Book Preview - The Spirit Child

Prologue

The White Wolf shimmered into existence on the southernmost tip of the Rittendon Peaks. A slight wind blew tufts of fur forward onto his ears as he silently searched the landscape for the woman who’d been his apprentice for the last ten years. A wisp of smoke drifted on the wind as he padded toward the copse of trees where he suspected Becca had concealed herself and her fire. From deep within the darkened forest, an arrow embedded itself in a stump, not two paces from his muzzle.

Must you be so dramatic, Sheyah? Garan turned to his right, where Becca sat concealed in a Rowenleaf tree some fifteen yards away.

A slight twinkle sparkled in Becca’s eyes as she slipped her bow over her shoulders and turned to climb down the branches of the evergreen where she’d been patiently waiting for the last two hours. “And if I’d left my camp unguarded, you’d have eaten my right hand for breakfast.” She dropped the last few feet to the ground and landed lightly on her feet.

Oh please. As if your scrawny arm would give me any bit of sustenance. Garan continued walking languidly through the forest until he came to Becca’s campfire. He circled once before stretching his massive bulk on the ground close to the fire.

Becca smiled as she added some fresh wood to the dwindling flames. “So, I’ve been wondering where you’d gotten to. It’s not like you to be gone for so long.

Garan gazed absently into the fire. I know. There’s a lot of unease in the other Realms right now. A kind of restlessness none of us can explain. I’ve been out searching, trying to find where the problems lie.

 Becca listened as she dug some jerky out of her saddlebag and bit off a chunk. She brought the rest with her as she sat in front of the fire and leaned into her friend’s comforting bulk. “What do the other Spirit Guides say?”

Just that we should watch and wait. Denabi is restless and worried. She…

Becca twisted around to stare at her Guide. “Denabi? Isn’t she the ancient one you told me about? The one who doesn’t travel the realms anymore?”

Garan lifted one furry eyebrow. She’s back. That alone should tell you something. She and Ebi are going to—Garan suddenly blinked out of existence, leaving Becca to catch her balance when her backrest disappeared. After a few seconds, she heard what Garan’s finely tuned hearing had caught well before hers. As the metallic sound of shod hooves against hard rock reached her, she quickly jumped to her feet and doused the fire with her boots. She grabbed all of her belongings, erasing any trace of her stay before melting into the darkness of the night.

Chapter One

The little boy ran into the feed store, excited enough to interrupt his father, who tolerated no level of disrespect from his son. “Pa, he’s got a body on his mule! Under the furs! Old Deelon’s got a body!” The boy quickly stepped back when the customer he’d interrupted turned her attention his way. He ducked his head and pulled off his cap. “S’cuse me, Your Grace.”

Aurelia “Bree” Makena, the Duchess of Danforth, nodded once, then turned back to the proprietor. “Add it up, Poul. I have some errands to run while your boy there loads the wagon.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned to go, grabbing her pack and winking at the boy as she left.

The boy watched her out of the corner of his eye, careful not to draw any more of her attention to himself. He took in the warrior’s breeches, the deep blue tunic, and the bandolier full of throwing daggers she wore strapped across her chest, then glanced at his father, who quietly shook his head. The boy looked back at the ground and waited until she’d left the store before he spoke. “How come she dresses like a merc, Pa? Why’s she like that?”

His father turned to the figuring he’d been doing before his son had come storming into the shop. “She’s a duchess, son. I reckon she can dress however she likes. ‘Sides, no merc ever wore a tunic made of double spun silk nor a nobleman’s set of throwin’ knives. You keep out of her way, y’hear?”

The boy nodded as he tugged the cap back onto his head. “Old Deelon’s got a body, Pa. He really does. He’s got it up under the furs on his mule!” His father nodded, not interested in who Deelon had brought in. He had to get the total for the Duchess before she came back to pay what she owed.

Bree stepped out onto the muddy track in front of the shop and started for her wagon, anxious to finish her errands so she could make it back to her steading before nightfall. Ashton Fork was one of the smaller villages within her duchy, and she’d chosen to build her manor house nearby for precisely that reason. To say that life at her castle in Orinshire was hectic would be an understatement. She loved the slow pace of Ashton Fork and the quiet but respectful way the people here treated her. The time she spent alone on her private lands, far from the machinations of her duchy, was worth more than any amount of gold in her coffers.

A crowd of people clustered around a trapper, and his mule caught her eye. She stopped to watch as he began unloading the furs he’d brought in from his fall season of trapping. The boy had been right. Deelon had a body trussed up under several of the furs. Two feet were sticking out, the body obviously thrown belly first over the mule.

Deelon unloaded the last few pelts and then untied the ropes securing the body to the packsaddle. He picked up the small form and dropped it into the street. A murmur started at one end of the crowd, quickly gathering momentum as people realized the body was a filthy child, hands tied behind her back, legs tied together, and a rag strapped around her mouth.

Bree moved her head forward, trying to understand exactly what she was seeing. Grime covered every square inch of the bundle lying in the street. She started when she realized a filthy face glared out at her, locking hate-filled eyes onto hers with anger so deadly it took a few seconds to tear her eyes away. She turned her attention to Deelon, who growled at the crowd.

“Anybody wants her, she’s for sale. I trapped her in the mountains. She’s wild... Shona raised, my guess. She’s mute, bites, kicks, and scratches, and she’ll take a knife to ya if y’give her the chance.”

Zer Dalney stepped close and peered down at her. His mean little eyes focused on the face before he grabbed the girl’s crotch. “Y’shore it’s a girl?” A leer spread across his features as he felt between her legs. “Yep, nothin’ there.”

Someone in the crowd hooted as Zer stood up and motioned towards the girl with his chin, “I’ll give ya three copper rions for her.”

Another man stepped from the shadows of the local inn. Although Bree didn’t know him, she recognized the coloring on his scabbard as coming from a neighboring duchy, probably a mercenary on his way to a position with the King’s armies. He stepped forward and asked, “Ya have her? She used?”

Deelon sneered, not bothering to hide his disgust. “Don’t think she’s even come into season yet, but she’d tear a man apart.”

The man fingered his belt. “I can tame her. Four coppers.”

Zer reached down to feel between the girl’s legs again, but Deelon pushed him back. “You want her, you buy her. Otherwise….”

Zer flushed a deep shade of red as he turned and spat on the ground next to the girl. “Four fifty.”

The other man pulled a money pouch from under the folds of his cloak. “One silver rion.”

Everyone turned when Bree stepped forward and spoke. “Ten silver rions.” Bree absently fingered the handle of one of her daggers, waiting to see whether anyone would top her offer.

The mercenary recognized her for who she was, lowered his head in a partial bow, and stepped back into the shadows.

Zer glared at her before crossing his arms and turning away.

Deelon eyed her a minute, his mouth moving as he shifted the wad between his lower lip and teeth. He nodded once. “Sold.”

“Throw in that bear pelt.”

Deelon nodded again, pulled out a black bear hide, and threw it on the girl. “Eleven silvers total.”

Bree nodded. “Wait here.” She eyed the people in the crowd before turning to head to the lockbox on her wagon, where she kept extra coins for her trips into town. When she returned, she handed Deelon twelve silvers. “I need those two deer hides as well.”

Deelon nodded and threw in the hides.

With her dealing done, Bree grabbed the hides off the girl, hefted the small figure over one shoulder, and the hides over the other. She took everything to the wagon and tossed the pelts into the back. As she laid the girl on top, Poul brought out the last of the oats she’d ordered.

He helped her fit everything in around the furs. “It came to two silver rions and five coppers, Your Grace.”

Bree pointed to the girl. “It looks like I’m going to need breeches and a tunic also.” When Poul turned away, Bree eyed the girl’s bare feet. “And some really small thigh boots and stockings if you have them.”

He turned back and looked at the child. “You don’t mean to try to foster a wild child like—” He stopped mid-sentence when he remembered who he was talking to.

Bree shook her head. “No, it was just...” She turned to look at Zer as he swung up into his saddle.

The look of disgust on Poul’s face as he watched the man spoke volumes. “I understand, Your Grace.” He nodded politely before heading back into his shop. A few minutes later, he and his son returned with the items she’d requested. Bree held out three coppers for the clothing, but Poul shook his head. “No charge.” He put his arm around his son’s shoulders and smiled sadly. “His ma would ‘a taken her in too, Aevala’s blessing on her soul.” He touched his right fist to his heart and then brought it to his lips as was customary when speaking of the dead. “It’s the least me’n the boy can do.”

Bree pocketed the coppers and smiled. “Thanks, Poul.” She indicated the boy with a lift of her chin. “And if your boy ever wants to enter training as a page, send him to my Steward, Baron Ellsworth, in Orinshire with my recommendation.”

The boy gasped and jabbed his father’s thigh with an elbow.

Poul chuckled and bowed. “Thank you, M’lady.”

Bree pulled herself up onto the seat of the wagon, and the horses strained against the harness as she pointed them toward the local bathhouse. Their hooves sloshed through rain-filled potholes, slipping every now and again in the brown sludge that served as a street during the rainy season. When they reached the bathhouse, Bree gently pulled on the reins. “Whoa there. Easy now.” Stepping gingerly through the mud, she dragged the girl to the end of the wagon and threw her over her shoulder again.

The bathhouse proprietress, Mauran Heth, looked up when Bree strode into the main room. “Aurelia Makena! What do you have slung over your shoulder like that?”

A small smile played across Bree’s lips. No one but Mauran and the queen ever called her by her given name, and Mauran only dared that when something had ruffled her feathers. Mauran was the daughter of the captain of the castle guards at Orinshire, and she and Bree had grown up playing together within the shelter of the castle walls during the long, cold northern winters. Bree walked to a corner and lowered the girl to the floor. Hate radiated off the child in waves as Bree unsheathed one of her knives and reached down to cut the rag out of her mouth. The girl’s strong legs pulled back, and mule punched her square in the chest, sending Bree flying backward into the legs of a nearby table.

Fire ignited in Bree’s eyes as she growled and started for the girl, who brought her bound legs up again, ready to kick.

Mauran stepped between the two. “Bree! What is wrong with you? First, you bring that child in here slung over your shoulder like a sack of grain! Then you take a knife to her and expect her not to react?”

Trying to control her temper, Bree took a few deep breaths. After a few moments, her customary good mood reappeared, and she chuckled as she rubbed her sore ribs. “She’s got strong legs, no question about that.” Kneeling beside the girl, she showed her the knife. “I don’t intend to stab you. I’m just going to cut that rag off your mouth.”

When she moved the blade toward the girl’s face, the sturdy legs cocked again, ready to punch.

Bree pursed her lips, then put her finger along the edge of the knife and mimed on her own face how she planned to slip her finger against the skin to protect the girl’s face while she cut. “Now be still.”

Fierce gray eyes followed the knife as Bree slowly brought it up, slipped her finger and the blade up under the rag, and sawed through the cloth. The material stuck to blood that had caked at the corners of the girl’s mouth.

Mauran put her hand on Bree’s shoulder to keep her from prying it off. “Wait a minute.” She took a clean hand towel from a pile, soaked it in warm water, and held it out. “Here, soak that blood first. Don’t tear the cloth off dry like that.”

Bree took the cloth and moved it toward the girl’s bloody face, but as her hand descended, the girl’s jaw open slightly. Bree cocked her head and growled, “Don’t you bite me, or you’ll wish I’d left you to those men. Do you understand?” She couldn’t tell whether the girl understood, but she reached up anyway and soaked the dried blood until it had softened somewhat. The gag had cut welts into the side of the girl’s mouth, but she didn’t make a sound as Bree pulled it away.

Mauran bent closer. “Is she Anacafrian, Shona, or mixed breed? I can’t tell under all that dirt.”

Bree studied the girl’s skin, then shrugged. “I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

Mauran looked around nervously. “If she’s Shona, wouldn’t her Spirit Guide be around somewhere?”

Bree stopped cutting as she glanced around the room. She shrugged again. “I don’t know. It’d be rare for them to show themselves to anyone but their apprentice anyway.” She turned back to the girl and continued to saw at the bindings twined around the muscular legs. When she’d cut through the first cord, she loosened the rope, unwound it, and took it off. She gently rolled the girl onto her stomach to get a better angle at the ropes securing the arms.

Glancing up at her friend, she shook her head as she cut through the bindings. “I need to be thrown in a locked croft with the other loons and crazies. What am I doing buying a filthy rag child, anyway?”

When the rope came off, the girl’s arms dropped to the floor, and an involuntary groan escaped her bloody lips.

Bree glanced up at Mauran once more before turning back to the girl. “How long have you been trussed up like that? Here.” She pulled one arm into her lap and began massaging it from shoulder to wrist to help restore circulation. When she finished, she moved to the other arm. Wrinkling her nose, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a copper. “I’ll need a clean tub of water. I can’t bring her into my croft smelling like that.”

Mauran slipped the copper into the pocket of her work dress before pointing to the front of the shop. “There’s a clean tub behind that curtain over there. Bring her in, and I’ll warm some water.”

As Mauran disappeared behind the curtain, Bree slipped her hands under the girl’s shoulders and hauled her to her feet. When she let go, the girl’s legs gave out, and Bree caught her before she collapsed back onto the floor. She picked her up and laid her over her shoulder again, which allowed her to keep one hand free to grab the clean clothes she’d bought for the child. Before Bree could take more than a few steps, Mauran stepped back into the room and glared, her large hands resting on abundant hips. “Aurelia!”

Startled, Bree glanced up at her. “What? And don’t call me that.”

“You know what! If Timur was here, she’d box your ears!”

A cloud of pain crossed Bree’s features and disappeared so quickly Mauran wouldn’t have seen it if she hadn’t known to look for it. Mauran touched the other woman’s arm. “I’m sorry... I shouldn’t have said that.”

Bree shook her head as she pulled the girl down and held her in her arms. “No, you’re right. She would have.” She carried the girl past the curtain where Mauran had set a fire under a finely shaped tub reserved for the occasional genteel travelers who found themselves stranded overnight in Ashton Fork.

Bree set the girl on the ground and gestured toward the rags that barely covered her sturdy frame. “Take off your tunic and trews, then get in the water.” When the girl didn’t move, Bree knelt and reached to pull off the rags. Strong teeth sank into her forearm and held on.

“Tane’s blood! Let go!” Bree jerked her arm hard enough that her sleeve slipped, and the girl ended up with a mouthful of tunic. Bree yanked the cloth out from between the girl’s teeth, rolled up her sleeve, and glared at the two half-circles embedded in her forearm. She pushed to her feet, bellowing over her shoulder as she stormed out the front door, “That’s it! You want to go with those men, then do it! Go with Morgrad for all I care!”

Striding past the front of her rig, she jerked the reins off the hitching post, tearing at the resulting tangle until the knots came loose. The leaf springs on the wagon groaned as she leapt onto the seat. When the wagon rocked a second time, she turned to see what had happened.

Mauran stood glaring at her with both hands planted firmly on her hips.

The girl sat in the back of the wagon where Mauran had deposited her.

“She’s your problem, Aurelia Makena! Morgrad may be the Keeper of the Underworld, but he’s not here at the moment, and I’ll be damned if I’m taking her!” With that, Mauran stalked back into the bathhouse, slamming the door behind her.

Bree rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger, mentally running through her options, which, at the moment, seemed few. The horses tensed when she threw down the reins and jumped out of the wagon. She picked up the girl, traipsed back through the front room and up to the tub, where she dropped her into the water, filthy clothes and all. Bree sighed and tossed a washcloth in after her.

The girl watched the cloth sink below the surface, then pulled off her tunic and dumped it over the side of the tub. She squirmed a while, and the rags she’d been using as trews soon followed the tunic.

Mauran stepped through the curtain and handed Bree a bar of soap and a bucket. “Here, they’re on the house. You’re gonna need ‘em.”

Bree grudgingly took the soap, put her hand on the girl’s head, and motioned for her to duck under the water. The child sank to eye level, never taking her eyes from Bree’s face. When she came back up, Bree soaped the girl’s hair, then doused her with water from the bucket. She soaped the grimy hair a second time, and her temper rose as she battled the snarled mess. Grumbling, she reached for her knife. “I am insane... I have gone completely insane.”

When Mauran looked over and realized what Bree intended, she put her hand on the handle of the knife to move it away from the girl’s head. “You’ll have her lookin’ worse than she already does if you saw off her hair with that.” Smiling at Bree’s lack of womanly instincts, she went inside and returned with a pair of shears and a comb. The rat’s nest would have to be cut out first, so she put the comb in her pocket and began carefully cutting while Bree rolled up her sleeves and felt around in the tub for the washcloth.

She lathered the cloth until soap bubbles were streaming down into the water and scrubbed the girl’s arm before holding it to the light to get a better look. “I’ll be damned. She’s Anacafrian under all that muck.” She scrubbed the forearm some more so she could see the identifying mark every Anacafrian baby had tattooed on the inner side of their right wrist. “Looks like she’s from the Otsmeadow Alliance, out of Marblefort Downs.” She looked up at Mauran. “That’s way on the other side of the kingdom. I wonder how she ended up in Danforth.” Danforth was the duchy Bree had reluctantly inherited when her father passed away. It consisted of one good-sized city, Orinshire; four smaller towns—Silvermoor Steppes, Ironmoor Forest, Deerhaven, and Merimeadow; and several smaller villages, of which Ashton Fork was one.

Mauran leaned closer to get a better view of the tattoo. “How do you know which marking goes to which Alliance? There must be hundreds of them in Anacafria.”

Bree rolled her eyes. She picked up the other arm and began to scrub. “One hundred thirty-seven, to be exact. It’s part of the education we all get at the King’s Collegium. Anyone who holds the rank—or is going to hold the rank—of baron or above has to memorize all the Alliance markings and coats of arms. I hated all the posturing that went on in those classes.” She shook her head. “You know, whose title outdid whose, whose rank was higher.”

The other arm took longer to clean since the dirt had been ground deeper into the pores of the skin. Bree addressed the girl. “He probably had you laying on this side more, didn’t he?”

It seemed to Bree that the girl’s glare had a little less venom than when she’d first seen her. Soaping the cloth again, she pointed to the girl’s face. “I’m going to clean the dirt off, but you bite me, we’re done. Understand?” She raised her eyebrows, trying to soften her words with just a hint of a smile. She reached over, stilling the shears in Mauran’s hand. “Stop cutting a second.” As she slowly moved the cloth toward the grimy face, she saw the jaws open ever so slightly in preparation to bite whatever body part happened to come closest to the teeth. She pointed to the bite marks on her arm and growled low in her throat, “No!”

The girl blinked and looked away. Bree brought the cloth up, ready to jerk her arm away if she went for her. When nothing happened, she began scrubbing the dirt, careful to keep the soap out of the brooding eyes. The forehead was too filthy to leave as it was, so Bree turned the girl’s face to her and mimed closing her eyes. When the girl closed them, Bree scrubbed as much of the grime off as she could, then rinsed off the soap with a cloth full of clean water.

Mauran continued cutting while Bree scrubbed the girl’s legs and worked on her feet, rubbing off caked-on dirt with the cloth and trimming the toenails with her knife. By the time they were finished, they’d turned out a clean, semi-groomed child in new brown trews and tunic, a copy of the lithe, thirty-year-old woman standing next to her shaking her head. Mauran, who was much shorter and rounder than her friend, stepped back and assessed the girl’s stature. “She looks hardy enough for a stray. Strong arms.” She grinned at Bree. “Good teeth.”

Bree returned Mauran’s smile with one of her own. “Very funny. What do you think? Seven? Eight?”

“Not much more than that.” Mauran put her hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “Timur’d be proud of you, Bree. Think of that the next time she bites you.”

The muscles in Bree’s jaw tightened as she propelled the child toward the door. “Timur’s dead, Mauran. She’s not proud of anything anymore.”

Mauran watched from the doorway as Bree climbed into the wagon and motioned for the girl to climb in back. When the child didn’t move, Bree leaned down, grabbed her by the back of the tunic, and pulled her onto the seat next to her. The girl moved as far away from Bree as she could, and Mauran shook her head. “Aevala have mercy. I think you’re both gonna need it.”