Heritage: Book One of the Gairden Chronicles (7 page)

He attempted to rise when he noticed movement at the edge of his vision. Turning, he stared around in confusion, wondering what had caught his attention—then drew a sharp breath. The torches mounted around the walls flickered, but the shadows they made had gone still. As he watched, they stirred as if awakening from sleep then oozed toward the center of the ceiling, a confluence of streams of tar.

Aidan’s breath caught. Low laughter drifted into his ears as the shadowy bulk, twice as wide as his bed coverings, seeped down the wall. The fiery heads of torches shied away. Suddenly the dark mass pounced, snuffing out the flames. The room grew dimmer. The shadow continued downward, gaining speed. Again it slowed near a line of torches, and again it flowed over them, wrapping around the room and extinguishing the lights with a hiss. Smoke curled up from each bald torch, its dying breath. The raspy laughter grew stronger, the shadow spilling down now, choking all the light from the room until Aidan was left lying in darkness.

Unable to move, barely able to breathe, Aidan shivered, waiting. An icy vapor ran up his legs; he felt as if he were slowly sinking into a lake in the grip of winter. The coldness slid forward, spreading over him. The laughter was all he could hear now, drowning the pounding of his heart and his clacking teeth.

The darkness reared, considering him, laughing. Then it lunged, streaming into his mouth and down his throat, gagging him. He tried to raise a hand to pry it away. He couldn’t budge it. The shadow was light as air, solid as steel. It pinned his arms to the ground and surged into his nose. He was choking, suffocating...

And then it was gone. His chest heaved, pulling air into his lungs in sharp gasps. His eyes watered, his throat and nostrils burned, and the sweat covering him chilled his bones. His clothes were drenched, leaving him a sopping, shuddering mess. But he was alive.

Footsteps nearby, hard boots biting into the stone, bouncing echoes off the walls. As the footfalls drew to a halt, his father appeared, standing over him, somehow perfectly visible in the darkness as if the Lady illuminated him and only him. Edmund cocked his head, considering his prone son, and the relief Aidan had felt at the other man’s appearance leaked away.

Edmund’s face was contorting, skin warping like shifting sand and bones snapping like dry twigs until the face became plain and expressionless. His eyes, flat and lifeless, rolled back and sank into his skull. The king grinned; dirt and grime caked gaps where teeth should have been. Vertical strips of flesh ran from his top lip to his bottom, like fleshy cell bars.

“You are a failure to me,” he said, voice thick with earth. The fleshy strips vibrated like taut strings as he spoke, and clumps of dirt spilled from his lips like crumbs. “Your mother and I gave you opportunity, provided you with everything a man could need, everything he could want. But it wasn’t enough for you. You are not fit to lead Torel’s Ward, Aidan. You are not fit to take your mother’s throne.”

The terrible face leaned in closer, its rotting mouth hovering inches from Aidan’s ear. He spoke in a whisper, but the words boomed through the room like thunder.

“I disown you. You are not my son.”

Edmund vanished. Annalyn stepped forward. Aidan stared up at her, tears streaming down his face.

“Mother,” he said, struggling to control his voice. “Mother, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fail. I did everything I could! But Heritage— it did not accept me. It wasn’t my fault!”

Annalyn leered down at him. Like her husband’s, her eyes were dead and glassy. Emotionless, as if she felt nothing. Nothing for him.

“You,” she began, then shook her head. “What did I do, Aidan?”

“What do you mean?”

“It has to be something I did. Did I not love you enough? Did I not teach you faith? Or pride in our family?”

“No!” he said, reaching for her hand. She reared back as if he were a snake.

“Mother, please. You did everything right. It... It was me. I just wasn’t ready.”

“I know that now, Aidan. There was nothing I could have done differently.” Her eyes sank back into her head. Four vertical bars of flesh appeared, sewing lip to lip. “I did everything a mother should. I tried to raise you with a sense of honor and responsibility. I tried to show you the pride of being born a Gairden.

“None of it was good enough for you, was it, Aidan? Be silent!” she screamed at him when he opened his mouth. “Do not speak to me.” A worm wriggled from one of her empty sockets and through the other, vanishing inside her skull.

“Do not ever speak to me again, Aidan. You are nothing but a disappointment.” She leaned in closer still, just as his father had, but she did not whisper as he had.

“You are weak, Aidan. You are not a Gairden. You are
not my son!
”

She disappeared then, leaving him in darkness and with the echo of words that pierced him deeper than the shadowy cold that had almost drowned him.

A failure. A disappointment.

Why? Why did this have to happen to me?

He closed his eyes, letting pity overtake him.

A soft hum echoed above him. He opened his eyes to see Heritage suspended in midair, floating point down and twirling like a carefree girl. Rising to his feet, he lunged at the sword. The sword floated out of reach. Aidan went for it again.

“You! You did this. You made them hate me, made them turn away from me! Made me a
failure!
”
He leaped for it, but every time the sword slid through the air, always just out of reach. Aidan fell to his knees, too drained to continue. Cautiously, the sword drifted close. The Eye churned, fixing him in its gaze. Then, to his utter amazement, it spoke.

—You must have courage, Aidan.

His head snapped up.

—Your hardships have just begun. Will you face them, or hide in your bed?

Aidan shook his head slowly. “That voice,” he whispered.
Where have I heard that voice before? Destiny...

—Awaken!

The Eye flashed. A storm rumbled within the stone.

— I can hold him at bay, but not for long.
AWAKEN!

Aidan sat upright in his bed like an uncoiled spring. His bare chest and wrinkled trousers were soaked with sweat. A trail of tears laced his cheeks. He closed his eyes and rubbed at them, wishing he could scrub away the nightmare that replayed itself against his eyelids.

A gust of wind blew past him, upsetting his hair and snuffing the candle he kept near his bed. He opened his eyes to see his door slam shut, sending a weaker gust of air over him. The loud crash stunned Aidan for the briefest of moments before he shot out of bed. Thoughts came to him in a rush, broken and disorganized. How long had he slept? Days and nights had blended together since his parents had left.

Shaking his head to clear away sleepiness that clung to his mind like cobwebs, he bounded to the door and threw it open. The Lord of Midnight held court; all the torches lining the corridor had been extinguished.

Puzzled, he closed the door.
How...? The wind I felt.
He blinked. He glanced at his window. It was sealed shut, and he’d had no reason to open it. He could draw heat through the glass, which was a mercy during the coldest winter months.

I know I closed my door before falling asleep. So the wind would have to have come from...
inside
the room. But how?
He rubbed at his arm absently, then frowned and studied it. His skin was warm to the touch, even though the stone floor felt as cold as a sheet of ice. His eyes widened. Someone had kindled. Someone had been here, or nearby, and had shifted away as he awakened. How, though? Wards set by Gairdens hundreds of years in the grave prevented anyone from shifting into or out of
Sunfall.

Muffled footsteps reached his ears, scattering his thoughts. Aidan opened his door and looked into the corridor. A familiar form appeared in the darkness, hustling toward him. One hand clutched a torch, its light flickering along the walls.

“Hello, Daniel.”

His childhood friend, one year older than he, made an elaborate bow and straightened, grinning, leaning in the doorway.

“Good evening, Prince of Mischief.” Daniel cleared his throat and scratched at his head. “I’m, ah, supposed to bring you to the south courtyard.”

“At this hour? What’s the matter?”

“Your parents. They’re back.”

Chapter 7

Prince of Tears

A
IDAN PULLED HIS DOOR
closed and stepped out into the corridor. The windows glowed faintly with the Lord of Midnight’s sickly light. Shadows hunkered along the walls, bunched and ready to pounce. He shivered, remembering the shadowy creatures from his dream.

“Are you ready?” he asked Daniel, who stood picking at the wall nearby.

“Hmm? Oh, yes,” Daniel said. He started forward, stopped, and turned back, looking as if he wanted to say something. “Colder than Kahltan’s backside down here,” he grumbled. Then they set off, walking in silence through the passages that led to the southern courtyard, the firelight from Daniel’s torch leading the way.

Aidan inspected the suits of armor lining the halls, the tapestries purchased from Leastonian merchants who spent their lives coming and going from faraway lands. That made him think of pirates, rogue Leastonians who combed the Great Sea in search of treasure. The merchants’ guild denied any such rumor, but Daniel said his father knew of many pirate ships that sailed free because of the profits fetched from the obscure trinkets they
found
in their travels. Other rumors claimed the Leastonians ran a network of thieves that lived beneath the surface, but Daniel had laughed that off as pure hearsay. That, or he didn’t really know. He had only been eight when he and his family had moved to Calewind. Aidan wondered what it would be like, living underground.

They walked along. Aidan pointedly avoided looking ahead, his mind grasping at any subject except what awaited him when he saw his parents. He reviewed complicated spells, gave serious consideration to claiming his ship from Ironsail and becoming a pirate, thought back on his adventures galloping through the hills every day since his parents had left, and—

There it was. The subject he most wanted to avoid. He had treated his parents horribly before their departure. Were they still upset with him? Undoubtedly. And Tyrnen hadn’t even come to check on him after his failed . The old man was probably furious, and disappointed. Aidan’s stomach started doing flips. Would his failure reflect on Tyrnen’s status as Eternal Flame?

What was he supposed to say to them? What
could
he say? “Aidan?” Daniel said

“Yes?” Aidan responded, drawing to a stop. Not because he wanted to avoid meeting his parents. It was just hard to walk and talk, that was all.

Daniel passed his torch to his free hand and cleared his throat. “I don’t understand what happened on your birthday, and I don’t really care, either. You’re my friend, and I won’t judge you. Whatever happened, happened, and that’s that. I’m sure your parents and Tyrnen will fix everything—but I’d like to help in any way I can. We’re friends, and we’ve been friends a long time. So if you need anything, you can count on me.” He took a breath.

“Thanks,” the prince said, warmed more by his friend’s words than by the torch in his hand. “That means a lot.”

Daniel nodded, looking much more at ease. They resumed their walk. All too soon they crossed the antechamber leading out to the courtyard. Snow drizzled down, coating the grounds in a layer of sparkling white. Throngs of Wardsmen and nobles in Darinian furs lined the space, talking softly or standing at attention. His parents were nowhere in sight.

Conversation faded away as Aidan appeared. He stood beside Daniel, eyes locked straight ahead, waiting for the gate to open or for the palace walls to collapse in on him. Anything to remove stares that dug in like hooks.

A trumpet call from the pass leading to Calewind diverted the crowd’s attention. Daniel passed Aidan the torch and shot him a confident look, then joined a line of Wardsmen fanning out around the gate. Aidan kindled from the torch and wrapped himself in a heat bubble. He dipped the torch, its flame smaller, in the snow. It extinguished with a hiss. He shivered despite his warmth, remembering that same steamy
hsss
the shadow creature in his dream had made each time it had feasted on fire.

The gate cranked open, loud in the still night. He heard the beat of hooves moments before half a dozen horses rounded the last bend in the mountain trail. His father rode at his mother’s side and at the center of the line, their mounts snorting and trotting. An escort of three Wardsmen rode in front of and behind the royal couple.

Aidan frowned. His father had always insisted on Wardsmen riding at least one hundred paces away when they traveled, saying that it was his responsibility to protect his family. Annalyn had echoed her husband’s sentiments. Why did the escort travel so closely tonight?

Stares prickled his skin once again, drifting between him and his parents. He looked straight ahead.
Everything will be fine. They’ll have come up with an idea, and I’ll be able to...

He squinted.
Where is Tyrnen?
Other than his parents and the escort, no other figures had appeared.
Perhaps he doesn’t want to see me.

Kneeling, he felt his worry melt away like the slush around his feet. They were home now; that was all that mattered.
Things will return to normal.

Edmund and Annalyn drew to a halt and dismounted. Attendants took the reins of their animals and led them off to the stables. Aidan rose and stepped forward.

“Welcome home, Father,” he said, smiling. Then he shrank back. His father was travel-stained, which was understandable. But his eyes were expressionless, vacant.

Edmund looked Aidan up and down with his flat, dull eyes. “I trust you’ve helped look after affairs in our absence.”

The last vestige of Aidan’s smile fell away. “I... actually, no. I’ve been resting so I could better assist you upon your retu—”