Full Circle (11 page)

“I think he wants to take back what Acton took and he is protecting his own people.”

“The ghosts don’t kill their own,” Leof said slowly.

“Exactly. And more than that — they
will
not kill their own, or all his work is for nothing. Which is why we need hostages.”

Leof nodded, understanding. It was purely logical; he ignored a feeling of dismay. Time to trust his lord. Thegan had proved,
yesterday, that Leof could trust him, even to the risk of his own life.

“So — set Alston to fortify the barn, and then you and Gard will take a detail to collect every Traveller within a day’s ride
of Sendat. Explain to Alston so he can prepare here.”

“My lord, what if they will not come?”

Thegan smiled sourly. “They’ll come all right. Once people know that the ghosts spare the Travellers, this will be the only
safe place in the Domain for them. And that’s what you will offer them, Leof — safety. Safety from their neighbours behind
the strong walls of the warlord’s fort.” He paused, weighing his words. “I will not let this enchanter destroy life in the
Domains. I will crush him one way or the other. I swear it.”

Leof left, wondering how he had come to a place where he questioned his lord’s orders. But Thegan was right. The news about
Travellers and ghosts would get around, no doubt, spurred by Thegan’s own questions, if by nothing else, and then he shivered.
No Traveller would be safe. He was doing them a favour by offering shelter. And if the ghosts really did respect the lives
of their own, then the Travellers and Sendat would survive. It was the only way. The only choice they had.

But as he explained the plan to Alston and saw the ready acceptance in his eyes, he was troubled. If the ghosts did not respect
Traveller lives, what then? Were they all to be slaughtered, their own people and the Travellers alike? If the ghosts overwhelmed
their defences — well, then, he would die. The road was long only if you were lucky. The thought made him oddly cheerful and
he whistled as he went to the stables to find Thistle.

T
HEY WALKED
through the dark, following Baluch, with only Medric’s small candle to light their way. They were using one candle at a time,
not knowing how long it would take them to reach the surface.

Ash motioned Bramble away from the others and they walked together. “You must keep the bones with you at all times,” he said.
“We can find another singer, if we have to, but you are the key.”

The ghosts Ash and Martine had seen at Spritford had faded at sunset. If Acton faded too… She pushed down her grief at
the thought. They would have to raise him again, that was all.

“I’m rather glad I can’t raise him on my own,” she said. It would be both a temptation and a torment, to be able to call him
to her.

“The way you feel about him, I thought you’d want to be able to.” His voice was accusing.

She flushed. “He’s not as bad as history paints him.”

“He’s the enemy of our people.”

“I’m from both, remember?” she replied. “I’ve come to realise that I have no enemies but the warlords. And no matter what
the stories say, he didn’t start the warlord system.”

That gave him pause. “So he’s not a killer?”

Her step faltered a little. “Aye,” she said. “He’s a killer.” The words sent a pain straight through her chest. “But so are
we.”

Ash flinched at that, and said nothing for a while. His hand went to his belt, as though to reassure himself, and Bramble
noticed a pouch hanging there, the type stonecasters used.

“Are you a caster now as well?” she asked him.

Ash nodded. “I can cast.” But his tone was doubtful.

She left it at that and they walked companionably until they were in a dry, smooth area of the caves, a round pocket in the
middle of a long corridor of stone. The air was fresh, and they knew they were getting closer to the surface, because there
was a narrow crack letting in a tiny lozenge of light. It glowed in the darkness and left afterimages on her eyes.

Medric blew out his candle. Their eyes were so adjusted to the dark that the cave seemed like bright daylight.

“Let’s take a break,” Ash suggested.

Bramble went over to the crack and looked up; the slender chimney seemed to go up forever. Her sense of time was unsettled
in here, but still it seemed she could feel the sun setting. Would Acton fade at sunset? The thought made her shiver. She
wouldn’t look at him. Better to turn around and have him gone than watch him fade away. Then he came to stand beside her,
making all the hairs on her arms stand up. She didn’t know if that was because he was a ghost, or because he was… him.

“What would you see, if you stood on top of this hill?” Acton asked.

Bramble shrugged. “Farms, villages, towns — as far as the horizon and beyond.”

“So much…” he said, wonderingly. “We’ve built a great country!”

“Out of the blood of my people,” Ash reminded him.

Acton turned, and the last red light of sunset caught him, gilding him so that for a moment Bramble could see the man he had
been, hale and rosy. She strangled something like a sob, and felt irritated with herself. She had to take control of these
ridiculous surges of emotion.

“Aye,” Acton said. “You are right. It was badly done. By me, by others.” He paused, choosing his words, and Baluch paused
too, a curious look on his face, as though he were remembering old and difficult times. “We tried for peace. But we were betrayed
by your people.”

“You murdering bastard!” Ash snarled. He somehow looked larger, as though rage had swollen him. Medric moved behind Acton,
not understanding Acton’s words but aware of conflict, and immediately taking his side. It enraged Ash further. “You can’t
excuse massacres with a lie about betrayal.”

Bramble moved to Ash’s side, sensing his approval, as though she were ranging herself on the side of right. “He’s telling
the truth, Ash,” she said. Startled, he whirled to face her, a protest on his lips. She held up her hand. “Oh, yes, he’s a
killer, he’s a murdering bastard all right, he invaded, all of that. But it’s true he tried to do it peacefully and the original
inhabitants massacred his kin.”

Ash stood silent, his breath rasping.

Baluch came forward and laid a hand on his arm. “True,” he said quietly. “Acton’s mother, my sweetheart, all our friends .
. . butchered by the dark haired ones. Our girls raped and degraded. Our home burnt.”

“Hawk,” Bramble said. “The leader’s name was Hawk. It was his steading.”

Fumbling with the shards of everything he had ever believed, Ash latched on to that. He knew that name. “Hawk? Hawksted? Like
in ‘The Distant Hills’?”

The words of the song, the tune, slid back into Bramble’s mind, and the pieces fell into place. She realised that she had
even heard the tune forming in Baluch’s head, as he had looked down at the corpse of Friede’s killer, but she hadn’t recognised
it then. “For Friede?” she asked Baluch. “ ‘The Distant Hills’was for Friede?”

“
You
wrote that?” Ash looked awe-struck, as thought he had met a god.

Baluch’s mouth firmed and he turned away. Bramble felt cold. Shaky. Baluch had written “The Distant Hills.” She had known
that song all her life; she had known it before it was written. The thought unsettled her. Time whirled in her head.

Ash was staring at the ground, his face confused and wondering.

“You know too much,” Baluch said, staring at bare wall.

“Aye,” Bramble said. “I do.”

“You were right,” Baluch said at last, in her own language. “I went to the Lake just before Acton’s death. The calling was
so strong… I intended to be back before the Moot, before Acton went to Hawksted, but I didn’t understand, then, about
how She takes time. It was thirty years, that first time. She brought me forwards to where the Lake People were being attacked
for the first time. I… advised on their defence. Asgarn was an old man, then. I killed him without knowing who he was.
She only told me afterwards. I felt… It was a bad moment, finding out I’d killed someone I’d fought with.”

“So you avenged Acton without knowing it,” Bramble said. Baluch laughed bitterly.

“Do you think She knew he had killed Acton?” she asked.

“The Lake? I doubt it.”

Bramble looked at Acton, finally, needing to see his reaction, although it seemed like a weakness in her that she needed it.
In the moments when Baluch had claimed her attention, the sun had set, but Acton was still there, still staring at them with
concern, not understanding. She felt a surge of relief.

“He doesn’t fade…” Bramble said. She didn’t know if she were glad or not. Ash looked up, his face set, giving nothing
more away, but she was sure there was turmoil in his mind. Gods knew, there was turmoil in hers. The past, the present, the
future were too mixed for peace of mind.

“He should have faded,” Ash said. “If it’s the same spell.”

“Who knows?” Baluch mused. “It may be different in some small way…”

“Who cares?” Bramble said, and Acton smiled at her tone, although he hadn’t understood their words.

“We can stay the night here,” Ash said, in the old language.

“I will guard you,” Acton said immediately. Ash looked irritated, resenting the easy way Acton took over. A lifetime of giving
other people orders — the habit lasted even beyond the grave, Bramble thought. But it was sensible to leave the watch to him.
He didn’t need to sleep.

Ash avoided Baluch’s eyes as he lay down next to Bramble. “Even if they did kill Acton’s people, did that excuse him going
on to murder thousands of innocent people?” he muttered to her.

She paused, as though she didn’t want to answer. “No,” she said. “There was no excuse for killing the men of Turvite, or all
the people of River Bluff. No excuse. But Hawksted — what would you have done if your parents and all your friends had been
betrayed, massacred, by a stranger?” Ash didn’t answer, just sat with his shoulders hunched. “Pray you’ll never have to find
out.” She turned her back on him and settled down, her head on the bag that contained Acton’s bones. It had taken living all
of Acton’s life for her to understand him even a little. Poor Ash — all his certainties were being challenged in a single
day.

Baluch, instead of resting, had moved aside to talk to Acton.

“Teach him our language,” she called to Baluch. “He’s going to need it.” She sighed, watching them. They had a lot of information
to share. A lot of memories. She felt a pang of resentment — she knew so much, shared so many of those memories, but had no
right to them… and no chance of making new ones with him, not in this life.

The shock of the dead voice woke her fully. “Well then, Bramble the beautiful, the resolute,” Acton said. “Who are you, then?
And how do you know so much about me and mine?” He was sitting beside her, Baluch was asleep next to Ash.

He was not charming her, not trying to seduce her into following him. He just wanted to know. So she told him about Obsidian
Lake, and he listened, and although his brows knit a time or two, he didn’t interrupt.

“Just how much did you see?” he asked cautiously.

“Wili, for example?” she mocked. He flinched, but a smile tugged the side of his mouth as though he laughed at himself. She
smiled involuntarily. For the first time she thought about his reaction, were she to betray her love for him. Apart from risking
her own dignity, it wouldn’t be fair to him, to burden him in an instant with a love that had taken all his life to form,
which he couldn’t possibly return. “I didn’t see enough to make you blush,” she said. “Or me either.” Which was stretching
the truth.

His mouth twisted wryly. “Good,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind making you blush, but not that way.”

He said it so easily, she was sure it was a habit left over from before the grave, like the habit of command. Always, wherever
he’d gone, he’d charmed his way into beds and into hearts. It was nothing to do with her personally. Nothing to make her heart
leap. But her heart beat faster anyway. At least she had the satisfaction of knowing he would have desired her, if they’d
met for more than a moment. Would have acted on the desire.

She tore her thoughts off that path as he cocked an eyebrow at her, laughing at her so easily, with such an invitation to
share his amusement, that she melted into laughter and then into something else entirely. He reached out towards her face,
but she flinched back. She never wanted to feel that bone deep chill again.

He froze, chagrin on his face, and brought down his hand. “I forgot,” he said. He seemed to brood for a moment, then looked
up at her. “But on the mountainside? You were really there, weren’t you? Not a vision?”

She told him about the hunter, and the journey to the place where she could find his bones.

“You looked so… wild, like a spirit from the forest,” he said. She wasn’t sure if it were reminiscence or mistrust.

“I’d been living like one for months,” she said.

He grinned. “You smiled and then you frowned, and I thought — Oh, that one won’t ever be tamed!”

It was a compliment. It seemed the strangest thing yet, to hear the words that had haunted her for so long transformed in
his mouth into something good. “So a demon once told me,” she said lightly, passing it off.

“Now that’s a story I’d like to hear!”

She shook her head, remembering the rest of the demon’s prophecy, which had been proven with such a twisting truth:
Born wild and died wild… No one will ever tame thee, woman, and thou wilt love no man never
. She never would, because the only one she’d ever loved was a ghost, not a man.

“I need sleep,” she said brusquely. “Even if you don’t.”

His mouth twisted again, but not in amusement this time. “Aye,” he said. “Sleep. I will guard you.”

Because of the grating voice of the dead, she couldn’t tell if his tone was protective or resentful. She thought his pale
shadow beside her would keep her awake, but she dropped into sleep as a stone into a well, and did not dream.