Peter Brett - The Warded Man

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.”