The Onyx Vial (Shadows of The Nine Book 1)

by Lampley, Alexis

  He glanced at the window near the front door. The light outside was still absent. He must've dozed off for a few minutes. But the dream seemed longer. And of all the things to dream about, why hadn’t it been Harold, who he'd seen so much more recently? Why Ariana?

  She was different than he remembered. Tanner. Her stormy blue eyes, full of fear and hatred, had been wide and wet with tears.

  “Ready to go?”

  Hunter jumped, pitching off the couch and slamming into the floor. “Perry!” he yelped, rubbing his shoulder.

  Perry stood behind the couch, bundled in his winter clothes, twirling his brown knit cap in his hands. His eyes were wide, amused. “Keep it down,” he snickered.

  Hunter groped for the couch cushion and pulled himself up. “Don’t scare me like that and I will.”

  Perry stuffed his hat on his head, tamping down his unruly yellow curls. “Actually, I don’t care if you wake the others,” he said. “It’s only fair that they lose as much sleep as us.”

  Hunter shook off the dull throb in his arm and glanced toward the stairs. “True.”

  Before Harold left with the Vial, Bardoc had laid out the travel plan for everyone but Grant and William, who had volunteered to escort a couple of new kids to school from a nearby province later in the week. As was usual for the journey to Ruekridge, Hunter was told, they were to travel in groups of twos and threes. Large traveling groups aroused suspicion—adults especially, since their absence from their jobs would be noted by Huntsmen or Fyrennian sympathizers—so this method was safest. Hunter had refused to travel alone, but wanted to limit his friends' exposure. They'd decided the groups would rotate, switching travel partners every few hours, staggering the trek with breaks while they re-arranged. Bardoc had told them it was to keep them alert, but it was really to limit the amount of time each of them spent around the weapon. Harold would keep it for the night, and meet them outside of Rukeridge to make the exchange.

  “I wonder if Bardoc’s going to come down this morning,” Perry mused. “I mean, it was his idea to have us out of Eastridge before sunrise.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

  Hunter didn’t correct him. It had been Harold’s idea, of course. But announcing that meant inviting questions. Harold wanted it kept secret. Aside from wandering a strange new world alone with a target on his back, Hunter was going to do exactly what Harold wanted. His future, his past—his life—depended on it. As Bardoc readied supplies in the other room, Harold had made sure that Hunter understood how perilous this was on all fronts. Council has given me a way to alert them if you cross us, Hunter. Better hope they get to you before I do.

  The thought sent an acidity stirring in his chest that seemed to be tied, vaguely, to the back of his tongue.

  "I hate getting up this early. I feel a little sick. I need breakfast,” Perry continued. “Bardoc is scattered. I know a lot has happened over the years, but lately…” he let out a low whistle. “Raver.”

  Hunter drifted to the window. Through the charcoal grey of pre-dawn, he could make out only a handful of the Fyrennian propaganda smirching the white walls of the surrounding buildings.

  “Are we ready?” came Bardoc’s voice.

  Hunter turned to see him descending the steps, Tehya right behind. He watched her slip around the banister and into the kitchen as Bardoc headed toward him.

  Eventually, Bardoc came close enough that Hunter was forced to turn his attention away from the man's daughter.

  Bardoc’s eyes flickered like candlelight obscured by a large green leaf. “Peaceful Morning to you, Hunter,” he said.

  “You too,” Hunter replied.

  “The... Councilman... will be waiting at the edge of Rockwood Pass. Once he hands off the…” he glanced at Perry, who was fiddling with something on his bag, and lowered his voice, “package he has asked you to deliver… he will wait with whomever he decides should lead first with Finn and Dilyn.”

  Hunter nodded, hoping Harold would make Perry go with the other boys so he could be alone with Tehya.

  Bardoc cleared his throat and returned to speaking normally. “Remember, for the safety of Ruekridge—should you run into trouble—only the leaders will have directions, and they’ll be getting them in pieces. If you get separated—and please try not to—you’ll need to contact me so I can re-route you safely back together.”

  Hunter swallowed. He knew these were just precautions, but he also knew they were necessary, and that wasn't comforting knowledge. “Okay,” he squeaked through a dry, sticky throat.

  “Good,” Bardoc said, moving to the door. “And now...”

  “Time to go?” Perry cut in, pulling off his cap, shaking his blond hair out of his eyes, and grinning widely as he replaced it on his head.

  “I’ve got our food packs,” Tehya said, making a slow, dance-like maneuver through the front room furniture with three bags slung over her shoulder.

  “Map, Tehya?” Bardoc asked.

  She handed Perry a bag, then patted the hip pocket of her dark green coat. “Right here.”

  “Perry?”

  He looped both bags’ straps over his shoulders and nodded.

  “Don’t forget to send our trunks ahead,” Tehya reminded her father.

  "Wish we could send humans by postal quill," Perry grumbled. "I know I weigh less than your trunk, Tehya."

  She stuck her tongue out at him.

  “Did you put them at the foot of your bed, each of you?”

  Perry and Tehya nodded. Hunter’s only possessions—what was left of them after Ariana—were in the bag on his back.

  Bardoc rested his hand on the doorknob. “Then it shall be done.” He swung the door open, stuck his head out to check that the street was clear, and waved them through.

  Tehya stopped at the threshold. "Tell Wil and Grant we'll send them word when we reach school, in case we see anything worth watching out for on their way," she said.

  "Be safe, my leaf," Bardoc replied, enveloping her in a warm hug.

  Tehya murmured a response, then escaped her father’s arms and trailed out the door. Hunter followed, returning Bardoc’s nod of encouragement with a crooked, uncertain smile.

  “Go quickly,” Bardoc whispered, then shut the door.

  Perry and Tehya became nothing more than black shadows against a dark grey backdrop. Hunter spied the watchtower over the indistinct shapes of the buildings around them. The white light cut through the darkness like a beacon of hope. All was clear.

  The crisp, leafy smell of Autumn enveloped Hunter’s senses as Tehya hooked her elbow with his, whispering, “This way."

  Warmth spread in Hunter's chest with the realization that Tehya had chosen to link up with him and not Perry. Of course, Hunter was the only one unfamiliar with the city, and therefore the only one who needed guidance, but he liked to think she’d wanted to be near him.

  They made their way through the streets. The cold morning air crashed against Hunter's exposed skin as the darkness dissolved. By the time they reached the wall, Hunter could make out the basic structure of Tehya’s features. Even in deep shadow, she seemed to shine.

  The city gates rumbled as they were opened to welcome the day. The three of them slipped through, unacknowledged by the crew, and trudged toward Rockwood Pass.

  The crisp air did wonders for waking Hunter’s mind, but his body was still sluggish with lack of sleep and his feet felt heavier than normal. Still, they reached the top before dawn.

  Perry and Hunter started for the tree line, but Tehya stopped. Hunter checked over his shoulder.

  “Wait,” she said softly.

  He halted. “What is it? Did you forget something?”

  Behind her, the hills at the far end of the city glowed orange with the coming sunrise. The lake, estates, and mass of closely-packed buildings inside the walls were shrouded in shadow.

  She waved him over to her. “I want you to see this,” she said, with a smile that didn't seem to reach her eyes.

  Hunter was
drawn to her, overcome with the urge to pull her into his arms. Instead, he stood beside her, daring to brush his arm against hers as she turned to face Eastridge.

  Perry must not have realized they stopped. Hunter was fine with that. In this moment, Hunter had Tehya to himself. He liked it.

  He watched, fighting the ridiculous urge to slip his hand in hers, as the sun crested the hills and a speck of cherry-gold light glinted at the top spire.

  The golden light flared, as if the tip had caught fire, and then the sunlight slithered down to the copper shingles of the roof—a liquid gold icing drizzled over the giant, white cake of a city.

  “Ariana and I used to sneak out here on clear mornings like this, when she was in the city for lessons, and watch the sunrise,” Tehya said softly.

  Her eyes, saturated with green, glistened with sadness and resignation. Was she starting to doubt her convictions that Ariana was alive? The sunlight stretched across the city and touched her cool, pink skin, embedding its glittering warmth in her hair.

  She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue and sighed. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Hunter answered.

  She turned to him and met his gaze.

  Hunter’s face flashed with heat. He cleared his throat, dragged his attention back to Eastridge. “Yes,” he said again. “It’s beautiful. Beautiful city.”

  “Tehya. Hunter." Perry's voice sounded wary.

  Hunter turned to see him waving them on, the look on Perry's face sending a shock to Hunter's chest.

  “We need to get to the trees. Now.”

  A rumble of hooves sounded.

  It was the Pass all over again. Only this time, they were too late.

  A Huntsman emerged from the trees, riding upon them like spilled milk on a slanted table. His white cloak flapped over his black horse, his yellow eyes gleaming, the horse’s silver horn glinting in the pale sunlight.

  Before Hunter could form the thought to run, the Huntsman drew to a halt in front of them.

  “Bit early for children to be out and about, innit?” He loomed over them, a sneer twisting his grasshopper-like face.

  Hunter lowered his head so the Huntsman couldn’t get a good look at his face.

  “So sorry, Master,” Tehya said.

  “Where might you be going?”

  A thousand lies flew through Hunter's head, but he couldn’t think of anything convincing.

  “Bramel, sir. In Quall,” Perry finally offered.

  But they had hesitated too long.

  The Huntsman slithered off his saddle and pressed his face to Perry’s. Tehya trembled. Hunter wished she were beside him. Instead, he was a foot away from a Huntsman who smelled like greasy hair and unwashed feet.

  Hunter turned away slightly, not wanting to catch the Huntsman’s notice, watching him from the corner of his eye.

  “Yer lying needs work,” the Huntsman said. “Lockden’ll beat that right outta yeu.”

  Perry paled.

  Hunter held his breath. He wanted to say something—anything—that would help them out of this mess. But he couldn’t think over the sudden pounding of his heart.

  Why can’t I be like I am in my dreams; calm, confident, in charge? I would actually be useful.

  Why not? Maybe he could.

  He straightened his back and jutted out his chin, allowing the Huntsman to view his face. “You aren’t allowed to touch us,” he said, tightening his arms to his sides and praying he could hold the lie together.

  The Huntsman wheeled on him. “Whatter yeu getting’ at, boy?”

  It took clenching every muscle in his body not to flinch. His mouth was as dry as dirt on a windy day. Would this Huntsman think he looked as familiar as the Commander had? Hunter had thought perhaps not telling Harold about the incident in the pass was a mistake. They could have disguised him somehow. But now, he would try to use that recognition to his advantage. He just hoped to be able to keep the man distracted long enough for Harold to find them.

  The Huntsman cocked his head, narrowed his eyes as he took in Hunter’s features.

  It worked.

  The Huntsman rushed him.

  Tehya and Perry cried out in shock as the man’s hands wrapped around Hunter’s neck, his skin humming with static. Hunter’s hands flew to the man’s wrists. He pulled. But the man was strong.

  His insect face alighted with maniacal rage. “Yeu,” he rasped, shaking stars into Hunter’s eyes.

  Hunter gasped. Fire burned down his throat. He clawed at the man’s wrists, but it was no use. He blinked repeatedly, but the world twisted and warped, making it difficult to see beyond those murderous yellow eyes. His head filled with buzzing air, as if it might float away.

  Then a face appeared behind the Huntsman’s head; dark, rusted-green eyes hooded by heavily peppered brows.

  Harold Stratton.

  The Huntsman grunted. His eyes went wide. His body spasmed, then went still. His grip around Hunter’s neck released. Hunter shoved his hands off and backed away. But his legs refused to hold his weight.

  He fell back against someone. Strong arms slid under his armpits and kept him standing.

  “I’ve got you,” Perry murmured in his ear.

  The Huntsman stood there, still frozen, staring at Hunter with owl-eyes. Harold, face expressionless and hard as stone, stood behind him, his gloved hand on the man’s shoulder. Tehya had a tight hold on the Hunt-Horse’s reins. Tears glistened on her cheeks.

  Harold let go of the Huntsman’s shoulder. Like an overturned statue, the man fell face-first to the ground, revealing the white and silver hilt of a dagger buried in his back.

  Hunter exhaled in relief, choking back the horror of the scene in front of him. He didn’t even have to wonder. The Huntsman was dead.

  “You killed him?” Tehya whispered, holding fast against the struggling Hunt-Horse. She stared up at Harold, her eyes wide and pale.

  “Master Stratton,” Hunter greeted him, steadying himself before leaving the crutch of Perry’s support behind. He needed to show Tehya that things were alright, despite the dead body at Harold’s feet.

  Harold bent, his agility belying his apparent age, and wrenched the dagger from the Huntsman’s back. “Hunter." He nodded, wiping the bloody blade on his thick black pants.

  “Nice work.” Perry moved to Hunter’s side. “One down,” he said under his breath.

  Hunter pointed at the dead body. “Thanks for that.”

  “Pleasure,” Harold replied.

  Hunter was thankful the man was on their team.

  “You’re who we’re supposed to meet, I take it,” Perry said, with more ease than Hunter expected, considering the corpse between them.

  Harold didn’t grace him with a response. Instead, he pulled a small parcel from the pocket of his coat, gripped the dagger by the blade, and held them both out to Hunter. “Get moving,” he said.

  Hunter froze. He stared at the hilt, sensing a strange pull toward it, despite it being a deadly etâmic weapon that he wanted quite badly not to have to touch. He wondered whether he’d made the right choice.

  A light breeze rolled over them, bringing the salty scent of seawater and the sounds of a waking city. A city that held no answers to finding his parents. A city that was nothing more now than a dead end.

  He grabbed the hilt. The cold wind lifted, cutting into his eyes and drawing fresh tears. Harold released the blade. Hunter took it, wiped his sleeve across his face and blinked his eyes dry. Then he pocketed the dummy parcel, taking care with it so the others would assume it was what Harold had meant to give him.

  Harold fished in his pockets and pulled out a black leather belt with a sheath attached. “Secure this on your hip,” he said.

  Hunter slid the blade into the sheath, snapping a small strap over the hilt so it wouldn’t slip out. He wrapped the leather belt around his hips and buckled it tight. The weight of the dagger felt right, somehow, against his leg.

  When he looked up again, Haro
ld’s eyes were on Perry.

  “Muscles,” he said, “You’ll come with me.”

  Hunter couldn’t help but laugh at the nickname.

  “Girl.” Harold looked at Tehya.

  She inched closer to the Hunt-Horse, using it as a shield, and eyed him wearily.

  “Reins.” He thrust his hand at her, impatient.

  Tehya shoved the reins at him and backed up quickly, as if she were feeding a lion.

  “Go with Hunter,” Harold ordered.

  Tehya darted to Hunter’s side.

  Harold gestured to the Huntsman. “Muscles, get the feet.”

  Perry stared at the body, his mouth twisted in disgust. “I’m not touching him.”

  “Pick. Up. The. Feet.”

  “But he’s dead,” Perry protested.

  “Stab wound’s not contagious,” Harold retorted. "Unless you keep talking."

  “Fine,” he groaned. “Gorse.” He bent and grabbed the Huntsman’s feet.

  Hunter felt a little guilty that Perry was stuck with Harold and the dead guy for company. But then Tehya slipped her hand into Hunter’s, and a gleefully frantic voice in his head pointed out the way her hand fit perfectly in his, and how she clung to him for safety.

  Perry could handle Harold.

  “Curse this godlike build of mine,” Perry muttered loudly. “No one ever makes use of my brain.”

  Harold looped his arm around the Huntsman’s neck. “Not even yourself,” he growled.

  They lifted the Huntsman off the ground. The man’s arms dangled, lifeless, his knuckles dragging the ground. His yellow eyes had yet to look away from Hunter.

  “Wasting daylight, Hunter,” Harold noted.

  Hunter nodded, suddenly itching to get away.

  “This way,” Tehya said, giving Hunter’s hand a squeeze.

  Hunter swallowed hard and squeezed back. The weapon was in his possession. The countdown had begun.

  Chapter 24

  “I—I was only a few courtyards behind her, George. I just don’t understand it.”

  Ariana tried to place the name, the voice. But everything, including her memory, was shrouded in darkness.