Wanderling (Spirit Seeker Book 1) (19 page)

The leader of the clan turned to
Burano and, through Tobin, said, “If our people are to trust one another, let
us show our faces.” Behind him, the desert dwellers pulled off their scarves,
revealing the same black curls, brown skin, and golden eyes as their leader and
Tobin. Burano counted the women and was not surprised to see fourteen of them,
as Shem predicted. Most had wild hair, hanging halfway down their backs. Others
wore it in braids, with beads and feathers and even cactus needles entwined in
the locks. The desert dweller eyes and lips were rounded and soft, but Burano
saw a strength in the distinct set of their jaws. Many of the women were as
tall as the men. The clan as a whole held expressions of curiosity and
skepticism while they spoke to one another in quieted tones.

Burano’s men pulled off their
scarves at his command, and in a flurry of movement they had all removed their
head coverings.

The chief introduced himself
loudly to the whole camp, and Tobin followed suit with his translation. “I am
Shairo, protector of the Levenor clan. This is my wife, Yarele, and my people.”
The chief gestured to his clanspeople. The striking woman at his side nodded in
acknowledgment. She wore beads around her neck, and it looked to Burano like
her hair might be braided with sharp teeth. From what animal he couldn’t tell.

“I am Burano, son of Murano,
leader of the Wanderling men. We are outcasts from the fertile lands by the
sea, something we share with your ancestors.” He spoke to Tobin. “Ask them if
they would like food from our morning’s hunt, or any water. They have traveled
hard to reach us so soon,” Burano said.

As Tobin relayed the message, a
woman stepped forward and cut him off, speaking passionately and pointing at
Burano.

“You dare to offer us food that
you took from our territory, and give it to us like we are your guests?” Tobin
translated. His expression revealed nothing of his thoughts on the matter.

Burano hastily sought to make
peace over the matter. “I mean no offense against your clan. Of course this is
your hunting ground. Please, reclaim the food. It is yours by right.”

Shairo put up his hand. “What she
says is true. You have offered us great offense on many levels.” He turned to
his clanspeople. “But he and his men sought us out in hopes of uniting us with
a child of great insight. A child possibly closer to the spirits than our own
priests and priestesses.”

Burano put a hand on Shem’s
shoulder to nudge him forward. “See for yourselves what this boy can do. Shem,
show them.” He handed a rolled up map to Shem, who spread it out on the ground.

The native people watched with
interest, some of them whispering, as Shem took pebbles from his pocket and
laid them out on the map.

“This is the nearest clan,” Shem
said, placing one stone. “There are only seven of them. They are a half day’s
walk from here.” He laid another stone. “This is the next nearest clan. There
are thirty-five of them, and they have been at this location over here for a
few days.” With each stone that Shem placed on the map Tobin relayed his every
word.

Yarele, the chief’s wife, knelt
next to Shem and laid a hand on his, speaking quietly.

“Men and women do not live on
paper,” Tobin interpreted. “Show us where they are.”

Shem stood hesitantly, glancing
back at Burano, who nodded permission. Shem closed his eyes. “The clan with
seven is that direction,” he said, pointing south southeast. Then he pointed
northeast, saying, “There is the clan with thirty-five.”

“How many males and females are in
the clan of seven?” Yarele asked.

“Five men, two women,” Shem answered.

She nodded. “Our clan neighbors to
the south have five males and two females,” she said. “You could have known of
their clan before, or seen them in your travels. Tell us something else to show
your gift. Can you see the past, or the future?”

Shem shook his head. “No, I can
only feel the life around me. I cannot tell the future or past of someone’s
spirit, but I can feel the life of your baby as it grows.”

Yarele put a hand over her
stomach, and looked back at her husband. Shairo said, “I told him nothing, but
the boy knew.”

“You have a great gift,” the woman
said tenderly. “The spirits are strong with you.”

Burano stepped forward. “They are
more than strong with him. They have marked him with the north star, resting on
his shoulder.” He pulled the neck of Shem’s tunic down to show the splotchy
birthmark. It was a bit of a long shot, but Burano knew how impressionable the
primitive tribes could be when it came to faith.

The desert clan moved in closely,
eager to see the mark for themselves. They spoke amongst themselves rapidly.

At last, Shairo came to Burano and
spoke. “We have no priest in our clan to call on the desert spirits and see if
the child is a spirit guide. But at sunset I will send a message to all the
clans and we will gather ten days from now. Then the priests can tell us if
this boy truly has the gift of the spirits.”

“Good,” Burano said, pleased by
the chief’s words. With all of the clans present, he could rile them into a
religious fervor over Shem’s gifts and convince them to depart for Gerstadt
straightaway.

“How does he communicate with the
whole desert?” Shem asked Tobin curiously.

“You will see,” said Tobin. “They
are proposing to set up their own camp just north of ours now… they will rest
and then send up their message to the other clans at sunset.”

The clan dispersed after parting
greetings and an agreement to share a feast with Burano’s men the next evening
as a sign of peace. A sense of contentedness came over Burano, and he felt
immensely pleased with how the negotiations fared. For the rest of the evening,
he observed the desert people from afar and discussed their behavior with
Tobin, who agreed that they had been overwhelmingly positive during the whole
encounter. Burano had often doubted he would reach this far in his conquest for
Gerstadt, and it filled him with accomplishment to see the fruit of all his
labor.

And to think that I was nearly
desperate enough to use a fake spirit guide to assemble the desert clans,
he thought, bemused. He had always thought the whole prophecy was a sham, and
planned to benefit from it by presenting a random child from his village as the
savior for the desert people. But then word from Gerstadt brought him rumors of
gifted children in eastern ports and from Iviannah. That was when he knew he
had to find the real deal if he was to secure the unfailing loyalty of the
desert dwellers. And here he was, in the middle of the desert, harvesting the
fruits of his patience and good work.

While Burano soaked in the success
of his first meeting with them, the desert people gathered outside of the
Wanderling camp and rested in the shade of the rock structure while their
children played in the afternoon. As the sun grew low in the sky, Shem’s
question about their communication methods was answered. The desert dwellers
rallied in the last rays of daylight and built a fire. Shairo poured a flask of
liquid over the flames, and the smoke turned black as night. The clanspeople
took a sheet of oiled leather and suspended it over the fire for seconds at a
time, letting the smoke rise in intervals. Burano watched with mild interest as
great black plumes rose into the sky.

“Surely you can’t see that across
the whole desert,” he said, turning to Tobin for explanation.

“No, but look,” Tobin said,
pointing to the horizon. An answering plume of black smoke was already rising
into the sky several miles away. “Each clan repeats the message in their own
campfire at dusk.”

“That’s incredible,” said
 Burano. “They are a lot more organized that I thought. Can you read their
signals?”

“No,” Tobin admitted. “They don’t
use the signals all that often. I never learned them.”

Soon, the horizon was littered
with smoke clouds. Burano wondered how intricate their code was. He imagined
messages couldn’t be too complicated using smoke signals, but the chief Shairo
had seemed confident that the other tribes would arrive in ten days. He
supposed they would. Then came the real challenge of persuading an entire race
to come under his command. He had his work set out for him, but Burano was prepared.
He had been working towards this moment for almost thirty years.

Adala observed from a distance as
the fire died and the sky grew dark. After an eventful day she found a
comfortable stillness settle in the air, and the natives shed their top layer
of clothing. Underneath their loose shirts, they wore leather vests, most
holstered with knives. A child in the clan caught a lizard and began cooking it
over a fire. A young man with some type of wooden flute began playing a longing
tune, and some of them sang along in smooth notes, their foreign words flowing
from one syllable to the next like the voices of angels.

“They aren’t what you expected,
are they?” said Ollie, coming behind her.

“Not at all,” Adala replied. “They
sounded so brutal from all the stories. And when they appeared at the top of
the rock formation earlier, I thought for sure they’d kill us.”

“They have been merciful,” Ollie
said as they both continued to watch the clan from a distance. “I’ve scarcely
seen them make peace so easily. Your brother must have struck a chord with
them.”

“I just hope he can strike a chord
with the entire population of the desert,” she said. “Otherwise, they may
slaughter us yet.”

“True enough. Best not worry about
it today though. Get your rest. Burano might have you up early to read again.”
Ollie yawned. “I wish you could take my watch, if you are going to stay up
watching the tribe. I could take your place and sleep!”

Adala rolled her eyes and brought
out her blankets, lying down reluctantly for the night. Sleep came slowly for
her as her mind raced through the events of the day. But at last, her eyelids
drooped shut and she embraced the comfort of sleep.

The following morning, Burano did
not send for Adala to read for him. She wanted so badly to see Shem, but was
disappointed to be sent out with a foraging party instead. She, Trigg, and
Boggs meandered past the desert dweller camp to find food. The clan was
gathered in a circle, faces raised to the sky in prayer. Adala wondered for
what they prayed.

“Did you see the chief’s horse?”
Trigg asked. “It’s magnificent.”

Boggs nodded. “His saddle is just
a leather pad though, no supply bags or stirrups or anything.”

“They don’t look like they have
many supplies,” Adala remarked. She saw blankets here and there in the camp,
but the desert dwellers seemed to only carry a waterskin, a bow and quiver, and
the clothes on their backs. Many of them had large staffs or spears as well,
but in all they packed much more lightly than Burano’s men.

“My real question,” said Boggs,
“is why the women dress like that. Their clothes grip all the wrong places.
There’s nothing appealing about a woman in a man’s clothes.”

Adala laughed, looking down at her
own trousers and tunic. “Thanks a lot,” she said.

Trigg continued looking back at
the camp even after they had passed the desert dwellers. “I like how they
dress,” he said. “I like to see their legs. And did you see them late last
night? Some of them took their over-shirts off when it grew cool. All they had
was vests underneath. You could see their shape then.”

“I missed it,” said Boggs,
disappointed. “I was on third watch, so I was asleep early last night.”

Trigg grinned. “And you thought I
was unlucky for drawing first watch.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be finding
food, gentlemen?” Adala prodded, impatient. “Let’s scrounge something before it
gets hot out. I left my shawl back at camp and I don’t want to get sunburnt.”

“Good idea. Check by those rocks
over there and we’ll harvest slices of cactus over here.” Boggs directed her to
some boulders in the shadow of the rock structure.

Adala rolled one rock over and saw
a lizard the size of her forearm scamper away. She tried to grasp its tail as
it ran under another stone in the pile, but caught nothing.
She could still see him, huddled against stone deep in
a crevice.
Wanting a better angle, she stepped onto a rock near the
bottom of the pile.

“Almost got you,” she said. She
reached in her arm and felt its tough skin. “Aha!” she exclaimed, pulling it
out. But in her haste to retrieve the lizard, she lost her footing. The rock
she stood on tipped, and Adala fell backwards, landing hard on the ground.

The lizard scrambled away in a
flash, and Adala cursed. But just then she heard a hissing sound and froze. She
moved her head slowly to look by her feet. From behind the rock that she had
turned over lay a snake nearly five feet long and as wide around as her thigh.
It was pale, with tan markings on its back and red eyes. It slithered right
next to her feet, head raised and tongue flicking out rapidly.

Adala’s muscles felt paralyzed for
a second, but she gathered the sense to sit up and slowly scoot back.

As she moved, the snake hissed,
baring fangs at her.

“Boggs,” she called out, as loudly
as she dared. Her eyes never left the snake. In the fields and woods around
Gerstadt Adala had seen snakes of varying colors and sizes, but none near as
large as this one. She heard Boggs and Trigg arguing about the effectiveness of
spears as a weapon. “Boggs!” she whimpered, scrambling backwards. The snake’s
head shot out and snapped at her leg, but she moved away just in time. “Is this
snake venomous?” she cried in a panic.

The boys stopped talking, and then
she heard Trigg curse.

“Hell, I don’t know,” said Boggs’
voice. “Get away from it.”

“I’m trying,” she shrieked, moving
back slowly. The snake kept pace, slithering in wide arcs. It extended to maybe
six feet in length as it uncoiled completely. But it was the fangs which held
her attention.

“Tobin would know,” said Trigg.

“Just shoot it,” said Adala
urgently. “I don’t care if it’s venomous or not at this point. Boggs, put an
arrow through the damned thing.”

“Right,” said Boggs. She saw his
shadow as he fumbled with the crossbow.

The snake raised its head and
hissed again at Boggs’ movement, and Adala tried to scramble back yet again,
but it lashed out towards her. She saw it move as if in slow motion, baring its
fangs to strike. But its forward momentum was interrupted with a blur, and the
snake was flung backwards against the dirt with a loud
thwunk
.

Adala stood on shaky legs. The
snake lay pinned to the ground with an arrow through its eye, its body writhing
against the dirt in short spasms. She turned her head around to see Boggs
staring dumbfounded at the snake, his crossbow still not strung. Behind him
maybe fifty paces stood a desert dweller from the clan. He lowered his bow and
walked towards them slowly.

“Nice shot!” said Boggs quietly.

From a distance, the desert
dweller looked much like Tobin, curly black hair sticking out in every which
direction. But he wore leather pants and a vest that bared his arms, bulkier
than Tobin’s.

Trigg, Boggs, and Adala watched in
a stunned silence while the desert dweller plucked his arrow out of the snake,
wiped it on his pants, then returned it to his quiver. He turned to Adala and
smiled, putting his right hand across to her right shoulder in greeting.

“For you,” he said, voice thick
with accent. He thrust the snake into her arms, and she fumbled to hold its
weight.

She raised her eyebrows. “Do you
know Bolgish?”

“No speak,” he said, shrugging.
Adala noticed at least three scars on his broad shoulders. Though he appeared
not much older than she, he had clearly seen a few battles, or at least some
run ins with wild animals.

“How about Diggerish?” she asked,
switching languages. The desert bordered northern Diggeret, and the languages
had some similarities in the general melanic sound of them; she thought he may
speak some Diggerish.

He shook his head, still keeping
his golden eyes on Adala.

“Thank you for this gift,” she
said, lifting the snake corpse. “I am... grateful.”

He seemed to not understand the
last part, but he bowed his head slightly to accept her thanks. He started to
leave, but turned back to add, “Ravi.” He put a hand to his chest.

“I’m Adala,” she said, pointing to
herself.

“Pretty.” His eyes moved across
her, and Adala thought he meant to say more than her name was pretty.

Adala let out a long breath as he
turned away to return to the desert dweller camp.

“Someone has an admirer,” said
Boggs.

“More like a life saver,” she
corrected.

“We should put you in mortal peril
more often if it means free food,” Trigg jested, taking the snake from her
arms. “Let’s bring this to Ollie. He will cook it real well for tonight’s
feast.”

“Feast?” Adala said. “I haven’t
heard.”

“We’re dining with the clan,”
Boggs said. “It’s a ceremonial peace-making meal. There will be dancing
afterwards. I am eager to see how the native women move!”

They lugged the snake back to
camp, and Ollie was glad to see it. “That will feed a good few people,” he
said. “Adala, help me skin it and skewer it with this spear so we can cook it
evenly over the fire.”

After the better part of an hour,
they had the bare snake meat suspended over the fire on a spear, and Adala
slowly turned it around and around while Ollie rubbed salt and various dried
herbs onto the reptile meat.

“This will be quite the feast
tonight,” he said.

“Won’t it grow cold before our
feast at sunset though?” Adala said.

“It takes all day to cook it
right,” Ollie said. “Just keep rotating it over the fire. Slow and steady,
lass.”

She did as he instructed and
listened as he taught her about the different herbs he crushed over the meat.
He was surprisingly knowledgeable about cooking, much more than her anyway.
Adala’s mouth watered as the day went on, and scent of the meat cooking drew
many longing glances from soldiers in the camp. As the sun grew high in the sky
and she was no longer protected by the shadow of the rock structure, she put on
her head wrap and even wrapped her chapped hands to shield them from the heat
of the fire. The day was long and hot, but at least she felt like she was
achieving something besides just lurking around Burano’s tent in the hopes that
Shem would be allowed to see her. Besides, Tobin was at Burano’s tent all the
time now, and he was the last person she wanted to see.

Adala noticed a cooking fire in
the desert dweller camp as well as evening drew near. She saw the gray smoke
rising in wisps. Around her, Ollie and a group of younger men plucked needles
from cactus slices and seasoned them, suspending them over the fire on sticks.
They filled two bushels full of the cactus chunks, and a few of the men brought
back medium sized lizards and a hare to cook. By sundown, they had an array of
food. It wasn’t the most exquisite meal Adala had ever laid eyes on, but she
was certain she would never appreciate having a hot meal as much as she did
right then. How long had they traveled in the desert-- two weeks? Three maybe?
She couldn’t say, but the weariness of travel made her appreciate even the most
haphazardly collected feast.

As dusk came, so did the desert
dwellers. They arrived in Burano’s camp carrying baskets of food. Most had
herbs and foraged greens, all gathered that day. Adala watched as they laid the
baskets by the soldiers’ feast. She was surprised to see how much they had
gathered, and the variety of plants. The Wanderlings had mostly collected
slices of cactuses on their foraging trips, seeing as cactus was the only
abundant and edible plant that grew aplenty in the harsh desert terrain. As she
looked closer at the desert dwellers’ baskets of greens, she realized that the
mixed herbs seemed to be grilled and crisp with crickets and slimy worms. She
gagged at the realization. They did have one coyote though, cooked whole over a
fire without even being skinned first.

Burano emerged from the gathering
crowd, Shem and Tobin at his side, and raised his hands for silence. The
soldiers quieted their disgusted remarks upon seeing the uncouth feast of the
desert dwellers and listened for Burano’s words.

“Friends, this night we make peace
and celebrate the potential of our gifted young friend, Shem,” he paused for
translation. “Let us share this meal as brothers and pray that it gives us
strength to serve justice.”

Shairo led his people in a
passionate prayer, all their faces lifted worshipfully to the darkening sky.
When they were finished, Burano announced the beginning of the feast, and the
crowd gathered in for everyone to get what they wanted from the feast. Adala
helped by slicing off chunks of the tender snake meat for a long line of hungry
people. The soldiers wanted large servings, but Ollie chastised her for
allowing it. “Give them a slim piece. There isn’t enough to go around, and we
want the savages to have some of it.”

She nodded and began cutting
smaller pieces, handing them to the soldiers as they came. Ravi, the desert
dweller who had saved her that day, came up for his slice, offering her a wide
smile.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the
extra large chunk of meat that she cut especially for him.

“I should be thanking you,” she
corrected, waving him on.

Jarod was next, and he scowled at
her. “What is she doing with a blade, Ollie?” he said.

“She’s helping me,” Ollie said. “I
don’t see you volunteering.”

“Send her around with a basket of
the savage worms instead,” Jarod said. “Trigg can serve the meat. I don’t want
her using a knife.”

“As you command,” Ollie said in an
exaggerated voice, and thrust her a basket of the herbs, crickets, and worms.
She made a face, but did as he said. She welcomed a chance to wander through
the camp, offering some of the bizarre salad to the soldiers. Few of them
accepted, so she was free to eavesdrop on Burano and Shairo as they spoke of
their plans.