Ghost's Dilemma (11 page)

Ghost sighed. "Please tell Gerry I love him, more than I know how to say. I need to look for the Witch and see if I can help her. The more I learn, the more important finding her becomes. Tell him I will come home. And I will. I won't let anything stop me." He paused and added, "I found some healers' supplies. Things I've only ever read about. If nothing else, I might be able to use some of this to help the worst cases. I'll see what I can figure out as I'm traveling. There's not much else to do. But I have to go on."

"I understand. Seeker guide you, brother. I'll do what I can for the afflicted. Your infusions work if we can get the patients early enough in the illness. The trick is getting stubborn people to admit they're sick. But Merrah and Mai help to convince them, and I appreciate their dedication. Your Gerry worked hard to get the worst cases here, and Conn is back too." Natali's smile came through clearly in her gentle sending.

"Thank you for being there for the village, sister. And thank Gerry for being there for them too. I didn't want to leave in the middle of this epidemic, but if I can do more by finding the Witch, I need to take that path. I'm following where the Seeker leads me." Ghost sighed. "Tell Gerry I wish he was here, because he would love this. He really would. One day, if I'm allowed, I want to take him on a journey. Tell him I love him and to take care of himself."

"He says he loves you, and he'll do his best. He says he misses you, and the bed is too big." Natali added, "Be well, witchbrother."

Natali's witchmark faded, and Ghost leaned back against the pillows, resting for a moment before he began to visualize the Witch's red triskele. Perhaps she was listening, or perhaps she would sense him as he got closer. Ghost didn't know, but either way, he was determined to find the Witch and a cure for his village. He would trust Gerry and Natali to deal with the sick until he could get back home.

Chapter 12

Ghost focused on the red triskele until his eyes wanted to cross and his head ached. He didn't want to waste the healers' supplies he had found on something so minor. Lying down and closing his eyes for a while helped, until he could no longer feel the throbbing behind his eyes.

The red dot on the map continued along the line, and the slow progress was reassuring. The lighting from the other panels changed as the day wore on, the way natural sunlight would change direction and intensity. The panels were nothing like having real windows, but Ghost had some way to measure time. He dug in his leather pouch and found the box that held his pen and a small bottle of ink. He opened his formulary to the blank sheets at the back and took a careful inventory of the items he had found in the healers' container.

Ghost was absorbed in his task, and he only paused when his stomach growled loud enough to startle him.
Menu
supplied a bean stew served over rice. The stew was spicy and reminded Ghost of Gerry's dislike of spicy foods, which only made him miss Gerry even more.

Thinking of Gerry made Ghost's throat tighten. Speaking through Natalie had been frustrating. He wanted to tell Gerry so many things, but he felt awkward asking the sweet-voiced witch to repeat them. The words were too intimate and the emotions too raw. No, those were things he needed to say himself to Gerry when he returned home.

Reading some of
Information
's content was next on Ghost's list. He hoped to find any scraps of information that might help him. Unlike the godsmen, he considered ignorance a bigger fault than remembering the ancient words. He did think the cities, as the Witch had explained them, were overwhelming, and he couldn't imagine living in proximity to so very many people. All those voices, all at once, would have been an unbearable cacophony. Still, the bits and pieces gleaned from the ruins had made a difference. The gods' light, the Seeker's kiss, even the witchglass. These had all been used to save lives. How much more were those long-dead city dwellers capable of, if a few remnants could accomplish so much?

Ghost became engrossed in his reading, so much so he missed the early tugging on his spiral, heralding contact. He hurried over to the bench to dig out his scrying mirror and settled on the bed again. Ghost opened himself up to the contact and waited patiently until the mirror clouded. A symbol formed, an emerald leaf, signaling Beccah of the East Marches.

"Ghost, my brother, where are you?" Beccah asked without any preamble. "A terrible commotion has arisen among some of the sisterhood, and I'm taking shelter with Kerree for a time. Are you safe?"

"I'm not sure if
safe
is the word I'd use," Ghost replied, puzzled by Beccah's designation of him as her brother, since she was part of Sri's group. "I'm on my way to the Northlands. I have reason to think a solution is there."

"You must go quick. Very quick. Do you know of the faster ways we travel?" Beccah spoke with care, even though no one else was in the contact to hear her mental voice.

"Yes." Ghost paused. "Why are you so concerned? And why the urgency?"

Beccah's voice was tense. "I spoke with Tal of the West Reaches, and she will contact you herself. Now I need to leave and find shelter from the coming storms. Safe harbor, little brother."

Beccah cut the contact, and Ghost winced at the abrupt closure. "I wish they wouldn't end the link so fast," he muttered. "It hurts, every single time." He shook his head, trying to clear the pain, but it did little good.

Ghost fell back onto the pile of pillows, not much compensation for the emptiness of his bed. He missed Gerry with such intensity the longing manifested as physical pain. He had changed since meeting Gerry. He was a furtive little shadow back then, trying to hide behind the Witch, but Gerry had wanted him anyway. Now Ghost longed for his man. He never wanted to go back to being alone, and despite the way they had parted, Ghost knew they could mend their relationship. He would make sure they did.

A new tug at his spiral startled him, and Ghost reached for his mirror again, wondering if Beccah had thought of something else. He didn't bother to mask his head ache, annoyed at her for ending the contact as she had. The symbol forming in his mirror was elaborate knotwork in fierce ruby red, however.

"Ghost? Is this my brother, Ghost?" The voice was tentative, but the harsh accent marked the contact as being a Wester.

"I'm Ghost," he responded, doing his best to ignore the head ache. "You're Tal? I was told you would contact me, sister."

"I can offer little, I fear, beyond urging you to go to the Northlands with all haste. Find the Witch who mentored you. She has the solution. I did what I could. I got him away from here, and now I need to leave myself. Trust the Witch. The rest of us are weaker than she is." Tal's voice wavered. "I must go, brother witch."

Tal eased out of the contact before Ghost could respond, leaving him more puzzled and more afraid than ever. He put the scrying mirror away and rubbed his temples with his fingers.

***

"He really said so? Twice?" Gerry knew he had to sound like an idiot, and Natali's amusement didn't help.

"Your Ghost loves you, and yes, he said so twice." Natali shook her head. "What a pity you're not a witch, or he could tell you himself. He loves you. He wants you to take care of yourself. He will be home as soon as he can. And he misses you as much as you miss him. I hear the longing in both your voices."

"You didn't tell him about the pregnant dam," Gerry said. He winced at the undertone of accusation in his voice. "I didn't mean to sound so harsh. But shouldn't he know right away, if the plague is affecting a new group?"

"He already knew about her. He chalked her door himself. Ghost worries whether he's done the right thing in leaving, but he can't return without the answers he's seeking." Natali made a shooing gesture at Gerry. "Now, get out of my way. I have patients to tend to, and your Ghost won't thank me if I fail him."

Gerry moved aside and watched Natali make her rounds from bed to bed. She only asked the elderly and the very young to stay. The others were treated and sent home with packets of the infusion and Ghost's instructions in the careful pictographs they would understand. The elder of the village was eating again and holding down his food. Gerry wished Ghost was there to see these small victories.

The babes, though, tore at Gerry's heart the most. He saw the grief in Natali's eyes. They all mourned for those helpless mites; Mai, Merrah, and even Conn. Listening to the cries of the babes grow weaker as the sobs of the dams grew louder was more than Gerry could handle. He needed to be out in the fresh air and away from the misery. He wanted Ghost to be there, so he could tell Ghost he had been wrong one more time. Gerry walked along the edge of the market, his strides longer and longer until he was all but running. He stopped only when he reached Mother's yard.

Mother was out in the back, wrapping a smoked runner haunch. He straightened up as Gerry strode into the yard, leading Gerry into the house without a word. He pointed Gerry to the table near the hearth and rummaged in a cabinet.

"How can she stand the crying? How does Ghost stand it?" Gerry buried his fingers in his hair, his elbows on the table as he slumped forward.

"The same way my dam stood it. Dealing with their suffering is part of the trade as a healer." Mother put a small cup in front of Gerry and poured something pungent from a glass bottle into the cup. "This might help. Then again, maybe not. But it won't hurt."

Gerry watched as Mother poured some into a second cup. "What is this?" In all the years he had lived with Mother, he had never seen the bottle or the drink it held.

Mother smiled. "It's called metheglin. A spicy aged mead. Stronger than what you'd find in the mead house."

Gerry picked up the cup and took a swallow. The flavor was much different than what he was expecting. The taste was richer, sharp with ginger and clove. The metheglin warmed him as it slid down his throat. He set the cup down with care.

Mother chuckled and drank his cup down in a single draught. "Healers need to learn to let go. Just as hunters must learn to kill clean. Letting a runner get away with a fatal wound is cruel. Hunting is not about the runners suffering. It's the same for a witch."

Gerry sighed and turned the cup in a slow circle. "Natali said the patient has to be able to understand and accept or refuse the tincture. So, the babes can't be helped. I just don't know how she can stay there and watch. The dams know, and they're as helpless." He picked up the cup and finished the drink. "I was so wrong to even think I could judge Ghost."

"You'll tell him when he comes home." Mother offered the bottle, but Gerry waved it away. "He will come home. Believe in him. Witches have their own ways and secrets. They walk in places where we wouldn't go willingly. For all you feel the need to protect him, Ghost is capable and clever."

Gerry managed a smile. "He's both those things and more. He's so damned single-minded sometimes. He doesn't give up. He sat up nights reading his formulary until I all but dragged him to bed. Otherwise, he'd have gone to see his patients with no sleep, no breakfast, no anything. But he's passionate about being a witch. You should have seen him tell Moran off and face the elders. I was so proud of him."

"You've been proud of him since you took him as your dependent. It's a rare witch who's a dependent, you know. My dam was the alpha of our family, and my sire her dependent," Mother said. "He makes you proudest when he's being a witch and standing on his own. Have you told him?"

Gerry swallowed hard. "The words don't come easy. I become overwhelmed and my tongue mangles what I want to say. To say I love him seems inadequate."

"You'll find a way, and he'll forgive you. It will all work out fine." Mother stood and walked out of the room, leaving Gerry alone with the metheglin and his misery.

***

Ghost read more of the entries from
Information
while the carriage hurtled north. The red dot moved closer to the end point, and Ghost judged he would arrive at the station well before high sun tomorrow. Ghost yawned and found himself ridiculously tired from doing nothing, far more tired than dealing with the sick would have left him.

Finally, Ghost closed
Information
and put away his formulary and pen. The bed was cool, and he took a moment to shift the pillows around and give himself the illusion of being home. He didn't bother to lower the lighting in the carriage. Darkness would not have helped him relax, and he felt safer when he could see.

The carriage lurched, and Ghost woke as he was jostled in his nest of pillows. The lighting grew dim, the panels as black as could be. He wondered if the carriage had not been fed enough. Maybe the path the carriage followed was blocked or damaged. Another lurch jolted him, stronger than before, and a high-pitched whine filled his ears briefly. The carriage settled back down and the lighting grew brighter again, but Ghost couldn't relax. He huddled back under the blankets until he grew too restless.

Ghost climbed out of the bed and called up the map. The red dot had veered off the line, but the position was far closer to the end point than he had expected. He didn't want to know how the new path had been implemented.

Ghost cleaned the cabin and checked his pouches. He barely noticed the porridge he ate for breakfast, too busy watching the red dot close on the station.

The carriage hummed and slowed down. Ghost's stomach fluttered, and he reached for the water skin to take a drink. The lighting dimmed for a moment, and a panel shifted to display a message.

"Arrival at terminal station eight imminent," Ghost read aloud. "Prepare to disembark." He frowned as he tried to decide what "disembark" could mean. He grabbed his pouches and water skin and slung his cloak over his shoulders. The carriage came to a halt and the door slid open.

"Welcome to terminal station eight." Ghost heard the same voice from the station back in the Heartlands. He stepped through the door with alacrity, not willing to take any chances with this "disembark" thing.

Frost rimed the walls of the station, and Ghost's boots crunched over the thin crust of ice covering the floor. He drew his cloak tighter around him. The lights flickered in places, but most of this station was shadowed and dim.

Information
had been unable to provide any reliable clues about the Northlands, since the lands had changed since the entries had been written. The map still showed the East Marches as solid land, after all, and Ghost knew they were only islands. But the lack of data meant he had no idea what would await him outside the station. He didn't know if a Norther equivalent to sind or an even bigger predator lurked in the frozen wastes. Not as though it would matter, if Ghost was being honest with himself. He needed to find the Witch and her potential vaccine.

Because the voice of this station was the same, Ghost took a chance in assuming the design of the station would be similar as well. He guessed he was in a substation and needed to find his way to the main station to locate an exit. He proceeded with caution, listening to the echo of his steps as he entered the cavern of the main station, the openings of other substations black maws on the icy walls.

Ghost marveled at the spines of ice hanging from the ceiling. They were as deadly as they were beautiful, and he stayed as close to the wall as possible while crossing the main station. The exit would be across from the substations, if the pattern held true. If not, hugging the walls would lead him to an exit sooner or later.