by Elina Vale
Legends of Shadear
HERITAGE
Shri Moongale: Book 2
Copyright © 2018 Elina Vale
All rights reserved.
ISBN 978-952-69108-2-6 (PRINT)
ISBN978-952-69108-3-3 (EPUB)
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
PART 1
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
PART 2
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
PART 3
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
PART 1
CHAPTER 1
THE SOUND SEEMED LOUDER this time, creeping closer and closer until it finally stopped.
Click... click... click...
It reminded Shri of the sounds she used to hear back in the Iron Forge. In turn, the Forge reminded her of her father and his protective embrace. What had become of her family? Though she had been at Senatai Island for over six weeks, she hadn’t heard anything about the city in the wake of the Pit’s rebellion and the High Master’s death. She knew Eavan Firestone had some system of communication in place, but whenever Shri asked for news, Eavan would only shrug her shoulders.
She returned her attention to the task at hand, but the noises continued to distract her. They had gotten faster.
Clickclickclick.
Then, it became quiet.
Shri sighed.
Focus, she thought
She had to succeed at this. She had spent too many days, too many weeks, trying to master it. She had told herself, over and over again, that if she wanted to become a senatai, she must learn to draw from her inner fountain. The magic was there. She knew it. She had touched it before.
Back in the Gates Run, as she fought for her life.
Straightening her back, she breathed in, then let the air out with a long breath. Keeping her eyes closed, she lifted her leg and straightened it backward. She balanced on her toes, spreading her arms at her side like a bird’s wings. Slowly, she started to turn, moving her arms to the front while simultaneously turning one palm forward and the other toward the ceiling. Now, she just needed to reach inside. According to her senatai teachers, the inner strength this position revealed would bring her fountain of power into her grasp once more.
Simply draw from it.
It was there, her fountain, a ball of light pulsing at the edge of her mind. She could almost grasp it. The ball invited her to touch it, to feel it....
Click... Clicklickclick.
CLICK.
Again, she lost her grip and fell to the ground.
She got up onto her knees, crossing her arms over her chest. “What is that bothersome sound?”
Harnan the Third, a second-level senatai, walked toward her through the wooden-paneled room. As he furrowed his brow, Shri tried not to smirk. No one knew what had happened to his other eyebrow, but the lack of its presence made his expressions rather cartoonish.
“Shri Moongale,” he said, “when you go into battle, do you expect your enemy will do you the courtesy of being quiet so you can concentrate? ‘Oh, I’m sorry, mistress! Please take your time, and I will attack when you’re ready!’”
Harnan turned his back to her, returning to his stool by the mirrors. Eavan had arranged for Shri’s private instruction, but it wasn’t going as planned. The senatai were trying so hard to train her, but thus far, she had been a failure. A disappointment. Shri knew Eavan expected something more from her, but what if she couldn’t do magic anymore? Maybe she had burned out herself back in Ironflare, by tapping into such immense power without proper training.
“Ignore the noises,” Harnan said. “It’s just the drokashai trainees sparring again.”
Stumbling to her feet, Shri regained her position. Eavan had explained that Senatai were natural vessels for magical energy. With proper instruction, they could harvest the energy inside themselves. But the trick was that the energy wasn’t endless, and it needed to recharge once it was expended. The amount of energy the senatai could harvest from the trees, water, rocks, fire, or air, was dependent on what nature-stage she had reached. The sparkles, tiny things from which everything in the world was created, could be seen and moved through the use of magic. For example, Eavan had said, a senatai who mastered the element of water could move the sparkles of water. The strength of her fountain dictated how much effort she needed to put into it.
Turning around, Shri blew her breath out slowly. Placing her palms forward, she balanced on her right foot once more. Harnan had said that the mind and the body worked together. The hand gesture was a continuance for the power of the mind. It acted as a focus for directing the magic.
She saw her fountain again. It was like a heart of pulsing silver. Mentally, she circled around it, and at that instant, she knew she could touch it if she wanted. She needed only to reach for it, to draw the string of power...
Then she remembered the Gate Run.
She remembered the wildly burning power, how she hadn’t been able to control it.
The element of ghost.
She opened her eyes and lost her fountain again.
Collapsing onto her knees, she buried her head in her arms.
“Shri, you nearly did it!” Harnan said. “What’s holding you back? You can’t give up. Push harder! Come on, do it again.”
“No!”
“Then this is a waste of my time! We’ve been at this for weeks, but nothing changes. It’s almost as if you refuse to...” He let out a deep sigh. “I’m sending you back to Firestone. She can decide if you really belong here. Perhaps she was wrong about you after all.”
Swallowing tears of disappointment, Shri glared at Harnan. “Maybe everyone was wrong about me!”
She left the room, slamming the door behind her.
When Shri had first seen the sea, it was exactly as she’d expected. Dark. Enormous. Now, standing at the shore again, she continued to marvel at its presence.
Waves rippled over the stony shore, the water glimmering with the soft light of the setting sun—
shades of red, pink, orange, and yellow. Gentle wind waved Shri’s white hair, forcing her to wipe a loose strand away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She could smell the sea. She could nearly taste its salt on her tongue.
The Salty Sea was deep and vast, and it kept her on this island, away from her family. It was as good as the Iron Wall, which had kept her locked within the Pit for much of her life. She was free of the Pit, true, but somehow, she was still trapped. Squinting her eyes, Shri lifted her hand to her forehead, shad
ing her vision from the sun. There was no shore on the horizon, only endless water. Still, how could she see anything when it would take two whole days to sail to the mainland?
It had been over two months since she had sailed across this sea in a small ship, or as they had called it, a “boat.” It was a wobbly wooden thing that had swayed far too much for Shri’s stomach. She had escaped Ironflare through a magical traveling gate, accompanied by the drokashai, Boa Riverson, and senatai Eavan Firestone. The gate had taken them to the coastal city of Glasswater. Shri remembered nothing about that place; she only recalled the pain she had been in, results of the injuries she had suffered during the Gate Run. She did remember the sensation of unfamiliar surroundings, but she’d had no time to appreciate them before sliding into unconsciousness and waking up later in the boat.
Leaning down, Shri picked up a pebble from the ground. It was smooth and cold. She balanced it on her palm, and then threw it into the ocean. It landed with a small splash twenty feet away. Quivering, she turned her back to the sea. She still remembered the horror of that slowly rocking vessel, of how she had cried and begged them to let her out, even knowing that doing so would mean diving into the cold water.
She glanced over her shoulder to give a last frown before climbing the grassy hill. A breeze bent the long grass and the yellow hay, the longest strands wrapping around Shri’s ankles with each of her determined strides. She had new boots, though they were already dirty from her voyages around the Island. Her brown leather trousers were also new; they had no holes, unlike all of her previous pairs, and they were soft and warm.
She made it to the top of the hill, studying the nearby forest. Long, dark trunks of pine, birch, and many other she didn’t yet recognize rose majestically before her. Shadows traveled over a stomped path that led into the forest. She glanced at the sky; the sun had nearly vanished below the horizon and clouds had begun to gather over the dying autumn landscape. Some of the leaves in the trees had transformed into bright yellows, some into murky browns, and the air smelled of moist dirt, moss, and other earthy tones. A brisk wind hurled through the trees, and Shri quickened her pace. Pines, oaks, and birches swayed in the wind, their fallen leaves swirling around her. She wrapped her cloak tighter and made her way along the path leading to the Octopus, the enormous training center of Senatai Island. Her new home.
After a while, she had the sensation of someone following her. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see something zipping out from the edge of her sight. Shri halted, slowly sliding her hand under her cloak, and wrapped her fingers around the handle of a long dagger. Boa Riverson had given the blade to her after she had lost the one her father had made for her. It saddened her to lose Father’s blade; it had sentimental value, and surely, it had saved her life. Shri observed her surroundings, but only the wind scattered the leaves across the path. A flock of birds flapped overhead, their small bodies contrasting against the darkening sky.
Nothing was there. The Gate Run had made her jumpy.
Shri continued her pace. The path she was walking was an old one. The trails and paths were trampled flat, and they were clear of bushes and larger vegetation. Shri’s boot barely made a sound on the soft moss and dirt. Though the senatai and the drokashai had been on this Island a fairly short while, people had lived there for hundreds of years.
A thin, fog-like rain began to wet the forest. Shri shivered; she was not yet accustomed to this weather. Back in Ironflare, the storms had been hot and wild, nothing like the cold dampness here on the Island.
A crackle from behind startled her. She swiftly turned around, holing the dagger ready. Her heart began to beat faster, and she felt her instincts rising. It was a fulfilling feeling when her blood began to rush, her palms turned sweaty, and her body readied itself to fight. But to let her instincts and emotions take over would mean breaking the protective walls she had built around herself during the Gate Run, and she wasn’t ready for that.
Once more, there was nothing behind her.
She gave out a tiny laugh. “Are you scared of owls and mice now, Shri?”
Sheathing her dagger, she continued her walk again, and soon she was near the drokashai training grounds. It was late in the evening and the grounds were empty, but she had been here several times in daylight, observing the men and women practicing their skills. Only yesterday, she had climbed a pine tree near the largest training field and sat there with tears in her eyes. Watching the fighters train reminded her of Dago, her childhood friend, who had been driven insane by the Gate Run. She had been forced to kill him. Even now, thinking about him filled her with grief. She shouldn’t go back to the Octopus with tears running down her face. The students were already wary of her; giving them any more reason to doubt her was a bad idea.
Deciding to take the longer route, Shri stepped off the path and snuck into the forest. She followed a trail she remembered well—between the two rock formations, past the huge oak tree, and through the rocky opening in the woods. Before long, she was at her destination. It wasn’t as glorious now, when the clouds had blackened the sky and the sun had nearly set, but it still made her smile.
Forbidden Bay.
The bay itself was narrow, squirming like a river between the rocky hills. Huge trees sheltered the opening from both sides, guarding a meadow in the middle. A small stream rippled down one of the hill’s sides, creating a clear-watered brook that ran through winding paths and connected with the bay on the farthest side near the rocks. Shri walked to the meadow and sat on the grass, sighing when the moist ground soaked her trousers. But she didn’t get up. She merely stared at the bay and recapped the events in her head over and over again.
The Gates, the killing, the pain. The magic. The horrible magic that it burst uncontrollably out from her. She stared at her hands.
Hands of a killer.
They shook in the darkening evening. She let out a small growl and squeezed them into fists, bouncing up onto her feet. She shouldn’t think about this again. She knew it wasn’t good for her, but sometimes a familiar scent, the sound of laughter, a word, made the visions burst out. It was time to stop them. She had a job to do. If Summerhaze, Mama, and Papa were all still in Ironflare, she needed to be strong enough to get them out. For her entire life, she had prepared for the Gate Run, and she had survived against all odds. Now, she had a new mission to train for. She would do it again.
It was getting dark. Time to go back. Boa and Eavan were expecting her, and she didn’t want them glaring at her again with those curious looks and overwhelming expectations.
As she started to turn away from the bay, a figure caught her eye.
There was a man in the meadow.
He was near the tree line, observing her from relative safety, while she was out in the open. Something about him made her anxious. He wore a robe like all the senatai on the Island, but something about his posture— the way he carried himself, the way he watched her—was unlike anything she had seen on the Island.
She twisted around and ran towards the forest. Her boots stomped the wet grass, her brisk breaths echoing around her. She hadn’t yet reached the tree line when a sudden burst of air pushed her onto the wet ground. She didn’t panic, but she jumped up and vanished into the forest before the attacking senatai had the chance to strike again. She weaved between trees, chose one she could climb, and ascended like a squirrel. Reaching a sturdy branch, she crouched in wait for her attacker.
Soon, the senatai appeared. He turned his hooded head, scouting for her in the dim forest. Shri held her breath. He was nearly under her, and she could easily–
“Hey!” echoed a voice. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
The senatai turned to face the newcomer but didn’t respond.
“I don’t know you,” the voice said. “Are you chasing someone?”
Shri watched as the senatai gestured, causing a young red-haired man to turn helplessly in the air.
“You are not the one she wants,” the sena
tai growled, dropping the man to the ground.
He moaned and rubbed his behind. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but do you happen to know who I am? I am the only son of Baron DeLureau, and he won’t be pleased to know that I’ve been abused by a senatai here on the Island!”
A burst of black tentacles emerged from the senatai’s fingers and slithered toward the boy. Shri covered her mouth with her hand and suffocated her cry. A harsh memory flashed into her mind, a memory of vicious red and black eyes, the pure evil and the horrible pain when the magic of ripping had washed over her. She remembered how the spell had sucked the life from her, leeching every last bit of strength and joy. It had slowed her heartbeat and turned her blood to ice.
The young man screamed in agony, waking Shri from her dark memories, as the black tentacles pushed themselves into his nose, ears, and mouth. Allowing her instincts to take over, Shri gritted her teeth, wrapped her hand around her dagger, and leapt from the tree. She flew through the crisp air with her arms spread like wings, landing on top of the senatai. He fell with a grunt, and the spell was broken.
The senatai cried out, struggling to push Shri off of his back, but, with barely a thought, she lifted her arm and struck the blade into the back of his neck.
He twitched once and died instantly.
Shri gripped the hilt for a while, then slid it from his neck. It made a sickening sound when the fluids burst out with it. She tried not to think too closely what she had done, but grabbed the hem of the senatai’s robe to clean her dagger. She stumbled up, out of breath. She was glad Boa had taught her where to strike with the dagger.
To calm herself, Shri studied the boy she had rescued. He was pale and shaky, his red hair messy from the attack. He was all limbs, with long legs and arms. He stumbled backward and stared at Shri.
“You... You killed him!” he shouted.
Shri glanced at the dead senatai, shivered, and turned her eyes away. “That spell he used... It reminded me of the ripping. Have you ever heard of that?”
He nodded.
Shri pushed her dagger under her cloak. “It’s dark magic. I’ve seen it before and it—"
