by C. J. Krüger
I gulp and feel my heart flutter in my chest. My pants tighten and my entire body feels overheated, like I just sprinted. “What are you saying?” My voice is soft and raspy, and my fingers curl around hers.
Her eyes narrow and I see a flash of irritation. “Do I need to spell it out for you, Jonathan?” she asks hotly. “I’m saying that I care for you. I care for you in a deep, deep way that drives me insane and I want to be with you.”
“I—” I stammer, trying to find the right words. What does one say to such an admission? I want to tell her that I feel the same, but I recall her father’s prophecy. How can I put her through cursing our child with Darkness? With leaving her alone for the rest of time when age takes me? “I don’t know what to say.”
“I didn’t expect you would,” she admits and I feel her relax against me. “I—”
“Let me finish,” I interject quickly, and lift her hand to my lips. I gently kiss her fingers and linger there for a long, intense moment. I feel her breathing quicken and my own stomach twists up into a knot. “I care for you, too, Eldatha. From the moment I saw you and heard your laugh. That was all I needed to fall completely and madly in love with you,” I tell her, my voice low and firm. “These six months in your presence have only made that more clear, though I’ve been too cowardly to admit it because it seems impossible. We come from two separate worlds and I couldn’t imagine you would feel the same.”
“You should have said something,” she says, her brows furrowing. “I’ve seen the way you look at me.”
“I tried,” I tell her as I run my fingers through her hair. “But when I was about to, you ran away from me.”
She purses her lips and glances away. “That’s true,” she admits in a small voice. “You looked at me so intently, and I knew what you were going to say was true. I couldn’t handle it.”
“So what’s different?” I ask, trying to keep my nerves in check. “I almost died?”
She nods against my chest, and curls her fingers into my tunic. “I realized none of that matters. When I prayed about it for hours and hours, They kept telling me ‘yes’ but I fought bitterly with Them about it. But when I look at you now, I am forced to accept the truth.”
I am about to speak, but she puts her fingers against my lips and shakes her head.
“It’s my turn now,” she says gently. “You’re right, Jonathan. We come from different worlds and it would be hard, but I want to make a new world with you,” she tells me and crawls toward me until I can feel her breath on my neck. “Our world. I’m old and tired of searching for my other half, and now that I have found you, I don’t want to let fear get in the way.”
Each beat of my heart thunders in my ears and it’s as if my body is on fire. “Eldatha,” I say softly, my fingers idly running up her back. “There is this huge part of me that wants to be with you and believe in what you’re saying, but doubts also plague my mind. Truth be told, I am afraid.”
“Me, too,” she tells me, and she leans forward, kissing my lips passionately.
Unable to help myself, I kiss her back and run my fingers through her hair. It’s like touching silk and I comb my hand through the strands as I moan against her. Our lips dance against each other’s and our bodies writhe with passion.
I push her away after a moment, my face flushed with desire. “Wait,” I tell her, my chest heaving. “There is something you have to know.”
Her brows furrow deeply and I can see her restraining herself. “Alright,” she says patiently, and puts her hand on my face. “Tell me.”
“Your father had a vision about my son—” I start to say, but I feel her finger pressed against my lips.
“I don’t want to hear that,” she says, looking away. “Not because I am afraid, but because it won’t change how I feel. I prayed to our Gods, and They confirmed how I felt in my heart.”
“But—”
“Jonathan,” she says gently, “my father’s visions are between him and the Twins, and with this vision he has chosen to include you. If They want to include me, my eyes and ears are always open, but I don’t want to hear it from you, Jonathan. We have our own paths and our own stories.”
Her words make sense to my hazed mind, but I still want to tell her. A subtle voice in my mind tells me to listen to her and let the matter pass. I trace my fingers up and down her spine and feel her shudder against me.
“Alright,” I tell her, and rest my forehead against hers. “But are you sure?”
She nods and kisses me again, this one light and short. “I appreciate you wanting to tell me,” she says, resting her head on my shoulder. “And I want you to tell me everything on your mind, but not this. Let my father worry about visions of the future. I just want to have a future with you.”
“I have to be honest.” I pull her close to me and slowly run my hand over the side of her body, relishing each exquisite inch of her frame. “I have no idea what it means to be a mate or a husband, or anything romantic for that matter.”
She chuckles and puts her hand on my chest softly. “You might find this hard to believe, but I don’t, either. I might have thousands of years on you, Jonathan, but this we can learn together.”
“You’re serious,” I say, unable to hide my surprise. “That makes me feel a little more secure. A part of me felt as if I had a life time’s worth of relationships to compete with.”
“Don’t be insecure,” she tells me, kissing my neck and running her teeth along my skin. “I knew one day I would find the one I was meant to be with, and I chose to wait. And you are my choice.”
“I really hope this isn’t some lovely hallucination caused by your medicine,” I say lightly, a chuckle escaping my throat.
She slowly crawls on top of me, her green eyes staring down at me intensely. “When you wake up tomorrow morning,” she says, her voice husky as she runs her fingers over my chest, “you tell me if this was a hallucination or not.”
“I have a feeling I’ll still be awake in the morning, Eldatha.”
Chapter Eleven
Duncan Wolfe
(Year 3760)
It’s been two weeks since that strange voice was in my head and I haven’t heard it since. My lessons with Ayda are helpful, and her encouragement to talk through my issues has brought me new personal insight. I’ve come to the conclusion that I place far too much value on what others think of me. I suppose I knew that already, but admitting it out loud has had a profound effect on me.
It’s a weakness I fully intend to overcome, but it sometimes seems impossibly difficult. Just because I know the issue exists doesn’t mean I can make it go away instantly, even with magic. Ayda assures me that it’ll take time, and patience with myself, but that one day I’ll manage to care more about what I think of myself and not what others think.
I just wish that day was today.
Sighing, I look up into the canopy of my tree and see the bright blue sky smiling down on me. It’s a comfort to be under Sol-theron’s watchful eye. The Indomitable Sun is a fearsome protector of all that is righteous, and though His love is harsher than that of His Wife, he is no less caring. My own father is much the same, and I am thankful for him and his guidance. If I am being honest with myself, I miss my parents and want nothing more right now than to return home and tell them what has happened.
“Oy, Duncan!” I hear a familiar voice shouting across the field.
I look toward the sound and see David walking toward me, a grim expression across his face. “You don’t look well,” I say, standing up and brushing the dirt from my clothes.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, stopping a few feet from me. “I’m worried about you, Duncan. In class you don’t seem to be all there. In fact, you weren’t there at all just now.”
I blink several times and look towards the school. “Damn,” I swear and shake my head. “I can’t believe I skipped a class.”
“Just history with Duvox,” he says, trying to sound reassuring. “More of your family’
s history, really. I doubt you missed much.”
Shaking my head, I push myself off the tree and gather my school bag. The heavy books jostle around when I toss the bag over my shoulder and it painfully digs into my side. “That’s not the point,” I grunt as I briskly walk towards the castle. “Showing up to classes is just the right thing to do.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” David says, trying to keep up with my pace. “She loves you, and I’m sure she’ll let you make up the work.”
I wrinkle my nose. “You don’t get it, do you?” I say, stopping and facing him with fiery eyes. “If I start slacking, even a little, it makes it seem like others can, too, because of who I am. That’s at best. At worst, it just makes people think even less of me than they already do. ‘Oh, look at the lazy half-breed. Thinks he’s better than us.’” I’m letting it get to me again, I think and frown deeply.
His face blanches for a moment and then he turns red. “No one says that.”
His tone is weak and unconvincing, but I appreciate the effort anyway. I shake my head and start walking towards the castle, my irritation reaching new heights every time my feet touch the ground.
“My ears aren’t just for show,” I finally say as we near the entrance. “But I guess it doesn’t matter what they say. I’m just disappointed in myself.”
Other students are walking around, hurrying to their next classes. Almost all of them stop to stare at me, even for just a second, and I see the looks of contempt pass through their eyes. Most of them are too decent to say anything, but that almost makes it worse.
“They really hate me, David,” I tell him, looking down and feeling heavy in my heart. “I guess it doesn’t matter what I do. Even if I show up to every class and get perfect scores, I’ll still give people a reason to find fault.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t care so much,” my friend suggests, putting a hand on my shoulder. “If they are going to hate you anyway, does it matter what you do? Just be yourself and do what you want.”
Ayda has said the same thing, and without thinking I reply with the same excuse. “I still have responsibilities. I just wish it wasn’t so hard to fulfill those and have friends at the same time.” It’s like a compulsion to be upset even though logically, I know I shouldn’t be. It’s maddening.
“You have me,” he says, his lips spreading out into a grin. “And you won me over, so I’m sure the others will come around. We only have a few years of this. By the time we graduate from the academy, no one will see Duncan, The Half-Breed Prince. They’ll just see Duncan, The Smartest Kid in Class. At least when they hate you for the latter, you’ll know you did something to deserve it.”
A dark, self deprecating chuckle passes through my lips. “I suppose you’re right about that,” I say and take a deep, steadying breath. “We have Defensive Charms next, right?”
David nods. “Should be a fun class. Heathrow has us doing mock duels today.”
“I think I’ll sit that one out,” I tell him, a sudden sense of dread washing over me. “And take notes. I hate wizard duels.”
“But you’re wicked good at it,” he says, his tone riddled with surprise. “Why would you sit out on something you’re sure to ace?”
“I just want to,” I say, and push open the gates to the castle. No longer wishing to talk, I quicken my pace through the stone halls of the academy until we reach Defensive Charms.
Professor Heathrow is a tall man with shaggy brown hair that is always unkempt. His robes are always tattered and stained with some kind of food or drink, but in spite of all that, power radiates from him. When I asked him once about his appearance, he said the best defense is to give someone a reason to underestimate you. Ideally they will leave you alone, but if they don’t, they will have no idea how to respond once you go against their notion of you.
“Afternoon, class,” he says as everyone gets settled into the room. “You know what today is, yes?”
There is a general excitement that courses through the room. Everyone is eager to test on one another what they have learned and impress the Professor. As for me, I just feel ill.
“Professor,” I say, lifting my hand into the air.
“Yes, Duncan?” he asks kindly.
“I’m a bit behind on some of my other classes,” I say, trying to be quick, “and if it’s alright with you, I’d like to try and catch up this period.”
Several people giggle, and I hear someone mutter coward under their breath. I glance over at David whose jaw is clenched in contempt and he throws a scroll at the boy. The thing stops in mid-air and comes flying at me and I dive out of the way, falling out of my seat. This causes more laughter to erupt throughout the class, and I feel my temper beginning to rise.
Why even care about them? I ask myself bitterly as I get back into my seat.
“Enough,” Heathrow says firmly. “Yes, Duncan, if you want to sit out, you can. No one is forced to duel, but I highly recommend you do. You learn a lot about yourself when facing off against someone else, especially when the duel is friendly.”
I wrinkle my nose and then nod. “Alright,” I say through my teeth. “I’ll duel.”
“Excellent!” he says, clapping his hands excitedly. “Then how about you and Mr. Uvar square off?” He claps his hands and a set of doors directly behind him open up into a large empty room. “You’ve all heard about it, but it’s finally time to step into the arena. Well, that makes it sound a lot more dangerous than it is, but what’s life without a little danger, eh?”
A thrill sets into my bones as I get up from my desk and head for the empty room. My opponent, Gerard Uvar, follows behind me, a look of fierce determination on his face. An overwhelming sense of rage starts to simmer in my blood, and I glare daggers into him.
He must feel it, because he looks at me with a twisted smile. “Ready, half-breed? I’ll throw a lot more at you than a scroll this time.”
The rest of the class has followed us into the room, and are spread out over the parameter, far from the center where the duel is supposed to be confined.
I shrug as I walk into position. “Spare me the threats, Gerard,” I tell him, rolling my shoulders back. “Can you even read a scroll?”
Giggles overtake some of them, and Gerard’s face contorts as he releases his mental barriers. The sudden surge of power silences everyone, including Heathrow, who needs to take a moment to regain his composer.
“Now, now,” he says, stepping between us. “We will not be using brute force here. No, no. There are several perfectly good spells you have learned in this class and you will use them now. Duelists, step back twenty paces and bow.”
We obey and create the required gap. The bowing comes more difficultly to me, but out of respect for the Professor, I make the gesture, as does Gerard.
“Ready?”
We nod and lower our barrier slowly, letting out a steady flow of energy.
“Begin!”
I lift my hand and shout, “Immobilize!” and watch as a blue chain shoots from my palm. It rapidly closes the distance between Gerard and I and wraps itself around his legs. I yank on the chain and watch as he smacks the floor.
“Excellent,” Heathrow says, clapping his hands excitedly. “Quick on the draw. Simple execution. First point to Prince Duncan. Best of five to win it all. Round two, gentleman.”
Gerard stands up, rage cascading from his eyes. Without waiting for instruction he shouts, “Burst!” and I see a blue fireball project from his hand.
On instinct, I lift my hand and create a barrier that absorbs the impact, but the heat from the flames feels as through it will consume me.
“Hey!” David shouts. “That’s cheating, that is!”
“Indeed,” Heathrow says, his voice laced with uncharacteristic irritation. “None of that, Mr. Uvar. Another cheap shot like that and you forfeit the match.”
“A real enemy doesn’t follow rules,” he counters, crossing his arms. “I thought this class was about preparing us for the real
world.”
“Not like this,” the Professor says firmly. “Now, get back in place.”
I stand up, my legs shaking and my chest heaving. Absorbing a fireball is no easy task, and it’s taken a toll on me. Stupid. You don’t take on an attack head-to-head like that. Avoid. Avoid. Avoid. “Ready, Professor,” I say, taking my place.
“He looks half-dead,” Gerard sneers. “He should go back to the room to study.”
“You are all the same,” I say, glaring at Gerard and then turning my vengeful gaze onto the rest of my classmates. “You all say such ridiculous things, and echo off one another like a bunch of parrots. If you’re going to insult me, try to be original.”
“Try not to faint from a weak little fireball,” Gerard counters, causing fresh laughter from the class.
They hate you, a voice says in my mind. Look at how they jeer and taunt. They want you to fail. They want you to fall.
My face pales and I take in a sharp breath. Stop it, I demand. Go away.
But why? You know I’m right, the voice says, seemingly satisfied.
“Ready?” Heathrow asks, keeping his tone neutral.
I shake my head. “No, I need to go,” I tell him and turn away.
“Coward!” Gerard shouts. “Look at him. He’s pale as death.”
Kill him, the voice taunts. Show the others you are to be feared.
Shut up. Shut up.
“If a duelist wishes to leave, that is their choice,” Heathrow tells the class, his tone increasingly irritated. “And in my class, no one laughs or taunts.”
“We’ll just do it after class then!” someone in the crowd shouts.
Kill them all.
“Shut UP!” I scream as all my barriers come crashing down. The wall that holds the power within my Ark comes crashing down and unleashes itself upon the room. Bright, violent flashes of blue fill the room and everyone falls to their knees and writhes in pain.
Kill them all!
Panic courses through me and I fight to pull the power back. I watch in horror as my teacher and classmates struggle to move or breath. The power radiating out from me is suffocating. Stop it! Stop it!
