âA year and a half again before the next Messenger?â Selia asked, sounding like she was readying a scolding. âWe barely made it through this past winter without the fall salt,â she said. âI know you take it for granted in Miln, but half our meat and fish spoiled for lack of proper curing. And what of our letters?â
âSorry, maâam,â Ragen said. âYour towns are well off the common roads, and paying a Messenger to commit for a month and more of travel each year is costly. The Messengersâ guild is shorthanded, what with Graig catching that chill.â He chuckled and shook his head, but noticed Seliaâs visage darken in response.
âNo offence meant, maâam,â Ragen said. âHe was my friend as well. Itâs just ⦠itâs not many of us Messengers get to go with a roof above, a bed below, and a young wife at our side. The night usually gets us before that, you see?â
âI do,â Selia said. âDo you have a wife, Ragen?â she asked.
âAy,â the Messenger said, âthough to her pleasure and my pain, I see my mare more than my bride.â He laughed, confusing Arlen, who didnât think having a wife not miss you was funny.
Selia didnât seem to notice. âWhat if you couldnât see her at all?â she asked. âWhat if all you had were letters once a year to connect you to her? How would you feel to hear your letters would be delayed half a year? There are some in this town with kin in the Free Cities. Left with one Messenger or another, some as much as two generations gone. Those people ent going to come home, Ragen. Letters are all we have of them, and they of us.â
âI am in full agreement with you, maâam,â Ragen said, âbut the decision is not mine to make. The Duke â¦â
âBut you will speak to the Duke upon your return, yes?â Selia asked.
âI will,â he said.
âShall I write the message down for you?â Selia asked.
Ragen smiled. âI think I can remember it, maâam.â
âSee that you do.â
Ragen bowed again, still lower. âApologies, for coming to call on such a dark day,â he said, his eyes flicking to the funeral pyre.
âWe cannot tell the rain when to come, nor the wind, nor the cold,â Selia said. âNot the corelings, either. So life must go on despite these things.â
âLife goes on,â Ragen agreed, âbut if thereâs anything I or my Jongleur can do to help; Iâve a strong back and Iâve treated coreling wounds many times.â
âYour Jongleur is helping already,â Selia said, nodding towards the young man as he sang and did his tricks, âdistracting the young ones while their kin do their work. As for you, Iâve much to do over the next few days, if weâre to recover from this loss. I wonât have time to hand the mail and read to those who havenât learned their letters.â
âI can read to those who canât, maâam,â Ragen said, âbut I donât know your town well enough to distribute.â
âNo need,â Selia said, pulling Arlen forward. âArlen here will take you to the general store in Town Square. Give the letters and packages to Rusco Hog when you deliver the salt. Most everyone will come running now that the saltâs in, and Ruscoâs one of the few in town with letters and numbers. The old crook will complain and try to insist on payment, but you tell him that in time of trouble, the whole town must throw in. You tell him to give out the letters and read to those who canât, or Iâll not lift a finger the next time the town wants to throw a rope around his neck.â
Ragen looked closely at Selia, perhaps trying to tell if she was joking, but her stony face gave no indication. He bowed again.
âHurry along, then,â Selia said. âLift your feet and youâll both be back as everyone is readying to leave here for the night. If you and your Jongleur donât want to pay Rusco for a room, any here will be glad to offer their homes.â She shooed the two of them away and turned back to scold those pausing in their work to stare at the newcomers.
âIs she always so ⦠forceful?â Ragen asked Arlen as they walked over to where the Jongleur was mumming for the youngest children. The rest had been pulled back to work.
Arlen snorted. âYou should hear her talk to the greybeards. Youâre lucky to get away with your skin after calling her âBarrenâ.â
âGraig said thatâs what everyone called her,â Ragen said.
âThey do,â Arlen agreed, âjust not to her face, unless theyâre looking to take a coreling by the horns. Everyone hops when Selia speaks.â
Ragen chuckled. âAnd her an old Daughter, at that,â he mused. âWhere I come from, only Mothers expect everyone to jump at their command like that.â
âWhat difference does that make?â Arlen asked.
Ragen shrugged. âDonât know, I suppose,â he conceded. âThatâs just how things are in Miln. People make the world go, and Mothers make people, so they lead the dance.â
âItâs not like that here,â Arlen said.
âIt never is, in the small towns,â Ragen said. âNot enough people to spare. But the Free Cities are different. Apart from Miln, none of the others give their women much voice at all.â
âThat sounds just as dumb,â Arlen muttered.
âIt is,â Ragen agreed.
The Messenger stopped, and handed Arlen the reins to his courser. âWait here a minute,â he said, and headed over to the Jongleur. The two men moved aside to talk, and Arlen saw the Jongleurâs face change again, becoming angry, then petulant, and finally resigned as he tried to argue with Ragen, whose face remained stony throughout.
Never taking his glare off the Jongleur, the Messenger beckoned with a hand to Arlen, who brought the horse over to them.
â⦠donât care how tired you are,â Ragen was saying, his voice a harsh whisper, âthese people have grisly work to do, and if you need to dance and juggle all afternoon to keep their kids occupied while they do it, then youâd damn well better! Now put your face back on and get to it!â He grabbed the reins from Arlen and thrust them at the man.
Arlen got a good look at the young Jongleurâs face, full of indignation and fear, before the Jongleur took notice of him. The second he saw he was being watched, the manâs face rippled, and a moment later he was the bright, cheerful fellow who danced for children.
Ragen took Arlen to the cart and the two climbed on. Ragen snapped the reins, and they turned back up the dirt path that led to the main road.
âWhat were you arguing about?â Arlen asked as the cart bounced along.
The Messenger looked at him a moment, then shrugged. âItâs Keerinâs first time so far out of the city,â he said. âHe was brave enough when there was a group of us and he had a covered wagon to sleep in, but when we left the rest of our caravan behind in Angiers, he didnât do near as well. Heâs got day-jitters from the corelings, and itâs made him poor company.â
âYou canât tell,â Arlen said, looking back at the cartwheeling man.
âJongleurs have their mummersâ tricks,â Ragen said. âThey can pretend so hard to be something theyâre not that they actually convince themselves of it for a time. Keerin pretended to be brave. The guild tested him for travel and he passed, but you never really know how people will hold up after two weeks on the open road until they do it for real.â
âHow do you stay out on the roads at night?â Arlen asked. âDa says drawing wards in the soilâs asking for trouble.â
âYour da is right,â Ragen said. âLook in that compartment by your feet.â
Arlen did, and produced a large bag of soft leather. Inside was a knotted rope, strung with lacquered wooden plates bigger than his hand. His eyes widened when he saw wards carved and painted into the wood.
Immediately, Arlen knew what it was: a portable warding circle, large enough to surround the cart and more besides. âIâve never seen anything like it,â Arlen said.
âTheyâre not easy to make,â the Messenger said. âMost Messengers spend their whole apprenticeship mastering the art. No wind or rain is going to smudge those wards. But even then, theyâre not the same as having warded walls and a door.
âEver see a coreling face-to-face, boy?â he asked, turning and looking at Arlen hard. âWatched it take a swipe at you with nowhere to run and nothing to protect you except magic you canât see?â He shook his head. âMaybe Iâm being too hard on Keerin. He handled his test all right. Screamed a bit, but thatâs to be expected. Night after night is another matter. Takes its toll on some men, always worried that a stray leaf will land on a ward, and then â¦â He hissed suddenly and swiped a clawed hand at Arlen, laughing when the boy jumped.
Arlen ran his thumb over each smooth, lacquered ward, feeling their strength. There was one of the little plates for every foot of rope, much as there would be in any warding. He counted more than forty of them. âCanât wind demons fly into a circle this big?â he asked. âDa puts posts up to keep them from landing in the fields.â
The man looked over at him, a little surprised. âYour daâs probably wasting his time,â he said. âWind demons are strong fliers, but they need running space or something to climb and leap from in order to take off. Not much of either in a cornfield, so theyâd be reluctant to land, unless they saw something too tempting to resist, like some little boy sleeping in the field on a dare.â He looked at Arlen in that same way Jeph did, when warning Arlen that the corelings were serious business. As if he didnât know.
âWind demons also need to turn in wide arcs,â Ragen continued, âand most of them have a wingspan larger than that circle. Itâs possible that one could get in, but Iâve never seen it happen. If it does, though â¦â He gestured to the long, thick spear he kept next to him.
âYou can kill a coreling with a spear?â Arlen asked.