The Great Bazaar and Other Stories (8 page)

How far could I
get if I had all day?
he always wondered.
How far, if I didn't have
chores in the morning, if I didn't have to turn back and run halfway to dusk?
Could I make it to safety before they came?The
thought thrilled and
terrified him. What lay beyond the point of no return?

Maybe today
I'll keep going.

But his resolve
always faded as the sun rolled across the sky, and halfway to dusk, he inevitably
felt his feet turning him around.

He slowed down
when the house was in sight, despite the cries of his parents, despite the
terror in their voices. This was the time of day he felt most alive. He watched
the sun dip in the sky, eclipsed by the turning of the world beneath him.
Shadows began to lengthen. He waited until the last minute, and then ran to his
house as fast as he could, the exhilarating tingle of fear sweeping over him,
making his heart pound and his hands shake. Air tasted better in those few
seconds, his body alive with sensation. No sight was more beautiful than the
reds and oranges of dusk, no sound more exciting than his parents' warnings. He
tumbled over the threshold, careful not to disturb the wards, and turned to
watch the corelings rise.

As the last warm
rays faded from the horizon, and the heat leached from the ground into the air,
the flame demons rose up from the Core to dance.

He was soon yanked
inside and the heavy door shut, its bar thrown (as if it could stop a
coreling!). Arlen's father would then check the wards on the sills and
threshold again, making sure they had not been scuffed or scratched. He told
Arlen that a triple-check was all that was needed, but he could never help
checking a fourth time.

He was always
scolded. Sometimes with his father's belt. But Arlen's parents knew deep down
that no punishment could ever make him give up his wandering.

After punishment
came supper, and then, while his mother knit and his father carved wardposts,
Arlen could sit by the window and watch the corelings dance. They were so
graceful, even beautiful. Sometimes, he caught a glimpse of a wind demon, its
shadowy form swooping on leathern wings, illuminated by the blazing eyes and
mouths of its fiery cousins.

Less beautiful and
thankfully less common were the rock demons, their hulking, sinewy forms
encased in a carapace that could break the hardest spear tip. No dancers these,
they stalked the yard slowly, flashing their rows of razor teeth as they
searched for prey.

Arlen had never seen
a water demon, but he had heard Jongleurs' stories. They could tear through the
hull of a boat, dragging unfortunate fishermen underwater. Arlen shivered as he
imagined the depths of the town lake swirling with dark, terrible forms. The
idea terrified him, yet he longed to go out and try to glimpse one.

On some nights,
the demons attacked the wards. They flung themselves at the doors and windows,
only to be sent hurtling back by the flare of magic. Arlen's parents seldom
flinched, having witnessed this all their lives.

"Why do they
keep attacking when they can't get through?" Arlen asked his father once.

"They're
looking for flaws in the net," his father replied, joining him by the
window. "Every warding has them. Every one. Corelings aren't smart enough to
study the wards and reason out the weak spots, but they can attack them and
look for holes that way. You'll never see a coreling attack the same spot twice
in a night." He tapped his temple. "They remember. And they know that
time weakens even the strongest wards."

The night would
light up over and over as the corelings tested the wards, magic flaring like
tiny lightning flashes to momentarily illuminate the features of the yard as
the demons tried to crush the wellhouse, or reach the meat in the curing shed.

They attacked the
barn as well, but the wards there were just as strong. Arlen could hear the
livestock bleating in fear. The animals never got used to the demons. They
knew, instinctively, what would happen if the corelings ever got through.

Arlen knew, too.
When he was seven, he had watched helplessly as the demons tore apart one of
their sheepdogs, spreading its guts all over the yard.

Corelings took
great pleasure in killing.

It was said there
had been a time when the demons were not so bold. A time when the greatest
wards had not yet been forgotten; when the demons feared the power of mankind
and stayed within the Core. But those days, if they ever truly existed, were
long forgotten by the great-great-grandfathers of the oldest men alive. Now, those
wards were nothing more than a Jongleur's tale.

As he watched the
creatures that had stolen his world for another night, Arlen dreamed of
bringing those wards back. He dreamed of traveling beyond Tibbet's Brook, and
resolved that he would leave one day, even if it meant spending a night
outside.

With the demons.

INTRODUCTION

This is far
and away
my favorite cut scene, my poor deleted darling. It takes place in Chapter 13 of
The Warded Man
("There Must Be More"), and happens directly after
the confrontation between Gared and Marick in the Cutter's Hollow marketplace.
The purpose of the scene was to force Leesha to confront Brianne, who had been
one of her best friends until the events of Leesha's first story arc destroyed
their friendship. It was also meant to illustrate how confident and powerful
Leesha had become during her Herb Gathering tutelage under Bruna.

WHY IT WAS CUT

i take full
responsibility for cutting this scene. No editor or agent or test reader
suggested it. I needed to reduce the overall word count of the book, and much
as I loved this scene, it was over 3,000 words, and lifted out so cleanly that
no one would ever miss it but me. That Leesha had grown too big for Cutter's
Hollow was already apparent, and nothing else happened that affected the rest
of the story at all.

I don't regret the
decision. The final draft of the book is lean and mean and every scene moves
the story forward. This scene doesn't; it's just a tangent. Removing it also
helped balance out the Leesha/Rojer air time, which I had intended to be equal,
but which was (and still is) skewed in Leesha's favor.

Still, I love this
little side-story, and am really happy I finally get to share it with people
who might enjoy reading it.

SCENE

"There's need for
your skills," Mairy said.

"You feel
unwell?" Leesha asked, concerned. She laid the back of her hand against
Mairy's forehead, but Mairy shook her head, pulling away. "No, it's not
for me," she said.

"One of the
children?" Leesha asked, her eyes quickly scanning each for a sign of ill
health. "Or Benn?"

Mairy shook her
head again. "It's Brianne," she said. "She's been having stomach
pains. She tries to hide it, but I see her wincing. Something is wrong. We
hoped you might take the request for aid better from me."

"Why
me?" Leesha asked. "Darsy is her Herb Gatherer."

"You've said
yourself that Darsy guesses at her cures more oft than not," Mairy said.
"And she lost Dug and Merrem's child last winter."

"I never said
that was Darsy's fault," Leesha pointed out.

"You didn't
have to," Mairy said. "Half the town is whispering it whenever she
passes by. Brianne is just too proud to ask for your help."

"Even if she
did," Leesha asked, "why should I give it?"

"Because
she's sick and you're an Herb Gatherer," Mairy replied.

"She's spoken
nothing but ill words on me for nearly seven years," Leesha said angrily.
"And don't forget that she did her best to destroy my life." She
turned away, but guilt ate at her. There were oaths Herb Gatherers took, to
help all in need.

"She cried
for you," Mairy said at her back. "We all did."

Leesha turned.
"What do you mean?" she asked.

"That
morning, when your mum came to town saying you ent come home before dark,"
Mairy said. "She had the whole town out looking for you or..." she
looked away, "your body."

"We were sure
you were dead," Mairy went on after a moment, when Leesha did not reply.
"Brianne said it was her fault, and fell into tears. We tried to tell her
it wan't like that, but she was inconsolable." She touched Leesha's shoulder,
"She knew she hurt you, Leesha."

"I never
heard a word of contrition," Leesha said. "In fact, she's said worse
about me since. Don't think I haven't heard."

"She meant to
apologize," Mairy said. "Saira, too."

"But you were
the only one that actually did," Leesha said.

"Hurting with
words is easy," Mairy replied, echoing Leesha's earlier statement,
"it's healing with them what's hard. Don't forget it was you what hurt her
first."

Leesha felt as if
she had been slapped in the face. What if Brianne was really sick and needed
her help? Would she deny her? Deny her child? Had Bruna ever denied anyone?

"You're
right," she told Mairy. "Of course I'll come help her."

"There's one
other thing," Mairy said.

Leesha looked up.

"She's
pregnant."

Mairy sent her
little ones
scurrying off home, and they headed for the small house the townsfolk had built
when Brianne and Evan wed.

"How long has
she known?" Leesha asked, walking so fast that Mairy had to scurry to keep
pace. Fear for Brianne's child gripped her.

"Her stomach
told her a few weeks ago," Mairy said. "She might be as far as two
months, now. She only told Evin this week."

"Were there
any complications with her first pregnancy?" Leesha asked.

"Apart from
being forced to marry Evin?" Mairy asked. Leesha frowned at her.

"It's not
funny, I know," Mairy said. "Callen's birth was easy. In fact, you
might say it was the only easy thing about Callen."