Herald’s shoulders sagged. “You haven’t shown me your
friends, and I can’t see what you don’t show me. But it is usually best to be
wary of twins. When borne of magic, twins are unstable and unpredictable.”
Seeing Edwin’s confused expression, Herald added, “It’s a matter of balance. Strength
in one is weakness in the other. Goodness in one is wickedness in the other.
And so on.” He was visibly bored and frustrated.
Edwin knew which was which between Walt and Sam. Spitting
out the words as quickly as he could, he said, “One last question, please. Can
you tell me what my mother’s name was? Ouch!”
Herald sighed and said, “Althaia,” before the apparition
disappeared and the book shut.
Edwin turned to the spirit. “What is it?” he demanded, exasperated.
The spirit had made it almost impossible to focus on what Herald had been
telling him.
“The twins’ aunts,” the spirit hissed. “They’re here.
Downsstairss.”
* * *
There was a rapping at the door, and Edwin quickly threw his
cloak over the book, opened the door, and was surprised to see it was Sam in
tears, not Sam’s aunts.
Gasping for air, Sam said, “Edwin, it’s Walt. He was
taken—right in front of me—we were walking—and then there was
this light, the imp—no one else could see it—but I could see
it—no one else could!—and then Walt was gone. It took him! Where
are my aunts? I’ll die if anything happens to him. We have to find them.”
“Where did it take him?” Edwin asked.
Before Sam could respond, Gretchen appeared at the stairway,
followed by Mina and the triplets. Wraithlike, they made no sound as they
glided across the wood floor. Sam ran to them, and cried, “Aunt Gretchen,
what’s going on? It took him, it took Walt!”
“Shh, shh…” the sisters cooed as they gathered in the room.
“Tell us what happened. Tell us everything.”
Backing up to give them room to enter, Edwin tripped over
Herald and fell to the ground.
“Oh dear, are you all right?” Meryl asked, rushing over to
give him a hand.
Edwin rubbed his hip. “I’m fine,” he said. It wasn’t until
he picked himself up that he saw that his foot was caught in his cloak.
Towering over Edwin, her voice strained, Gretchen asked,
“Edwin, what is that book?”
Edwin scrambled to throw the cloak back on, but the damage
was done. Covered again, he held it to his chest. “It’s nothing,” he stammered.
“Just a book.”
“Where did you get it?” she asked, and Edwin felt his throat
contract. It was obvious she knew exactly what it was.
“Erm, nowhere. I just, um, I found it.” His eyes darted to
Sam. “What about Walt? What happened to him?”
The sisters studied him a moment until Gretchen turned to
Sam, and said, “Yes, tell us everything that happened.”
Still sniffing, Sam replied, “The… The… That
thing
took him. It happened only a few minutes ago. One minute we were walking home
and everything was fine, the next that imp was there and Walt was gone.”
Edwin felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He
kept waiting for someone to say it was a joke or a mistake but no one did.
Gretchen nodded gravely, but said, “That’s good news. It may
not be too late.”
“The imp might be saving him for later,” Pyre explained. “The
imp only kills as it becomes necessary to sustain the Host’s Tomb. It may hold
Walt for a while, maybe even days, before it needs to feed.”
“Why Walt? What can we do?” Edwin asked.
“As a member of our family he has old, powerful blood,” Pyre
said. “His life would sustain the Tomb longer than most. Perhaps the imp is
desperate. As for you, you can do nothing.”
“It’s not safe for you in the village, and it’s especially
not safe for you in the mines,” Gretchen said. “Let’s go, sisters.”
“This is horrible news. Horrible, horrible news,” said Meryl,
walking out the door. “We will do our best to find him and bring him back
safe.”
Gretchen had already left, and the others were following.
“Sam, grab your travel-bag. You’re coming with us,” Pyre
said.
“But Aunt—”
“No time to argue,” she interrupted. “Be good and do as we
say.”
“We’re going to that mine,” Edwin told the spirit. He had
spent the last several minutes trying to get Herald to wake, but it wouldn’t
budge.
“Maybe that issn’t a good idea,” his spirit said, coming out
from under the bed.
“We have to go for Walt,” Edwin said, picking up Herald and
his cloak. “I don’t understand… I assumed you would want to go to the mines to
find this sanctuary. Well, here’s our chance.”
“You’ve always been afraid of the miness,” the spirit said,
“and we’ve always known these women want you to go there. Perhapss we shouldn’t
rush into anything.”
“I know you’ve never liked Walt, but he’s my friend. Remember
what Herald said? Herald said that the Gate to the Host’s Tomb would only allow
a Host with a
mahr
to pass. If the imp took Walt to the Host’s Tomb,
Walt’s aunts won’t be able to save him, but maybe I could. I have to try”
“But it would be foolish to rush there blindly,” the spirit argued.
“The time is not right. Your mother died, and she was many times more powerful
than we. Is thiss guilt over the boy, the other one?”
Edwin felt blood rushing to his cheeks. “Don’t you dare
mention Ashton to me. I told you that Walt is my friend, and that’s the only
reason I need. I’m going.”
“I won’t be a party to your foolisnesss. If you do thiss, it
is your choice and you go without me.”
Edwin glowered at it. Through clenched teeth, he said,
“Herald is wrong; we’re
nothing
alike. You’re no more a part of me than
dirt is part of a tree.”
He finished packing, and a flash of red energy coursed
through the spirit’s essence before it retreated under the bed.
When Edwin left the Morriseys’ house, he felt more
determined than ever to prove that, despite their connection, he and his spirit
were nothing alike. He wished Herald would open for him—he wanted to know
whether he would be able to open the Gate without his spirit, assuming he would
somehow be able to find the Gate in the mines. But if the book wouldn’t open,
there was nothing to be done about it.
Without thinking too much about it, Edwin walked to the entrance
near where Walt’s parents had died, the place his spirit had shown him in his
dreams. As he walked through Chardwick, he nervously passed guard after guard,
but no one bothered him. Maybe it was that he was a lot much taller, having
absorbed so much life at the Morriseys’ house; maybe it was that it was evening
and the sun had already set over the cliff, giving him plenty of dark shadows
in which to hide; or maybe it was that he was wearing many layers of warm clothes,
which didn’t stand out because the temperature dropped so precipitously at
night, even in spring.
Having folded his cloak to make a knapsack, he carried a few
supplies slung over his shoulder. It wasn’t much, only a few things he had been
able to find around the house: three apples, a length of rope, and a knife from
the kitchen. And of course, there was Herald. After seeing the sisters’
interest in his book, he didn’t dare let it out of his sight.
When Edwin first left the house, a part of him had thought
the spirit had been bluffing, but as he got farther, he began to feel the pangs
of its absence. “I ca-can do this,” he grumbled to himself, refusing to
consider that he was being rash. “I don’t need m-my spirit. I’m f-fine.” He
tried to draw strength from the memory of how good he had felt these last few
weeks, and he hoped it hadn’t all been the spirit.
Urging himself on, his mind began to feel muddier and
muddier, and he held onto that feeling that he was doing something right. He
knew that Walt would do the same for him.
Rona Goodfellow. Eigil. Ashton.
He repeated the list over and over again, like a litany.
The air became cool and dry as soon as Edwin passed the
torches surrounding the entrance. A man with a soiled lunch bag was leaving,
but he didn’t give Edwin a second glance.
Turn around, go back, find your spirit!
his mind screamed, but he continued walking.
Running his hand along the wall, the rock felt wet and
jagged. A moment later a woman approached, and he pulled his hand back and
tried to look like he belonged. Like the man before her, she also ignored him.
The air was hotter and thicker inside the tunnel, reminding
him of his mother’s escape in his nightmares. Torches lined the walls, red
shadows filled every bump and crevice, and only a short distance in, the little
tunnel merged with a bigger tunnel that was alive and busy with activity.
Ahead, more tunnels branched off in every direction with people floating
between them listlessly, but Edwin refused to consider going back. He thought
of Walt and repeated the list in his head:
Rona Goodfellow. Eigil. Ashton.
Having long passed the tunnel where the Morriseys had died,
it wasn’t long before Edwin was completely lost, and after a while he began to
hear a distant noise. It came on so slowly and subtly that he couldn’t place
the moment between hearing and not hearing it. It seemed to come from
everywhere and nowhere. As he walked, and walked, and walked, it all looked the
same and he never felt like he got anywhere, but he was thankful that no one
paid him any attention.
Hours may have passed—it was impossible to tell below
ground—and he didn’t know what he expected to happen, hoping only that if
he kept looking, eventually he would find an answer. Though he refused to admit
it to himself, a part of him was sure he was walking in circles, and he was
shocked when he finally stumbled on a tunnel protected by two guards, each
well-lit standing below a torch. They were still a good distance away, and
Edwin stopped and pretended to adjust his knapsack while a burly miner passed by,
with Edwin watching intently as the guards questioned the man before letting
him pass.
Edwin wanted to stay and watch another miner go through, but
he had fiddled on the ground with his knapsack as long as he dared. Without a
plan, he wasn’t ready to approach the guards, and he decided to retreat in the
other direction to give his muddled mind a moment to think. He hadn’t walked
but a few steps when he thought he saw a flickering light, just out of reach, off
to his side. Only, when he turned to get a better look, the light was gone.
With his heart beating fast, the light suddenly reappeared
and again only lasted a moment.
Forcing himself not to run, Edwin looked over his shoulder
and saw the guards staring in his direction. It didn’t appear they had yet seen
anything.
But then another light flickered to his side, followed by
another and another. It was more than one now, all of them tiny, all of them
only lasting a moment, and more kept coming, creating a swarm that moved
purposefully and was bright enough to light the ground in front of him. They
lit the air and flew towards the wall. One light flickered into being close to
his eye, and he saw that it was a tiny insect, only the head looked almost human.
Was the Host’s sanctuary trying to help him? He tried to move between them and
the guards, wanting to block them, but the little lights were quickly sapping
the last of his courage. The lights seemed to be leading him somewhere, but the
guards had finally taken notice and were running towards him. All at once the
little lights disappeared into the wall.
Confused and panicking, Edwin put his hand to the wall but
the wall wasn’t there, and his hand disappeared before his eyes. The guards
were almost on top of him now, and he followed his hand into the wall, where he
found himself inside a pitch-dark chamber. Putting his hands up, he inched
forward and tried to find something to touch, but the darkness was disorienting
and he was barely able to keep his balance or make one foot walk in front of
the other.
Stupid. This was a mistake. I never should have left my spirit,
never should have come to the mines. But Walt…. Think! What do I do now?
Stupid. Stupid!
With no idea where he was or what was happening, he was
breathing so hard he could hardly catch his breath. He wasn’t sure how long he
stumbled along, blind and lost, but it felt like a lifetime.
And then the flickering lights returned.
The group seemed smaller, but to his relief, they seemed to
be leading him somewhere. Swarming around him, they flickered in and out of
existence, and Edwin couldn’t help but smile. “I h-h-hope you know where you’re
t-t-taking me,” he whispered to the lights as they danced around him.
They seemed to travel a great distance before Edwin realized
that the swarm was thinning. It wasn’t until there were no more than a handful
of lights remaining that they came to a stop. They had reached another wall, but
unlike the previous wall, they didn’t move through this one. Grouped together
into a small ball, the little light-insects created the outline of what looked
to be a small keyhole that, when he put his head level with the hole, he could
see through to an empty tunnel on the other side. He put his hand up to the
wall and pushed, but nothing happened. It was just as it looked, a wall.
“Well, how am I s-s-supposed to get out?” he asked the
little lights. While he stood there trying to figure out what to do, the lights
continued to dim. “Y-you look like a lock, but where’s the k-key?”
On his knees, he felt around the floor for something,
anything, he might have missed, not understanding how he could open a lock
without a key. Not finding anything, he went back to the lock and felt the rock
around it. There wasn’t anything special about it. The air felt stale and heavy,
and the darkness seemed to be tightening its grip around him, suffocating him. Unable
to calm his breathing, he started hitting the wall, and he was still hitting
the wall when the last light died out.
Alone in the darkness, he imaged slowly suffocating or
starving, and the full impact of his stupidity hit him. Worse than getting
himself in trouble, he hadn’t been able to help Walt. He should have talked his
spirit into coming; he never should have left alone. And even if his spirit
came looking for him now, he wasn’t sure it would be able to find him here. He
didn’t even know where
here
was.
And then, like being struck in the head, he remembered. “The
book!” he said aloud, feeling dumb and silly. After pulling the book from his
sack, he said, “Herald. Are y-y-you there?”
“It’s dark,” said the book tiredly.
“Yes, I know it is. Herald, I need your help.”
“I’m a book. I don’t do well in the dark.”
“Herald, I’m t-trapped.
We’re
trapped. There were
these lights, only they were bugs but with human heads, and then w-we were
inside the w-w-wall in a secret tunnel, and now we can’t get out.”
Edwin heard the book yawn. “What do you want
me
to do
about it? I am a book, and it’s dark. You can’t read in the dark, you know.”
“Y-you’re a talking book. I don’t need to read you. You can
tell me what you know.”
“Quite wrong,” Herald replied. “We books like light. When
it’s dark we sleep. Besides, I had no idea you associated with traitors.
Goodnight now.” With that the book locked its prongs shut and refused to open.
“What do you mean, t-traitors?” Edwin cried as he banged on
the book.
When he had exhausted himself yelling and cursing, he curled
up on the ground in a ball. At least his cloak was soft and warm. Without the
spirit he didn’t even have the power to light a fire. Fitfully, he drifted in
and out of sleep, completely unaware of how much time passed.
A light appeared in the distance. For a few groggy moments,
he thought it was his mind playing tricks on him. Then, with a start, he jumped
up, faltered, and ran towards it. As he got closer, he saw that it was a door,
just like the one that had gotten him into this mess. Stumbling through it, he
found himself in the tunnel he had seen through the keyhole. To his left, the
tunnel extended as far as he could see. To his right, the tunnel curved.
Heat radiated from his right, as well as a strange blue-white
light.
* * *
“That was the last of our potions,” Gretchen said angrily.
The air smelled of wet rock, and the torchlight cast a dark shadow across her
face.
“It can’t be!” Meryl cried.
“Why did he come alone? No Host would leave without his
mahr
,”
Pyre added.
“All is lost!” Mistral moaned.
“No, we’ll find another way,” Gretchen said, but she
couldn’t hide the bitterness form her voice. “Not bringing his
mahr
to
open the keyhole was an unfortunate setback. His power, not ours, was supposed
to fuel the final doorway past Chardwick’s guards.” She flattened her empty
purse carefully between her fingers and stored it in her garter. “On the other
hand, our deceit worked. The boy is walking the tunnels. Soon he will reach the
Tomb.”
“Even if he does, he will never pass without his
mahr
,”
Pyre said. “How will he get back to Chardwick? He can only follow manmade
tunnels without his
mahr
, and eventually the villagers will find him.
What then?”
Gretchen shrugged. “We have done what we can. Now it is up
to the boy.”
“But we can’t risk losing him!” Meryl said.
“If we kill him now, there might still be time to gather the
other ingredients to conjure a candle,” Pyre added. “The scared
mahr
of
a pitiful Host is better than no
mahr
at all. Perhaps another
opportunity will come, a better one.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Gretchen spat. “This is our best chance
of ever recovering the Host’s Tomb. Only he, this boy, raised by these
villagers, would not see us for what we are.” She shook her head. “No, better
we step aside and trust that the boy will open the Gate.”