Vitiosi Dei (Heritage of the Blood Book 2)

by Brent Lee Markee

  “How do they do that?” Shawnrik asked as they started up the stairs.

  “You have seen the little domes in the ceiling around campus right?” Verrian said, pointing at one such dome above their head in the stairwell. “They capture the light in much the same way that our eyes do and transmit the data to those screens. We have a bank of monitors set up around our house, and there is even more security at my dad’s office.”

  “That’s amazing. I wonder if the Mages have something like that.”

  “From what I’ve learned about these Shapers, I would say that it is entirely possible. I don’t see why they wouldn’t be able to mimic this type of technology. In fact, it might even be easier for them to hide that they are doing it as well.”

  “How do you suppose?” Shawnrik asked.

  “Well, we need to set up devices with moving parts and wires, whereas they just need to set up an ocular lens of some sort and channel the light back to where they want to project the image. I’m sure that we could build such things into our buildings so that they weren’t as obvious, but that kind of thing isn’t easy with buildings that are this old and so sturdily constructed.”

  Shawnrik nodded. Sometimes he wondered what it must be like in his friend's mind; Verrian always seemed to be thinking about a dozen different things at once.

  Their steps slowed as they approached the office at the end of the third floor of the building. They glanced at each other and smiled as they recognized their own nervousness mirrored in their companion. Shawnrik knocked.

  “Come in,” the same soft female voice that they had heard only a few minutes prior from the guard’s device said.

  They opened the door to reveal a small, meticulously kept office. Behind the extremely well kept desk sat a person the likes of which Shawnrik had never seen before. White tufted ears pointed in their direction and emerald feline eyes seemed to take in everything about them in an instant. Those beautifully strange eyes darted to Shawnrik’s left and a small frown stole over her features, and her nose began to twitch.

  Following the direction of the gaze, Shawnrik noticed that his shirt sleeve had rolled over slightly, so he tugged it straight. A small sigh of relief escaped the woman a moment before her frown turned into a smile.

  “Mr. Larston, Mr. Smith. Welcome. The Headmistress is currently busy, but should be able to see you shortly.” She gestured towards a comfortable looking bench along the wall that was just large enough for the pair to sit comfortably.

  Shawnrik noticed a plaque on the desk that read Klerrah Starlight, and in smaller letters underneath it read Personal Assistant. He tried to examine Klerrah without being completely obvious about it. From what he could tell she looked to be about a head shorter than Verrian, putting her at about the same height as Dunnagan. Unlike his stout Dwarven friend, however, Klerrah was slight and lithe. Shawnrik had the feeling that the woman could pounce on them at any moment.

  They didn’t have to wait long until the doorway on the other end of the room opened, revealing the large form of the Headmistress. Torva Blackbriar was even more impressive up close, but he didn’t think there was any way that he would ever consider the woman attractive. Her dark green skin was riddled with strange growths, and the poor woman’s face looked like someone had hit her with a frying pan. Shawnrik wondered if all female trolls looked like that, but he doubted he would ever have the chance to learn differently.

  When she spoke, however, the Headmistress had a voice that he felt could calm a raging pack of Grim’le. Her voice caressed every syllable and made each word important, like an artist slowly revealing sections of their masterpiece bit by bit. “Klerrah, thank you for entertaining these young men while I finished my work. How did they behave?”

  “Oh they were fine, Torva, perfect gentlemen.” She leaned in conspiratorially, and mock whispered. “They only stared at my ears a couple times.”

  “Well, I suppose there are worse things they could have been staring at,” the Headmistress mock whispered back, causing Klerrah’s eyes to open wide.

  Shawnrik thought he caught the flash of a tail for a second before the woman sat back down. She began to move the pens around on her desk, making sure that each faced straight up and down with a precise space between them, pointedly ignoring everyone else in the room. The boys had to hold in a surprised chuckle as the Headmistress turned towards them and winked. She motioned them to follow her into her office a moment before she turned, expecting that they would follow.

  Verrian and Shawnrik stood quickly to follow, and Shawnrik’s calf hit the bench, causing it to let out a little groan as it slid backwards. White ears pointed towards the noise and Klerrah’s nose began to twitch furiously. Shawnrik pulled the bench forward and received a slight nod of thanks in return from the small assistant.

  Torva Blackbriar stood on the other side of the door to her office, closing it quietly after the boys entered. She held up a hand to get their attention and pointed back towards the door she had just closed conspiratorially. A few moments later, they heard the tell-tale slide of the bench as her assistant positioned perfectly. They all shared a silent chuckle as the Headmistress walked past them to the far end of the room to sit at her desk.

  On their way to the two chairs that sat in front of their Headmistress’s desk, they took the opportunity to scan the room. Every wall was filled with pictures and every available shelf space held different knickknacks, some next to framed pictures. Shawnrik had the feeling that each and every object in the room had some significance to the woman who was in charge of their education. The sheer amount of memorabilia made him wonder just how long Torva Blackbriar had been at the Institute of Learning.

  “Shawnrik,” she said gesturing to one of the chairs, followed by a gesture to the other. “Verrian.”

  The boys took their seats tentatively, suddenly nervous.

  “I’ve heard good things about you two from your Instructors. They say you are both extremely intelligent and diligent workers. Verrian, I’ve heard that you have a knack for your studies from your Instructors in Game Theory and Linguistics. I’ve also been told that you are performing above expectations in both Basic Offense and Strength Training.”

  “I don’t know about all of that, ma’am, I'm just doing my best,” Verrian said.

  “Well, keep at it. From what I understand you have one heck of a head on your shoulders.” Torva grinned. “Shawnrik, I’m told you have a great interest in Mythology and History, and Instructor Boulette seems to think that you’ll surpass your father in fighting ability soon. He already thinks you could have won an arm wrestling contest.”

  “Thank you,” Shawnrik said, trying not to let such thoughts sink in too deeply at the moment. “From what I’ve been told about him, I will take that as quite the compliment.”

  “That’s right. You don’t have many memories of your parents, do you?” Her voice softened and he had to fight the urge to cry like a baby at her tone.

  “No ma’am, sometimes I have dreams about them, but their faces fade by the time I wake up,” Shawnrik said, a tear slipping free and rolling down his cheek.

  The kindness in those large brown orbs was nearly unbearable, and he looked away only to see his roommate crying in the seat next to him. Shawnrik sighed and put a hand on his friend's shoulder.

  “I have the same thing happen with my mom,” Verrian sniffed. “At least we have pictures of her so I can refresh her image ever now and then.”

  “Oh!” The Headmistress said, standing quickly. “I think I have a picture of them! Now, where was that?” She browsed the pictures on her walls and shelves for a little while, occasionally picking one up and smiling before putting it back down and continuing her search. “Here it is.”

  Verrian’s head shot up, and Shawnrik suddenly felt sick. He had come here to talk about his growth spurts, and now he was suddenly going to see his parents for the first time in over nine years. The Headmistress held out the picture for Shawnrik to take, but before he could
make his hand move Verrian grabbed the picture.

  “Oh wow! Look at that!” Verrian said studying the image. “He looks small beside her, but he wasn’t, was he? From what I’ve heard, he was bigger than anyone except the Giants.”

  “That’s right,” Torva said, taking her seat. “Well, the Giant-kin and any of my kin had they decided to pursue anything other than scratching their own backsides and rutting in the rain.”

  The regret in her voice was palpable and Shawnrik wished they had the time to delve deeper into that particular subject, but he had a feeling that it would take much longer than the hour they had. Suddenly, there they were. Verrian was holding the image in front of his face. He wasn’t able to stop the stream of tears this time and their images blurred. Wiping his eyes he stared at the image, trying to drink in every detail.

  His mother Lilly Lightfeather and his father Aerick Heartstone stood outside the library. She was talking about something, her hands in the air trying to express some unknown concept, a smile from one corner of her face to the other. Her hair was a light brown, and the eyes that sparkled so brightly in the picture were a slightly larger version of the yellow topaz orbs that stared back at him every time he looked in a mirror.

  Standing tall and holding a stack of books half his own height was his father. His eyes were at an equal height to her chest. He was listening intently to whatever it was that she was describing, a small smile tugging on the corner of his mouth. The light hitting his dark hair made it look like a dark blue, and his eyes were like well-cut brown tourmaline. Well-honed muscles seemed to barely register the large pile of books that he carried and he held himself with a surety that Shawnrik recognized. It was the same look of self-assured superiority that Nim, Ashur, and Dunnagan all had; it was the look that men get when they have been through things that few others will understand.

  My parents. How did random burglars kill them? He realized a moment after he had the thought that he had voiced it aloud when the Headmistress replied.

  “That is quite the question, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?” Verrian asked, looking back and forth between them.

  “The night my parents were killed...” Shawnrik looked as his hands as Verrian pulled the picture back to look at it again. “… the watchmen said that it looked like a burglary gone wrong. There’s no way that common burglars would have killed my parents though, is there?”

  “It…” The Headmistress sighed. “…is very unlikely. Both of them were quite capable, and even surprised they should have at least taken a few of the burglars with them.”

  “So someone planned it. Someone went out of their way to murder my parents.” Shawnrik’s hands were balled into fists now. “But why? What did they do or know that was worth going all the way to Safeharbor to eliminate them?”

  “I can’t answer that,” she said, leaning back in her chair.

  “Can’t, or won’t?” Shawnrik leaned forward.

  “Can’t, I promise you. I can think of several groups that might have liked to see your father dead, but I know of no reason worth going through that much effort.”

  “Who?”

  “Shawnrik…”

  “Who?”

  Torva Blackbriar sighed. She took out a bottle and poured a dark liquid into the cup in front of her, taking a large drink. “Aerick was instrumental in stopping several Dracair assaults on several of the smaller border towns in the Blade’s Edge Mountains. He was a thorn in their side for ten years before he left with your mother.”

  “That’s one,” Shawnrik motioned for her to continue.

  “He was a thorn in the side of the High Elves, helping at least a dozen Half-Elves escape the hunters.”

  Verrian shuddered. “My dad told me about the Hunters. Groups of six Elves whose entire purpose is to hunt down and capture, or kill, Half-Elves.”

  “And your father probably doesn’t know half of what those people are capable of,” the Headmistress said. “They do not forgive or forget easily.”

  “Alright, that’s two. I’m guessing there’s at least one more group you can think of?” Shawnrik placed his elbows on his legs and steepled his hands, looking at her over the top of them.

  She nodded and began to pour another drink.

  “His tribe, right?” Shawnrik said, drawing a look of surprise from the Headmistress.

  “Let me guess, Sara told you what happened the night her father died?” She sighed. “Did she tell you that the Elders told Daerian to not bother to come back if he didn’t kill your father?”

  “I don’t think she knows the specifics, but I think she suspects something like that happened.” Shawnrik cupped his face in his hands. “You think the Elders sent someone after him?”

  “Or told someone where to find him,” Verrian whispered.

  Torva’s expression told the boys that she thought Verrian was very close to the truth. “I can’t prove anything, and some of the Elders who were in charge then have since passed on. I do suspect that they worked with either the Dracair or the Hunters to accomplish their task. When your father took the Heartstone title, I believe he learned something that the Elders thought shouldn’t be taken outside the tribe.”

  Shawnrik felt the tension in his body begin to release. He hadn’t even realized how tense he had gotten during the conversation. A drop of warm liquid dropped onto his forearm, and he realized that he was sweating. Standing, he stepped around his chair and began to pace the length of the room, limbering up his body and mind.

  “Is that why you boys came to see me today?” Torva spoke after the room had been silent for some time.

  “No,” Shawnrik said facing the door, his teeth gritted. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I came here to find out what you know about the change I went through over a year and a half ago, and the changes that I’m likely to go through in the future.”

  “Ah, I’m guessing that is what Instructor Daymarr wants to see me about tomorrow morning, then.” Torva replied. “I want you to know that it was my decision not to tell you. Of the few Instructors that understood what could happen, all of them tried to convince me to tell you.”

  “Then why didn’t you?” Verrian asked.

  “For one thing, we have never dealt with someone who has quite the genetic makeup of our young friend here. We are not sure what is going to happen, or when.”

  “What do you mean?” Shawnrik paced back towards the empty chair.

  “What I’m about to say is extremely personal information. I know you boys are good friends, but this may be information you want to keep to yourself.”

  Verrian began to stand, taking the hint, but Shawnrik put his hand on his roommate's shoulder.

  “It’s alright. Whatever it is, I don’t keep secrets from my friends.”

  Looking back and forth between them, the Headmistress’s shoulders seemed to slump as she came to the decision to tell them what she knew. “Shawnrik, do you know what DNA is?”

  “Uh, that’s the stuff that makes people who they are, right? Some sort of biological computer code?”

  “At the very basic idea of it, yes. We have information here that isn’t available anywhere else on Terrazil and we still don’t completely understand all that DNA is capable of. We are, however, able to compare samples from parents and children and be reasonably sure of what we will find.” She began to reach for the bottle on her desk again, but instead of pouring anymore out she placed the lid back on and put it away. “Something messed with your coding. Things that should be dormant aren’t, and other things that should more than likely be present are turned off or have been replaced. It is like something dug out every scrap of potential inside of you and weeded out many things that could be perceived as weaknesses.”

  “Wait,” Verrian said. “Is that even possible?”

  “If you would have asked me a month ago, I would have told you no,” Torva Blackbriar replied. “Dean Swiftfoot believes that it was an extended process that happened slowly over t
he course of a year or more sometime in the last several years. In most people, such alterations could cause drastic and painful changes as soon as the body accepts the new information, but your body already had a system in place for drastic physical changes. Your body had already been preparing to go through the change that affects a small portion of the people who have the blood of the larger races running through their veins. We believe that the first change was far more drastic than it normally is because your body was setting up a framework to build upon based on new schematics.”

  “That’s amazing!” Verrian said, clearly trying to resist the urge to come inspect Shawnrik up close, as if he would be able to see the changes with his bare eyes. “What, or who, could do something like that?”

  “That is a question we do not know the answer to. We have seen things like this done on a much smaller scale by the Mages, but I’m not even sure that they could pull something like this off with a concerted effort. And it is definitely not something they could have done without Shawnrik knowing about it.” Torva sighed. “Harolinde says that the first Dragons were able to do something similar, but I would say that fits more into the myth and legend category than real science.” She shook her head. “Such a fine scientist, but he puts so much stock in the records of his people.”

  “Dean Swiftfoot said that?” Verrian asked his gaze suddenly far away. “Interesting.”

  Shawnrik had a feeling deep down that he might know what had messed with him, but until he knew for sure he was going to keep that information to himself. He might not keep secrets from his friends, but this secret wasn’t his to give away.

  “So how many more of these do I have to go through, and are they all going to be as bad as the first?”