A Dark Inheritance

by Cora May

  She needed it implanted.

  So she would not risk losing the boys’ offer to help. She fought to keep her hands at her sides.

  “Your stone is called Obsidian,” Creggor told her, finally stepping closer with that blade he held. “It’s one that that has never been researched, though I’ve been trying my best to figure it out. I’ve been studying those who I’ve helped. I suggest you start to do the same and study yourself, too. Become aware of the ability you possess. And don’t let it control you.”

  Creggor was about to take the stone from George’s hand, but when his fingers came close to touching it, he snapped them away as if it burned him. George’s own face looked incredibly uncomfortable.

  “Ready?” Creggor asked instead, raising the knife.

  She was more than ready and didn’t think twice as she thrust her wrist toward him. He yanked it into himself, his own fist closing tightly around hers, as if to keep her from yanking back. She wasn’t sure what kind of pain he was expecting for her that she would struggle against him, but his fingers around her wrist certainly caused a great deal of pain by themselves. She didn’t care, though. She only had eyes for the stone, sitting in that hand.

  So beautiful.

  She wanted it.

  She needed it.

  The drooling dog inside her would not be satisfied until she had it.

  She would not be satisfied, either.

  The blade pressed up against her skin, cool to the touch. She could tell that Creggor was judging her reaction first, seeing if she would flinch away, because he only pressed the flat part of the blade against her skin. She wondered what the point of that was. She didn’t flinch, she was only irritated.

  She waited what felt like an eternity before she felt the sharp edge of the blade slide underneath her skin.

  Her lower eyelid winced in response. That was the only response. She held still despite the slow movement of the knife that dug into the shallow skin of her wrist.

  Creggor dropped the blade. The metal bounced off the stone floors a few times before it settled. He pulled Chanta’s wrist closer to George, nodding to his companion. He kept both arms around her wrist and forearm now, far enough away from the slice that he wouldn’t have to touch the stone at all. George took it between his thumb and forefinger and gingerly placed it next to the open wound on her wrist.

  He didn’t have to do much coaxing or wiggling to get it in place. It seemed to be swallowed right up by her skin, like a child running into the welcoming and protective embrace of a mother. Right after it went into her skin, the edges of the wound seemed to come together. It was as if the wound was trying to seal itself, lest someone changed their mind and asked for the Obsidian back. Creggor, George, Chanta, and even Brin, all stared at the wound for just a moment in awe.

  “Um,” Creggor quickly said, trying to recover his own shock, “George, finish it up.”

  George didn’t move at first. He kept staring, watching… waiting. But her human skin could only do so much, and it wasn’t healing itself at an incredible pace. Creggor had to snap his fingers in front of George’s face before the boy moved again.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  George took her hand in his. He was much gentler than Creggor was, and his chubby skin felt a lot more comforting—if a little sweaty still. He moved one thumb over her wound, starting from one end and rolling over to the next.

  Chanta felt warmth where he touched her. It wasn’t like the warmth of his skin on hers, but more like the warmth she felt from any of the stones that had reacted to her. When he pulled away, she could see beyond the blood was now a thin line. She squinted at it curiously. George took out a packet from his pocket then, opening it with his mouth and one hand, his other hand still cradling her wrist. She realized it was a wet napkin when he used it to clean her skin off.

  He then bent down and picked up the knife, using the same wet napkin to clean off the blade before handing it to Creggor.

  Chanta studied her wrist. There was nothing left but a thin line, which no one would guess happened any time recently. It wasn’t even pink anymore, like a healing wound would be. It nearly matched the color of her pale skin, only a few shades paler.

  “How?” she managed to ask. “You’re not… Not a Healer?”

  “I’m a Keeper,” he told her gently. There was a softness to his voice that Chanta very much liked. He was much nicer to deal with than Creggor’s ego was. “I made sure to bump into a Healer before I came down here, made sure to touch her Gold. I do it before every meeting. That way, I can heal you right away, and no one has to know what we did today. Would you believe we just did it?”

  Chanta shook her head slowly.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Creggor told her. He had backed off again and was leaning up against a wall, examining his ever-interesting nails. “Stuff like that happens all the time around this place.”

  “Let’s go back to bed,” Brin told Chanta, tugging at her elbow.

  Chanta stumbled a little bit at her tug. Her eyes were still on her wrist.

  “Give her a minute,” Creggor commanded. “If she goes out like that, ogling herself, they’ll know for sure what we did. Let it sink in.”

  Sink in, yes, Chanta thought. That’s what she needed to let it do. Sink in.

  The agitation had gone away immediately, as well as the feeling of having a drooling dog inside of her. It was like a release—a release of everything inside of her. She had used so much energy to focus on the yearning. Now that it was over, she actually felt pretty weak. Her knees shook under her. Even her wrist began to wobble as she stared at it.

  Using her other hand, she felt around the healed scar. She could feel the edges of the stone under her skin, feel its warmth beneath the surface. She could try to convince herself that it was a dream later, but it was there. The Obsidian was one with her blood.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: ADDELAI

  T he Jasper field was dark at that hour, with a slow fog rolling over the grass. Addy fought the shivers that wanted to take over her body. The temperature was well below that of comfort, but she wasn’t going to be the wimp that Viktor expected her to be.

  Viktor stood at her side, where she figured he was supposed to be, and across from them stood Jace and Kameron. She wanted to go and stand by Jace’s side instead, to be with someone she knew, but somehow, she knew she wasn’t supposed to move.

  Besides that, she hadn’t decided if she was mad or not yet. How had Jace become a part of this whole thing? He didn’t seem like he was here against his will. Then again, maybe he was just good at pretending. Viktor had made it pretty clear that everyone in the army had been drafted. Still, she felt like he should have warned her. Did Brin even know?

  There were so many questions she wanted to ask—to demand—of these boys. But she remained silent. She felt like that was her only real option here. Obedience was the key, maybe she could get an honorable discharge somehow. If that was a thing.

  The fog began to lift, only a slight bit. As it did, it revealed a few more figures making their way toward the group. Nessi and Thurien were among them, that much Addy was certain of. But with them was a smaller figure; he looked like a child, maybe. He was probably a foot shorter than Addy, and from where she stood, it looked like he was tethered to Thurien. He walked with a sort of limp, and one of his arms hung limply at his side, as if he had no use of the appendage. That sight stopped her breathing for just a moment. She didn’t understand what was going on.

  She glanced at the boys around her. Each and every one of them seemed just as surprised as she was. Kameron’s mouth was even hanging open a little bit, his face scrunched in concentration as he tried to see past the fog. The other two kept their faces a bit more composed, but she saw past the vibrato and into the fear. They had never seen this before, either.

  Her focus went back to the approaching group of professors and—and pet monster? The closer they got, the clearer they became, despite the fact that the fog was not co
mpletely clearing.

  That pet monster was becoming clearer and clearer with each step. He had blond hair, cut in a bowl shape around his head. It was shiny in the moonlight but seemed dirty somehow. Greasy. His pale skin was also reflective in the moonlight. He was far paler than even Chanta was, and Addy wondered if his skin had ever seen the sun. He walked with a limp because one of his feet was turned completely inward at a ninety-degree angle. It didn’t look like a birth defect. She wondered how he had gotten it, what had happened to this poor soul. Was that something the school caused? Was it something that happened after he had been drafted into the war? She hoped, for the boy’s sake, that it had been an injury incurred before ever coming to the school.

  She realized, too, that he wasn’t really shorter than she was. He might have even stood taller if he stood up straight. She wasn’t sure if that was even possible or not. He crouched down far enough that his limp arm hung down to his knee, which gave him a terrifying, uncivilized presence.

  His mouth hung open, just like Kameron’s did, except his wasn’t because of the shock of the situation. Kameron had the look of fear in his eyes, a look like he wasn’t sure what was going to happen, and he didn’t want to be a part of it. He looked like he might run at any moment. This boy had a look in his eyes that was miles off. Thousands and thousands of miles off. He looked like he was wild, but contained. He looked crazy, but… but drugged.

  And, worst of all, he looked familiar somehow. She stared at him, contemplated his features, and tried to imagine him as he would have once been. She couldn’t place him, though. She couldn’t decide why she felt like she knew him.

  She wanted to demand of the professors what they had done to him. She wanted to know where they kept this boy, and what they did to him to make him this way. She wanted to know why.

  As the trio approached, Addy’s mind began to swim with more and more questions. No answers proposed themselves, though. She felt muddled and confused. She realized that the others, too, must have been thinking the same thing as her when one of them finally placed the boy.

  It was Viktor’s whisper that she heard over her shoulder. She didn’t have time to turn around and look at him, didn’t have the need. She knew from the sound of his voice that he was just as surprised as she was.

  “Douglass.”

  His whisper seemed to resound, almost echo between the group of the four Warriors. It echoed, not in words, but in gasps, as all three of the remaining Warriors inadvertently sucked in a breath.

  The boy in front of them was, indeed, Douglass. He was barely recognizable. He had looked bright before, intelligent and thoughtful when he attended classes last year. He certainly had not walked with a limp or with such a drastic slouch. Addy hadn’t ever spoken to him or considered him a friend in any way, but she had seen him around the castle. He walked with a stride, with an attitude that repelled her to the point where she refused to talk to him. She hadn’t even offered him a greeting in the passing.

  Now he looked pitiful. He looked downright insane, and she wanted to offer him a warm, comforting hug. At the same time, he was still repulsive, and some part of her was screaming in warning not to touch him.

  A knot was twisting in her stomach for this boy. She couldn’t believe her own professor, the head of her house, would have tolerated whatever was done to this boy to cause this presentation of such a pitiful soul. More than that, she was sure Nessi wasn’t only tolerating it but had something to do as a direct cause of it. That was the most sickening feeling of all. She had held such high respect for this woman once upon a time and fought so hard to impress her. Now, all she wanted to do was run. She wanted to go back to the meeting in Nessi’s office and choose expulsion instead.

  “Welcome, children,” Nessi said when they had come to a stop in front of her group.

  Addy felt the entire group or Warriors stiffen uncomfortably. The air seemed to change around them, tensing in response to her greeting.

  Children.

  The word bounced inside Addy’s brain. She didn’t feel offended by it, as the boys might have felt. Instead, she felt the need to agree. She wanted to ask that she be dismissed on the basis that she was, in fact, a child, and children should not be doing these things. She wanted to argue her innocence, and demand to be set free.

  Had Douglass argued his innocence before? His ego, the demanding demeanor that he had before, had been wiped clean. He was no more than a child now, and even then, he seemed to have less intelligence than a toddler.

  Addy’s own demeanor went from scared to crushed in a matter of seconds.

  “I know you aren’t sure what’s going on tonight,” Nessi continued. No one scoffed at her obvious statement, but Addy knew it was true for all of them. “I know I haven’t kept you very informed. Please know that that isn’t because I don’t trust you in the least, but rather because of the sensitive nature of this war. My young friend here is a very important secret. I know most of you know him from last year. I know you probably thought he was sent away after his breakdown…”

  She drifted off. Her keen eyes took a moment to gauge each of the students’ reactions. Addy didn’t have time to compose herself. She was afraid there was a disgusted look on her face still—disgusted or sad—but she wasn’t even sure. Her own reactions were beyond her control now. Whatever was on her face, Nessi continued.

  “Prisanni’s School for the Blessed does not simply give up on its students like that,” she said with conviction. Immediately, Addy felt a sort of shame wash over her. “We would not throw out a student simply because he is unable to cope with who he is, with what he’s been Blessed with. That is the very opposite of what this school is here for.

  “We have been working with Douglass separately from all of the other students,” she continued, her voice shifting from conviction to near boredom. “Of course, though we will not give up on him, given the violent nature of his outbreak, we could not justify training him among all the other students. The safety of anyone he works around would then be compromised. I assure you, he stands before you today as someone who has been deemed able to handle himself once more.”

  Addy wanted to scoff at that. She actually found herself hysterical, and the reaction was begging to come out. She held it in, though, because she could not risk what Nessi would do in response. Yet, it was clear that Douglass was not able to handle himself. He had been stripped of himself, and the use of a heavy sedative seemed very likely to Addy. That was probably the only way he was able to come out of whatever hole they had him trapped in.

  “Douglass’s Blessing has always been a very special one,” Nessi continued her briefing. “He will be crucial in our continuing missions. Douglass, please do as you have been instructed.”

  Douglass looked up at Nessi. There was a little bit of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. Addy caught sight of it when it caught the reflection of the moonlight. Her teeth clenched.

  Nessi nodded encouragingly, waving a hand forward. Douglass responded like a trained dog. He stepped forward, walking between the four Warriors. Despite the fact that she had wanted to hug him before, Addy moved two steps back automatically. The other three Warriors did the same, nearly in a synchronized movement, as if making way for Douglass’s giant presence. Yet, Addy knew deep down that no one wanted to risk touching the boy.

  Douglass didn’t seem to mind, or even to notice. It was almost as if he suddenly forgot that anyone was there at all, like they were all inanimate objects placed before him. He continued to walk until he stood two feet away from everyone. His eyes drifted up, and his head tilted back. He paused for a moment, staring at the moon, and then his head went back even further until he was staring straight up. His neck was bent at a ninety-degree angle so that his Adam’s apple was the corner. It looked so unnatural, so painful. Addy worried for a moment that he might start choking on his own drool. She wanted to turn to Nessi and beg her to take him away, to put him back in the hole she kept him in and let him be. He should g
o back with his family; this was no longer a place for him.

  But she said nothing. She made no case for the poor boy, did not even beg the professor with her eyes. She kept them glued to Douglass, curiosity and fear mixing together to hold her attention still.

  Silence washed over the entire Jasper field as everyone watched Douglass.

  The palms of his hands lifted to face the sky. Addy managed to peel her eyes away from the boy’s bent neck long enough to see the skin that glowed beneath the surface of the skin on his wrists. On both wrists. A faint light that told her he had two implanted stones. The realization hit her like a blow to the stomach. She knew the power that one stone brought her. The thought of having a second stone underneath her skin, though a small temptation, made her sick. She sometimes struggled with the power that came from the one she already had mingling with her blood.

  Some part of her mind was not too busy in the moment to wonder how many stones Nessi herself had implanted.

  Douglass grunted. Addy’s attention shifted back to him at the noise. She watched him as he struggled, his arms rising higher and higher until they shot out straight from his shoulders. It almost looked as if something was tugging on him, taking each arm and pulling it in the opposite direction. He was pulled to a standing position, too, despite the legs he wobbled in on. He looked stronger in that moment than he had walking up to them. It seemed even less natural than the position he had held his legs in before—less natural because it clearly wasn’t Douglass who now stood himself up straight.

  Despite the fact that it was a nice, if a little chilly, night, there was a wind that started to pick up. It seemed to stem from where Douglass stood, clearing the fog away in the place that he stood. The fog was pushed further and further back with each new grunt that escaped Douglass’s mouth.