Ghost's Sight

by Morwen Navarre

  Gerry nodded, his throat too tight for words. It hurt to push himself into the role of an alpha, to force himself to focus on the larger goal. He could not allow himself to take all his fear out on Conn. He turned to the Witch instead.

  “Will you lead me to this hiding place of Ghost’s?” Gerry struggled to keep his voice level, striving for the calm that Mother managed so well.

  The Witch looked startled. “Why there, lad? If he’s been taken, we should be looking for the ranger.”

  Gerry shook his head. “It was already late when Conn got home, and he said Ghost came by even later. I don’t think they would have gotten too far, and a ranger, even one that was stripped of guildrank, would feel at home there. The rangers stick to the ruins for the most part, anyway.” He looked at the Witch, trying to will her to understand. “But it’s more than just the ranger. It’s a place Ghost knows like the back of his hand, right? It would give Ghost an advantage, if he could find a way to get away. He’d know where to hide, and where to avoid, if he had the presence of mind not to let the ranger know that he knew those ruins.”

  “That makes sense,” Mother said. “I think that’s a good place to start.”

  The Witch was looking thoughtful again. Gerry waited for her response to his reasoning. He could not explain why he wanted to go to the ruins. It just sounded right, and felt right, much like his decision to ask straight away for Ghost to become his dependent. The more he considered the hiding place, the more obvious it seemed that Ghost would be found there.

  “If nothing else, the lad is correct about the ranger feeling at home there, and there are few enough of the old places left in this region. It’s one of the reasons I settled here. I prefer my own company to that of unwashed rangers and too many of my sisters.” The Witch nodded. “I can lead you there, then. We’ll find your Ghost, lad.”

  ***

  It did not take much past midday for them to reach the ruined city. Gerry was surprised by how extensive it was. The way the Witch had spoken of it had made him think it was one of the smaller places, but this was larger by far than the village. He wondered how they had not come across it while hunting. He looked at Mother, the older man solemn.

  “I’ve never liked this place. I was young when I came here, thinking to make a quick scavenging run and bring back enough to offer for my first dependent. My alpha warned me off, but I didn’t want to listen.” Mother rubbed his arm, where Gerry knew he carried a thick scar, twisted and pale with age. “I did find some things, and the ranger who found me was quite pleased by my haul. I objected, but he was carrying a sharp blade and knew its use far better than I did. In the end, I was grateful not to lose the arm.”

  “That was the first time we met,” the Witch said in a voice as dry as dust. “You paid me with one of the few things that ranger didn’t take. It’s a pity that the gods’ light you offered in trade had no power, or I wouldn’t have had to leave you with such a reminder. I do hate clumsy work.”

  “I screamed loud enough, as I recall, while you stitched me by hand.” Mother looked at the ruins. “I made sure we never ranged too close to this place. I didn’t want you or Conn near it.”

  The Witch turned her head, her fierce eyes unfocused for a moment. “Most of this place was emptied of anything worth taking some time ago. It’s only the deeper sections that might still have artifacts, but there’s no way to get to those places safely. The outer edges were safe enough, and it soothed Ghost to have a place to go where he thought I wouldn’t follow. It wasn’t easy for him to be my apprentice.” The Witch pointed with her staff. “It’s this way. He marked it, if you know where to look.”

  The path through the ruins was a winding one, turning in on itself. They were forced to walk in single file most of the way. Conn tapped Gerry’s arm to point to faint scratches. They were low enough to have been made by a child, spirals faded by time and weather until they were nearly invisible. Gerry’s eyes widened as he looked at Conn, the younger man flushing and turning away.

  Ghost was not in the little hiding spot. Gerry’s throat tightened as he looked at the well-disguised nook, a few blankets arranged to make a soft place to curl up with a small chink in the roof that let in the light and offered a glimpse of the sky. A lidded box held a book, and the stub of a few candles alongside a flint and tinder. It was a dreamer’s sanctuary, and it felt like Ghost to Gerry.

  “What do we do now?” Gerry asked, his voice rough with grief and worry. “I still think this ruin is the place.”

  “And I still agree,” the Witch replied. “We split up. You take the boy, and your alpha and I will pair up. We’ll circle around and meet opposite, and if need be, we’ll go farther in once we’ve met.”

  “Do you think it wise for both of us to leave them?” Mother asked, his brow creased in a frown.

  Gerry opened his mouth to answer, but Conn was faster. “Gerry and I know how each other work. We can do this. You’d be better at protecting the Witch.”

  The young hunter saw a flicker of amusement in the Witch’s eyes, most likely at the notion that she needed protecting, but Gerry understood Conn. The kid wanted to prove his contrition to Gerry. This was all he had to offer at the moment.

  “I’ll take Conn,” Gerry said, gruff, but he put a hand on Conn’s shoulder. He felt Conn straighten a little under the tentative acceptance.

  The ruins were grim and silent, even as scavenged as they were. Both Gerry and Conn did their best to make no noise, although it was harder than in the forest. Caution made them slower than Gerry would have liked, but Conn proved adept at seeing the best path through the rubble. Gerry tried to focus only on the hunt, not on what they might find, his heart aching and his stomach twisting. He offered a silent prayer to the Father to protect them all, and then added one to the Lady so that she could guide him to Ghost.

  It did not help that there was a dull ache beginning in Gerry’s leg, where the Witch had healed him. The twisted stones of the ruined streets made his steps uneven, further aggravating the growing soreness. It was only to be expected, but Gerry resented how it slowed his pace even more.

  Conn’s hand shot out, cautioning Gerry to stop. Gerry’s eyes narrowed as he tried to see what Conn saw.

  Conn moved to Gerry’s side to point at a bit of fiber, his mouth alongside Gerry’s ear, his voice barely a breath. “That’s rope, shredded and dropped. It’s fresh, and it’s the third bit I’ve seen.” Conn looked at Gerry. “He’s leaving markers.”

  Gerry nodded in agreement, his stomach clenching. He tightened his grip on his bow, gesturing for Conn to lead on.

  They had gone on a way when Gerry’s head lifted as he smelled wood smoke. He looked at Conn, reaching out to tap the kid’s arm.

  “I want to go in alone,” Gerry murmured. “If it is the one we’re looking for, he might panic and hurt Ghost. Alone, I don’t look threatening enough to make him afraid. Just stay close enough in case I start yelling my head off.”

  “I can’t let you do this,” Conn began, but Gerry shook his head, his whisper low and urgent.

  “I have to do this. I want to be his alpha. If I can’t keep him safe, then I’m a lousy alpha, right?” Gerry sighed, reaching for the right words. “He needs to see that I can protect him, on my own.”

  Conn still looked reluctant, but nodded agreement. Gerry took a deep breath and walked on, heading for the wood smoke and the camp it heralded. A few turns of the road later, he was there, looking at a burly man in ranger’s leathers, hunched over a fire.

  “Ho, traveler,” Gerry said. “Lady smile on you.”

  The ranger stood, and Gerry found himself looking up. The man was as tall as Mother and far wider, leathers well worn, faded except for where a guildmark belonged. Gerry kept his expression bland, pretending not to have noticed the missing badge.

  “Ho, yourself,” the man said in a rough accent that Gerry recognized as from t
he Western reaches, past where the land rose in unforgiving mountains. “What business brings you here?”

  “A fool’s business.” Gerry smiled easily. “A dependent gone missing, and my alpha in a fret. You wouldn’t have seen a young lad through here, would you? He’s pretty hard to miss. He has white hair and light eyes.”

  “A lad, you say?” The big man appeared to give the matter some thought. “Norther born, eh? White hair’d stand out. Northers don’t travel south much. I don’t recollect seeing such.”

  Gerry strove to look disappointed. “You sure? Thing is, I’m going to have to comb these fucking ruins, or my alpha’s going to squawk like a broody hen.”

  The man looked irritated. “Said I didn’t. You’ve no business here, hunter. This place’ll eat you.”

  The young hunter shrugged. “This place or my alpha, and I won’t say which is worse. Father keep you, then. I’ll just go look elsewhere.” The Wester’s next words froze Gerry for an instant.

  “What’s so fucking important about a runt with a fucking witch mark?” The burly ranger turned toward the fire, still muttering. “Should’ve known better in this fucking armpit. Middle of fucking nowhere and all they have are runts with fucking green stones in their fucking heads.”

  To his surprise, Gerry’s hands did not shake as he dropped his bow and reached for the hunting knife in his belt. He had killed sind before, and plenty of runners, but never a man, and he had expected to be more nervous. Gerry’s voice was steady. “Where is he?”

  “Fuck off,” the ranger growled, his hand dropping to his hip pouch. “Last chance, asshole.”

  “I’m not going without him,” Gerry said. He slid the knife free, the metal bright.

  The ranger stuck his hand in the pouch, coming out with a small tube-like object. There was an angry glow at one end as the ranger lifted it, pointing it at Gerry.

  “You had your fucking chance.” The ranger grunted as a staff made contact with his back. He spun around to point the device at this new assailant. Gerry saw an arc of light, heard a familiar scream.

  “Conn!” Gerry cried. He growled as the ranger turned back to face him. “You fucking bastard! You hurt Conn!” He lunged for the staff where it had fallen to the ground, grabbing it and slamming it down on the ranger’s outstretched arm. He heard a fine loud crack as the staff broke from the force of the blow. The ranger dropped the tube, his arm hanging useless. Gerry had no idea if he had broken the arm along with the staff, but he would take the advantage while he could.

  Gerry ducked as the ranger moved with surprising grace and speed, the burly man’s good hand missing Gerry’s head by too small a margin for Gerry’s comfort. The move left Gerry outside the ranger’s reach for the moment, but he was also too far away to do anything with his knife. He ducked again and tried to move in closer. The ranger anticipated Gerry’s move, forcing Gerry to dodge another wicked swing, sending him stumbling over Conn’s crumpled body to drop to one knee. The movement made his weaker leg throb, a curse hissing past his lips.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Gerry saw a flash of something white, silky strands that could only be Ghost’s hair. His heart thudded so hard that he was dizzy for a moment, and then he felt a fury deeper than anything he had ever known. To his surprise, the fury was ice cold, and steadied him. He would have thought it would have been the other way around, a hot anger that made him reckless.

  “You fucking bastard,” Gerry snarled, a primal sound that came from deep within as he stood. He snatched a piece of the broken staff as he came up, the ache in his leg forgotten. The ranger was closing in, and Gerry slashed with his knife in what he hoped appeared as a blind rage. As the ranger dodged the blade, the burly man stumbled on a bit of broken paving stone, staggering to Gerry’s left. Gerry tightened his grip on the piece of broken staff and rammed the jagged end through the ranger’s throat until it tore through the back of the larger man’s neck.

  The man made a gurgling sound as Gerry released the piece of the staff. He staggered and took a half step forward before his knees buckled. Gerry stepped to one side to avoid the ranger as he fell, a gush of blood painting the kidnapping bastard’s chin red. Dimly, Gerry registered the sound of someone moaning, but the hunter’s entire focus was on the pile of rotted sacks and leaf fall where Gerry had seen that flash of white.

  The ranger had gagged Ghost, the slender youth’s hands and feet bound tightly. Gerry loosened the gag first before cutting away the rope. He brushed the silky white hair off Ghost’s face as he helped the younger man to sit.

  “Is he dead?” Ghost demanded, his voice raspy. He rubbed his wrists, looking at Gerry. The look on Gerry’s face must have been grim enough to answer his question. “Good. That bastard needed killing.”

  “Are you all right?” Gerry asked.

  Ghost nodded, his manner impatient. “He was scared of me because I have a witch mark, and I heard his name. I knew he was the one, from the vision I had. He was the one who belonged to the Eighth.” Ghost looked around, his pale eyes wide. “I heard someone else.”

  “Fuck, Conn!” Gerry turned around to look for Conn, the kid far too still and quiet where he lay crumpled. Gerry hurried to crouch beside the fallen dependent, gathering him up.

  Ghost scrabbled around in the carpet of leaves, looking for what the ranger had dropped. He found it with a sob of triumph, near the rest of the broken staff. He hurried over to Conn’s side, falling to his knees.

  “He saved me,” Gerry told Ghost. He felt a wave of grief as he looked at Conn’s still face. His eyes traveled down, seeing the terrible path the light had carved across Conn’s body, from left shoulder to right hip, the woven tunic hanging open. There was almost no blood, but Gerry could see the pulse of organs and viscera where the skin was parted, and the rent in the tunic had scorched edges.

  Ghost’s hand tightened around the tube. “This is what made the wound? That ranger was an idiot. This is a gods’ light. It heals. It’s almost impossible to kill someone with this unless you really know what you’re doing.”

  The apprentice touched a dial on the tube he called a gods’ light. “I’m going to try and close this wound. Just hold him.” Ghost looked at Gerry, his expression confident. “The good thing is that this was set for a shallow cut. It sealed the blood vessels when it made the cut, too. Otherwise, Conn would have bled to death. The idiot ranger didn’t know how to set it to keep it from doing that, sealing the blood vessels.”

  Gerry looked at Ghost in amazement as Ghost touched something else before pointing the light at the bottom edge of the gruesome wound. As Gerry watched, the wound began to close, the flesh sealing as the light touched it.

  Ghost paused. “Water. He boiled some for tea. I heard him. I can use that. Hold Conn still while I get it.” His voice held that same sharp note of command as the Witch’s voice.

  It only took a moment for Ghost to retrieve the small open kettle by the fire. After testing the heat of the water, Ghost ripped off a corner of Conn’s tunic and dipped it in, using it to wipe away some of the debris that had gotten into the wound when Conn fell. As he finished cleaning a section, he used the gods’ light to close the area, his concentration absolute.

  Finally, Ghost sat back, the wound closed. He rubbed his neck before reaching for the scrap of cloth, wiping the thin red line that was all that was left of the gruesome injury. He looked up at Gerry.

  “He should be fine. When we leave here, we should go back to the Witch’s house. There are some herbs he should have in a tea, to make sure this doesn’t get all infected. I’ll add something for pain, too, hemp tea, with some chamomile which will let him sleep.” Ghost’s voice was confident, and Gerry nodded.

  Gerry looked down at Conn, at the fine red line. Conn’s breathing seemed easier. His color was stronger, and Gerry felt something ease inside. “You healed him, just as clean as the Witch would have done, after what he did to you
. He told me he ran you off last night.”

  Ghost did not answer right away, a small frown on his face “You said he saved you. Even if I’m not a witch, I owed him a life for that.” Ghost’s cheeks darkened. “I broke my promise. I didn’t wait. I came to the village because I wanted to see you, and Conn was there. We spoke, and I listened to his taunting. I let myself doubt you and your promise about us, so I ran. I didn’t pay attention and the ranger took me. He had something that stung me.”

  “Did he?” Gerry made a mental note to search the ranger’s possessions. Rangers knew the old lore, too. They were as fast as witches to collect relics. What the ranger had could be traded, and starting out meant Gerry needed to have a stake.

  “He saw my mark and thought I was a witch, so he didn’t dare to really hurt me,” Ghost said, looking at the dead ranger. He examined the gods’ light again, still frowning. “He must have had witchglass, to keep this fed. It doesn’t matter. We’ll find it in his things.”

  Gerry nodded. “Yes, we will. But we should drag the body away, and get Conn closer to the fire. We can wrap him up and keep him warm for now, until he wakes. He’ll be weak, but it’ll be easier if he can walk.” When Ghost looked at him in surprise, Gerry grinned a little, relief making him giddy. “Mother and the Witch were circling around the other way. It’ll be a while before they get here, though.”

  Chapter 8

  The fire was warm as Ghost leaned back into Gerry’s arms. Conn was still unconscious, but his breathing was strong and even. Ghost knew he was simply sleeping off the shock and pain, his body working to heal itself.

  Gerry had made tea with the rest of the hot water, and there was bread and hard cheese in the dead man’s sack. It was a rough meal, but to Ghost it had tasted like a feast. It had not hurt that Gerry seemed to find excuses to touch Ghost, stroking his arm or touching his hand. Each touch had sent a warm shiver through Ghost. Now, with Gerry’s arms around him, that warmth had pooled in one place. Ghost shifted a little, trying to get more comfortable in his breeches.