the destroyed ship.
How had the ship cracked in two like that? There had been no enemy ship on the horizon. How could he keep on living when he was the only one who had survived? He’d cried until there were no tears left and he’d become nothing but a drying husk under the summer sun.
Then the Seer had found him. Carried him back to his cottage. Cared for him. Educated him. Taught him that life was still worth living.
With another groan, Brody rose to his feet and stretched his sore muscles. Hopefully, the Seer was doing all right. Brody wasn’t sure how old the man was exactly, but he had to be close to a hundred. The last time Brody had come, several months ago, he’d noticed that the Seer was moving very slowly. His eyesight had dimmed over the last fifteen years. And his visions had come less and less frequently until nine years ago when they had stopped completely. Penance, he had called it. His punishment for the terrible crime he had committed.
That had always confused Brody. For he’d never seen the Seer commit any crimes. Hell, the man begged for forgiveness if he had to kill a chicken for dinner. He was the gentlest soul Brody had ever known. And he’d become a second father to him.
So, in order to help the Seer, Brody had left the isle nine years ago to become a spy on the mainland. Then he’d reported back to the Seer, so the old man could continue to make his living by foretelling the future. No one had to know that the Seer’s predictions were now based on Brody’s information and not on any visions.
Brody trudged into the ocean and washed the sand off his bare skin. Then he followed the beach to a rocky outcropping that hid the entrance to a cave. In the dim light, he located the trunk where he kept dry clothes and shoes.
After he was dressed, he returned to the beach and the path that wound up the bluff and across the windswept moors to the solitary stone cottage. Mist hovered in patches over the green grass, blurring his vision, but he didn’t need to see well. He knew which direction to go. He knew where every rock and boulder lay so he could avoid stumping his toes. He knew every inch of this isle. Just as he knew his way around the cave. The Seer had always sent him there to hide whenever anyone came to visit. It was better, the Seer had told him, for everyone to believe that he was dead.
Brody had always suspected the Seer knew a great deal more than he was willing to tell. But Brody could forgive him for that. It had been the old man’s way of protecting him.
The sight of smoke curling up from the stone chimney made him smile with relief. The Seer was alive and well. He was probably cooking himself dinner.
A stone wall surrounded the cottage, intended to keep the deer on the island out of the garden, even though its low height had never stopped them from jumping over. In the last few years, though, Brody had rarely seen any deer.
As he unlatched the gate, a rusted hinge gave out and the gate toppled over. With a prick of guilt, he propped it against the wall. He should have come here more often. The garden was a mess, filled with weeds and spilling over the flagstone path to the door, which badly needed a fresh coat of paint.
“I’m digging up an onion, not a place for you to poop,” a grumbling voice announced across a patch of mist.
Brody walked toward the voice and soon saw the brown hooded cloak that the Seer always wore outside. The old man was hunched down, digging onions and carrots from the ground while an orange tabby cat insisted on getting in his way.
“Shoo, Trouble,” the Seer fussed at his pet as he pulled an onion from the ground. “Ah, this is a good one.” He dropped it into a basket, then fondled the tabby’s ears.
The Seer had acquired the cat two years ago. Brody suspected the old man had been lonesome after he had left. But after the cat had ripped the Seer’s best blanket to shreds, it had acquired the name Trouble.
“Seer,” he called softly, so he wouldn’t alarm the old man. The tabby arched his back and gave him a menacing look.
“Oh, you’ve arrived.” The old man