Geist by Philippa Ballantine

He had not shared his Sight. Annoyed, she reached up and placed her bare hand on his.
    Sight flared about her, so different from what she had shared with Kolya it was disconcerting. This new partner of hers must be packed full of power; everything was blazing. Behind her she was aware of the gentle slumbering trees, the creatures hiding in the mud and birds winging their way out to the sea. It was the color, though, the sheer brightness and detail, that she reveled in; reveled in, and was definitely overwhelmed by.
    This was why new partners usually stayed safely within the Abbey walls, learning each other’s strengths and getting used to the sensation of the Bond. After a moment, Sorcha’s Center felt like she’d been looking into the sun for too long.
    Snatching back her hand, she shot a look up at Merrick. He was glaring down at her. Rated Sensitives didn’t need to send their Centers out; they trained to keep both the real world and the ethereal one in focus. What sort of strange double vision that might engender, Sorcha couldn’t really imagine. She tugged on her left Gauntlet without looking away.
    After a second of playing staring games with each other, Merrick shook his head. “By the Bones, that was uncalled for! Give me a second, and keep your hand off me . . . if you can manage that?”
    He too dismounted and wandered a little distance off, looking out over the patch of water. The locals called the little dips in the land
vamma kesi
, or dark water, because no sunlight reflected off the pools that collected there. It was something to do with the earth itself, as Sorcha had read in an indolent moment in the Abbey library. Whatever the reason, they were dire little spots.
    Merrick pointed over toward the farthest reaches of the water, where low scrub tumbled down a small rise. “It’s not a geist, but there is something lingering there . . . something in pain.”
    Sorcha snorted. Everything was always in pain or tormented. She’d trained Kolya not to get involved with every injured kitten or bruised plant, and it looked as though she would have to do the same with Merrick.
    “If you haven’t noticed, we need to get moving. Those ships are leaving if we are there or not . . .” She looked up and realized that her new partner was already off the road and tromping through the light snow in the direction he had pointed.
    “Stubborn,” she muttered to herself. “Hastler had to give me a stubborn one.” Tucking her fur cloak around her shoulders, she strode after him. He was at least fifteen feet in front of her, not even bothering to look behind him. Basically giving her the same treatment that she’d handed to him at the Abbey. The phrase “too big for his britches” was made for this one. She’d much rather have had a lesser-ranked Sensitive than one who knew he was good.
    “You know, if I get wet boots, you’ll be riding the pack mule the rest of the way,” she barked at him. Merrick had stopped and was actually yanking aside bushes. Whatever he had sensed from the road had probably crawled in there to die. Her only satisfaction was that he was tossing enough snow about to get himself rather damp as well.
    Finally reaching his side, Sorcha stood with Gauntleted hands on hips, staring down at her new partner as he fossicked around in the undergrowth. “I’m not carrying any . . .”
    She stopped in midsentence as Merrick finally cleared away the snow and branches. A long length of what she assumed was bleached wood was wrapped in the remains of a red skirt. It was a human leg.
    Wordlessly she bent and helped her partner yank away the swath of brush that covered the scene; cold and dread were building in her. What she’d thought was merely growing near the water had in fact been deliberately laid down to cover the horror beneath.
    When they finally both stood back, panting into the air, the scene had been revealed. It was difficult to count exactly how many bodies there were, but all were frozen