The Painted Man. Peter Brett V.

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      The next few days passed with little event. Silvy still cried at times, but there was work to do, and she never once complained of the additional mouths to feed. Norine took to caring for the animals naturally, and even Marea began to come out of her shell a bit, helping with the sweeping and cooking, working the loom after supper. Soon she was taking turns with Norine in the yard. Both women seemed determined to do their share, though their faces, too, grew pained and wistful whenever there was a lull in the work.

      Arlen’s hands blistered from pulling weeds, and his back and shoulders ached at the end of each day, but he didn’t complain. The only one of his new responsibilities he enjoyed was working on the wardposts. Arlen had always loved warding, mastering the basic defensive symbols before most children began learning at all, and more complex wardnets soon after. Jeph didn’t even check his work anymore. Arlen’s hand was steadier than his father’s. Warding wasn’t the same as attacking a demon with a spear, but it was fighting in its own way.

      Jeph arrived at dusk each day, and Silvy had water from the well waiting for him to wash. Arlen helped Norine and Marea lock up the animals, and then they had supper.

      On the fifth day, a wind kicked up in the late afternoon that sent dust whorls dancing in the yard, and had the barn door banging. Arlen could smell rain coming, and the darkening sky confirmed it. He hoped Jeph saw the signs, too, and came back early, or stayed on in the Cluster. Dark clouds meant an early dusk, and early dusk sometimes meant corelings before full sunset.

      Arlen abandoned the fields and began to help the women herd the spooked animals back into the barn. Silvy was out as well, battening down the cellar doors and making sure the wardposts around the day pens were lashed tight. There was little time to spare when Jeph’s cart came into sight. The sky was darkening quickly, and already there was no direct sun. Corelings could rise at any moment.

      â€˜No time to unhitch the cart,’ Jeph called, cracking the whip to drive Missy faster towards the barn. ‘We’ll do it in the morning. Everyone in the house, now!’ Silvy and the other women complied, heading inside.

      â€˜We can do it if we hurry,’ Arlen yelled over the roar of the wind as he ran after his father. Missy would be in foul spirits for days if she spent the night harnessed.

      Jeph shook his head, ‘It’s too dark already! A night hitched won’t kill her.’

      â€˜Lock me in the barn, then,’ Arlen said. ‘I’ll unhitch her and wait out the storm with the animals.’

      â€˜Do as you’re told, Arlen!’ Jeph shouted. He leapt from the cart and grabbed the boy by the arm, half-dragging him out of the barn.

      The two of them pulled the doors shut and threw the bar as lightning split the sky. The wards painted on the barn doors were illuminated for a moment, a reminder of what was to come. The air was pregnant with the promise of rain.

      They ran for the house, scanning the way before them for the mist that would herald the rising. For the moment, the way was clear. Marea held the door open, and they darted inside, just as the first fat drops of rain stirred the dust of the yard.

      Marea was pulling the door closed when a howl sounded from the yard. Everyone froze.

      â€˜The dog!’ Marea cried, covering her mouth. СКАЧАТЬ