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.”