Peter Brett - The Warded Man

As Arlen picked at the grainy bread and hard, pungent cheese, he started to think that maybe it was all a misunderstanding. Maybe he hadn’t overheard what he thought he had. Maybe Jeph hadn’t hesitated in pushing Ilain away.

It was a tempting illusion, but Jeph shattered it a moment later. “What do you think of Harl’s younger daughter?” he asked. “You spent some time with her.” Arlen felt as if his father had just punched him in the stomach.

“Renna?” Arlen asked, playing innocent. “She’s okay, I guess. Why?”

“I spoke to Harl,” his father said. “She’s going to come live with us when we go back to the farm.”

“Why?” Arlen asked.

“To look after your mam, help around the farm, and … other reasons.”

“What other reasons?” Arlen pressed.

“Harl and I want to see if you two will get along,” Jeph said.

“What if we don’t?” Arlen asked. “What if I don’t want some girl following me around all day asking me to play kissy with her?”

“One day,” Jeph said, “you might not mind playing kissy so much.”

“So let her come then,” Arlen said, shrugging his shoulders and pretending not to know what his father was getting at. “Why is Harl so eager to be rid of her?”

“You’ve seen the state of their farm; they can barely feed themselves,” Jeph said. “Harl loves his daughters very much, and he wants the best for them. And what’s best is marrying them while they’re still young, so he can have sons to help him out and grandchildren before he dies. Ilain is already older than most girls who marry. Lucik Boggin is going to come out to help on Harl’s farm starting in the fall. They’re hoping he and Beni will get along.”

“I suppose Lucik didn’t have any choice, either,” Arlen grumbled.

“He’s happy to go, and lucky at that!” Arlen’s father snapped, losing his patience. “You’re going to have to learn some hard lessons about life, Arlen. There are a lot more boys than girls in the Brook, and we can’t just fritter our lives away. Every year, we lose more to dotage and sickness and corelings. If we don’t keep children coming, Tibbet’s Brook will fade away just like a hundred other villages! We can’t let that happen!”

Arlen, seeing his normally placid father seething, wisely said nothing.

An hour later, Silvy started screaming. They turned to find her trying to stand up right there in the cart, clutching at her chest, her breath coming in loud, horrid gasps. Arlen leapt into the back of the cart, and she gripped him with surprisingly strong hands, coughing thick phlegm onto his shirt. Her bulging, bloodshot eyes stared wildly into his, but there was no recognition in them. Arlen screamed as she thrashed about, holding her as steadily as he could.

Jeph stopped the cart and together they forced her to lie back down. She thrashed about, screaming in hoarse gasps. And then, like Cholie, she gave a final wrack, and lay still.

Jeph looked at his wife, and then threw his head back and screamed. Arlen nearly bit through his lip trying to hold back his tears, but in the end he failed. They wept together over the woman.

When their sobs eased, Arlen looked around, his eyes lifeless. He tried to focus, but the world seemed blurry, as if it wasn’t real.

“What do we do now?” he asked finally.

“We turn around,” his father said, and the words cut Arlen like a knife. “We take her home and burn her. We try to go on. There’s still the farm and the animals to care for, and even with Renna and Norine to help us, there’s going to be some hard times ahead.”

“Renna?” Arlen asked incredulously. “We’re still taking her with us? Even now?”

“Life goes on, Arlen,” his father said. “You’re almost a man, and a man needs a wife.”

“Did you arrange one for both of us?” Arlen blurted.

“What?” Jeph asked.

“I heard you and Ilain last night!” Arlen screamed. “You’ve got another wife all ready! What do you care about Mam? You’ve already got someone else to take care of your thingie! At least, until she gets killed too, because you’re too scared to help her!”

Arlen’s father hit him; a hard slap across the face that cracked the morning air. His anger faded instantly, and he reached out to his son. “Arlen, I’m sorry …!” he choked, but the boy pulled away and jumped off the cart.

“Arlen!” Jeph cried, but the boy ignored him, running as hard as he could for the woods off to the side of the road.

Arlen ran through the woods as fast as he could, making sharp, sudden turns, picking his direction at random. He wanted to be sure his father couldn’t track him, but as Jeph’s calls faded, he realized his father wasn’t following at all.

Why should he bother? he thought. He knows I have to come back before nightfall. Where else could I go?

Anywhere. The answer came unbidden, but he knew in his heart that it was true.

He couldn’t go back to the farm and pretend everything was all right. He couldn’t watch Ilain claim his mother’s bed. Even pretty Renna, who kissed so softly, would only be a reminder of what he had lost, and why.

But where could he go? His father was right about one thing. He couldn’t run forever. He would have to find succor before dark, or the coming night would be his last.

Going back to Tibbet’s Brook was not an option. Whoever he sought succor from would drag him home by the ear the next day, and he’d be switched for the stunt with nothing to show.

Sunny Pasture, then. Unless Hog was paying them to carry something, almost no one from Tibbet’s Brook ever went there, unless they were Messengers.

Coline had said Ragen was heading to Sunny Pasture before returning to the Free Cities. Arlen liked Ragen, the only elder he’d ever met who didn’t talk down to him. The Messenger and Keerin were a day and more ahead of him, and mounted, but if he hurried, perhaps he could catch them in time and beg passage to the Free Cities.

He still had Coline’s map, strung around his neck. It showed the road to Sunny Pasture, and the farms along the way. Even deep in the woods, he was pretty sure which way was north.

At midday he found the road, or rather the road found him, cutting straight across the woods ahead of him. He must have lost his sense of direction in the trees.

He walked on for a few hours, but he saw no sign of a farm, or the old Herb Gatherer’s home. Looking at the sun, his worry increased. If he was walking north, the sun should be off to his left, but it wasn’t. It was right in front of him.

He stopped and looked at the map, and his fears were confirmed. He wasn’t on the road to Sunny Pasture, he was on the road to the Free Cities. Worse, after the road split off from the path to Sunny Pasture, it went right off the edge of the map.

The idea of backtracking was daunting, especially with no way to know if he could make it to succor in time. He took a step back the way he had come.

No, he decided. Going back is Da’s way. Whatever happens, I’m going forward.

Arlen started walking again, leaving both Tibbet’s Brook and Sunny Pasture behind. Each step was lighter and easier than the one before.

He walked for hours more, eventually leaving the trees behind and entering grassland: wide, lush fields untouched by plow or grazing. He crested a hilltop, breathing deeply of the fresh, untainted air. There was a large boulder jutting from the ground, and Arlen scrambled atop it, looking out at a wide world that had always been beyond his reach. There was no sign of habitation, no place to seek succor. He was afraid of the coming night, but it was a distant feeling, like knowing you would grow old and die one day.