LITMIR.BIZ

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at her, “You must help Boudica!”

      “What is it, Blonwen? What troubles you? Is it an ill omen?” the queen said, turning to look around her at what might have drawn Alex’s attention.

      The warriors nearby, standing just far enough away to allow Boudica and the newly arrived priestess privacy to talk, were instantly alerted by their queen’s words.

      Of course, Alex hadn’t needed to see Boudica’s nonreaction to the appearance of the man to know he was a ghost—she could tell from her first glimpse of his semitransparent body. Okay, Alex told herself sternly, I’m a priestess. It’s normal that I can talk to ghosts. She cleared her throat and said, “No, it’s not a bad omen. It’s just a spirit telling me to help you, which is actually a good omen because that is what I intend to do.”

      There was a hush in the campsite as every eye turned to her.

      “I know you are more than what you seem and that you come here for reasons other than to be the queen’s confidente, but you must help her,” the ghost exclaimed. Though he was speaking to Alex, his eyes never left Boudica.

      The queen didn’t look nervous or scared, as modern people usually did when they found out Alex was seeing a ghost. Boudica looked calm and more than a little curious. “What else does the spirit say?” she asked.

      “Tell her the boy who first kissed her under the hawthorn blossoms on Beltane Eve tells her to stay strong,” said the ghost.

      Alex swallowed hard and turned to the queen. “He says that the boy who kissed you under the hawthorn blossoms on Beltane Eve wants you to stay strong.”

      Boudica’s eyes widened as the people around her murmured under their breath. Alex thought she could hear the words Soul Speaker being whispered through the campsite.

      “Where is he?” Boudica asked in a voice that sounded choked.

      “There, right beside you.”

      As the crowd around them watched, talking in hushed tones, their queen turned slowly to where Alex pointed, and said, “Forgive me, my love, for not keeping them safe.”

      Alex’s gaze automatically found Boudica’s daughters, who were still sitting, silent and white faced, beside the fire.

      “You are not to blame, and you will avenge them,” said the ghost.

      “He doesn’t blame you,” Alex told Boudica, though she couldn’t make herself repeat his words of vengeance. She knew all too well that Boudica wouldn’t avenge her daughters’ rapes; rather, the war would end in her death and the subjugation of her people.

      “It is with my daughters that you must help her, Soul Speaker,” said the apparition, as if he read her mind. “Farewell for now.” Before he disappeared completely, Boudica’s husband put out a transparent hand to touch her cheek, and then he vanished.

      “He’s gone now,” Alex said to Boudica, who had her own hand pressed against the cheek her husband’s ghost had just caressed.

      “So you are a Soul Speaker as well as a priestess of Andraste,” said the man Boudica had earlier called Aedan.

      “Yes, I am,” she replied.

      “My father died last winter. It was sudden. I did not—” The big Celt’s words broke off and he looked down at his hand, which was gripping the hilt of the short sword hanging from a scabbard at his waist. “I did not have time to bid him farewell. If—if you could call him here, to you, so that I might speak with him one last time, I would, indeed, be in your debt.”

      Alex suppressed a sigh. “I can’t do that,” she said.

      Aedan’s nervous look turned dark. “You refuse my request?”

      “You don’t understand. I’m not refusing to help you, I just can’t. I don’t call spirits, they come to me.”

      The warrior frowned. “What kind of Soul Speaker are you?”

      Alex didn’t know what else to say but the truth. “I’m a very tired one.”

      “Enough, Aedan! Have we been so tainted by the Romans that we forget the rules of hospitality?”

      “No, my queen,” the man said, bowing his head. He sounded contrite, but Alex noticed he kept sending her chilly looks.

      “The ways of Andraste are often mysterious—her path difficult and long. She has sent her priestess here to help direct our steps, and not to perform for us like a tamed dog.” As she spoke, Boudica’s eyes swept the crowd, coming to rest on her daughters. Her stern face softened. “Mirain and Una, show Blonwen to our tent. She is as weary as the two of you look.”

      The girls got up obediently and walked over to their mother.

      “Rest well tonight. The march tomorrow will be long and there will be time for you and me to talk then,” Boudica said to Alex.

      Alex stood up and then, not sure of correct protocol, followed her instincts and bowed to the queen with what she hoped was at least a little grace. Boudica kissed her daughters, called for more mead, and was staring silently into the fire as Alex followed the girls into the night, which wasn’t as dark and impossible to navigate as she would have imagined, thanks to the many campfires dotting the area.

      Tents were mostly hides and lines draped from the sides of carts and staked to the ground either with polls or wooden spikes. The camp seemed huge, and was bustling with activity. The sounds of women laughing and men talking carried on the night air with the fragrant scent of roasting meat. All in all it wasn’t as crude as Alex had expected. The people, for the most part, weren’t dirty barbarians. They were actually attractive and pretty healthy looking. There wasn’t opulence and riches scattered about, but everyone seemed well-fed, and the horses and other animals she caught glimpses of appeared fat and happy.

      She was still gawking around when she realized the girls had stopped in front of a large tent. This one wasn’t draped off the side of a wagon. It was freestanding, with tall poles in the middle and at its five sides. An old woman was tending a cheery campfire burning close enough to the open entrance to cast light within, but not too close to fill the tent with smoke.

      The younger of the two girls gestured for Alex to go inside, which she did gratefully. She didn’t think she’d ever been so exhausted in her life. That’s something I’m reporting on when I get back—this time travel thing is hard work. The next traveler should be told she’s going to be dead on her feet. Unless it’s just me…crap, it’s probably just me—

      “Priestess, did you not hear me?”

      Alex mentally shook herself and focused on the older of the two girls. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m more tired than I thought. What did you say?”

      “This is your pallet. If you need anything, Rosin, who keeps the fire, will aid you.”

      “Thank you. I don’t need anything. Except which of you is Mirain and which is Una?”

      “I am Mirain,” said the older girl. “My sister is Una.”

      “Mirain and Una, it’s nice to meet you. Thank you for showing me here and being so nice to me.”

      “Our mother believes in the old ways,” was all Mirain said. Una didn’t speak at all.

      After a few awkward moments, Alex turned to her pallet, which was a lovely, thick pile of furs. She pulled off her cloak and tried not to gape at the beautifully embroidered tunic that was revealed under it. Wow! It just seemed so impossible that Carswell could make all of this happen with her mind! Alex curled up on the pallet, using her cloak as a blanket. Just before she closed her eyes, she called across the tent to where Mirain and Una had curled together like puppies. “Good night, girls.”

      There was a pause and then Mirain said, “Good night, Priestess.”

      “I don’t believe you are from the goddess,”

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