Ghost's Dilemma Page 5

  Chapter 4

  Gerry watched Ghost measuring herbs as he consulted his formulary, glad the meal had given Ghost some color in his cheeks again. Gerry stood and pressed a kiss to Ghost's temple.

  "I've got to go. I'm working guard with Mother at the market. I'll ask for a tally stick for ginger root as part of tonight's trade. You can pick the ginger up tomorrow when the market is open." Ghost was absorbed in his mixing and barely nodded his assent. "Try to sleep tonight?"

  Ghost glanced up, and Gerry bit back a moan of desire as he looked into those crystalline eyes.

  "I'll try. Do you stay until dawn or are you coming home sooner?" Ghost's agile fingers continued to sift the herbs.

  "Is this so you know when to sneak into bed so you can pretend to have been there all along?" Gerry teased. "No, I'm joking, beloved. I think we have until high moon. They're splitting the shifts to keep watch on all the goods up from the South. You want to hear the good news? Conn is taking second shift. Another seasoned guard agreed to train him." Gerry nearly laughed at the expression on Ghost's face. "Honestly, it was Conn's idea to train with someone other than Mother. He said Mother was too soft with him, and he wanted to learn the right way. The kid's growing up, and he's turning out to be a good man."

  "Conn and I get along fine." Ghost shrugged.

  "Now you do," Gerry countered. "He was jealous of you at first, and you weren't any fonder of him. If he hadn't been such a little shit and picked a fight with you, you wouldn't have run off and gotten kidnapped by the ranger in the first place. He had Mother wrapped around his little finger too. Conn did nothing but whine, and when he got called on his behavior, he played up to Mother. But that was the first time I saw Mother get sharp with the kid. About time too."

  "I'm younger than he is," Ghost said and wrinkled his nose in the way Gerry found far too endearing. "You call him kid like he's not adult already."

  "I remember when he was little and Mother first took him in." Gerry grinned. "I need to go, my witch, before Mother comes to drag me off by my ear like I was a kid myself."

  Gerry lingered long enough to kiss Ghost. He didn't want to leave, but he knew he would get to come home to his exotic mate not just tonight, but every night. Ghost would be waiting for him.

  Ghost leaned into Gerry, but Gerry could see the tension he held in his shoulders. Gerry kissed him again. "It'll work out. I'll be home later and we can talk more then." Ghost acquiesced and returned to mixing.

  ***

  The warehouses were packed with goods from the last of the Southron caravans to come in. Crates and barrels overflowed with produce, bolts of fine fabrics, dried fruits, and spices and herbs the likes of which couldn't grow in the Heartlands. Planks of deep red wood stacked to the ceiling awaited carpenters to turn them into furniture. Towers of barrels held olive oil, sweet-smelling soaps, and tiny dried fish.

  The last caravans of the season had left well-laden with trade goods from the Heartlands to take back to the South. Fine furs and well-worked leathers, sturdy barrels filled with mead, dried sind meat, crates of tubers and gourds, and casks of honey all traveled south.

  Gerry had spoken to Mother and the merchant, and his share for the night's work was marked on a tally stick so Ghost could exchange the stick for the spices and herbs he wanted. Ginger root was a local commodity, and the merchants had a plentiful stock. Gerry thought back again to the single-minded way Ghost was pursuing this outbreak. Before now, Gerry had never considered the ramifications of living with a healer if a plague broke out.

  "You're lost in thought." Mother's deep voice startled him back to the present.

  Gerry scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Sorry. Ghost discovered four dead from illness today. He thinks it might be a plague. He's trying to puzzle out what's happening. I'm going to come home to find him still awake and poring over his formulary."

  "He's a dedicated witch," Mother said. "The last time I remember an outbreak like this was before you were born. We lost a lot of good people then. Maybe he'll find something in his notes from the Witch."

  "I'd rather he not spend all night reading. He's not going to do anyone any good if he's unconscious from exhaustion," Gerry said. "And I can't hand out his herbs and concoctions. I'm no closer to understanding the ancient writing than I was before I met him."

  Mother chuckled. "Reading's not as hard as it looks. It takes practice, like any skill."

  Gerry looked at Mother in surprise. "You can read?" He had never seen Mother reading anything, other than the pictographs they all used, or the tally sticks the merchants offered. Counting and numbering was far more important than reading. Gerry himself could count and use tally sticks just fine. The rest was something he had never even thought about.

  "Don't look so surprised," Mother said with a smile. "There's a fair bit about me you don't know. Give me some time to get used to you being a fellow alpha and not my dependent. I need to lose the habit of protecting you. You proved yourself in the ruins when you saved Ghost and Conn."

  "I guess I never thought anyone but witches or rangers knew the old writing, and even rangers don't know how to read as well as witches." Gerry shrugged.

  Mother's gaze was thoughtful. "My dam was a witch. She taught me the writing." He chuckled as he glanced at Gerry. "I had a dam. I didn't just spring up out of the soil, you know."

  "I know," Gerry said, embarrassed. "I just hadn't thought about how or where you'd grown up. Did your dam know the Witch?"

  Mother gestured for Gerry to walk with him. "My dam knew the Witch, when the Witch was newly come to the sisterhood. The Witch was only eight years older than me. She was supposed to take over for my dam, and so she stayed with us for a time while my dam taught her what was necessary. A good witch knows her village. She keeps track of lessons learned and passes the knowledge on."

  They moved into a different room, and the ambrosial smell of spice filled Gerry's nose. Gerry couldn't help but think how much Ghost would enjoy the rich fragrance filling the air.

  "Well, I slipped and let on to the Witch I could read the words. Even then, she could make your blood run cold with a single glance." Mother and Gerry scanned the floors to make sure no scavengers or small animals had gotten in to damage the spices.

  Gerry knew he had to look like a child caught up in a good tale. "What happened?"

  Mother chuckled a little. "She asked me what I was going to do with such an unusual skill. The way she said it, well, I can hear her still. Like she was asking me if I was going to take myself in hand in the center of the market and have a good wank."

  Mother's comment brought a smile to Gerry's lips. "Now that sounds like her."

  ***

  After his shift, Gerry was not at all surprised to arrive home and see lamps still lit and a thin trickle of smoke rising from the chimney. Gerry opened the door and Ghost raised his head, his formulary open and a cup in his hand. Exhaustion had left faint bruises under Ghost's eyes, but he brightened when he saw Gerry.

  Ghost stood up and stretched. On the formulary cabinet, Gerry saw a basket full of small linen packets marked with daubs of colored wax. Ghost had been busy, and now he was reading over the ancient text. A scrap of paper was next to the formulary, covered in Ghost's tiny writing.

  "Any luck?" Gerry asked.

  Ghost frowned and sank back down onto his chair. Gerry sat across from him. Ghost twisted his white hair with his ink-smudged fingers. From the looks of Ghost's tangled mop, he had been worrying his hair all evening.

  "The hunt is frustrating," Ghost admitted. "A dozen references seem to match the symptoms, but then nothing. They just stop short. I'm going to have to contact the sisterhood in the morning."

  "You're sure you want to talk to them?" Gerry reached out to capture one restless hand, Ghost's fingers feeling so soft next to his own calloused hand. "You're willing to deal with the witches who think you're not supposed to be one of them?"

  "I have to face them. I can't hide. Those witches win if I do." He soun
ded determined, and Gerry felt Ghost's slim fingers tighten. "What's important is finding out what this outbreak is, and how to deal with its ravages, before the damned plague gets out of hand. I don't want to be the witch who let his village die because he was scared someone would speak harshly to him. I have to think about the people who are looking to me to help them."

  "And what about the Witch herself? Don't you want to try and reach her?" Gerry cupped his free hand around Ghost's cheek. "She might have seen something like this before."

  Ghost tangled his fingers with Gerry's. "If she has any information, she'll contact me. But I'm not going to waste time waiting for her. She won't answer a scrying call when she doesn't want to be bothered." He stood, not releasing Gerry's hand. "Let's go to bed. I want to feel you hold me as you sing me to sleep."

  Chapter 5

  Ghost slept well but woke to an empty bed. He padded to the living room and peeked out the window to find Gerry sitting on the low garden wall, strumming his guitar. Gerry looked relaxed and thoughtful while enjoying the unusually warm autumn morning.

  Ghost decided he had no reasonable excuse to avoid reaching out to the witchsisters. He removed the scrying mirror from the back of his formulary cabinet, unwrapped the soft layers of hide protecting it, and peered into the polished silver surface.

  Ghost focused his will as he visualized his message. Unlike many of his other tools, the scrying mirror was not a relic of the ancients. The talent for telepathy marked Ghost as a true witch. Telepathy was the magic that had to be in the blood, the gift of the Seeker herself to her chosen witches. He decided to send an open call to all the sisterhood, although a widespread call was harder and took more out of him. The more witches who heard him, the more likely he was to get responses. His mental voice was strong as he shaped the words around his memories of the patients he had seen.

  "Hear me, my sisters. Ghost of the Heartlands seeks your help. An outbreak is attacking my people. I saw the first patients yesterday, and four have died already. They suffer from vomiting and fever. Before they die, blood appears in the vomit and leaks from the mouth and nose. Some of the patients recover, but the old and very young are most susceptible. Does anyone know this disease?"

  Several tense minutes passed as Ghost waited for a response. The pressure behind his spiral turned to pain, and Ghost tugged at his hair. Relief filled him when his spiral tingled and the mirror filled with clouds, indicating he'd made contact. The shadows on the surface shifted and sorted into the semblance of a deep blue crescent, a witchmark he knew well. The tension left his shoulders in a rush.

  "Zereda, my sister," Ghost said, smiling and meaning it. "I'm glad you heard me." Ghost counted the Southron witch as a rare friend among the sisterhood. He took it as a good omen Zereda was the first to answer. Her reply was not audible. Instead, he heard her voice in his mind, exactly as he would in person.

  "Little Ghost brother," Zereda replied, her words slurred and softened by her Southron accent. "You have trouble in your green valley between the mountains. This illness which plagues your people is familiar, and yet not. I will consult my formulary, little brother, and seek answers among the others of our kind here in the South." She paused, her disembodied voice sounding troubled when she resumed. "Be careful in the advice you heed. If you can look within, do so. I feel a strange dread. Curious this happens at a time the Witch is wandering."

  Ghost looked into the mirror, not letting his hold on the conversation waver despite feeling a subtle alarm. "What do you mean?" He waited for Zereda's response.

  "The Witch may have stirred things up in places which should not be disturbed, little brother." Zereda still sounded troubled. "This would not be the first time. Though I love her as if she were a true sister, the Witch is ever one to go where she should not and to seek out what should be left hidden. I do not know if the Seeker guides her steps or the Seeker's dread mate. You may be able to See the Witch more clearly than I would in this instance. But all I have Seen tells me the Witch may have the answers you seek."

  The notion of dealing with the hidden Eighth was enough to coax a shudder from Ghost. "Your advice isn't making me want to try to See the Witch, you know. And you've been a seer far longer than I have. I'd have thought you'd be better able to track her."

  "You have not even tried," Zereda chided. "She has cloaked such knowledge from my Sight."

  Ghost shook his head in dismay. "I haven't felt her, but I haven't tried either."

  "You Saw something the other night. I felt you in the wake of the Seeker's passing. Did the vision not help? Or was your Seeing for another purpose?" Zereda's witchmark sharpened until Ghost could almost make out her eyes in the mirror, or perhaps he was Seeing them. They were narrowed, whether in concentration or in concern, he couldn't tell.

  "What I Saw may be connected. I don't know for sure. I need to think. I get very frustrating riddles." Ghost sighed and felt the ripple of amusement from the Southron witch.

  "Do you think the Seeker makes her messages easy for any of us who are given this gift? The gods never speak plain. You should know this, little brother." Zereda relented after a moment. "The riddles have a pattern to them. You must turn them over in your mind and see them as the gods would. They are not hampered by our small concerns, our need for food and shelter and companionship. I do not even think they require our love and worship. I would offer both still, and freely, for they are worthy of my worship."

  Ghost pondered the words of the Southron witch. "I'll keep this in mind, my sister. If I think the vision is linked to either the illness or to the Witch, I'll contact you. I promise." He could sense the smile in Zereda's mental voice.

  "The Witch always said your promise was a thing of value. You do not offer promises lightly, and you do not break oaths. I will accept your promise, and thank you for the trust. Now go, little brother. Do what a Ghost does best and look between the known and the unknown," Zereda said. "And I shall look in my formulary and ask my questions about this outbreak of yours." She broke off as a new mind joined the conversation.

  "Ghost, brother." A new sending appeared in the mirror, an amber flame joining the blue crescent. Kerree's mental voice was brighter than Zereda's voice, her accent lilting.

  "Kerree, thank you, sister," Ghost said, welcoming the witch from the East Marches. The Witch had told Ghost the East Marches were more a chain of islands than an actual land. Many from the East preferred to live on their swift ships, never setting foot on soil if they could help it. Landbound in the high valley of the Heartlands, the East had seemed a wondrous place to Ghost when he was small. Perhaps he had a touch of the Witch's own wanderlust. But that was a thought for another time, and he dragged his mind back to the conversation. "Do you have any knowledge of this plague?"

  "Your outbreak sounds more like one of the legendary engineered illnesses, rather than a natural disease." Kerree sounded quite firm. "We've seen such things before. You take a virus from this and some bacteria from thus, and you make a new contagion, like blending extracts to make a serum. The few relics we have are not the only ones that survived from the ancient cities. Stories abound of spinning devices used to combine phages and bacteria."

  "And such things are best not discussed on an open sending." Zereda's words took on a stern edge in Ghost's mind.

  "It's not a mystery, Zereda. Unless you've Seen otherwise. I want to help our little brother."

  The mirror flickered and Ghost registered a surge of contempt as a red dagger gleamed for an instant and vanished.

  "Oh, lovely," Kerree growled. "Sri popped in, didn't she? Wester hag."

  Zereda's mental snort was eloquent.

  Ghost sighed. Sri of the West Reaches was one of the louder voices declaring him an abomination. He knew she had let herself show only to keep him on edge and give those witches who would speak with him pause for thought.

  Ghost shrugged it off and returned to the conversation. “Thank you all for your help. Until I hear from you, I'll do the best I can. My
mate's traded a night's work for more herbs, and I'll make good use of them, I'm afraid."

  "Did you make it official?" Kerree sounded delighted. "Joy to you, Ghost. May the Moon shine on you both. Now, let me go check my notes and prod the godsman. I'll send to you if I find anything." The amber flame disappeared.

  "I too must go, my brother. Be well, and do as I have said, little Ghost. Answers exist even when we cannot puzzle out the meanings. Clarity will come." Zereda's crescent faded, and the mirror was merely a polished piece of silver once more.

  Ghost's head ached, and the stones of his spiral felt hot and raw. He stood up with care, his whole body feeling tender. He wrapped the scrying mirror in its runner hide and returned the bundle to the drawer of his formulary cabinet.

  Ghost didn't want Gerry to see him like this, and so he reached up for one of the pottery jars. He took a few of the leaves, put the jar away, and went to the kitchen to make a tisane. It wasn't often he resorted to so potent a remedy, but the scrying had been difficult. If Zereda was right, he would need to open himself to See later tonight, and starting with an aching head wasn't wise.

  Kerree had ventured the possibility this illness was artificial. Ghost remembered something from the Witch's notes about engineered illnesses. Now, more than ever, he needed to talk to the Witch. He would have to use his Sight to find a clever witch who didn't want to be found.

  But first, Ghost wanted to relieve the throbbing in his head. The tisane would help there. He had patients to see in the village this afternoon, and a clear head was essential. And if the Seeker smiled on him, he would have answers tonight.

  Chapter 6

  Ghost tugged at Gerry's tunic as Gerry washed the dinner dishes. "What are you doing?" Gerry turned from his task to raise his eyebrow at Ghost.