Dead King's Sword (Old Draft)

1. Opening Act

Zeren

***

White light washed over my form and caressed the black wall behind me. My audience was dressed in fine-dining attire; dinner jackets and tailcoats for the men; dresses and fancy blouses for the women. I rubbed the silver stud in my left ear to calm my nerves. This was my last performance before I got whisked off to some sort of magic boarding school. My expulsion wasn't my fault. The reason for my demise was a girl named Erin, who I made the subject of tonight's show.

"Some people just aren't meant to get along. You ever take one look at someone, and without ever speaking to them, hatred flows through your veins as if their gaze activated something vile within your blood? And they don't have to be ugly or mean; it's an irrational hatred. Completely unwarranted, but you entertain it. It's like your insides are boiling, tearing you up from the inside, and you want to make this person's life hell for no reason. A sane man: a good man would try to talk themselves out of it. But my grandmother has always told me I'm clinically insane, so, one day I see this girl and I tell myself 'I'm going to give her hell'. I was five years old."

My opening joke earned a few chuckles from the audience. Since it was a café for magical creatures, some of the attendees had pointed ears or scaly tails resulting from dragon-human mixes that you really don't want to think about how they came to be. The Dracmans had scaly skin, reptilian eyes, pointed ears, and long tails that swept the ground. Elves were more regal in appearance, with pale skin complimented by their long, forest green and ivory robes.

I paced the stage, using it to my advantage, then paused and turned to face the crowd. "So, I have a sworn enemy. We have hated each other for eleven years, sort of like how some of you have been married for a couple of years. You love your spouse; I hate my nemesis. Same sort of thing."

A pause, waiting for a beat to pass. Silence. I licked my dry lips.

Tough crowd.

"For our first anniversary, I turned my enemy into a frog. A real frog: green with black spots. I thought I made her into a beautiful frog, but her mom disagreed. For some reason, she seemed to think I made her daughter uglier than before." A few chuckled. I rubbed the stud in my left ear again. We all had a nervous tick; mine was rubbing my ear.

I could feel my magic coursing through me like a river, pouring out of the second heart in my chest and travelling through its own vascular system. The size of the magic core in one's chest determined their strength. Usually, the size of your heart stays constant throughout your life. But for some reason, my core started small and grew as I got older, and now I was the strongest mage in my family. Instead of my magical studies, I preferred to stand around on a stage late at night, telling jokes. Much to my father's chagrin.

"You know what annoys me? We have Valentine's Day for lovers, but no day to celebrate our enemies. That's racist or something, right? I think we should have a national Enemy's Day. It's only natural to have both occasions as they balance each other out. So, when National Enemy's Day comes around, you send your nemesis a death threat or two, let them know you're thinking about them, sneak some poison or thumbtacks into the envelope. Hex them. The thing is, you don't want to kill them; you just want them to feel pain. Lots of it."

In the beginning, the audience was quiet, but they loosened up near the end, and their laughter returned some of my confidence.

"The thing with enemies is that they are crafty, creative, and sneaky. When they're around you, they come up with the best threats. They say things like, 'I'll rip your hair out, strand by strand, pour kerosine all over your body and set you on fire...."

"Then when your parents are around, they become all, 'Hi, Mister and Missis Jones, did you have a nice day at work?"' I gave the audience a neat little bow, rolled my eyes.