Haze of Dusk (A trilogy) (8 page)

“Vaniele saw it. She
envisaged something great.” Ronneto explains. But Srogeri argues that she’s a fake, and is an untrustworthy person. He assures her premonitions are lies, and she seeks to deceive me. To me, it’s a never-ending argument. The hatred between them brings out my curiosity. That is it! I’m going to pry in their lives until I figure out the odium between Vaniele and my old man. Obviously, there’s something odd going on.

-6-

Disastrous actions

I hear somebody calling my brother’s name. The recurring voice annoys me. It just doesn’t go away. “Jorsay come on, wake up!” the voice insists. I groan, wondering why his voice is so close to me. Jorsay’s room is far from mine. “Jorsay is in another room, leave me alone,” I mumble, putting a pillow over my head, but before I can fall and relax, the pillow is yank away from me. “What other room you weirdo! We’re going to be late, come on wake up,” reality kicks me in the stomach, and I sit up in a flash.
Holy crap, I almost forgot. I AM Jorsay
! Ramuso sighs in relief. The poor boy seems bushed by the struggles of waking me. He’s dresses in a very odd outfit, dark trousers up to his calves, with suspenders, a long-sleeve tunic folded to his elbow, and a pointed cloth hat. 
His curly-ponytail sticks out.
As odd as it is, the look fits his personality. Also, I can’t help but notice he’s quite intriguing.

I look out the balcony;
the skies are rim in darkness. No wonder I feel so exhausted. Never in my life have I woken at such an hour to get ready for school. But in Doomsvell, the youngest suffer a lot more than the older. In order to join the others in training by the lunch hours, classes need to be early.  I get ready in a jiffy. I put on brown trousers that fit my body just right, with a sleeveless white shirt that its front edges are longer than its side— my brother’s comfy style. Putting on my heavy boots I discover Ramuso and I share the same learning schedule, this makes me feel comfortable, for now I know I’m in the best of hands.

We run downstairs
and go through many magical doors that take us to a spherical immense room with many doors. Young teenagers are pushing and striking one another to get to their classes. A bell thumps three times, indicating tardiness. Ramuso and I run to door 033, our first class. The class is full, and it has already started. To the left of the room sits a total of fifteen well dressed girls. The majority of them half humans- half sovy, a few elves, three yolks, and the rest I can’t identify their races—most of them are wearing their Doomsvell shawl. To the right sits a group of young boys, nearly each of them blend with elves. Gazing around, I recognize an elf girl. She lifts a hand and timidly waves at me; it is Azania, and she seems abnormally cheerful. I partly smile and strain a gesture.

“
Ye two are late!” a loud voice startles us both. Ramuso and I wiggle to hear his voice, but as I confront him I fall at ease. “Ronneto,” I say smiley, glad he’s going to be one of my instructors. “It is Wizard Ronneto boy, now sit before I get an idea how to punish ye two for’r being late.” Ramuso takes my arm and drags me to two empty seats in the front row. Ronneto isn’t very nice when on duty. Is that the way to treat the future of this world? I should be praised.

Ronneto continues explaining
dynamic equations on the off-white wall. Every time he points at the wall with his staff equations automatically appear, showing an illustration. So much better than Duolic—we had a brown board with chalk. I strictly pay attention, and write everything he demonstrates on my large brown-leather blank manuscript. But he is too quick, and I rapidly lose the work. I glimpse at Ramuso. He isn’t writing but goggling at a pretty girl with golden hair. I frown. “Why are you not copying?” I ask ingeniously.

“
What for, I can copy from you later…” his words aggravate me. And who does he think he is? I’ll work and he flirts, that little brat. There’s no way in hell I’m going to be his servant. 

“
I don’t think so you—”

“
Apprentice Zayras!” Ronneto shouts, his heated tone makes me stand in an instant. I’m still trembling to his pitched. 

“Ye...yes sir...”
I swallow hard.  Ronneto points at an arithmetic-problem on the wall, he asks me to give him a well concluded clarification. If I remember that lecture, my life would be simple. But as I stand there, looking at the problem, I receive nothing but a headache. Srogeri told me to practice my arithmetic, but I just
don’t
get it. I hear myself say
umm
plenty of times. Suddenly, my breathing increases, all eyes are on me. I feel as if the walls are closing in on me.

“
Rabbit!” I yell, it’s what I say when I’m nervous, which basically means never.

The class burst
s into laughter. Ronneto stares at me in dismay. I can see fury in his eyes. I nervously chuckle
. He'll get it…I’m the future of this world, right
? Ronneto snatches my arm, and drags me to a corner where I face a blank wall. Right there, with a short rod I write on the wall
“I am a fool.”
until the class ends. And with that, I break two regulations of Doomsvell rules,
thoughtless behavior.

I’m humiliated
by my act. Ramuso makes it worse by inconsiderately laughing at my behavior. I try clarifying the pressure I felt, but the mean brat laughs thoughtlessly.
After that embarrassment, the next three classes started smoothly, except that sharing my table with Ramuso causes a bit of dilemma. If he isn’t begging me to pass some of his romantic letters to girls, he’s asking me to give him the answer to everything. Then, the instructors hastily notice, and punished us both for his mistakes. If things continue being this bad, I’m considering moving far away from him. But even if I try to avoid him, Ramuso won’t stop annoying me until I break free, and ask him of his needs.

Potion class—
a great quality, one I have never failed, it’s my best subjective. Thirteen different chemicals are place on our sharing table for two. Ramuso and I are partnered… again. Our goal is to create a potion that will turn anything it comes in contact with the color blue, an assignment I learned in the third grade.

Potions are significant to our world.  To a healer, it strengthens the healing, and disinfects the body for healing cannot reduce the infection, or it won’t penetrate a profound wound. However, with the perfect potion, a healer's magic becomes lustier, thus, the healing can be exceptional. To a wizard, potions can grant the staff more powers. To a sorcerer, it can give more abilities to conjure elements. Truly, potion is a great matter.  Most of the potions are named b
y a letter following a number, the lower the number the weaker the potion is. If the number is high the potion can be rather uncontrolled. The letters on potions usually signify the vessel of the mixture, in order not to disorder the combinations. Because of the letters, we can easily identify the concoction.

As indicated by the instructor, who
gives us very detail instructions, I take in my hands the container E-4-G, a white component of tackiness and pour it in the main glass container. Then, I add to the jar a tad of E-6-H, a rare yellowish potion that grants a combination of a hot-cold-temperature, and produces a natural milky fluid. Last of all, I use AR-77; this is what makes the mixture the color blue, still, very little should be used as the smell is repulsive and the color is strong.

Instructor Gensia, a short dark curly hair elf walks the classroom staring at our work. When she comes across our mixture she gleams a delighted smile. I exhale thankfully. Finally, I’m loved by my instructors again. “Hey, that’s not done yet. The color doesn’t seem right,” Ramuso complains as I stir. I sneer. What would he know? Poor thing is lost in his studies. His low level doesn’t even reach a fifth-grade scholar.

“The color will soon arrive. Just a bit more stirring.” I assure him. He makes a face, and unhappily shakes his head. He checks the potions on the table, acting or thinking he is clever. His childish behavior makes me chuckle. “This is it!” hyperactive Ramuso takes AR-77 and S-100-T, a green container that is highly dangerous containing an explosive heat. In a haste, without any warning, he throws both full containers inside the mixture.

“NOO!”
I holler a cry, traumatize by his dim act, but it’s too late. The main container rises with foamy green slime bursting on us all, and with the explosion comes out a repulsive stench that makes us all sick to our stomach. The girls in the room scream fanatically for the slime crawls onto their bodies as if worms, but nobody is as filthy as Ramuso and I.  Me, I’m not panicking, instead… I’m suddenly overemotional. I want to cry, but I’m not…I can’t show weakness. Never in my life has such racket come out of me. I used to be apprentice excellence!

The Instructor dismisses the class, leaving us two to support the stench that reeks like
dead rats with a hint of maneuver.  In fury, she rushes to us. She takes us by our ears and drags us to the brooms and mops.

“
You will clean this mess. You will!” she hisses.

“B
-but I didn’t do anything!”
YES, blame it all on that little freak. I hate him, that brat!
“Clean it!” she screams,  increasing our sentence by obligating us to finish our studies with the dirt and stench, and to make matters worse, in our foreheads she magically engraves in golden lettering,
“dumb.”
And with that, eight rules are broken, for not following instructions. It is my first day, and I have already broken ten rules. My life truly has backfired.

Ramuso has
turned into my worst nightmare. I hate having him close. Once the bell rings I leave him behind and head to my next class. I’m afraid of what can happen near that freak. That’s one of the reasons why I don’t bother with friends, really…what for…to get headaches.

Magic Statistic, a class that clarifies the background of sorcery and healers focuses on t
he power within, and the levels we can take our gift. Once I enter the room all eyes fall on me, I feel my cheeks are burning. I’m humiliated by the filthiness I carry. Fortunately, I’m not in my body but Jorsay’s. Onnet who’s flirting with a few girls stops his conversation to look at me. He presses his lips together, but the explosion happens, together with the entire classroom. I sniff, feeling sappy by their insensible laughter. Angrily, I hurry to the back of the class, ashamed with myself. But not Ramuso, he enters screaming, “I’m back and I'm filthy!” he laughs with everyone else.
Is this kid normal?

I’m not entirely happy to know Osys and Onnet also share a class with me. Although they’re young adults
, and are done with minor scholar work, by Doomsvell regulation, anyone who has less than three years in Doomsvell HAS to take magic statistic, an important study for it prepares our powers for war— accordingly, age doesn’t matter. Alas, the one I desire to see no longer takes studies. Corr, who shares physical training with Ikumus has one concern, and it’s to bring his body into fitness.

“New kid, first day and already this bad
, eh…” Onnet stands from the girls’ area and walks to sit to the left of the room, luckily, far from me. A boy comes foward and asks me to remove out of his seat. It’s there I learn the seats are arranged by order of bedroom, meaning by obligation, I have to sit next to the freak. Like all the other classrooms, the room holds a capacity of thirty apprentices, fifteen boys and fifteen girls. Each row has two pairs of desk. One desk fits two learners. I sit next to the freak. He smiles as if nothing.

“
I see, no wonder your bad luck. He’s with Ramuso, the troublemaker.” Osys says as I sit between him and Ramuso by no choice. “W-what do you mean?” I ask audible. Osys snorts.

“Nobody risks sitting next to this devil. He has a knack
for creating trouble. It’s in his aura.” I turn to sight clueless Ramuso. With his filthiness he still flirts, and girls startlingly flirt back. I exhale harshly. Now I understand why I had such a crappy day. The kid’s bad energy is rubbing on me. “I’m not sitting with you any more…” I hiss at him. Ramuso laughs. He pats my back, “stop being such a baby.”
Baby your ass, you freak. Why is he so calm!!!

The noisy room
falls silent. A young attractive instructor enters the room. His entrance makes all the girls in the room blush, even me. I stare at him dreamily. I relax a hand on the desk, and absentmindedly gaze at him myself. I’m no longer angry, for I’m overcome by this man’s perfection.

The handsome man’s
hair is dark, nicely brush back. His small eyes glimmer the green within them. He has a nice tone of skin, sun kiss, with elegant features that articulate the indifference in him, lashing my curiosity. He’s tall, a bit taller than Corr, about six foot, and his lips, is his most devious feature; full-perfect shape, definitely kissable. Attractiveness is so prevailing I can’t help but to bite my bottom lip—looking at him lifts my passionate feminine side. A side I didn’t think I had.
Why are the men from Doomsvell so handsome? First, hot-body-gorgeous Corr, and now this perfect-beautiful man, damn you Doomsvell.
The handsome man removes his long black collared coat exposing a white shirt that fits him just-right. The shirt demonstrates a tad of his biceps and well built upper body. I don’t like the bit of hair that’s growing on his face, for I like my men hairless. Other than that, he’s everything a girl wants. He turns the hourglass, indicating class has begun.

“Good day class. I see we have seven new
apprentices. Please new recruits, raise your hands.” He speaks looking at a book on his desk. I bashfully raise a hand, together with other girls. He turns to me, suddenly interested. I blush, shock that of all girls it’s me who calls his attention. My heart bumps, and I feel utterly shy.