Wanderling (Spirit Seeker Book 1) (14 page)

Before the first light of dawn,
Burano was awake and lighting the candles in his tent. Shem was yawning and
still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as they pored over the faded map
together.

“This is the nearest tribe, right
about here,” the boy said, placing a stone only a couple of inches away from
their location on the map which was marked by a wooden button.

“How many?” Burano asked. He knew
the answer before the boy even said it, because they had been over the numbers
time and time again.

“Sixty,” said Shem. “And they
haven’t moved, I don’t think, since we have been tracking the desert clans.”

“Good. Very good,” said Burano,
scanning the map with great interest.

“Are we going to go meet them
today to make peace?” asked Shem, wide-eyed.

“No,” replied Burano quickly.
“They are too great in numbers. We need to confer with a much smaller clan
first, and preferably one that hasn’t dealt with us before. For that, we are
going to have to travel deeper into the desert.” He recalled past attempts to
negotiate water and hunting rights with the desert people. He had lost too many
men to the clans of the western desert, and he knew he would have to travel far
to find a clan that wouldn’t attack his travel party on sight.

“Sir,” said Willie, coming in
through the opening of the tent. “You asked me to bring Tobin to see you.”

“Yes,” Burano said, looking up as
Tobin stepped into the tent. The young man was dressed in a plain soldier’s
tunic with his headscarf pulled around his neck since the sun wasn’t yet out.
On his back was strapped a longbow, and at his hip a sword.

“How have you enjoyed your
training?” Burano asked, hoping that the young man was appreciating the importance
of his new position as a soldier.

“Very well, sir,” said Tobin with
a nod.

“Tobin!” exclaimed Shem, his
bright young face looking up from the map. “I’m glad you have come with us. We
are going to make peace with the desert dwellers! Won’t that be so good for you
and Sarah?”

“Making peace. Is that what we’re
doing?” Tobin asked, eyes darting back to look at Burano.

Burano watched the young man’s
reaction, realizing that he must have pieced together the plan for Gerstadt by
this point. “That is our first step,” he said carefully.

“I know Adala is angry about being
here,” Shem added in an excited voice, “but she will be glad when she knows
that we’re helping people.”

Burano saw the judgment in Tobin’s
eyes. “Shem, you may go join your guards outside. They will get you something
to eat while Tobin and I talk. How does that sound?”

Shem smiled brightly. “Yes, sir,”
he said, waving goodbye to Tobin as he darted out of the tent, leaving them in
silence.

This is where I determine his
allegiance,
Burano thought to himself. He cleared his throat. “I hope you
have enjoyed traveling with your friends from your old lookout team,” he said
initially, trying to judge Tobin’s response.

Tobin’s expression was unreadable,
though he did raise an eyebrow and say, “It was an unusual assignment for them.
I was wondering if you had a hand in it.”

Burano nodded. He had made certain
to include friends of Tobin’s in the travel party to ensure that Tobin had some
stake in protecting the Wanderlings in battle, in case it came to that. The
young man would be less likely to betray him and join leagues with the desert
clans if he had friends in the camp that may be compromised by his betrayal.
But Burano was far from saying this. Instead, he commented, “I am glad to have
you with us, Tobin. And I want to make sure you have friends among the group.
It is tough being new to the brigade, and I know that you aren’t on a familiar
basis with many of the soldiers.”

Tobin made no response, but nodded
slightly.

“You see,” Burano continued,
selecting his words carefully, “I know I am putting you in an awkward position,
helping me negotiate with a people that you have some history with.”

“You don’t need to worry about me
switching sides,” Tobin said in a dry voice. “When we were banished, my sister
and I were made very much aware that we are unwelcome in the desert clans. I
have no intentions of re-joining any of them.”

“I see you have cut straight to
the point,” noted Burano gratefully with a smile. “Were there any circumstances
of your departure that will affect our negotiations?” he asked. Burano
remembered the day that Tobin and his sister, just a child, returned to his
village, covered in dried blood and in a ragged state. The boy, only a young
teenager, marched straight into Burano’s quarters and said in broken Bolgish,
“We come back, but no more as slaves.” Burano had never drawn the full story
from him, but hoped Tobin’s past would not impact their diplomatic efforts.

Tobin shifted his feet and looked
down. “The priest who banished us is dead. And the clan that I stayed with is
mostly gone. Their territory is farther north, and even if we ran into them, no
one would recognize me at this point.”

“We will keep that in mind if we
manage to assemble the clans together,” Burano asserted, readily moving on.
“With the boy’s help, we may be able to get them all on our side. I assume the
girl Adala has told you about the prophecy she read to me?”

Tobin nodded.

“Good work. That means she trusts
you.” Burano looked to his map absently. “If the desert dwellers are as zealous
about that prophecy as they are about their property rights and religious
practices, we should have no problems rallying them behind Shem. When that
happens, you will be the most valuable person in my infantry, Tobin. I want you
to know that your assistance as our expert on the desert dwellers will be well
rewarded when we take back Gerstadt. You and your sister will have the
resources and freedoms of the city at your fingertips, and you will be a
continual help to us in maintaining peace with the desert clans after our
occupation begins.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Tobin.

Burano nodded in response and
shifted topics. “Beginning today, your responsibilities are twofold. First,
help me prepare for negotiations with the desert clans. Second, draw
information from Adala. I want to know more about her brother’s talents.”

“What are his talents exactly?”
Tobin spoke up. “If you intend to pass him off as a prophecy fulfilling figure,
he must be able to impress. The desert people are highly religious, yes, but
they are volatile in their beliefs. He needs to be more than just intuitive to
win them over.”

“Intuitive is one word for it,”
Burano remarked. “He is more insightful than any seer I have ever met, more
powerful than a spellweaver. Most of them are hoaxes anyway. Shem is the real
thing. And he knows nothing about what his talent is or how it came about. The
more background we can get out of his sister, the better prepared I will be to
know the limitations and potential growth areas of his ability.” He gestured to
the maps that cluttered the table before him.

“Your continued companionship with
Adala will serve that purpose,” Burano added, “as well as one other. Because
Adala has put the pieces together by now and knows that we are planning to take
Gerstadt, she will be harder to control. I want you to be friendly with her.
Give her hope for escape. From the jests of the men, it sounds like she is very
fond of you and Ollie. If there is any romantic potential between you, pursue
it. Anything to keep her content. If she causes a ruckus and needs to be
confined or disciplined, it could mean that Shem stops cooperating. That cannot
happen.”

“I understand,” acknowledged
Tobin.

“Thank you,” Burano said. “You
have done well with Adala, and I appreciate your insights about the desert
clans. I will call on you in the future to help me plan our negotiations.”

“Of course.”

Burano grasped Tobin’s shoulder in
a friendly gesture. The young man tensed at the motion, but then relaxed,
saying, “I hope you will consider my insights about the desert people and
religion. They are very flighty about what they believe, and their religious
practices can have a wide range. They often speak about returning to the sea,
but I don’t know that they will all believe that it’s the right time, or that
they are following the right person as a leader.”

Burano nodded. “Alas, that is a
risk that we take,” he said. “And much of our success rests on your shoulders.
One misinterpretation, and they may turn against us.”

Tobin nodded grimly in agreement.
“I know that better than anyone.”

Adala awoke with sharp rocks
stabbing her backside from beneath the blanket where she lay propped up against
her saddle bags. She stirred, her sleep interrupted by the scuffing of boots
and conversation of men around her. The sun peeked itself over the horizon and
the camp came to life again as she stretched her aching muscles. She was
grateful to feel the warm light on her skin, even if her limbs were cold and
stiff.

As she folded a blanket and fitted
it as a cushion to her saddle, she was delighted to catch sight of Shem's
bright face twenty paces away.

"Adala!" he exclaimed,
waving eagerly.

She smiled and waved back. He
looked well, with round cheeks and a spring in his step. His guards were directing
him to his horse, however, and Adala lost sight of him almost immediately in
the crowd of men saddling and mounting their horses.

"What, you’re not going to
shackle me to the donkey today?" she asked Tobin dryly when he rode up to
her on his copper-colored mare.

He smiled. "Do you think you
could gallop into the sunset in your condition?"

"I might surprise you,"
she said, cringing as she settled into the saddle.

“Boggs will be your personal guard
today while we ride,” Tobin said, cuing his horse forward. “Burano wants me to
ride with him and Shem for a while so we can talk about the desert clans and
their whereabouts.”

Boggs trotted forward on his
painted gelding, and Tobin saluted farewell, cantering toward the front of the
party.

Adala and Boggs rode in relative
silence until Adala’s headscarf was itchy with sweat from the heat. "I
don't know how the desert savages survive this dry land," she muttered as
her eyes watered from the dust. "Who would choose to live here?"

Boggs laughed. "Tobin, for one.
When we were little, he used to talk about it all the time. Pretty annoying,
actually. But I’ve never even been in the desert before now. Just the hills
near the village, no farther.”

"I've never been to a desert
either, really," Adala mused. "I've been to ports all around the
kingdom. Cities in Bolgir, Diggeret, Iviannah. Some climates were dry, but not
like this."

Jarod trotted his horse next to
them, eavesdropping. "The desert dwellers believe their spirits live in
the soil and soak up all the water," he said. "When they water their
crops, they call it an offering to the gods. Same when they draw battle and
spill blood. If our negotiations go poorly, I will try to persuade them that
what their desert gods really thirst for is the salty blood of a sea-faring
woman."

"Have you ever seen the
desert dwellers?" Boggs asked.

Jarod laughed. "Don't you
remember that desert wench who birthed Tobin and that scrawny girl? I knew her
a time or two. She was spirited, that one."

Boggs shuddered. "I mean
besides her. Have you seen one of the clans?"

"Once," Jarod admitted.
"We had scouted a new spring of water on the outskirts of the desert and
thought of building another settlement there. They ambushed us in the night.
Six of my men were down before we realized they were upon us."

"How did you escape?"
Boggs asked, drinking up every word.

"They surrounded us, and
their leader began speaking, but none of us understood," Jarod said.
"The leader pointed to a mark chiseled in stone next to the spring of
water. It was their well. They gestured for my party to leave and never return,
and that's exactly what we did."

"He just let you go?"
Boggs exclaimed.

"Yes,
she
did,"
Jarod corrected with disgust in his tone. "The desert dwellers are
backwards in their customs, but fierce warriors. Their leader was a woman with
a keen eye for archery. She must have shot a dozen of my men herself. But she
needed survivors to carry the gist of their message back to Burano. Twenty of
my men died in the ambush. The three of us who survived were lucky."

"How many men did she
command?" Adala asked, curious about this she-warrior.

"Twelve," Jarod said.
"If you think the desert dwellers will have mercy on you because they are
so generous with women's positions, don't flatter yourself. They are not too
keen on outsiders."

She bit back her response, wishing
Jarod away. Luckily, he rode past, and she and Boggs were left to ride in
comfortable silence for a while as they both pondered Jarod’s stories of the
desert warriors.

***

Adala had always imagined the
great desert to be a sea of golden sand. As the travel party moved past a hill
on the second day of travel, she was met with a much different picture. Cracked
dirt and rocks crunched under Dusty’s hooves, and she coughed from a sudden
gust of dirt in the air. She tugged her shawl over her mouth. Instead of great
dunes of sand, she saw a great plain before her, reaching as far as the eye
could see. Contrary to what she had heard of deserts in the far south, the
Roharian desert was full of dry foliage. Cacti and withered trees littered the
region, shrubs and sparse greens sprouting from between the cracks in the dirt.
Adala could hardly tell any of the plants apart, and she saw a yellow lizard
scurry in front of Dusty’s path that she had never seen before.

Her thighs cried out in pain. But
her seat bones weren't as tender, thanks to the blanket she used as a cushion
in the saddle. By the fourth day of riding, Adala felt the pain lessen
slightly, to her relief. Soon she was able to relax in the saddle for most of
the day without too much stiffness.

Despite the scorching sun and
Adala's irritated eyes from all the dust, their trek through the desert was a
happier time for her. Instead of being confined to a cell, she was allowed to
ride with the men by day and eat by the fire at night, sharing stories with
Trigg, Boggs, Ollie, and Tobin. She began to feel less like a prisoner and more
like a comrade.

During the day, Shem rode astride
a palomino pony next to Burano at all times. Sometimes Adala rode near them and
was permitted to exchange greetings with Shem. Such was the highlight of her
day when it happened, but it was a rare treat. Most of the time Shem was
surrounded by Burano and his officers, and Adala was left to converse with her
own guards. She supposed that wasn’t all that bad. She enjoyed a comfortable
camaraderie with Ollie, and was beginning to know Trigg and Boggs better.
Mostly, she looked forward to sharing moments with Tobin, who continued giving
her details about Shem’s daily activities. She lived for those details, hanging
on his every word. They talked about her brother, about her life in Gerstadt.
Most of all, Adala found herself growing more and curious about Tobin’s people,
not just because they were riding through the desert wastelands to meet with
them but also because they were a part of Tobin’s history, a topic from which
he was good at deflecting.

"How long before we find your
people?" Adala asked quietly. She judged they had been riding across the
vast expanse of wasteland for at least a couple of weeks with no sign of the
elusive desert savages, and she was restless for some sign of life. The travel
party had located hand-dug wells to replenish their water barrels on three
different occasions, but there was hardly a trace of the desert clans to be
seen.

Tobin shrugged. "I wouldn't
necessarily call them my people. They threw stones at my mother and chased her
away because the clan priest had a dream that her children would one day cause
the end of the clans."

"Superstitious
bastards," she said immediately, surprised to gain a small grain of
knowledge about Tobin’s history. "No wonder they haven't found the
intelligence to move to a more habitable region. How far away are they,
anyway?"

"They don't live in one
place; they are spread out and often on the move. It may take months and months
to find them, though Burano seems to think your brother will lead us to them in
a prompt manner."

"He thinks my brother can do
a lot," she sighed.

"Is it true?" Tobin
asked tentatively. "I know we talked about it before, but if you have any
insights about his possible abilities, it would help to acknowledge them."

She swatted a beetle off Dusty’s
neck, and the donkey tossed his head. She was annoyed with the stubborn donkey,
who seemed to never listen to her commands and instead just followed the horse
in front of him in a brain-dead manner. Also with Tobin, because he was yet
again changing the subject away from the desert dwellers and his childhood.
"I don't know what to think about Shem’s oddities,” she said, displeased
with the flow of conversation. “Either way, I hope your desert savages don't
kill him if his skills disappoint them."

"What are his skills exactly?
Have you noticed anything in particular that Burano may not have noticed?"
Tobin pressed.

"He is odd, that is for
sure," Adala said. "The day before he was taken, he had a fit of
madness. Maybe Shem described it to you. He told me our father was dying, that
he could feel him and his crew die. He was hysterical— I didn't know what to
do."

"You don’t want that to be
the truth, do you?" Tobin asked.

"I don't know," she said
quietly. She felt ill inside to consider it. "If Shem is right, our mother
is alive and our father is dead. If he is wrong, Mother is dead and Father
alive. I don't want either to be true. And at this rate I may never know if he
is right or not." Her voice trailed off at the end as she was reminded of
her uncertain future. She tried to push thoughts of Gerstadt out of her mind.

"Has Shem confessed any other
insights that turned out true?" Tobin said. "Anything beyond logic
that would hint at powers beyond sight?"

Adala shrugged. "I don't
know," she said. "He is just a sensitive boy, that’s what my mother
always said. Nothing more."

"You don't sound too
convinced of that." Tobin remarked.

She shook her head, dislodging her
scarf from its place atop her head. "It doesn't matter what I think,"
she said. "It matters what the tribes think."

“I hope to the gods he isn’t
harmed,” Tobin said, looking down to his reins.

“Your hope won’t do him much good,
will it?” Adala said, her annoyance with Tobin growing as she rewrapped her
scarf securely.
He always says how he hopes Shem will be okay, how he is
sorry about what has happened to us. But what good is it anyway? He just stands
by and watches it all happen.

“I suppose not,” Tobin admitted.

"How does anything live in
this cursed place?" she said, for maybe the millionth time, slapping a fly
off her neck.

"We drink our own piss,
princess," said a nearby soldier, laughing and riding ahead. She couldn't
tell anyone apart with all their scarves, but she thought she recognized
Jarod’s laugh. He was always lurking by as they rode.

Tobin shook his head.
"There's life here. And water. You just have to know where to look."

Adala grumbled incoherently and scanned
the travel party to see if she could catch a glimpse of Shem.

"He will be kept safe,"
Tobin said, following her gaze.

"Of course he will," she
snapped impatiently. "He's safe as long as he can still be used as a
pawn."

Tobin shrugged. "Safe is
safe." His voice grew quiet. "My sister is only safe until she can
bear children. After that, she becomes even less than a pawn to these
men." Contempt dripped from his voice.

Adala swallowed, her mouth dry.
She recalled Sarah’s sweet face, tiny frame. Too young and innocent for
marriage, much less the type of arrangement that Tobin implied.

"Are they not given a choice
at all?" she said hoarsely. “Or you? Can’t you negotiate some kind of
compromise, as her elder brother?

Tobin shook his head as he
explained. "Not now. Maybe if things go well between me and Burano…. But
even then, I’m not sure. Sometimes the girls or their families are given some
say in whose children they must bear. She has desert blood though.
Desert-dwellers and prisoners are sold as wives, whenever they come around. My
mother was sold to three different men before she became sick. When she died,
Burano only remarked that he thought she would have been tough enough to bear
more children for our community. I don’t think he knows I overheard him, but
that’s what he said. And I’ll never forget it."

"How could you serve a man
like that?" Adala blurted. "A man that would treat people that way?
You actually believe in his cause. Don't you have any honor?"

He halted his horse with a jerk of
the reins, and her dim-witted burrow followed suit, perking its ears toward
Tobin's rigid posture.

"Do you support Burano?"
Adala blurted pleadingly, then bit her tongue. She was startled to realize the
pitch of her voice, the emotion behind her question. Her situation being as
impossible as it was, she felt everything was somehow bearable if she had Tobin
as a friend. Someone who truly understood. But Tobin had always skirted around
the issue, saying he was sorry for the situation, but never directly stating
that Burano was in the wrong. She tentatively matched Tobin’s tense gaze with
one of her own, silently urging him to take a stand. She was tired of guessing
and hoping that he cared. It was time to pick a side.

Silence hung between them. Tobin
sighed, looking away. His thick eyebrows furrowed with sadness. "I think
he is doing what he thinks is best for his people to survive, and even to
prosper," he replied quietly. "If we reach an agreement and earn a
place in Gerstadt, we will have a better future. My sister will be safe, and
Burano’s rule will become less harsh with the population of Gerstadt under his
command."

Adala's eyes stung with held back
tears as she processed Tobin’s response. She inhaled a shaky breath and held it
in with a vengeance, her palms curling into fists around the reins while she
studied the desert floor through blurred vision. "Yes, of course. It
doesn't matter how many lives you ruin or women and children you exploit in
your path," she spat, "so long as it means your people will
prosper
afterwards. What a cowardly way to live."