The Ghosts of Cartel - 2

The Ghosts of Cartel - 1  (ASR) A story of hardship, friendship, faeries, magic, princes and murderers. #1619221 by Tegan L. Elliott

             The list Aisha gave Meg was long, but most of the ingredients would be easy to find.  Kava root, paracress petals, anise, and a handful of others could be picked up either in Aisha's garden or just outside the city gates. However, the rest of the items needed to be bought from her guardian's shop in town. Meg cringed and crumpled the paper in her fist.
             She walked down the street away from Aisha's house, glancing at the familiar rows of geometrical clay buildings with about the same amount of interest one might have for a stick in a mud puddle. Without the traders and the traffic they brought, Market street was the most drab, dirt-colored, uninteresting street in the whole city and, Meg often suspected, the whole world. She followed it until it intersected with the main road and she followed that out past the city gates. The entire walk took her little over five minutes. One could travel straight through the heart of Merith in a day and see the entire city in a week. Meg gathered the ingredients she could find outside the gates (which didn't take as long as she would have liked) and took a deep, steadying breath before dragging herself back into the city.
             The thought of seeing her guardian caused an unpleasant tightening around her rib cage and a sinking sensation in her stomach. She pushed aside her anxiety and forced her feet to keep moving forward, conjuring up the image of the frail, young boy in the street who was in need of her help. She walked straight into the city, passed Market Street on her left, then came upon a dirt road lined with wildflowers and followed that for several minutes.
             The shop Meg's guardian owned sat at the base of one of Merith's many small hills. The building's old, wooden face stood smiling at passersby, peeking out from behind ivy and wildflowers. Meg stared at it, her mouth set in a determined grimace. She wished the ground would open up and devour the whole thing--cheery little hill and all.
             A woman brushed past Meg on her way in and turned around as she reached the door. “Going in?” she asked, holding it open.
             “Oh. Yes,” Meg said, following the woman into the shop. She clutched the parchment in her hand and looked up from it to scan the building's interior.
             The wooden-paneled walls were covered in shelves, bursting with assorted trinkets and oddities. Some parts of the room's walls were barren and showed the earth the shop was carved from. Fragments of giant rocks peeked through and tree roots served as shelves to hang packets of seeds from; an idea of her mothers that Meg's guardian took credit for. Several tables stood throughout the room, each displaying something different from the rest. At the back was a counter and behind that was the door to the living quarters, which Meg was very familiar with.
             Before she saw him, she could feel him coming.  Her whole body tensed and she battled the desire to flee and the desire to save the boy. The door opened and she tried to turn around, but she was frozen.
             When Dirk caught sight of Meg, the expression plastered on his square face was one of anger, but it dissolved as soon as he noticed there was a customer present.
         “Meghan,” he said, stepping up to her. “You haven't been home in a while. It's so good to see you.”
             Meg reminded herself to breathe and tried to relax her shoulders. She stepped to the side but her guardian put his hand on the shelf in front of her, blocking her in.
             “Where have you been?” he asked, his breath hot in her face. His dark brown eyes never settled in one place and they appeared black as he bore down on her.
             “Nowhere important,”  she said, ducking underneath his arm and walking away.  She peeked at him through the thick curtain of her hair and saw that he did not follow. He gave his attention to the female customer and was soon helping her gather what she needed.
             In haste, Meg searched the shop, finding all but one of the necessary items in a short amount of time. Dirk and the other woman were walking to the counter, preparing to exchange goods.
             Meg hurried from one shelf to another, like a hummingbird flitting from flower to flower, but before she could find what she needed the woman was gone, leaving only Meg and Dirk.
             She turned to run.
             “Don't leave,” Dirk said, stopping her with just the force of his  words. He had the skill to make his voice as pleasant as a birdsong, like he had done with the other woman, but when he addressed Meg it was with a  dark confidence and anger; like he could speak poisonous darts into her neck if the whim possessed him. He placed his hands flat on the counter and leaned forward, flexing his muscular forearms.  “Where have you been?” he growled.
             “Just places,” Meg said, looking down and trying to hide the shiver in her shoulders.
             “I've missed you,” he said, sounding every bit as lethal.  “You know I love my little girl, right?”
             Meg's head moved up and down in a slow nod.
             “And I don't like it when you disappear,” he said. His eyebrows sank closer to his dark eyes and his mouth twitched. “Do I?” he asked.
             Meg shook her head.
             Dirk sighed, running his hands through his thick head of black and silver hair. “So, what does my little girl have to say for herself?”
             Meg stood folding and unfolding the piece of paper in her hands. “I'm sorry.”
             Dirk began to laugh, which he only ever did when he was frustrated or trying to charm a customer. He never tried to charm Meg, so she knew what she was facing.
         “You say that all the time,” said Dirk, tilting his head to the side and looking up at the corner of the building.  “And yet you keep running off. For days at a time! Why is that?” He asked, pulling his gaze away from the ceiling. His brown eyes were dilated as he glared at Meg, unblinking. 
             “I've just been busy,” she said, keeping her voice innocent even though they both knew every reason why she avoided him.
             His eye twitched and he clenched his square jaw. “Well, you're not busy now.”
             “Actually, I am,” she said, holding out the list. “I–-I need a tortoise shell and I simply can't find them anywhere.” She faked a laugh. “Things in this place... always shifting around.”
             Dirk joined in the faux-laughter, his voice booming. “Especially those darn tortoise shells,” he said, stepping up to her. “I can't ever decide if they should go with the bones or by the mixing bowls.”
             His deep, smooth voice, which charmed everyone else into admiration, sounded to Meg like knives scraping against glass. A shiver crept down her spine, leaving a trail of raised bumps on her skin.
             Dirk stood in front of her and placed a large, soft hand on her shoulder. His eyes darted from her lips to her neck, then back again. His hand clamped down on her arm. “But you know what?” he said, drawing her close enough to whisper in her ear. “I think they're in the back.”

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             “What kept you?” Aisha demanded, rushing to the door and grabbing the supplies out of Meg's outstretched hands.
             “Hm?” Meg asked, her mind on other things. “Oh, uh... the shop was busy and I couldn't find the tortoise shells. You have no idea what I had to go through to get that one.”
               The old woman sat down in a stool she'd drug next to the bed and began to mash dry ingredients together in the shell. “You could have skipped it; it's not that important. I just like the designs on them.”
             Meg tightened her hands into fists. She stood still and stared at the boy until she no longer felt like strangling Aisha. She noticed that every few seconds his gaze shifted underneath his eyelids and his jaw was clenched; a sign that his dreams were troubled. Meg walked to the foot of the bed and asked, “How is he doing?”
             The old woman shook her head, causing the large turquoise bangles in her ears to sway from side to side. “Not well. And he's not sure he wants to live, so he isn't really trying.”
         Meg gasped and put a hand to her chest. “He said that?”
         Aisha shook her head and twitched in her chair, a nervous gesture that did not go unnoticed by her apprentice.
         "Aisha," Meg pressed. "What did you do?"
         The healer shifted her eyes to the floor, then back to the boy. After making sure he was asleep she threw her wrinkled, leathery hands in the air. "Bah. I suppose there's no harm in telling you." A mischievous smile made its way to her face then she said in a whisper, "I... Well, I might have read his mind."
         Meg stared wide-eyed at Aisha. After a moment of open shock, she caught her breath and whispered back, "You can do that?"
         The woman nodded and grinned even broader, the lines on her tanned face deepening and lengthening, making her look all of her years.
         "Not well, mind you, and not on most people,” she admitted. “I only have the strength to read the minds of empty-headed fools or of people in his condition." She gestured to the boy. A sudden, profound sadness settled over her as she stared at him.
         "What is it?" Meg asked, standing by her tutor. She placed a hand on Aisha's shoulder and felt the woman's wiry muscles soften beneath her touch.
         "This boy..." she said, sounding like someone had died. "I wasn't able to get much from his mind. He is too guarded, even in this state. However, I was able to discern a handful of things: fear, loneliness, sorrow... an enormous amount of sorrow. I think he must have lost a great deal.” Aisha sighed and tossed her hands in the air, as if to dismiss everything she'd just stated. “But it is hard to know the minds of people, even with magic, like I have done. They always hide things and he seems to be a master at it."
         The wound on his chest began to glow brighter. In the same instant, his breathing became shallow and his eyebrows drew closer together. Morph leapt from the bed and Aisha walked to the boy, reaching out toward his chest. Her bony fingers hovered an inch above the mark there, tracing its intricate outline in the air. “We need to find out what this means,” she said.
             Meg leaned forward to take a closer look at the strange burn. The light it gave off seemed to be pulsing, like blood. It grew stronger, then fainter, then stronger again. She had the strangest urge to touch it one more time.
             The boy's body twitched awake. He blinked a few times, then focused on the women peering at him. Urgency made him come alive and he scrambled backwards on the bed, attempting to sit up.
             “Get away!” he ordered, his face twisted in pain. He propped himself up with his right elbow and held a shaking hand in front of his body to ward them off.
             “No need to worry,” Aisha assured him, standing up and reaching for the tonic she'd just made. “Calm yourself.”
             “What... What are you doing?” asked the boy, his eyes darting from Aisha to Meg.
             “She's an apothecary,” Meg said, noticing the way the boy's shoulders were trembling. “And I'm her apprentice. We're here to help you.”
             He looked skeptical but his eyes drifted closed and he sank back down. “I can't sit up any longer,” he confessed, his voice weak.
             Aisha and Meg looked at each other, unsure of what to do.
             “What's your name?” Meg asked, sitting beside the bed.
              “Will--” the boy cut himself off, looking wide-eyed at both women, then sighing. “Oh, damn it all. It's William.”
             “William,” Meg repeated with a smile. “That is strong-sounding name.”
             The boy arched a dirty-blonde eyebrow. “It means strong.”
             “Oh,” Meg said, looking down at her lap.
             A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth, but was trampled by a grimace. He arched his torso up from the bed and gasped for air. The mark on his chest grew brighter and he gripped the bedsheets so hard his knuckles went white. “Help me if you're going to!” he screamed.
             “What's happening?” Meg asked. As she watched, Will went into convulsions. He bit his lip to keep from screaming, drawing blood.
    The old woman pushed Meg out of the way and held the tortoise shell above him. She turned it over, spilling the muddy contents onto his chest. The light began to fade and after a few moments, Will no longer twitched with shock waves of pain. He lay still on his back with his eyes closed, then began the process of unclenching his fists. He wiped away the blood from his mouth and licked his lip.
         “That was,” he paused to take a short breath. “Unpleasant.”
             “Certainly looks that way,” Meg said, her heart pounding in her chest.
             “Happen often?” Aisha asked.
             “Only lately,” the boy replied, exhaling a sharp burst of breath.  “What did you put on it? That's quite handy.”
         Aisha flicked her wrist in the air and her many beaded bracelets clacked together. “Nothing, really. Just an old numbing remedy I invented. It doesn't heal you, but it relieves the pain for a short while.” 
         “I'll be needing more of that,” he said, closing his eyes.
         “What happened to you?” Meg asked, kneeling on the floor beside the bed.
         The boy looked down at the sheets and sat very still before announcing, “I have to sleep.”
         “Won't you tell us what happened first?” Meg pressed.
         Will didn't say anything and looked at Meg with such a blank, empty gaze, that he appeared to be asleep with his eyes open.
         “Leave the boy alone,” Aisha instructed, pulling Meg up by her long, chestnut colored hair. The girl squealed in protest, but Aisha silenced her with a bony finger over her lips.
         “Fine,” Meg grumbled as she combed her hair back down with her fingers. “But, Will?”
         The boy's eyes narrowed as he tried to focus on her.
         “Don't give up,” Meg said, her voice and eyes full of sincerity. “There's still so much to live for.”
         Will's face shattered into an unguarded expression of surprise which lasted a full second before he regrouped and turned a calculating gaze on Aisha. Under the pressure of his ice-blue eyes, the woman looked away.
         “Uh, just ignore the young one,” Aisha said, tugging Meg towards the kitchen. “They're so emotional at this age, you know. Just sleep now, William. I know you're exhausted--I mean, you look exhausted. I couldn't possibly know for sure, of course, but you do look rather spent and I was simply guessing by the way--”
         “Aisha,” Meg said, looking at the boy from the entryway into the kitchen. “He's asleep. Stop rambling. And may I have my arm back?”
         The apothecary glared. “Yes, you foolish girl, but only to sort and hang those herbs.” She pointed to the far side of the room where several bundles of greenery were piled half way up the wall. “And I don't want to hear another word out of you!  You're going to get me into trouble with that colossal mouth of yours,” she grumbled.
         Meg pushed up the sleeves of her tunic. “Nonsense. When has a mouth ever gotten anyone into trouble?”
         “What are you talking about?” Aisha asked, exasperated. “You're always getting into trouble because of what you say! Do you have no sense at all, girl?”
         Meg snickered at the irritation she caused. Aisha chucked a book at her and missed by a foot. “You say these things to annoy me, don't you?”
         “Yes,” Meg smiled, tossing the book back to her teacher's waiting hands. “But it's just for a laugh.”
         Aisha turned and began to walk away, then Meg said, “And maybe also to see how red and splotchy your face gets.”
         Without turning around, Aisha threw the book over her head and hit Meg right between her shoulder blades.

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