Heritage- Legends of Shadear

by Elina Vale

  Javid pulled a shirt over his head. “Why should I?”

  She stepped over one of the dead men’s arms and approached Javid. “Don’t ask me questions. Do as I order you to do. If Shea finds out we’re sleeping together without her, you’ll be in far more trouble than I will.”

  Javid shook his head, causing his curly hair to fall over his face. Giving out a laugh, he pulled up his pants. “Your threats are empty. I don’t matter that much to her.”

  “Shea sees me as an ally, but she doesn’t trust me. She sees you as her confidant.”

  “You’re a liar, Doria. Shea doesn’t confide in me like you seem to believe. You are her precious companion. For now.”

  Javid extended his arm, twisted her thick, black hair around his hand and pulled, forcing her to look up at him. For all her arrogance, it was clear that she loved when he dominated her in bed. Now, her eyes were sparkling with passion and anger. It was dangerous game; Javid knew that Doria could easily destroy him with her magic, but even she had to be careful not to harm him. Shea would not be happy if either one of them damaged the other.

  “You are using me to get closer to her,” Doria declared.

  “I’m with you because of the magic you create, both from your Fountain and in bed.” He let go of her hair and turned his back, smiling grimly to himself as he tied up his own hair. It was time to start playing this game properly. If he was forced to act like an evil senatai, he would play the part. He would prove that he wasn’t a weak fool, and they would reward him with power. In time, he might collect enough power to destroy them.

  Addressing the servant who was walking away with the body, he commanded, “You, slave! Clean everything up. This room must be spotless when I return, or the High Mistress will hear of it.”

  The old man nodded fearfully and pulled the body from the room.

  When they were alone, Javid asked, “Well, what’s so important you had to wake me up?”

  “Don’t push me, Javid,” she said. “There are depths to my power that you don’t know.”

  “Then why do you put up with Shea’s abuse?” Javid planted himself in a chair. “You’re more experienced than she is, and you know more about magic than she ever will. You and I, we could be so much more. Shea is a drokashai who inherited a source of power; she doesn’t know what to do with it. But something tells me that you do.”

  Doria’s face scrunched with hate. “I know more about the Black Star than she could comprehend. But it whispers only to her. For now.”

  “So?” Javid said, reclining back and lacing his hands behind his head. “Take it from her.”

  Doria watched him carefully. “Are you telling me to betray her?”

  “Are you suggesting that you want to?”

  “Don’t play your stupid games with me, boy,” Doria said. “If you want to prove yourself, come with me. There is someone we must speak to.”

  “About what?”

  Doria placed her hands on either arms of the chair and leaned over him, anger flashing in her eyes. “Knowledge is power. The more you know, the more you can do. And inside the Spike, you must know everything to stay alive. For the moment, I like having you alive.”

  “Hurry up, then,” Javid said, gesturing with his hand. Doria glanced at him with furious eyes. As she turned her back to him, Javid slowly let his breath out. Closing his eyes to the blood smeared chamber, he tried to convince himself that gaining power over Doria and Shea required that innocent people would get hurt, and likely by his own hand. He left the room, but the blood and misery of the previous night following him like pinching pain in his heart.

  For the greater good, I must play the game.

  Javid and Doria entered the lower interrogation room, near the Spike’s back door. The room was small, with only one window and two doors. Two pike-holders stood beside the prisoners, and when Doria and Javid entered, they nodded and exited the room.

  It was the same two prisoners Shea had been so interested in: the female courier and the Pit fellow owned that magical sword. A resentful thought crossed Javid’s mind: he had forgotten to visit the man. He had been so wrapped up in the wiles and machinations of the Spike, tiptoeing around Shea and romancing Doria, that he had forgotten to seek the truth about the Gate Run. It must have been Shea’s stone. The vile thing caused all sorts of odd effects when Javid was near it. Often, it caused him to forget everything in the world, and all he wanted to do was please the one carrying it.

  Both prisoners knelt on the floor, their heads slumped.

  Javid turned to look at Doria and spread his arms. “Why are we here?”

  “Shea will come here soon to talk with them, but I wanted to have a chat with them first.” She walked closer to the prisoners. “Merrilon Moongale,” she said to him. “I’ve waited quite a while to meet you. I’ve met your daughter, you know.”

  Merrilon’s head popped up, his eyes ablaze with fury.

  “I had a little chat with her when she was in the Gate Run,” Doria added.

  Javid’s eyes widened. Moongale’s daughter was in the Gate Run? Wasn’t she the other survivor they had mentioned? Understanding struck Javid’s mind like lightning. Doria knew. If she had been in the Gates, she must have seen him as well. The flame of anger already burning inside him grew into a roaring hatred that scorched away the effect of Shea’s stone.

  While he couldn’t recall anything from the Run, he finally saw with a clear mind. Someone, likely Shea or Doria, had taken his memories away. He clenched his jaw, squeezing his hands into fists as the hatred took over. Whatever game these senatai were playing, he would make them pay.

  Doria hadn’t notice Javid’s inner turmoil as she calmly circled the prisoners. “What do you think of the High Mistress’s proposal, Merrilon? Will you become her loyal servant?”

  “I will answer to her, not to you,” Moongale said with his grave voice, firmly staring at the door.

  “Anything you can tell her, you can tell me,” Doria said, lifting her arm. The stone floor cracked and started to engulf his legs, but he stared at her in silence. Only the flare of his nostrils suggested that he noticed the stone magically jailing him to the floor.

  “Personally, I think the whole idea is absurd,” she said. “A dirty little metalworker from the Pit wed to the High Mistress of the Spike?” She threw her head back and laughed. “That stone must be playing havoc with Shea’s wits.”

  Merrilon glared back, unspeaking.

  “Or could it be,” Doria said, tracing her finger along his strong jawline, “that you have something she wants? Perhaps there’s still something in this world that Shea doesn’t yet command?”

  A knowing glance flashed across Merrilon’s face, but he concealed it. Cemara fell on the floor beside him, unable to hold herself up on her knees any longer. The woman was bloody, beaten, and worn out. She had clearly been tortured.

  “Tell me about the sword,” Doria commanded.

  Merrilon didn’t answer.

  “Tell me.”

  “No.”

  “I am the right hand of the High Mistress,” Doria said. “Defy me and you defy Shea. If you won’t tell me of the sword, I have permission to extract the information in a less gentle manner.”

  Merrilon stood his ground, unblinking.

  “Well, we’ll see how calm you are under the Torture of One Thousand Thorns. You’ll feel the blood boiling inside, and– “

  “Do you think it’s wise to do that?” Javid interrupted her. “What will she say?”

  “She has given me leave to use whatever techniques I want,” Doria returned, visibly unhappy that Javid had compromised her bluff. Maintaining her icy exterior, she “continued, “Still, it matters not. You’re the one who’s going to administer the spell.”

  “Me?” Javid chortled. “You can do your own dirty work.”

  “Need I remind you that you’re still an apprentice?” she said, an aura of power sizzling around her. “You will follow the orders given to you.”

&n
bsp; Sweat rose on Javid’s forehead. Doria was still controlling him. He would never escape, never gain status above her. What was he thinking? It would be suicide to torture the man Shea was planning to marry. Challenging Doria had been a poor idea; now, she was flexing her muscle. She wouldn’t even have to kill Javid, she could manipulate him into destroying himself.

  To the Rivers, Doria. I won’t torment an innocent man.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” Doria said. “Cast the Thousand Thorns on him, just like we practiced.”

  Javid took a step toward the prisoner, looking into those determined blue eyes. Merrilon faced him with such bravery and calmness. He kept his chin proudly high, and Javid realized that he could not proceed. He would not torture this man. Now, when the haze of the Black Star had been burned away, Javid’s will was his own. He knew the next move he was about to make would cause his death, but he could never be the villain Shea and Doria wanted him to be.

  Better dead than a monster.

  Javid turned around, held his hand before Doria, and opened his fist to reveal a magical flame dancing on his palm.

  “You idiot,” she whispered. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m finished with your malicious games. I won’t hurt him for you.”

  Her eyes blazed. “Ignorant boy. You don’t stand a chance against me. I could bring this tower down upon you.”

  Javid felt her anger, and he fed on it. Magic roared in him. Thrusting his hand forward, he let the fire burst toward Doria. His fountain overflowed, feeding his courage. Doria had just enough time to raise a barricade from the floor, deflecting the fire, but she made no counterattack. Nevertheless, Javid howled in pain as a wave a black energy tore through him.

  Shea stood in the doorway, her hair frizzled from magic, the whites of her eyes overtaken by black and red. The scaly lines on her skin were much more visible than they had been just days ago, green in color but smooth like porcelain.

  She is becoming a monster.

  Black glitter slithered from her hands and infiltrated Javid’s nose and mouth.

  “This is the last time, boy” she hissed with a hollow voice. It was the Star talking. “The last time you defy me!”

  Javid fell to his knees and his vision blurred. The strength drained from his body as his throat swelled. He remembered somewhere deep inside that there was a way to block this kind of attack, but as the ripping magic sucked everything from him, all he could do was fight to stay conscious. Inside, everything was slowing down. Soon, his heart would stop beating; his blood would cease to flow, and he would die.

  The ripping ended as soon as it had begun, leaving Javid in a gasping heap on the floor. The cold stone felt good under his cheek. Opening his eyes, he saw Merrilon, a prisoner who owed him nothing, struggling with the High Mistress, fighting for control of her arms. Black glitter flooded the air, splashing the walls.

  Before the she could recover and redirect the spell, Merrilon hurled her backward under his own weight, knocking her head against the wall and sending her into unconsciousness. The spell ended abruptly.

  Dizzy, Javid pushed himself up to his hands and knees, fighting the nausea caused by the ripping. Cemara had grappled Doria from behind, pinning her arms to her sides, but even restrained, Doria was slowly raising a cocoon of stone out of the floor and around Cemara’s body.

  Merrilon rushed to Javid, helping him onto his feet. “You need to go.”

  Go?

  Shea was still on the floor, rolling slowly out of her daze.

  “If you stay, they will turn you into one of them, or they will kill you,” Merrilon said. “Go now!”

  “Let go of me, insect!” Doria screamed, fighting to break free of Cemara’s grasp. As she clenched her fists, the walls rumbled, and a shower of dust and pebbles dropped from the ceiling.

  “Get away from the Spike, however you can,” Merrilon commanded. “Leave me here. I’ll be fine.”

  Javid knew he was right, but he was struggling to focus. Could he really leave his savior to face Shea’s wrath?

  A wave of energy exploded from Doria’s body, hurling Cemara across the room.

  “Go!” Merrilon shouted, shoving Javid toward the door. “There is nothing more you can do here! You must continue the fight from outside!”

  He’s right.

  “Thank you,” Javid said.

  He fled from the room, passing Shea just as she was pulling herself to her feet. Pulling the hood of his robe over his face, he rushed toward the tower’s nearest exit. Once he had slipped outside, he resisted the urge to run, knowing he’d only draw suspicion.

  A wave of vertigo overcame him. As he reached the corner of the grain warehouse, a small red shed near the first iron wall, he knelt down and vomited.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Bitter acid filled his mouth. Everything that had happened in the past weeks was like a stain on his soul, a black spot of corruption that he would never wash off. Was he finally free? Was this a fool’s dream of escape? Shea would never forgive his betrayal; should she ever set on him again, he was as good as dead.

  But what did it matter? He felt he deserved to die for his crimes. They had turned him into a monster, a spiteful creature of darkness. Shame burned inside, but Merrilon Moongale had given him a chance for redemption. He couldn’t let the possibility slide away. Only by seeking a way to stop Shea, Doria, and the corruption that grinded away within the Spike could he redeem himself.

  Gathering the last pieces of his broken soul, Javid straightened up and hurried for the gate leading to the Second Ring. Burying everything else, the only thought he kept in his mind was to get as far as possible.

  “Where do you think you’re goin’, trainee?” the Gatekeeper asked, pointing his pike at Javid’s chest.

  Javid fixed his eyes on the slim man in front of him, practicing the skills he had learned in the past weeks. “You have seen me with the High Mistress herself, haven’t you? You know my relationship with her, don’t you?”

  “Well... yeah. I’ve seen you, but—"

  “The High Mistress has commanded me to run an errand for her. Will you be the one to disrupt my mission?”

  His face grew pale. “N-No, Senatai.”

  Javid grinned and patted him on his cheek. “That’s what I thought. Keep your thoughts private and you’ll be rewarded.”

  “Yes, Senatai.” Quivering, he opened the gate for Javid to sneak through.

  Walking with firm strides, Javid crossed a paved street in the Second Ring. The sun shone, but a cold breeze disturbed the flowers along the path. Fall was upon the city. Soon, it would change into a long, dreary winter. Javid had grown up in the green, luscious south, where the trees reached their blossoming branches towards the sky all year round, and the air wasn’t dry, but moist and rich with sounds of fauna.

  This place? It was like death.

  Nobody restricted him as he walked toward the gate of the Third Ring. The further he got, the better chance he had to escape. The city was on lockdown thanks to the King’s impending attack, but only from outside Ironflare could he strike against the Spike. If he couldn’t find a way out, Shea would locate him and eliminate him.

  Frustration building inside, Javid quickened his pace and snuck into an alley leading to the nearest gate tower. No hesitation. If he faltered, he would never survive. He moved casually, crossing the gate as easily as the previous one.

  As he crossed the Sunsquare, a voice shouted out: “Hey, you! Stop!”

  He sprinted ahead, not bothering to look for the source of the voice. Only after he had crossed the square did he dare to glimpse behind. Five pikes were tracking him. He needed to discover a place where nobody would find him.

  At that moment, words from his past echoed in his mind. “The Pit... There’s nothing. There’s no life, no joy, no hope. People die, they are hungry, they are beaten down.” Whose words were they?

  He stopped behind a corner to catch his breath. The Pit. Could he disappea
r there?

  Javid peeked around the corner. When he didn’t see anything threatening, he rushed forward. He would get to the Pit. He could hide there for a week or two, and once he found a way out of the city, he would get as far as possible from this dreadful place.

  He was done with the senatai and their magic.

  For good.

  CHAPTER 17

  AFTER KNOCKING THE HIGH MISTRESS unconscious, Merrilon crawled further away.

  Doria watched Javid sprint from the room, her eyes blazing with magical fire. “Brilliant,” she said to Merrilon. “Do you have any idea what Shea will do to you?”

  Merrilon stumbled up, took a step back, and turned to look at Cemara. She lay unconscious on the floor. Before he could help her, the tiles expanded around his feet, holding him in place again.

  A flash of red emerged into Doria’s eyes. Black powder seeped from her hands. She tossed it toward Merrilon, who ducked down and covered his head with his arms.

  “Stop!”

  The firm voice startled them both. Doria cut off the magic immediately when Shea rose to her feet. Blood leaked from a terrible head wound, creating a horrendous red mask across her face. Before their eyes, the cut stitched itself shut and the bleeding ceased.

  Doria lowered her hands. “Are you alright?”

  Shea smiled and gently laid her palm on Doria’s face. “I’m fine. The Star takes care of me. Please, leave us. Go find Javid.”

  Doria glanced at Merrilon. “But he...”

  “I will deal with him,” Shea said.

  Merrilon’s stomach seized. This was it: his dying day. Perhaps his death would have meaning, though; the boy had escaped. Hopefully, he would live a blissful life of freedom. Exactly like Shri.

  Doria left the room, and Shea casually wiped the blood from her face with her hand. “It’s intriguing that you would risk your life to spare a boy you don’t even know, just to allow him to escape. Do you hate me so much?”

  “It has nothing to do with you,” Merrilon said. “I don’t like to see others suffer.”

  “That’s why you’re always helping this miserable woman whose bones I have broken so many times,” she said, gesturing to Cemara, “only to let my senatai fix her again.”