Free Ghost's Sight by Morwen Navarre

make Ghost’s stomach twist again.
    This man was like a wild sind, and Ghost knew showing fear would only further incite the exiled ranger. Ghost had grown up in the Witch’s shadow, not quite her dependent, not quite a formal apprentice. He was not at ease with people at the best of times, and this was far from the best of times, but he had not been taught to roll over, either. Living with the Witch did not encourage one to be docile. Although he did not raise his voice and yell like Conn, it was not in Ghost’s nature to submit, which left him only one option. Defiance was risky, very risky, but it was all he had to fall back on.
    “You’ll see her before me,” Ghost answered, and his chin lifted a little. Despite the blood on his lips that he could still taste, despite the ropes binding him, despite the rasp in his voice from his coughing fit, Ghost glared back at his captor. “I’ve seen it. One who leads, one who loves, one who is known by the End.” The peridot spiral grew bright enough to be reflected in the man’s eyes. Ghost felt the truth of his words even as he spoke them, the vision finally making some sort of sense. It was too little, and probably too late, but Ghost had no choice. He smiled like he had seen the Witch smile, cold and pitiless.
    “Take it back,” the man growled. Now Ghost heard the shadow of fear in the ranger’s voice.
    Ghost turned his head as much as he could with the former ranger’s fingers still buried in his hair, to spit a wad of bloody phlegm. “Avert your eyes, and pass me by,” he murmured, looking up at the man as he offered blood to the Eighth. He could feel warmth spreading from the spiral, flooding his veins to give him a burst of courage. “For you, there’s no help. He won’t look away now. He’s whispering your name, and the Seeker will lead him to you.”
    The man snarled and for a moment Ghost was sure he was going to die. Instead, he was yanked upright, the rope binding his ankles cut with a flash of bright metal. Ghost did his best to hide his surprise at the waste. It had not been rope of any great quality, but rope was rope, and often the difference between life and death in the wilder places. It made Ghost wonder if this one’s crime against the rangers’ guild was madness.
    “Make him look away,” the man insisted. “You have the mark. Tell him, Norther witch.” His eyes were no longer narrowed, and there was desperation in his voice that made Ghost hesitate.
    “I serve the Seeker, and she leads him, not me.” Ghost let himself open up a little to the sensation that nagged at him, hearing a whisper deep in his own mind, a name rising to the surface of his thoughts. “It’s you he wants. Can you hear him, Bernd?”
    His captor’s eyes flew wide. “The Father protect me, you know my name?” Fear was thick in the former ranger’s voice now. Ghost thought he could even see it in the man’s eyes, although he was no expert at how other people showed these emotions.
    “We need to leave here. We need to go to a place I have. We’ll be safe there.” The ranger spoke mostly to himself, ignoring Ghost for the moment.
    It was not what Ghost had hoped to hear. “You’re taking me with you?” He was too surprised to be afraid at first. Then it sank in, and he glared at the man called Bernd. “You’d risk having the witches hunt you?”
    “Could be it’s a cleaner death if they take me,” Bernd said, that undertone of fear still thick in his voice. “Now shut up and let’s move. If you trip or slow me down, I’ll use the sleep stick on you again.” He patted his pocket as if Ghost was supposed to know what he was talking about.
    “You’d have to carry me then, and that would slow you down. You’re better off just going without me.” Ghost was proud of how steady his voice was, of how he was able to meet the man’s eyes and stare him down.
    Bernd snorted. “You don’t weigh more than a scrawny runner. I could carry you all night