Читать книгу The Demon Cycle Books 1-3 and Novellas: The Painted Man, The Desert Spear, The Daylight War plus The Great Bazaar and Brayan’s Gold and Messenger’s Legacy - Peter V. Brett - Страница 37

325 AR

Leesha bent in the garden, selecting the day’s herbs. Some, she pulled from the soil root and stalk. Others, she snapped off a few leaves, or used her thumbnail to pop a bud from its stem.

She was proud of the garden behind Bruna’s hut. The crone was too old for the work of maintaining the small plot, and Darsy had failed to make the hard soil yield, but Leesha had the touch. Now many of the herbs that she and Bruna had once spent hours searching for in the wild grew just outside their door, safe within the wardposts.

‘You’ve a sharp mind and a green thumb,’ Bruna had said when the soil birthed its first sprouts. ‘You’ll be a better Gatherer than I before long.’

The pride those words gave Leesha was a new feeling. She might never match Bruna, but the old woman was not one for kind words or empty compliments. She saw something in Leesha that others hadn’t, and the girl did not want to disappoint.

Her basket filled, Leesha rose to her feet, brushed herself down, and headed towards the hut – if it could even be called a hut anymore. Erny had refused to see his daughter live in squalor, sending carpenters and roofers to shore up the weak walls and replace the frayed thatch. Soon there was little left that was not new, and additions had more than doubled the structure’s size.

Bruna had grumbled about all the noise as the men worked, but her wheezing had eased now that the cold and wet were sealed outside. With Leesha caring for her, the old woman seemed to be getting stronger with the passing years, not weaker.

Leesha, too, was glad the work was completed. The men had begun looking at her differently, towards the end.

Time had given Leesha her mother’s lush figure. It was something she had always wanted, but it seemed less an advantage now. The men in town watched her hungrily, and the rumours of her dallying with Gared, though years gone, still sat in the back of many minds, making more than one man think she might be receptive to a lewd, whispered offer. Most of these were dissuaded with a frown, and a few with slaps. Evin had required a puff of pepper and stinkweed to remind him of his pregnant bride. A fistful of the blinding powder was now one of many things Leesha kept in the multitude of pockets in her apron and skirts.

Of course, even if she had been interested in any of the men in town, Gared made sure none could get close to her. Any man other than Erny caught talking to Leesha about more than Herb Gathering received a harsh reminder that in the burly woodcutter’s mind, she was still promised. Even Child Jona broke out in a sweat whenever Leesha so much as greeted him.

Her apprenticeship would be over soon. Seven years and a day had seemed an eternity when Bruna had said it, but the years had flown, and the end was but days away. Already, Leesha went alone each day to call upon those in town who needed a Herb Gatherer’s service, asking Bruna’s advice only very rarely, when the need was dire. Bruna needed her rest.

‘The Duke judges an Herb Gatherer’s skill by whether more babies are delivered than people die each year,’ Bruna had said that first day, ‘but focus on what’s in between, and a year from now the people of Cutter’s Hollow won’t know how they ever got along without you.’ It had proved true enough. Bruna took her everywhere from that moment on, ignoring the request of any for privacy. Having cared for the unborn of most of the women in town, and brewed pomm tea for half the rest, had them soon paying Leesha every courtesy, and revealing all the failings of their bodies to her without a thought.

But for all that, she was still an outsider. The women talked as if she were invisible, blabbing every secret in the village as freely as if she were no more than a pillow in the night.

‘And so you are,’ Bruna said, when Leesha dared to complain. ‘It’s not for you to judge their lives, only their health. When you put on that pocketed apron, you swear to hold your peace no matter what you hear. An Herb Gatherer needs trust to do her work, and trust must be earned. No secret should ever pass your lips, unless keeping it prevents you healing another.’

So Leesha held her tongue, and the women had come to trust her. Once the women were hers, the men soon followed, often with their women prodding at their back. But the apron kept them away, all the same. Leesha knew what almost every man in the village looked like unclothed, but had never been intimate with one; and though the women might sing her praises and send her gifts, there was not a one she could tell her own secrets to.

Yet despite all, Leesha had been far happier in the last seven years than she had been in the thirteen before. Bruna’s world was much wider than the one she had been groomed for by her mother. There was grief, when she was forced to close someone’s eyes, but there was also the joy of pulling a child from its mother and sparking its first cries with a firm swat.

Soon, her apprenticeship would be over, and Bruna would retire for good. To hear her speak it, she would not live long after that. The thought terrified Leesha in more ways than one.

Bruna was her shield and her spear, her impenetrable ward against the town. What would she do without that ward? Leesha did not have it in her to dominate as Bruna had, barking orders and striking fools. And without Bruna, who would she have that spoke to her as a person and not an Herb Gatherer? Who would weather her tears and witness her doubt? For doubt was a breach of trust as well. People depended on confidence from their Herb Gatherer.

In her most private thoughts, there was even more. Cutter’s Hollow seemed small to her now. The doors unlocked by Bruna’s lessons were not easily closed; a constant reminder not of what she knew, but of how much she did not. Without Bruna, that journey would end.

She entered the house, seeing Bruna at the table. ‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘I didn’t expect you up so early; I would have made tea before going into the garden.’ She set her basket down and looked to the fire, seeing the steaming kettle near to the boil.

‘I’m old,’ Bruna grumbled, ‘but not so blind and crippled I can’t make my own tea.’

‘Of course not,’ Leesha said, kissing the old woman’s cheek, ‘you’re fit enough to swing an axe alongside the cutters.’ She laughed at Bruna’s grimace and fetched the meal for porridge.

The years together had not softened Bruna’s tone, but Leesha seldom noticed it now, hearing only the affection behind the old woman’s grumbling, and responding in kind.

‘You were out gathering early today,’ Bruna noted as they ate. ‘You can still smell the demon stink in the air.’

‘Only you could be surrounded with fresh flowers and complain of the stink,’ Leesha replied. Indeed, she kept blooms throughout the hut, filling the air with sweetness.

‘Don’t change the subject,’ Bruna said.

‘A Messenger came last night,’ Leesha said. ‘I heard the horn.’

‘Not a moment before sundown, too,’ Bruna grunted. ‘Reckless.’ She spat on the floor.

‘Bruna!’ Leesha scolded. ‘What have I told you about spitting inside the house?’

The crone looked at her, rheumy eyes narrowing. ‘You told me this is my ripping home, and I can spit where I please,’ she said.

Leesha frowned. ‘I was sure I said something else,’ she mused.

‘Not if you’re smarter than your bosom makes people think,’ Bruna said, sipping her tea.

Leesha let her jaw drop in mock indignation, but she was used to far worse from the old woman. Bruna did and said as she pleased, and no one could tell her differently.

‘So it’s the Messenger that has you up and about so early,’ Bruna said. ‘Hoping it’s the handsome one? What’s his name? The one that makes puppy eyes at you?’

Leesha smiled wryly. ‘More like wolf eyes,’ she said.

‘That can be good too!’ the old woman cackled, slapping Leesha’s knee. Leesha shook her head and rose to clear the table.

‘What’s his name?’ Bruna pressed.

‘It’s not like that,’ Leesha said.

‘I’m too old for this dance, girl,’ Bruna said. ‘Name.’

‘Marick,’ Leesha said, rolling her eyes.

‘Shall I brew a pot of pomm tea for young Marick’s visit?’ Bruna asked.

‘Is that all anyone thinks about?’ Leesha asked. ‘I like talking to him. That’s all.’

‘I’m not so blind I can’t see that boy has more on his mind than talk,’ Bruna said.

‘Oh?’ Leesha asked, crossing her arms. ‘How many fingers am I holding up?’

Bruna snorted. ‘Not a one,’ she said, not even turning Leesha’s way. ‘I’ve been around long enough to know that trick,’ she said, ‘just as I know Maverick the Messenger hasn’t made eye contact with you once in all your talks.’

‘His name is Marick,’ Leesha said again, ‘and he does, too.’

‘Only if he doesn’t have a clear view of your neckline,’ the crone said.

‘You’re impossible,’ Leesha huffed.

‘No cause for shame,’ Bruna said. ‘If I had paps like yours, I’d flaunt them too.’

‘I do not flaunt!’ Leesha shouted, but Bruna only cackled again.

A horn sounded, not far off.

‘That will be young master Marick,’ Bruna advised. ‘You’d best hurry and primp.’

‘It’s not like that!’ Leesha said again, but Bruna dismissed her with a wave.

‘I’ll put that tea on, just in case,’ she said. Leesha threw a rag at the old woman and stuck out her tongue, moving towards the door.

Outside on the porch, she smiled in spite of herself as she waited for the Messenger. Bruna pushed her to find a man nearly as much as her mother did, but the crone did it out of love. She wanted only for Leesha to be happy, and Leesha loved her dearly for it. But despite the old woman’s teasing, Leesha was more interested in the letters Marick carried than his wolf eyes.

Ever since she was young, she had loved Messenger days. Cutter’s Hollow was a little place, but it was on the road between three major cities and a dozen hamlets, and between the Hollow’s timber and Erny’s paper, it was a strong part of the region’s economy.

Messengers visited the Hollow at least twice a month, and while most mail was left with Smitt, they delivered to Erny and Bruna personally, frequently waiting for replies. Bruna corresponded with Gatherers in Forts Rizon and Angiers, Lakton, and several hamlets. As the crone’s eyesight failed, the task of reading the letters and penning Bruna’s replies fell to Leesha.

Even from afar, Bruna commanded respect. Indeed, most of the Herb Gatherers in the area had been students of hers at one time or another. Her advice was frequently sought to cure ailments beyond others’ experience, and offers to send her apprentices came with every Messenger. No one wished for her knowledge to pass from the world.

‘I’m too old to break in another novice!’ Bruna would grouse, waving her hand dismissively, and Leesha would pen a polite refusal, something she had gotten quite used to.

All this gave Leesha many opportunities to talk with Messengers. Most of them leered at her, it was true, or tried to impress her with tales of the Free Cities. Marick was one of those.

But the Messengers’ tales struck a chord with Leesha. Their intent might have been to charm their way into her skirts, but the pictures their words painted stayed with her in her dreams. She longed to walk the docks of Lakton, see the great warded fields of Fort Rizon, or catch a glimpse of Angiers, the forest fortress; to read their books and meet their Herb Gatherers. There were other guardians of knowledge of the old world, if she dared seek them out.

She smiled as Marick came into view. Even a ways off, she knew his gait, legs slightly bowed from a life spent on horseback. The Messenger was Angierian, barely as tall as Leesha at five foot seven, but there was a lean hardness about him, and Leesha hadn’t exaggerated about his wolf eyes. They roved with predatory calm, searching for threats … and prey.

‘Ay, Leesha!’ he called, lifting his spear towards her.

Leesha lifted her hand in greeting. ‘Do you really need to carry that thing in broad day?’ she called, indicating the spear.

‘What if there was a wolf?’ Marick replied with a grin. ‘How would I defend you?’

‘We don’t see a lot of wolves in Cutter’s Hollow,’ Leesha said, as he drew close. He had longish brown hair and eyes the colour of tree bark. She couldn’t deny that he was handsome.

‘A bear, then,’ Marick said as he reached the hut. ‘Or a lion. There are many kinds of predator in the world,’ he said, eyeing her cleavage.

‘Of that, I am well aware,’ Leesha said, adjusting her shawl to cover the exposed flesh.

Marick laughed, easing his Messenger bag down onto the porch. ‘Shawls have gone out of style,’ he advised. ‘None of the women in Angiers or Rizon wear them anymore.’

‘Then I’ll wager their dresses have higher necks, or their men more subtlety,’ Leesha replied.

‘High necks,’ Marick agreed with a laugh, bowing low. ‘I could bring you a high-necked Angierian dress,’ he whispered, drawing close.

‘When would I ever have cause to wear that?’ Leesha asked, slipping away before the man could corner her.

‘Come to Angiers,’ the Messenger offered. ‘Wear it there.’

Leesha sighed. ‘I would like that,’ she lamented.

‘Perhaps you will get the chance,’ the Messenger said slyly, bowing and sweeping his arm to indicate that Leesha should enter the hut before him. Leesha smiled and went in, but she felt his eyes on her backside as she did.

Bruna was back in her chair when they entered. Marick went to her and bowed low.

‘Young master Marick!’ Bruna said brightly. ‘What a pleasant surprise!’

‘I bring you greetings from Mistress Jizell of Angiers,’ Marick said. ‘She begs your aid in a troubling case.’ He reached into his bag and produced a roll of paper, tied with stout string.

Bruna motioned for Leesha to take the letter, and sat back, closing her eyes as her apprentice began to read.

‘Honoured Bruna, Greetings from Fort Angiers in the year 326 AR,’ Leesha began.

‘Jizell yapped like a dog when she was my apprentice, and she writes the same way,’ Bruna cut her off. ‘I won’t live forever. Skip to the case.’

Leesha scanned the page, flipping it over and looking over the back, as well. She was on to the second sheet before she found what she was looking for.

‘A boy,’ Leesha said, ‘ten years old. Brought into the hospit by his mother, complaining of nausea and weakness. No other symptoms or history of illness. Given grimroot, water, and bed rest. Symptoms increased over three days, with the addition of rash on arms, legs, and chest. Grimroot, raised to three ounces over the course of several days.

‘Symptoms worsened, adding fever and hard, white boils growing out of the rash. Salves had no effect. Vomiting followed. Given heartleaf and poppy for the pain, soft milk for the stomach. No appetite. Does not appear to be contagious.’

Bruna sat a long while, digesting the words. She looked at Marick. ‘Have you seen the boy?’ she asked.

The Messenger nodded.

‘Was he sweating?’ Bruna asked.

‘He was,’ Marick confirmed, ‘but shivering, too, like he was both hot and cold.’

Bruna grunted. ‘What colour were his fingernails?’ she asked.

‘Fingernail colour,’ Marick replied with a grin.

‘Get smart with me and you’ll regret it,’ Bruna warned.

Marick blanched and nodded. The old woman questioned him for a few minutes more, grunting occasionally at his responses. Messengers were known for their sharp memories and keen observation, and Bruna did not seem to doubt him. Finally, she waved him into silence.

‘Anything else of note in the letter?’ she asked.

‘She wants to send you another apprentice,’ Leesha said. Bruna scowled.

‘I have an apprentice, Vika, who has almost completed her training,’ Leesha read, ‘as, your letters tell, do you. If you are not willing to accept a novice, please consider an exchange of adepts.’ Leesha gasped, and Marick broke into a knowing grin.

‘I didn’t tell you to stop reading,’ Bruna rasped.

Leesha cleared her throat. ‘Vika is most promising,’ she read, ‘and well equipped to see to the needs of Cutter’s Hollow, as well as look after and learn from wise Bruna. Surely Leesha, too, could learn much ministering to the sick in my hospit. Please, I beg, let at least one more benefit from wise Bruna before she passes from this world.’

Bruna was quiet a long while. ‘I will think on this a while before I reply,’ she said at last. ‘Go to your rounds in town, girl. We’ll speak on this when you return.’ To Marick, she said, ‘You’ll have a response tomorrow. Leesha will see to your payment.’

The Messenger bowed and backed out of the house as Bruna sat back and closed her eyes. Leesha could feel her heart racing, but she knew better than to interrupt the crone as she sifted through the many decades of her memory for a way to treat the boy. She collected her basket, and left to make her rounds.

Marick was waiting for her when Leesha came outside.

‘You knew what was in that letter all along,’ Leesha accused.

‘Of course,’ Marick agreed. ‘I was there when she penned it.’

‘But you said nothing,’ Leesha said.

Marick grinned. ‘I offered you a high-necked dress,’ he said, ‘and that offer still stands.’

‘We’ll see,’ Leesha smiled, holding out a pouch of coins.

‘Your payment,’ she said.

‘I’d rather you pay me with a kiss,’ he said.

‘You flatter me, to say my kisses are worth more than gold,’ Leesha replied. ‘I fear to disappoint.’

Marick laughed. ‘My dear, if I braved the demons of the night all the way from Angiers and back and returned with but a kiss from you, I would be the envy of every Messenger ever to pass through Cutter’s Hollow.’

‘Well, in that case,’ Leesha said with a laugh, ‘I think I’ll keep my kisses a little longer, in hopes of a better price.’

‘You cut me to the quick,’ Marick said, clutching his heart. Leesha tossed him the pouch, and he caught it deftly.

‘May I at least have the honour of escorting the Herb Gatherer into town?’ he asked with a smile. He made a leg and held out his arm for her to take. Leesha smiled in spite of herself.

‘We don’t do things so quickly in the Hollow,’ she said, eyeing the arm, ‘but you may carry my basket.’ She hooked it on his outstretched arm and headed towards town, leaving him staring after her.

Smitt’s market was bustling by the time they reached town. Leesha liked to select early, before the best produce was gone, and place her order with Dug the butcher before making her rounds.

‘Good morn, Leesha,’ said Yon Grey, the oldest man in Cutter’s Hollow. His grey beard, a point of pride, was longer than most women’s hair. Once a burly cutter, Yon had lost most of his bulk in his latter years, and now leaned heavily on his cane.

‘Good morn, Yon,’ she replied. ‘How are the joints?’

‘Pain me still,’ Yon replied. ‘’Specially the hands. Can barely hold my cane some days.’

‘Yet you find it in you to pinch me whenever I turn round,’ Leesha noted.

Yon cackled. ‘To an old man like me, girlie, that’s worth any pain.’

Leesha reached into her basket, pulling forth a small jar. ‘It’s well that I made you more sweetsalve, then,’ she said. ‘You’ve saved me the need to bring it by.’

Yon grinned. ‘You’re always welcome to come by and help apply,’ he said with a wink.

Leesha tried not to laugh, but it was a futile effort. Yon was an old lech, but she liked him well enough. Living with Bruna had taught her that the eccentricities of age were a small price to pay for having a lifetime of experience to draw upon.

‘You’ll just have to manage yourself, I’m afraid,’ she said.

‘Bah!’ Yon waved his cane in mock irritation. ‘Well, you think on it,’ he said. He looked to Marick before taking his leave, giving a nod of respect. ‘Messenger.’

Marick nodded back, and the old man moved off.

Everyone at the market had a kind word of greeting for Leesha, and she stopped to ask after the health of each, always working, even while shopping.

Though she and Bruna had plenty of money from selling flamesticks and the like, no one would take so much as a klat in return for her selections. Bruna asked no money for healing, and no one asked money of her for anything else.

Marick stood protectively close as she squeezed fruit and vegetables with a practised hand. He drew stares, but Leesha thought it was as much because he was with her as it was the presence of a stranger at market. Messengers were common enough in Cutter’s Hollow.

She caught the eye of Keet – Stefny’s son, if not Smitt’s. The boy was nearly eleven, and looked more and more like Tender Michel with each passing day. Stefny had kept her side of the bargain over the years, and not spoken ill of Leesha since she was apprenticed. Her secret was safe as far as Bruna was concerned, but for the life of her, Leesha could not see how Smitt failed to see the truth staring at him from the supper table each night.

She beckoned, and Keet came running. ‘Bring this bag to Bruna once your chores allow,’ she said, handing him her selections. She smiled at him and secretly pressed a klat into his hand.

Keet grinned widely at the gift. Adults would never take money from an Herb Gatherer, but Leesha always slipped children something for extra service. The lacquered wooden coin from Angiers was the main currency in Cutter’s Hollow, and would buy Rizonan sweets for Keet and his siblings when the next Messenger came.

She was ready to leave when she saw Mairy, and moved to greet her. Her friend had been busy over the years; three children clung to her skirts now. A young glassblower named Benn had left Angiers to find his fortune in Lakton or Fort Rizon. He had stopped in the Hollow to ply his trade and raise a few more klats before the next leg of the journey, but then he met Mairy, and those plans dissolved like sugar in tea.

Now Benn plied his trade in Mairy’s father’s barn, and business was brisk. He bought bags of sand from Messengers out of Fort Krasia, and turned them into things of both function and beauty. The Hollow had never had a blower before, and everyone wanted glass of their own.

Leesha, too, was pleased by the development, and soon had Benn making the delicate components of distilleries shown in Bruna’s books, allowing her to leach the strength from herbs and brew cures far more powerful than the Hollow had ever seen.

Soon after, Benn and Mairy wed, and before long, Leesha was pulling their first child from between Mairy’s legs. Two more had followed in short order, and Leesha loved each as if it were her own. She had been honoured to tears when they named their youngest after her.

‘Good morning, rascals,’ Leesha said, squatting down and letting Mairy’s children fall into her arms. She hugged them tightly and kissed them, slipping them pieces of candy wrapped in paper before rising. She made the candy herself, another thing she had learned from Bruna.

‘Good morning, Leesha,’ Mairy said, dipping a small curtsey. Leesha bit back a frown. She and Mairy had stayed close over the years, but Mairy looked at her differently now that she wore the pocketed apron, and nothing seemed able to change that. The curtsey seemed ingrained.

Still, Leesha treasured her friendship. Saira came secretly to Bruna’s hut, begging pomm tea, but their relationship ended there. To hear the women in town tell it, Saira was kept well enough entertained. Half the men in the village supposedly knocked on her door at one time or another, and she always had more money than the sewing she and her mother took in could bring.

Brianne was even worse in some ways. She had not spoken to Leesha in the last seven years, but had a bad word to say about her to everyone else. She had taken to seeing Darsy for her cures, and her dalliances with Evin had quickly given her a round belly. When Tender Michel had challenged her, she had named Evin the father rather than face the town alone.

Evin had married Brianne with her father’s pitchfork at his back and her brothers to either side, and had committed himself to making her and their son Callen miserable ever since.

Brianne had proved a fit mother and wife, but she never lost the weight she had put on during her pregnancy, and Leesha knew personally how Evin’s eyes – and hands – wandered. Gossip had him knocking frequently on Saira’s door.

‘Good morning, Mairy,’ she said. ‘Have you met Messenger Marick?’ Leesha turned to introduce the man, only to find he was no longer at her back.

‘Oh, no,’ she said, seeing him facing off with Gared across the market.

At fifteen, Gared had been bigger than any man in the village save his father. Now, at twenty-two, he was gigantic, close to seven feet of packed muscle, hardened by long days at the axe. It was said he must have Milnese blood, for no Angierian had ever been so large.

Word of his lie had spread throughout the village, and since then the girls had kept their distance, afraid to be alone with him. Perhaps that was why he still coveted Leesha; perhaps he would have done so regardless. But Gared had not learned the lessons of the past. His ego had grown with his muscles, and now he was the bully everyone had known he would be. The boys who used to tease him now jumped at his every word, and if he was cruel to them, he was a terror to anyone unwise enough to cast their eyes upon Leesha.

Gared waited for her still, acting as if Leesha were going to come to her senses one day and realize she belonged with him. Any attempts to convince him otherwise had been met with wood-headed stubbornness.

‘You’re not local,’ she heard Gared say, poking Marick hard in the shoulder, ‘so maybe ya haven’t heard that Leesha’s spoken for.’ He loomed over the Messenger like a grown man over a young boy.

But Marick didn’t flinch, or move at Gared’s poke. He stood stark still, his wolf eyes never leaving Gared’s. Leesha prayed he had the sense not to engage.

‘Not according to her,’ Marick replied, and Leesha’s hopes fell. She started moving towards them, but already a crowd was forming around the men, denying her a clear path. She wished she had Bruna’s stick to help her clear the way.

‘Did she say words of promise to you, Messenger?’ Gared demanded. ‘She did to me.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ Marick replied. ‘I’ve also heard you’re the only fool in the Hollow who thinks those words mean a coreling’s piss after you betrayed her.’

Gared roared and grabbed at the Messenger, but Marick was quicker, stepping smoothly to the side and snapping up his spear, thrusting the butt right between the woodcutter’s eyes. He whipped the spear around in a smooth motion, striking behind Gared’s knees as he staggered backwards, dropping him hard on his back.

Marick planted his spear back on the ground, standing over Gared, his wolf eyes coldly confident. ‘I could have used the point,’ he advised. ‘You would do well to remember that. Leesha speaks for herself.’

Everyone in the crowd was gawking, but Leesha continued her desperate push forward, knowing Gared, and knowing that it was not over.

‘Stop this idiocy!’ she called. Marick glanced at her, and Gared used that moment to grab the end of his spear. The Messenger’s attention snapped back, and he gripped the shaft with both hands to pull the spear free.

It was the last thing he should have done. Gared had a wood demon’s strength, and even with him lying prone, none could match it. His corded arms flexed, and Marick found himself flying through the air.

Gared rose, and snapped the six-foot spear in half like a twig. ‘Let’s see how ya fight when yer not hiding behind a spear,’ he said, dropping the pieces to the ground.

‘Gared, no!’ Leesha screamed, pushing past the last of the onlookers and grabbing his arm. He shoved her aside, never taking his eyes off Marick. The simple move sent her reeling back into the crowd, where she crashed into Dug and Niklas, going down in a tangle of bodies.

‘Stop!’ she cried helplessly, struggling to find her feet.

‘No other man will have you,’ Gared said. ‘You’ll have me, or you’ll end up shrivelled and alone like Bruna!’ He stalked towards Marick, who was only just getting his legs under him.

Gared swung a meaty fist at the Messenger, but again, Marick was quicker. He ducked the blow smoothly, landing two quick punches to Gared’s body before retreating well ahead of Gared’s wild return swing.

But if Gared even felt the blows, he showed no sign. They repeated the exchange, this time with Marick punching Gared full in the nose. Blood spurted, and Gared laughed, spitting it from his mouth.

‘That your best?’ he asked.

Marick growled and shot forward, landing a flurry of punches. Gared could not keep up and hardly tried, gritting his teeth and weathering the barrage, his face red with rage.

After a few moments, Marick withdrew, standing in a catlike fighting stance, his fists up and ready. His knuckles were skinned, and he was breathing hard. Gared seemed little the worse for wear. For the first time, there was fear in Marick’s wolf eyes.

‘That all ya have?’ Gared asked, stalking forward again.

The Messenger came at him again, but this time, he was not so quick. He struck once, twice, and then Gared’s thick fingers found purchase on his shoulder, gripping hard. The Messenger tried to pull back out of reach, but he was held fast.

Gared drove his fist into the Messenger’s stomach, and the wind exploded out of him. He struck again, this time to the head, and Marick hit the ground like a sack of potatoes.

‘Not so smug now, are ya!’ Gared roared. Marick rose to his hands and knees, struggling to rise, but Gared kicked him hard in the stomach, flipping him over onto his back.

Leesha was darting forward by then, as Gared knelt on top of Marick, landing heavy blows.

‘Leesha is mine!’ he roared, ‘And any what says otherwise will … !’

His words were cut short as Leesha threw a full fist of Bruna’s blinding powder in his face. His mouth was already open, and he inhaled reflexively, screaming as it burned into his eyes and throat, his sinuses seizing and his skin feeling as if burned with boiling water. He fell off Marick, rolling on the ground choking and clawing at his face.

Leesha knew she had used too much of the powder. A pinch would stop most men in their tracks, but a full fist could kill, causing people to choke on their own phlegm.

She scowled and shoved past the gawkers, snatching a bucket of water Stefny had been using to wash potatoes. She dumped it over Gared, and his convulsions eased. He would be blind for hours more, but she would not have his death on her hands.

‘Our vows are broken,’ she told him, ‘now and forever. I will never be your wife, even if it means dying shrivelled and alone! I’d as soon marry a coreling!’

Gared groaned, showing no sign he had heard.

She moved over to Marick, kneeling and helping him to sit up. She took a clean cloth and dabbed at the blood on his face. Already he was starting to swell and bruise.

‘I guess we showed him, eh?’ the Messenger asked, chuckling weakly and wincing at the pain it brought to his face.

Leesha poured some of the harsh alcohol Smitt brewed in his basement onto the cloth.

‘Aahhh!’ Marick gasped, as she touched him with it.

‘Serves you right,’ Leesha said. ‘You could have walked away from that fight, and you should have, whether you could have won or not. I didn’t need your protection, and I’m no more likely to give my affection to a man who thinks picking a fight is going to gain the favour of an Herb Gatherer than I am the town bully.’

‘He was the one that started it!’ Marick protested.

‘I’m disappointed in you, Master Marick,’ Leesha said. ‘I thought Messengers came smarter than that.’ Marick dropped his eyes.

‘Take him to his room at Smitt’s,’ she said to some nearby men, and they moved quickly to obey. Most folk in Cutter’s Hollow did, these days.

‘If you’re out of bed before tomorrow morning,’ Leesha told the Messenger, ‘I’ll hear of it and be even more cross with you.’

Marick smiled weakly as the men helped him away.

‘That was amazing!’ Mairy gasped, when Leesha returned for her basket of herbs.

‘It was nothing but stupidity that needed stopping,’ Leesha snapped.

‘Nothing?’ Mairy asked. ‘Two men locked together like bulls, and all you had to do to stop them was throw a handful of herbs!’

‘Hurting with herbs is easy,’ Leesha said, surprised to find Bruna’s words on her lips, ‘it’s healing with them that’s hard.’

It was well past high sun by the time Leesha finished her rounds and made it back to Bruna’s hut.

‘How are the children?’ Bruna asked, as Leesha set her basket down. Leesha smiled. Everyone in Cutter’s Hollow was a child in Bruna’s eyes.

‘Well enough,’ she said, coming to sit on the low stool by Bruna’s chair so the ancient Herb Gatherer could see her clearly. ‘Yon Grey’s joints still ache, but his mind is as young as ever. I gave him fresh sweetsalve. Smitt remains abed, but his cough is lessening. I think the worst is past.’ She went on, describing her rounds while the crone nodded silently. Bruna would stop her if she had comment; she seldom did anymore.

‘Is that all?’ Bruna asked. ‘What of the excitement young Keet tells me went on in the market this morning?’

‘Idiocy is more like it,’ Leesha said.

Bruna dismissed her with a wave. ‘Boys will be boys,’ she said. ‘Even when they’re men. It sounds like you dealt with it well enough.’

‘Bruna, they could have killed each other!’ Leesha said.

‘Oh, pfaw!’ Bruna said. ‘You’re not the first pretty girl to have men fight over her. You may not believe it, but when I was your age, a few bones were broken on my account, as well.’

‘You were never my age,’ Leesha teased. ‘Yon Gray says they called you “hag” when he was first learning to walk.’

Bruna cackled. ‘So they did, so they did,’ she said. ‘But there was a time before then when my paps were as full and smooth as yours, and men fought like corelings to suckle them.’

Leesha looked hard at Bruna, trying to peel back the years and see the woman she had been, but it was a hopeless task. Even with all the exaggerations and tampweed tales taken into account, Bruna was a century old, at least. She would never say for sure, answering simply, ‘I quit counting at a hundred,’ whenever pressed.

‘In any event,’ Leesha said, ‘Marick may be a bit swollen in the face, but he’ll have no reason not to be on the road tomorrow.’

‘That’s well,’ Bruna said.

‘So you have a cure for Mistress Jizell’s young charge?’ Leesha asked.

‘What would you tell her to do with the boy?’ Bruna replied.

‘I’m sure I don’t know,’ Leesha said.

‘Are you?’ Bruna asked. ‘I’m not. Come now, what would you tell Jizell if you were me? Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it.’

Leesha took a deep breath. ‘The grimroot likely interacted poorly with the boy’s system,’ she said. ‘He needs to be taken off it, and the boils will need to be lanced and drained. Of course, that still leaves his original illness. The fever and nausea could just be a chill, but the dilated eyes and vomit hint at more. I would try monkleaf with lady’s brooch and ground adderbark, titrated carefully over a week at least.’

Bruna looked at her a long time, then nodded.

‘Pack your things and say your goodbyes,’ she said. ‘You’ll bring that advice to Jizell personally.’