Fantasy Novel Sample

A week. I swat at the candle on my nightstand, sending it flying across the room.

A week and I can’t even keep the smallest lightning spark from exploding. The more comfortable with the Aedris I’ve gotten, the more dangerous my lightning has become. My hands, arms, and face are covered with burns from the temperamental electricity. The Lightning Magistrella just sneers each time and offers me barked instructions. None of which helps, despite doing exactly as advised.

A week, and I feel like the voices are slowly driving me to madness. Sometimes they speak, and sometimes they scream. I still don’t know what they’re saying, but they won’t quiet. Sleep eludes me since the voices won’t stop long enough for me to sleep an hour. I pace agitatedly.

A week, and even though my wounds from the Velos have healed, they left a scar. On my palms, near where my wrist joins my hand opposite my thumb, there are two, small purple circles, about the size of my smallest fingertip. The dots look like ink, but no matter how long I scrub, they don’t leave. Trina doesn’t know what to make of them.

I haven’t heard of anyone else experiencing what I have. I would sound crazy if I were to tell someone, even Edik or Leya. If I didn’t have studies to focus on, I think I really would lose my mind. Leya has been as good as her word, keeping the Lightning Magistrella off my back by quickly calling over Magistrella Sonara to help her, and Sonora won’t hear of Gavin talking down to me. According to her, all the Students deserve respect. It’s a little cheesy, but I appreciate it, nonetheless.

Leya must’ve filled Edik in as he calls for the Fire Magistrella if Magistrella Sonora isn’t available. I feel almost guilty that they’re going out of their way for me, even though I never asked them to.

Leya pokes her head in the door. “Echo, time for History.”

She notices the candle on the ground and picks it up carefully, inspecting the dented edge and putting it back on my nightstand.

“You ok?”

I nod, pressing my hands against my thighs. “Yeah, let’s go.”

I devour all the information written on the rock slab at the front of the room. The Earth Magistrella takes care of teaching history and government to the Students, and she carves her main points with a twitch of her finger onto the shale.

Leya and Edik flank me on either side at the three-person desk, Edik and my elbows jostling. The Students are split into two groups to make the classes more manageable, so I’m lucky to be with my friends. Unfortunately, Casey, Tahki, and their newest disciple, Myra, chose the desk just behind us so Casey can tickle Edik’s neck with her quill whenever she wants to.

“Who led the Verulian Campaign two hundred years ago?” Magistrella Vivian asks.

Casey throws her slim hand into the air and answers, “King Bron.”

I cock my head and raise mine as well. “I hate to contradict, Lady Dives,” I use her official title. “But I believe it was King Roth.”

Casey’s condescending laugh floats down to me. “No, it was King Bron.”

Magistrella Vivian watches, letting us sort it out. The first day of classes, a week ago, she made it very clear that she encourages discussion.

“You could be confusing the Verulian Campaign with the Allagnic Campaign that happened just before,” I suggest politely.

“The Verulian Campaign was headed by General Storm, who was King Bron’s chief general,” Casey informs me smugly.

“The Lady is correct,” I agree, “but he was also King Roth’s chief general. King Bron started the Allagnic Campaign with General Storm but died a year later from illness. Because he has no heirs, his cousin, Roth ascended the throne. He finished the Allagnic Campaign, then started the Verulian Campaign with General Storm.”

Before Casey can reply, Magistrella Vivian intervenes, “Artisan Frost is correct. Good work.” 

Her smile at me provokes Casey to send a douse of ink splattering down my hair, which I had decided to let loose. The voices roar in anger.

Concealing my wince, I continue taking down notes and listening to Magistrella Vivian’s lecture, ink dripping down my back and soaking into my tunic.

“Alright, that’s it for today-”

“Wait, Magistrella Vivian!” a student calls from the back of the room.

Everyone twists in their seat to see the boy you interrupted her. A name from the Endowment surfaces in my mind. Damon? Damon Pike, that’s him. Looks like he received Lava.

“Isn’t the Kai supposed to be in this year?”

The entire room groans.

I can tell that Magistrella Vivian is holding in a sigh. “In the legend of the Kai, yes. It has been two hundred years since the last alleged Kai passed.”

“Are you saying you don’t believe in the Kai?” Damon asks challengingly.

“I’m saying that there is no proof that the Kai exists,” the Magistrella answers.

“Magistrella!” Another voice pipes up behind us. Myra. “What is the Kai?”

“The Kai is supposed to have all the Aedris at its disposal.”

“Yes, but what is the Kai?” Myra demands impatiently.

“You want the story?” Magistrella Vivian clarifies.

A few voices murmur yes beseechingly, so the Magistrella relents.

“The first Kai was supposed to be one thousand years ago, the first Mage that the Velos created. And the Velos itself was unearthed when the plane was levelled to build the foundation of the palace at Aera. You know that we’ve never been able to find where the Velos came from, and the Kai is similarly unknown.

“Once the identity of the Kai is confirmed, it is moved to the palace in Aera to be a bodyguard of our empire; to stand behind the King to protect our borders. Now, does that satisfy your questions?”

“Yes, Magistrella, thank you,” Damon answers excitedly.

“Good. Now, we don’t have class for three days, so take this time and write a fifteen-hundred-word essay on the differences between the Verulian and Allagnic Campaigns,” Magistrella Vivian finishes.

The room moans and scrambles to pack up as I clean the black ink from my quill and dip it into green to underline and add information in my notes that will be helpful for my essay. A quick sprinkle of sand over my notes, and it’s ready to be packed into my small satchel along with my ink bottles along with my quills. Then, I turn my attention to my hair.

Once bright and coppery, it’s now heavy and oily with black ink and makes a shloop sound as I pull it over my shoulder to inspect it. Ink drips off the ends to splatter on my leggings.