The Dark Passenger (Book 1)

by Joshua Thomas

The spirit’s dark form blended in with the night, but it crackled occasionally so Edwin could follow. They didn’t travel far before they were almost to the cliff face. “Look in front of you,” the spirit said.

  Edwin squinted but saw nothing worth seeing. There were only a few trees, the cliff up ahead, and more snow.

  “Look,” it hissed. “It’ss right in front of you.” The spirit crackled and glowed red a moment. Without the spirit’s light it looked like any other shadow, but now he saw that there was a small hole in the snow.

  “What is it?” Edwin asked.

  “A fox hole, and inside is a real live fox. I checked.”

  Still sitting in the deep snow, Edwin scowled. “Our backup plan is a fox?”

  “Jusst a little thing. Nothing you can’t handle.”

  “Easy for you to say. It can’t bite you,” he said, but he knew he would do whatever the spirit told him. “What do you want me to do?”

  Suddenly there was the sound of crunching snow behind him, and Edwin jumped. Turning, he saw nothing, but the noise continued. Someone was climbing the snow bank and heading towards him. “Who’s there?” he called.

  Ashton walked out from behind a tree. “I think the better question is why is little Edwin here?” he said in his high, nasal voice.

  Edwin was shocked. “Ashton, what’re you doing here?”

  Ashton replied in his normal haughty manner. “Following you, obviously. You weren’t given permission to leave Hawthorne.”

  Feeling like someone had knocked the wind out of him, Edwin stammered, “But… But… How long have you been following me?”

  “Since you left. I lost you at the fair, but luckily Sam pointed me in the right direction and said I’d better get you back to Hawthorne.”

  “But… But you shouldn’t be here. You can’t be here. Why didn’t you just stop me when I left?”

  In the moonlight Ashton’s smile appeared the way Edwin imagined death might look. “At first I wanted to see what was so important that you would deliberately disobey our Headmistress.”

  “Or you thought she would reward you better for catching me in my dirty little deed than stopping it from ever happening,” Edwin retorted.

  Ashton shrugged. “Well, there was that too. But then I lost you, so when I found you again I wanted to see where you were going. Why you would come here is anybody’s guess…. Why did you come here?”

  The spirit was rubbing itself against Edwin’s back to remind him why they were there, and he felt determined to stay and finish what he had started. He couldn’t leave, not now, not with the cure right in front of him. Setting his jaw defiantly, he knew that tonight, no matter what else happened, he would heal his hand. “Ashton, you need to leave now.”

  Almost a cackle, Ashton laughed contemptuously. “You don’t seem to understand your position. Do you know what the Headmistress is going to do when I tell her you left Hawthorne tonight?”

  “Ashton, I don’t have time for this. Go. Go tell Headmistress Vanora. Go do whatever you want. Just go and leave me alone.”

  Ashton’s queer smile left his face, replaced by loathing. “I had hoped you were different, but you’re just like all the others. And you must be put in your place.”

  Now it was Edwin’s turn to laugh. “And you’re the one who’s going to put me there? You’re a joke.” He crossed his arms. “I’m not going anywhere. Hadn’t you better run off to your Headmistress now?”

  His smug smile gone, Ashton advanced towards him, and Edwin feared he had miscalculated. Ashton had never seemed like the type to act alone; he was supposed to threaten him and storm off. Edwin backed up a few steps, but there was nowhere to go with the cliff behind him. When Ashton grabbed him by the arm, Edwin yelled, “Let go of me!” He sensed the spirit’s growing agitation. “I said let go!” Whispering a few words, he called the spirit into him, knowing that Ashton would be no match for their combined strength. Ashton looked shocked by the sight of the smoke rushing into Edwin’s mouth, but even so, when Edwin tried jerking his arm away, Ashton held tight. He realized the spirit was holding back, and he wondered whether the spirit was worried about Ashton getting hurt.

  Being so much taller than him, it didn’t matter that Ashton appeared to be slight and weak, and he easily hefted Edwin into the air. Edwin barely had time to wonder why the spirit wasn’t helping him; Ashton was about to put Edwin over his shoulder when Edwin felt the spirit’s hunger beginning to overwhelm his own senses. He realized too late what was coming. In a desperate effort, he began pulling Ashton’s hair, trying to get down, to get away.

  “Let go of me!” Ashton yelled.

  Edwin was on his shoulder now. Balling his hurt hand into a fist, he banged it against Ashton’s back and cried out in pain, but he kept banging, kept squirming, kept yelling to be put down, kept doing everything he could to break free.

  “Edwin, stop this at once! I am an Oculus. You can’t do this!”

  Realizing that he had made a mistake in calling the spirit into him, Edwin didn’t let go, and he tried to quell the spirit’s will inside him. He wanted only its confidence and strength, not this. Ashton seemed to be losing his grip, but not quickly enough.

  As heat began to rise between his hand and Ashton’s hair, he saw that the woods were filling with gold light. Suddenly he heard Ashton gasp, and the night became momentarily brighter. As Ashton became dust, Edwin fell to the ground, covered in soot. Coughing, he pulled himself to his knees. Under him, smashed into the snow, were Ashton’s crumpled clothes, lying on top of which was his Oculus button.

  * * *

  Snow, he knew, wasn’t the best place to bury Ashton’s clothes, but at least it would hide them until spring. While he dug, Edwin couldn’t help but wonder if this wasn’t the spirit’s plan all along. It had to have known Ashton was following them, and he wondered whether there was really a fox in that hole. He wanted to release the spirit and ask, but he was too afraid of what the answer would be.

  After a great while passed, he tried to lift himself to go, but he sank back to the ground. His muscles felt weak, like rubber. He had never liked Ashton but he never wanted him to die, and he didn’t know how he could have let this happen.

  But even as he cursed his stupidity, he couldn’t help but notice how much better he felt. He was whole again; death no longer crept up his arm. No, he realized he wasn’t just whole; he was better than whole. His clothes felt snug for the first time in his life, and he wondered if he had grown. In absorbing Ashton he had done more than heal himself: He had taken more energy than he needed, and he could feel that extra power coursing through his body, looking for an outlet. The perverse thought crossed his mind that regardless of the source, having too much energy was infinitely better than having too little.

  “Stop it!” he yelled. He could sense the spirit gloating inside him. “I know you did this on purpose. You made me kill someone. Don’t you understand that? I would never be able to feel this way, this callous, without you. I hate you.”

  His spirit couldn’t hide its glee, and after a while Edwin cried himself out and rose again to go. He tried to remember what the spirit had said about the fortuneteller, something about her enslaving its essence, and he wondered if it was something she could teach him. It was too late to go back to the fair—Headmistress Vanora and the others would be leaving soon, if they hadn’t left already, and he still had to change back into his uniform—but he knew he had to return and find out what the fortuneteller knew.

  The fair would still be there tomorrow.

  CHAPTER 15: TRUTHS AND CONSEQUENCES

  “Where is my Ashton? Why would he do this to me?” Headmistress Vanora blubbered, shocking the whole orphanage with her wailing.

  Edwin tried not to look around guiltily. Ashton’s name had been the word on everyone’s lips all day, and it was hard to act surprised by his disappearance. He gulped and focused his attention on his food; they were eating fresh rabbit stew early tonight, and it wouldn’t be long before
the second group left for the fair. Edwin’s spirit purred in his lap loudly enough that Edwin worried other people might hear.

  “Be quiet,” Edwin spat, still seething from their argument the previous night. After he had released it, the creature had confirmed his worst fears by not being even a bit remorseful. In fact, the creature was positively giddy, caring only that he was healed, and it even had the audacity to point out that with Ashton gone, no one had noticed his absence from Hawthorne.

  When the creature kept purring in his lap, he tried driving it away with his hand and had to stifle unwanted laughter when it crawled up his sleeve and began tickling him. It took every ounce of Edwin’s control not to stand up and scream. He couldn’t believe it was enjoying itself when he couldn’t stop replaying in his mind how coarse Ashton’s hair had been in his hand, how it felt to fall through the air, how the dust had tasted in his mouth, how he had choked, how no matter how hard he blew or how much he spat, he couldn’t get the taste of dust out of his mouth.

  “Headmistress?” Martha asked. Edwin turned and saw Martha speaking softly over Headmistress Vanora’s shoulder. “I know this is a bad time, but the others want to know. Have you decided who is going to the fair tonight?”

  “My Ashton was supposed to go to the fair tonight. I should never have left him here alone!”

  Rubbing the Headmistress’s arm, Martha said, “Don’t lose hope. We’ll find him.”

  Headmistress Vanora looked up from her untouched plate, her face stained with tears. “People are saying Ashton ran away, saying he hid in a cart going back up to Newick, but my Ashton would never leave me. Something happened to him. I know it.”

  Unable to listen to anymore, Edwin quietly went back to his room and flopped down in bed. A few feet away, Walt, from his own bed, said, “You’re looking well, the best I think I’ve seen you since you got here. The fair seems to have given you new life.”

  “What do you mean?” Edwin asked, sounding a little more defensive than he would have liked.

  Walt shrugged. “I just mean you look well. I’m glad. Chardwick is depressing and the fair seems to reinvigorate people. You seem happier, too.”

  “Oh, thanks,” Edwin said. Of course Walt had no idea how his words stung. Edwin hated how good he felt, and he noticed that he was standing straighter and having less difficulty looking people in the eye. Every change made him resent the spirit all the more.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Vanora so upset,” Walt continued. “Who knew she cared?”

  “I’m going back out tonight,” Edwin said. He couldn’t stand to hear another word about Vanora or Ashton.

  “Again? Wouldn’t that be tempting fate? Good thing Ashton disappeared, or we’d both be down in the cellar tonight.”

  “Don’t say that. Ashton could really be hurt. Let’s hope he comes back safely,” Edwin said, disgusted with how easily the lies came. The spirit hovered under his sleeve, taunting him.

  “Fine, fine. You’re really going back out tonight?”

  “I know it’s not a good idea to sneak out again, but I have to. There was this weird fortuneteller I have to see again.”

  Walt smiled. “If the fortuneteller was any good she already told you everything she wanted you to know. What’d she say?”

  “She said I needed to go to the mines. She seemed to know a lot about me.” Edwin chewed his bottom lip.

  “You shouldn’t worry so much. We had a good night last night, and we got away with it. Stay here with me and relax, let all this commotion about Ashton pass.” Walt stretched lazily on his bed.

  “But the fair’s leaving tomorrow. This is my last chance to see it. Will you try to cover for me if anyone asks?”

  “Yes, Edwin, of course, but—”

  “Thanks,” Edwin interjected. “I’m going to take a quick nap.” With a quick tug of his cloak, he covered his face.

  He had only meant to rest his eyes—he was so upset he never thought he’d fall asleep—but the next thing he knew he was woken by the sound of a door being slammed shut. Pulling his cloak from his face, he felt a rush of cold air. Unexpectedly, he saw that Sam was standing over him.

  “Sam,” Edwin squeaked. His mind was fuzzy; he had been dreaming about Ashton—but that wasn’t quite right. He hadn’t been dreaming about Ashton, he had been dreaming he was Ashton. It had felt so real he stared past Sam a moment, trying to remember what he had seen. Ashton had been standing in the corner of Headmistress Vanora’s office listening to her, Lady Nemain, and Master Carrion arguing about Edwin.

  “This new boy carries the mark of magic,” Headmistress Vanora had said. “We must tell Lucent Weston. He should convene the Council.”

  “He’s just a boy,” Lady Nemain replied. “That scar on his arm could be anything.”

  Master Carrion had been tapping his fingers against the Headmistress’s table. “Magic hasn’t been seen in Chardwick in fifteen years. And before that? Generations. Whatever power magic once held—”

  “Whatever power?” Vanora interrupted. “The Hosts destroyed the Fifth Kingdom, every man, woman, and child. The other kingdoms almost fell. Our records tell us Chardwick was founded after—”

  Nemain jumped in: “But Edwin is one of ours! That someone from Chardwick could carry the mark—it’s unthinkable!”

  Carrion nodded. “However great magic’s fire might have been, it has almost burned out, and whatever embers remain appear ever less frequently and ever less bright. All you have upstairs is a tired, frightened boy. We should send him back to the ledge, the Medgards’ will be damned.”

  “No!” Nemain cried. “We can protect him here.”

  “Don’t be blind, Nemain!” Carrion spat. “Few yet speak openly, but it would only take a small spark to ignite a rebellion. A rebellion here, in Chardwick. We should be more concerned with the village than the boy.”

  “Is this really an appropriate conversation for the boy?” asked Nemain, looking at Ashton.

  Vanora waved her hand dismissively. “Ashton is my most obedient child. He’ll be an acolyte one day, just you see. Anything you want to say—”

  “He’s not an acolyte yet, Headmistress,” Nemain responded.

  Vanora sighed. “Fine. Ashton, leave us.”

  Ignoring Sam’s posturing, Edwin had the horrible suspicion that the dream was somehow the result of taking Ashton’s life. Walt must have heard Sam trying to get Edwin’s attention, and his bed squeaked as he rolled over to face them. “Oh, hello Sam.”

  Edwin stood, and Sam’s eyes narrowed. “You look taller.”

  “He does, doesn’t he? I knew I wasn’t imagining it,” Walt said.

  Edwin laughed nervously. “Thanks. I could stand to be a bit taller.”

  “Just a bit,” Walt agreed, smiling.

  Sam’s face was as stoic and unreadable as ever, but Edwin’s heart still beat faster. “Did you, erm, need something?”

  “I saw you last night at the fair. I also saw Ashton. I might have been the last person to see him,” Sam said.

  Edwin gulped. “Oh. Have you, erm, told Headmistress Vanora?”

  “No, though I know I should. You see, Ashton was looking for you,” Sam said. The statement hung in the air, forcing Edwin to respond.

  “Do you know what he wanted?” Edwin asked.

  “No,” Sam said simply. “It’s curious, though, that both of you were at the fair last night. And then Ashton disappears trying to find you.”

  Walt stood from his bed. “What are you trying to say, Sam? That Edwin did something to Ashton? He would never do anything like that.”

  Turning to face Walt, Sam said evenly, “I suppose you know him best. You two have been almost inseparable these past few weeks. But still, the coincidences are piling up. I would like to hear what Edwin has to say for himself.”

  Edwin bit his lower lip. “Erm, Walt is right. I never saw Ashton last night, and I would never do anything to hurt anyone.”

  “Of course, that’s what I thought. That�
��s why I haven’t told Headmistress Vanora. Still”—Sam put a hand on Edwin’s arm; Edwin tried to ignore the spirit’s growing anxiety—“if I were you I’d be more careful. People suspected of less have been sacrificed to the Great Tree.”

  Moving between them, Walt said, “That’s enough, Sam. Thanks for not telling Headmistress Vanora, but I think you should go now.”

  “Yes, you’re right, I probably should. Remember Edwin”—for the first time Sam’s tone became strained—“you had better watch your back.” Sam and Walt exchanged a meaningful look, and Sam left.

  * * *

  Using his last coin, Edwin entered the fair for the second time. It was as lively as the night before, but everything reminded him of what he’d done. He wanted to be back in bed under his covers, but his hope that he’d find the fortuneteller and a way to control his spirit kept him going. He looked up and down the rows of tents, and his heart sank when he saw that the fortuneteller was gone.

  On the road back to Hawthorne, with the noise of the fair behind him, Edwin walked with his hands in his pockets and his head down. It was snowing lightly and the road was empty, and he fingered his new gray ribbon absentmindedly, ignoring his spirit’s calls requesting its release. It had been annoying him so much that, to shut it up, he had finally just called it into him. The hunt for the fortuneteller had been a nice distraction, but as he wandered the road alone his mind kept recycling old themes: the spirit wasn’t good; it had killed Ashton; his mother had killed a baby to save him; the spirit hungered for power but power came at a horrible cost. Turning away from Hawthorne, not ready to go back, he walked until his legs and mind grew tired, and didn’t stop until he came across a building with a large window with his reflection staring back at him. If he weren’t still fingering the ribbon, he might not have recognized himself. He had done more than grow: His cheeks had lost some of their baby fat, and he looked older, closer to his age.

  Knowing that magic was responsible, he walked on, disgusted, and his spirit begged for its release. His spirit’s pestering made him think about those symbols the fortuneteller had created with his blood, and he traced their lines with his mind, wondering what words she had said to control the creature. He hadn’t really meant to, but suddenly his mouth was moving and the words began flying out. He didn’t understand their meaning, but he remembered every sound, every syllable. They seemed to come out unbidden, a litany of words that took on a life of their own. He doubted he could have stopped saying them even if he wanted to.