Wanderling (Spirit Seeker Book 1) (3 page)

Suddenly, Shem was consumed with
the pain of a breaking heart, and he wavered, falling to his knees. A scream
rose in his chest, but did not escape in his throat. Instead it reverberated
loudly, uncontrollably, in his ears until he shook with a helpless sob. His
vision blurred, and the pain and horror that consumed his being seemed to slow
time to a crawl so that a few seconds felt like hours.

Then, as suddenly as the terror
came about, the sensation left entirely, leaving nothing but emptiness in its
wake.

An earth-shattering thought echoed
in Shem’s mind:
My father is dead
.

“Shem, are you coming?”

Shem gave no response. Adala heard
the clattering of the wooden bucket as it fell to the street and rolled over
several cobblestones:
clunk, clunk, clunk
. She turned to her brother,
opening her mouth to tease his carelessness. But the child before her kneeled
paralyzed, face as pale as the snow-covered peak of Mount Horu.

“What’s wrong?” she asked,
suddenly concerned.

Shem’s round eyes blinked hard. He
began to choke, his whole body shaking. Adala raced forward just as he
collapsed to his hands and knees, his whole body quaking. She realized that
they were not chokes, but sobs. He moaned. “Papa,” he whispered hoarsely. Then
louder, “Papa! Father!”

“What’s wrong?” she begged,
helpless. “What are you doing, Shem?”

“I can’t feel him anymore,” Shem
screamed, his pitch higher than a seagull’s call.

She touched her brother on the
shoulder. People in the street began to stare as Shem jumped to his feet and
screamed, “Papa, come back!”

“Shem, calm down!” she commanded,
but there was no stopping her brother. He turned and ran back to a stunned
Master John and wailed, “We have to go get him—he’s two days’ sail south,
southwest of here. Please, Master John, send out a ship!”

“Your father is a skilled captain,
and the weather has been good. I assure you, he is safe.”

“He’s not there anymore, I tell
you,” Shem said, his voice garbled by sobs. “One minute I could feel him, and
the next he was gone… dead.”

Adala’s stomach began to wrench.
“Shem, don’t shout such nonsense,” she murmured, kneeling at his side, her mind
spinning with confusion. Her brother had once thrown a tantrum begging her
father not to leave on a summer voyage, but she had never seen him as pale and
quivering as he was in this moment.

Master John felt Shem’s forehead
and neck with the back of his hand. “He isn’t feverish,” he observed.

“He’s gone,” Shem choked. “I can’t
feel him anymore. He’s gone.”

Adala felt the blood rushing to
her face, not just because of the collecting crowd of onlookers in the market
alleyway but also because she felt a strangling fear gripping her in the gut.
Fear for her brother’s wellness and also a deeply buried fear of losing her
father at sea. She had never worried about losing him on a voyage because she
had been right next to him her whole life. Now, she wouldn’t know for sure if
he was safe for months, until his scheduled return.

“You aren’t doing this because
Father left you behind, are you?” she demanded.

“I’m serious! Papa’s gone. I can’t
find him!” Shem exclaimed, tugging at her dress. “We have to find him!” he
wailed, collapsing in a sobbing heap on her lap. Adala had never seen anyone
cry so hard.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into
him,” she said to John. “What kind of madness is this?”

“You should take him home now—I
will bring water after dinner; you don’t need to worry about it.”

“I can’t have him unsettling my
mother,” she said in a low voice as her brother buried his face in her shoulder
to muffle the sobs. She awkwardly patted him on the shoulder, ignoring the
stares from strangers in the streets.

John stared wide-eyed at Shem’s
collapsed figure with what Adala thought for a minute was fear. He shook his
head and straightened. “You should take him to the spellweaver by the docks.
Madame Georgetta. I know what you think about her, but she has some remedies
that will make Shem less excited. It may do him some good to just rest.”

“I’m not going to the witch of the
wharf,” Adala said bitterly. “Spirits and magic herbs, they’re a sham.”

“She may have something to calm
him. Here, we’re taking him to Georgetta," John said, scooping Shem's
scrawny form up from the ground.

"I don't want to waste money
on Georgetta," Adala said, but Shem's sobs made her hesitate.

"I insist," John said.
"She is a practiced healer aside from all her charms. I will pay."

“Certainly not,” Adala said.

“Your mother can repay me with a
hot meal, I’m sure.” John started walking, Shem curled up in his arms, sobs
still racking his body.

Adala snatched up the water bucket
and reluctantly followed him through the market. The road wound downward, back
towards the harbor.

Shem's bawling had barely quieted
when they stopped in front of Georgetta's shanty. It was made of wood, with a
thatched roof and herbs drying from the eaves all around. Adala wrinkled her
nose at the conglomerate of scents.

John lowered Shem gently to his
feet and knocked on the door.

After only one knock, the door
burst open. Georgetta, tousled gray and blonde hair poking out of a braid,
stepped out to meet them.

"Ah, the Master of Arms
himself pays me a visit," Georgetta said, smiling sweetly at John.
"Come to me with questions, dear child?"

John cleared his throat.
"This is Adala, daughter of Raban, and her brother Shem. He has taken ill,
and we thought you would know his affliction."

Georgetta's eyes moved from John
to Adala. "Ah, the lady captain of Gerstadt," she said mockingly.
"Why would I take you and your brother into my home? You once called me a
fraud and dumped a basket of my herbs into the harbor. It took months to
replace them. Many only grow in the mountains or the desert beyond, you
know."

Adala shifted uncomfortably.

John put a hand on Adala's
shoulder. "She is with me, Georgetta," he said. "And if I recall
correctly, you owe me a favor or two."

Georgetta grumbled beneath her
breath, glaring at Adala. "If you so much as touch any of my things,
you'll be paying for them missy, you hear?" she said.

Adala rolled her eyes impatiently.
"Look, if you have anything that might calm him down, let us have it. He
had a bout of madness at the market."

Georgetta looked to Shem's
quivering figure and took his hand in hers. "Come in, child," she
said, leading him through the door. "Let's see what's bothering you."

They sat at her table, and
Georgetta sat across from Shem to study his face. "Tell me what's
happened, child," she said, pushing the boy's sandy blonde hair back from
his face.

"My father has died,"
Shem said, choking on the words. "I can't feel his spirit anymore."

"Father is at sea,"
Adala interjected.

"Shush," Georgetta said,
shooting Adala a nasty look. "I'll hear the boy's story."

"I always can feel Father in
my heart," Shem hesitated, then continued. "And Adala, and Mother. I
sense the others, but it is strongest with them. And I don't feel Father
anymore. He disappeared, and it hurts so bad."

"Have you seen anything like
this before?" John asked anxiously as Georgetta felt Shem's forehead and
held a lamp up to look at his eyes and in his mouth.

"He is in shock,"
Georgetta said.

"From what?" Adala
asked.

"From his father dying,"
Georgetta said. "Can't you hear the dear boy?"

"Absurd," Adala said.

"Is the child usually
dishonest or dramatic?" Georgetta inquired, turning to confront Adala.

Adala jolted. "No, I suppose
not. He's been upset when Father and I left on past voyages though."

"But he hasn't had an attack
like this?" Georgetta said.

Adala shook her head.

"Surely you don’t mean to say
that the boy may be telling the truth," John said, studying Shem
carefully.

Georgetta shrugged. "Maybe he
has taken ill, or maybe he has decided to become surly and imaginative all at
once. But I would consider keeping an eye and ear out for your father, missy.
There is always that chance that your brother knows more than we do. He has the
smell of the spirits on him, something familiar about him that I can’t quite
place.”

"You're mad," Adala
said, standing abruptly. "John, let's leave. I don't want her encouraging
Shem."

"Wait, wait," Georgetta
said. "I said I would help you, and now I will." She stood and
shuffled over to one of a dozen cluttered shelves by the fire. “Here,"
Georgetta said, pulling a tuft of dried leaves from a jar and crumbling them
over a pot of water over the fire. She used the dipper to serve a cup of the
mixture to Shem.

"Take this tea, child,"
Georgetta said kindly. "It will make you feel better."

Shem wiped his eyes as he sipped
at the tea, his body shaking with silent sobs.

"What is it?" Adala
asked.

"It will relax him and give
him rest," Georgetta said. "He will sleep, and when he wakes he will
have a clearer head. That is all."

"Good, maybe we can leave
this nonsense behind us," Adala said. "Mother doesn't need this
burden, not when we won't hear from father for months."

"Have it as you will,"
Georgetta said. "He will be asleep soon. You should take him home."

Shem looked up from his cup,
cheeks wet with tears. "I'm not lying," he said. "You don't feel
it, but I do! I do." He yawned.

"Come, Shem," John said,
taking his hand. "We'll get you tucked in at home and you will feel better
when you wake."

Pressing a copper coin into
Georgetta’s palm as payment before John could pull out his coin purse, Adala
followed them out the door.

"You're welcome!"
Georgetta called out.

Adala shut the door firmly behind
her.

As they walked up the street, Shem
began rubbing his eyes and walking slower. Soon, John was carrying him again,
the boy curled up in his arms.

She tried not to fret, but Adala
couldn’t escape a recurring doubts.

What if Shem was right?

Eleanor
sat at her spinning wheel, pumping the pedal and guiding the wool into thread,
when the front door of the cottage burst open. Before she could stop her wheel,
Master John was carrying Shem’s slumbering form into the loft.

"Shem
took an ill turn at the market today," explained Adala from the doorway,
hastily adding, “nothing to worry about, really. He will just need some rest.”

"Is
he feverish?" Eleanor asked, concern welling in her chest. He was such a
sensitive boy, and always prone to over excitement. She worried about him
wherever he went in public, knowing how easily crowds affected him. "Get a
bowl of water and some towels, just in case,” she told Adala. “I don't want to
take any chances."

Eleanor
followed Master John into the loft of the cottage, and they situated Shem on
his straw mattress, bundled in blankets. Adala joined them shortly, and Eleanor
took the wet towels and wiped the boy’s face and arms with cool water while he
slept. He breathed evenly, and did not feel warm.

“Don’t
worry too much, Mother,” Adala mumbled dismissively.

Eleanor
sighed, raising an eyebrow at her brusque daughter.
My two children,
she
thought, looking back to Shem.
The two could not be more different.
Adala’s frame was wide and hearty, toughened by years at sea with Raban, and so
was her temperament. Shem, in contrast, was meek and impressionable, besides
being small of frame.

“He
doesn’t seem sick,” Eleanor admitted reluctantly, squeezing the hand of her
slumbering son. She kissed his freckled cheek and pulled the blankets up to his
neck. If he wasn’t well, she wanted to make sure to have a soothing meal
waiting for him when he woke. That would be the best thing to raise his spirits
and bring him to good health.

“We
should get dinner started. Will you be joining us, Master John?” she turned to
send an inquiring look toward John.

The
master of arms possessed the jaw of a wise man, but his face still appeared
full and youthful, with only slight laugh lines forming at the corners of his
eyes.
They would make a good match,
she thought, reminiscing on Raban’s
conversation with him.
He would take care of my daughter, whether she would
want it or not.

“I’m
sorry, Madam Eleanor,” John responded absently. “I have business to attend to,
and I won’t be able to join you tonight. But I will return in the morning. Shem
will feel better after his slumber, I’m sure.”

“You
know how he loves your visits,” Eleanor said with a smile.

Eleanor
and Adala followed John to the main floor of the cottage and bid him goodbye.
Eleanor clasped his hand and thanked him for bringing her son home safely, and
Adala simply nodded her head to him in acknowledgement, remaining an awkward
arm’s length away from him.

He
tipped his cap to them both and offered a weak smile before he ducked outside
the door.

“You
could be a little more affectionate towards him,” Eleanor scolded lightly when
the door closed behind him.

Adala
rolled her eyes in the way only a seventeen year old daughter could. “The topic
of a union has been brought up, Mother. That’s still a long way from the
altar.”

“Apparently
so,” Eleanor remarked. “Are you displeased with the prospect?”

“I
haven’t decided,” Adala said dismissively.

“I
would suggest you think on it,” Eleanor advised firmly.

Eleanor
and Adala ate dinner quietly that evening. Eleanor simmered the soup and Adala
wiped the dishes after. It was a routine that they had developed one winter
because they discovered very quickly that Adala had no skill for cooking.
Afterwards, Eleanor sat next to the fire, its glow shedding light on her work
at the spinning wheel. She thought of Shem, still asleep upstairs.

“I
think he made himself ill missing your father,” Eleanor said, running her
fingers over the newly spun yarn. “He always misses you too, you know, when
you’re gone.”

Adala
glanced up from her work darning a pair of socks with large, uneven stitches.
“Is it possible he’s pouting because Papa didn’t let him go on the voyage this
year.”

“That’s
not like him,” Eleanor mused. “He
is
almost as old as you were on your
first voyage though. Maybe we shouldn’t be as restrictive with him as we are.”

“He
is too small to endure life on the ship.”

“Give
him more credit; he would be useful on board. Your brother has a knack for
directions, you know. He pours over your father’s old navigation charts every voyage,
tracking where you two are at every stop.” Eleanor smiled at the thought,
filling with pride at her son’s growing talent.

“I
knew he liked charts, but didn’t know he tracked all our voyages,” Adala said.
“I guess I’ve missed a lot being gone each summer.”

“I
think he’s glad you are here, at any rate. It is always tough on him when you
and your father leave,” Eleanor said. It broke her heart to see Raban leave the
family each year. But having him away just made her limited time with her
husband more precious. She looked forward to autumn already, and she knew that
Shem felt the same.
Such a sensitive child, and with such a gift for loving
others,
she thought.
He should have a close companion here at home to
keep him calm.

“I
think I will take him to get a pup in the morning,” Eleanor said abruptly.
“Captain Konrad’s dog had a litter this week, and it will make Shem so happy to
have a pet of his own.”

Adala
snorted. “You want a mutt around the house to clean up after?”

“Well,
we have you to help out this summer. Keeping house is not always clean and
easy, Adala.” Eleanor chuckled to see her daughter’s frown.

“I’m
going to bed, Mother,” Adala changed the subject, putting away her darning
basket. “It’s been a long day.”

“Good
night. Bolt the door before you go up, will you?”

“Of
course, Mum.”

Eleanor
idly watched the fire die, pondering the changes in store for her daughter this
summer. The fireplace was the center of a woman’s livelihood, the place where
Eleanor worked to serve her family. It was the center of the home, where meals
were prepared and chunks of metal warmed for bed heaters in the winter. Where
she would heat wax for candles and boil water for wash day.
Could Adala
manage the work of maintaining a household? To cook Master John’s meals, wash
his clothes, keep his house, and share his bed?
Eleanor shook her head.
That life was difficult to imagine Adala adapting to easily. Perhaps Adala’s
foolhardy plan to captain her own fishing boat was more realistic, though it
made Eleanor scoff to think of it.

She
pondered the potential changes at bay until the hearth was a pile of ash and
coal. Then she climbed upstairs and greeted sleep with open arms, drained from
the day’s intriguing events.

When
she woke, it was to the scuffling feet of intruders in her home.