Peter Brett: The Warded Man

“Creator be praised,” he said weakly, panting and pale.

The air inside Harl’s farmhouse was thick and hot, stinking of must and waste. The buggy reeds on the floor absorbed some of the water that made it past the thatch, but they were far from fresh. Two dogs and several cats shared the home, forcing everyone to step carefully. A stone pot hung in the fireplace, adding to the mix the sour scent of a stew perpetually cooking, added to as it diminished. A patchwork curtain in one corner gave a touch of privacy for the chamber pot.

Arlen did his best to redo Silvy’s bandages, and then Ilain and her sister Beni put her in their room, while Harl’s youngest, Renna, set another two cracked wooden bowls at the table for Arlen and his father.

There were only three rooms, one shared by the girls, another for Harl, and the common room where they cooked and ate and worked. A ragged curtain divided the room, partitioning off the area for cooking and eating. A warded door in the common room led to the small barn.

“Renna, take Arlen and check the wards while the men talk and Beni and I get supper ready,” Ilain said.

Renna nodded, taking Arlen’s hand and pulling him along. She was almost ten, close to Arlen’s age of eleven, and pretty beneath the smudges of dirt on her face. She wore a plain shift, worn and carefully mended, and her brown hair was tied back with a ragged strip of cloth, though many locks had freed themselves to fall about her round face.

“This one’s scuffed,” the girl commented, pointing to a ward on one of the sills. “One of the cats must have stepped on it.” Taking a stick of charcoal from the kit, she carefully traced the line where it had been broken.

“That’s no good,” Arlen said. “The lines ent smooth anymore. That weakens the ward. You should draw it over.”

“I’m not allowed to draw a fresh one,” Renna whispered. “I’m supposed to tell Father or Ilain if there’s one I can’t fix.”

“I can do it,” Arlen said, taking the stick. He carefully wiped clean the old ward and drew a new one, his arm moving with quick confidence. Stepping back as he finished, he looked around the window, and then swiftly replaced several others as well.

While he worked, Harl caught sight of them and started to rise nervously, but a motion and a few confident words from Jeph brought him back to his seat.

Arlen took a moment to admire his work. “Even a rock demon won’t get through that,” he said proudly. He turned, and found Renna staring at him. “What?” he asked.

“You’re taller than I remember,” the girl said, looking down and smiling shyly.

“Well, it’s been a couple of years,” Arlen replied, not knowing what else to say. When they finished their sweep, Harl called his daughter over. He and Renna spoke softly to one another, and Arlen caught her looking at him once or twice, but he couldn’t hear what was said.

Dinner was a tough stew of parsnip and corn with a meat Arlen couldn’t identify, but it was filling enough. While they ate, they told their tale.

“Wish you’da come to us first,” Harl said when they finished. “We been t’Old Mey Friman plenty times. Closer’n going all the way to Town Square t’see Trigg. If it took you two hours of cracking the whip t’get back to us, you’da reached Mack Pasture’s farm soon, you pressed on. Old Mey, she’s only an hour-so past that. She never did cotton to living in town. You’d really whipped that mare, you mighta made it tonight.”

Arlen slammed down his spoon. All eyes at the table turned to him, but he didn’t even notice, so focused was he on his father.

Jeph could not weather that glare for long. He hung his head. “There was no way to know,” he said miserably.

Ilain touched his shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself for being cautious,” she said. She looked at Arlen, reprimand in her eyes. “You’ll understand when you’re older,” she told him.

Arlen rose sharply and stomped away from the table. He went through the curtain and curled up by a window, watching the demons through a broken slat in the shutters. Again and again they tried and failed to pierce the wards, but Arlen didn’t feel protected by the magic. He felt imprisoned by it.

“Take Arlen into the barn and play,” Harl ordered his younger daughters after the rest had finished eating. “Ilain will take the bowls. Let’cher elders talk.”

Beni and Renna rose as one, bouncing out of the curtain. Arlen was in no mood to play, but the girls didn’t let him speak, yanking him to his feet and out the door into the barn.

Beni lit a cracked lantern, casting the barn in a dull glow. Harl had two old cows, four goats, a pig with eight sucklings, and six chickens. All were gaunt and bony; underfed. Even the pig’s ribs showed. The stock seemed barely enough to feed Harl and the girls.

The barn itself was no better. Half the shutters were broken, and the hay on the floor was rotted. The goats had eaten through the wall of their stall, and were pulling the cow’s hay. Mud, slop, and feces had churned into a single muck in the pig stall.

Renna dragged Arlen to each stall in turn. “Da doesn’t like us naming the animals,” she confessed, “so we do it secret. This one’s Hoofy.” She pointed to a cow. “Her milk tastes sour, but Da says it’s fine. Next to her is Grouchy. She kicks, but only if you milk too hard, or not soon enough. The goats are …”

“Arlen doesn’t care about the animals,” Beni scolded her sister. She grabbed his arm and pulled him away. Beni was taller than her sister, and older, but Arlen thought Renna was prettier. They climbed into the hayloft, plopping down on the clean hay.

“Let’s play succor,” Beni said. She pulled a tiny leather pouch from her pocket, rolling four wooden dice onto the floor of the loft. The dice were painted with symbols: flame, rock, water, wind, wood, and ward. There were many ways to play, but most rules agreed you needed to throw three wards before rolling four of any other kind.

They played at the dice for a while. Renna and Beni had their own rules, many of which Arlen suspected were made up to let them win.

“Two wards three times in a row counts as three wards,” Beni announced, after throwing just that. “We win.” Arlen disagreed, but he didn’t see much point in arguing.

“Since we won, you have to do what we say,” Beni declared.

“Do not,” Arlen said.

“Do too!” Beni insisted. Again, Arlen felt as if arguing would get him nowhere.

“What would I have to do?” he asked suspiciously.

“Make him play kissy!” Renna clapped.

Beni swatted her sister on the head. “I know, dumbs!”

“What’s kissy?” Arlen asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

“Oh, you’ll see,” Beni said, and both girls laughed. “It’s a grown-up game. Da plays it with Ilain sometimes. You practice being married.”

“What, like saying your promises?” Arlen asked, wary.

“No, dumbs, like this,” Beni said. She put her arms around Arlen’s shoulders, and pressed her mouth to his.

Arlen had never kissed a girl before. She opened her mouth to him, and so he did the same. Their teeth clicked, and both of them recoiled. “Ow!” Arlen said.

“You do it too hard, Beni,” Renna complained. “It’s my turn.”

Indeed, Renna’s kiss was much softer. Arlen found it rather pleasant. Like being near the fire when it was cold.

“There,” Renna said, when their lips parted. “That’s how you do it.”

“We have to share the bed tonight,” Beni said. “We can practice later.”

“I’m sorry you had to give up your bed on account of my mam,” Arlen said.

“It’s okay,” Renna said. “We used to have to share a bed every night, until Mam died. But now Ilain sleeps with Da.”