The Cursed Inheritance

Warm bread had deposited its scent in the little house, and the scent of herbs tossed out the window. Fire crackled in the flames and flowed unnoticed along the wood room. It was a chilly moment into which Alaric had been locked for so long.

"Food, little warrior," his mother said, setting a hot bowl of stew before him. Her smile was a ray of sunshine in their small apartment.

He grinned, shoving the stew into his mouth. "One day, I'll be strong enough to defend you and Father!"

His father smiled, putting his tea down. "Is that so?" Little laughter had been in his deep, rumbling voice. "Then try. Courage does not wait for those who dream of it."

It was then the words had been excessive phrases of a spoilt child. Now that he recalled to have uttered them to him, a bitter chill trickled down his spine.

How many of those words that he spoke had ever passed his father's lips? How much of this man that stood before him had ever ever been?

And yet, amidst it all, there had been—moments, fleeting moments—of discomfort. His father's eyes catching a half-beat too long on his face. The artificial tone to his voice when he spoke, as if from the page and not from where things feel real.

That night, the night things didn't go down the way they were supposed to.

Alaric awoke to the murmurs. His parents didn't fight, and if they did fight, never so quietly. There was too much intimacy in the silencing that his body spasmed. He crept out of bed, ethereal, and braced against the door, listening.

"You swore, Magnus," his mother's voice shook. "You swore Alaric would be done with this. He'd be safe!"

His "father"—no, the man who had been pretending to be his father—sighed. "And he will be. But broken promises, Eleanor. The world isn't as big on giving favors as you'd like it to be."

Alaric's brow crumpled. His mother only called him and his father by their full names when she was fabulously furious, and his father never called her this.

"Not like this." Shuddering, his mother's voice. "I won't have you lead my son into your tricks."

The silence. Wood on stone—the chair being pushed back.

"You don't have a choice."

Alaric's back went stiff. That tone. Not his father's firm, gentle one. Chilled. Hollowed-out.

His mother was wheezing. "Who are you?" she gasped. "What have you done to—"

A scream of noise, and Alaric leaped. His lungs burst forth with raw, gasping breaths, his chest pounded. Instinctively, he opened the door wide enough to peer in.

His father loomed above his mother, crouched on the floor, fist tight about a jade pendant that glowed softly, unhumanly. Dancelike flames crept up his father's face, feral shadows dancing. But his face. it was all wrong.

His eyes—those very eyes that had known him from the moment of his birth—glowed with something so vile. With a sick sense of humour. Complete absence of warmth.

"You're learning the truth for the first time, aren't you?" Magnus howled. "It should have reached you by now."

His mother shuddered with terror. "You. you're not him."

Alaric's head spun. Not him? What was she saying? Wasn't that his father standing over him?

And then his father—no, the fake—grinned a little to one side, and Alaric stared at his own face staring back from the hard, smooth shine of the bronze mirror on the wall.

His father was grinning.

The reflection wasn't.

Alaric's own breath froze in his throat as he backed away. His own hands were shaking, falling onto his lips to mute himself. The glass man—the glass man with his father's face—had eyes as cold and vacant as space.

His father was not that way. His father is dead.

Alaric did not know how long he was frozen, his body not moving. He was back on his feet when he heard the gentle voice of his mother. "If you ever loved me, Magnus. let him go. Don't kill him."

There was a pause between them so heavy, it felt as though it held every moment they'd ever had, and then the lie drew air in. "You don't understand, Eleanor." His voice hung on the brink of a whisper. "I do love you. My way. But love…" He spread his hand and brushed the jade pendant against the palm cup of hers. "Love is a cheap price to pay for an eternity."

Alaric's mother's grip on the jade was broken. He had no idea why this was occurring, but he knew this—she was in danger. Something was being fixed.

Before he could step forward, however, his mother's eyes darted towards the door. She had seen him.

Her eyes went wide with fear.

And she screamed. "RUN!"

The rest was sheer madness. Alaric ran and dashed, boots thudding wood floorboards. He could hear his mother shrieking in the distance, thuds of furniture and the cold, distinctive laugh of the man who called himself his father.

He ran. He could not help but.

For he knew.

He knew his sweet father was dead.

And the man who stood in his stead was no man but a monster.

Night air cut his meat with ice as he ripped his way through the forest. Thighs torn in strips under his own, and that fire in his chest was flame until it had been agony, but he yielded no quarter. Tears blurred his vision. There was the shriek of his mother's fury still echoing in his mind—her cry of hatred, her screaming defiance.

He tripped, thorns tearing into him blind as he scraped, raw hands plunging into thorn-hairy arms. Thatch clogged his lungs, pulsing heart lodged in head too. Beyond the village now. The only home he ever knew—lost.

Wind, and—a shadow, still behind him.

A tickle swept over the leaves, closer still. "You can't hide forever, boy."

Alaric almost doubled over. He gagged and choked, his frame pleading in a desperate silence for goodness' sake just stop already. But he didn't. He couldn't. His mother's last dying words echoed through his mind like the cry of a warrior.

He pushed on, into darkness. He had no idea where he was headed, only that he must. His legs pounded along the bottom of a shallow creek, ice water dripping into his body. His lungs burned. His muscles cried out.

The guffaws thundered on behind him.

Alaric ground his teeth. His body would be his downfall, but his will would not.

And he swore.

With his very last ounce of energy, he vowed that he would return. To learn the truth. To be strong enough to kill the monster who had slain all that he loved.

Whatever it took.