Vitiosi Dei (Heritage of the Blood Book 2)

by Brent Lee Markee

  Shawnrik wondered why the Headmistress had neglected to mention that it was Victor who had taught him to read and write. He knew that she must have looked over the papers that Instructor Daymarr had written on earlier that day, so the omission must have been on purpose. Part of him was mad at this woman for knowing so much more about his history than he himself knew, but another part was glad that she had not mentioned his friend's name publicly.

  “He left Safeharbor in the company of a pair of notable individuals before his fourteenth birthday. After a trying series of events, he came to the attention of Elder Lightfeather, who happened to be leading a scouting party in the area at the time. He has since been accepted by the village of Tranquility Mist. To quell a multitude of rumors, I would like to now introduce you to this young man. Please give him time to adjust, and treat him with the respect you would give to any of your peers.”

  Shawnrik didn't think that it was possible for an area this full of people to be so quiet. Every conversation had stopped, and everyone seemed to be holding their breath.

  “Shawnrik, would you please stand,” the Headmistress said, eyes scanning the crowd.

  Shawnrik watched Olivia sit down quickly when every eye in the bowl began to search for the standing person, but she continued the search along with everyone else. Verrian began to poke him in the ribs, and Shawnrik felt like he would rather go back to being a prisoner of the Dracair than be here in this moment. He thought that maybe if he remained still, he could ignore it, and pretend like he had missed the welcoming ceremony, but just as the thought crossed his mind the Headmistress's gaze locked onto him.

  Shawnrik had never felt so defeated, and as he rose he began to release some of the tension on his muscles that he hadn't realized had been building during the last few minutes. He heard and felt it as every head in the amphitheater locked onto his form. Not knowing what to do, he stood as straight as he could and nodded to the Headmistress, resisting the urge to give the crowd a timid little wave.

  A second after he stood, Olivia jumped up and started waving furiously. When his gaze dropped towards her, she shouted, “Hi Shawnrik!”

  “Hey Olivia,” he replied. The smile that he slid into place was made all the easier to maintain because of her excitement when she realized he remembered her. She looked at him and clapped her hands in unrestrained mirth. It would be difficult for any man to remain stone-faced when confronted with that kind of attention from a pretty young woman. Shawnrik realized that he was indeed no exception to that rule before he remembered where he was, and he felt his face begin to heat up.

  The murmur of voices began to crescendo to new heights before becoming a dull roar. Embarrassed beyond a point that he had thought possible, Shawnrik shrank back, and plopped down into his seat.

  “You know Olivia?” Verrian asked, a stupid grin plastered across his face.

  “It's not like that...” Shawnrik began to say, but he chose that moment to look down towards the group of girls who now sat around Olivia in animated conversation. He had barely gotten halfway through his denial when Olivia, still staring at him while sitting amongst all of those girls, winked at him playfully.

  “Sure,” Verrian said, that stupid grin spreading even further.

  Shawnrik decided to make a special point of studying the palms of his hands for the next few minutes. Glancing down at the stage to see what the Headmistress was doing, he noticed that she had not moved a muscle, allowing the conversation to run its course. He couldn't be sure, but he thought that there was a smirk on that hideous face of hers.

  Women! The thought came unbidden, but after a moment's consideration, he decided that he agreed with the sentiment wholeheartedly. Shawnrik knew what the talk in the dorms would be tonight and for the next few nights, and it was all because of those damn women. Why did either of them have to do that? A dozen reasons flitted through his mind for each woman, and he didn't like any of them. A moment later, he thought of a different reason for Olivia's actions. The thought made him pause, but he vowed not to show that he might be excited about that prospect.

  Once the sound had dropped to a low buzz, the Headmistress continued talking once again, and Shawnrik was glad that it was no longer about him. He tried to tune out all of the noise around him, but he kept hearing his name mentioned. He ignored what accompanied it.

  Shawnrik noticed that Verrian had begun to adopt his somber mood, his new roommate coming to the realization of what Shawnrik was going through. “I know a shortcut back to the Dorms. When we get released, we can get lost in the crowd and escape,” Verrian whispered conspiratorially.

  “That would be great,” Shawnrik sighed. He had been dreading the walk back to his room.

  True to his word, Verrian was up and moving through the crowd with Shawnrik in tow as soon as the Headmistress dismissed the students back to their dorms. Shawnrik hunched his body, attempting to imitate what he had seen Ashur do to make his body look smaller. If anyone had recognized him on their way through the crowd, it had been too late for them to impede their progress forward.

  They turned off into a small corridor, quickly changing from a walk to a run, and they arrived at their dorm room at the same time as they began to hear the sound of the outer doors opening on the other end of the hall. Footsteps echoed throughout the hall as Shawnrik closed the door to their room.

  “We shouldn't be bothered tonight,” Verrian said as he dropped onto his bed and removed his shoes.

  Shawnrik felt emotionally exhausted, but he realized that he hadn't done any of his drills today. Needing something familiar to calm his thoughts, Shawnrik looked around the room trying to decide what he would need to do to make enough room for his forms. The first thing he did was place his chest on top of the table, and move the table towards the other corner of the room below Verrian's bed. After that he took the two chairs and placed them on top of Verrian's chest. Lastly, he moved his bed so that it was flush with the door, and just like that he had a practice space.

  Verrian had silently watched him move everything, obviously curious. When Shawnrik pulled his axe out of his chest, Verrian's eyes lit up in understanding, and Shawnrik knew that he had his roommate’s full attention. When he began to go through his routines, Verrian moved to the far corner of his bed, as far away from the weapon as possible, his eyes riveted on its movements.

  “You didn't learn to do that on the streets, did you?" Verrian asked after some time had passed. His tone was thoughtful, and it had been a statement as well as a question.

  “No,” Shawnrik replied, not missing a beat. “I'll tell you...” Shawnrik sighed, “... just not tonight.” He finished the statement a little more firmly than he had meant to, and he stopped to apologize, but Verrian was already waving him off.

  “Don't worry about it, I know I'm nosy. You just had most of your life story laid out for public scrutiny, and here I am trying to dig out more tasty tidbits, like a vulture working on a corpse. We are going to be roommates all year—we may as well take our time getting to know each other.

  Shawnrik nodded. He found that he liked his roommate a little more as he got to know the small man. The Half-Elf's curiosity reminded Shawnrik of Victor's, and while he knew that Verrian could never take Victor's place, it was still good to have someone around that he thought he could consider a friend. He switched to his sword and began to run through several routines that Ashur had taught him. The sword had been intended for use with two hands when Ashur had gifted him with it, but now Shawnrik was easily able to handle it in one.

  He stood, holding the last move in place as he finished the final routine as the events of the day played out in his mind. One thing had kept coming back to him throughout his exercise, and that had been the way the students had reacted to his parents' names.

  “Verrian.” Shawnrik said as he stowed the axe.

  “Yeah?” Verrian replied.

  “When Headmistress Blackbriar said my parents' names, it seemed like everyone knew who they were and had v
arying opinions on them. Do you know anything about them?”

  “Not much,” Verrian said as he stood to help Shawnrik move the furniture back into place. “Everyone has heard of Aerick Heartstone, of course. They say he was one of the best warriors to come out of the Stroml’Dier in generations, not only because he was built like a warrior, but also because he had a way of reading his opponents and knowing exactly what they planned on doing. I heard my father once say that the tribe leaders were idiots for doing what they did, but I have no idea what it was that they did.”

  “I see.”

  “Your mother, though, she was in line to be an Instructor here before she ran off with your dad. They say she was already pregnant with you before they left. I think everyone remembers them because it seems like one of those story book tales that are so popular, of a love that could never be. But it was real, and that makes it even more interesting.”

  “Yeah, well I guess everyone was right, those types of stories don’t end well, and I know it didn’t for my parents.” Shawnrik stretched out on his bed.

  “Yeah,” was all Verrian said as he did something that made the light in the room fade into nothingness.

  Shawnrik wasn't really sure where the light had been coming from before it had faded away, but decided he would look when he woke up in the morning. He hadn't noticed any balls of light or fire—the light had simply been there one moment and gone the next. With all that had happened today, it took a while for his mind to settle enough for him to fall asleep, and when he finally managed it, he fell into a deep slumber filled with dreams of people that he didn't know.

  Waking with a start, he resisted the urge to bolt upright. He had seen what happens to anyone who showed weakness in the cells, and he was only staying out of trouble so far because he was an unknown. At the first sign of weakness he knew that someone would try to hurt him, so he did everything in his power to look as dangerous as a dirty kid trapped in a cell full of goblins could look.

  Yet another dream had come to him in the night, sending him voices and faces that he was sure that he had never seen nor heard before yet were eerily familiar, as if they were a part of him. He had been having the dreams more frequently, and they seemed to be getting longer and more detailed with each intrusion of his sleep. It wasn't that he didn't like having them, but he wished that they would come without him feeling one type of pain or another.

  The pains varied greatly, and would be anything from the cramping of his muscles to headaches, even a hollow feeling deep in his chest. Today's pain was a burning pain on his wrists, right where the manacles were clasped. Having previously moved the manacles a few inches one way or the other in order to get at an itch, he reached down with his right hand to see if moving it would lessen the pain. As soon as his hand touched the cold metal he clenched his muscles, attempting to control his body as it began to recoil away from the thing attached to his wrist.

  Hatred and death seethed forth from the thing, and he couldn't stop the tear that rolled down his cheek. His first thought was that it was simply his imagination because of the pain that he was feeling, but as he placed his hand upon his left manacle again, the same feelings radiated outward. Someone had created these things for one purpose: to hurt and kill.

  As he placed his hand on the chain that connected the manacles, he realized that it was for show. The links were poorly made, and could easily be snapped with the right pressure. Knowing that if he ever needed to he could remove the chains gave the boy a small amount of hope. However, he also knew that even if he were to somehow get out of these mines, he would still be a prisoner, as the manacles suppressed something fundamentally different than his movement. His thoughts continued to gnaw away at him until he heard his fellow prisoners begin to stir. Another day working the mine lay before him, but he found that his body wasn't as weary as it had been since that first day waking up inside these caves. Something had changed.

  Chapter 4

  Serenity Valley

  Year: 3045 AGD

  Month: New Year

  First Firstday

  Serenity Valley

  Institute of Learning

  Shawnrik awoke to a melodious buzz humming through his ears. He couldn't quite tell where it was coming from, but it seemed as if Verrian had felt it as well, because the little man was stirring in his bed across the room.

  “Good morning, Verrian,” Shawnrik said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Verrian's only response was a grunt as he rolled into a sitting position at the edge of his bed, where he stared at his feet as if willing them to move. Shawnrik couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips; he had always loved mornings, but he had seen Nim, Ashur, and Victor in the morning enough times to know that not everyone felt the same. He also knew from experience that people who didn't enjoy mornings usually didn't enjoy talking during them either, especially to cheerful people. Verrian showed all of the signs of being one of those people.

  Shawnrik had already pulled a set of clothes out of the trunk by the time Verrian began to become mobile. Moving about like an undead corpse, Verrian moved towards his chest at the end of the bed and pulled out a neatly folded stack of clothing. Rummaging a little more in the chest, he came back up with a bar of soap, some sort of tiny brush, and an odd tube. The Half-Elf then proceeded to plod out the door without comment. Shawnrik followed, assuming that his roommate knew where they could go to clean up.

  Verrian lead them to the end of the hallway and into a large room, the likes of which Shawnrik had never seen before. One side of the room was full of sinks and a long mirror, and the other two walls were full of stalls. Verrian grabbed a towel off a rack as they entered the room, so Shawnrik followed suit. Shawnrik was just about to ask what the stalls were for, but he noticed that there was water flowing down inside one of them and realized they must be used for getting clean. Entering a stall, the first thing he noticed was a small shelf below the spot that the water had been coming out of in the other stall. Realizing that it was one of the only dry spots in the stall, he placed his clothes inside and closed the hatch of the compartment.

  Shawnrik had thought that Nim's manor had possessed a very good system of indoor plumbing, having had a bathtub in each room, but this was something else entirely. There were two knobs on the wall, one labeled hot, the other cold. For the last two years, Shawnrik had been using one cold body of water after another to get clean, so he thought it might be nice to use hot water for a change. As he turned the knob labeled hot, he heard a series of barely audible whistling sounds inside the wall before the water sputtered to life and began to spray down on him in earnest.

  The water felt really good at first, but it quickly reached the point where he thought that it was going to burn him. Not wanting to get scalded, he turned the knob in the opposite direction, shutting off the stream of water. He then decided that the cold water might indeed be preferable.

  As always, the cold water was rather invigorating, quickly taking away any of the sleepiness that might be lingering. On the streets, he had never been entirely clean, so he hadn't ever missed it, but his time at Nim's had taught him how much better a liberal application of soap and water could make a person feel. Shawnrik decided that he could get used to being clean and wearing a freshly laundered set of clothing.

  Pulling out the towel he had grabbed on his way in, Shawnrik patted himself dry before putting on his clean clothes. As he exited the stall, he noticed Verrian and several other guys standing in front of the large mirror that ran from the first sink to the last. He watched as they combed their hair and did something to their teeth that made them foam at the mouth.

  Running his hand through his hair, Shawnrik realized that it was probably a good idea to try to tame his dark locks. He had left his comb back in his room, however, and he didn't think he needed to stare at himself in the mirror to comb his hair anyway—he never had before. Checking to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, Shawnrik marched out of the room while pointedly ignoring the da
ngerous looking stranger that marched along with him from the other side of the mirror.

  Verrian was on Shawnrik's heels as he opened the door to their room. Shawnrik was glad to note that Verrian seemed more alert and slightly less grouchy than he had been earlier. Shawnrik also noted, and not for the first time, how much more light and comfortable everyone's clothes seemed to be compared to his. They reminded him of the outfits that Nim had tailored for Victor and himself when they had first met him. However, he had outgrown those clothes when his body had decided to go through a major growth spurt during his imprisonment in the Blood Orc camp. The only clothes he owned now were the ones he had gotten from the seamstress in Tranquility Mist, which were made for much colder climates than the one he found himself in now.

  “Verrian?”

  “Yeah?” the little man replied, pulling on a pair of socks.

  “Can I ask a few questions?” Shawnrik asked.

  “Sure, no problem. We have a few minutes until breakfast starts.” Verrian threw his dirty clothes into a heap next to the chest at the end of his bed.

  “Okay.” Shawnrik took a breath. “First, I suppose, would be, who takes showers using the hot water? It nearly burned me!”