Light XOR Shadow - Chapter 1
"The Fates were never kind to that boy. So clever. A hard worker. Shame he was born a weakling. I shudder to think what would have become of House Marcus, had Alexander his brothers’ power... Alas, Julius will serve his father well enough."
--Samuel Penwraith
Alexander Marcus was never any good at magic.
To be fair, he wasn’t very good at anything, except his numbers, but an accountant was not a suitable career for a son of House Marcus -- even if he was the youngest. Dimitar excelled at politics. Gavril was great with women, or at least, so Alexander was told. Ivan and Kiril had their toys - Father said they would be accomplished artificers one day. Julius… Well, everyone knew about Julius. He was the closest thing to a genius in Father’s eyes, and could summon more shadows than all of his brothers combined.
Alexander was included in that metric simply because it increased the number of people Julius could best, despite the fact that Alexander couldn’t summon any shadows at all. In fact, he couldn’t even put out a candle.
“Focus.” Father growled at him from over his desk, his eyes locked on the little flame sitting in front of him. With his brothers, Father would work to keep the candle alight, while his opponent used shadows to snuff out the flame. It was a simple test of wills, but a common competition between shadowmancers. With Alexander, Father merely observed, waiting for the day that the sixth son of House Marcus showed his worth. With each passing month, he could see that Father was getting tired of waiting.
Still, Alexander focused his mind, and attempted to summon a shade. Even the smallest of such creatures could dampen a candle’s light, if not remove it completely. At this point, any progress would appease Father, even if his brothers had performed such tricks when they were nine.
Alexander was seventeen.
He was starting to get a headache. His skin grew cold and clammy, as he poured all of his energy into executing his will, and got nothing back. Alexander hemorrhaged mana into the universe, and it laughed at him. After a few silent minutes, Father released a deep sigh, and placed his palm on top of the candle. The fire didn’t burn him -- it was dead long before his hand had touched the wax.
Behind Alexander, his mother shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Father did still try, but Alexander knew that he had given up long ago. Mother held out hope. Hope that Alexander suffocated every time he was allowed to return home. This time, Father skipped his lectures.
“I’m sending you to Beaumont, on Triaxus.” Father said. It was the latest in a long line of boarding schools, all of which promised Father that they could change him. That they could teach him magic, or to be less awkward, or to be good in fight. To be better than the weakly sixth son of House Marcus.
“Yes, Father.”
Alexander turned to leave the study, sure of his dismissal. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Mother, even though he had not seen her in two years, and likely wouldn’t see her again anytime soon. Father’s disappointment had consequences. Mother’s disappointment burned him, and each scar was a little deeper than the last. His hand was on the door when Father sighed again. Alexander froze.
“This is the last one,” Father said. “Next year you will be a man, Alexander. If you do not show me something… You will be on your own.”
Mother stifled a gasp, but Alexander turned to stone.
“I understand, Father,” Alexander replied. “I won’t let you down.”
He left then, quietly closing the door behind him, heading into the entrance hall. House Marcus had been around for centuries, and it showed. Although modern security devices were directed at the external doors, the locks still took mundane keys, and the majority of the structure was made of a dark, polished wood. Banners hung from every pillar, dyed as black as magic and technology would allow. They seemed to suck in the light around them, like windows into the heart of a black hole. If House Marcus had ever had an insignia, none marked their banners. For as long as anyone could remember, their symbol had been just that -- dark and unending, like the members of their House.
Well, most of them.
Alexander made his way up the wide, grandiose stairs that led to the third floor, which were flanked by a dual set of curving stairs feeding into the second. He found the entrance hall to be gaudy, but supposed it must invoke an image of power and wealth to the guests. As if anyone invited into the halls of Marcus had known anything else. Alexander didn’t know what hunger was until his first trip to boarding school, when the captain had enforced strict rations for all those on deck -- regardless of origin. Alexander later learned it was a tactic of Father’s, in an attempt to “toughen him up”. Instead, it left Alexander feeling a little lightheaded and -- over time -- a little more empathetic of his fellow man. It was one of the first in a history of failures.
Dancing with these thoughts, Alexander found himself at the door to his room. Although Samuel had cleaned up before Alexander’s return, it still smelled faintly of dust after years of abandonment. His brothers had decided to take any belongings he’d left behind for themselves -- he wasn’t using them, after all. The space rivalled a large apartment in size, making his sole piece of furniture -- the bed he’d been given at thirteen -- seem far smaller than it really was. Alexander’s suitcase sat next to the headrest, still unpacked after four days of being home.
“Leaving again so soon?”
Alexander jumped, and then internally chastised himself. Julius smiled in the shadow of the door, purring like a cat after supper. The darkness clung to him, a sentient cloak of power, waiting for its master’s call. He was a spitting image of Father -- tall, dark of hair, sharp features, vibrant yellow eyes. His clothes were new, likely gifted from some foreign dignitary. Father wasn’t at the end of his reign yet, but it was no secret that he was aging, and that Julius was the favorite son.
Alexander was his opposite in every way.
“Go away, Julius.”
His eldest brother scoffed, raising a mocking hand to his heart.
“But Alexander,” Julius said. “I haven’t seen you in years! How was your time on Castrovel? I heard you were at that little swamp school. Elephant-something, right?”
“Olifant.”
Julius smiled, eyeing his brother up and down, and then scanning the room around him. Seeing Alexander always invigorated Julius, as if his mere presence was a reminder of the status quo, and how far above it Julius had risen. Alexander let him gloat, and prepared himself for what was waiting in the shadows.
“Father is going to kill you.”
Julius said it casually, as if making a comment about the furniture. But his smile never faded. Alexander could feel his brother’s gaze, studying his reaction. So Alexander did the only thing he was good at.
Zero. One. One. Two. Three. Five...
He liked the Fibonacci sequence best for Julius. It was harder than counting, but easy enough that it didn’t distract him. After a few more elements, his heart quieted, and all the fear faded away. It wasn’t like being numb. Alexander had tried all kinds of drugs at boarding school, but none of them got the feeling right. His peers talked about drifting, or becoming weightless...
Alexander was empty.
“Father does what he wishes,” Alexander replied.
Julius’ smile cracked, and his hands clenched into fists. While Father forbade physical violence among his sons, he believed that mental duels built character. Naturally, that meant Julius had gotten quite good at making his other siblings bend to his will, often in front of Father. While he’d done the same to Alexander over the years, his time away had introduced him to all manner of bullies. Julius was not the worst among them, but he wasn’t used to losing.
“When he makes up his mind, I’ll gladly go in his place,” Julius said. “You’re a disgrace to House Marcus. It would be better for everyone if you did it yourself.”
Alexander let the words come, drifting in one ear, and out the other. Their little barbs found nothing to latch onto, and faded away. He waited a few, long seconds for his brother to stew, and then he used a trick he’d picked up in Castrovel.
Alexander yawned.
Julius’ smile shattered apart, transforming into a cold, unpleasant frown. It reminded Alexander of when they were young, before his brother had learned to hide his displeasure from Father’s friends.
“Safe travels to Triaxus, Alexander,” Julius said.
He said it like a threat.
Then he turned on a heel, stepped into the shadows that surrounded him, and vanished. Alexander stopped counting, and scowled. The feelings never came back all at once. They were muted for hours, sometimes days, before he was normal again. But it had saved him from doing something he shouldn’t have -- something that would have earned him Father’s ire.
Alexander checked the hallway first, and after finding no more potential visitors, closed the door to his room behind him. It took the better part of ten minutes to push his dresser firmly in front of the door -- a common tactic from his youth, when his older brothers had started looking for easy punching bags. He opened one of the bottom drawers, and produced a dozen candles like the one from Father’s study. They were quickly lit by the lighter Alexander always kept in his pocket -- a gift from Mother -- and placed all about the room. The shadows weren’t gone, but they were subdued. It would be difficult for anyone but a shadowmancer of Father’s skill to peek inside, and Alexander doubted any such person would waste the energy to spy on the weakest Marcus in the House’s memory.
It was a fact that Alexander had begun to consider an advantage these days. With a gentle hum his fingers danced over the combination lock of his suitcase, which gave a satisfying click upon release. Then he laid the bag on top of the bed, unzipped the main compartment, and admired the creature inside.
“Hello, Alexander,” the little shadow whispered.
“Hello, Nassistra,” Alexander replied.
“My terms have not changed, once-”
“Once even for greeting. Once gifted for trust. Once given in thanks. I know.”
The shadow stirred in the gaps between his belongings, careful to avoid the wealth of candlelight outside of its dwelling. Alexander had never opened the case without ample light around -- he knew how tiny shades could swell in the darkness.
“What did you have in mind?” The shade said, its tone hopeful.
Alexander smiled.
To be fair, he wasn’t very good at anything, except his numbers, but an accountant was not a suitable career for a son of House Marcus -- even if he was the youngest. Dimitar excelled at politics. Gavril was great with women, or at least, so Alexander was told. Ivan and Kiril had their toys - Father said they would be accomplished artificers one day. Julius… Well, everyone knew about Julius. He was the closest thing to a genius in Father’s eyes, and could summon more shadows than all of his brothers combined.
Alexander was included in that metric simply because it increased the number of people Julius could best, despite the fact that Alexander couldn’t summon any shadows at all. In fact, he couldn’t even put out a candle.
“Focus.” Father growled at him from over his desk, his eyes locked on the little flame sitting in front of him. With his brothers, Father would work to keep the candle alight, while his opponent used shadows to snuff out the flame. It was a simple test of wills, but a common competition between shadowmancers. With Alexander, Father merely observed, waiting for the day that the sixth son of House Marcus showed his worth. With each passing month, he could see that Father was getting tired of waiting.
Still, Alexander focused his mind, and attempted to summon a shade. Even the smallest of such creatures could dampen a candle’s light, if not remove it completely. At this point, any progress would appease Father, even if his brothers had performed such tricks when they were nine.
Alexander was seventeen.
He was starting to get a headache. His skin grew cold and clammy, as he poured all of his energy into executing his will, and got nothing back. Alexander hemorrhaged mana into the universe, and it laughed at him. After a few silent minutes, Father released a deep sigh, and placed his palm on top of the candle. The fire didn’t burn him -- it was dead long before his hand had touched the wax.
Behind Alexander, his mother shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Father did still try, but Alexander knew that he had given up long ago. Mother held out hope. Hope that Alexander suffocated every time he was allowed to return home. This time, Father skipped his lectures.
“I’m sending you to Beaumont, on Triaxus.” Father said. It was the latest in a long line of boarding schools, all of which promised Father that they could change him. That they could teach him magic, or to be less awkward, or to be good in fight. To be better than the weakly sixth son of House Marcus.
“Yes, Father.”
Alexander turned to leave the study, sure of his dismissal. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Mother, even though he had not seen her in two years, and likely wouldn’t see her again anytime soon. Father’s disappointment had consequences. Mother’s disappointment burned him, and each scar was a little deeper than the last. His hand was on the door when Father sighed again. Alexander froze.
“This is the last one,” Father said. “Next year you will be a man, Alexander. If you do not show me something… You will be on your own.”
Mother stifled a gasp, but Alexander turned to stone.
“I understand, Father,” Alexander replied. “I won’t let you down.”
He left then, quietly closing the door behind him, heading into the entrance hall. House Marcus had been around for centuries, and it showed. Although modern security devices were directed at the external doors, the locks still took mundane keys, and the majority of the structure was made of a dark, polished wood. Banners hung from every pillar, dyed as black as magic and technology would allow. They seemed to suck in the light around them, like windows into the heart of a black hole. If House Marcus had ever had an insignia, none marked their banners. For as long as anyone could remember, their symbol had been just that -- dark and unending, like the members of their House.
Well, most of them.
Alexander made his way up the wide, grandiose stairs that led to the third floor, which were flanked by a dual set of curving stairs feeding into the second. He found the entrance hall to be gaudy, but supposed it must invoke an image of power and wealth to the guests. As if anyone invited into the halls of Marcus had known anything else. Alexander didn’t know what hunger was until his first trip to boarding school, when the captain had enforced strict rations for all those on deck -- regardless of origin. Alexander later learned it was a tactic of Father’s, in an attempt to “toughen him up”. Instead, it left Alexander feeling a little lightheaded and -- over time -- a little more empathetic of his fellow man. It was one of the first in a history of failures.
Dancing with these thoughts, Alexander found himself at the door to his room. Although Samuel had cleaned up before Alexander’s return, it still smelled faintly of dust after years of abandonment. His brothers had decided to take any belongings he’d left behind for themselves -- he wasn’t using them, after all. The space rivalled a large apartment in size, making his sole piece of furniture -- the bed he’d been given at thirteen -- seem far smaller than it really was. Alexander’s suitcase sat next to the headrest, still unpacked after four days of being home.
“Leaving again so soon?”
Alexander jumped, and then internally chastised himself. Julius smiled in the shadow of the door, purring like a cat after supper. The darkness clung to him, a sentient cloak of power, waiting for its master’s call. He was a spitting image of Father -- tall, dark of hair, sharp features, vibrant yellow eyes. His clothes were new, likely gifted from some foreign dignitary. Father wasn’t at the end of his reign yet, but it was no secret that he was aging, and that Julius was the favorite son.
Alexander was his opposite in every way.
“Go away, Julius.”
His eldest brother scoffed, raising a mocking hand to his heart.
“But Alexander,” Julius said. “I haven’t seen you in years! How was your time on Castrovel? I heard you were at that little swamp school. Elephant-something, right?”
“Olifant.”
Julius smiled, eyeing his brother up and down, and then scanning the room around him. Seeing Alexander always invigorated Julius, as if his mere presence was a reminder of the status quo, and how far above it Julius had risen. Alexander let him gloat, and prepared himself for what was waiting in the shadows.
“Father is going to kill you.”
Julius said it casually, as if making a comment about the furniture. But his smile never faded. Alexander could feel his brother’s gaze, studying his reaction. So Alexander did the only thing he was good at.
Zero. One. One. Two. Three. Five...
He liked the Fibonacci sequence best for Julius. It was harder than counting, but easy enough that it didn’t distract him. After a few more elements, his heart quieted, and all the fear faded away. It wasn’t like being numb. Alexander had tried all kinds of drugs at boarding school, but none of them got the feeling right. His peers talked about drifting, or becoming weightless...
Alexander was empty.
“Father does what he wishes,” Alexander replied.
Julius’ smile cracked, and his hands clenched into fists. While Father forbade physical violence among his sons, he believed that mental duels built character. Naturally, that meant Julius had gotten quite good at making his other siblings bend to his will, often in front of Father. While he’d done the same to Alexander over the years, his time away had introduced him to all manner of bullies. Julius was not the worst among them, but he wasn’t used to losing.
“When he makes up his mind, I’ll gladly go in his place,” Julius said. “You’re a disgrace to House Marcus. It would be better for everyone if you did it yourself.”
Alexander let the words come, drifting in one ear, and out the other. Their little barbs found nothing to latch onto, and faded away. He waited a few, long seconds for his brother to stew, and then he used a trick he’d picked up in Castrovel.
Alexander yawned.
Julius’ smile shattered apart, transforming into a cold, unpleasant frown. It reminded Alexander of when they were young, before his brother had learned to hide his displeasure from Father’s friends.
“Safe travels to Triaxus, Alexander,” Julius said.
He said it like a threat.
Then he turned on a heel, stepped into the shadows that surrounded him, and vanished. Alexander stopped counting, and scowled. The feelings never came back all at once. They were muted for hours, sometimes days, before he was normal again. But it had saved him from doing something he shouldn’t have -- something that would have earned him Father’s ire.
Alexander checked the hallway first, and after finding no more potential visitors, closed the door to his room behind him. It took the better part of ten minutes to push his dresser firmly in front of the door -- a common tactic from his youth, when his older brothers had started looking for easy punching bags. He opened one of the bottom drawers, and produced a dozen candles like the one from Father’s study. They were quickly lit by the lighter Alexander always kept in his pocket -- a gift from Mother -- and placed all about the room. The shadows weren’t gone, but they were subdued. It would be difficult for anyone but a shadowmancer of Father’s skill to peek inside, and Alexander doubted any such person would waste the energy to spy on the weakest Marcus in the House’s memory.
It was a fact that Alexander had begun to consider an advantage these days. With a gentle hum his fingers danced over the combination lock of his suitcase, which gave a satisfying click upon release. Then he laid the bag on top of the bed, unzipped the main compartment, and admired the creature inside.
“Hello, Alexander,” the little shadow whispered.
“Hello, Nassistra,” Alexander replied.
“My terms have not changed, once-”
“Once even for greeting. Once gifted for trust. Once given in thanks. I know.”
The shadow stirred in the gaps between his belongings, careful to avoid the wealth of candlelight outside of its dwelling. Alexander had never opened the case without ample light around -- he knew how tiny shades could swell in the darkness.
“What did you have in mind?” The shade said, its tone hopeful.
Alexander smiled.
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