A Dark Inheritance Read online

  Inside the castle, the color scheme was gold and blue. The tile was white marble with blue and gold accents, and over that lay soft-looking blue rugs. The headmistress picked a hallway and led Chanta down it. The blue rug was long and stretched the entire way down the very long hall. Lined along the white walls were portraits of various people. Chanta only recognized one; the headmistress. No names were printed below the portraits, so she could not give a name to any of the other faces.

  At the end of the hallway, there was a door. The headmistress pulled out a key to unlock it. Chanta was glad to see that simple things like keys were still used in this place and that not every door just magically swung open. Behind the door was a wide room with a spiraling staircase.

  Great, thought Chanta. Stairs are still a thing, too.

  She followed the headmistress through the door, which clicked shut behind them as the driver followed up on the rear. She wondered why he was still following them. Was he just a lackey of hers? Did they expect her to try something funny? She supposed they would be right to assume that. First of all, they had obviously heard about her possession, and second of all… Well, who wouldn’t try something in a situation like this?

  The headmistress descended down the stairs.

  A piece of Chanta’s hope had fallen just then. She hadn’t even realized she was holding on to hope—and what she was hoping for wasn’t terribly clear, either. For escape? For a place to treat her well? For a life as grand as this castle seemed to be? Or perhaps it was only the demon who had been hoping. But alas, as they descended into the basement, her gut told her none of those things were likely.

  There were a great many stairs to descend—perhaps exaggerated in her mind because of her nerves. It seemed to take too long to reach the basement, but alas, the headmistress finally opened a door. She stepped just inside and ushered Chanta in. Of course, the driver followed not too far behind. The headmistress closed the door, locking it behind her.

  Chanta looked around. The basement seemed very much like… a basement. The sound of their footsteps echoed off of the stone walls, which appeared to be a dark brown, but she couldn’t be sure because there wasn’t a whole lot of light coming in from the small windows. There was a giant space in front of them, and doors lined the walls on either side of that space. Some of those doors, she noted, had locks on them. She wondered what was behind them.

  “I am Headmistress Prisanni,” the woman at her side broke into her thoughts. Chanta turned her attention to her. “This is my school. I am sorry you’re not able to take a full tour of the castle today, it is a glorious place. But you must understand our process here. On the floors above us, there are several hundred students who live here. I have made it my task to train, guide, and care for these students, as I have made it my task to do so with you. I must be sure that no harm can befall those students. You understand that your particular… gift… is of quite the destructive nature.”

  Chanta grimaced and looked away. Of course she was going to go from one locked up room to another. These people didn’t know her, though. Escape might be more likely than it had been at home.

  “Don’t be worried by this place,” she continued, motioning to the basement. “This is not a permanent place. This is the first step of your stay here. Professor Reiter here is one of my best and most knowledgeable professors in this religion, as some might call it.”

  Religion. So it wasn’t science or magic, then. What god would lock her up in a basement for any period of time?

  “He will be your first guide in this journey. You must listen well to what he has to say, for he is very knowledgeable. He will teach you many things about yourself, things you never thought possible. Once this beginning stage has been completed, you will move upstairs to meet your new roommates. From them, mind you, you will learn an equal amount of oddities you have never known about yourself. Your entire stay here will be a learning experience, and I urge you to keep that in mind as you spend your days here. I will leave you to it.”

  With that, Headmistress Prisanni unlocked the door and turned to leave. Chanta watched her, frozen in place, until the door clicked shut and locked behind them. A gulp slid down her throat. She didn’t want to turn and face the man with whom she had just been locked up.

  Yet, she knew she had to.

  Behind her stood a tall, thick figure. His muscles rippled beneath the golden skin of someone who saw the sun on a regular basis. He was a stark contrast to Chanta’s thin figure and pale skin. He had no lines on his face—as if he had never smiled. The stubble on his chin looked at if it had been in need of grooming for a few days, yet it wasn’t unpleasant. It gave him a bit of rugged handsomeness. His dark green eyes were framed by straight, black eyelashes, and his black, wavy hair hung just above his chin. He was good looking, Chanta could not deny that. Perhaps she wouldn’t have minded being locked down there with him, had it not been for the hard-set frown on his face and the way he crossed his arms as he looked down on her.

  He let out a sigh and held a hand out to the open space.

  “This way, then.”

  Far too many emotions had been running through her gut for the past twenty-four hours, but when Professor Reiter let out that sigh, signaling his boredom—well, it finally let Chanta settle on one: cold. She raised one, ungroomed eyebrow, and took a few steps forward, not really knowing where she was going. She made sure to take surefooted steps, sarcastically walking in the general direction he had pointed out, and making it obvious that she was only going to head straight into the wall. She walked with passion and exaggeration as she eyed the wall in front of her, completely ignoring the doors she was walking past.

  She had crossed the room and was nearly about to collide with the wall when she suddenly spun around. She was aghast that he was actually going to let her run straight into the wall.

  Professor Reiter stood at the other end of the basement, his hands crossed over his chest, and his eyebrow raised to match hers. His mouth had softened ever so slightly, apparently amused by her attitude.

  That was not the reaction she had hoped for. She crossed her own arms and stomped her foot like a child.

  “I know nothing of this place,” she told him, her voice raised and echoing off the stone walls. “You tell me to go, and I do, but you do not lead me. Didn’t that woman just tell me that you are supposed to be my guide?”

  Professor Reiter took in a breath as he began to cross the room, arms uncrossed now. He crossed at a much slower pace, explaining as he went.

  “I am to be your guide, it is true,” he said. “But don’t think that I can’t read your attitude. ‘That woman’ is our strong leader. You should show her some respect, just as you should show me. She created this place for people who are lost, just as you are now and just as I once was.”

  Chanta looked at him with contempt. She watched him closely as he stalked toward her, taking his words in with a grain of salt. Given—not ignoring him altogether. She still had not decided if she was going to trust these people or not.

  Professor Reiter stopped short, some ways away from her, and veered left toward one of the unlocked doors. His hand cradled the knob, and he turned to face her.

  “I assure you, these are only temporary quarters,” he told her. “Come along.”

  He opened the door and waved her inside.

  Wordlessly, Chanta did as she was told, quietly retracing her steps and walking through the door he had picked.

  Her jaw fell open.

  The room, despite what she had imagined it would have been, was everything she wanted. There was a big bed, big enough to fit two people, covered in a royal blue, fluffy looking comforter and two equally fluffy looking pillows. The intricate mahogany bedposts looked as if they had been carved by Michelangelo himself—or an equally great artist. There was a small table by the bedside with a lamp on top, which had already been turned on and illuminated the room. It was so bright, it was hard to tell they were still in a basement. There was also a small
chest on the other side of the room, which she was somehow sure would be filled with enough clothes for her for at least a week. There was also a small desk, on which were a few books and another lamp that shone directly over them.

  “Unfortunately,” Professor Reiter told her, and Chanta was shocked to hear a tone of sympathy in that voice, “this is where you will spend your next few days. Food will be brought to you, and there is a small bathroom beyond that door,” he said, motioning to a door beside the chest that Chanta hadn’t realized. “I realize it is similar to your former situation, but I assure you, things will be different here. Your stay in these quarters will be short, should you be willing to follow my tests.”

  “Tests?” Chanta repeated.

  There it was, she thought to herself. The magic word. She was to be tested on like some lab rat. How could she have let herself nearly trust these people?

  “Yes,” Professor Reiter told her, not quite picking up on her fear. Or, at least, not acknowledging it. “Tests. You are a strange case, you see, because no one has a gift quite like yours… At least, none that we have seen. Here at Prisanni’s School for the Blessed, we see unique cases from time to time. Some of them are a bit worse than others, but typically, that depends on the cooperation of the person in question. If you are truly here to seek help and to learn to control your particular gift… Well, then the tests will go smoothly, and we will find out precisely what your gift is and what kind of training you require. Don’t worry, these are not pass or fail kind of tests. Your schooling will come later. These tests are merely the measures we use to detect and define your gift so that we might begin to help you understand yourself.”

  “Okay,” Chanta said, dragging out the word somewhat. Somehow, she felt a warmth of comfort wash over her, even though she didn’t want to be comforted at all. She wanted to stick to her gut and look for the nearest exit. The comfort was almost forced on her in some way.

  “You want that, don’t you?”

  “I suppose so,” she admitted. “It doesn’t sound too bad… I guess.”

  “Of course not,” Professor Reiter told her. “Now, for tonight, this is where I leave you. You have had quite a day, and you need your rest and some time to think for yourself. Make yourself at home in these quarters, food will be brought to you shortly. The books on the desk are for your reading. Please take some time tonight to begin to familiarize yourself with this… religion.”

  “You say that so hesitantly. What is this ‘religion?’” she dared to ask.

  Professor Reiter grinned at her.

  “I say it with hesitance,” he said, “because, to me, it is not a religion at all. To me, it is not a god we worship or a prayer we say. To me, it is our life. It is the way the world began, and the way the world continues. It is life after death and, most importantly, it is the decision of where our souls will be. A religion is a ritual. Those books describe a part of life that few are lucky to be introduced to.”

  “And now I am to be introduced?”

  “Precisely,” he said with excitement. Chanta wondered if it was excitement about her being brought into this… or if it was simply his own love for the religion. “You will come to find,” he continued after a moment, “that much of what is written in those books is confusing to you. That is quite alright. Keep reading and keep trying to make sense of it. Try to find something in those words that you relate to, that we might go over it during your tests. Perhaps it will help us solve the mystery that you have presented even quicker. Whatever you do not understand, make note of it, and I will clear it up for you in the morning.”

  “Okay,” Chanta said, inching toward the bed. She already felt exhausted at the new homework assignment. She hadn’t expected such heavy research on the first day. Then again, she had missed so much school, she was probably due for a giant research project anyway.

  Professor Reiter was just about to leave her. He turned toward her, one hand on the door, to say his last piece as if he just remembered it.

  “Oh, and don’t wander around the basement,” he told her. “These quarters are not empty, and you needn’t be rude to the other inhabitants of these rooms.”

  He stared at her, waiting for a response.

  Chanta slowly nodded.

  Satisfied, the professor closed the door behind him. Chanta could hear his retreating footsteps outside of her door on the stone floor. She could hear him as he walked to the staircase, then paused for a time. Minutes passed by as he stood there, and she stood still on the other side of the door, precisely where he had left her. Eventually, she listened to him as he climbed the steps and left the basement.

  She hadn’t been locked away. That was the first thing that she noted. She felt a certain sense of freedom and… was that happiness? Relief? She wasn’t quite sure. There was definitely a part of her that was excited. There was also another part of her that was curious and hell-bent on opening the door and finding the nearest exit.

  Perhaps that was just her demon’s curiosity, though, she wondered as her stare moved to look at the small pile of books that were awaiting her. Yes, she felt exhausted by the thought of a research project. Yet there was a greater part of her that felt another curiosity—one that might answer to who she was and why a strange woman would come and whisk her away in the middle of the night.

  She found herself shuffling toward that pile of books, despite what the demon told her, and how much he pulled to leave the room. She was in no hurry to leave just yet. If nothing else, she could use that information for her escape. Or, she supposed, she would use it after her escape. Either way, she wanted to know more about who she was and what was going on inside of her.

  There were three books in front of her as she sat down at the desk. The first one, the oldest looking was, was purple on the outside. When she opened the cover, she saw it was handwritten. The first page read Diary of Vissula Prisanni. Chanta quickly thumbed through it. The scrawl was a beautiful, very legible cursive, as if its author knew that one day it would be studied. Chanta closed it, however, and moved on to the next book. If this was a religion, she had no interest in reading someone’s diary about the matter. Especially when she hadn’t decided if that someone was a nut job or not yet. If she had wanted Headmistress Prisanni’s opinion, she would have asked for it long ago.

  The next book was fairly thick, bound in a brown leather binding. When she opened the first page, she was glad to see it was typed, even if it had been typed in print that was far too small to read comfortably. She gritted her teeth and moved on to the last book.

  This one was far smaller, less than a quarter inch in thickness. Its binding was a simple blue, and its printing was large enough that she wondered if she could finish the entire book that night. Yet when she began reading, she wondered if it had been the right place to start.

  The first page seemed to be the title of the book, though that was a vague enough start. It was titled The Stones of the Province. Chanta spent several minutes trying to make sense of those words. She tried to assign them some sort of meaning beyond the obvious, and very skin deep, meaning that came to mind. She stared at those words for several minutes, but nothing ever came to her. She turned the page, feeling more confused than she thought she would.

  Reiter would have more questions to answer than what he was prepared for, she was sure.

  The first page showed a picture of a beautiful crystal. Or was it a stone, she supposed? Whatever it was, it seemed to glisten even on the page of the book. It was a beautiful, burnt-orange color, like honey over a fire, she decided. It was depicted in two ways—in a layer beneath the earth, the dirt removed around it to reveal its hiding place, and on a chain, as if it was meant to dangle around someone’s neck like a piece of jewelry. Chanta decided she would quite like that particular piece of jewelry.

  On the second page, there was a brief description of the stone.

  Amber is not, strictly speaking, a stone of the earth. Rather, it is a fossilized resin found in the sand, or someti
mes clay, of long-forgotten pits and coal mines of Asia. Although it is highly coveted for its beauty, Amber is believed by the humans to stabilize emotions, cure phobias, and ease the mind. It is widely known for its ability to draw out negative, stagnant energies and replace them with positive energies. In this way, the stone is highly coveted for its emotionally healing power.

  Amber is known far and wide amongst a vast number of cultures. Sometimes, it is referred to as the tears of the gods because of its natural teardrop shape. It has been deemed the gem of the lonely and grieving and worn often by widows or mothers who have lost children. It is not meant to be seen as a ritual for the passing of a loved one, but instead worn to warm the heart of the mourner.

  Chanta skimmed the rest of the page. The paragraph made her feel slightly ashamed of the way she had looked at the stone, and, indeed, coveted it. It made her feel vain, and she wasn’t sure she would choose that particular stone anymore. The next page made next to no sense to her.

  To the Familiars, Amber has a similar meaning. Those who have been Blessed with this particular stone have the ability not to control their own emotions, but to control the emotions of those around them. It is an easy Blessing to discover, once one knows what to look for.

  In the case of James Reiter, he was without his Amber until the age of nineteen. A passionate man from birth, Reiter often rallied enormous riots to fight for the issues he stood for; from simple riots like losing the European Football Championship in 1996 to much deeper issues about capitalism in 2000, Reiter had a way of rallying large numbers to stand behind him. However, changing the emotions of a person does not change the original position held by that person. Therefore, for everyone that rallied for him, there were just as many that had rallied against him. He had created historical amount of death and destruction throughout the streets, much of which had to be hidden from the history books in order to preserve Reiter, who, when connections were made by the superstitious, became the subject of a manhunt.