When Edwin again didn’t respond, Lady Nemain paused and looked at the crowd gathered around her, and she looked sad when she lifted the horn and blew. Its call was swift, and a moment later the air was filled with shovels, axes, rocks, lunch pails, and anything else the miners had been carrying. They flew high over the moat, a feat made possible only by the horn. The closest of the miners swarmed around Lady Nemain, across the moat, and off the bridge.
Lightning fast the flowers struck, jumping from the ground bearing a mouthful of little fangs, latching onto every miner who dared cross. As they bore their way through the miners’ clothes, the air filled with their screams. At the same time, fire blazed in each mound of earth, but everything the miners had thrown was falling now, making a sound like rain as it all hit the ground. There was too much—Edwin sidestepped the first few pieces, but he didn’t see a flying pickaxe that had been hiding behind a shovel. With a hard thwamp, the pickaxe hit him in the chest and took his breath away.
“Ahhh!” Edwin cried as he pulled the pickaxe from his flesh.
Around him tools were everywhere; many had crashed into the flowers and mounds of earth, and the cavern quaked under the earth-creatures’ angry feet. The dead flowers melted into green puddles that flowed into the bodies of the living. While Edwin tried to hold back the flow of blood from the hole in his chest, he watched the living flowers squirt the green liquid across the moat through their little fanged mouths, and was horrified when the liquid began eating through the miners’ flesh. Even spellbound by the Fury, anyone hit writhed and screamed on the ground, and those closest to the moat fell over. At the bridge, the flowers were joined by a lumbering pile of earth. The miners swatted at the earth-creature with whatever tools they had, but it was like trying to fight a tornado with a fan. Eyes blazing, the earth-creature crushed every miner it reached. Lady Nemain blew on her horn again, and the miners immediately began retreating.
“You’ll never leave this place, Edwin. Your golems and venom flowers won’t stop us forever, and we have you surrounded,” she yelled across the moat.
Continuing to back away with his hand on his chest, Edwin stumbled, and when he looked down, he saw he had tripped over a bone. When he saw a human skull nearby, he realized that at some point in the past the villagers had tried to cross into this land but hadn’t gotten far.
“Now what?” he asked the spirit. He could feel its anger welling inside him. Blood was pouring from his chest quickly, and he worried that soon not even the spirit’s strength would be able to keep him from feeling its loss. Looking behind him at the strange forest and its gnarled trees, he was close enough now to see that the trees had faces carved onto their trunks—sad faces that seemed to beckon him to them, but he knew he’d never make it.
Breathing heavily, he stopped and sat down in a bed of the strange yellow flowers, and he wondered how he had gone from being safe in the Morriseys’ house to being down in the mines so quickly. The flowers were leaning towards him with their vicious little mouths and yellow teeth, and as they cooed and leaned in towards him, he felt strangely comforted. There was another world down here in the mines relying on the strange white light in the forest for life.
With a great wince, Edwin dug in his sack a moment and pulled out his book. Jerking it open, he said, “Herald. Herald! Wake up! I need you.”
The book yawned and opened a crack. “You again? It’s not much brighter here, you know. A strange light… Ah, interesting.” Its voice perked up a bit. “Home at last, I see. Good for you.”
His head was spinning. “Herald… I’m hurt… I’m bleeding badly… Can you help?”
“Help a traitor? I think not.”
“Herald, it’s bad. Please, no games.”
“Hmm… Manipulate the body? No, you’re not ready for healing incantations.” The book considered a moment. “Maybe after a few transformations, maybe a gramarye or two, and you’ll be ready to give it a go, but definitely not now. Now you would do yourself more harm than good.”
Breathing was difficult. “There’s no time, Herald! What can you tell me that can help now?”
The book grumbled. “Giving me orders, are you? Impertinent little—”
“Herald!” Edwin yelled.
With a humph, the book said, “Look up,” and then closed itself.
Knowing better than to try to reawaken it, he carefully placed Herald back in his sack and sat it next to him. Then, using energy he wasn’t even sure he had, he called forth a small ball of light, cast it into the air, and heard a gasp across the moat; it was the first time anyone from Chardwick had seen him perform magic. As the light floated upwards and neared the roof of the cavern, it lit the dark crevices of the ceiling, and he saw the light reflected in the beady eyes of dozens of unhappy bats.
White haired bats. The Golden Elixir, he remembered from one of Carrion’s lessons.
The ceiling was much too far away for him to catch one, but the spirit could get there. He knew that would mean that he would have to release it, and he felt his spirit urging him not to say the words.
“I have no choice,” Edwin said aloud. “I’ll die if I don’t stop bleeding soon. Remember what Carrion said: They’ll come to a whistling noise. I know you’ll take care of me. You always do.”
Between gritted teeth, he said the words that would release the spirit, and without its strength he found he didn’t even have the energy to keep his eyes open.
* * *
Edwin woke to the sound of chirping birds. At first his eyelids wouldn’t move, but with a little effort he was able to crack one open, for a moment. The morning light assaulted his senses, and he slowly became aware of the worst headache he had ever had in his life.
“Ugggh,” he moaned, wanting to go back to sleep.
Sleep came easily. When he opened his eyes again, the sun was higher in the sky and a warm midday breeze caressed his face. His head still ached, but he made himself sit up. Groaning, he asked, “Wha… what happened? How did we get here?”
“The imp,” the spirit hissed. “It came for us.”
“The imp was here!” he exclaimed. “What happened to Walt?”
“I didn’t sense the other boy.”
“Oh…” Then he remembered his chest, and his hand went for his shirt. His shirt had a hole, but his chest was fine. There wasn’t even a scar. “And… and the bats? I’m not bleeding.”
“Hmm,” the spirit purred, “that was even stranger. A bat came to you and sacrificed itself. It came from the ceiling. It died giving you the Elixir.”
Another death. Reading his mind, the spirit’s essence flickered red, and Edwin noticed that the spirit really was getting big. No longer transparent, its essence was as full as it had ever been. “I’m thirsty. Where are we?” Edwin asked.
“The woods on the ledge,” the spirit hissed. “We came up through a cavern beneath the Black Keep.”
His knapsack was lying next to him. He had lost everything but Herald and his cloak, and he imagined he had the spirit to thank for that. Holding it close, he rose unsteadily to his feet.
“Careful,” the spirit said.
“I’m really thirsty,” he said again. He looked at the pockets of snow lying in shadows under trees, but thought better of eating any. It had been weeks since the last snowstorm, and at this point the snow was every color but white. “We can’t be too far from the inn.”
As he walked he couldn’t stop himself from playing with the hole in his shirt. He couldn’t understand why the imp would help him.
“Do you think the Medgards heard about the signs and the Umbrage Box?”
“Yess,” the spirit said simply.
“But sometimes news travels slowly up the pass,” Edwin said hopefully.
“Not when the news is important,” the spirit said. Edwin knew it was right.
It was a quick walk through the forest, and when he got near the clearing that opened onto the inn, he decided to call the spirit into him as a precaution, even if he didn’t tr
ust it around the Medgards. Its essence made him feel a little better, but he still approached the inn tepidly.
Holding a basket of laundry, Anne Medgard rounded the corner of the inn. Edwin knew she must be beginning her daily chores, and he saw her before she saw him. She looked up, and it took her a moment to realize whom she was seeing. “Edwin?” The way she said it was almost kind and maternal, the way a real mother would react.
The moment didn’t last. She dropped her basket and screamed “Willem! Willem!” as she ran in the other direction. On the other side of the inn, he heard her yell, “Willem, it’s Edwin. He’s here!”
“Go inside, Anne. Stay with Dana,” Edwin heard the man who raised him say.
“But Willem—”
“Go!” Willem yelled. “Now!”
Edwin had never heard Willem Medgard yell like that before. “I’m not here to hurt anyone,” he said, but his mouth was so dry it sounded more like a croak. “I just need some water.” He saw Anne draw the blinds, and when they didn’t respond, he added, “It’s Edwin. I know what you might have heard, but you know I wouldn’t hurt you. You were my family. Why won’t you talk to me?”
He couldn’t believe he was back at the place he had called home most of his life. At the back wall, he peeked around the corner and walked towards the front entrance. To his right he heard the sound of something falling over in the barn. For a moment, he wondered if he should just run. The road to the pass was close, and he could make it there easily.
But then it was a long trek back to Chardwick, and he didn’t think he could make it. Not for the first time, he considered taking his chances walking up the pass to Newick. But then he remembered Walt.
“I just need some water,” Edwin repeated, making his way to the front of the lodge where the Medgards had a well to collect rain and snowmelt. “I know you don’t want me here, so I’ll leave. I’m just going to go to the well to get a little bit to drink first. I’ll be gone soon.”
He had already dunked the pail and guzzled half its water when he heard a twig snap behind him. Throwing himself to the ground, he narrowly avoided an arrow, and there was a click as Willem Medgard locked another. Edwin rolled on the ground, scrambled behind the well, and the air burst with the sound of wood cracking on stone. He had thought the Medgards might be afraid or run, but he had never imagined they would attack him.
“You don’t have to do this,” Edwin cried. “I got what I came for. You can let me leave.”
“I always knew you were evil,” Willem said through clenched teeth. “We should have told Headmistress Vanora what you were from the beginning, but we just wanted you gone. We won’t make that mistake again.”
A moment passed but Willem wasn’t as quiet as he probably would have liked, and Edwin heard him moving around the well. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Edwin said. “I always tried to be good, and we were family once. Let me leave.”
Willem Medgard scoffed. “You were never ours. The Lucent made us take you in, but we always knew you weren’t right.”
Edwin needed to stall them while he figured out what to do. “What if I went up to Newick?” he suggested.
Willem’s venomous laughter pierced the air. “Do you really think we would let leaving Chardwick be so simple? From Chardwick at the base to Newick at the summit, you and your kind are trapped. Nothing survives that comes into the light.”
Edwin was shocked. “If you knew, why didn’t you kill me sooner?”
Edwin continued to scramble around the well, but Willem was gaining on him. “Your parents were the Goodfellows. How could we know it was some kind of trick? When Rona Goodfellow disappeared your fate became the Lucent’s to decide.”
Scrambling to keep mortar and stone between them, Edwin soon found himself on the other side of the well facing the inn. He saw movement in the window, a flash of brown, and then another arrow. Anne released the arrow, and Edwin tried to cast the arrow aside with a thought and a wave of his hand.
His power had no effect, and it was only because of the spirit that he reacted quickly enough to move at all. But the arrow was too fast, and he had jumped aside too late. The arrow pitted itself in his side, and Edwin hit the ground, gasping for air and crying out in pain.
But he knew he had to move. With one quick movement, he broke the arrow off at its base, knowing from the pickaxe earlier that he would bleed more if he pulled out the whole thing.
He scrambled around as quickly as he could, but soon Willem was on him. “Your arrowheads… bloodstones,” Edwin gasped, looking up into Willem Medgard’s face.
“Of course. What else would we have on the ledge?” Willem asked. “I just regret it was Anne who caught you that day with the cat. If it had been me you never would have made it down to Chardwick.” He locked another arrow.
Savoring the moment, Willem aimed the arrow at Edwin’s face and pulled the arrow back slowly, and there was a long hollow noise as the bowstring drew taut. With one quick movement, Edwin pulled Herald from his sack just as Willem launched the arrow, and it hit the book dead-on. Cursing, Willem reached for another arrow. At the same time Edwin shot a crackling bolt of energy from his hand, but it wound around Willem’s body and into the nearest bloodstone arrowhead, only to disappear into nothing.
Edwin knew his powers were useless, but he couldn’t run. The trees were too far away, and Willem’s arrow would land in his back before he got even halfway there. As he scrambled across the ground, pebbles dug into his hands.
He would never remember thinking about it; he just did it.
With a word and a circular flourish of his hand, he raised the pebbles to the air, just as Herald had taught him, and with all his will, pushed them forward.
With a series of thumps, they hit Willem’s body, and he fell to the ground. His eyes were open, but he was dead. Blood fell from the corner of his mouth.
“Willem!” Edwin heard Anne scream. Bow in hand, she had flung open the door to the inn, and ran at Edwin and released an arrow. Unable to see between her tears, she launched the arrow well over his head.
Running now himself, Edwin was past the inn and dashing down the mountain pass towards Chardwick.
CHAPTER 27: BORROWED MAGIC
Edwin was still holding his side as he went up the stairs, unsure how he had managed to get back to the Morriseys’ house undetected. His biggest fear walking through Chardwick had been that he would collapse and it would all be over. At the top of the stairs, he called out for help, but the house was empty. After filling a bucket with water, he released the spirit, and without the support of its essence pain spread up his spine like liquid fire. His legs became weak, he fell to his knees, a cold sweat broke across his brow, and he laid himself prostrate on his back.
“I’m… I’m going to… pull this arrow out,” he told the spirit. “I’m going to… need you to… sew me shut. Can you… do this?”
“Yess,” the spirit hissed. Its thick essence looked vaguely human, and it wore an expression of concern.
“You’re getting… really big,” Edwin said, somewhat delirious, but also proud. The room was spinning, but he managed to get his shirt off. “Your… shape-shifting… really good…”
The spirit descended on the shirt and unraveled a length of thread from it with ease.
Edwin’s breath was shallow as he put his hand to the base of the arrow. He didn’t think, he just tightened his fist around the wood and pulled as hard as he could. Pain shot up his body in waves, blinding him, but he held tight. At first the arrow wouldn’t move, but then, in one long motion, the tip lost its grip on his flesh and the arrow slid out of his body. Blood pooled a moment in the hole the arrow left in his side before falling to the wood floor. Grabbing the rest of his shirt, he dunked it in warm water and pressed it to the wound.
“Hurry,” he told the spirit. It wrapped a part of itself around the thread and rose to his side. Then, with surprising agility, it pierced a small hole in his skin and went through, pulling the thread behind it
. Moving to the other side of the wound, the spirit repeated the movement, and as it wound its way back and forth, Edwin reached down and tightened the thread, pulling the skin together. When they were done and the hole was closed, he released his grip on the cloth and let his head roll to his side.
* * *
When he woke the pain at his side throbbed, his back was stiff, and it was dark outside. The house was still empty.
In the kitchen, he collected as much food and water as he could carry in one trip before hobbling back upstairs. He drank the jug of water first; after losing so much blood, he was dehydrated, his head ached, and he felt like he couldn’t drink enough. Then he ate a few bites of leftover horsemeat and cheese, and sat two apples off to the side. Eating was a chore, but he forced himself to swallow every bite. The spirit was hovering next to him, and he called for it to join with him so that they could absorb the apples. That was all he could do before he sank down in bed, released the spirit, and fell back asleep.
The next time he woke it was morning. The spirit was hovering at his side, watching him. “Willem and Anne Medgard raised me. I lived with them almost my whole life, I was there when Dana was born, and they tried to kill me. You rescued me,” Edwin said. A pleasant gold spark traveled through its essence.
Wearily, he got up from bed and found the will to clean himself and the bloody floor. The house was still empty, and he grabbed Herald and sat cross-legged on his bed. “Herald, open up. I need your help.”
“You want my help after using me as a shield?” Herald asked incredulously. “For countless millennia, long before Chardwick, long before their ancestors learned writing, I have withstood the elements, never bowing, never breaking. Even a decade in Goodfellow’s furnace left me unscathed. Then, after only a few months in your care, I’m hit by an arrow cut from a bloodstone.”
“But you’re fine,” Edwin countered. “The arrow didn’t even pierce your leather binding.”
The Dark Passenger (Book 1) Page 24