Chapter One
Godric ducked under the blow that would have knocked him unconscious. He stepped forward and struck, his staff hooking the opponent’s, and pulled, making the orphan stumble forward.
Godric finished the kid with a furious rap to the side of the boy’s temple, cringing slightly as his eyes crossed and he tumbled down onto the unforgiving stone pavement of the orphanage courtyard.
He had little choice in the matter, really. He had to show the wardens he was a good fighter, else he wasn’t going to be picked, and he’d be stuck in this infernal orphanage for another year. He wouldn’t be able to bear it. It wasn’t that the orphanage was an unpleasant place, not as such. The orphans were instructed; they had a room to themselves equipped with running water and even a small TV, but mostly what they did was fight.
They fought because this was the purpose of this orphanage: to train the boys and girls, the oldest no more than fourteen, in the art of combat, and –to those who had the gift- magic. Each year, rich sponsors would arrive and watch the orphans show off their skills. If they pleased the sponsors, they would take some in and train them. That was Godric’s ambition. He desperately yearned to get a glimpse of the outside world- to be a hero, like those he saw on TV or he read in books.
“Godric. I see this one was no match for you either” boomed Shilda, a corpulent female warden, one of the nicer ones. “Keep it up, and I’m sure you’ll be chosen this time”
Godric’s opponent, a boy by the name of Jeremy, stood up, massaging his temple. His blond hair was matted with blood on the side where Godric had struck.
“Sorry” apologized Godric, though he didn’t mean it. Not really. He found it hard to sympathize with the others, save one. They were a flat, grey mass, undistinguished, without any particular qualities.
Jeremy frowned, but said nothing.
The two, pushed lightly along by Shilda, joined the group of eighteen orphans, standing in a circle in the middle of the courtyard, watching the last two couple fight.
The one currently doing the attacking was a beefy boy whose name Godric couldn’t quite remember. He was sweating, and his face was red with exertion.
The one defending was the only other orphan Godric cared about- Cassandra.
She dodged and twirled with innate grace, platinum blond hair flying in all directions.
Cassandra parried the boy’s increasingly frustrated thrust and jabs effortlessly, but she never struck a blow.
“Cassandra, we’re hungry. Finish it already!” called out someone, jokingly.
Cassandra seemed repulsed by the idea of striking another person- she never attacked, but then again, no one could lay a finger on her. Therefore, matches against here lasted quite some time.
After a couple of minutes or so of this, Cassandra stopped, backing away as the boy’s chest heaving.
She seemed inspired, face suffused by a soft radiance.
Godric recognized moments like these, and his eyes narrowed. He stared at Cassandra intently.
Cassandra, as if possessed, extended a palm in the air, and she was enveloped in a golden, glowing light. Shimmering mist trailed from her fingers, and she frowned in concentration.
Godric found himself awaiting the results eagerly- Cassandra had never managed to further her magical trance after this stage.
He felt something stir in his gut, a strange, sour feeling seize hold of his heart.
It was quenched, though, as Cassandra’s trance broke, and with a flash, the boy dropped to the ground gently.
“Finally” grumbled a few of the orphans.
“All right, now that we’ve all finished, let’s have some lunch” called Shilda.
The orphans were cheerfully herded into the mess hall, the largest area in the orphanage, which connected with the inner courtyard, the garden, and had stairs leading up to the children’s rooms.
They filed in line, dutifully waiting for their lunch. Ringlets of smoke flitted about the ancient oak rafters, contributing to the mysterious feeling the hall had.
Godric waited behind Cassandra, who seemed worried.
As always, Godric knew what was troubling her.
“You were close back there” he said, quietly.
Cassandra nodded, distractedly.
“What did it feel like?” asked Godric, unable to contain himself. “Good, right? Magic feels good”
Cassandra’s iridescent blue eyes clouded.
“Godric-” she began.
“You know bad things happen when I use it” hissed Godric, fiercely. “Tell me”
“No” said Cassandra, voice dangerously close to breaking. “L-later, okay?”
“I’m sorry” said Godric. This time, he meant it. “I didn’t want to push you”
Cassandra was silent.
They took the plain steel trays the cooks gave them and headed toward the long oak table where all the orphans sat, talking merrily.
The two sat at the very end, near the window looking out at the dismal, leaf-strewn garden. An unfelt breeze stirred the leaves melancholically.
It was another soup, realized Godric, dimly, as he brought the spoon to his mouth. Lukewarm, same as the past week. How inventive of the cooks. At least the slice of thick bread accompanying it was warm.
“Well?” muttered Godric.
“Not here” was Cassandra’s answer. “Let’s go to the garden later”
The orphans, it being Sunday, had the rest of the day to themselves after lunch. Godric and Cassandra had their own hidden hideaway where they spent most of their free time.
While around them the others joked and laughed, a bubble of tense silence covered the two.
Godric finished quickly, and gazed at Cassandra, until, uncomfortable under scrutiny, she dropped her spoon back into her half-eaten bowl and stood abruptly.
They stood and walked back towards the counter, Cassandra keenly aware of the eyes following them.
The two deposited their trays and hurried out.
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