The Dark Passenger (Book 1) (14 page)

“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.

But he didn’t want to. He didn’t know what was happening,
and after all that had happened he didn’t care—he liked the way the words
felt on his tongue. They held power. He found himself rising in the air, surrounded
by strange houses on a road he didn’t know. The words kept coming, and an oil lamp
hanging from the building in front of him went out, leaving only the gray
shadow of moonlight trying to pierce the night’s thick clouds.

Panicking, the spirit fought against his control. But as it
had been with the fortuneteller, the spirit was powerless. Images, memories,
thoughts—the true essence of the spirit rolled out in front of him. He
could see everything it had ever seen and read its every thought. It was a
blur, too much. He felt the spirit’s essence recoil within him, trying to hold
something back, an old memory often thought about and never forgotten. It was
something Edwin may never have found on his own, something he didn’t even know
to look for, but the spirit’s fear led him there.

Edwin, stop!
his spirit’s essence screamed inside
him.

What are you hiding from me?
Edwin’s mind shot back.

And then he heard a woman’s scream. As the spirit’s memory
opened before him, he realized the spirit had taken him back to the night his
mother had died. Usually the nightmare ended with his mother’s death, but he
realized now there was more. That night the spirit was smaller and weaker than
Edwin ever remembered seeing it. Struggling to hold its essence together, it
floated through Chardwick to the house where his mother had left him, and went
straight to the crib with the crying baby on the second floor and coiled itself
protectively around him.

Edwin, please…
his spirit pleaded, but he ignored it
and pushed the memory further.

As the image of the house faded, a new scene replaced it, a
scene where the spirit was roaming Chardwick alone. It couldn’t take life by
itself, and its smoke drifted away into nothing, only to reappear a few moments
later, slowly drawn back into the spirit’s being.

Time flashed forward quickly, and Edwin was again shown the
house. Beyond the vision, he could hear himself saying the fortuneteller’s
words, but he was barely aware of them. What seemed more real was the vision of
the spirit drifting along the floor. Edwin could tell that it was weaker than
ever, but the baby in the vision didn’t know the difference. The baby was old
enough now to sit up on his own, and the spirit circled him, igniting small
sparks in the air, which made the baby giggle. When the woman of the house
entered the room, the spirit retreated behind a shelf and the baby cried. At
night, the spirit listened as the woman simpered quietly in bed. She couldn’t
understand why Edwin cried every time she entered the room.