The Dark Passenger (Book 1) (3 page)

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In a cold and distant land, Mina addressed her four sisters.
Her hands were bloody and clutching the entrails of a fellow wanderer. “The
mahr
stirs,” she said. Fifteen years had passed since they had stolen youth from the
men at the pub, but they were still beautiful, as though time were loath to
take back their ill-gotten gains.

“Be careful, sister,” a triplet told Mina, her silky blue
hair soaking in the sun. “The candle’s magic was strong, but foretell too much
and you will drain your youth.”

“Hush, leave Mina be,” Gretchen said.

The four sisters crowded closer around Mina and the young
man’s body. Mina’s patchwork of gold and black hair stood on end, crackling
slightly whenever gold touched black. But her cloudy eyes saw only the death
before her.

Adeptly, she moved her hands through the youth’s body,
divining further clues. Her fingernails cut flesh, and she moved up through the
stomach and on to the lungs. Wiggling her fingers around the spongy tissue, she
said, “Much has happened over these last few months. The
mahr
is still
smoke lost in the wind, but it is gaining its voice.”

Her four sisters waited expectantly.

A minute later, Mina’s fingers found the young man’s heart.
“But at once the
mahr
is both contented and lost and confused. It is
ready for us.”

Then, without hesitation, her hands left the young man’s
body and moved on to his face to pluck out his eyes. Fingering the trailing
nerve, she stared forward and considered the story it told.

“Go on sister, what do you see?” a triplet urged, but her
question was pointless. Mina would not speak again until she had learned all
she must.

Finally, after many breathless moments, Mina said, “Very
shortly, the
mahr
and its Host will find themselves more lost than ever,
without home in Chardwick.”

Gretchen rose, which stirred a cloud of dust around the
body. “We have prepared for this day, sisters. The child is old enough to
fulfill his destiny.”

“After all this time…” said a triplet.

“…these years of sacrifice…” said another.

“…the Host’s Tomb…” said the first.

“Yes, but first we must send news to Chardwick,” said Gretchen.
“Our spies must be ready.”

“Of course, I will prepare the hearth,” said a triplet.

Gretchen nodded, and then to another triplet said, “Sister,
dispose of this.” She turned and began leading the way down the path.

The triplet in red, falling into line behind her sisters,
snapped her fingers. Behind her the young man’s body burst into flames.

Deep, guttural moans came from Edwin Medgard’s pillowcase. He
knew it was Eigil, but he was surprised a cat could make such noise. He tried
not to shake the pillowcase too much, but it was hard to keep steady in the
snow, especially since Edwin was short for fifteen and the pillowcase was
almost the length of his body.

“It’s all right,” he lied. Of course the cat couldn’t
understand him, but trying to soothe her almost made him feel better. Almost.

“Be sstrong,” the spirit whispered in his ear.

“Get away from me,” Edwin said, swatting the spirit away.
The creature hovered in front of his face, just out of reach. It was nothing,
only a little ball of smoke, insignificant really; but for nothing it sure
managed to get him into a lot of trouble.

Edwin would have been the first to admit that he didn’t know
what it was, were he prone to discussing such things. When he was little he had
thought the creature was a ghost, but unlike the ghosts from his foster dad’s
stories, it had no shape and wasn’t white. He called it a phantom for a while,
but the name didn’t stick, and he finally settled on calling it his spirit. And
then it began to teach him about magic….

“You musst do this,” the creature hissed with its ethereal
voice.

“Haven’t you done enough? Why can’t you leave me alone?”

“Remember Dana,” the creature said.

Edwin wanted to cry with frustration. Dana Medgard was his
foster parents’ newborn son. The spirit had promised to hurt Dana if Edwin
didn’t do as it said, and he knew it would. The spirit didn’t make idle
threats.

Edwin kept walking. The ledge was wide here; to his right
was a wall of steep cliffs, but to his left, several feet away, the ledge
dropped off into the crater and the village of Chardwick below.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that he had already lost
sight of the lantern he’d left flickering outside his foster parents’ inn. The
wind picked up, biting the exposed skin around his eyes. It would be a while
yet before daybreak; with a bit of luck his foster parents would still be sleeping
when he returned home.
You have to keep going
, he told himself.
Yesterday he had conjured and done more than ever, but not without cost.
Every
spell has a cost.
That had been one of his first lessons. His arm ached
just thinking about it.

He glanced back again nervously. Dana’s crying kept the Medgards
up all hours, and Edwin could only hope they didn’t notice him missing.

The snow grew slightly deeper and his legs began to ache,
but he was glad for it. The effort kept his mind from wandering, and he didn’t
much like where it went these days. He hated magic.

The ledge narrowed as he got farther from the inn, forcing
him to walk ever closer to the cliff’s edge. Around him, the air was heavy with
the smell of soot, which rose from nearly every chimney below in Chardwick. Over
the ledge, smoke blanketed the village with a hazy film, and lanterns dotted
their way across the maze of roads and alleys darting out from the village
square, giving the smoke a warm, soft glow.

“You musst walk fasster,” the spirit said.

Edwin gritted his teeth. “That’s easy for you to say. You
just float,” he retorted, but he quickened his step. Nothing would make him
happier than never seeing the creature again.

But it wasn’t long before his pace again began to slow.
Sweat clung to his skin beneath layers of clothes. Yesterday had left him
beyond tired, and he would need all his wits about him to perform the spell.
Finally, after walking as far as he could, he had to stop and catch his breath.

The creature nudged Edwin’s back with its essence, trying to
push him forward. “You mussn’t sstop. Keep going,” it said.

Edwin again tried to swat it away, but his heart wasn’t in
it. He had learned long ago that the spirit always got its way. He couldn’t fight
smoke. It could fit through any hole, no matter how small, and it was too smart
for him to trap. He had never wanted to cast that first spell, but the spirit
was persuasive. First it had threatened him, but even worse was when it began
to threaten the Medgards, and more than once it had almost exposed itself.
Edwin took the blame the time it pushed a few jars off a shelf, one after the
other. He took the blame again when it tipped over a lantern and burned down
the shed. Next time it could be the inn, maybe with Dana inside. The spirit
would never stop.

“Hurry,” the spirit repeated.

Over the southeastern ridge the sky was turning purple, but
it would be a while yet before the light found its way over the cliffs and down
to Edwin, and longer still before it reached Chardwick. But even at night
Edwin’s path forward was clear. Moonlight cascaded down between the trees,
forming bright patches near the barren elms. His footprints left a clear trail
behind him, but that couldn’t be helped.

A small flickering light over the ledge at the base of the
pass caught Edwin’s eye. Someone must have begun the steep climb up the cliffs.
It was doubtful that a merchant would be climbing the pass from Chardwick up to
the village of Newick so early. It must be a new guard heading up to the
crumbling Black Keep, the only other structure on the ledge besides the Medgards’
inn.

“Hurry,” said the creature yet again.

Edwin looked at the pillowcase.
Every spell has a cost.

Though he didn’t feel rested, he urged himself on. He recognized
the tree ahead and knew where he was. The tree ahead was unique in that most of
its trunk hung over the ledge, clinging to the cliff by its massive roots. Its
branches were wide enough that in the summer he could climb far out from the
cliff and spend the whole day staring down at the village. But that was before
magic had turned his arm gray, shriveled, and useless.

“Here iss far enough,” the creature hissed, its essence
fighting against the cold wind.

Standing by the tree, Edwin looked down at its heavy
snow-covered branches, at its thick roots anchored to the ledge, and wondered
if he was making the right decision. But then he reminded himself that the
spirit would hurt Dana. If only he could tell the Medgards, but there was
nothing they could do. The spirit would only hurt them too.

Looking over the ledge, the village seemed small from so
high, and he wondered what would happen if he jumped—whether that would save
anyone or help anything. The spirit was a vengeful creature. Edwin shuddered and
shook away the thought.

After placing the pillowcase with Eigil on the ground, he
pulled the glove off his good hand, reached into the pillowcase, and grabbed
the cat by the back of her neck. The Medgards kept her around for mousing, but to
Edwin she was more of a pet.

“I’m sorry,” he said, more to himself. She was too agitated
to hold close, at least with only one good hand, and he couldn’t risk her
getting away. He told himself there was no other way.

His teeth were chattering, but not from cold. He was frustrated
and angry, and he felt a sob coming. But he couldn’t, not here in front of the
spirit.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and then,
reluctantly, said the words of joining. Edwin and the spirit had always shared
a strange and unnatural connection. As the spirit rushed into his body and they
joined—became one, as the creature called it—he became filled with
the creature’s determination. He could sense that it felt none of his guilt. He
felt enough for the both of them, but he again reminded himself of Dana.

Still, no matter what he told himself, his arm ached, and
part of him knew he was doing this for himself. The spirit had said the
blackness would keep crawling up his arm, poisoning his body until he began to
feel nauseated and a fever came, leaving him barely be able to move until,
finally, the poison spread too far and he would die. Such was the cost of too
much magic.
Every spell has a cost.

Gripping the cat tighter, Edwin spat out the necessary
words. There was a bright light, and the cat died instantly in his hand. As it
turned to dust, he felt life returning to his dead arm. Lifting it, he bent it
at the elbow and was relieved to feel no pain.

Yet at the same time, he realized it hadn’t been enough.
Most of his arm felt healed, but there was still something wrong with his hand.
Taking his other glove off, he saw that most of his hand was still shriveled
and gray.

“No…” he moaned, feeling more wretched than he had ever felt
in his entire life.

Hearing a gasp, he looked up, away from his outstretched
arm. He couldn’t believe that he had been so distracted that he hadn’t noticed
anyone behind him. Anne Medgard was staring at him, and their eyes met. Her
eyes and mouth were wide with disbelief.

It was a clear day, but a small dark cloud hung over The
Hawthorne Orphanage—so small, in fact, that it seemed to go unnoticed.
This in itself was normal enough; most clouds tend not to garner too much
attention if they aren’t causing some sort of commotion. But had anyone
bothered to notice this little cloud, one might have also noticed that it was
behaving rather strangely. Instead of languishing in the sky, which is what any
self-respecting cloud lucky enough to be out on such a nice day would be doing,
it was floating near the top of The Hawthorne Orphanage, circling the building
slowly. After watching the cloud circle the building once, then twice, then a
third time, one might have been inclined to wonder if it was even a cloud at
all.

But no one noticed this cloud, as it was far less interesting
than what was happening inside of Hawthorne at that moment. Word had spread
quickly of the Medgards’ climb down the cliff, their much talked about boy in
tow. Five people had found themselves on the other side of Hawthorne’s closed
doors, and, well, they were an unfortunate lot indeed.

One person inside was the Headmistress of The Hawthorne Orphanage,
Headmistress Vanora. Headmistress Vanora had assumed the misleading title of
“headmistress” years ago, but she managed Hawthorne alone, the head of no other
mistress. Hawthorne consisted of just one large building near the base of the
cliff, and it was a point of pride that it was hers alone. The building was
plain, an old distillery, but like the Headmistress, it was stoutly built. It
had two stories, her on the bottom, children on the top, and its old gray
bricks were worn enough to give it the appearance of melting snow.

Hawthorne made no pretense of being a happy place, and the
dreariness continued inside. From the front door ran a long but simple hallway
that stretched to the back of the building where the base of the one staircase
stood. Hawthorne could house up to fifteen children, which was a lot for a
village the size of Chardwick, but even full, it was a clean and orderly place,
a place where the serious business of childcare was taken, well, seriously. Besides
the occasional door, the walls were bare, all except for a small plaque next to
the room at the end of the hall. It read “Office of Headmistress Edna Vanora,”
and below it was a lone iron chair.

Edwin sat sulkily in this chair wrapped in a blanket and
holding his bag to his chest, looking tired and uncomfortable. He had wrapped
his body in his black blanket and covered his hands with gloves, but Hawthorne
was too clean, too sterile; ever since he hurt his hand, cleanliness had a way
of making him feel light-headed.

With his ear pressed against the wall to the Headmistress’s
office, he listened to the Medgards and the Headmistress talking.

“Yes, of course we’re sure,” said Willem Medgard. Both of
the Medgards were smartly dressed in their best clothes, and Edwin could hear Willem
shifting uncomfortably in his chair. But it wasn’t only their clothes that made
the Medgards uncomfortable. They were honest, simple people, and they weren’t
used to having to explain themselves.

“But this is all very unorthodox, you understand,” the
Headmistress demurred. “It’s not often we have a child returned after so long.
I see here that Edwin turned fifteen over the summer? Very unorthodox indeed…”

“We’ve already explained this,” said Willem Medgard. “Edwin
isn’t like other children. You know what most boys are like at his age. When I
was fifteen all I cared about was girls and training with the Fury.”

“I remember you were quite the force with a bow and arrow,”
Headmistress Vanora said. “I’m not sure Chardwick has seen as good a bowman
since you moved up to the ledge. But Edwin—”

“Edwin hasn’t shown an interest in any of that,” Willem
interrupted. “He needs special care that we can’t give him.”

Edwin felt himself blushing fiercely. He wasn’t used to such
attention, even if it was on the other side of a door.

“Please have compassion,” Anne Medgard said, her voice
shaking slightly. “We’ve done the best we could by Edwin, but we have to think
of the rest of our family.”

“Yes… yes, indeed.” Headmistress Vanora paused. “But so many
years is a long commitment.”

“It has been a long time,” Willem agreed. “But Anne and I
have done our duty by Chardwick. We asked no questions and took the boy in when
the Lucent’s ward brought him to the inn. We’ve done all that was expected of
us, but no more. Surely there is someone else.”

Edwin sat up straight, wondering who this “Lucent’s ward”
was. The Medgards had always been very secretive about where he had come from.

“These are dark times, the worst that I’ve seen in my forty
years at Hawthorne,” Headmistress Vanora said slowly. “I would never question Lucent
Weston’s wisdom, but he wanted the boy out of Chardwick, and your inn on the
ledge is the best we could hope for. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Edwin gulped. No one had ever told him he was wanted out of
Chardwick.

“Nothing. The boy isn’t a troublemaker,” said Willem,
choosing his words carefully. “It’s…
complicated
.”

“We just had two more children brought here last month, you
understand, and Hawthorne has never been so full.”

“Yes, we heard about what happened to the Morriseys in the
mine,” Willem said. “We could almost feel everyone’s fear as we walked through
Chardwick today.”

“So you can understand why this is most unfortunate timing,”
Headmistress Vanora said.

 His voice strained, Willem said, “Yes, Anne and I have
heard rumors that even those who are taking on new apprentices can’t afford to
open their homes, but Edwin…” He stopped, and Edwin could tell he didn’t know
what to say next.

“Edwin’s changed,” Anne explained. “He used to be such a
good boy—so quiet, so sweet, and he still is, mostly—but when he’s
not, he—” She paused a moment. “We tried to help and encourage him, you
see, to teach him how to be normal, really, but I think it must be hard on the
boy not having any real family or friends. And Edwin is shy, really, really
shy. The inn isn’t the place for a boy like him, so far away from other children.
He can’t learn there. He never has much taken to other people.”

With only the slightest trace of impatience in her voice,
Headmistress Vanora said, “I don’t understand. It sounds like you care for the
boy. So why are you trying to return him? What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing… nothing really…” Willem lied. Edwin could picture Willem
chewing on the inside of his cheeks, which he always did when he was being less
than honest. Sometimes Edwin caught himself doing the same thing.

“Go on,” said Headmistress Vanora. She sounded like she was
trying to get a confession out of a misbehaving child.

Willem said, “We don’t really understand it ourselves. He
talks to himself. He sees things. We thought it was harmless at first. A lot of
children have imaginary friends growing up. We’d hoped he would grow out of it,
but he just started hiding it instead. We still hear him talking to himself
sometimes, and when we ask him about it he lies. He’s become very secretive
lately, and—”

“Edwin scares us,” Anne Medgard interjected, her voice
strained. “I can’t explain it, I just can’t, but Edwin’s not himself. Sometimes
he’ll be his old self, sure, but when he’s not—I have my own child to
worry about now. I won’t raise my little boy around him. Even if the Lucent
himself were to come to the inn and demand it, I just won’t.”

Even muffled through the door, Anne Medgard’s sobs echoed
down the hall. Edwin felt himself shaking; what his foster mother had said was
treason.

“Interesting… very interesting,” said Headmistress Vanora.
“It is your choice, of course. I can’t force you to keep the child against your
will, though there are some formalities. You will have to write a declaration
to Lucent Weston, for my own protection, you understand.”

Even Edwin knew of the Lucent. He led the Council of Nine,
was the religious leader of Chardwick, and presided over all work in
Chardwick’s sacred mines, which made him the most powerful man in the whole
village. Defying the Lucent’s will should have at least given the Medgards
pause, but Willem only said, “Yes, of course, whatever you need.” Anne blew her
nose loudly into a tissue, and outside, Edwin wrapped himself tighter under his
blanket.

Aside from the sound of some occasional paper rustling in
the Headmistress’s office, the hall was quiet for several minutes. Edwin thought
he could sense the spirit nearby, and he felt his heart quicken. From his chair
he tried to peer out the little window cut into the door, but it was too high.

Suddenly, a few papers caught in the wind drew his
attention. They floated up and around the small window for a few seconds,
seemingly caught in a vortex, and then smacked against the door, where they
remained, flat and immobile. A minute passed and the page turned. Edwin sat at
the edge of his seat and waited, knowing that it was the spirit taunting him.
Another minute passed and another page turned. And then another. He watched
this until there weren’t any more pages and the papers dropped to the ground.

Nothing happened after that, and Edwin caught himself
tapping his feet. He wondered what the spirit could want now, and put his ear
to the wall. Hearing nothing in Headmistress Vanora’s office, he talked himself
into putting his bag on the floor, getting up from his chair, and going to the
front door.

Outside, in the still air, the papers were still on the
ground, and his blanket hung flat over his shoulders. It was a bright day, and
he picked up the papers to shield his eyes from the glare off the snow. With
nothing to see, he closed the door, but as he walked back to the iron chair he
couldn’t help but think about how easy it would be to leave and strike out on
his own. He shouldn’t be around people, but he knew he wasn’t ready
yet—not while it was still winter, and not until his hand healed.

Back in the chair, he rocked back and forth and closed his
eyes. Finally he heard the sound of some shuffling in the Headmistress’s
office. A moment later his foster parents were at the door, followed by
Headmistress Vanora.

Anne Medgard lingered a moment. “We never meant for this to
happen,” she said, wiping under her eyes with a tissue.

Edwin stood up and noticed Willem eye the spirit’s papers.

“I understand. You were both good parents,” Edwin said, and
he made what he hoped was a smile. But he knew his voice lacked conviction,
even though he felt that what he said was true. Edwin knew they had done their
best by him, but he wasn’t sad to see them go. While the Medgards exchanged a
few last words with Headmistress Vanora, Edwin stood there, his breath becoming
rapid and shallow as he let relief wash over him.

He was free. The Medgards were going to head back up the
pass to the inn and Dana, safe from him and the spirit. He was alone. Only the
reminder of how he got here kept a smile from creeping up his lips.

Willem Medgard gave the Headmistress a respectful nod before
grabbing his wife’s arm and leading her through the front door.

“Be good, Edwin,” Anne said, looking back. “And Headmistress
Vanora, please take care of him. Oh, and I know the children at Hawthorne wear
uniforms, but please let Edwin keep his blanket. It’s his favorite.” Headmistress
Vanora nodded, and Anne turned back to her husband. The door closed behind them
and they were gone.

Headmistress Vanora gripped her hand around Edwin’s
shoulder, and said, “All right, that’s enough of that.” She was a woman of more
girth than height, but Edwin was so short that she still towered over him. To
intimidate him better, she bent down to one knee, and Edwin stared into her
round face. She was standing so close that she slapped Edwin with the heat of
her breath, and he did his best not to flinch. “I don’t suppose you’re going to
tell me why the Medgards returned you, are you?”

Edwin stammered, but no real words came out.

“That’s what I thought,” Vanora said gruffly. “Whatever it
was, be sure it doesn’t happen again. I don’t like
seeing
children, I
don’t like
hearing
children, I don’t like
smelling
children, and
I’m all that stands between you and a cold alley.”

Edwin found himself nodding along.

“The Lucent’s ward seemed to take an interest in you as a baby,
but she has no authority as long as you’re in my care. Cause no trouble, stay
out of my way, and your stay here at Hawthorne will go smoothly until we can
find you a new home. Do. You. Understand.”

It wasn’t a question, but Edwin said, “Yes, Headmistress.
I’ll do my best, Headmistress.” Sensing the spirit drawing closer, he gulped.

Headmistress Vanora either sneered or smiled—it was
hard to tell. “The other children will tell you anything I’ve neglected. Now
follow me and I’ll show you to your room.”

She let go of his shoulder and started towards the stairs,
then turned back. “One last thing. As your former foster mother said, children
at this orphanage are to wear the Hawthorne uniform at all times. You will find
the appropriate clothing in your dresser, so you can make yourself
presentable
before the other children get back from their apprenticeships. I will allow you
to keep that nasty blanket of yours, but you may not wear it like a cloak as
long as you live under
this
roof.”

She didn’t turn back again, and Edwin followed her up the
stairs. Since the staircase was winding and narrow, he struggled to carry his
bag with just the one hand. But he didn’t allow himself to fret over his other
hand. He worried that just by thinking about it he would rouse the
Headmistress’s suspicion.