The Onyx Vial (Shadows of The Nine Book 1) by Alexis Lampley Page A

and bring them to the school. Tell the High Master who you are and where these came from. You'll have your answers then.
    “My grandpa sent me to train at Ruekridge,” he answered.
    Bardoc’s intelligent eyes narrowed in thought. “And who is he?"
    "Owen Woodworth."
    Bardoc frowned. "That name isn't familiar to me. How did he know of Ruekridge?”
    Hunter could picture the article tacked on the wall in the hidden room, youthful Grandpa and Grandma Woodworth smiling out from the image. “He was living here when it was built." And, Hunter suspected, had been one of its architects. “I… moved to Earth when I was a baby.”
    “Ah.” Bardoc studied him shrewdly. “And what of your parents?”
    Hunter pinched his lips together in sudden anger and remorse. The documents . "Gone."
    “Dead?” Bardoc asked, not unkindly.
    “No. Well, I don’t actually know,” Hunter admitted. “But I don’t think so.”
    “So they left you on Earth with your grandfather, and you haven’t heard from them since?”
    Hunter looked down at his hands. It was a perfectly reasonable question, asked without a hint of judgment. Yet he felt defensive. He didn’t believe his parents intended to dump him on his grandpa's doorstep forever, and he didn’t want anyone assuming that they had. “I think they might've gotten into trouble— couldn’t come back.”
    A pause. “Do you intend to search for them?”
    Hunter sucked in a breath. But he measured his reaction before he lifted his head, answered honestly, if more confidently than he felt. “I have no place to start." Not anymore .
    Bardoc smiled sadly. “It’s probably for the best.” His fingers steepled beneath his chin. “This is a dangerous world. Poking around in its darkest corners is unwise.”
                  Hunter nodded. But he wouldn't give up that easily.
                  “And our greatest defense against the dangers of this world is our etâme. Which you and I will be focusing on today,” Bardoc said, his forehead smoothing over. “After a brief refresher on the basics, of course. To make sure your knowledge is sufficient.”
    Hunter tucked one leg under him on the chair. “Okay,” he said, eager to lose his mind to something less depressingly futile.
    “Can you tell me: What is etâme and how does it relate to us as human beings?” Bardoc inquired.
    Hunter fidgeted, feeling like he was back in Mrs. Quirk’s class, singled out to explain a subject he hadn’t bothered to study.
    Bardoc waited patiently, expectantly.
    Think, Hunter, think. How did Grandpa explain it? “Etâme is... the soul. An extension of it, anyway. Sort of. At least for humans. I guess you could say it's..." how had his grandpa worded it? " The energy the spark of life gives off for everything else,” he said, pulling at threads of memory. “It’s not a gift or a talent, but something like breathing—something we have in order to survive?”
    Bardoc’s eyes smiled. “That answer will suffice. Now, can you explain to me how our races tie in with our etâme?” 
    “Race is what we call the type of etâme we have.” 
    Bardoc didn’t respond. Apparently, he required elaboration.
    “I don’t know what else you’re looking for, here.”
    “Ah. I see.” Bardoc shifted and clapped his hands together. “In summary, our ancestors—the Elders—were graced with etâme tied to the elements and to their souls, just as you said.”
    Elders. Like Elder Script?
    “The souls of the Elders were linked to each of the four elements equally. That is, they had full control over every element.” He eyed Hunter like a hawk. “Do you know what race you are, Hunter?”
    “Eerden,” he answered. That was the first thing his grandpa had explained to him. “But, how—?”
    Bardoc lifted his sharp chin. “The Great Unraveling,” he said. “The single greatest shift in the course of our history.”
    Hunter leaned forward. Of all the stories he’d heard about Ionia,