Морган Райс
The Obsidians
CHAPTER FOUR
Chris stood on the soggy field in the shadow of the Obsidian School for Seers. He was covered in mud, all the way up to his waist. Rain lashed down on him.
“Again,” Colonel Cain demanded. His eerie blue eyes flashed.
Chris gritted his teeth. He was exhausted. He’d been running laps around the field for what felt like hours. But then he remembered his mission—to kill Oliver—and his motivation returned.
His grueling combat training had started immediately. And while Chris was thrilled on one hand to be the only seer in existence to possess the power of dark matter, the early morning drills were grinding him down.
Chris had always been a chunky kid—he preferred snacks to sports—and all the hours of running in the mud and rain while having orders barked in his face was wearing him down. And yet despite all the hardships, his motivation only grew stronger. He would kill Oliver. Next mission, he would not let him slip away.
He began to run again, his chest heaving. He had a sharp stitch in his side but he ignored it and carried on. Out the corner of his eye he could see Colonel Cain watching on, his blue eyes glowing even through the driving rain.
Just then, Chris caught sight of a figure standing in one of the dormitory windows of Obsidian’s. He knew immediately it would be Malcolm Malice. He smirked, filled with pride that Malcolm was watching him. He knew Malcolm was jealous of his powers and of the special attention he was being shown. Malcolm would have loved to have been trained by the dark army. He was still bitter about their failed mission and falling from grace in Mistress Obsidian’s eyes.
As he ran, slipping and sliding in the muddy grass, Chris recalled again that moment on the banks of the River Thames where his hand had been clasped around Oliver’s ankle one moment, then suddenly he’d lost hold and Oliver had disappeared through the portal. Chris was determined not to let that happen again. Next time he came face to face with Oliver, he’d end him. Then he’d get all the glory from all the Obsidians, and Malcolm Malice would have none.
The sky was turning dark, Chris noticed. He rounded the corner and began racing back toward Colonel Cain. He’d been training since dawn, not even stopping for lunch. The colonel was like a drill sergeant. But no matter how hard he was worked, Chris never complained. Even now, with his breath coming in sharp, rasping wheezes, he would not let the man see his pain on his face. Colonel Cain was tough, yes, but he was admirable. Chris looked up to him in a way he never had his own father.
He made it back to Colonel Cain. Through the man’s dark robe, Chris could see him peering down with the unearthly bright blue eyes of a rogue seer.
Colonel Cain pressed the button on the top of his stopwatch.
“How did I do?” Chris asked.
“You’re getting slower,” came the colonel’s response, in an imposing, booming voice.
“I’m hungry,” Chris replied, putting his hands on his fleshy hips. “When are we stopping to eat?”
The colonel’s glowing blue eyes narrowed to slits. He looked furious.
“You have the power of dark matter inside of you, Christopher,” he snapped. “You should need for nothing. The power Mistress Obsidian gifted you with is the envy of every dark soldier in the universe.”
Between the hunger pangs, Chris felt a swell of pride.
“Come here,” Colonel Cain said, gesturing to Chris.
Chris approached cautiously, sliding a little on the muddy earth.
“Hold up your palms,” the colonel said.
Chris did as he was instructed.
“Do you know the power you hold within these?” the colonel asked.
Chris nodded. “I can spray acid out of them,” he said with pride, recalling how he’d destroyed Newton’s precious artworks back in 1690s England.
“You can do much more than that,” the colonel said.
He took hold of Chris’s hands by the wrists. His firm was grip. His fingers were like talons, knobby and long, almost inhuman.
“Focus your mind,” the colonel demanded. “Access your dark powers. Then use that power to melt through the fabric of dimensions.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Chris murmured.
“I don’t kid,” the colonel replied.
Chris had learned about the dimensional fabric when Mistress Obsidian had called on the dark army to aid them on the last mission. She’d used a fancy knife to do it. But Chris was expected to do it just with his hands?
The colonel was staring at him insistently. Chris took a deep breath and allowed his mind to find that meditative place where reality began to blur.
Any time he reached his powers was exciting for Chris, because every time he found them inside himself he could tell they had grown. His powers sat like a huge smoldering volcanic rock, right in the center of his gut. Even from just the short time he’d been training with the colonel he could feel how much bigger they were, how much more they wished to be utilized. It was like they were something foreign to him, an alien that resided within his body, one that gave him the sort of power that people only dreamed of.
He reached into himself and began to pull his powers up and out through his arms. He felt the heat trickling along his outstretched forearms and into his wrists, which Colonel Cain was still gripping tightly. Then he felt it seep into his palms, heating up his skin to a searing temperature. Finally, he pushed out, projecting the image he’d created in his mind of the fabric melting and forcing it into a reality.
As he did, he noticed the atmosphere around his hands begin to change. It started shimmering.
“It’s working…” Chris stammered.
He looked up at Colonel Cain. Though the man’s hood cast shadow over his features, Chris could tell from his eyes that he was now smiling devilishly.
Chris felt his heart begin to slam in his chest.
“I’m doing it,” he said, feeling a great surge of triumph.
“Now, let go,” the colonel instructed.
Chris dropped his hands. In the place where his palms had met the fabric of the dimension, there were now two singed holes.
“Awesome,” Chris murmured.
“That is how you access the space between time,” the colonel said. “The void. The realm where the dark army resides.” He reached forward and began to press the singed parts of the sky back together again. “You see now how precious the power you contain within you is?”
Chris nodded. “I do.”
“Good. Then run.”
Chris felt a hitch in his chest. Run? Again?
Colonel Cain’s moment of niceness faded. His voice became cold and hard again. “I said run.”
Chris wasn’t going to argue. He pounded off again, to make yet another lap around the field.
This time when he looked up at the dormitory window, he saw that Malcolm had now gone.
As he rounded the corner, catching sight of the silhouette of Colonel Cain in the distance, Chris realized his mentor was no longer alone. There was a second figure beside him. Someone smaller. A student, Chris realized.
As he drew closer still, it dawned on him. Malcolm, having watched Chris training from the window of the dormitory, had now come down to the playing fields.
Chris clenched his jaw. He didn’t want Malcolm interacting with Colonel Cain. The colonel was his mentor!
His pace grew even faster, until the pain in his side felt like a knife blade. His lungs ached but he pushed himself on and on and on.
At last, he thundered up to the colonel, kicking mud all over Malcolm’s pant legs.
Colonel Cain looked surprised. He stopped his stopwatch.
“That was your fastest lap yet, Christopher,” he said, with the smallest hint of pride in his voice. He looked at Malcolm, then back to Chris. “I guess a little bit of competition is good for you.”
Chris took a huge breath, his lungs hurting as he did.
“Competition?” he stammered. “What do you mean?”
But Colonel Cain had clearly gotten an idea. “Malcolm was telling me about your last mission. He’s volunteered to join you on your next one. I was going to say no. But now that I’ve seen how much faster you can be with a competitor to beat, I’ve decided to send him too.”
“No!” Chris shouted. The last thing he wanted was Malcolm stealing his glory, taking his spotlight. “I’m the only one Mistress Obsidian trusts with this. Malcolm already failed. It’s my turn to lead.”
But the colonel wasn’t listening. He’d walked over to the side of the field where he’d laid out some sparring equipment and boxing gloves. He picked up a pair of red gloves.
“Here,” he said, offering them to Chris. He handed another to Malcolm. “Let’s see how you two get on in a duel.”
Chris couldn’t believe this. This was supposed to be his time to shine! Now Malcolm had muscled his way into it. The stupid weasel had been half the problem last mission. Bringing him along to this one was a terrible idea! He’d have to knock him out and concuss him so badly there was no way he could come along too.
Glowering at Malcolm, Chris affixed his gloves. The cold rain pounded down but he could hardly feel it anymore. All his attention was on Malcolm. On kicking his butt.
Malcolm got his gloves on and punched them both together in a menacing way. He smiled his horrible, weaselly smile. Chris narrowed his eyes even more.
“Last man standing,” Colonel Cain announced. “Go!”
Malcolm wasted no time. He barreled toward Chris like he’d been waiting for this chance his whole life.
Chris took up his defensive stance. He could use Malcolm’s passion against him. The kid was rage-filled, not thinking. All Chris had to do was let him wear himself out before taking a well-aimed blow.
Malcolm threw a punch. Chris pulled his arms up, blocking it easily. It had been a sloppy first attempt.
Malcolm tried again, attempting a quick left hook. But Chris had already anticipated it. He blocked again. This time, he retaliated with a blow to Malcolm’s exposed side.
“Oof!” Malcolm gasped as he staggered.
The mud was slippery and he stumbled. Chris quickly realized he had an opportunity here. He’d been training in the slippery mud for hours and was more steady on his feet, but Malcolm had not and he was barely able to keep himself up.
Chris knew he had to take this moment while Malcolm’s defense was down.
He took two large steps forward and focused on Malcolm’s exposed shoulder, than put the full bulk of his bodyweight into plowing his right fist toward it.
But Malcolm suddenly righted himself, and at the last second he ducked. Instead of thumping his shoulder, Chris’s hand soared past it, bringing his entire body with it.
He staggered. He’d made a huge mistake. A miscalculation.
A sudden sharp blow struck him across the back of his right ear. Pain exploded across his jaw, neck, and cheek. His ears began to ring.
Disoriented, Chris swirled around, trying to get an eye on Malcolm. But Malcolm must’ve darted around behind him because all Chris could see was the muddy field and pounding rain.
Drops got into his eyes, making it even harder to see. Then he felt another horrible blow slam into the back of his head. This one was so hard his teeth rattled. Black stars danced in his eyes.
He started lashing out, desperately trying to find Malcolm, to get any single one of his blows to connect. But he failed. He was just flailing. Shame overcame him.
A third blow came. This one got him in the throat. The pain was so awful that Chris felt his eyes fill with tears.
Gasping, he fell to his knees onto the soggy earth. Then he flopped sideways, no longer able to hold his body up, his body overcome with wracking coughs. His face slammed into the ground. As he panted for breath, he tasted mud.
Malcolm’s feet appeared beside him. As he looked up at his figure framed by raindrops, the boy smiled devilishly.
Then Colonel Cain stepped up and peered down at Christopher.
“Yes,” Colonel Cain said, nodding his head. “I think you two will make quite the team.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Oliver felt the strange tugging sensation on his body of the portal pulling him through. No matter how many portals he went through, he’d never get used to the feeling. It felt like having his atoms ripped apart and rescrambled.
The flashing purple lights of the portal whizzed past him, blindingly bright and adding to his general discomfort. He felt nausea swirl in his stomach.
Oliver couldn’t help but feel for his friends. Neither Walter nor Hazel had ever traveled through a portal before, and this one was particularly brutal, especially considering there was no guarantee they’d even make it out the other end. He could only pray that he’d be able to safely lead them to their desired destination. But if his intentions had not been pure enough, they’d all be ejected into space. The thought was just too terrible to consider.
After what felt like hours, Oliver heard a strange sucking noise, like water draining through a plug hole. Then with a pop like a bursting balloon, all the flashing lights and tugging sensations disappeared.
Oliver felt himself fly through the air as if catapulted. He landed hard on the ground and groaned from the pain.
Three distinct thudding noises came from behind him and Oliver knew that was the sound of each one of his companions landing.
He looked back. They all looked stunned and disheveled. David’s ponytail had come undone during the journey, and Hazel’s bun looked messy and askew. Once again, Walter was the most unfazed. He leapt up and punched the air.
“That was awesome!”
Oliver quickly scrambled to his feet. “Shh!” he said, running toward Walter. “We don’t know where we are. Don’t draw so much attention to us!”
He reached Walter at the same time as Hazel and David.
“Which begs the question,” Hazel said. “Where are we?”
Everyone began to glance around. They were surrounded by a series of buildings that appeared to be in various states of disrepair. They’d clearly once been extremely ornate and extravagant churches, with stone steps, tall white columns, and domed roofs, but something had ravished them. Time? War? It looked possible even that the building materials had been scavenged. Overall, they all looked close to collapse.
The streets were also filthy. Wild livestock roamed around, dropping dung behind them, and several foxes darted in and out of the churches.
Oliver shuddered. “Somewhere in Europe. But where and when precisely, I’ve not idea. Let’s look for clues.”
They began to pace the streets. There were no cars, but plenty of horse manure, which helped them narrow down the era to prior the invention of the automobile. There were very few people scattered around the place, mainly beggars, which made the place feel a bit like a ghost town.
“I feel like the population must have shrunk recently,” Hazel said. “There seem to be far too few people for all these buildings.”
“So we’re perhaps in some kind of old city that’s lost its people for some reason,” Oliver suggested. “That would explain why the buildings look so dilapidated.”
“Look there!” Hazel said, pointing at a rectangular area surrounded by large, important-looking buildings. “That looks like a Roman forum. Only it’s filled with cattle and markets.” Her eyes widened with excitement. “I think we might be in Rome. Right at the cusp of the Renaissance.”
“The what?” Walter asked.
“The moment in Europe that marks the transition from the Middle Ages to modernity,” she replied with enthusiasm. “Where art and architecture and philosophy and trade flourished. You know, the age of discovery?”
Walter let out a mocking laugh. “You’re such a nerd.”
But Hazel was on a roll. She completely ignored Walter, looking increasingly excited. “That’s why all the buildings are falling down. The economy collapsed in the fourteenth century because of war and plague, as well as famine from a small ice age. The population shrank by somewhere between twenty-five and fifty percent.”
“So it must be early fifteen hundreds,” Oliver replied.
“I think so,” Hazel said with a nod.
Just then, a pair of women walked past them chatting. Oliver didn’t understand the language. But David was listening intently, as though perhaps he did.
Oliver raised his eyebrows at David expectantly. “Well? Did you understand them?”
David nodded slowly. “Yes. I can speak several languages. Perhaps that’s another reason Professor Amethyst sent me.”
“And?” Oliver asked. “Are we right? Are we in Italy?”
David nodded. “We’re in Italy.”
Oliver couldn’t help but exclaim, “Italy!”
Hazel, too, seemed completely enthralled by where they’d ended up. “Rome! During the Renaissance!”
Walter whirled and craned his head up to take in the sight of the tall, crumbling churches. “I’m glad you two are so happy about where we ended up. I’m just glad we’re not dead.”
“So, the portal took us to sixteenth-century Italy,” Hazel said, still looking awed despite her attempt to get back to business. “Why would the cure for Esther be here?”
At the mention of Esther’s name, Oliver felt his stomach twist. There was no time to be entranced by the surroundings, to marvel at having landed in sixteenth-century Italy, because every second that passed was a second wasted.
“We need to work out where to go next,” he said hurriedly.
Oliver pulled out his compass. But to his surprise, while the main golden dial was pointing at a vial—which surely represented medicine—all the other smaller dials were pointing at the same symbol. It was giving him no other clues.
Oliver’s shoulders slumped. He felt defeated.
“It-it’s not working,” he stammered, helplessly.
Now what? They were back in Renaissance Rome with no idea where to go or what to do next! Every moment they stood there dithering was another moment Esther came toward death.
“Uhhh… Oliver…” David said in a warning voice.
Oliver peeled his eyes away from the useless compass. To his surprise, there was a young boy running toward them. He looked desperately concerned.
Oliver felt dread rise through him. Who was the boy and why was he homing in on them like that, with a look of pure anxiety?
He ran up to them and began to speak in urgent, rapid Italian. Oliver looked helplessly to Hazel and Walter, who looked just as clueless as he must have.
David took the lead. He stepped forward and nodded along as the boy spoke.
When the tanned-skinned boy finally finished, David looked over his shoulder at Oliver.
“He’s a seer,” he said.
Oliver’s eyebrows pinged up his forehead. “A seer? How did he find us?”
“He says that when we activated the portal it sent a beacon alarm to his school. He says we must follow him. It’s too dangerous here.”
“But why?” Hazel asked. “What’s dangerous about standing innocently in the streets?”
“Beyond the roaming livestock and beggars, you mean,” Walter quipped.
David translated her question to the boy. He shook his head, seemingly growing more and more exasperated. He spoke in a quick, exaggerated manner, throwing his arms around theatrically.
“Well?” Oliver asked, growing increasingly anxious with every second that passed.
“The beacon,” David gasped, relaying the message back to the others. He locked eyes with Oliver, his expression now deeply troubled. “It doesn’t just send an alarm to the school. The alarm can be picked up by all seers.”
Hazel gasped. “You mean…”
“Rogues,” David finished for her. “We’ve sent out a signal to them that we’re here.”
Oliver felt the warmth drain from his face. Finally he understood why the Italian seer boy was so frantic. They’d practically sent out a signal for any rogue seer to come along and mess up history!
“Quick,” Oliver told his friends. “Let’s get out of here.”
Hazel grabbed his arm. “Are you sure we can trust this boy?”
“He risked a lot just to come here and get us,” Walter said.
But Oliver wasn’t so sure.
“David, can you ask him more about himself? Find out if there’s any way to prove what he’s telling us?” he asked.
David looked back to the boy and asked him something in Italian. “His name is Gianni,” he relayed to the others. “He said he can prove that he’s trustworthy.”
The boy, Gianni, took a step forward and pulled from his pocket a bronze key. He held it out to Oliver, nudging it into his hand.
Wondering why Gianni seemed to want him to have it, Oliver took the key, frowning, and turned it in his hands. Then he understood.
There on the back was a familiar symbol. A ring with three evenly spaced eyes. The symbol of the School for Seers.
Oliver felt a smile tug at his lips. That symbol felt like home to him.
He showed it to the others. Walter nodded, satisfied, but Hazel folded her arms.
“I still don’t know,” she said.
Her skepticism reminded Oliver of how he’d felt toward David. But David had proved himself back at the portal and he now trusted David fully. His bodyguard would not lead them into danger.
“If David says we can trust Gianni, then I think we can trust him,” he told her.
A look of pride flashed across David’s features. “I promise you, Hazel. Gianni is exactly who he says he is. A seer. A friend sent to get us.”
Hazel chewed her lip as if deliberating. But finally she nodded. “I supposed statistically speaking we’re more likely to get caught by rogue seers if we stand here than if we go with him. So I’m in.”
Walter rolled his eyes. “Trust Hazel to make a decision based on statistics!”
Guided by Gianni, the seer boy from Renaissance-era Rome, the friends began to run.
