The Core

by Peter V. Brett

  Stela tamped down as the corie’s body swung her way, eyes hard as she watched its claws. When it swung back in, she shot forward, slapping its branchlike arm aside to step inside its guard. Close in, she delivered a quick combination of punches and elbows, blows flashing with magic. Before it could recover, she push-kicked it back out of reach.

  She skittered back and forth three more times, controlling the battlespace fully as she kept the corie disoriented, hitting it again and again.

  But wood demons were strong, their armor thick. She could cause the demon pain and some temporary hurt, but its magic would heal those quickly unless she brought her endgame. Briar glanced at the knife, still sheathed on her belt.

  She’s charging her wards, he realized. The symbols glowed a little brighter each time she struck, and instead of tiring, Stela seemed to get faster, stronger. She floated in, changing her combinations and skittering away before the demon could land a blow in return. She treated it like the practice dummy Briar’s father had built in their yard to train his sons in sharusahk.

  Patterns began to emerge, telling Briar much about Stela. Her reach, how she moved, the language of her body. Useful to know if he ever needed to fight her.

  Everam, never let it be so, he prayed. Stela grew fiercer with the brightness of her wards. Soon each blow lit the darkness like a bolt of lightning, the thunderous report echoing through the trees.

  It seemed she would beat the woodie to death, but the demon still thrashed when the light and sound drew unwanted attention. Briar watched as a field demon clawed its way up into one of the surrounding trees with a vantage not much different from his own. Its eyes tracked her movements as Briar had, seeking the pattern.

  The corie tamped its haunches. Briar knew well how far fieldies could leap. In one bound it could be on her back.

  As the demon sprang, Briar gave a cry, throwing his shield. The corie looked up at the sound a split second before the shield struck, wards flaring as it knocked the demon away. Stela looked up, too, eyes widening as she saw Briar drop from the tree.

  Stela stepped out of reach of the swinging wood demon. The snared corie took the opportunity to swipe at the rope, but there were tiny wardplates tied along its length, sparking to deflect its talons.

  The knife was in Stela’s hand now, but again she froze in place, wards glowing. The demons blinked at her, eyes unable to focus. After a moment she took three quick, sliding steps to the left. The cories’ eyes searched where she had last been.

  But while Stela was safe, the demons had no trouble seeing Briar, who had foolishly dropped into their midst, meaning to rush to her aid.

  The field demon pounced, and Briar didn’t have time to bring the point of his spear to bear. He gave the corie a good whack with the shaft, knocking it aside as he rolled out of the way.

  The demon leapt again, but stumbled as Stela stomped a foot on its tail. A sweep of her knife severed the appendage, covering Stela in a spurt of black ichor.

  The demon’s ichor sparked and sizzled when it touched the wards running over her skin. Power flickered through the net, and her face turned feral. As the demon whirled on her she kicked it in the face, knocking it aside. “Who in the Core are you?!”

  Briar had no time to answer. He pointed with his spear. “Look out!”

  With a mighty heave, the wood demon had reached high enough to sever the rope. It tumbled down with a crash, even as the field demon shook itself off and began to circle.

  Stela was on the woodie before it could recover, impact wards on her palms flaring with a boom as she boxed its ears. Discombobulated, it could not stop her from quickstepping behind its back. She whipped a string of warded beads around its neck, pulling tight. The demon surged back to its feet, Stela’s feet swinging in open air, but she kept the hold, cord wrapped tight around her fists.

  A growl brought Briar’s attention back to the immediate danger as the field demon stalked in. Briar growled back and the demon hissed at him, eyes wide as Briar spit juice from the hogroot leaf he’d been chewing in its face.

  The fieldie fell back shrieking. Briar raised his spear to finish it off, but he was checked by a cry from behind. The wood demon stumbled back and smashed Stela into a tree, knocking her breathless to the ground.

  The field demon would recover quickly, but Briar turned and ran for the woodie as it raised a talon to slash at the helpless woman. He gave a cry, distracting it just long enough for him to put his spear into its back.

  The wards on the weapon flared and magic rushed into Briar, thrilling him from fingers to toes. The demon lashed out, but already Briar was faster. He sidestepped one blow, raising the shaft of the spear, its tip still embedded in the demon, to bat another aside. Still the magic flowed, draining the corie’s strength even as it made Briar feel invincible. He pulled the spear free then thrust it again, ducking a return blow and stabbing a third time. His face twisted into a snarl and he shouted unintelligible things, reveling in the demon’s pain as its life-force flowed into him.

  Stela’s cry brought him back. She and the field demon rolled in the dirt, locked in fierce combat. Her sides were streaked with blood from its raking talons, and she held its jaws at bay with one hand, warded thumb sizzling in its eye socket, as she punched with the other.

  Briar ducked another swing of the woodie’s arms, coming up fast to thrust under the demon’s chin and up into its brain. It jerked and thrashed, pulling the spear from his grasp as it fell to the ground, dead.

  Briar whirled to help Stela, but she had rolled atop the demon now, accepting its raking claws as she stabbed repeatedly with her warded dagger. Soon the corie lay still.

  Briar rushed to her side, examining her wounds.

  He met her eyes. “Cut up bad.”

  Stela shook her head, putting a hand under her. “Just scratches. Magic’ll close them up.” She made it halfway to her feet, then hissed in pain, stumbling.

  Briar slid under her arm, catching her.

  She turned to face him. “You’re the Mudboy, ent you? The one that guided the count to Docktown.” She spat on the ground, and Briar wasn’t sure if it was meant for him or Docktown, the place now synonymous with failure and loss.

  “Briar,” he growled. “Don’t like Mudboy.”

  Stela wheezed a chuckle. “Ay, don’t bite my head off, I didn’t know. We all get saddled with nicknames we hate. If I snapped at everyone called me Stelly, my brothers and sisters would only do it more.”

  “Ay.” Briar’s siblings had been no different.

  “Know a place we can rest a bit, Briar?” Stela asked.

  Briar nodded. With Stela hunting so close, he was going to have to abandon his Briarpatch in any event. No harm taking her there now. “Safe place. Ent far.”

  Stela’s eyes widened as he led her into the hogroot patch. “There’s paths.” She looked back. “You’d never see them from the outside.”

  “Cories won’t come in,” Briar said. “Hogroot makes ’em sick up.”

  “That what you spit in that demon’s face?” Stela asked.

  Briar nodded.

  “No wonder your breath smells like an Herb Gatherer’s farts,” Stela said.

  Briar laughed. It was a good joke.

  “Thought you found my hunting spot,” Stela said. “Guess it was the other way around.”

  Briar shook his head. “Don’t hunt cories. Only bother ’em when they bother me.”

  “You bother pretty well when they do,” Stela noted.

  Briar shrugged, setting her down before disappearing into his hole. He returned with his herb pouch to clean the wounds, but Stela was right. Her superficial scrapes had healed, and the shallower cuts had scabbed over. Only a few needed stitches. When it was done, he ground a hogroot paste to spread on the wounds.

  “Night!” Stela barked. “That stings!”

  “Better’n demon fever,” Briar said. “Long night, even if you fight it off.”

  Stela grit her teeth, allowing him to continu
e. “Must be lonely by yourself. No Pack to hunt with and keep you warm at night.”

  “Got family,” Briar said.

  Stela looked about dubiously. “Here?”

  “In town,” Briar said.

  “Then why ent you with them?” Stela asked.

  “Don’t like walls.”

  “Arlen Bales said they make folk forget what’s out in the night,” Stela agreed.

  “Can’t forget,” Briar said. “Never forget.”

  “I’ve got family behind walls, too,” Stela said. “Love ’em, but they ent Pack. Maybe after I rest a bit, you’ll come meet them.”

  “They’re so great, why do you hunt alone?” Briar asked.

  Stela chuckled. “Pack’s like brothers and sisters. Die for ’em, but sometimes they drive you rippin’ crazy.”

  It was more than ten years since Briar lost his family to the night, but he remembered. How his brothers and sisters tormented him. How he hated them. How he would give anything to have them back.

  “Corespawn it!” Stela hissed as she looked down at his stitches. “Just had those inked, and already I need them retouched.” She pushed her loincloth down for a better look at the damage to the tattooed wards, and Briar felt his face heat. He turned away.

  Stela caught his chin, turning his face back to hers. She was grinning like she knew a secret. “Got anything to eat? Killing demons always makes me hungry.” She winked. “Among other things.”

  Briar broke off some hogroot leaves, offering them to her.

  Stela’s eyes rolled. “Please tell me that ent all you got. Din’t even wash it.”

  Briar popped one of the leaves into his mouth. “Good for you. Fills your belly and keeps the cories away.”

  Stela looked doubtful, but she took the leaves. “Mum always said, Only way to kiss a man who eats garlic is to eat some yourself.”

  She bit into one and grimaced. “Tastes like a bog demon’s spunk.”

  Briar laughed. “Ay.”

  “Gets in the nose.” Stela swallowed and popped another leaf into her mouth. “Can’t smell much else.”

  “Get used to it.”

  “Better’n a lot of the Children. Half the Pack ent bathed in a month, and fighting demons works up a stink.” Stela pointed to the uneven sod of Briar’s trapdoor. “That where you sleep?”

  Briar nodded.

  “Big enough for two?” she asked.

  —

  Hogroot stalks crunched as Briar pressed himself against the wall, but however far he backed away, Stela snuggled closer. She faced away, round hips pressing against him. The air in the den was hot despite the night’s chill.

  Not knowing what to do with his arms, he put them around her, hands thrilling at the feel of her skin. She shifted, giving him a noseful of hair. He inhaled reflexively, and the scent of her was overwhelming. He felt movement in his breeches and tried to pull back, lest she notice.

  But Stela gave a sound that was part chuckle, part growl, grinding her bottom into it. Briar groaned, and she rolled suddenly to face him.

  “You don’t hunt,” she said, reaching down between his legs and squeezing, “but killin’ demons gets you stiff as any man.”

  She pushed him onto his back and Briar froze, not knowing what to do. If there had been room he would have fled into the night, but the den was cramped, and she had him pinned. He did nothing as she pulled the ties on his breeches and set him free. Before he realized what was happening, she raised her hips and took him in hand, sitting down hard.

  He gasped, grabbing her hips, but Stela was in control and it was all he could do to hold on as she began grinding.

  “Ay!” Briar cried, his limbs going rigid.

  Stela kissed him, biting his lip. “Don’t you dare!” she growled. “I ent there yet!”

  Briar squealed as something uncontrollable came over him. He thrashed, bucking and kicking, spurting inside her.

  He expected Stela to be angry, but she gave that laughing growl and pressed down harder as he spasmed. “Ay, I can work with that. Hold on tight.” She gripped his shoulder, putting her full weight on him. She scratched and bit, but it seemed right somehow, and he held her tight as she bucked against him.

  They lay panting and clutching at each other, the air thick and stifling. Stela wriggled, feeling him still inside her, still hard.

  She kissed him. “Creator be praised. Ent done by a long sight. Put me on my back.”

  Briar swallowed. “I…I don’t…”

  Stela laughed and grabbed him, locking him with her legs and rolling until he was atop her.

  “Relax.” She kissed him again. “Take your time. Both got a good dose of magic in that scrap. Gonna be hard and wet all night. Might as well make the most of it.”

  —

  It was some time before they finally began to drift off. Stela clutched Briar’s arm, keeping it around her like a blanket as she snored. They lay curled together, skin melded by sweat, and Briar felt something he had all but forgotten.

  Safe.

  He remembered sleeping in his parents’ bed, six years old, nestled warm between them. The night he had woken and thought there was a coreling in the house. The night he stoked up the fire to drive the shadows away, forgetting to open the flue.

  The night his family burned.

  Briar remembered the black silhouette of their cottage, outlined in bright orange. The billowing, choking smoke that filled the air as he cowered in the hogroot patch.

  Demons flitted about in the firelight, waiting for the wards to fail. The Damaj family was already screaming when they broke in the door.

  Briar jerked awake, thumping his head against the ceiling of his den.

  “Whazzat?” Stela moaned, but Briar couldn’t breathe. The walls were closing in on him. He had to get out. Get out or die.

  He pulled away while Stela was still confused, grabbing at his clothes as he scrambled out the trap.

  Outside, he could breathe again. He filled great lungfuls with the cold night air, but it never seemed to be enough. His chest constricted, muscles knotting. He paced around, swinging his arms about to reassure himself there were no walls around him.

  His senses were on fire, taking in every sight, every sound. The breeze on the leaves and stalks. The quiet rustle of nocturnal life. The distant cries of demons. He was aware of everything, ready to react in an instant to any threat. His fists were bunched, and he almost wished there was a threat just so he could release the tension, building and building until he thought he would tear himself apart.

  He heard the trap open and considered running into the night before Stela found him.

  “Briar?” she called. “You all right?”

  “Ay,” Briar said, though he felt anything but.

  “It’s all sunny,” Stela said. “Don’t need to explain. Know how you feel.”

  Briar put his back to her, peering into the night. “No one knows.”

  “Started to relax, ay?” Stela asked. “Then remembered what happens to folk that relax. Chest got tight. Hard to breathe. Maybe felt like the walls were closing in. Had to get out into the open air, and been pacing like a chained nightwolf.”

  Briar looked at her. “How could you…”

  “Got the flux last year,” Stela said. “Half the town was falling down with it. Folk dropping candles and knocking over lamps. Fires everywhere.”

  “Fire brings the cories,” Briar said. “Watch and wait for the wards to fail.”

  Stela nodded. “Stayed in Grandda’s inn till smoke filled the room, then stumbled out into the night with my little sister and my uncle Keet. Keet was half carryin’ me, and we were slow. Demons would’ve had us…”

  She turned away, breathing hard, and Briar went to her. He reached out, not knowing what to say, and she leaned into him.

  “But my sister stumbled,” Stela went on. “Got her instead.”

  She looked back at him, eyes wet. “Ent just you that hates walls, Briar. Ent just you that wakes with a jum
p and can’t seem to breathe. Arlen Bales talks of it in the New Canon.”

  “New Canon?” Briar asked.

  “Brother Franq’s been talking to everyone ever met Arlen and Renna Bales,” Stela said. “Making copies of their teachings so we don’t ever forget again.”

  She turned in his arms. “Ent alone, Briar. Everyone in the Pack feels it. We’ve all lost someone, all seen up close what the night can do. Makes us different from folk in town, but we’re there for each other. Can be there for you, too, you let us.”

  Briar nodded. He could not imagine wanting anything more.

  —

  Briar knew the way to the Warded Children’s camp, but he let Stela lead, drifting along in her wake. It was still dark and the magic tingled inside him, his senses on fire. He floated along, following her as much by scent as sight.

  Stela. He felt drunk at the thought of her.

  Briar could hear the camp a mile off. By the time they were close, the chatter of it filled the woods. There was a bark ahead, and Briar saw a huge wolfhound leap atop a stone on the path. Moments later a guard appeared.

  All the Hollowers were taller than Briar, but this one towered nearly a foot over him, with biceps the size of Briar’s head. He wore wooden armor—helm, breastplate, gauntlets, and greaves, warded and lacquered. At his waist hung a three-foot spear, demon ichor still smoking against the wards on its broad silver blade.

  “Ay, Stela!” the giant cried. “Nearly dawn! Where in the dark of night you been?”

  Stela laughed, shoving him aside. “Needed a few hours away from your donkey smell, Callen Cutter.” Callen gave the ground, if grudgingly. Briar could see with his night eyes that she was dominant.

  “Who the Core’s this?” Callen slapped a hand at Briar as he followed in Stela’s wake. Briar seized his wrist and pulled, twisting the blow into a throw that flipped the larger man onto the ground. The wolfhound growled, crouching to spring, but Briar met its eyes and growled right back, checking it.