The Warded Man

will think on this a while before I reply,” she said at last. “Go to your rounds in town, girl. We’ll speak on this when you return.” To Marick, she said, “You’ll have a response tomorrow. Leesha will see to your payment.”
    The Messenger bowed and backed out of the house as Bruna sat back and closed her eyes. Leesha could feel her heart racing, but she knew better than to interrupt the crone as she sifted through the many decades of her memory for a way to treat the boy. She collected her basket, and left to make her rounds.
    Marick was waiting for her when Leesha came outside.
    “You knew what was in that letter all along,” Leesha accused.
    “Of course,” Marick agreed. “I was there when she penned it.”
    “But you said nothing,” Leesha said.
    Marick grinned. “I offered you a high-necked dress,” he said, “and that offer still stands.”
    “We’ll see.” Leesha smiled, holding out a pouch of coins. “Your payment,” she said.
    “I’d rather you pay me with a kiss,” he said.
    “You flatter me, to say my kisses are worth more than gold,” Leesha replied. “I fear to disappoint.”
    Marick laughed. “My dear, if I braved the demons of the night all the way from Angiers and back and returned with but a kiss from you, I would be the envy of every Messenger ever to pass through Cutter’s Hollow.”
    “Well, in that case,” Leesha said with a laugh, “I think I’ll keep my kisses a little longer, in hopes of a better price.”
    “You cut me to the quick,” Marick said, clutching his heart. Leesha tossed him the pouch, and he caught it deftly.
    “May I at least have the honor of escorting the Herb Gatherer into town?” he asked with a smile. He made a leg and held out his arm for her to take. Leesha smiled in spite of herself.
    “We don’t do things so quickly in the Hollow,” she said, eyeing the arm, “but you may carry my basket.” She hooked it on his outstretched arm and headed toward town, leaving him staring after her.
    Smitt’s market was bustling by the time they reached town. Leesha liked to select early, before the best produce was gone, and place her order with Dug the butcher before making her rounds.
    “Good morn, Leesha,” said Yon Gray, the oldest man in Cutter’s Hollow. His gray beard, a point of pride, was longer than most women’s hair. Once a burly cutter, Yon had lost most of his bulk in his latter years, and now leaned heavily on his cane.
    “Good morn, Yon,” she replied. “How are the joints?”
    “Pain me still,” Yon replied. “’Specially the hands. Can barely hold my cane some days.”
    “Yet you find it in you to pinch me whenever I turn ’round,” Leesha noted.
    Yon cackled. “To an old man like me, girlie, that’s worth any pain.”
    Leesha reached into her basket, pulling forth a small jar. “It’swell that I made you more sweetsalve, then,” she said. “You’ve saved me the need to bring it by.”
    Yon grinned. “You’re always welcome to come by and help apply,” he said with a wink.
    Leesha tried not to laugh, but it was a futile effort. Yon was a lecher, but she liked him well enough. Living with Bruna had taught her that the eccentricities of age were a small price to pay for having a lifetime of experience to draw upon.
    “You’ll just have to manage yourself, I’m afraid,” she said.
    “Bah!” Yon waved his cane in mock irritation. “Well, you think on it,” he said. He looked to Marick before taking his leave, giving a nod of respect. “Messenger.”
    Marick nodded back, and the old man moved off.
    Everyone at the market had a kind word of greeting for Leesha, and she stopped to ask after the health of each, always working, even while shopping.
    Though she and Bruna had plenty of money from selling flamesticks and the like, no one would take so much as a klat in return for her selections. Bruna asked no money for healing, and no one asked money of her for anything else.
    Marick stood protectively close as she squeezed fruit and vegetables with a practiced hand. He drew stares, but Leesha thought it was as much because he was with her than it was the presence of a stranger at market. Messengers were common enough in Cutter’s Hollow.
    She caught the eye of Keet—Stefny’s son, if not Smitt’s. The boy was nearly eleven, and looked more and more like Tender Michel with each passing day. Stefny had kept her side of the bargain over the years, and not spoken ill of Leesha since she was