Heritage: Book One of the Gairden Chronicles (43 page)

Leaston:
Eastern realm of Crotaria ruled by the merchants’ guild.

Light Magic
: Magic drawn from a source of natural or manmade light and heat.

Lion’s Den, The:
The most prestigious magical university in all Crotaria, located in Sharem.

Lord of Midnight:
See “Kahltan.”

Lorden, Christine:
A powerful Touched at only 17 years of age. Sibling of Garrett Lorden and daughter of Ernest Lorden. Half-Torelian, halfSallnerian
.

Lorden, Ernest:
First of Crotaria. Father to Garrett and Christine Lorden, and a Torelian.

Lorden, Garrett:
Sibling of Christine Lorden and son of Ernest Lorden. Unlike his twin sister, Christine, Garrett exhibits Torelian features. Also unlike his twin sister, he is not a Touched.

M

Merchants’ Guild:
A ruling council made up of men and women who govern Leaston.

Meshia:
a large, horned creature that roams the deserts in the west. A favorite meal among Darinians, especially cooked over an open flame.

N

North Road:
A main road running up from Sharem into Calewind, the capital of Torel.

O

Ordine:
“Guardian” in the language of the Darinians. A gift bestowed on the Gairden bloodline by the Lady of Dawn.
Ordine
manifests itself in every Gairden in one of two ways:
Ordine’kel,
or

Ordine’cin.

Ordine’cin:
“Guardian Light” in the language of the Darinians. Bestows a Gairden with the gift of magic. A Gairden gifted with
Ordine’cin
is stronger by far than the strongest Touched outside of the Gairden bloodline.

Ordine’kel:
“Guardian Blade” in the language of the Darinians. Bestows a Gairden with Ambrose Gairden’s skill in combat.

P

Philosopher:
A Touched who spends his or her days studying and pondering magic, Crotaria, and the mysteries of the world beyond the home continent.

Plains of Dust
: A desert in Darinia that stretches on for hundreds of miles.

Q

Queen of Terror:
See “Thalamahn, Luria”.

R

Rite of Heritage:
Ceremony that culminates in the official anointment of a Gairden king or queen.

Romen of the Wolf:
War Chief of Darinia. Husband of Cynthia Alston and father to Nichel of the Wolf.

S

Sallner:
Southern kingdom of Crotaria.

Sanctuary:
A resting place for Gairden souls located within the Eye of Heritage.

Serpent King, The:
See “Thalamahn, Dimitri”.

Serpent’s War,The:
A devastating war waged by King Dimitri Thalamahn and Queen Luria Thalamahn of Sallner.
Sharem:
A trade city located at the heart of Crotaria where all four realms meet.

Shift:
Magical method of transportation dependent on the Lady’s light.

Shirey, Daniel:
Wardsman. Best friend of Aidan Gairden and a Leastonian.

Snake:
a racial slur that refers to Sallnerians. They have slanted eyes, but the slur also references their corruption under the reign of Dimitri Thalamahn, the Serpent King.

Soldier:
A Touched devoted to defending Crotaria in times of war.

South Road:
A main road running down from Sharem to the Territory Bridge, which leads into Sallner.

Sunfall:
The ancestral home of the Gairdens, rulers of Crotaria’s eastern kingdom of Torel.

Sword Chamber:
A magical chamber where Heritage rests when not in use. Only Gairdens may access the chamber.
Symorne, Tyrnen:
Eternal Flame of Crotaria. Mentor to Aidan Gairden. Traveled to Torel shortly after Aidan Gairden’s birth in order to petition Queen Annalyn Gairden for permission to assist in the mentorship of her magically gifted son.

T

Tarion:
The second largest city in Torel.

Territory Bridge
: A strip of land leading into the main body of Sallner, the dead realm of Crotaria. What remains of Sallner’s population lives on the bridge in communities closely guarded by Wardsmen from Torel’s Ward.

Thalamahn, Dimitri:
The Serpent King. Co-ruler of southern kingdom of Sallner and a confessed Disciple of Kahltan.

Thalamahn, Luria:
Queen of Terror. Co-ruler of Sallner before she was executed at the end of the Serpent’s War and a confessed Disciple of Kahltan.

Tied:
The process of severing a Touched’s connection to their magic. A tie can only be performed and removed by a Touched.

Torel:
Northern kingdom of Crotaria ruled by the Gairden bloodline.
Torel’s Dawn:
Elite group of Cinders under the direct command of the Eternal Flame. Torel’s Dawn serves and protects Torel and the Gairden family, though they still answer to the Eternal Flame, like all Touched.

Torel’s Ward:
Army of the kingdom of Torel.

Touched:
One blessed with the gift of magic.

V

Valor:
Sword wielded by Edmund Calderon.

W

War Chief:
A Darinian clan chief who holds the power to lead all Darinian clans during times of war.

Ward, The:
See “Torel’s Ward”.

Wardsman / Wardsmen:
A fighting man in Torel’s Ward.

West Road:
A main road running across Darinia and into Sharem.

Wielder:
Second rank of a trained and educated Touched. All Wielders wear a purple band.

Wildlander:
A pejorative term for Darinian.

Z

Zellibar:
Darinian city renowned for the work of its metal smiths.

Author’s Notes

H
ERITAGE
IS MY FIRST
novel. Not just the first novel I published. The first novel I wrote. Which is not to say I sold the first draft still hot off the presses of my college computer lab’s printer and became an overnight success. Oh, no. That first draft was good for little more than firewood (
kindling
, if you get the joke), and the flames might very well have spat it out in disgust. Most writers chalk up their first novel as a harsh learning experience and banish it to the proverbial trunk before cracking their knuckles and starting something new. Something better (and believe me, after the first draft of a first novel, the only way to go is up).

Heritage
was better than that. I would not banish Aidan, his magical sword, and eight generations of his family members to the pits of literary hell where first novels go to suffer eternal agony. Every story has a genesis. Fix yourself a hot drink, curl up, and get comfortable.
I’d like to share the story behind the story with you.

The idea for Heritage—not the book, but the sword—came to me in early 2004. When I wasn’t attending college courses or ringing a cash register at my local Waldenbooks, I read a lot of fantasy novels. A steady diet of Robert Jordan, David Eddings, Sara Douglass, R. A. Salvatore, and Terry Goodkind gave rise to an idea to which I’m sure those writers and others can relate:
I should write my own fantasy novel!
But what would it be about? Well, it would be about a sword. Of course it would.

I loved swords, and the fantasy authors I read certainly favored them. Rand al’Thor of
Wheel of Time
fame wielded
Callandor
, a crystal sword through which he could channel great quantities of magic. In
The Sword of Truth
, Richard Rahl used (wait for it) the Sword of Truth to arbitrate matters and root out fact from falsehood. Drizzt Do’Urden from R. A. Salvatore’s
The Legend of Drizzt
brandished his magical scimitars, Twinkle and Icingdeath, and cut a path through prejudice and injustice across the Forgotten Realms.

My close examination of the Fantasy Novel Recipe picked out two key ingredients: a protagonist with a catchy name, and a sword. Aidan Gairden didn’t come along until a year or so later, but I hit on the defining element for his sword right away: family.

I lost my father in 2002, when I was 19. I knew my dad as any boy knows his dad: cool guy, sense of humor, loved me, was proud of me, hooked up my video-game consoles to the TV before I was old enough to know how to set them up without electrocuting myself, and took us kids out for a night on the town every weekend we visited. My favorite memory of my dad is of Christmas morning in... I want to say 1989, but it might have been 1990. I was seven, maybe eight. That year (whichever it was), I asked for a Game Boy, and I got it. I knew I got it before I opened the package. I’d spent enough hours with my nose and fingertips pressed up against the glass display case at Toys R Us to recognize the Game Boy-shaped box (which included
Tetris
!) disguised in wrapping paper on Christmas morning. But Dad didn’t know I knew, and I decided to string him along a bit.

We went through the usual routine: the kids went to the tree and sorted gifts, passing them around in orderly fashion until everyone had a sizable pile by their chair or spot on the sofa. Then we dug in. The sounds of little hands shredding wrapping paper followed swiftly by squeals of glee filled the living room. I saved the Game Boy (plus
Tetris
!) for last. I held it in my lap and turned it over, as if there was anything to see besides a wrapping-paper patchwork of Santa and his reindeers, and a tag:
To: David, From: Dad and Teresa
, my step-mom. Holding it close, I peered around, feigning curiosity in what curios had been deposited down the chimney for my kid sisters and brother.
Oooh, a
Little Mermaid
doll? Nail polish? Fisher-Price toys (Daniel was only one or two that year)? How wonderful for you!

All the while, I watched my dad out of the corner of my eye. He had taken my grandpa’s recliner (a bold move) and had unwrapped the prerequisite cologne set and tie, the usual knickknacks kids get their dads for Christmas. Now he was watching me, appearing at ease. He folded his hands. Then he leaned over the arm of the chair. He looked like... well, like a kid on Christmas morning, waiting for the alarm clock to tick over from 5:57 to 5:58, look away, doze off, look back and
oh finally THANK GOD
—wait, no,
it’s still 5:58
ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW.

“David,” he said finally, and not a little impatiently. “You’ve still got one more present, there.”

Oh? Do I? Why, I plumb forgot!

I peeled off the wrapping paper slowly, carefully, like one of those people crazy enough to attempt to save the paper for next year. I glanced up. Dad’s eyes were popping out of his skull. I ended his torment, and mine: I shredded, I saw the purple Game Boy logo, the gold-and-white Official Nintendo Seal of Quality, and man, I flipped out. I whooped, letting out all that pent-up excitement, and paraded my prize around the living room like it was the Stanley Cup. Dad watched, laughed, and clapped, absolutely delighted that he had made my day.

Fifteen (maybe sixteen) years later, Dad was gone.

When I think of him, I see the man whose smile outshone mine on the Christmas morning I opened my Game Boy. That’s how I remember him because that’s how I knew him, and that’s bittersweet. There’s a difference between knowing your parents as a kid, and knowing them on an adult-to-adult level. Commiserating with them over taxes, long hours, bills, and relationship problems. Meeting them for lunch, and picking up the check for them for a change. Watching their eyes light up when you’re old enough to know them,
really
know them, and place something more thoughtful than a stupid tie under the Christmas tree.

That wound will never close, but in 2004, it was still fresh. Leaky. Dad was gone, and I missed him terribly.
I wish
I would have said all the things I never said, or said only in passing
, I found myself thinking at least 76 times a day. Let me give you an example: “Love you, too.” It sounds so perfunctory during a goodnight kiss. You mean it, but it’s ritualistic, just like, “How are you?” to which you reply, “Good, and you?” I wish I could have sat him down, looked him in the eye, and said, with no presents or Saturday night dinners and trips to the arcade and the bookstore acting as a motivator: “I love you.”

But it was too late. Dad was gone—but he had thoughtfully germinated my fictitious sword with the idea I needed to set it apart from the likes of
Callandor
and Icingdeath. Heritage. My sword would be called Heritage. At any time, a king or queen could pick it up and talk with their parents, their grandparents—about guidance in matters of monarchy, for access to magic spells lost to time, and, more than anything else, for the opportunity to say the things they didn’t think to say when their loved ones were alive.

I’m proud and grateful that I’ve been able to get to know my mom, my biggest supporter, as an adult over these last several years. (I won’t kid myself and believe I’m her equal, because no one is or ever will be.) But one day, she’ll be gone, too. Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to talk to her, and to dad, and so many other loved ones, when that day comes?

I spent all of 2004 and the first nine months of 2005 fleshing out my Great American Fantasy Novel. When my legion of fans (Mom, Gramma, and later, my wife-to-be) asked what the book was about, I put on my poker face. “It’s about a sword,” I replied. It became an inside joke, but as the years went by, I realized my inside joke was kinda true. Heritage had a purpose, but what about Aidan Gairden, the boy who wielded it? A protagonist without a soul is like Pinocchio: he looks like a real boy, talks like a real boy, and walks like a real boy, but he’s a puppet, make no mistake about it.

It wasn’t until 2012,
eight years
and I don’t even remember how many drafts of
Heritage
later, that I hit on the reason I wanted to tell Aidan’s story. The reason I
needed
to tell his story. We’ve all faced peer pressure. Some of us have even stood our ground against it, and good for you! But most of us haven’t. Most of us know that it’s easier to keep our mouths shut and do as we’re told. No questions. No thinking. Just follow. Aidan knows that, and he suffers unending consequences for it.