The Onyx Vial (Shadows of The Nine Book 1) (12 page)

“And at your age, his abilities were far superior even to that of William, who has had several years of training.”

“Is that… possible?” Grandpa had told him his abilities didn’t manifest until he was well into his teens.

“The Fyrennians have trainers who push their children to manifest much earlier in life than is natural.”

“What
is
natural?”

“Thirteen,” Tehya said.

Thirteen? “But… I’m almost fifteen and I haven’t felt a thing,” he said.

Bardoc shook his head. “I’m not surprised. You’ve been in a world closed off to all etâme. The place is running on reserves. Most likely, your manifestations were stifled.” His focus flicked to Hunter’s hands. “But I’d be willing to bet
something
has occurred regarding your abilities since you entered Ionia, even if you didn’t recognize it as such.”

Hunter doubted it. But he kept his mouth shut.

Tehya, on the other hand, made a small noise behind pinched lips. Her eyes were alight with excitement.

“Care to test it out?” Bardoc asked, not noticing his daughter's sudden shift in mood.

“Sure,” Hunter answered, feeling equal parts dread and anticipation.

“Father, may I?” Tehya asked, hopping out of her chair and moving it to its place by the wall.

Bardoc cocked his head, his expression curious. Then he nodded. "This way, Hunter."

Bardoc directed him to the center of the room as Tehya moved the other chairs back to the wall.

“During your secondary years,” Bardoc was saying, “your etâme is mostly expelled through your palms. It’s hard to see, so don’t focus on it.”

Hunter’s palms grew cold, but he knew that wasn’t etâme.

“Tehya is going to choose a sample of something we can use."

Hunter watched as she quickly scanned the walls. The shelves glistened with rainbows of color.

"Aha!" She dropped to her knees and snatched a bottle, the same verdant green color as her eyes, off the lowest shelf, then quickly came over and handed it to him.

The glow of excitement on her face made her eyes sparkle. He could lose himself in them if he wasn't careful. The bottle slipped from his fingers as he took it from hers. Everything but his heart dipped down with him before he caught it—inches above the hardwood floor. He fiddled with it instead of meeting her eyes again, trying to quell the rush of energy and the embarrassment that washed over him.

“Interesting choice,” Bardoc observed, his voice full of reservation.

Hunter swallowed. What had she picked? Why?

“Remove the stopper and dump the contents into your hand.”

The cork slid out easily. Hunter tipped the open end over his palm. A lock of course brown hair slipped out.

“Now set the bottle aside.”

Hunter did so, wondering why Bardoc was backed against the wall, and Tehya, who had moved to the stairs, was in arms-reach of an escape. Were they afraid he would blow something up? Should
he
be? Bardoc looked at him with such morbid curiosity.

“I want you to concentrate on the hairs and allow your etâme to flow to them,” Bardoc instructed.

“Will I know if…” he glanced at Tehya, not wanting to come off sounding like an idiot, but having no other choice “…if I used my etâme?”

“Yes. You should feel it within. And we should see the results.”

That was a relief. “Here goes…” he mumbled, trying to imagine what he was about to do. Would he grow some sort of creature out of the hairs? Would they burn up? Would they melt? Would they just sit there and do nothing because he didn't actually have any powers at all and this was one giant mistake?

He held his breath and closed his eyes. He needed to concentrate. He needed to try and feel the etâme, but there was nothing.

He exhaled. What did etâme feel like?
As easy as breathing, Hunter.
Like air in the lungs? Like blood in the veins?
Veins
.

Suddenly, he recalled the sparkling, vine-like sensation that chased up his spine when he’d touched the portal book in the hidden room in the farmhouse.
It’s worth a try.

He listened to the rhythm of his heartbeat, tried to picture his veins as vines instead. He pictured those vines running the course of his body, stretching, growing. He felt lighter. A tingle drifted through his palms.

It took hold.

The feeling rippled through his arm like ribbons in the wind, through his wrist and out his fingertips. It felt good. Except for the trickle of pain on the back of his hand. But other than that, it was nothing more than a pleasant summer breeze beneath his skin. He was warm. Sleepy.

But he opened his eyes and looked down.

“That’s it?"

The coarse brown hairs had turned green.

The etâme sputtered out. His shoulders fell.

"I’m supposed to be only as limited as my imagination and I’ve done nothing I couldn’t do with a bottle of paint?" He looked up.

Bardoc’s angular face contorted. He seemed to be fighting something behind his expression, his eyes flickering from deep to vivid green, like flames. Excitement? Or hunger.

Hunter took a step back.

But then the Instructor’s face returned to its sharp, scholarly expression and the corner of his mouth curled into a smile. "Tierendar."

Tehya squeaked in delight and leapt off the stairs, coming over to inspect the hairs. "Ariana was right!"

Hunter shook his head, not understanding. "What?"

"You are Tierendar," Bardoc repeated. "Did you not know this?"

Hunter gaped at him. "No that can't be right."

Bardoc looked at Tehya. "How did Ariana guess?"

"There was a Mustang in the Pass, where we, ah..." she glanced at the hairs, not meeting her father's eyes, "joined up with him. He was touching it. The Mustang was letting him."

Bardoc's head whipped back to Hunter. "Is this true?"

Hunter just stared at them. Tierendar. His grandpa had lied to him? Or did he not know either? Had he just assumed Hunter was Eerden?

“Father.” William burst into the room. The three of them turned to him in surprise. “Farstat's Bookstore is on fire.”

Tehya blanched. “What? How? Why?”

Her brother looked at her, his face grim. “The initial reports say Huntsmen. And...” he hesitated, his gaze dropping to his feet. When he looked up again, he looked defeated. “Ariana was inside.”

Chapter 9

Ariana trudged across the arid land, her trek punctuated by strong waves of heat that mingled with her growing exhaustion, causing her to stumble onto the unforgiving ground. With each fall, she took longer getting up. But every time, she summoned the strength to stand and continue on. She had to keep moving.

Her hands were scraped. Her knees bled anew with each stumble, the rich red liquid oozing through the dirt and dust that clung to her as it trailed down her shins. The stifling, stagnant air boiled on her skin, burned her eyes. Her body screamed in protest with every step as the sun made its long arc across the blurry grey-blue sky.

But it was worse to be still than to expend energy on movement.

So she marched along, dragging her heavy bag behind her, letting it dig into the clay to ensure that she wasn’t walking in circles.

She’d kept her boots on to avoid burning the soles of her feet, but she’d long since stripped down to her shorts and camisole.

Pabl’s book, wrapped in her other clothes and stuffed in her bag with the other useless book, was no help to her now. She’d tried—for longer than she should have—to fix it. She had gotten closer. But she eventually forced herself to stop and search for shelter. She was going to need at least another couple of hard days' work on it. She wouldn't be able to survive long enough to do that in this climate without taking care of her basic needs first.

The landscape blushed as the molten-copper sun slipped below the horizon, and a silhouette appeared against the red-orange sky.

She slowed, staring at the outcropping of giant stones. It could have been a mirage. But she sensed that it wasn’t.

Her
etâme needed to reconnect with water more than her body needed to drink it in. A sense of water, something connected to her etâme, tugged, as if tied to it with thread, at her core.

There was water that way.

She picked up her pace.

It was farther than it looked as she half-ran, half-trudged toward it. She panted. Her head felt close to splitting and her vision swam. But she kept pushing. Finally, she reached the biggest boulder. It had been hollowed out
—
turned into a building. Perhaps it was once a lookout post. Between rectangular gaps, which were all that remained of the window and door, a crumbling lantern sat lumped in a recess carved in the outer wall.

Inside, she found a ratty blanket—its fibers so dry and delicate it fell apart in her hands—and a ledge wide enough to lay on. Beside it was a basin, caked in clay, that must have once held water.

Hardly an oasis.

The weight of disappointment settled in her chest. But she was too exhausted to fight it. She unpacked her coat, books, and documents from the satchel, then climbed onto the ledge. Tucking the limp, dirty bag beneath her head, she closed her sun-drenched eyes and awaited the rescue of sleep.

It didn’t come.

Her mind reeled with worries she’d forced herself to ignore all day. What had happened to Pabl? What did her friends think had happened to her? Tehya would be distraught—no doubt re-living her mother’s sudden disappearance all those years ago. Hunter was probably upset too, but only about his things—which now looked stolen rather than borrowed.

And what about her mother?

She fought the tightening in her throat at the thought. She wouldn't dwell on it. Any of it. Because right then, none of it mattered. She was out of the reach of Ionia and everyone in it. All she could do now was hope to survive until she could get the Ionian half of the portal book working.

She focused on her body, keeping her mind busy by examining her weaknesses. The cool stone made her sunburned skin sting. Her head throbbed. The muscles in her legs were plagued by a sharp ache. Her tongue felt as though she’d been licking a rock. She was so thirsty. And hungry. But the thought of food repulsed her.

Water. That's all she wanted.

She imagined herself stumbling upon a deep, glittering pool of ice-cold liquid—diving in, shivering with pleasure as the chill rushed over her body.

“Stop it,” she said, shattering the image.

She opened her eyes.

Moonlight sparkled on the sandy clay. It was cooler now. Cold. When had that happened? Her body seemed to radiate more heat than the desert had dished out all day. Perhaps that’s why she hadn’t noticed.

She pressed her palm against the wall beside her, picturing herself pulling water from the depths of the stone.

She wished she had enough training to do that. She was Tieren, after all. But even with high levels of raw talent, she had much to learn. Her heart urged her to try. But her body couldn't afford for her to expend the necessary effort. Especially if it was unlikely to result in more than a few drops.

She dropped her hand and slid off the ledge, crossing the little room in a handful of steps. Peering out the window opening, she set her elbows on the sill and her chin in her hands.

It was silent as the dead.

She narrowed her eyes, let the moonlit ground blur to resemble a calm sea. But it wasn't. It was a barren desert land. She wanted to cry. But her eyes were as dry as the dirt beneath her feet.

She was already in so much pain, how could she possibly survive?

No. She wouldn’t think that way. Self-pity wouldn’t save her. She had to be strong.  

She stared at the desert and sighed. The breath poked and prodded her lungs. Her weary legs swayed. A dream-sound of distant rain beckoned her to close her eyes and escape her reality, just for a while.

And then something moved in the moonlight.

She gasped, stuck her head out the window. Her eyes, wide and sleepless, searched the horizon.

“Horses,” she breathed. There were men on horses.

She didn't hesitate. She grabbed her meager possessions and dashed out of the shelter, her eyes on the figures in the distance.

She couldn’t yell out, for fear they were Huntsmen—or, as this was Helede, something much worse. So she ran only until she picked up their trail in the clay, then she slowed, following at a safe distance and choosing a pace she could handle. They had a heavy cart. The grooves left by the wheels were deep. Eventually, they would lead her to civilization or stop for water. Even Heledian horses needed to drink from time to time. Either way, they were her salvation. She just had to stay alive long enough to catch up to them.