The Onyx Vial (Shadows of The Nine Book 1) (9 page)

Chapter 8

Hunter stood behind a small, sandblasted house at the edge of an idle town, waiting. The pointed edges of a bloodstained necklace dug into his palm. He squeezed it tight in his fist.

A stocky man, hardly older than himself, trudged toward him, shoulders bearing the weight of four large buckets hanging from a pole. The man’s hair was bright, bleached by the sun, his eyes an uncommon blue.

The man stumbled when he caught sight of Hunter. Some of the precious liquid sloshed onto the hard, dry ground, darkening the reddish clay before evaporating into the endless sky.

The man’s eyes grew wide, flicked about in search of escape.

Hunter couldn’t let that happen. He worked up the words best suited to gain the man’s trust, knowing that the clothes he wore stained his words long before he spoke them.

Nonetheless, he slipped the chain over his head, let the bloody pendant nestle against his chest, and strode forward, his hands in view—palms down. When they were face to face, he grabbed the pole with both hands. The man flinched as Hunter lifted and removed it, a task that shouldn’t have taken so much effort. But he was weak with hunger. He swung the pole carefully around and placed it on his own shoulders.

The man stared at him, surprised.

“I need water,” he said, his voice rough from lack of moisture. “And a place to rest.” He shifted the pole for better balance.

The man opened his mouth, shut it, blinked, frowned, then started toward the stables behind the house. He led Hunter inside and jumped back at the sight of the winged horse in the low hanging loft.

“Her, too,” Hunter grunted, squatting to set the pole down.

The man set the buckets out, rousing his horses, then headed outside. Hunter followed.

Once again beneath the blazing sun, the man faced Hunter, studying him, blue eyes glinting. “Why have you come? There is nothing here for you.”

“I need to stay out of sight,” Hunter croaked. “I need help.”

At this, the man’s façade of bravery faltered. “I—I cannot aid you.”

“What?” Hunter snapped.

“If you are hiding, you will be found. I will be killed. You must go.”

Hunter shook his head. “No.”

“You must.”

Hunter moved in close, eyes level with the man, and lowered his voice. “If you refuse to aid me, I will kill you myself."

There was the barest hint of fear in the man's face as he laughed and said, "Not in the state you are in."

"I am my father's child."

This made the man pause.

Hunter sighed. "Help me. Please. If you don't, they will find me here and kill you anyway. At least if you help me you have a chance.”

The man’s eyes widened. A grim expression filled his features. “What is it you ask of me?”

Hunter eased out of his aggressive stance. “I need to find Bolengard.”

A flash of recognition crossed the man’s face. He took a step back. Then he settled into stone-faced determination. “I cannot give you that information.”

Hunter narrowed his eyes.

“I can only direct you to someone who knows the way.” The man wrung his hands. “He is due to pass this way soon. He is very cautious. I cannot guarantee he will agree to meet you.”

Hunter glanced at the bright, ever-cloudless sky. Was it his mind playing tricks on him, or were there horses flying on the horizon? He took the man’s shoulders in his hands. “Find a way to convince him.”  

The man opened his mouth and snored.

Hunter blinked, confused. A dark, moonlit bedroom swam into view. It was a dream. Just another dream.

He looked at the bedside table, expecting the bright red numbers of his digital clock, but they weren't there. Another snore, this one half muffled by a pillow.

Everything shifted into place.

The snore was Dilyn’s, one of his roommates at Edan house in Eastridge, the capitol city of Ladria—one of thirteen Provinces in the world of Ionia, second largest world in the Nine worlds of magic. He was far away from the farmhouse in Kansas, where summer was just beginning. Even farther, he was certain, from the inexplicably familiar desert that plagued his dreams. And farther still from his grandpa, whose face he would never see again.

What would happen to the old man's body? Was there anything left of him, or had the Huntsmen burned him along with the farmhouse?

The thought clenched a giant's fist around his middle and he sucked in, suddenly breathless.

The air in the room was cold. Winter had snuck its icy claws through the floorboards, intent on reminding those inside that it was near. He rolled onto his stomach and pulled his knees into a fetal position. He didn't want to think about his grandpa that way. There was a chance he was alive. There had to be.

So he stretched himself out and turned his thoughts to the dilemma of sleep. Cool air swept over the backs of his legs and the top of his back as he pushed his pillow against the wall and laid his cheek on the soft, flat mattress, facing the other boys in their beds, both of them fast asleep. He closed his eyes, but he didn’t want to sleep. Because then he would dream. Because here, in a world of magic, the dreams were lucid. When he woke, he didn’t forget them. It was as if they were memories—things he’d actually done and seen. They were so intense, he hardly felt like he’d rested at all. And that was the problem. He needed to sleep, but sleeping made him so unbelievably tired.

“Hunter,” a soft whisper caressed his ear.

He opened his eyes. The room was bright.

He’d slept after all—and dreamed of flying through the air on the winged horse, seeing nothing but sky.

Now he saw nothing but Tehya's verdant eyes and her molten-autumn hair lit by warm, fresh sunlight. Her face was incredibly, uncomfortably close to his.

“My father would like to speak with you this morning before breakfast,” she said. Her breath smelled sweetly, faintly of fruit. It made him salivate. He was overcome by the urge to press his mouth to her lips and taste it on his tongue.

The intensity of his desire caught him off guard. He pulled his head back and pried his tongue off the roof of his mouth. Suddenly, painfully, aware of the state of his own breath, he pulled his sheet over his mouth. “Okay. Gimmie a sec,” he mumbled.

Tehya's strained smile was a faint, false echo of what it had been the day before.

He dropped the sheet. "What's wrong?"

She tilted her head and gave a little shrug. "Ariana is gone," she said, her voice saturated with melancholy.

Hunter's eyes widened.

"She probably went to the bookstore," she added reassuringly. "I covered for her when her mother left. Said she was still sleeping. It's only fair after—well, anyway, I hate lying."

"Oh." He nodded. "I understand."

Another half-smile, and she handed him the clothes that he'd only just realized were tucked under her arm. "William said you could borrow these. They'll help you blend in. You may have to roll the pants, but they should fit alright."

He took them. "Thanks."

She nodded. "I'll meet you on the stairs. We're going all the way to the top."

"Okay," he said, slipping out of bed as she left the room. When his heel struck his bag something rattled. His heart skipped a beat. "What…?" He dropped to his knees beside his bag and yanked the flap back. There, inside his bag, was the tin of Scales he had lost on the Pass. "How…?" And then his heart plummeted as he saw further into the bag.

The book was gone.

No. No, it couldn't be!
The pages. Gone

It was no question who had done it. There were only two other people who knew about the tin and had access to them, somehow, when they escaped the Huntsmen. And only one of those two had showed any interest in his book.

Damn it. Had she known the pages were in there when she stole it? How had she managed to get the tin back and why hadn't she returned it when he first mentioned it if she was planning to return them at all? She couldn't have known the pages were in there. At least, he certainly hoped.

Somewhere in those pages, he was certain, were the clues to finding his parents. It turned his stomach, knowing she had them.

Tehya's voice drifted lightly into the room. "Almost dressed?" she asked kindly, but with a hint of anxious impatience.

"Uh…" he looked down at himself, shirtless and sporting borrowed sleep pants. "Almost." He stood, quickly shucking the pants and fumbling with the clothes she'd handed him. In under a minute, he looked somewhat more presentable, clothing-wise. He mussed his hair and ran a tongue over his teeth. Did they have toothbrushes in Ionia? Even if they did, would anyone share with him? Not likely.

He stepped out into the hall, and Tehya perked up.

"I just have to—" He pointed toward the washroom door and ducked inside. He turned the faucet and cupped his hands under the running water. Drinking a few handfuls, he hoped to dispel some of the morning breath, swishing the last couple drinks around in his mouth and rubbing the end of his sleeve over his teeth in a poor excuse for brushing. It would have to do until he could go into the city and buy supplies. Now that he
could
buy supplies.

He clenched his jaw and pushed open the door. “Ready.”

Tehya looked relieved. Was her father a stickler for time management or something? “Come,” she said.

He followed her upstairs, trying to keep himself calm. But her anxiety seemed to leach into the air and settle on him. "What does your dad want to see me about?" he asked, feeling suddenly, inexplicably guilty.

"He wants to meet you," she answered as she led him upward.
Her dark red curls ended at the small of her back and he had to resist the urge to touch them.
"You told the boys you were headed for Ruekridge. You can't go there without having at least one lesson with my father."

Hunter gulped. A lesson. He needed certain training to be accepted into the school? Grandpa had said nothing about this to him.

The school was there for the children of the Shadows. And magic—etâme—was supposed to come naturally. Like breathing. All this according to his grandpa. But it seemed the old man was wrong. Or at least misinformed. Now he would need training? The other boys had pointed out that he was already late a quarter. Would he be able to get the required training to enter the school before the next one started, or would he be forced to train and come into school half a year late, instead?

Tehya stopped on the third floor landing and looked at him."Hunter. It's alright. I don't mean it literally.
He just wants to get to know you, see what you're capable of and what training he can offer you before you make the passage to Ruekridge with us."

"Oh." He smiled, then. She had included him without hesitation. As she had done since they met. "Thank you," he said, suddenly filled with gratitude.

The corner of her mouth quirked up. "For what?"

"For having faith in me. Trusting me even though... well, even though you didn't have to."

Her gaze lingered on his face. Her smile wavered. Then she sighed. "I recognize the grief in your eyes. You're burying it, but it's there. You've lost someone. Recently."

Hunter felt slightly dizzy suddenly. He grimaced. If the chance that his grandpa was still alive did exist, then she was wrong. But no, he had still lost him, because he could never go back. In fact, he'd lost more than his grandpa when he went through that book. He'd lost his entire world. Well. That was a comforting thought.

"I'm sorry," Tehya said, grabbing his arm. "I didn't mean to—What I mean is that I understand and—"

Hunter came back to himself at her touch. "It's okay. I'm okay."

She frowned. "You sure?"

"Yeah." He eyed the ceiling. "Now... wasn't there someone you wanted me to meet?"

That earned him a smile.

She squeezed his arm, then led him up the last flight of stairs.

Fifteen steps and one spiral
, and they were standing on the short landing of the top floor, facing a thick mahogany door. Hunter wiped his clammy palms on his borrowed linen shirt and took a deep breath, letting the crisp, earthy scent of Tehya's hair ease his sudden nervousness.

She squeezed next to him, her shoulder brushing his arm, and knocked a quiet rhythm on the door. She pressed her ear against it. Her eyes found his and lingered. He tore his gaze away, shifting his focus to the doorframe instead, studying its plain veneer as if it were an intricate carving.

The dull thud of footsteps reached his ears. He stared at the brushed gold handle and tried to breathe out steadily. The footfalls stopped. The handle turned. The giant door swung open.

Standing in front of them was a tall, sinewy tree with bright green leaves and eyes to match. Hunter gasped and stepped back, his foot slipping off the ledge. He fell backward but shot out a hand and caught the edge of the doorframe, righting himself.

“Father!” Tehya exclaimed.

The sandy brown bark split a few inches below the eyes. A rich voice issued forth. “Yes?”

Tehya planted her hands on her hips.