Wanderling (Spirit Seeker Book 1) (12 page)

“That’s it!” Burano exclaimed,
slamming his hand against his table. “Guards, get the boy!”

A movement on the other side of
the door told Adala the guards were complying. She raised her eyebrows,
realizing that he was summoning Shem. She hoped to be there when Shem came.

“Read the part about the signs of
the spirit guide again,” Burano commanded.

She skimmed the script. “They want
to use me as a sort of spiritual guide, and they often seek counsel—”

“The other part, with the star,”
Burano said.

She scanned up the page. “They say
that if I were the true warrior to unite the clans, the North Star would rest
on my shoulder,” she said.

“Good. Write those two lines in
large text. Here, use this.” He tossed a strip of cured leather at her and she
used a quill to copy the lines in bold letters for Burano’s fading eyes to
read.

Shem emerged in the doorway,
escorted by the two guards. His face lit up to see Adala at work by the table,
and he rushed forward to give her a hug.

Adala smiled and embraced him
reassuringly. She sighed to see that he was dressed well and looked healthy.
His cheeks were round, with more freckles than the last time she saw him, and
his hair was curling out behind his ears.

“I missed you,” Shem whispered.

Burano stepped forward and knelt
to her brother’s level. “Come here, son. I need to see something.” He pulled
down the neck of Shem’s tunic to reveal his left shoulder.

“What is this for?” Shem asked.

“I’m not sure,” Burano said,
turning Shem roughly the other way so that he could look at his right shoulder.
“Ah, there it is,” he proclaimed. “The North Star rests on his shoulder!”

Adala raised an eyebrow, stifling
a laugh.
What could he possibly mean?

“You see this?” Burano said with
excitement. He pointed to the pure white birthmark on Shem’s shoulder blade.

Adala crept closer and saw that it
resembled a shining star to some degree. When Shem was a baby, she always
thought it looked like a splotch of white paint on his shoulder. “That’s a far
stretch,” she said. “I think you’re pushing it to say he’s the one in their
prophecy.”

Burano let go of the boy’s tunic,
covering Shem’s birthmark. “It doesn’t matter if he is or isn’t the one in the
prophecy, just so long as we can persuade the desert savages that he’s the
one,” he murmured distractedly as he wandered back to his desk.

“But what if they don’t buy it?”
she said quickly. “The monk’s journal made it sound dangerous for him if they
aren’t convinced.” She began to panic, realizing that the danger of her
brother’s situation was about to grow exponentially. “Burano, you can’t do
this,” she challenged, standing up to face the leader. “He’s just a boy. Leave
him out of this weird obsession of yours. Have you heard anything from these
scrolls? The desert people are dangerous!”

Burano stepped toe-to-toe with her,
making her look up into his dark eyes. His threatening presence silenced her,
but she refused to step back or look away.

“You are a guest in my community,”
Burano said in a threateningly quiet voice, almost inaudible. “Never tell me
what I can and cannot do.”

Adala gulped, looking from his
narrowed eyes to the brand on his forehead.

“Now, go back to your cell with
your guards, and I will forget your insolence,” he breathed.

Adala stepped back to be escorted
back to her cell, finally looking away from Burano’s wild, threatening
expression. She paused to rest a hand on her brother’s shoulder, terrified to
realize that Burano was far from finished using her brother for his personal
gain.

She nodded to Jarod and began
walking with him toward the door.

“And Jarod,” Burano called. “See
to it that our scribe gets a good dinner tonight. She has earned her keep. Just
tell her guards to watch her closely. We leave for the desert tomorrow.”

Tobin
was wrapping up an informal archery contest with a few of the other soldiers
when he heard the news. The competition was down to him and Mathis, a weathered
soldier and very good archer, when Tobin pulled back his bowstring and heard a
shout at the edge of the training grounds.

“We’re
leaving tomorrow!” hollered Willie. “Orders are in, men! We’re taking a long
desert journey. Pack light on the supplies and heavy on the food and water.
Move!”

Tobin
lowered his bow as the archery challenge was all but forgotten in a bustle of
excitement. The men began carting the armor and wooden training swords back to
the supply shed, some of them already lining up at the well to get water for
their journey before it went low enough that the water turned brown.

“I
assume you will be joining the group as a way to make the desert dwellers more
friendly with us,” Tosser said, helping Tobin collect the arrows. “That’s good
thinking on Burano’s part.”

Tobin
shrugged. “I guess so.”

“I
have no idea why he thinks we can make peace with those savages now though,
after so many years of fighting over water sources,” Tosser added, stuffing a
fistful of arrows into his quiver.

Tobin
let the “savages” comment roll off his back. Instead, he said, “I wonder if
this means my training is over.”

“Training
is never over,” called Jarod’s voice gruffly.

Tobin
turned to see his instructor walking towards them. “Will we continue on the
road?” he asked, wondering how that would be possible.

“We
will,” Jarod said. “Every evening after we make camp.”

Tobin
couldn’t help but sigh. He was exhausted from the drills. Not as much from the
physicality of them but from the grueling nature of spending every morning
under Jarod’s command.

“You
will carry this as your weapon while we travel,” Jarod said, tossing him a
wooden sword.

Tobin
caught it out of reflex, meeting Jarod’s eye with a glare. “We will be in
dangerous territory, running the risk of attack from the desert dwellers,” he
reminded his superior officer. “I think you can grant me a real sword for this
occasion.”

“Why
should you fear your own people?” Jarod asked. “Don’t you remember when you
were just a little whelp and you used to go around telling people that you
wanted to go live with your savage cousins?”

Tobin
clenched his teeth and took a short breath. “I’m ready to carry a real sword,
Jarod.”

“Show
me then,” Jarod taunted, lifting another wooden sword from the cart. “Give me
your best shot.”

Tobin
was surprised by the challenge. So far in their training, he had only fought
other soldiers while Jarod criticized on the sidelines, critiquing his form and
reflexes. Not since the first day had he initiated a one-on-one fight between
the two of them.

Tobin
gripped the hilt of his wooden sword, swinging it to test its weight.

Tosser
and the other soldiers cleared way as Tobin and Jarod circled one another with
mirrored steps, holding their swords at the ready.

Tobin
focused on keeping himself grounded and staying on his toes, always watching
Jarod.

His
trainer took the first move, charging forward with a combination of attack
swings that Tobin had seen before. Tobin stepped back, defending with a series
of blocks and parries. It was easier to keep his balance and hold the form in
his swings without the weight of chainmail holding him down. He struck away
Jarod’s blows with energy, reacting to each hit appropriately according to his
endless hours of training.

“Not
bad form,”  Jarod praised as Tobin blocked an overhead swing, their swords
meeting above their heads. “But you have one problem.”

“What
is it?” Tobin said, dodging left and knocking away another of Jarod’s attacks.

“You
still never take the offensive,” Jarod said, darting forward with a jab towards
Tobin’s gut.

Tobin
leaped backwards and knocked his sword away. He took the bait, trying to start
a combination that would force Jarod backwards in defense, but found himself
blocking another series of swings instead.

“Do
you have the guts to attack a man? To kill him in cold blood?” Jarod knocked
away Tobin’s next swing with force that made pain shoot up Tobin’s arm.

Tobin
took a jab towards his stomach, then a swing at his head. Both were blocked
with jarring strength.

A
crowd had collected around them by now, and they stepped back as Tobin
retreated away from Jarod’s advances, blocking the blows with more and more
sluggish movements.

“Would
you do it if your life depended on it?” Jarod taunted.

Tobin
wished he would shut up. He made a lucky swing towards his opponent’s left arm,
barely scraping it before his sword was knocked away.

“What
if your sister’s life depended on it?” Jarod asked with a sickening smile.
“Sweet little Sarah.”

Of
all Jarod’s jibes, this one struck home. Tobin gripped the hilt of his sword
tightly as he blocked the next blow, and he saw red spots in his vision. With
clenched teeth, he charged forward, no longer focusing on his form or what
combination he was using.

“Don’t
you even talk about her,” Tobin growled, plowing full-force into an attack that
put every muscle of his body behind the swinging of his sword.

Jarod
smiled with satisfaction for a moment at Tobin’s rage, but the smile
disappeared as he was soon very focused on defending himself.

Tobin
attacked from all the angles he could think of, swinging for his knees, jabbing
towards the abdomen, and trying for the head any time he got the chance. Even
though they wore no armor, he harbored no reservations about using the full
force of his attack. He knew that Jarod wasn’t holding back either.

Vaguely,
he was aware of a spectator shouting, “Get him!” as Jarod began backing up
rapidly under the fierce attack.

Jarod
swung for Tobin’s head in retaliation, and Tobin ducked, barreling forward to
push his trainer off balance. He struck Jarod’s midsection with his shoulder
and the weight of his body behind it, and they both tumbled to the ground.

Tobin
moved quickly, rolling to pin Jarod’s right arm to the ground.

Jarod’s
left fist swung around, boxing him in the side of the head by surprise and
making a ringing sound erupt in Tobin’s ear.

Tobin
dropped his sword to clamp a hand over his ringing ear, and Jarod rolled him
over so that he was pinned to the ground.

Applause
erupted around him.

“You
showed him,” someone called out.

“Not
bad, kid,” said somebody else. It sounded like Ollie.

Tobin
struggled to catch his breath, unable to move beneath Jarod’s weight.

“Why
did you lose?” Jarod asked, leaning forward to further pinch Tobin’s wrists
against the ground.

Tobin
winced. “Because I let myself get tired before I went on the offense?”

Jarod
shook his head. “That was part of it, but you did well there at the end. The
real reason you lost was because you dropped your sword after I punched you in
the ear. In battle, you can’t tend your wounds. Nobody’s going to wait while
you get a bandage or nurse your headache. You have to keep going no matter how
much you hurt. You have to be willing to keep attacking until you’ve finished
the job, and then you have to live with it afterwards.”

Tobin
nodded, his veins still flowing with anger towards Jarod for his comment about
Sarah.
If he so much as looks at her sideways,
he thought to himself,
he
will learn firsthand that I have it in me to finish the job when my family is
on the line.

Jarod
released him, climbing to his feet and offering Tobin a hand.

Tobin
got up on his own, dusting off his pants.

“You
can’t hold back in your fight if you think it isn’t fair, either,” Jarod added.
“That’s what Havard did, and now he’s dead of infection because he let a girl
stab him in the gut.”

Tobin
flinched at the reminder.

“That
girl killed him,” Jarod added, eyes never leaving Tobin’s face. “If it comes to
it, you may have to fight her, you know.”

Tobin
shrugged, looking at the ground. “And?”

“If
you hesitate for even a second, she will kill you,” spat Jarod. “She’s not the
strongest fighter, but she’s got what you don’t. That damned wench is crazy,
and she won’t hesitate to attack. Watch your back when you’re around her. Don’t
get sympathetic.”

“I
won’t,” Tobin said quickly, though he knew it was too late for that. From the
very beginning, he knew he wouldn’t be able to retaliate against Adala. He had
thought about it at length, the scenario of her trying to escape. He couldn’t
consider the thought of using his knife against her when her only crime was
trying to save her brother.

“I
hope you’re right,” said Jarod. “Pack your things and get a good night’s rest.
You’ll need it tomorrow. You will ride Havard’s old horse on our journey, as he
requested.” He started to leave, but then turned back to add, “And stop by the
storage shed before you go. Pick out a real sword. If we get into trouble with
the desert savages, you can find out if you’re really fit to use it.”

***

Tobin
did as Jarod said, selecting a lightweight sword with good balance from the
weapons shed. He enjoyed the way it felt hanging from his belt.

He
had hours still before his evening shift guarding Adala, so he took Sarah to
the outskirts of the village where Havard’s horse was tethered to graze. Tobin
recognized the chestnut mare immediately, her slender legs and long neck. She
looked so delicate and precocious next to the other stubby-legged horses. As he
and Sarah approached, she perked up her ears and tossed her head with a whinny.

“Does
she bite?” Sarah asked, slowing down to keep her distance.

“I
don’t know.” Tobin plucked a few strands of the patchy grass and holding it out
for the mare, who snorted suspiciously, then quickly nibbled the grass from his
palm.

“What
is her name?” Sarah asked.

“I
don’t know,” repeated Tobin. “But Havard wanted her to be mine, so I suppose we
must give her a name.”

“She’s
taking you to the desert,” Sarah said, stepping forward to stroke the mare’s
shining copper coat. “We should give her a desert name.”

“Do
you even remember any Roharian names?” Tobin inquired. He looked around to be
certain that nobody was around them, then switched to the tongue of his
mother’s people, saying to his sister, “We hardly speak the language anymore.”

“I
remember some,” Sarah replied in the same tongue. “When we lived with the
Niralhi clan, I remember I had a friend named Leyenne.”

Tobin
was surprised she remembered that much from their time in the desert. After
their mother died, he had been filled with rage. He knew that his mother
wouldn’t have been malnourished enough to die of illness if she had been with
her people. So he took his sister, who was only six years old at the time, and
went into the desert. They were half dehydrated when the Niralhi clan found
them and took pity on the children. They became like family to him and Sarah,
teaching them to live and fight in the desert. For nearly a year he thought
they had found someplace to settle. It felt like he was returning home, to the
region where his mother spent her childhood.

“Stop
being so sullen,” Sarah said, interrupting his thoughts. She had switched back
to Bolgish. Her Roharian was broken and awkward anyway. She had lost much of
her language skills since their return to the Wanderling village. “We have a
good life here too, you know,” she added.

Tobin
nodded. “We are in a better place now,” he admitted. “If you want, I will call
her Leyenne.”

“She
is friendly,” said Sarah, kissing the mare on her nose. “Sweet Leyenne, you
keep my brother in line on his journey.”

Tobin
grew nervous about his impending departure, realizing that Sarah would be all
alone in his absence. “Keep a knife next to you when you sleep and always watch
your things while I am away. You never know when someone is going to decide
they need your food more than you do.”

“Don’t
worry about me,” she said. “Worry about how you are going to look after Adala
and Shem.” She started braiding Leyenne’s mane while she spoke, smiling at the
mare. “You can’t continue helping Burano keep them captive. You’re better than
that, Tobin. Look out for them, and make sure they’re safe, whatever happens.
Okay? You owe them that, after how you helped capture Adala.”

Tobin
pressed his lips together and nodded slightly. He didn’t know what he intended
to do or how loyal he truly was to Burano. He was too smart to go against
Burano’s orders and risk the safety of himself and his sister. But he wondered,
what are the limits of my loyalty?
He didn’t have it in him to attack
Adala, he knew that. But what if his standing as a soldier was on the line? If
he was found guilty of direct disobedience, he and Sarah could suffer greatly
from it. Sarah could be cast into the position his mother was when she died,
living on the smallest rations and working in the field by day and in the
bedroom by night.

He
shuddered to think that Sarah was practically the age his mother was when she
first got pregnant. If he wasn’t in good standing as a soldier, he couldn’t
protect her at all. His word would mean nothing to Burano. But now, with some
sort of negotiations with the desert clans on the horizon, he was the most
valuable soldier in town. The only one who could translate a word of the
Roharian language. He was close to being able to protect his sister, but first
he had to follow his orders.

“Be
careful out there,” Sarah said. “I may not remember much from our days in the
desert, but I remember how it ended.” She shuddered, looking away. “Please be
careful around the Roharian clans. I want you to come home safe.”