Cave of Nightmares

by V. St. Clair

  “What did you mean by magical damage?” Hayden asked quietly as soon as he sat down.

  “I mean that for your Foci to be that scattered, especially both of them, it’s probable that it’s a result of magical damage.”

  “I didn’t know that a Focus could be broken by magic.”

  “Oh sure, in the same way that you can go blind by damaging an eye,” he shrugged. “Though truthfully, it’s quite difficult to permanently scar a magical Focus, as they are meant to withstand great power channeling through them.”

  “Maybe it happened during that massive explosion I was in a few years ago,” Hayden grumbled. “I wish I could remember what happened, but it’s all a blank to me. It’s like that day never happened, except that I woke up and everyone told me it did.”

  The Prism Master was giving him a strangely compassionate look.

  “That must be very difficult for you, losing your family and not knowing why.” He paused. “Given that traces of Aleric’s magic were later discovered there, it is quite possible that your Foci were damaged at that time. But that’s not what I want to talk to you about right now.”

  Hayden only just remembered that he had been expecting a lecture before getting his magical Foci tested, and he became nervous all over again.

  “I wanted to go over a few things with you before you started classes with me, things that anyone growing up in a magical household would already know. Also, given your lineage, I didn’t want to embarrass you by explaining in front of the entire class.”

  Hayden let out his breath in relief. This didn’t sound like it was going to be a lecture so much as an overview, and he could use all the explanation he could get right now.

  “Do you understand the nature of how prisms work?”

  “Not really…” Hayden admitted. “I assume it has something to do with the way the lights look though, because some patterns feel right and some don’t.”

  Master Asher nodded.

  “That’s exactly right. There is very powerful magic all around us, all the time. The skill of a mage is determined by how well he or she can see it and use it. Looking through a prism allows you to see magic that can’t be perceived by the naked eye.”

  “Are some prisms more powerful than others?”

  “Yes, but that’s a lesson you’ll pick up in class,” Master Asher continued, plucking at a long strand of grass and twirling it between his fingers. “As you’ve already observed, just looking at random colored-light arrays doesn’t mean anything; most of it is gibberish, magically speaking. The key is to rotate the prism until you come across an array of power that the mind can translate and exert its will upon.”

  “So the pattern for fire looks the same every time, no matter what prism you’re using?” Hayden asked curiously.

  “The array you were using was for heat, not fire specifically, and yes—though as you’ll soon learn, not all prisms can do all things.”

  Hayden was beginning to appreciate that this class was going to be a lot more difficult than just snapping a prism in front of his eye and casting whatever spell he wanted.

  “Anyway, the point is that prisms allow you to see a reality that is hidden to most, and to manipulate that reality to a small extent,” Master Asher continued. “There is a very important reason that a prism-maker must be certified before they can legally sell their wares. Can you guess why that is?”

  Hayden frowned.

  “Because if they make it wrong it won’t work right?”

  Master Asher smirked.

  “The understatement of the year, but yes.” He was still focused on the twirling strand of grass in his hand. “The smallest flaw in a prism, the tiniest error…even an inclusion could be catastrophic. An imperfect prism—commonly known as a broken prism—is extremely dangerous to use.”

  “Does it make things blow up or something?”

  Master Asher let out his breath and rubbed his eyes.

  “Not likely. Let me try this another way: when you look through a regular prism, you open a path between your mind and the magic of the world. When you channel your power through it, you’re exerting your will on the world, in a manner of speaking. Do you understand?”

  “I think so…”

  “When you look through a broken prism you’re seeing a distorted reality. Sometimes it may be such a small change that you barely notice it, but it is still a distortion. If you channel your magic through it when your mind is open and vulnerable, you’re not just exerting your will on the world…it begins to exert its distorted will back on you.”

  Hayden frowned.

  “So you’re saying that a broken prism can…mess with my mind?”

  “That is exactly what I’m saying. You may not notice it the first time you use one, or the second, or the twentieth. Everyone is different, but at some point it will begin to change you. You might forget your name, or the difference between a friend and an enemy, or you might lose your sense of self entirely. You could be driven absolutely insane.”

  Hayden shuddered at the thought.

  “Isn’t there a way to tell if you’ve got a bad prism? Or do you just have to trust the maker?”

  “Well, for those of us who are naturally adept at using them, it’s simple. You or I could look into any imperfect prism and know instantly that something was amiss. Most of your classmates, who are trying to train their minds to see what we can feel so easily, will have to examine them very closely for flaws or rely on their prisms being certified when they purchase them.”

  Hayden narrowed his eyebrows.

  “But if people can tell when they’re using a broken prism, why would they keep using it anyway?”

  Master Asher pointed at him.

  “Excellent question. The answer is, unfortunately, that imperfect prisms can be very powerful tools, especially ones with only mild distortion. There are some advanced healing spells that can only be cast with a broken prism, and some darker magic as well. People always believe that they can control the broken prism and protect their mind, and when they use it the first few times they see no changes in themselves and a great magical reward, so they keep on with it. The problem is that the change happens so gradually that by the time the people around them notice, it’s already too late.”

  Hayden’s voice was very quiet when he asked, “Is that what happened to my father?”

  Master Asher stopped twirling the blade of grass in his fingers and faced him, the intensity in his blue eyes a little alarming.

  “Yes, that is what happened to your father,” he sighed. “He began investigating the power of broken prisms in an attempt to pioneer new magic during his time at Mizzenwald. Of course, you’ve heard of the path that led him down by the time it was said and done. I’m told that at the height of his power he even fashioned a new prism for himself, the most powerful prism ever made—and the most unnatural.”

  “But don’t prisms start to disappear when you use them? Both of mine disintegrated with just one spell, until I got the correctors.” Hayden looked down at them, glistening in the sunlight on each wrist.

  “Yes, all magic comes with a price. Every spell you cast will reduce the size of your prism equal to the power you channel through it. Your first two were consumed entirely because your Foci are garbage and you’ve got an unusual amount of natural power. Unfortunately, rumor has it that Aleric got far enough in his studies to produce his infamous black prism.”

  “How could he see any light with it if it was black?”

  “The prism itself looked like any other, but apparently when held up to the light it showed every normal color of the rainbow, plus one other.”

  “Black,” Hayden said softly, understanding.

  “Yes, black: the absence of light, the anti-magic.” Master Asher frowned. “He manipulated the laws of magic so much that he created this monstrosity of a prism, which was never consumed no matter what he channeled through it; I’ve no idea how he managed that spectacular feat, by the way. It was then, at hi
s worst, that he disappeared from the world on the day your house blew up, and his black prism was never found.”

  They sat in silence for a long moment before Asher spoke again.

  “I generally explain this in my first year class, because it is imperative that everyone understand the danger of imperfect prisms. Given the circumstances, and your personal connection to the tragic results, I thought it best to have this talk with you in private.”

  He turned towards Hayden and startled him by clasping his shoulders, staring him straight in the eye.

  “I don’t judge you based on your father’s actions, but on your own merits. I see great potential in you; possibly even more power than I had at your age, and that was after two years of training. That’s why I hope with everything inside of me that if you don’t listen to anything else I ever say to you, that you will listen to this: never use a broken prism. You can’t control it, and it isn’t worth the sacrifice. Do not follow in your father’s footsteps.”

  “I understand, and I won’t,” Hayden said with absolute certainty. He was determined not to follow that path, not ever.

  “Good.” Master Asher released him and stood up, changing moods so rapidly that it was a little alarming. “Now that that’s settled, let’s see if we can scrounge up a class schedule for you so you can get supplies.”

  Hayden had no choice but to follow, his mind still spinning with thoughts of his mother’s face and broken prisms.

  4

  Bonk

  By the time Hayden got his schedule and supplies list he was beginning to understand why Zane thought he would need more money. It was true that most of the basic supplies were free of charge, but he had to have his own prism-holder custom-made to fit his head, which cost thirty credits all on its own. Then there was the magical tool belt that everyone here wore, though most of his primary slots were designed to hold different prisms instead of wands or powders.

  Roaming through the different shops that Master Asher had pointed out to him earlier, he began stocking up on the supplies that were listed on his schedule for each class. Emeric’s Wands was stacked floor-to-ceiling with boxes of different colors, wood-types, and lengths. He had to ask the owner for help locating level-one birch and cherry wands for Master Willow’s class.

  Next he went to Pinch’s Powders, a room full of open-topped barrels of different-colored powders and grains. These immediately made him sneeze, and Hayden eventually had to cover his nose with his sleeve until he scooped out a few bags of the ones he was looking for.

  It wasn’t until he entered Kly’s Elixirs that he saw another student, since most of his peers were in class right now.

  The girl looked even younger than him, with wavy blond hair that touched her shoulders and green eyes. She was holding up a phial of dark red liquid when he entered the shop, examining it in the dim light of the room. She turned at the sound of his arrival.

  “Hi,” Hayden said lamely, feeling instantly awkward.

  “Oh, hello,” she answered politely, looking at all the bags he carried. “Is this your first year?”

  “Yeah, it is. What about you?”

  “It’s my second. I turned eleven last month.” She smiled. “You look older than ten though.”

  “I’m twelve; just getting a late start.” He tried to smile but it probably looked like he had a toothache.

  “Oh, then welcome to Mizzenwald. I’m Theresa Wesley, but everyone calls me Tess.” She held out her hand, saw that his were too full to shake, and dropped it back to her side.

  “I’m Hayden Frost,” he admitted. “I figured most people knew that by now, since they were all whispering about me last night at dinner.”

  Tess’s eyes widened slightly.

  “I missed dinner last night, and I don’t have a lot of—well, no one told me.” She colored slightly. “What’s your major?”

  Hayden was surprised at how well she took the news. He could also sympathize with her for not having many friends here, though she seemed like a nice enough girl.

  “Prisms. You?”

  She frowned.

  “I’m a double major: Elixirs and Powders. Unfortunately that just means I’m not very good at anything else.”

  Hayden felt another stab of pity for the girl. He wanted to say something comforting but he was at a loss for words, and after an awkward moment of silence Tess excused herself and left without buying anything.

  The girl was soon forgotten as Hayden stocked up on basic ingredients for his Elixirs and Conjury classes and got to the part of the trip he was looking forward to the most.

  He had deliberately saved The Magnificent Mage for last, looking forward to being rid of his hand-me-down clothes from the orphanage forever.

  For the first time in two years he was able to choose his own apparel, but walking into the shop left him a little out of his depth. Much like the place he got his Foci tested in, the interior of this building was much larger than the outside would suggest. It looked like a warehouse, with racks of clothing lining the walls and free-standing circular racks dotting the floor space in between.

  The clothing seemed to be organized by type or function, but that didn’t make it much easier for him. Hayden had been expecting categories like ‘shirts’ and ‘pants’, but on his immediate left was an overhead sign labeled: Formal. All of the clothing in that area had a purple sticker on it, but even within the ‘formal’ heading the clothes were further classified into things like: travel wear, dining, performance, and diplomatic.

  He couldn’t help but gawk as he walked further into the shop, turning his head in all directions as he looked for a promising area to start in. There were more people in here than in any of the other stores, but the room was so large that it didn’t feel crowded. He was standing under the sign for: undergarments, boys, when someone spoke to him.

  “I’ve never seen someone so amazed by underwear,” a callously-amused voice got his attention, and Hayden turned to face the sound.

  There were three boys behind him, two of them much older than him by the looks of them, and all of them better dressed. One had spiky brown hair, cruel dark eyes, and a glossy brown falcon perched on his shoulder. The oldest—and the one who had spoken—was tall, blond, athletic, and for some reason vaguely familiar. It took Hayden a moment to realize that he had seen this boy eating dinner with Master Asher the night before. Something about him reminded Hayden of every popular person who had ever picked on him in the orphanage after finding out whose son he was; perhaps the arrogant smirk.

  The youngest boy might have been related to the oldest, because their features were similar except for this one had a slightly doughier look about him. He looked closer to Hayden’s age than the others.

  “Judging by how he’s dressed, this might be the first time he’s ever owned a pair of underpants,” the boy with the falcon laughed unpleasantly.

  Hayden disliked the three of them immediately, but didn’t want to start any trouble on his first day of school.

  “Who are you?” he asked, deciding that if he could get their names he could ask Zane about them later.

  The oldest boy smirked.

  “Oliver Trout, son of Magdalene Trout of the Council of Mages. This is my younger brother, Lorn.”

  Hayden searched his memory of the Council of Mages and recalled the blond lady who mildly resembled Oliver. It was hard to believe that the woman who argued in his defense was the mother of these two.

  “And I’m Jasper Dout. I’m sure you’ve heard of my family.” The boy with the falcon sounded haughty, as though he would be giving out autographs after lunch in the main courtyard.

  “Sorry, the name doesn’t ring a bell,” Hayden admitted, fighting a smile at the outrage on Jasper’s face.

  Oliver laughed, but it didn’t sound friendly at all.

  “Of course, there’s no need to ask who you are, though personally I don’t think you look a thing like your father. I’m surprised they even let you in here, knowing what kind of ba
d blood you carry. Half the kids at Mizzenwald have lost a relative to the Dark Prism; how do you think they’re going to feel about you?”

  Hayden swallowed with difficulty, hoping that Oliver was lying about how many people had lost loved ones to his father. If he was telling the truth, then Hayden was bound to make a lot more enemies before this year was over.

  “I’m not my father,” he said firmly, fists clenched at his side.

  “We’ll see about that. They say you’re a prism too,” Oliver gestured to his tool belt, where Hayden saw one wand, half a dozen small bags tied together by drawstring, and three prisms. “Well guess what, so am I. Stay out of my way unless you want your face rearranged.”

  Hayden raised an eyebrow in confusion.

  “I was staying out of your way until you started talking to me. I’m only here to buy clothing,” he pointed out, and Oliver scowled.

  “Watch your back, Frost. You’ve made an enemy of the wrong man.”

  Hayden was still trying to figure out what he had done to make an enemy of Oliver as the three of them walked off. As far as he could tell, the older boys disliked him pretty solidly since the moment they laid eyes on him.

  Trying to shake off the encounter, he went back to shopping for undergarments and socks. He eventually found himself standing in the middle of the shop, trying to decide what he was supposed to use as day wear, when a young woman about Anna’s age approached him. She had a horsy face and frizzy, bright red hair, and a tape measure dangled around her neck.

  “Hi there, can I help you find anything?”

  “Um, yes please.” Hayden felt his cheeks burning. “I’m new to all this, and I’m just trying to find some regular clothes for school.”

  The woman didn’t look like this was a surprise to her, which made him relax slightly.

  “Don’t be embarrassed, plenty of kids come from non-magical families and have the same shell-shock when they first get here,” she smiled encouragingly. “You should stick to ‘casual, day, male’—over there with the orange stickers, you see?” She pointed to the far right corner. “That’s where most students go. Robes are only worn on formal occasions, and even then only certain ranks are permitted to don them. I’d avoid them entirely if I were you, or you’ll risk offending someone.”