18th of Sifdras - 3rd Auryn

  Today is Cira and my first combat training class and I am extremely nervous as I have never intentionally struck out against anyone, especially not with magic. The introduction made by Professor Blackclaw does nothing to calm my nerves or dissuade my ill-ease as he speaks about the seriousness about abiding by the rules and regulations, set by him, to ensure student safety. He reminds us that these bouts are meant to be in practice only and that no lethal force or spells are to be used. Period.

  The broad shouldered professor with skin marred with scars, begins to separate the students into pairs and I can only hope that Cira and I are paired together. But no, when he calls Cira in his deep, gravely voice, she is paired with a rather good looking boy with light brow hair just a shade or two darker than my long sandy locks. The boy has an easy smile as he and Cira greet each other, chatting as they walk away from me. At least he seems nice, I think to myself as Cira glances back at me, a reluctant sorrow in her eyes as she fidgets with the amulet around her neck. I have found that it means she is particularly anxious, using it as a touchstone.

  “Crowfoot.” A familiar stone deep voice calls me, shaking me from my pining about not being paired with Cira. I turn to see the professor beckoning me over and any hope of this class improving flies out the window. I frown as I approach the professor who is standing with the familiar shape of a lean bodied, dark toned, golden eyed beast.

  His hands are in the pockets of thin baggy pants that tie at the waist, but with a sleeveless shirt on instead of a bulky cloak, I am glad that Kishi warned me about his tattoos. She definitely wasn’t kidding when she said that he has “lots” of them. I can see the black ink on his dark skin shimmer from his neck down his chest beneath his shirt and, with the sleeves missing, fully covers both arms. The animalistic patterns almost looks like they are moving with the light and movement of his body.

  I stifle a shudder as his gold eyes regard me like a cat might contemplate a mouse that wandered into its domain. Does he seriously expect me to fight this beast? “Yes, Professor?” I ask, trying to keep my focus on the stoic manner of the larger man in front of me.

  “This is Calas Duskwood, another Vodalysa. He will be your partner for this mock team battle and the rest of the term. You are to defend each other against the other pair in the dueling box. The best of three waves wins.” He points to another co-ed pair not too far from us. “I will give you a few minutes to discuss your strategy while I pair up the other teams.” Then, without an opportunity for questions or objections, Prof. Blackclaw walks away, leaving me alone with Calas.

  Was this some kind of sick joke? According to Kishi, Professor Blackclaw is the one who pulled me out of the Void of Reflection mere days ago. Didn’t he know, then, that Calas was the one who goaded me into that eerie room to begin with? Or did that part just, ironically, failed to be mentioned? I glare daggers at him for what he did not mention just as much as what he apparently did mention; that I must be cursed.

  He only smiles in that primal, animalistic way, giving a small laugh. A laugh! “So,” he starts, as if not noticing my loathing for him, “how would you take on Sonya and Greyson, little mouse?” His voice is not the cold tones from the other day, but still dusky as his name suggests and he nods toward a pair huddled together.

  The pair is from Drakonys by the sweater the one named Sonya is wearing. She is redheaded and red scales dot her skin in patches marking her as at least part drakari. The one called Greyson wears a red vest over a polo which outlines his physique rather well. He chats easily with Sonya, a charming smile on his face while running a hand through his dusty blond hair.

  I click my tongue, incredulous. “How should I know!? I’ve never fought anyone before!” The admission escapes my lips before I can stop it and I wince internally at my stupid, honest mouth.

  He shifts just his eyes toward me, an amused smile on his face now. It is smug and insufferable and it might be the first time I have ever wanted to hit someone. I suddenly wish I were fighting this beast now, if only to smack the amusement right off his face.

  “That is surprising, mouse. Why, with all the glares you give me, I would think that you would get into plenty of fights.” He takes his hand out of his pocket to make a swatting gesture before changing his stance to face me. “Oh, but I forgot you are so fond of rules, you would never think to break them, right?”

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  I don’t bother to remove the glare off my face as I stare hatred into his golden eyes. “Fine, beast, if you are so experienced how do we beat them?”

  He shrugs, putting his hands back in his pockets, “All duels are the same really. Play to your strengths, exploit their weaknesses, and of course find the right opening.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “Although I guess the last bit doesn’t really matter in this kind of duel.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “What do you meant, ‘this kind of duel’?”

  His expression turns serious for maybe the first time and I am so shocked that I forget to glare at him. “This is not what is called a melee or even a one-on-one duel. These are a one for one bout where each team gets one attacker and one defender for three rounds.” He crosses his inked arms across his chest as a smile returns. “So what is your specialty, little mouse? Are you an attack mouse? Or a defense mouse?”

  I scoff at his quips, but am distracted by one of the tattoos on his arm coming into focus as the shape of coiling snake. “I have a name, ya know. And it has nothing to do with being a mouse or any other small creature.”

  “Perhaps if we win I might even learn it.” His smile becomes a mixture of jovial and cruel. “What is it that you do well?”

  Frustrated, I answer in a flat tone. “Spell weaving. And what do you do that is so special?”

  “What in all the desert sands is spell weaving?” There is a dissatisfied sneer to his expression and I’m taken aback by the answer.

  “W-what do you mean, what is spell weaving?” Even as I say it I am having problems finding a simple explanation for it. “You know, it’s when you piece a spell together. And you interlock the strands that bind it…to… To manifest the… oh! Never mind! What are you going to do?”

  Calas is quiet for a moment, his face an odd mask of neutrality coupled with a burning intensity in his golden eyes. “Win.”

  At that moment, Professor Blackclaw calls us to a dueling arena, which is just a sectioned out area of the expansive practice room marked by tape on the wooden floor. Calas and I go to one end of the rectangle and a demure Sonya and a confident Greyson go to the other. Professor Blackclaw tells us to prepare and a second later the first bout begins.

  My heart is pounding so hard in my chest that I can feel it in my neck. The sensation makes the birds itch or at least I thought it did until I hear Calas whisper in my ear, feeling his breath on my skin from behind me. “Be a good decoy for me, mouse.”

  When I turn to look at him, he isn’t there! Even more panicked, I turn my attention to the other team where Greyson is conjuring a water spell and quickly counter weaving a hasty fire shield to deflect it. At the same time, from somewhere behind me, a black bolt of energy shoots straight at Sonya. It looks like pure shadow as it reaches the other end and she doesn’t have enough time to defend fully. It clips her in the shoulder, leaving a sooty black mark on her otherwise bright red sweater. She grits her teeth, eyes narrowing in my direction.

  The Professor calls the bout in our favor and tells us to reset. Prepare. Begin!

  This time I am in the moment, as this is just like when one of my mishaps occur but this time they are predictable. Using the rage I saw from the first bout, Sonya attacks, conjuring magic as I have never seen it done before. The difference is so distracting that I miss the release. Gasping in shock, I brace for the eventual connection of the bolts of energy coming toward me, but suddenly a shadowy barrier of overlapping translucent panels appears from nothing next to me, absorbing the purple huen bolts. Calas appears next to me inside it.

  “Your turn, little mouse.”

  There is a heat to my cheeks as he says it, both embarrassment and something else. It makes me so angry for some reason and just like Sonya, I use that rage to weave fire into a fist sized ball, hurling it toward Greyson. As I release, I scream at Calas, “Stop calling me that!”

  Greyson anticipated my spell perfectly and with a wave of his own fire, deflects it away smoothly. My fire ball diminishes and fizzles out mid air behind him. A draw.

  The Professor calls the bout a draw and tells us to reset. Prepare. Begin!

  Calas disappears from view right before my eyes and I can’t keep the awe from my face. I barely even saw a mana signature. As odd as it is that someone doesn’t know about spell weaving, I get the distinct feeling that what he does is even stranger.

  Calas gives them no chance to strike out first, sending three shadowy bolts with a blue core from somewhere behind me. They are aimed directly at Greyson, but unfortunately, Greyson is similarly prepared for something like this and deflects all three bolts with ease using a gust of air.

  I am so distracted by watching Greyson handle Calas’ unusual magic that I nearly miss Sonya, who cries out as she hurls a huge ball of fire at me. Panicked, I weave a shield of water, but it is not enough to stop the full force of it. As the volatile fire collides with the water of my shield, it creates an explosion, throwing me back several feet.

  The wind is knocked out of me when my back hits something solid. I try to catch my breath, looking up to see what stopped me. The smug smile of Calas melts into view as I can see the aether of both shadow and light dissipate off of his body, slowly revealing that he is the solid object that stopped my momentum.

  “Better luck next time, little mouse.” He stresses his nickname for me while helping me to stand up straight on my own two feet. Flashing me a quirk of a devilish smile, he shoves his hands back in his pockets and walks away.

  I stare at his retreating back with daggers, thinking that the hardest part about this term is going to be suffering that golden eyed beast.