The Dark Passenger (Book 1)

by Joshua Thomas

  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.

  CHAPTER 4: A BOY RETURNED

  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 h
e 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.

  Despite her large size, Headmistress Vanora moved quickly up the stairs, and the stairs made a point of complaining loudly. Mindful not to bang his hand against the railing, he kept it close to his chest. For days his fear had kept him from taking off his gloves even once, an
d his hands itched to be set free.

  Down the hall on the second floor, Headmistress Vanora stopped and opened the third door on the right. “This will be your room for the time being. You’re lucky and will room with two boys. With so many orphaned children these days it is an unfortunate truth that we sometimes have no choice but to room boys with girls.”

  Unceremoniously, she turned to leave.

  Edwin hadn’t meant to ask so early, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. “I do have one question, Headmistress, if you don’t mind. I was wondering if you knew anything about my real parents.”

  The Headmistress scowled. “That’s another rule: no questions.”

  “Maybe just my last name, then?” he asked. He couldn’t make eye contact. “I don’t guess it’s Medgard anymore.”

  “Indeed it is, and will be until we can find you a new family. Now that’s enough.” She turned fast on her heels and left.

  Standing under the doorway and still holding his bag to his chest, Edwin watched her go.

  * * *

  The furniture in Edwin’s room was plain but adequate; three beds filled most of the space, each with a small wardrobe resting at its foot. The lines on all three beds were crisp and he couldn’t tell which was to be his, so he picked the bed in the middle, figuring it to be the one no one would want. After placing his bag on the bed, he took his blanket off his shoulders and watched its iridescent black folds glittering in the sunlight coming in through the window. Bitterly, to himself, he mumbled, “I don’t like seeing children, I don’t like hearing children, and I don’t like smelling children. Psh. Old bat. And my blanket isn’t nasty.” A twinge of cold air began crawling up his leg, and he froze. The spirit. It floated up to his ear and whispered, and he nodded his head almost imperceptibly. “I know you’re here,” he said to the room.

  “Don’t talk so loud,” a small voice whispered back. “She’ll hear you.”

  Edwin knelt down by the bed closest to the window and saw a pale boy. The boy looked to be around his age with unruly blond hair and fat chipmunk cheeks. He wore a gray uniform, was lying on a pillow, and his hand held open a book, in front of which was a plain brown stick—a bookmark, maybe. Edwin felt the spirit distancing itself. The boy was staring at him, and Edwin felt his face burn red.