The Warded Man
Page 25
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“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.”
“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.”
