Death's Shadow

believe she’ll give me a fair hearing.

“He’s only interested in Bill-E,” I whisper, then fill her in on all that’s happened since I stepped out of the cave, only holding back the information about my gift, since that has no bearing on what’s been going on with Dervish.

She listens silently, her brows slowly creasing into an angry frown. “The idiot,” she growls when I finish. “I guess anyone in his position would want to know what was going on inside Billy’s head, but he’s taken this way too far. Who does he think he is, treating you like dirt?”

She stands up, fire in her eyes, and strides towards the door. My heart leaps with excitement—she’s going to confront Dervish and subject him to a tongue-lashing.

Brilliant! But then she slows, stops, thinks a moment and turns.

“No,” she says quietly. “I can’t say anything to him about this. You have to.”

“Me?” I cry, disappointment almost bringing tears to my eyes.

“I can take you away from here,” Meera says, returning to my side. “Dervish is no kin to you, so you don’t have to stay with him.”

“Actually,” I correct her, “we are distantly related.”

She waves that away. “Like I said, I can take you from him, but I don’t think you’d be any happier. If you run away now, you’ll always be running. You need to talk to Dervish, make him see you’re not Billy’s ghost, but a real child with real needs. I wouldn’t treat a dog the way Dervish has treated you.”

“He doesn’t do it on purpose,” I mutter, surprised to find myself sticking up for him. “He’s sad and lonely.”

“So are you!” Meera exclaims. “If I was in your place, I’d have set him straight long ago. But you’re just a girl. You were afraid to hurt his feelings… maybe afraid of what he might do if he lost his temper?”

I nod softly, amazed that she can read me so easily.

“I’ve known Dervish a long time,” Meera says. “He’s not as shallow as he must seem. You’ve caught him at a bad time, the worst of his life. He’s lost Billy… Grubbs… that horrible Swan cow didn’t help matters.” Dervish had been in love with Lord Loss’s assistant, Juni Swan. He thought she was a wonderful, kind-hearted woman. When he learnt the truth in the cave, he killed her.

“Any other time, Dervish would have welcomed you warmly,” Meera continues. “But he’s mixed up and you’ve become part of all that’s wrong with his life.

“That has to change,” she says sternly. “He can’t carry on like a spoilt child. If he can’t see sense himself, we have to make him. You have to. Because you’re the one who lives with him. I could shake him up, but he’d feel guilty and shameful, and that might makes things worse. You need to sort this out yourself.” She smiles encouragingly and nods at the door.

“What… now?” I stammer.

“No time like the present,” she grins.

“I don’t know what to say,” I protest.

“You’ll think of something,” she assures me.

“But what if you’re wrong? What if he doesn’t want to hear from me? What if he only wants access to Bill- E?”

“He can’t have it,” Meera says softly. “Billy’s dead. Dervish has manipulated you to hide from that, but he can’t anymore. It’s not healthy. Now quit stalling, get up there and put him in his place. And remember,” she grins, “he’s only a man. They’re the inferior half of the species. He’ll be putty in your hands.”

WAKING THE DEAD

I trudge up the stairs to the third floor, nervous and hesitant. I don’t want to do this. I can’t think of anything to say. I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.

Except Meera’s right. This is unacceptable. I’ve been silent too long. The old Bec wouldn’t have tolerated such disrespectful treatment. I remember when I addressed the men of my village and insisted they let me go with Goll and the others on their mission to find out where Bran came from. Conn—our king—was against it, but I stood firm. If I can stare down a king and tell him what I think, I can certainly face Dervish.

The door to his study is open. I enter, rapping on the heavy wood as I go in. The room is protected from strangers by spells. Dervish never taught me the spells, but I found them easy to break. I don’t have the power I experienced when I first came back to life—the cave was filled with energy which I could tap into—but I’m much more advanced than any present day mage.

Dervish is reading a book about werewolves.

Someone in our family bred with demons many generations ago. As a result, lots of our children transform into savage, mindless beasts who must be executed or caged for life. Various family members have searched for a cure over the centuries. Dervish is the latest, but he’s had no more luck than the others.

It’s possible I might turn one day, but I think I’ll be able to fight it. Grubbs got the better of his wolfen genes. He’s part of the Kah-Gash, and the magic of the weapon gave him the power to reject the change. I suspect I have that same power.

Dervish looks up and squints. “Is that what passes for fashion now?”

I touch my face automatically. “Does it look awful?”

“No.” He forces a thin smile. “I was only teasing. You look good.” It’s the first compliment he’s ever paid me. The small act of kindness gives me confidence. I walk around the room, studying the books on the shelves and weapons on the wall. I take down a small sword and swing it experimentally.

“Careful,” Dervish says. “That’s real.”

I whirl the sword over my head and chop down an imaginary opponent. I wasn’t supposed to practise with swords, but I did when nobody was watching. Satisfied that I haven’t lost my touch, I return the sword to its holder.

“Where’s Meera?” Dervish asks.

“Downstairs. She went to get something to eat.”

“I’ll join her. I’m feeling peckish.” He stands up and heads for the door.

“No,” I stop him. “We have to talk.”

“Later,” he scowls, waving me away.

I whip the sword off the wall again, take careful aim, then send it flying across the room. It tears through the leather panel on this side of the door and slams it shut. Dervish leaps away, giving a yelp of astonishment. He looks back at me, shocked.

“We. Have. To. Talk.”

“Since you put it so politely…” He returns to his chair, eyeing me warily. He glances at the sword buried in the door. Its hilt is still quivering. “Were you sure you wouldn’t hit me when you threw that?”

“No,” I admit.

“What if you’d struck me?”

I grin tightly. “I’m a healer. I could probably have patched you up.”

Dervish strokes his beard, eyes narrow. “What do you want to talk about?”

I stroll to the chair where I usually sit and drag it around to the side of the desk, so I’m closer to Dervish. I hunch forward in the chair, maintaining eye contact. The words come by themselves.

“You never ask about Bill-E’s last day or his final thoughts.”

Dervish stiffens. “I don’t think we need to discuss that.”

“Why don’t you want to know?” I press.

“Did Meera put you up to this?” he says angrily. “She has no right. It’s none of her business.”

“No,” I agree. “It’s our business. And it’s time we dealt with it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You want all of Bill-E, his life from start to finish, wrapped up neatly like a birthday present. I can’t give you that unless I tell you about the end, what he felt in the cave, how he reacted to the news that Grubbs was his