âWho else is there?â Jeph asked. âYouâre all the Brook has.â
âThe woman who taught me,â Coline said, âOld Mey Friman. She lives on the outskirts of Sunny Pasture, two days from here. If anyone can cure it, she can, but youâd best hurry. The fever will spread quickly and if you take too long, even old Mey wonât be able to help you.â
âHow do we find her?â Jeph demanded.
âYou canât really get lost,â Coline said. âThereâs only the one road. Just donât turn at the fork where it goes through the woods, unless you want to spend weeks on the road to Miln. That Messenger left for the Pasture a few hours ago, but he had some stops in the Brook first. If you hurry, you might catch him. Messengers carry their own wards with them. If you find him, youâll be able to keep moving right until dusk instead of stopping for succour. The Messenger could cut your trip in twain.â
âWeâll find him,â Jeph said, âwhatever it takes.â His voice took on a determined edge, and Arlen began to hope.
A strange sense of longing pulled at Arlen as he watched Tibbetâs Brook recede into the distance from the back of the cart. For the first time, he was going to be more than a dayâs journey from home. He was going to see another town! A week ago, an adventure like that was his greatest dream. But now all he dreamed was that things could go back to the way they were.
Back when the farm was safe.
Back when his mother was well.
Back when he didnât know his father was a coward.
Coline had promised to send one of her boys up to the farm to let Norine know they would likely be gone a week or more, and to help tend the animals and check the wards while they were away. The neighbours would throw in, but Norineâs loss was too raw for her to face the nights alone.
The Herb Gatherer had also given them a crude map, carefully rolled and slipped into a protective hide tube. Paper was a rarity in the Brook, and not given away lightly. Arlen was fascinated by the map, and studied it for hours, even though he couldnât read the few words labelling the places. Neither Arlen nor his father had letters.
The map marked the way to Sunny Pasture, and what lay along the road, but the distances were vague. There were farms marked along the way where they could beg succour, but there was no way to tell how far apart they were.
His mother slept fitfully, sodden with sweat. Sometimes she spoke or cried out, but her words made little sense. Arlen dabbed her with a wet cloth and made her drink the sharp tea as the Herb Gatherer had instructed him, but it seemed to do little good.
Late in the afternoon, they approached the house of Harl Tanner, a farmer who lived on the outskirts of the Brook. Harlâs farm was only a couple of hours past the Cluster by the Woods, but by the time Arlen and his father had gotten underway, it was mid-afternoon.
Arlen remembered seeing Harl and his three daughters at the summer solstice festival each year, though they had been absent since the corelings had taken Harlâs wife, two summers past. Harl had become a recluse, and his daughters with him. Even the tragedy in the Cluster had not brought them out.
Three-quarters of the Tanner fields were blackened and scorched; only those closest to the house were warded and sown. A gaunt milking cow chewed cud in the muddy yard, and ribs showed clearly on the goat tied up by the chicken coop.
The Tannersâ home was a single storey of piled stones, held together with packed mud and clay. The larger stones were painted with faded wards. Arlen thought them clumsy, but they had lasted thus far, it seemed. The roof was uneven, with short, squat wardposts poking up through the rotting thatch. One side of the house connected to the small barn, its windows boarded and its door half off the hinges. Across the yard was the big barn, looking even worse. The wards might hold, but it looked ready to collapse on its own.
âIâve never seen Harlâs place before,â Jeph said.
âMe neither,â Arlen lied. Few people apart from Messengers had reason to head up the road past the Cluster by the Woods, and those who lived up that way were sources of great speculation in Town Square. Arlen had sneaked off to see Crazy Man Tannerâs farm more than once. It was the farthest he had ever been from home. Getting back before dusk had meant hours of running as fast as he could.
One time, a few months before, he almost didnât make it. He had been trying to catch a glimpse of Harlâs eldest daughter, Ilain. The other boys said she had the biggest bubbies in the Brook, and he wanted to see for himself. He waited one day, and saw her come running out of the house, crying. She was beautiful in her sadness, and Arlen had wanted to go comfort her, even though she was eight summers older than him. He hadnât been so bold, but heâd watched her longer than was wise, and almost paid a heavy price for it when the sun began to set.
A mangy dog began barking as they approached the farm, and a young girl came out onto the porch, watching them with sad eyes.
âWe might have to succour here,â Jeph said.
âItâs still hours till dark,â Arlen said, shaking his head. âIf we donât catch Ragen by then, the map says thereâs another farm up by where the road forks to the Free Cities.â
Jeph peered over Arlenâs shoulder at the map. âThatâs a long way,â he said.
âMam canât wait,â Arlen said. âWe wonât make it all the way today, but every hour is an hour closer to her cure.â
Jeph looked back at Silvy, bathed in sweat, then up at the sun, and nodded. They waved at the girl on the porch, but did not stop.
They covered a great distance in the next few hours, but found no sign of the Messenger or another farm. Jeph looked up at the orange sky.
âIt will be full dark in less than two hours,â he said. âWe have to turn back. If we hurry, we can make it back to Harlâs in time.â
âThe farm could be right around that next bend,â Arlen argued. âWeâll find it.â
âWe donât know that,â Jeph said, spitting over the side of the cart. âThe map ent clear. We turn back while we still can, and no arguing.â
Arlenâs eyes widened in disbelief. âWeâll lose half a day that way, not to mention the night. Mam might die in that time!â he cried.
Jeph looked back at his wife, sweating in her bundled blankets, breathing in short fits. Sadly, he looked around at the lengthening shadows, and suppressed a shiver. âIf weâre caught out after dark,â he replied quietly, âweâll all die.â
Arlen was shaking his head before his father finished, refusing to accept it. âWe could â¦â he floundered. âWe could draw wards in the soil,â he said at last. âAll around the cart.â
âAnd if a breeze comes along and mars them?â his father asked. âWhat then?â
âThe farm could be just over the next hill!â Arlen insisted.
âOr it could be twenty more miles down the road,â his father shot back, âor burned down a year ago. Who knows whatâs happened since that map was drawn?â
âAre you saying Mam ent worth the risk?â Arlen accused.
âDonât you tell me what sheâs worth!â his father screamed, nearly bowling the boy over. âIâve loved her all my life! I know better than you! But Iâm not going to risk all three of us! She can last the night. She has to!â
With that, he pulled hard on the reins, stopping the cart and turning it about. He cracked the leather hard into Missyâs flanks, and sent her leaping back down the road. The animal, frightened by the coming dark, responded with a frantic pace.
Arlen turned back towards Silvy, swallowing bitter anger. He watched his mother bounce around as the wheels ran over stones and dips, not reacting at all to the bumpy ride. Whatever his father thought, Arlen knew her chances had just been cut in half.
The sun was nearly set when they reached the lonely farmhouse. Jeph and Missy seemed to share a panicked terror, and they screamed their haste as one. Arlen had leapt into the back of the cart to try and keep his mother from being thrown about by the wildly jolting ride. He held her tight, taking many of the bruises and bashes for her.
But not all: he could feel Colineâs careful stitches giving, the wounds oozing open again. If the demon fever didnât claim her, there was a good chance the ride would.
Jeph ran the cart right up to the porch, shouting, âHarl! We seek succour!â
The door opened almost immediately, even before they could get out of the cart. A man in worn overalls came out, a long pitchfork in hand. Harl was thin and tough, like dried meat. He was followed by Ilain, the sturdy young woman holding a stout metal-headed shovel. The last time Arlen saw her, she had been crying and terrified, but there was no terror in her eyes now. She ignored the crawling shadows as she approached the cart.
Harl nodded as Jeph lifted Silvy out of the cart. âGet her inside,â he ordered, and Jeph hurried to comply, letting a deep breath out as he crossed the wards.
âOpen the big barn door!â he told Ilain. âThat cart wonât fit in the little âun.â Ilain gathered her skirts and ran. He turned to Arlen. âDrive the cart to the barn, boy! Quick!â
Arlen did as he was told. âNo time to unhitch her,â the farmer said. âSheâll have to do.â It was the second night in a row. Arlen wondered if Missy would ever get unhitched.
Harl and Ilain quickly shut the barn door and checked the wards. âWhat are you waiting for?â the man roared at Arlen. âRun for the house! Theyâll be here in a moment!â
He had barely spoken the words when the demons began to rise. He and Arlen sprinted for the house as spindly, clawed arms and horned heads seemed to grow right out of the ground.
They dodged left and right around the rising death, adrenaline and fear giving them agility and speed. The first corelings to solidify, a group of lithesome flame demons, gave chase, gaining on them. As Arlen and Ilain ran on, Harl turned and hurled his pitchfork into their midst.