Vitiosi Dei (Heritage of the Blood Book 2)

by Brent Lee Markee

  Shawnrik looked around the little room that he had been taken to and smiled. It was nowhere near the size of the room that he had slept in at Nim's manor, but that was good, as he had never liked the wide open room there anyway. The dorm room had two beds, one along either side of the doorway, with chests at the end of each, and a small table on the other side of the room that Shawnrik assumed was for studying.

  He had just started placing his equipment in one of the chests at the end of the bed he had chosen when the door opened.

  “Who are you?” the young man asked, clearly puzzled before looking at the number on the door. “This is room twelve, but you aren't a little kid.”

  Shawnrik grinned, the young man standing at the door seemed to be around his age. The kid was about a foot and a half shorter than Shawnrik, which put him at about five and a half feet, Shawnrik guessed. The young man was very thin; Shawnrik noticed the slightly pointed and lobe-less ears, and realized that the boy was a half-elf like Victor. Unlike Victor, however, this boy had a permanently hunted look in his light blue eyes, and he moved more like a nervous librarian than a street rat.

  “My name is Shawnrik, I'm new.”

  The boy's eyes opened wide for a moment before he popped his head into the hallway, trying to see if someone was playing a trick on him. After finding no one in the hall laughing at him, he turned to see Shawnrik's outstretched hand and shook it cautiously. “Name's Verrian, Verrian Smith.”

  “Smith?” Shawnrik asked.

  “Smith,” Verrian nodded, before adding a bit defensively, “it is my father's last name.”

  “Pleasure to meet you then, Verrian Smith. I'm Shawnrik Larston.”

  Chapter 3

  Origins

  Year: 3045 AGD

  Day of New Beginnings

  Serenity Valley

  Institute of Learning

  “You have really never been to school before?” Verrian asked.

  “I never really needed it before. I never even thought I would have much need to read or write until I met Victor.” Shawnrik sat on the edge of his bed, telling himself to be patient with his new roommate.

  “Who is Victor? Is he a new student here too?” Verrian sounded excited at the prospect.

  “No, Victor is a very good friend that I met in Safeharbor, he...” Shawnrik sighed, “... has other duties.”

  “Duties,” Verrian said, his disdain for the word obvious. “My dad is always talking about duty, but the way you say it almost makes it sound like we are at war.”

  “We are at war, Verrian, of that there can be no doubt. We will be at war for as long as the Blood Mages and the Dracair continue to send unprovoked attacks against the Protectorate.” Shawnrik spoke with a passion that he had not known that he possessed before that moment, but as each word came forth his voice became firmer and more confident with each syllable.

  “The Dracair?” Verrian squirmed a little on his bed, obviously skeptical, but still curious. “I thought those were just monsters from bedtime stories that parents use to scare their children." They sat for a moment staring at each other, and Shawnrik realized that he must have been scowling when Verrian lost some of his skepticism and said, “You mean they aren't?”

  “No,” Shawnrik's tone matched his mood, and it was clear that that he wasn't happy. “They are not a myth, or a bedtime story. For all I know, they are killing my friends right now as I sit here having this conversation. Is this the kind of thing that they teach at this school?!”

  Verrian looked towards the door, obviously considering if it might be safer to be on the other side of it. “I don't know. I mean, I don't think so, but I've never really heard anyone ask about it. They may teach about it in some of the higher classes, especially history, but I am sorry to say that the history courses have never been very popular here at the Institute. The instructors make sure that you select a wide range of studies to begin with, but as long as you have a language or two, and math, science, or philosophy, they don't really bother you with other choices.”

  Shawnrik sighed again, before mumbling, “Is this what all of these people have been doing for three thousand years, while the men and women of the Protectorate fight and die?”

  “What was that?” Verrian asked, leaning towards his new roommate, trying to hear what had been said.

  “I was just wondering how I could have gone from a place to where even a street rat knows about the Dracair, to here.”

  “I really couldn't tell you, Shawnrik, but I would also like to know the answer to that question.”

  Looking into his roommate's face, Shawnrik knew that the young man was speaking the truth; he might have just found an ally in this foreign place. Letting out a final sigh, Shawnrik picked up his course list and began to delve into it with renewed vigor. Well, if they aren't going to teach people about the Dracair, I will.

  “Shawnrik?” Verrian whispered.

  “Hmm?” Shawnrik replied without looking up from the list.

  “Are the Dracair as bad as the stories say they are?” There was something about Verrian's tone that made Shawnrik look up from his list.

  The boy he saw sitting across the room no longer looked inquisitive, he looked afraid. Good, you should be afraid. I know I am. “I'm not sure, Verrian. I don't know what the stories here say about the Dracair. I would venture a guess as to say that they are probably worse than the stories though, and if they aren't...” he shrugged, “the reality is bad enough for me.”

  The boys sat in their room for the rest of the afternoon in a modicum of silence, only talking when Shawnrik had a question about one of the courses. Verrian answered all of Shawnrik's questions to the best of his ability, but it was clear that his thoughts were elsewhere. Their silence was finally interrupted when a steady hum coursed through the room. Verrian leapt to his feet eagerly, explaining that it was time for the welcoming ceremony.

  Shawnrik followed Verrian out of their room, joining the throng of students that were now making their way through the halls. During that steady commute, Shawnrik once again saw a variety of races that astounded him, but his astonishment was soured by one thought. Are they all blissfully unaware? He found that he was larger than most of the crowd in height, if not in sheer bulk, but there were also adolescent Giant-kin who dwarfed him nearly as much as he did everyone else.

  At first the procession seemed like utter chaos to Shawnrik, but he also noticed a surprising lack of jostling going on throughout the crowd, with everyone traveling at the same speed, in no specific hurry to get to their destination. Eventually, the mass of people ended up outside, and Shawnrik noticed two other lines the same size as the one he was in heading towards the large stone gates ahead of them.

  There must be thousands of us, maybe tens of thousands.

  As they walked through the large stone gates, which bore symbols that he had never seen before, they were handed a packet that contained bread, meat, and cheese. He noticed several of the people around him reaching into the bottom of the bag, pulling out what appeared to be chocolate. The only time that he had ever had chocolate was one night at Nim's when Megan had brought him a piece before bed. Thinking about that beautiful young woman who was no longer alive made him want to save the chocolate and savor it even more.

  The dull roar of conversation became a steady cacophony as the crowd emerged into a giant, bowl-like amphitheater. After finding a seat, Shawnrik began to look around the crowd. He had been right, he quickly realized; there were thousands upon thousands of people inside the semicircular bowl, with more coming in every second. Another thing he noticed was that at least half of the students were female. This was the first time he realized that he might have classes with the opposite sex, and once again he was nervous. Gazing around the room, he found his eyes lingering on one spot or another for a little longer than needed.

  Light, how am I going to be able to concentrate through class at this rate?

  Shawnrik had always taken on new challenges with a single-minded dete
rmination, studiously taking on whatever it was he was tasked with. He had never had to deal with girls while doing so, however, especially not any around his age, and he found his body was reacting strangely to the concept, in ways that it never had before.

  As the stream of people entering the amphitheater became a trickle, he noticed that the first few rows were occupied by older people; Shawnrik decided that they must be the instructors and other people who worked at the school. Several other people also sat in chairs upon the stage. Shawnrik recognized one of them as the Headmistress, but he did not know the others.

  Shawnrik only had a few bites left of his meat and cheese when he felt a vibration course through the gathering, much like the one that had been used to summon them here. He hadn't been expecting the kind of event that would have him on the edge of his seat, so he wasn't terribly disappointed when the welcoming dragged on from one speaker to the next.

  The first to address the throng of students was Headmistress Blackbriar, but she was only there long enough to say a few words of welcome and to announce the first official speaker of the evening. Harolinde Swiftfoot was apparently, as he liked to remind the gathering every few minutes, Dean of Students. Dean Swiftfoot was also one of the first true Elves that Shawnrik had ever seen, although he was pleased to note that the man wasn't one of the High Elves, like those that live in Eske'Taure.

  The High Elves possessed a rather inflated opinion of themselves, and they had made it their mission to remove anyone with Elven blood who was tainted from the world. Always at the top of that list was anyone who possessed Elven blood who was not a full Elf. Once, long ago, all of the Elves had lived together. As the sect that sought the purification of the Elven race grew to power, the various factions split apart during a time that came to be referred to as The Cleansing.

  Shawnrik's attention had been riveted on the Dean as he began speaking, part of him hoping that the man would say something that would reaffirm Shawnrik's faith in this place. But as Dean Swiftfoot's oration wore on, he found his attention wandering. The man certainly had a lot to say, but it was mostly about rules and etiquette.

  Shawnrik's gaze fell upon a small group of girls around his age who had their heads together in quiet, yet animated conversation. The intensity with which they whispered made Shawnrik grin—or maybe that was because most of the girls were rather pretty. He only realized that he had been staring when Verrian poked him in the ribs and told him to focus.

  Shawnrik had to wonder if it was a coincidence that Dean Swiftfoot was broaching the topic of fraternization at the same moment that his new roommate had poked him. He had no idea what fraternization was until he had listened to the Dean use it over and over again. From the context of the Dean’s speech, the meaning of the word became readily apparent. Irrationally, Shawnrik felt as if he were being singled out at that moment, and couldn't help the blush that radiated across his face. The Dean talked for five of the longest minutes that Shawnrik thought he had ever lived through before giving the podium over to the next speaker.

  It turned out that the next speaker was a Half-Ogre by the name of Mr. Witherton. From the short speech that the large, balding man gave, Shawnrik learned that the man was the head of campus security. Mr. Witherton's speech gave Shawnrik the impression that campus security was there to keep the students in line more than they were there to keep them safe from outside aggressors. His sentences were short and clipped, as if he were talking to people who had already made the decision to break the rules, which maybe experience had taught him they were. Mr. Witherton finished by announcing a kindly looking Cloud Giant woman who was nearing her middle years—which meant that she was more than likely around one hundred and fifty to two hundred years old—by the name of Silvianna Stonebank.

  Shawnrik quickly realized that Silvianna was a healer that worked for the Institute, but he couldn't figure out if she was a Cleric or a Priest from her short speech. A large portion of her speech was taken up by her giving directions to her office from the mess hall, and if Shawnrik knew where that was he was sure that he would have found the advice helpful. When Silvianna Stonebank finished her speech, she announced the Headmistress as Torva Blackbriar.

  Shawnrik was surprised by the reception that the Headmistress received from the assembled audience. It became obvious that the woman was greatly respected by the students and her peers, who were clapping just as enthusiastically as the kids, although with quite a bit more aplomb. She started her speech talking about how much the students and the faculty would get to know each other better over the coming months. Shawnrik had never heard the word faculty before, but he guessed from the way that the Headmistress was using it that it meant the Instructors at the Institute. Her next topic was classes that had been newly added to the course list, and ones that were no longer available, each announcement was met with applause or loud booing respectively.

  It was sometime during the long list of course changes that Shawnrik felt his attention once again beginning to wane. He had just begun stretching his neck muscles when something the Headmistress was saying caught his ear.

  “I am also happy to announce that for the first time since the Institute's inception over two and a half millennia ago, we will have our first student joining us who was born and raised in Safeharbor.” Her announcement was met by a wave of conversations throughout the amphitheater, and Shawnrik groaned when he looked over and saw Verrian gawking at him. Before Shawnrik could catch his bearings, however, the Headmistress continued speaking.

  “As many of you are aware, this Institute has very strict rules for who is allowed to attend, and the secrecy with which its existence must be kept. Because of this, only a child whose parents both attended the Institute may themselves attend. Those who marry outside of the Institute are kept to a strict confidence that pertains to even their immediate family. I assure you that this person meets all of these requirements.”

  She knows who my parents are? As if to answer his unasked question, the Headmistress continued.

  “Some of you may have heard of his mother, Lilly Lightfeather, daughter of Pedrial Lightfeather, but more still will know his father's name, Aerick Heartstone.”

  As the Headmistress said his mother's name, a small wave of recognition surged throughout the crowd, but as she said his father's name the crowd once again erupted into thousands of conversations. Shawnrik looked towards his new roommate for support, but Verrian looked like he was choking, his face was so pale.

  The names themselves had meant nothing to Shawnrik, who had recognized neither of them. The fact that Pedrial was his grandfather explained a lot, and Shawnrik was beginning to think of a million questions for the old smith. One thought stuck out amongst all the others though: if his mother's last name was Lightfeather and his father's was Heartstone, where did the name Larston come from? Once again, the Headmistress was ahead of him.

  “When Aerick left his tribe,” a fresh wave of something Shawnrik couldn't recognize came forth from several sections of the crowd, but the Headmistress talked over them, “Lilly went with him, and since Aerick was no longer willing to accept the name Heartstone, he changed his last name to Larston when he and Lilly married. The ceremony took place in the Church of Cypheria in the heart of Safeharbor, and a year later they had a son.”

  At this point, the conversation in the crowd hit a climax, and several of the boys seemed to notice the look that Verrian was giving him, correctly interpreted its meaning, and began nudging their neighbors. Suppressing a groan, Shawnrik tried not to look at anyone around him, but as he began to lower his head, he caught a glimpse of one of the girls below him. She was part of the group that he had been watching earlier, her head had been facing front of the amphitheater, so all he could see was her hair, but as she began scanning the crowd he couldn't help but feel that there was something familiar about her. Sweeping her gaze around the crowd, it didn't take long for Shawnrik to see her face, and when he did, his mouth dropped open in shock.

  Olivia?
It was the gypsy girl from the Blood Orc camp where they had all been held prisoner a year and a half before. How the... his thoughts were cut short as the crowd once again reached a quiet hum under the steady gaze of their Headmistress.

  “Their story, however, was not to be a happy one for long. Nearly two years after their son was born, Lilly and Aerick were the victims of what the authorities deemed as a 'random act of violence.' According to the report, the pair died as their home was torn to pieces by these so called robbers.”

  A new wave of conversation arose, but this one seemed steeped in a healthy dose of disbelief. Shawnrik too was in disbelief. He had just learned the names of his parents, and now he was learning that they had been murdered by a gang of thugs. The emotions that were at war within him were as confusing as the cacophony of sound coming from the students around him.

  “Somehow, their son managed to escape this attack, most likely aided by the dying breaths of his parents, and he became an orphan on the streets of the largest city in the world. These circumstances never allowed him the benefit of a formal education.”

  Once again, the students began to talk amongst themselves, this time the emotions behind the sentiment varied greatly: there was awe, sympathy, and more than a few snide comments about an ignorant street rat being let into the Institute. Shawnrik's jaw began to clench. He wasn’t sure which he liked less, the sympathy or the snide comments, but it wouldn’t have been long before he started tossing people around were it not for the Headmistress's next words.

  “Some of you will no doubt misconstrue this fact, and think that because of his circumstances, he is an ignorant street urchin; it is for this reason that I even broach the topic at all. With no resources and no one to turn to for help, this boy survived on the streets of Safeharbor alone for nearly eight years, a feat that many adults would find daunting. Around the age of ten, he joined up with other children who were in the same situation as he was, and they survived in the only way available to them—by doing whatever was necessary to make it through the day. During this time, this young man learned several harsh lessons that I hope most of you will never have the opportunity to learn. Think about everything that this young man has gone through and his lack of resources, and know that during this time he still managed to learn to read and write.”