Wanderling (Spirit Seeker Book 1) (11 page)

During his days as a prisoner,
Shem was exhausted by his training regimen. Burano’s exercises resembled
concentration games to Shem, and not the fun kind—the kind that gave him a
splitting headache afterwards.

Each morning, he was wakened by
his guards and taken from his dilapidated little hut to Burano’s quarters,
where Burano would describe a party of men that he had sent on a foraging
mission. “Thirty men,” he would say. “This time they are on horseback.”

Shem would close his eyes and
concentrate hard, reaching outside the confines of the village to feel life
beyond those around him. Not only would he have to find the direction the men
went on his own, but he would have to try and estimate how far they went, and
translate that onto the map.

Shem found it difficult to focus
his mental energy on tracking people unless he knew them, and Burano switched
out the groups he used often so that Shem could gain practice in finding
unfamiliar individuals.To help him concentrate, sometimes they walked beyond
the village together. With the noise of the village behind them, Shem at last
felt peace. In the empty hills, he could concentrate better.

Little by little, as he overcame
the challenges that each new exercise brought, Shem’s unique ability grew in
strength. In a few days’ time, he was able to track the Wanderling scouting
groups with relative ease, and he also began to sense other groups of people to
the east. At first one or two, then a dozen. Burano assured him that the groups
weren’t appearing all of the sudden in the desert to the east. They had been
there all along; Shem was just now sensing them. They began pinpointing the
locations of desert clans on Burano’s gigantic map. Through practice with the
scouting groups, Shem learned how to judge distances when he tracked people’s
movements. He had always tracked his father’s voyages by instinct and
estimation, but with Burano’s help he was growing used to attaching numbers to
his estimates.

“Ten leagues, that’s the nearest
tribe.”

“The scouting group is five
leagues north, northwest. Into the mountains right there on the map.”

“The large group left together but
they split into two groups. The bigger one turned north and the other smaller
one has headed east now, down the Red Brick Valley.”

And so it went on, day in and day
out. Some days Burano would give Shem the number of men sent out and Shem would
have to determine their exact location. Other days he would tell the boy their
location, and Shem would have to concentrate really hard to determine their
exact numbers. All morning, Shem would play seek and find on the map. Then, in
the afternoon and evenings, he would be confined to his little hut with two
guards. On occasion, he was allowed to draw water from the well or take a walk
around the dusty paths that wove through the village with his guards, which
always gave him great pleasure.

Sarah would come by with food in
the mornings and evenings, providing him with much-desired company. The girl
would always bring him kind words about his sister, saying that she had brought
Adala breakfast that morning and she was well and happy. Shem knew she exaggerated
because he could feel his sister’s bristling anger every day, emanating from
behind the walls of her cell. He felt it most potently when he was in Burano’s
quarters, just paces away from her cell. He felt it flare up in the afternoons,
when he knew she was reading with Burano. Shem yearned to go to her. To tell
her that he was being well taken care of and she shouldn’t worry so much. But
no matter how he pleaded, he was not allowed to see his sister. Burano forbade
it.

“I am not allowed to see your sister
except during breakfast,” Sarah said one morning as she brought Shem a water
bucket and some type of porridge for breakfast. “But she is allowed to eat
dinner with her guards in the evenings now. They play cards into the night, and
Tobin says she is very good.”

Shem nodded. He had spoken with
Tobin on several occasions and felt he could trust the young soldier to deliver
his messages to Adala. When Tobin and Ollie joined Adala during supper, her
anger usually subsided a little, giving Shem some peace. He enjoyed the lively
energy of their company coming from the center of town. He smiled to think that
his sister had found amiable companions in the midst of her captivity.

Sarah continued chattering to Shem
about one thing or another. “Tobin’s being combat trained, you know,” she said.
“Jarod is teaching him.”

“Jarod is?” Shem asked, curious.
“That’s surprising.”

Sarah nodded as she finished
unloading Shem’s breakfast from her basket. “I don’t know why Burano thought it
would be a good idea to pair them up, but that’s how it went.”

Shem shivered. Whenever Jarod
stood guard over Shem, he wasn’t allowed to even speak with Sarah. Or anyone
else for that matter.
Reggie isn’t so bad,
Shem thought, looking to the
doorway where his current guard sat on a stool making arrowheads and singing a
song. He paid little attention to the two children in the hut, preferring to
spend his shifts quietly to himself.

“They aren’t causing a stir, are
they?” came Tobin’s voice from outside. Shem saw Reggie look up from his seat.

“Naw,” Reggie said. “Your sister’s
in there giving him food and talking his ear off, as usual.”

“Can I check in with her before
training?” asked Tobin outside. He ducked into the hut at Reggie’s nod.

“You’re going to be late,” scolded
Sarah to her older brother.

Tobin smiled. “Jarod will wait for
me,” he said. “I just wanted to check in to see Shem beforehand. Adala sends
her regards, as always. She is doing well.”

“I know she’s doing
well,
”
Shem said, exhausted by all of the generic messages that Tobin and Sarah
brought him from Adala. “Tell me what she said. Tell me she isn’t planning
escape, please.”

Tobin paused, then broke into a
short laugh. “You think your sister would tell me if she plotted an escape? Oh
no, more likely she would take pleasure in stabbing my back during the escape.”

“Stop joking,” Shem said, crossing
his arms. This was a rare moment—he could legitimately receive and send a
message to his sister through Tobin, who (unlike Sarah) spent a significant
amount of time with her. He wanted to make sure he got all the details. “You
must tell her that she cannot try and escape. It wouldn’t work. Burano would
just catch us again.”

Tobin grew more serious and
nodded, sadness ebbing away his smile.

Shem added, “Also tell her that
our mother is doing well. She isn’t really weak anymore, so I don’t think she
is going to die. Not like Havard.”

Tobin jolted at Shem’s words, his
thick eyebrows coming together with concern and curiosity.

Shem realized that he didn’t yet
know. “The man Havard, who kidnapped me with Tosser and Jarod. He died early
this morning.” Shem’s stomach still felt queasy thinking about the dull
emptiness when he tried to find Havard. Still, he supposed that was better than
the agony that had emanated from the soldier’s hut when he laid in bed with
infection.

“How could you possibly know
that?” Tobin said. “Did somebody tell you? I haven’t heard a thing.”

Shem felt sorry, realizing that
this news was upsetting to Tobin. “I didn’t realize,” he said as a brief
apology.

“I haven’t heard anything either,”
Sarah said at her brother’s questioning glance.

Tobin shook his head, “I wish I
could have helped him. He made me promise just the other day to take care of
his horse when he was gone. How did you hear that he passed on, Shem?”

Shem lowered his voice in case
Reggie was eavesdropping. “I just feel it when people I know die, or people who
are around me die. When we were in Gerstadt, my father died at sea. Adala
doesn’t believe me, but I knew it the instant it happened.” Shem shook his head,
feeling anew the pain of his loss.

“Is this connected to whatever
power Burano thinks you have?” Tobin asked slowly, disbelief in his eyes.

“Burano knows about my gift,” Shem
said. “That’s why I am here.”

“Well, I have to go soon,” Tobin
said, changing the subject. “Don’t let Sarah talk your ear off, okay Shem?”

Shem nodded, and Tobin paused at
the door to whisper something to Reggie before he left. Reggie shook his head,
saying, “I haven’t heard any updates on Havard.”

But Shem knew that word would spread
soon, and Tobin would know he was telling the truth. Perhaps he shouldn’t have
revealed anything. Better to keep things as secret as possible if he could.
Shem’s mother always taught him that secrecy was essential when it came to his
senses about other people, and he vowed to be more careful.

It was too late to keep anything
secret from Burano, however. Shem sighed as he readied for another morning of
charting and seek-and find. He had almost mapped the entire desert, tracking
clans of up to a hundred or more desert dwellers. No matter how hard he tried,
he couldn’t manage to count the numbers for the ones on the far eastern side of
the desert. Burano always challenged him to concentrate harder to find their
numbers, but he also revealed to Shem that he would soon be able to focus
better on the clans because they were going to set out on a journey into the
desert itself. Shem was frightened at the thought, but also curious to see the
world outside the hills. He couldn’t remember having ever left Gerstadt before
last month, and now he was facing a trek into the wilderness in the near
future.

"We should sing a drinking
song," Ollie proclaimed, slamming his mug onto the table.

"Which one shall we do?"
Adala said, breaking into a grin. She had grown fond of Ollie’s antics, and was
on board with watching any kind of spectacle he had in mind. It seemed like
weeks since Burano had given her rights to eat with the guards. She had even
been escorted on a walk to fetch water at the well one morning. In the evening,
she sometimes dined with Tobin and Ollie, sometimes it was Otto and Mathis.
They were fine, but not creative conversationalists. Tonight, Trigg and Boggs,
two of the boys who had initially ambushed Adala when she first arrived, had joined
them for some drinks and a game or two of cards. And now Ollie wanted a
drinking song.

Ollie stood on his stool, swaying
precariously for a moment before belting the first line to a sailor's tune that
Adala knew all too well.

One spring I went yonder to
find me a wife,

Who'd clean up my cottage for
all of her life!

I needed a housemaid, you see,
and I thought,

Why not hold someone at night
who ain't bought?

Tobin's eyebrows rose at the last
phrase.

"You haven't heard this
one?" Trigg questioned, hooting.

"Never."

"Ah, you'll appreciate what
he's about to do," Adala said, leaning back to cross her arms with feigned
judgment.

Ollie leaped off his chair and
knelt in front of Adala before continuing the next verse.

I saw this little lady right
here, right here.

She was ugly enough to fill you
with fear.

She had blisters and freckles
and stunk like a fish,

But no pretty ladies come to a
pub for a dish.

Now I had imagined somebody
more fair,

Maybe less surly, with not so
much hair.

But I looked and I saw no other
lady in sight,

So I settled on her for maybe
one night.

I asked for another jug of
beer, jug of beer.

Before I know'it we're a'dancin
right here, right here.

Ollie pulled Adala out of her
chair, and she laughed, dipping into a mock curtsy and linking arms with him.
She sang along as they circled each other, stamping to the rhythm of the dance.

"We marched to the temple
right there, right there,"
she continued,
"Gulping another jug
of beer, jug of beer."

Ollie spun Adala three times and
guided her back into her seat, continuing to the next verse while she laughed
with the others. The old man took a swig from his mug every verse, following
the story to show how he took the girl on a voyage, and after a few months at
sea, she looked like the prettiest girl he'd ever seen, even without a jug of
beer.

Pretty girls are hard to come
by,

And they're flighty as can be,

So the moral of my story, and I
hope you will agree,

Is to find an ugly woman, and
to take her out to sea.

Everyone applauded, and Adala
pounded her fist on the table.

"You're actually an okay
dancer, Ollie," Tobin praised.

"I know, surprising,"
Adala added.

“Beautiful,” said Boggs.

"I used to dance every
evening with Cynthia. She had the voice of an angel and danced like one,
too," Ollie reminisced, settling onto his stool and scowling at his empty
mug.

"Who is Cynthia?" Adala
asked.

"She was my wife, in
Gerstadt," Ollie said sorrowfully. His eyebrows furrowed.

They all stared at their drinks
for a moment in silence.

“We should get to our watch,” said
Boggs. He slapped Tobin’s shoulder and tipped his cap at Adala. “You take good
care of Tobin, Adala. Ever since he got promoted, he’s been so full of
himself.”

“Yes. It’s impossible to shut him
up,” Trigg added sarcastically with a laugh, ducking out the door. Boggs
followed closely behind.

“I’ll do my best,” she called
after them. “Thank you for sharing our meal, both of you.”

She rose to head back to her cell,
yawning.

“Wait,” Tobin called after her.

Adala turned around to see that
Ollie had fallen asleep, slumped over the table.

“Shem spoke with me this morning,”
Tobin whispered.

Adala eyed the outside door. The
guards outside were talking loudly amongst themselves, unaware of any
conversation inside. “How is he?” she questioned, taking her seat.

“He seemed well. Sarah has brought
him some of our rations and gave him one of her old dolls,” Tobin smiled
fondly. “She likes to take care of people.”

“How is he being treated? Is he
miserable?” Adala was desperate for news.

“He seemed happy enough. Sarah and
he talk often. He was well fed. Mostly, he wanted Sarah and I to assure him
that you weren’t planning an escape. He is eerily calm, your brother,” Tobin
added.

“I am beginning to realize that,”
she said. “I have never been a very good sister to him.”

“Why would you say that?” Tobin
asked skeptically, crossing his arms.

“I was always gone, on one voyage
or another,” she admitted, eyes drifting out of focus. “He grew up while I was
away. And when I returned, I never listened to him. I should have paid
attention to him. I should have taught him to read. He would like the legends
of old that I read to Burano every afternoon. Shem deserves more attention than
I ever gave him.”

“I don’t think Shem feels like you
abandoned him,” Tobin said softly after a moment’s pause. “You traveled alone
into the wilderness and risked your life many times to try and save him. That’s
the biggest sacrifice you can make for a loved one, offering your life. Your
freedom.”

“My sacrifice hasn’t done him any
good so far,” she muttered. “I just wish my father was here. He always knew
what to do.”

“Is your father the one who taught
you to fight?” Tobin asked.

She smiled sadly. “He taught me
everything I know. He put a knife in my hand instead of a cooking spoon. He
taught me to climb the mast instead of hoe a garden. I once thought he was
punishing me—depriving me of the skills of a woman’s labor and dragging me away
from Shem and Mother. But now that I’m far away, I am homesick for the ship.
The only thing I’ve ever loved and hated with all my heart is the sea. The
freedom of it. Nothing but open air and water as far as the eye can see.”

“Your father gave you a great
gift,” Tobin said.

“A life as a sailor? I suppose
so,” she added. “The fighting skills have come in handy, not that they’ve done
me much good in my plight to save Shem.”

“No, not the skills he gave you,”
Tobin said. “The freedom.”

She laughed. “If you call it
freedom. He kept me within an arm’s reach as I became a woman. And all the
fighting drills—they were grueling!” She had to smile. "Father used to
say, ‘Adala, you try to fight like a boy. All offense and no perspective! Fight
smart, not hard.’" She stared into space, fondly remembering his lessons.

Tobin cleared his throat. “Do you
think your father lives?”

She jolted. “Why would you say
that?”

“Shem told me that your father was
dead, and that you didn’t believe him.”

Adala bristled. “I don’t know what
to believe. And I didn’t know Shem was spouting his theories all over this
god-forsaken village, either.”

“He told me in confidence,” Tobin
added quickly. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just wondering if you trust
Shem’s instincts.”

“You’re mad if you think a little
boy can tell if somebody dies across the empire,” Adala said. She started back
towards her cell, but her hands were trembling.

“Adala, I meant no offense, I just
wanted your opinion. Shem told me something today that bothered me, and it
turned out to be true. I don’t know what to believe about him. I thought you’d
know because you know your brother better than anyone…” he stammered.

“No, I don’t,” she said, backing
away. She hated how Tobin looked genuinely concerned for her, his eyebrows
drawn together over his wide brown eyes. She kept talking, the words tumbling
out in an emotion-filled rush. “Did you hear anything I said? I don’t know him,
and that scares me. Because what if he is right? What if my mother lives and my
father is dead? Either picture isn’t a pretty one for my future, thank you very
much. It’s ludicrous anyway. Only a simple-minded Wanderling would believe in
that kind of power.”

She strode into her cell and
slammed the door behind her, then slumped over in her cot, her head between her
knees. Breathing came in ragged gasps. How could she explain that she somewhat
hoped her brother was wrong? That her father lived and her mother died? It was
a terrible thought, but one that often rose in her confused mind. She had already
mourned her mother, and the images of her body haunted her still. To get her
mother back and then face the death of her father would open the wound afresh,
and she couldn’t do that. Not now.

Because if her father lived, there
was some hope for their rescue. Eventually, when he returned from his voyage,
she knew he would come to save his children, some way some how. Adala yearned
for the safety of her father’s bear-hug. The knowledge that he would take care
of her, protect her if need be. She used to think she didn’t need his
protection, but now she needed it more than she ever thought possible.

“I miss you, Father,” she
whispered quietly as she drifted into a troubled sleep.

***

The next afternoon, Jarod arrived
to escort Adala to Burano’s quarters. She was cross already, but seeing Jarod’s
scruffy, spiteful face further vexed her.

“You know what he’ll do with you
after you or your brother outstay your usefulness, right?” Jarod said in a
venomous tone.

“He’ll give us a week’s worth of
supplies, a pair of good hunting knives, and send us on our merry way?” she
responded wryly.

“Don’t be cute, princess,” he
said, spitting on the floor and pulling her out of the cell. She followed
begrudgingly. “Women slaves are usually sold as a wife to the highest bidder,” he
continued, “or given as a gift to a loyal soldier. You’re too dangerous to be
trusted outside of your cell though. I’m hoping Burano keeps you in there
forever. Maybe offers a night with you as a gift to the soldiers who do well.”

Adala blinked in the sunlight as
they emerged in the street outside and made their way to Burano’s doorway.
“That would be a terrible prize for good behavior, as they would be missing
appendages after their visits,” she said. “If that situation ever arises, I
hope you are my first guest.” She flashed him a sarcastic smile and strode into
Burano’s study, trying to shake off the slimy feeling she got any time Jarod
spoke.

Adala lounged in her chair across
from Burano’s desk all morning, droning about some desert-dweller myth. Her thoughts
went to Tobin, and she was sorry for the way she had treated him before. She
hoped he would be on duty that night so she could apologize. He had not
mistreated her, and she had no right to fling her emotional storm in his face
like that. The truth was, she was more angry with Tobin sometimes than any of
her other guards. She felt that he was a generally good person. But that just
made it worse for her. She wanted to hate him for being a part of her
captivity, but found herself always looking forward to their talks over supper.

He’s just following orders,
she
told herself silently as she paused in her reading.
Don’t blame him for
Burano’s decisions.
But Adala couldn’t help being irate that Tobin, who
seemed otherwise understanding and reasonable, could live with himself while
assisting an evil man like Burano in keeping Shem and her captive. The thought
of it made her wish that he wouldn’t join her for supper, and they would send
Jarod instead. At least she could hate Jarod without conflicted emotions.

Adala’s mind continued wandering
as she read. She paid little attention to the script, merely repeating the
words in monotone while her thoughts drifted where they will. She was jolted
back to reality, however, when Burano straightened up hastily from his hunched
position over a map. She took note of his attention and continued reading with
renewed interest in the faded script. She held a scroll made of old leather,
dry and crinkled like it may fall apart at any moment. She had been reading it
all afternoon, and it appeared to be the startled account of an exiled monk who
was captured by the savage desert-dwellers. It read:

My understanding of their
language is growing rapidly. Their barbaric grunts have sorted out in my mind
to form sentences, and I am afraid that they may be planning to end my life.

Some of the men who understood
my early messages about the gods’ wrath are describing me as a prophesized
figure, one who is supposed to unite the clans and take back the “Slagorsea,” a
word I believe means “Fertile Seaside” or something of the like. Those who
believe me their warrior want to use me as a sort of spiritual guide, and they
often seek counsel with me about where to find water and how to fight the
“fair-skinned warriors” of the west.

I try to reply to them, but
they do not understand when I say that they must never go to war. Instead, I
believe they are taking it that I don’t want them to go to war
yet.

And still there are those who
believe me an imposter. They say that I do not have the mark of the prophecy.
They say that if I were the true warrior destined to unite the clans, the North
Star would rest on my shoulder. I know not what that means, but members in this
party wish to put me to death because I do not carry this mark.