The Desert Spear

stroked it absently as she wept, her teardrops matting its fur.
    Renna said little as they ate, and he found himself staring at her, wishing he knew what words could put life back in her eyes.
    “Good stew?” he asked as she tore bread to soak the last of it from her bowl. “There’s more if you like.” She nodded, and he fetched the pot from the fire, ladling her another helping.
    “Thanks,” she said. “Feel like I haven’t et in days. Haven’t, really. Ent been hungry.”
    “You had a rough week, I imagine,” he said.
    She met his eyes finally. “You killed those demons. Killed ’em with your bare hands.”
    The Painted Man nodded.
    “Why?” she asked.
    The Painted Man raised a brow at her. “Need a reason to kill demons?”
    “But they told you what I done,” Renna said. “And they’s right. None a this would’ve happened, I’d just minded my da. Maybe I deserve to be cored.” She looked away again, but the Painted Man grabbed her shoulders roughly and forced her to turn and face him. His eyes were blazing, and hers went wide with fright.
    “You listen to me, Renna Tanner,” he said. “Your da din’t deserve mindin’. I know what he done to you and your sisters, out on that farm. That kind of man ent worth no mind at all. It’s him that brought these troubles about, not you. Ent never been you.”
    When she just stared at him, he shook her. “You hear me?!”
    For a moment more Renna just stared, and then slowly she nodded. And then again, more decisively. “Wasn’t right, what he done to us.”
    “That’s undersaid,” the Painted Man grunted.
    “And poor Cobie never done nothing wrong,” Renna went on, the words coming faster. She looked up at him. “He wan’t no bully, least not that I ever saw. All he ever wanted was to marry me proper, and Da…”
    “Killed him for it,” the Painted Man finished, when she hesitated.
    She nodded. “Man like that ent much more than a demon himself.”
    He nodded. “And you got to fight demons, Renna Tanner. It’s the only way to live with your head held high. Can’t trust no one else to do what you won’t do for yourself.”

    Renna was curled up by the fire, fast asleep, when Jeph’s cart pulled into the yard early the next morning. The Painted Man watched through the window, swallowing a lump in his throat as four children hopped down from the back of the cart, brothers and sisters he had never known.
    They were followed off the cart by tough old Norine and Ilain. The Painted Man had shined on Ilain when he was young, and she was still beautiful now, but seeing his father help her down from the front seat the way he used to do for his mother gnawed at him. He didn’t blame Ilain for wanting to escape Harl—not anymore, at least—but that made it no easier to see how quickly she had taken his mother’s place.
    He looked up the road, but there was no sign of anyone else following. He opened the door and went out to meet them. The children pulled up short, staring, as he walked over to Jeph.
    “She’s asleep by the fire,” he said.
    Jeph nodded. “Thank you, Messenger.”
    “I’ll hold you to your promise to protect her from any looking to do her harm,” the Painted Man said, pointing a tattooed finger at his father.
    Jeph swallowed, but he nodded. “I will.”
    The Painted Man’s eyes narrowed. Jeph was full of sincere-sounding promises, ones he meant full well, yet when the time came for action he was apt to fail.
    But with no other option, the Painted Man nodded. “I’ll fetch my horse and go.”
    “Wait, please,” Jeph said, catching his arm. The Painted Man looked at the offending hand, and Jeph snatched it quickly away.
    “I just…” He hesitated. “We ’d like it if you stayed for breakfast. Least we can do. Whole town might be at the square come evening, like you said. You can take your ease here, till then.”
    The Painted Man looked at him, wanting to be gone from the place, but a part of him longed to meet his siblings, and his stomach rumbled at the thought of a proper Brook breakfast. Such things had meant little to him when he was a child, but now they were cherished memories.
    “Reckon I can set a spell,” he said, and allowed himself to be escorted back inside as the children ran to their chores and Norine and Ilain headed to the cold room.

    “This here’s Jeph Young,” Jeph said, introducing his oldest son when they were gathered around the breakfast table. The boy nodded at him, but