Ghost's Dilemma (3 page)

Ghost hurried to relieve himself and was on his way back to the house when the pressure behind the spiral rose to a sharp, stabbing pain. He lifted his face to the moon, clutched the blanket tight, and let the images fill him. He had no other option. When the Seeker touched him, Ghost had no choice but to See.

The vision was the usual jumble of fleeting images and muffled sounds with an obscure message. Ghost knew better than to look for any meaning while he was flooded with the initial barrage. He would remember, as he always did, and he could sort it out later. An urgent sense of dread accompanied the images, far stronger than any message the Seeker had ever sent him.

Ghost stood transfixed on the slate path, enduring the pain and listening to the message only he could hear. The chill of the pavers traveled up through his bare feet. A strange clicking sound baffled him. Before Ghost could try to figure it out, comforting warmth surrounded him. He turned his head with care, trying to clear away the images filling his head. Gerry's strong arm was around Ghost's shoulders, and Ghost leaned into his mate with a grateful sigh.

"Ghost, what are you doing out here? You're freezing. Your spiral. Did you have a vision?"

"I was on my way back from the wash house." Ghost lifted his shoulders a scant bit. "I looked up at the moon, and I just Saw. How long was I out here?"

Gerry guided him back to the house, his sturdy arm a bastion of safety for Ghost. "I have no idea. I woke up and you weren't there. I rolled over and saw you out the window. You were standing still as a statue, and your spiral was glowing bright. I put the kettle on the hearth and came out for you."

Once in the house, Gerry made Ghost sit on the bench by the hearth. The kettle was steaming already, and Ghost relaxed even more in the welcomed warmth.

"I didn't mean to scare you," Ghost said. "I'm sorry."

"How were you to know you'd have a vision?" Gerry poured hot water over the tea, and the fragrance filled Ghost's nose. "Do you want to talk about what you saw?"

Ghost had not expected the offer, and he looked at Gerry in surprise. "You know, no one has ever asked me to talk about my visions before. They're infrequent and the Witch never asked about them. I didn't make an effort to share them with her, either. She's not a seer, and she doesn't understand what the visions are like or how much Seeing can hurt."

Gerry poured them each a cup of hot tea and sat on the bench next to Ghost, his comforting arm returning to Ghost's shoulders. "I didn't know if you were allowed to talk about them," Gerry said. "This is the first vision you've had since we've been a family. Nightmares, yes, but no visions."

"I'm sorry about those too." Ghost would have continued, but Gerry put a finger to Ghost's lips.

"Don't apologize. You've only had a few nightmares, and you were entitled to be upset, after being kidnapped like you were. I thought I'd lost you, and I've had a few bad nights too." Gerry pulled Ghost closer. "We're mates. We're there for each other, and we don't have to apologize for needing a little support and comfort."

"I'm still working on remembering. I know I can ask you for what I need. I'm still not used to having anyone." Ghost relaxed into Gerry's embrace, the warmth of Gerry's body and the heat of the tea banishing the last of the shivering. "But I would like to talk about the vision, if you don't mind. Talking might help me decipher the meaning." Gerry nodded.

"A vision's never really clear, you know. I get this jumbled-up mess of pictures and sounds. The only clear part is usually a sentence or two, more like a riddle than anything else. I have to figure out what the whole thing means and hopefully not screw up whatever it is I'm supposed to do." Ghost slid his fingers into his hair and tugged the strands as he tried to remember.

"The vision started with an image of a child. A boy… or maybe a girl. The child might have been the Witch seen from a distance? I don't know. The child turned, opened its mouth to speak, and blood poured out. The vision shifted to a tumultuous winter scene. Everything flew by so fast. A howling, twisting wind was thrashing the snow and trees all about, making it difficult to tell what I was Seeing. I think I also Saw stones carved with witchmarks in the snow, though."

Ghost frowned as he tried to concentrate on the images, but instead, he kept coming up with the sounds. "The sounds were awful. A desperate, choking sound. Do you remember the Highsummer feast, when Torrance's family got so sick? Someone used one or two of the wrong mushrooms, and they all vomited to the point of exhaustion. The sound I heard precisely matched the awful sound of their retching."

Gerry's eyes were wide, and Ghost felt a little sorry for having shared this particular bit with him. But Gerry had asked, and Ghost didn't want to lie to him. Ghost was still learning about dealing with people, but he had figured out very quickly the truth was always the best way.

"And the riddle?" Gerry asked.

"So odd. A female voice, but I might have thought so because I was expecting the Seeker." Ghost sipped the hot tea. "The voice said, 'What was known is lost. What is lost must be found. What is found is the way home,' which sounds incredibly ominous and difficult."

"I don't want to think about anything ominous. We did ominous once. Isn't once enough?" Gerry said, and Ghost wanted to assuage the worry in his eyes.

"The vision will probably turn out to be something completely innocuous," Ghost said. "Visions are awkward. The worse the riddle sounds, the more likely it'll be nothing big. The simple ones scare me more, because those always turn out badly. Like the vision I had before I met you. 'One who leads, one who loves, one who is known by the --'" He broke off before uttering the dreaded name of the Eighth. "Well, you know the rest. You showed up in Mother's arms, with a broken leg and a pouting Conn tagging along. I thought the vision was about the three of you, but I was wrong. You were the one who led and the one who loved. Bernd was the last part."

"I don't want to think about him, or that night," Gerry said, his voice firm. "Not as though I wouldn't do it all over again to protect you. But I've never killed anyone before, and to be honest, I hope I never have to kill a person again. I can kill a runner, or a sind. Hunting for meat and pelts is fine, as long as you make a clean kill and never take more than you can use. But when I killed him, I felt cold inside. I thought I'd never get warm again."

Ghost looked up at Gerry and shook his head. "I don't want to kill anyone, either. And you're right. Let's not think about the past. I'm feeling a lot warmer. The tea really helped. You take such good care of me, love."

"I'm glad, beloved." Gerry took Ghost's cup and went over to the deep stone tub where they washed the dishes. He set the cups in the wooden bucket of water and moved the kettle away from the hearth.

To Ghost, it appeared Gerry was trying to keep busy, perhaps to avoid talking. Ghost stood up, grabbing at the blanket before it slid off his shoulders. He walked over to Gerry and embraced his mate from behind, his hands flat against Gerry's sculpted abdomen.

"Don't keep it all locked inside," Ghost said, his voice soft. "I may not have much experience interacting with people, but I know how harmful keeping worry inside can be. I'd feel a lot better if you came out and said what's on your mind."

Gerry turned around, and Ghost thought the smile Gerry wore looked far too sad to be a real smile. Gerry pulled the blanket up higher around Ghost's shoulders.

"We need to get you something warmer for middle-of-the-night trips to the wash house this winter," Gerry said, and he brushed Ghost's hair back from his face. "I was thinking about what happened. Killing a person shouldn't have been quite so easy. No one said I did wrong to kill the bastard. Bernd." Gerry spat the name. "Not Mother, not the Witch, no one. The elders had nothing to say. They were quick to give me permission to establish myself as an alpha, with you as my dependent."

Ghost listened, hearing the question Gerry was not quite asking. He had to bite back a smile when he realized this was what the Witch used to do to him. She had always answered the question Ghost had not quite been brave enough to ask. When he was small, he used to think she could hear his thoughts.

"Bernd had killed before and he would have killed again," Ghost said. "Murder wasn't hard for him. He was crazy enough to be exiled from the rangers, and the truth is, most rangers have no problem taking another person's life. They live in the wilder places, where there aren't elders and alphas to make order. The only thing they truly fear is death, and the witches use their fear against them." Ghost held tight to Gerry, hearing Gerry's heart beating and feeling the steady rise and fall of Gerry's breathing against his cheek.

"But you're not like him. You're a good alpha and a good man. You'd rather find a way to deal with problems by talking, instead of resorting to violence. Your restraint is more than just what you were taught by Mother. It's also what's in your heart and why I fell in love with you."

Ghost took a deep breath. He still felt uncomfortable speaking earnestly and directly to people, even with Gerry. He always expected to be rebuffed and told he didn't understand.

Ghost tensed when Gerry spoke. "For someone who thinks he's not adept at dealing with people, you've got a way of getting right to the heart of the matter." Gerry pulled Ghost close and held him tight for a moment. "Thank you, for believing in me and for thinking I'm a good man. Now, let's go to bed and try to sleep before the sun wakes us."

Ghost let Gerry guide him to their bedroom, where Ghost folded the blanket before he crawled back under the warm quilt. The quilt had been a parting gift from the Witch, thick and downy, the fabric still bright and sturdy. Ghost had sheltered under the quilt when he was small. He was comforted by this bit of his past each night, and he wondered if the Witch had woven protections into the very stitches of the quilt. A silly thought, but Ghost found it as reassuring as Gerry's arms around him. Ghost rested his head on Gerry's warm shoulder. The vibrations of Gerry's gentle, melodious humming calmed Ghost and sent him off into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter 3

Harvesttide had come and gone already. The days were noticeably shorter, and the leaves fell in drifts of scarlet and gold. The door stood open anyway, despite a crisp breeze.

"Bright day?" The voice was female and very tentative, the greeting turned into a question.

Ghost looked up from his formulary cabinet. Moran had built it with commendable speed and care within a month after Sari delivered. "Lady smile on you," Ghost replied. "What brings you?"

He finished making the notation in the ancient words, placed the pottery jar back in the proper niche, and turned around to face the woman.

"Oh!" Her eyes widened as she took in Ghost. "They said your mark was all bright jewels and not just inks, but you know. I thought it gossip." She ducked her head a little. "But my business with you, good witch, yes. I came about my old dam. She's been poorly, and I'm at my wits' end."

"Can you tell me a bit about what's wrong?" Ghost asked, trying to keep his voice mild. The woman seemed as jumpy as a sind who had scented the hunters.

"Of course." She tugged at her thick shawl, her fingers plucking at the edges. "My dam was always busy, in spite of her age, but the past quarter-moon she's been getting tired too easy. I woke on Ladyday, and she was still in her bed. She shooed me off, said it was only age. Not two days later, she was vomiting up her tea and bread, and her head was hot as hearthstones. She seemed a bit better Moonday, but then she was back to it."

The woman shook her head. "I nursed my own babes through all sorts of little upsets, like when they ate something they shouldn't have. But this is different, good witch. My alpha says no, but she's my dam. I can't sit by. He's a good one, my alpha, most of the time. He took my dam in when my sire passed over, and never a word of complaint about another mouth. But he thinks I'm fretting over nothing, while my dam is getting weaker."

Ghost nodded in agreement. "Give me a moment to pack my supplies, and I'll come along with you." He moved the stew to the very edge of the hearth and took his Seeker's kiss from the drawer of his formulary cabinet. The device was fed and ready, and he placed it into a small leather pouch, along with two pottery jars.

"Do you have a name?" Ghost asked, trying to set the nervous woman at ease. He took a short woolen cloak from a peg by the door, and the woman clucked her tongue.

"I'm Mai, and my dam is Merrah," the woman said, and she reached out to finger his cloak. "I weave, good witch. Will you take a proper cloak for your fee?"

Ghost smiled at Mai's unspoken assessment of his cloak. The garment was old and not so warm anymore, but the weather had not yet turned cold enough to justify the gorgeous fur cloak Gerry had made for him. "Let's see what I can do for your dam first," he suggested. "A cloak's a high fee if I can do nothing to heal her."

Mai lowered her head again and led Ghost down the path to the village. She kept sneaking glances at him sidelong, and Ghost found himself more amused than annoyed to see her shy interest. As far as Ghost knew, he was the only person from the Northlands in the village, and he remained quite aware he was a curiosity. He was getting used to the looks, just as the village was getting used to its new witch.

Mai lived in a small house well off the main market street. The step was swept, and the kitchen appeared tidy and welcoming, but Ghost could smell the sickness as soon as he walked in. He looked over at Mai, and she gestured to the back of the house.

"Merrah's room is this way." Mai walked ahead, raising her voice to call out, "Merrah, I'm back. I've brought the witch to see you." She looked back at Ghost. "She was awake when I left, but I'm always worried the fever will make her forget things."

"I've forgotten nothing, child."

The voice was old but firm. Mai opened the door to let Ghost step into the bedroom. The smell of illness was worse here, although the aged woman in the bed appeared clean, and her hair was neatly braided down her back. Dark eyes as bright as a bird looked at Ghost with open curiosity.

"When did witches turn into young men?" Merrah asked. "I'm not complaining, mind you. But where did the little girl go? Off wandering again?"

Ghost needed a moment to realize Merrah was referring to the Witch, and he couldn't help a small, surprised laugh. "She left, yes. She didn't say where she was going." He could judge the toll the days of illness had taken on Merrah. Her wrinkled skin was papery and dry, and she appeared far too weak.

Ghost reached out to rest his hand on Merrah's forehead, feeling the heat coming off her in waves. "Have you kept anything in your stomach at all today?"

Merrah made a small noise and shook her head a bit, not lifting it from the pile of pillows that propped her up. "The child here brings me weak tea and broth on a regular basis, and they come back up as fast as they go down. The truth is, little witch, I'm too tired to keep trying."

Ghost looked at Merrah, hearing the exhaustion and surrender in her voice. "The Witch named me Ghost. Will you try a bit longer, for me? At least let me See what I can tell, and perhaps I can give you some relief." He waited for the feeble nod and placed both hands on either side of Merrah's face. He watched her eyes widen just a little, and he knew she was looking at the spiral stones on his forehead flaring to life as he tried to See below the surface.

The illness was elusive, not an ordinary stomach flux at all. The malady was not tied to what was eaten, and the fever was wound around the stomach disorder in a way Ghost had never seen. He felt the increased warmth against his forehead, and he tried to look a little deeper, but whatever this illness was, it skittered just past where he could See.

Ghost let go of Merrah and turned his head to Mai. "Do you think you could warm some water? I have something I'd like to try. First, I want to do something about this fever."

Ghost opened his pouch and took out the Seeker's kiss. He twisted the tube until he heard two clicks and turned to Merrah.

"This will sting a bit, but the serum goes right to the fever and the soreness." Ghost waited for the tired nod that gave him leave to proceed, and he pressed the glowing top of the Seeker's kiss, the tip against Merrah's arm. Merrah didn't even flinch, but she closed her eyes and Ghost could see the tension at the corners of her mouth ease.

"Rest a moment and I'll make an infusion for you." Ghost stood, putting the Seeker's kiss back in his pouch. "Don't give up, Merrah. Mai needs you for a while yet." He felt the tingling behind his spiral, and he heard the ring of truth in his words. "There'll be a time to rest, but this isn't the time."

Merrah didn't open her eyes, but she chuckled, a dry rasp in her throat. "You're as bad as the little girl who left. She liked a drop of blood, though. You've got kinder hands." She lifted her own thin and wrinkled hand from the bed. "Go make your tisane with the child. I'll stay."

Ghost left the bedroom, already reaching in his pouch for the two pottery jars. In the kitchen, Mai's shoulders hunched inward as she heated the water. She didn't turn around, and Ghost realized she was weeping.

He never quite knew how to comfort someone, and Ghost stood still for a moment. The Witch had rarely offered an embrace, leaving Ghost with little in the way of an example. All he had to rely on was instinct and what he had learned from the comfort of Gerry's arms. He placed the pottery jars on the scrubbed table and touched Mai's shoulder, hesitant.

Mai turned, her face wet with tears. She stepped into Ghost's arms, put her face into his shoulder, and shook with silent sobs. Ghost held her, only a little awkward, making soft noises he hoped would soothe the grieving woman. He let her weep for a bit before he spoke.

"I'm not sure what this illness is. I know what's happening to her, and I can do what I can for the symptoms, but I don't know the why of the malady." Ghost paused, patting Mai's back with a gentle hand. "The Seeker's kiss will help with the fever and aches. The infusion will settle her stomach and also help the fever. Once she's managed to keep down two cups of the mixture, she can have broth and bland foods. Eggs cooked soft, if you have them."

Mai's voice was barely a whisper. "Thank you, Ghost. You're very kind. It means more to me than I can say." Her voice nearly broke, and she turned and reached for a clean cup, taking a ragged breath. "Show me what to do for her."

Ghost patted Mai's shoulder. "This jar, with the blue wax. One pinch, like this." He pinched the herbs between his thumb and first finger and sprinkled the pinch in the cup. "This is for the fever, mostly. The jar with the red wax is for the stomach. The infusion's going to be strong, but with a little honey, it will taste pretty good. Two pinches of this one and then the hot water. Let the cup sit until you can smell the herbs, and add a little honey."

"Merrah doesn't like food to be too sweet, and she takes her drinks good and hot," Mai said. "So, let's bring this medicine to her and see if she can keep it down."

Ghost let Mai carry the infusion, and he watched as she held the cup for Merrah, her manner tender and loving as she fed her dam small sips until the cup was empty. Ghost could see the tension in Mai's shoulders. A clean bucket and soft cloth sat nearby in case Merrah needed to purge. But the moments passed, and Merrah leaned back against the pillows.

Mai looked over her shoulder and gave Ghost a tiny smile. She turned back to Merrah and smoothed the blanket over the old woman. "You feel a bit cooler," Mai said. She took one wrinkled hand between her own two hands.

"The medicine's sitting easy, child," Merrah said. "The drink wasn't too nasty, either." She looked up at Ghost with her bright bird's eyes. "A male witch. Such wonders I've seen with these old eyes. Now go, and fuss over someone who really needs you, little Ghost."

Mai smiled, much stronger this time. "You're worth fussing over, and you know so, Merrah. You've fussed enough over me and my babes too. Now's just my turn." She stroked the old woman's hand before she stood. "I'll see Ghost out and I'll be back."

At the door, Mai appeared relieved. "Thank you. Truly. If she can keep the medicine down and another one in a bit, I'll give her some broth. I'll get eggs for her too. Will you stop back and see her?"

"I will," Ghost promised. "I'll stop tomorrow after high sun. But if you need me sooner, come for me."

***

The following afternoon, Mai told Ghost how Merrah had managed broth the night before and soft-cooked eggs this morning. The fever was down and Merrah's color was better. Ghost was no closer to knowing why Merrah had fallen ill, but relieving the symptoms seemed to help her start to mend. Ghost left after telling Mai to keep up the infusion three times daily until she ran out of herbs and to come for him if Merrah took a bad turn. Mai would be quick enough to come, he decided. Ghost was gratified to have been of help, even if he had only treated the symptoms.

A pang of longing and an urgent need to see Gerry overcame Ghost, and he quickened his pace to get home. As he passed the old oak tree marking the entrance to the market street, a shrill scream from a house to his right drew his attention. He ran to the building without stopping to think and pushed open the door.

A young woman bent over an elderly man lying supine on the floor of the kitchen. Ghost needed only a glance to see the man was dead, his lips already blue beneath smears of dried blood. The house reeked of illness, and the young woman who sobbed over him appeared disheveled and exhausted. She looked up at Ghost, her eyes focused on the spiral of stones on his forehead.

"He was fine. He was fine!" She sobbed and clutched the dead man's tunic. "He had a fever, and he vomited, but he was getting better. I was sure of it. Then he started to vomit again, blood this time. I don't know why he got up. I heard the crash. It's not fair! He was fine!"

Ghost reached down to lift her to her feet. "Hush, come away. He was your alpha?"

"I don't know what will happen to me now. I don't know what to do," the young woman sobbed.

"The elders will decide," Ghost replied, feeling awkward in the face of her storm of tears. He looked around at the untidy kitchen, wondering if this chaos was normal or if the young woman had been overwhelmed by caring for the elderly man. "I'll ask my alpha to speak with them on your behalf. What was his name?"

The young woman seemed baffled by Ghost's question. "I need to get him off the floor. He doesn't belong down there. The stones are too cold for him." She dropped to her knees again, and her hands fluttered over the body.

"Let me help you," Ghost insisted. "I can carry him to his room if that's what you want. Do you want me to get someone to take him to be buried for you?"

"No, leave him. I'll call the guard," she said, a fresh sob shaking her shoulders. "I'll take care of him. Thank you, good witch."

Ghost turned to leave, but her soft voice stopped him. "If I had called you, would he have lived?"

Ghost sighed. "I don't know. Why do you want to add such weight to your grief?"

"Because I thought about coming for you and I didn't. He said he was fine." Her sobs broke out again and Ghost paused.

"I don't know if I should leave you like this," he admitted, wondering if he was missing some subtle signal. "Is there anyone who can help you?"

She shook her head. "Half this street is down with the vomiting and fever. Mostly the older ones, and the littlest ones. Hasn't anyone come to you about the sick?"