A Dark Inheritance Page 7

  It was a longer section this time, but Chanta ate up the story like it was a fable in a children’s book. She wondered just how well Sahira was able to adjust in the end. She hoped she was a pleasant woman to meet. Then again, she probably had a great many sour feelings leftover in her from her demotion of goddess to student.

  She cleared her mind. She supposed it didn’t matter how crusty the old Egyptian woman was, Chanta was stuck in this basement until she could figure out what her stone was, wasn’t she? So she should start thinking.

  Reiter had wanted her to draw any similarities she saw between herself and the stones as she studied. So far, she had learned the meanings and some of the histories behind three of the stones, and she found a few similarities within two of them. For Amber, there were no similarities. That was definitely not her stone, as she was sure they would find out later that afternoon. Then there was Jasper. That one held the obvious similarities—the violence, how she left people physically wounded, and the fear people held for her because of it. The similarities ended there, though. She was sure she was not the one who actually did the harming. She was positive she had never struck anyone, and even if she had, she was sure she wasn’t strong enough to break her own brother’s bones. Still, the Jasper stone was high on her list of possibilities.

  The Gold stone was a whole other facet she hadn’t truly considered. It was a great and terrible stone, really, as it allowed healing and hurting. The text didn’t explain exactly how either was done, though. It only stated that Sahira had been able to inflict both recovery and pain. When Chanta had begun reading the text, she thought it pointless to even have Sahira perform a test on her. After all, she had never once healed. The Jasper seemed far more likely to her, and she thought they should start with the most likely stones. Maybe, though, that is precisely what they were doing. If Sahira had been able to inflict a plague on her Egyptian people, then she, by all means, should be able to do something as simple as break bones and create wounds. The text had said exactly that, had it not?

  It felt like the first little piece of hope that Chanta had seen for over a year. Her Blessing did not have to be a curse. If she found that afternoon that Gold was, indeed, her stone, then that would mean that she could heal, too. That would mean that pain was not the only thing she could cause.

  She found herself looking forward to the test after that. When Maleka had delivered her meal, she didn’t even mind that it was in complete silence. She didn’t bother trying to talk to her, allowing the girl to carry out her orders as they had been intended. She took the sandwich to her bed and ate it quickly.

  It had been a fairly plain meal compared to what she had been eating so far. It was a sandwich with a few slices of meat, some cheese, and some vegetables. Every ingredient was the freshest she had tasted in a while and had clearly not been left out on the kitchen counter for some time before it was given to her, but it was basic compared to her dinner the night before. It was paired with an apple and chips.

  She ate each item without even tasting them. She had barely even noted the plainness of the meal, with her mind flying in so many directions. Her heart was racing as she swallowed her last bite.

  It was after lunch now. Reiter was going to come for her, and then they would begin her tests.

  It felt like he was keeping her waiting on purpose. The minutes ticked by, and no one had come. She realized that he, too, would have been eating his lunch, but she had given him ample time before she got impatient. She wondered if he was trying to force her to study some more before he came up. Perhaps he was trying to give her time to form her thoughts on the Gold stone.

  She had already formed her thoughts, though.

  She growled in frustration as she plopped down on the desk chair.

  She idly flipped through the books, waiting for something to catch her eye. Nothing ever did, though. She wasn’t really trying to be studious. Her eyes kept darting toward the door.

  That’s when she heard a noise she hadn’t noticed before.

  It was… crying?

  She slowly stood up and crossed the stone floor to her door, taking her loud shoes off as she did so. She put her ear up against the door and listened.

  There was silence.

  Then she heard it again. It was definitely crying. Crying and hiccups, as if someone had just finished throwing a tantrum. It sounded like a young person, like a child, even. She opened the door slowly and looked around.

  No one.

  She could hear the sobs still, though. They were faint, as if they had been coming from behind one of the closed doors.

  That must have been the reason Reiter had told her not to go snooping around the basement. Hadn’t he said something to that effect, anyway? Something about her not being the only tenant in these rooms? So who was he hiding in here? And why were they crying?

  And, more importantly, would she be the next to cry?

  She quietly retreated into her room, shutting the door softly behind her. She knew there was no time for her to investigate. Reiter would surely come at the most inopportune moment to take her for those tests, and there was no telling what he would do to her if he caught her.

  That would have to wait.

  “Follow me,” Reiter had told her sometime later that afternoon.

  She had waited longer than she thought she would, but his soft knock had eventually come to the door. Without question, she followed him down the large hallway of the basement. The noise was gone now, and she did her best not to look around at the doors. She didn’t want him to have any indication that she had heard anything. She followed him directly into the same room they had met in that morning.

  There was only one difference in the room. The table was still there, chairs neatly pushed in as they had left them before. The cold stone walls still offered her no solace—perhaps even less now, after the mysterious crying she had heard. The difference was the woman sitting at the table, having picked the farthest chair from the door, who was looking directly at her.

  Chanta was taken aback with her beauty.

  This woman absolutely could pass for a goddess, she decided. Her face was long, with high cheekbones. In fact, her whole body seemed long—definitely the arms that she had folded on the table in front of her. Chanta was sure that, if she stood up, the woman would far surpass her in height. She as slender, too, with long, brown hair, which laid down flat, with no body in it. It wasn’t unpleasing, though, like Chanta’s was sometimes was when it fell flat. The woman also wore a decoration atop her head, like a Gold crown. It didn’t stand tall; it was more like a vine that sat on her hair. Her skin was a beautiful, even olive tone. In the small light of the room, she seemed to glow golden across every surface of her skin. Her eyes were big, round, and almond-shaped, and her maroon lips were small. When she smiled at Chanta, she revealed perfectly straight white teeth. Chanta could not help but smile back.

  Then she felt ashamed as the woman looked her up and down, and her smile dampened.

  “Have they not provided you with clothing?” she asked.

  Oh—that voice! Chanta could listen to her talk all day. Her accent was so unusual, but not harsh at all. It sounded like music.

  She realized she hadn’t responded.

  “Oh, um,” she stuttered. “I’m sure they did. I’ve been told they did. I guess. I just haven’t checked.” She realized she sounded stupid as she sputtered out a thin explanation. “I’ve been studying.”

  She couldn’t hold back the grimace that escaped her mouth.

  “Ah, good,” the woman said. “Then you know who I am?”

  “You are Sahira Raka,” she stated boldly, finally getting a bit of confidence in her words in front of the beautiful goddess. Whether the title had been taken from her or not, Chanta decided she deserved it. She was everything Chanta would want to see in a goddess, after all. She supposed she never really looked farther than skin deep, though. She took a seat across from the goddess.

  “And you know my story,
then?”

  “You were a goddess,” Chanta told her. “You still are, if you ask me.”

  Sahira chuckled. It was a soft, heavenly sound. Precisely the sound that should come out of a goddess’s mouth.

  “I never was, though,” she told her. There was not a hint of sadness in her voice, only the softness one would imagine a mother would have as she explained something simple to her child. “I was always just a person. My people made me out to be a goddess, but that was never the case, was it? I’m sure you must know enough by now to understand that what you and Reiter and I possess is not something that makes any of us gods. What we possess is a gift given to us by someone who loved us very much in their human life.”

  Chanta scoffed.

  “I find two things wrong with that,” she told her. “First, I don’t know anyone who had died. So who loved me enough to do this to me? And, besides that, what I have is not a Blessing. I’m sure you already know enough about my story, too, to understand that.”

  Sahira shook her head sadly.

  “I hope that one day, you will see yourself in a better light. I hope that you will come to understand what a great gift you have been given. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but we will show you the truth.”

  Chanta sucked her lip as she stared at the woman. She was getting a bit frustrated with everyone’s optimism. It felt fake somehow.

  Or maybe Sahira was right in one aspect—Chanta didn’t understand. She didn’t understand anything, though—not just her gift. She didn’t understand this place, either.

  “Tell me,” she told the goddess, her eyes focusing on the table so she could concentrate on what she wanted to say. “How did you feel when you plagued everyone you once loved, everyone who had worshipped you? Did you feel powerful? Did you feel blessed?”

  Sahira contemplated.

  “I don’t think that’s quite a fair comparison,” she began. “What I did was very much on purpose. I did feel incredibly powerful. I had always felt that way, even if I didn’t understand where that power had come from. Tell me, young one, do you feel powerful when you hurt people?”

  Chanta shrunk in her seat. She didn’t want to answer that.

  “From what I’ve heard,” Sahira continued for her, “the simple answer to that is no. I think you hurt because of it, just as much as you hurt other people. If not, you wouldn’t be so ashamed. That’s the sign of a good, true Healer, you know.”

  “But I don’t heal,” Chanta said with an exhaustion creeping into her voice.

  She felt incredibly misunderstood.

  “Yet,” Sahira said. “You don’t heal yet. It took me years before I figured out how to inflict damage on anyone, and it took James years before he could control his own emotions without projecting them onto other people. Do you think this is a skill that is learned overnight? Do you think that, even after we’ve discovered your stone, it’s only a matter of linking you and your pair together before you can do things you couldn’t before? That is why this is a school, you know. It’s not a stone shop. Yes, we will give you your stone, but you must learn to wield your Blessing. You must learn every facet of your ability. That takes time.”

  “What if I’m not a Healer at all?”

  Sahira chuckled again.

  “You are quite the mystery, aren’t you?” she asked. “If you’re not a Healer, then we move on until we find your proper stone. It will take time.”

  “Fine,” Chanta said. “Then let’s get started. What is this test? What do I have to do?”

  Sahira gave one small nod, a signal that she, too, was prepared to start. She reached down to the ground beside her, where Chanta saw a small burlap bag had been placed. Sahira gently put it on the table.

  As she opened the drawstrings, Chanta’s heart rate began to speed up. As much as she wanted to get this over with, she wasn’t sure she would ever be truly ready. Sahira’s hand went into the bag, and as she pulled it back out, Chanta’s heart was threatening to explode at the rate it was beating.

  Sahira’s fingers were closed around something as she discarded the bag. She placed her closed fist on the table, outstretched to Chanta.

  Chanta’s eyes flickered to Reiter, who had remained quiet this entire time. His face was calm, an unreadable mask. She wondered why he was not calming her, too.

  “This test,” Sahira told her, “will help me determine if you belong to my house. We may not know immediately, as sometimes the stones do not react as we expect them to. This may not be the last time I work with you. Do not be discouraged by any of the results you see from the tests over the next few days, but try and connect with each stone the same. Are you ready?”

  Chanta looked back and forth between the two professors.

  She tried to open her mouth and speak, but only a small sound escaped her throat.

  She nodded instead.

  “Hold out your hand,” Sahira told her. “Place it on the table, palm up.”

  Chanta did as she was told. She tried to control the shaking her in hand as she did so, but it was no use. Both professors saw the fear in her.

  “Try to calm your energy,” Sahira said. “Be true to yourself, to your ability, and to your core. If the stone is yours, it should immediately react to your touch. But the stones are very much like animals themselves. If they sense your fear, they will react accordingly. Sometimes they can subdue their connection to you, and if that happens, it makes our interpretation a little bit harder to work through.”

  Chanta took a deep, steadying breath. She knew she had to listen to Sahira, to do what she was told. That was the first step of getting through this test, this place, and her escape. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her core. She told herself that she had no need to fear. It was a lie, but she only had to believe it enough to hide her bad energy.

  When she had calmed herself down a little bit, Sahira spoke again.

  “A Healer is someone strong and true in their abilities; a Healer is good at heart, and does not seek to inflict pain or disease, though it is a natural part of their Blessing; a Healer is determined in their practice, always seeking out the unknown cures and people in need.”

  It was a nice thing to say, Chanta decided. It was a nice mantra to live by. She wondered if, had she known Sahira all her life, things would have been different. Perhaps she would have done a lot more healing and been revered as a good doctor instead of feared as a psychotic teenager.

  Chanta’s eyes opened as she felt Sahira’s hand move to hover over hers.

  “A Healer cares about every living creature; person, animal, and plant. Every Healer makes the promise to use their abilities for the sake of good, and not to practice the darker side. Do you understand this definition of a true Healer as I have told it to you?”

  Chanta nodded. When Sahira didn’t move on, she spoke, taking a breath first and making sure to speak with a confidence she didn’t quite feel yet.

  “Yes,” she stated firmly, “I understand.”

  “And do you promise, Chanta Larr, the promise of the Healers?”

  “Yes,” she answered back. “I promise.”

  “Very well,” Sahira said.

  She opened her fist then.

  A small, cold object fell into Chanta’s open hand. She shrunk back as if the weight of it was great enough to knock her down. Perhaps the weight of it was that great—just not in the physical sense. Sahira’s hand moved away to reveal what she had left behind in Chanta’s.

  It was a small, round piece of Gold. It sparkled like Sahira’s skin, but it was much richer in color. It was perfectly round, as if it had been formed with the utmost perfection. Everything about it was pleasing to the eye and pleasing to the touch. Chanta found that she could not look away.

  After a few moments, Sahira began to ask her questions.

  “Describe to me how the stone feels,” she said.

  “How it feels?” Chanta asked, somewhat distracted. Her eyes never once left that beautiful stone. She had seen Gold before, ha
d touched Gold before, but this… This was different. This stone seemed… alive somehow.

  “Describe its touch. It is cold? Warm? Hot? Does it make your skin react? Do you feel tingly in any way? Do you feel it deeper than that, in your blood?”

  “It feels…” Chanta thought about the question for a moment. “It’s cold but full of life. Does that make sense? I know there’s something in it, something waiting to connect… Is that what it’s supposed to feel like?”

  Sahira began to take notes, scribbling on a small piece of paper she had brought with her.

  “It will always feel different for everyone, I can’t tell you how it is supposed to feel. Please, continue. What makes it feel alive to you?”

  “I don’t know, exactly. It’s buzzing, just a little bit. Like it’s excited, and it wants to tell me something. But it can’t. It’s trying, but it can’t. It’s just… stuck. It’s a stone.”

  A few minutes passed by before Chanta finally looked up at Sahira. Sahira had stopped writing notes and was only watching.

  “Is that enough?” she asked.

  “Is that everything you feel about it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then yes, it is enough,” Sahira told her. “Now, we’re going to test your healing abilities next.”

  “Okay,” Chanta said, her eyes slowly drifting back to the piece of Gold in her hand. “And how do we do that?”

  Sahira was busy digging around in another burlap bag she had brought with her. This time, the bag was a bit bigger and a bit thicker in its material. When she pulled out an object, the light from the room bounced off of its reflective surface. It caused a big enough reflection that Chanta looked up from the stone.

  She gasped in horror, her hand pulling back.