Heritage- Legends of Shadear

by Elina Vale

  Dark walls rose above, with only small windows high on the walls that still rose above the ground level. But as Javid walked lower, the lights dimmed, and a stuffy scent reminded him of tombs and graves. It was something dark and earthy. He could feel the centuries in the bricks. What kind of things the walls had witnessed during the hundreds of years since their construction, nobody knew. Javid laid his hand on the rugged gray stone of the wall. He could sense it. He could talk with the stone and the energy surrounding it. It bent to his will. The feeling was magnificent. One day, he’d be able to mold it into whatever he wanted.

  Resuming his journey, Javid let his fingers trail the seams between the ancient stones. There were no senatai or drokashai down here, only a couple of ghost-servants carrying trays and baskets. They stared forward, reacting to nothing. Their eyes were light gray, like all the color had been drawn away from them. Even their skin and hair were gray, leaving them unnoticeable.

  Like a ghost.

  One of the servants passing him by was a young girl. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen years old. Braids framed her round face and a modest dress hung over her thin body. Javid could imagine her smiling and running, with a rosy glow on her cheeks. But the glow was gone, now. The ghost-servant passed without noticing him.

  One life destroyed. She would never see the world, she would never fall in love, and she would never have children.

  The senatai were completely different than he had expected, and now he was one of them. He had to bend to the High Mistress’s every whim. No matter how unjust or demonic, he had to obey if he wanted to keep his life. There had to be some way to escape, but the High Mistress had him on her strings.

  Approaching the approached the last door, Javid came face to face with a burly pike holder. He was a sturdy man, with a brown beard and beady eyes. He wore his black-and-red vest with pride.

  The guard brandished his pike. “What do you want?”

  Javid nodded to him. “The High Mistress has bid me to enter the dungeons.”

  “What you doin’ with that sword, then?” He nodded towards the blade Javid was carrying. “No weapons in the dungeon!”

  “This is part of my task,” Javid said, careful not to anger the brute. The man leaned closer to him, and Javid sneered at his foul breath.

  “How do I know you ain’t lyin’ to me?” He poked his finger against Javid’s chest.

  “If you’d like to inform High Mistress Shea that I’m not allowed in the dungeon, be my guest.”

  The pike-holder faltered for a moment, his one large, bushy eyebrow curving with anxiety before dropping back down. “You tryin’ to trick me? Who do you think you are, worm?”

  “I’m a senatai.” Javid raised his chin higher. “And you should take care not to trifle with me.”

  The guard let out a gruff laugh. “I know a trainee when I see one.”

  Maybe I am a trainee, but I have the High Mistress on my side, and I can do what I want. Extending his hand, Javid pointed at the door behind the guard. He drew from his fountain, ordered the sparkles with little effort, and sent the magic forward. It struck the door, shattering it to pieces and sending the guard to the ground with a yelp.

  “What the...” The guard was thunderstruck. “You can’t bust the door! That senatai property!”

  Javid smiled. He had to admit it: he loved the sense of the power and control that magic gave him. “Just doing my job. Now, you can tell Mistress Shea that you forced me to break the door, or you can get about fixing it while I interrogate the prisoners.”

  Javid stepped past him and entered the portal room. The dungeon didn’t have normal doors, only portals leading to the cells. The portal room was small, featuring only one vibrating green gate that cast its eerie, shimmering light across the walls. The pike holder didn’t follow him, which was wise. Without magical weapons, it was never prudent to go against a senatai.

  Stepping into the portal, Javid felt a familiar mixture of hot and cold tingles running through him.

  The gate transferred him into the center of the dungeons. Five corridors led away from where he appeared, all equally long and dim, lit by small orbs of light. The stuffy air was accompanied by noises: the sound of water dripping, an occasional cough, and a suffocated cry. A huge rat ran over Javid’s feet, startling him. Eager to be in and out as quick as possible, he tried to figure out which corridor he should take. Choosing one, he started forward. There were doors on each side of the aisle, wooden and sturdy, fortified with iron bars. He glanced at the sheath in his hands, resisting the urge to pull the blade out. He didn’t know what sort of people waited inside these cells, but he didn’t need the comfort of a sword anymore. He had magic.

  He stared at the doors for a while, finally opening the nearest one. At first, he detected nothing inside, then gradually noticed a lump lying on the far edge of the room. As the stench reached him, Javid scrunched his nose. He recognized the smell of death.

  He closed the hatch and tried the second door. Opening it, he squinted his eyes. The cell was dim and narrow, but he managed to make out the shape of a straight-backed woman sitting with her legs crossed and her hands resting on her knees. She regarded Javid with a calm look and curiosity in her eyes.

  “Why are you here?” Javid asked.

  She blinked a couple of times. “I...” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “I really don’t know. The last thing I remember, I was traveling towards the city of Sungarden...” Her words withered down, and she paused. “I was with some nobles. We were attacked, and I woke up here.”

  “Have you been questioned?”

  She let out a tiny snort. “I’ve told you people everything I know! But I don’t seem to have the right answers, so I’m being kept here. You senatai keep interrogating me, asking if I, a courier of the king, know anything about Senatai Island, or some girl with white hair.”

  White hair... Something tingled in the back of Javid’s mind, and for a moment, the image of a girl appeared, but it vanished quicker than it had come. “And do you know any of these things?”

  “I said I don’t!” she shouted. “Your interrogators are getting dumber by the hour.”

  Before Javid could respond to her petulance, a loud bang from the opposite cell startled him.

  “Open this hatch!” A stuffy voice demanded.

  Javid frowned, unsure of what to do. He squeezed the blade in his hands, then remembered the magic. To prove himself, he directed the sparkles on the wooden hatch and ordered it to open. The door opened to reveal a man with a high, peaking nose and brilliant, sky-blue eyes that sparkled with strength in spite of his predicament. Dried blood colored his cheeks around a nasty bruise, standing out against his white hair and beard.

  “What do you want?” the man asked in a voice deep and grim. “Are you here to interrogate us some more?”

  Facing down those clear blue eyes, Javid wasn’t quite sure what to say. “I... High Mistress Shea sent me.”

  “Well, who else?”

  Javid had the urge to shut the hatch and escape those intense eyes. The prisoner's gaze seemed to drill deep into his soul.

  “You’re not one of them,” the prisoner stated and squinted his eyes. “Not yet, at least.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” Javid whispered.

  “Hello!” the woman from the previous cell called. “Are we to be questioned again or not?”

  “Of course we are,” the white-haired man answered. “They’re going to plumb us for knowledge we don’t have, and when we fail to give them the answers they seek, they’ll come back and do it again.”

  “And then what?” the woman called.

  Staring deep into Javid’s eyes, the man answered, “Then, they will kill us.”

  The woman was standing in front of the doorway now. Javid could see her better. She appeared to be in her late thirties. Her messy auburn hair was all tight curls, and her face was round with a straight nose, placid eyes, and full lips. She must be a nor
therner, or someone from the capitol. She too had a nasty bruise on her cheek.

  “How long have you been here?” the woman asked.

  “I don’t know,” the man said. “I lost count after the first month.”

  The woman glanced at Javid. “We shouldn’t be speaking. It’s against the rules.”

  “What, him?” the man returned. “Don’t worry about him. They haven’t turned him yet.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He hasn’t got the eyes of a torturer.”

  Javid stepped back and observed the two prisoners talking. He was certain that they weren’t usually allowed to communicate directly, but as they didn’t seem to fear him, perhaps allowing them to banter might reveal something important.

  “Young man,” the male prisoner said, “I haven’t done anything wrong, and neither has my neighbor. We’ve been locked up in here for so very long, alone in our cells. Your High Mistress doesn’t have to know if you give us just a few minutes to talk.”

  Shea will find out, said the fearful part of Javid’s brain.

  The woman frowned. “We’re ever so lonely down here.”

  This is wrong. Javid turned away from them. I didn’t survive the Gate Run to become a tormentor of innocent people, or some cruel dungeon-keeper. I don’t even know what I’m doing here anymore, under the thumb of a seductive madwoman.

  “You get five minutes,” he said. “I don’t want to hear a word of what you say.”

  Somewhat embarrassed, he ambled to the end of the corridor. Don’t listen. Even though he was out of listening range, he pressed his hands over his ears. Shea can’t pull from me what I don’t know.

  And just like that, he had done it. He had committed his first act of defiance against Shea. He hung his head and stroked his face with his hand, while the other hand squeezed the curved sword. If Shea found out, it would also be the last act of defiance he would ever commit. He brought his hand to his throat, remembering what the suffocating magic had felt like. Anyone who dared to defy Shea would bring her wrath upon themselves.

  Leaning his back against the stone wall, he glanced up the corridor. The hatches were open, and the whispers had stopped. Whatever they were conversing about, it was over. Javid returned to the second cell and studied the man, who was, surprisingly, smiling. Then, he looked to the woman, whose eyes glimmered with tears. Something had happened between these two. He itched to know what, but he reminded himself not to pry, for their safety and his own.

  “Thank you,” the man said to Javid.

  “You’re the first man I’ve ever seen smile in these dungeons,” Javid answered.

  “Human contact can heal many wounds.”

  “How...” Javid swallowed hard. “How long have you been here?”

  “Since the Gate Run,” he said. “Just over six weeks, according to this woman.”

  The Gate Run. The mystery black hole that had sucked away all his memories. “What do you...” He fingered the sheath nervously. “What do you know about the Gate Run?”

  The prisoner returned his piercing blue stare. “What does it mean to you?”

  “I was the sole survivor,” Javid whispered.

  The man frowned.

  “No,” said the woman. “You weren’t.”

  Javid’s heart began to race. “There was someone else? But they told me—" The voices of the guards cautioned him to stop speaking. He looked at both of the prisoners. “I have to go.”

  “Be careful,” the old man said. “This tower... It has eyes everywhere.”

  “I...” Javid laid his hand on the door. “I don’t belong here.”

  “All the more reason to watch your back,” the man said, before fixing on the sheath in Javid’s hands. “Wait... What’s that?”

  Javid glanced at the blade. “The High Mistress wants to identify whom it belongs to.”

  “Does she?” the man said, slightly amused. A determined look emerged into his eyes. “Tell her that I know who it belongs to.”

  “Oh no,” the woman pleaded. “Merrilon, please. We need you.”

  “Trust me, Cemara. It’s going to be alright.” Merrilon pointed at Javid. “You tell your Mistress to come talk to me if she wants to know about that blade, but tell her that if she harms another soul in the dungeon, she won’t get a word out of me.”

  “I-I will.” Hearing the authority in the man’s voice, Javid had to remind himself which of them was prisoner.

  “Come back when it’s safe,” Merrilon said. “We’ll talk about the Run. There’s something you need to know.”

  Javid closed the hatches just as two guards circled around the corner, leaving the two prisoners in the solitary darkness of their cells. Turning his back, he rapidly walked along the corridor, eager to get away from the dank stench, from the unwanted emotions the prisoners had brought.

  Two pikes came into the corridor, carrying dried loaves of bread. They glared at Javid, but they didn’t stop him from reaching the portal. As he passed through the shimmering gate and climbed the stairs back to the surface, all he could think about was the idea that there had been another survivor. Another winner from the Gate Run.

  But who?

  CHAPTER 3

  A COUPLE OF DAYS AFTER the incident in the forest, Shri was summoned to meet Eavan Firestone in her room.

  Eavan stood by the window, her back towards the door, when Shri entered. This was a room with huge windows, cozy chairs, and bookshelves. It was the room of the leader of Senatai Island. As usual, Eavan wore brown leather pants and a simple black shirt, sleeves pushed over her elbows. Her senatai robe hung casually open, as though she had tossed it on only a moment ago. Her dark skin seemed to have an internal glow. Her black hair was smooth and shiny. Shri knew Eavan was over forty years old, but she looked nothing of her age. The features were delicate, as those of a finely crafted statue, chiseled from smooth, brown marble. Beside Eavan, Shri felt small and gray.

  When Eavan spoke, she didn’t face Shri. “Harnan told me you still aren’t drawing magic.”

  Sitting down in a green armchair, Shri answered, “Maybe I can’t.”

  “Magic is not something you choose. It chooses you.”

  Shri opened her mouth, then closed it again and lowered her head.

  “What?” Eavan said, turning to face her. “Tell me.”

  “I think that’s preposterous,” Shri muttered, stroking the arm of the chair.

  “Oh, really?” Eavan said, crossing her arms. “Then why don’t you share your wisdom with me.”

  “When I was in the Pit,” Shri said, “we didn’t survive because some God pulled the strings, or because some thinking force of magic selected us to live. Everything we had, we worked for. We repaired our own housing boxes. We learned to survive on minimal rations. We worked hard to fulfill the orders from the Spike, and we took care of each other because we knew no one else would.”

  “Yet you wanted to be a senatai,” Eavan said. “You wanted to play with magic.”

  “I wanted to learn magic,” Shri said, “just the same way I learned to run and fight and leap across the rooftops! And the reason I wanted to learn was so I could help everyone else in the Pit. No one chose me to do that. I chose it for myself.”

  “Then how do you explain what happened inside the Gates, Shri?” Eavan sat down on her desktop, propping her foot on her chair and rested her arm on her knee. “How do you explain what you did to Doria Tamarian, or the fact that you created a gate all by yourself? Even better, how do you explain the fact that you nearly ripped the High Master?”

  “I don’t know,” Shri sighed. “It’s all such a blur that I’m not sure what really happened. Maybe it was just some affect from being inside the Gates that allowed me to draw on the surrounding energies. Or... Or maybe it’s true! Maybe I do have the magic inside me. Maybe Aldemar was right, maybe you’re right! Maybe we all have the magic in us. But maybe, just maybe, I don’t have the affinity for controlling it. Maybe I tapped into it by accident.” />
  “And now, after a few stumbling blocks, you want to give up on your dream forever.”

  “Eavan, I’m not like you! I think we’ve seen enough to know that my skills are purely physical. Maybe I’m more like... like Boa, and his associates! I just...” Shrugging, she finished, “I just don’t think we’re ‘chosen’ for anything. I think we’re born with skills, and we can either do something, or we can’t. Just like the people who couldn’t survive in the Pit... the ones who gave in to hunger and despair... I don’t think I can do magic.”

  “I see,” Eavan said, gazing at Shri with intense eyes. “That’s very interesting, Shri.” Then, piercing her with fresh emotion, she added. “Now, let me tell you what I believe.”

  The white-haired girl shrugged.

  Pacing closer, Eavan explained, “I believe that the universe has an order, a plan. I believe everyone has their place in that plan. I believe the universe, or the Gods, if there are any, give us chances, opportunities, in life. In most cases, we choose for ourselves if we wish to take the path offered to us. But for some of us, the path is already chosen.”

  “How?”

  “Some of us are offered just one path,” Eavan said. “We have a fate, a destiny. We may not have the options that others have, but our paths lead to greater purpose. And if we deny that path, if we refuse what we’ve been selected for, it would lead to great devastation.”