Cara nodded. “Ingrid talks about spirits in the trees sometimes.” The old woman hadn’t actually said that, but Cara had picked it up from touching her.
“Exactly, but those are not the spirits I talk to. I talk to ancestors, those who went before us.”
She wondered if she had any ancestors and what they might say about her. “So you and Ingrid both talk to spirits.”
“Ingrid doesn’t talk to them. It’s more that she can sense the nature of things. She can’t ask them what happened to you.”
“Nothing happened to me,” Cara said. Except meeting Archer and the captain.
“The spirits tell me your soul is injured.”
Cara was suddenly frightened. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” she protested.
“Nothing is wrong with you. But the spirits tell me something is missing.”
“I thought you said you didn’t know what was wrong?”
“I don’t because I don’t know what’s missing.”
“How would I know?”
“Sometimes when bad things happen, a person might abandon a part of their soul, the piece that causes them pain.”
Cara didn’t understand how one would go about hiding a piece of their soul. It wasn’t like tucking an extra roll in your sleeve to save it for later.
“They might leave it behind or hide it in a safer place,” he continued.
“The forest.” The words slipped out like a spilled secret.
“Forest?”
“When I was at the Keep, I could close my eyes and go to a forest. Like a dream in my mind.”
“You were sleeping when you saw it?”
“No, I was…unhappy.” Cara hesitated, not knowing how much she should tell Bradan about the sorcerer’s need of her.
“Was it somewhere you’d visited?”
“Before Khoury and Archer, I’d never been outside the Keep.”
Bradan asked gently, “Can you tell me why you were unhappy?”
She swallowed hard, thinking back to the round room and the altar. The scent of dust and magic pressed on her, draining the light from Bradan’s hearth. “Sidonius wanted—no needed—something from me. He took it whenever he pleased.” Cara lacked the words to explain how she had felt: helpless, empty, insignificant. Memories came back, things she hadn’t thought about since they’d arrived: Reith Carter begging for his life or the disembodied arm in the main hall. Sadness drained her. She just wanted to go to the kitchens, get warm, and listen to the women gossip. “Actually, Bradan, I don’t want to talk about this.” She stood up to leave.
“Cara, you finally said no to him. You saved not only Khoury and Archer but those other men, too. Isn’t that enough?”
She remained silent, knowing in her heart nothing could erase the guilt she felt.
“I can help you find whatever this piece is that you’re searching for,” he said.
Am I searching for something? she wondered. She didn’t think she was. Except maybe a place to call home. She sighed and rubbed the tiredness from her eyes. “What I really want is to forget the Keep.” And the dust and the fire and the death. “Can you give me that?”
“I doubt it. But I can help make you whole again.” Confidence radiated from him.
She wanted to say that she was whole, except that would be a lie. Certainly she was happier than she’d ever been. But hidden deep inside her, she knew something was missing. Hadn’t she always known she was broken?
“How?”
“Come tonight at moonrise.”
The familiar-sounding words drained the blood from her face. Suspicion flared as she stared at him, but the shaman had resumed his trance. She left him murmuring in front of his fire. Stunned, she retreated to the kitchens hoping the work would soothe her nerves.
DINNER PREPARATIONS WERE in full swing when she arrived and Vanessa, a large, ruddy woman who was in charge of the dining room, set her to work delivering platters of food to the crowded tables. She happily accepted; glad to have something to occupy her bewildered mind.
She saw Archer and the captain sitting together near the door and she hurried to bring them drinks, eager to chat. Her lips still held the ghost of Khoury’s kiss, and even the memory of it roused a tingling heat in her body.
Before Cara could get to them, a woman with short chestnut hair sashayed in and slipped a possessive arm around Khoury’s neck. When he looked up at her, she kissed the lips Cara had just been daydreaming about with more passion than Cara thought appropriate. Stopping in the middle of the dining room, Cara stared at them stupidly as the woman slid onto in his lap and joined the conversation.
Maura was helping tonight as well and, being closer, she served Archer, Khoury, and the strange new woman, laughing as Archer joked and flirted. Khoury leaned close to the woman’s neck and whispered something; a hungry grin bloomed on her lips.
“Hey, Cara!” shouted a man behind her. “Are you giving those out or saving them for yourself?”
Shaken from her stupor, she delivered the food to the nearby tables. She couldn’t help staring at Khoury and the other woman. Her crimson tunic was low cut and accentuated every female curve. The woman radiated a primal sensuality that Cara couldn’t begin to comprehend, but it reminded her of the heady volatility of Khoury’s kiss.
As Maura walked by to get more drinks from the kitchen, Cara put a hand on her arm. “Who is that woman with Khoury?”
Maura turned to look and her brown eyes became guarded. “That’s Nalia,” she hesitated. “She and Khoury spent a lot of time together the last time he was here.”
Cara’s mouth made an “O” shape as she remembered the dark-haired ghost. Was this Nalia the woman Khoury cherished? The hair was shorter, but Cara couldn’t tell if the face was the same.
She felt Maura’s gentle hand on her shoulder, guiding her away from them, back toward the kitchen. “I know you don’t have much experience with men. And you’ve never had a mother to tell you how things go.”
There it was again—something missing. She was missing a mother. Perhaps that was what Bradan needed to find, her mother. She let Maura guide her to the relative privacy of the kitchen.
“And I know you’re quite taken with Khoury.”
“Meaning?” Cara asked.
“You like him but he’s…”
“With her.”
Maura relaxed at Cara’s apparent understanding. “Yes.”
Cara felt an ugly emotion spread across her chest and shoulders. Khoury and that woman belonged together; like Maura and Archer.
“So he loves her,” Cara said, haltingly.
“Well, I’m not so sure I’d go that far.”
Then why did he kiss me? The thick bitter taste of shame glued her tongue to the top of her mouth. Cara turned her face from Maura hoping to hide the heat rising to her cheeks.
“Will he marry her then?” Cara asked, trying to understand his contradictory behavior.
“Ha,” Maura scoffed. “Khoury is not the marrying type.”
“I see,” Cara said, although she didn’t. “So, I should leave him alone?”
“Yes,” Maura said, obviously relieved. Cara took her serving tray and started back toward the dining area.
As she served baskets of warm dark bread, the sound of laughter, sharp and wicked, pierced her ear. She searched the room for its source and was surprised that it belonged to Khoury’s companion. That wasn’t the laugh of the woman from his kiss. The wrongness of it all itched beneath Cara’s skin, needing to be scratched.
She placed her serving tray down on the nearest table and turned to where they all sat.
“Where are you going?” Maura asked, coming up behind her. “You don’t want to make a scene.”
Cara didn’t answer though she felt Maura trailing her as she went to the table where the two mercenaries sat. Archer was the first to notice her.
“Cara! Done working already?”
“Yes, I think so.” She forced a smile at him.
“
There’s my girl,” he said, reaching around Cara to draw Maura closer.
Maura reached out a restraining hand to Cara, begging with her eyes for Cara to relent. Pulling out of Maura’s grasp, she stood opposite Khoury and stared at him.
“Am I missing something?” Archer looked from Cara to Khoury, feeling the tension in the air.
At first, Khoury refused to meet her glare, drinking his ale with focused intent and casual slowness. Finally, he lifted eyes that were cold with indolent disdain. The closed insolence stung Cara and, out of the corner of her eye, she noted Nalia’s scornful glare. The woman’s shift had slipped down, exposing one creamy shoulder, and the arm around Khoury’s neck tightened. The silence lengthened as Khoury tried to wait Cara out, implacable as stone and about as warm.
Uncomfortable in the silence, Archer was the first to speak. “Did I miss something?”
“No,” Khoury murmured but his eyes never left Cara’s.
Fatigue and anger steeled her voice. “I didn’t know what you meant before. But now I see. You’ve found someone who is old enough for you.”
Nalia’s eyes flashed at the insult. “There’s a difference between years and experience, girl.”
“And apparently you have plenty of both,” Cara retorted, surprising herself. The smile Archer hid in his ale gave her angry satisfaction. She turned back to Khoury. “You have what you really wanted now. Don’t follow me anymore. I don’t want your help.” She turned to leave.
“You’re not staying for stories?” Archer asked. “I had a good one lined up for tonight.”
“No,” Cara said. “I’ve had enough for one day.” She squared her shoulders and left with as much dignity as she could muster, the squeezing in her chest making it hard to breathe.
“Poor girl,” she heard Nalia behind her. “So young, just a child really.”
Child? The word turned in her brain. She was a woman of at least twenty turns of the calendar, maybe more, though she couldn’t be sure. Why does everyone think I’m a child?
The night air was chill against Cara’s scowl as she strode out angrily. She gazed up into the sky and noted that the moon had already risen. Her stomach rumbled but, heartbroken, she couldn’t bear to go back into the hall to eat. She stomped through the warming snow all the way to Bradan’s.
EALEA SAT ON a small mat outside Bradan’s tent. She was humming near a small pit fire and, before Cara could speak, she motioned her toward the hide tent that stood a little behind Bradan’s hut. Maura had told Cara it was for special occasions.
The hair on Cara’s neck stood up as she slipped into the dark, musky space that reminded her of somewhere underground. A spicy scent rose from a brazier, tickling her nose, and furs were spread on the floor. Bradan seemed trustworthy but the combination of men and magic worried her.
“Come in.”
She looked around and found the chieftain sitting in a darkened corner, his eyes glazed and a cup in his hands. She came close, sitting on the furs at his feet. Her anger at Khoury’s rejection was still fresh in her mind and part of her hoped Bradan could change her enough for Khoury to notice her.
“My spirit guides tell me you need my help. Come, drink with me,” he said, holding out the cup.
“What is it?”
“Like one of Ingrid’s teas. A potion, if you will.” When he handed her the cup, she sniffed, making a face at its potent, noxious aroma. “Come, child, you can trust me.”
“I’m not a child,” she said, though her petulance was unconvincing.
He chuckled at her frustration and placed a hand on her head. A calming balm spread from his touch, and she felt her tension begin to unwind.
“Not by years, no. But you have a child’s ways about you.”
“That’s what Khoury says, and Maura, and everyone else.” She let go of another breath, releasing more of the angry tension she was carrying. A single tear escaped. They’re right about me. I don’t know anything. Nothing in the Keep prepared me for any of this.
The old man leaned closer to her, and she could smell the sharp bitter pungency of his breath. “I sense the spirit world close to you. It follows you about. There is something they want you to remember.”
What could I possibly remember?
“You have power in the spirit world. Even you should know that by now.”
Cara suspected the man was a bit drunk, and it made her feel more uneasy.
“I want you to journey with me when I go to find your lost piece of soul. You’ll be safe with me,” he assured her.
Before Cara could ask what journey he was talking about, Ealea came in holding a drum of stretched leather. She sat down opposite them. Her quiet serenity soothed Cara’s nerves. If Ealea was here, she had nothing to fear.
“Drink,” he urged. “It’s the only way to let your spirit travel without your body.”
Cara wanted to tell him that she already could do that, but her recent hurt feelings and frustration kept her tongue-tied.
“Drink. It’s the only way to leave the child behind.”
Goaded into action, Cara picked up the cup defiantly and drank the oily liquid in one gulp. Its bitterness coated her mouth, and her empty stomach rebelled.
Bradan told her to lie down on her back on the blanket and then laid himself on his back next to her, only their hips and shoulders touched. As soon as he was settled, Ealea began to drum softly. The beat was steady and incessant, like a heartbeat. Cara’s head felt light from hunger and the noxious tea. Her eyelids drooped. She heard Bradan speaking to her but couldn’t make out the words, and then she was falling. Like those evenings lying on the dusty altar, light and shadow whizzed past her mind’s eye. She could smell the dust now, feel it coating her hands, her hair, her mouth. The ground dropped out from beneath her.
The forest of her dreams sprang to life around her. Ealea’s distant drumming echoed through the trees. A small breeze lifted her hair, and the damp earth squished beneath her boots. A shimmering image of Bradan walked toward her out of the forest. His left hand rested on the back of an enormous brown bear, the guardian spirit of the Bear Clan.
Bradan pointed at her throat with a questioning look. She looked down and noted the pale blue glow emanating from her amulet. Forgotten since the day of the storm, she wondered in earnest at its true significance. Then Bradan asked his guides to show him where her lost soul was.
In answer, a wolf howled in the distance calling a ferocious wind that roared past her, twirling the world around her, spinning her into a new part of the forest. Bradan and the guardian were gone. She found herself on tiptoes, tense, waiting. She tasted salty sweat on her lips and felt the bowstring tautness of her muscles. Listening. She was listening for danger, and it was near. Then a dark shape flung itself at her.
To Cara’s amazement, she didn’t cry out in fear, but met its onslaught with confidence. She sidestepped and leapt up on a stump, turning lithely to face her adversary. She held a knife in her right hand, its weight balanced in her palm. It felt right there, waiting for action.
A small bag of skin hung around her neck and thumped her chest when she moved. Somehow, she knew it contained charms: A rough amethyst from the deep cave in the south, the feather of a rare hawk she had tracked for days, and the tooth of a wolf that had died over the winter.
The dark form slunk around her in a circle, losing itself in the shadows made by the moon overhead. Crouching down, she kept the knife out of sight. With a snarl, it leapt at her again and she spun out of the way with grace, slicing with her knife as the predator hurtled past her. The creature yowled in pain. When it turned to approach her again, she could see the outline of a large hunting cat and the moonlight showed her the dark smear that creased its shoulder. Instead of fear, the sight of the snarling feline gave her the incomprehensible urge to chuckle.
When it attacked again, the cat landed square on her, throwing her from the stump onto her back. Its claws bit into her shoulder and belly. But her knife found its way to the bea
st’s throat and the creature gurgled. Pinned under its weight, she felt its lifeblood spilling over her hand and chest, bathing her in its ebbing warmth. The battle was over.
Her lips were drawn up in a snarl as she muscled herself out from under the now-limp carcass and wiped her knife on the shaggy pelt. Then she lifted her chin and howled at the moon. A chorus of wolves echoed her throaty cry. She grinned with unfamiliar ferocity.
But then, Bradan’s bear appeared. She felt a pulling sensation, her head spun, and the forest vanished.
…to be replaced by Bradan’s tent. Ealea was drumming a different rhythm now, strident and demanding, and her husband was no longer next to Cara but hovered over her, his face a worried mask.
“Cara, are you all right?” He shook her by the shoulders as if trying to awaken her. She cried out in pain and the drumming stopped.
“Borran’s blood, you’re all right.” He scooped her up into his arms and held her tightly like a found child. The remnants of the dream began to fade, and the pain in her shoulder and belly flared. Cara pulled away to touch her left shoulder. Her hand came away bloody.
“I’m bleeding,” she cried. Panic tinged her voice and she panted, confused.
“You are a dreamwalker, Cara of the Black Keep,” Bradan said in awe. “I don’t know where you went, but I couldn’t follow you. I sent Borran; did you see him?”
“Yes.” Cara’s head felt fuzzy, and she felt sick. “I saw the bear and then suddenly I was back here. What happened?”
“Do you remember anything?” Bradan sat her up against a chair as Ealea brought a bowl of warm water with a cloth. “Try to think. How did you get these wounds?”
“What did you do to me?” Hysteria rose in her fuzzy mind. Was that a dream? Or was that real? She tried to speak, but her tongue refused to function. Her eyes refused to remain open as she fainted into a deep sleep.
Quest of the Dreamwalker (The Corthan Legacy Book 1) Page 11
