Wanderling (Spirit Seeker Book 1) (18 page)

Adala walked back to her supplies
and paced while she nibbled at the dried meat and some cactus slices from the
day before.
We should have escaped long ago,
she thought bitterly.
I
may have missed a good chance. Now that the group is staying here to wait for
the desert tribe to come to us, we’re going to be watched day and night by a
bunch of soldiers who have nothing better to do.
She slapped her forehead
with her palm.
Stupid girl!
She exclaimed inwardly.
You’ve played
right into their hands, reading Burano the scripts that will help him use Shem.
Letting Tobin spy on you and impair your judgment. Gods, why did I let him get
to me?
She slumped in the dirt.

“You look especially cross today,”
said Trigg, dropping his supply bag next to her and taking a seat.

“Aren’t you usually the one feeding
the horses in the morning?” she snapped, wishing him away.

“Don’t bite my head off,” he said,
putting his hands up. “I’m your guard today.”

“Of course,” she said. “I can’t
say I’m not glad to be rid of Tobin though.”

Trigg scowled. “I thought you and
he got on well.”

She sighed angrily. “Not anymore.
I’m done trying to trust you people. If you’re going to be my guard today, can
you do me the decency of shutting up?”

Trigg blinked, but then sat back
with his arms crossed, an amused expression on his face. “Seems like you’ve had
a lover’s quarrel, that’s all. Maybe I should switch back with Tobin so you can
work it out.”

“We’re not lovers, and you can do
whatever you like. If Tobin guards me, at least I will have some silence. He’s
usually good at that, except when Burano is asking him questions about me and
my brother.”

Trigg’s eyes grew wide. “He was
spying on you for Burano? That’s a surprise, right there. I wouldn’t have
guessed Tobin had it in him. He’s usually so…”

“Insufferable?” she muttered.

“Honorable,” Trigg finished. “Ah
well, I guess it’s all over then. Hey Ollie!” he called. “You owe me two days’
rations.”

“Bullshit,” Ollie called back.
“The trip ain’t over yet.”

“What’s that all about?” Adala
said. “Did you bet that Tobin would betray me?”

“Nah, I bet that you two wouldn’t
share a bed. Ollie seems determined it will happen before we return.”

“Men,” she said, disgusted and
appalled that her personal life had been the subject of their gambling.

“We don’t have much else to bet
on,” Trigg admitted, shrugging sheepishly. “It’s all the entertainment we
have.”

“There wasn’t much to go on
between me and Tobin, but I’m glad at least someone found amusement in it.” She
rolled her eyes and laid back to look at the clear sky. The sun was up now, but
the rock structure still sheltered them from its harsh rays. She felt cool and
refreshed, and would have been grateful to not be riding if it weren’t for the
fact that their lack of mobility had made it more difficult to plan an escape.

“What’s Tobin doing?” Trigg said
abruptly. He pointed to the rock formation.

“I don’t give a care in the
world,” Adala said.

“No really, it’s weird. I think he
is cleaning the rock or something.”

She glanced up and saw Tobin
twenty paces away, reaching his scarf up to wipe the surface of the rock.

“That’s odd, even for him,” said
Boggs as he came up behind them. They watched with curiosity for a few minutes,
and eventually a small crowd had gathered to watch Tobin climb the wall, wiping
his head scarf over the rock in random places.

“I wonder if it’s a desert dweller
thing,” said Ollie. “For good luck maybe?”

“Maybe it’s a ceremony before
battle,” added Boggs. “Or a strength building exercise?”

Tobin, ten feet up the rock
formation, dropped to the ground abruptly, his scarf around his neck. Then he
pulled it off and folded it, wringing it over a large bucket.

To Adala’s surprise, the cloth
dripped water into the bucket, maybe a pint of it.

“Gods, the boy is a genius,” Ollie
exclaimed. “It’s condensation, in the shadow of the rocks. That water is
probably fresher than anything we can pull from the pond.”

Everyone applauded. Even Adala had
to raise her eyebrows. Tobin knew more than he let on about desert life.

Tobin turned to address the crowd,
somewhat uncomfortably and in a hesitant voice. “Some of the desert tribes
gather water this way if they have no well nearby. They put tremendous effort
into gathering each drop, and they conserve it religiously. Keep this in mind
when we meet with them. Never guzzle water in front of them, but savor it.
Also, never,
ever,
take their water.” He glanced back at the sad little
mud hole where there had been a clear pond when they arrived. “Too late for
that, so we need to be pretty apologetic towards them.”

“Can you teach me how to do that?”
said Boggs after a short silence.

A few of the younger men stepped
up to follow Tobin’s lead, gathering water from the surface of the rock.

Adala turned away from the
madness, shaking her head in wonderment at Tobin’s nontraditional methods. She
chose to look after Dusty for the morning instead of watching grown men soak
their scarves with dew. Trigg followed her closely as she made her way to the
outskirts of the camp where the horses were tethered.

“You know, I usually don’t have a
guard watching me all the time,” she said, irritated at how closely he followed
her.

“I’m not taking any chances,”
Trigg said. “If you leave camp, I don’t want it to be on my watch. Burano would
have me flogged.”

She sighed and walked to where
Dusty was tethered near some patchy grass, his lead rope tied to a stake in the
ground. She swatted some flies away from his neck and used her hands to comb
through his unruly mane.

“Do you have a horse at home?”
Trigg asked, patting a gelding a few feet away. The horses were spaced out,
grazing in the patchy weeds. One of them was attempting to roll, though that
resulted in a tangled lead rope.

“My mother always had goats, for
milk and for meat in the winter,” Adala replied. “We never had need for a horse
though.”

“Why not?” Trigg said. “How do you
get places by land?”

She shrugged, “We don’t need to go
places by land. Everything we need is right there, in the town and surrounding
hills. If anyone wants something else, they may trade with a merchant like my
father. There is only one other merchant who makes his home in Gerstadt. We’re
not exactly a huge trading hub, but we have everything we need.”

Trigg had a faraway look. “Is it
true that the sea surrounds the whole world? Every country?”

“Have you never seen a map?” she
snapped. “Yes, we’re surrounded by water.”

“Have you sailed all the way
around the world, then?” he asked.

“Not all the way around,” she
said, “But I’ve been as far as the beginning of the East Sea a time or two.”

“I heard that in the east, a man
can have as many wives as he chooses,” Trigg said curiously.

“In some countries that is true,”
Adala confirmed. “But it doesn’t sound too great to me. Sounds noisy and
complicated. If I were a man, I don’t know that I could suffer one wife, much
less three or four.”

Trigg laughed. “You’re a strange
woman, Adala.”

“So I’ve heard,” she muttered,
petting Dusty’s soft muzzle. The donkey pushed his nose into her stomach and
began itching his head on her. “Ouch! Stop it, you dumb animal,” she
complained, stepping back. “Just when I was starting to like you.”

“He’s just being affectionate,”
Trigg chuckled.

The donkey snorted, and she gave
up on trying to be angry with him.

“When will Shem be done with
Burano’s business?” she asked. “I’d like to see him when he’s finished.”

Trigg shook his head. “I don’t
know.”

Adala wondered how long it would
be before the approaching tribe arrived. A couple days, maybe less? Anger and
fear rose inside her as the day passed on. She brooded over possible scenarios
of a desert dweller attack. From the scripts she had read to Burano, they may
not stop for negotiations after realizing how depleted the water in the pond
had become. After their morning meal, she could scarcely call the water hole
more than a murky puddle. She lurked in the shade of the rock structure all day
with Trigg as her shadow, her eyes always on Burano’s tent. She had worked
herself into a bind and had no allies in retrieving Shem from a party of a
hundred men. She hoped beyond hope that Shem would be allowed a break, but she
knew that even if he was, Burano would never leave him unguarded.

When the sun rose high in the sky
and the camp was no longer under the shade of the towering rock formation,
Burano heard the bustle of activity in the camp pause as a horn signal bellowed
from the lookout, everyone holding their breath because of what it meant.

Shem looked up from his work on
the map with a questioning expression.

“That’s the patrol,” Burano said.
“They must have spotted the clan.”

“They will be here within the hour
at this speed,” Shem said, looking down to adjust their placement on the map
again.

Burano wiped sweat from his
forehead. It was a hot day for a fight. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but
he called Jarod to the doorway for instructions to his men: “Pack up your
belongings and saddle up in case we have to make an escape. Have weapons ready,
but not in your arms. Also, bring Tobin to me now and send someone after the
girl. Whatever happens, keep her away from the kid and away from a horse. You
never know what she might do if our meeting heads south.”

Jarod nodded through his head
wrap, which covered everything but his gray eyes. “How long before they reach
us?” he asked.

“Soon enough that we have no time
to waste,” said Burano.

Jarod moved to the center of camp
and began calling out orders to the men in a booming voice.

Burano turned back to Shem,
bemused by the child’s calm demeanor. Burano himself felt his pulse quicken at
the clan’s proximity. The boy’s unique sensitivity did not appear to pick up on
the danger that they would be in when the clan arrived.

We have to focus,
he
thought.
It may take all the persuasion in my being to prevent these savage
people from engaging us in battle. I have too much on the line to fail this
time.
He recalled past dealings with the desert tribes, in his earlier
years as the Wanderling leader. He had thought it was a simple negotiation.
They had a common enemy, Gerstadt, and they could both profit from a conquest.
But dealings with these people were not easy, and he had grown weary of them.

Burano focused his mind on the
prize as he pulled his crossbow out and made certain he had a full quiver.
My
people will only thrive with this alliance,
he thought.
Otherwise, it is
eternity in the desolate hills.

His self-assurances did not calm
his pulse, but did help his resolve.
The plan will not fail, not after these
months of refinement. I am confident that I will gain the friendship of this
clan, and with them others will follow. If we seize Gerstadt, then… then my
people will prosper and I can once again be united with my son.
Burano
smiled at the thought.

“There is a rider approaching
camp, sir,” said Tobin, ducking into the tent.

“Good. They mean to speak with us
first.” Burano was glad to have traveled well into the desert before catching
the attention of a desert clan. The clans with territory surrounding the
Wanderling village were not open to diplomacy anymore. He had made the mistake
of encroaching on their land too many times and lost any chance of friendship
there.

“When two clan leaders meet,”
Tobin said hesitantly, “they pull off their scarves so they aren’t hiding their
faces from one another. It’s a sign of respect and honesty.”

Burano nodded, more grateful than
ever that he had decided to allow Tobin back into the Wanderling community
after his little adolescent stunt running off to live with his mother’s people.
He had always known that the young man would repay the favor when the time
came. “What is the rest of the clan doing as the rider approaches us?” Burano
asked, looking down to Shem.

The boy placed a pebble on the
map. “This is the rider,” he said, “and the rest of them are hiding behind the
rock structure on the other side I think. No wait... they’re climbing it.”

“This is bad,” Tobin blurted. “If
they have the higher ground, they will pick us off easily.”

“They must mean to treat with me
first, if they are sending a rider,” Burano said.

“Sir, I don’t think it’s a good
idea to stay here. The rider could be a distraction tactic.”

Burano’s eye twitched with
annoyance, and he said dismissively, “I value your advice on the desert
people’s culture, Tobin. However, I know battle strategies better than you. Be
silent unless you know something I don’t.”

The young man bowed his head
slightly, lips pressed together in a straight line.

The minutes went by slowly,
creating a hot, intense waiting game. Burano collected his thoughts, re-reading
the copied scripts that Adala had made him about the warrior guide prophecy and
silently rehearsing which parts to emphasize first.

“We should go out to meet him
now,” Shem said suddenly from his seat on the ground. “The rider is approaching
the camp now.”

Burano took a deep breath and
stepped out of the tent and followed the gazes of his men to the approaching
rider. The horse rounded the corner of the rock formation and galloped towards
them, kicking up a cloud of dust thirty feet high. The rider wore brown leather
pants, a billowing brown shirt, and a woven head scarf that concealed his face.

Burano watched with surprise as
the lone rider did not slow upon reaching the camp. Instead, with gentle tugs
on the reins, the rider guided his horse between the gawking men until he
reached the center of camp, close to where Burano stood at the main tent.

The horse came to an abrupt halt,
and Burano was curious to see that the horse was toned and lean, its bay coat
glistening in the sun. This was no mountain pony, as most of Burano’s soldiers
rode. It was a prized animal.

Before Burano could address him,
the rider pulled off his scarf to reveal brown skin and black hair that fell in
waves to his shoulders. He held a spear in the air and called out to the camp,
turning his horse around for all to hear his booming voice. Anger spouted from
every word, but the language itself was smooth and musical, contrasting with
the harsh consonants of the Bolgish language.

The meaning of the desert
dweller’s words were lost to Burano, who glanced quickly at Tobin.

As the desert dweller spoke with a
deep anger in his voice, shouting at the camp and pointing his spear to the
sky, Tobin cleared his throat and began translating in a low voice to Burano.

“He says we have trespassed on the
land of the Roharian. We have stolen the life’s water from his people, eaten
the animal life that gives them energy… or happiness. He says ‘Where is your
leader so he may face the wrath of the desert spirits.’”

Burano swallowed, his mouth dry.
He cleared his throat and said loudly, “Friend, I beg you forgive this offense,
but I came to find you because I bear wonderful news. Please join me in my tent
so that we may share the tales of our people.” Burano opened his arms in
greeting, then nodded to Tobin for a translation.

Let him see that we have one of
his own,
Burano thought.
He will know we come on friendly terms.

Tobin’s voice, quieter than the
angry shouts of the desert rider, rang out in melodic phrases, translating
Burano’s words for the stranger hesitantly at first, then loud and clear.

The rider interrupted Tobin with
more angry declarations, pointing his spear towards the pond next to the camp.
It was scarcely a mud hole now.

“He says,” Tobin began, “that we
have offended the desert spirits and harmed his tribe’s livelihood. He asks
what we have to say in our defense, with the gods and the spirits of the desert
as witness, along with the men, women, and children of his clan who now have
one less source of life’s water.”

Burano selected his words
carefully, his muscles tense. “I know the offense we have made against you is
unforgivable,” he said, pausing for Tobin to interpret. “But we only drank of
this water out of necessity because we needed to find your people.”

“And what would you need of us?”
Tobin translated the rider’s reply.

“It is not out of our own need
that we come,” Burano said. “We have water and food of our own in our home
settlement. We only left there because we have a great gift for the desert
people. Not just for your tribe, but for all the tribes.”

The rider’s reply was harsh and
short. “There is no gift more precious than the water you have stolen,” Tobin
translated.

“I do not know the value of my
gift, but it would honor me for you to accept it,” said Burano.

The rider didn’t even let Tobin
finish interpreting. He shouted loudly and waved his arm in three sharp
gestures, looking at the sky.

Tobin looked up and said hastily,
“His tribe is up there,” he said. “He asks for one reason he should let us
live.”

Burano followed his gaze and
spotted at least two dozen lumps at the top of the rock structure. They were
hooded figures, crouching at the summit of the rock with arrows nocked to
bowstrings.

“We will rain arrows on your men
until your life’s blood returns to the earth as water,” Tobin translated, his
voice tense.

Burano knew they had no cover on
the ground, and the archers were directly above them. There would be no running
out of range, and it would be difficult to shoot straight up at them—any loosed
arrows would run the chance of coming back down to impale someone else on the
ground. All around Burano, soldiers gripped their sword hilts and murmured
curses. Some of them nocked arrows of their own, preparing to shoot upward.

Burano held up his hand. “Do not
engage!” he shouted to his men. To the rider, he said quickly, “You will let us
live if you believe in the spirit guide that is destined to lead your people to
the fertile lands by the sea.”

Tobin translated in a jumble of
words, speaking urgently.

The rider held up his hand to halt
the archers on the rock. He studied Burano silently for a moment, and Burano
returned the critical look. The desert dweller was in his thirties, maybe
forty, with a solid build and narrowed, suspicious eyes. “Do you take me for a
fool?” the rider said, through Tobin’s interpretation.

“I take you for a wise leader,”
Burano replied. “I have found a boy, one with remarkable abilities in communion
with the hearts of men, as the prophecies of your people foretell. I do not
know all the signs myself, but I want to be a friend to my desert neighbors. If
this is the boy your people have waited for, I did not want to miss a chance to
make an introduction.”

“Show me this boy,” Tobin
translated.

Shem emerged from the tent without
being called. He trembled slightly.

“This boy told us that you would
come,” Burano said. “He foretold your arrival down to the very minute, and he
even told me of your archers on the rock. I am not here as an enemy, but as a
servant to the gods. They meant for this boy to meet you in this place.”

The rider spoke after a minute’s
hesitation. “Show me a sign of his power,” he said through interpretation.

“Shem, tell him what you told me
about their clan,” Burano urged. “It’s okay.”

Shem cleared his throat. “On the
rock tower, there are fourteen women and twelve men. There are also three
children up there, but they are hidden from sight, out of the way of arrows.”

Tobin translated a terse reply,
saying, “Your lookouts could have seen that much.”

“How could our lookouts tell men
from women in your clan?” Burano protested angrily, thinking,
They all dress
the bloody same
. “The boy knew your numbers before you arrived,” he
reminded everyone.

The man began speaking, but Shem
interrupted. He stepped forward with confidence. “There’s one more thing,
something I have not told Burano. One of the women, the eighth from the left.
She carries a life inside her.”

Burano blinked at Shem, surprised
by the boy’s revelation.
We’ve got them now,
he thought, looking up to
the figures at the top of the rock tower. As far as he could tell, none of them
looked pregnant.

Even Tobin paused to process this
odd declaration before interpreting. As he spoke in translation, the rider’s
gaze rose to the figure Shem pointed toward, the hooded archer eighth from the
left. He made a quick gesture with his arms, and the archers put away their
arrows.

“What the boy says is true,” the
man said through Tobin’s interpretation.

Burano sighed with relief,
brimming at his success so far.

The clan leader continued,
“Yarele, my wife, is with child by only two moons. She does not show, but the
boy knows what is in her heart. I will hear your tale, and we will negotiate an
agreement to forgive this offense against the spirits.” He gestured to the
scarce water hole.

“Good, join me in my tent and we
will find an agreement,” Burano said.

“I am an honest man. I make
decisions with my clan as witness, and with my wife at my side.”

Burano nodded, bemused by the odd
practices of the clan. “Then bring them to us, and we shall make peace.”

At the call of their leader, the
archers on the rock slung their bows over their shoulders and began
free-climbing down the face of the rock. Their limbs swung in agile swoops from
one layer of rock to another, and Burano was surprised at how quickly they
descended into the camp. All of them wore head wraps, loose fitting shirts, and
cloth or leather pants.

As they reached the bottom, they
filed through the heart of camp to stand next to their leader, who dismounted
to speak with them briefly.

Burano twitched as he felt the
unease of his men around the desert clan. He heard a few whispers, catching the
word “savages,” and “this was a mistake.” He wished there was something he
could do to put his soldiers at ease, but even he was uncertain what the
outcome of this meeting with the clan leader would be.