"Oh." Cree hid a smile and glanced at Benjamin out of the corner of his eye. "In that case, I'll let you ride him. Then you'll understand what a beautiful animal-"
"Not a chance, Mac Torol." Benjamin flung an overcooked biscuit at him. "He's all yours. You've the way with horses, remember? We're leaving early."
"Not too early, I hope."
Benjamin shook his head and tossed another biscuit, which Cree caught. Unable to stop himself, he laughed and reveled in the sound when he realized that he couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed.
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Chapter Four
Smoked wafted down the pass, and Cree wrinkled his nose and fought Windchaser under control. "You said there's an inn along here?"
"There is." Benjamin pulled his coat tight around him to block the chill bite of the wind. "Just over that rise and around the hill."
Cree frowned. They were close enough that he should be able to sense people, and the smell of the smoke disturbed him more than he wanted to admit. "I don't-" He stopped before he mentioned the word sense. Benjamin had been kind enough to guide him, and he didn't want to alienate the man by mentioning the magic. "That doesn't smell like the smoke from a cook fire."
Benjamin slowed to a stop and sniffed. "It doesn't, does it? Too strong." He kicked his horse into a gallop and disappeared over the rise.
Cree chased after him and caught up to him at the end of the rise. Benjamin stood at the blackened remains of the inn. Cree's stomach fluttered, and he looked away. Images of another fire flashed before his eyes, but he shoved those memories aside and concentrated on the present.
"I told that fool not to trust that wench he hired." Benjamin shook his head and slid from the back of his horse. "Knew she'd go off and leave the fire, and then he'd be in trouble. He didn't believe me. Better go see if there are any people--"
"There aren't any." Cree's voice cracked when he realized what he'd just said. "At least, none who are alive." He nudged Windchaser forward. "Let's just find some other shelter before nightfall."
Benjamin started towards the smoking ruin. "Well, then, I'll see if there are dead needing to be buried." He squinted up at Cree. "Get off that horse and help me."
Cree's stomach somersaulted. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. He backed Windchaser up a step. "I-I can't," he said. "I'm sorry. I'll do anything else, just not--" He glanced towards the ruin. He didn't want to be near it, much less inside it where the emotions of the inhabitants could brush against his mind, and memories of another fire could torment him.
Benjamin scowled and trudged into the ruin, turning over blackened beams. "Might be good for you," he muttered and picked up a stick to sift through the ash. "Might toughen you up a little."
Cree slid from Windchaser's back and clung to his saddle, shaking. He wanted to help Benjamin. He stared at the ruin. Shame slowly replaced his fear, and he took a few faltering steps towards the ruin. He just had to touch something, and he'd know who had lived or died. "Benjamin, wait." He only hoped the blacksmith would understand.
Benjamin picked his way out of the charred inn. "What do you mean wait? We have to have this done before nightfall."
Cree closed his eyes and swallowed the last of his fear. "I can make the search easier for you."
Benjamin's brows shot up into his hair. "Are you going to help?"
Cree moved toward a corner post that still stood and remained un-charred. He stepped around piles of ash and kept his shields pulled tight around his mind. The last thing he wanted was to lose control here, or lose himself in dreams. "In a way." He raised a trembling hand towards the beam.
"You aren't going to use magic, are you?"
He closed his eyes and tried to relax. "No, not magic. Just be patient a moment." He laid his hand on the post. Slowly, he let go of the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in an attempt to relieve the tension knotting his shoulders and back.
"So just what are you going to do?"
The gravelly voice grated on Cree's nerves. "Just be patient and be quiet!" His awareness sank inward. His breathing slowed. His body found the strange center between tenseness and complete relaxation. He drifted in nothingness. No sound touched his ears. No thought grazed his mind. He reached towards the blackened ruin with his mind and felt for the fading resonance of life. Vague flashes of unknown faces rushed past him. Fear, anger, and confusion swirled about him and threatened to drag him into their midst. He fought for control and somehow found the strength to maintain it. He reached into the maelstrom of fear, searching for the emptiness of death. He didn't find it. Relieved, he swam back to reality.
He opened his eyes, suddenly aware of the biting cold, the roar of the wind, and the blacksmith's impatient stare. "T-there are n-no d-dead." His teeth chattered, and icy shivers danced up and down his spine.
"How can you be so sure?"
Cree blinked away the spots clouding his vision and rubbed his temples, trying to relieve the growing ache in his head. "Death hasn't been here. Let's just find some other shelter for the night." He staggered back to the stallion.
"You're going to explain yourself later."
"You won't understand."
"You'd be amazed at what I can understand. You used magic, didn't you?" Benjamin hopped up and down before finally hoisting himself onto the back of the horse. "Of course, if magic leaves a body looking like you, I don't know why you'd ever bother with it."
"How do I look?" Cree laid his hands on his saddle and tried to summon the energy to mount.
"You're white as snow, Mac Torol. Your lips are even blue. You sure you didn't find a ghost back there?"
Cree set his foot in the stirrup and shook his head. "There are no ghosts here." He levered himself onto Windchaser's back and slumped forward as a wave of dizziness washed over him.
"There's a cave up ahead. We can reach it before nightfall. It won't be the warmest bed, but better than out here."
"Lead the way." He watched the inn as he rode past, and the sight tugged dark memories from the depths of his mind. He clenched his jaw, swallowed hard, and held his reins a little tighter. He concentrated on the numbing cold seeping through the gaps in his clothing and the growing ache in his head. He planted his eyes on Benjamin's back and thought of snow, of warm fires and soft beds, anything but the memories that begged him to lose himself in their embrace.
"We're here."
Cree started. The mouth of the cave yawned ahead. He raised an eyebrow. "I don't suppose that's big enough for the horses, too."
Benjamin laughed. "It is. Used to be used by traders before the inn was built." Benjamin dismounted and rummaged in one of his saddlebags. He held up a torch. "I brought these along just in case. Never know what you might need." With a few quick strikes of flint against steel, he lit the torch. "Want one?"
Cree grimaced and shook his head. "I'll see to the horses."
Benjamin tossed his horse's reins to Cree. "Suit yourself." He led the way into the cave, where the torch lit a narrow circle in the darkness. Cree squinted and led the horses to an alcove.
Benjamin propped the torch against the wall, where it guttered, but stayed lit. "I'll have a fire going in a few minutes."
"You have wood for a fire?"
Benjamin dug in his pack and pulled out a tightly bound bundle of firewood. "I brought wood. I even brought food. Did you think to bring food for anyone but the horses?"
"No."
"It's a good thing I know how to pack for travel then." The blacksmith smirked. "How did you ever survive on your own, Mac Torol?"
Cree hid a smile and fumbled for the cinches on the saddles. With practiced ease, he stripped both animals of their tack, and dug in his saddlebag for a curry brush. He scratched Windchaser's ears and started brushing, relaxing in the familiar rhythm. He grinned when the stallion rolled his eyes in pleasure and leaned into the strokes.
"You've ruined my horse."
Cree stopped brushing and tu
rned to Benjamin. "What do you mean?"
"Well, look at him, eyes closed like a purring cat. He does that every time you get near him. He's ruined."
Windchaser lipped Cree's hair and nudged his hand with his nose. "I thought you wanted him gentled." Cree started brushing again.
"Gentled for me, not you." Benjamin pulled a pan from his pack. "Every time I try to get near him, he tries to bite me."
Cree smiled and leaned into his strokes. "I told you, horses like me."
Benjamin snorted. "They like you a little too much, if you ask me."
"Have you got anything decent to eat?"
Benjamin began pulling packages wrapped in cloth. "Got some bacon and tea and some day old bread. That do for you?"
Cree scowled, but nodded. He hated bacon, especially bacon cured for travel. "I suppose." He finished brushing the horses and dragged his packs and saddle next to the blacksmith.
"Are you going to tell me what you did back there?"
"No."
Benjamin slammed the frying pan against the floor. "I've been more than patient with you, Mac Torol. I've tolerated your self-pity, gave you work, even let you leave on my horse, all because I think there might be something worthwhile underneath that mask of indifference and pain! And for once, you could be just a little open and honest with me! You used magic, didn't you?"
Cree cringed. He didn't want to explain what he'd done, not to Benjamin or anyone else. "Not magic." He reached for his bedroll. He wouldn't have to answer questions if he was asleep, and his head had started to throb.
"Oh, no, you don't!" Benjamin grabbed Cree's arm. "This time I get an answer. I think I deserve an answer."
Cree tried to free his arm, but the blacksmith's grip tightened. "Let me go."
"Not until I get an answer. If I don't, I might kill you instead."
Touch sharpened Cree's senses, and Benjamin's anger and confusion washed over him. For a moment, he opened himself to the emotions and looked for some hint of killing rage. He found only sullen anger and disappointment. "You won't kill me." More thoughts rushed at Cree. "Please, let go."
"How are you so certain? I've killed before."
The grip tightened almost painfully, and images flashed through Cree's vision. A young woman screamed and tried to fend off her attacker. A younger Benjamin pulled the man away, a knife glinted against the light, and the man was dead. Cree shivered. "Only in defense of a woman. Please . . . let me go." The hold on his arm loosened, and he sagged to the floor.
"How did you know that?" Benjamin's voice grew cold. "You'd better explain."
Cree sighed and rubbed his arm. "It's not magic."
"Then what is it? Can you read minds?"
Cree shook his head. "I can't read thoughts." He struggled for the words to describe his abilities. "It's called empathy. My teacher told me it was an ability only women possessed, and for me to have it--" He rubbed his temples in a vain attempt to relieve the throbbing behind his eyes.
Benjamin began cutting strips of bacon from his slab. "What do you do if you don't read my thoughts?"
"I sense emotions, and sometimes I can manipulate them. I don't like to do that though."
He put the pan in the fire and stared at Cree. "What did you do back at the inn?"
"I read the emotions that lingered from the fire. The stronger they are, the longer they will stay. All I have to do is touch something and open my mind."
"Still sounds like magic."
Cree squirmed and wished Benjamin would change the subject. He didn't want to talk about magic or the empathy. "I don't use any power but what's inside me, so it's not magic. I can't ignore the empathy; I would go insane. I don't really know how to explain. When I look at a person, I don't just see their outward appearance. I see . . . " He tried to think of something the blacksmith might understand. "I see people like paintings. There are many layers. The stronger the feelings, the clearer an impression I get. Very powerful emotion will always be accompanied by images."
"I don't understand."
Cree sighed and tried to think of another example. "It's like reading a book--"
Benjamin laughed. "I can't read, Mac Torol. You'll have to do better."
The blacksmith was staring at him with that supercilious smirk again. Cree scowled and finally decided to attempt to explain something he knew the man would understand. "Well, think of it like you'd work with metal. There are some things you know to do and know not to do. You know when to get the metal hot, when to cool it--"
"Your point?"
"That's the way empathy is for me. I just know things about people, almost as though I have another eye allowing me to see through masks. I don't know how to explain any better; it was never explained well to me." Cree pulled his knees to his chest and stared at the fire. "Sarana always thought the empathy was my great weakness. He never bothered to explain or understand it."
"I suppose I can kind of understand. The horse?" Benjamin nodded to Windchaser. "What did you do to him?"
A wide grin stretched across Cree's face. "I told you I talked to him the right way."
"Oh, really?" Benjamin smiled. "I don't think I believe you."
Cree shrugged and tossed a pebble against the far wall. "Animals think in emotion and images. I can sense those emotions, and I act on them. That's all." He shrugged and tossed another pebble. "My one great talent."
"Perhaps you sell yourself short. It might be a greater talent than you think."
"Perhaps." He reached for his bedroll. "We should sleep. I'm tired." He smoothed out his bedding and dragged his saddle close.
"Sharing your past with someone eases the burden. Everyone has some darkness in their life. Surely yours can't be as bad as you think." Genuine concern laced Benjamin's voice.
Cree closed his eyes and spun his shields tighter. He didn't want to think about Sarana, or home, or magic. "My own father didn't care enough to listen. Why should I think anyone else would?"
Benjamin flipped his bacon and poured water in the teapot. "I've never heard that Reorden mac Torol was such a bad man. His people love him."
Cree's lips pursed. "He's not a bad man, just a blind one. He sees only what he wants to see." The air suddenly felt too warm, and Cree teetered between running from the cave into the cold and pouring his heart out to the blacksmith.
"What was it he didn't see?"
Cree pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, trying to ward off the chill seeping into his bones. "My teacher--" He searched for the words, but could not force them past his lips. A lone tear slid down his cheek. "My teacher convinced my father I refused to learn my lessons. I was too stubborn. I wanted too much freedom, he'd say. Father gave Sarana a free hand with me." Cree took several deep breaths. "I was terrified of them, and every chance I got I would sneak out of the city. Father thought I was spoiled and ungrateful. That's why I was sent away." He forced the words out around the lump growing in his throat.
"There's more to that tale." Benjamin rubbed his beard. "What did Sarana do to you?"
Another tear joined the first, and Cree hid his face. "I-I can't say."
Benjamin scooted a little closer and put a hand on Cree's shoulder. "You won't say nothing that'll shock me. I've heard plenty of stories."
The blacksmith's grip was strong and oddly comforting - almost like the touch of the father Cree wished he'd had. "I can't," he whispered. "Not yet. I'm not ready to face those memories."
"If you aren't ready to face them, then why go back to Lishal Tor at all?"
"There are some memories that are far darker than others. I choose not to recall them. Those of the fire though--" He turned away from the blacksmith. "I have to know the truth, Benjamin. I can't go on fighting myself. And the dreams, I can't keep fighting them either. I wake with answers so close, but I can't quite grasp them."
Benjamin reached for the teapot and poured a cup of tea. He pushed it into Cree's hands. "What do you remember?"
The liquid in the c
up was lukewarm at best, but the gesture meant more to Cree than he could put into words. The touch of Benjamin's emotions--true concern and curiosity--sent shivers down his spine and felt like salt against the rawness of his senses. "Fire," he whispered. "Lots of fire. I remember destruction and pain. Sometimes I have flashes of faces and voices, but they don't make sense. That's all. I don't understand why it happened or how . . ." He choked on the words. "I'm going to sleep now." He sat the untouched cup of tea near the fire and lay down.
"You aren't going to eat?"
"I'm not hungry anymore." He propped his head on Windchaser's saddle and closed his eyes. "Thanks, Benjamin."
"For what?"
"Listening." Reality fell away then, and he slept.
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* * *
Chapter Five
"Are you ready to ride, Mac Torol?"
Benjamin's voice tugged Cree from the first dreamless sleep he'd had in ages. He rubbed his temples trying to ease that ache that still lingered behind his eyes. "I'm ready."
Benjamin stuffed his pan into his pack. "This pass is hard, Mac Torol."
Cree rolled up his bedding. "I rode up it once. It can't be anymore difficult on the way down."
"Then you know all about the inn at the end of the pass." Benjamin loaded his packs onto his horse.
"I saw it. I rode past it."
Benjamin grinned. "It's a nice little inn. Warm bed, good food, and the best beer. But we have to get there before the snow starts."
"Snow?" Cree yawned, wishing he could have slept just a little longer.
Benjamin pointed to the cave entrance. "Walk out there and look at those clouds. They're ready to burst. There'll be snow by the afternoon."
"Why should a little snow bother me?" Cree hoisted his saddle onto Windchaser's back and fumbled with the cinch until he finally got his fingers to work.
"A little snow?" Benjamin laughed. "It'll be knee deep by nightfall. If you want a warm bed, we need to get moving."
Cree fastened his packs onto Windchaser's saddle and mounted. "I'm ready. I'm waiting on you."
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