The Warded Man

“Herb Gathering is women’s work, girl,” Bruna said. “Holy Men are just there to pray while we do it.”

“I …” Leesha began, looking back at her parents for an escape.

“I think it’s a fine idea,” Elona said, finally extricating herself from Steave’s lap. “Spend the night at Bruna’s.” She shoved Leesha forward. “My daughter is glad to help,” she said with a broad smile.

“Perhaps Gared should go as well?” Steave suggested, kicking his son.

“You’ll need a strong back to carry your herbs and potions back in the morning,” Elona agreed, pulling Gared up.

The ancient Herb Gatherer glared at her, then at Steave, but nodded finally.

The trip to Bruna’s was slow, the hag setting a shuffling crawl of a pace. They made it to the hut just before sunset.

“Check the wards, boy,” Bruna told Gared. While he complied, Leesha took her inside, setting the old woman down in a cushioned chair, and laying a quilt blanket over her. Bruna was breathing hard, and Leesha feared she would start coughing again any minute. She filled the kettle and laid wood and tinder in the hearth, casting her eyes about for flint and steel.

“The box on the mantel,” Bruna said, and Leesha noticed the small wooden box. She opened it, but there was no flint or steel within, only short wooden sticks with some kind of clay at the ends. She picked up two and tried rubbing them together.

“Not like that, girl!” Bruna snapped. “Have you never seen a flamestick?”

Leesha shook her head. “Da keeps some in the shop where he mixes chemics,” Leesha said, “but I’m not to go in there.”

The old Herb Gatherer sighed and beckoned the girl over. She took one of the sticks and braced it against her gnarled, dry thumbnail. She flicked her thumb, and the end of the stick burst into flame. Leesha’s eyes bulged.

“There’s more to Herb Gathering than plants, girl,” Bruna said, touching the flame to a taper before the flamestick burned out. She lit a lamp, and handed the taper to Leesha. She held the lamp out, illuminating a dusty shelf filled with books in its flickering light.

“Sweet day!” Leesha exclaimed. “You have more books than Tender Michel!”

“These aren’t witless stories censored by the Holy Men, girl. Herb Gatherers are keepers of a bit of the knowledge of the old world, from back before the Return, when the demons burned the great libraries.”

“Science?” Leesha asked. “Was that not the hubris that brought on the Plague?”

“That’s Michel talking,” Bruna said. “If I’d known that boy would grow into such a pompous ass, I’d have left him between his mother’s legs. It was science, as much as magic, that drove the corelings off the first time. The sagas tell of great Herb Gatherers healing mortal wounds, and mixing herbs and minerals that killed demons by the score with fire and poison.”

Leesha was about to ask another question when Gared returned. Bruna waved her toward the hearth, and Leesha lit the fire and set the kettle over it. Soon the water was boiling, and Bruna reached into the many pockets of her robe, putting her special mixture of herbs in her cup, and tea in Leesha’s and Gared’s. Her hands were quick, but Leesha still noticed the old woman throw something extra in Gared’s cup.

She poured the water, and they all sipped in an awkward silence. Gared drank his quickly, and soon began rubbing his face. A moment later, he slumped over, fast asleep.

“You put something in his tea,” Leesha accused.

The old woman cackled. “Tampweed resin and skyflower pollen,” she said. “Each with many uses alone, but together, a pinch can put a bull to sleep.”

“But why?” Leesha asked.

Bruna smiled, but it was a frightening thing. “Call it chaperoning,” she said. “Promised or no, you can’t trust a boy of fifteen summers alone with a young girl at night.”

“Then why let him come along?” Leesha asked.

Bruna shook her head. “I told your father not to marry that shrew, but she dangled her udders at him and left him dizzy,” she sighed. “Drunk as they are, Steave and your mum are going to have at it no matter who’s in the house,” she said. “But that don’t mean Gared ought to hear it. Boys are bad enough at his age, as is.”

Leesha’s eyes bulged. “My mother would never …!”

“Careful finishing that sentence, girl,” Bruna cut her off. “The Creator abhors a liar.”

Leesha deflated. She knew what Elona was like. “Gared’s not like that, though,” she said.

Bruna snorted. “Midwife a village and tell me that,” she said.

“It wouldn’t even matter if I was flowered,” Leesha said. “Then Gared and I could marry, and I could do for him as a wife should.”

“Eager for that, are you?” Bruna said with a wicked grin. “It’s no sad affair, I’ll admit. Men have more uses than swinging axes and carrying heavy things.”

“What’s taking so long?” Leesha asked. “Saira and Mairy reddened their sheets in their twelfth summers, and this will be my thirteenth! What could be wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Bruna said. “Each girl bleeds in her own time. It may be you have a year yet, or more.”

“A year!” Leesha exclaimed.

“Don’t be so quick to leave childhood behind, girl,” Bruna said. “You’ll find you miss it when its gone. There’s more to the world than laying under a man and making his babies.”

“But what else could compare?” Leesha asked.

Bruna gestured to her shelf. “Choose a book,” she said. “Any book. Bring it here, and I’ll show you what else the world can offer.”