Heir Of Doom

by Jina S Bazzar

  Lee paused at the bottom of the steps and I followed suit, stepping alongside her, my thoughts and stomach churning.

  Then the double doors opened and my mind went blank as Zantry marched in, all smiles despite the two hulking guards escorting him. He was dressed in a dark charcoal-gray suit, a black shirt underneath, no tie, and as handsome as ever.

  He'd said he'd come for me.

  Keeping my expression neutral, I watched him approach the throne. Some of the courtiers paused to view who'd entered, some murmured to their companions; all showed recognition. The murmuring slowly evolved into a crescendo, and a few of the fee women called to him, laughing with delight. I realized everyone present was glad to see him. I glanced sideways at Lee and found her eyes on him, the barest hint of a smile lighting her cold expression.

  Zantry ascended the throne steps without any invitation, and to my shock, he went up to Queen Titania herself, stopping right in front of the throne. To the delight of the Seelie courtiers, he made a show of bowing and kissing her hand.

  “Your majesty, you look as lovely as always,” he said with a charming smile.

  “Zantry Akinzo, back from the dead.”

  “Never reached there. But if you wish, majesty, when I go, I'll send my regards.”

  Titania's eyes gleamed with amusement and she said something I couldn't hear. Zantry replied and she laughed with delight, but I could no longer hear them, even if they were right there, no more than twenty feet away.

  The conversation had turned private. Had the last part of my conversation with Queen Titania been private as well?

  Everyone resumed mingling, though some continued to gawk at Zantry and murmur.

  I watched Oberon join the conversation and after a moment noticed Lee watching me.

  “Will I know what fulfilling my role as the promised child entail soon?”

  “Aye, in the morn,” she said.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The high table brimmed with fragrant, succulent food, some of which I recognized – roasted meat, stuffed duck, herbed fish, fruit tarts – and others I'd never seen before.

  I was seated beside Lee, who in turn sat beside Zantry, who sat across from Oberon and to Titania's left, who sat, of course, at the head of the table. There were a few others seated on our table, Crozelle and Drozelle and another guy with pointed ears and sharp, animal-like teeth. Aside from these two strange features, he looked as normal as a human, if one overlooked the shining silver aura.

  Flanking the royal table were two larger tables, laden with food and occupied by the Seelie nobility. All three tables carried the same food, as fancy and plentiful as the queen's.

  Pixies hovered nearby, serving the royal table, filling our plates, our glasses. I ate as little as possible without seeming rude, because my stomach was churning like a lonely boat amidst a heavy storm. The minute I finished eating dessert, some pie filled with a sweet fruit I didn't know, I excused myself.

  To my surprise it was Oberon who escorted me to my room, not Bennty. We passed the same hall filled with paintings as before, now illuminated by the wall torches. Outside, darkness had fallen. The silhouettes of the trees could still be seen, reaching for the glittering stars in the sky. Again, the tranquil drawings on the wall soothed my nerves, even if the paintings were different than the ones from earlier. Maybe this wasn't the same hallway? Or maybe it was and the paintings shifted and changed with the hour? It was an enchanted palace after all, wasn't it?

  Passing a drawing of a huge gargoyle with enormous wings, I paused. This one looked massive, aggressive, monstrous. Two rows of needle-sharp teeth were bared at the artist, as if protesting against its image being drawn. The span of its wings was as huge as the gargoyle itself, and I wondered if Frizz's wings would ever grow like that.

  Beside me, Oberon studied the drawing with me. “It is beautiful, is it not?”

  I glanced sideways at him, wondering if he meant the masterpiece or the gargoyle itself, found his eyes fixed at the framed painting. I looked back at the drawing, studied it. The shell shaped eyes glinted sharply with intelligence, the tips of the ears like spiky arrowheads. The wings spanned long to the sides, gleaming with whatever effect the artist could capture. He was bigger than Frizz, his built not like that of a thin child, but of a muscular man used to eating and frequent exercise.

  “In a way, I guess it is,” I murmured, transfixed.

  “Blaxillium. Titania herself named him. Made him her familiar.”

  Surprised, I turned. “I had the impression that naming a shadow wasn't something common.”

  Oberon tilted his head, his brown eyes gleaming with a hidden secret. “A shadow like yours, nay, it is not common to name them. But Blax wasn't a common shadow. He was a familiar, a gargoyle, a very old and powerful one.”

  Confused, I asked, “But I thought shadows and gargoyles were the same species?”

  Oberon chuckled, amused at my naivety. “Not in a thousand years.” He gestured at Blaxillium. “Gargoyles are called shadows when young. But once they round the millennium, they become something else, something more powerful and respectable.”

  “So you mean Frizz, when he reaches a thousand, he'll be like that?” I pointed a stiff finger, my tone waffling between awe and horror.

  “If he grows and matures with enough resources, perhaps.”

  “But what's the difference between the two? I mean, besides the obvious?”

  “The difference is like water and fire,” he said. “For one, only the strongest of the strong can hold a gargoyle familiar without the gargoyle's explicit consent. Blax, for one, raged against the bond for decades, and would have reverted the master-slave bond within minutes had Queen Titania not been the dominant of the pair.” He studied the painting, his eyes conveying nothing of what he was thinking. “For a lesser being, I reckon the arrangement has to be mutual, lest the roles be reversed. It's an arrangement that has been progressively dwindling, one a lot of species have avoided throughout the years, even if the relationship is beneficial to both parties.”

  “But a young shadow, what can it do?” I pressed, wanting to know. Remo had said they could be useful once you got one to owe you a favor, but so far I had no idea how useful.

  “Mostly, it steals, kills, shadows. Parlor tricks. Make you believe something that isn't true. They are clever, and once they give loyalty, they are very committed.”

  Alright, parlor tricks useful to an evil person, then. “And once they grow to be like that?” I gestured to the massive creature.

  Oberon said, “They are powerful, dangerous creatures.”

  “Can they travel the leeway?” was what really circled my thoughts.

  “Not unless they are bound to an entity from another plain. Shadows, even gargoyles, are creatures of the Low Lands, bound to it like a plant to soil.”

  I shifted, frowning at a disturbing thought. “Can they live away from the land?”

  Oberon studied me for a long moment. “If they are cared for and are bound to a stronger entity, they can draw strength from their master and live a long time without needing to return. Likewise, the dominant can draw strength from the familiar in times of need.”

  I turned back to the painting, trying to diffuse Oberon's sharp eyes from me. “Is he in the castle? I mean Blax?”

  I felt his pang of sorrow, quickly cut off as if it had escaped before he could contain it. His expression, however, conveyed nothing. Maybe I had imagined it? “Blax was a very old gargoyle. He was loyal and committed to what belonged to him. For that reason, He was one of the first to fall.” He turned away from the drawing to look out one of the tall arched windows.

  “I'm sorry about that,” I said and meant it.

  “All the older ones fell a few centuries before. Everyone who knows about the fall of the elders understands anyone who has a familiar from the dead lands today will have a young shadow, no older than four centuries.”

  What would my aura look like if Frizz happened to grow ol
d – and was still bonded to me? “Can a person break the bargain bond to a shadow?”

  Oberon cocked his head and studied me, eyes all-knowing and astute in a way that made me nervous. “The bargain bond with a shadow can be broken, aye.” He said, and I wasn't sure if it was relief or disappointment I felt.

  “But yours, though unusual, falls under the familial bond, and those are absolute.”

  Shock, like a splash of frigid cold water, jolted my system. “What?” I squeaked. “How can that be?”

  “I cannot say. It depends on the circumstance surrounding the event.” Seeing the denial clear in my eyes, Oberon frowned. “Everything you do warrants a reaction, something that ripples back to you. Believe me; if he is your familiar today, it is because he has chosen to be, but also because you accepted it so.”

  I certainly did not. I'd tried to free him – and was still researching ways to break the bond.

  Familiar. Like Blaxillium and Titania. I glanced back at the painting, trying to conceal my thoughts from Oberon's prying eyes, recalling how Lee had been so interested in the way I handled Frizz and his pack. Had she known all along? Did it matter? It changed nothing.

  “Can this familiar bond be broken?” I asked.

  “Not unless one of the two dies first.” After a pause, Oberon added, “I can help you if you like.”

  I shifted, wary. “By killing one of us?”

  He chuckled as if I'd said something funny. “That is an option, but at the moment, not in my best interest. Nay, the both of you live. There is another way, free of pain, free of blood.”

  “And the price?” I asked skeptically, though still willing to listen.

  “A small one.”

  A heavy silence followed his words as I thought about it. “There is really a way?” I asked, and wanted to slap myself for even considering it.

  “To break it clean? Nay, there is none. But we can exchange your familiar with something that suits you better.”

  Lips pursed, I slanted a glance at the giant gargoyle. “Like what?”

  “One of our pixies, if you like. They are very useful servants. And that does not please you, I see. Let's see. In your world people use domestic pets as familiars. What about a cat?”

  A cat would be nice, but I shook my head.

  He tried again. “A canine?”

  “No, I think I'll keep Frizz for now.” I felt a pang of guilt, like I was betraying Frizz by considering switching him with something else. I sent him an apology through the bond, felt no answer back.

  “Whenever you change your mind,” Oberon offered.

  “Sure.” I said, but we both knew I wasn't going to come to him. Not in the near future anyway, and not unless I was desperate.

  We moved on to the next drawings, pausing in front of each one. Most of them portrayed a peaceful and scenic night view. There was a dynamic painting of a two-headed animal, similar to the one by the entrance, but this time none of the heads were looking at me. Unlike the brown one downstairs, this one was pure white, and I had the urge to touch it to see if it felt as soft as the drawing suggested. On and on the paintings went and Oberon let me linger, patiently answering my questions. All had a story to tell and Oberon seemed obliged to explain.

  I stopped before a painting of a small burbling creek and a distant mountain covered with verdant green blocking the dark horizon, and felt compelled to ask, “Who painted all these?”

  “The Mandolia Mountain. It was a beautiful place once, full of pleasing sounds and bright colors. Full of life,” he said with just enough regret to tell me this was no longer true.

  A hint of unease stirred within, but I couldn't pinpoint the reason why.

  “That particular one was done by Crozelle. But there are some done by Drozelle, some by Janise. Others by Leon.”

  “Oh?” was all that came to mind. The enforcer of the Seelie was an artist at heart?

  We moved on, and at the end of the hall, I drew short. In front of the last arched window was a drawing of a night sky. I glanced once at Oberon, then backtracked to the drawings done at night. Now that I looked closely, I could see what had tugged at my conscience.

  I paused in front of the one with the two headed animal and pointed. “Those drawings…” I motioned to them, glancing at Oberon's bright eyes. They gleamed with an intensity that had my words faltering.

  “Ay?” he prompted.

  “Are they depictions of the Low Lands?” I asked and felt like slapping myself. Of course they were.

  Oberon glanced at the painting, studying the drawing for a long moment as if this was the first time he had seen it. “It is the Land of the low creatures, ay. Leon did this one. She is very talented.” He glanced at me, “you like them?”

  “They are … very vivid drawings.” I replied honestly.

  Oberon clasped his fingers together and studied my face. “What do you know happened to the land of the low creatures?”

  I hesitated. All night long I had ignored Zantry as if I had never met him before. To admit I knew what happened …

  Instead of a lie, I turned to contemplate the drawing, trying to come up with a good enough reply. Zantry had warned me against lies, but he didn't say I had to answer every single question. Beside me, Oberon waited for a reply, then turned to look out the arched windows.

  “Let me tell you a story, young child,” he began, focused on the star-strewn sky visible through the nearby open window.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “There once was a nation, a planet full of beings without form, without definite shape. They were ruled by no one, by no law, by no deity that they can recall. They were beings with no feelings. Beings that merely existed. They could twist, bend, break.” Oberon fell silent for a few seconds, contemplating the night sky above the forest.

  I looked at the sky, brilliant with stars, my heart beating faster than usual. I didn't speak, aware this information was being given without any payment asked.

  “Then at a time, no one really knows when or how, one of the beings stole the life of another, realizing that by doing so he became bigger. Stronger. He enjoyed the feeling of superiority and stole again and again. Others studied him, contemplated, did the same. And thus, greed was born in a world that had once simply existed.

  “The beings that had been stolen from realized they were becoming smaller and weaker, and so they gathered and went after the thieves. Other beings, against the greed, against the thieves, perhaps out of pity, donated some of their life-force to the smaller beings, so they could grow and become strong again.

  “The now-stronger beings, filled with greed and the novelty of power, subjected the weaker ones to rules and dictates.” Oberon paused and turned to me. “So was emotion born into a world with no rules, no laws, no religion. There was chaos then, and, with that, disorder. Many felt nothing, but many did and became restless. They still had no form, no shape, no name. They roamed their planet without any purpose, any goal or anything to inspire. Their planet was vast, their numbers big, but because they were abstract beings, the size or shape of their planet didn't matter to most. But it did to some, and those set out to explore. One day, three such beings just disappeared out of thin air.

  “They fell for a long time. They don't know for how long, for the concept of time was foreign to them. They appeared in a foreign land, one full of wonders, colors, moving things, of life. At first they thought they had come upon the other side of their planet, but it didn't take long for them to realize they were no longer roaming the unnamed planes of their land.

  “Reverently, they touched a tree, a roaming animal, a budding flower. The tree, the animal, the flower, withered and died. They touched another and another. Whatever they touched perished instantly. The grass beneath their phantom shape, the streams they crossed, the plants and trees and the animals. They didn't comprehend the total destruction they left behind simply because they didn't understand what they were doing.

  “But they absorbed, they took. Reserved what
ever life they brushed. Soon they began taking form, compacting the energy, giving solid shape for what they were. They realized that, and excitedly, they travelled faster, farther, brushing against everything, anything. In a matter of weeks the entire planet was dead, even the small insects under the soil. There remained nothing left to absorb.

  “Guardians were sent to kill the intruders, and those too, fell into nothing but piles of dry bones. Paths were disturbed. Nearby planets wept for their lost kin. No one dared approach the three for fear they too would perish.

  “So From afar, they were watched. Studied. Animals were sent as tributes, and quickly gone. Guardians were sent to fight, only to be met with the same fate. Birds, however, flew by unharmed, unless one of the three managed to catch it. For you see, by now, the three were as solid as you and I and possessed no wings of their own.”

  Oberon turned from the windows and studied the drawings done at night, one by one, touching a few of the frames as he went.

  “For years and years, nothing approached that land unless it could fly. Patrols were set out, a few from every planet, to watch the three and learn about them, their weakness, their strength. Some of the patrols were bolder than others, coming into view, letting them see and be seen. Soon every patrol did the same, and soon they were trying to communicate with the three.

  Who are they? Where did they come from? They asked and asked. What did they want? Why did they kill everything?

  At first the three just watched them, never replying, never uttering a word to the others. The concept of speaking out loud, like that of time, was also something foreign.

  “Soon, they began to comprehend that having things whither and dry by their touch was nothing normal. They may have been indifferent to emotions once, but fools they were not. They observed the patrols, listened to them argue and bicker among themselves. Soon they began to learn to form words, to voice them out loud.