For a moment, Gerry thought that Conn would say more, but Conn seemed to change his mind, taking a spoonful of porridge instead.
“I don’t know what’s passed between you two, but I’ll trust that one of you will tell me if I need to know.” Mother looked at both of the younger men, and Conn’s cheeks darkened even more. “That bad?”
“We needed to clear the air, and we did,” Gerry said. “We’re good now.” He looked over at Conn, but the younger man kept his head down, stirring the porridge a bit to cool it.
“The coop is a fine idea, Conn.” Mother stood to take his cup and bowl to the sideboard. “It’s going to take a bit to clean it out and make any repairs, but perhaps by the next quarter-moon we can go and trade for some hens.”
Gerry stood as well. “I’ll give you a hand when I get back from the Witch’s house, at least with the repairs, all right? I won’t be able to hunt for a few days yet, I think, but I can drive a nail just fine.” He patted Conn’s shoulder, feeling the younger man flinch. “We’re good, Conn.” Now all he had to do was believe that himself.
***
Ghost sniffed, the smell of moldy earth and decay making him wrinkle his nose. He turned his head to get away from the odor, the pillow rough under his cheek. He did not know what the Witch was doing, but it stank, and Ghost reached up to rub his nose.
At least Ghost tried to reach up, but his hand was caught on something and he could not reach his nose. He opened his eyes and his heart began to race when he saw nothing in front of him but darkness. The smell was worse as he tried to turn his head again, and he realized that his head was covered with a cloth sack.
The memory of the sharp sting and of the cloth dropping over his head made Ghost hitch a breath as he tested his hands again. They were tied, along with his ankles, and the rope was rough on his wrists. He fought down the urge to yell. Whoever had done this was not going to appreciate his screams, and he was helpless to defend himself. Right now, his only real hope was to remain awake, not be rendered unconscious by whatever means had been used once already. Ghost could not help the shiver of apprehension that ran through him, though.
That shiver was enough to draw the notice of whomever it was that had tied Ghost up. He felt a large hand close over his arm. He was turned over abruptly, his shoulder making contact with something hard and rough that dug into him. He gasped a little at the pain, which was a mistake. The dirt he inhaled as it was shaken loose from the sack made him begin to cough. His eyes watered, washing more dirt into them. The situation was not helped when the sack was pulled off his head.
Through the tears blurring his vision, Ghost looked up at his captor, who was as tall as Mother and much broader across. The man glowered down at him, speaking with a harsh accent that Ghost could not quite place.
“Shut up,” the man growled. “Draw the fucking sind down on us with your fucking noise.”
Ghost could not help coughing, the dust in his nostrils and down his throat choking him. He glowered at his abductor without thinking. The blow that landed on his cheek came out of nowhere, and his head snapped to the side. He gulped for air, tasting blood, panic making him try to roll away, but the large man simply grabbed him again. Ghost gagged on the bloody saliva that filled his mouth.
The man froze for a moment, his eyes narrowed as he reached down to brush Ghost’s hair back, thick fingers buried in the pale strands.
Ghost felt the pressure growing behind his eyes, knowing his mark had to be glowing. He could feel the warmth of it against his skin already. He swallowed hard against the twisting of his stomach.
“You’re a witch,” the man said, fear in his voice. “Never saw a male witch before, but you have a mark.”
Ghost looked up, registering the way the stranger was dressed, a darker patch on the shabby leathers in the shape of a ranger’s guildmark. His stomach twisted again. The rangers were outside the normal laws, but they had a code of their own. As loose as that code was, they had been known to strip rank from those who broke it. He struggled to get past his fear and remember what the Witch had taught him about rangers. There was a chance that this bastard still thought like one, enough for Ghost to use to his advantage.
Rangers left witches alone. That was the fact that Ghost’s mind seized on, and refused to let go of, the fact that rangers and witches did not interfere with each other, or at least not in the normal course of things. Rangers kept to the lawless places, the ruins of the old cities where they scavenged what was left of the ancient witchery. Sometimes they would trade useful bits of lore and things they found to the witches in return for healing and salves. The rangers understood that the witches would hunt down anyone who harmed one of their sisterhood, would make a man regret having ever drawn that first breath when a dam pushed a babe out into the world. They had seen what was left of a man as a warning, after the witches had exacted their price.
The rangers also fed the slave trade over in the decadent West. They normally preyed on those foolish enough to scavenge the old places alone, or travelers not wise enough to join a merchant caravan. Sometimes they would slip into a village at night to scoop up the ragged urchins orphaned by a flux or some other event, children not lucky enough to have found an alpha to protect them. Ghost realized that he must have presented a perfect target as he wandered in the woods, distracted by his thoughts. It was not a comforting realization.
The man was looking at Ghost with those narrowed eyes. It was a mystery as to what was going on behind them. Ghost could not read people well, and right now he was afraid, fighting the urge to scream. He had to force himself to draw a deep breath so he could say something, maybe talk his way into being released. It was the slimmest of hopes, but Ghost clung to it.
“I have a mark,” Ghost agreed, hearing the shiver in his own voice.
The man’s hand tightened in Ghost’s hair, making the apprentice wince. “They made it in gems. How did they do that?”
“I’ve had it for as long as I can remember,” Ghost replied. “Maybe the Seeker placed it there herself.”
It was hardly an answer, and Ghost’s remark earned him a violent shake.
“Maybe you can ask her yourself, when you see her,” the man said. The threat in his eyes was enough to make Ghost’s stomach twist again.
This man was like a wild sind, and Ghost knew showing fear would only further incite the exiled ranger. Ghost had grown up in the Witch’s shadow, not quite her dependent, not quite a formal apprentice. He was not at ease with people at the best of times, and this was far from the best of times, but he had not been taught to roll over, either. Living with the Witch did not encourage one to be docile. Although he did not raise his voice and yell like Conn, it was not in Ghost’s nature to submit, which left him only one option. Defiance was risky, very risky, but it was all he had to fall back on.
“You’ll see her before me,” Ghost answered, and his chin lifted a little. Despite the blood on his lips that he could still taste, despite the ropes binding him, despite the rasp in his voice from his coughing fit, Ghost glared back at his captor. “I’ve seen it. One who leads, one who loves, one who is known by the End.” The peridot spiral grew bright enough to be reflected in the man’s eyes. Ghost felt the truth of his words even as he spoke them, the vision finally making some sort of sense. It was too little, and probably too late, but Ghost had no choice. He smiled like he had seen the Witch smile, cold and pitiless.
“Take it back,” the man growled. Now Ghost heard the shadow of fear in the ranger’s voice.
Ghost turned his head as much as he could with the former ranger’s fingers still buried in his hair, to spit a wad of bloody phlegm. “Avert your eyes, and pass me by,” he murmured, looking up at the man as he offered blood to the Eighth. He could feel warmth spreading from the spiral, flooding his veins to give him a burst of courage. “For you, there’s no help. He won’t look away now. He’s whispering your
name, and the Seeker will lead him to you.”
The man snarled and for a moment Ghost was sure he was going to die. Instead, he was yanked upright, the rope binding his ankles cut with a flash of bright metal. Ghost did his best to hide his surprise at the waste. It had not been rope of any great quality, but rope was rope, and often the difference between life and death in the wilder places. It made Ghost wonder if this one’s crime against the rangers’ guild was madness.
“Make him look away,” the man insisted. “You have the mark. Tell him, Norther witch.” His eyes were no longer narrowed, and there was desperation in his voice that made Ghost hesitate.
“I serve the Seeker, and she leads him, not me.” Ghost let himself open up a little to the sensation that nagged at him, hearing a whisper deep in his own mind, a name rising to the surface of his thoughts. “It’s you he wants. Can you hear him, Bernd?”
His captor’s eyes flew wide. “The Father protect me, you know my name?” Fear was thick in the former ranger’s voice now. Ghost thought he could even see it in the man’s eyes, although he was no expert at how other people showed these emotions.
“We need to leave here. We need to go to a place I have. We’ll be safe there.” The ranger spoke mostly to himself, ignoring Ghost for the moment.
It was not what Ghost had hoped to hear. “You’re taking me with you?” He was too surprised to be afraid at first. Then it sank in, and he glared at the man called Bernd. “You’d risk having the witches hunt you?”
“Could be it’s a cleaner death if they take me,” Bernd said, that undertone of fear still thick in his voice. “Now shut up and let’s move. If you trip or slow me down, I’ll use the sleep stick on you again.” He patted his pocket as if Ghost was supposed to know what he was talking about.
“You’d have to carry me then, and that would slow you down. You’re better off just going without me.” Ghost was proud of how steady his voice was, of how he was able to meet the man’s eyes and stare him down.
Bernd snorted. “You don’t weigh more than a scrawny runner. I could carry you all night and not notice.” He freed Ghost’s hands, but before Ghost could enjoy the freedom, Bernd yanked Ghost’s hands back and tied them again. “I don’t want you touching that mark and witching me again. Now walk.”
Chapter 7
Gerry took a deep breath as he entered the yard in front of the Witch’s house, the place curiously quiet. He was not more than halfway to the house when the door opened. The Witch stepped out, her fierce eyes fixed on him.
“Bright morning,” Gerry said, offering a polite greeting, but the Witch cut him off.
“What brings you here, lad?” The Witch held herself very still, and Gerry felt a tingle of unease. She was guarded, unlike her manner the day before when Gerry had eaten at her table with Ghost.
Gerry took a quick breath. “I was actually hoping to speak to you first, and then to Ghost,” he admitted, his cheeks starting to feel warm.
The Witch frowned. “He’s not here.”
“Do you know when he’ll return?” Gerry was aware of the growing dampness in his palms, but did not dare rub them on his fine breeches.
“I’ve no idea,” the Witch snapped, her voice sharp. “I thought maybe he was with you.”
Gerry shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen him since I left with Mother. He said he’d wait for me.” Gerry took a deep breath, dread making his stomach twist. “I was going to offer for him, ask you for permission to ask him to be my dependent.”
“If he said he’d wait, then he would. He’s nothing if not honest, that one. Unless he took it into his head to go to you.” The Witch looked at Gerry, stern and fierce. “Stay here while I get my bag, and then we need to go find Mother and get him to help look for the little one.”
Gerry waited, his thoughts running dark. The path to the Witch’s house from the village was direct for the most part. It needed to be, since she was the nearest healer. She was midwife for the dams when the babes were due. There was no way Ghost could have missed the village if the young man had followed the path, and there was no reason for Ghost to go any other way. The sind made their lairs east of the Witch’s house. They never ranged this far from the dens, not when there were likely to be whelps there. None of it made sense.
“Don’t stand there looking like an idiot, lad.” The Witch’s dry voice interrupted Gerry’s fretting. “We need to go.”
The Witch let Gerry lead the way, a leather pouch over her shoulder and a stout staff in her hand. She showed no inclination to make conversation on the way to the village. Gerry was far too busy running over the same futile guesses to have much to say himself, so he welcomed the silence. Try as he might, he could find no reason for Ghost to have run off, and no good reason for Ghost to have vanished on the way to the village.
Mother was in the yard when Gerry and the Witch arrived, and he looked up with mild surprise. “I didn’t expect you back so quickly. There was no need for the Witch and me to confer, you know.”
Gerry shook his head, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. “He’s missing. Ghost is missing.”
“The little one wasn’t there this morning,” the Witch said. “I thought perhaps he’d gone to find your lad here, since it didn’t take much to see that they were drawn to each other. Imagine my surprise when the lad here turns up.”
Mother frowned. “We need to find him, then. Are there any places he might go?”
“Yes.” The Witch looked thoughtful. “He has a few places he goes when I annoy him, but there’s one in particular he favors. He thinks I don’t know about it, but there’s little that I miss, even if I am getting old. It’s one of the ruined places, and I warned him off it years ago, knowing he’d go there. It’s been scavenged past reason, and there’s nothing dangerous there, but it makes a good place for a little ghost to hide.”
“Give me a moment to get my bow,” Gerry said, his heart pounding hard as he listened to the Witch. There might not have been any relics left, but the old places crumbled and rotted in silence, and floors that were sturdy today might give way in the next moon. He had heard the tales from the rangers when they wintered in the village. They sat in the meadhouse during the long nights and traded tales with the locals. They spoke of the former rangers, and worse, that walked those dark places. Mother had even confirmed the truth of those stories. The thought of Ghost -- his Ghost -- lying at the bottom of some pit, hurt or unable to escape, made Gerry’s stomach knot.
Mother nodded at Gerry. “Change into your leathers. We’ll wait. I need to tell Conn where we’ll be, and get my bow and blade.”
“I heard.” Conn was standing outside the old coop, his tunic streaked with dirt. “It’s my fault.” His head drooped, and Gerry stared at Conn for a long moment.
“What do you mean?” Mother asked, a small frown on his face. Gerry waited for an answer as well, the hammering of his heart painful as he looked at the younger man.
Conn did not look up. “He came here last night. After we argued, Gerry, you went back to bed, and I went to take a piss. I came out of the wash-house, and he was in the yard.”
Gerry felt his hands ball into fists as he managed not to scream at Conn to spit it out for once, without a long, drawn out tale. Conn dared to meet Gerry’s eyes, looking miserable, but for once the kid did not shrink away or whine, so Gerry forced himself to stay patient.
“I was so fucking mad at you,” Conn said. “I don’t even remember what I said to him, but it was nasty. I was trying to hurt him and make him think you didn’t want him. He got this look on his face, and he turned around and he left. But he didn’t take the path. He went into the woods, and I just went into the house and never looked back.”
“You just talked to him? You never did anything else?” Mother asked.
“I grabbed his arm, but I didn’t hurt him.” Conn looked at Gerry. “But they were talki
ng in the meadhouse. Someone saw this guy in ranger’s leathers outside the village, sort of prowling around. They said he looked rougher than usual.”
The Witch frowned. “Any ranger that close to the village would have stopped in to trade for supplies, or at the least to have a few mugs of mead. If this one didn’t want to be seen in the village, I’m not sure I like the implications.”
“You think he was dealing in slaves?” Mother turned back to Gerry. “Change and get your weapons. We’ll find your Ghost.”
Gerry hurried into his room to put on his hunting leathers, his fingers clumsy as he tried to be quick. There were always rumors in the meadhouse about those who had been deemed to be too mad to be rangers, scavengers who had lost their guildrank or never made it into the guild in the first place. Even rangers gave them a wide berth. The older alphas in the meadhouse talked in dark tones about the Westers and their slaves, and the renegades that supplied them.
With Ghost’s exotic looks, he would be a prize to a body snatcher like that.
Cursing under his breath, Gerry grabbed his knife and his bow, hurrying out to the yard to rejoin Mother and the Witch. Much to Gerry’s surprise, Conn had changed as well, and held the staff they used to spot sind holes. Gerry glared at the kid. Conn flushed but did not flinch away.
“Mother says I should come and help.” Conn swallowed hard. “I fucked up, Gerry. I don’t know if I can make it up to you and Ghost, but I’m trying. I have to start somewhere if I’m going to fucking grow up.”
Gerry would have liked nothing more than to scream at Conn, to shake him and agree with him, tell him exactly how badly he had fucked up this time, but that was not going to help Ghost. When he was concentrating, Conn was a decent spotter. They were going to need all the eyes they could get if they were following a former ranger.
“I’m sorry,” Conn said. There were tears in his eyes, but he still did not flinch away or try to sidle up to Mother for protection. “After we find him, you can beat the shit out of me if you want, but let me help.”
Ghost's Sight Page 6
