The Heir Chronicles: Books I-III

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “What else can you teach me?” Seph asked.

  Jason shrugged. “Like I told you, I don’t know a lot. I’ll be glad to teach you what I know. But you can’t go showing off all around the campus. Remember what I said: as far as Leicester and everyone else is concerned, you need to stay scared and stay stupid.”

  “No problem,” Seph replied.

  Chapter Eight

  Through the Portal

  Jason spent an hour or more in Seph’s room, prowling around, weaving his “glamour,” as he called it. First he blocked the cameras, then constructed a complicated multilayered charm, parts of it triggered by the assault of the dream spell. When he was finished, Seph’s room was a fortress against prying eyes, and his dreams were his own.

  Seph used the portal when he went to bed. He would lie down, choose the duration of his absence, and spin out the charm in his head. Sometimes he woke up when the charm wore off, and lay quietly in the dark. Sometimes he kept right on sleeping. Jason warned him not to use the charm twice in one night. “You know how sometimes you go to hit the snooze alarm and hit the wrong button? If you blow this one, you’ll never wake up.”

  Whether it was the magic in the stone or the charm Jason taught him, or both, it worked. The portal was the talisman that kept the dreams at bay and kept Gregory Leicester out of his head for as long as the charm was in force. Sometimes the dreams came on toward morning, after his return. Sometimes they caught him during the day. But the fact that he could sleep peacefully for six or eight hours, could keep the nightmares away when he chose, that made all the difference. Before the encounter in the library, Seph had felt himself dissolving, as if he would eventually cease to exist. Now he slowly reassembled himself, and his head was clearer than it had been since Thanksgiving.

  Jason had a second stone pendant, hexagonal in shape, and good for some of the same purposes. He used the unnoticeable charm to roam all over campus, lurking, as he called it, while his glamours convinced the school administrators he was holed up in his room. He spent much of his time in the library, studying the attack charms and sorceries Leicester had collected for the alumni.

  Seph never knew when Jason would be waiting outside his door in the morning, or touch him on the shoulder as he crossed the campus. “Unnoticeable is better than invisible,” Jason pointed out. “It acts on the observer and not the observed. Ergo, unnoticeable doesn’t leave footprints.”

  And so, the unnoticeable charm was the second charm Jason taught him, so they could sneak back to his basement room. Jason cautioned Seph to speak the charm out of sight of the ubiquitous cameras. Seph was already known to have a habit of walking in the woods. He would walk a distance into the forest, in a different direction every time, speak the charm, and then walk back to the Alumni House.

  They generally met in Jason’s room where he kept notes and papers on his research as well as books of charms. Jason seemed almost as hungry for companionship as Seph, since he didn’t go to classes and didn’t interact with either the alumni or the Anaweir. He lived life in the shadows—studying wizardry as best he could out of books, and spying on Leicester and his coconspirators.

  Seph had no interest in going to war against anyone. He knew that once the distractions of the holidays were over, Leicester would turn his full attention back to Seph. Although he felt stronger after only a week of uninterrupted sleep, he worried about his ability to hide it from the headmaster.

  Students trickled back during the last weekend of winter break. At the end of fall term, Seph had felt himself sliding into the abyss. Now he was eager to see Trevor, wondering if his friend had contacted Sloane’s and what the response had been. Though he checked his room several times, Trevor still hadn’t arrived by late Sunday night.

  A message had gone out over the intranet that there would be a student assembly in the auditorium of the art and music building early in the morning on the first day of the term. So Monday morning, Seph knocked at Trevor’s door just before eight o’clock to see if he wanted to walk over to the assembly together. Still no answer. Probably already gone, afraid he’ll be late, Seph thought as he slogged through the snow to the art building.

  The auditorium was nearly full when Seph arrived, so he sat in the back. The hall reverberated with voices grumbling about being back at school, exchanging stories about the winter holidays. Seph nodded to Troy and Harrison, who were sitting toward the middle. Even Jason slipped into the room at the last minute, taking a seat close to the door.

  Gregory Leicester mounted the stage at the front and called for quiet. He looked out over the students, as if mapping the faces in the crowd. Seph thought the headmaster had picked him out before he started speaking. He wondered if he’d noticed Jason in the back.

  “This morning I must welcome you back to the Havens on a sad note. I regret to inform you that we’ve lost one of our students in a tragic episode over winter break.”

  Seph knew who it was before the words were spoken. He wanted to run from the room before he heard, but it was as if he were bolted to his chair.

  “Trevor Hill took his own life while he was home for the holidays.” Leicester paused. “Trevor was a boy with a great future ahead of him. He was a junior, an honor student, and a Havens success story. He was especially known for his generosity of spirit, for his willingness to help others without regard for his own safety.” Leicester’s gaze settled on Seph.

  “We cannot know what was in his mind at the time of his death. But his passing represents a great loss to the school and to all of his many friends. Let’s all observe a moment of silence in memory of Trevor Hill.”

  A hush fell over the auditorium. Some of the students closed their eyes; others stared at each other, stunned. Seph slumped in his seat, eyes wide open, watching the man in the front of the room.

  After a moment, Leicester spoke again. “We sent a floral arrangement on behalf of the faculty and students. We also have contact information for those who would like to send a card or letter to the family. Thank you for coming.” And then Leicester was gone out the side door.

  Seph sat without moving as the rest of the students shuffled out. A series of disconnected scenes ran through his head like an endlessly repeating video. He half hoped he would wake up to find that it was all a dream.

  He recalled the last time he saw Trevor in his room, before he left for the holidays:Trevor offering to contact Sloane’s from his parents’ house, and Seph agreeing. Then Jason telling him that all the student rooms were wired by the administration. Finally, the night at the amphitheater, pulling the gold chain and pendant from the remains of the fire. Now Seph knew where he had seen it before.

  He pushed himself up out of his seat and forced his way through the small knots of students who still lingered in the back of the auditorium, buzzing with scandal and voyeuristic grief. He went outside and headed for the administration building at a trot, his boots crunching in the snow, his breath pluming in the clear air.

  He was just passing the Alumni House when someone reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him into a doorway.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” It was Jason, of course—unnoticeable Jason.

  “Leave me alone.” Seph tried to rip his arm free.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To see Leicester.” Seph struck out at the air, but it seemed that Jason had more than his share of arms and legs. It was like fighting an invisible octopus.

  “No, you’re not, and you’d better chill out or I’ll spell you.”

  Seph stopped struggling.

  “Now come downstairs where we can talk.” Jason kept a tight grip on Seph’s arm, maneuvering him into the stairwell.

  Once in his room, Jason rematerialized. “Sit down,” he commanded. Seph subsided into a chair, gauging the distance to the door, trying to figure out how he could get past Jason.

  “Now tell me,” Jason said, planting himself in the way.

  “Leicester killed Trevor Hill because he was goin
g to try to reach my guardian. It’s all my fault.” Seph trembled with rage and remorse.

  Jason tilted his head to one side. “Why would your headmaster kill someone for contacting your guardian?”

  “You of all people should know why.”

  Jason leaned forward and put both hands on Seph’s shoulders, his blue eyes blazing. “You go into Leicester’s office with a bunch of accusations, and the first thing he’s going to think is,‘What’s happened to Clueless? Who’s he been talking to? Couldn’t be Jason Haley, could it?’”

  Seph tried to look away, but Jason kept his grip on him. “And let’s say you confront Leicester, and you find out your theory is true? What exactly are you going to do about it?” Seph said nothing. “Don’t you see? Every piece of information you give him is a weapon. And there’s nothing you can do to him. Nothing.” Jason released Seph and stepped back.

  “You don’t understand. Trevor tried to help me, and now he’s dead.” Images came back to him: Maia’s flesh disintegrating under his touch. Trevor’s scorched amulet amid the ashes at the amphitheater.

  Jason dropped into a chair and closed his eyes. “If you’re asking me if I think Leicester would do it, I’d say yes, in a heartbeat. And for less of a reason, too. He’d do it because Trevor was your friend and supported you while Leicester was trying to make you crazy.” Jason shook himself, as if trying to dislodge a memory. “Haven’t you wondered why I don’t hang out with the other students? Don’t you think I’m tired of being alone all the time?”

  He released a breath, a long, wounded sound. “It’s because Leicester can get to you through them. I talked Sam and Peter into going up against him. Now Sam is dead, and Peter . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “You’re scared of him.”

  “You’re damn right I am, and you should be, too. The Anaweir are so damned fragile.” He gripped the arms of the chair as if holding himself in his seat.

  “Last spring I complained to my father about this place. I bitched so much he decided to investigate. He called Dr. Leicester, asking questions, even came out for a visit, but didn’t learn much. Everyone here was happy except me, blah, blah, blah. Still, Dad promised he would talk to a couple of psychotherapists, figure out if what was going on here was legitimate. Within a month, and before he could get very far with it, he died of a heart attack.”

  “You think Leicester had something to do with it?”

  Jason waved his hand impatiently. “Leicester has never taken any pains to deceive me about what he is, because I already knew too much when I got here. On the day my father died, Leicester called me into his office, and told me when and how and where it would happen. Then he made me sit there until the call came.”

  “My God.” Seph swallowed down the sick that rose in his throat.

  “He thought he’d found the way to break me. And it almost did, because I knew it was my fault.” Jason closed his eyes again, and Seph could see tears collecting at the corners. “If I hadn’t been such a jerk when my dad remarried, I wouldn’t have ended up here. If I hadn’t complained about it to my father, he’d be alive today.”

  “How can you think it was your fault?” Seph whispered. “Leicester is a monster.”

  “If I don’t get to blame myself, then you don’t, either. But I think you can see that if anyone has a reason to go after Leicester, it’s me.”

  “I didn’t know,” Seph said quietly. “How can you stand it?”

  “I can stand it because I know I’ll find a way to get Leicester and D’Orsay in the end. I’ll do it or die trying. I’ve stayed here because I need to learn enough to do it. And then I’ll join up with someone powerful enough and organized enough to help me. Right now, that looks like the Dragon, if I can find him.”

  He looked up at Seph. “Leicester enjoys inflicting pain on people. I’ve been a source of entertainment for him. He thinks he’ll have me in the end. He can take his time. I’m an orphan like you. Nobody cares what happens to me.

  “Just stay away from him. At least, you can tell yourself you’re not sure about Trevor, because you aren’t. If you can’t do anything about it, it’s better not to know.”

  Jason unfolded from his chair and began pacing, a cat in the small cage of the room. He could never stay still for long. “If Trevor was killed because he was going to talk to your guardian, then Leicester didn’t want that to happen. I bet the whole story about them committing you is bogus, and Leicester is worried about what might happen if you contact Sloane’s. So maybe Sloane’s is your key to getting out.”

  With the death of Trevor Hill, the old guilt returned. Trevor had found a way to survive at the Havens until Seph had come along. Even though he was Anaweir, he’d risked everything for Seph. Now Seph’s nightmares were mostly about Trevor.

  Along with the guilt came a hatred for Leicester that smoked and smoldered under his breastbone like a deep mine fire. He began wearing Trevor’s pendant, along with the portal stone and Maia’s cross. Images of revenge alternated with dreams of escape.

  Seph took his lead from Jason and kept his distance from the other students. Sometimes he ate lunch with Troy, Harrison, James, and some of the others, but he never accepted their invitations to play racquetball, or tennis, or to go up to the movies in the auditorium. He spent his free time in his room, reading, or roaming the campus by himself.

  Seph did his best to project the image of one whose hold on reality is tenuous. He let his appearance go. His hair grew long and curly for lack of cutting, and he rarely combed it. He still hallucinated during the day, checking in and out without warning. Sometimes whole chunks of time went missing.

  He mumbled to himself in the hallways, flinched away from phantoms, and sat through classes as if in a trance. Some of the other students seemed to regard him as they might a fly caught in a dangerous web. Get too close and you might become entangled yourself. So they left him strictly alone.

  On the other hand, the alumni continued to take an unwelcome interest in Seph. Now it seemed that everywhere he went, Warren Barber turned up, offering help with homework, music downloads, pills and peppermint schnapps and potent South American weed that might settle Seph’s nerves. Bruce Hays and Aaron Hanlon invited him to eat with them in the alumni dining room, and to work out in the fitness center in the basement. On Leicester’s orders, no doubt.

  Seph went, hoping to glean information that might prove useful. But the alumni were more resistant to mind magic than the Anaweir.

  Now that he knew the stakes in the game they were playing, Seph was extraordinarily careful about using magic in the open. He kept his distance from Leicester for fear the headmaster would see the truth in his eyes. He and Jason spent as much time as possible in the alumni library. Jason tapped volumes of notes into a tiny electronic organizer, while Seph used his knowledge of Latin to decipher the Middle English manuscripts.

  They spent hours trying out incantations in the hidden corners of campus, mostly attack charms and charms of protection and influence. As Seph became more self-aware, he emitted fewer “sparks,” as Jason called them, that is, unintentional releases of power. When Seph noticed the magical tension building up in his body, he found ways to use or dissipate it.

  Jason proved to be reckless, a risk taker when it came to magical experiments. He would launch powerful combinations of charms without a clear notion of the consequences. Sometimes Seph wondered if he had a death wish.

  Seph tried to fit the concept of magic into math and physics: the teleology that he had always taken as the truth. As far as he could tell, physical magic was most useful in generating energy: light and heat and air currents, the movement of molecules that were loosely packed to begin with.

  The other important role of magic was in influencing others. As Jason said: the Anaweir had little protection against wizards in that regard.

  “Anaweir women can’t resist wizards,” he said. “All that barely controlled power. They can sense it, you know. The touch of a wizard drives women
wild. That kind of direct physical magic is called persuasion.” He grinned and laced his fingers behind his head. “It can get very complicated.” Jason apparently thrived on those kinds of complications.

  Seph thought of the way girls responded to his touch, the power that spilled from his fingers. He hadn’t used it inappropriately—had he?

  He was more comfortable with spoken charms, because he could better control the outcome. Seph loved the cadence of magical language. He rolled the ancient charms off his tongue, conjuring words from the ancient magi. Sometimes the words came from within, like a spring bubbling up from a deeper pool. He had never been more convinced of the power of language, the leap from symbol to reality.

  He noticed Jason watching him as he drew the spells off the page and spun them out, like shimmering flames in the air. “You really have a gift, Seph,” Jason said once. “You’re more powerful than I’ll ever be. If you could find a teacher, I bet you could blow Leicester away.”

  Jason’s strength lay in the area of glamours: deceptive images and visions that carried no firepower, save their ability to confuse, distract, startle, and scare. And that was enough. Sometimes, out in the woods, Seph would walk into one of Jason Haley’s fever dreams. He’d encounter a gryphon grazing on ferns or a satyr or a phoenix perched in the branches of an oak, or a great ship sailing through the trees crewed by impossibly beautiful mermaids.

  Seph asked about Weirbooks.

  “You have one somewhere,” Jason said. “It was created by the Sorcerers’ Guild when you were born, and it can’t be destroyed. If you could find it, it would tell you all you want to know about your family.

  Jason showed Seph his own Weirbook. Jason’s name was recorded on the last page, along with his parents and grandparents. The genealogy went back to the tenth century. He kept it locked up, protected by a series of complicated charms. “You don’t want your Weirbook to fall into your enemies’ hands. Then they have your history, and they know your weaknesses and strengths.”