The Obsidians

“Now it’s your turn, Oliver,” Hazel said. “Your turn to show your true intentions.”

Oliver understood. Motivation zapped in his veins as he grabbed the amulet again and focused on Esther sleeping inside. His heart lurched.

The wind swirled.

He looked back at his friends. “Here goes nothing.”

They jumped.

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?