Peter Brett - The Desert Spear

The Painted Man looked at him, wanting to be gone from the place, but a part of him longed to meet his siblings, and his stomach rumbled at the thought of a proper Brook breakfast. Such things had meant little to him when he was a child, but now they were cherished memories.

"Reckon I can set a spell," he said, and allowed himself to be escorted back inside as the children ran to their chores and Norine and Ilain headed to the cold room. "This here's Jeph Young," Jeph said, introducing his oldest son when they were gathered around the breakfast table. The boy nodded at him, but mostly stared at his tattooed hands and tried to peek into the shadows of his hood.

"Next to him is Jeni Tailor," Jeph went on. "They been promised near two seasons. At the end are our youngest, Silvy and Cholie."

Seated opposite the children, next to Renna and Norine, the Painted Man coughed at the names, those of his lost mother and uncle. He took a sip from his water cup to cover his surprise. "You have beautiful children."

"Tender Harral says you're the Deliverer, come again," little Silvy blurted.

"Well I ent," the Painted Man told her. "Just a Messenger, come to spread good word."

"Messengers all like you now, then?" Jeph asked. "All painted up?"

The Painted Man smiled. "I'm one of a kind like that," he admitted. "But I'm just a man, all the same. Din't come to deliver anyone."

"You sure did for our Renna," Ilain said. "Can't thank you enough for that."

"Shouldn't have had to," the Painted Man said.

Jeph sat quiet a moment at the rebuke. "You're right at that," he said at last, "but sometimes when a body's in a crowd, and the crowd has its say…"

"Stop making excuses, Jeph Bales," Norine snapped. "Man's right. What do we got in this world, 'cept kith and kin? Ent nothing should keep us from standing by them."

The Painted Man looked at her. This wasn't the Norine he remembered, the one who had stood on the porch the night his mother was cored. Stood and done nothing, except try to keep Arlen from going to her aid. He nodded, his eyes flicking back to meet Jeph's.

"She's right," he said. "You've got to stand up to those that would harm you and yours."

"You sound like my son," Jeph said, his eyes growing distant.

"Say again?" the Painted Man said, his throat tightening.

"Me?" Jeph Young asked.

Jeph shook his head. "Your elder," he told his son, and everyone at the table except Renna and the Painted Man drew a quick ward in the air.

"Had another son, name of Arlen, years back," Jeph explained, and Ilain took his hand in hers, squeezing to lend him strength. "Promised to Renna there, in fact." He nodded to Renna. "Arlen's mam was cored, and he ran off." He looked down at the table, and his voice grew tight. "Always asking about the Free Cities, Arlen was. Like to think he mighta made it there…" He broke off, shaking his head as if to clear it.

"But you have this beautiful family now," the Painted Man said, hoping to move the conversation toward something positive.

Jeph nodded, covering Ilain's hand in both of his and squeezing. "I thank the Creator for them every day, but that don't mean I ent carrying a weight for those gone before."

After breakfast, the Painted Man went out to the stables to check on Twilight Dancer, more to escape for a moment than for any need. He had just started to brush the horse down when the barn door opened and Renna came in. She cut an apple and held the halves out for Twilight Dancer to eat, stroking the stallion's flanks when she was done. He nickered softly.

"It was night when I came runnin' here, few days ago," she said. "Demons would've got me, Jeph hadn't crossed the wards and hit one with his axe."

"Honest word?" the Painted Man asked, and felt a lump in his throat when she nodded.

"You're not going to tell him, are you?" she asked.

"Tell him what?" the Painted Man asked.

"That you're his son," Renna said. "That you're alive and well and you forgive him. He's waited so long. Why are you still punishing him when I can see forgiveness in your eyes?"

"You know who I am?" he asked, surprised.

"Course I know!" Renna snapped. "Ent stupid, no matter what everyone thinks. How would you've known about my da and what he done, you weren't Arlen Bales? How would you know Cobie was a bully, or which farm was Jeph's? Night, you strolled around the cupboards like it was still your house!"

"Din't mean for anyone to know," the Painted Man said, suddenly realizing that his Brook accent, which he 'd dropped while living in Miln, had returned. It was an old Messenger's trick to put folk in the hamlets at ease, shifting accent to match theirs. He had done it a hundred times, but this time was different, like he 'd been doing the trick since he left and was finally speaking in his own voice again.

Renna kicked him hard in the shin. He yelped in pain.

"That's for thinkin' I din't know, and not sayin' anythin'!" she shouted, shoving him so hard he fell into the pile of hay at the back of the stall. "Fourteen summers I waited for you! Always thought you'd come back for me. We was promised. But you din't come back for me at all, did you? Not even now! You was gonna just stop in and leave thinkin' no one knew!" She kicked at him again, and he scrambled quickly to his feet, moving to put Twilight Dancer between them.

She was right, of course. The same as his visit to Miln, he had thought he could look in on his old life without touching it, like removing a bandage to see if the wound underneath had healed. But truer was he had left those wounds to fester, and it was time they were bled.

"Five minutes' talk between our das don't make us promised, Ren," he said.

"I asked my da to talk to Jeph," Renna said. "I told you we was promised then, and I said the words on the porch at sunset the day you left. That makes it so."

But the Painted Man shook his head. "Sayin' something at sunset doesn't make it so. I never promised to you, Renna. Everyone got a say that night but me."

Renna looked at him, and there were tears in her eyes. "Maybe you din't," she conceded, "but I did. It was the only thing I ever done that was really mine, and I ent gonna take it back. I knew it when we kissed, that we was meant to be."

"But you'd have married Cobie Fisher," he said, failing to keep some bitterness from his voice, "who used to beat on me with his friends."

"You fixed 'em for that," Renna said. "Cobie was always nice to me…" She sniffed, touching the necklace she wore. "Din't even know you were alive, and I needed to get away…"

He put his hand on her shoulder. "I know, Ren. Din't mean it like that. Don't blame you for doing what you did. Just meant that nothing's 'meant to be.' We all just go through life doing what we think's best."

She looked at him. "I want to go with you when you leave. That's what I think's best."

"You know what that means, Ren?" the Painted Man asked. "I don't just hide behind a circle when the sun sets. Ent a safe life."

"Like I'm safe here?" Renna asked. "Even if they don't stake me again soon as you leave, who I got to turn to now? Who, that wern't willing to stand by and watch me get cored?"

He looked at her a long time, trying to find the words to refuse her. The Fishers were no different from any bullies-he would cow them come nightfall, if he hadn't already. Renna would be safe in the Brook. She deserved to be safe.

But was simple safety enough? It wasn't for him, so who was he to say it was for her? He 'd always looked with derision on those who spent their lives in fear of the night.

Being around Renna was like salt in the wound, a reminder of everything he had given up when he began warding his flesh. It was hard enough around those who never knew him before. Renna made him feel like he was still eleven years old.