The Warded Man

by Peter V. Brett

  “I wish I was promised,” Mairy complained. She was gaunt at fourteen years, with a hollow face and a prominent nose. She was full flowered, but despite the efforts of her parents, not yet promised. Elona called her scarecrow. “No man will want to put a child between those bony hips,” she had sneered once, “lest the scarecrow crack in two when the babe breaks.”

  “It will happen soon enough,” Leesha told her. She was the youngest of the group at thirteen, but the others seemed to center around her. Elona said it was because she was prettier and better moneyed, but Leesha could never believe her friends so petty.

  “Did you really beat Darsy with a stick?” Mairy asked.

  “It didn’t happen like that,” Leesha said. “Darsy made some mistake, and Bruna started hitting her with her stick. Darsy tried to back away, and walked right into me. We both fell down, and Bruna kept hitting her until she ran off.”

  “If she hit me with a stick, I’da hit her right back,” Brianne said. “Da says Bruna’s a witch, and she slaps stomachs with demons in her hut at night.”

  “That’s disgusting nonsense!” Leesha snapped.

  “Then why’s she live so far from town?” Saira demanded. “And how is it she’s still alive when her grandchildren are dead of old age?”

  “Because she’s an Herb Gatherer,” Leesha said, “and you don’t find herbs growing in the center of town. I helped her today, and it was amazing. I thought half the people brought to her were too hurt to live, but she saved every one.”

  “Did you see her cast spells on them?” Mairy asked excitedly.

  “She’s not a witch!” Leesha said. “She did it all with herbs and knives and thread.”

  “She cut people?” Mairy said in disgust.

  “Witch,” Brianne said. Saira nodded.

  Leesha gave them all a sour look, and they quieted. “She didn’t just go around cutting people,” Leesha said. “She healed them. It was … I can’t explain it. Old as she is, she never stopped working until she treated everyone. It was like she kept on by will alone. She collapsed right after she treated the last one.”

  “And that’s when you saved her?” Mairy asked.

  Leesha nodded. “She gave me the cure just before the coughing started. Really, all I did was brew it. I held her until the coughing stopped, and that’s when everyone found us.”

  “You touched her?” Brianne made a face. “I bet she stunk of sour milk and weeds.”

  “Creator!” Leesha cried. “Bruna saved a dozen lives today, and all you can do is mock!”

  “Goodness,” Brianne quipped, “Leesha saves the hag, and suddenly her paps are too big for her corset.” Leesha scowled. She was the last of her friends to bloom, and her breasts, or lack thereof, were a sore spot for her.

  “You used to say the same things about her, Leesh,” Saira said.

  “Maybe so, but not anymore,” Leesha said. “She may be a mean old woman, but she deserves better.”

  Just then, Child Jona came over to them. He was seventeen, but too small and slight to swing an axe or pull a saw. Jona spent most of his days penning and reading letters for those in town with no letters, which was almost everyone. Leesha, one of the few children who could read, often went to him to borrow books from Tender Michel’s collection.

  “I’ve a message from Bruna,” he said to Leesha. “She wishes …”

  His words were cut off as he was yanked backward. Jona was two years senior, but Gared spun him like a paper doll, gripping his robes and pulling him so close their noses touched.

  “I told you before about talking to those what arn’t promised to ya,” Gared growled.

  “I wasn’t!” Jona protested, his feet kicking an inch off the ground. “I just …!”

  “Gared!” Leesha barked. “You put him down this instant!”

  Gared looked at Leesha, then back to Jona. His eyes flicked to his friends, then back to Leesha. He let go, and Jona crashed to the ground. He scrambled to his feet and scurried off. Brianne and Saira giggled, but Leesha silenced them with a glare before rounding on Gared.

  “What in the Core is the matter with you?” Leesha demanded.

  Gared looked down. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s jus’ … well, I ent gotten to talk to ya all day, and I guess I got mad when I saw ya talking to him.”

  “Oh, Gared,” Leesha touched his cheek, “you don’t have to be jealous. There’s no one for me but you.”

  “Really?” Gared asked.

  “Will you apologize to Jona?” Leesha asked.

  “Yes,” Gared promised.

  “Then yes, really,” Leesha said. “Now go on back to the tables. I’ll join you in a bit.” She kissed him, and Gared broke into a wide smile and ran off.

  “I suppose it’s something like training a bear,” Brianne mused.

  “A bear that just sat in a briar patch,” Saira said.

  “You leave him be,” Leesha said.

  “Gared doesn’t mean any harm. He’s just too strong for his own good, and a little …”

  “Lumbering?” Brianne offered.

  “Slow?” Saira supplied.

  “Dim?” Mairy suggested.

  Leesha swatted at them, and they all laughed.

  Gared sat protectively by Leesha, he and Steave having come over to sit with Leesha’s family. She longed for his arms around her, but it wasn’t proper, even promised as they were, until she was of age and their engagement formalized by the Tender. Even then, chaste touching and kisses were supposed to be the limit until their wedding night.

  Still, Leesha let Gared kiss her when they were alone, but she held it at that, regardless of what Brianne thought. She wanted to keep tradition, so their wedding night would be a special thing they would remember forever.

  And of course, there was Klarissa, who had loved to dance and flirt. She had taught Leesha and her friends to reel and braided flowers in their hair. An exceptionally pretty girl, Klarissa had her pick of suitors.

  Her son would be three now, and still no man in Cutter’s Hollow would claim him as their own. It was broadly assumed that meant he was a married man, and over the months when her belly fattened, not a sermon had gone by where Tender Michel had failed to remind her that it was her sin, and that of those like her, that kept the Creator’s Plague strong.

  “The demons without echo the demons within,” he said.

  Klarissa had been well loved, but after that, the town had quickly turned. Women shunned her, whispering behind her passage, and men refused to meet her eyes while their wives were about, making lewd comments when they were not.

  Klarissa had left with a Messenger bound for Fort Rizon soon after the boy was weaned, and never returned. Leesha missed her.

  “I wonder what Bruna wanted when she sent Jona,” Leesha said.

  “I hate that little runt,” Gared growled. “Every time he looks at you, I can see him imagining you as his wife.”

  “What do you care,” Leesha asked, “if imagination is all it is?”

  “I won’t share you, even in other men’s dreams,” Gared said, putting his giant hand over hers under the table. Leesha sighed and leaned in to him. Bruna could wait.

  Just then, Smitt stood, legs shaky with ale, and banged his stein on the table. “Everyone! Your attention, please!” His wife, Stefny, helped him stand up on the bench, propping him when he wobbled. The crowd quieted, and Smitt cleared his throat. He might dislike giving orders, but he liked giving speeches well enough.

  “It’s the worst times that bring out the best in us,” he began. “But it’s them times that show the Creator our mettle. Show that we’ve mended our ways and are worthy for him to send the Deliverer and end the Plague. Show that the evil of the night cannot take our sense of family.

  “Because that’s what Cutter’s Hollow is,” Smitt went on. “A family. Oh, we bicker and fight and play favorites, but when the corelings come, we see those ties of family like the strings of a loom, tying us all together. Whatever our differences,
no one is left to them.

  “Four houses lost their wards in the night,” Smitt told the crowd, “putting a score at the corelings’ absent mercy. But due to heroism out in the naked night, only seven were taken.

  “Niklas!” Smitt shouted, pointing at the sandy-haired man sitting across from him. “Ran into a burning house to pull his mother out!

  “Jow!” He pointed to another man, who jumped at the sound. “Not two days ago, he and Dav were before me, arguing all the way to blows. But last night, Jow hit a wood demon, a wood demon, with his axe to hold it off while Dav and his family ran across his wards!”

  Smitt hopped up on the table, passion lending agility to his drunken body. He walked its length, calling people by name, and telling of their deeds in the night. “Heroes were found in the day, as well,” he went on. “Gared and Steave!” he cried, pointing. “Left their own house to burn to douse those that had a better chance! Because of them and others, only eight houses burned, when by rights it should have been the whole town!”

  Smitt turned, and suddenly he was looking right at Leesha. His hand raised, and the finger he pointed to her struck her like a fist. “Leesha!” he called. “Thirteen years old, and she saved Gatherer Bruna’s life!

  “In every person in Cutter’s Hollow beats the heart of a hero!” Smitt said, sweeping his hand over all. “The corelings test us, and tragedy tempers us, but like Milnese steel, Cutter’s Hollow will not break!”

  The crowd roared in approval. Those who had lost loved ones cried the loudest, their cheeks wet with tears.

  Smitt stood in the center of the din, soaking in its strength. After a time, he patted his hands, and the villagers quieted.

  “Tender Michel,” he said, gesturing to the man, “has opened the Holy House to the wounded, and Stefny and Darsy have volunteered to spend the night there tending them. Michel also offers the Creator’s wards to all others who have nowhere else to go.”

  Smitt raised a fist. “But hard pews are not where heroes should lay their heads! Not when they’re among family. My tav ern can hold ten comfortably, and more if need be. Who else among us will share their wards and their beds to heroes?”

  Everyone shouted again, this time louder, and Smitt broke into a wide smile. He patted his hands again. “The Creator smiles on you all,” he said, “but the hour grows late. I’ll assign …”

  Elona stood up. She too had drunk a few mugs, and her words slurred. “Erny and I will take in Gared and Steave,” she said, causing Erny to look sharply at her. “We’ve plenty of room, and with Gared and Leesha promised, they’re practically family already.”

  “That’s very generous of you, Elona,” Smitt said, unable to hide his surprise. Rarely did Elona show generosity, and even then, there was usually a hidden price.

  “Are you sure that’s proper?” Stefny asked loudly, causing everyone to turn eyes to her. When she wasn’t working in her husband’s tavern, Stefny was volunteering at the Holy House, or studying the Canon. She hated Elona—a mark in her favor in Leesha’s mind—but she had also been the first to turn on Klarissa when her state became clear.

  “Two promised children living under one roof?” Stefny asked, but her eyes flicked to Steave, not Gared. “Who knows what improprieties might occur? Perhaps it would be best for you to take in others, and let Gared and Steave stay at the tavern.”

  Elona’s eyes narrowed. “I think three parents enough to chaperone two children, Stefny,” she said icily. She turned to Gared, squeezing his broad shoulders. “My soon-to-be son-in-law did the work of five men today,” she said. “And Steave,” she reached out and drunkenly poked the man’s burly chest, “did the work of ten.”

  She spun back toward Leesha, but stumbled a bit. Steave, laughing, caught her about the waist before she fell. His hand was huge on her slender midsection. “Even my,” she swallowed the word “useless,” but Leesha heard it anyway, “daughter did great deeds today. I’ll not have my heroes bed down in some other’s home.”

  Stefny scowled, but the rest of the villagers took the matter as closed, and started offering up their own homes to the others in need.

  Elona stumbled again, falling into Steave’s lap with a laugh. “You can sleep in Leesha’s room,” she told him. “It’s right next to mine.” She dropped her voice at that last part, but she was drunk, and everyone heard. Gared blushed, Steave laughed, and Erny hung his head. Leesha felt a stab of sympathy for her father.

  “I wish the corelings had taken her last night,” she muttered.

  Her father looked up at her. “Don’t ever say that,” he said. “Not about anyone.” He looked hard at Leesha until she nodded.

  “Besides,” he added sadly, “they’d probably just give her right back.”

  Accommodations had been made for all, and people were preparing to leave when there was a murmur, and the crowd parted. Through that gap limped Hag Bruna.

  Child Jona held one of the woman’s arms as she walked. Leesha leapt to her feet to take her other. “Bruna, you shouldn’t be up,” she admonished. “You should be resting!”

  “It’s your own fault, girl,” Bruna snapped. “There’s those sicker than I, and I need herbs from my hut to treat them. If your bodyguard”—she glared at Gared and he fell back in fright—“had let Jona bring my message, I could have sent you with a list. But now it’s late, and I’ll have to go with you. We can stay behind my wards for the night, and come back in the morn.”

  “Why me?” Leesha asked.

  “Because none of the other lackwit girls in this town can read!” Bruna shrieked. “They’d mix up the labels on the bottles worse’n that cow Darsy!”

  “Jona can read,” Leesha said.

  “I offered to go,” the acolyte began, but Bruna slammed her stick down on his foot, cutting his words off in a yelp.

  “Herb Gathering is women’s work, girl,” Bruna said. “Holy Men are just there to pray while we do it.”

  “I …” Leesha began, looking back at her parents for an escape.

  “I think it’s a fine idea,” Elona said, finally extricating herself from Steave’s lap. “Spend the night at Bruna’s.” She shoved Leesha forward. “My daughter is glad to help,” she said with a broad smile.

  “Perhaps Gared should go as well?” Steave suggested, kicking his son.

  “You’ll need a strong back to carry your herbs and potions back in the morning,” Elona agreed, pulling Gared up.

  The ancient Herb Gatherer glared at her, then at Steave, but nodded finally.

  The trip to Bruna’s was slow, the hag setting a shuffling crawl of a pace. They made it to the hut just before sunset.

  “Check the wards, boy,” Bruna told Gared. While he complied, Leesha took her inside, setting the old woman down in a cushioned chair, and laying a quilt blanket over her. Bruna was breathing hard, and Leesha feared she would start coughing again any minute. She filled the kettle and laid wood and tinder in the hearth, casting her eyes about for flint and steel.

  “The box on the mantel,” Bruna said, and Leesha noticed the small wooden box. She opened it, but there was no flint or steel within, only short wooden sticks with some kind of clay at the ends. She picked up two and tried rubbing them together.

  “Not like that, girl!” Bruna snapped. “Have you never seen a flamestick?”

  Leesha shook her head. “Da keeps some in the shop where he mixes chemics,” Leesha said, “but I’m not to go in there.”

  The old Herb Gatherer sighed and beckoned the girl over. She took one of the sticks and braced it against her gnarled, dry thumbnail. She flicked her thumb, and the end of the stick burst into flame. Leesha’s eyes bulged.

  “There’s more to Herb Gathering than plants, girl,” Bruna said, touching the flame to a taper before the flamestick burned out. She lit a lamp, and handed the taper to Leesha. She held the lamp out, illuminating a dusty shelf filled with books in its flickering light.

  “Sweet day!” Leesha exclaimed. “You have more books than Tender Mi
chel!”

  “These aren’t witless stories censored by the Holy Men, girl. Herb Gatherers are keepers of a bit of the knowledge of the old world, from back before the Return, when the demons burned the great libraries.”

  “Science?” Leesha asked. “Was that not the hubris that brought on the Plague?”

  “That’s Michel talking,” Bruna said. “If I’d known that boy would grow into such a pompous ass, I’d have left him between his mother’s legs. It was science, as much as magic, that drove the corelings off the first time. The sagas tell of great Herb Gatherers healing mortal wounds, and mixing herbs and minerals that killed demons by the score with fire and poison.”

  Leesha was about to ask another question when Gared returned. Bruna waved her toward the hearth, and Leesha lit the fire and set the kettle over it. Soon the water was boiling, and Bruna reached into the many pockets of her robe, putting her special mixture of herbs in her cup, and tea in Leesha’s and Gared’s. Her hands were quick, but Leesha still noticed the old woman throw something extra in Gared’s cup.

  She poured the water, and they all sipped in an awkward silence. Gared drank his quickly, and soon began rubbing his face. A moment later, he slumped over, fast asleep.

  “You put something in his tea,” Leesha accused.

  The old woman cackled. “Tampweed resin and skyflower pollen,” she said. “Each with many uses alone, but together, a pinch can put a bull to sleep.”

  “But why?” Leesha asked.

  Bruna smiled, but it was a frightening thing. “Call it chaperoning,” she said. “Promised or no, you can’t trust a boy of fifteen summers alone with a young girl at night.”

  “Then why let him come along?” Leesha asked.

  Bruna shook her head. “I told your father not to marry that shrew, but she dangled her udders at him and left him dizzy,” she sighed. “Drunk as they are, Steave and your mum are going to have at it no matter who’s in the house,” she said. “But that don’t mean Gared ought to hear it. Boys are bad enough at his age, as is.”

  Leesha’s eyes bulged. “My mother would never …!”

  “Careful finishing that sentence, girl,” Bruna cut her off. “The Creator abhors a liar.”