The Hob's Bargain(55)

"Why didn't you tell me about this before?" I asked.

"The mountain reminded me," he replied apologetically. "As I told you, my memories are foggy. It has been a long time, and I didn't deal with other guardians much."

"So I need to go talk to the earth spirit." It didn't sound like the smartest thing to do. Then again, if he killed me, I wouldn't have to worry about next summer. "Why me? Why not you? Aren't you the one who's supposed to save the village?"

The hob grinned. "It has to be a spirit speaker." He dug the base of his staff into the dirt, making a hillock of earth. "Your village is lucky to have one. Do you remember what happened with the skeleton in the manor?"

As if I could forget. When I wasn't having nightmares about marrying bloodsucking demons, I was dreaming of skeletons with glowing yellow eyes. I nodded shortly.

"It often goes with the visions, I think. Summoning the dead is something only a spirit speaker can do. If you were a bloodmage, you would be a necromancer..." He stopped, considering his words. "I've heard the bloodmages took all the mageborn. How is it they didn't take you?"

"Women don't make good bloodmages."

The hob snorted. "Fools! Magic comes where it will. And women are capable of as much evil as men."

"My good luck they were fools," I said. "My brother wasn't so lucky."

"Your brother is a bloodmage?"

"No. My brother died so he wouldn't become one."

"Ah." The hob let Quilliar's death rest in the night.

A chill crept over my spine, and I twisted to look behind me. Thin white wisps clung to the branches and roots of the trees that bordered the temple graveyard. I froze, staring at them.

"Don't worry," said the hob softly. "The talk of death draws them. They won't hurt us. The graveyard has been restless lately - too many newly dead." Poul had said something of the like the day I'd ridden to fetch the hob.

"Ghosts?" My throat felt dry, and I took a step closer to the hob, who had ceased to scare me. The memory of his magic was especially comforting.

Caefawn looked unperturbed. "Just a few of the restless ones, who have not yet gone on. Tell them to sleep."

A soft wisp touched my head and slowly took on a more solid form. As if my skin had allowed him to remember his form, Touched Banar sat on the ground and cuddled against my leg. He'd been small though wiry, but huddled next to me, he looked no older than a child. His thin hair was ruffled. Soot from the smithy fires smudged his face and clothes. The only thing different was the fear in his face.

Death should put an end to fear. But in Banar's eyes I saw the terror of his last moment. Pity drove away my jitters.

"Go to sleep," I said, using the words the hob had given me. "It's time to rest." I looked at the rest of the wisps, hoping Daryn and my family weren't among them. "Go to sleep. You're safe now."

They drifted back through the trees, some more slowly than others, but at last they were gone - except for Banar.

"Banar," I said, "they can't hurt you anymore. Go to sleep."

I touched his cheek, and gently stepped away. As soon as I pulled my hand away from his face, he was gone. No white fog drifting away, he was just gone.

"They won't rise again," said the hob after a moment.

"What?"

He smiled at me, and his tail wrapped about one of my ankles. Twice. "I told you, you're a spirit speaker. Something as weak as those ghosts can't defy you. When you told them to rest, they had to. You'd given the one more power by your recognition, and his fear gave him more. But names have power, too, even birth names. So he is at rest as well."

"Is that the right thing to do?" I asked, glancing uncomfortably at the hob's tail.

The hob shrugged. "Ghosts are spirit left when the soul has gone on. I'm not sure it matters whether they rest or not. They're not like ghouls or wraiths, twisted souls denied peace. Like as not, the ghosts here would have been gone in a year or two anyway."

I decided I didn't want to pursue it any further. "Right. All right. So much for ghosts. Tell me how we appease an angry earth spirit." I wiggled my leg lightly against his hold.

"First," he said, pulling his tail away, "you have to dress the part."

"No," I said firmly. The creek carried runoff from the snowpack high in the mountains. It was cold - really, really cold - and I wasn't going to get into it. Particularly not with the hob prepared to scrub me with a handful of moss.

"It's not that bad," he coaxed. "From the smell of your clothes, you could use a bath anyway."

I hope what I thought showed on my face. "I'm not going to strip off my clothes and freeze my rump off in the middle of the night with a stranger."

He widened his eyes in mock affront, but I could tell he was enjoying this. "How could I be a stranger?" I thought he was going to bring up our betrothal, but he was smarter than that. "We've fought side by side and shared magic."

I tapped my foot. "Sharing magic is not what I'm worried about."

He considered that a moment. "I'll close my eyes."

"I thought you had to scrub me or it wouldn't be a proper ceremonial bath."