Legacy First Trilogy Box Set: Books 1-3 of the Legacy Series

by Ryan Attard

  Amaymon, now back in his cat form, shook his little feline head slightly. “So, that gives us nothing.”

  “Not precisely,” Sun Tzu replied. “Erik’s father did mention an artifact or a god hidden beneath the mansion. Have you looked into that?”

  “I have. We have,” I corrected myself. “I even had Amaymon check the entire foundation of the house for anything out of the ordinary back when Gil decided to renovate.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing there,” Amaymon replied. “Just dirt and a whole bunch of critters.”

  I nodded. “Dad was insane. He imagined crap that wasn’t there. That’s what crazy people do.”

  Sun Tzu nodded. “I understand. But do not dismiss this story. Your past is directly tied to the events we are experiencing today.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  “I do not know how,” he replied. “It is not in my nature to ask how. In my world things simply are, and neither reason nor justification is required.”

  “Must be some world,” Amaymon muttered.

  “It’s the same as yours, my friend,” Sun Tzu replied. “Only you are both too blind to see it for what it really is.”

  “Oh. Right. That.” Amaymon made a growling sound. “What did you say you were again?”

  “I did not say.”

  “You Asians. Can’t talk straight, can’t drive straight.”

  “Hey, guys,” I interjected. “Can we stop the supernatural cat fight?”

  “Pun intended,” Amaymon added.

  “Very well, Erik. You have my attention,” Sun Tzu said. “You may continue your story.”

  I was about to, but stopped. I knew what was coming next.

  Him.

  I was going to divulge my history with the one man I considered a father, a mentor and a true inspiration. He was a good man, a decent person. And I had never told anyone about him.

  “Check up on Abi first,” I asked Sun Tzu. Truth be told, I was stalling for time—just enough time to drown all emotions in burning alcoholic liquids.

  Sun Tzu decided to humor me. “She is progressing well.”

  “Any injuries?”

  “Nothing physical. But I think she will have a bad migraine tomorrow.”

  “How so?” I asked. “What’s that monkey doing to her?”

  “Oh, nothing much,” Sun Tzu relied placidly. “Sun Wo Kung seems to enjoy riddles.”

  “Riddles?” I felt my face twist into a frown.

  Riddles? When I obtained my channel, the Jinn made me feel like garbage. It was a miracle I didn’t start cutting myself after the depression it gave me.

  Sun Tzu placed his fingertips together. “Abigail and the Monkey King have a lot in common, hence they are highly compatible. Both of their natures dominate the mind rather than matter.”

  “Doesn’t all magic require the mind?” I counter-argued.

  “Well, yes, from a human perspective. But there are different categories of magic, and theirs is the mind. The psyche, if you will.” Sun Tzu exhaled and closed his eyes. He looked very tired and very old. “Your apprentice is a succubus, but also a witch. That means she has dominion over sensory magic. The Monkey King is a known trickster, specializing in perception alteration and glamouring. They are a perfect complement to each other’s powers. Not every battle involves hitting, Erik.”

  “Just as long as she’s not in danger.”

  “There is danger, Erik,” Sun Tzu replied. “There is always danger. But your apprentice is more powerful than you wish to admit.”

  “Maybe.” Damned old man. Can old people read minds or something?

  “Now,” he continued, “if you are done displacing your worries, my friend, I would be interested in hearing the rest of the story.” He poured more booze into my glass.

  I took a swig, steeled myself, and resumed the story.

  Chapter 30

  Approximately 8 years ago

  So, where is a sixteen-year-old runaway supposed to go?

  Eureka had served as my only connection to the real world since I was a kid. We went to school there, and sometimes we were allowed to accompany Mephisto whenever he went to town under orders. As I entered adolescence, Eureka was the closest thing to civilization I knew.

  It was my best bet to connect back to society. I had a lot of firsts in that town. There, Gil and I managed to sneak inside a bar last year. Whenever I snuck out for a bit of nightlife, I went there. Hell, I even got laid for the first time in that town.

  So when I ran, I found myself running towards the only place I knew besides the forest.

  But the world is not kind to runaways.

  I looked like a hobo. Well, I guess I was one.

  I spent the first month or so just living off the forest, foraging like a Neanderthal. I suppose I subconsciously drifted back into civilization and got spat out in Eureka. My clothes were decrepit and decayed in some places. I hadn’t bathed in days, and I had signs of forest life on me. What that meant was that I was covered in leaves and sap, not to mention animal droppings.

  My sole possession was Djinn, which I wrapped in a blanket I found lying around. At least I had something other than leaves and dirt to sleep on at night.

  In that state, I wandered into the city, wondering how to survive the next day. It was early evening and I saw a convenience store manager shutting down his store.

  It was an opportunity not to starve. I took it.

  I waited until the guy left and made my move. With Djinn, I made quick work of the shutter door and cameras. I had enough mud and dirt on my face that even with facial recognition software my features would be too obscure. Besides, who was going to believe that video—some wild kid with a glowing blue sword and then a flash of bright light? Anyone who wanted to remain out of an insane asylum would chalk it up to a technical malfunction and move on with their life.

  I grabbed all I could and stuffed it in one of those handheld baskets. Anything edible within the first three aisles got dumped into the basket. I was on my way out when I saw the beverage display. Water was essential—the Jack Daniels was not.

  Still, it went in the basket. If anyone had a reason to drink, it was me. Maybe I would blackout and never wake up. Maybe then I could forget.

  I slumped down in a corner inside the first alleyway I found without any homeless people sheltered in it. I sat down, having nothing else to do, and took another swig from the bottle. The amber liquid burned my throat, and for a few seconds my attention was on the booze cascading into my system rather than the despair over becoming a street urchin.

  So, that’s what depression felt like—a constant, endless stream of consciousness that would eventually lead to death.

  Only, I couldn’t die.

  I let my eyes shift through my surroundings, taking note of every detail on the buildings around me.

  I saw it just two blocks down: a clinic, or so said the sign. It was dimly lit and most of the street was dead. I couldn’t see the moon from where I was, but the street lamps shed enough light for me to examine it.

  Thoughts went wild in my head. Should I rob that, too? Surely there must be valuable stuff in there. I could sell the meds on the black market, if I could ever find a buyer. Or—and this scared the living hell out of me—I could just pop every pill I found and hope it killed me once and for all.

  I saw a couple emerge from the building. The man had his arm in a sling, with his wife holding him steady. Judging by the way he walked, it was clear the poor guy was still feeling woozy from the anesthetic. I got a better look at them.

  The woman was smiling and saying something, probably words of encouragement, or perhaps something to take his mind off the procedure he just had. The injury must not have been serious. Either that, or clinics were really short on space. I saw a nurse peek outside at them; so nice to find a worker who genuinely cares for her patients.

  “Take care of yourself, Mr. Landis,” I heard her say.

  The man muttered something
and the woman relayed a thank you. She draped an arm around her husband.

  “Come on, Collin. Let’s get you home.”

  The scene nearly broke my heart. Why the fuck weren’t my parents like that?

  My thoughts went from one crime to another, and soon a plan formed in my head. They must have paid the clinic, so there must be money inside the building. I could always overpower the staff inside. Perhaps even throw a couple of magic shots, just to make sure.

  I threw myself against the wall, slamming the back of my head. What was I thinking? Was I really going to use my skills—skills meant to hunt down monsters—to rob some small-time clinic?

  Was I really going to use magic against the sick and injured and the people who wanted to help them?

  I crouched down, hugging the sword and the bottle. I broke down in tears and wanted nothing more than to die.

  I was truly a monster, just like my father. I was just like him, harming innocents just to eat.

  The bottle went flying. Glass exploded, showering me with bourbon.

  I deserved to die—monsters deserved to die. I killed people, like my father, who were monsters. Now I had become one.

  Where was my killer?

  I didn’t notice it at first, but soon my senses picked up on it. The wall opposite me darkened and my body shivered in the sudden cold. It emerged like a shadow, slowly solidifying into a living nightmare.

  It was a humanoid dressed in a tattered cloak of darkness from head to toe, hiding all of its features except for a set of three large claws, each the size of Djinn, emerging from each sleeve. Mist gathered as it exhaled. The creature took its first step towards me and I heard chains rattle. I could hear its rasped breathing and saw moisture glinting on the cloak as the creature salivated from its wide mouth. Each breath held a low whistle to it, like the wail of some far away creature.

  My body shook in fear. I had never seen one of them but remembered reading about them, because they featured in a lot of my nightmares.

  A wraith, a phantasm born out of hatred, fear and sadness.

  Wraiths were rare enough for most wizards to avoid ever seeing one. They were usually found haunting traumatized people, slowly feeding off their negativity and growing stronger. Until they grew strong enough to become real. Then, they used those claws of theirs and devoured their victim one strip at a time, and thus sealing their bodies in reality forever. Once they touched flesh, they became physical creatures.

  And the one before me was very real.

  I forced my head to turn towards the clinic. All that pain must have called the wraith.

  Something glinted off the sidewalk—blood. I saw their bodies lying in the shadows, but their clothing confirmed who they were. The old couple, or whatever was left of them, lay dead and ripped apart on the street like road kill. This wraith must have fed off them.

  But what was it doing here, in front of me, instead of at the clinic? Surely there must be a fuller meal there?

  Then it hit me. It wasn’t the suffering at the clinic that had attracted this wraith. Sure, that was where it may have been created, but it would still need a major boost of energy in order to solidify enough to interact with physical objects. The kind of energy that came from extreme emotions.

  Like wanting to kill yourself.

  I realized this wraith had nothing to do with the clinic. I had fed it and made it manifest into reality. I gazed at the tattered bodies—I might as well have killed them myself.

  The wraith inhaled deeply and let out a satisfied exhalation. The wails and rasping of its breath intensified. I heard the rattling of chains as it shifted and raised a hand. The three wicked claws caught the streetlight and cast a macabre shadow over my body.

  I didn’t move. What was the point? Wasn’t this what I wanted? This Wraith was my sadness and fear and anger, all meshed into one monstrosity. Now, it was going to kill me. From where I stood, that was only justice. I prayed for my punisher and it had arrived.

  I closed my eyes and hoped that the damned thing would at least give me a quick death.

  I saw a burst of light and instinctively opened my eyes. The wraith was shrinking, backing up against the wall, seeking refuge in the shadows. But the new apparition offered only light. It moved like water, as if liquid had solidified into a dynamic creature. After my eyes adjusted to the intense luminosity I recognized some features.

  A thin mane along a powerful neck. Four powerful legs that stomped the ground and showered the gravel in sparks. A tail flicking to and fro. A muscular body with a belly like a barrel. A long head with two luminescent eyes on each side and a snout from which the creature whinnied.

  A horse.

  I was looking at a horse shaped from pure white light. It trotted towards the wraith, which had stopped rasping and was just wailing at this point. It took a swipe at the animal with its claws but the appendage simply passed through harmlessly. The horse reared up and trampled the wraith, exploding into a supernova.

  “Ah, that was close.”

  A middle-aged man emerged. His hair was a shaggy mess, gray like the robe he wore. His undershirt was once white, but weather and travel had darkened it. His pants were black and caked with dried mud and dirt. His hiking boots, their original brown color indistinguishable from the mud crusted on it, were worn and old. The man carried a rucksack on one shoulder.

  “Hello,” he said sweetly. His accent was eastern, and as he came closer, I saw his heavily tanned skin and a gray goatee. He extended one hand towards me. “My name is Tenzin.”

  Chapter 31

  I remember waking up in a warehouse. For a moment, the world spun, and when it finally settled down I tried to remember the past few days. It all seemed like a dream—the battle with my father, running away from home, living like Tarzan and slumming in an alleyway like a bum. My eyes wandered down my body and the ragged clothes confirmed this was no dream.

  I heard a noise behind me like the clanking of metal and instinctively rose into a crouch. My hands felt the floor around me, hoping to grasp my magical short sword, but I found nothing. The warehouse door opened a crack and closed again. I heard footsteps and squinted to see who was entering. A lone man walked gingerly with a bundle in one hand. He saw me glaring at him and beamed.

  “Ohayo,” he said. He sat down on a trunk a few feet away from me. “That is Japanese for ‘good morning’.” He motioned me towards him as he set his bundle down.

  “Come, come,” he said. The bundle came undone and inside I saw three fishes, each the size of my forearm. My mouth began watering. It seemed that my diet of one meal a day, consisting of forest life, stolen groceries and whiskey, wasn’t exactly what one would call ‘healthy’.

  The Asian man smiled and picked up one of the fish. He extracted a small penknife and gutted his catch, throwing the remains in an empty rusted can of paint. He picked out a small, straight stick from the rucksack at his feet and skewered the fish. Its cousins suffered the same fate.

  “Breakfast,” he said with a smile. A pencil mustache and goatee stretched along his lips, and his eye folds completely covered his eyes. His messy gray hair was darker than I remembered last night, and I smelled ocean water on him. I heard waves crashing outside, and I guessed this warehouse was somewhere near the docks.

  He placed the fish in a triangle, pinning the tip of the stakes emerging from the tails to the ground, and tied the top of the skewers together in a sort of pyramid.

  “How did you manage to catch those?” I asked. Small talk was better than asking exactly what happened after I fainted yesterday, or why he had chosen to bring me here.

  He placed his hands around the fish-kebab construction. The space on the floor underneath the fish was charred. He whispered something, and fire burst out on the scorched spot. Soon, the place was filled with the heavenly smell of cooking fish.

  “I have my methods,” he replied. The smile never left and his eyes seemed to twinkle. He took a flask from his backpack and handed it over to me. I he
ard the sloshing of liquid inside and uncapped the flask to smell its contents. It was just water. I took a tentative sip and realized just how hungry and thirsty I was.

  “Easy, easy,” he said gently. I lowered the flask and wiped my mouth. “You are dehydrated and malnourished. You must not rush your body when regaining your strength.”

  “You don’t know me,” I murmured.

  “My name is Tenzin,” he said, extending his hand. “After you were attacked yesterday, you lost consciousness, so I brought you here. Feel free to stay until you recover.”

  I wearily shook his hand. “Why?” I asked.

  “Because not enough kindness is shown in this world. So, I have made it my mission to help people wherever Kami-sama sends me.”

  “Who?”

  Tenzin chuckled. “I apologize. I grew up in a Japanese monastery. Kami-sama means God.”

  “So, you’re on a mission from God?” I asked with my eyebrows arched. Just my luck—my savior had to either be a Bible-thumping nut job or a terrorist. “And what exactly are you supposed to be doing?”

  Tenzin’s expression got serious. He clasped his hands together. “I never really stopped to question it. I wander around wherever destiny pulls me. There, I find someone who needs my help, usually from something dangerous.”

  “Like a wraith?”

  Tenzin’s eyes squinted. “So, you are a wizard after all. I had my suspicions but we couldn’t communicate at the time because of your condition. What is your name, my young friend?”

  “Erik.”

  “Well, Erik, how are you feeling? Still feel like killing yourself?”

  I gave him a look. “That’s none of your business.”

  “My apologies,” he replied. “However, I cannot allow you to harm yourself in my presence. It is my duty to preserve life wherever I see it.”

  I scoffed at him. “Another bleeding heart. You don’t know half of what I’ve been through, old man. So, shove off,” I said as aggressively as I could.