The Seer Rowan McAllister (top inspirational books .TXT) 📖

for lunch, everyone seemed to perk up a little, which helped keep Daks from going completely insane. Shura and Fara did most of the talking, since Ravi seemed mired in his own thoughts, but Daks was content to listen. Shura seemed positively chatty, which was a little unsettling. He’d give her no end of grief about it when their little adventure was over, but definitely not now. She might stop.

The sun finally burned through most of the mist by late afternoon, warming the air a bit, and their ride might have been almost pleasant if not for the pervasive smell of rotting vegetation and squelch of mud beneath the horses’ hooves. At least they were making better time, despite Shura having to dismount periodically to scout ahead when the trail became too obscured, or sometimes even submerged, the deeper they went into the bogs.

Though he felt ridiculous, each time they stopped, he found himself reaching out with his gift, still a little spooked. Every once in a while, he thought he caught the hint of something—something old and buried deep, something sleeping, like the vibrations of the ring of stones they’d camped in near Reyan—but he couldn’t be sure. He needed to stop or he’d have one hell of a headache by nightfall. Nothing was close enough or active enough to threaten their progress. That’s all that mattered. Trying to pry ages-old secrets out of a swamp was a waste of his time and energy. He couldn’t sense ghosts because there was no such thing as ghosts, and they’d be headed out of this accursed swamp tomorrow.

Never again.

By the time they found a dry space to camp that night, the itch between Daks’s shoulder blades, like someone was watching him or had an arrow trained on him, was driving him crazy. He dismounted before Horse had even come to a stop and didn’t hang around to make sure Ravi got down safely.

“I’m going for firewood if I can find anything dry in this Rift-blighted place,” he called over his shoulder, because no way was he sitting around in the dark tonight.

He was sweating well before he’d finished collecting a sizable pile of wood, and Shura cocked an eyebrow at him each time he returned with another armload, but she didn’t comment. Thankfully they’d climbed enough of a rise that a copse of pines had been able to survive the wet. They’d have plenty of bright, cheerful flames from a crackling, popping fire that would drown out any eerie swamp noises.

Possibly sensing his surly mood, the others puttered with the horses and the gear, while giving him a wide berth. That was fine. He needed the reminder that this was a job, a job that would come to an end as soon as they reached the Scholomagi… and then he’d have to figure out what came next. From the way Shura had been fluttering her eyelashes at Fara, maybe he’d have to remind her of that soon too. A few nights sharing blankets was one thing, but they would both be walking away eventually.

Once he got the fire lit, Shura fed the horses their ration of grain for the day while Fara prepared stew, and then everyone settled around the fire to eat in companionable silence. Daks tried to relax. He sipped at a bottle of ale as he stretched his boots toward the flames, but that spot between his shoulder blades continued to itch. Ravi staring pensively out into the shadows beyond the campfire, as if searching for something, didn’t help. For the life of him, Daks couldn’t see anything but darkness peppered with starlight when he followed the man’s gaze.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore and he growled, “Are you having one of your feelings?”

Ravi frowned at him. “No. Why?”

Now everyone was looking at him oddly, and Daks felt like an ass for bringing it up. “No reason,” he mumbled. “Just checking.”

“Is everything all right?” Shura asked, eyeing him.

“It’s fine.” He took another swig from his bottle.

“Then, do you think we might risk a little music tonight?” Fara asked wistfully. “Last night was so dreary, I wouldn’t mind some cheering up.”

“I don’t see why not,” Daks replied a little too quickly. “Anyone close enough to hear would be able to see or smell our fire anyway.”

Shura cocked an eyebrow at him, and Daks cleared his throat. “I mean, if you want to, that is.”

“Oh good,” Fara replied as she stood and went to the packs.

When she returned to the fire, she unrolled a small wooden flute from a square of wool and put it to her lips. After a few practice notes, the soft, breathy strains of an unfamiliar tune rose into the night, as if carried by the swirls of smoke and sparks from the fire, and Daks let out a long sigh and slumped back against the pack he’d propped behind him. Fara played well. It was probably some Harotian hymn, but the music was soft, sweet, and just a little achingly poignant, so he could hardly complain.

Fara started another tune without being prompted, and Daks passed his bottle to Shura and then to Ravi. Shura began singing a husky countermelody to the music, punctuated by the little cries and vocal modulations traditional to her people, and Daks felt a warmth spread in his belly as he gazed at her. She rarely sang outside a gathering of her clan. He hadn’t been aware of how much he’d missed it until that moment.

Eventually, Fara set her flute down and accepted the bottle, but the ensuing silence after everyone sung her praises and thanked her was oppressive. With nothing better to do, Daks turned his gaze to Ravi, only to find the man staring off into the darkness again.

“Ravi, are you sure you’re not having one of your bad feelings?”

Ravi started and blinked at him as if he’d been somewhere far away. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Then do you mind telling us why you keep staring out into the darkness like