The Desert Spear

Harl spat.

“Want to apologize for my boy’s behavior,” Garric said. “Cobie’s fond o’ tellin’ me he’s a grown man and can handle his own affairs, but grown is as grown does, I say. Wern’t right, what he done.”

“That’s undersaid,” Harl grunted, and spat again.

“Well, you ought to know that after you sent him runnin’ home with his tail between his legs, I caught wind and stepped in. I promise you, it won’t happen again.”

“Glad to hear it,” Harl said. “I were you, I’d beat some sense into that boy.”

Garric scowled. “I were you, I’d tell my daughter to keep her skirts around her ankles, steada puttin’ sin in the mind of every man passes by.”

“Oh, I had my words with her,” Harl assured. “She won’t be sinnin’ no more. I put the fear o’ the Creator in her, honest word.”

“Been more’n words, it was one of my girls,” Garric said. “I’da caned her backside raw.”

“You discipline your way, Fisher,” Harl said, “and I’ll do mine.”

Garric nodded. “Fair and true.” He drew on his pipe. “That sophearted Tender woulda married them, they made it to Boggin’s Hill afore you caught ’em,” he warned.

Renna gasped, and her heart skipped a beat. She covered her mouth in fright, holding her breath for a long moment until she was sure they hadn’t heard her.

“Harral’s always been too soft,” Harl said. “A Tender needs to punish wickedness, not condone it.”

Garric grunted his assent. “Girl ent been sick none?” He made it sound casual, but Renna could tell it was anything but.

Harl shook his head. “Still got her moon blood.”

Garric blew out a breath, clearly relieved, and suddenly Renna realized why he’d waited so long to come. Her hand strayed to her stomach, and she wished her womb had quickened, but she’d only had Cobie’s seed once, and Harl was always careful not to spend in her.

“No disrespect,” Garric said, “but my laze about son’s got prospects for the first time in his life, and Nomi and I aim to find him a proper bride, not some scandal.”

“Yer son ent got no prospects at all, he puts his hands on my daughter again,” Harl said.

Garric scowled, but he nodded. “Can’t say I’d think any different, it was one o’ my girls,” He tapped out his pipe. “Reckon we understand each other.”

“Reckon we do,” Harl said. “Girl! Where’s that leaf?”

Renna jumped, having forgotten all about the pouch. She ran to the smokeleaf barrel and filled a sheepskin pouch. “Coming!”

Harl scowled at her when she returned, and gave her a slap on the rump for being slow. He gave the pouch to Garric, and they watched him climb into his cart and trundle off.

“Do you think it’s true, Mrs. Scratch?” Renna asked the mother cat as she nursed her kits that night. They scrambled over one another in a great pile, fighting for the teats as Mrs. Scratch lay out behind the broken wheelbarrow in the barn where she’d hidden her litter. Renna called her Mrs. Scratch now, like a proper mam, though as expected the tabby that got the kits on her had made scarce since the birth.

“Do you think the Tender would really marry us if we went to him?” she asked. “Cobie said it was so, and Garric, too. Oh, could you imagine?” Renna picked up one of the kits, kissing its head as it mewed softly at her.

“Renna Messenger,” she said, trying on the name and smiling. It sounded good. It sounded right.

“I could make it to Town Square,” she said. “It’s a long way, but I could run it in four hours or so. If I went late in the day, Da could never make it out in time, not with his aching joints.” She glanced over at the cart.

“’Specially not if he can’t ride,” she added slyly.

“But what if Cobie’s away when I come?” she asked. “Or if he doesn’t want me anymore?” As she pondered that awful thought, the prodigal tabby returned, a fat mouse in its teeth. It laid the catch by Mrs. Scratch, and Renna thought it was a sign from the Creator himself.

She waited for days, in case her father suspected she’d overheard Garric. She went through the plan over and over in her mind, knowing this would be her last chance to escape. If he caught her and threw her back in the outhouse, she doubted she’d survive, much less dare to run again.

Her father came for lunch past noon each day, and took his time at eating before going back out into the fields. If she ran then, she could make it to Town Square with two hours of daylight left. Harl wouldn’t notice she was gone in time to follow before the corelings rose, and would have to wait till morning, or at least stop for succor along the way.

If Cobie was in the Square, that left them the rest of the day to go up Boggin’s Hill and see the Tender. If not, she would run on up the road to Jeph’s farm. She’d never been there herself, but Lucik had, and said it was two hours’ walk up the north road from the Square. She should be able to run it in plenty of time, and Ilain would hide her if Harl came looking. She knew she would.

When the day finally came, she was careful not to do anything out of the ordinary. She made her rounds and did her chores exactly as she had every day in the last week, careful to keep the pattern.

Harl came out of the fields for lunch, and she had stew ready. “Stay for seconds?” she asked her father, trying to appear unhurried. “Want to finish out the pot, so’s I can scrub it and start fresh for supper.”

“Ent gonna turn down another bowl o’ yer stew, Ren,” Harl said with a grin. “Shoulda had you at the pot all these years steada Beni.” He pinched her behind as she bent to fill his bowl. Renna wanted to dump the boiling stew in his lap, but she swallowed the urge and forced a giggle, giving him the stew with a smile.

“Nice to see a smile on you, girl,” Harl said. “You’ve had a sour puss since yer sister and the young’uns left.”

“Guess I’ve gotten used to things,” Renna managed, returning to her seat and having a second helping herself, though eating was the last thing she wanted to do.

She waited a count of a hundred after Harl left the table, then got up swiftly and went to the cutting board where she had piled vegetables for a stew she never meant to make. She took the knife and went out to the barn.

The only draft animals they had were the two mollies. Renna looked at them sadly, having cared for them ever since Harl brought the two foals home from Mack Pasture’s farm.

Could she really do this? Harl’s farm was the only world she knew. The few times she had been to Town Square or Boggin’s Hill, she had felt suffocated by all the people, unable to understand how anyone could keep their head in such a crowd. Would they accept her? Did she really have a reputation as a whore? Would men try and force themselves on her, thinking her witless and willing?

Her heart pounded so loud it was deafening, but she drew a deep breath and steadied herself until the knife in her hand stopped shaking, and she raised it determinedly.

She cut all the saddle girths, and the harnesses to the cart, and the bridles and reins. She hammered the pin out of one of the wheels on the wagon and kicked it free, splitting the wheel with a stone axe.