“Interesting choice,” Bardoc observed, his voice full of reservation.
Hunter swallowed. What had she picked? Why?
“Remove the stopper and dump the contents into your hand.”
The cork slid out easily. Hunter tipped the open end over his palm. A lock of course brown hair slipped out.
“Now set the bottle aside.”
Hunter did so, wondering why Bardoc was backed against the wall, and Tehya, who had moved to the stairs, was in arms-reach of an escape. Were they afraid he would blow something up? Should he be? Bardoc looked at him with such morbid curiosity.
“I want you to concentrate on the hairs and allow your etâme to flow to them,” Bardoc instructed.
“Will I know if…” he glanced at Tehya, not wanting to come off sounding like an idiot, but having no other choice “…if I used my etâme?”
“Yes. You should feel it within. And we should see the results.”
That was a relief. “Here goes…” he mumbled, trying to imagine what he was about to do. Would he grow some sort of creature out of the hairs? Would they burn up? Would they melt? Would they just sit there and do nothing because he didn't actually have any powers at all and this was one giant mistake?
He held his breath and closed his eyes. He needed to concentrate. He needed to try and feel the etâme, but there was nothing.
He exhaled. What did etâme feel like? As easy as breathing, Hunter. Like air in the lungs? Like blood in the veins? Veins.
Suddenly, he recalled the sparkling, vine-like sensation that chased up his spine when he’d touched the portal book in the hidden room in the farmhouse. It’s worth a try.
He listened to the rhythm of his heartbeat, tried to picture his veins as vines instead. He pictured those vines running the course of his body, stretching, growing. He felt lighter. A tingle drifted through his palms.
It took hold.
The feeling rippled through his arm like ribbons in the wind, through his wrist and out his fingertips. It felt good. Except for the trickle of pain on the back of his hand. But other than that, it was nothing more than a pleasant summer breeze beneath his skin. He was warm. Sleepy.
But he opened his eyes and looked down.
“That’s it?"
The coarse brown hairs had turned green.
The etâme sputtered out. His shoulders fell.
"I’m supposed to be only as limited as my imagination and I’ve done nothing I couldn’t do with a bottle of paint?" He looked up.
Bardoc’s angular face contorted. He seemed to be fighting something behind his expression, his eyes flickering from deep to vivid green, like flames. Excitement? Or hunger.
Hunter took a step back.
But then the Instructor’s face returned to its sharp, scholarly expression and the corner of his mouth curled into a smile. "Tierendar."
Tehya squeaked in delight and leapt off the stairs, coming over to inspect the hairs. "Ariana was right!"
Hunter shook his head, not understanding. "What?"
"You are Tierendar," Bardoc repeated. "Did you not know this?"
Hunter gaped at him. "No that can't be right."
Bardoc looked at Tehya. "How did Ariana guess?"
"There was a Mustang in the Pass, where we, ah..." she glanced at the hairs, not meeting her father's eyes, "joined up with him. He was touching it. The Mustang was letting him."
Bardoc's head whipped back to Hunter. "Is this true?"
Hunter just stared at them. Tierendar. His grandpa had lied to him? Or did he not know either? Had he just assumed Hunter was Eerden?
“Father.” William burst into the room. The three of them turned to him in surprise. “Farstat's Bookstore is on fire.”
Tehya blanched. “What? How? Why?”
Her brother looked at her, his face grim. “The initial reports say Huntsmen. And...” he hesitated, his gaze dropping to his feet. When he looked up again, he looked defeated. “Ariana was inside.”
Chapter 9
Ariana trudged across the arid land, her trek punctuated by strong waves of heat that mingled with her growing exhaustion, causing her to stumble onto the unforgiving ground. With each fall, she took longer getting up. But every time, she summoned the strength to stand and continue on. She had to keep moving.
Her hands were scraped. Her knees bled anew with each stumble, the rich red liquid oozing through the dirt and dust that clung to her as it trailed down her shins. The stifling, stagnant air boiled on her skin, burned her eyes. Her body screamed in protest with every step as the sun made its long arc across the blurry grey-blue sky.
But it was worse to be still than to expend energy on movement.
So she marched along, dragging her heavy bag behind her, letting it dig into the clay to ensure that she wasn’t walking in circles.
She’d kept her boots on to avoid burning the soles of her feet, but she’d long since stripped down to her shorts and camisole.
Pabl’s book, wrapped in her other clothes and stuffed in her bag with the other useless book, was no help to her now. She’d tried—for longer than she should have—to fix it. She had gotten closer. But she eventually forced herself to stop and search for shelter. She was going to need at least another couple of hard days' work on it. She wouldn't be able to survive long enough to do that in this climate without taking care of her basic needs first.
The landscape blushed as the molten-copper sun slipped below the horizon, and a silhouette appeared against the red-orange sky.
She slowed, staring at the outcropping of giant stones. It could have been a mirage. But she sensed that it wasn’t.
Her etâme needed to reconnect with water more than her body needed to drink it in. A sense of water, something connected to her etâme, tugged, as if tied to it with thread, at her core.
There was water that way.
She picked up her pace.
It was farther than it looked as she half-ran, half-trudged toward it. She panted. Her head felt close to splitting and her vision swam. But she kept pushing. Finally, she reached the biggest boulder. It had been hollowed out—turned into a building. Perhaps it was once a lookout post. Between rectangular gaps, which were all that remained of the window and door, a crumbling lantern sat lumped in a recess carved in the outer wall.
Inside, she found a ratty blanket—its fibers so dry and delicate it fell apart in her hands—and a ledge wide enough to lay on. Beside it was a basin, caked in clay, that must have once held water.
Hardly an oasis.
The weight of disappointment settled in her chest. But she was too exhausted to fight it. She unpacked her coat, books, and documents from the satchel, then climbed onto the ledge. Tucking the limp, dirty bag beneath her head, she closed her sun-drenched eyes and awaited the rescue of sleep.
It didn’t come.
Her mind reeled with worries she’d forced herself to ignore all day. What had happened to Pabl? What did her friends think had happened to her? Tehya would be distraught—no doubt re-living her mother’s sudden disappearance all those years ago. Hunter was probably upset too, but only about his things—which now looked stolen rather than borrowed.
And what about her mother?
She fought the tightening in her throat at the thought. She wouldn't dwell on it. Any of it. Because right then, none of it mattered. She was out of the reach of Ionia and everyone in it. All she could do now was hope to survive until she could get the Ionian half of the portal book working.
She focused on her body, keeping her mind busy by examining her weaknesses. The cool stone made her sunburned skin sting. Her head throbbed. The muscles in her legs were plagued by a sharp ache. Her tongue felt as though she’d been licking a rock. She was so thirsty. And hungry. But the thought of food repulsed her.
Water. That's all she wanted.
She imagined herself stumbling upon a deep, glittering pool of ice-cold liquid—diving in, shivering with pleasure as the chill rushed over her body.
“
Stop it,” she said, shattering the image.
She opened her eyes.
Moonlight sparkled on the sandy clay. It was cooler now. Cold. When had that happened? Her body seemed to radiate more heat than the desert had dished out all day. Perhaps that’s why she hadn’t noticed.
She pressed her palm against the wall beside her, picturing herself pulling water from the depths of the stone.
She wished she had enough training to do that. She was Tieren, after all. But even with high levels of raw talent, she had much to learn. Her heart urged her to try. But her body couldn't afford for her to expend the necessary effort. Especially if it was unlikely to result in more than a few drops.
She dropped her hand and slid off the ledge, crossing the little room in a handful of steps. Peering out the window opening, she set her elbows on the sill and her chin in her hands.
It was silent as the dead.
She narrowed her eyes, let the moonlit ground blur to resemble a calm sea. But it wasn't. It was a barren desert land. She wanted to cry. But her eyes were as dry as the dirt beneath her feet.
She was already in so much pain, how could she possibly survive?
No. She wouldn’t think that way. Self-pity wouldn’t save her. She had to be strong.
She stared at the desert and sighed. The breath poked and prodded her lungs. Her weary legs swayed. A dream-sound of distant rain beckoned her to close her eyes and escape her reality, just for a while.
And then something moved in the moonlight.
She gasped, stuck her head out the window. Her eyes, wide and sleepless, searched the horizon.
“Horses,” she breathed. There were men on horses.
She didn't hesitate. She grabbed her meager possessions and dashed out of the shelter, her eyes on the figures in the distance.
She couldn’t yell out, for fear they were Huntsmen—or, as this was Helede, something much worse. So she ran only until she picked up their trail in the clay, then she slowed, following at a safe distance and choosing a pace she could handle. They had a heavy cart. The grooves left by the wheels were deep. Eventually, they would lead her to civilization or stop for water. Even Heledian horses needed to drink from time to time. Either way, they were her salvation. She just had to stay alive long enough to catch up to them.
Chapter 10
Hunter breathed in the clean crisp scent of the city as he leaned against the front wall of Edan House. In the four days since Ariana's disappearance—as Tehya insisted on calling it—Winter had officially made its presence known. It was still technically Autumn for two more days, but it didn't feel like it.
Hunter studied Tehya as she rubbed her gloved hands together and exhaled into them, her warm breath escaping in swirls into frosty air that kissed the pink tip of her nose. He wanted to take her hands in his, warm them with his own breath. He imagined her watching him. Their eyes locking. A smile from her, pleased. An invitation for him to move in close, only the crystalline breath between their lips, and—
“Do you think my father’s right?”
Hunter startled, blinked back to reality, where he stood four feet away from her on the opposite side of the doorway.
“Has it really been forty years since a Tierendar was born?”
He shrugged, hoping the redness of his cheeks would be mistaken for being cold, and stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. “Hope so."
If Bardoc was right, and Hunter’s race was as rare as he said, then maybe he wouldn’t need the documents to find his parents. Perry had sworn that the Hall of Records kept birth information for every Ionian citizen dating back at least fifty years. It'd be enough. His parents’ names would be right there, waiting for him. He wouldn't have needed the documents after all. So why had his grandpa insisted he take them? He still couldn’t understand why the old man hadn’t just told him their names.
“What are they doing in there?” Tehya grumbled. She pushed open the front door and stuck her head inside.
Hunter watched her. Her mood had improved gradually in the time since the fire. They'd tried contacting Ariana—using a special postal quill that, once they circled their signature, made the page curl in on itself, becoming spherical and iridescent, before winking out of existence. But their letters had been returned undelivered right alongside Hunter's letter to his grandpa. For Tehya, this was enough to convince her that Ariana had somehow found access to a portal book—or fixed the one Hunter had confessed she'd stolen from him—and was safe somewhere in another world. The bubbles can't cross worlds unless there's a working portal book available, she had insisted. There are so few of those now. It's entirely possible. Besides, they would just hover over her in her cell if the Huntsmen had her. The same way they hover over graves. Hunter hoped that was true, but he couldn't help feeling she was grasping at anything to make her friend's disappearance easier to take.
“Perry. You said you were right behind us. Where are Dilyn and Finn?” Tehya asked. Someone must have responded because she followed it up with, “Hurry up. Our blood is freezing in our veins out here.”
He could hear the boys now, but couldn’t make out what they were saying.
A kitten growl escaped Tehya's lips. “No. Perry, this was your idea—your connections. We can’t go ahead without you. Besides, what if the tower lights up and we’re stuck in the street?”
Hunter glanced at the tallest spire at the city center, fearing the blood red glow that, according to Dilyn, signaled the presence of Recruiters within the city walls. A rarer occurrence, he was told, than Huntsmen. At least this far north. The conquering force was having a little more trouble with the resistance in the colder areas. But their numbers were growing.
The light in the tower was clear.
“Thank you,” Tehya sighed. “Now give Finn back his scarf and get out here." She moved away from the door and the three boys poured out, Perry laughing loudly.
Finn ran a hand through his pale hair and scowled. “Clamp it, Perry.”
“I do what I want."
Finn’s face contorted into a resigned grimace. He unraveled his balled-up yellow scarf and wrapped it around his neck, starting up the street with a huff.
Perry crouched and lunged toward Finn’s knees, clamping his arms tight around them. He hoisted Finn into the air. Finn shouted, his voice bouncing off the walls of the houses and tumbling down the lane. Perry let out a hooting cackle.
Dilyn grabbed hold of Finn too, helping Perry hoist him higher. They turned in a circle, Finn spinning helplessly, his arms flailing.
“Oh, Miss Tenner!” Perry cried in a sing-song voice.
Hunter chuckled.
Perry and Dilyn jumped as they spun. Finn flopped about like a fish with its tail caught in a fist.
“Let me down!” Finn howled, swinging his arms wildly, no doubt to throw them off balance and drop him.
“Make us, why don’t you?” Perry teased.
Finn’s features crinkled with concentration. He stopped flailing and focused on his hands, as if there was something in them. Hunter recognized the look. The wind lifted, fingering the edges of their clothes before dying down. Finn was trying to use etâme on them. But he couldn’t get it to work. He swore and dropped his hands.
Hm. Maybe I’m not the only one who sucks at this. He’d been working on his own since the lesson, but hadn’t managed to get the feeling right again. He was disappointed. Ariana and Tehya had captured an entire storm above his head. He couldn’t even move a leaf an inch without blowing on it.
“Ha! Guess all that talk is still just talk,” Perry taunted.
Finn smirked. “Oh, yeah?” He balled his fist. “Here’s some action for you.” He punched Perry in the ear.
Perry yowled and let go. Dilyn, only half Finn’s size and equally thin, crumpled beneath him as he dropped to the ground.
Tehya stopped, doubled over with laughter, the sound twinkling in the open air.
Perry pointed at the pair of them, his other hand pressed to his ear. “Ha!”
Finn shot Perry a look that Hunter was happy not to have aimed at himself, and scrambled to his feet.
Perry’s laugher died. He dropped his hands and took off running, Finn on his heels. Dilyn rolled, leapt to his feet, and chased as close behind them as his short legs would allow.
Tehya shook her head with a sad smile. "They're acting up to cheer me up," she said. "I know they miss her, too."
Hunter nodded, but couldn't decide what to say.
“Guess it’s just you and me,” she said, hooking her arm with his.
The blood drained from Hunter’s face only to rush back twice as hot. He let her lead him forward and tried not to think about the warmth of her arm against his, or the gentleness of her smile, or the softness of her skin, or the—oh, who was he kidding? He was going to be thinking about her the whole walk. “Yeah. Guess so,” he croaked.
“Are you nervous?”
His eyes darted to hers. “What? Why?”
She chuckled and held his gaze as if trying to read his thoughts. “You seem nervous.”
He gulped, tried to pull his gaze from her face but couldn’t. Was it that obvious?
“Don’t be.” She rubbed his arm with her free hand. “You’ll find something.”
He frowned, then realized she was talking about his parents. He exhaled in relief. “Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” He was glad to have finally confided in her about the search. Her positivity helped him believe the task wasn’t so impossible. And it seemed to help take her mind off of Ariana
Their eyes lingered on each other until an uncomfortable silence nestled itself between them. Tehya looked away first, and Hunter turned his attention to the Fyrennian propaganda.
Falken’s stamped eyes watched him. His line-of-ink mouth sneering as if to say, I’ll find you.
He pushed the thought away, feeling ill. He took a deep breath, let his senses absorb the unmistakably autumnal scent of Tehya’s hair, and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
The Onyx Vial (Shadows of The Nine Book 1) Page 10
