Ghost's Dilemma Page 15

  "You are a guest in these halls. You have eaten meat at my table, and your safety is my obligation." Falkor sighed and gestured to Njall.

  Njall reached out to take Egill by the shoulder, but Egill didn't flinch away as he had earlier, when the Witch had touched him. He put his arms around Ghost's waist and held tight, his expression defiant.

  "Child." The Witch spoke in a gentle voice. "We'll wait for Ghost outside. As I understand it, guest law prohibits Falkor from harming Ghost, or allowing him to be harmed." The Witch gazed at Falkor and her eyes were unreadable. "We will simply have to hold Falkor to that, won't we?"

  Egill allowed Ghost to transfer him into the Witch's arms, but his eyes were on Ghost. If you need help, I'll hear you. Ghost smiled at Egill with as much reassurance as he could muster.

  Falkor watched Njall escort the Witch and Egill from the room. When the door closed behind them, he turned his gaze on Ghost.

  "The truth is often obscured, young witch. Not all of the exiled children were sons of my chosen warriors. Some were children whose fathers named themselves my enemies," Falkor said, his voice low. "Bruadar is not one of the Norther people. A hunting party found him among the wagons and frozen bodies of a trading caravan. The hunters claimed the goods and brought the child home because they believed the gods had spared him for a reason. Many attempts were made to foster him, yet each family returned him. None could say why they would not have him. He has always made others uneasy."

  Ghost suppressed a shudder as he listened.

  Falkor continued speaking as though he had noticed nothing. "Finally, the shamans took Bruadar in, and he was raised to be one of them. He had faced death and returned, and they believed the hand of the gods was on him. Bruadar seemed happy enough among the shamans, and so it has been. His advice was sound, and the gods favored him, as did I."

  "And now?" Ghost asked, watching as Falkor stood and stepped down from the platform. "Will you still favor him?"

  "I do not know." Falkor looked older than when Ghost had walked into the room. "In my dreams, my son speaks to me, the one I left in the deserted place. He tells me we will meet again, and he is with his mother. He tells me not to fear death. But I do fear it, Ghost of the witches. I fear the gods will find me lacking because I left him to die."

  "I can't give you the reassurances you want, and I won't ask to See." Ghost folded his arms. "Not right now. I have a village full of sick people, and my obligation is to my patients. I'll come back in the summer, if you'd like."

  "In the summer?" Falkor gave Ghost a tired smile. "Is your blood so thin, like an outlander's?"

  "Yes," Ghost retorted. He did not return the smile. "But for now, I want to rejoin the Witch and Egill. We have a lot to discuss about the epidemic decimating my village and how we're going to stop the disease and cure the afflicted."

  "Go to the library. I will ask her to meet you." Falkor's smile had faded like his eyes.

  Chapter 15

  Gerry assisted Natali as best he could. It was the only way he could apologize to Ghost. In the four days since Ghost had left, Gerry had ample time to regret his rash words. He would do what he could in his beloved witch's absence and hope that Ghost would forgive him.

  He returned home late that evening. Between Natali and Ghost, Gerry was well-trained. As tired as he was, he headed for the wash house to scrub and change into clean clothing since he had not washed at the infirmary. He had been exhausted all day, and toward evening, his head had begun to ache, just enough to be annoying.

  Dealing with the sick had not gotten much easier for Gerry. He could handle the older villagers well enough, but it was always the babes who got to him. The young woman who was pregnant had not survived, and despite all Natali's best efforts, the babe had gone with the dam. Gerry had seen Natali cry for the first time, fatigue and grief warring for dominance in the witch's sobs. Merrah had taken Natali into the work room, soothing her with gentle words. Seeing the toll of the stress on Natali reminded him too much of how he had gotten it so wrong with Ghost.

  Gerry's head ache grew more painful, and his stomach roiled. Maybe he had contracted the plague? He supposed it was inevitable, given how much time he spent at the infirmary, and no matter how well he had scrubbed. He was young and strong, and if the sickness held true, he would have a bad night, maybe a day in bed, and he would be fine.

  Gerry dried off and dressed. He shivered uncontrollably although his skin felt hot to the touch. The fever was making itself known, and Gerry hurried back to the house after collecting the bucket he used for offal in case he needed to purge. A good night's sleep was what he needed, although sleep was elusive without Ghost beside him. Gerry had become accustomed to Ghost, and the absence of his fierce young mate left his soul restless. He set the kettle on the hearth fire to heat while he added wood and went to see if there were any of the packets Ghost had made to treat the infection. He was a witch's mate. He should be able to make the infusion by now.

  ***

  Ghost left Falkor's audience room, lost in thought. He questioned the motivation behind Bruadar's actions concerning the children Bruadar had sent to their deaths. Bruadar was a seer, just as much as Ghost and Egill were, but the knowledge offered no justification for Bruadar to seek out and condemn children who were also seers. Encouraging them to become shamans, to build a strong fellowship as the witches had done, made more sense. Certainly, Falkor seemed to rely on Bruadar's advice despite Bruadar being an outlander, as Falkor put it. Ghost wondered if Bruadar's ability to see made him valuable to Falkor, or if Bruadar had tried to repress his gift. The unanswered question was whether all the shamans were seers or if this was just Bruadar's secret.

  "It is folly to walk with one's head in the clouds."

  Ghost regarded Bruadar dispassionately. "It depends, doesn't it? Much can be seen up there, but it's a lousy place to hide. Clouds can be blown apart by a good wind."

  Bruadar snorted, his face set in a frown. "Do witches like to speak in riddles?"

  "No more than shamans do," Ghost replied. Ghost didn't fear Bruadar as much now that he knew Bruadar was a seer. "My gift as a seer allows me to heal. I use it to See below the surface to determine the cause of the symptoms my eyes show me. What do you use your gift for, other than hunting down other seers?"

  Bruadar looked surprised by Ghost's blunt words. "What gives you grounds to accuse me?" He drew himself up, his dark clothing rustling around him.

  Ghost smiled. "It's not an accusation. It's an observation, and one which didn't take my gift to See. You're scared of what you are. The only question I still have is why? Why do you tell Falkor the gods want children with the Sight left to die?"

  "Outlanders do not--"

  "Ask questions. I know and I don't care. I told Njall to stop telling me not to ask questions too." Ghost shook his head. "I'm Norther born, but raised as an outlander, while you're outlander born and raised among the Northers. Neither one of us has room to poke at the other. So I'll just ask what I like, and you can answer as you choose."

  "I might choose not to answer at all, whelp," Bruadar growled.

  "True enough, and if this was solely about me, I wouldn't really push." Ghost moved to corner Bruadar, a subtle crowding he had seen Gerry use in the market when trade was very busy. "But Egill? You owe me answers for his sake, and there's more than one way to ask. My mate wouldn't approve, but he's not here to remind me to be civilized. The fear in Egill's eyes just might influence me to use methods best left to a Wester, or a renegade slaver. He's only a little boy. No child should have that much terror to remember."

  Ghost paused, seeing Bruadar's expression waver just a fraction. "You were afraid too, when you realized what you could do. Not to mention how you made people feel afraid. I'm pretty sure it's why the Witch raised me outside the village. I needed to learn how to control the gift and not See into everyone I met."

  "Why do you call it a gift? The Sight is a curse, a mark of the gods' disfavor." Bruadar's voice was low, and h
is dark eyes raked Ghost. "The gods did me no kindness. I watched the faces of the people harden, and they turned away from me in loathing."

  "Because they didn't understand," Ghost insisted. "No one understood your needs. I was lucky the Witch comprehended enough to know what I needed. The Sight isn't an easy gift, but it isn't a curse. When you were sent to the shamans, your life got better, didn't it? They weren't afraid of you. They taught you to control the Sight. And look how you've repaid them, by trying to kill every child with the Sight you discovered. Have the gods rewarded you, or are you suffering every night when you See those small ones in your dreams?"

  Bruadar looked at Ghost for a very long moment, as if he was deciding something. Finally, he nodded once. He gestured for Ghost to follow him. They walked through the halls in silence until they came to a dark wooden door. Bruadar paused with his hand on the latch.

  "You are a guest in these halls and have eaten the food of the clan," Bruadar said. The words carried a grave formality. "Before the gods, no harm will come to you at my hands."

  Bruadar opened the door and walked into the room, and Ghost followed without hesitation. He looked around in open curiosity. A low fire burned in a small hearth in the otherwise dark room, sending shadows dancing in the corners. The furnishings were austere, and Ghost stared at the strings of charms and talismans hung from the walls, including what he guessed were the bjarrn teeth Njall had mentioned. Ghost sat on a bench and waited to hear what Bruadar wanted to tell him. While he wanted to speak to the Witch, he also needed to know what had motivated Bruadar, and perhaps other shamans as well. Bruadar held the missing pieces of his past as well as Egill's.

  "You call yourself a witch, but you speak as if you are a servant of the gods." Bruadar stirred the fire and added a thick knot of wood. "Do you serve your gods, or is it simply so many words?"

  Ghost watched the shadows draw back from the growing fire. "The Seeker sends me visions so I can do what she needs me to do. I've seen the gods' hands in my life. I would be an idiot not to revere them and serve them faithfully, even if I sometimes doubt the godsmen always speak the truth."

  "And the witches? Do they speak the truth?" Bruadar sounded haunted.

  "The Witch does, and a few I trust just as much." Ghost ignored the faint warmth growing behind his spiral. "Some witches haven't earned trust. Like anyone else, they have factions and circles. Some think no male should be a witch, and they hate me solely for being male. So, I suppose it would depend on who was doing the talking."

  Bruadar examined the flames. "Do witches have the power to curse a man?"

  Ghost's head whipped around at Bruadar's question. "I could tell you yes, which wouldn't be entirely accurate. Yes, a witch can curse someone, and yes, the curse might even affect them, but only if they believed in the curse's power. If they didn't, then the curse would just be words."

  "You offered to curse Njall's manhood," Bruadar countered. His eyes looked haunted.

  Ghost snorted. "I offered to shrivel it. I know herbs that can do a good job, or maybe he believed me too. If not, then it was only more words."

  Bruadar seemed to ponder Ghost's words, and Ghost wondered if the Witch had threatened him. It would not be unlike her at all. She could be fierce when she wanted, but he doubted she had gone quite so far with Bruadar. The Witch wanted information, and Bruadar had what she desired. She was not likely to lose sight of her goal.

  "Your Witch is not the first of her sisterhood I have met." Bruadar looked into the fire as he spoke, and he appeared pensive. "Another one came to the clanhold. Last summer. She had a triple moon in blue ink on her forehead. She wanted use of the books collected here by the leaders of the clan. Falkor agreed she could come to consult them."

  "What was she looking for? Did she say?" Ghost focused on Bruadar's words. His witchmark grew warmer, and he wondered if the Seeker was warning him to take heed. He didn't know the marking Bruadar described, but he would ask the Witch later, in private.

  "I do not think she wanted anyone to know, but I saw some of the books she read. She sought knowledge of certain machines used when the cities were still alive. I do not know if such machines still exist, or if they died with the cities." Bruadar's expression was somber. "She saw me looking at the books she had read, and she told me if I spoke of this to another, I would face her curse. She said I would beg for death before she was done with me. I have seen death once, and I do not fear it. I fear being held on the edge of it, in the grip of pain and madness."

  "Unless she could reach out across distances and touch you, I don't think you have a lot to worry about." Ghost knew he sounded far from reassuring. "I believe she was trying to frighten you into keeping quiet. If a witch was really serious about silencing you, you'd be dead already."

  Bruadar seemed taken aback by Ghost's words. "The witches kill so lightly?"

  "No." Ghost watched Bruadar relax a little. "But when the witches do take a life, they make it serve as a warning. Most often the rangers need the reminder from time to time."

  "These rangers, who are they?" Bruadar asked.

  "Rangers search the ruins looking for relics and lost lore. They trade for what they need. Healing, sometimes, or goods they can't hunt or scavenge. They have a guild, which makes law for the rangers, but some rangers can't follow even their scant law and are exiled. The exiles steal children to trade as slaves, or rape and kill." Ghost was reminded of Bernd, and he tried not to shudder.

  "Thralls of the slavers. The warriors kill them on sight here. They only come in the summer." Bruadar sounded satisfied, and Ghost frowned.

  "We're happy enough to let them scavenge the ruins and trade for what they find." Ghost shrugged, dismissing the topic of rangers. "Will you show me the books the other witch read?"

  "I gave the books to Eir, one of our healers, and told her to give them to your Witch. As she reminded me, the ways of witches are not for me to know."

  Ghost had expected protest. The easy agreement made Ghost wary, and he glanced at his hands to hide his expression. "Thank you."

  "Despite the impression you may have, the business of a shaman is not to take life." Bruadar's voice was dry, and Ghost was reminded of the Witch on the verge of a lecture. "Do you know how to determine if you have been called to be a shaman?"

  "You're the first one I've met, so I have no idea." Ghost looked up again, interested in spite of himself.

  "A shaman has met death at some point, and may even have crossed over, only to return. The shamans decided I had met death when I was the only survivor of a trading caravan caught in an early snow." Bruadar shrugged one shoulder. "I was a babe then, but in dreams I have recalled the meeting. The brush with death makes me a shaman. You have met death as well. I can See it."

  Ghost growled and reached for his belt knife, meaning to prick his finger, but the knife was gone. He bit his lip hard instead, and turned his head to spit blood-streaked saliva into the fire. "Avert your eyes and pass me by," he muttered, offering the ritual blood to the Seeker's dread mate. "The Witch found me abandoned in a ruin, so maybe. I don't know. I've never asked to See why I was thrown away, and I'm not ready to give up on living. I have a mate, and a life waiting for me." Ghost reveled in a warm rush of love at the mere mention of his mate, and a growing elation at the prospect of being back in Gerry's embrace where he belonged.

  "Your tests are not over, Ghost of the Heartlands, Ghost of the witchsisters." Bruadar's voice rang like the voices in Ghost's visions, and despite the warmth of the fire, Ghost's spine turned to ice. "Ask the one who taught you. The witches count in threes. Twice you met death, and twice you earned a name. One more test waits for you."

  Ghost spat again, his heart thudding in his chest. He knew exactly what Bruadar meant. He was supposed to have died as a babe in the ruins, but the Witch found him and brought him to the Heartlands instead. Bernd would have killed him once the exiled ranger had worked up the courage, and Gerry rescued him that time. Bruadar's dark eyes had glazed over, and Gh
ost watched as Bruadar shook off the vision with a shudder.

  "What else did you See?" Ghost asked, hearing the strain in his own voice. Bruadar's vision brought him back to reality. The third test had to be the epidemic. While Ghost was indulging his curiosity in this dark and timeless room, the afflicted in his village were dying. He needed to find the Witch and her solution. He stood up, the bench scraping on the floor from his haste. "Did you See my village? I don't have my mirror, so if you've Seen my people, I want to know."

  Bruadar's laugh was bitter. "You of all people should know better than to ask. Do we ever See what we desire most?"

  ***

  Gerry woke twice in the night to vomit, and his head pounded. He was weak enough the second time to resort to his bucket. His teeth chattered as he fell back onto the bed. He couldn't even find the strength to rinse his mouth with cold water. He pulled up the quilt, shivering and miserable.

  As he fell into a fitful sleep, Gerry dreamed Ghost's warm hand stroked his forehead. He could hear Ghost's quiet voice soothing him. He grew warmer, and the terrible shivering eased until he found himself soaked with sweat. He tossed the quilt aside as he tried to cool off.

  His stomach seized again, and Gerry rolled off the bed to find the bucket. The floor was rough beneath his knees as he vomited, tasting blood mixed with bile. When the fit had passed, the shivering began again. Gerry could hardly manage to crawl back onto the bed. Exhaustion dragged him under before he could find the quilt. The sheets beneath him were clammy and cold.

  ***

  "What have you found?"

  The Witch was not alone. Egill shadowed her, of course, and the Norther healer, Eir, was with her too. Ghost marked his place with a scrap of fabric and closed the book with care.

  "No doubt the same as you found," Ghost said. He shrugged one shoulder. "The lore is curious on its own, but there's more I don't know yet."