“What do you mean?” Edwin asked.
“
Mahrs
are reborn from generation to generation.
Yours was reborn the night your mother escaped the mines. Much of its previous
lives may seem lost, but that knowledge can be recovered. Your
mahr
was
the soul of some of the most powerful Hosts to ever live, known throughout the
ages for its cunning.”
Cunning. Edwin didn’t like the sound of that. Changing the
subject, he said, “I noticed words moving around while you’re speaking. Is that
normal?”
“Were they drifting? I hadn’t noticed,” the book replied
dryly, even as words continued to rearrange themselves, whole paragraphs
disappeared and reappeared, and ink seemed to flow in and out from the seams.
“So if the words change like that, I take it you’re not for
reading.”
“Don’t be daft. Of course I’m for reading. I’m a book. And I
am for much more than reading, I’ll have you know.”
“What do you mean?” Edwin asked.
The book flipped its pages idly. “You wouldn’t be
interested. Let’s just stick to talking for now.”
“Stop playing coy, Herald. Show me what you can do.” He
meant it as a command, but his voice caught, belying his diffidence.
“Parlor tricks, really….” the book replied with false
modesty.
“Go on.”
The pages flipped wildly, opening to one that was blank. As
Edwin and the spirit watched, ink flowed in from the seams, infecting the page.
At first the ink created letters in the ancient language, but the letters
quickly began to bleed together to form shapes. A moment later, Edwin was
looking at the face of an old man.
“That’s it? You can draw pictures?”
“Yes, and much more besides,” the book’s voice replied
behind him. “Hello, Edwin.”
Edwin jumped when he saw the same old man sitting
cross-legged on the ground behind him. The old man’s shoulders slumped, and he
let out a deep breath. “It’s only me. Do I really look so bad? As I’ve told
you, it has been a long time.”
Edwin walked around the old man once, twice, and then a
third time. All the while the old man sat impassively on the floor. He wore a
loosely fitting outfit made from one large piece of white cloth, and had a long
gray beard and only one eye that was framed by a big busy eyebrow above and
deep wrinkles below. “You’re so real! Can I touch you?”
“You can try,” Herald said in his usual bored voice. Edwin
reached forward, but Herald’s form dispersed at his touch and formed again when
he pulled away.
“You’re smoke like my spirit.”
“Yes and no. Unlike your
mahr
, I’m not corporeal. I
don’t touch anything or affect your world in any real way. But still, it is a
very useful trick to have.”
“What do you mean?”
The old man disentangled his feet and rose to face Edwin. He
was tall and stared down at him. “I am a teacher of those worthy of my
knowledge. Why tell something that you can show?” Charred tree trunks appeared
around them, and the ground became covered in soot and grass that was shriveled
and black.
“What’s this?” Edwin asked.
“You wanted to know what happened to the Hosts? This is the
remains of their last battle—and your future, if you want it.”
On the ground Edwin walked through a mound of ash. Looking
closely he realized that it had a face and had once been a man.
“There’s nothing here. Everything is dead,” Edwin said.
The old man smiled sadly. “That is usually the case with
war. But perhaps we should continue this another time.”
“Why not now?”
“Because someone is knocking at your door.”
“What…” Distantly, he realized that he did hear knocking. The
trees, ash, and old man vanished, and Edwin saw his room clearly.
“Edwin, open up,” Walt called, banging on the door. “Why’d
you lock the door? Edwin? Edwin?”
That night, after everyone was asleep, Edwin reached under
his bed and pulled out Herald.
“Don’t you sleep?” Herald asked grumpily.
“How can you expect me to sleep now that I’ve got you?”
“Lucky me…. What do you want?”
“I want you to teach me how to control my
mahr
, even
if that means learning how to bond properly. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking for, mahrling,” Herald
scoffed. “Bonding with your
mahr
isn’t a trick you learn; it’s a
process, and it can take years.”
“But I don’t have years! I need to learn how to control my
mahr
now.”
“I’ve told you this already. You can’t control your
mahr
.
You and your—”
“—
mahr
are one. Yes, I remember, Herald.” Edwin
felt a moment’s despondency at the idea of training for years with his spirit,
but what choice did he have? “I said I’d do whatever it takes. So start
teaching me.”
“And why should I inconvenience myself? What are your
problems to me, an immortal book?”
“People in Chardwick are on edge. I’ve looked out my window,
and they still have guards posted at every street corner. If the villagers find
you, and I mean, someone like Master Carrion or Headmistress Vanora or maybe
the Lucent and not just some drunk, you might find that you’re not as immortal
as you think. Come on, teach me!”
“Hmm,” the book considered.
“You know, Herald, you may be indestructible, but I can make
your life miserable if you don’t help me.”
“More miserable than I am now, forced to converse with you?
Unlikely.”
Edwin shrugged. “Think of all the miserable places I can put
you. Try getting sleep in a miner’s knapsack. Imagine listening to those
pickaxes all day. Bang. Bang. Bang. All day long, all that yelling, all that
metal scraping rock, never stopping.”
“Erm,” Herald said, and Edwin knew he had won.
“Or maybe you would prefer to rest at the village nursery.
Nothing pierces quite like the sound of screaming children. And their grabby
little hands all over you. I shudder to think.”
“You wouldn’t,” the book said.
“I would,” Edwin said. “And more.”
The book trembled. “Perhaps one lesson wouldn’t hurt… a
trial to see if you have any hidden potential. But I warn you, this isn’t going
to be easy.”
“I’m ready. Only… can our first lesson be something quiet?
Everyone’s still sleeping, you see.”
“You impertinent little—giving me directions, the
depository of all maging knowledge…” Herald mumbled.
“Herald, you’re going to do this for me, or I swear—”
“Fiiiine,” the book said, and it opened its metal prongs.
Using them like feet, Herald jumped from the bed and scurried to the middle of
the room. “Now let’s start with the basics. Lift me.”
Edwin leapt off his bed and sat in front of Herald on the
floor. A new spell! “What’s the incantation?” he asked.
“There is no incantation, and you don’t need your
mahr
.
This is a test of control. Now that’s enough talking. Concentrate and lift me.”
The basics, as it turned out, were hard. Edwin stayed up all
night trying to lift Herald up off the floor, and by morning he was convinced
it was all a ploy to get Edwin to shut up and let the Herald sleep.
Days passed with Edwin staring at the book and nothing
happening, and he found himself seeing less and less of Walt, Sam and their aunts.
Then, one afternoon late into the day, Herald rose off the floor a fraction of
an inch, wobbled, and fell back to the floor.
“Huh? What happened?” Herald asked, clearly just waking up.
“Oh, it’s you. You managed to accomplish something, did you? It’s about time.
Now let’s make this more interesting.”
Edwin had to bite his lip to keep from yelling out with
excitement. Even if Herald didn’t want to praise him, he had done it!
He felt like his training had finally begun.
* * *
It wasn’t until one night weeks later that Edwin sat
down with Walt, Sam, and their aunts for dinner. Before anyone had a chance to
fill their plates, Edwin asked, “What’s happening in Chardwick? I’ve been dying
for news. Have the villagers forgotten about me yet?”
Gretchen smiled slyly. “Not quite, dear. A group has formed
calling themselves
Pure Bloods
. The mines have been more unstable than
ever, and the Pure Bloods want to ransack the village until you’re found.
Fortunately, the Lucent has been able to appease them for now.”
“Come on, let’s eat,” Walt said, grabbing a big spoon.
“Everything is fine in Chardwick, and there’s enough food here for a feast.”
Walt wasn’t exaggerating. Yet as Edwin helped himself to a
juicy stuffed pheasant, he couldn’t help but notice that the twins’ aunts
looked a bit tired. “Where did this all come from?” he asked, taking a bite.
“Why with a charm, of course,” Gretchen said. “Don’t look so
surprised, we didn’t conjure it. Creating something from nothing is quite
beyond us.”
“It’s not beyond a Host’s powers, however,” said Meryl.
“All in good time,” Gretchen said. “As for the food, all we
did was conjure a gateway between our hearth and the Caretaker’s personal
kitchens in Newick. Don’t worry, the food won’t even be missed.”
Between mouthfuls, Edwin said, “They must be really rich up
there.”
“Everyone seems rich compared to Chardwick,” grumbled Pyre.
“How do you make a gateway? Could we use one to leave if we
had to?” Edwin asked.
“Unfortunately, no,” Gretchen said. “Not unless you’re
extremely desperate. Moving food through the hearth is easy, but try traveling
through one yourself and you risk being ripped in two.”
“Oh,” Edwin said, disappointed, and he took a sip from his
goblet and cleared his throat. “So, you know how grateful I am for everything
you’ve done for me, right? I don’t want you to think I’m not.”
“Of course, dear,” Gretchen said. “Is there something
wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong…. I was just wondering, what’s your plan?
I’m not supposed to stay in this house forever, am I?”
Gretchen put her hand on Edwin’s arm reassuringly, but Walt
shifted uncomfortably in his seat, as though the idea of Edwin leaving made him
nervous. Gretchen said, “Of course not, dear. As soon as it’s safe, we’re going
to take you out of here and up to Newick.”
“The pass is barely traversable after last week’s snow,” Meryl
said. There had been a blizzard last week, which wasn’t uncommon this close to
spring, but since Edwin wasn’t allowed outside, he kept forgetting.
“Some are still making the journey,” said Mistral. “Did you
hear that there was another killing on the road to the Black Keep?”
“No, we haven’t heard anything about that,” Walt said. “I
guess the Lucent is trying to avoid a panic.”
Wide eyed, Sam asked, “W-who was it?”
“Old Mistress Schuylar,” Pyre said.
“She’s the third one this week,” Walt said.
“Third one this
week
?” Edwin asked.
“We all knew Schuylar well. She was the keeper of the
village records,” Sam said. “An elder on the Council. Edwin was one of her
apprentices.”
Gretchen nodded. “They have all been village elders, and all
were guarding the path to the Black Keep when they died.”
“Do the villagers think it was me?” Edwin asked, his stomach
grumbling, but he seemed to have lost his appetite. Herald had him on a strict
exercise regimen, and he never felt full.
“We don’t know what the villagers think, but the elders are
guarding an entrance to the mine,” Gretchen said. “Someone is killing the
guards at the Black Keep to reach this entrance.”
Edwin was confused. “Why would someone kill to get into the
mines? There are lots of entrances in Chardwick.”
“Those tunnels were made by man,” Gretchen explained. “Chardwick’s
miners haven’t always known where to dig, so they’ve had to guess, and they’ve
created a maze of tunnels. There are many tunnels that are no more than false
starts and dead ends, but the tunnel at the Black Keep leads directly to… let’s
call it the Host’s Tomb. The Gate to the Host’s Tomb won’t open for just
anyone.”
Edwin swallowed nervously. He still didn’t know his place in
their plan, but he was sure there was a plan. “Who’s killing the elders?”
The sisters exchanged a look. It was Mina who spoke: “It was
the imp.”
“I’ve seen the imp. It tried to hurt Walt,” Edwin said. “Why
would it be killing the elders?”
“The imp is the protector of the Host’s Tomb,” Gretchen
explained. “The Host’s Tomb is where you came from. You’re proof that Hosts may
still be trapped inside, that there is still a way out. The imp must be killing
now because the Host’s Tomb is in danger, and it’s feeding on the elders to
fuel the Tomb’s defenses.”
Edwin bit his lip. He knew he should keep his mouth shut,
but he said, “Maybe whatever is in the mines should stay there. Walt, Sam, do
you even know what happened to your parents? They were killed by the imp.”
“How do you know that?” Walt asked, shifting uncomfortably
in his chair.
“My
mahr
, when we were coming down the pass from the Medgard
Inn, it was drawn to the small entrance to the mines on the other side of White
Foot Way. It told me it was drawn to the place where your parents died, and their
deaths left an impression of some sort. I don’t know how to explain it, but my
mahr
could sense that the imp killed them.”
“Did you all know this?” Sam said. It was an accusation.
“We suspected, but did not know,” Gretchen said. “We are sad
to hear our fears confirmed.”
“How could you even think this and not tell us?” Sam yelled.
Then, not waiting for an answer, Sam rose and stomped off.
“Don’t mind Sam,” Walt said. “Our parents’ deaths were hard
on both of us.”
“Edwin, you have a great future,” Gretchen said. “I know it may
not seem that way now, but you’re special. You have a kind heart, but with our
help you’re capable of greatness.”
Nodding, Mina scraped her nails against Edwin’s arm but
didn’t pierce the skin. “Yes, with our help you will become a great Host. I’ve
seen it in my shrew stone. Learn to control your
mahr
and one day we
shall all rule, together.”
“Rule? Me?”
“It’s your destiny,” Gretchen said. “Together, and with the
Host’s Tomb, we shall be rulers, scholars, and healers. No more war, no more
fighting, no more sacrifices to trees. Just peace.”
“Peace,” Edwin repeated, liking the sound of it.
* * *
“I sense that the villagers are growing wary of us,” Mina said,
huddled around her sisters. After dinner they had snuck out of the house and
had walked up to the ledge, where they stood overlooking the village. The wind
was stronger on the ledge, and all five sisters struggled to keep their hair
out of their faces.
“It doesn’t take a mystic to see that,” Pyre retorted. “The
villagers want blood, and they fear the boy. The Lucent will not be able to
quell their hunger for action much longer. ”
“If only we had more vials of potion,” Meryl said. “Our
risks grow as we are forced to rely on alternatives to magic.”
Gretchen nodded in agreement. “We’ve drawn too much
attention to ourselves these last few months. All this magic is draining our
youth, spring is upon us, and yet we’re no closer. Tell us, Mina, how long
before the boy comes to explore the mine? Surely, given what the boy knows, he
will be compelled to explore the mines.”
Mina knelt down to the first of three dead bodies.
“I can’t believe they sent children to protect the
entrance,” Pyre said, waving her hand dismissively at the three dead guards
sent to protect the Black Keep.
“With the imp having already killed so many elders, it was
only a matter of time,” Gretchen said. “The Lucent has helped by keeping the
Council from sending an army or setting a trap, but another elder’s death would
have meant war.”
Mina had placed her lantern on the ground and was running
her hand down the first body. Her four sisters gathered around, awaiting her
proclamation.
With the tip of the nail of her right index finger, Mina cut
the girl’s clothes off in a straight line, deviating only for a small button
that read ‘Martha Single/Hawthorne Orphanage for Displaced Children/Oculus’.
Rubbing the girl’s abdomen, Mina divined, “We have succeeded in piquing the
boy’s interest. On the surface it seems the boy would like nothing more than to
explore the mine. He yearns for family and companionship.”
Then, arching her fingers into a claw, she dug her hand
forward, piercing the skin with unnatural ease. She was silent a moment while
blood began to pool at the girl’s sides. Swimming around the girl’s belly, Mina
popped the girl’s stomach and saw the problem: “Fear will limit the boy’s
curiosity. He is no Host of old. The memory of his mother consumes him, and he
fears any action that might lead him to a similar fate.”
“That’s an easy enough fix,” Pyre said. “We only need
encourage the boy to explore the mines and give him our blessing.”
“No, it must be Edwin’s idea,” Gretchen said. Then, to Mina,
she said, “Go on, sister.”
Mina’s hand drifted up the girl’s spine, and the other four
sisters were silent. Finally, her fingers stopped at the girl’s heart, and,
squeezing it in her hand, she said, “There is another way. There is one whom
the boy trusts, one for whom the boy cares, one for whom he would risk his own
life to protect.”
Gretchen whispered, “Walt.
Of course.
”
Mina nodded. “If his friend were in danger, the boy would
not stand idle.”
“Thank you, sister,” Gretchen said, and she rose from the
dead girl.