The Heir Chronicles: Books I-III

by Cinda Williams Chima

“That is your gift, Warrior,” Hastings snapped. “Killing people. Get used to it.”

  “Well, maybe I don’t want this gift,” Jack said. “I never asked for it.” He angrily stuck his blade into the ground and folded his arms.

  The wizard’s voice softened a little. “I told you to think of it as a video game.”

  Jack shivered, looking around the meadow, then stuck out his chin stubbornly. “This is no video game,” he replied.

  “Well, it’s nothing like a real battle,” Hastings said. Jack was struck by the bitterness in his voice. Once again, Jack wished he knew something more about his teacher, where he’d come from, and what drove him. There was a brief, uncomfortable pause.

  “Who are they?” Jack asked, meaning his opponents.

  “They are warriors,” Hastings replied. “Champions from the past, long dead. Under the rules, they are trapped in the next world. Thus, they are available to us for training when I call them.” He rubbed his jaw. “As you know, there are not many live warriors left to joust with. Perhaps the modern word is scrimmage.”

  So that was what the passage in the rules had meant. That means you can’t ever get away, Jack thought. Not even after you’re dead. “Who wrote these rules, anyway?”

  “They are part of the covenant, signed by representatives of the five guilds at the founding.”

  Jack recalled the story in his Weirbook of the dragon and the five cousins.

  Hastings put his hand on Jack’s shoulder, and Jack could feel his power like electricity into the bone. “What will you do, Jack, when someone really tries to kill you?” he asked.

  “Then I suppose I will kill them back,” Jack replied.

  “You can’t kill them back,” Hastings said. “Because by then you’ll be dead.”

  Jack got the point. “So I suppose I’ll have to kill them first.” And Hastings seemed satisfied with that answer.

  By the time they’d left the meadow, Jack had fought ten opponents, and his record was six and four.

  From then on, Jack and Hastings practiced at the meadow at least twice a week. Sometimes they went on a Saturday, so they could spend more time. Jack was always bruised and exhausted after these bouts, and as the weather grew warmer, he discovered that fighting was hot and thirsty work.

  Hastings never pressured him again to finish off someone he’d disabled, but Jack gave and received some serious blows in the heat of the fight, some of which were “mortal” on both sides. The cuts he survived were painful when he received them, so he assumed his opponents felt the same. Once the bout was over, however, nothing remained but the aches and pains. Part of the rules of the summoning, Hastings explained. The wizard carried a bottle of fiery liquid he gave Jack to drink once or twice after a particularly difficult bout. It killed the pain remarkably well, though Jack suspected it didn’t comply with Trinity High School’s zero tolerance drug and alcohol policy.

  His record was continually improving, although Hastings always seemed to have new challenges to throw at him. Sometimes he fought two or three warriors at a time. Sometimes, his opponents were women. That took some getting used to, but he found those bouts were as tough as any of his other fights. Once, he fought a teenager only a little older than he was. He was in a more modern style of dress, perhaps from the nineteenth century. Jack disarmed him fairly quickly.

  “He was pretty young,” he commented to Hastings. “And poorly trained.”

  “Yes, he was,” Hastings replied.

  “Are warriors often as young as me?” Jack asked.

  “And younger,” said Hastings grimly. And he would not say more about it. Jack had quit asking questions about a lot of things. He still didn’t understand how learning to fight with a sword would protect him from his wizard enemies. It wasn’t as if he could walk around Trinity with a sword on his hip. He felt that he was being prepared for some kind of challenge, but had no idea what. More and more it seemed like his life was under the control of others, particularly Hastings. Aunt Linda had abandoned him. He felt like a schizophrenic, with a foot in each of two worlds: the exquisite normalcy of school and the risk and mystery of the Weirworld. Dull acquiescence seemed to alternate with a bright anger that was more and more difficult to control.

  His love life was out of control, too, and at the same time totally unsatisfactory. Although Leesha was officially going out with Lobeck, it seemed Jack was back on her A-list. She never missed an opportunity to come on to him, no matter who was around. As a result, Jack was on Lobeck’s list, too. A different list.

  Ellen seemed as stressed and preoccupied and touchy as Jack. She’d stepped up her skills clinics with the team as the season progressed, drilling them with an increasing intensity. She and Hastings functioned like competing assistant coaches.

  And then several things happened in rapid succession right at the end of the school year that put the new cadence of his life in disarray.

  Chapter Ten

  The Street Fight

  Soccer season ran into June, and the Trinity varsity team made the playoffs. Jack was a starter, playing midfielder and forward. Will played defense, and Fitch played goalie and midfield. The district championship game against Benjamin Harrison High School was scheduled the same night as Leesha’s birthday party. Jack contributed the winning goal from midfield, but twisted his ankle. The final score was three to two.

  The locker room emptied out quickly, since most of the team was going to Leesha’s party. Jack took his time, because he wasn’t particularly eager to get there. By the time the trainer finished wrapping Jack’s ankle and he had showered and dressed, he was alone. The party was a few blocks west, at the Lakeside Club. Jack limped to the parking lot, wishing he’d thought to catch a ride, and not looking forward to the walk to Leesha’s.

  Someone stepped out of the shadows in the entryway of the building. Jack flinched and brought up his hands up in defense.

  “Jack! It’s me.” It was Ellen. She stood with her back to the lamppost, her face in shadow.

  “What are you still doing here? Everyone’s gone.”

  “I wanted to . . . to say good game, Jack. You were awesome.”

  “Oh. Well, thanks.” He felt inordinately pleased. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

  She rolled her eyes, as if to say, Duh! “How’s your ankle?”

  “It’ll do. Be a little stiff, I guess.” He rotated his foot to demonstrate.

  “That’s good.” She straightened then, and said briskly, “Well, good night.” She turned to go.

  “Wait,” Jack called. Ellen swung back around. “When can we get together?”

  She glanced around, as if she thought he might be talking to someone else. “Get together?”

  “Yeah, you know. Hang out. Now that soccer season’s over, we’ll both have more time.”

  She shrugged. “What are you doing now?”

  “I . . . ah . . . was going to Leesha’s party.”

  “Happy birthday, Leesha.” She turned away again.

  Jack caught her arm. “Let’s do something else.”

  She stuffed her hands in her jeans pockets, rocking back on her heels, looking down her long nose at him. “Are you serious? Isn’t she expecting you?”

  “Look, give me a break, Ellen. Leesha and I are not together. She totally creeps me out.”

  Ellen looked down at her feet and pushed a rock around with the toe of her sneaker. Then she looked up and smiled crookedly. “All right. What do you want to do?”

  Jack cast about for ideas. “I could walk you home.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You’re injured.”

  “I’ll lean on you.”

  If Jack leaned on Ellen more than was strictly necessary, she didn’t object.

  The air was soft and muggy as they exited into the parking lot, promising summer ahead. Ellen and Jack walked down Bank Street and headed for the square. Jack realized he didn’t even know where Ellen lived.

  “I live close to the lake,” she explained when
he asked. “On Walnut. In one of those apartment buildings.”

  They walked on in silence for half a block, moving slow, though Jack’s ankle was loosening up.

  “What do you want to do when you graduate?” Ellen asked. “If you could do anything you wanted.”

  “Me?” Jack thought a moment. “Well, I used to think I’d sail around the world.”

  “Are you a sailor?”

  Jack nodded. “My dad and I used to sail all the time. He lives in Boston now. He has a sailboat there, and we’re talking about building another.”

  “You must be close to your dad.”

  “Not really. I haven’t seen him for nearly a year.” Ellen didn’t question him further, which was one of the things he liked about her. “Have you ever been sailing?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’ll take you sometime this summer, if you want. I mean, I guess I’m going to be in England for most of the summer, but—”

  “England!” She stared at him. “Are you going with Mr. Hastings?”

  “No, my mother is teaching a course there. Something about British influences on Appalachian culture. What about Hastings?”

  “He’s taking the Chaucerian Society on a tour. Will and Fitch are going. I thought you knew.”

  Jack shook his head. He really was losing touch. “What about you? Aren’t you going?”

  She shook her head. “No, I can’t go. I’m going to be away all summer. At camp.” She released a long breath and looked up at him, as if debating whether to go on. “I might not be back in the fall.”

  Jack felt like his insides were collapsing. “What? Why not?”

  “My dad’s on temporary assignment with Ohio Power.” Ohio Power had a plant just outside Trinity. “The time is about up. So we’ll most likely be going.”

  He stopped walking and turned to her. “Ellen. I’m sorry. That sucks.”

  “I wanted to tell you before. I’ve known for a while.” She shrugged. “We’ve moved around a lot. I’m used to it.”

  Jack had always thought that living all his life in a place where everyone knew his history was a disadvantage. Now he wasn’t so sure. “You’d think he could stay in one place until you graduate, at least.”

  “Yes, well.” She shook her head. “I wonder if we’ll ever see each other again.”

  Jack’s own future looked a bit cloudy at the moment. “We have till I leave for England, at least. We’ll try and make the most of it.”

  By now they had crossed the square and turned on to Lake Avenue.

  “Do you know how to dance?” she asked as they reached the public beach parking lot. He looked up, startled by the question. She rushed ahead. “I mean, I don’t know how to dance, and I thought if you knew how, maybe you could teach me. Or if you don’t know how, maybe we...”

  She stopped in midsentence. Jack looked up to see someone in the parking lot. Three someones. It was Garrett Lobeck and his two friends, Harkness and Leonard. They were leaning against a pickup truck with an open case of beer in the bed.

  “Well, if it isn’t the hero of the game,” Lobeck sneered. “We looked for you at the party. Wanted to make a toast.” He finished what appeared to be the latest of many beers, crumpled the can in his fist, and tossed it on the ground. He fished another out of the case and Jack heard the “poosh” as he opened it. “Leesha was looking for you, too. She was really pissed.”

  “Oh. Well. See you tomorrow,” Jack said. He nodded to Harkness and Leonard, who were on the varsity team. “Good game.”

  He took Ellen’s arm and started to make a circle around the trio, but Lobeck moved into Jack’s path. “Who do you think you are? Your cheap shot kept me off the varsity team.”

  “Go away, Lobeck,” Jack said wearily. “Forget about it, will you?”

  “I’ll forget about it when I’ve had a shot of my own,” Lobeck lunged forward, swinging at Jack; but the combination of the beer and Jack’s quick sidestep sent his fist sailing past Jack’s right ear. Like a large truck, it took a while for Lobeck to get turned around again. “Stand still and fight!” he bellowed.

  “I don’t want to fight you, Garrett,” Jack replied. He shot a sideways glance at Leonard and Harkness, to see if they were going to join in. They were blocking his path, but just watching for now. He jerked his head at Ellen. “Ellen. Go. Please.”

  Ellen clenched her fists. “Don’t be idiots. Jack’s your teammate. What’s the matter with you?” She looked ready to throw a punch herself.

  You’re not helping, Jack thought. If there was going to be a fight, he didn’t particularly want Ellen there to see it.

  “Oh, so now his girlfriend is going to protect him.” Leonard laughed, a harsh, wheezing sound. Sensing blood in the water, they were beginning to circle, like sharks in a feeding frenzy. It wasn’t looking good.

  Lobeck charged him again. Jack managed to avoid the blow a second time, but then someone grabbed him from behind and pinned his arms. It must have been Harkness. “Hit him once, and then let’s go.” The voice came over his shoulder, along with a noxious whiff of beer.

  Lobeck was on his way, a murderous look on his face, and Jack had a feeling he wouldn’t miss this time. He remembered a confusion charm, something from his lessons with Nick. He spoke the words quickly, under his breath, and Lobeck’s mad-dog expression turned to one of bewilderment. He looked from Jack to Harkness and back again. “Now, what was I doing?” he asked, completely clueless. He started stumbling aimlessly down the sidewalk.

  “Hey!” Harkness called after him. “Are you gonna hit him or what?”

  Lobeck swiveled back around. “What?” His bleary eyes took in the scene. “Oh, yeah.” He headed back in Jack’s direction.

  Great. Jack wrenched free of Harkness and turned in time to see Ellen slam both feet into Harkness’s right kneecap. Soccer training paid off, apparently.

  Harkness yelped and fell back, clutching at his leg; but by then Lobeck was incoming. His right fist smashed into Jack’s cheek and right eye with stunning force, and then his left, and right again plowed into Jack’s middle. Jack saw stars and felt blood flow, warm and wet, into his nose. It was as if the bones in his face had been driven into his eyes. He stumbled forward a step, desperately sucking in air to replace what had been driven out of him. And then rage and instinct took over.

  He swept his arm forward, fingers extended, and a concussion of air pounded into Lobeck’s midsection, sending him flying to land, hard, on the blacktop.

  Anger still flared in Jack, and power, white and hot. He snatched up a large tree branch, holding it across his body like a quarterstaff, and advanced on Lobeck, who lay on his back, momentarily stunned. As awareness returned, disbelief crowded onto his face, and then fright. He pushed up on his elbows, scuffling with his feet, trying to scramble backward out of danger. He came up against the low stone wall that ran along the perimeter of the parking lot. Not a tall barrier, but tall enough to trap him. Jack stood over Lobeck, feet braced apart. A shimmering flame ran along his weapon as he raised it above his head, turning it vertical for the killing blow.

  “Jack! No!” Ellen’s voice cut into his blood rage. He shook his head fiercely, focused on the task at hand. Lobeck’s eyes were wide and his mouth was moving, pleading or praying, he couldn’t tell.

  “Jack! Oh, God! Jack!” Ellen gripped his elbow and wrenched his arm back with amazing strength.

  Self-awareness flooded in. Dismayed, he flung the burning branch away from him. It flew end over end in a high arc, clear across the parking lot, a flaming pinwheel that extinguished itself in the lake. He drew in a painful breath and turned back to the others.

  Harkness sat on the blacktop, doubled over, holding his leg, swearing softly. Leonard gaped, openmouthed at Jack and Lobeck. He showed no eagerness to mix in. Ellen stood as if rooted to the ground, hands raised, face pale and horrified. Lobeck propped up on his elbows, looking like the end of a very bad day. For a long moment, nobody moved.

  Jack
’s eye was already swelling, so he could scarcely force it open, and blood poured from his nose and welled up inside his mouth. He wiped the back of his hand across his face, and it came away bloody. “Let’s go,” he muttered to Ellen, using the other hand to take her by the arm. She gasped and recoiled from his touch, and he quickly released her. “I’m ... I’m okay now. Promise. Let’s get out of here.”

  None of the three boys made any move to stop them.

  The walk to Ellen’s house was miserable. His face was on fire and every breath hurt. He’d failed at his most important task: keeping his magical powers under cover and under control. Ellen was probably scared to death, and no wonder. He had come within a heartbeat of killing a drunken Garrett Lobeck in a street fight. What was he turning into?

  Perhaps his use of power had already exposed him. His luck couldn’t hold out forever. It was a beautiful night under a full moon, the party at Lakeside just letting out. Anyone could have been walking along the lakeshore and seen what had happened. He looked about warily. Nothing moved on the quiet street but him and Ellen. Their long shadows extended out ahead of them, collected under the streetlights, and then stretched out again.

  There were at least four witnesses. The human mind had a remarkable ability both to discount what it sees and make reality conform to expectation. And Lobeck and his friends had been well wasted on beer. But this was the second time he’d lost control with Lobeck. Hard to imagine he’d get away with it again.

  Ellen was another story. She was perfectly sober and nobody’s fool.

  She didn’t ask him any questions. In fact, she said nothing at all on the way down Walnut Street. Just walked ahead fiercely, head down, hands in her pockets.

  “Ellen, listen, I—”

  “Shut up, Jack.”

  So Jack occupied himself by thinking about what he was going to tell his mother.

  By the time they arrived on Ellen’s front porch, Jack had pretty much decided against attempting a kiss good night under the circumstances, with Ellen feeling the way she did, and with his face in the condition it was in. He’d been planning on it before the fight broke out.