The Demon Cycle Series Books 1 and 2. Peter V. Brett
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them. She didn’t know what she would do if she lost Gared.
‘I feared you dead,’ she moaned, sobbing into his chest.
‘I’m safe,’ he whispered, hugging her tightly. ‘I’m safe.’
Quickly, the two began unloading the cart, filling buckets to start the line as others arrived. Soon, more than a hundred villagers were in a neat row stretching from the stream to the blaze, passing up full buckets and handing back empty ones. Gared was called back to the fire with the cart, his strong arms needed to throw water.
It wasn’t long before the cart returned, this time pulled by Tender Michel and laden with wounded. The sight brought mixed feelings. Seeing fellow villagers, friends all, burned and savaged cut her deeply, but a breach that left survivors was rare, and each one was a gift she thanked the Creator for.
The Holy Man and his acolyte, Child Jona, laid the injured out by the stream. Michel left the young man to comfort them while he brought the cart back for more.
Leesha turned from the sight, focusing on filling buckets. Her feet went numb in the cold water and her arms grew leaden, but she lost herself in the work until a whisper got her attention.
‘Hag Bruna is coming,’ someone said, and Leesha’s head snapped up. Sure enough, the ancient Herb Gatherer was coming down the path, led by her apprentice, Darsy.
No one knew for sure how old Bruna was. It was said she was old when the village elders were young. She had delivered most of them herself. She had outlived her husband, children, and grandchildren, and had no family left in the world.
Now, she was little more than a wrinkle of translucent skin stretched over sharp bone. Half-blind, she could walk only at a slow shuffle, but Bruna could still shout to be heard from the far end of the village, and she swung her gnarled walking stick with surprising strength and accuracy when her ire was roused.
Leesha, like almost everyone in the village, was terrified of her.
Bruna’s apprentice was a homely woman of twenty summers, thick of limb and wide of face. After Bruna outlived her last apprentice, a number of young girls had been sent to her for training. After a constant stream of abuse from the old woman, all but Darsy had been driven off.
‘She’s ugly as a bull and just as strong,’ Elona once said of Darsy, cackling. ‘What does she have to fear from that sour hag? It’s not as if Bruna will drive the suitors from her door.’
Bruna knelt beside the injured, inspecting them with firm hands as Darsy unrolled a heavy cloth covered in pockets, each marked with symbols and holding a tool, vial, or pouch. Injured villagers moaned or cried out as she worked, but Bruna paid them no mind, pinching wounds and sniffing her fingers, working as much from touch and smell as sight. Without looking, Bruna’s hands darted to the pockets of the cloth, mixing herbs with a mortar and pestle.
Darsy began laying a small fire, and looked up to where Leesha stood staring from the stream. ‘Leesha! Bring water, and be quick about it!’ she barked.
As Leesha hurried to comply, Bruna pulled up, sniffing the herbs she was grinding.
‘Idiot girl!’ Bruna shrieked. Leesha jumped, thinking she meant her, but Bruna hurled the mortar and pestle at Darsy, hitting her hard in the shoulder and covering her in ground herbs.
Bruna fumbled through her cloth, snatching the contents of each pocket and sniffing at them like an animal.
‘You put stinkweed where the hogroot should be, and mixed all the skyflower with tampweed!’ The old crone lifted her gnarled staff and struck Darsy across the shoulders. ‘Are you trying to kill these people, or are you still too stupid to read?’
Leesha had seen her mother in such a state before, and if Elona was as frightening as a coreling, Hag Bruna was the mother of all demons. She began to edge away from the two, fearing to draw attention to herself.
‘I won’t take this abuse forever, you evil old hag!’ Darsy screamed.
‘Be off, then!’ Bruna said. ‘I’d sooner mar every ward in this town than leave you my herb pouch when I pass! The people would be no worse off!’
Darsy laughed. ‘Be off?’ she asked. ‘Who’ll carry your bottles and tripods, old woman? Who’ll lay your fire, fix your meals, and wipe the spit from your face when the cough takes you? Who’ll cart your old bones around when chill and damp sap your strength? You need me more than I need you!’
Bruna swung her staff, and Darsy wisely scurried out of the way, tripping over Leesha, who had been doing her best to remain invisible. Both of them tumbled to the ground.
Bruna used the opportunity to swing her staff again. Leesha rolled through the dust to avoid the blows, but Bruna’s aim was true. Darsy cried out in pain, covering her head with her arms.
‘Off with you!’ Bruna shouted again. ‘I have sick to tend!’
Darsy growled and got to her feet. Leesha feared she might strike the old woman, but instead she ran off. Bruna let fly a stream of curses at Darsy’s back.
Leesha held her breath and kept to her knees, inching away. Just as she thought she might escape, Bruna took notice of her.
‘You, Elona’s brat!’ she shouted, pointing her gnarled stick at Leesha. ‘Finish laying the fire and set my tripod over it!’
Bruna turned back to the wounded, and Leesha had no choice but to do as she was told.
Over the next few hours, Bruna barked an endless stream of orders at the girl, cursing her slowness, as Leesha scurried to do her bidding. She fetched and boiled water, ground herbs, brewed tinctures, and mixed balms. It seemed she never got more than halfway though a task before the ancient Herb Gatherer ordered her on to the next, and she was forced to work faster and faster to comply. Fresh wounded streamed in from the fires with deep burns and broken bones from collapses. She feared half the village was aflame.
Bruna brewed teas to numb pain for some and drug others into a dreamless sleep as she cut them with sharp instruments. She worked tirelessly: stitching, poulticing, and bandaging.
It was late afternoon when Leesha realized that not only were there no more injuries to tend, but the bucket line was gone, as well. She was alone with Bruna and the wounded, the most alert of whom stared off dazedly into space thanks to Bruna’s herbs.
A wave of suppressed weariness fell over her, and Leesha fell to her knees, sucking in a deep breath. Every inch of her ached, but with the pain came a powerful sense of satisfaction. There were some that might not have lived, but now would, thanks in part to her efforts.
But the real hero, she admitted to herself, was Bruna. It occurred to her that the woman had not ordered her to do anything for several minutes. She looked over, and saw Bruna collapsed on the ground, gasping.
‘Help! Help!’ Leesha cried. ‘Bruna’s sick!’ New strength came to her, and she flew to the woman, lifting her up into a sitting position. Hag Bruna was shockingly light, and Leesha could feel little more than bone beneath her thick shawls and wool skirts.
Bruna was twitching, and a thin trail of spit ran from her mouth, caught in the endless grooves of her wrinkled skin. Her eyes, dark behind a milky film, stared wildly at her hands, which would not stop shaking.
Leesha looked around frantically, but there was no one nearby to help. Still holding Bruna upright, she grabbed at one of the woman’s spasming hands, rubbing the cramped muscles. ‘Oh, Bruna!’ she pleaded. ‘What do I do? Please! I don’t know how to help you! You must tell me what to do!’ Helplessness cut at Leesha, and she began to cry.
Bruna’s hand jerked from her grasp, and Leesha cried out, fearing a fresh set of spasms. But her ministrations had given the old Herb Gatherer the control to reach into her shawl, pulling free a pouch that she thrust Leesha’s way. A series of coughs wracked her frail body, and she was torn from Leesha’s arms and hit the ground, flopping like a fish