Not again.
On the day of the ceremony. Talk about bad timing. I stare at the barrier floating in front of me, willing it to go away. It stubbornly remains. It materialized when I got tangled trying to put on my formal armor. It always happens when I get angry or nervous, losing control in some way. Magic is like that, prone to manifest at the worst possible time.
Timing is not the problem, though. My problem is that men are not supposed to do magic. It shouldn’t be possible. Girls do the magic, boys do the fighting. Women become Shields, men become Swords. Everyone knows that, it’s the way of things. Girls are the ones who develop powers of protection and healing, to shield soldiers from oncoming blows and to mend us if that fails. That’s why the matching system exists and paired mates go to war together as one unit.
I’ve always sucked at fighting, to the point where the Swordmaster almost gave up on me. My frustration has made it difficult to hide my incipient magical powers. Guard spells such as deflector shields or protective spheres suddenly appear, or my cuts and bruises from training heal spontaneously. I have to control my emotions around others, the risk of a magical outburst is too great.
The ceremony is fast approaching, when the Matchmaker will reveal my chosen mate, who’ll become my Shield, my protector and healer. And my wife. I shudder at the thought. Guys in the academy are obsessed with girls and joke about how Shields could use their powers to “recharge” boys allowing for never-ending sex marathons. Yeah right. I, on the other hand, only think of guys in that context, which makes my academy life hell. Shower time after training is the worst. Ignoring all the naked bodies around me takes some effort. Once, in my distress trying to avoid getting aroused, I started to repel the water around me. Mercifully I was able to get it under control and nobody noticed. Ape brain.
A knock at the door pulls me out of my reverie. The pairing is about to start. I freak out and the shield grows brighter. Great. I take a deep breath to calm myself, and it finally dissipates. You got this. I leave my room and join the tide of people making their way to the assembly room. We’re all wearing our ceremonial outfits: guys in armor, girls in robes. Our parents and other guests will already be there.
The hall is full to the brim, proud faces turn towards us as we enter and settle into our assigned seats up front. Swords on the left, Shields on the right. A fanfare announces the arrival of the Matchmaker, hard-faced as usual despite the happy occasion. I’m pretty sure she’s physically incapable of smiling. After a short speech, the ceremony starts. One by one Swords are called up to ascend the dais, then their chosen Shield is announced. She joins him, they hold hands and recite their vows: he to protect the country and she to protect him. Then they exit the hall while everyone applauds. And they fought happily ever after.
My name is called. I manage to ascend the steps in a daze even though my legs weigh a ton. I avoid looking at the Matchmaker but her presence is overbearing, too close for comfort. She declares the name of my mate and a girl climbs the steps and stands opposite me. I look at her face, her expression determined yet a hint of fear in her eyes. As expected, I offer my hands, palms up. Then everything goes sideways.
She throws off her robe in a swift move, revealing some sort of light combat armor underneath. And a sword, which she promptly swings at the Matchmaker. I react instinctively, raising my arms and conjuring up a potent shield against which the blade shatters. Dead silence, and then pandemonium.
My murderous wife-to-be makes a run for it while several other figures wearing the same armor storm the room. Guests stampede for the exits at the same time guards stream in. A chaotic battle ensues. Realizing that I’m still holding up the deflector spell, I look at the Matchmaker. She seems not so much surprised as furious. Two of her bodyguards have reached her, so I dissolve the shield. She grabs one of them, points at me and gives an order. I can read her lips. Kill him.
That makes no sense. Then it dawns on me that saving her life is not enough to make up for the sacrilege of my existence. I’m an abomination, and I’ve revealed myself to everyone. A threat to the very fabric of society, the order that she holds dear. The bodyguard lunges at me, knife in hand. I put up a barrier at the last second, barely parrying the thrust aimed at my neck. He recovers fast and keeps slashing at a dizzying rate, weakening my shield. I know that when it fails there’ll be no time to put up another. I’m going to die.
The spell falters and the killing blow comes. I close my eyes and brace, but it doesn’t land. I peek to find one of the assassins standing over the dead bodyguard. Tall and muscular, he has a handsome face and an amused expression.
“That intervention of yours was unfortunate,” he says.
I find my voice. “I’m starting to regret it.”
“I’m sure you are.”
Mayhem is all around us. More guards emerge from the crowd, and charge. My unlikely savior gives me an appraising look.
“Say, I find myself in need of a Shield.”
I look at the approaching goons and feel the anger, and the magic, flow through me. I embrace my true self.
“You’ve got yourself one.”
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