Patricia Briggs (23 page)

I sat in the private dining room at the inn. With me were Kith, his father—who was recovering from his wounds—and Tolleck the priest.

Tolleck groaned and held his head. “My dear, this is impossible! The village is already divided to the breaking point over the changes we've been forced to make. If I tell them we have to hold a feast to appease an earth elemental, they will likely burn me just before they do the same to you.”

“Could you pronounce another reason for a feast?” asked Albrin. “I think the harper could be trusted to write songs that praise the earth without letting it slip that the earth is a real creature.”

I shook my head. “I think he's going to be there. It's a little hard to hide a man with antlers and hooves. Someone is sure to notice him.”

Tolleck laughed, but no one else did.

“The problem is belief,” said Kith. “People will do amazing things to ensure their survival. But the villagers cannot conceive of a creature powerful enough to destroy all the crops.”

“I don't really think a demonstration is in order,” I said dryly. “It'd be like one of the serfs approaching Lord Moresh and saying, ‘Excuse me, but I don't think any of the rest of the serfs believe you have the power to cut off my head.'”

“I'll seek answers from the temple,” said Tolleck, rising to his feet. “Perhaps something will come to me. You were right to talk to me first. Give me a day or two to think about it before you do anything.”

I rose when he did, and shook his hand. “Thank you.” I hope he knew I was thanking him for his support as well as for coming here.

Tolleck started toward the door but stopped before he reached it. “You'd probably better let Merewich know about this. He's been running the village longer than I've been alive. If anyone might have an idea about how to get them to…
celebrate
the earth, it would be Merewich.”

I
FOUND
M
EREWICH EATING COLD OATMEAL IN THE
kitchen of his home. He was alone except for his wife, who rocked in the chair before the small kitchen fire.

Creak
back,
creak
forth, sigh.
Creak
back,
creak
forth, sigh. I was there for only a few minutes and it was enough to make me creak along with her.

“Two steps forward, one step back,” sighed Merewich after he'd heard me out. He sighed at the same time his wife did. “You've already talked to Tolleck?”

“Hmm.” I watched him eat the unappetizing gray stuff and noticed it was almost the same color as his skin. He needed a rest—perhaps Melly could send over one of the former serfs (whom she'd taken over like a hen with chicks). “I thought he might be the best one to decide if…well, if the ceremony might bring the wrath of the One God down upon our village.”

“
Gods
,” exclaimed Merewich blasphemously. “I wouldn't have thought about that, but I suppose if I can believe in hobs and earth spirits, I'd better worry about the One God, too.”

He quit eating and rubbed his face briefly with his hands. “Right. I'll speak with Tolleck. Perhaps you'd better go talk to Wandel. Tell him he needs to come up with some songs of praise, hmm?”

I
FOUND
W
ANDEL TRAINING IN THE SMALL ENCLOSURE
behind the inn. I recognized some of the drills Koret was using for the patrol, but Wandel did them much faster than any of us. He saw me when I came through the stable door, but he finished his pattern before he acknowledged me. It was a long pattern, and it gave me a chance to study him.>

What manner of man was he? Had he ever been the man I thought I knew—a musician with a talent for storytelling who could charm honey from the bees? Had he only been the king's assassin and spy?

His concentration was so intense I could almost touch it. I could
see
it. Like the ghosts in the woods, it looked like a foggy mist, but it clung to Wandel's body, moving as he did. The ghosts had glowed, but Wandel's spirit shimmered with fire and passion.

“People,” the hob had told me last night on our way home, “have body, soul, and spirit. The soul is immortal, the body is not, but the spirit can be either.”

Seeing Wandel's spirit didn't tell me anything about him I didn't already know.

“Aren,” said the harper, wiping the sweat off his forehead with one arm.

“Merewich sent me to you.” As soon as I tried to clear my sight, Wandel's spirit faded from view. Apparently I had better control over this new facet of magic than I had over my visions.

The harper listened to my story from beginning to end. A smile of awe grew on his face as I wound to a close.

“The Green Man,” he said softly. “Who'd have thought—but I suppose we have legends popping up all over. Why not the Green Man? I know a number of songs already, but I can come up with a new one or two.”

I
liked
Wandel. He was the only other person in the valley who found the wildlings fascinating rather than terrifying.
Or at least in addition to terrifying
, I thought, remembering yesterday's ghosts and the earth guardian.

“Merewich wonders if you can come up with any way to make the village more amiable to a celebration of the earth spirit. If you do, he'd like you to tell him, Koret, or Tolleck.” I turned to leave.

“Aren, I'm sorry,” he said suddenly.

I knew what he was talking about, and it wasn't the Green Man.

I turned back to him. “The king is dead. The world in which you made your vows to him is dead. Leave Kith be.”

“Kith is dangerous. He knows it.”

“And we need him!” I snapped. “Do you think the danger will be over when the raiders are gone? The hob doesn't. He's not nearly as worried about the raiders as he is about other things. Things like the hillgrim that attacked me. The wildlings are back, and most of them don't like humans very well—if they ever did.”

“Look, Aren, most of the bloodmages' get commit suicide after a year or two. Kith's lasted longer than any other. The berserkers understand—Kith understands—that they are dead already, it's just a matter of time. If they're lucky, they die in battle.”

I left without saying another word.

T
he hob was waiting for me when I woke up the next evening. This time he was holding a mug of something steaming that smelled sweet and milky.

“Here,” he said. “It's a little chilly tonight. There's a storm blowing in. I thought you might like something warm to start the night with.”

I wiggled around until I could take it from him, then sipped it cautiously. Some kind of tea with honey, but the blend was nothing I'd ever tasted before.

“Thanks,” I said. He intimidated me a lot less than he had the night before, but I decided not to ask him why he was here tonight.

“I've come to teach you,” he said. “Don't worry, I've cleared it with Koret. Tomorrow he'll need you, but tonight's mine.”

I rolled my eyes at his mock leer, and he laughed. I didn't ask him what he was going to teach me. I should have—then I could have refused while I had a chance.

“B
UT
I
DON'T WANT TO TALK TO GHOSTS
.”

The manor garden was unkempt, but still recognizable as deliberate planting. I was all too aware of the burial ground on the other side of the garden's stone wall.

“If you don't learn how to use your abilities, you'll be used by them,” he said.
Hurrah, that sounded like fun
. “Aren, you've got to learn to protect yourself. You can summon spirits, but by the same token you can be summoned by them.”

“Why you?” I asked nastily. It wasn't his fault, and I knew it, but he was there. “You aren't a speaker.” Whatever that was.

“Because there's no one else,” he explained, though I could see him fight a smile. He seemed to get some sadistic enjoyment out of my whining. “On this side of the river, I can deal with ghosts if I have to. But I'm hoping you'll be able to save yourself.”

“How reassuring,” I said witheringly.

This time he did grin. “Come on, lass. Likely you won't be summoning anyone you know. It won't hurt to talk a bit with the dead. If you can convince them to go on, as you did the ones who came to you last night, you'll be doing them a favor.”

“Great,” I said, shivering, though I wasn't cold.

Last night was a lot more frightening in memory than it seemed at the time. I was in no hurry to visit with more ghosts.

I thought of a possible way out of it. “Hold up a minute. Didn't you stop me from summoning the ghost of that poor skeleton?”

“There is a difference between summoning a soul back to its dead remains, and calling a ghost which is merely spirit.”

“What's the difference between soul and spirit?” I asked.

“People like you and I are made of body, soul, and spirit. The body is the physical and is tied very tightly to time. Humans are very rooted in the body—it's why there aren't more mages among you. Soul is what determines who you are—stubborn, impatient…the qualities that make you different from Kith or Koret. It is where emotions live. Hobs are tied most tightly to the soul. Spirit”—he hesitated—“spirit ties your body and soul together. It's where magic abides and it can take on aspects of both your soul and your body. That's why Touched Banar's ghost looked like his mortal body. It's why it was frightened as his soul was before it went on.”

“So the soul and the spirit are immortal and the body is mortal.” I said.

“Without the soul and body, the spirit usually dissipates after a while. If it doesn't you get ghosts.”

“So I'm supposed to call a wandering spirit for a chat.”
Hello, I'm Aren and you're dead.
Didn't sound like fun to me.

He nodded. “A ghost is a human or animal who has died, but has chosen not to go on to the spirit realms. Calling someone who has already gone on is an act of evil.”

“And it creates wraiths,” I speculated.

“One way to get them,” he agreed. “Sit down.”

I leaned my back against the garden wall and sank to my rump. The solid stone against my back was cold and damp. I crossed my legs.

He crouched in front of me, gripping his staff. “Now think about the dead. Just ghosts. Wisps of memory and being left here where they no longer belong.”

“They must feel frightened,” I said, thinking about it despite myself. Banar had been frightened.

“
Frightened
,” it agreed, settling at my feet.

“Who are you?” I asked. The hob hadn't told me what to say to the ghosts when they came. I didn't really want to interrogate it.

“Mercenary,” it said, the whispery voice a little stronger. Fighting the war. Our side was losing and the man who hired us dead. No money in it anymore. Captain said, ‘Got to turn raider, boys. Lots of lords dead, estates left undefended. Find one of them.'” As it spoke, the wisps seemed to gather together and solidify.

One of the raiders. I didn't think it was one I'd killed.

“It's time to rest now,” I told him. I didn't want to know what he'd do if he figured out I was one of the villagers.

“Rest?”

“You've done your duty, soldier,” said the hob. “Sleep.”

The ghosted started when the hob spoke, as if it hadn't noticed him there. Unlike the earth spirit, it didn't seem to troubled by the hob.

“Time to sleep,” he agreed, though he didn't do anything but rest at my feet.

I whispered, “Sleep.” I didn't know why I whispered, but it worked. The ghost faded away.

“That one was brighter than Banar was,” I said softly when it was gone.

“The new ones glow almost as if they were still tied to a soul,” said the hob, though he was looking uneasily around the garden. “The old ones can be shadows so dark even I can't see them unless they choose.”

“Mistake, mistake, the mountain's slave made a mistake,” crowed a voice from the wall over my head.

I knew
that
tone, though I didn't recognize the boy who bounced down on the ground in front of me. “Hob made a mistake. Hob made a mistake.” The singsong was unmistakable. The earth spirit's servant wore the shape of a boy younger than Caulem. This one I didn't know.

“Quiet, shaper,” said the hob, his attention still elsewhere. “Your place is on the other side of the river.”

The shaper turned to me with a bright smile, “Hob forgets a lot. Forgets my master is
here
, too. Forgets some ghosts are not so weak. Forgets old places have their dangers.”

“The shaper's right,” said the hob, his voice lifeless with failure. “Being around humans makes me arrogant. I came here because I knew there were recent dead wandering—bound to be, after a battle. Should have thought there might be older spirits here.”

Defeat was something I almost couldn't associate with the hob. Not even being left alone with only a mountain for company had given him such melancholy. Nor could I see any reason for it. I looked around suspiciously.

“There's a graveyard just over the wall,” I offered, because what he'd said made me wonder if he knew. “Caefawn?”

The hob bowed his head and didn't answer.

“Show yourself,” I commanded the air at large.

“Here I am,” chortled the shaper.

“Be quiet or leave,” I said sourly. “I have enough to work out. If you interfere, I swear it'll be the worse for you.”

He subsided, except for a couple of smirks. I didn't know what he thought I could do to him, but I was glad he was threatened enough to desist.

“Show yourself, ghost.” I said again. “Caefawn, don't you bring me out here, then leave me alone to deal with this thing.”

It was there. Larger than the garden we were in, its substance covered the ground with a deep shadow.

“Caefawn,” I said again. “Time enough for despair when there's nothing left to do.”

“Hobs are emotional,” observed the shaper. “Ghosts affect them more than they do you mortals.”

The shadows continued to deepen in the garden, frightening the moon's light away. I reflected, not for the first time in the hob's company, that cat's sight would be extremely useful. Darkness crept over Caefawn, who was bent around his staff as if it comforted him.

The shadows stopped at my feet.

“Who are you?” it asked in a voice like fiddle music in the dawn. I thought that was supposed to be my question. “Why did you summon me?”

“I am Aren of Fallbrook,” I answered it, as I had the earth spirit the day before. “I am here to be taught.”

“Fallbrook,” it said. “Taught what?”

“To speak to you,” I replied.

Something touched me inside my head. It was the strangest feeling I'd ever had, as if something soft and ethereal drifted through my skin and bone. After an instant the touch turned to ice.

“Warm it,” advised the shaper as he gripped both my hands and stared into my eyes. For once his face was serious. “Think of hot, rich food; the fire on a cold night; my master's eyes. Think of touch and life and light.” Then, without loosing my eyes from his hold, he said in a different voice, “Hob, now would be a good time to help.”

Would you like to join me?

I shuddered with the icy jolt that shot from my head to my spine. I thought of fires and soup, hot green-brown eyes that flared to red in an elemental's face.

I am so alone here.

Me, too
, I thought before I caught myself.
I'm so alone
.

The shaper slapped my face. “Warmth and living, Aren.”

Warmth. The touch of Daryn's hands on my flesh. Warmth slipped from his remembered touch to my cold skin. I concentrated on the one night we'd had, the passion and fire. When I ran out of memory, I built new ones. Dreaming about the dead didn't seem like the right thing to do under the circumstances, so for the new ones I substituted coal-gray skin for sun-browned, the nip of fangs gently wielded, a tail wrapped around my ankle. Thoughts curiosity had brought to me after the bargain was struck. I asked the question,
What would it be like to be wed to the hob?
The answers came whether I willed them or not.

The cold withdrew slowly, more slowly when desires replaced solid memory. So I tried another tack. I built the image of the gradual magic of rye and wheat pushing up through the earth, exchanging safe darkness for sunlight and warmth. Flowers opening for the first time to the dance of butterfly wings.

It was gone, and I was breathing as heavily as a drowning victim just rescued. I expect the analogy occurred to me because my clothes were wet with sweat. It started to rain. Lucky me.

“Good girl,” said the shaper. “Did well enough for a mortal—better than the hob.”

Behind the shaper crouched the ghost. I felt no fear of it now, for it was mine. It could do no more harm unless I set it free.

“But Caefawn's no speaker,” I said with sudden knowledge of what that might mean. “The despair…that's a ghost's weapon, isn't it? It doesn't affect me.”

Caefawn, his face drawn and remote, looked up from his staff. “That and fear. As a speaker you are immune to those and many other weapons of the spirit. The mountain could defend me from terror or gloom, not both. Not so far from her slopes.”

Rather than tiring me out, holding the ghost under my control seemed to be giving me energy, as if I'd been drinking fizzies all night and was jittery with it.

All beings had spirits, not just ghosts. I thought that if I wanted to, I might be able to take the shaper as well, though not the hob. Not yet. It was as if I could see the will that each possessed, and measure my power against them.

See
, said the ghost speaking secretly to me.
See what we could do?

“Should be more cautious,” advised the shaper. “Could have killed her seeing if she could protect herself from ghosts. My master would have been unhappy. He sent me to watch you.”

The ghost looked up at me with its eyeless face, as if we shared a secret. The double vision I'd had with the skeleton came back, and I could see the ghost as it had been in mortal form—a woman with hair of bright brass and laughter sweet as the south wind. A woman who had been afraid to be alone, to die.

Yes
, her voice whispered in my mind,
I could give you power. Magic you could use to make the villagers like you again. Make them do as they ought, appease the earth guardian. You could save them from themselves.

I knelt until I was level with its face.

“Go rest,” I said slowly because it was difficult to speak. “Sleep now.” It wasn't a suggestion, as I'd made to the raider, for this ghost I controlled absolutely. “Be at peace.”