Wanderling (Spirit Seeker Book 1) (10 page)

“Not
at all,” she said.

“Good.”
He tossed a scroll on the table before her. “Now let’s get started on the Great
Iviannite Explorers’ scrolls. I’m hoping you can read all of them in the week.”

She
sighed and began towards her station on the floor with the crate.

“No,
not there,” Burano said. “Sit across from me. That way I can hear you better
while I work.”

She
read aloud from the dim script all morning while Burano fashioned arrowheads
out of flint. The afternoon passed slowly while she awaited her new privilege
of dining with her captors. Though she scoffed to think of it as a reward for
good behavior, she was eager to glean tidbits of information from her guards.

Eleanor’s
days passed in a fog still. She stayed always reclined on a pile of blankets
and pillows next to the fireplace in the cottage that she used to share with
her husband, son, and daughter. But she was alone now, aside from frequent
visits from neighbors. At night, all was empty, the creaking wood and crackling
fire her only conversationalists.

During
the days after she woke, bandaged around the stomach and bruised from fighting
to save her son and daughter, Eleanor had felt immobilized. The pain in her gut
from the agonizing stab wound and the crippling agony from realizing her
children were taken away from her were indistinguishable. Georgetta, the healer
at her side when she woke, had to subdue her with teas daily. At first, the
healer stayed with her night and day, but now that Eleanor could make her way
weakly around the cabin, she sent Georgetta home most nights.

Eleanor
had grown to despise Georgetta’s teas. The healer woman came twice a day to
check Eleanor’s bandages and give her the bitter herbal mixture. At first,
Eleanor was barely lucid enough to make a decision one way or another. But now,
she insisted on less potent herbs, preferring to remain wakeful and vigilant in
her recovery.

When
I am healed I can search for my children,
she thought to herself one
evening as she fervently stitched up a hole in the knee of Shem’s old breeches.
During her bed rest, she had mended all of her husband’s old clothes, Adala’s
tattered under-tunics and dresses, and a basket of socks with holes in them.

A
knock came at the door, and Eleanor didn’t even look up from her stitchwork.
“Come in, Master John,” she said. It was her evening report from the master of
arms, though she knew what he would say.

“Madame,
you have more color in your face today,” Master John said, removing his hat as
he came through the door. “You get stronger each time I see you. Georgetta
should be proud of her good work.”

“I
will be satisfied when I can travel to the wharf,” she responded, a bit more
impatient than usual.

John’s
face fell, and he looked at the floor. “I’m doing my very best, Madam. I’ve
talked to all the fishermen, and they have nothing.”

“I
don’t mean to criticize your efforts,” Eleanor sighed, dropping her needlework
into her lap. She stared into the dull coals that had become of her fire. It
was true that Master John had gone beyond precedent to find her missing
children. He commanded that the fishing boats spread out their treks to scour
the shoreline in both directions as far as they possibly could. He even had the
largest of them scout the edges of the Shadow Isles to see if any boats had
taken harbor there. Perhaps that could reveal any information about Shem and
Adala. But no matter to whom he spoke and how many people he enlisted to scour
the city for someone who possessed even a shred of evidence regarding Adala and
Shem’s whereabouts, they came to nothing.

“I
keep thinking,” admitted Eleanor, “that if I go down to the seaside market myself
and ask around, that more people may be open with me. I have friends
there—people who have worked with Raban before. Maybe they have more
information and they just aren’t comfortable sharing with someone from the
castle….”

John
nodded slightly. “It’s worth a try, once you are well enough to go. Georgetta
tells me that you shouldn’t be leaving the walls of this cottage yet though.”

Eleanor
sighed deeply. “Georgetta has lots of rules for my recovery.”

“She
is a well-practiced healer,” John said protectively. “And she is right; you
need rest.”

“She
won’t even let me tend to my goats!” Eleanor exclaimed, tossing up her hands.
“They need to be fed and milked daily, and now I have to make the neighbor’s
boy do it in exchange for some turnips.”

“You’re
in no condition to crouch on a milk stool,” John said sternly. “Speaking of
which, I do have fresh cow’s milk from the castle today. And some hot lamb
stew, made special by the head cook.” He pulled two jars from his sack,
carefully placing them on the table.

Eleanor
smiled reluctantly. Though she was hardly ever hungry, Master John continued
coercing her to eat with the same level of dedication that Georgetta brought
when she convinced her to drink the herbs. Eleanor had to admit to herself that
they were doing a fine job taking care of her. She was just restless, unused to
being cared for with such attentiveness.

“Have
you had any visitors today?” asked Master John, taking a bowl from the shelf to
pour a steaming jar full of stew into it.

“Not
many,” Eleanor said, not wanting to recount her visits. Mistress Tabea had come
by crying after she heard about Shem’s abduction, speaking about how he had
always been so thoughtful and kind to her and her husband. Eleanor could hardly
suffer any more visitors telling her about her son.

I
know very well how special he is,
she thought.
And there is no need to
speak as if he’s dead. He’s still out there somewhere!

“Is
there anything you need tended to?” John asked, looking around the small
cottage. Thanks to help from neighbors, the cottage was still reasonably put
together. The night the intruders came, the cottage had been roughed up a
little. Contents of the trunk upstairs were strewn over the floor, and some
food canisters had been rifled through. Nothing of great value was taken, which
puzzled Eleanor. Just some food and one of her husband’s knives and waterskins.

“Eleanor,”
Master John pleaded, interrupting her thoughts. “Is there anything I can do to
help you?”

Eleanor
was saddened to see his face so broken and remorseful. Worry lines had chiseled
their way between his eyebrows since Shem and Adala were taken, and she could
see dark circles beneath his brown eyes that had not been there before. His
beard was unkempt and patchy, a far cry from his usual clean-cut appearance. It
appeared he had aged ten years in only weeks. She couldn’t imagine what the
loss had done to her own appearance.

“There
is something I’ve been meaning to acquire for some time,” Eleanor admitted. “I
don’t really need it, but it would help me pass the days without going mad on
this floor.”

“What
is it?” asked John eagerly. “Any way I can help.”

“I
want to make a dress,” she said. “Could you purchase some finely stitched linen
at market? I want it to be royal blue and soft to the touch. I want silver
thread, too, and a nice belt that isn’t just decorative. It should be sturdy.”

“Consider
it done,” John said without hesitation. “I will ask for the best.”

Eleanor
managed a weak smile at him. The poor young man seemed relieved—elated
even—that he could do something to help her.
John has a good heart,
she
thought as he put a spoon in the bowl of lamb stew and handed it to her for
supper. While she ate, he took out her cooking knives and sharpened the dull
blades, polishing them before hanging them back on their hooks above the
fireplace. He examined the bolt in the front door, mumbling something about how
he needed to bring in a new latch since the old one was broken by thugs.

“You
have been a blessing to me these past weeks,” Eleanor said, placing her empty
bowl on the floor next to her. John swiped it up and wiped it in the wash
bucket.

“I
am here to help,” he said, hanging the bowl on its hook.

“Adala
will be lucky to have you if she is found,” Eleanor added, swallowing a lump in
her throat.

“She
shouldn’t have been taken,” he said, staring into the fire with clenched fists.
“None of you deserved this.”

“Sometimes
the gods test us,” Eleanor said, as much a reminder to herself as to John. “It
is a feast day of Shayanna tomorrow. I cannot go to the temple, but I will pray
from here that she brings bravery to my children, wherever they are and
whatever troubles they may be facing.”

“I
just wish things were different,” said John, and Eleanor thought she saw a hint
of tears in his eyes. But he swallowed hard and stood up straight, retrieving
his hood from the table. “I must go, Madame Eleanor. I wish you well, as
always. And I will have the fishing boats sail even farther in their routes
from now on. I don’t want to leave any inch of coastline unsearched.”

“Thank
you again, John,” said Eleanor. She watched the door shut behind him, dreaming
of a day that Adala and Shem would burst through the entryway, all rosy-cheeked
and excited to be home.

But
they didn’t come through the door that night, nor the next morning when a knock
came at the door before dawn. It was a messenger from the castle, bearing gifts
from John: a small figure of Shayanna, the goddess of bravery, and several holy
candles from the castle’s vestry.

Eleanor
set the holy items up on the hearth, touching the wicks of the candles briefly
to the flame to light them. The resulting shrine had much to be desired, but it
was something, and she maneuvered her weak, aching body to kneel next to the
relics in prayer. She prayed for her entire family. She prayed that Raban find
a speedy tailwind to carry him home safely. That Adala continue to be as
spirited and contrary as ever in her captivity, wherever she may be. That Shem
keep his treasured gift secret as she had always taught him to do. That he not
be mistreated or manipulated or even killed because of his beautiful
sensitivity to other people.

Eleanor
and Raban were aware of their son’s strength and had lived in fear of someone
discovering Shem’s talents for years. They selected Gerstadt as a home
precisely because of its obscure location, with the rugged Shadow Isles
separating them from the rest of the Bolgish Empire. They forbade Shem from
joining Raban on his trade routes for fear of watchful eyes. Rumors spread fast
between ports, and Eleanor knew that just one slip of knowledge could reveal
Shem’s true value. They had always been so careful. And now he was gone.

Please
protect Shem and give him the will to do the right thing,
she prayed
urgently.
He is a good boy. Don’t let him lose faith.

Last
of all she prayed for Master John. That he be renewed in his fervor to find
Adala and Shem. That he find peace and not guilt. That he remain well and keep
good spirits in his work for Lord Christopher.

By
the time she was finished in prayer, the candles had burned out and Georgetta
had arrived to change her bandages. The wound was tender, but healing cleanly,
thanks to Georgetta’s salves.

“No
more herbs for the pain, only ones to prevent infection,” Eleanor said firmly
as Georgetta reached for her herb satchel.

“Very
well,” the old healer said with a shrug. “I can respect that. What I don’t
respect is that Master John asked me to deliver you all of this material. I am
not an errand maid!”

Eleanor
leaned up on her pillows, wincing at the pain from her abdomen. “Is it the blue
linen?” she asked.

Georgetta
tossed her head to knock aside a strand of graying curls, leaning over her
massive satchel with a quizzical look. “Is that what it is?” she said. “With
how fine it is, I thought it silk.”

“Bring
it out, Georgetta, don’t leave me waiting!” Eleanor said excitedly.

The
healer proceeded to pull out yards upon yards of the richest blue linen Eleanor
could have asked for, along with silver thread and a woman’s belt with silver
edges and an intricately woven pattern of gray embroidery in the middle. They
were the most beautiful materials Eleanor could have requested.

“It’s
the most frivolous, impractical expense I have ever witnessed,” Georgetta said
in her husky, overly cross voice.

“Thank
you, Georgetta,” Eleanor said, feeling the fine fabric between her fingers.
“Oh, thank you so much.” She squeezed the soft, wrinkled hand of the healer,
who cracked a reluctant smile.

“I
can’t imagine where you will wear that kind of linen,” Georgetta huffed.
“Imagine if it gets dirty. You will have ruined the whole thing.”

“Don’t
chastise,” Eleanor said. “This is exactly what I needed. I will pay John back
the next time he’s here.”

“If
he lets you,” Georgetta scoffed, gathering her collection of herbs and
tinctures. “I’ll leave you to your stitchwork. Good day, Eleanor. Be well!”

As
the healer left the cabin, Eleanor held the rich material to her chest and
breathed in its fresh scent. She hadn’t held such fine new fabric in ages.

With
a renewed sense of purpose, Eleanor took up her sewing basket and began work on
her daughter’s wedding dress.

At dusk, Ollie and Tobin replaced
the guards on duty outside Adala’s cell. Tobin felt skeptical about the whole
arrangement. He tried to tell himself it was because he didn’t trust Adala and
thought she may attempt escape. But deep down, he knew it was really because he
felt guilty being in the same room with her, much less sharing a meal and a
card game with her.

What made it worse was Burano’s
command to him.
Build a friendship with the girl,
he had said.
She
may have valuable information about her brother’s gift, and she seems to not
despise you and Ollie as much as she does the rest of my men.

Tobin tried to shake the thought
away as he picked up their dinner platter from the tavern and made his way to
the holding cells.
Just forget what Burano said,
he thought.
He’s
ludicrous, believing that Shem has some sort of supernatural ability. All my
spying will do is prove his delusions wrong.

Ollie greeted him at the dinner
table with a slap on the arm, then turned to Adala’s cell, pulling off the
plank that held it shut. He opened the door and gestured to a roasted lamb
thigh on the table. “Seems you’re our guest tonight,” he said jovially.
Winking, he added, “But I won’t be taking it easy on you when we play cards
this time, lass.”

Tobin was already chewing a slice
of the meat when Adala stepped around Ollie to take in the room. He paused with
his food in his mouth, surprised to find her much better for the wear compared
to the last time he had seen her. She wore clean clothes now—a brown dress that
laced up in the back and down the sleeves, showing despite his first impression
that she did infact have a full, womanly shape. Her long brown hair was freshly
washed, and the top half of it was pulled into twists on each side of her head
and held together with thread in the back. The rest fell softly to her
shoulders, no hint of the ratty, blood-matted strands that had framed her face
before.

“Did my sister do that?” he asked,
recognizing the hair style as something that Sarah would do with her own hair.

“She did everything.” Adala
shrugged. “The hair, the dress.”

Tobin groaned inwardly. How much
had Sarah traded for a dress like that? He would have to speak to her about
saving her food rations.

Adala’s gaze moved toward the
door, where the shifting of boots outside gave away the additional guards,
waiting outside the building just in case.

“There are four of them,” Tobin
said, answering her silent question. Though her bruises were mostly gone—only a
slight discoloration along her strong jaw line and beneath her left eye—he knew
that she would be in no shape for attempted escape. Not against six men.

“Sit with us, and I shall tell you
the secrets of my life,” Ollie said to Adala jovially, interrupting Tobin’s
thoughts. “Misadventure, thieving, defying the law, and banishment to these
barren hills where water is scarce and easy women scarcer.”

“Is he drunk already?” she asked
Tobin, with a touch of amusement lighting up her eyes. They looked more gray today
than blue, perhaps because of the low light.

“Hasn’t even started drinking
yet,” Tobin answered simply, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“But maybe you should start, if you’re to be subjected to an entire evening
with us.” He handed her a mug with Ollie’s noxious smelling drink.

“What is this anyway?” she said,
gagging at the taste.

“Hooch made from cactuses,” Tobin
said, a flare of irritation rising inside him.
Of course it isn’t good
enough for her—she’s been raised with the wealth of the city at her feet.
“It’s what we live on because your lovely town banishes us to this wasteland,”
he added, almost involuntarily.

“Bitter?” she commented dryly,
taking another sip.

“Too bitter for my taste. I stick
to lukewarm water myself,” he responded, regretting what he said and chiding
himself to be nicer. If Burano wanted them to become friends, he wasn’t off to
a great start.

“Don’t be a smartass. You know I
wasn’t talking about the drink,” she said. The way she cocked an eyebrow at him
seemed condescending. With a shrug, she tugged at a piece of the meat and
chewed on it, sighing with contentedness.

Ollie laughed, gnawing at a green
slice of cactus. “Tobin’s just whiny because he’s stuck in this hole without
crimes of his own to banish him here. You see, his father was the one who was
banished from Gerstadt years and years ago, and his mother was—”

“The woman doesn’t want to hear a
dismal story,” Tobin interjected. “Why don’t you tell us about that one time
you met the Queen of Diggeret.”

Ollie took the bait easily enough.
“Ah, sweet Hyleigh. She was an angel,” he reminisced. “I was masquerading as a
monk from Sabria, come as a guest of the royal family. When she opened her legs
to me, I thought I had died and gone to heaven.”

Adala snickered quietly, and the
old man continued his stories as they ate their simple meal. When they began
playing cards again, Adala shared some of her own travels, speaking of the rich
old merchant who had once asked her father if he could have Adala as his third
wife.

“A feisty girl like you, settling
into life as a wife to a merchant?” Ollie laughed, leaning so far back that he
nearly tipped his chair over.

“My father was livid. It was all I
could do to persuade him to set sail the next day instead of slitting the man’s
throat. I don’t think the man meant it as an insult. In more remote parts of
Arjeesh, it is common for men to have multiple wives. He offered me a position
that would wield great power in his household. I would have essentially
inventoried his ships and helped manage his affairs. Aside from warming his bed
from time to time, I suppose.” She dipped her mug into the basin of water and
drank, then laid down her cards. She had won that round.

“Imagine the tales!” Ollie
exclaimed. “Fierce Adala—pirate at sea and merchant’s concubine at port!”

She laughed. “Funny you should say
that. My father has always suspected that man of piracy. Though I thought he
was paranoid. Always trying to defend my honor.”

Ollie gathered the cards, then
announced that he needed to use the privy. He lumbered out the door with a
stagger.

The moment he left the door, Tobin
set his drink down and cleared his throat. This was his opportunity to speak
with Adala alone. “I saw your brother today,” he said hesitantly.

Adala paused. “Do you know where
he is? Is he well?” she asked guardedly.

“He is well.” Tobin said,
recalling how Shem had greeted him by name on the way to Burano’s quarters that
morning. “He asked me to tell you that he is okay, and he is being treated
well.”

“Did he?” She narrowed her eyes.
“Why should I believe you?”

“He also said that your mother
grows stronger every day,” he continued. “He said she is going to live.”

Adala jolted, almost as if she had
been slapped. She looked away from him, studying the floor and chewing on her
lower lip. “If you see him again, can you tell him I am healing well, that I am
safe, and that I won’t give up until we are together?”

Tobin nodded.

“Thank you,” she said. “It was
kind for you to carry the message for me.”

Tobin nodded, searching for the
right words. How could he make her understand that she wasn’t the only person
trapped in this town? That he resented the entire situation almost as much as
she did? “It’s difficult,” he began, but stopped short. “All I mean to say is
I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to you.”

Adala swallowed and took a shaky
breath, nodding her head almost imperceptibly. She opened her mouth as if to
respond, but Ollie staggered back into the room, cutting their conversation
short.

They played various card games
into the night, but Tobin’s thoughts were not on the game. Ollie won a few
lucky rounds that night, but Adala raked away a larger pile of dried beans.
Tobin allowed himself to enjoy the banter between Ollie and Adala, bemused by
their rough jibes. Ollie insisted his losses were due only to him assessing
Adala’s playing style, and Adala jokingly implied the old man to be slow of
wit. They each even took a jab at Tobin now and again, but he quietly observed
them for most of the evening. By the end, he and Adala had almost tied in the
number of beans, and Ollie had only a few left. Tobin divided the beans evenly
between them at the end of the night so that they could play again the next
evening.

That night brought fitful sleep,
Tobin surprised to find that he looked forward to the next night’s game. But he
dreaded the day that Burano would ask for a report on Adala.