The Cursed (The Cursed Trilogy Book 1)

by Iyanna Orr

  But still, through it all, Chandler thought that he could say something — do something — that would make her remember that she loved him. He’d hoped, one day, that she would do all those things for him again.

  It took three years for Chandler to realize that his old mom wouldn’t come back. For three long years, he cried when he wasn’t acknowledged; got into trouble during his early years of school while she sat at home, not even bothering to go to the meetings the principal and teachers requested. After he finally understood that nothing would ever change, he stopped crying, and he stopped causing trouble. The teachers wondered, but they never asked, and I was completely forgotten.

  Chandler gave up on his mom and the other kids who still had parents that wanted to be with them. He was forced to be mature, to look at the world in a way that only an adult could really understand. He was on his own, envying and hating every happy thing he came across. Sometimes, he tried to hold onto his childhood by leaving the house alone and walking to the park. Every time, he pretended that his mom would meet him there to push him on the swings.

  All the hurt and misery Chandler had spent the last three years exploring unwillingly was changed one of those days. He could remember the moment so vividly because his dad was supposed to visit, but he’d never shown up. Three months after another grim birthday, Chandler was walking to the park, lost in his own fantasies. It was what he’d found himself escaping to a lot more often, so much that the world around him was lost. He didn’t notice that he was crossing the parking lot until a blazing beam of light shone on his face. Turning his head in an attempt to rid his vision of the nauseating sight, Chandler saw that it was the glare of the sun off an expensive looking car. And it was heading right for him.

  Afraid and not used to the sudden rush of chaos around him, Chandler slapped his hands over his eyes. The suddenness of the whole situation had knocked the young boy off his feet, and it’d never occurred to him that he’d fallen right in the middle of the parking lot, where the car was still speeding down the lane. The blare of the horn was the next thing Chandler became aware, but he only squeezed his eyes tighter beneath his hands, on the brink of tears as he waited for the impact. What followed was the screech of tires before running footsteps began to draw close. Chandler was yanked from the ground, propelling into a body the wrapped its arms around him. Chandler hung limply in the stranger’s arms, hands falling from his face and arms pressed between the stranger’s body and his own.

  When he finally found the courage to open his eyes, it was to stare at the man who held him. He had russet-colored skin, and a look on his face stuck somewhere between concern and outrage. It had been Chandler’s first encounter with Thomas Johnson. The man had refused to leave Chandler’s side as he called the police on the man who’d kept driving when he saw me in the middle of the road. They waited together, Tommy silently checking over Chandler to be sure that he hadn’t been hurt. People who had been close by came to look in on the boy and were disheartened by the complete lack of light in his eyes. They went away quickly but never thought of him again. When the police arrived, Thomas gave the questioning officer the license plate of the car, as it had vanished. Then, a woman arrived with a boy at her side.

  Tommy and Renee’s son was named Rory and Chandler hated the boy at first. All of Chandler’s silences were met with Rory’s constant inane chatter, leaving no room for the other boy to think or even brood over a dad who hadn’t come to see him. There was nothing in the world more annoying than the constant chatter that came from Rory’s swing. In Chandler’s mind, the boy was just another kid who had what he didn’t. Chandler ignored the boy as much as his senses would allow. It took a fistful of dirt off the playground to get Rory Johnson to shut up.

  Chandler wasn’t sure who was more surprised by the gesture; him or Rory, but it didn’t matter. For once, Chandler had felt more than the sadness of an absent family. Still, he didn’t know that he’d found a friend in Rory until he was walking to the park again the next day and the boy had already been on the swings waiting.

  Rory’s dad became the man who showed Chandler that a family could be chosen and replaced, whether it was a mental or physical transition. Over the next few of years, Tommy’s career took off, and his cases grew more frequent. Inevitably, he changed as the course of his cases taxed him, but he never shut Rory or Chandler out. He tried to be around as much as possible. There had never been a way for Chandler to express how grateful he was for that.

  But it was slowly fading; all of it was going. Everything he knew of Rory and Tommy, Max and Michael was being washed away from his head without hesitation. Chandler was aware of screaming and even more aware of the tears spilling from his eyes. It was his own scream echoing in his ears as a fire blazed over his brain and poisoned his memory. Everything was going, making him forget why he was crying. There was a shove in his head that left him physically exhausted.

  In the black hole being torn into Chandler, something spilled. It was a memory of another place; of another life. His knees were pulled to his chest, and he was sitting in front of a fireplace twice his size. He was watching his silhouette play on the wall when the door to the room opened. His mother came striding in, her eyes worried. She dropped to the floor beside him, her eyebrows pulling down over her opalescent violet eyes. Though his teeth were clenched as he glared at his shadow, Chandler could feel the tears lining his own purple orbs. He knew his mother could see them as well. Without saying a word, she wrapped her arms around him and comforted him until sleep took his tears away.

  Chandler should have felt something good for the memory, but as his mind shifted instances, he only felt a cool detachment that grew when he saw her again the next day. And then he felt the fury for allowing himself to look weak. He wanted so desperately to kill something that it tore him inside, but he had to stand before the king, so he pushed his loathing aside and stepped into the throne room of Legacy castle.

  At a young age, Chandler had made a name for himself within his father’s kingdom. He was feared, respected and given everything he asked for. At thirteen, he had been unofficially appointed the head of Legacy Prime’s armies though he’d rarely had a chance to visit the kingdom. With every planet and kingdom pinned by fear of Legacy’s rulers, there wasn’t much work to do at all except for the rare instances that he was called to take care of his father’s enemies.

  In the throne room, the king and queen were waiting for his arrival. Lining the room were the leading knights of the army. As he strode through the room, they dropped to their knees, bowing. Chandler didn’t acknowledge them as he bowed before the thrones. A few seconds passed, and he rose to his feet, looking up at them and giving a respectful nod.

  “Good morning, Father.”

  Chapter 18 – Gone

  Seneca sat, invisible, in the chair on the balcony and watched as people came and went from Chandler’s room. The man himself stood coolly in the doorway, watching the proceedings intently, making sure that everything was put in the right place. The werecat had been watching and listening long enough to know that Drake’s lies had been spread over the entire castle. But she knew, beyond the hope that it hadn’t, that the lies had spread as far as all the planets of Legacy. Now, she could only sit and watch as her hope and the future of these five planets disappeared. In its place was a man who came from nowhere yet had everything he could ever ask for, including the crown of Legacy.

  The werecat’s body tensed as a large guard began to stalk toward the chair she sat in. Her spine tensed, and she felt her back arching as her lips pulled back to hiss silently at the man who wanted to take away her favorite piece of the room. The guard’s gloved hands had just come to touch the armrest when a smooth voice told him to stop. Seneca’s head snapped up to look at the new, loathsome Chandler standing in the center of the room. He was looking directly at her, observing her silently and curiously, the emotion in his violet eyes closely guarded.

  “Leave the chair,” he said finally, lookin
g away from her. He gestured back in the direction of the room, and the guard gave a slight bow before he went to assist the others. After the incident, Chandler paid her little attention but always checked to make sure she stayed where she was. Seneca wanted to tell him that she had no place else to go; no one else who would know her like the old Chandler had. For many millennia, the secrets of her life had remained hidden. Then he came, doing nothing but existing, and she had given him a part of her she wished didn’t exist.

  Those guards stayed for hours, pushing and shoving at furniture that disappeared only for something else to appear in its place. Seneca had figured out long ago that the things coming inside weren’t Legacy-made, and the aroma coming from them was unfamiliar to her. Yet, it smelled like home, her destroyed planet, and she welcomed it.

  After the guards were gone, Chandler began to turn to her before he was overtaken by a rather large group of maids, who took him aside to take measurements and tell him that his uniform for the ceremony would be finished before the night was done. After they’d finished and been refused in their offer to straighten out the new furniture in the room, they were gone, only to be replaced by a manservant who drew a bath and departed.

  It was then that the man turned to her, staring at her while she watched the steam rise from the tub before the fire.

  “Are you meant to be here?” he asked her.

  “More so than yourself,” she answered. “I’ve been here for quite a long time.”

  “Does my father know that?” His brows row, and he looked faintly amused as he studied her. “The guard was unable to tell you were there.”

  “Very few people in this castle know I exist. The others assume I’m merely a ghost.” Seneca rose gracefully from her comfortable chair despite the way her heart was beating erratically in her chest. Vaguely, she noticed he was wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing when she first met him. Coming to stand before him, Seneca gazed up at him allowing her eyes to clash with his. They stood that way for some time before her eyes slid closed, and she pressed a hand over his heart to feel the steady pace. Once upon a time, it had comforted her and allowed her to sleep for the first time in centuries. Now, she could only see the Chandler from that day and the promise he made. One he may never be able to keep.

  “This isn’t who you are,” she heard herself say, voice barely loud enough to be a whisper. She hated the shaky feeling settling in her bones and coming through her words. “You were supposed to be the one to free me. What happened to you?” She felt his confusion in the stuttering of his heart. Sighing, she moved her hand, only to press her ear in its place. This time, his breathing stopped while his heartbeat picked up pace. “You were supposed to free us all.”

  In the early morning, Max stood in the bell tower in the main square. There were many people below, some lingering and others just passing through to get from one place to another. Having been there since the night before, the activity had picked up. It was as if this day were the same as any, and she wanted nothing more than to go down there and make them understand that they were all in danger. But Max’s attention had shifted when she noticed how they all kept turning to look at the castle gates.

  Max had come to hear of the secrecy spreading through Legacy. Something was happening; something Drake didn’t want the people to know about until he was ready to reveal it. The planets of Legacy were more heavily guarded than usual. Of course, that could come down to the planet Drake had recently destroyed: Rolland. Max hadn’t known much about them. They’d gone off the grid a long time ago. She hadn’t even known there were survivors until she learned of the attack.

  Suddenly, there was movement. The portcullis was rising slowly, and the guards who stood on the other side were turning to face the doors. The crowd gathered outside turned their attention to them, watching keenly. They wanted to know what had kept the castle locked to royal visits for the last week. The closer the citizens got, the louder the commotion on the inside.

  Max took her chance and ran to the trapdoor of the tower. Sliding down the ladder, she started running the stairs that would take her to the bottom floor. The sounds of the crowd outside the tower were fading, and she pushed herself hard, jumping the last set of stairs to the floor and throwing herself from the doorway.

  Max slowed to catch her breath and to blend better. Sooner rather than later, she crossed the gates, and no one gave her a second glance. But her sigh of relief was brief as she turned her eyes forward to see that a stage had been set up in the courtyard. Standing atop it was Drake, his eyes running over the growing crowd with little interest. Max shrank back until she was pressed against the wall keeping the castle from the outside. Glancing over, she slid inside an alcove that covered her in darkness. It was then that she heard the sounds of the gates closing and the portcullis being let down. A smile had come over Drake’s face, and Max felt a chill down her spine.

  “We’ve ruled here for well over a thousand years,” he started abruptly. “Our accomplishments have been endless as we built this kingdom and put aside our differences to create alliances. So many made and cast away.” Max’s eyes narrowed, and the crowd muttered near silent disapproval that Drake ignored. “So many friends made among the people here in Legacy.

  “But today isn’t about us or the past. Today is about the future of this kingdom. This is a special occasion. Our son—”

  Max felt as if her heart had flown from her chest. Any rational thought she’d entertained earlier in the day had sped away on the stiff breezes suddenly filling the courtyard of Legacy castle. Drake was still speaking, but all eyes, including hers, were pinpointed on the castle doors now standing open.

  Children streamed out, dressed neck down in leather armor with blank looks on their faces. They moved until they lined the entire courtyard, two on either side of Max’s hiding place. She tried to melt back further so that they wouldn’t find her there. Swords the size of their arms were raised while an expectant, overwhelmingly anxious intensity fell over all the surround people. Then the others emerged from the darkened doorways. Four men came, all dressed similarly to the children, but instead of moving off to the side, two and two stood together, leaving a conspicuously empty space between them.

  Max drew her breath sharply as she gazed at the fifth figure exiting the castle. His gaze was aimed at the ground, not acknowledging the people packed into the courtyard to witness this moment. His hair had grown and shown no signs of stopping. The dark hair hung down to his face, and the complexity of the rearranged style made it look wild as it effectively hid him from everyone until he arrived between the men and raised his head. His intense violet eyes swept the crowd shrewdly before he dismissed them and turned to look at Drake standing in the middle of the stage. Without any kind of sign, the five began to move in sync to the middle of the stage, where Chandler ascended a platform gracefully. He looked like he was raised to be there as if he belonged.

  “His son,” Max thought numbly. “Chandler is his son.”

  “We name Chandler Dixon crown prince and heir to Legacy throne.”

  “What is happening? Why is he just standing there?” Max whispered. The crowd had broken down, and the gates had been opened again. A party had begun, celebrating the crowning of their new prince. Max had retreated back to the bell tower, looking down on them all as they uneasily went along with their royal family. Max finally turned to look at the ethereal form of her mother standing by her side, looking down on Legacy with great sadness in her eyes.

  “They are forcing themselves to accept their fate. They will be stuck here, ruled over by tyrants, forever. They are not fighting,” Max thought. Her mother’s form was a dim glow. It was late, dark, and yet, the spirit still didn’t shine as brightly as she should. Legacy was blocking her out. No, Drake was.

  “There’s nothing they can do, Maxine. They’ve been living with it for centuries, and they don’t know about their prophecy.”

  “Why not?” Max asked. “If they knew, they would figh
t.”

  “And Drake would kill those who protest and continue to rule holding the lives of all these people in his hands,” Arianne said to her daughter. “It’s the small things that matter. Had I been given a choice? I would have been there to teach both you and your brother what those things are. But you must be patient. This isn’t over yet.”

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  Here is a sample from another story you may enjoy:

  Prologue

  In the far west of England lies the county of Cornwall. With most of its inhabitants descendants of ancient Celts, it is an area abundant with folklore and legends. One of the most famous would have to be King Arthur and his kingdom of Camelot. Many believed this was located around Tintagel Castle on the north coast of Cornwall.

  But the legend most people are interested in would have to be about the Cornish piskies (or faeries). They were said to be small in stature, probably the size of a child, but with the face of an older person. They liked to dress in fancy clothes and hats and accessorized with bells, ribbons, and gems. They were always portrayed as mischievous beings, ruled by their queen, Joan the Wad. She is famous for using faerie light to lure people to the bogs and marshes, sometimes even to their deaths. The Cornish countryside is littered with small stone circles, many of which have mythical stories behind them. They were often linked with piskies and magic.