by Trudi Jaye
He wondered what had happened. This woman didn’t seem the type to leave repairs. “Are you usually alone here?”
“I’m the last one left. The only one who ain’t willing to give up the farm.”
Nate glanced out the window. “What happened?” He gestured with one hand. “Wasn’t this a wealthy farm once?”
She hesitated again. “For a long time, we tried to make it work after my da”—she gestured toward Nate—”Seamus Flinty, after he disappeared. But it was like there was a force that made it impossible for us to succeed. Every calamity that could occur did. Deaths, disease, injuries.” She gazed off into the distance. “Until we had nothing left to give.”
Nate couldn’t help glaring at the ghost. Had he done that to his family?
The old ghost glared back.
“Where are they now?”
“The city. Or the salt mines. Wherever they could make money.” She shrugged. “I’m not ready to give up. Not yet.”
The old ghost chuckled. “She always was a stubborn one. Got that from me.”
There was a clattering of boots on the stairs and a woman, accompanied by a young boy, maybe ten or eleven, came striding into the kitchen. The woman held the boy’s hand and looked curiously at Nate. She took in his traveling clothes and his mage tattoo in one sweep. “Who are you?” she asked sharply.
“My name is Nate, and I’m a mage.”
“I can see that. What are you doing here?” Lily glanced at her mother to make sure she was all right.
Nate cleared his throat, and glanced from Grace to Lily. “I have a special talent. Not many mages can do it. I can talk to those people who, after they die, have not passed on through to the Edges and beyond, to their final resting place.”
Lily blinked, but gave no other indication of her thoughts.
“Ghosts? You can talk to ghosts?” The young boy whispered the words, but his face showed awe.
Nate nodded. “They hold onto this world because they feel there was an injustice done to them. Your grandfather, Seamus Flinty, is here with me. He wants you to go into the desert and find his body, and give him a proper burial.”
Grace’s gaze was suddenly less open. She looked... afraid. “He’s here? With us now?” She took a step backward.
Nate nodded, frowning. “Are you okay?”
Grace put one hand on the bench top, as if to steady herself. “We’ve tried so hard to move on. To have him leave us be. But he just won’t go away.”
Taking a step closer to Grace, Nate tried to understand what was happening. “You know about him? That he’s a ghost?”
Grace nodded her head, her eyes wide. Her face suddenly looked much older.
Lily strode over to her mother and put her arms around her shoulders. She glared at Nate. “He’s been haunting this damned farm since he died. Almost forty years ago. My dad and uncles, they didn’t realize it at first, not for a few years at least, but once they did, it got worse. My grandfather’s ghost is the reason this farm has been destroyed.”
Nate glared over at Seamus, and the old ghost shifted uneasily. “I had to make them pay for what they’d done, didn’t I?”
“I thought it was just your son?” he asked severely. He should have known better than to trust the old ghost to tell him the whole story.
The old ghost shrugged. “They let him take over; he took my place like nothing had happened.” His voice was high pitched and whiny.
“Did you know?” Nate demanded of Grace. “That Seamus was killed by his oldest son, your brother Zeb?”
Her face drained of all colour. “No. Surely Zeb wouldn’t...” Her voice drained off. The look in her eye said she couldn’t say for sure Zeb hadn’t been to blame.
“No, then?”
She shook her head, strands of her long greying hair falling out of her bun. “Zeb’s dead,” she whispered. “He died a long time ago.”
“Damn right he’s dead,” stormed the ghost. “Took me a long time to make that happen.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Primus inherited his tremendous mage skills from his father, Thornal.” Miara glanced at Breanna. “Your grandfather.”
There was silence as Jena and Breanna took in her words. Breanna put one hand over her mouth.
“What happened?” Jena whispered. There was no way Thornal would have let Primus die.
Miara’s eyes darkened as she considered the question. “They are old laws, Jena. The Mage Council believes in them without question. Even if he had fought them, as you believe he would have, Thornal couldn’t fight all the other mages. I had assumed he knew, but couldn’t stop it. Now I wonder if they didn’t fool him, and let him find out afterward.”
Jena felt bile rise up her throat as she realized the full extent of Thornal’s pain. He had been betrayed by the Council, his friends and fellow mages, for the sake of an old law that made no sense. They had killed his son, brutally and without mercy.
Miara took a deep breath. “You have reminded me of Thornal’s strength, Jena. I had thought... But Primus was more important to Thornal than anything in his life; you’re right to defend him.” She nodded at Jena.
Images flickered in Jena’s head, too fast to see, but she understood the pain in them now. There was yelling and anger, furious voices, painful screams. Thornal had tried to save his son. He hadn’t given in. They had tricked him, and he had lost his son. No wonder he didn’t mind breaking other mage laws. He had seen firsthand how wrong they could be.
“Did Thornal ever...” Jena glanced at Breanna. “Did he ever visit Breanna?”
Miara paused before answering. “I think it was too painful for him. He never came back to the forest after it happened. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before now, Bree, but I thought it was his story to tell, not mine. I thought we had time.”
Breanna nodded; her face pale. “And you thought he knew about Primus’s death,” she said softly. “In many ways I’m glad you didn’t tell me you thought my grandfather had agreed to the execution of my father.”
“I’m sorry.” Miara paused. Then she focused her attention back on Jena, as if something were just occurring to her. “How old are you Jena?” The old woman looked at her with speculation in her eyes.
Jena shrugged. “I’m not sure, exactly. In my seventeenth year, perhaps older.” Elsa had always been vague on that point.
“I think you are about the same age as Bree. In fact, I would say that you are exactly the same age as Bree.”
Jena frowned. She looked from Miara to Breanna. “I don’t—” She stopped. “What do you mean?”
“You both look exactly the same, except for your hair color, and your scars, Jena. We know that Thornal took a strong interest in Jena, for an unexplained reason. I think he did it because he saw the same thing I can, your strong resemblance to your mother. You two are almost identical. I believe you are children born of the same parents, at the same time.”
The blood drained from Jena’s face. Images flashed through her head. A young couple, the woman with long, white-blonde hair, holding twin babies, proudly showing them to Thornal.
It was true. There had been two babies.
Her head swam, and everything blurred for a moment. The ground seemed to swirl around her, and Jena held one hand up to her face. She looked at Breanna, who seemed equally dazed, her wide eyes staring at Miara.
Miara smiled. “I can even explain the difference in your hair color.”
“How?” Jena didn’t dare look at Breanna again. She felt too brittle; it was all she could do to keep her focus on Miara.
“I think you were there with Bree, wrapped in blankets, a protection amulet on your chest. Part of the protection was a masking. We found Bree and removed the protection charm, as your parents would have intended. But the gypsies found you and didn’t know or understand the spell. Maybe your amulet fell off, or was broken. Perhaps Primus and Dalafine didn’t have time to finish it, or did it wrong in their rush. I don’t know.
“
Whatever happened, it meant the gypsies only saw you, and not Bree. As you grew older, with the protection still on you, your hair grew dark instead of the distinctive white of Dalafine’s hair.”
“How did the gypsies find me?”
“In those years, some gypsy bands used the forest as a shortcut to their summer gatherings. After the wolvans attacked, we stopped even that.”
“But I was supposed to be found by you, in the forest?”
“Yes. I believe they were relying on the magic of the forest to protect you both until we found you.” She paused, her eyes sad. “It worked for Bree, but not for you.”
Jena shivered. Her life flashed before her eyes. She saw the beatings from Otis, being pushed into the fire, and her terrified desperation the day she was sold. She thought of the drudgery and humiliation of being a slave. It had not been meant for her.
She felt dizzy and out of breath.
A warm hand touched her shoulder. Jena looked into the eyes of her sister, a warm golden presence beside her. She gave a watery smile.
“It feels true,” Breanna whispered.
Jena nodded. Aside from the images in her head, it made sense with something deep inside her. Miara was right. They were sisters, born on the same day to a witch and a mage.
Forbidden children.
Not only could she cast mage spells, with a raven on her belly and her head full of the Book of Spells; she was also a forbidden child. Tremors rocked her body, and she crossed her arms over her stomach. The urge to rock back and forward was strong.
She felt a twitch from the tattoo on her stomach. An image rose in her head, of a tall beautiful woman with long, white-blonde hair holding hands with a man in a mage’s robe and a mage’s raven tattoo slashed across his face. Her parents.
Her heart ached. They were happy in this memory, gazing at each other as if they hadn’t a care in the world.
She wondered what had been going through their minds as the wolvans hunted them, as they hid their babies in the forest.
As they died, ripped apart by mindless beasts.
Her heart dipped into her stomach as the next realization came. “Thornal?” she whispered.
Miara nodded. “I don’t know if he was completely certain. Your scars and your dark hair probably made it difficult to determine. But I think he wanted to believe.”
Thornal had been her grandfather. She was related to the greatest mage of their time.
For the first time, Jena understood why he had bought her on the slave block, why he’d been so angry in the first weeks she had lived with him. She’d been terrified of him, his silent rages making him inaccessible.
At first she’d been tensed for the beatings that such an angry man would surely give. She’d crept around the house, flinching whenever he stormed past. One day he’d yelled at her when she tried to step quickly out of his way, had told her to stop being so afraid. Something had snapped inside her, and she’d yelled back and told him to stop being so damned angry. He’d ceased yelling, and had calmed down from that day.
He’d been angry at the world, not at her.
“Why did he never tell me?” whispered Jena.
Miara heaved a sigh. “I don’t know. It was a painful subject for him, even all those years later. Maybe he wasn’t sure.”
“And now he’s dead. Breanna will never know her grandfather.”
“I’m sorry, Jena. I’m sorry for your loss.” Miara was sincere. She had been his friend for many years.
But Jena glared at Miara anyway. She couldn’t forget that Miara had thought so badly of Thornal. “He didn’t just die, you know. He was murdered.”
Miara’s face showed her shock. “Who would dare such a thing?”
“His killers were Hashishin sent by Prince Lothar.” Jena almost spat the words out.
“Prince Lothar?” Miara said. “The king-in-waiting?” She whispered the words as if Jena had confirmed some terrible secret she’d been too afraid to mention.
She held up her hand when Jena would have spoken again. “For now, Jena, I need to warn you. Whatever else happens, you must never breathe a word to anyone of who you are—not ever. No one must ever know you exist—either of you—or that you survived the wolvans. It would mean your life.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“How in the Flames can you affect things in the living world?” Nate demanded of the ghost. The old man was doing things he shouldn’t be able to.
Seamus scowled. “It took a long time. Determination. Grit. Everything you need to make a farm successful out here in the dust.” He glanced at Lily. “Everything she’ll need to make it work again.”
“Can you help her?” said Nate impatiently. The wily old ghost was using him. The worst thing was, he knew what ghosts were like; he should have known better than to take what Seamus told him at face value.
Seamus nodded. “When Zeb killed me, I was returning from an old gold mine of mine. He left me there, dying in the sand, without realizin’ I had one of the biggest strikes I’d ever made in my pocket.”
Nate turned to Lily. “He’s not going to haunt the farm any more. But he wants you to find his body and bring it back. Bury him properly, and as a reward, he’ll not only leave you alone, you can also have the gold he was carrying to help you bring this farm back to where it used to be.”
“What if I don’t?” Lily jutted out her chin.
“What?”
“I want my mother to move on from here. That’s why I came home, to help her pack up and leave.”
Nate sighed. He understood her reluctance. “He’s clearly an ornery old goat. I can see that. But he didn’t deserve to be killed by his son. He might have been stubborn and crafty, but I think he was honest and hardworking as well. And now he’s a ghost, caught in the Edges, unable to move on because of a terrible injustice. He wants to make amends for what he’s done, to you, to his daughter, and to his great grandson.” Nate glanced at the young boy.
“Hey. I didn’t say that!” muttered Seamus.
Nate glared at him.
Lily didn’t say a word. Her chin jutted out, and she had her arms crossed.
“He was an arse,” whispered Grace. “But he didn’t deserve to be killed. Zeb had no right.”
Before she could say anything more, a rumbling punctured the air. The house shook, and Nate and Lily both grabbed hold of the table. Grace hugged her grandson.
The ghost disappeared and then returned. “There’s one of them giant underground worms comin’ this way. You didn’t tell me you was a wanted man.”
“What makes you think I’m a wanted man?”
“There’s magic dripping off it like it’s been in a bath made of mage spells.”
Nate ran to the door, searching for the desert worm. In the distance off to the far side of the house, an orange dust cloud as high as a house was racing toward them. He caught the occasional glimpse of teeth and dark scales through the dust. The earth rocked and roiled underneath the cloud, making everything shake. He could feel the magic leaking into the air.
Lothar had found him again. Argus had been right.
“It’s heading directly for the farm,” said Grace, her voice quavering. “I have to get the animals into the shelter.” She ran out to the barn, followed closely by Lily, and they began chasing their meagre group of scrawny animals toward a cellar built into the side of the house.
“Sam, go get your grandfather’s axe from the shed,” said Lily.
Nate watched the boy go, knowing an axe wasn’t going to save them. Neither was putting the animals into an underground shelter. Desert worms lived underground and were almost indestructible, with giant bodies encased in movable scales that were stronger than metal. They lived in the indescribable heat at the center of the desert, where nothing and no one else could live, and only ventured out every few weeks to find prey. A person or animal unlucky enough to be eaten by a desert worm could take weeks to die, because it ate its prey whole, and digested them slowly inside its stomach.
“You’re a mage, aren’t you? Can’t you do something to stop it?” asked Lily, her voice catching. She kept glancing between the dust cloud and her son.
Nate shook his head. “I’m not powerful enough to kill a desert worm.” He followed her gaze to the creature heading their way. “Especially not one like that. I can feel the magic even this far away. It’s not here for anything other than to destroy me.”
“Then perhaps you should consider leaving.” Without a backward glance, Lily ran for the cows in the paddock behind the house.
“We’ve never had a desert worm so big come near the house.” The ghost glared at Nate.
“It’s not my fault,” said Nate. “I—”
Horses’ hooves pounded on dirt, and Nate whirled in the other direction. Argus and the two horses were riding hell for leather toward them. He’d never been so pleased to see anyone in his life. Argus would have something they could use against the desert worm. His master had prepared him for every possible emergency.
But when Argus rode into the farmyard, the expression on his face was thunderous. “Get on this damn horse right now, and let’s get out of here,” he yelled. His stallion reared up in front of Nate as if it could stomp him into submission.
Nate clenched his fists, and stood his ground. “We can’t. They’re all alone here. It’ll take them all, and their animals. And then it’ll come after me anyway.”
“Summon a demon. I know you can do it,” said Argus impatiently.
“A demon would be useless against a desert worm. It’s too great a beast for a demon to take on alone, and they’re not affected by fire or heat, which is a demon’s greatest weapon.”
“Then get on your horse. I have no way to fight that thing, and you’re too important to risk.” Argus glared down at Nate from his black stallion, the massive horse stomping skittishly.
Nate took a breath and stepped back out of the horse’s range. “I’m not leaving them defenseless. And we’d never out run it anyway. We have to think of something.” He turned to the old ghost. “Come on, old man. You’re the one who’s fought against everything all these years. How do we survive an attack like this?”
