Inheritance of Shadows

Inheritance of Shadows

4.3 3
by Janis Susan May
     
 

Aurora Mathis is coming home. Back to Merrywood, an estate she doesn't remember. Back to the house in which her father died by his own hand. Back to where she witnessed his death.

Charles Mathis captivated millions of readers with a series of eerie fantasy novels before taking his own life when Aurora was just a toddler. Aurora tried to hide

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Overview

Aurora Mathis is coming home. Back to Merrywood, an estate she doesn't remember. Back to the house in which her father died by his own hand. Back to where she witnessed his death.

Charles Mathis captivated millions of readers with a series of eerie fantasy novels before taking his own life when Aurora was just a toddler. Aurora tried to hide from his infamy but now she wants to learn about the man she never knew.

She agrees to attend a convention honoring her father's work but on arrival is filled with a gnawing sense of unease and soon begins dreaming of the strange, inhuman beings who populated her father's books. When she starts receiving odd gifts and seeing mysterious robed figures in the halls of Merrywood, Aurora worries she may be losing her mind.

As the days pass and the happenings around her turn from odd to dangerous, Aurora begins to wonder if the magical world her father created may not be completely fictional...

94,000 words

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Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781426896897
Publisher:
Carina Press
Publication date:
07/15/2013
Sold by:
HARLEQUIN
Format:
NOOK Book
Sales rank:
100,126
File size:
1 MB

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Read an Excerpt


Upon the third confluence, when the two suns crossed and became one, they came to the meeting ground of Ubaneith beneath the mountain of Hes, as demanded by the ancient tradition of the Land of the Two Suns. As demanded by ancient tradition no weapons were allowed, which was a poor thing in its own way. A Racontranone without his dagger, a Melph denuded of club and sword, the Eisfodea deprived of their trident spear, all were pitiful things which, in any other time and any other place, would be regarded as freaks of nature. Even the feathered Valnicks, whose sole armament was the talons which grew from the tips of their toes, were rendered harmless by heavy leathern boots.

The lone denizens of the Land of the Two Suns which could not be disarmed were the Ghrones, cuddly ball-like creatures who were renowned for their wit and the sharpness of their tongues. As neither of these could be confiscated, they alone lost nothing when the peoples gathered at the foot of the tall and revered mountain of Hes.

Neither were the Shining Ones nor the Mediators armed, but then they never were. Though perhaps the stuff of legend as well as of fear, both were reputed to possess magicks beyond the grasp of common minds. Each in their own way, remote, fair and impartial, they had directed the Land of the Two Suns since the start of time, becoming involved only when necessary but somehow always there, whether seen or not.
Thus began the Great Convergence.
Land of the Two Suns
—Charles Mathis

Some things haunt you for a lifetime; such was the stain of my father's genius.

My mother had protected me from it when I was a child, but perhaps too well. If I had known more of Charles Mathis, more of what Charles Mathis meant to others, I would have been better prepared and the horrors of Merrywood averted. Even as it was, to find out everything at once during my college days had been overwhelming, so much so that I spent a great deal of my life working at being simply A. J. Mathis and denying any connection.

But now I was returning to Hastings' Ferry.

And I was returning as my father's daughter.

To my Midwestern eyes Connecticut was claustrophobic. The toll highways were like highways anywhere, broad and anonymous and bland, but off of them there were small roads set between deep stands of woods. It appeared secretive and somehow sinister in spite of the overwhelming green, now just touched with the beginning of autumn color. Dr. Lee had offered to send a car to pick me up at JFK, but I had declined, saying I would prefer to drive myself. I wanted to see the countryside, I said. What I meant was if I had my own car I could leave in my own time.

In spite of my having been born here, I had no memory of this part of the country and as I drove nothing looked even the slightest bit familiar. Mother and I had left just barely after my third birthday, but even though such a lack of recognition was expected it was still disappointing. Surely somewhere in my brain were pictures of this road, those little clapboard houses, the gurgling little stream. Or perhaps it was some sort of atavistic race memory from all my forebears who lived and died in this cold and rocky land. Were the impressions on an infant's brain fleeting things and one had to be old enough to forcibly capture them for memories?

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