The Ghosts of Cartel - 4

The Ghosts of Cartel - 3  (ASR) A story of hardship, friendship, faeries, magic, princes and murderers. #1619226 by Tegan L. Elliott

         “Aisha! I've found something!” Meg said as she ran into the kitchen, holding the book above her head.
         The old woman's braided hair was wrapped around her neck like a scarf and her hands were elbow-deep in a basin of water, washing potatoes. She glanced at the girl. “So get on with it.”
         Meg's enthusiasm drained and she lowered the book to her side. “Well, I was reading and I found something that could help us with Will,” she said in a wilted voice.
         Aisha plucked a potato from the pot and set it on the counter with a handful of others.
         “Uh,” Meg continued. “Shall I just--?”
         “Please do,” Aisha cut in.
         “Right.” Meg cleared her throat and recited, "'The phenomenon known as 'imprinting' is one of the visible side effects of some 'Deep Magic' spells. In imprinting the victim's skin is emblazoned with one of infinite designs, depending on the spell used, the spell caster, and the harm to be inflicted.
         “Users of this type of magic are not rare, but most are incapable of fatal or long-term spells. This is because the energy and skill it takes to employ such dangerous magic over a long period of time requires several lifetimes of mastery and a great deal of power.
         'Depending on the severity of the curse, the marks may remain for minutes or even weeks, during which time the victims may feel it's effects in a number of varied ways, the most common being a burning, stabbing sensation starting at the center of the imprint.
         'Note: One should not touch this wound, as the pain is transferrable with direct contact'.” Meg scoffed. “Discovered that on our own, thanks."
         Aisha's wrinkled hand rested on a dry potato. "That's it?" she asked.
         "That's it," Meg said, closing the book.
         "Well what good does that do us!” Aisha fumed, punching the vegetable into the bowl. She scrubbed as if she aimed to clean its center, then slammed it on the counter with the rest. “It doesn't say anything about how to fix it?”
         “No. I read the next several pages and didn't see anyth--hey!”
         Aisha snatched the book from Meg's hands and stalked back into the main room. She skimmed the page Meg had read, then skimmed the next few, her frown deepening. “They really don't say anything else about it.”
         “I told you I didn't see--”
         “William!” Aisha shouted, startling the boy awake.
         He appeared disoriented for a few seconds, then focused on Aisha and took a steadying breath. “May I assume that you want something?”
         “You may, and I do,” Aisha said, sitting on the  bed and looking down to the floor where he lay. She leaned forward, the book open in her lap. “What happened to you?”
         Will's expression darkened.
         “Don't do that,” the old woman warned. “We rescued you, I think we deserve to know.”
         “I didn't ask for your help, healer,” Will said, his eyes seeming to darken in color as he glared at her.
         “But, still, you got it,” she retorted.
         Will leaned back on his elbows. “If a merchant forced a necklace into your hands as you walked by his cart, would you be required to pay for it?”
         Will and Aisha stared each other down. Both their faces were painted with irritation, but Aisha's was seething with it. She glared hard, focusing on Will's face, and a bead of sweat appeared on her brow. Will twitched, raising a hand to his temple. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side.
         “Of course I'm not!” Aisha said, then she gasped and covered her mouth.
         “Of course you're not what?” Meg asked, looking from the young boy to the old woman.
         “Of course she's not trying to read my mind,” Will answered, looking back at Aisha with a frown. “Funny how I didn't ask that out loud.”
         Aisha grumbled something inaudible, slammed the book shut and  said, “I guess it doesn't work so well when you're awake.”          
         “I can't imagine it was very successful while I was unconscious, either,” he countered.
         Aisha leaned forward, wiping the sweat off her brow. “Not quite,” she admitted. “How did you keep me out, anyway? No one's been able to do that before.”
         “Training,” he replied. “How did you learn to do it?”
         “Training,” she retorted.
         For a quiet moment, Will and Aisha regarded each other with what seemed to be mutual respect, then they broke into grins.
         “You are very interesting, William.”
         “I find you somewhat interesting, yourself, Aisha,” the boy replied.
         Meg sighed and went to stand by Morph who was basking in the windowsill. “You think I'm interesting, don't you?” she whispered, snuggling up to the cat's soft head. Morph rubbed up against Meg's face, then bounded away. The girl sighed. “I didn't think so.”
         “Meg?” Will asked.
         The girl spun around, surprised to be addressed. “Yes?”
         “Can we go for a walk?” he asked, his voice as light as she'd ever heard it.
         She blinked and looked to Aisha, raising both eyebrows. “Can we?”
         The old woman scrutinized Will. “Are you well enough?” she asked.
         “I'm not sure, but I'd like to try,” Will said. “With your permission, healer.”
         Aisha looked Will over, starting at the top of his head, then scanning all the way down to where his waist disappeared beneath the sheets. “Well... don't go far,” she warned as she reached to help him up. “I'm making a stew for you.” 
         Will got to his feet, finding them to be about as steady as he expected, which wasn't very. He looked around the room, then put a hand to his chest and frowned.
         "What is it?" Aisha asked, placing a steadying arm around his waist. "Another attack?”
         "No..." Will scanned the area around the bed, and then asked, "Where is my tunic?"           
         "Oh, we threw it out," Meg said, sounding apologetic. "But it was all singed and bloody, so I doubt you would have wanted it back. Here, you can wear this." As she spoke, she took her long, gray cloak off the wall and wrapped it around his shoulders. “It's a bit windy out today, but hold it closed and you'll be fine.” She smiled. “Ready?”
         Will nodded and presented a fleeting smile, then followed Meg out the door as they both bid Aisha goodbye. 

#

         It was a gusty day, as Meg had said, but the sun was bright and when the breeze died down it was almost warm. Will felt the heat on his face and shoulders and discovered he was stronger than he thought. The pain in his chest was nothing more than a dull ache and he no longer felt the sting from the burns on the rest of his body. Though it wasn't where he hoped to be, Merith was a charming city. The houses on Market street were drab at best, but he could see on the hills behind them that many other buildings were built into grassy hillsides and overgrown with wildflowers. There hadn't been anything like that in his home, and he found the change of scenery refreshing. The pair of them crept through the outskirts of the marketplace as Will was not moving fast and might very well have been trampled.
         Farmers, traders, craftsmen and trappers were calling out with pleasingly spun words and enticing people to come see their wares with eye-catching displays. Meg's eyes lingered over one such man who wore a cloak of the blackest fabric she'd ever seen. His keen eyes were wild and almost hidden underneath thick black eyebrows. His appearance was startling, but his words and voice were sweet and seductive.
         "Plucked from the caves of Sevley, where the elves still inhabit the forest, I present to you the jewels of the Kings of Old."
         The man's words elicited ooh's and ahh's from the audience, but when he uncovered the precious jewels with a single sweep of his cloak, the only sound to be heard from the surrounding women were their sighs of longing. Meg found herself swept away and moved in to survey the finery.
         Rich-colored jewels were hung from delicate chains of silver, set in rings and pendants of gold, or displayed un-set on ripples of silky black fabric, waiting to be made into whatever the buyer desired.
         Will wrapped his hand around Meg's wrist and led her away. "Do not be deceived by the man's cleverly crafted words," he said in an undertone, weaving through the crowd of spellbound women. "His gemstones are nothing more than dyed glass."
         "How do you know?" Meg asked as they emerged from the crowded marketplace, leaving the chaos behind them. “Did you read his mind?” she whispered.
         Will laughed half-heartedly and dropped her arm. “One needn't be telepathic to know when jewels are fake. I do not usually read people's minds without their knowledge, Meg. In most places, it is considered one of the rudest things a person can do to another person. I almost couldn't believe Aisha was trying to do it to me.”
         Meg laughed. “Oh, you must get used to Aisha being rude; it's a constant. She does not subscribe to usual societal standards such as, 'Please,' and 'Thank you', or 'May I read your mind?'”
         “Apparently not,” Will said. He jerked to a stop and squeezed Meg's wrist, hunching forward.
         The girl turned to face him. “What's wrong?” she asked. “Is it your chest?”
         He nodded and placed both hands on her slender shoulders. “Just hold me up,” he instructed. “I'll be fine.” 
         Meg was still wondering how she could keep him upright when he started to cringe and collapse. She reacted by hugging his waist and pulling him close. His arms circled her shoulders and he leaned on them. Meg did the only thing she could think of and made soothing noises in his ear, whispering that it would be alright soon.
         The attack lasted longer than she'd expected and by the end, Meg could feel Will's legs shaking. They were in an alley off the road and no one else was around. Meg managed to lean him against the side of a house, but he sank to the ground, his long legs sprawling out in front of him on the stones. Meg stretched her shoulders and asked if he was okay.
         Will nodded once, still having a hard time breathing.
         “Was that worse than this morning?” she asked, kneeling in front of him.
         He nodded again and rubbed the center of his chest.
         “I thought they were getting better?”
         He swallowed hard. “Trust me, they are. I just didn't have Aisha's medicine this time.”
         “Oh, I see,” Meg said. “Would you like to go back now? You look terrible.”
         Will managed to scoff, though it was very quiet. “Thank you. I feel terrible. Help me up?”
         They walked back down the main road, Will's arm around Meg's shoulder. He kept his head down and his eyes closed, trusting Meg to lead the way. The right edge of the cloak was tossed over Will's left shoulder, hiding his chest, but the sun was lowering and the wind was cold in his face.
         “Meghan!”
         She jumped and then went as rigid as stone. The sharpness of her movements made Will stumble, but he steadied himself and turned to look at the man who'd called for Meg.
         “I thought that was you,” said Dirk, coming to stand in front of them. His eyes soaked up the appearance of Will and the older man's cheek twitched. “What are you doing?” he asked.
         “I-We were just walking,” Meg said, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt with aching precision how close Will was to her and knew that Dirk did not like it at all.
         “So this is why you've been spending so much time away from home, is it?” asked the aging man, looking back at Meg. His voice was casual enough, but there was a slight bite to it; a bitterness that made Meg cringe.
         “Well, I suppose I should meet you,” Dirk said with a smile, extending his hand to Will. “Since you're obviously quite close with my daughter.”          
         “Oh,” Will said, noticing Meg's unfavorable reaction to the man's presence and to his use of the word, 'daughter'.
         “Yes. How do you do?” he asked, shaking the man's hand.
         Dirk had a firm handshake, but it was not overbearing. He looked at Meg and asked, “Are you going to introduce us?”
         “Oh, I'm sorry. Dirk, this is W-”
         “Johnathan,” Will stated. “It's nice to meet you, Dirk. We are about to be late to dinner with a friend, though, so please excuse us. I'm sure you understand.” 
         Dirk nodded, “Of course, of course. You don't mind if I tag along, do you?” he said with a propitious smile.
         Meg flinched, but did not speak. Will seemed irked as he searched his head for the appropriate response.
         “I'm...  I cannot invite you to another person's dinner, sir.” he managed to say. “If it were my house, you would be more than welcome to--”
         “You're eating with the apothecary, right?” Dirk interrupted, adding to Will's disbelief. “Not to worry, Aisha loves me. I saw her just today. She said I was welcome any time. It's settled.”
         The walk back to Aisha's house seemed so much longer than the walk away had. Will's voice was steady as he engaged Dirk in polite conversation, but his knees shook and Meg was supporting much more of his weight than before. She kept quiet and tried not to look like she was the only reason Will was upright, since--for whatever reason--he'd decided to act like he was fine. Will walked into the house first, calling, “Aisha! It's Johnathan and Meg.”
         “Johnath-?” Aisha stepped into the main room and absorbed the sight of Dirk in the doorway. “Of course, Johnathan, hello. And Dirk! How nice of you to come by.”
         “Thank you, Aisha,” he said, ducking under the doorframe. “You're looking younger every time I see you.” Dirk swept into the house and kissed the back of Aisha's wrinkled hand. The old woman smiled and let out a laugh.
         “What a pleasant liar you are,” Aisha grinned.
         Meg made a choking noise from the doorway.
         “Well, the stew is almost ready,” Aisha said, wiping her hands on her thread-bare tunic. “Dirk, would you help me a moment? I can't reach the salt in the upper cabinets and I've misplaced my stepladder.”
         “Of course,” Dirk replied, following the woman into the kitchen. He had to bend his neck to keep his head from hitting the top of the doorway.
         As soon as they were out of sight, Will collapsed forward, his hands on his knees. “Who is that man?” he hissed.
         “My guardian,” Meg replied. She helped Will make his way to the  main table and he fell into one of the seats surrounding it.
         “But he's not your father?” he asked, holding his sides together with his arms and gritting his teeth.
         “Oh no,” she was only too pleased to clarify. “We are not related in any way. My real father worked for Dirk before he and my mother died. Once they passed on, Dirk kind of... inherited me.”
         “Oh, that's awful,” Will said, sounding heartbroken. “I'm so sorry.”
         Meg was used to sympathy when people found out she was an orphan, but Will's reaction was more than just that. She had a feeling not all of the pain in his voice was for her.
         “Who's ready for the most delicious meal of their lives?” Aisha chirped, carrying a steaming pot of stew into the main room. The container was almost half the size of her torso and she lumbered toward the table; struggling to balance. Dirk took the pot from her arms and laughed as he held it as easily as if it were parchment. 
         “I hope you're right, apothecary. Johnathan certainly looks like he needs a good meal,” Dirk said, placing the stew in the center of the table and then taking a seat next to Meg. “Your nephew is nothing but skin and bones. You should let him come to work for me. I'll get some muscles on him in no time.”
         “That's an interesting proposal,” Will said, the pain in his voice gone. “I may be interested in working for you; that is, if my aunt can spare me,” he said with a conspiratorial smile at Aisha.
         “I'm sure I can,” she said, setting old wooden bowls before each of them. “Meg is more than enough trouble for me. Be gone, I say; good riddance to you, Johnathan. Go work for Dirk. He's right. You are far too scrawny,” she teased.
         Will frowned at the old woman and she winked back at him.
         Dinner seemed to rush by. Aisha and Dirk kept up a steady flow of cheerful conversation, with Will interjecting every few minutes. Meg was quiet and looked only at her food. She'd been thinking, Maybe I should eat something, when Dirk's hand engulfed her wrist.
         “Time to go home,” he said with a smile. He stood and pulled her up. “Aisha, thank you for your hospitality and the wonderful meal. Meg is not as good a cook as you, I'm afraid.”
         Meg muttered something under her breath about poison, but only Will, sitting to her right, could hear it. He wiped the smirk from his face, pressed his hands flat on the top of the table and pushed himself up, leaning against it with his thigh.
         “Dirk,” he said, extending his hand to the older man. “Might I come by some time to see about work?”
         Dirk shook Will's hand and offered him a wide smile. “Certainly, Johnathan. I could use another hand around the shop since Meg is so determined not to be helpful.” He released Will's hand and looked down at the top of Meg's head. “Perhaps with you there, I'd see my daughter more often.”
         Meg grumbled.
         “What?” Dirk demanded, his tone shifting from smooth to sharp in a frightening hurry.
         Meg shrank away from her guardian's challenging gaze, but his hand was wrapped around her wrist like a manacle.
         “Now, Meg, don't be so disrespectful,” Aisha admonished. She walked to Will and wrapped her arm around his waist so he could lean on her.
         “I hope she listens to you, Aisha. Goodness knows she takes pride in disobeying me,” Dirk said as he walked toward the door, taking Meg with him. “And thank you again for letting me bask in the glory of your home and beauty.” He smiled and exited the house without waiting for a response.          
         They walked several feet before Dirk spoke to Meg. “So, Johnathan.” he said, his voice deceptively light. Meg looked away as he continued. “Nice boy. Nice looking boy, wouldn't you say?”
         “I suppose so,” she replied, her throat tight.
         Dirk laughed and managed to make it sound angry. “You know so, otherwise you wouldn't be so close with him. And you are close. Aren't you?” He tightened his hand around her wrist. Her fingers began to tingle.
         “Not especially, no,” she said, trying to wriggle free of his grip. 
         “Liar,” Dirk hissed, halting to a dead stop and jerking her towards him. “He wore your cloak, Meg, and no shirt underneath. Just what have you been up to?”
         Meg squeaked involuntarily and looked away. Dirk captured her face in his massive hand and forced her to look at him. He was about to say something when he caught sight of two people walking toward them. He jerked her face to the right and released it but placed his hand on her waist and dug his fingernails in.
         “We will continue this conversation at home.”