Heritage: Book One of the Gairden Chronicles (14 page)

Aidan shot his outstretched arm backward, driving his elbow into the face of the creature that held him. He dived into the room and rolled into the small set of stairs leading up to Heritage. The slabs began grinding shut behind him, but not before his pursuers lunged through. They spread out to either side as he struggled to his feet. He turned and eyed Heritage. In the hands of a Gairden without
Ordine’kel
, swinging any sword felt as natural as swinging a door.

At least it’s something.

Backing up the stairs, Aidan fumbled behind him until his fingers brushed the hilt of Heritage. He wrapped his hand around the leather, keeping his eyes on his attackers as they stalked up the stairs, flanking him. At his touch, Heritage hummed, sending shivers up his arm.

—Do you accept us?

“What?”

—You have run all your life, Aidan Gairden. Now you can run no further. Accept us, or die.

He shook his head, trying to let the meaning of the words sink in as his tormentors drew closer. He tightened cold, shaking fists around the hilt and took a wild swing, cleaving through the air and almost spilling down the stairs. One of the creatures let out a raspy laugh and continued stalking forward.

—Do not be afraid.

Abruptly Aidan stopped shaking. The voice had a point. Where had running brought him? Right here, trapped in a room with creatures born of nightmare and blood on his hands.

He lowered Heritage and looked directly into the Eye. “I accept.”

Something burst free within him, a slight pressure that swelled until it crushed the breath from his lungs. The world went white.

Chapter 12

Questions and Answers

I
NCESSANT RINGING IN HIS
ears coaxed Aidan back to consciousness. He sat up slowly, groaning. Pounding like a Darinian hammer shaping steel rang through his skull.

—... finally awakened, Aidan Gairden.

Gingerly he massaged his head and pulled himself to his feet, shielding his eyes. Even the low pulse of the magical light that illuminated the portrait windows that wound up the room jabbed at his vision like splinters.

—You must leave quickly. You are no longer safe here.

“Mmm.” He opened his eyes slowly, first blinking than going bug-eyed as he took in the room. The two creatures that had pursued him into the sword chamber lay at his feet. Green gore oozed from their chests; more was splattered across the walls and floor. Near their fallen forms were two decapitated heads. The fleshy human mask of the one that had exposed its true form lay nearby like a discarded rag.

As his hands tightened, he became aware of Heritage clutched in one fist. The sword had never left his grip. Green blood clung to the blade—and Aidan gasped as the liquid faded, leaving the sword as clean as if it had just been cleaned and polished.

“What happened? Why did I lose consciousness?”

—There is no time for questions. We must escape this place.

“The last thing I remember is you asking me to accept you. Was that what saved me?”

—Everything will be explained in due time
.
But we must make our way from this place.

Nodding, he took a step forward, then stopped. He was doing it again. Leaping to obey even though he didn’t want to, even though doubts buzzed through his mind like gnats.

“No.”

—This is not the time for—

“This is the perfect time. Everyone is always telling me what to do, and I do it, even when I don’t want to. Well, I’m done.”

—Aidan, we can talk later. You need to—

“Let me tell you about my day, as if you don’t already know. I killed hundreds of men. My father hit me and tried to have me arrested for treason. Now here, in my own home, these... these
things
try to kill me. I did what you told me. I accepted you, and I did that because
I decided
to. And you know what? It felt good. Fantastic, actually. So the way I see it, why stop now? If I’d had the courage to make a decision and stand by it days ago, I might not be in this mess.”

The sword was quiet for a long moment.
—Fair enough. What do you propose?

Aidan thought about that. “Only those of Gairden blood can open the sword chamber. The only reason those creatures managed to follow was because the door didn’t close in time. So, we’re safe, and I’m not leaving until I get some answers.”

The Eye of Heritage glowed softly.
—May I suggest a compromise? You may ask three questions. I promise to answer them, though due to the danger that apparently only I am concerned with, my answers will be succinct. However, I promise to expound as soon as we are a suitable distance away from the palace.

Nodding, Aidan stared into the Eye. “Fair enough. I wish to know...”

What
did
he want to know first? He had so many questions, and most of those questions carried still other questions. His eyes returned to the corpses littering the floor.

“What are those... those things?”

—Corpses risen from the grave and manipulated like puppets using a powerful artifact wrought from dark magic. Men called them vagrants in millennia past. These bodies belonged to Sallnerians, likely those corrupted during the Serpent War eight centuries ago.

The sword’s tone was detached and matter-of-fact, but the words left Aidan’s head spinning. Dark magic, the essence of the Lord of Midnight and a forbidden art to all who walked in the Lady’s light. That magic had, apparently, breathed life into the eight-hundred-year-old history lessons lying dead at his feet. More disturbing was that their actions were not their own. Someone, or some
thing
, had sent them after him. To kill him.

—We’re running out of time.

Aidan shuddered and focused on plucking a new question from his tangled thoughts. “How was I able to defend myself with you?” he asked. “What I mean is, I have
Ordine’cin
. I don’t remember how I killed the... the vagrants, but I really didn’t expect to, at least not with a normal weapon.”

—I understand the question, Aidan Gairden.

“Please stop calling me that,” he mumbled. “Just ‘Aidan’ will do.”

—Very well... Aidan. You have
Ordine’kel.

The answer hit him like a splash of icy water. “That’s impossible,” he breathed. “I was born with
Ordine’cin
. No Gairden can have both halves of
Ordine
.”

—Of course it’s
possible
. It simply had never occurred until now. When you accepted Heritage, you laid claim to the other half of the Lady’s blessing. It has always been inside your bloodline, locked away until needed. For lack of a better term, you unlocked the dormant half of the full
Ordine
gift
.

“That’s how it felt,” he said, his voice awed. “Like I’d been given the key to a door I was never allowed to open.”

—
You have one question remaining.

He grimaced. There was so much he still wanted to know.
Why was I born with the full gift? Why did everything turn white before I lost consciousness? And why have you been...?

He looked straight into the Eye. “Why have you been communicating with me?”

—Because you are the sword-bearer.

He expected to feel shock, surprise. He didn’t. He was angry. He had been humiliated during his Rite of Heritage, his parents had treated him like their greatest failure since returning from their retreat, and he had committed an atrocity at Sharem—all as a result of a rejection to a birthright he was due to receive a bit later on.

“Why?” he growled. “Why have you done this to me?”

—I have not done anything to you. Now, I have upheld my end of our agreement. You must do the same.

“No.”

—You gave your word, Aidan.

“I want you to understand something. My life hasn’t been the same since you rejected me. I need to know why I was turned away if I was to become the sword-bearer in the first place.”

—I will happily answer that question
after
we have left this place.

“This is important to me. I want to understand, and I am not leaving until I do.”

The grandmotherly voice sighed.
—I will grant you this final answer, but you must promise to make good on your part of our bargain once I do.

“I will.”

—Truly?

“Yes.”

—I did not accept you because you were not ready to accept me. You did not want to become sword-bearer, nor were you prepared for the responsibility.

Aidan considered the response. Perhaps the sacred blade had noticed his reluctance to take his mother’s position. A thought struck him.

“What about my mother? She was the sword-bearer before me. Why is the position no longer hers?” The sword had gone silent.

With a vexed sound he bent down and removed a sword sheath from one of the vagrants, fastened it to his belt and tucked Heritage away. He trailed his thumb along the pommel. Before, even the thought of Heritage, of holding it and of what it meant, had terrified him. Now the weight of it at his side, the smoothness of the leather grip over the hilt—it felt good. Moreover, it felt right.

“Where am I supposed to go?” he said quietly.

—South.

“South? What’s in the south?” But he knew. The bodies leaking all over the floor told the story. Sallner. A realm razed and left to rot after the Serpent War, those who were not corrupted by Dimitri and Luria Thalamahn relocated to camps along the Territory Bridge. No one had set foot in the main body of Sallner for over eight centuries. He nudged one of the corpses at his feet. No one except these delightful fellows and whoever had raised them.

You said this place is dangerous, and you want me to enter Sallner? Are you mad?

—I have answered your allotted questions, Aidan. Stay true to your word. We must leave.

“Fine. But more answers later.”

—Yes. Now, I suggest leaving by one of the side entrances. Speak to no one. Once outside, you should—

The doors slid open, and Annalyn entered. She blinked when she saw her son, then smoothed her features. “Aidan. I am surprised to see you here.”

Relief flooded through him. “Mother. Thank the Lady!” He took a step toward her.

—Don’t trust her.

Aidan paused, confused.
It’s Mother.

“Have your Wardsmen returned with you?” Annalyn asked. “Can I assume a victory for Torel?”

Aidan felt a rush of exultation.
She hasn’t spoken to Father, yet. I can still explain!
“No. Well, yes, we were victorious, but...” He shook his head. “Mother, something has happened.”

“Obviously,” she said, looking around at the carnage that decorated the room. Not even two corpses and walls painted in green blood could ruffle Annalyn Gairden.

Aidan laughed humorlessly. “You’ll never believe it.” He took a breath. “Apparently I am the sword-bearer.”

Annalyn took a step back. “How do you know this?”

“The sword has been speaking with me ever since my ceremony. Then, during the proclamation of war... well, just now when the vagrants—the bodies over there—they...” He shook his head, overwhelmed.

Annalyn smiled and held out her arms. “You’re upset. Come. We’ll get it sorted out.”

Relief and gratitude washed through him. He took a step toward her.

—Do not go with her.
The sword’s voice cracked like a whip.

Aidan frowned. “What are you about?”

“Pardon?” Annalyn said.

“Oh, not you, Mother. It’s Heritage. It—”

—Grip me tightly. Blink.

What?

“Aidan?” Annalyn’s voice was tense. “Come here, please.”

—Do it.

Aidan blinked. Opening his eyes, he gasped. Whiteness lay atop his vision, as if the entire room had been buried in snow. Details such as the outlines of his hands and clothing, the sword, the cracks in the wall and floor, the green blood—they were black, like charcoal on white canvas.

Panicked, Aidan turned to Annalyn. He screamed. Standing in his mother’s place was an aberration. Her clothing was white and outlined in black, like his, but the rest of her was in full, horrible color. Her skin was putrid and saggy. Her eyes were empty pits, and her mouth gaped in a silent scream. Bands of flesh stretched from one lip to the other. The strips quivered as she spoke.

“What’s the matter, boy? Living a bad dream?” She raised her arms and hooked her fingers into claws.

“Come willingly. You are to be kept alive, but I’ve no qualms with—”

Before he knew what was happening he lunged at her as if compelled by some force that had assumed control of his body. The creature’s cavernous sockets widened for an instant before Heritage severed head from shoulders in one clean blow.

He turned, blinked again, and looked down at the floor. He no longer saw a creature from his nightmares spun into flesh. He saw his mother’s head.

Chapter 13

What Friends Do

A
IDAN DROPPED TO ALL FOURS
and retched.

—Get up.

He barely heard the old woman’s stern voice. He ran his arm over his mouth and looked into his mother’s face—mouth open in surprise and terror. That was how she had spent her last moments. Terrified of her son. Green blood gushed from her head and torn neck. Aidan recoiled with a scream.

—You must leave. Now.

Teetering on unsteady legs, Aidan watched blood seep along the floor like honey oozing from an upturned jar. His stomach gave another nasty lurch.

—Aidan, please listen. That was not your mother. It is not natural.

He turned from the body and concentrated on breathing. In and out. Slowly, naturally.
Then what in Kahltan’s name is it?

—A vagrant, and more will come. They will not be caught unawares like this one.

Cautiously, Aidan turned and fixed his gaze on a high point on the wall across the chamber, keeping his latest kill below his line of sight. He stepped over the body, cringing as one boot squelched in the spreading pile of emerald blood.