Help! Help! Arlen screamed. He leapt from the moving cart, hitting the ground hard, but he bounced to his feet, darting towards Cholie. He got up under the man, but one of Cholies thrashing feet kicked him in the mouth, knocking him down. He tasted blood, but strangely there was no pain. He came up again, grabbing Cholies legs and trying to lift him up to loosen the rope, but he was too short, and Cholie too heavy besides, and the man continued to gag and jerk.
Help him! Arlen cried to Ragen. Hes choking! Somebody help!
He looked up to see Ragen pull a spear from the back of the cart. The Messenger drew back and threw with hardly a moment to aim, but his aim was true, severing the rope and collapsing poor Cholie onto Arlen. They both fell to the ground.
Ragen was there in an instant, pulling the rope from Cholies throat. It didnt seem to make much difference, the man still gagged and clawed at his throat. His eyes bulged so far it looked as if they would pop right out of his head, and his face was so red it looked purple. Arlen screamed as he gave a tremendous thrash, and then lay still.
Ragen beat Cholies chest and breathed huge gulps of air into him, but it had no effect. Eventually, the Messenger gave up, slumping in the dust and cursing.
Arlen was no stranger to death. That spectre was a frequent visitor to Tibbets Brook. But it was one thing to die from the corelings or from a chill. This was different.
Why? he asked Ragen. Why would he fight so hard to survive last night, only to kill himself now?
Did he fight? Ragen asked. Did any of them really fight? Or did they run and hide?
I dont Arlen began.
Hiding isnt always enough, Arlen, Ragen said. Sometimes, hiding kills something inside of you, so that even if you survive the demons, you dont really.
What else could he have done? Arlen asked. You cant fight a demon.
Id sooner fight a bear in its own cave, Ragen said, but it can be done.
But you said the Krasians were dying because of it, Arlen protested.
They are, Ragen said. But they follow their hearts. I know it sounds like madness, Arlen, but deep down, men want to fight, like they did in tales of old. They want to protect their women and children as men should. But they cant, because the great wards are lost, so they knot themselves like caged hares, hiding terrified through the night. But sometimes, especially when you see loved ones die, the tension breaks you and you just snap.
He put a hand on Arlens shoulder. Im sorry you had to see this, boy, he said. I know it doesnt make a lot of sense right now
No, Arlen said, it does.
And it was true, Arlen realized. He understood the need to fight. He had not expected to win when he attacked Cobie and his friends that day. If anything, he had expected to be beaten worse than ever. But in that instant when he grabbed the stick, he hadnt cared. He only knew he was tired of just taking their abuse, and wanted it to end, one way or another.
It was comforting to know he wasnt alone.
Arlen looked at his uncle, lying in the dust, his eyes wide with fear. He knelt and reached out, brushing his eyes closed with his fingertips. Cholie had nothing to fear any longer.
Have you ever killed a coreling? he asked the Messenger.
No, Ragen said, shaking his head. But Ive fought a few. Got the scars to prove it. But I was always more interested in getting away, or keeping them away from someone else, than I was in killing any.
Arlen thought about that as they wrapped Cholie in a tarp and put him in the back of the wagon, hurrying back to the Cluster. Jeph and Silvy had already packed the cart and were waiting impatiently to leave, but the sight of the body defused their anger at Arlens late return.
Silvy wailed and threw herself on her brother, but there was no time to waste, if they were to make it back to the farm by nightfall. Jeph had to hold her back as Tender Harral painted a ward on the tarp and led a prayer as he tossed Cholie into the pyre.
The survivors who werent staying in Brine Cutters house were divided up and taken home with the others. Jeph and Silvy had offered succour to two women. Norine Cutter was over fifty summers old. Her husband had died some years back, and she had lost her daughter and grandson in the attack. Marea Bales was old, too; almost forty. Her husband had been left outside when the others drew lots for the cellar. Like Silvy, both slumped in the back of Jephs cart, staring at their knees. Arlen waved goodbye to Ragen as his father cracked the whip.
The Cluster by the Woods was drawing out of sight when Arlen realized he hadnt told anyone to come see the Jongleur.