The Other Prism (The Broken Prism) (19 page)

Both yetis charged at Lorn, who was defenseless and screaming in terror, and Hayden took off running in the opposite direction, desperate to get to the cage and end this hideous arena once and for all…

He was slowing down; the last of his adrenaline had petered out.

No…a few more feet…I’m almost there…

The cold numbness was settling over his mind, and Tess and Zane were both dead…

Three more feet…

Lorn was being eaten somewhere behind him. He couldn’t even save
him
in the end…

Almost there…

Hayden’s outstretched hand fell limp at his side as he lost consciousness, his entire body falling against the trigger as the blackness swallowed him.

10

The Prism-Wielder’s Duel

When Hayden opened his eyes
he was lying flat on his back in the translocation circle at Mizzenwald. He climbed unsteadily to his feet and one of the mastery-level students said, “Report to classroom three” in a bored voice.

Hayden didn’t see any of his teammates outside with him, but he had no idea how long he’d been unconscious; they might have gone on ahead. The memory of that horrible arena challenge came back to him with painful clarity, and despite the fact that his body was entirely
healed, his mind still retained every agonizing moment.

By the time he made it back to the castle he was livid with the Masters for doing this to him, all five of them. He threw open the door to classroom three and stormed into the room, slamming it shut behind him and glaring at the assem
bled Masters with corrosive hatred: Kilgore with his mug of hot chocolate and his black slippers, Reede with that arrogantly calm look on his face, Willow with that knowing expression, Sark looking bored, and Asher with his solemn understanding…all of it made him furious.

His teammates
were already in the room, as predicted. Tess looked pale and had tear-tracks on her cheeks, Zane was holding a trash receptacle that smelled like vomit and even Lorn looked shaken.

“Now that you’re all here, let us begin,” Master Willow began calmly, and Hayden felt something inside of him snap.

“That’s all you can say!?” he shouted, balling his hands into fists.

“Hayden…” Tess touched his arm gently, trying to calm him down. He shook her off, too angry to care.

“What were you all thinking, giving us that arena? Did you really just want to watch us all die?!” He was shouting so loudly that his throat hurt, but it was viciously satisfying.

“Frost, shut up and sit—”

“I will NOT shut up!” he cut Sark off sharply, taking a menacing step forward and clenching his fists so hard his knuckles popped. “You knew we didn’t stand a chance in there and you sent us in anyway! It’s all a big, stupid game to you people! Well I’ve had it!” Hayden’s voice cracked, and he picked up the nearest chair and threw it against the wall with a bang so that the wooden legs broke off.

“I’m done with all of you and your dumb games! You can take your
arenas and your Inter-School Championship and shove them up your butts!”

He turned around and stormed out of the room, slammi
ng the door behind him. Right now he didn’t care what happened next, or how much trouble he was going to be in. He didn’t even care if they expelled him at the moment; there was too much anger and fear and inadequacy in him that needed a place to vent, too much to hold back any longer.

Ha
yden had just stepped into the pentagonal foyer when a familiar voice behind him called out, “Frost!”

He turned around just in time to dodge the spell Master Asher cast at him, which hit the wall behind him and nearly cracked the marble. Hayden equipped his amber prism
without thinking, the blood pounding through his veins so fast that he was almost dizzy.

Well, I was looking for a fight and now I’ve got one…

He hadn’t reckoned on it being with the Prism Master of Mizzenwald, but he was still too jumped-up to care. He cast Break at Asher’s eyepiece but his spell was repelled easily.

“Is that the best you’ve got, Hayden? You were so sure you could do better against those yetis if only you had your prisms. Well, you’ve got them now, so what are you waiting for?”
He opened his arms as though to say,
Bring it on.

People were leaving their dormitories and common areas
on the stairwells above, drawn by the noise. Hayden could see students peering over the edge of the bannisters on each floor with worried or excited looks on their faces. Horace, Bonk and Cinder were sitting idly along the railing, none of them coming to their masters’ defense.

Useless dragon.
He’s supposed to always act in my best interest…

Hayden cast Stun and was blocked once again. Master Asher was walking sedately towards him as though he didn’t have a care in the world. He yawned widely, provoking Hayden further.

Holding up his blue prism he thought,
Draw!
and pulled a candlestick holder off of the wall towards him. He cast again with the inverse alignment that Master Asher had shown him only yesterday and a dozen more were draw to him as well.

Shouldn’t have taught me that spell…
he thought with savage pleasure, sending all the holders hurtling at the Prism Master with as much force as he could muster.

Asher caused the first few to turn to stone and explode, and the rest were
diverted from their course in the blast. He compounded his crystal prisms and Hayden was thrown backwards so hard that he flew out the open doors and onto the front lawns, hitting the ground with a thud and nearly breaking his tailbone on impact.

Master Asher stood in the doorway, illuminated
from behind by the light from the castle, as people crowded the staircase to watch them fight. Torin was just behind Hayden, carrying a bundle of wood through the main courtyard, when he stopped and said, “What in the world are you two—”

Hayden cast Heat and the edge of Asher’s robes caught fir
e. He extinguished them and cast Suspend, hoisting Hayden up into the air and dangling him upside down while he squirmed and tried to break free.

Release!

Hayden’s prisms were running low by now, but he broke free of the spell and got back to his feet, holding up the remnants of his amber and pink prisms and compounding Break with every ounce of will he had at the same time as Master Asher.

Their spells hit each other so hard that both of them were actually pushed backwards by the f
orce of impact before they could maintain their footing. Torin was shouting something at them that Hayden couldn’t hear over the raging of blood in his head, and people were crowded all along the windows leading to the dining hall to watch them.

In Hayden’
s fury their wills were pretty evenly matched, or else his opponent wasn’t trying very hard. He was pulling on every ounce of power he could muster within himself, wishing he had an offensive charm around his neck so that he could tap into his Source directly. For whatever reason, perhaps out of fairness, Asher wasn’t using his Mastery Charm either.

The strain of pushing so hard was giving him a blinding headache, but Hayden kept pushing with all of his might until his prisms shattered, and then
several things happened at the same time: he was thrown backwards through the air, both Focus-correctors cracked along his wrists, and the wall two feet on either side of Asher burst inward and showered the Pentagon with bits of rubble and rock.

Hayden was too drained to get up
, and simply laid there on the soft grass in the darkness, the only light coming from the moon and the inside of the castle. Now that he had exercised out all of his emotions, he was beginning to feel properly horrified at the fact that he had just shouted at all the Masters and then dueled the Prism Master while half the school watched.

Asher walked calmly over to where he was lying and sat down beside him on the grass. Torin stomped over
to them, red-faced, and demanded to know what his son was thinking, fighting a student.

“I’m a teacher, Dad. I was teaching,” the Prism Master answered simply. “Now leave us, please.”

Torin cast the pair of them one last skeptical glare and then stalked off to his cabin. Asher allowed a moment of silence to linger between them before he said, “It isn’t a game.”

Hayden struggled to sit up
and narrowed his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

“The arenas are not a game,” he repeated calmly. “You are in the fourth-year arenas since you started in the third last year, which is traditionally when we stop babying students and show them what the world is truly like.”

Hayden brought his knees to his chin and wrapped his arms around his legs.

“I don’t understand.”

“The wo
rld is full of monsters, Hayden; more by the day. You will someday be expected to fight them in all sorts of conditions: bad weather, when you don’t have your weapon of choice on hand, with people you don’t like...” he trailed off. “You need to be as well-prepared as we can make you to face what is out there. I don’t know why young people think magic school is a place to have fun and goof off: it is a grueling six-or-more years of us attempting to teach you enough to survive on your own. Would you rather your first unpleasant encounter with a yeti have occurred in the real world, or in an arena?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “How would you have felt if you had fainted while your best friend was actually being torn to shreds?”

Hayden swallowed an unpleasant knot of emotion.

“Bad,” Hayden admitted quietly. “I just wasn’t expecting that it would be like that…that I wouldn’t be able to save any of them even when I was trying my hardest. I was carrying Tess on my
back
and she still died…” His throat was constricting with emotion.

“Do you have any idea how many friends I’ve lost over the years?” Master Asher sighed, suddenly looking much older than thirty-one. “The w
orld is a dangerous place, now more than ever. Between dark mages like your father, slavering hordes of monsters, and the entire northern continent of sorcerers who declare war on us every fifty years or so, you need to be prepared for whatever comes your way.”

“Is the north attacking us
now
?” Hayden was momentarily diverted. The northern continent was separated from them by a small ocean, and he knew almost nothing about the people or the magic there.

“No, but our
spies say they are mobilizing in a worrying way that indicates war can’t be far off.” Asher sighed. “The point is, we always pull out horrible arenas at the beginning of fourth-year challenges, because you’re getting to be old enough that you’ll be expected to fight if we are attacked, and we may soon be set upon by mages—sorcerers, they call themselves—who practice magic in an entirely different way than we do.”

“But I’m only thirteen,” Hayden protested mildly.

“You are the son of one of the most powerful Prisms to ever live,” Asher countered gravely. “And you have a massive amount of untapped potential. The Council would call on you in a heartbeat to fight on Junir’s behalf, and let’s face it, some of them will not be upset at the prospect of you dying in battle.”

Hayden frowned thoughtfully.

“Besides, you will always encounter boys like Davis of Isenfall, who hate you because of whose son you are and want to hurt you. In the I.S.C. there are people watching, and he’d have a hard time killing you and getting away with it, but when it’s all over and no one is around to intervene on your behalf?” He let the thought hang in the air.

“Why did you fight me?” Hayden mumbled to his knees, ashamed of his
earlier behavior.

“Because you were angry and scared and you needed someone to fight,” he replied calmly.

“Am I going to be in trouble for yelling at the Masters?”

“I doubt it; you’re certainly not the first one to shout at us after an arena challenge.” He shrugged. “Actually, a fifth-year punched Reede
in the jaw just last night after his entire team died—he got detention of course—and we’ve seen more vomiting, fainting and crying than you can shake a stick at.”

Hayden stared up at the light from the castle, highlighting the damage around the main entrance.

“
That
you’re probably going to have to fix, as you helped break it,” Asher gestured towards the ruined pieces of wall around the front doors, and Hayden nodded.

“I think I
cracked my Focus-correctors,” he held up his hands and the Prism Master examined the wide bands of crystal in surprise.

“Good heavens, yes you did.” He frowned pensively. “You’ll need to get new ones cut first thing in the morning, and you’re forbidden from performing magic until you’ve got
them. As badly-warped as your Foci are you’re likely to kill someone on accident.”

Master Asher rose to his feet and brushed off his robes, offering Hayden a hand.

“But now it’s time for bed, so you’d better hurry along. I suspect your friends are going to keep you up for half the night recounting your prism-wielders duel with me.”

“It wasn’t much of a duel…you’re much better than me.”

Asher smirked as they reentered the school and said, “That’s why I’m the Master.”

Sure enough, his friends kept him up late into the night discussing his fight with the Prism Master, and he was convinced that half the school had asked him about it by the next morning. He had barely sat down to breakfast when Master Willow approached him and told him he would be serving detention after classes that day to help put the wall back together around the front doors. Hayden nodded, expecting this, and finished breakfast early in favor of returning to the crystal shop he’d visited on his very first day at Mizzenwald last year to get new Focus-correctors.