The Summoner (42 page)

An early winter was even more likely there, and Tris wondered if they would be able to leave the Library easily.

It took more than an hour before Carina felt like talking, and Vahanian’s mood remained dark even longer. At Gabriel’s suggestion, each of them carried a bundle of torches soaked in pitch and a tinderbox, along with buckets of a sloppy, thick pitch mixture that could flare into fire at the barest spark. Tris found that he could call a spark to hand as quickly as he could strike one with a flint, and agreed to carry more than his share of torches for ease of lighting, should they encounter the beasts.

“Skrivven for your thoughts,” Tris said to Carroway as he rode beside him. Vahanian took the 355

point position this hour, with Carina and Berry in the middle, and Tris taking his turn in the rear.

Every few candlemarks, Tris and the other fighters exchanged positions, giving each a turn on watch.

Carroway grinned sheepishly. “If you have to know,” he admitted, “I was thinking about the menus at Shekerishet at this time of year. Roast mutton, potatoes and leeks and warm puddings.” He sighed. “And those end‐of‐the‐season‐at‐court parties before the outlying nobility go back to their lands for the winter, all of them needing a bard and feeding me well for my trouble!”

Tris smiled, savoring the memories for a moment himself. He had learned quickly to make do with hard biscuits and sausage on the road north, and to be thankful when they weren’t moldy or full of maggots. Memories of a warm banquet hall filled with the delicacies of a court kitchen seemed increasingly like a half‐remembered dream.

“You might find the social calendar altered a bit with Jared in charge,” Tris remarked, shaking himself from the reverie. “And Arontala put a damper on any event if he walked in the door. I wonder if the nobles feel as much like celebrating, now that Jared is king.”

“I wonder, sometimes, what will be left, by the time we can go home,” Carroway said, sobering.

He stared out toward the gray, barren tree line that marked the uneven horizon. “Whether we winter at the Library or in Principality City, we’ll have to stay somewhere over the worst months.

If the Sisterhood is sending you to the Library, then there must be something there you need, maybe books or spells or who‐knows‐what.”

“I wondered about that myself,” Tris said. “I’ll need far more training before I can hope to defeat Arontala. But I don’t have years… at best we’ve got months.”

“Then there’s the question of raising and outfitting an army,” Carroway supplied. “That won’t happen at a library. “We’ll have to spend time— months—in Principality City to do that. It won’t be cheap, either. It’s a good thing you’ve got your uncle’s accounts there; and having him vouch 356

for you doesn’t hurt, either. Then we have to get back down into Margolan—no small trick.”

“By the Hawthorn Moon next summer,” Tris added, feeling hopeless. “Grandmother’s spirit came to me in a dream,” he said quietly. “She told me that Arontala means to work magic on the Hawthorn Moon to free the spirit of the Obsidian King from where it was bound at the end of the Great War. If he does that, and gains even more power—”

“There won’t be any way to stop him, without another great war, even worse than the first,”

Carroway finished his sentence for him. “That isn’t leaving us a lot of time, Tris.”

“I know,” Tris replied. “Believe me, I know.”

The weather turned colder, with a gray, overcast sky that bode darkly for the days ahead. Tris moved up to ride his turn at point, leaving Carroway and Carina to talk as they rode about the legend of the Library and what a healer might find useful there.

Tris tried to shake free of the brooding mood that settled on him with the coming of the autumn weather. He thought through the timeline Carroway put into words. No matter how he worked it—and even without the unanticipated detour to the Library—it left precious little time.

I can’t face Arontala the way I called the spirits in the forest, he thought. Arontala is vayash moru—only the Lady knows how long he’s been a mage. Between what little grandmother taught me and what I have time to learn, how can I hope to defeat a mage like that?

Yet his grandmother’s spirit had told him of lessons that would come back to him when the time was right. He could not imagine the time being more right than this, but although he tried to recall any forgotten lessons, both awake and in a trance, nothing beyond the most basic 357

workings came to mind. How can I ask an army to follow me when a fool can see I haven’t got a chance? He had more questions than answers, and as the clouds darkened and the day wore on, he found his mood grow bleaker until they reached a protected, level place, and set up camp for the night.

They camped by the side of the road near a dilapidated well, and that night, they kept close to the fire, watchful for enemies both human and magic. The snow stopped but the wind was bitter, and the ground beneath them was already frozen. The innkeeper sent with them generous provisions of crusty bread, dried and salted meats, wedges of cheese and wineskins—more than enough to keep them going for several days.

“So where is this Library, anyway?” Vahanian asked, poking at the coals of the fire with the toe of his boot.

Tris leaned forward, looking into the glowing embers. “I’m not quite sure. The legend says it’s upstream on the Nu, where the waters cry.”

“Cry, huh?” Vahanian said skeptically. “Great. Nice directions. Anything else helpful?”

“If the Library is near the river, then traveling upstream should bring us there eventually.” Carina said.

“Well, now that we’ve got that taken care of, I’m going to get some sleep,” Vahanian said, standing stiffly. “Wake me when it’s time for my watch.”

Tris found his dreams were far from peaceful. The ghostly faces from the forest howled around him, draining his life and defying his control. Then, amid their keening, he could hear Kait’s voice, distant and plaintive. Tris, help me! Again he glimpsed her face, pressed against a transparent barrier, her eyes frightened and desperate, one hand outstretched. He lunged for her, but as his fingers were about to touch hers, the image receded, her voice growing fainter 358

and fainter as the memory of the forest ghosts closed in around him again, only to be replaced by Kait’s falcons, screeching in anger and flying at him from all quarters, their talons open and their sharp beaks hungry for the kill. He fended them off but they kept coming, their wings stirring a storm around him, ripping into his skin with their claws.

Tris woke, shuddering, to find himself sitting bolt upright, his blankets fallen away. He caught his breath raggedly and closed his eyes, but the dreams were gone.

Milord, a word with you, if you please? a voice said as a sudden cold surrounded him, and it took Tris an instant to realize that he heard the words only in his mind. He opened his eyes to find the spirit of a young woman standing in front of him. She looked to be in her late teens, a beautiful girl with long, dark hair and a slim frame. Tris was unsure whether the sadness in her eyes or her extreme deference to him troubled him more, and exhausted as he felt, he was moved with pity.

A glance around reassured him that he had indeed awakened, for Vahanian sat his watch, oblivi-ous to Tris’s ghostly visitor.

What is troubling you? he asked silently.

You are a Summoner, the ghost said, and Tris nodded. The spirit smiled and clapped her hands.

Then this is the day I have waited for! Please, milord, hear my story. I was betrothed to a young man from the next village, but my father would not allow us to marry. One night, we agreed to run away, and so I stole the dowry and slipped out to meet my lover here at the well. The spirit’s face grew troubled, and Tris saw anger in her eyes beneath the sadness. When my lover came, he had been drinking, and he was angry that the dowry was so little. We quarreled, and he knocked me back against the well. I fell, and as I died, I could hear him laughing as he gathered up the dowry, the spirit recounted sorrowfully.

I can bid you peace, and free your soul to find the Lady, Tris offered, moved by her story.

You are a Summoner. Bring me back, the girl insisted, her eyes bright with hope. Let me have my vengeance on the one who killed me arid make peace with my father.

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Tris shook his head. I cannot, he replied. It is forbidden to bring the dead back among the living.

Forbidden by whom? the ghost argued, and Tris could see that the brightness in her eyes was not hope but vengeance. You are a Summoner. I can feel your power. It calls to me. Give me my due!

Again, Tris shook his head. The longer the spirit remained in his presence, the more uncomfortable he became. There was a darkness about the girl that chilled him.

Surely this is not too large a thing for such a mage as yourself, the girl begged. I died not two days ago. See, my body lies under the snows just beyond the well. My father is a wealthy man.

He will reward you well for returning his only daughter. She looked to him entreatingly. Only last night my mother passed this way, calling for me. I did not have the strength to answer, and so she passed on by. They mourn me, milord. Let me return to my home.

Only the Lady herself may reanimate a corpse, Tris replied. It is forbidden.

The ghost’s eyes flared in anger. You are no better than my lover, she said scornfully. I have begged you, pleaded with you, and you turn me away. The darkness that first tinged the specter now limned its outline, and Tris instinctively

called a warding around himself and his friends, driving the ghost back outside the circle.

How dare you! the ghost shrieked in a wail that echoed deafeningly in Tris’s mind. I’ll show you just like I’ll show him! she swore, I’ll find my way back, if I have to bargain with the Crone herself!

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The image dissipated in front of him into a swirl of mist, but the chill he felt remained, even as he went back over his warding to assure himself that he had done everything possible to guard his friends. Finally, exhaustion overcame him, and he drifted into fitful sleep.

Berry’s scream awakened them all a candle‐mark later, in the darkness just before sunrise. She was standing at the edge of the warding, pointing.

Staggering to his feet, Tris saw Carina by the well. She stood rigid and still, outside the ward‐ings had Tris set. Vahanian lurched to his feet, sword ready, as Carroway scrambled from his post.

“I thought you were on watch,” Vahanian grated.

“I was, I swear,” Carroway breathed, eyes wide. “There was a noise over there,” he pointed in the other direction, “and I went to check it out. There was nothing,” he recounted, “and then I turned, and saw Carina at the well. I thought she might have needed a drink, but she moved like she was still asleep, and I was just about to go after her when Berry screamed.”

“Something’s been out here,” Vahanian said, walking around to the other side of the well. He pointed at the body of a young woman, half buried in a drift. On her temple was a dark bruise and around her neck, the marks of a belt or rope. One hand stretched out, claw‐like, from the drift, in a final grasping gesture. But it was the corpse’s face that held Tris’s gaze, for though it was contorted in fear and anger, the dead girl’s features were those of the ghost who had sought his help.

Tris turned back to Carina and gently called her name. The healer’s eyes were glazed, her expression astonished, still standing rigid as death.

“What’s wrong with her?” Carroway asked, not attempting to hide the fear in his voice. He reached out toward her, but Tris caught his wrist.

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“What are you doing?” Carroway protested.

“That’s Carina’s body,” Tris said quietly, stretching out his mage senses, “but there’s another spirit in control.”

“What the hell are you talking about,” Vahanian snapped, his hand on the pommel of his sword.

“Last night, while Jonmarc was on watch, a ghost came to me,” Tris said, staring at Carina’s motionless form.

“I didn’t see any ghosts,” Vahanian differed.

Tris shook his head, staring at Carina. “She wasn’t strong enough for anyone but me to see her,”

he said quietly.

“She?” Carroway said breathlessly, stealing a look at the corpse. “That she?”

Tris nodded, and told them the dead girl’s story.

Vahanian looked at him skeptically. “So this ghost thought you could snap your fingers and bring her back from the dead?” he recapped incredulously. Unspoken, the next question seemed to hang in the air. And could you have? Tris knew they wondered, though they did not dare to ask, and Tris, remembering the fiasco with Alyzza and the field mouse, was grateful they did not.

“Even if I could,” Tris said, “it is forbidden by the Lady. I had to turn her away,” he recounted.

“That’s when she swore she would find a way back on her own,” he added in a voice just above a 362

whisper. “I set a warding over us. I thought we would be safe.”

“Yeah, well it didn’t work,” Vahanian clipped.

“The warding was breached,” Tris replied. “Carina stepped outside the circle. The ghost must have called to her.”

“Can you bring Carina back?” Berry whispered, a dagger clutched in her fist.

In answer, Tris laid a hand on Carina’s shoulder and closed his eyes. He stretched out his senses, searching for Carina’s life force, the glowing thread he had felt the night they saved Vahanian’s life. To his relief, it burned—dim but present—within her form, but it was not Carina’s spirit that rose up to meet him.

Instead, heady laughter greeted him. I told you I would find a way, the ghost’s voice mocked.

Look what I can do!

“Look what I can do,” Carina’s voice shook him from his trance. Tris’s eyes snapped open to see Carina’s mouth moving, her voice flat and toneless, her eyes still staring sightlessly ahead.

As they watched in horror, Carina’s form began to tremble, and then one arm jerked up, suspended as if by a puppeteer’s string. It fell to her side as the other arm rose, and then awkwardly the healer shuffled forward, bumping into the well without reaction before blindly turning toward them.