Chapter 2
Rumors of Ghosts
Two days later, at nine o’clock in the morning, Hamal and Cale took a carriage across the city and entered the district of West Barrow, home to most of the city’s scholars and historians. The people who liked to study things lived in this district. Gregory Almes, one of Hamal’s reader friends, had a house here on Lettering Street.
The carriage rolled to a stop in front of a house so far west that it nestled within the shadow of the city wall. Like many houses in West Barrow, this house looked fairly plain. Most people didn’t have fancy houses here because they spent their money on other things, like books and education and travel.
But Hamal did notice one interesting thing about this house.
“Are they building something?” he asked, peering through the carriage window at the carnage that used to be the front lawn. Five large holes gaped up at the sky: one hole beside the cobbled drive, one next to the rose garden, one against the wall, two others under some trees. The excess dirt had been carefully piled up next to each hole.
Cale leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at the deep scrapes in the earth. A moment passed as he used his gift. “Experiments,” he said finally.
“What?”
“They’re testing the soil.” Cale smiled slightly. “Likely for the third or fourth time, I’d imagine.”
Hamal did not understand why Cale thought this was funny. “Testing the soil? You mean, with an alchemist? Why are they testing the soil with an alchemist?”
“The Elortons explore caves, Hamal. That is their occupation. They are interested in the earth—all manner of soil and rocks and what can be found under the surface. I imagine their natural interest has not abated, despite their recent setbacks.”
Recent setbacks. An interesting way to describe what had happened with Lord Masgrave and his dragons. Cale seemed to think the trauma the siblings had endured had already lifted. Hamal smiled, pleased with his friend’s opinion. Good.
A servant met them on the drive. He was tall and thin, and his lips barely moved as he said, “This way, sirs.”
He took Hamal and Cale up the stone steps and into the house, where there was even more dirt—dirt inside the house, in piles that appeared to be just as carefully arranged as the piles outside, only smaller.
“Oh,” Hamal said in surprise.
The servant sighed. “Yes,” he stated in a completely different tone. “Yes, I know. There’s no stopping them, and since their return three weeks ago, it’s been particularly bad. I have never—” His voice cracked to a halt as his eyes widened. He straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. In the first voice, the one that sounded very formal, he continued, “This way, sirs. His lordship is in the library.”
The servant led them down a long hallway lined with bookcases. There were no books on these shelves. Instead, they were loaded with rocks. Some were rough and dark, full of holes. Some were spiky and sharp looking, and some were pretty. Hamal touched a shiny one that was the same color as spring grass. Imagine that—a green rock. They must have found it in a cave.
The servant stopped in front of a door, and Hamal ran into his back. The man sniffed and pretended the collision hadn’t happened.
“Sirs,” he said and opened the door.
The smells of cinnamon tea and old paper followed the door’s movement. So did voices. A woman, talking about the military and an upcoming event—it sounded like a wedding—that involved someone in the military, and a man, who thought there would be plenty of time for everyone to arrive. Hamal saw more bookcases and more rocks, but there were actual books here, and he realized the large room was a library. Though he couldn’t see the speakers yet, he began to sense the presence of another healer.
“She’s here!” he whispered excitedly to Cale.
“Yes,” the seer replied.
They walked down three aisles of bookcases filled with books that looked as old as the kingdom. As they approached the end of the third row, the servant loudly cleared his throat, and the familiar voices cut off.
“Jon,” the woman called. “Are they here?”
“Yes, mistress,” the servant replied.
Hamal walked around the corner and stopped, grinning at the scene before him.
Saviana Elorton, sitting on Lieutenant Com Reardon’s lap.
“Why, Hamal,” she said and didn’t bother to pull her arms from around Com’s neck. She wouldn’t be embarrassed, he knew. Not this one. She didn’t know what embarrassment was, and she never cared what other people thought. “When I heard you were coming, I rearranged my schedule.”
Com laughed at her. “You have a schedule?”
“Quiet, darling. It is good to see you again, Hamal. Where is your silver-eyed friend? Did you remember to bring him too?”
Cale stepped up next to Hamal, and Savi’s smile widened. “Oh, there you are, my lord. Forgive me. I didn’t know you were coming.”
Hamal highly doubted that was true. He chuckled, sensing the presence of a joke even if he didn’t fully understand it.
Savi untangled her arms and stood from the couch, brushing off her dress in a manner that made Hamal think of digs and dust and the exploration of old places, even though her dress appeared perfectly clean and presentable. She had a practiced hand.
“I fear I must apologize on behalf of my brother, sir,” she said to Cale. “After receiving your letter yesterday, he vanished somewhere within the worded catacombs—” She gestured toward the library they stood in. “—and we haven’t been able to find him. I fear he is gone forever.”
From somewhere deeper within the library, a man’s voice came floating through the dust. “Not true.”
“We fear we may never see him again,” Savi continued in the same friendly tone.
“No, we don’t.” Garrick Elorton, Savi’s brother and leader of their underground expeditions, stepped around an overloaded bookcase. Dust as thick as white powder clung to the shoulder of his dark tunic, and cobwebs had pasted themselves to his hair. In one hand he held an old scroll, the paper darkening with age, and in the other hand he clutched a black book. Also old, also dusty. “As always, thank you, Saviana, for your surge of creative details.”
He turned to Cale and lifted the scroll. “I found the map, Commander. If you will follow me over to the table, I can show you everything you need to know about the Dursen Head Mine.”
Garrick led them to the long table next to the couch where Saviana and Com had been sitting. The table had been recently cleaned off, Hamal thought, judging by the papers and books stacked underneath it. Garrick set the black book off to the side and then rolled out the map, smoothing it down with both hands.
“This is Dursen Head,” he said. “Two different renderings, as you can see. The one on the left is a copy of the original map drafted by a charter about nine hundred years ago. The one on the right is a more current map.”
“How old?” Cale asked.
“Ninety-nine years,” Garrick replied and tapped the scroll’s right side. “This is a charter’s work as well, so you can be certain of what you see.”
Hamal studied the map and all the dark lines, shaded areas, town names, and other features carefully drawn out or labeled with old ink. The map was highly detailed concerning the mine itself. The charter had marked each shaft and how it turned through the soil and stones. In the eight hundred years between drawings, the mine appeared to have grown considerably. It was a single shaft on the left side of the paper but more like a town of passages on the right. Charters knew the earth; it spoke to them, and their maps were always dependable.
Cale was already nodding. “They dug beneath the sea.”
“They did. Most of the mine lays hidden beneath the soil, close to the shore but not quite touching it. This arm here, however, extends out beneath the water.” Garrick traced the route with a calloused finger. “A few hundred years ago, some believed the e’nethaine knew more about Dursen Head than we landers did.” He grinned like this was a ridiculous idea.
Hamal didn’t think anything about the e’nethaine was ridiculous, and he knew Cale thought so as well. But neither of them tried to correct Garrick’s opinion.
Instead, Cale said, “Some say the mine is haunted. What do you say?”
Garrick’s smile hesitated. He seemed to notice the dust on his sleeve for the first time because he reached up and absently rubbed at his shoulder. “We are familiar with rumors of ghosts, my lord. That’s fairly standard in our business—digging up the earth, discovering artifacts and unknown territory buried under cities and towns and the like. Plenty of ghost stories. But here?” He swiped his fingertip across the northern coastline. “This is a different kind of ghost story. You’d almost think the e’nethaine were involved somehow.”
I knew it, Hamal thought.
Garrick kept speaking. “I have never been to Dursen Head myself, but Savi and I have heard a few of the stories and they’re…unique.”
Cale frowned at Garrick. “How so?”
Garrick looked over at his sister, sitting on the arm of the couch with the lieutenant on the cushion next to her.
Savi wrinkled her nose like the entire notion of ghosts was distasteful to her. “Here is an example. A hundred years ago, Tome Dranda the charter—”
Garrick pointed toward the right side of the map.
“—scanned the mine to verify his map, and he insisted that the mine’s register was not correct. The register reported twenty-three miners in a certain shaft that day, but the charter counted twenty-seven. Four extra men, walking about.”
E’nethaine, Hamal thought.
“These ‘ghosts’ have weight,” Saviana continued. “Enough weight that a charter can sense their steps on the earth and assume they are men. But the more interesting stories involving the mine also involve healers.”
She gave Cale an odd look. “You have heard about the Healer’s Treasure, I assume?”
“I have.”
For some reason, Saviana looked relieved. “Then you know that according to the legend, the gods hid some kind of massive treasure in the earth at Dursen Head, and only a healer can find it. Healers have been trying to discover it for centuries. Interestingly, it is like the mine itself—or perhaps whatever dwells in the mine—tries to keep them from finding it. This is where the ghost stories become more interesting. If anything goes missing, is tampered with, or is broken in the mine, that thing will certainly belong to a healer and not any other gift. Accidents happen, of course—but the strange things, the truly bizarre stories, always involve healers.” Saviana shrugged. “If the mine is truly haunted the way people say, it would seem that whatever lives there doesn’t like healers.”
“Interesting,” Cale murmured. He lowered his gaze back to the map but, after a moment, looked at Hamal across the table. “What is your opinion, Hamal? Why would the e’nethaine prefer a healer’s belongings to those of anyone else?”
Garrick’s eyes lit up like he was intrigued.
Saviana looked serious.
Com’s brows lowered in a frown.
Hamal rubbed the top of his head as he considered the question. His mind touched upon the e’nethaine and landers and gods and how the world was made, and eventually he said, “They wouldn’t. The e’nethaine have their own healers. Why would they care about ours?”
“Do you think the legend is true?” Cale asked. “That the treasure exists and is meant for a healer?”
“Well, yes. My grandfather told me about it.”
“Ah.” Cale’s silver gaze grew sharp. “And what did Shel Galen have to say?”
“Just that there’s a treasure there, and eventually the right healer will find it.”
Everyone looked at him.
“Did he say you would find it?” Cale asked.
Hamal laughed. But no one else did.
“No, he didn’t say I would find it,” Hamal answered. “But he did mention something about time and how the treasure could grow, like it was alive.” He reached up and rubbed the top of his head. “I used to think that all secret treasures weren’t alive—like gold. Gold isn’t alive. It can’t grow like a person or an animal or a plant. But this treasure can grow. Shel said that if it had been found early, it would have been smaller, but because it still hasn’t been found, it is going to be bigger.”
Everyone was still looking at him.
“I have no idea what that means,” Saviana said.
“Neither do I!” Hamal exclaimed. “A treasure that grows? My grandfather is full of secrets.”
Several hours later, Cale leaned back on the carriage seat and looked at Hamal across the way. “You know, Hamal, if a treasure does exist somewhere within the Dursen Head Mine, you are the healer who will find it. You understand this, do you not?”
Hamal laughed. “Do you think I’m like Savi and her brother? Hunting for treasures hidden in secret places? I’m not a treasure hunter, Cale.”
Cale didn’t even smile. “Perhaps you should be, in this case.”
Hamal felt the weight of his friend’s gaze. Every healer knew the story of the Dursen Head Mine, and Savi was right—many, many healers had gone there trying to find the secret treasure. Some entered the mine legally and some did not. The mine had had several owners through the centuries, and only a few of them allowed healers to search for the treasure.
Cale abruptly leaned forward and called the driver’s name. “Percy, turn north on Harbor Street.”
“Yes, sir,” came the muffled reply.
Harbor Street would not take them back to Cale’s house, to the palace, or to anywhere else they might need to go before leaving the city.
“Where are we going?” Hamal asked.
The intensity eased in the seer’s gaze, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “The king said I could have anyone I wanted for this venture. Well—I have thought of someone I want.”
– H –
Author’s note: Do you remember Savi and Com from The Healer Who Didn’t Remember? I really enjoy their little love story. ❤️
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Comment below or find us on Facebook. Copyright notice: © 2026 by Lauren Stinton. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.