Wanderling (Spirit Seeker Book 1) (6 page)

“Branding someone doesn’t make
them infertile, you know. They call us Wanderlings—the descendants of banished
criminals.”

“And, of course, you supplement
your population by capturing wayward travelers,” Adala added with a bite to her
voice. “Don’t forget that.”

Tobin’s voice was bitter. “It’s
only fair, isn’t it? Wanderlings aren’t welcome in your town because of what
our ancestors did. I would be as worthless as a mangy stray. We treat wanderers
from Gerstadt with slightly more courtesy, offering them places in our community
as slaves.”

His last word made her gulp.

I will be no man’s slave.

As Shem and his captors reached
the summit of a hill overlooking the Wanderling village, a great bustle of
movement unfolded before him. Haphazard rows of shanties and tents lay in the
valley below, people lingering in the streets and children playing. Shem spied
a herd of goats at the opposing edge of the valley and horses tethered to posts
outside tents. Meager crops sprouted here and there in an unorganized manner—a yellow
patch of new corn, some already-dry winter wheat. Shem marveled at the sheer
size of this village. Hundreds of tents lay before him, and people of all ages
bustled through the streets, worked the fields, and spread hay for the
livestock.

“Why doesn’t anybody know about
your village?” Shem asked, baffled to see so many people living in secret
behind the shelter of the mountains.

“Your town isn’t keen on
outsiders,” Jarod replied shortly.

The horses picked up their pace as
they navigated down a path on the side of the hill, perking their ears and
whinnying at the sight of their home. The wind carried the scent of smoke and
meat up the valley, making Shem’s stomach growl as they arrived at the edge of
town. Tanned and half-clothed children scurried away and peered at him from
behind tent flaps, eyes round and curious. Adults and youths took note of Jarod
and his men’s arrival with curiosity, some whispering. Shem felt exposed in
front of them, filthy and barefoot, still wearing his nightshirt. Yet the others
showed signs of neglect almost as strong. A girl his own age wore a tattered
skirt that scarcely reached her knees. A young boy walked past without any
shoes, and his hair was a scraggly mess hanging in tatters to his shoulders.
The middle-aged men in the street, who paid little attention to Shem’s passing,
were greasy, weathered beasts with unkempt beards, but none of them showed
signs of violence. They went about their business, carrying bushels of crops
and speaking animatedly in groups. Barely any of them even had brands, as far
as Shem could tell.

A couple of buildings ahead of
them were built of gray stone, the roofs made from patchy leather and canvas
canopies. Jarod tugged the reins to stop in front of the largest structure,
where   men mulled outside with crossbows and knives at their hips.

“Willie, take Havard to a healer
straight away. I need to talk to Burano now,” Jarod ordered. “We had a change
of plans in Gerstadt, and I hope to gods it was worth the trouble.”

Shem sucked in a nervous breath as
he was pulled off of the horse and roughly prodded past the guards and through
the doorway of the larger stone structure. His eyes adjusted to the dark, and
he saw a wide windowless room inside with a gigantic table in the middle and a
bed to his left, plus a row of trunks to his right.

From behind the table rose a
broad-shouldered man with greying hair and a trimmed black beard. Something
about him emanated authority, and Shem thought,
This must be Burano, the
commander that Jarod and his men talk about
. Shem blinked to notice an H
branded into the leader’s forehead. He could not think of any words starting
with an H sound that were against the law, but he wasn’t great with letters yet
anyway. His stomach quivered at the thought that he was now in the presence of
another outcast, one who must be more terrible than Jarod if he was the ruler
of all the outcast criminals.

“What’s this?” Burano said,
looking from Shem to Jarod with a scowl.

Jarod glanced back to check the
doorway, then strode to Burano’s table and leaned across to whisper angrily,
“Your bloody contact in Gerstadt changed our plans the night we were about to
leave!” He sighed loudly and began to pace. “‘Get the boy to Burano,’ we were
told. ‘He’s more valuable than the supplies!’” He spoke spitefully, his voice
low and hoarse. “Well, he better be important, because Havard’s on his way to
his deathbed because a bloody woman stabbed him in the gut when we went to get
the kid!”

Shem shrank back from Jarod’s
rant, trembling in fear of what these strangers might be planning to do with
him.

Burano followed his captain’s
movements and remained calm, his voice low and matter-of-fact. “Were you seen
by the authorities?” he asked.

“No,” Jarod replied irritably.
“I’m not an amateur, though you seem to think I should take orders from one.”
He spat on the floor. “I’m telling you, I’m sick of being ordered around
whenever I’m in the city!”

“Who is this boy?” Burano changed
the subject to Shem.

“Some city kid. His father’s a
merchant,” Jarod explained.

“Why would I want him?” Burano
asked.

“Here,” said Jarod, shoving a
piece of paper at Burano. “This is supposed to explain everything. What does it
say?” The note was folded and crumpled from days of travel in Jarod’s saddle
bag, but Burano spread it out neatly on the table.

Shem caught sight of large
lettering on the paper, but didn’t know what the words said. His father had
taught him his letters, but Shem scarcely had material to practice his reading
skills at home. He wished he could translate the figures on this strange
outcast’s note.

Burano’s expression immediately
changed upon seeing the script, and his eyes shot up to meet Shem’s nervous
gaze.

“Jarod, thank you for your
service. You are relieved now. Take a day of rest and double rations for you
and your comrades.”

Shem looked down at the floor,
uneasy beneath the scrutiny of this bearded man with a strange brand on his
forehead.

“That’s it?” Jarod asked. “I can’t
even know what I brought him here for?”

“Leave us at once,” Burano
growled, finally tearing his eyes off Shem to address his officer. “See that
your wounded hand is tended to. You don’t want to die because of a fight with a
woman, do you?”

“’S’pose not.”

“Go tend your wound and your
pride, Jarod. I have business with the boy.”

“Bugger that, I’m headed to the
tavern,” mumbled Jarod over his shoulder.

Shem backed against the wall as
Jarod left the room. He felt the cool stone against his back and shivered when
Burano walked around his table.

The outcast leader knelt before
Shem and put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I won’t hurt
you, child. I’m sorry for what my men have done.”

“They tried to kill my mom and
sister,” Shem sniffed, his vision distorting with tears. He looked away,
studying the dirt floor instead of Burano’s brand.

“I’m sorry,” Burano said quietly.
“I didn’t order them to do anything like that.”

Shem wiped tears from his cheeks
with the back of his dirty hand. “It’s no good,” he whispered, words spilling
out. He felt like for the first time in days, he had someone who would listen
to him. “They came in the middle of the night—Mum and Adala tried to fight them
off, but Mum was stabbed. I thought she was going to die.”

Burano nodded in understanding.
“Here, have a drink,” he said, taking a wineskin from his belt and handing it
to Shem. “It will calm your nerves.”

Shem sipped at the warm,
watered-down wine and sank to the ground, hanging his head between his knees.
“Can’t I go home?” he whispered. “I just want to be home with Mum and Adala.”

Burano knelt on the dirt floor
next to him. “How can you be so sure they are still alive?” he asked slowly.

Shem shrugged, wiping his nose on
his sleeve, the way his mother always told him not to.

“You can tell me anything, Shem,”
Burano coaxed. “I want to help you.”

Shem sighed, relieved by his kind
words. Days of travel with grumpy Jarod and the wounded, gloomy Havard had
scared him into silence. “Can you just help me get home?” he asked.

“My letter from Gerstadt says that
you have a gift. Do you know for certain that you mother is alive?”

“Yes,” Shem stated firmly, closing
his eyes and reaching into his heart. He could feel her there, still alive and
over the mountains, west from him. He knew it. “She grew stronger today. I
think she will survive. And Adala…” Shem reached out, feeling her presence.
“She’s here,” he realized, jolting upright.

“Who?” Burano said, hanging on
Shem’s every word.

“My sister,” Shem said, climbing
to his feet. He focused his thoughts on his sister and sighed with
contentedness. “She’s that way,” he said, pointing northeast. “Close by. She’s
come to save me.”

Burano’s bushy eyebrows drew
together with skepticism. “Really?” he said.

Shem’s heart leaped with joy, and
he said, “I can go get her. She will take me home.”

“I will send someone to find her
and take her here to meet us,” Burano said quickly. He leaned out the doorway
and called one of the soldiers in. “Go see if there’s a woman traveling from
the mountain pass right now. Bring her here straightaway if you do.”

The soldier looked confused. “You
mean, besides the one that we just sent Ollie to retrieve?”

Burano’s expression remained
unreadable. “What girl? Why wasn’t I notified?”

The soldier cleared his throat.
“We sent Ollie out to get her. I didn’t think it would be news to you.”

“This is the best news I’ve heard
in ages,” Burano said. “Go back to your post. We will wait for her to come to
us.”

“Are you going to let us go?” Shem
asked with apprehension. He narrowed his eyes as his captor went back to
re-read the note on his table.

“I just have some questions for
you first,” said Burano. “How do you know it is your sister that is headed
towards us?”

Shem shrugged. “I just know.”

“How specific is your knowledge?
Can you tell where others are?”

“If I think about it really hard,”
Shem said hesitantly.

“Can you tell me where Jarod has
gone?” Burano said, searching Shem’s face with frantic interest that made Shem
nervous.

“I shouldn’t be talking about
this,” Shem frowned, shaking his head. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers
about this. Only Mother.”

“It’s just a simple question,”
Burano demanded, his voice growing firm. “Tell me where Jarod is.”

Shem looked at the leader’s harsh
eyes and said, “Tell me again that me and my sister will be free to leave today
if we want.”

“Of course you will,” Burano
promised quickly. “After you tell me where Jarod is.”

Lie.
Shem thought. Still,
there was only one way to find out for sure. Shem pointed behind Burano. “He’s
behind that wall with lots of other men,” he whispered quietly.

Burano’s expression transformed
into a wide smile, and he pulled Shem towards the table. “Show me on the map
where the desert dwellers are,” he said.

“No!” Shem exclaimed, pulling his
wrist free. “I want to go back to Gerstadt.”

“You will,” Burano said.
“Eventually.”

“Why keep me here?” Shem questioned
worriedly.

“Because you’re going to help me,”
Burano declared, unrolling a great map that covered nearly his entire table.
“Together, we’re going to win a war.”

Tobin followed closely behind
Adala, ducking through the doorway of Burano’s quarters. He blinked to adjust
his vision in the low candle light. Behind the table sat Burano, stroking his
salt-and-pepper hair, and next to him, hunched over a map and trembling
slightly, huddled the little boy that Jarod had captured. His face was
tear-streaked now, and he looked scared, but Tobin saw no signs of abuse.

Adala’s chest heaved with a silent
sob at the pitiful sight of her brother. The boy saw her and began to cry
again.

“What is it?” barked Burano. When
he looked up and saw them, however, his demeanor quickly changed.

“We’ve got this girl here,” Ollie
explained.

Burano cut him off, saying, “I
know who she is.” He addressed Adala, saying, “Do you know this boy?”

The way she choked on a sob at the
sight of her brother, dirty and weeping in his night shirt, made an answer
unnecessary.

“Shem, are you okay?” Adala said,
voice cracking. “Did he hurt you?”

Shem shook his head and sniffled.
“I’m okay.”

“Who’s the boy?” Ollie asked.

Burano cleared his throat,
ignoring Ollie to address their female prisoner. “So you tracked my men through
the mountains alone. Are there others searching for him?”

Adala raised her chin and stared
past Burano in defiance, her lips pressed in a thin line.

“I ask simple questions,” Burano
said succinctly, moving in to tower over his prisoner. “And I will get an
answer from you one way or another. Now tell me, who knows your whereabouts?”

Tobin cringed at the threat,
feeling ill with the knowledge of how female prisoners were often handled in
the village. If she proved defiant, she could have a very rough life.

“Please,” the little boy began,
wiping his face. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, just don’t hurt
her.”

Burano put a hand up to silence Shem,
keeping his eyes on Adala the whole time. “Who have you told about the banished
men who took your brother?”

She swallowed. “I left a message
for my betrothed, and he won’t rest until me and my brother are safe.”

“If he comes, we can kill him,”
Burano said dismissively. “Will he have others with him? Will his family come
to avenge him?”

“There will be hundreds searching.
My fiancé is the master of arms in Gerstadt, and he will bring his men to
retrieve us. They may be coming through the mountain pass as we speak.” Her
voice grew a little high at the end of her speech.

Burano paused for a moment, then
threw back his head in laughter. “I’m sure,” he said. “Honestly, that wasn’t
even a good lie. And you are a fool, to boot. Wandering into the mountains
alone without telling anyone where you went.” He made a
tsssk
sound.
“However, you are here now, where so many others have ended up.” Turning to
Tobin, he said, “Put her to work in the fields.”

Tobin cringed. “I really don’t
think that’s a good idea, with all due respect,” he blurted.

Burano seemed surprised, but
allowed him to continue.

“She isn’t going to follow orders,
not in the foraging groups or the fields,” Tobin said. “Besides, she can read.
I thought you might have a use for her.” He waited for a response, hoping that
she would be spared the drudging work of tilling the rocky soil where he had
spent most of his childhood.

Burano studied Adala, eyes
narrowed. “Are you sure?” he asked Tobin, eyes still on her dirt-smudged face.

“Test her yourself.” Tobin nudged
her toward the table.

“What does this say?” Burano
demanded, pointing to the swirling script at the top of his map.

Adala cleared her throat. “The
Northernmost Wilds of Our Magnificent Bolgish Empire,” she said.

Burano’s face lit up, and he
rushed to a trunk behind him. “Here’s a book. Read the first page to me.”

She squinted at the faded text and
began aloud, “When the Sabrian people, having been ordained by the mighty and
just assembly of gods, weighed anchor in the North Sea, they were challenged by
the most ferocious of savages. These primitive people were warriors without
pity on the battlefield, and called forth the evil spirits of the earth to
plague the Sabrian people, whose bows and swords held no power against the
spirit beasts.”

“At last, I have my scribe,”
Burano exclaimed. “Can you write as well?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

He turned to Tobin, saying, “This
is a grand gift you have given me. You and your comrades are relieved of watch
duty. We’ll begin training you for combat in two days. Take tomorrow for
yourself and be merry.”

Tobin raised his eyebrows in
surprise. He hadn’t expected to gain a new position as a result of his efforts,
especially for participating in the kidnapping and capture of an innocent boy
and his fiercely loyal sister. If he was to train for combat, that would mean
more food and water rations for him and Sarah. However, it would also mean more
time with Jarod and his lot. Regardless, he was not foolish enough to turn down
a promotion.

Tobin stood tall and gave a small
nod of thanks to acknowledge Burano’s words, mind racing with all the changes
about to take place.

“What about me?” Ollie said,
breaking his silence. “I brought her in too, didn’t I?”

“Yes, yes. Take a day off with
double rations tomorrow, Ollie. Also, take the girl and see that she is fed.
Keep her in your tent, away from the others. Take the boy, too, and see that
Willie gives him food and clothes before taking him to a cell.”

Tobin called after Ollie as the
old man guided Adala and Shem outside. “Leave her tied up,” he advised. In a
way, he was grateful to see her put in Ollie’s care. The man talked big, but he
wouldn’t be unnecessarily hostile towards her. In fact, Tobin wondered if Ollie
could contain her for one night.

“I know what I’m doing,” Ollie
called back over his shoulder.

Tobin started off to follow them,
but was stopped short.

“Stay,” called Burano’s voice from
the doorway. “I want to speak with you privately.”

Tobin pushed the apprehension out
of his mind. “What is it, sir?” he asked, turning back to face his commander.

“Tobin,” Burano said, offering him
a mug of grog from his personal stash. “That isn’t a common name for the
Roharian people, is it?”

Tobin tentatively accepted the
grog, relieved to hear his mother’s people called by their true name. “Mother
thought it best to give me and Sarah names that would make us fit in with the
Wanderlings.”
Much good it did us,
he thought bitterly.

Burano continued talking over
Tobin’s thoughts. “I want to thank you for your service today. Sometimes we do
difficult things for the safety of our community, and I am glad to know that I
can count on you.”

“Thank you,” Tobin said
automatically, though the words tasted bitter in his mouth.

“Honestly, I had no part behind
Shem’s kidnapping,” Burano confessed, staring at Tobin intently. “But now that
he and his sister are here, we cannot let them leave. If they go back to the
city and tell of our settlement…. If the girl has connections to the castle, as
she says she does, we will not only be found out but obliterated. Our numbers
are threatening to Gerstadt, and secrecy is our only protection.”

Tobin realized the truth of the
commander’s words, wishing he didn’t agree with Burano’s reasoning. The last
thing Tobin wanted in the world was a Gerstadt cavalry riding through the
valley to burn the Wanderling village. It wasn’t much, but it was his home.

Burano continued, “They will be
treated reasonably as long as they cooperate. And they both have skills that
will greatly help us. This could be a positive relationship after all.”

We’ll see,
thought Tobin,
recalling Adala’s boiling anger. His nose still throbbed from where she kicked
him with her boot.

“Tell me, how much do you know
about your mother’s people, the elusive desert dwellers to the east?” Burano
said.

Tobin jolted from the change of
subject, immediately on the defense.

“You spent considerable time with
the Roharian tribes after your mother passed on,” Burano continued. “Surely you
have some sort of insights on them?”

Tobin tensed as he considered the
possibility that Burano wanted to hunt the Roharian. On occasion, bands of
Wanderlings would accidentally poach on clan territory, and that always meant
blood. Perhaps Burano intended to destroy the nearest clans to get more water
and resources? Tobin couldn’t guess. “I know enough to realize that crossing
them would mean the end of our village,” he responded carefully.

Burano leaned forward, “Gods no, I
would never presume to have enough manpower to fight them. On the contrary, I
hope to make peace with them.”

Tobin relaxed a little, though he
smiled in amusement at the thought of Burano making peace with the Roharian
people. The only way to make peace with them was to stay out of their way.

“Do you speak the language still,
Tobin?” Burano asked. “I remember when you returned from your travels in the
desert, you could hardly speak Bolgish anymore. Have you lost the skill, my
boy?”

Tobin sensed that this question
was the real reason he was invited to speak with his commander. He looked down
at the map that covered the table and saw the line of the mountain range, then
the desertlands beyond.
He wants an interpreter to make peace,
he thought.
A fool’s errand.

“I speak it a little,” Tobin
fibbed. “It’s been six years; I don’t remember much.”

“But you remember some. Good.”
Burano clasped his hands together in satisfaction. “I hope that I can call on
you in you in the future if I have the need. You will be a valuable resource
for our community, and I am sure you could pick it back up with a little work.”

Tobin swallowed, uncomfortable
with Burano’s confidence in him. No amount of interpreting could unite the
Roharian people, surely. He itched to inquire about Burano’s plans, but thought
better of it. Instead, he said his thanks and let himself out of the
commander’s quarters, blood pounding in his ears.

The sun was low in the sky as he
made his way through rows of tents and shanties to the tent that he shared with
Sarah, his sister. His mind was still racing with thoughts about Adala, Shem,
and his bizarre conversation with Burano when he ducked through the front flap
of the tent.

“You’re home early!” Sarah
exclaimed from where she sat at her loom.

Tobin smiled to see her bright,
dimpled face, framed by wavy locks that were the envy of other girls her age.
Sarah was a little fairer-skinned than him and looked older than her twelve
years, her long limbs stretching more every day it seemed.

Tobin greeted his sister, “I have
good news.”

“The Lord of Gerstadt has come to
town and wants to whisk us away to the golden seaside city?” Sarah teased,
grinning from ear to ear.

“Not that good,” Tobin said,
setting down his bag. “I have boots for you,” he said, pulling out the pair he
had taken from Adala earlier that day.

Sarah jumped up from her weaving
with a squeal. “Really?” she asked, rushing to hold the boots to her chest.
“They’re wonderful,” she said. “There’s room to grow into them, and they look
like they will last a long time.” She hastily sat down on the dirt ground to
pull on the new boots.

Tobin grinned, taking a seat on
the ground. They had no furniture to speak of in their little canvas tent, just
homemade straw mattresses covered with threadbare blankets, Sarah’s loom, and a
few old wooden dishes in a crate, but Sarah always did what she could to make
it a home. Little desert flowers and cactus blooms hung in wreaths from the
ceiling, and she had painted the canvas of one tent wall with different types
of clay, creating a mural of swirled designs that brightened the tiny tent.

“Wait a second,” Sarah said, her
expression changing to suspicion. “Where did you get these boots?”

“From the Gerstadt shipment,”
Tobin lied. “Jarod and his men came back today, and those boots were too small
for the soldiers, so they let me take them just for you.”

“You’re sweet!” She said, buckling
them up and holding her feet out to look at them. “They are perfect!”

“There will be more where that
came from soon, I hope,” Tobin said. “They tell me I’m going to be a soldier
now.”

Sarah’s smile faded, and she
pursed her lips. “Why would you do something like that?”

“Burano made the call,” Tobin
said. “We will get more food and water, and I might be able to protect you better
with a soldier’s standing.” He sighed beneath her scrutinizing gaze. “Come on,
Sarah, I may even get a horse. It’s a good thing.”

“It’s dangerous,” she reminded
him.

“I will be careful,” he said. “I’m
going to stick around to bother you for many years to come. Deal?”

“Deal,” she agreed, giving a
crooked smile. “Now, what’s for dinner?”