The Other Prism (The Broken Prism) (14 page)

In the time it took H
ayden to blink they had left Mizzenwald and Junir entirely. The five members of their team were standing in a sheltered copse at the edge of a wooded area; they stood on a flat disc of smooth black stone that looked like its sole purpose was to be used for translocation circles, and the trees on either side of them had been magically tilted towards each other until they’d grown so that their branches formed a twining archway.

Hayden could tell that he wasn’t the only one in his group who hadn’t been to Valhalla before, because all of his teammates were looking around in amazement as well. There was a path of stepping stones leading through the grass and out of the wooded area, and Oliver led the way. The path made a sharp turn around a thicket of pine trees, and when they rounded the perimeter they got their first view of the school itself.

It was approximately the same size as Mizzenwald, but the main building resembled a mansion more than a castle. It was only four stories tall and there were no turrets, but what it lacked in height it made up for in length: at a rough glance, it had to cover at least two or three times as much land as the castle at Mizzenwald. The exterior walls were a pale tan color that blended in well with the wooded area bordering along three sides of it. The way that didn’t lead into the forest opened up to reveal a large lake with a stone bridge running across it along the main roadway that led to the nearest town. Wooden foldout chairs were set out along the edge of the lake on this side, and Hayden could tell that it was a popular place to swim and relax.

They turned away from the lake and continued in the direction of the main building.

“Where do you think we’re supposed to go?” Darren, their Conjurer, wondered out loud. “Think we just walk in the front door and ask someone for directions?”

“Maybe they’ve put up signs,”
Reya, their wand-user, ventured hopefully.

“Have any of you ever been here before?” Hayden asked the older students.

“No, we’re just now in our sixth and seventh years,” Oliver answered him curtly. “Most people don’t qualify for the I.S.C. until then because they don’t know enough powerful magic.”

An uncomfortable silence followed his words, and Hayden kept his mouth shut as he followed the
others, trying not to trip on his overlong robes and wondering how the Masters pulled it off so easily every day.

The question of whether anyone was expecting them was
soon answered: a mastery-level student with a bright yellow ‘M’ pinned on her dress was waiting for them at the end of the stone path. Hayden was beginning to sweat in his robes, wondering if it was only his imagination or if the magical climate control at Valhalla was kept warmer than at his school.

“Welcome to Valhalla, mages of Mizzenwald,” she greeted them with professional courtesy, sparing each of them a glance before continuing. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll escort you to the staging room.”

No one asked what the staging room was or why they were going there, so Hayden kept his mouth shut, figuring he’d find out soon enough. Their guide didn’t introduce herself or solicit conversation with them, but she answered their questions politely enough.

“Are we the first
to arrive?” Oliver asked as she led them through the double doors made of carved stone, which looked too heavy to ever be pulled closed, and into the school.

“
No, Isenfall is here as well. I expect that Branx will be late—they always are, but the others should be along shortly.”

Hayden dimly remembered that
Isenfall was in Minir and Branx was in Wynir, but he couldn’t remember the name of the school from Hazenvale to save his life.

“When does the first trial start?” Darren asked, looking around the foyer in awe. Hayden couldn’t blame
him. The floor was dark, polished slats of walnut, while the walls were slightly redder—cherry, perhaps—and had been carved meticulously so that all around them they saw spectacular replicas of magical creatures. There were unicorns depicted running in an upward spiral around the wall, wargs prowling near the ground, two-headed chimaeras flying above everything else, dragons shooting fire, yales with their large, curving horns actually protruding out of the wood several feet above Hayden’s head…

“Shortly after lunch,” their guide answered, passing through the foyer and into one of several high-ceilinged corridors that had a red carpet runner over it, muffling their footsteps.

Hayden wished he had more time to look around the impressive foyer and admire the carpentry, but forced his attention back to his present surroundings. They passed dozens of people in the hallways, students as far as he could tell, most of whom stopped and stared at them as they walked by. Hayden was quite used to the feeling of being gawked at by now, but he could tell by the reddening of his teammates’ faces and the straightening of their postures that this was new territory for the rest of them. Even more people seemed to be staring at him than the others, which Hayden suspected was because of his age, since no one was currently muttering about his famous father within earshot.

They passed four different
corridors that intersected the one they were on, and Hayden marveled at the fact that anyone could learn their way around here without getting lost. Finally, they were directed into a small antechamber off of the main hallway and instructed to wait there until they were called for. Their guide closed the door behind her as she departed, muffling the sounds from the hallway.

The
antechamber was proportioned like a normal room, small and cozy, much less imposing than the high-ceilinged corridors and carved walls that they’d seen so far. Four long couches formed a square in the center of the room, one of which was already occupied by five people wearing purple robes with blue hoods and trim.

“Mizzenwald?” one of them asked, and Oliver nodded confirmation.

“Isenfall, I assume?”

They nodded, and Hayden followed his teammates to the couch adjoining the group from
Isenfall. A boy with sandy blond hair took one look at Hayden and snorted.

“Who’s the kid? Don’t tell me you couldn’t muster u
p anyone better than a ten-year-old for the I.S.C. this year.”

Hayden’s face burned at being called a kid, and
he answered coldly. “I’m the Prism of Mizzenwald, I’m not ten, and yes—I was the best they could find this year.”

The boy’s eyes widened comically and the conversation came to a
n abrupt halt. Oliver cast Hayden an inscrutable look and then leaned back and crossed his legs at the ankles, closing his eyes as though preparing to take a nap.

The ten of them sat there for another fifteen minutes before the door from the hallway opened again and five students wearing
yellow-and-orange robes joined them: Team Valhalla. Shortly after that the group from Hazenvale arrived wearing black and green. Their guide had been correct about Branx being late, because they were the only ones who hadn’t arrived yet.

Everyone was repositioning on the couches to make room for the new arrivals, and Hayden whispered to
Reya, who was closest to him, under the cover of the shuffling, “What’s Hazenvale’s school called again?”

She looked surprised that he didn’t already know. “Creston,” she mumbled, taking her seat once more
and discouraging further conversation.

They were waiting for almost twenty minutes by the time Team
Branx showed up, in robes of white-and-pink. Hayden watched the students from the other schools talking in silence, very interested in seeing all the different cultures and accents, since he had never traveled beyond Junir before.

The door at the opposite end of the room opened and closed, and another mastery-level student from Valhalla called for their attention.

“The Masters have assembled along the dais in the Grand Ballroom. In a moment you will join them for introductions and the opening ceremony. You’re to walk single-file through the door and to the center of the room, proceeding up the staircase and standing at your designated position,” he explained without pause. “The order will be: Valhalla, Branx, Isenfall, Creston, and Mizzenwald.”

Everyone began to arrange t
hemselves into a line that snaked around the antechamber, and Hayden found himself at the very back of the Mizzenwald group, which meant that he would be the last one entering the ballroom. He had no idea what to expect from the opening ceremony, and there wasn’t time to ask if any of his teammates knew anything, because at a soft knock on the closed door, their guide opened it and motioned for the first person to begin walking.

Hayden could hear quite a lot of noise coming from the space on the other side, and his palms started to sweat as he moved slowly forward. There was a brief paus
e when the last Valhallan entered the ballroom, and then their guide motioned for the students from Branx to begin filing out.

His heart was racing by the time it was his turn, and he followed
Griff into the ballroom and felt his face blanch. The room was much bigger than he’d anticipated, even for a ballroom, and was currently lined on three sides with rows of chairs that seemed to contain the entire population of Valhalla. People were pointing at him and chuckling to their neighbors, and Hayden resolutely focused his attention on where he was walking and followed Griff to the short stairwell at the back of the room, leading up to a raised platform.

The Masters of the major arcana at Valhalla wore robes of br
ight yellow, and the minor arcana wore orange. The room was brightly lit by magically-imbued gas-lamps and the effect of the bright colors was a little overwhelming on the eyes. Hayden stumbled a little on the hem of his robes as he climbed the stairs, catching himself before he fell but eliciting more laughs from the crowd. The blood was pounding in his ears by the time he took his position standing next to Griff on the platform, facing the Masters.

“Welcome, visitors from the other Great Schools of the east,” the Master of Conjury began speaking, his voice magically amplified to reach all parts of the room, and the chatter immediately stopped. “It is a great honor to host the opening trial of the one-hundred-and-fourth Eastern Inter-School Championship. If you’ll please introduce yourselves to the assembly, we will commence with the opening ceremonies.”

They introduced themselves in the same order that they’d entered the room, starting from the end farthest from Hayden. The first boy from Valhalla accepted what looked like a lump of clay from the Master of Conjury, and spoke in the same magically-magnified voice.

“Aaron
Trueheart, Wand of Valhalla, son of Jessamine Trueheart.”

There was a smattering of applause and a few whoops from the crowd, which Aaron acknowledged with a jaunty smile and a wave, passing the lump of clay to his neighbor.

“Jax Leowitz, Powder of Valhalla, son of Jarvis and Ana Leowitz.”

And so it went down the line. Hayden felt the bottom drop out of his stomach when he realized that they had to declare their parentage, and that
, of course, mages only cared about family names of the magically-inclined, which is why some of the competitors only referenced one parent when introducing themselves.

I’m going to have to say I’m the son of the Dark Prism…I won’t even be able to mention my mother…

He had no idea if any of the people here today—even the Masters—knew who he was, aside from the rest of Team Mizzenwald. He also had no idea what would happen when they all found out, but couldn’t imagine anything good. He felt the world lurch alarmingly around him, and all of a sudden Griff’s hand was clamped, pincer-like, around his arm, steadying him. He looked like he knew exactly why Hayden had nearly passed out just now.

The other members of Team Mizzenwald were glancing at him every few seconds, and
all too soon Griff was accepting the lump of clay that amplified sound and introducing himself.

“
Griff Rauxhall, Elixir of Mizzenwald, son of Mary Newl and Fredrich Rauxhall.” He passed the clay to Hayden, who felt like his heart was about to explode out of his chest as he faced the hundreds of people who were all staring at him now.

“H-Hayden Frost,” his voice cracked slightly and he cleared his throat, “Prism of Mizzenwald, son of Aleric Frost.”

It was as though he’d announced he was the Dark Prism himself. The Masters didn’t even flinch—apparently they had been warned to expect him—but they obviously hadn’t shared their knowledge with the rest of the school. Several hundred people were now gasping, pointing, screaming, or jumping up from their chairs, and even the members of the other schools’ teams broke ranks and turned to gawk at him. The boy from Isenfall who was rude to him earlier raised an eyebrow in mild interest and studied him more closely.

The Master of Conjury turned to Hayden and held up his hand as though prepared to catch something. Getting the point, Hayden aimed carefully and tossed the warm piece of clay to him, and the Master took a deep breath and yelled, “ENOUGH!” loudly enough to make Hayden’s ears ring.

Everything seemed to stop and fall silent at once, and the other teams shuffled quickly back to their places and tried to look professional.

“Everyone will be seated and silent, now that you have displayed your lack of self-control and im
maturity to half of the continent.” He sounded thoroughly annoyed with the students of Valhalla, who hastily complied with his instructions.