Untitled Mages Stuff (Fantasy)

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This is the draft of the prologue of a short story that has been in my head for a while. Please be critic, I'll apreciate any comments and suggestions to improve it, in case I decide to give it a go.

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Arevan’s senses returned. With a groan, he fell on all fours and started breathing painfully. He ached all over, his vision was obscured by tiny dark dots, and his ears rang. He had never felt that tired in his young life.
‘What happened?’ he asked.
‘Relax’ said Marlok’s soothing voice, ‘everything is fine now. You should…’
‘Why the hell does it feel like I am breathing sand, damn it?!’ said Arevan in a rasp voice.

Marlok had learnt long ago that his apprentice had a propensity to swear, especially so when nervous, and had been trying to alter that behaviour by several means, but the boy was headstrong. His last attempt had been to use a discipline ring. Teachers of the Art had used these artefacts for generations, to chastise impertinent students, causing their bodies to convulse uncontrollably with a word. Most students learnt quite a deal of humility and good manners after being punished once with the ring, and never wore it longer than a month. Arevan had worn it for a year straight, and there had been little improvement. He had deservedly earned the punishment many times before, but Marlok just rolled up his eyes this time and bit back the activation word. His young apprentice had been through quite an ordeal already.

‘You were petrified most of the day, that is why you feel so.’ Said Marlok calmly.
‘What?’
‘Turned to stone’.
‘I bloody well know what “petrified” means!’ shouted Arevan. ‘I meant…’
‘Be quiet, child,’ cut the wizard, ‘or half dead or not, I will activate that ring of yours and leave you twitching for half an hour. Now lie on the floor and do not try to stand.’
Arevan promptly complied. He was too tired to try to stand up, anyway.
‘Do not move, just rest.’ Said Marlok. ‘Your organism is simply trying to re-adapt to life again. Close your eyes and take short breaths. I will go fetch a healer.’ And he walked out the room, leaving Arevan lying on the cold stone floor.

Marlok climbed down the steps of his tower with surprisingly ease for a man well past his seventieth summer. A strict following of The Method had kept his body in good shape, and long hours of study and meditation had kept his mind sharp. His well-kept short grey beard, and his plain, well-ironed black robes with intricate silver designs on the sleeves, spoke of a man who liked discipline and good manners.

He paid no heed to the salutes of the fellow mages and servants that he met in the corridors of the Academy, so engrossed his mind was with the day’s events. He had known that the boy was different since he had assumed his tutelage two years ago. Arevan was very intelligent for his age, capable to grasp very complex concepts with some minor struggle, and with a knack for languages. But he seemed unable to cast properly. Sometimes he would cast a spell so weak that it would simple fizzle out. One time, Arevan’s black hair glowed with green light for a week. Another time he had somehow caused a whole room of students to start sneezing after performing a basic cantrip. Most teachers in the Academy had thought that he was too clumsy, and had decided not to bother teaching him. Marlok knew differently. He knew that the boy had potential, and that, despite his moods, he studied hard and was an adept pupil. But even when his intonation and gestures were correct, the spell would go awry sometimes.

Marlok was one of the oldest mages in the Academy, and he had access to many of the books that were only available to mages of high rank. Since he became Arevan’s teacher, he had started researching for references to the symptoms that afflicted the boy’s magic. So far, he had found nothing. That never bothered him too much, as the seemingly random effects of Arevan’s miscast spells had been bizarre, but harmless.

Today that had changed.

Arevan had had a very good week, and all of his incantations have been successful. Marlok had asked him to try a Sleep spell with one of the rats that were used for experiments. He intoned the spell well, and his hands and fingers’ movements were timely executed. All of a sudden, a swirl of bright particles revolved around the boy for an instant and there was a brief flash. When it all ended, the rat was still awake in its cage. When Marlok turned to his apprentice, he was shocked to see that Arevan had inexplicably been turned to stone. It had only taken him some minutes to find a scroll of Break Magic and undo the effect, but being petrified was a torture for a living body, and he feared for the life of his apprentice.

He entered the healers’ quarters and was glad to find Father Theoras lecturing some initiates in the glory of the Gods. Theoras was a short, stocky man in his sixties with thin, white hair. They had been friends for three decades, and the good priest would keep this accident to himself if Marlok asked him to. Old Theoras saw him approaching and opened his arms in welcome.

‘Greetings, Marlok. It has been a while since you last visited me. Are you getting too old to climb down the stairs of your tower?’ he teased. He saw his friend’s worried frown, and his tone changed. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘It is my apprentice. He has had an accident and needs some help.’ Said the mage.

The priest looked at Marlok and perceived that there was more, but that the mage didn’t want to speak it aloud in public. He turned to his initiates and told them, in an amused tone, ‘My friend’s student has probably sprained a finger while performing their exaggerated magical gestures. I’ll better go and save the poor soul’s life.’

The initiates smiled. There was a friendly competition between the arcane and divine casters in the Academy, and every opportunity for making fun of the other group was always taken advantage of. Theoras put his hand on the mage’s shoulder and left the quarters with him. He waited until they were in front of Marlok’s tower before he asked ‘How bad is he?’
‘He was petrified.’ Theoras’ eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something, but Marlok went on. ‘He did it himself. I fail to understand it; he was simply trying to put a rat to sleep, that is all. The spell was performed correctly, but something went wrong. What it was, I ignore.’
‘Have you already broken the spell?’ asked the priest, deep concern in his voice.
‘I have, and he seemed well enough, albeit extremely tired. You know how petrification can affect the body.’ Said Marlok.

When they opened the door of the tower’s main chamber, they found Arevan still on the floor. The priest kneeled by his side, and checked his breathing. ‘He is still alive, the Gods be praised.’
Then he laid his hands on the boy’s back and started chanting a prayer. A white glow surrounded his hands and slowly engulfed Arevan’s body. The boy opened his eyes and looked up at Theoras, who removed his hands, giving a silent prayer to the Gods.
‘How do you feel, my son?’, the priest asked.
Arevan cleared his throat. ‘Like I had been running for a month, Father’, he said. ‘But I can breathe better now. Thank you.’
‘Thank the Gods in your prayers tonight, young one’.
Arevan looked at his teacher and saw the relief in the mage’s face. He suddenly felt ashamed of his previous behaviour and said ‘Marlok, I am sorry, I…’
‘Let it be, my boy’ said Marlok, putting a hand on the boy’s head. ‘You had quite a fright. I understand.’
‘But how could I have been petrified?’ asked Arevan. ‘I don’t even know the spell!’
‘And even if you knew it, you should not have been able to cast it’ said Marlok. ‘Your training has not yet prepared your mind for the requirements of a spell of this level’.
‘Then how…?’
‘I know not. But I think that…’
‘This is all very good’ interrupted the priest, ‘but what this young man needs now is plenty of sleep, not idle chat.’ Arevan started to protest, but Theoras quieted him. ‘Shush. It is rest what you need now, not answers. And in any case, neither Marlok nor I can provide one right now.’

Arevan looked at Marlok, who nodded towards the boy’s room. Grudgingly, he stood up and dragged himself to the bedroom. Once there, he suddenly found that he didn’t have the strength to take off his robe. He fell on the bed and was immediately asleep.