Heirs of Destiny Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  Evren rushed into the temple and once again found himself in the rectangular, featureless stone chamber where he and the others had collapsed after their desperate flight. But a door stood open on the far wall, revealing a narrow corridor that led deeper into the temple.

  The Secret Keeper thrust a finger down the tunnel, but made no move toward the entrance. Evren took that to mean he was to proceed alone. With a nod, he hurried down the passage.

  No lamps or lanterns lighted his way; instead, glowing gemstones were set into the walls at precise intervals. The Secret Keepers were alchemists, first and foremost, seekers into the hidden arts, sciences, and magics both arcane and modern. Evren didn’t know which these lights were—all he knew was that they filled the hall with a dim, almost eerie luminescence. The bare stone walls, floors, and ceilings seemed almost inhumanly sparse, as if carved by a hand too precise and ordered to be human.

  The passage ended at a blank stone wall, which slid open in silence at his approach. Relief surged within Evren as he caught sight of Hailen sitting at the desk, hunched over Arch-Guardian Suroth’s journal, with Briana by his side.

  Hailen looked up first. “Evren!” A cheerful smile broadened his face. “You’re back.”

  “I am.” Evren returned the grin. Always the master of the obvious, Hailen is.

  “Good to see you,” Briana said.

  The warmth in her voice caught Evren off-guard, and there was a sparkle in the eyes she fixed on him. “Thanks.”

  One look at the sparse chamber explained her reaction. Evren guessed she and Hailen had been alone in the room since Aisha left—whenever that had been. Nearly an entire day had passed since he, Kodyn, and Issa had departed to rescue Killian. Hours alone with Hailen trapped in this room of blank stone would be enough to make anyone happy to see another human being.

  The walls bore no decorations, but were as smooth and featureless as the hall he’d just traveled. A desk, two chairs, and twin beds with straw-tick mattresses served as the room’s only furniture. A single patch of color broke the monotony of the room. Someone had brought in a handful of flowerpots, filled with an assortment of blue, violent, red, yellow, orange, and white flowers.

  Atop the desk, Evren caught sight of ink-covered parchments, a quill pen, and an inkpot. Beside it, a pestle and mortar amidst an assortment of glass jars, tubes, and other alchemical tools he’d seen in Graeme’s workshop but had no idea what purpose they served.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. Making a mess, by the looks of things, though he’d spent enough time around the Hunter’s alchemist friend in Voramis to recognize the ordered chaos of some sort of experiment.

  Briana followed his gaze. “Oh, that?” She exchanged a glance with Hailen before responding. “Just a project…for Aisha.”

  Evren cocked an eyebrow. Hailen and Briana, keeping secrets? His eyes drilled into Hailen, and the younger boy looked away quickly. Whatever it is that she’s doing, it must be something Aisha doesn’t want me to know about. He pushed the thought aside. He could worry about this particular secret later—he knew how to drag information out of Hailen well enough—but right now, he needed to focus on the real reason he’d come.

  “I know you’re doing important work,” he told Briana, gesturing toward Arch-Guardian Suroth’s journal and the Serenii artifacts that lay strewn around the simple desk. “But right now, there’s a real problem, one that we need the Secret Keepers’ help with.”

  “Problem?” Briana tilted her head, questioning. “What sort of problem?”

  “The Azure Rot.” Evren’s gut tightened at the memory of the dead Mumblers. “It’s…changed somehow. Gotten worse. It’s killing people in minutes and hours rather than days and weeks.”

  Briana’s eyebrows flew wide. “What?”

  Evren quickly recounted the details of Undon’s death in the forge and his visit with Killian to the safe house on the Slave’s Tier. Acid once again surged to his throat; the bloodstained, pale, and blue-blistered faces of those boys haunted him.

  “Killian’s going to the Trouveres and the Ministrants, but I thought that the Secret Keepers might be able to help.” It was a desperate gamble, now that he thought about it. He had no idea what manner of secrets the Mistress’ priests dedicated their lives to uncovering. Yet, given the dire nature of the plague and its rapid progression, he had to take the risk. “I need to talk to whoever’s in charge and see if they have any information that can help us figure out what’s going on.”

  “Of course!” Briana leapt to her feet. “I’m certain my father would have set at least a few Secret Keepers to studying the plague and learning its secrets. Even if they don’t have a cure, they might have information that, combined with what Killian learns from the other priest, could help solve the problem.”

  She strode over to the wall opposite the door and reached toward the glowing red gemstone set into the stone. It clicked into place easily, then popped out when she removed her hand. Mere seconds later, what appeared to be a solid stone wall slid open.

  Whoa! Evren barely hid his flinch and keep his hands from his weapons. His mistrust of the temple ratcheted up significantly as he scanned the room. How many more of these walls lead into hidden passages?

  A Secret Keeper entered the chamber and shot Briana a questioning glance.

  “We need to speak to Guardian Ennolar, Uryan, and anyone else that can see us.” Briana’s voice took on a commanding tone. “As quickly as possible. It’s a matter of life or death.”

  The Secret Keeper’s fingers flashed for a moment before he bowed, turned, and strode from the room.

  Evren turned a relieved smile on Briana. “Thank you!” He’d hoped that she would be willing to help him, yet hadn’t been certain she would. She had her own problems to deal with: the Gatherers hunting her, the Necroseti she believed had played a role in her father’s death, and the secrets of her father’s journal—secrets that would help Hailen understand his Melechha abilities, the gift of his Serenii ancestors. Yet finding her so willing to aid him in this matter filled him with a deep-rooted warmth and gratitude.

  “Of course.” Briana’s smile was warm, friendly. “After all you’ve done to help me, I owe you. And you’re doing it to save my city. It’s the least I can do.”

  Behind Briana, a sly smile spread across Hailen’s face. Evren didn’t understand the expression, but wrote it off as another of Hailen’s little quirks.

  Just then, the same wall slid open, causing Evren to spin around again. This time, his hand actually gripped the hilt of his dagger before he caught himself. The same Secret Keeper returned, an apologetic expression on his face as his fingers flashed.

  “You’re sure?” Briana’s tone was barely above a growl. “The longer this waits, the more—” She fell silent as the Secret Keeper’s hands moved again. Finally, she threw up her hands with a grunt. “Fine. But the minute they’re available, I must speak to them!”

  The priest gave her a stiff bow from the waist and retreated from the room.

  Before the wall had slid fully shut behind the departing man, Evren turned to Briana with a questioning look. “Good news, I take it?”

  Briana scowled. “The Guardians are all in the Palace of Golden Eternity for a meeting with the Pharus and Lady Callista. Ennolar is being elected to the Keeper’s Council in my father’s place.”

  “Damn it!” Evren slammed a hand onto the desk. “When will they be back?”

  “Hours,” Briana replied with a shake of her head. “Millivan predicted well after midnight.”

  Evren’s mind raced as he tried to imagine how many people would die by the time the Secret Keepers returned. The plague had killed twenty of Killian’s Mumblers in just a few hours. Let’s just hope Killian gets the Trouveres to deal with those bodies as soon as possible before things get worse. The death toll could rise to the hundreds if the miasma from the corpses spread.

  Briana took a step closer and laid a hand on his arm. “I promise that we will speak to
them as soon as we can.” Confidence echoed in her voice. “And I will make sure they understand how dire the situation is.”

  Evren nodded, but found himself unable to form words, his mouth unusually dry. He was keenly aware of Briana’s hand on his arm, her skin soft and warm. She was shorter than him and wore a simple white-and-blue Zadii shendyt that highlighted the curves of her petite form. Her long hair hung in glossy curls to frame her oval-shaped face with its arrow-straight nose and full lips. The black dots on her cheeks and the thick bands of kohl rimming her eyes accentuated the dark color of her almond eyes, the golden color of her skin.

  It was as if he saw her for the first time—not the imperious Dhukari, daughter of the man Evren pretended to serve, but a woman his own age standing very, very close to him.

  Again, a sly grin spread across Hailen’s face, though he ducked his head and tried to pretend he was studying the book.

  Evren finally managed to stammer out. “Th-Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Briana gave him that dazzling smile once more.

  Disappointment surged within Evren as Briana removed her hand and returned to the desk. He found he wanted to talk more with the girl, if only to see that smile again.

  “What are you working on, Hailen?” He moved around to stand beside Briana—taking care not to invade the girl’s personal space, yet close enough that he could still smell the scent of her lilac perfume.

  Hailen shot him a knowing glance and tapped a finger on the book. “We’ve just gotten to the part of the journal where Suroth gets into the vault’s mechanisms.”

  “Really?” Hope surged within Evren. He’d come to Shalandra to steal the Blade of Hallar, an ancient relic stored in the Vault of Ancients. The closest he’d gotten to the blade was the palace courtyard. Yet he knew that Kodyn had obtained a map that would get them into the palace, and Briana could lead them to the Vault of Ancients. Once they deciphered Suroth’s code and learned the secrets of the vault’s security measures, they would be ready for when the Serenii-designed vault opened in two weeks.

  Let’s just hope that’s enough time!

  Hailen and Briana’s presence in the Temple of Whispers could prove a stroke of good fortune. Without any distractions from the outside world, they could bend their attention to learning all the secrets in Suroth’s journal. A flutter of excitement ran through Evren’s stomach. This might just work out!

  Yet the secrets of the Serenii-built Vault of Ancients would mean nothing if this new Azure Rot killed them first. The sun had just set an hour earlier—the idea of waiting until midnight and doing nothing grated on him.

  So what do I do now? He could go back out, try to hit the streets to find more answers, but that might prove a waste of energy. Right now, everything he needed was right here in the Temple of Whispers. Hailen was safe. Briana had promised to help him speak to the Secret Keepers once they returned. He had a few hours to kill. The best thing to do would be to learn the one thing that would further the mission that had originally brought him to Shalandra.

  “Did Kodyn leave that map of the Serenii tunnels?” he asked Briana.

  Briana straightened and scanned the room. “There!” She pointed to a leather scroll case that lay on one of the two beds.

  “Thanks.” Evren hurried toward the bed and snatched up the case. Popping open the top, he pulled out the rolled-up papyrus parchment and flattened it across the thin blankets.

  He sucked in a breath as he saw the labyrinthine network of underground paths. It bore only a few crude markings to help him get his bearings. He didn’t know if it was to scale or simply drawn by an artist with a creative mind.

  Looks an awful lot like the Serenii passages beneath Voramis, he thought.

  According to the Hunter, the Serenii had loved their secret ways. It made perfect sense that they would build this honeycomb maze of corridors beneath the city—though why they’d done it, only the ancient race would ever know.

  Yet, excitement burned like a warm glow in his chest as he saw the tunnels that led north, toward the Palace of Golden Eternity.

  Each of those led him closer to completing his mission. By retrieving the Blade of Hallar, he would prove himself to the Hunter and Kiara—his mentors and, to some extent, adoptive guardians. They would see that he was capable enough to join them in their quest to save the world from the Great Devourer.

  But none of that would happen if he didn’t somehow figure out the tangled-looking mess of passages that connected every corner of Shalandra.

  Aside from the lines marking the passages, someone had added neat handwritten notes into the margin of the parchment. “The gates are in the walls,” the words read. “Two and center. The mark of the ancients guides your steps.”

  The handwriting was Briana’s, neat, precise, and tidy—a far cry from Evren’s own crude scrawl. The first fragment coincided with what the map depicted: many of the entrances appeared to be set within the walls dividing the tiers. Yet the second two snippets made no sense that he could understand.

  What the hell does “two and center” mean? And what exactly is the mark of the ancients? His mind flashed back to his journey with the Hunter into the Empty Mountains. They had gone in search of the Lost City of Enarium, their only guide a series of riddles and clues hidden in the erotic poetry of the mad poet Karannos Taivoro. Only sheer luck had enabled them to decipher the meaning and open the way.

  Maybe Briana knows the answer.

  He looked up to ask her if she understood their meaning, only to find her once more bent in concentration over her study.

  I can ask her later when she’s not so busy, he decided.

  He committed the nonsensical words to memory even if he didn’t understand their meaning. As he’d learned over the course of his life, even the most seemingly inconsequential thing could make the difference between life and death.

  Once he had the words fixed in his mind, he returned to studying the map itself. Kodyn had made a few notations to mark the outlines of the five tiers, as well as the three north-to-south-running avenues of Death Row, Trader’s Way, and the Path of Sepulture. The sketched outline was rough, difficult to understand, and lacked precision, but at least it gave Evren a general idea of where in Shalandra he’d find the passages.

  Yet, the real challenge came in memorizing each twist and turn of the passageways themselves. Too many led to dead ends and decoys—doubtless intended to confuse unwary intruders. Within half an hour, Evren’s head ached from trying to decipher the complex layout of the tunnels.

  Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to focus. I’m going to learn to navigate these passages, even if it takes me every spare hour.

  When the Vault of Ancients opened, he would be there, no matter what. There wasn’t an army of Gatherers, Ybrazhe, Indomitables, or Keeper’s Blades large enough to stop him.

  Chapter Seven

  The spark of Thimara’s life within the pendant flared bright as Aisha hurried away from the Temple of Whispers. Aisha could feel the woman’s desire to return to the temple and remain close to Uryan, the stern-faced Secret Keeper that had meant something—mother, sister, lover, friend—to Thimara before her death.

  Yet that wasn’t the only desire that burned bright. Somehow, the stone relic had changed the way Aisha sensed and communicated with the Kish’aa. The stone served as a storehouse for the power, at the same time sharpening her focus and giving her clarity of thought when speaking with Thimara.

  “Vengeance,” the woman whispered in her mind.

  Aisha’s heart sank. Not this again!

  Since the night Aisha absorbed Thimara’s spirit, the Secret Keeper had begged for vengeance. Yet Aisha couldn’t understand who she wanted vengeance against. Unlike Eldesse and Osirath, Briana’s faithful servants, Thimara hadn’t been murdered. The woman had died of the Azure Rot. There could be no vengeance against disease.

  Yet, a glimmer of hope shone within Aisha. There was still so much she didn’t understand about her Um
oyahlebe gift, yet she knew where to find someone who could give her answers.

  A shaman. The word filled Aisha with exhilaration. A Spirit Whisperer, here in Shalandra!

  Her father had spoken of the City of the Dead with the same reverence that southerners spoke of the Serenii city of Enarium or the sunken continent of Aegeos. But there had also been a hint of familiarity in his voice, as if he had known what awaited her in Shalandra.

  To her knowledge, her father had never left their village during her lifetime. Yet perhaps he had journeyed to Shalandra before her birth, when he’d first discovered his Umoyahlebe powers. Or, perhaps he had simply heard of the City of the Dead from other Spirit Whisperers that traveled before him.

  There existed a chance that the man she went to see would be nothing more than a charlatan. Aisha had encountered enough hucksters during her years in Praamis to know that men and women would do and say anything to earn a living. Hunger, thirst, cold, and fear of death drove people to extreme measures. This man could be nothing more than a Ghandian who claimed to be a Spirit Whisperer.

  There’s only one way to find out.

  She found her steps quickening, an urgency humming within her as she hurried westward toward the Path of Sepulture. The broad avenue ran along the western edge of Shalandra, just outside of the Keeper’s Crypts. It would be the quickest way to reach the Foreign Quarter, located on the western side of the Cultivator’s Tier.

  But that meant approaching the tombs built into the side of the mountain. Aisha’s gut tightened as the blue-white light of the Kish’aa filled the late afternoon with a brilliant glow. Hundreds of spirits clustered around the entrance to the tombs, with thousands more within. All of them had died before their time—some murdered, some dead by their own hands, many laid low by disease or starvation—and the spark of their lives still burned bright. Now, their lifeless eyes turned toward her, pleading, begging, swirling like bright smoke carried on the afternoon breeze.