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    Ghost's Sight: Witch's Apprentice, #1
    Ghost's Sight: Witch's Apprentice, #1
    Ghost's Sight: Witch's Apprentice, #1
    Ebook101 pages1 hour

    Ghost's Sight: Witch's Apprentice, #1

    By Morwen Navarre

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    About this ebook

    Years ago, a bond was forged when a little boy, plagued by dreams and visions he could not explain, became the Witch's new apprentice healer.

    Gerry, a rugged and headstrong hunter, is brought to the Witch for healing, and Ghost is forced to reveal the mark beneath his snowy hair that sets him apart from other men.

    But Gerry does not reject Ghost as an outcast. He finds Ghost beguiling and mysterious and declares his intent to claim Ghost as his own. When Ghost is kidnapped by a rogue ranger, Gerry will need to hunt a lethal and unpredictable prey, and Ghost will need to use all his skill to survive until Gerry can find him.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherNineStar Press, LLC
    Release dateJun 11, 2018
    ISBN9781948608817
    Ghost's Sight: Witch's Apprentice, #1

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      Book preview

      Ghost's Sight - Morwen Navarre

      A NineStar Press Publication

      Published by NineStar Press

      P.O. Box 91792,

      Albuquerque, New Mexico, 87199 USA.

      www.ninestarpress.com

      Ghost’s Sight

      Copyright © 2018 by Morwen Navarre

      Cover Art by Natasha Snow Copyright © 2018

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact NineStar Press at the physical or web addresses above or at Contact@ninestarpress.com.

      Printed in the USA

      First Edition

      June, 2018

      eBook ISBN: 978-1-948608-81-7

      Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content, which may only be suitable for mature readers.

      Ghost’s Sight

      Witch’s Apprentice, Book One

      Morwen Navarre

      Table of Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Epilogue

      About the Author

      Prologue

      The cry was too plaintive to ignore, a thin wail bereft of hope. It was the cry of the child the gods wanted her to find, perhaps even needed her to find. The Witch grumbled to herself as she stepped over the remnants of something metallic, inconvenient for someone well on her way to fifty. She was not as limber as when she walked the path of the maid, or of the dam, for that matter. It was easier to be male, to be more resilient in the face of the passing years, but it would mean a stunted life were she to forsake the gifts she had been given. Most males never took the final step past their place as sires to become truly wise. She had moved on to become a hag, and her power had grown along with her wisdom. Now she sought the male who could also take such a step into wisdom. He was the one who could be a witch, a child with the Sight, or so the gods whispered. How long had it been since there had been one who saw the hidden things? Too long, and the Witch paused to listen.

      It tugged at her again, such a forlorn cry, pulling her deeper into the ruined place. She had never experienced childbirth herself. The dam’s blood had come, and eventually, the dam’s blood had stopped coming, and this was fine by her. The Witch chose not to use birthing to define her, though many of her sister witches bore children. She had the gift and the learning. She could heal with her herbs or with the gods’ light, the potent little dot that could knit a bone or seal a wound and that drew its power from the witchglass atop her home. She had the Seeker’s box to read the blood and give her the ancient words, words that named the potion or poultice in her formulary. They were lost now to all but a few, along with the secrets of making witchglass or how to repair the delicate relics. Only the witches remembered the words, they and the rangers, the barely civilized scavengers who combed the ruined places and gave themselves fine airs.

      The Witch sniffed, smelling the taint of a ranger in the air. No ranger would touch a witch. Not everything in a witch’s formulary was gentle and wholesome. There were things that could tear a man’s mind out, make him beg for death. The Witch grinned to herself, her amusement a dark and feral thing. No, she had no need to fear the unseen ranger. He would not interfere with her or dare to touch the child she sought.

      Again the cry sounded, so close now, and the Witch stepped over the threshold of a ruined building. There was a bundle weighing no more than a sind’s whelp, and she gathered it to her, words coming in a soft singsong. Hush, little one. We’ll leave this place, we will, and go where the skies are kinder, hm?

      The child grew swiftly, all gangly arms and legs, a Northern child as pale as the moon that had filled the sky the night the Witch had brought him to her home in the valley of the Heartlands. His hair was white as milk, and his eyes the palest blue the Witch had ever seen. Ghost, she named him, and he cried in the night as though he were indeed haunted.

      The Witch read, and when the words failed her, she turned to the scrying mirror to consult with other witches in the hope their formularies would hold a recipe not known to her. There was one witch, her words cadenced with the slur of the distant South. She spoke of the power of the gems known as peridot, green and subtle. They had the ability to banish the nightmares plaguing Ghost, among other things, and the Witch made careful notes in the secret writing of her craft. He might learn to dream, her witchsister murmured. The peridot might even waken the inner eye, to let him see as far as the gods.

      When the moon was full again, the Witch gave Ghost a tea to make him sleep while she took up the gods’ light. She fused the peridot to Ghost’s forehead, a thin spiral of stones that grew narrower as it turned inward, glittering green against the translucent pallor of his skin. Ghost never moved while she worked, and her voice was like honey as she murmured lullabies and brushed the sweat-soaked strands of white from his temples. She called on the Seven as she worked and shed a drop of blood to placate the Eighth, to keep that dread one’s eyes closed. And when she was done, she washed away the sweat, laid Ghost in his little cot, and watched over him as he slept the entire night for the first time since she had brought him home.

      Chapter One

      Fuck, Conn, pay attention, Gerry growled, low and irritated. He ran a hand through his hair, narrowing his eyes as he glared at his younger companion. We’re not hunting runners today. Mother’s got us after sind, and you’re spotter, so spot, you little shit.

      Don’t fucking tell me what to do, Conn retorted, his shaggy brown hair flopping into one dark-blue eye. "You’re a dependent, same as me, so don’t pull the fucking alpha shit. Only Mother tells me what to do and he’s not here. And I am spotting, you stupid fucker." There was berry juice on his lips, and his fingers were stained with it, belying his words.

      The hunter frowned, watching the lithe young man turn away, poking the ground at random and with little enthusiasm. Gerry fought the urge to reach out to cuff Conn, to see the pout leave the little shit’s face. Still, if he was going to be an alpha one day himself, he needed to master his temper. The world was evidence enough of what could happen when those who led lost sight of what mattered most.

      When everything had gone to shit, well back before anyone living could remember, there was nothing left of most families. The cities were burning or ravaged by looters. Anyone with any sense had fled for the open places. At first, it was tents or rough camps where strangers gathered and tried to make sense of what had happened. Those were hungry days marked by illnesses thought eradicated.

      The godsmen called it a just punishment and burned the books that might have held answers. What had been a minor cult was now the only faith, and the godsmen took every opportunity to shape the new world emerging from the ruins. They made sure no one would make the mistakes of the past by eradicating all traces of it, other than the knowledge preserved by the witches who ignored the godsmen and their edicts.

      The witches used bits and pieces of ancient relics, scavenging them from the ruins of the cities themselves or trading with the rangers who haunted the ruins and

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