almost everyone. Leesha, one of the few children who could read, often went to him to borrow books from Tender Michel’s collection.
‘I’ve a message from Bruna,’ he said to Leesha. ‘She wishes …’
His words were cut off as he was yanked backward. Jona was two years senior, but Gared spun him like a paper doll, gripping his robes and pulling him so close their noses touched.
‘I told you before about talking to those what arn’t promised to ya,’ Gared growled.
‘I wasn’t!’ Jona protested, his feet kicking an inch off the ground. ‘I just …!’
‘Gared!’ Leesha barked. ‘You put him down this instant!’
Gared looked at Leesha, then back to Jona. His eyes flicked to his friends, then back to Leesha. He let go, and Jona crashed to the ground. He scrambled to his feet and scurried off. Brianne and Saira giggled, but Leesha silenced them with a glare before rounding on Gared.
‘What in the Core is the matter with you?’ Leesha demanded.
Gared looked down. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s jus’… well, I ent gotten to talk to ya all day, and I guess I got mad when I saw ya talking to him.’
‘Oh, Gared,’ Leesha touched his cheek, ‘you don’t have to be jealous. There’s no one for me but you.’
‘Really?’ Gared asked.
‘Will you apologize to Jona?’ Leesha asked.
‘Yes,’ Gared promised.
‘Then yes, really,’ Leesha said. ‘Now go on back to the tables. I’ll join you in a bit.’ She kissed him, and Gared broke into a wide smile and ran off.
‘I suppose it’s something like training a bear,’ Brianne mused.
‘A bear that just sat in a briar patch,’ Saira said.
‘You leave him be,’ Leesha said. ‘Gared doesn’t mean any harm. He’s just too strong for his own good, and a little …’
‘Lumbering?’ Brianne offered.
‘Slow?’ Saira supplied.
‘Dim?’ Mairy suggested.
Leesha swatted at them, and they all laughed.
Gared sat protectively by Leesha, he and Steave having come over to sit with Leesha’s family. She longed for his arms around her, but it wasn’t proper, even promised as they were, until she was of age and their engagement formalized by the Tender. Even then, chaste touching and kisses were supposed to be the limit until their wedding night.
Still, Leesha let Gared kiss her when they were alone, but she held it at that, regardless of what Brianne thought. She wanted to keep tradition, so their wedding night would be a special thing they would remember forever.
And of course, there was Klarissa, who had loved to dance and flirt. She had taught Leesha and her friends to reel and braid flowers in their hair. An exceptionally pretty girl, Klarissa had her pick of suitors.
Her son would be three now, and still no man in Cutter’s Hollow would claim him as their own. It was broadly assumed that meant he was a married man, and over the months when her belly fattened, not a sermon had gone by where Tender Michel had failed to remind her that it was her sin, and that of those like her, that kept the Creator’s Plague strong.
‘The demons without echo the demons within,’ he said.
Klarissa had been well loved, but after that, the town had quickly turned. Women shunned her, whispering behind her passage, and men refused to meet her eyes while their wives were about, making lewd comments when they were not.
Klarissa had left with a Messenger bound for Fort Rizon soon after the boy was weaned, and never returned. Leesha missed her.
‘I wonder what Bruna wanted when she sent Jona,’ Leesha said.
‘I hate that little runt,’ Gared growled. ‘Every time he looks at you, I can see him imagining you as his wife.’
‘What do you care,’ Leesha asked, ‘if imagination is all it is?’
‘I won’t share you, even in other men’s dreams,’ Gared said, putting his giant hand over hers under the table. Leesha sighed and leaned in to him. Bruna could wait.
Just then, Smitt stood, legs shaky with ale, and banged his stein on the table. ‘Everyone! Your attention, please!’ His wife, Stefny, helped him stand up on the bench, propping him when he wobbled. The crowd quieted, and Smitt cleared his throat. He might dislike giving orders, but he liked giving speeches well enough.
‘It’s the worst times that bring out the best in us,’ he began. ‘But it’s them times that show the Creator our mettle. Show that we’ve mended our ways and are worthy for him to send the Deliverer and end the Plague. Show that the evil of the night cannot take our sense of family.
‘Because that’s what Cutter’s Hollow is,’ Smitt went on. ‘A family. Oh, we bicker and fight and play favourites, but when the corelings come, we see those ties of family like the strings of a loom, tying us all together. Whatever our differences, no one is left to them.
‘Four houses lost their wards in the night,’ Smitt told the crowd, ‘putting a score at the corelings’ absent mercy. But due to heroism out in the naked night, only seven were taken.
‘Niklas!’ Smitt shouted, pointing at the sandy-haired man sitting across from him, ‘ran into a burning house to pull his mother out!
‘Jow!’ He pointed to another man, who jumped at the sound. ‘Not two days ago, he and Dav were before me, arguing all the way to blows. But last night, Jow hit a wood demon, a wood demon, with his axe to hold it off while Dav and his family ran across his wards!’
Smitt hopped up on the table, passion lending agility to his drunken body. He walked its length, calling people by name, and telling of their deeds in the night. ‘Heroes were found in the day, as well,’ he went on. ‘Gared and Steave!’ he cried, pointing. ‘Left their own house to burn to douse those that had a better chance! Because of them and others, only eight houses burned, when by rights it should have been the whole town!’
Smitt turned, and suddenly he was looking right at Leesha. His hand raised, and the finger he pointed at her struck her like a fist. ‘Leesha!’ he called. ‘Thirteen years old, and she saved Gatherer Bruna’s life!
‘In every person in Cutter’s Hollow beats the heart of a hero!’ Smitt said, sweeping his hand over all. ‘The corelings test us, and tragedy tempers us, but like Milnese steel, Cutter’s Hollow will not break!’
The crowd roared in approval. Those who had lost loved ones cried the loudest, screaming through cheeks wet with tears.
Smitt stood in the centre of the din, soaking in its strength. After a time, he patted his hands, and the villagers quieted.
