Arlen also spent a great deal of time with Elissa’s Herb Gatherer midwife. Ragen said a Messenger needed to know something of a Gatherer’s art, so Arlen sought plants and roots that grew beyond the city walls for the woman, and she taught him something of her craft.
Ragen stayed close to Miln in those months, and when his daughter, Marya, was born, he hung up his spear for good. He and Cob spent that entire night drinking and toasting.
Arlen sat with them, but he stared at his glass, lost in thought.
“We should make plans,” Mery said one evening, as she and Arlen walked to her father’s house.
“Plans?” Arlen asked.
“For the wedding, goose,” Mery laughed. “My father would never let me marry an apprentice, but he’ll speak of nothing else once you’re a Warder.”
“Messenger,” Arlen corrected.
Mery looked at him for a long time. “It’s time to put your trips aside, Arlen,” she said. “You’ll be a father soon.”
“What has that got to do with it?” Arlen asked. “Lots of Messengers are fathers.”
“I won’t marry a Messenger,” Mery said flatly. “You know that. You’ve always known.”
“Just as you’ve always known that’s what I am,” Arlen replied. “Yet here you are.”
“I thought you could change,” Mery said. “I thought you could escape this delusion that you’re somehow trapped, that you need to risk your life to be free. I thought you loved me!”
“I do,” Arlen said.
“But not enough to give this up,” she said. Arlen was quiet.
“How can you love me and still do this?” Mery demanded.
“Ragen loves Elissa,” Arlen said.
“It’s possible to do both.”
“Elissa hates what Ragen does,” Mery countered. “You said so yourself.”
“And yet they’ve been married fifteen years,” Arlen said.
“Is that what you condemn me to?” Mery asked. “Sleepless nights alone, not knowing if you’ll ever come back? Wondering if you’re dead, or if you’ve met some minx in another city?”
“That won’t happen,” Arlen said.
“You’re corespawned right it won’t,” Mery said, as tears began to flow down her cheeks. “I won’t let it. We’re done.”
“Mery, please,” Arlen said, reaching out to her, but she drew back, evading his grasp.
“We have nothing more to say.” She whirled and ran off toward her father’s house.
Arlen stood there a long time, staring after her. The shadows grew long, and the sun dipped below the horizon, but still he stood, even at Last Bell. He shuffled his boots on the cobbled street, wishing the corelings could rise through the worked stone and consume him.
“Arlen! Creator, what are you doing here?” Elissa cried, rushing to him as he entered the manse. “When the sun went down, we thought you were staying at Cob’s!”
“I just needed some time to think,” Arlen mumbled.
“Outside in the dark?”
Arlen shrugged. “The city is warded. There were no corelings about.”
Elissa opened her mouth to speak, but she caught the look in Arlen’s eyes, and the reprimand died on her lips. “Arlen, what’s happened?” she asked softly.
“I told Mery what I told you,” Arlen said, laughing numbly. “She didn’t take it as well.”
“I don’t recall taking it very well myself,” Elissa said.
“There you’ll find my meaning,” Arlen agreed, heading up the stairs. He went to his room and threw open the window, breathing the cold night air and looking out into the darkness.
In the morning, he went to see Guildmaster Malcum.
Marya cried before dawn the next morning, but the sound brought relief rather than irritation. Elissa had heard stories of children dying in the night, and the thought filled her with such terror that the child had to be pried from her arms at bedtime and her dreams were filled with knotting anxiety.
Elissa swung her feet out of bed and into her slippers as she freed a breast for nursing. Marya pinched the nipple hard, but even the pain was welcome, a sign of strength in her beloved child. “That’s it, light,” she cooed, “drink and grow strong.”
She paced as the child nursed, already dreading being parted from her. Ragen snored contentedly in the bed. After only a few weeks’ retirement, he was sleeping better, his nightmares less frequent, and she and Marya kept his days filled, that the road might not tempt him.
When Marya finally let go, she burped contently and dozed off. Elissa kissed her and put her back into her nest, going to the door. Margrit was waiting there, as always.
“G’morning, Mother Elissa,” the woman said. The title, and the genuine affection with which it was said, still filled Elissa with joy. Even though Margrit had been her servant, they had never before been peers in the way that counted most in Miln.
“Heard the darling’s cries,” Margrit said. “She’s a strong one.”
“I need to go out,” Elissa said. “Please prepare a bath and have my blue dress and ermine cloak laid out.” The woman nodded, and Elissa went back to her child’s side. When she was bathed and dressed, Elissa reluctantly handed the baby to Margrit and went out into the city before her husband awoke. Ragen would reprimand her for meddling, but Elissa knew that Arlen was teetering on an edge, and she would not let him fall because she failed to act.
She glanced about, fearing that Arlen might see her as she entered the library. She didn’t find Mery in any of the cells or stacks, but was hardly surprised. Like many of the things personal to him, Arlen did not speak of Mery often, but Elissa listened intently when he did. She knew there was a place that was special to them, and knew the girl would be drawn there.
Elissa found Mery on the library’s roof, weeping.
“Mother Elissa!” Mery gasped, hurriedly wiping her tears. “You startled me!”
“I’m sorry, dear,” Elissa said, going over to her. “If you want me to go, I will, but I thought you might need someone to talk to.”
“Did Arlen send you?” Mery asked.
“No,” Elissa replied. “But I saw how upset he was, and knew it must be as hard for you.” “He was upset?” Mery sniffed.
“He wandered the streets in the dark for hours,” Elissa said. “I was worried sick.”
Mery shook her head. “Determined to get himself killed,” she murmured.
“I think it’s just the opposite,” Elissa said. “I think he’s trying desperately to feel alive.” Mery looked at her curiously, and she sat down next to the girl.
“For years,” Elissa said, “I could not understand why my husband felt the need to wander far from home, staring down corelings and risking his life over a few parcels and papers. He’d made money enough to keep us in luxury for two lifetimes. Why keep at it?
“People describe Messengers with words like duty, honor, and self-sacrifice. They convince themselves that this is why Messengers do what they do.”
“It’s not?” Mery asked.
“For a time I thought it was,” Elissa said, “but I see things more clearly now. There are times in life when we feel so very alive that when they pass, we feel … diminished. When that happens, we’ll do almost anything to feel so alive again.”
“I’ve never felt diminished,” Mery said.
“Neither had I,” Elissa replied. “Not until I became pregnant. Suddenly, I was responsible for a life within me. Everything I ate, everything I did, affected it. I had waited so long that I was terrified of losing the child, as many women my age do.”
“You’re not so old,” Mery protested. Elissa only smiled.
“I could feel Marya’s life pulsing within me,” Elissa continued, “and mine pulsing in harmony. I’d never felt anything like it. Now, with the baby born, I despair I might never feel it again. I cling to her desperately, but that connection will never be the same.”
“What does this have to do with Arlen?” Mery asked.
&nbs
p; “I’m telling you how I think Messengers feel when they travel,” Elissa said. “For Ragen, I think that the risk of losing his life made him appreciate how precious it is, and sparked an instinct in him that would never allow him to die.
“For Arlen, it’s different. The corelings have taken a lot from him, Mery, and he blames himself. I think, deep down, he even hates himself. He blames the corelings for making him feel that way, and only in defying them can he gain peace.”
“Oh, Arlen,” Mery whispered, tears brimming in her eyes once more.
Elissa reached out and touched her cheek. “But he loves you,” she said. “I hear it when he talks about you. I think, sometimes, when he’s busy loving you, he forgets to hate himself.”
“How have you done it, Mother?” Mery asked. “How have you managed to endure all these years, married to a Messenger?”
Elissa sighed. “Because Ragen is kindhearted and strong at the same time, and I know how rare that kind of a man is. Because I never doubted that he loved me, and would come back. But most of all, because the moments I had with him were worth all the ones apart.”
She put her arms around Mery, holding the girl tightly. “Give him something to come home to, Mery, and I think Arlen will learn that his life is worth something, after all.”
“I don’t want him to go at all,” Mery said quietly.
“I know,” Elissa agreed. “Neither do I. But I don’t think I can love him less if he does.”
Mery sighed. “Neither can I,” she said.
Arlen was waiting that morning when Jaik left for the mill. He had his horse with him, a bay courser with a black mane named Dawn Runner, and his armor on.
“What’s this?” Jaik asked. “Off to Harden’s Grove?”
“And beyond,” Arlen said. “I have a commission from the guild to message to Lakton.”
“Lakton!?” Jaik gaped. “It will take you weeks to get there!”
“You could come with me,” Arlen offered.
“What?” Jaik asked.
“As my Jongleur,” Arlen said.
“Arlen, I’m not ready to …” Jaik began.
“Cob says you learn things best by doing them,” Arlen cut him off. “Come with me, and we’ll learn together! Do you want to work in the mill forever?”
Jaik dropped his eyes to the cobbled street. “Milling’s not so bad,” he said, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
Arlen looked at him a moment, and nodded. “You take care of yourself, Jaik,” he said, mounting Dawn Runner.
“When will you be back?” Jaik asked.
Arlen shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, looking toward the city gates. “Maybe never.”
Elissa and Mery returned to the manse later that morning, to wait for Arlen’s return. “Don’t give in too easily,” Elissa advised as they walked. “You don’t want to give all your power away. Make him fight for you, or he’ll never understand what you’re worth.”
“Do you think he will?” Mery asked.
“Oh,” Elissa smiled, “I know he will.”
“Have you seen Arlen this morning?” Elissa asked Margrit when they arrived.
“Yes, Mother,” the woman replied. “A few hours ago. Spent some time with Marya, then left carrying a bag.”
“A bag?” Elissa asked.
Margrit shrugged. “Prob’ly off to Harden’s Grove, or some such.”
Elissa nodded, not surprised that Arlen had chosen to leave town for a day or two. “He’ll be gone through tomorrow, at least,” she told Mery. “Come and see the baby before you go.”
They headed upstairs. Elissa cooed as she approached Marya’s nest, eager to hold her daughter, but she stopped short when she saw the folded paper tucked partially beneath the baby.
Her hands shaking, Elissa lifted the scrap of parchment and read aloud:
Dear Elissa and Ragen,
I have taken assignment to Lakton from the Messengers’ Guild. By the time you read this, I will be on the road. I’m sorry I could not be what everyone wanted.
Thank you for everything. I will never forget you.
—Arlen
“No!” Mery cried. She turned and fled the room, leaving the house at a run.
“Ragen!” Elissa cried. “Ragen!!”
Her husband came rushing to her side, and he shook his head sadly as he read the note. “Always running from his problems,” he muttered.
“Well?” Elissa demanded.
“Well, what?” Ragen asked.
“Go and find him!” Elissa cried. “Bring him back!”
Ragen fixed his wife with a stern look, and without a word spoken they argued. Elissa knew it was a losing battle from the start, and soon lowered her eyes.
“Too soon,” she whispered. “Why couldn’t he have waited one more day?” Ragen put his arms around her as she started to weep.
“Arlen!” Mery cried as she ran. All pretense of calm had flown from her, all interest in seeming strong, in making Arlen fight. All she wanted now was to find him before he left and tell him that she loved him, and that she would continue loving him no matter what he chose to do.
She reached the city gate in record time, panting from exertion, but it was too late. The guards reported that he had left the city hours earlier.
Mery knew in her heart he was not coming back. If she wanted him, she would have to go after him. She knew how to ride. She could get a horse from Ragen, and ride after him. He would surely succor in Harden’s Grove the first night. If she hurried, she could get there in time.
She sprinted back to the manse, terror at the thought of losing him giving her fresh strength. “He’s gone!” she shouted to Elissa and Ragen. “I need to borrow a horse!”
Ragen shook his head. “It’s past midday. You’ll never make it in time. You’ll get halfway there, and the corelings will tear you to pieces,” he said.
“I don’t care!” Mery cried. “I have to try!” She darted for the stables, but Ragen caught her fast. She cried and beat at him, but he was stone, and nothing she did could loosen his grip.
Suddenly, Mery understood what Arlen had meant when he said Miln was a prison. And she knew what it was like to feel diminished.
It was late before Cob found the simple letter, stuck in the ledger on his countertop. In it, Arlen apologized for leaving early, before his seven years were up. He hoped Cob could understand.
Cob read the letter again and again, memorizing every word, and the meanings between the lines. “Creator, Arlen,” he said. “Of course I understand.” Then he wept.
SECTION III
KRASIA
328 AR
CHAPTER 17
RUINS
328 AR
WHAT ARE YOU DOING, ARLEN? he asked himself as his torchlight flickered invitingly on the stone stairs leading down into the dark. The sun was dipping low, and it would take several minutes to get back to his camp, but the stairs called to him in a way he could not explain.
Cob and Ragen had warned him about this. The thought of treasures that might be found in ruins was too much for some Messengers, and they took risks. Stupid risks. Arlen knew he was one of these, but he could never resist exploring the “lost dots on the map,” as Tender Ronnell had put it. The money he made messaging paid for these excursions, sometimes taking him days from the nearest road. But for all his effort, he had found only dregs.
His thoughts flashed back to the pile of books from the old world that crumbled to dust when he tried to pick them up. The rusted blade that gashed his hand and infected it so badly he felt his arm was on fire. The wine cellar that caved in and trapped him for three days until he dug himself out without a bottle to show for it. Ruin hunting never paid off, and one day, he knew, it would be the death of him.
Go back, he urged himself. Have a bite. Check your wards. Get some rest.
“The night take you,” Arlen cursed himself, and headed down the stairs.
But for all his self-loathing, Arlen’s heart pounded with excitem
ent. He felt free and alive beyond anything the Free Cities could offer. This was why he became a Messenger.
He reached the bottom of the stairs, and dragged a sleeve across his sweating brow, taking a brief pull from his waterskin. Hot as it was, it was hard to imagine that after sunset the desert above would drop to near-freezing temperatures.
He moved along a gritty corridor of fitted stones, his torchlight dancing along the walls like shadow demons. Are there shadow demons? he wondered. That would be just my luck. He sighed. There was so much he still didn’t know.
He had learned much in the last three years, soaking up knowledge of other cultures and their struggles with the corelings like a sponge. In the Angierian forest, he had spent weeks studying wood demons. In Lakton, he learned of boats beyond the small, two-man canoes used in Tibbet’s Brook, and paid for his curiosity about water demons with a puckered scar on his arm. He had been lucky, able to plant his feet and haul on the tentacle, dragging the coreling from the water. Unable to abide the air, the nightmarish creature had let go and slipped beneath the surface once more. He spent months there, learning water wards.
Fort Rizon was much like home, less a city than a cluster of farming communities, each helping one another to ease the inevitable losses to corelings who bypassed the wardposts.
But Fort Krasia, the Desert Spear, was Arlen’s favorite. Krasia of the stinging wind, where the days burned and the cold nights brought forth sand demons from the dunes.
Krasia, where they still fought.
The men of Fort Krasia had not allowed themselves to succumb to despair. They waged a nightly battle against the corelings, locking away their wives and children and taking up spear and net. Their weapons, like those Arlen carried, could do little to pierce the tough skin of a coreling, but they stung the demons, and were enough to harass them into warded traps until the desert sun rose to reduce them to ashes. Their determination was an inspiration.
But for all he had learned, Arlen only hungered for more. Every city had taught him something unknown in the others. Somewhere out there had to be the answers he sought.
The Warded Man Page 31
