Alfirean Age Book 1 - Inheritor of Strength

The boy

Harold stared down at his desk. The rich mahogany wood glistened, free of dust and clutter. Every item had its place, and every place was clean and tidy—precisely the way Harold liked it. On the corner of his workspace, a bouquet of honeysuckles effused the room with a sweet fragrance. While off to his right, the morning sun cascaded through the window and lit upon the pages of neatly stacked papers before him. His eyes focused on a single line: Thirty-two point zero eight Crypto in the red.

He picked up the page and leaned back into his chair, breathing deeply of the honeysuckle scented air. All things considered, it wasn’t bad, and Harold knew Alfonso would tell him not to worry about it. Still, for the first time in history, the Brokovich Estate was in debt.

Then again, technically, it was no longer called the Brockovich Estate. It was the Brockovich’s School of Magic. Harold swallowed the knot rising in his throat. It had been exactly three weeks and five days since Alfonso had been officially declared dead. Thanks to national matters in Montipora, court had been suspended. Nevertheless, Harold could not help but worry about what would happen to the nation and what would become of the House of Brockovich.

One day I will see Alfonso reinstated, he thought to himself, though he knew it was not possible in the foreseeable future.  He sighed and whispered, "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."

Finding comfort in the ancient words, he put down the papers and closed his eyes. Seconds later, Harold drifted off to sleep, and the same dream he'd had since he was a young lad danced before his eyes. A flash of golden hair, an enchanting laugh, and eyes of-

A knock sounded at his door, pulling him out of his dream. Harold sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Yes?” he called out.

Alf opened the door and walked in.

“Alfonso?" Harold said, standing up and closing the ledger. "You do not have to knock to come in.”

“I know,” Alf replied. “But you’re the headmaster now, and I’m just the combat teacher.”

Harold’s eyebrows scrunched together. Something was off; Alfonso wasn’t his usual, cheery self. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong when another knock sounded at the door, cutting him off. “Who is it?”

“Heralda, sir. There’s a new student here to enroll.”

“You’re busy now. I'll talk to you later,” Alf said. He opened the door and slipped out before Harold could stop him.

As Heralda entered, Harold massaged his temples and made a mental note to talk to Alfonso as soon as possible. He knew his physical transformation, while indeed a blessing, had also been hard on him. And getting tied down so soon afterward had been even more so. He imagined Alfonso was probably getting antsy. I may have to encourage him to travel around, he thought. Though technically, he had no control over Alfonso, he knew Alf would never leave without his approval.

Turning his attention back to the young woman in front of him, he asked, “Did you have him fill out the enrollment form?”

“Not yet, sir. This one’s a bit different.”

“How so?”

“I’ll just show you,” the maid said and turned towards the door. “You may come in now.”

A boy, no more than nine or ten years old, appeared around the corner. Small of stature, he painted a poor picture: his clothes were threadbare and stained, and his sandal-clad feet were covered in mud. Dirt smudged the child's pale face, and his short blue-black hair lay in an untidy mess.

Harold took a seat behind his desk and clasped his hands. 

Apparently, the boy read his posture as disapproval because he straightened himself out and said, “Please, sir, I've come a long way, and I really want to learn magic here."

Looking earnestly into Harold's eyes, he wiped away some of the dirt on his face. "I don’t have much," he said, "but if money is an issue, I'll work my way through and stay on after training if I have to." 

Harold leaned forward, steepled his fingers, and placed them on the desk. “Money is not a problem, lad. Indeed, if you need food and assistance, we can help you. However, there are other difficulties at hand,” Harold said, motioning the boy to a chair in front of him.

The child climbed into the seat and turned back towards him with his narrow shoulders hunched and his face shining with eagerness.

“It is rare for a child your age to achieve Patuah. The majority of the children here are in their early-to-late teens. As such," Harold said, "I believe it would be more prudent for you to wait a few years to begin your training.”

“But," the boy fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable in the large leather chair which dwarfed him. "I came a long way. And... And I don’t have anything to go back to," he said, his eyes downcast, his dirt-smudged face filled with sorrow.

Harold’s eyes softened. An orphan then. And if he had achieved Patuah, he most likely... Harold shifted his gaze to Heralda. “Have one of the den mothers prepare a bed and new clothes.”

“No,” the child exclaimed, suddenly sitting up straight. “I want to join the school.”

“It’s okay; you can join in a few years,” Heralda said, reaching for his hand. “In the meantime, you can...”

The boy’s dark blue eyes flashed an electric blue. “No," he said, his tone resolute and final. "I’ve come to learn.”

A shiver ran down Harold’s spine, and his muscles tensed. Frenetic energy coursed through the room, buzzing and snapping as if something, or someone, had recently disturbed them. Raising his hand, Harold stopped the maid. The boy's eyes and body language spoke of one who had seen death, and plenty of it: far too much, in fact, for someone so young—it might not be wise to push him. Harold rose and placed himself in front of the child. “I understand your desires; however, it would be difficult for you to keep up with the other students and-”

“I won't have a problem keeping up. I can guarantee that!” The boy stated with absolute certainty, and all pretense of childishness fell away as he stared directly into the headmaster's eyes.

There was a blackness and authority in the child’s features, unlike anything Harold had ever seen... or maybe just determination. “Hmm,” Harold muttered, bringing his hand to his chin. “Let us see if we can come to an agreement. I will confer with my colleagues on the matter and see what they have to say. In the meantime, please fill out the paperwork provided by Heralda here.”

The boy leaped out of his seat and grabbed his hand, shaking it excitedly. “Thank you, sir. You won't regret it," he said, his visage once again that of an innocent, carefree child. With a bounce in his step, the child left the room with the maid in tow. Harold could hear him eagerly chatting away in the hallway, speaking of his grand plans for the future. 

I never did get the boy's name, Harold thought and strode back around his desk, intent on finishing his paperwork. But as he put his pen to paper, he paused. Something about the lad was vaguely familiar. For some reason, he kept on reminding him of an older man Harold had once known as a young adult. After a great tragedy had killed both of Alfonso’s grandparents, the Emperor had sent one of his personal bodyguards to watch over him. The guard, known only as Vin, had practically raised Alfonso’s father; he had been a great role model to Harold as well. In fact, much of what Harold had become today was due to Vin.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something in the boy’s mannerisms reminded him of that man. Finally, shaking his head, Harold pushed back the painful memories. It was not a time he wished to recall.

Turning his attention back to matters at hand, he attempted to clear his mind. However, as the minute hand made its slow journey around the face of the clock, Harold found himself unable to work. Laying down his pen, at last, he stood up and left his office.

***

Harold found Alfonso in the middle of the training field several hundred yards behind the Brokovich courtyard. He was kneeling on one knee, with both of his hands firmly pressed against the ground, as he controlled an army of clay soldiers against a group of eighteen-year-olds.

“Don’t charge your spell like that,” Olivia shouted at one of the boys who had his arm out to the side and his hand facing downwards as if he were dribbling a ball. "You’re not a hoodlum, and your stance leaves you wide open to attack."

The young man sneered at her as he went to cast his spell, but just before he could launch his attack, one of Alfonso's terra-cotta warriors smashed a padded wooden sword against his unprotected head. He nosedived into his peers, and like a stack of falling dominoes, knocked four others into the dirt. Immediately, a massive gust of wind exploded from a crystal in one of the clay soldier's mouths. The remaining students, unable to defend themselves, went flying across the training field.

"Oh, come on, man. That was low!" one of the boys yelled as he tumbled away.

Alfonso chuckled. He lifted his hands off the ground, and his earthen constructs crumbled into dust. “I believe that’s enough for now,” he said, dusting his hands off.

As the group of students clambered to their feet, Olivia crossed her arms and scolded the impetuous young man. “Street tactics, and things you see in holo-scrying’s, will not work in real life. As you've experienced, they are an excellent way of getting you and your friends hurt.”

The ruggedly handsome boy shrugged, turned his back on her, and trudged off. Pieces of grass fell from his hair, and dirt covered his backside from head to toe. In the distance, the sound of other magic classes taking place echoed across the training arena.

“Larne," Alf called after the student as the other boys followed him, "I am informing Mrs. Yatsar that you are to take extra lessons in her class.”

Larne halfheartedly waved and kept on walking.

“Problems?” Harold asked as Alf knelt to pick up the imbued gems left in the dust of his terra-cotta warriors.

“Just morning classes. They're still half asleep,” Olivia answered. “What brings you all the way out to the training field?”

Harold watched as she pushed her thumb against a glass pad full of water. The pad lit up, displaying a list of classes. Olivia flicked her finger and placed Larne in Mrs. Yatsar's 'Basic Combat Forms' afternoon class, then also in detention with the words 'Lack of respect' written beside his name. Harold suppressed a grin and said, “There’s a child no more than the age of ten who wishes to join the school. I would like your opinions on the matter.”

Energy crackled around Alf as he recharged the spent wind gems. “Sure," he said. "I don’t see why not.”

“Wait a minute, Alf. That’s a bit young. At that age, he'll have a hard time keeping up with the others.”

“That was my thought on the matter as well," Harold said. "The lad seems quite determined, however.”

Alf placed the gems in a pack hanging at his waist and stood up. “Well, Olivia and I are scheduled to teach another class together later this afternoon. Why don’t we see how he does in that and decide from there?”

Harold’s eyes drifted to the dusty remains of the clay soldiers. “Not advanced fire magic, I hope.”

“Shields, I think,” Alf replied, looking at Olivia.

She glanced at the pad then nodded in confirmation. “Correct. It should be safe for him.”

"That will be fine then," Harold said. Turning to Alf, he asked, “You wished to speak with me earlier?”

Alfonso’s eyes flicked from Olivia then back to him. “No. Not really, I’m good.”

Harold stared at the young master. The early morning light played across Alfonso's features, highlighting the nervous look in his light blue eyes. His broad shoulders looked tense, and an air of hopelessness and despondency hung thick about him. Something was indeed wrong, but what?

Alfonso started to fidget. “I... I’m going to go get breakfast. Do either of you want to join me?”

Suddenly, it dawned on Harold. But no, it couldn’t be... could it?

The water inside the glass pad returned to normal, and Olivia lowered it. “No, I have things I need to attend to.”

Alfonso’s countenance fell. “Oh, okay then.” Heading to the kitchens,  he shuffled off without even looking at Harold.

It was! Harold stood there in astonishment and watched as Alfonso slunk away. How could he have missed this for so long? It had been in the young master's letter, yet somehow he had forgotten. How in Eldrin's teeth had he been so obtuse? How could he have not seen this? Harold looked at Olivia out of the corner of his eyes. But what about her? Did she return his affections?

“Harold, are you okay?” Olivia asked, her voice full of worry.

"Yes," Harold straightened his vest and cleared his throat. "I’m quite fine. Tell me, what do you think of Alfonso?”

“Alfonso? Oh, you mean Alf.” She looked in the direction Alfonso had disappeared. “He’s a good teacher. A little rough at times, but the kids are learning a lot from him.”

That wasn’t good, Harold thought. Olivia's eyes had shown pain at the mention of Alfonso’s name. Yet, when she spoke of Alf, she'd referred to him as a completely different person and had done so with an air of indifference. It seemed Harold had spent too much time helping Alfonso cope with his new reality and not enough time helping Olivia cope with hers.

Opening his mouth, he began to speak when-

“Harold," the silver-haired head maid of the Brockovich estate called out.  "Alex has done it again. And this time, he has trapped himself in his room,” she said as she sped towards them. “My sisters and a few of the teachers are trying to free him as we speak, but they're not having much luck.” Her violet eyes flashed in amusement. "It seems Alex is already deciding what he wants written on his tombstone."

Harold sighed. Alex was a good lad; however, he suffered from extreme curiosity. He consistently found the weirdest spells and tried to mix them together, with all-too-often disastrous outcomes. As a result, Harold had banned him from using spells without supervision. Or rather, he was supposed to be banned.

 “Do you think you’ll need my help?” Olivia asked.

“I doubt it. Go see to your other duties. I will attend to this.” Harold headed off in the direction of the dorm. He needed to think more about the matter before he talked to either Olivia or Alfonso.

***

Alf closed his eyes out on the training field and waited for his next class to make their way out to him. These days, his mind was a constant brew of worries and what-ifs. So much so,  Alf wished he could sleep away his thoughts. Sometimes, he wished he could go back—back to the days when he would fall asleep meditating on the Blessed Word and awake to see Olivia's mischievous grin, a smile seldom seen by others.

Enough, Alf, Alf corralled his thoughts to a standstill. Complaining was stupid. He had the life he'd always dreamed about—way better, in fact. There was no reason to be depressed just because Olivia didn’t give him the time of day.

As if his thoughts had conjured her, Olivia appeared at the edge of the training field with a little black-haired boy in tow. Her long braid waved in the wind, and her olive-gold skin glimmered in the sunlight. The scent of honeysuckle tickled his nose, and Alf's heart leaped a beat. Clenching his hands, he turned his focus to the boy beside her. Alert blue eyes, full of intelligence and knowing, met his. The child then looked up at Olivia, and due to Alf's improved hearing, he heard the boy ask, “Who is that?”

“That is Alf, the chief combat instructor here at Brockovich. He and I will be teaching this lesson today.”

Alf smiled. The child had to be the one Harold mentioned earlier. Turning his attention back to the rest of the class, who by now had all arrived, he motioned for them to stand in front of a row of targeting dummies.

As they vied for their positions, he cleared his throat, “All right, as you know, this class is about shields. Shields are the foundation of defensive magic. They can stop both physical and magical attacks and offer great defense for a relatively minor energy cost. They can either be channeled or charged cast.”

Alf gazed out over the students, making eye contact with several of them. “Everyone should know by now, but just in case you've forgotten, channel means to release a continuous flow of energy into the spell that is currently being cast, and charge means to build up energy, then release all the gathered energy at once by casting the spell.”

“Channeled shields are weak and can be easily broken through, but their strong point is that they can be used while moving. On the other hand, charged shields are immobile but can withstand multiple attacks. For now, we will focus on charged shields, which I will demonstrate.”

Alf raised his right arm, activated the shield spell pattern imprinted on his brain, and let power buildup in the palm of his hand for a good fifteen seconds. Then, imagining in his mind’s eye how he wanted the shield to form, he pushed the swirling vortex of frequencies hovering above his fingers at one of the target dummies. A blue field of energy expanded into existence around the stick figure, encompassing and protecting it.

“Alright, class, I want you to try to destroy the targeting dummy.” Alf couldn’t help but smile roguishly as he finished, “Let's see what you can do.”

Viktor sauntered to the front. With his pale blonde hair slicked back, and his love of overly fancy garments, he served as the perfect image of an aristocratic snob, though he was not, in fact, royalty. Viktor's father had started as a smart, hard-working commoner who owned nothing and then worked his way up to become one the most powerful merchants in the Empire. And while the youngster shared his father's magical talents, the same could not be said for his personality. Unlike his predecessor, Viktor was an arrogant and foolish snob.

“Let me show you, peasants, how it’s done," Viktor said, his lips curled in a sneer. With a flourish, he reached out his hand, and a strand of lightning burst from his fingers.

Hissing and popping, the lightning flew across the field and impacted harmlessly on the shield. Viktor frowned, and the size of the blue arc increased, but still, nothing happened. He raised his other hand. This time the width of the strand of lightning doubled in size.

Alf’s shield held. In fact, it didn’t look to be affected in the least. Viktor’s frown turned into a scowl, and a bead of sweat appeared on his brow as he channeled yet more energy into his spell. However, as he tried to increase the strength of his attack, he lost control, and the arc of lightning slid off the shield, leaving black char marks along the ground as it raced off into the distance.

"Ya, way to show us hot stuff," one of the boys mocked. The rest of the class snickered.

“I'd like to see any of you do better,” Viktor growled as he cut the spell.

“So you and your cohorts can clobber us after class? No, thank you.”

“Me? I would never stoop to such petty tactics,” Viktor said, placing his hand on his chest and feigning innocence.

Alf rolled his eyes. Viktor had already found himself in detention more than once for bullying. As Alf saw it, the other teachers had been too lenient. If he ever caught Viktor picking on the other students, he'd bury him upside down in the ground with just his feet sticking out. Maybe after a few hours of using that brain of his to do nothing but focus on casting spells converting carbon dioxide into breathable air, he might think twice before he tortured others.

“As you can see from Viktor's effective demonstration, shields are essential in combat," Alf said. Several girls in the class giggled at his statement, and he held back a grin as he continued, “As I said before, shield spells can be channeled or charged. Unlike my current charged shield, which cannot be relocated, a channeled shield spell can be moved. But it is much weaker than a charged shield, which, I repeat, cannot be moved around. Both types have their uses, and it is important to choose the right one for your situation.”

Olivia, who had been quietly standing to the side till Alf finished his demonstration, stepped forward. “Alf has shown you how a shield can provide you protection. However, there may be times, for various reasons, you need to break through a shield. We will now show you how to do so,” Olivia said. “Alf, if you would.”

Lifting his hand, Alf started to remove his shield so Olivia could cast one of her own, but as he did, the small dark-haired boy from earlier moved outside of the group and said, “Allow me.”

All eyes turned to the slender child as he raised his hand and an ice spike, no thicker than a chopstick, shot forth from his palm. The razor-sharp projectile flew straight through the barrier, pierced through the dummy's straw head, and then collided into the back of the shield, shattering it into trillions of tiny particles.

As the glowing blue sparks of Alf's shield faded from the visible spectrum, Alf, along with everyone else, stared agape at the child. How in Eldrin's teeth did he do that? Alf thought in surprise.

Unaware of the stunned expressions around him, the boy lowered his hand and smiled, a look of satisfaction clearly written on his face. “All I had to do was make my magic match the ‘resonating energy,’ also known as ‘wave patterns,’ of the shield and then shoot something through it to puncture it from the inside, which made it collapse. Alf's shield took me so long to eradicate because his resonating energy is incredibly complex; as such, it was hard to match.”

The sound of katydids echoed across the combat training field as the child’s words faded away.

Alf couldn’t believe his eyes or his ears. Complex was an understatement. Thanks to his immense strength, and utter lack of control, his resonating energy was a complete mess. For everyday spells, this was a detriment, but for shield spells, it worked to his advantage, and no one on the campus, not even Harold, could break through them.

Suddenly, the boy became aware of everyone staring at him, and his expression of happiness and pride faded away. He shifted his weight and hunched his shoulders as if he were afraid of being punished.  “I... I’m sorry. You did tell us to hit the target, and I did do as you said, though it took me longer than I would’ve liked it to. I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?”

Olivia closed her mouth and rushed to reassure him, “Oh, no, you didn’t do anything wrong. We're all just surprised. You see, even I can't break Alf's shield.”

“She’s right. You’re the first one ever to break one of my shields.” Alf turned to the rest of the class. “Everyone, give this fine young man a handclap.”

A few pitiful claps rose from the class, and Alf glowered at them in disapproval. “Come now, what he did was impressive. And on top of that, he explained how to break a shield excellently. I have only one thing to add. It is possible to hit a shield with a spell strong enough to destroy it without matching its resonance; however, this takes an extremely powerful spell or an endless barrage of spells, especially if the shield is charged, not channeled.”

“Yes, although, if your shield is about to be broken through by brute force, as Alf was saying, it is possible to channel more energy into it to strengthen it,” Olivia added.  “That being said, if it's broken through by the method this young man just demonstrated,” she motioned towards the boy. “There is no way to stop it from collapsing.”

“Now, I want everyone to practice making shields. Pair up and try to break through each other's defenses,” Olivia ordered. As the class moved to follow her instructions, Olivia noticed one of the teenagers placing a shield around himself.

“Please make sure your shield is around the targeting dummy, not yourself,” she said with a note of exasperation in her voice.

The youngsters burst into laughter.

As the class practiced what they'd learned, Olivia made her way over to him. “It would seem we have a bright new student,” she said.

“Indeed,” Alf replied, echoing one of Harold's favorite words.