Inheritor of Strength (Book one of Alfireán age)

Harsh Reality

Alfonso felt rough hands lift him into the air and place him on a stretcher. Time seemed to stretch into eternity as they carried him out of the manor, down the lane, and into the hospital. For the next four hours, Harold, Olivia, and a host of other healers ran tests on him.

It was soon discovered that any use of magic, on or around Alfonso, resulted in his body latching onto the energy source—the more powerful the spell, the tighter the grip. In the end, they were forced to resort to non-magical tests.

After poking and prodding him for hours, the doctors finally declared they were finished, and at long last, Harold and Olivia took Alfonso into a private room to talk with him.

Alfonso sat down and waited for the verdict. A sick feeling welled up inside him; something was wrong. He could tell by the haunted look in his friends' eyes and the way they avoided eye contact. He rubbed his legs nervously and glanced out the window. On the other side of the glass, the sky shone a bright blue; toucans and blue-and-gold macaws hopped through the branches, and reddish-orange mangoes hung, ripe for the picking.

Outside offered a beautiful, serene picture—cheery and bright—while inside, it was dark and gloomy, as if a cloud of foreboding hung in the room.

Once again, Alfonso tried to make eye contact with Harold, but for the first time in his life, Harold refused to look at him. He turned to Olivia, hoping she would say something, anything, to relieve the oppressive silence; instead, she too turned away.

His mouth went dry, and his palms felt clammy. Finally, he gathered the courage to ask, "How bad is it?"

Harold's back stiffened. He stared past Alfonso as if inspecting some invisible object. He then cleared his throat and launched into a fumbling explanation. "As you well know, from your birth, the ailment that has plagued your family line for generations has afflicted you as well. Its origins are unknown, and even I, with all my medical knowledge, have not been able to cure it."

The bitterness and shame in the master healer's tone was palpable, and Alfonso clasped his hands together. It must be worse than he thought.

Harold's fist clenched and unclenched several times. His mouth opened and closed as he struggled to find the right words. "This, unknown illness," he spat with disgust, "has apparently evolved. It's turned itself into a vacuum capable of latching on to any source of magical energy. It will then feed on this source until it has siphoned every last drop."

"I'm sorry Alfonso," Olivia whispered. "But you can no longer help people achieve Patuah. It's too dangerous."

Alfonso's shoulders' relaxed. It was bad, he knew it would be, but maybe they could find a way around it. Maybe they could discover a spell to fix everything. He just had to stay away from people in the meantime—hard, but not impossible.

"That is not the worst of it," Harold's voice interrupted his musings. "There is something we have not told you.

"Alfonso, without receiving that energy every day, you will die. Your body has become too weak to perform normal functions without it. This is something Olivia and I have known for the past two years, and now that you can no longer perform Patuah, the two of us are the only healers experienced enough to provide you with the energy to keep you alive without losing our lives." He paused, "Even then, at the current rate your body is decaying, you'll only live two more years."

Alfonso shook. "And you and Olivia," he enquired with haunted eyes. "How will this affect you two?"

Harold clasped his hands behind his back and turned his face towards the window. "With that much unnatural energy loss on a daily basis, we are unsure of the adverse affects."