Earth's Requiem(11)

Take nothing—that’s ridiculous. I have to take food.



No, she argued with herself, I can hunt. Probably better to follow Metae’s instructions exactly.



A familiar voice broke into her reverie. “Aislinn.”

“Travis? Didn’t you go home?” She winced. He’d been kind to her. He deserved better. “Uh, sorry. Didn’t mean to be rude.”



He chuckled. “Yeah. I went home. Just wanted to tell you I hope I see you again.”



Sudden tears sprang to her eyes. She brushed them away. “Damn it, Travis,” she hissed, mind voice almost a growl. “Do not start caring about me. I don’t think I could stand it.”

“We’ve all lost a lot, Aislinn. Don’t let it blind you to the rest of your life.”



She began to answer, but he severed the link. She sent magic spinning out to resurrect it, but pulled it back almost immediately. Travis was a complication she did not need right now. What she needed to do was get moving. On her feet before the thought was done percolating, Aislinn stripped off her shift, then dressed carefully in layers, snugging into long underwear and wool pants that used to be black, but had faded to gray. A red flannel shirt—it clashed with her hair, but so what?—topped by a leather vest and her torn black leather jacket completed her usual mercenary for hire outfit. She glanced down at herself and laughed. There’d been a time when she’d actually cared what she looked like. Now the only thing she cared about was if her clothing was warm and functional.

Eying her boots, she shook her head. She needed to be on the lookout for a replacement pair. She tossed a battered rucksack over her shoulders to hold some of her clothes in case it was warmer than she thought it would be, made sure she had a water bottle and her cook pot, and held a westerly location in her mind.

Aislinn arrived at her planned destination easily. Under the watchful eye of a weak sun trying hard to put out a little warmth, she patted the walls of a deserted tin mining shack a couple hundred miles from her home. Compared with her last journey, the first leg of this one had been easy. The next few should be, too, at least until she traveled into terra incognita. When she couldn’t picture her location, she wasn’t sure quite what she’d do. Coming out in unknown terrain was always risky.

She’d been to the tin shack a couple of times before. Once when her mother was still alive, and later, when she was first teaching herself how to use magic to travel. The miner who’d built the humble structure had left a diary about losing his wife to cancer. His pain, splashed across the grime-streaked pages of a journal, had pierced her heart. She thought about going inside to see if the journal was still there, but resisted. She didn’t really have time to spare. Aislinn reached out cautiously with her magic to see if any threats were near. And froze.



She wasn’t certain what she sensed, but it had wrongness stamped all over it. She hadn’t expected to run into trouble so soon, and it rattled her. Silent in her cracked leather boots, she faded into the hut through a door hanging half off its hinges. The diary was right where she’d left it, tucked into a clear plastic bin so rodents wouldn’t chew it to bits. Drawing power, she looked through the walls of her shelter.

Ghost army. Had they seen her arrive? Shades of human dead, robbed of life far too soon, roved the countryside in packs. They holed up in what was left of the cities, too. Not unlike feral dogs, they refused to leave. Enough of them could suck the life out of you, which was how they swelled their ranks. Aislinn ground her teeth together. While easier to fool than instruments of the dark, she couldn’t afford to take chances. Dead was dead, and shades would kill her just as eagerly as Bal’ta. Her corporeality was an affront to them.

Because they weren’t magical, they shouldn’t be able to sense her. If she just sat tight, she could wait till they moved on, but that might make her late. The alabaster had given her four days’ time. It seemed like enough, at least if everything went smoothly. She peered at the ghost army again with magic-enhanced senses. As she watched, one of them pointed a bony finger her way. She sat up straighter. Shit. They must have seen her flicker into being after she’d first arrived.

She girded herself for moving on, pulling magic, visualizing a location, when the shades closed in. They slithered through the walls and surrounded her. When she reached for her magic, a barrier stood between her will and the reservoir that held her power.

What the hell? They’re not supposed to be able to do that. The reek of long-decayed flesh pricked her nose. She stifled a gag. Skeletal fingers with strips of flesh hanging off them reached for her. A high-pitched, wavering howling filled the air. Chills ran down her back. The shades sounded hungry. Aislinn forced herself to really look at the remnants of humanity surrounding her. “Did this shack belong to one of you?” she asked, her gaze scanning the group.