Alfirean Age Book 1 - Inheritor of Strength

Harsh Reality

Alfonso felt rough hands lift him into the air and place him on a stretcher. Time seemed to stretch into eternity as they carried him out of the manor, down the lane, and into the hospital. For the next four hours, Harold, Olivia, and a host of other healers ran tests on him.

They quickly discovered that any use of magic, on or around Alfonso, resulted in his body latching onto the energy source—the more powerful the spell, the tighter the grip. In the end, the physicians were forced to resort to non-magical tests. 

After poking and prodding him for hours, the doctors finally declared they were finished. And at long last, Harold and Olivia took Alfonso into a private room to talk with him.

Alfonso sat down and waited for the verdict. A sick feeling welled up inside him; something was wrong. He could tell by the haunted look in his friends' eyes and the way they avoided eye contact. He rubbed his legs nervously and glanced out the window. On the other side of the glass, the sky shone a bright blue; toucans and blue-and-gold macaws hopped through the branches, and reddish-orange mangoes hung, ripe for the picking.

Outside offered a beautiful, serene picture—cheery and bright—while inside, it was dark and gloomy, as if a cloud of foreboding hung in the room.

Once again, Alfonso tried to make eye contact with Harold, but for the first time in his life, Harold refused to look at him. He turned to Olivia, hoping she would say something, anything, to relieve the oppressive silence; instead, she too turned away.

His mouth went dry, and his palms felt clammy. Finally, he gathered the courage to ask, “How bad is it?”

Harold’s back stiffened. He stared past Alfonso as if inspecting some invisible object. He then cleared his throat and launched into a fumbling explanation.  “As you well know, from your birth, the ailment that has plagued your family line for generations has afflicted you as well. Its origins are unknown, and even I, with all my medical knowledge, have not been able to cure it.”

The bitterness and shame in the master healer’s tone were palpable, and Alfonso clasped his hands together. It must be worse than he thought.

Harold’s fist clenched and unclenched several times. His mouth opened and closed as he struggled to find the right words.  “This, unknown illness,” he spat with disgust, “has evolved. It's turned itself into a vacuum capable of latching on to any source of magical energy. It will then feed on this source until it has siphoned every last drop.”

“I'm sorry, Alfonso,” Olivia whispered. “But you can no longer help people achieve Patuah. It's too dangerous.”

Alfonso's shoulders' relaxed. It was bad. He knew it would be, but maybe they could find a way around it. Maybe they could discover a spell to fix everything. He just had to stay away from people in the meantime—hard, but not impossible.

“That is not the worst of it,” Harold’s voice interrupted his musings. “There is something we have not told you.

“Alfonso, without receiving that energy every day, you will die. Your body has become too weak to perform normal functions without it. This is something Olivia and I have known for the past two years. And now that you can no longer perform Patuah, the two of us are the only healers skilled enough to provide you with energy without losing our lives.” He paused, “Even then, at the current rate your body is decaying, you'll only live two more years.”

Alfonso shook. “And you and Olivia,” he enquired with haunted eyes. “How will this affect you two?”

Harold clasped his hands behind his back and turned his face towards the window. “With that much unnatural energy loss on a daily basis, we are unsure of the adverse effects.”

Alfonso's heart skipped a beat as he imagined his two best friends shriveled up like empty husks and dying as they constantly fed him their lives' energy. His gain would be their loss.

Walking to his side, Olivia placed her hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him.

He gazed up at her. Tears rolled down her olive-colored cheeks, and her lovely smile, which was always present, had vanished. He swallowed hard and asked, “How will we provide for the orphanage and the hospital now? And what happened to the young ladies? Will they be alright?”

Harold stepped back. For the first time since entering the room, he looked Alfonso in the eyes. His nose scrunched and his eyebrows furled in confusion—as if he were trying to comprehend Alfonso's questions. “What about y-,” the butler caught himself. He blinked back his tears, then straightened and nodded. “The girls are fine. They are a bit shaken, but no permanent damage was done. And surprisingly, they achieved Patuah on their first visit.”

“You're certain there's no permanent damage?” Alfonso asked.

“Yes.”

At least everything wasn’t a total loss, Alfonso thought, attempting to cheer himself up.

“As to your other question, I have been thinking about how to bring in additional income for some time now. I have decided, with your permission, of course, to open a magic school here. With our reputations, Olivia and I could teach the ways of healing.”

Ah, yes. Alfonso had seen the random notes and plans Harold jotted down from time to time to use less populated parts of the manor and hospital as classrooms. From what he'd seen, his friend almost had a completely working system planned out. No doubt, the only reason he hadn't mentioned it to him yet was because he hadn’t figured out where to dorm the students—which was something they were going to have to resolve without him. A lump lodged in Alfonso's throat. He struggled to keep his composure... Yes, without him.

“Good idea,” he cleared his throat and looked at the closed door. “I'll begin to make the legal arrangements right away.”

With a distracted air, Alfonso pushed himself out of the chair, hugged both Harold and Olivia, then whispered, “I need to be alone for a bit,” and walked out.

***

Alfonso sat at his desk, his left hand resting lightly on a thick, yellow packet and his right hand absentmindedly fiddling with a carved wooden horse. He needed to focus, to finish the matters at hand. But the faces of his loved ones, and the memories of his life, played in his mind like a broken scrying pot. By this point, trying to concentrate was impossible; his head hurt, and his heart ached. Suddenly, the door to his office opened, and Olivia’s head peered around the corner.

“Oh, there you are,” she said, pushing the door the rest of the way open. “I've been looking everywhere for you. It's time to eat.” She glanced at the floor, and her eyes trailed back to him; she clearly wanted to say more, but there was nothing to be said.

Alfonso knew this was hard on Olivia, but he couldn’t think of any words to comfort her. Ever since the day she'd arrived at the orphanage, they had been best of friends.  For many years, she had protected and watched over him like a fierce mother hen, encouraging him and pushing him whenever he felt like giving up, even though she was a year younger than he. Deep inside, Alfonso had always hoped their friendship would develop into love, but now that could never happen—he wasn't going to stick around for two more years sucking the life out of her and Harold. Of course, he could never let either of them know that, so, as calmly as he could, he said, “Could you have one of the servants bring me my meal? I don't feel like coming to eat right now.”

“Alf...,” Olivia muttered. “I...,” she stopped.

No doubt she wanted to take his pain away and to make the situation better like she always did, but this time, they both knew no actions would suffice. Instead, they gazed into each other's eyes, pale blue meeting mahogany brown, and let the moment speak for itself. Just for a second, time fell away and all was right with the world. Then the moment snapped. Olivia's long dark lashes swept down in an attempt to hide her tears, and Alfonso drew in a shuddering breath. She reached for the door, preparing to leave.  

“Wait.”

Olivia spun back around, her eyebrows raised in question.

Alfonso glanced at the yellow packet on his desk. “I…I need you to do something for me. Today if you would.” Placing the wooden horse, carved by the Mayor of Carlos for him years ago, back on the desk, he picked up the packet and held it out to her.

“What do you want me to do with this?” she asked, reaching for the envelope.

He smiled nervously at her. “I won't lie to you. These papers are my will and the legal documents to start a school here for magic. I need you to deliver them to the Empire’s Legal Center in Carlos. I know it's a long trip, but...”

Her eyes grew wide in dismay. “But you’re not going to die for another two years,” she exclaimed.

“Neither you nor Harold can guarantee that,” Alfonso stated. He stared at the thick carpet under her feet, afraid that if he looked her in the face again, she would be able to see what he was planning to do. In a softer tone,  he continued, “You're the only one I can trust to deliver these. Harold won't do it; he'd never accept this task. In his mind, delivering these papers would be a symbol of him giving up. Which means you're the only one I can trust to do this.”

She didn’t move.

“If something does go wrong, and I die before we expect, I don't want the empire to take control of my assets, or for you and Harold not to have a way to provide for this estate.”

She still didn’t budge.

“The report of what happened this morning is also in there, and it must be delivered today to avoid legal action.”

Olivia flinched and Alfonso's heart clenched. He hadn’t wanted to use that.

Finally, rubbing the tears from her eyes, Olivia said, “Fine, I understand.” She grabbed the parcel. “I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, Livy,” Alfonso said, using his old childhood nickname for her.

Olivia blinked. She hesitated, then leaned over his desk and kissed him on the cheek, just like she used to when they were children, and rushed for the door.

As she walked away, Alfonso tried to burn her image into his mind, knowing full well this would be the last time he would ever see her.

When the door closed, it felt like the steel cage of reality slammed shut around him, leaving him paralyzed.

For several minutes, he sat there and tried to fortify himself for what he needed to do. His only comfort was the scent of Olivia that lingered in the room—a sweet fragrance of honeydew and the ambrosial smell of healing magic. Eventually, the noise of the head maid entering with his meal pulled him out of his dazed state. The silver-haired woman paused and looked at him. Her violet eyes changed briefly as if something magical were taking place, but it swiftly faded away, and deep sorrow flooded her face.

Alfonso smiled at her and motioned for her to set the tray down on his desk. With trembling hands, she placed his lunch beside him and left the room.

Shaking his head, Alfonso shook off his stupor; if he became any sappier, he'd end up melting to the floor. He glanced down at his dinner, another bowl of tasteless mush, and grinned. At least he'd never have to eat this stuff again.

Planting his feet, he swiveled his chair around, stood up, and pushed aside his father’s portrait. To all appearances, the wall seemed plain and unadorned. However, as Alfonso laid his palm on the area, it pulsated with a soft light, and the wall faded away to reveal the Brockovich safe. Rummaging through the magically hidden treasury, he picked out the two least inconspicuous heirlooms—a plain medallion and an ugly, ancient broach. Then, stuffing them in his pocket, he marched over to the window and climbed out.

Good thing my office is on the first floor, Alfonso thought.

A life of forced inactivity had left him with poorly developed muscles and scrawny limbs. So even with all the energy his body had stolen earlier, the idea of hanging out of a second-story window made him shiver with dread.

Reaching the ground, he crouched down in the grass outside the window and scanned the area.

His family manor had been built on a hill overlooking a crystal-clear lake hundreds of years ago. Originally, the valley was an isolated location, surrounded by nothing but untouched lush-green forest. But his ancestors had gone to great lengths to haul a teleportation stone out here, and with the stone in place, it wasn’t long before other people moved in. Now, a modest-sized town, filled with earthen homes and colorful awnings, bordered the south side of the lake.

He finished scanning the area and sighed in relief—there was no one in sight. With one last longing look at his childhood home, Alfonso dashed across the well-maintained road leading to the town and escaped into the jungle.

Among the lush ferns and moss-covered trees, he quickly found his secret footpath, the one he often used to sneak through the jungle and visit the baker’s place, and made his way towards his destination.

Several minutes later, Alfonso broke free from the dense forest and emerged into the baker's backyard. In front of him sat a squat, single-story structure crafted of earth. With its open layout and large openings, the building was designed to create airflow and vent the tropical warmth naturally. As a result, the smell of the baker’s cooking permeated the entire area with an alluring fragrance. Alfonso's mouth watered as the smell of his favorite pastries tormented him, but he ignored the temptation.

Instead, he searched the immediate vicinity, looking for something in particular. Ah, there's one, he thought—a damp patch of earth sat underneath the baker's downspout. He placed his hand in the mud and channeled energy into the soggy ground. Once he had conducted enough energy into his earth spell, he released it.

The earth twisted and changed as pale-white minerals rose to the surface. Alfonso slid his hand around the edge of the muddy hole and then formed another earth spell. A sheet of mud, slightly thicker than his skin, separated from the ground.

Picking up the delicate sheet, he placed it on his face. His skin tingled as it molded perfectly to his facial structure and began to harden. As it solidified, he used a bit of earth magic to change its structure. With a little twist here and there, he gave himself higher cheekbones,  a twisted nose, and a narrow, pointed chin.

He had seen Harold do this once before when they were in the Imperial City. Since then, he had practiced with his meager energy pool, attempting to do the same thing. He'd never succeeded. Each time, his magic had run out just before he could get the mineral concentration right to match the pigment of his face.

As a result, every time he went on one of his unsupervised forays, his horrible attempts at a disguise had betrayed him, and he was consequently dragged back to the manor and subjected to painfully long lectures. “It's not safe,” they'd said. “You could be kidn*pped or killed. Never leave Harold's side while outside the manor.” 

And so, all of his life, Alfonso had been cosseted, protected, and babied, unable to go on his own adventures; of course, he understood why, but it still chafed. 

Today, however, that would all change.

He peered into a nearby puddle, made several adjustments, and nodded in satisfaction—his disguise should withstand even the closest of scrutiny.

Sneaking to the front of the baker’s store, he waited until a group of people stopped to examine the baker’s pastries, then casually walked out into the street.

Having merged seamlessly with the everyday traffic, he made his way to the local pawn shop located in the town bazaar. Colors abounded everywhere. Parrots, tropical birds, bright garments, and a plethora of exotic fruits provided a feast for the eyes. People called out from their stands, trying to lure in potential customers. The sky glistened a clear, piercing blue, and a warm tropical wind blew through the multitude, carrying the sound of chittering spider monkeys and the smell of sweet fruit tarts.

Alfonso struggled through the crowds, holding his breath, afraid that any minute someone would yell out his name and he would be dragged back to the Brockovich manor. Finally, he slipped into the small pawnshop and breathed a sigh of relief.

The relief was short-lived, for Mr. Dinwiddie, a wizened old man and owner of the dusty, overcrowded pawnshop, sat at the counter, gazing at him with hawkish eyes.

Alfonso nervously straightened his clothes. He probably should have changed into something less formal.

“May I help you?” Mr. Dinwiddie asked.

Fighting the temptation to say he was just browsing, Alfonso marched to the front of the store and pulled out the heirlooms. “Yes, I’m here to sell some things.”

“Alright, let’s have a look.” The shrewd-looking man accepted the brooch from him and began to look it over. His long, thin fingers caressed and prodded the ancient piece, his eyes peering from behind a pair of round magnifying glasses. After thoroughly examining the brooch, he laid it aside and then took the medallion. His eyes narrowed, and Alfonso’s heart skipped a beat, certain the older man had realized who he was. But, after a brief moment of silence, the pawnshop owner placed it on the counter and stated, “I'll give you ten thousand crypto for the lot.”

That’s a lot more than I was expecting, Alfonso thought, his heart beating in his throat. He knew the smart and inconspicuous choice would be to try to haggle for more. But he didn’t want to, nor did he need to. Staring at the heirlooms sitting on the oaken counter, he managed to calmly say, “Eleven.”

The older gentleman rubbed the side of his face and frowned, “Ten point five.”

“Ten thousand seven hundred and fifty,” Alfonso instinctively countered.

“Deal,” Mr. Dinwiddie replied, taking out a money chip. He handed it to Alfonso, then hovered his hand over the device, transferring the agreed-upon amount into its magic-powered vault.

“Thank you,” Alfonso stated, then practically dashed out of the store.

With his heart beating in his chest like a herd of elephants, he made his way through the bazaar and visited Mister Allender's rental shop. Using his newly acquired wealth, Alfonso  bought the most expensive armor, horse, and sword summon scrolls he could find. With these magical teleportation scrolls, he could summon the aforementioned objects for thirty minutes. It was by far cheaper than buying the real things.

After visiting the rental store, he briskly walked towards the edge of town. As he traveled westwards, the traffic thinned out until the streets became bare, the buildings dilapidated, and the shops nonexistent. His eyes trailed towards the horizon; there in the distance sat the reason no one would build here—Vackzilian’s black tower. Geographically, the fortress lay over a thousand miles away, but through some unknown form of magic, Vackzilian had warped the surrounding terrain. Now his magically twisted land reached right up to the side of Brokovich town, and no one in their right mind wanted to look at it, much less be near it.

Finally arriving at the edge of town, he stood before an overgrown road leading into the distance. Moss-covered buildings, overcome by twenty years of vines, lay in shambles to his right and left, and a haze hovered over the land, obscuring several of the abandoned buildings from view.

He paused.

The road leaving town seemed to blink in and out of existence. There one second, and gone the next, it was almost like looking at a mirage.

Did he really want to do this? There would be no turning back. With one more step, his life would never be the same. God, am I doing the right thing? Alfonso asked. Silence echoed back, but peace filled him, a silent confirmation he was making the right decision.

Before his courage could give way, he took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and stepped into the haze.