“The Crown of the North and sword-bearer must be strong, and a Champion of Peace even more so. Harsh as it sounds, continuing to go along with Tyrnen’s manipulations, or succumbing to the challenges you faced on the road, would have proven your inability to overcome the greater obstacles ahead.”
Aidan swallowed and closed his eyes. Tyrnen. Friend, mentor, almost as much a grandfather as Charles. Family, certainly. Tyrnen had murdered his father and his mother. Why? Why had he—
A pair of footsteps interrupted his thoughts. Aidan looked over his grandfather’s shoulder and recognized the man and woman crossing the platform. He had seen their visages etched within the first two stained-glass inside the sword chamber countless times. The man was tall, though still a few inches shorter than Aidan. His long dark hair hung loose, but the histories said he tied it into a ponytail for battle. The woman walking beside him, one arm linked through his, was two heads shorter, but her hair was just as long. An indigo gown flowed along behind her, and she smelled of freshly cut flowers.
They halted before him and fell to one knee.
“Well met, Champion,” Ambrose and Anastasia Gairden said.
Chapter 27
The Family Gathering
AIDAN’S MOUTH WORKED SOUNDLESSLY. Admiring portraits of Ambrose and Anastasia, the star-crossed lovers who had come together to overthrow King Dimitri Thalamahn and the might of his corrupted army of Sallnerians, was one thing. Standing before them, in the flesh—or however that sort of thing worked in Sanctuary; Aidan was not quite sure—was another.
“You’ll have to forgive my grandson,” Charles said. “I’m afraid your presence has rendered him speechless—for the first time ever, actually.”
Aidan managed to wet his tongue. “You,” he said to Anastasia.
“You passed me the healing spell that saved my friend’s life.” She inclined her head.
“Thank you,” Aidan said. He gaped between them, overwhelmed. “It is an honor.”
“The honor is ours, Aidan.” Ambrose’s amused smile disappeared. “That is all the time we have to get acquainted, unfortunately. As you saw, your former mentor has planted seeds of deceit and corruption all across Crotaria.”
“Yes,” Aidan said slowly. “Tyrnen is using some sort of creatures to impersonate my parents. In my mother’s memory, he called them harbingers.”
“They are like vagrants, but infinitely more dangerous,” Anastasia said. “Harbingers hold the souls of Touched—Cinders, usually—that Tyrnen bested in combat.”
“And how is it that they look like my mother and father?” he asked, voice tight.
“A forbidden dark magic known as transfiguration,” Anastasia said. “It violates the Lady’s edict that no living beast should ever alter its form, as they are created exactly how She intended them to be. Transfiguration is commonly used to mold the undead for purposes of deception. The pain of restructuring flesh and bone is too great for the living to bear. The dead, however, are as clay in the hands of an artisan, able to be reshaped whenever needed.”
Aidan digested the information. He thought of the harbinger that looked like his mother that he’d killed before fleeing Sunfall. “So all Tyrnen had to do was transfigure bodies to resemble Mother and Father—”
“—and give them new life via souls stored in his spirit stone, through which he dictates their every action.” Ambrose finished. “That was just the start of Tyrnen’s deception, however. He had to dress them appropriately, alter their voices...”
“She entered the sword chamber,” Aidan interrupted, thinking back to the night the impostors had returned from their retreat with Tyrnen.
“One of those monsters has your mother’s soul, boy,” Charles said grimly. “With Annalyn’s soul, that monstrosity is Annalyn. The soul has her memories and abilities. But the harbinger cannot pry secrets from Heritage, nor control the blade—thus far, at least.”
“I killed it,” Aidan said. “I cut its head off before fleeing Sunfall.”
“Destroying a corporal form does not free a soul held by a spirit stone,” Anastasia said. “The soul simply returns to the stone.” She smiled bleakly. “We watched Tyrnen infuse Annalyn’s soul in new vessels time and time again, trying in vain to control Heritage. We took pleasure in destroying those rotten vessels. A pity the old man never tried himself.”
“Be careful, Aidan,” Charles said. “Because the harbingers, and the vagrants, besides, are undead, their flesh is nothing more than a costume. They are the puppets. With the spirit stone, Tyrnen pulls their strings. Your enemies could be anyone—or anything.”
Aidan recalled the vagrant that had peeled away its face the night he had fled Calewind and stifled a shudder. Wardsmen, farmers, innkeepers—anyone could be an enemy.
“Do you remember the nightmare that plagued your sleep several weeks back?” Charles asked suddenly.
Aidan tensed. “How do you know about that?”
“We felt the Prophet soothe you through Heritage.”
Now Aidan did shudder. He remembered the whispers that almost suffocated him. Worse were the looks his parents had given him, and the terrible things they said.
“I remember,” he said at last.
“Luria Thalamahn was the one who learned how to implant souls in new flesh,” Anastasia said. “But her chief weapon was a spell called Night Terror. No one but she knew how to cast it, for it was she who created it. Night Terror transfers a victim’s consciousness into a nightmare as real as the waking world, much like how your consciousness resides in Heritage presently, apart from your body. One can die in a Night Terror just as one can perish in reality. You could fall asleep and never awaken, and who could be blamed? Unless the death was a violent one—any wounds received are reflected on the body in the waking world—no one would have reason to suspect foul play.”
Aidan swallowed. “And that’s what happened to me?”
Ambrose nodded. “You were. The Prophet broke through the spell and intervened.”
Aidan sent a prayer of thanks to the Lady for the Prophet’s intervention. Then he frowned. “You said Luria created the Night Terror spell, correct?”
“Yes,” Anastasia said.
“How does Tyrnen know how to use it?” Then icy shock washed over him as he remembered the golden scepter Tyrnen had held in his mother’s memory. “Tyrnen is Luria Thalamahn,” he whispered.
“Not quite, it appears,” Anastasia said, frowning as she glanced at Ambrose and Charles.
Aidan looked between them. “The Prophet told me that a Thalamahn’s soul seizes the body of any who touch their weapons. I saw Tyrnen holding Terror’s Hand. Luria must have command of his body.”
“We thought so too, at first,” Ambrose said. His visage darkened. “Then we saw Tyrnen pay a visit to the Prophet after your consciousness entered Heritage. She too thought Tyrnen had been subverted by Luria, but she was mistaken.”
“It is clear that Luria does have some control over Tyrnen, however,” Anastasia said. “Tyrnen’s will must have been too great to break completely, yet even though he is still in possession of his soul, he is utterly loyal to Luria.”
Aidan held up a hand. “Wait. How did Tyrnen even come to possess Terror’s Hand? The Prophet told me that you,” he gestured to Anastasia, “and the Disciples of Peace shielded the weapons’ compulsion to prevent the Thalamahns from attracting hosts.”
“We did,” Anastasia said. “As the Prophet explained, the weapons were masked and taken far away to a destination known only by the Prophet, who carried the Serpent’s Fang, and Mathias Emerson, who carried Terror’s Hand. Less than a year after Mathias and the Prophet went their separate ways, we felt Luria reach out to the world from deep within Sallner.
“It would appear Mathias thought to hide the weapon in the abandoned kingdom. That was poor judgment on his part. Sallner is where Dimitri and Luria practiced their dark craft; as such, their influence was strongest there. We do not know exactly what befell Mathias, but it is ob
vious that he somehow removed the mask from the weapon and touched it. By the time we came to where Luria had called from, we found only Mathias’s body. The scepter was gone.”
“Our family has spent the last eight hundred years standing watch for Luria,” Charles said. “It was not until Mathias ambushed your parents and tempted Annalyn with Terror’s Hand that we realized what had become of it, and of Luria and Mathias.”
Aidan raised a hand, confused. “Hold on. You just said he was dead.”
The other three shared a look. Anastasia spoke. “Aidan, when Tyrnen entered the cabin and the Prophet saw that the Queen of Terror had not possessed his body, she called him Mathias.”
Aidan stared blankly. “Tyrnen and Mathias are one and the same? That would make him over eight hundred years old!”
Anastasia raised a finger. “His soul is still alive. We suspect Mathias shed his body because we would have recognized him instantly, whether during our time on Crotaria or from here, within Heritage. My mother knew of a ritual, a dark magic known as sacrifice, that allows the living to inject his or her soul into another living body, whose soul is then terminated.”
“The same magic used on the Thalamahns’ weapons,” Aidan said.
“Correct,” Anastasia said. “For eight centuries, Mathias has assumed new bodies and identities, effectively evading the eye of every Gairden who would know him instantly.”
“Tyrnen Symorne is Mathias’s latest guise,” Ambrose said, “one he used to infiltrate Sunfall itself. We presume he did so in order to manipulate Heritage. Using the blade in tandem with artifacts as powerful as the Serpent’s Fang and Terror’s Hand would make him unstoppable. Of course, to control Heritage, Mathias needed a sword-bearer.”
He looked at Aidan. “Training a Gairden is a duty undertaken by our bloodline. But Tyrnen, as the Eternal Flame of Crotaria and your mother’s friend, was given the opportunity to participate in your training and tutelage.”
Aidan felt numb. “He must have been quite disappointed when the sword rejected me. But why now after eight hundred years? He could have wormed his way into the lives of any of our bloodline and manipulated them.”
Charles cleared his throat. “You are the strongest Touched in our line yet, Aidan. But you are also pliable. I love you, so please don’t take offense at my words, but you have never had an affinity for responsibility. Of course, that might not be entirely your fault. Mathias likely preyed on your feelings to ensure that when the time came to put his plan into motion, you would act as he wished, do as he wished.”
Aidan’s thoughts darkened. Sixteen years of being raised by a man who had been like a grandfather to him, and all Tyrnen had wanted was to use Aidan as a tool, just as Luria used him.
“I’m going to kill him,” Aidan said flatly.
“Killing Destruction’s Champion will not assure victory,” Ambrose said to him. “Hundreds of thousands of Sallnerians, Torelians, Darinians, and Leastonians have died these last eight hundred years. Tyrnen could draft any one of them into his army of the dead.”
Aidan felt a twinge of panic. “That doesn’t matter. I can—”
“You are strong,” Charles interrupted, “but the harbingers can band together. We do not know how many of them walk Crotaria, nor the guises they assume.”
Aidan’s shoulders sagged. They were right. Tyrnen had him vastly outnumbered. “What can I do?”
His grandfather gave him a level look. “You must return to Sunfall and take back the Crown of the North—and you must repair the damage done between Torel and Darinia.”
“We believe the war is a vital component in Tyrnen’s plan,” Ambrose said. “Torel and Darinia go to war. One of them destroys the other. The nation left standing will surely be vulnerable. Tyrnen and his vagrants sweep in and decimate the survivors— with Dimitri Thalamahn, as likely as not.”
“But the Prophet still guards the Serpent’s Fang,” Aidan began. Then he remembered Ambrose saying Tyrnen had confronted the old woman. “She’s dead, isn’t she?” he said quietly.
Anastasia nodded. “I’m afraid so. Without her to guard it, Tyrnen has likely recovered Dimitri’s blade.”
Aidan ran a shaky hand through his hair. “This is all my fault.”
Charles gripped Aidan’s shoulders. “Remember what the Prophet said, Aidan. You have no time to attribute blame or feel sorry for yourself. What’s done is done. Do not dwell on mistakes. Instead, concentrate on fixing them. What will you do?”
Aidan scratched at his cheek. “I will go to Nichel and explain what has happened. I will tell her that Torel and Darinia must stand together against Tyrnen and the Thalamahns. I will need to approach the merchants’ guild, also. Tyrnen has manipulated the north and west. I doubt he has left Leaston alone.”
Ambrose shook his head. “You must reclaim the Crown of the North first, Aidan. As long as the harbingers act as rulers, they control Torel’s Ward.”
Aidan grimaced. “Isn’t there a way I can show people what those impostors really are?”
“If there is,” Anastasia said, “we do not know of it.” She sounded apologetic. Aidan understood why. The magic that flowed through his veins and through the veins of so many Gairdens before him carried Anastasia’s gift. If she, perhaps the most powerful Touched Crotaria had ever known, did not know of a magic, it probably did not exist.
“It is time for you to depart Sanctuary,” Ambrose said to him. He pointed at the sky. Aidan saw a red dot hanging stationary among the clouds like a floating ember. “To leave, simply focus on the star, and—”
“Wait,” Charles said. “There is the other matter. The one concerning his friends.”
“My friends?” Aidan asked, his voice tense with worry. “Are they all right?”
Ambrose scratched at his chin before grumbling, “No easy way to say it, I suppose. That Sallnerian girl and her brother have betrayed you.”
“Garrett and Christine? That’s impossible. Christine and I...” He shook his head. “Why would they do that?” A thought occurred to him. “Is Daniel all right?”
“He will live,” Charles assured him. “As for why...” He shrugged as a sad smile settled onto his face. “The same reason humans can be persuaded to do nearly anything. Tyrnen paid them a large sum of money.”
Aidan felt his face heat. Was there any facet of his life Tyrnen had not corrupted?
“The Sallnerian girl seems to have some good in her,” Ambrose said, though he sounded as if the words had been pried from him. “She tried to stand against Tyrnen and her brother. Even so, keep your guard up.”
Aidan nodded and clasped the man’s extended hand. “There are many more who are eager to meet you, though it will wait until another time,” Ambrose said. His eyes hardened. “Be wary, Crown of the North. You must—”
Aidan gasped. His life had changed so quickly that he had forgotten what being the sword-bearer meant. Heritage was more than a blade at his waist and a contact with his family. It was a crown, albeit one worn at his waist. From the moment he had accepted Heritage, he had been king. From the moment Tyrnen killed my parents.
Charles gripped his grandson’s shoulder. “Do not fear, Aidan. Your family is with you, now and always. Call to us, and we will answer.”
“Thank you.”
The trio faded away, leaving Aidan alone with his thoughts.
For the first time since he had entered Sanctuary, Aidan was alone. He looked up at the sky and focused on the red star. His feet left the stone platform, and he rose like a bubble in water. The star seemed to shine brighter and grow larger as he rose. The sky changed color, blue fading to red before sudden darkness consumed him.
Wind rushed over him. A puddle of light appeared beneath his feet, and another faded into view before him. He stepped into it, and the next, and the next. Growls and heavy footsteps crunching over dead leaves and branches echoed around him. Briefly he wondered how he’d come to be in the Duskwood before realizing that the Prophet must have taken him here when
Tyrnen had attacked.
Tyrnen.
The darkness around him matched his mood. He gritted his teeth as he remembered the look on his father’s face as he was forced to watch his wife die, and the look that had come over Annalyn when she had seen Edmund’s battered body. Aidan Gairden felt betrayed. He also felt used, as though a sacred part of his life had been nothing more than a lie.
More than anything, Aidan Gairden felt angry.
Chapter 28
Friends and Foes
CHRISTINE HAD TRIED TO slip past the harbinger one time and one time only. It stood outside the cabin, never moving, never speaking, barely seeming to breathe. She had slipped a dagger from a vagrant and crept up behind the harbinger, thinking to stab it and make a run for the trees that bordered this mysterious place painted in flowers and birdsong when the rest of Sallner, her homeland, sat in perpetual rot. She had been perhaps two steps from the harbinger’s back when it had spun and rooted her to the spot, fear forming in her belly like a block of ice.
The face staring back at her had been her own. It had grinned as she dropped the dagger and slowly backed away. It changed its appearance as she went, bones snapping like dry twigs as its skin shifted: Daniel, then Garrett, then Tyrnen, and herself—again and again it cycled through those faces. It smiled through all the changes, and through the beating Garrett had inflicted on Daniel as punishment for her attempt at flight.
She thinned her lips. Thinking of the problem had never been a productive way of looking at things. It was time to find a solution. Cautiously, she rose to her feet and crept toward the back of the cabin. As she moved, she kept an eye on Garrett, who slept in a bedroll by the door. Finally she reached Daniel, who lay curled in a ball in one corner. His face was puffy and bruised. Dry blood speckled his cracked lips.
Heritage: Book One of the Gairden Chronicles Page 23
