The Dark Passenger (Book 1)

by Joshua Thomas

In his good hand, sparks flickered between his fingers, fighting his efforts to control it and keep it tame. Control had never been easy for him, and it was the first time he had attempted to conjure energy into his hands since death began creeping up his arm.

  As sparks crackled in his palm, looking for an outlet, he pointed it towards the lock and drove the energy forward. A small smoldering hole appeared in the door. The air smelled acidic. He closed his hand and the sparks stopped. He felt a stab of pain as death crept further up his arm.

  With no lock, pushing open the door was easy; it moved effortlessly and without a sound. Outside, the still night attacked his warmth. Grabbing onto the edge of the door to keep it from slamming, he closed it behind him with a quiet thump. He was careful not to touch the molten red hole he had left behind.

  As he made his way towards the village square, he made sure to walk on a busy part of the road where his footsteps would be lost. Once past the village square, he made his way to White Foot Way and Master Carrion’s garden.

  It was a stressful walk. At any moment Edwin expected to run into someone who would stop him, who would question why he, the strange one, the new boy, the tree crusher, was out alone. But the village was quiet and little lamplight flickered out from under closed doors and behind closed windows. The air smelled dirty, like burning coal, and he could see a few trails of smoke coming from chimney tops.

  Edwin picked up his pace when the old bathhouse came into view. As though sensing his presence, the wind picked up slightly and the windflutes began to chime. Any doubts evaporated of the windflutes repelling the spirit by chance. They were chiming like they knew he was there. With the spirit in him, he felt how strongly their sound repelled it.

  A few small bolts of lightning would probably do the trick of getting rid of them, but magic might draw unwanted attention. A snowball would work just as well, and together with the spirit he thought he would have good aim. Quickly, he packed the snow at his feet. One, two, three, four, five—the windflutes came down easily. The silence was a relief, and Edwin didn’t feel the spirit recoil as he approached the front door.

  Looking down White Foot Way, first to his left, then his right, Edwin saw that the road was quiet and empty. Nervously, he whispered words to conjure energy into his hand. Through touch alone he experimented with the spark’s intensity. Keeping his eyes on White Foot Way, he felt how each twitch of his finger influenced the sparks’ nature. When he looked down, the light in his hand was extinguished and there was a smoldering hole in the door.

  Edwin hurriedly let himself in, but none of the lamplight from White Foot Way made its way through the glass roof and it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the scant starlight.

  “Oh no,” he cried.

  The old bathhouse was one large room, and pots filled every inch of space—and they were empty.

  “No, no, no…” Edwin said, winding his way through the room. He was too late. There was nothing but empty pots and the smell of dirt. His stomach lurched; the spirit was trying to get his attention. It wanted him to release it.

  “Stop. I need you to help me get back to Hawthorne,” Edwin said. But that was only part of it. Mostly he just wanted a minute to think. Tonight had been draining; he should have waited for the fair, and he dreaded the ache he would feel as soon as he released his spirit.

  Deciding he had no choice but to leave the bathhouse, he headed back towards Hawthorne. Trudging towards the village square, he considered all the roads he hadn’t seen, the little alleys and dead-ends he hadn’t yet explored. Maybe if he explored a bit he could get lucky. No matter how tired, he would never be able to fall asleep tonight; his was an unnatural tired that only magic would cure.

  The idea of the sapling in the village center crossed his mind, but he made himself push that thought away. Even if he could absorb life from its nascent bark, the risk was too great. He thought of Walt’s stick-bug—but no, it was too small. While Edwin tried to think, the spirit continued to demand its release.

  “Stop it,” he said futilely, knowing that holding the spirit in took energy he didn’t have and would only make the pain of releasing it worse. The spirit kept pushing against him, and he was opening his mouth again when he noticed that the snow had taken on a blackish hue. Looking up, he saw a creature hovering above him about the size of a rat. It had delicate gossamer wings that it seemed to flap too softly to keep it afloat, and Edwin wondered whether it was floating by other means. But its head was what really caught Edwin’s attention. Round like a berry, it was too big for its small body. Its skin appeared to be smooth, and it had huge eyes and an oversized mouth, slits for a nose, and long tentacle-like hair that seemed to retract at will. It was monstrous, and Edwin wondered what manner of creature it was.

  “What the—” He made himself shut his mouth. The spirit sensed the creature’s power and recognized it as the thing that killed Walt and Sam’s parents. The creature’s long hair was dangling to the ground, searching the air around it. It appeared to be hunting.

  Without telling himself to, Edwin began running towards Hawthorne. The black light disappeared when he took a sharp right towards the village square. But when he rounded the next corner, there the creature was, directly in front of the big arch. Joined with the spirit, Edwin had been running faster than he ever could himself—too fast for a sudden stop. Slipping, he fell backwards, but the creature continued floating away from him. It wasn’t until Edwin felt the spirit stir, telling him to turn and run, that the creature turned and seemed to notice him for the first time.

  Edwin held his breath and froze, and the creature hung in the air, still flapping its wings. Ripples of black energy flowed across its surface, and its big empty eyes seemed to peer into him. Even his spirit was afraid. But then, after several long, terrifying seconds, the creature turned again and continued moving away.

  Realizing the creature wasn’t following him, Edwin sighed with relief, but he wondered why the creature had suddenly seemed to notice him when the spirit asserted its will inside him. He also realized that, strangely, healing himself seemed like it could wait. Running slower now, he checked each road carefully as he made his way back to Hawthorne. The spirit still wanted to be released, but he said, “Not yet,” and the spirit stopped aggravating him. He didn’t think he could risk releasing it until he was safe and back in bed.

  It wasn’t until he saw Hawthorne that he considered that Headmistress Vanora might be awake and waiting for him. Luckily, the door was just as he had left it, only the hole where the lock had been had cooled. He hadn’t really thought about what would happen if he were caught, which seemed stupid now. It had been such a great risk, and he wondered why he had taken it. He was worse off than before.

  Inside Hawthorne, the hall was dark and quiet. Thinking it best not to risk waking Ashton and Walt, Edwin took off his outdoor clothes downstairs and carried them up in a bundle under his arm. He opened the door to his room as quietly as he could and peered inside.

  He dropped his clothes to the floor in a heap. In front of him he saw that the window was open. The creature hovered just on the other side, flapping its wings majestically. Its ugly tendrils of hair were floating towards Walt. Both Ashton and Walt were snoring.

  “Get away from him,” spat Edwin in a quiet hiss, but the creature took no notice.

  “I said get away from him,” Edwin repeated, his voice no longer a whisper. There was no time to think. He imagined those tendrils killing Walt’s parents in the mine. The words came out—his mother’s words—and he held his hands like he was holding a ball as he pushed together a sphere of cackling white energy. With a grunt, he threw the ball forward, and it hit the creature with a thunderous clap.

  The creature smiled, showing its little fanged teeth.

  Edwin shot forward another long bolt of energy, and a tangy acidic smell filled the air, the smell of lightning.

  And then there was blackness.

  CHAPTER 11: A CONVERSATION IN BLOOD

  In
a small cottage barely within the walls of Newick an empty hearth burst into flames. Five sisters turned from their potion making to consider the fire.

  Gretchen was the first to speak: “You’d best have a good reason for contacting us.”

  The reply was deep and had all the sharpness of a roaring fire. “Yes, Aunts,” the voice said. “We have a problem.”

  “Whose blood did you use to complete the incantation?” asked one of the triplets.

  “My own,” replied the voice.

  “I see. Don’t drain yourself too much, little one. We don’t have the magic to aid you. All must be saved for the fair. Our hour is almost at hand.”

  “I used no more than required to open the portal,” said the voice. “Don’t worry, I am your creation, and my blood is strong. The portal has worked exactly as you said it would.”

  “Of course the incantation worked,” Gretchen spat. “You twins were birthed by the Lucent’s kin, but it was sorcery that bore your seed. Now you said we had a problem. Tell us quickly, before all life is drained from the pool.”

  The fiery outline of the child’s face smiled. “Your likeness appears surprisingly clear in blood, Aunts, and I’m glad to hear little has been done to change your tempers.”

  The triplets glared. “Your impertinence is—”

  “The Host is reckless,” the child’s voice interrupted. “He has no idea what he is and he reveals too much. He treats the cloak like a blanket. He fights the Fury with magic. He damaged, accidentally, their hallow tree. He takes unnecessary risks. Were the villagers more aware of the signs, all would already be lost.”

  “This is disturbing news,” Gretchen conceded. “After so many years of living quietly on the ledge, why is he suddenly so eager to take risks?”

  “I don’t know, Aunt, but I have my suspicions. He favors one of his hands but won’t let anyone see it.”

  “Hmm…” Gretchen said. “And what of the Lucent?”

  “He does what he can to subdue his people, but they are growing restless. Rumors fly.”

  “You must do what you can to rein the boy in, but you mustn’t reveal yourself, not before we arrive in Chardwick,” Gretchen said.

  A triplet interjected: “You say they don’t realize yet what he is. Perhaps you should allow those who do not know to do your work for you, before he comes under the attention of those who do. There are cells where you dwell, are there not?”

  “I will do what I must, but be prepared to retrieve him if the villagers discover him before you do,” the voice replied.

  “Yes, all will be ready,” Gretchen replied.

  “What of the Master?” asked the voice.

  “The Master is sufficiently informed. He’s displeased, but he shouldn’t be a problem. No need to trouble him further,” Gretchen said. “Thank you for this information. And do not forget, this will be the last time we speak before our arrival. We must not waste magic on the hearth.”

  “Yes, I understand. Thank you, Aunts.”

  CHAPTER 12: AN INJURY BEST NOT SEEN

  Slowly, groggily, Edwin opened his eyes. He was in his room, but Walt and Ashton were gone. It wasn’t until he wiped the sleep from his eyes that he saw that his gloves were off. His breath caught in his throat when he saw that his arm was gray up to his shoulder. He barely had time to process what he was seeing before he heard the other children talking in the distance, walking back to Hawthorne after their apprenticeships. Edwin covered his arm, and soon Walt was at the door.

  “You’re up! How’re you feeling?”

  “Never better,” Edwin croaked, surprised by how dry his throat was. Relieved that Walt was safe, he tried to crack a smile.

  “You look horrible.”

  “Have I been here long?” The last thing he remembered was the creature hovering over Walt’s bed.

  “Three days. When Vanora saw your arm—Walker, get back in your pocket. Now! I said now.” The stick-bug retreated back into Walt’s pocket. “Sorry, you’re the only one he does this around.” He cleared his throat and continued. “When Vanora saw your arm she called on the Medgards to see if they knew what was wrong with it, but they couldn’t explain it.”

  “Three days? How could I have slept for three days?”

  “You got attacked by the imp,” Walt said. “It blew a hole through the door downstairs and almost killed you before leaving.”

  Edwin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You think the—what did you call it, imp?—did this to me?”

  “Yeah, you’ve never heard of the imp up on the ledge? It’s an evil spirit that guards the tunnels. It never leaves the mines and it never comes to Chardwick. No one knows why it would come here. You have no idea how lucky you are to be alive. You don’t remember anything?”

  Edwin shook his head. Needing time to process this information—he was safe, no one suspected anything—he asked, “Did I miss anything?”

  “Not really. Headmistress Vanora told Sam and me that our aunts will be here soon, only they aren’t going to get us until after the fair.” He placed his hand reassuringly on Edwin’s shoulder, and added, “But don’t worry! We will still see each other all the time. Chardwick isn’t very big. Maybe you could even stay with us.”

  “I’d like that…” Edwin replied. He couldn’t help but get his hopes up—a real family!—and he smiled broadly.

  “What?” Walt asked. “Why are you looking at me funny.”

  “I’m just happy you’re all right,” Edwin said.

  “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re the one everyone’s worried about. Everyone will want to hear about what happened to you, even if you don’t remember anything. Anyway, it’s about time to eat. I’m sure you’re starving.”

  “Yeah, just give me a minute to get cleaned up. Meet me down there?”

  “All right,” Walt said, and he left.

  Alone again, the spirit hissed, “He knowss more than he letss on.”

  “Maybe…” Edwin said. “But I trust him. Carrion and Sam are up to something, and I think Walt is working against them.”

  “But to what end? Don’t trusst him.”

  Then whom should I trust? Edwin thought, but he didn’t say it. Instead, he asked, “What happened to that creature?”

  “I wass released after you losst consciousness. By then it was gone.”

  Edwin’s body ached so badly that he thought he would never be able to move, but eventually his thirst and hunger got the best of him. Pulling himself out of bed, he placed his weight on his unsteady legs. They wobbled while he put on his uniform and gloves.

  In the bathroom, he looked at himself in the mirror and saw that his eyes were sunken, giving him the haggard look of a corpse. The spirit hovered above his left shoulder like a sentry. The dull outline of a face appeared in its form, stoically watching over him. They would speak more later, he knew, but for now they both felt his exhaustion and preferred the silence. He stared at the mirror a while before he mustered the energy to move.

  The whispering downstairs stopped as soon as he entered. The only sound was that of the flickering candles and his footsteps, which seemed impossibly loud. Headmistress Vanora rose from her seat and took a tentative step in his direction. With everyone staring at him, Edwin walked straight up to her, grabbed a bowl, and asked, “Am I too late to eat tonight?”

  “Boy, everyone else might be talking about this magic death-imp, but as far as I’m concerned you have a lot of explaining to do,” Headmistress Vanora said.

  Lady Nemain was also there. She rose quickly and cut in front of the Headmistress. “And he will as soon as he’s gathered his strength.” To Edwin she said, “Of course you may eat tonight, dear. Let me get the serving spoon.”

  Edwin fought to control his breathing while Lady Nemain turned to help him scoop food onto his plate. Headmistress Vanora stood fuming behind her, clearly shocked by her gumption. Sliding back in front of the Headmistress, Nemain returned and acted as natural as could be. Only her voice belied her apprehensio
n.

  “You gave us quite a scare there,” she said. “We’re glad to see you’re up.”

  No one was even pretending to eat now. They were all waiting for the coming explosion.

  “Edwin,” Headmistress Vanora said through clenched teeth, “stay and eat up here. You can tell us about the other night.” She tried to smile.

  “He will do no such thing,” Lady Nemain said, waving him off. “He is a tired, sick boy, and he will have a peaceful meal. There will be time enough to answer questions later.”

  Puffing out her chest, Headmistress Vanora said evenly, “Lady Nemain, you forget yourself. The Lucent’s ward or not, you have no authority here. The orphanage is my domain, and your presence is allowed only as long as I permit.”

  “No, Headmistress Vanora, it is you who forgets common decency. And I am not the Lucent’s pet, I am his ward, raised in his household under his personal care since childhood. More importantly, I am Mistress of Arms and a member of the Council. The Lucent will hear of this, but the children are watching us—this is not the time or place for an argument. Sit down and eat your dinner, and the three of us will talk later.” Edwin noticed a scary vein throbbing in Lady Nemain’s neck.

  Headmistress Vanora’s face had contorted into shocked incredulity, but she sat down and said nothing more. There was a sharp exhale from the room. Tepidly, conversation resumed.

  Walt beckoned Edwin to sit between him and Sam. Sam was the last person Edwin wanted to sit by at Hawthorne, but he tried not to let his feelings show.

  “I knew it,” Sam declared.

  “Knew what?” Edwin said before draining his cup of water.

  “That you were awake. Walt wouldn’t let anyone sit there, so I knew.” The food was bread, cheese and stew. Sam pulled off a piece of bread and continued: “Don’t mind Vanora. She just thinks you had something to do with breaking the lock on the front door. You should be more worried about your arm. Everyone has seen it, and look around, they’re all scared of you.”