A Dark Inheritance

by Todd Herzman

  ‘The blood mage took her brother,’ Reena said.

  ‘You want me to reassure her?’ Arin said. ‘To tell her that he’ll be okay, that the blood mage needs him alive, that he’ll be safe?’ Ella, looking down, tears coming unbidden, couldn’t see if Reena nodded. Arin patted Ella’s hand. ‘I will try.’

  Arin let go of Ella’s hands. Ella wiped her eyes with her sleeve and watched as the older woman stood. Arin grabbed the pot handle and took it out of the cookfire. She poured boiling water into the teapot, then brought it along with three cups to the table. She poured a cup for each of them but didn’t sit down. First, she unfurled her scarf and took it off.

  There were scars on her neck, far more than the teenagers they’d passed. Arin’s skin was littered with old teeth marks and healed slashes. She sat, grabbed her cup, her hands no longer glowing, and stared into her tea. ‘I was taken at the age of thirteen.’

  Chapter 18

  Marius

  Marius didn’t remember being in this part of the forest. He’d followed Peiter through familiar trees, the monk seeming to walk through the place aimlessly, until Marius could no longer recognise the area.

  He couldn’t help imagining Ruben coming through here. When he wasn’t in the smithy, spending time with Taya, or walking to and from the market in Devien, Marius’s big brother could usually be found in the forest.

  Marius wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d followed the monk into the trees. Peiter never seemed to mind Marius following behind, but after Marius asked about the blood mage, he’d gone quiet.

  They reached a clearing. The monk walked into the middle, stopped and glanced around. He brushed twigs and rocks from a patch of dirt and sat.

  Marius watched the monk before looking about the clearing. There were rocks in a circle nearby, small ones and big ones, and a mushroom patch to one side. He’d been here before, on the night he’d fled the village with Ella. He approached the monk. ‘Why have we stopped?’

  Peiter crossed his legs. He rested the back of his hands on his knees and put thumb and forefinger together. He took a long breath before replying. ‘The magic I used to fix the tavern is like a well. Sometimes, the well runs dry. Usually from overuse. The water used to fill it comes from nature. In time, if all is as it should be, the well will refill itself. What I am about to do is like forcing the heavens to bring rain.’

  Marius looked at the cloudless sky. He thought he understood Peiter’s words, but the monk still talked in too many riddles. He plopped down beside Peiter, crossed his legs, and tried to copy how he sat. Peiter’s eyes were closed, and Marius followed suit. Marius imagined what a well looked like, conjuring an image inside his head. He saw the well from the middle of town and rain falling from the sky to fill it. Was this what the monk was doing? Marius cracked an eye open to observe the monk.

  ‘Whoa.’ Marius’s eyes opened wide.

  Small, bright beads of light floated toward Peiter from every direction. The beads of light disappeared when they touched the monk’s skin. The sun was in the wrong part of the sky to fall on this clearing, and the shining beads illuminated the space in a brilliant, white light. Marius and Peiter’s shadows danced as the beads swept through the clearing, entering the monk, whose eyes were still closed. This is the water, restoring the well, thought Marius.

  ‘How are you doing that?’

  Peiter’s brow furrowed. He cracked open one eye, much as the boy had a moment ago, and peered at Marius. ‘You can see what’s happening?’

  Marius frowned. ‘Of course I can see what’s happening!’

  Peiter opened his eyes, he shifted to face Marius. The light from the beads faded, making the clearing feel dark. Marius shifted too, until they faced each other.

  ‘You are full of surprises, young Marius. There are few people in the world who would be able to see what you saw without years of practice.’ The monk tilted his head to the side, eyes piercing, seeming to look right through the boy. ‘Some people, despite how much they try, despite how diligent they train, are never able to access the magic in the world.’ Peiter raised a hand. A single bead of light floated from somewhere in the trees to hover above his palm. ‘This, my dear Marius, is power. I, and my fellow monks, call it mana. Though it goes by many different names.’ Peiter breathed in deeply. The ball of light moved, entering him as the others had.

  Marius gaped. This was magic. This light, it was what made the monk able to do what he did. And Marius could see it. ‘What does it mean? Me being able to see it?’

  ‘It means you have an Affinity for magic, Marius. It means you are a natural. It means that it is in your blood. Can you tell me about your parents?’ The monk’s eye contact was unwavering.

  Marius stared at the dirt. ‘My father was a blacksmith, and my mother… she died when I was very young. I don’t remember much about her. I don’t think they had magic.’ Marius fidgeted. He wasn’t used to so much attention. ‘I don’t think you’re right about me.’

  ‘Marius,’ the monk said, a smile in his voice. ‘Will you do something for me?’

  The boy looked at the monk, then nodded slightly.

  ‘Close your eyes. Focus on your breathing. Do not respond—just observe your breath. Feel it and it alone. Breathe, in, out. In, out. Your breath is coming sharp and short, but it will deepen soon—do not force it, just focus on each inhale, each exhale. When you inhale, notice how it feels under your nostrils. The air is cold, is it not? When you exhale, notice how it feels again. Warmer. Let your muscles relax. Let any thoughts that enter your mind flit away, but do not force them away. Good, Marius. Good. You are doing well.

  ‘Now, I want you to shift your focus. Imagine a well, like the well in your town. There is water in this well. Can you see the water? If you can, touch it—gently—with your mind. Excellent, Marius. Excellent. Now, open your eyes.’

  Marius, feeling strange, almost as if he were waking from a dream, opened his eyes.

  His hands glowed. He gasped at the sight of them. Light seeped from his hands and formed a ball which hovered in front of him. It was the same white light as the beads that had drifted from the forest into the monk. He looked at Peiter. ‘Are—are you doing this?’

  ‘It’s you, Marius.’ Peiter stared wide-eyed at the light. ‘There is something very special about you.’

  As fast as the ball of light—of mana—had come, it disappeared. Marius waved a hand at the place it had been. ‘Where’d it go?’

  ‘You lost your focus. It takes much practice to do what you have done, and even more to maintain it.’

  Marius stared at his hands. They looked just as they always had. Small. Weak. No light coming from them. ‘Then… how did I do it?’

  Peiter shook his head, a slight grin on his lips. ‘I do not know. Has something like this ever happened to you before?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’ He held his hands out in front of him, turning them, palm up, palm down. ‘I would remember.’

  ‘Of course. It is just that, Affinities like these…’ The monk trailed off, staring into the young boy’s eyes. It was a long moment before he spoke again. ‘They don’t come from nowhere, Marius. What were your parents’ names?’

  Marius didn’t shy away from the monk’s gaze this time. ‘Jesriel was my mother’s name. Kell, my father’s.’ Marius paused, thinking of why Peiter had become so curious. ‘You think they were magic, too?’

  ‘Perhaps. Perhaps they were, and never knew. It could be, if we looked far enough down your family tree, we might find a witch, wizard or sorceress, perhaps even a monk of some repute. Alas’—he shrugged his shoulders—‘we may never know.’

  Marius examined his hands again, the light long gone. Almost as if he’d imagined it. A thought struck him, one he was surprised he hadn’t had until now. ‘Does this mean I can do what you do?’ Marius smiled, wide-eyed, up at Peiter. The last few weeks had been…
bad, but they had gotten better since Peiter had come to town. Finding out Marius had magic inside of him? He could almost forget everything that had happened.

  The monk chuckled. ‘With practice, maybe one day. But…’ Peiter motioned toward the town, inclining his head. ‘You will not learn how to harness your powers in a place like this.’

  ‘Then take me with you.’ The words tumbled out of Marius. ‘There’s nothing left for me here.’

  Peiter turned his head to the side. A cool breeze swept through the clearing. The sun was fading, the forest fast becoming a darker place. ‘And if your sister comes back?’

  Marius couldn’t help but notice Peiter had only mentioned his sister, not his brother. The monk, like everyone else in the village, like even Marius most days, seemed to think his brother would never return. Marius fidgeted his no-longer-glowing hands. ‘Joslin can tell her where to find me.’

  ‘It is a long way to the Tahali mountains.’

  Tahali mountains, thought Marius. Tahali monk. ‘That’s where you practiced?’

  The monk nodded.

  Marius looked to his right, through the trees, in the direction of Billings. ‘I don’t feel like I belong here anymore. My parents are long gone. I don’t know if my brother and sister will ever return. And another family lives in my home. It’s as if I just spend my days waiting.’

  Peiter’s eyes changed, the look in them reflecting the look of those townsfolk who had lost as much as Marius. ‘You have thought about this before.’

  Marius nodded slowly. ‘Every day.’

  Peiter leant forward. He looked in the dirt until he found a lone blade of grass and pulled it from the ground. ‘Becoming a monk is no small task.’ He made the blade of grass float in his palm. ‘And it is not for everyone. It requires a lifetime of commitment, and it is not about wielding magic and doing fancy tricks.’ The blade of grass spun in a circle. ‘We monks take an oath, to do no harm in the world, to help others with our skills, and to seek the truth in all things.’ The grass blade spun faster, until it whirled around as fast as a cartwheel or spindle. ‘It is a lonely path to walk, and it is not a path for everyone. I cannot make this decision for you.’

  He grasped the blade of grass in his fist. ‘Besides, you are not yet old enough to become a monk. If I took you to the Tahali mountains, they might make you an acolyte and begin your training. However, if they find you are not able to hold to the tenets of our order, they may turn you away.’

  Marius tried to digest the monk’s words. The oath stuck out to him. Do no harm to others. He didn’t know if he could hold himself to that, not after what had happened to his brother. A part of him wanted to wield magic so he wouldn’t be so useless, so he could fight blood mages, so he could stop what had happened in his village from happening elsewhere. He didn’t want to say that to Peiter. Marius might have an Affinity—as the monk had called it—but the monk had also said he wouldn’t be able to learn to use it alone.

  This could be Marius’s only chance.

  ‘I still want to try.’

  Peiter smiled. ‘Very well. But again, I cannot make this decision for you. Old Joslin is the closest thing to family that you have in the village. When we return from the forest, I will speak with her on your behalf.’

  Marius frowned. He wanted to argue. Why couldn’t he decide for himself? It seemed unfair that his fate was left in the hands of another. He nodded to Peiter all the same, bit his tongue, and kept his frustrations to himself. Besides, he was too excited to be frustrated for long. The way old Joslin looked at the monk? There was no way she’d refuse.

  Marius was going to leave the village. More—he was going to learn magic. For a moment, as he dreamt about it, all his worries drifted away.

  Chapter 19

  Ruben

  Ruben glanced at the red sails, unfurled and slapping in the wind, before looking over the bow of the ship. He squinted at the sun. This was his first time out of the brig since boarding, and his eyes were taking a while to adjust. His master stood behind him. If Ruben focused enough, he could feel the tug, the magic that connected them.

  ‘Can you see it?’ his master asked.

  Ruben put a hand over his brow. In the distance, he could make out a fine line of green on the horizon. ‘Land.’ His master put a hand on his shoulder. Ruben shivered.

  ‘That is the Albion Dominion.’

  Albion, thought Ruben. His mind played with the name. He’d been to Devien many times to trade, and his father had told him stories of his travels as a journeyman blacksmith. Ruben thought he knew all the names of the countries that traded with the Kharleon Empire, but he’d never heard of the Albion Dominion.

  His master tugged on his emotions. ‘Albion?’ Ruben asked.

  ‘Albion is the dominion of my master. Renial, the God King.’ The blood mage sniffed at his words, then leant in and whispered in Ruben’s ear, ‘Now, go mop up that mess you created.’ He slapped him on the back.

  Ruben moved without hesitation. As he hurried, he saw three crewmembers carry the raider he’d killed up from below deck. The man’s body was burned beyond recognition, leaving no sign of who he’d once been. The other raider Ruben had burned followed the men. He had a strange, orange substance smeared over his neck and wrist—the places Ruben had touched him with flaming hands. Ruben recognised it as a healing salve, one Taya was skilled at making.

  The raider nodded at him. A small part of Ruben’s mind, the one that retained some control, was surprised at the gesture. He nodded back.

  Smoke seeped up from the mess hall. The stairs creaked as Ruben went below. He saw Taya, back to working in the kitchen, chopping the same vegetables the dead raider had been preparing. Ruben searched around for a broom, found one in the corner, and began sweeping the ash into a pile.

  The day passed in a daze. Ruben helped the crew with their duties, working side by side with those who’d invaded his home. The thoughts in his mind shifted and changed. The numbness returned, but there were other emotions layered on top. The influence of his master. A willingness to serve. To please.

  There was more, too. He felt his master’s emotions. As the hours passed and the ship grew closer to Albion, his master became increasingly unsure. Ruben only felt a sliver, here or there. A hint of unease. A sense of wariness—and something else. Something strong.

  Fear.

  ~

  Ruben shackled the other prisoners. He chained their hands to their feet, their feet to the next in line. He shackled Taya, then finally he shackled himself. Yjorgin, the raider Ruben had burned, walked the gangplank to the dock. He held the axe that had belonged to the raider Ruben had killed. There was a resemblance Ruben hadn’t noticed before—beyond the matted hair and beard. He wondered if Yjorgin had been the dead raider’s son.

  A part of Ruben remembered what it was like to lose a father. Yjorgin appeared unaffected. Ruben stared at the man’s neck, following him across the plank. The burn looked as bad as any Ruben had acquired working the forge, but it wasn’t the only injury to befall the raider’s neck. He had a scar where the mage had taken his blood.

  Everyone on the ship had the same scar.

  Ruben looked past the man to the city beyond. It was the largest city he’d ever seen. A castle loomed over it, its towers visible for miles around. Dozens of ships were in port, many the size of his master’s, while others were hulks, dwarfing the ship Ruben had rode in on.

  Ruben felt his master’s presence approach from behind. The subtle tug of his power made Ruben’s thoughts more subdued. Ruben stared at the ground, at his shackled hands, at his shackled ankles, and felt… nothing.

  Yjorgin, carrying the great axe, pulled on a chain forcing the whole gang forward. The city went by in a blur. Ruben kept his head down. His master wished it. His consciousness dimmed until his feet grew sore, his ankles rubbed raw, his legs tired. Yjorgin stopped, and Ruben almost bumped into him.

  Ruben glanced up. They stood in fron
t of the castle gates. Two guards, spears in hand, turned their helmeted heads toward the group. Ruben looked down again. He saw the top of his master’s polished boots step up to the guard.

  Not a word was said. The guards moved to open the gate.

  The chain gang shuffled through. Ruben saw cobblestones turn to flat stone. Straight steps and curved steps. Red carpets and maroon. Then they stopped for a long while in an echoing hall. Doors opened, big wooden ones on well-oiled hinges by their sound. They walked forward again, boots shuffling, chains clanging, the noise spreading in the cavernous space. His master strode ahead.

  A stab of fear hit Ruben. Gripped him. Froze his spine and brought him shivers. But the fear didn’t come from within—it came from without, from his master.

  Everyone stopped walking, the silence so sudden and full it almost hurt.

  ‘Malarin,’ a voice said.

  The voice came from the front of the room. And it came from the back of the room, too. The left, the right. The floor, the ceiling. It came from outside of Ruben’s mind and inside as well. Ruben felt the fear again, but it wasn’t just his master’s this time. It was his own.

  ‘What have you brought me?’ The voice was dark and deep. Ruben didn’t understand the words as they were said, but when they echoed around his head he knew what they meant.

  Ruben’s master—Malarin—replied to the God King in a language Ruben didn’t recognise. The words were short and sharp with barely a break between them. It seemed like the same language the voice had spoken, but Ruben couldn’t understand it from his own master.

  There was a pause after Malarin’s words. Moments passed, fear filling the silence.