Part 8 (1/2)

Talen turned to the trail, abandoned all pretense, and, ignoring his injuries, did exactly that. Not once did he look back. He dared not look back. He couldn't afford to smack into a branch or step wrong, or, most especially, see the face of the thing that was surely behind him. He knew if he saw the beast, his courage was likely to completely desert him. At that point it would be impossible to do anything but cringe upon the ground like a cornered rabbit. So it was eyes to the front, even when the woods broke before him and he saw the river below and the farm stretching away from him on the far side.

Talen ran down to the river, stumbled through the shallow water of the ford, and scrabbled up the other side. Only when he reached the smoke shed did he stop and turn, and, with much panting, search the woods.

But nothing was there. Nothing at all.

The sleth children, if there had ever been any, must have been one-legged pigeons. No regular monsters would have let him escape alive.

Of course, there probably hadn't been a thing in those woods besides squirrels and mice. The sound he'd heard was most certainly somebody's renegade pig.

Coward, he told himself, and bent over, resting his hands on his knees. He was such a coward.

”Where's the handcart?”

Talen turned. Da sat in the shady side of the barn sharpening his scythe. Relief washed through Talen at the sight of his great horse of a father.

”Back at the bridge,” said Talen. He took a breath.

”Ah, that's what I like to see. A boy who races home to work and leaves the chickens to fend for themselves.”

”Da,” said Talen. ”The Bailiff wants you.”

”We're mowing the fields now. The Bailiff can wait.”

Then he stopped and looked at Talen more closely. ”Is that blood? What happened to your face?”

Talen poured out everything that had happened including his run through the woods. As the story progressed, Da stroked the braids of his beard with increasing anger.

When Talen finished, Da set his scythe aside and stood.

”Are you going?”

”It appears I am,” said Da.

”Should we bring our bows?” asked Talen. ”Or would billhooks be better?”

”Billhooks?” asked Da.

”In case we're attacked.”

Da grunted. ”You're going out to glean. We've got a field that needs stacking.”

”But the hatchlings,” said Talen.

”The hatchlings,” said Da. ”Son, did you not learn anything from your adventure this morning? Even if the children were sleth, the greater risk is being mistaken for a soul-eater by an idiot with hunt fever. We're talking about two children, however ferocious they may be.” Da shook his head. ”You said a Fir-Noy rider brought the message? That's the problem right there.”

”Shouldn't we at least give the warnings some credit until we find out otherwise?”

”Sparrow was a good man,” said Da. He heaved a great sigh.

Talen had not known the smith very well. However, he'd always wondered about his name. He'd thought it funny such a mighty man would be named for such a little bird. Talen, Ke, and Nettle were named after noteworthy ancestors. His sister was named so she might be granted all the qualities-the strength, life, purpose-of a river. But Sparrow? Talen had found out that the smith's family had a long line of Sparrows all named after an actual bird that had saved one of the family's progenitors from drowning. He'd always wanted to hear that tale, but now he wasn't so sure.

A great weariness seemed to descend upon Da. ”You could search this whole land. You could search the whole Nine Clans, and not find Sparrow's better.”

”But he was sleth,” said Talen.

Da shook his head. ”If Sparrow was sleth, then fish swim in the deep blue sky.” He turned to Talen. ”Do you still have the peppercorns?”

Talen nodded.

”Give them here.”

Talen removed the pouch and necklace from around his neck and handed them over.

Da put the pouch around his own neck then said, ”Get out to the field and help with the stacking. It looks like I'm going to fetch us some hens and go talk to the Bailiff.”

”You're going alone?”

”Yes,” he said and headed for the barn. After a few steps he called back. ”By the way, I found your pants wadded up under your bed. They're lying on the table.”

”I looked under my bed,” said Talen.

Da shrugged. ”They were there, plain as day.”

That was impossible. Talen had moved his bed out. He would have seen them.

Talen turned and went in to the house to get his old pants. These were stained, thanks to the Stag Home idiots, with blood and gra.s.s, and would take an hour of was.h.i.+ng to get them clean. When he came back outside, Da had Iron Boy saddled.

Da's unstrung hunting bow stood in the leather bow bag strapped along Iron Boy's side. He should have been taking his warbow. ”I'll be back before dark,” Da said. He secured what he called the Hog behind the saddle.

The Hog was an axe with a handle about as thick as four fingers and a shaft as long as Talen's arm. The head was not broad like a timber axe, but short and narrow with a blade at one end and a pick at the other. But it was used for other things. An archer needed a weapon for close work. He needed something for when he exhausted his supply of arrows. The Hog could pierce armor when wielded by a man half Da's size, and Da had killed three Bone Faces last year with it. But he did not reverence it as many men would: most of the time he used it to break up the bee propolis in the hives or chop kindling.

”If you find any sleth,” said Da, ”be sure to tell them you're tough and gamey and not at all fit for dinner.” A little bit of a smile softened his grim expression.

”Easy for you to say,” said Talen.

”We're going to be fine, Talen,” he said. ”Don't worry about a thing.” He picked up the reins and led Iron Boy away.

Talen watched him go then scanned the woods and swallowed.

9.

Hatchling TALEN WORKED WITH his brother and sister until midday. His swollen eye hadn't improved much, nor had many of the aches from the beating he'd taken at Stag Home, but work was work. He stood, took off his wide-brimmed straw hat, wiped his brow, and gingerly felt his ribs.

Nettle had returned from taking his message to the Creek Widow long ago. He and Talen were hauling three windrows of dried bracken off the hill. Nettle threw another pitchfork full onto the wagon bed and said, ”You're going to milk that all day, aren't you?”

”You let the Early brothers kick you, and then we'll talk.”