Alfirean Age Book 1 - Inheritor of Strength

Narrator: I am The Watcher I have watched countless lives. Most of them dull and dreary. Rarely is one thought-provoking. Far rarer does one draw my full attention. Scarcer does one convince me to change my perspective. The story you are about to involve yourself in is one such story.    Intro Hello, my name is Alfonso Vivyander Brockovich the third. I am the weakest man in the world, and this is my story. Now, when you hear me say I'm the weakest man in the world, you're probably asking yourself just how weak is he? Well, I would say I am close to ten times weaker than the average man; in fact, my entire family line, as far back as we can remember, have all been this way. We don't know why, but even if we marry someone strong, the next generation is still weak, if not even weaker, than the previous generation. I am the last one alive in my family, and I am twenty-one years old. But enough about that right now. Let's get on to the story. Prologue “Good morning, sir,” a baritone voice said from the doorway. Alfonso blinked and slowly opened his eyes. Across the room, golden light streamed in through the open windows as the sun peeked over the horizon. A soothing tropical breeze brushed his cheeks, smelling of moist soil, fresh rain, and newly bloomed plumeria. Tipping his face, Alfonso Vivyander Brockovich the third, one of the seven High Lords of Alfireá, breathed deeply. It was another beautiful day. With quivering arms, he pushed himself up in bed and looked towards his butler. “Good morning Harold,” he said with a smile as he ran his hand through his usually neat light brown hair. Harold smiled back, walked over to the closet, and pulled out a set of clothes. “Did you sleep well, young master?” “I did,” Alfonso answered. He scooted himself to the edge of the bed, placed his feet on the rug, and pushed upwards. For a brief moment, his twig-like legs stood firm. Then they collapsed, crumpling under his body like day-old tissues and pitching him towards the floor. With a startled yelp, he threw out his arms and braced for impact, praying that his short trip to the ground wouldn’t result in broken bones. Harold dropped his clothes, shot across the room, and caught him moments before he smacked into the hard surface. Alfonso smiled sheepishly as his butler helped him back to his feet—he really should have been more careful. Harold’s stern face glared back at him; his bushy eyebrows scrunched together in disapproval. Alfonso braced himself for another lecture. Instead, Harold rolled his eyes and sighed, then leaned down to pick up the discarded clothing. “Sorry,” he said, thankful to be off the hook so easily. In a lot of ways, Harold was like a father to him. He had become head butler several years before Alfonso was born. Since then, he had gone far beyond the call of duty, protecting and watching over him as if he were his own son,  even more so since Alfonso’s father had passed away. Harold dusted off the clothes, and at seeing an imperfection, tossed them aside. They looked perfectly fine to me, Alfonso mused as the butler strolled back to the closet and retrieved a different set. “Breakfast is ready downstairs. Do you need any assistance?” Harold asked, handing the new attire to him. “No, thank you,” Alfonso said with a lopsided grin. He reached out an arm and Harold helped him slip into the formal garments. Once finished, the butler nodded and quietly left the room, his well-kept raven black hair brushing the top of the doorpost. *  *  * The trip to the dining room wasn’t a long one: just out the door, down the stairs, and across the foyer. For Alfonso, though, it might as well have been a trek up Mt. Eldrin. Halfway down the stairs, perspiration started running into his eyes. His muscles ached, and his body quivered as he tried to take another step. Suddenly, the world swirled around him, and he gasped for air as he clutched onto the rich mahogany balustrade. A soft rustling sound came from below, and a young woman, chatting with a little girl, wandered into the foyer. “Hailey, do you know who’s eating all the sugar cubes?” The young woman’s question went unanswered as Hailey, a precocious four-year-old, turned to see Alfonso hanging on the stairs. “Brocky!” the toddler gasped. She rushed up the stairwell, her tiny feet thumping on the carpeted surface. The woman followed after her. Alfonso sighed in relief. “Thank you Hailey,” he said, laying his hand on her ebony curls. His eyes reached beyond her small stature and drifted upwards. Deep-brown eyes full of concern met his. “And you too, Olivia.” Olivia slipped his arm around her neck, gently supporting his weight with her back and giving him a moment to catch his breath. Alfonso gazed into her golden speckled eyes; they danced with life. She smiled reassuringly at him, and his weak heart pounded in his chest, threatening to explode. For a moment, he lost himself in her eyes. “Brocky, sir, are you okay?” Hailey asked, shaking Alfonso from his stupor. He smiled down at her with a wide grin and said, “I’m fine, just a little tired.” Hailey’s face scrunched in confusion, “How can you be so happy?” “Why shouldn’t I be happy?” he said. “I have all of you, this wonderful estate with the Empire’s largest orphanage, and one of the world’s best hospitals.” “But you’re soooo weak,” she whined. “Hailey,” Olivia scolded. “That’s okay,” Alfonso laughed, his light blue eyes sparkling in mirth. “If I were strong and healthy, I wouldn’t be able to provide for all of you. I thank God he’s given me this chance to live as I do every day.” Hailey wrinkled her nose and said, “Huh?” Olivia placed her hand behind Hailey’s back and gently scooted her along. “I’ll explain it to you later, sweetie.” As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Alfonso pitched forward in exhaustion. Olivia shifted her weight, steadied him, and examined him with a worried look. “Your energy is completely exhausted,” she said, placing her left hand on his chest. Alfonso felt her summon her magic as she prepared to give him some of her energy. “Stop that,” he whispered, grabbing her hand. “You know I walk down the stairs every day to make it easier for them.”  “I know,” she replied. “But you’ve never had this much trouble before.” Alfonso hated being weak in front of her. More than anything, he longed to be the one helping her, not the other way around. Gathering his meager strength,  he straightened and pushed away her hand. “I just overexerted myself a little too much yesterday. That’s all.” She searched his face, her brows furled in uncertainty. He could tell she didn’t entirely believe him—they had known each other far too long to hide secrets from one another. “Alright, but I’m going to be at your session today,” her tone of voice brooked no argument. Olivia knelt down, and with a few quiet words, sent Hailey back to her mother. As the girl scampered away, she noticed he wasn’t wearing his glasses. “Where are your bifocals?” she asked, coming to her feet. Alfonso looked at the floor. “You know I don’t like those.” She flicked his nose. “That may be so, but not everyone enjoys leading you around like a sheepdog,” she said, slipping her right shoulder underneath his arm once more. He rubbed his nose with his left hand as she helped him across the foyer and towards the dining room. “It’s just in the morning,” he mumbled. Harold stood beside the long family table, waiting for him as they entered the room. He raised an eyebrow at seeing his condition but didn’t say anything. Olivia slipped out from underneath his arm and turned to leave. “Wait,” Alfonso said. “You're not eating with us?" "No. I have a minor operation to take care of first, but I’ll be back in time." "Oh, alright," he said, a little disappointed. Olivia waved farewell and strolled out of the room. Alfonso struggled with the heavy antique chair as he pulled it out and took a seat at the table. He grimaced at the sight of his breakfast—a light, gray nutritional mush specifically designed for his weak digestive system. It didn't taste the best. But he had never complained about it before, and he wasn’t going to start now, though his eyes did trail over to Harold's egg and bacon loaded plate in forlorn longing. As the two of them ate, Harold read through the daily news and discussed it with Alfonso. They talked quietly back and forth until the butler's steel-gray eyes narrowed. “What is it?” Alfonso asked. Harold slid the offending document in front of him. “It’s Vackzilian again,” he said, his words clipped short in irritation.   Alfonso scrunched his nose in distaste. He was quite familiar with the name. Vackzilian, a powerful, evil wizard, had terrorized the Alfireán Empire for more than two decades. His droughts and typhoon-like storms frequently wreaked havoc across the land, destroying homes and decimating crops. The only way to stop them was to pay Vackzilian's so-called 'protection fees.' Even the Brockovich Estate had been forced to pay into his coffers from time to time. But far worse than his manipulation of the elements was his power-draining spell placed on the teleportation stones. It effectively stopped all teleportation in the Empire, and no one had been able to break it. With the spell in place, only those who procured expensive charges from Vackzilian could use the teleportation stones. Alfonso leaned forward and skimmed through the document while Harold summarized the article. “Yesterday, late in the afternoon, Vackzilian attacked and captured the Alfireán Royal Mines. As one would expect, the Emperor immediately retaliated. However, Vackzilian has erected a shield around the entire area. No one, not even Alfireá's top magicians, has been able to penetrate it. Emperor Drakovian II has now upped the price on his head to twice that of a King’s Ransom.”  Alfonso’s eyes drifted towards the eastern window. Everyone knew where Vackzilian's tower was; in fact, you could see his black obelisk from the top of the Brockovich manor. Twenty-one years ago, a month after Alfonso's birth, the Wizard had planted his gigantic tower squarely in the middle of the Empire. He then used magic to warp the land around it until all the surrounding towns were within walking distance. It was as if he were challenging anyone, and everyone, to come and stop him. Many brave souls had tried; all of them died. Now, no one in their right mind, no matter how strong they were, would challenge Vackzilian—even if all the money in the world was offered to them. No one knew where he'd gained his great power, although there were many legends. Some said he drank dragon's blood; others said he killed unicorns and stole the magic from their horns. The most popular theory claimed he'd sold his soul to a demon, murdering his parents to make the pact. Alfonso shuddered. He wouldn't put any of it past him. He had met quite a few power-hungry people in his short time as a High Lord. Many of them were willing to risk anything for power and position. With that thought, he pushed away his half-finished breakfast. It was time to get down to business. “Are you ready?” Harold asked. “I am,” Alfonso rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Who do we have today?” “Three ladies,” Harold said. “A rich merchant's daughter, a young noble, and a peasant girl who wishes to become a doctor.” “Sounds good,” he said. Standing up, he waited for Harold to join him, then made his way to the adjacent room and entered. The drawing-room was a small, intimate space richly appointed with ancient tapestries depicting the history of Alfireá and plush rugs woven in shades of red and gold. There, on the far end, sat a single leather-bound chair. "You may come in," Harold announced. The double doors on the far side opened wide, and Olivia guided three young ladies into the room.  Alfonso smiled at the girls and eagerly began to unbutton his shirt, revealing his pale-white, sickly-looking chest. Three pairs of eyes watched him nervously as he strode over to the solitary brown armchair and lowered himself into its waiting arms. Olivia closed the doors behind them, shutting off all means of escape. The loud clang of the closing doors caused the girls to jump like startled gazelles. Unfastening the last button, Alfonso pulled his shirt wide, leaned forward, and motioned towards the girls with a small beckoning gesture. “Come here.” Alfonso cringed as he heard the words come out of his mouth; they made him sound like a p*****t. And he was not a p*****t! As the girls glanced back and forth at each other to see who would go first, Alfonso tried to hide his embarrassment. Everyone was capable of magic, but before they could use it, they had to achieve Patuah. 'Patuah' was the word they used to describe someone opening their magic. Magic, aka energy, ran through channels in the body, providing power to muscles and organs. But to use that energy externally, one had to achieve Patuah, and to achieve Patuah, the body had to be pushed to react faster or stronger than what was physically possible. As Alfonso justified himself in his mind, Olivia encouraged the ladies with a gentle wave of her hand to approach him. Glancing at each other once more, they gradually crossed the room until they stood fidgeting in front of Alfonso. He smiled reassuringly, and the peasant girl, wearing a plain cotton smock, blushed. When someone achieved Patuah, their body's energy ripped through the channels that held it in place and let the energy flow freely throughout their system. However, bringing someone to that point took extensive time and training, or the occurrence of an emotionally terrifying event such as watching a loved one die. As a result, the wealthy paid exorbitant sums for professionals to help their children achieve Patuah. But Alfonso was different. He helped people reach Patuah in a matter of days. “Now, just place your hands on his chest and flex your muscles like we talked about. The rest will take care of itself,” Olivia said. Two of the girls hung back, still uncertain, but the last girl boldly stepped forward. Dressed in a richly embroidered violet dress, her high cheekbones, delicate features, and royal bearing made it clear she was a nobleman's daughter. With a graceful motion, she leaned down and touched his chest. Alfonso flinched—her hands were freezing. Since the day Alfonso was born, his body had failed to produce enough energy to run his system properly, despite the fact there didn't seem to be anything wrong with him. That lack of energy had led to muscle degradation, lack of mental acuity, and a host of other physical ailments. But the most notable side effect of this disorder was his body's ability to absorb other people's energy. When someone placed their hand on his skin next to his heart, his starving organs and muscles would pull their energy through their protective channels, degrading a single spot until it broke. Two to three visits with Alfonso, and their magic would be opened for the rest of their lives. Bolstered by the noble girl's actions, the other two followed her example, placing their hands on either side of hers. Alfonso relaxed and took a shallow breath; this was his favorite part of the day. Since the year he'd turned five, he had been helping people achieve Patuah. In return, it had enabled him to grow and live a somewhat normal life. Without this, he would've been bound to a wheelchair, unable to move and live freely. It also made his family the richest in the Empire, or would've, seeing as people all throughout Alfireá and around the globe sent their children there to achieve Patuah. Unlike others, Alfonso was also willing to help the common people open their magic. His father, who had suffered from the same malaise as Alfonso, had opened Olivia’s magic for free. And before him, his grandfather had helped Harold achieve Patuah free of charge as well since they'd both wanted to become healers. Today, he was continuing that tradition by opening the peasant girl's energy channels so she could become a healer. Truth be told, his family was a little bit too generous. They should've been the wealthiest noble family in Alfireá, but they weren't because they used all of their money to keep the orphanage and hospital up and running.  The muscles in the girls' hands tightened, and Alfonso's exhausted body, sensing the awaiting energy, instantly reached out and pulled it in. Like a vibrant, hot tidal wave, energy flooded through him, washing over his heart, lungs, chest and back, and then his shoulders, arms, and legs, finally reaching his eyes and feet.  His heart beat strong and clear; his aches and pains disappeared, and his lungs expanded, enabling him to breathe deeply once more. He closed his eyes and relished in the feeling of being truly alive and whole. Alfonso heard one of the girls giggle with delight, and he opened his eyes to see all three staring at their hands in dreamy-eyed wonder. He knew that look well, for he had seen it countless times; they were feeling their magic powers stir for the first time in their life, and they were ecstatic about it. “Please do be careful,” Harold warned. “It is possible to let too much energy flow into him. As soon as you begin to feel tired, remove your hands. Otherwise, you may collapse from exhaustion.” At his words, their silly grins faded, and odd looks of worry, mingled with concentration, took their place. Alfonso braced himself, ready for the moment they would remove their hands and take their energy with them; hopefully, they had filled his depleted magic pool and given him enough energy to last the day. One-by-one, they pulled their hands away, and he waited, fully expecting the flow of energy to cease, as it always did. But nothing changed. The energy continued to flow, and Alfonso blinked as blue streams of energy leaped from the girl's palms and surged into him.  “Harold?” Alfonso asked with a hint of anxiety. Harold stepped between him and the clients. With gentle but firm guidance, he pushed them farther away. It was to no avail.  Their energy continued to flow into him. Olivia dashed over, a look of worry present in her young face as she rushed to channel a shield between Alfonso and the girls. But it too had no effect; the blue current traveled straight through the barrier as if it didn't exist. Terror spread across the ladies' faces as they realized what was happening. Seconds later, the noblewoman fell to her knees, gasping for air. She reached forward blindly, thrusting her hands through the air as if attempting to sever the blue thread robbing her of life. With each movement, her attempts grew less frantic, her breaths more shallow. Until, with one last shuddering breath, she collapsed. The two remaining girls screamed in horror. Harold shouted, attempting to be heard over their frantic cries.  “Go,” he yelled to a maid lingering in the doorway, “Fetch the other healers. Now!” Alfonso watched in utter dread and fear as Harold and Olivia frantically tried everything they could to stop the flow of magic.  He tried to make his body let go, to release its hold as the girls crumpled to the floor. Nothing worked. Their eyes rolled up into their heads. The blood drained from their faces. And in the blink-of-an-eye, their endless screams faded away, replaced by an eerie silence. They looked dead: as if they were nothing more than a lifeless pile of silk and cotton-clad limbs entangled in the middle of the room. Yet, their energy continued to flow into him. As if in a dream, the healers came running into the room and swarmed around the fallen girls like a flock of birds, their white robes fluttering about them. Their muffled voices bounced off the walls, blending as one. “Can't stop,” . . . “cardiac arrest,”. . . “not breathing.” They're dead, he thought in despair. I killed them. The world faded away, and Alfonso fell out of his chair, numb with shock. The room turned strangely dark, and the sounds of the frenzied healers echoed as if from far away. Suddenly, slender hands grabbed his shoulders and shoved his back to the ground, then planted themselves firmly on his chest. Like a sledgehammer, an explosion of energy slammed into him, flooding his entire being. His body latched onto the new source of energy, loosening its grip on the girls. Not enough. The thought resounded in the far corners of his mind. A familiar woman’s voice shouted. Seconds later, a second pair of large, rough hands pushed against his chest. Another explosion of energy slammed into him, and his body greedily latched onto it as well. Ever so slowly, it released its grip on the three dying women. The two sets of hands continued to pump energy into him over and over again. With each infusion, the blue lines dimmed, becoming thinner and thinner. Then the threads flashed, and the connections snapped. The hands abruptly stopped, and all went silent. Finally, the girls were free. What seemed like an eternity later, he heard someone announce, “They’re alive.” The slender set of hands finally left his chest, and he felt a brush of hair against his face. “Did you hear that, Alf. They’re fine. They’re going to make it. It’s okay,” Olivia said softly to him.