His Purpose

Chapter Two: Seeing Red

     The hot sun mercilessly beat down on the courtyard, and with no trees to shield him from the heat, Cinte struggled to stay focused on the task at hand. His mentor, Fornicus, grumbled to himself as he demonstrated the rather simple combat spell for the third time. Frustrated by the young man's mediocre skills, the short, round man haphazardly extended his right arm toward the target, his palm facing the sky. He snapped his wrist to the right, effortlessly conjuring up a thick rope that shot from his fingertips like a bullet, wrapping itself around the mannequin's figure. He followed the movement up with a quick gesture towards his feet and to the left, and the rope knotted its ends together securely. He sighed, pulling a cloth from his back pocket and wiping the small beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead, knowing it would be another unbearably hot and unproductive training session.

     "It's your posture," he told the Prince, still blotting his hairline with the rag. "Plant your feet and stand up straight." Fornicus pushed his thick, round glasses further up onto his nose. The poor man's eyesight was so terrible that his glasses made his blue eyes appear to be the size of golf balls.

     "Alright," Cinte sighed, puffing out his cheeks and running a hand through his dark curls. He planted his feet firmly and rolled his shoulders back. He reached his arm out in front of him, palm up, just like Fornicus had done. He took a slow deep breath and narrowed his eyes at the mannequin. This time, he would do the spell correctly. He was sure of it. He just had to remember to keep his eyes on the target, visualize the rope in his mind, and stay grounded. After he succeeded, he would be able to take a break. Maybe drink some cool water, or have a snack. A nice, juicy orange sounded incredibly appealing to him. It would be tremendously refreshing on such a hot day; oranges were the perfect balance of sweet and tangy. Ah, yes, he could almost taste it - the thought of the citrusy flavor making his mouth water as he flicked his wrist to the right.

     And instead of a rope shooting from his fingertips, to his surprise, a small orange went flying across the courtyard and bounced off the mannequin, hitting the ground with a dull thud.

     Of course.

     Fornicus chuckled to himself and Cinte's cheeks turned bright red. 

     "I suppose I'm a bit hungry..." he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

     "Well, go ahead and take a break," Fornicus sighed. "But you will have to master this technique eventually. The binding spell is remarkably powerful and it can be used in both defensive and offensive positions." Cinte nodded and silently made his way over to the mannequin. He picked up the orange and sat down in the small shadow of the practice target, grateful for the bit of shade it provided. He rested his head on the mannequin's hip, pulling his legs up in front of him and resting his arms on his knees. The Prince tossed the little round fruit up in the air a few times, absentmindedly catching it as it fell back to the earth. Yawning, he finally dug his nails into it, peeling away at its leathery skin. Cinte split it in half, tore off a piece, and popped it into his mouth. A smile spread across his face as he bit down, enjoying the oddly nostalgic flavor. A hint of melancholy lingered on his tastebuds as he swallowed.

     When Cinte was a boy, King Grimmur was a kindhearted and gentle father, one that any child would be lucky to have. He could often be seen giving his son piggyback rides and sprinting through the halls of the palace, neighing and whinnying like a horse. Cinte would giggle and squeal 'Giddy up!' as his father galloped, sliding through doorways and around corners in his socks. His mother would roll her eyes and shake her head at the two, smiling to herself.

     On warm summer days, Cinte and his parents would venture out into the bright green pastures and spread out on a large picnic blanket. The three would gaze up at the endless bright blue sky and contemplate whether the clouds were shaped more like dolphins or whales, donkeys or horses. His mother, Queen Clarea, always brought three oranges in her pocket, one for each of them to eat as they enjoyed each other's company. They often sat and talked for so long that, by the time they returned to the castle, the stars had come out, glinting in the night sky like tiny flecks of silver paint on a navy blue canvas. Clarea would point up at the sky, her other hand holding onto Cinte's as she named the constellations above, one by one. The little boy would gaze up in wonder, blinking his eyes sleepily until Grimmur finally scooped him up and carried him to bed.