36 – Something Terrible

As soon as he was strolling down the dirt and gravel track that ran beside the cemetery, Ward looked around for Grace. “You there?”

“I am. That was very interesting, though I wish you’d asked more questions! Do you think she’d sell any of the words she has in her little book?”

“I thought about that. It’s why I asked if she’d mind me coming by again. I figure I’ll take a little time to try to figure out this one,” Ward tapped the copper sheet wedged against his chest by his shoulder strap, “before I worry about all that. Don’t you think I’ll come up with more questions as I get into it?”

“I suppose. The funny thing is that you already know more than any of my previous hosts. None of them knew anything about those meditative poses. No wonder Christina struggled so much with that word of hers!”

“It’s weird to think there have been travelers to and from our world, but so little is known about magic.” Ward was feeling his irritation about his missing anima rather acutely after his talk with Maggie, but he was trying not to start another fight with his “passenger.” Still, he couldn’t resist asking, “So, I’m sure you heard what she thinks of the kinds of ‘creatures’ who feed on anima.”

“Ugh! I hate being lumped in with all those, Ward!” Her tone was pleading, and he glanced at her sharply, trying to catch a slip—some hint of a sly expression or patently false emotion. She looked genuinely remorseful, though, and he sighed, shaking his head. If she was as old as she claimed, she’d had plenty of time to perfect her acting.

“Well, as far as I know, you ate all of my anima, and now you’re just biding your time until you find a new victim.” She started to protest, and Ward held up a hand. “I’m just stating the facts, Grace. Don’t expect me to really trust you anytime soon. I believe, for whatever reason, keeping me alive is in your best interest; you’ve demonstrated that by helping me during fights. So, I’ll trust that you’re not trying to get me killed, but I don’t know if I can believe a word you say otherwise.”

He turned onto the main road to town and, as he stood there, soaking in the mid-morning sun, much warmer out of the shade of the trees lining the cemetery path, he saw there was a good deal more activity by the gates. A dozen wagons, some drawn by big shaggy oxen and some powered by steam and what looked like clockworks, were lined up on the road, and people bustled around, loading and shifting cargo. “Looks like a caravan is getting ready to head out.”

“Maybe you should purchase a ride north. You could leave all that business with Haley and her parents’ killer. We could find the next challenge, and you could put all that stuff behind you—”

“Oh, hush. I have things ordered in town. I’m not gonna bail on Haley, anyway.” Ward focused on one of the big steam-driven wagons, at the big brass wheels and the long drive shafts between them. A steam stack rose up near the front, and on either side were two widely placed seats. The back of the wagon was a flatbed with tall side rails holding in the jumble of crates and barrels. “Might be smart to see if there’s another caravan heading out soon, though. Seems like a good way to travel. Safety in numbers and all that.”

“Sure,” Grace nodded, skipping along beside him, apparently unbothered by Ward’s declared lack of trust, “as long as you realize that all that cargo probably draws criminals…”

“I guess. Might be slower than if we bought a couple of fast mounts, too.” He nodded and waved to the folks working on the wagons. Several called out greetings, and he found himself grinning like an idiot. He supposed it had something to do with having lived and worked in the Pacific Northwest for so long—people generally kept to themselves while out and about in Seattle.

When he arrived at the inn, he’d barely taken two steps into the common room before Fan called out from behind the bar, “Ward! Good news!” He walked over, eyebrows raised, and she continued, “One of our guests left early, so I’ve made up the empty room for you. Also, you received a big package from Tailor Thorn. It’s in your room.” She dangled a key from a short copper chain, and Ward walked closer to take it from her.

“Kicking me out, huh?”

“Oh!” Fan laughed and swung her dishtowel at him playfully. “It’s not like that! I thought you’d like a little privacy.”

“I appreciate it. Not that your room wasn’t great. I really do appreciate the hospitality, but yeah, it’ll be good to know I’m not imposing.” Ward held up a hand, “I know, I know. I wasn’t imposing.” He chuckled and started for the stairs. “I’m anxious to get out of these clothes. Do you want them back?”

“I don’t.” She chuckled. “Still, leave ‘em outside your door, and we’ll wash them and see if Willard wants to keep those old rags or give them to the shelter.”

Ward paused. “Shelter?”

“For folks down on their luck. Pastor Foal runs it on the south side of town.”

“Really? Pastor? What religion?”

Fan shook her head and clicked her tongue. “It’s a cult if you ask most folks. The Flame Keepers. They claim that the fire that scours Cinder is doing the will of a divine being. They say that if we’d all listen to their scripture, we could learn how to stop it.”

“Ah.” Ward nodded, waved, and went up to his room. He’d been curious at Fan’s use of the word “pastor,” but hearing about the religion or cult or whatever it was, he’d quickly dismissed pursuing the topic; he had enough to worry about.

The key was stamped with a number four, so it was easy to find his room—the second door on the right. Inside, just as Fan had promised, several packages waited for him on the trunk at the foot of the bed. Ward glanced around and didn’t see Grace. He knew she’d probably jump out at him when he was naked, but he decided he was past caring and began to strip down. He was ready to wear some clean clothes.

The first package, wrapped in butcher paper and twine, held most of his new clothes. He quickly pulled out some thin cotton or hemp underpants, pulled them on, and then unfolded his new pants. They were wool, but a fine, smooth wool much different than the old wool blanket he’d gotten from his grandmother when she passed away. The pants were artfully made, well-stitched, and fit him perfectly. As he pulled on one of the long-sleeved, button-up shirts, he found it similarly perfect.

Every item he’d gotten from Mr. Thorn was monogrammed with an elaborate W, and as he thought about that, his head began to hurt. Why was the alphabet the same here? Was it? Was he seeing something other than a W, and Grace somehow translated it for him? Rather than let her surprise him, he spoke into the empty room for a change. “Grace, why are the letters in the alphabet here the same as the ones I learned on Earth?”

Suddenly, she was standing next to the mirror, watching as he worked to tuck his shirt into his pants. “I, and others of my kind, have something called a gift of tongues, and, as I told you when we first arrived here, that gift transfers to our hosts. It’s an innate ability, and, no, I don’t know how it works. I also don’t know if that ‘W’ is really like a ‘W’ that you might write in English because all written languages look the same to me; they match the first language I ever learned, which is called Ghenti.” She shrugged. “Sorry, I can’t tell you more. Maybe if I ever go home or meet someone who managed to live to adulthood among my people, I can find out.”

Ward looked at her and narrowed his eyes. “What about your uncle? Didn’t you ‘call on him’ to help me?”

“He’s not the kind of person you’d want to ask for any sort of lesson, Ward.”

“Uh-huh. Well, in any case, this language thing is weird. Why don’t I understand the words of power?”

“That’s a great question. Wish I had the answer.” Grace moved away from the mirror and circled him. It was clear she’d dismissed the topic when she said, “My, that tailor did a nice job fitting those clothes. You look quite dapper. What about your belt and boots?”

“Did they come?” Ward picked up the other package wrapped in burlap he’d buried under the extra shirts, pants, and undergarments he’d purchased. He opened it up and took out his new belt and boots, pleased by the rich scent of well-oiled leather. He threaded the belt through the wide, custom-stitched loops on his pants and smiled as he secured the shiny brass buckle. “Feels good.”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Don’t forget your knife.”

“Ah, yeah.” Ward picked up his shoulder harness and removed the leather ties he’d used to hook the knife sheath to it. That done, he loosened his belt to slide it on. With his big knife sitting comfortably on his hip, Ward slung his shoulder holster on, then walked over and picked up his new woolen jacket. It was lined with red silk and felt like an old friend when he shrugged it on. Walking over to the mirror, he gave himself a once over and smiled.

He looked sharp, and looking sharp always made him feel sharp. He’d gotten lazy about his clothes back on Earth, but that was a different Ward, a beat-down, tired, ready-to-check-out Ward. This Ward was looking forward to all kinds of things, from exploring to learning magic to finding and punishing the people who’d wronged him and his friend.

“Not too shabby,” Grace said, walking in a slow circle around him, “I can’t even think of anything snide. You look hot. What about the hat?”

“Right!” Ward went back to the pile of clothes and picked up the round, wicker hat box. He loosened the pale gray ribbon and pulled off the top, revealing his wide-brimmed, black felt hat. He picked it up, turned it to see the silky gray lining, and smiled when he saw the stylized W stitched into the hat band. He set it on his head and sighed, pleased at the perfect fit. He tugged on the lapels of his coat, wriggling his shoulders. “Damn, that guy’s a wizard when it comes to sizing things.”

“That looks pretty cool.” Grace almost sounded upset. “You remind me of some of the nicer dressed cowboys during the eighteen hundreds. The Doc Holliday types.”

“I don’t even have my boots on.” Ward chuckled and sat on the bench to remedy that, sliding his feet into the new socks and then into his boots. Like everything else, they felt good, if a bit stiff. “Need to break ‘em in.” When he stood up, he felt like a new man. “Still need to get a new pack—something leather. I’m not wearing that ratty old scavenger pack over these new clothes.”

“I’m sure you’ll pass by an outfitter or two while you’re out and about. Are you going to bring your spear?”

“Uh, shit, not right now. I need to talk to Haley and figure out how best to approach this bookie guy.”

“Foyle.”

“Right. That’s it. Wish I knew what time Haley was going to stop by.”

“Well? You’re all set, and Fan knows where to find you. Why not try those meditation form thingies?”

“Not a bad idea.” Ward took off his hat and jacket, folding it on the chest beside his other clothes. Then he picked up the copper sheet from where he’d left it. Studying the diagrams of the forms, he thought, based on how the dotted lines for his legs were bent, that they all seemed to be positions he was supposed to get into while sitting down. He unlaced his new boots and took them off, deciding it would be much easier to fold his legs and shift from one position to another if he could properly bend his ankles.

Grace cleared her throat. “Well? Do you want any help, or am I too untrustworthy?”

“If you have anything helpful to say, go ahead.”

Grace plopped down in front of him, folding her legs beneath herself. “She said first you need to become still enough to feel and hear your heart. Is that going to be hard for you?”

“I’ve never tried, so, yeah, probably.” Ward got comfortable—much easier for him than he could have imagined back in his old life. His legs were flexible, and neither his knees nor hips complained when he folded his legs before him, sitting in a sort of lotus position with his hands resting on his knees. He closed his eyes and started by taking deep, slow breaths, listening to the air as it whooshed into his lungs and then out again. Before he realized it, he was finding that “grounded” place that Grace had guided him to when he first tried to absorb mana. His mind and body just sort of clicked into it, and then, in that quiet, still place, he tried to concentrate on his heart, listening for the thump, trying to feel it in his chest.

Quite some time passed before Grace lost patience and asked, “Is it working?”

“Not yet. Certainly not now that you’ve got me talking.” Ward sighed and leaned back, stretching his muscles that had begun to cramp. “I’m not sure I’ve got it in me; I didn’t find even a hint of my heartbeat.”

“I know, I know, I interrupted you, but I have some advice if you’ll listen.” Grace leaned toward him, peering up almost apologetically. Ward wanted to smile—her tone wasn’t usually so deferential—but he reminded himself he was irritated with her and kept his face straight.

“Go ahead, oh wise one.”

“I tease you about being old, but you know I’ve been around a lot longer than you have, yeah? I mean, my last couple of hosts were youngsters, so I’m acting a little like that now, but I do have a thing or two I could teach you. A couple of my hosts were very much into meditation.”

“I’m listening.” Ward straightened and nodded.

“Okay, so your breathing is closely tied to your heartbeat. Did you know that? There’s a reason cardio and pulmonary go together so well.”

“Makes sense.”

“So, I want you to focus on your breathing. Keep it steady and slow, and try to listen to your breaths going into your body. In through your nose, all the way down to your belly button, and then out, slowly through your mouth. Don’t let your mind wander. Focus on your breaths, every part of them. They should become your world. When you focus on their pattern and the sounds they make in your body, you’ll notice a rhythm tied to the slow, steady whoosh. That’s likely your heart. When you hear that, try to focus on it. Most importantly, don’t worry about the time or whether you’re succeeding. None of that should matter; only the breathing matters.”

Right away, Ward heard something he’d been doing “wrong.” His mind had been wandering, big time. He’d been thinking about Nevkin and about how he wanted to beat the shit out of him or, if he was responsible for the attacks on Haley’s family, worse. “Anything else?”

“Just that this is probably going to be a process. Don’t get frustrated if you don’t get there today.”

Ward cocked his head and looked at Grace sideways. “What’s gotten into you?”

“What?”

“So positive and encouraging!” When she began to frown, he hurriedly added, “I appreciate it; that’s all.”

“Whatever. Go ahead now; I’ll be quiet.” She folded her arms, staring at him, but he saw a smile in her eyes, even if she was pointedly pressing her lips together in a flat line. As he closed his eyes, he realized what he’d been thinking—worrying about Grace’s feelings and whether she was smiling—and he frowned, irritated. Was it impossible for him to hold a grudge? Was she somehow beguiling him?

He shook his head, banishing that train of thought. He took a few seconds to shake out his arms, then put his hands back on his knees, closed his eyes, and tried to concentrate on his breathing. Much as before, he found that comfortable stillness quickly, but the trick was to stay that way and to keep his mind focused on his breaths, banishing all the little nibbling thoughts that came into his mind, the worries, the hopes, and even the fears.

His mind kept trying to think about how strange it was that he was attempting to learn magic. He kept wondering what the guys in the department were doing. Had they decided he was dead? Missing? That made him think of his sister—had she given up looking for him? He felt a surge of guilt at the thought, annoyed that he’d hardly thought of her since he’d been swept into all this madness. Furiously, Ward chased those thoughts out of his head only to find himself thinking of Haley and the hell she’d been through. First, her brother had died in front of her, his brains dashed out on a marble slab, and then her parents had been murdered in a bloody home invasion. All that, and she was coming to the inn to see him the day after? It seemed insane—

“You’re not concentrating!” Grace leaned forward and tweaked his ear.

“Dammit!” Ward slapped her hand away, and her eyes widened.

“That was quick!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes, but forget it for now. Get back to that meditation, and remember to empty your mind!”

“Right.” Once again, Ward focused on his breathing, grounded himself, and then, in the silence of his echoing mind, he focused on the sounds of his breath, the way it made his nose, throat, lungs, and stomach feel as he drew it in. He focused on how it left his body, slowly flowing out, leaving a void that collapsed as he compressed his diaphragm…badump. Ward was so startled that his eyes shot open, and he gasped.

“What?” Grace looked just as startled as he did.

“I heard it!” Ward grinned. “Felt it, too!”

She frowned. “And then you lost it.”

“So? Now that I know I can do it, it’ll get easier. Relax.” Ward chuckled at the irony of his words as he closed his eyes and tried again. It took a while and a few aborted attempts when he realized his thoughts were spiraling away from him again, but he did find the heartbeat a second time. That time, he zeroed in on it, and his focus, his world—even his sense of self—disappeared in that faint but steady and immeasurably reassuring thump in his chest. If someone had asked him how long he sat that way before a knock sounded at the door, startling him out of his meditation, he couldn’t have answered. For all he could tell, it might have been twenty minutes or two hours.

“Ward?”

He recognized Haley’s voice right away and jumped up, his knees and ankles almost buckling on him; they’d fallen asleep. “Just a sec. Coming.”

Grace leaned against the wall near the door. “Well, you made progress. Maybe after she leaves, we can try the first form, and you can meditate on those words.”

“Yeah! Damn, I’m relaxed right now.” Ward smiled, stretching and yawning, then walked over to the door and let Haley in. When he saw her in a black woolen overcoat, black hat, and shiny black boots, he was suddenly dumbstruck by the situation. She was in mourning. “Hey…”

She offered him a smile, her face very wan under the dark fabric of her felt, black hat. It looked warm but had almost no brim at all. Her short dark hair was tucked back behind her ears, pinned down by the hat, and she looked even younger than usual. “Hi, Ward. Can I come in? I did something terrible this morning.”