The Dark Passenger (Book 1)

by Joshua Thomas

  In a trance, the other children all took a step towards each other and tapped their swords together. Directly in front of him, Edwin saw that Walt was also moving, and he quickly raised his sword to meet the blow. The harmonious sound of their swords hitting simultaneously echoed between the four walls, and Edwin realized that the battle had begun.

  In a fury of activity, the children raised their swords and began parrying blows faster than the eye could track. Without even realizing he was doing it, he saw that he had been backing away, but Walt was coming at him fast. Even while he noticed himself breaking out in a cold sweat, he felt the spirit reassuring him and asking him to trust in its judgment. Holding the sword with only his good hand and balancing it on the arm of his bad one, he stopped retreating and tried to let the spirit gain control.

  Walt attacked, and Edwin, with the spirit’s help, parried it easily and countered. Walt’s sword came at him from above, from the sides, and after an impossible flip over Edwin’s head, from behind, but each time Edwin’s sword met the blow. That horn, that sound—Edwin wondered what it had done to them.

  Each moment Edwin retreated further and further into himself, trusting the spirit more than he ever had. Walt’s stamina was boundless, matched only by Edwin’s. Through his own eyes, Edwin could see the fight unfolding before him, but he felt numb, a step removed, like he was watching one of the spirit’s memories. Though he marveled at the spirit’s agility, and his own agility, he also felt fear that it was all happening too fast, that everything was wrong, and that even with the spirit, or maybe because of it, he was in great danger.

  Out of the corner of his eyes, Edwin saw that other fights around him were ending. One combatant would gain an advantage, the other would fall, and like coming out of a daze, the opponents would blink a few times before returning to their positions opposite each other, waiting for further instructions.

  But Edwin’s fight with Walt did not end. The winter chill no longer bit his skin, and sweat was dripping down his face. But since it was his own body and not magic doing the work—he was running, he was jumping, he was wielding the sword—the death creeping up his arm was almost imperceptible.

  Then, unexpectedly, Walt’s attention wavered, but only for a second. In a moment of consciousness, his eyes darted over to Lady Nemain and went wide with fear. This distraction was all Edwin and the spirit needed.

  The blow came from below, and with one swift movement Walt’s legs went out from under him. Edwin stood over him trying to regain his breath when Lady Nemain approached. Standing in front of Edwin, she lifted the horn to her mouth and blew, but the sound was different. Instead of a low, hollow sound overtaking the air, it was more like a sucking noise, like its call was literally being sucked back into horn. The eyes of the students around Edwin flashed white a moment, and they came out of the trance. Feeling the spirit returning his body to his own control, Edwin looked up, confusion written across his face.

  With their wits back, everyone around him began clapping. Lady Nemain said, “That was a great performance, Edwin.”

  Walt had lifted himself from the ground and was holding onto his sword, which was once again perpendicular to the ground.

  “Edwin, you say you haven’t ever trained with the Fury? That was not the performance of a child who has never heard its call.”

  “No, Mistress. What is it?” he asked, aware that the class was watching his every move.

  “The horn has many calls, but to those who have never trained with it, it has two outcomes: It can either put the person into a rage, where their moves come fast and furious, but without strategy or consideration. Or it can turn a person still as a corpse. People spend years learning to control its call, and every child here has been training since infancy. I myself have probably been training harder than anybody; I’ve won every tournament Chardwick has offered the last ten years. With the power of the horn, things like height, weight, and strength don’t matter. All that matters is your connection with its call, and it is unheard of for a child to master your level of control without years of practice.”

  Edwin saw Walt’s eyes dart to him, and he knew Walt wished that he’d lied. Edwin didn’t know what he should say. But at least connected with the spirit, he didn’t stutter. “I’m sorry, Lady Nemain, I don’t know what happened.”

  “This is very strange,” she murmured. Then, louder, she said, “Well, onto the next round: group play. Let’s have the winners of the last round to this end”—she gestured to her left—“and the losers on this end.” She gestured to her right.

  She then broke the winners into two more groups of four. Edwin saw two of Walt’s friends at his side, the chubby one and the one with glasses. Neither looked like great warriors, but perhaps Lady Nemain was correct in saying the Fury had little to do with appearances. There was the pale girl he didn’t recognize from Hawthorne, and standing opposite them was Martha, one of her puppies, and Sam. Last was another girl who didn’t reside in Hawthorne. Most everyone was looking to Lady Nemain, but Edwin noticed Sam’s eyes bearing into him. At first Edwin thought he was imagining it, but Sam’s mouth seemed to be moving slightly, almost imperceptibly. Edwin thought he saw Sam say, ‘__ Going __ Kill __,’ followed by—what was it? Fun? Done? Run?

  “Stand ready,” Lady Nemain called, standing between the two groups.

  The horn’s call again gave him chills. It sounded so much like the horn from the spirit’s memory, but he didn’t hesitate to let the spirit gain control. Lifting the swords, the opponents tapped them together in a great circle, and then backed away.

  In what may have looked like chaos, the opposite ends of the melee approached each other. Not hesitating like last time, Edwin approached the girl he didn’t recognize, who towered over him like Walt, and they began trading blows. Like with Walt, their movements were a blur, but she fell quickly. Not far away, he saw that Walt’s chubby friend had also toppled Martha’s puppy.

  With two of their four opponents already on the ground, Edwin hoped this fight would end quicker than the last. He joined Walt’s friend with glasses in attacking Martha, while the chubby boy attacked Sam with the non-Hawthorne girl.

  But Sam and Martha were infinitely skilled with their swords. In an unspoken agreement, Sam and Martha bypassed their four opponents and retreated to each other, watching each other’s backs. Their swords were outstretched, and they waited without fear. The trance having consumed them, they waited for the four to attack.

  The four attacked with force, trying but failing to separate Sam from Martha in a flurry of attacks. Moving flawlessly, Edwin attacked with the spirit’s grace and cunning, but Sam and Martha matched his skill blow for blow. One by one Martha and Sam brought down or disarmed Edwin’s three partners. First it was the girl, followed by Walt’s friend with glasses, and finally the chubby boy fell, leaving Edwin to fight Sam and Martha alone.

  But with the spirit, they couldn’t touch him. With one on each side, attacks came from his front and his back, but he sensed every one. Nothing had ever felt so natural to him. Jumping over one, he would parry another. Sliding under another blow from Sam, he narrowly avoided an oncoming blow from Martha. It was Martha who fell next, the fatal blow coming as Edwin dodged Sam’s sword. Martha, who had to sidestep Sam’s still moving sword, found herself outflanked by Edwin, who brought her down with a hard swipe to her head.

  With Martha down, Sam’s moves became no less frenzied. With the Fury, Sam’s sword moved without effort from hand to hand, while Sam’s body lithely sidestepped Edwin’s blows and turned to deliver some in return.

  Edwin noticed that the group of losers from the first round had finished their fight and were watching from the sidelines, as was Lady Nemain. A surge of anxiety hit his stomach, and his arm seized as he unintentionally took control from the spirit.

  That was all it took for Sam to strike. The blow wasn’t especially hard, but Sam’s opportunity came at the expense of Edwin’s bad hand. Once it was hit, his own consciousness jo
lted forward, taking full control away from the spirit. He fell forward, and his sword went flying out of his hand. He hit the ground hard.

  Pain coursed up his arm and he could barely think. But somewhere somehow he remembered that with the Fury, he was expected to rise and return to formation. It was only because of the spirit that he found it possible to pull himself up off the ground. His mind was clouded and churned slowly, and he fought to hold back his sobs.

  “Very interesting,” Lady Nemain said. The corners of her mouth were tense with worry. She blew her horn and the Fury left the children all as quickly as it had come. They seemed taken aback that they were suddenly forced to catch their own breaths and think for themselves. Martha held the back of her head and winced.

  “That’s all the time we have for today,” Lady Nemain continued. “Not bad work, bless the Fury. Not long now and some of you will be ready to take the oath and combat the guard. Go on now and leave your swords with me.”

  After Edwin left his sword at her feet, he headed to the changing room door as fast as he could without running. “Edwin, wait up,” he heard Walt call behind him. Reluctantly, he stopped and turned. Behind Walt, he saw Walt’s three friends. “I want you to meet my three best friends: the tall one there, that’s Drew; Rash is the one with glasses; and the tubby one, well, that’s Pech.”

  “I’m not tubby!” Pech cried, flustered. “I’m big boned.”

  “And retaining fluid?” Walt chided. “You know you’re the fattest boy at Hawthorne. Who knows how. You’ve been at Hawthorne how long? A year? With what Vanora feeds us I’d have thought you’d lose at least a little weight.”

  Edwin couldn’t even pretend to care to pay attention. Bile seemed to be caught in his throat. Every step, every movement, every thought was torture, and Edwin couldn’t have put on his uniform and left the changing room faster.

  * * *

  Outside, past the CHARDWICK’S AEGIS sign, amongst the throng of people, Edwin came across a small alley. The nearby village square was full and crowded with people, but the buildings towering over the dark little alley were oppressive enough to muffle the noise and give him a moment of peace. Settling down behind a pile of trash, he leaned back against a cold brick wall and held his arm. The spirit floated to him and began circling and rubbing him soothingly.

  “I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this,” Edwin said, not worried about who might hear him. His mind relived the image of Sam hitting his hand, and he felt nauseated. Whether it was Sam’s face or the words Sam had mouthed, it nagged at Edwin, and he wondered whether hurting him had been intentional. For it to be intentional, Sam would have to know.

  He heard the spirit’s gravelly voice: “You’re dying. Your body cannot heal dead flessh, and I sensse your hand poissoning the rest of your being. It iss only getting worsse with time.”

  Edwin pulled off his glove. The death had moved up his wrist, leaving it more shriveled than before. “What should I do?” Edwin asked.

  “You must finish healing it, obvioussly,” the spirit replied as it wrapped itself around his hand. “But you musst act quickly. There are more efficient wayss to heal, you know. You have sseen our power and what we can do together. You sshould do it now. Then find your mother’s book and run.”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  “Life will not be eassy to find otherwise,” the spirit reminded him. “I sense very little else that iss sstill alive.”

  “No. How could you even suggest that? What’s wrong with you? And besides, you saw Nemain’s building. Even with their tree damaged, there are too many weapons stockpiled in Chardwick for us to fight our way out.” Edwin thought a moment, and then asked, “How did we fight like that? We’ve never done anything like that before.”

  “You accepted our connection. Fear and necessity pushed you to me. Our connection iss your desstiny.”

  Edwin frowned, and said, “I’m just so tired.”

  “Then act,” the spirit admonished. “You allow yoursself to die sslowly, yet you live with the people who killed her and learn to usse their weaponss. It is a betrayal of your mother’s memory.”

  Edwin banged his head back against the wall. As much as he disliked the creature, its words still stung. “My mother’s memory… she killed a baby to save me. I know it’s complicated, but… It’s always been that the more I know, the more I wish I didn’t know. And magic…”

  Someone appeared down the alley. Edwin could hear the person’s footsteps in the crunchy snow. “Stay with me,” he quickly asked the spirit. Hate it or not, he felt better with it nearby, and he would need all his strength.

  “Of coursse,” the spirit hissed. The spirit laid flat against his hand, and Edwin slipped his glove back on. The spirit made his hand itch, but its presence was reassuring. He knew the spirit preferred its freedom, and he was begrudgingly grateful it had agreed. But the fact that it had agreed also concerned him; his situation might be worse than even he knew.

  He stood up and saw Walt walking towards him. “There you are. You know Master Carrion is expecting you at his apothecary today, right?”

  Edwin shook his head. “No one said anything.”

  Walt scowled. “Of course they didn’t. No one seems to tell you anything around here. Hurry, before you get in trouble.”

  A few minutes later, Edwin stood in the middle of White Foot Way staring up at Master Carrion’s sign. CARRION’S SHOP OF ALCHEMY: POTIONS, ELIXIRS, AND TRANSMUTATION, he read over and over again. He dreaded having to start his apprenticeship with Master Carrion, but it was cold and he knew he needed to go in. Inside, it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dark. The fumes wafting out of boiling pots burned the hairs in his nose.

  “I see you have finally decided to join us,” Master Carrion said as he dropped something solid and heavy into a pot.

  Edwin squinted through the smoke at Master Carrion’s baldhead and long red beard. Sitting next to him was Sam, who wore an expression of such loathing that only Master Carrion’s droll voice kept Edwin from backing away.

  “Please come and sit down,” Master Carrion continued. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I requested you for my service. The answer is simply so that I can keep an eye on you. Now that you’re here, you should know that alchemy is not only the most dangerous of sciences; it is also the most useful. Sit here. Try to learn some of the basic principles watching Sam and me work.”

  “Master Carrion, don’t you think it would be better if Edwin took on another apprenticeship, one where he can’t cause much trouble?” Sam asked.

  Master Carrion seemed to smirk behind his thick beard. “Now Sam, play nice. I may not need another apprentice, but that isn’t to say this may not be the best place for him, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Edwin wasn’t sure what Master Carrion meant, but he was glad to have a chance to sit down, even if that meant having to endure Sam the rest of the day. He hoped by being forced to spend time together, he would have a chance to discover what Sam knew and why Sam seemed to hate him, even though they had never spoken.

  Last night when he couldn’t sleep, Edwin had read a book given to him by Lady Nemain on alchemy, and he found Sam and Master Carrion’s potion mixing easy to follow. He rested his head upright on his good hand, but it wasn’t long before he was resting his head on the table. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but suddenly he was startled by Master Carrion’s fist banging against the table. With Master Carrion standing next to him, Edwin looked down and saw how much shorter one of Carrion’s legs was than the other.

  “Edwin”—Master Carrion said his name like it was an infection—“can you tell me how to prepare a Boarroot Solution?”

  His mind was still foggy, but he knew the answer. “Erm, I…”

  Master Carrion cut him off. “How about a Fowling Paste?”

  “Erm…”

  “The Golden Elixir?” Master Carrion smirked. “That’s what I thought. Any of these concoctions could potentially save your life i
n the mines. Sam, tell Edwin about the Golden Elixir.”

  In a dry voice, Sam said, “The Golden Elixir, or Winwyrm’s Panacea as it is sometimes called, is really no more than venom from the white-haired bat. Diluted to different concentrations, its uses range from cauterizing wounds to curing insomnia.”

  “Very good. And undiluted?”

  “Instant death.”

  “Instant death,” Master Carrion intoned. “Now, if your life is something you value, I suggest you pay attention. Now Sam, tell me…”

  CHAPTER 9: BLUE AND RED TICKETS

  “Hurry, come downstairs,” Edwin heard a boy tell his friend in the hall.

  “The tickets,” a little girl shrieked, bouncing down the stairs.

  Edwin grunted and, with effort, pulled himself off his bed. He could sense that the spirit was pleased that he’d finally gotten up. Almost the only time he got out of bed these last few weeks was to go to his apprenticeships with Mistress Schuylar and Master Carrion. He couldn’t even bring himself to read. Walt checked on him frequently but seemed to know Edwin wanted to be left alone.

  “What’s wrong with him?” he heard Martha ask Ashton the day before.

  “I think he misses home.”

  Edwin was glad that no one seemed to notice that he was in pain. The death came on so slowly that he couldn’t always see a difference, but he knew it was continuing its slow march up his arm. It wouldn’t be long before it was as bad as it was before the spirit made him sacrifice his cat. It worried him that he was so sick the spirit stopped haunting his dreams at night, but even without them his sleep was no less restless.