The Other Prism (The Broken Prism)

by St. Clair, V.

  Everything seemed to stop and fall silent at once, and the other teams shuffled quickly back to their places and tried to look professional.

  “Everyone will be seated and silent, now that you have displayed your lack of self-control and immaturity to half of the continent.” He sounded thoroughly annoyed with the students of Valhalla, who hastily complied with his instructions.

  “Now that the introductions have been made, it is time to bring out the Resonance Crystal for display,” he continued on as though there had been no interruption, which Hayden appreciated.

  All eyes turned to the door as a group of students pulled a ten-foot tall red crystal on wheels towards the far end of the room. Hayden glanced at his bracelet and confirmed that it was the exact shade of red as the large crystal.

  “Resonance Crystals are both rare and incredibly powerful,” the Master of Wands now spoke. “They produce magical vibrations at such a high frequency that mage-kind has not yet developed a sufficiently sophisticated tool to quantify the wavelengths yet. While the crystal is at Valhalla, each of the twenty-five champions present can be located at any moment during the first trial. You may feel the power of it resonating with your bracelets, and should not be alarmed.”

  Now that Hayden concentrated on his left wrist, he thought he could tell what the Master of Wands meant. There was a slight tickling sensation where the bracelet rested, and it made the hairs on his arm stand up.

  “Before we invite our guests to join us for lunch, we have a few opening speeches to make to formally mark the beginning of the competition.”

  Lunch? It’s barely time for breakfast…

  The Master of Elixirs was the first to make a speech, and after twenty solid minutes of describing the history of the I.S.C., dating back over two-hundred years, Hayden was beginning to realize why they wouldn’t be finished with the speeches until lunch time. His only wild hope was that all ten Masters of the major and minor arcana wouldn’t feel compelled to speak, but his hopes were dashed the moment the Master of Elixirs finished his speech and turned to the Master of Powders, who was next in line.

  Hayden shifted his weight from one foot to the other and tried not to fall asleep for the next three hours.

  8

  A Riot of Color

  Lunch was an uncomfortable affair because people kept craning their necks to get a better look at him, and Hayden was (for once) thankful to be sitting beside Oliver, whose total lack of interest in him as a human being was finally paying off.

  Hayden dropped his fork with a clatter when the Master of Conjury announced that it was time for everyone to go outside and find seats, because the Inter-School Championship was officially about to begin.

  He stayed behind in the dining hall with the other contestants while the Valhallans flooded through every exit they could find, bottlenecking at the doors. Hayden suddenly wished he hadn’t eaten so much chicken and boiled potatoes, because he was feeling a bit queasy with nerves.

  At last it was time for them to move out, and Hayden was surprised when one of the Masters announced that they were going to be separated from their school teams from here on out and grouped by major of focus. With one last glance at the members of Team Mizzenwald, Hayden shuffled over to join the four Prisms from the other schools.

  The Prism Master of Valhalla was probably twice Asher’s age, with short grey hair and a heavily-lined face. Hayden tried to remember what Master Asher had told him about the Prism Masters of the other schools during their late-night training sessions. Only two of the other four eastern schools had Masters who were natural prisms, and he didn’t think Valhalla was one of them.

  Looking around at his competition, Hayden tried to steal glances at their belts without anyone noticing. Three of his four competitors only had two or three prism slots in theirs, but the boy from Isenfall had a full six, just like Hayden.

  He’s a natural prism-user too…

  The boy caught him looking and spared him a challenging smirk, as though to say, Bring it on.

  “For those of you who have not participated in the Championship before, pay attention,” the Prism Master addressed them, recapturing Hayden’s attention. “Due to the number of participants in the first round, we will be running two trials consecutively so that we can finish before dark. Wands and Conjury will go at the same time, as well as Powders and Elixirs. You five will be up at the end of the day, in the sports arena. Any questions?”

  “Yes, sir,” the competitor from Creston spoke up. “Are we allowed to watch the other trials while we’re waiting?”

  The Prism Master nodded curtly and said, “You may, but you should sit on the floating platforms with the other competitors and Masters, and are strongly advised to keep your team colors on at all times.”

  No one looked surprised to hear this, affirming Master Kilgore’s explanation of how the schools were all paranoid about foreign mages trying to blend in and steal their secrets. Then again, maybe they were just trying to limit contact with the general populace of Valhalla in the hopes of avoiding any skirmishes.

  They followed the Prism Master out of the school and back onto the grounds. Hayden blinked in the afternoon sunlight and tugged at the neck of his robes in the hope of letting some air in; it was almost stifling out here.

  Most of the school was divided between two different locations: roughly half were sitting on the ground all along the edges of the lake Hayden had admired earlier, and the rest were in a wide stretch of grass that had five large cauldrons big enough to sit in, and dozens of smaller ones set up in stations.

  Hayden hadn’t known what the Prism Master meant earlier when he mentioned the floating platforms, but now he understood that the man had been speaking quite literally. There were two floating rectangles of flooring overhead, one near each of the different events. The platforms were tiled in black-and-white and each had about a dozen chairs on it, spaced comfortably apart.

  “The Powders trial is at the lake,” the Prism Master pointed to it for good measure, “and Elixirs is on the lawns. Feel free to watch either if you’re interested.” And with that he walked off towards the expanse of cauldrons.

  Surprised at being abruptly abandoned, Hayden glanced around at his rivals for a brief moment to see how they would act. The boy from Isenfall—Davis, Hayden thought his name was—spared Hayden a condescending glare reminiscent of Oliver Trout and then stalked off after the Prism Master of Valhalla, no doubt to suck up.

  Having his mind made up for him, Hayden turned in the opposite direction and walked towards the lake to watch the Powders trials. Since he had dropped—well, been kicked out of—Powders class early into his first year at Mizzenwald, he had never really seen how Powder majors fought before, and thought it might be interesting.

  He had no idea how he was supposed to get onto the floating platform, which was easily ten feet in the air, but his question was answered when the Master of Powders beckoned to it from the ground and the entire thing lowered slowly until it touched the grass.

  “All aboard,” he looked around at the group of competitors and Masters who were trickling over to watch, and they stepped onto the platform and settled into the chairs. Hayden took one near the center, unpleasantly surprised to note that the chairs weren’t bolted down to the platform. He had no desire to slide off the back of it and fall to the ground.

  Reya was sitting near one of the edges along with two competitors from Creston, one from Isenfall, three from Valhalla, one from Branx, and two Masters. The Master of Wands took one of the only empty seats, directly to Hayden’s left, and as soon as he and the Master of Powders were situated, the platform rose gently into the air again so that they could watch from on high.

  The Master of Wands was studying him with polite interest, and as soon as Hayden noticed, the man extended his hand to introduce himself.

  “Arturius Mandra, Master of Wands.” He shook Hayden’s hand firmly, as though he were greeting an equal, which was disarming because the man looked to be
in his late thirties and had much more experience and skill than thirteen-year-old Hayden.

  “Hayden Frost, Prism of Mizzenwald” he responded, even though the Master clearly knew who he was by now, unless he had fallen asleep during the introductions in the ballroom.

  “My word, Wil wasn’t lying when he said you had impossibly-large Focus-correctors on both hands,” he let out a low whistle. “He also told me you’re not bad with wands,” Master Mandra added conversationally.

  “You know Master Willow?” Upon reflection, it was probably a dumb question. Surely the Masters of the Great Nine all knew each other.

  “Oh sure, we’ve been friends for years,” Mandra explained easily. “When you get back to Mizzenwald, be sure and give him my regards. Also, if you’re feeling daring, ask him to recount the last time we competed against each other in the Championship during our school days.”

  “Why, what happened?”

  “In truth, he had a terrible head cold at the time and sneezed mid-cast during our duel in the Championship round. Unfortunately he was using pine at the time and the TMS hit him so hard that it burned his eyebrows off and knocked him out cold for two hours. Of course, if you’re ever trying to get his blood pressure up, tell him you heard how I decimated him with my superior dueling skills. It sends him into fits every time.”

  Hayden laughed, unable to imagine the calm, collected Master Willow ever going ‘into fits’ over anything.

  “Ah, good, it’s starting.” Master Mandra turned his attention to the lake, and the Master of Powders stood up and took hold of one of those lumps of clay that made voices louder, addressing the crowd below.

  “The Powders trial is about to begin. The rules are simple: the first one to fall into the water loses, while the last one in the air will receive top marks. Contestants, take your positions.”

  Hayden saw Oliver’s red-and-green robes in the distance, standing at the edge of the lake. The five competitors had spread out along the shore to give themselves room to move.

  “And…go!”

  Hayden gasped when each of them threw a fistful of fuchsia powder at their feet and immediately rose five feet into the air, running towards each other across the lake as though on an invisible floor. Oliver was the first to the middle and threw some orange dust at the boy from Isenfall, whose left leg sank through the air as though he’d lost the ground he was standing on, but he recovered with more fuchsia powder and launched himself out of the way.

  Hayden had never seen mages really fight before, and it was fascinating. He found himself sitting on the edge of his seat, leaning forward, as the floating platform shifted slowly so that they always had a good view of the action.

  The girl from Creston threw a fistful of powder mid back-flip, snapping her fingers as she landed on her feet and causing the boy from Branx’s robes to burst into flames. He shouted and extinguished the fire immediately with a pinch of blue powder, but his defenses were down long enough for Oliver to throw something green at his legs, and the boy fell down to the water with a loud splash.

  The boy from Branx who was sitting on the platform near Hayden hissed at the sight of his teammate in the water, knowing that their team was now officially whittled down to four.

  “The Trout boy is fairly good,” Mandra remarked to the Powder’s Master.

  “Hardly surprising from the son of Magdalene,” he said without turning his eyes from the fight. “I’ve seen that woman take down a cockatrice with nothing but level-two grinds.”

  As much as Hayden disliked Oliver, he had to concede that the Masters were right; he was good. He took down the boy from Valhalla soon after, dodging just fast enough to avoid the girl from Creston, who threw a powder at him that turned to ice and exploded when it missed him.

  The girl from Creston was hunting him now, avoiding everyone else, and she and Oliver began throwing powders at each other so quickly that they didn’t have time to dissipate in mid-air and some of them reacted, melting into goo or bursting into flames as the two fighters ran around above the lake. The girl from Creston reached into one of her pouches but found it empty, looking at Oliver in horror as the boy from Isenfall hit her from behind and sent her toppling into the water.

  Oliver and the competitor from Isenfall were the last two standing and circled each other slowly, each one trying to take inventory of their remaining powders without removing their eyes from the other. The crowd of students from Valhalla were cheering and shouting all kinds of advice which was being thoroughly ignored.

  The boy from Isenfall coated his fingers with a bright pink powder and snapped so loudly that Hayden could hear it from where he was sitting. Oliver winced and jumped out of the way, but not fast enough. A bloody gash ran across one cheek when he righted himself.

  “Dirty trick,” Mandra pointed out to his colleague.

  “But perfectly legal,” the Powders Master replied.

  Oliver was angry enough that he lunged at his competitor before he could snap his fingers again, tackling him onto the invisible layer of ground they were standing on above the water. People were cheering from the lawns as the two boys descended into a fist fight, neither one letting up on the other long enough to draw powders.

  “Isn’t anyone going to stop them?” Hayden asked Master Mandra.

  “Of course not. If they want to do an exhibition in back-country dueling, they’re more than welcome to.” He smiled benignly and continued to watch.

  “What if one of them gets really hurt?”

  Mandra turned to him. “That would be unfortunate, and of course we have a Healer on standby for such an occasion, but that is a risk of entering the Championship.”

  Hayden swallowed uncomfortably, trying not to dwell on the knowledge that no one would save him even if he was being beaten to a pulp during the I.S.C. while crowds cheered.

  Oliver had somehow gotten back to his feet, kicking the other boy in the stomach for good measure before dropping a pinch of black powder on him that made the competitor from Isenfall drop like a stone.

  Victorious at last, Oliver wiped the blood from his nose and walked with his usual swagger through the air until he was over solid ground, before finally descending and letting the healers tend to him. Hayden had no idea that Oliver was so good with powders until now, and wondered why he even bothered trying for a dual-major in Prisms with that kind of skill.

  There was a half hour intermission between trials while the healers worked on anyone who needed it and the crowds moved to the next staging areas to watch the Wands and Conjury competitions. The floating platform descended and everyone departed to stretch their legs in the intervening time. Hayden would have liked to talk to Master Mandra some more, but the Master of Wands had to prepare the competitors for the upcoming Wand trial and left him alone.

  Reya and Darren went to their respective locations to prepare for their tasks, finally beginning to look as nervous as Hayden had been feeling all day. He followed the crowd moving behind the school, revealing a massive arena that he hadn’t seen before, mostly because it was sunken into the ground and was hidden by the school until he was standing right in front of it.

  The arena had obviously been made with magic, because there was no way to dig a hole that deep otherwise, with perfectly-aligned rows of stone benches ringing the circumference. There was enough seating to accommodate hundreds of people, and the stands began to fill as people descended the columns of stairs to claim prime seats. The arena itself looked a lot like a racing track, with seven wide lanes marked in paint in an oval. Hayden had no idea what the wand majors were going to do on it until he saw Master Mandra wave his wand. With a startled gasp that made the people around him laugh, he watched the entire floor of the arena flip over along some invisible axis in the center, as though it were a revolving door.

  Now the ground was barren and ash-grey, and the five Wand majors filed into the arena and stood in the center of the dismal space. Hayden managed to push his way through the crowds of Valhallans and ma
ke it to the floating platform before it took flight, though most of the good chairs were taken so he was forced to sit near the very edge, dangerously close to toppling over the side.

  Oliver was sitting nearby, the right half of his face covered in a thick green paste and a few healing scriptures stuck to his arm. He glanced over at Hayden and shot him a menacing scowl in greeting.

  “You might want to save your dirty looks for when your face isn’t covered in green paste,” Hayden frowned back at him. “It makes you look even dumber than usual.”

  Oliver took the insult in stride.

  “We’ll see how nice you look once the other Prisms are done tearing you to pieces.”

  Hayden tried not to betray any sign of his worry on that front, but wasn’t sure he was successful.

  “Where’s Griff? I didn’t see how he did in the Elixir battle since I was watching you and that guy from Isenfall beat each other senseless.”

  Oliver looked disgusted when he said, “Griff lost. He’s probably crying in a dark corner somewhere, imagining the ridicule he’s going to get for failing out of the first round when we get back to school.”

  Hayden winced in sympathy for his teammate, wondering if he was also going to be returning home in disgrace that night. Oliver either sensed his concern or else he just chose that moment to add, “So help me Frost, I will not have Mizzenwald be a laughingstock of the I.S.C. when I’m competing in it. If you don’t make it through this round I’m going to make your life very unpleasant.”

  Hayden felt distinctly nauseous once more.

  “Gee, I wonder what it would be like to have an unpleasant life.”

  Oliver didn’t laugh. “I will bring an entirely new definition to the word,” he explained coldly. “You beat me at Mizzenwald and wormed your way onto the team, and I do not like losing to losers. So you’d better earn your keep in this tournament, or I’m going to bloody you so badly your own mother wouldn’t recognize you.”