The Rancher's Daughter (Daughter of the Wildings #3) Read online

  Aktam, the wiseman’s grandson, had followed them over, and now he helped them pitch their tent. When they were done, he said, “I’ll get a search party together as soon as enough men are back on their feet. And if there’s anything else I can do for you, just ask.”

  They thanked him, then crawled into the tent. As soon as they were alone, Lainie said, “I don’t think Coltor raped Aleet. Kesta – the woman who helped me treat you – told me Aleet spoke well of Coltor’s, um…” She blushed. “How he looks without his clothes on.”

  Was that what women talked about among themselves in private? Silas couldn’t tell if he was happier that he didn’t know what they had said to each other or more curious than ever.

  “A woman who had been raped wouldn’t say things like that about the man who did it,” Lainie went on. She sat huddled on the oilcloth that covered the ground inside the tent, her knees pulled up to her chest. She looked pale, and a fine sweat had broken out on her face in spite of the cold. She shuddered, whether at the memory of Orl Fazar or because she wasn’t feeling well, Silas couldn’t tell.

  “I think you’re right,” Silas said. “When I was coming back to get you, I met an A’ayimat sentry who turned out to be from Aleet’s clan. He told me she had never come home or asked them for help, and it sounded like she went to Coltor voluntarily.”

  “So they both lied to us. Or hid the truth, at least.” She pulled some flatbread out of her knapsack, frowned down at it, then put it back.

  Silas watched her closely. She was shivering, her movements were fidgety, and she had drained her power yet wasn’t showing the usual signs of hunger. Silas had seen these symptoms years ago, in a friend of his, but he didn’t see how it could be possible for Lainie to be suffering from the same problem.

  “What do you think we should do?” she asked. “Should we take Shayla back –” A long, violent shiver rippled through her whole body, and she went even paler. “I don’t feel so good.”

  She dove for the tent opening and was violently sick on the ground outside. Even when there was nothing left to come up, the dry heaves went on and on, rocking her whole body with convulsions. When the spasms finally stopped, she rinsed her mouth, then crawled back into the tent and curled up into a tight, shivering ball of misery. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said with a half sob. “I hurt so bad.”

  Unlikely as it seemed, Silas had a horrible feeling that he knew what was wrong with her. “Darlin’, I need you to tell me straight, now. What happened after they captured you and during that fight?” Though his magical and physical senses had been blunted by pain and shock, he knew that she had been throwing around large amounts of power, not all of it hers, but he didn’t know what it was or where it had come from or how she had done it. And there was no telling what the Ta’ayatan had done to her before they tied her to that altar.

  “First, they just left me tied up out in the forest.” Her teeth chattered as she spoke, and her words came in fits and starts. “A grovik came sniffing around, but Aktam chased it off and took me to his and Kesta’s house. They fed me and let me sleep there. In the morning, two men dragged me over to the altar and tied me down.”

  “They didn’t give you anything to force you to cooperate? No herbs or potions or strange-tasting food?”

  “No. The wiseman put a spell on me so I couldn’t use my power, but they didn’t give me anything, and he wasn’t planning on Aktam and Kesta taking me in – he didn’t want them to – so he didn’t slip anything into my food. And anyhow, Kesta and Aktam didn’t like what was happening, so they wouldn’t have given me anything.”

  It didn’t sound like she had been drugged, then. “Go on.”

  “After they tied me on the altar, the wiseman started chanting. He called up these beings from under the ground – the Sh’kimech called them the Old Ones. The wiseman had promised them my body and my power if they would help with the war against the other clans. They pushed me out of my body and I guess I died for a bit, but when you killed the wiseman, that distracted them, so I was able to come back and get at my power again. I still couldn’t push them out of me, so I called the Sh’kimech to help. I needed most of my power to control them and fight off the Old Ones, so when the blueskins started attacking you, I grabbed their power and used it to stop them.”

  Silas mind was working hard to take in everything she was saying and make sense of it. She had died, he had killed the wiseman just in time to save her – the thought sent a chill through him – and she had fought and won a battle against two groups of powerful entities from under the earth. And she had taken another person’s power and used it. That was impossible, or supposed to be, but it fit with what he had seen during the fight, and anyhow, with Lainie he was learning not to assume that any of the usual rules held true. “You took the Ta’ayatan’s power and used it,” he repeated, making sure he had it right. Could taking in someone else’s power cause these particular symptoms?

  “Yeah. And don’t tell me, I know, it shouldn’t be possible, and just in case it is, it’s also illegal.”

  “You’ve got that right, darlin’.”

  “How is it I didn’t Strip them?”

  “Stripping pulls out every last bit of power by the roots and takes a good part of the person’s mind along with it. It’s –” He almost said “impossible” but changed his mind “– not easy without knowing what you’re doing and intending to do it.”

  “I see. I wouldn’t want to do that, even if they were trying to kill you.” She groaned and rolled over, and shivered even harder. “Gods, I feel awful. What’s wrong with me?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. So you took in the Ta’ayatan’s power?”

  “Yeah. And then, when Oferdon was going to shoot you again, I took his power, too. I used most of it to attack him, but he got away, and the rest I used to help send the Sh’kimech back home.”

  Oferdon. Silas remembered the bookkeeper’s behavior during the night and his nervous stomach, and all the pieces came together. “Oh, hells.”

  “What?” Lainie asked anxiously.

  They had brought Oferdon’s knapsack to the tent along with their own things, so that he couldn’t sneak back and take it without being seen. With his one good hand, Silas grabbed the pack and began digging through it. Clothing, a money pouch with about fifty gildings in it, provisions, a water bottle – only a fool set out into the Wildings with only one water flask…

  “What are you looking for?” Lainie asked.

  Silas didn’t answer. He found the familiar round silver message box issued by the Mage Council, and then the leather drawstring pouch that Oferdon had been eating from all night. It felt oddly heavy, too heavy for a half-empty pouch of beef jerky. He opened it, took out a pinch of the contents, and called up a small mage light, the best he could manage. He studied the jerky in the mage light; it was made of chopped, dried meat mixed with flecks of white and gray powder. Carefully, he sniffed at the jerky bits, and recognized the peppery, metallic tang from his friend’s addiction. Fear curled cold through his gut. “Damn it. The gods damn him to all eight hells. He’s an even bigger fool than I thought.”

  “What is it?” Lainie asked urgently.

  “Demonsalts. He’s a demonsalts addict. No wonder his grandparents disowned him and he was desperate for money. No wonder he thought he could take me on.”

  “Is that one of the drugs you told me about, that some mages use to regenerate their power?”

  Silas nodded. “It’s one of the worst ones, too. Extremely potent, and extremely addictive.”

  “That’s why his power felt so strange. Did I pick up the addiction from it? Is that even possible?”

  “I don’t know. No one’s ever done it before. But it sure looks like that’s what happened.”

  “What’s going to happen to me?” Her voice rose with barely-controlled fear.

  Silas’s emotions urged him to protect her from the truth. But even if he told her that everything
would be okay, she would find out soon enough for herself that it wasn’t. He steeled himself to tell her the truth, and to face it himself. “The more someone takes the drug, the more they crave it when their power is drained, and the feeling it gives them that they can do anything and nothing can hurt them. The cravings cause nervousness, nausea, chills and sweats, muscle cramps, the sort of thing you’re having right now. Eventually, they get bad enough to cause seizures of the heart and brain.” That was what had killed his friend.

  “Oh, gods.” She covered her mouth with her hands. “Am I going to die?”

  Most demonsalts addicts did, either from the seizures or from the stupid, dangerous things the drug-induced sense of invincibility led them to do. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it, as though saying it would make it true. “Not if I can help it.” He dropped the bits of jerky he was holding into the pouch and closed it, then lifted an edge of the oilcloth and wiped his hand on the ground beneath it. “For starters, we’re going to make sure you can’t get your hands on this.”

  She nodded frantically. “Get it out of here. Get it away from me.”

  Carrying the pouch, Silas ducked out of the tent and found Aktam speaking to a group of men, pointing towards the forest in the direction Oferdon had gone. “Aktam,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  Silas held out the pouch. “I need you to bury this deep in the ground in a place where you don’t grow crops or graze your animals, somewhere where no one will ever dig it up again. It contains a dangerous drug that belongs to the man who shot me. He’ll probably come back for it; watch for him.”

  Aktam carefully took the bag by the strings. “The latrine pits should work. I’ll take care of it right away.”

  The young man walked towards the sheltered trenches at the edge of the village. Silas watched him to make sure he did what he said he would do, then went back into the tent.

  Lainie lay tightly curled up, writhing in pain, shivering and rubbing her arms hard as though trying to warm herself up or push away the pain. “It hurts,” she wept. “Make it stop!”

  Silas sat down and pulled her against him. The only known way to ease demonsalts cravings was to substitute one of the more conventional ways of replenishing power, if the addict was physically able and didn’t forcefully reject the notion. “Do you want to eat something?”

  She shook her head hard. “No. Gods, no. I’d just heave it back up.”

  No surprise there. It didn’t look like she was going to be able to sleep any time soon, either. “Me?”

  “Maybe –” She gulped back more sobs. “But you’re hurt, you can’t –”

  “It’s all right.” He forced a grin and winked at her. “I’ll just lay there and you can pretend I’m tied up.”

  “Oh!” A patchy red blush tinged her ashen face. Half-laughing, half-sobbing, she pushed him down onto his back. As she went about what she needed to do, Silas filled his vision with her – alive, thank the gods, even if she was so sick – and caressed her hair and skin, and thought about how if he ever saw Oferdon again he would take the bastard apart piece by piece.

  * * *

  LAINIE AND SILAS kept to their tent all the next day. Silas didn’t look nearly as bad as he had the day before, but even though he didn’t complain and he devoted himself to taking care of her, Lainie could tell he was still weak and in a fair amount of pain. The demonsalts craving came back; an unfamiliar memory of a sickly sweet, peppery tang filled her mouth and her mind, and the longing for it, and for the power and glow of well-being it could give her, went down to the center of her bones. If Silas hadn’t gotten rid of Oferdon’s supply, Lainie realized with a shiver, she would have done anything to get her hands on it.

  Silas made her eat, and assured her that the cravings would go away as her power regenerated over time. But the next time she used a lot of power, it would probably start all over again. She pulled her mind away from the terrifying prospect and tried to just focus on doing what Silas said and making it through this bout.

  Aktam came to their tent late that afternoon to tell them that the men he had sent out to look for Oferdon the day before had returned to report that the snow and wind had erased his tracks and they had found no other trace of him. Neither had he come back for his stash of demonsalts. Lainie hoped this meant that he had crawled off somewhere to hide in his misery and died. Drained of power and deprived of his drug, alone, and without food or shelter in the snowy mountains, he couldn’t possibly stand a chance.

  The day after that, Lainie and Silas agreed it was time to head back to town. Lainie’s cravings still came and went, and while Silas seemed to be healing well, he was a long way from recovered. But there were better places than a tent high up in the mountains in winter to finish convalescing, like the most expensive hotel in Bentwood Gulch. And though Lainie faithfully applied the ointment Kesta had given her to Silas’s injuries, she would feel better after a doctor looked at him.

  So they packed up their belongings and started taking down the tent. Aktam came over to help, bringing Lainie’s gunbelt and gun with him. “I hope you won’t take it unkindly if I don’t insist that you stay,” he said. “You being here reminds people of what my grandfather tried to do. Some are ashamed, others think he was right. There’s a lot of arguing right now, but when you leave I hope we’ll be able to set it aside and try to find peace. Anyhow,” he grinned, his teeth white in his dark blue-toned face, “I think you’ll be more comfortable in your town than here.”

  “No offense, but I agree,” Silas said. “Though we surely do appreciate everything you and your wife have done for us. And we’re glad to get out of your way.”

  Kesta had followed Aktam over, and now she handed Lainie the baby to hold one more time. “When you have a baby of your own, you must come back and show it to me,” she said.

  Lainie cuddled the sweet, warm bundle and tried to smile, but couldn’t quite. “I’ll do that.”

  Kesta’s good-natured expression turned serious. “No, really. Here, I have something for you.” She reached into the pouch that she, like most A’ayimat, wore tied around her waist to carry things in, and took out an object made of small pinecones and feathers. She held out the wishcatcher, and Lainie traded her the baby for it. “When you have a baby,” Kesta repeated, “come back and show it to me.”

  Lainie reached out with just a strand of her newly-regenerating mage senses, feeling for the spell contained in the wishcatcher. It held nothing so clear as the wish that had been left for Coltor, but, rather, a sense of possibility, a closed path opening, a hidden way found.

  It seemed so vague; would it really work? She didn’t know. But the kindness of the gesture warmed her heart, and, if nothing else, the wishcatcher would remind her that she mustn’t ever give up hope that things would get better for her and Silas. Carefully, she tucked it into her knapsack. “Thank you,” she said, her smile coming more easily now. “I will.”

  Aleet walked over, holding Shayla’s hand. Mikat, back on his feet, followed protectively close behind. Silas and Lainie had decided that Coltor should be able to see Shayla again, and even have her come back to live with him, but they hadn’t had a chance to talk about it with Aleet yet. Now, as the A’ayimat woman approached them, she looked unhappy but determined.

  “Are you going back to Coltor?” she asked.

  “We are,” Silas said.

  “What will you tell him?”

  “What he already knows, that Shayla is here with you. And that we think he has the right to have her come back to live with him, at least part of the time.”

  “You let us think that Coltor raped you,” Lainie said. “But that isn’t true, is it?”

  “I…” Aleet looked away, her lips pressed together in a thin, tight line. “I had regrets about what happened with him.”

  “That isn’t the same thing.”

  “I only wanted to have my daughter with me.”

  Though she knew more of the truth now, Lainie was finding it
even harder to understand this woman who had abandoned her own child. “Coltor loves her too, you know. After all, he raised her from a baby.”

  “Can I go home to my papa now?” Shayla asked in perfect Wildings-accented Granadaian.

  Lainie glanced at Aleet, then knelt in front of the little girl with A’ayimat blue skin and white hair and Coltor’s dark Island eyes. “We’d like to take you with us, honey, but me and Mr. Vendine, we’re still too sick to take good care of you on the way back. Let’s hear what your mama has to say.” She looked up at Aleet, challenging her to do the right thing.

  Aleet took a deep breath. “Tell Coltor that if he wishes to see his daughter, he will come to the place in the canyon where he first saw me, on the same day of the month and at the same time of day. If he doesn’t come this month, I will be there again next month, and the month after that.

  “We’ll tell him,” Silas said. “And we’ll tell him where you are. If you break your word, he’ll do whatever it takes to find you.”

  “I will keep my word.” Aleet held out a wishcatcher. It was nearly identical to the one that had been left for Coltor. Silas flinched away, and Aleet gave him a wry smile. “Don’t worry. This one holds my apology, and my promise.”

  Lainie stood up and took the wishcatcher. She brushed it lightly with her mage senses, careful to use as little power as possible in her fragile state. Aleet was telling the truth this time. “I believe you,” she said. Then, still trying to reconcile the Aleet who had admired Coltor’s body with the woman who had left that other wish for him, she said, “But I was wondering, if you don’t mind telling me, did you love Coltor or did you hate him?”