As soon as it stopped, he looked over his shoulder and saw
the imp hovering right behind him. It looked wilder than Edwin had ever seen
it: Its teeth were bared, its slit-nostrils flared, and its hair tasted the
air, writing like a pot of snakes. As he backed away, his spirit flew into the
air between them, its essence crackling red sparks into the imp’s face. The imp
hissed, took a deep breath, and blew, sending his spirit’s smoky essence flying
off the roof. The air blew Edwin over backwards to the edge of the roof, but he
managed with one hand to grab hold of the ledge. Gripping the ledge with all
his might, his feet dangling four floors above the ground, he swung his body
and grabbed the ledge with his other hand just as his first hand began to slip
off the icy brick. He called out for help instinctively even though he knew no
one could.
But then one of the imp’s tentacles was around his wrist,
pulling him up in the air so that he hung a few inches above the roof like a
limp doll.
“What do you want?” Edwin asked, and the imp smiled its wicked
little smile and looked behind Edwin at his mother’s book, which had blown up
against the chimney. “You… you want my mother’s book?” The imp’s smile widened.
“But—But I just found it! How did you know?”
Before the imp could do anything to respond, someone let
loose an arrow, and the imp broke into a million pieces, letting the arrow pass
harmlessly through a hole in the middle, and dropped Edwin to the ground. The
imp’s being swarmed in a circle a moment, and the imp re-formed, looking over
its wings and bearing its teeth at the villager who shot the arrow. It was a
woman Edwin had never met, and she was quickly locking another arrow from her
quiver, her eyes dull but focused with the Fury. The imp flew in her direction,
but—pfft—another arrow flew through the air, sending the imp’s
being into another swarm of pieces. It had come from another villager who had
scaled a nearby house, and Edwin saw that there were at least a dozen of them
pulling themselves to the roof from all directions, the tips of their arrows
glimmering blood red from their quivers.
“Edwin”—Edwin turned and saw that Lady Nemain was one
of the villagers carrying a bow—“what in the world are you doing here?”
“Erm… That creature… I—”
Cutting him off, Nemain yelled, “Duck!”
Edwin fell to the ground, and she launched an arrow over his
head. Instead of an arrowhead, the arrow carried a glass vial, much like the
one he had gotten at the fair from Gretchen. The imp had just thrown a villager
from the roof with its long hair—the man’s scream echoed in Edwin’s
head—and was moving to another when the vial exploded across its back.
The imp only had time to turn its head and hiss, its fangs dripping with clear
liquid, when a huge blue crystal, fully formed, appeared from the ground,
cutting its way through the house and the roof, trapping the imp inside.
“What was that?” Edwin asked, standing up and moving to
inspect the crystal.
“One of Carrion’s concoctions,” Lady Nemain said as she
pulled out another arrow. “Don’t get too close!”
“I had no idea he had this kind of power,” Edwin said,
looking through the crystal at the imp’s wings and frozen expression of
surprise and loathing.
“I didn’t either,” Lady Nemain said. “It’s a new brew he’s
been cooking up almost a season, even since we killed that troll. Get back!”
She pulled Edwin back by the collar and put herself between him and the
crystal, where cracks began to appear, radiating out from the imp’s body. The
other villagers, eyes still consumed with the Fury, had their arrows locked and
ready.
Suddenly, the crystal exploded into a thousand pieces, and
the imp hissed one last time before it was off, shooting straight up into the
air like on a spring, its hair rippling behind it. A moment later it was back
at the ledge and disappearing into the Black Keep.
The next morning, Edwin was almost at the village square
when he heard Walt running behind him calling his name. Hitting a patch of ice,
Walt lunged forward, but he hit the ground with both hands, flipped his legs
over his head, and landed safely on his feet. Everything he carried with him for
the mine was strewn on the ground, and he took a moment collecting his things
before rushing on to Edwin. Edwin saw Sam walking not too far behind, but it
was clear Sam was making no effort to keep up.
“So you’re an acrobat now?” Edwin joked.
Walt pulled his messy hair back from his face, revealing a
smug little grin. “I’ll admit it wasn’t bad, but that’s not why I found you.
Have you heard that you’ve made the Lucent convene the Council?”
“No…” Edwin said, but he wasn’t surprised. He had failed to
make a convincing excuse that would explain why he was on that rooftop. At
least Lady Nemain had been so focused on him, and the others had been under the
control of the Fury, that no one had noticed his mother’s book resting against
the chimney. But then a thought struck him: He had been so wrapped up in
thinking about going back to get the book that he hadn’t even considered that people
may have been hurt in the mines—Walt could have been hurt in the mines.
Suddenly feeling both guilty and grateful, he asked, “What happened in the
mines yesterday?”
“Oh Edwin, it was wild. You should have seen it. The whole
mine felt like it was going to collapse. A few passages will be closed for
weeks. Last I heard some miners are still trapped…. They say some of the guards
tried to stop the imp, and it unleashed a power unlike anything anyone has seen
in generations.”
“I could see the explosion up at the Black Keep from all the
way down here. I’m glad you weren’t hurt!”
“You don’t have to worry about me. But Edwin, I didn’t find
you to talk about the mines. I know Lady Nemain found you up on the roof, and
you need to listen to me real closely. The villagers are going to think it’s
you. Seeing you with the imp—they think you’re behind the explosion, that
somehow you summoned it.”
“But I didn’t!” Edwin screeched.
“I know you didn’t, but you’re going to need to prove it to
them. They’re going to want to know what you were doing on that roof.” There
was a pause. “
I
would like to know what you were doing on that roof. I
know it wasn’t anything like what people are saying… but… it’s weird, you
know?”
“I… erm… went to see Roger Goodfellow. I found out he’s my
father, and I went to see him. And then when I left there were the explosions,
and I climbed onto the roof to see what was happening… and then the imp came. I
don’t know why.”
His brow furrowed, Walt muttered, “It doesn’t make sense…,”
but it seemed he was talking more to himself than Edwin. Then, his focus
returning, he said, “You need to understand something. The villagers, the Lucent,
they’re looking for the signs.”
Edwin kept his face blank, but he felt his spirit creeping
up his back, concerned and wanting to be closer to him.
“
The signs.
You know, the signs of the Others.” Then,
very low, he said,
“The Hosts.”
“Hosts?” Edwin tried to laugh, but it was more of a choke. He
had heard that word before, and he tried to remember where…. But even if he wasn’t
sure who the Hosts were, he knew it couldn’t be anything good.
“Shh, don’t say that word so loud. It scares people. The stories
tell us that the Hosts are the masters of death, and that makes them the
village’s enemies. The last free Host was killed centuries ago.”
“If they’re dead why do people still look for signs?”
Walt’s voice was barely a whisper. “Because of the mines. You’ve
seen the strange things that come out of the mines. That’s why the Fury and the
tree you stepped on are so important. I’ve even heard Carrion has been
developing some new weapons.”
“I saw one yesterday—a crystal that can appear out of
nothing and trap whatever it touches. The crystal tore through a whole
house—the base is still there, solid as a rock—but it only took the
imp a moment to break free.”
“I wish I’d been there!” Walt said, excited like he always
was when anyone spoke about anything strange. But then he seemed to remember
why he was there, and added, “But you should stay away from that kind of stuff.
And stay away from Roger Goodfellow too. I remember my parents once telling me
that the only reason he hasn’t been sacrificed to the hallow tree is that
people felt sorry for him after your mom disappeared. I guess you know that
your mom was Lady Nemain’s sister. You’re related to one of the oldest and most
powerful families in Chardwick…. And you know, with the Lucent being my
granddad and your mom being Nemain’s sister, if your mom hadn’t disappeared we
would have grown up together. It’s like we were meant to be in each other’s
lives.”
Edwin grinned. He would have liked that. “So what’s it like
living with your aunts?”
“My aunts are… interesting. They’ve been so many places and
know so many things. They’re not from Chardwick, you know.”
“It must be nice being with family,” Edwin said.
“Depends on the family,” came a voice from behind.
Both Edwin and Walt jumped. Silently, Sam had caught up with
them.
* * *
Passing people in the village square, Edwin made himself
hold his head up high as he walked up the frozen steps to his apprenticeship
with Mistress Schuylar. He quickly took his seat, but noticed that even
Mistress Schuylar was eyeing him warily. Her hands were wrapped so tight around
the jeweled handle of her umbrella that they were ghostly white.
“Hurry up everyone and sit down. We have a full day ahead of
us.” Creased with worry lines, her face looked more wrinkled than ever.
Once Edwin and her other three apprentices had taken their
seats, she cleared her throat and said, “Today we are going to discuss
The
Lost Words
.” She grabbed a thick black bound book off the table, and there
was a sharp intake of air from the other apprentices. “Rarely do we open such
dangerous texts, but these are troubled times. Can anyone tell me about
The
Lost Words
? No one?”
All around him, Edwin saw that the other apprentices were
wide-eyed and glued to their seats. Shadows danced on their faces, lit by the
great burning star-shaped oil chandelier overhead. It seemed to Edwin that they
all knew something about
The Lost Words
, but were too afraid to speak.
“You’re wise to keep quiet, for
The Lost Words
is the
most dangerous text allowed in Chardwick,” Mistress Schuylar said, her old
gravelly voice dripping with secret meaning. “There is only one handwritten
copy taken from fragments of texts, and I keep it here for the Lucent. It is
said that of the three acolytes who worked to copy it, two bled from their eyes
and died in their sleep, while the third was so distraught by the end that he
walked up the pass in nothing but his night robes and froze to death before
reaching Newick.”
Leaning on her umbrella, she waited a few moments for these
words to take full effect. In all the weeks he had been an apprentice of the
village records, Mistress Schuylar had never once read from any of the books, and
the apprentices’ eyes all darted to Edwin.
“Still, for all its danger,
The Lost Words
is an
important work in our most troubled of times. Some would say that some
knowledge is best lost, but I say even the most damning texts may still have
their uses.
The Lost Words
is among the few weapons we have to fulfill
the founders’ plan. Just think, talk of many of our defenses can be found in
these pages, from the horns and the Fury, to the hallow tree, to the
bloodstones, like the one seen here in the staff of my umbrella.
“Now, of course we are not going to be reading
The Lost
Words
in its entirety. That is a burden reserved only for the Lucent. Words
are power, children. Never forget that. But the Lucent has approved three short,
minor passages for us to study today.” Quickly flipping through the tome, she
found the page she sought, opened the book wide, and said to the plain blond girl
with a mousy face, “Emile, please read these words aloud.”
All the apprentices leaned forward in their desks, eager to
get a better view, while Emile read:
“Be wary those who see what cannot be seen,
And know what should not be known,
For their hearts are black and their power great,
Their food is death, and suffering their drink.”
“Good. Thank you, Emile. Now tell me what this passage
means,” Mistress Schuylar said.
“I would not presume to know, Mistress…” Emile stammered,
her voice trailing off.
“Come now. You wish to be the Lucent’s acolyte one day, do
you not? This passage is exposition, nothing more. It contains no hidden
sorcery, and its meaning is not difficult to discern.”
“Erm, that there are bad people who know too much?”
“Yes, they possess the sight, and it is one of the signs of
the Others. There was a time long ago when our lands were filled with death and
misery, horrible monsters and creatures, and much that was unexplainable. It
was a time when our lands were governed by Others. The fiercest men of their day
bent to their power, but the Others were betrayed by one of their own.
Chardwick was founded to protect the world from the Others’ return.”
The air in the room was tense as everyone stared at Edwin.
“Now, George, please read the second message.” She flipped
to another page and held the book open.
“They have strength but need not the Fury;
For them the Fury’s call will hold no sway.
Pray always to Hallow’s bounty,
For protection against their wicked ways.”
As Mistress Schuylar flipped to another page in the tome,
she said, “Quickly, George, tell us what those words meant.”
“It is about the hallow trees. It’s where we get our
weapons, and they protect us against the Others.”
Mistress Schuylar nodded, and then held another page. “For
these last lines, why don’t we have Edwin read? Edwin, please recite the final
passage.”
It was a trick—he knew it was, but he wasn’t sure how.
Gulping, he said, “I don’t know—”
“Go on now, read the text,” Mistress Schuylar repeated.
“I can’t—”
“Read the text!” Mistress Schuylar shrieked.
Where was the trick, in reading or not reading the passage?
What did they want from him? What would Walt do? With all eyes on him, he began
to read:
“Within the Umbrage Box a light does bloom,
That will seal the wicked to their fate.
All who have seen it have met their doom,
Before it takes them to the final gate.
We forged our power in our language,
Knowledge always will be our salvation.”
Looking away from the tome, Edwin was bewildered to see a
wall of terrified faces staring back at him. When he returned their look, he caused
a flurry of shuffling and shifting, followed by hushed whispers. “He’s one of
them!” Emile screeched.
“Words are power…” Mistress Schuylar said.
“What’s wrong?” Edwin asked.
Bracing herself against the corner of her desk, Mistress
Schuylar exchanged a scared look with her other apprentices. “D-do you really
not know?”
“Know what? Why are you all acting this way?”
“You read the text!” a boy squealed.
“Mistress Schuylar made me. Emile and George also read the
text.”
The other children staring back at him were too dumbfounded
to speak. Looking to Mistress Schuylar, Edwin saw her shudder. It took her a
moment, but she grabbed her umbrella and regained her composure. “Edwin, go
wait outside for me.”
“But Mistress—”
“For the safety of all, I insist that you wait out front. Go!
Now!”
As Edwin walked backwards towards the door, he found himself
tugging at his cloak. Outside on the front steps, the spirit whispered in his
ear, “Run, up the pass or to the mines, before it’s too late.”
“And go where?” Edwin cried, breathing heavily. “They know! There
is only the one pass up the cliffs, and we don’t know anything about Newick.”
“If we sstay, we may never get a chance to find out. You
read the text in your mother’s tongue.”
Edwin stared dumbfounded at the spirit a moment, and then
cried, “It looked normal to me!”
“That woman, the fortuneteller, her enchantment musst have
done this, jusst like it gave you the power to speak the incantation that bound
me. Schuylar jusst tricked you. She is cleverer than she looks: Words
are
power,
and it is your mother’s words that feed uss.”
“I knew it was a trick! But I didn’t know what else to
do—”
“Quiet! She’s coming.”
As his spirit fled to a dark corner behind the stairs,
Mistress Schuylar opened the door dressed in a massive fur coat. “Come with me,
Edwin,” she said, purposefully holding her jeweled umbrella between them.
Falling into line behind her, Edwin wondered what he was
going to do, but the walk was short and he didn’t have to wonder long. When
they arrived at Lady Nemain’s War Room, the door was already open, and Lady Nemain
sat on the floor in a tight sleeveless shirt sharpening a bejeweled dagger on a
whetstone, the muscles on her shoulders pulsing with every movement. She
frowned when she saw Edwin and Mistress Schuylar approach.
“It is as we feared, Nemain,” Mistress Schuylar said.
“What’s going on?” Edwin asked.
They ignored him. “So he failed the second test?” Lady Nemain
asked, standing up. She didn’t drop the dagger.
“Yes, he could read the unreadable text in the language of
the Others. I don’t think he even knew he was doing it,” Mistress Schuylar
said, and Edwin’s hands grew sweaty.