I tell them all firmly, my voice booming, “and I am done with this nonsense. Leave me alone.”

  The three goons beg me to let them go and apologize for attacking me. David, however, glares at me with malice.

  “You’ll never be my prince,” he spits. “Filthy half-breed.”

  I wince and look away. Though anger wells up inside of me, there is another, softer emotion in the front of my mind. “I’m sorry,” I tell him, my voice low, and my heart sinking. “I’m sorry you have such hate in your heart, David.” I don’t know why I am apologizing to him, but it’s as if the words are coming from someplace else.

  A faint plume of black smoke drifts away from him. His face softens and I see wetness gathering in the corner of his eyes. “I—” he stammers, “I don’t know why I’m doing this.” His admission sends him over the edge and he begins to weep. “I am sorry, Duncan, I am sorry.”

  There it is again, I think to myself. It’s as if he is a totally different person. And what was that smoke? “Why do you hate me one moment and then apologize the next?” I ask, feeling frustrated and confused. My jaw is tight and my brows furrowed.

  “I don’t hate you,” he says, bowing his head. “I’m just jealous and putting you down makes me feel better.”

  My first instinct is to yell and curse him, but an unknown hand stays my words. “Stand up, all of you,” I command in a voice not my own. What’s happening? I feel fear course though me for a moment, but then an overwhelming sense of serenity washes over me and I stand there, content, as some unknown power uses my body to speak.

  The four of them rise to their feet and look at me expectantly. “Yes, my Prince,” they say in unison.

  “I banish the hatred and envy in your heart,” I proclaim, my voice a deep rumble. “Be free of it and know you are forgiven.”

  They all begin to weep and they bow deeply. “Yes, sir,” they say together. “Thank you.”

  Lights, what’s happening to me? As if responding to my question, I feel a sense of someone standing next to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. When I look to see who it is, I see no one, but the feeling remains. Did you do this? I ask, but I don’t hear a response. Please answer me.

  David tells the others to go on ahead of him, and they scurry off, eager to be away from me. “I don’t know what you did,” he tells me, placing his hand over his heart, “but I want you to know that I thank you. It’s as if a darkness has been lifted from my eyes.”

  The strange feeling has vanished, and I am left standing in front a boy who just tried to kill me. “I— I don’t know either,” I admit, “but does this mean you’re going to stop giving me a hard time?”

  David nods earnestly. “I was hoping, actually, that we could be friends,” he says, his face flushing. “Though I don’t think I deserve that.”

  “Everyone deserves a friend,” I say gently. “And I don’t really have any, to be honest. So yes, David, we can be friends.”

  He smiles at me and brushes his robes free of dirt. “Thank you, my Prince.”

  “Please,” I say firmly, “just call me Duncan. I’m not the Prince at school.”


  “Duncan,” he says, testing the word on his lips. “Alright. I guess we should head back or risk being late for Defensive Charms. Though I don’t think you even need to go.”

  I chuckle nervously. “My father always tells me to never take what I know for granted. The act of learning teaches you something about yourself.”

  “Wow,” David says, his eyes wide. “I never thought I’d say this, but your father is very wise.”

  “You aren’t a big fan of his, are you?” I ask, my brows tightly knit. “Why?”

  He shrugs and his face flushes. “My father used to be rich under King Markus, and owned hundreds of slaves. When your father abolished all that, my father lost everything. So he hates him, and I guess I just mimic what he says.”

  “That’s really big of you to admit,” I tell him, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder. “And I appreciate you saying that. I would apologize for what happened to your father, but I can’t. Slavery is disgusting, and instead of complaining about how things were, he needs to adapt to how things are now.”

  David nods in agreement. “Even if he doesn’t, I will. I don’t want to end up the same way as him, bitter and unfulfilled.”

  I smile. “You won’t,” I say, reassuring him. As I am about to say something else, a loud bell rings, letting the students know that break is over and classes are about to resume. “Let’s go,” I tell him and turn on my heel.

  “How did you get so strong?” he asks, following close behind. “I mean, I know the Elves are really powerful, but some Humans, like your father, have proven we can be just as strong.”

  “My Elven grandfather,” I tell him, feeling a bit self-conscious. I’ve never had a conversation with someone my own age before, and I don’t quite know how to handle myself. “He’s really, really strict about teaching me. The Elves have something they call ‘Arhk-tabth’ which translates into ‘will-struggle.’”

  “What’s that?” he asks as our pace quickens.

  “Basically what I did to you,” I explain as we get up to the gates. “I direct my will at you and it’s like a weight is strapped onto you. Kind of like what you did to my feet, but I put pressure on your spirit.”

  He nods, and we shove the gates open. The grand castle is busy with other students hurrying along to their classes and professors trying to keep order.

  “Duvox did that, too,” he says. “But you didn’t fall down.”

  “I’m used to my grandfather doing it to me,” I explain, “and he’s the strongest being in the world. He’s been toughening me up since I was small.”

  “But it was King Jonathan who defeated his father,” David says, his tone confused and uncertain. “Why would your grandfather leave it up to chance?”

  “He won’t tell me, to be honest,” I say as we walk quickly. “But I think he just wanted to give my father a chance. It was pretty personal, after all.”

  “I suppose that makes sense,” David says, his eyes filled with curiosity. He doesn’t look at all satisfied with my answer. “Maybe you could teach me to be better at Ark-tabath.”

  This makes my lips pull into a small smile and I nod. “That would be fun. It would be nice not to go up against someone who is twenty-five thousand years old.”

  “What?!” he exclaims.

  “Oh,” I say, my face red. “Forget I said that. Grandfather doesn’t like people calling him old.”

  “Will you ever get that old?” David asks. “I can’t imagine living that long.”

  I decide not to answer and push my way through the other students. I hate thinking about my potential lifespan, and I put it out of my mind. It takes us almost ten minutes to get up all the flights of stairs and past everyone else rushing around to get to their classes. The door is closed when we get to the room, and I sigh in frustration.

  “We’re late,” I mutter, pulling the door open.

  We step inside and see a man sitting down on some kind of floating chair. He’s bald with steely gray eyes and an aura of power.

  “Don’t come to my class late again,” the Professor says scathingly, “or I’ll throw you out.”

  “Yes, sir,” David and I say softly as we find a seat among the others.

  “Welcome, first years,” the Professor begins, floating his chair in front of a black board, “to my version of Defensive Charms, or as I like to call it, ‘How Not to Die.’”

  We all chuckle nervously and watch as a piece of chalk lifts off his desk and begins to write on the blank board.

  “I am Headmaster Zedamidus,” he tells us, leaning back in his chair. “You may call me that or Professor Zed. I am filling in for Professor Heathrow until next week, as he has come down with a sudden case of fever.” As he finishes speaking, his eyes glance down into mine. Recognition. “Your Highness. I would have thought your father would have taught you punctuality.”

  “Please don’t,” I ask, putting my head down. “I promise I won’t be late again.”

  “See that you aren’t, Your Highness,” Professor Zed says ominously. “In any case, class, take out your scrolls and take notes by hand as they appear on the board. If any of you uses magic to cheat, I’ll burn your notes and make you start over.”

  The class collectively groans. I take out a blank scroll and my quill to start taking notes. Not the most exciting start to a class, but it keeps my mind off the more troubling events of the day.

  Chapter Six

  “Sloppy footwork,” the grumpy Professor says sternly, his voice a dry baritone. “Dead!”

  I sigh and swat aside the tip of my sparring partner’s sword from my chest with a frustrated grunt. Others in the sparring hall are still practicing with one another and the clash of saber against saber echoes throughout the halls.

  The weight of the sword in my hand has become unbearable. For over an hour I’ve been dancing around, parrying and reposting and slashing like a wild man. It figures an Elven instructor would push the class to the brink of collapse. Especially me. Luckily, I only have fencing lessons once a week, because I think I might actually die if this were an every day thing.

  “I need some water,” I say, my voice scratchy, and my throat hurts as I gasp for air.

  “I expect the grandson of my king to do better,” the Professor says, his silver eyes piercing me like the blades he expects me to use. “You disgrace your line.”

  “Don’t say that, Sivandar,” my sparring partner says. It’s the first time I have heard her speak, and her voice is musical and inhumanly sweet.

  She removes her mask, and I see her long snowy hair fall around her shoulders, but not before I spy her sharp ears. The elf moves with the uncanny grace I always struggle with, and even the smile she flashes me is elevated beyond the mundane.

  And of course, I am beet red.

  “Don’t be soft,” the male elf says sharply. “He moves like a Human.”

  My nose wrinkles and I bite back the urge to say something I know I am going to regret. “I’m sorry,” I say, looking down to hide my frustration.

  “I don’t want you to be sorry,” my Professor says, crossing his arms over his chest. “I want you to get your feet out of dough and start moving like a proper fencer should. Your mother is excellent with the blade. She was my finest pupil.”

  I grit my teeth tightly and look up. The elven girl looks at me sympathetically and makes a face behind the Professor’s back, mocking him playfully and almost causing me to erupt in laughter. I manage to hold back a grin and straighten up my back.

  “Why?” I ask without thinking. The words just came out of my mouth. “Why do you care if I move my feet well?”

  “Because you are an embarrassment to the sword,” he says, his jaw tightening and the muscles in his arms flexing. “Because you embarrass me. For thousands of years, I have been the weapons master of King Diarmuid, and now I am assigned here to this human school. Now pick up your sword and be n’guard.”

  I shake my head firmly and toss my sword to the ground. “No,” I tell him, my temp
er beginning to rise. “I don’t care for your embarrassment. Be ashamed all you like—that means nothing to me. I want to become better with the blade, but not because I want to bring you pride.”

  “Why, you little ungrateful mong—,” he starts to say, but the elven girl behind him puts a hand on his shoulder, causing him to stop mid-insult.

  “Sivandar,” she says firmly, “I think that’s enough for today.”

  “It is,” he mutters. A vein throbs in his neck as he turns and stalks away, the aura of his anger lingering like a rotten smell.

  “Does everyone in this stupid school loath me?” I ask, my heart beating quickly in my chest. “You would think two weeks wouldn’t be enough time to make enemies.”

  “You’re a prince,” the girl says, her voice airy. “Did you think you could hide in the shadows?”

  I shake my head. “No, of course not, but I just don’t understand. I’ve done nothing wrong.” Tears prick the back of my eyes, but I force them down. I don’t want to be crying in front of anyone, let alone an elf. Forcing myself to take a deep breath, I walk out of the sparring hall and into a changing room.

  “I’m Ayda, by the way,” she tells me as she follows along. “It’s nice to meet you, Duncan.”

  I frown and turn to look at her. “Likewise,” I say, my voice shaking. “I hope I didn’t get you into any trouble.”

  She chuckles and shakes her head. “I can handle Sivandar,” she assures me. “He just hates being in human lands.”

  “And anything to do with them,” I mutter and then sigh.

  “Don’t hold onto that anger,” she warns me gently. “It’s not good for the heart.”

  I nod. “I know,” I say, looking her in the eye. Maybe it’s because I’ve calmed down, or because she is standing so close, but her beauty strikes me like a hammer. I feel my face flush, and my heart flutters. “I just wish I fit in somewhere.” Stop talking. You’re embarrassing yourself. An elf doesn’t want to hear about your problems.