The Core

by Peter V. Brett

  “Bit, at first.” Jeph leaned back. “But without wards for their fishing spears, other folk got…”

  “Stronger,” Arlen supplied. “Killin’ demons does that.”

  Jeph nodded. “Fisherfolk couldn’t push people around after that. Raddock kept tryin’ to hold firm, but folk wanted protection from the militia and voted him down. He’s still Speaker, but ent got the pull he once did.”

  “Don’t approve, what they done,” Norine said. “But Creator my witness, ent a good time to be a Fisher. Militia bullies ’em somethin’ nasty, and takes more’n a fair share o’ fish.”

  “Need to put a stop to that, ’fore it gets worse,” Arlen said.

  “Reckon they got it comin’,” Renna said. Fishing Hole led the mob that staked her out for the demons after her father killed Cobie Fisher.

  “Raddock Lawry’s got it comin’, Ren,” Arlen agreed. “Garrick Fisher, maybe. But they been shown the error of their ways. Ent no good can come from punishin’ the rest of the borough for a couple waterbrains. We’re all on the same side against the demons.”

  Renna looked ready to argue, but she only nodded. “I’ll skate over and talk to Selia about it after cake.”

  “Skate?” Jeph asked.

  “Bit of a…magic trick I picked up in my travels,” Arlen said. “How Ren and I got here.”

  “You misted,” Jeph said. Night, he had almost forgotten. “Rose up like demons, steada comin’ in on that big scary…”

  He trailed off, but Arlen only chuckled. “Ay, Dancer can be intimidatin’ when he’s not kickin’ in a demon’s skull. Faster’n any horse you ever seen, but even that’s a crawl when you can mist down underground and ride the currents.”

  “Currents?” Ilain asked.

  “Magic currents,” Renna said. “Run up from the Core like streams from a pond. Learn how, and you can ride ’em like a paper boat.”

  “Nonsense,” Norine said.

  “Show you later,” Arlen said. His matter-of-fact tone quieted her. No attempt to convince—he spoke of something impossible like it was a new plowshare he’d show off after tea. “That the worst of the Brook’s troubles? Folk pickin’ on the Fishers?”

  Jeph shook his head. “Jeorje.”

  Arlen frowned but kept his peace as Jeni and Jeph Young brought out the tea and cake. Jeorje Watch, Speaker and Tender for Southwatch, had stood as magistrate when the town council decided to put Renna out in the night.

  Arlen held Jeph’s eyes, waiting. When the plates and cups were settled, Jeph Young and Jeni back in their seats, Jeph could hesitate no more. “Southwatch seceded from the Brook once they got the fightin’ wards.”

  Arlen took a spoonful of honey and put it in his tea. “Wern’t much part o’ things to begin with.”

  “I was a girl,” Norine put in, “Watches were as much part o’ the Brook as any borough. But then Jeorje got in a feud with the Town Speaker, Selia’s da, after one o’ his granddaughters got cored in Town Square. Watches stopped comin’ round after that, ’cept once in a while to trade or answer the great horn. No one talks about it, but they say both sides hold a grudge.”

  “How long ago was that?” Arlen asked.

  Norine shrugged. “Fifty years, give or take.”

  “Long time to carry a grudge,” Arlen said.

  “Hard feelings only get heavier with the years,” Jeph said. “Till the weight of it breaks you, and you snap.”

  “What did he do?” Arlen asked, cutting the sweet cake with his fork.

  Jeph forced himself to lean back and take a puff of his pipe. “Annexed Soggy Marsh.”

  Arlen had just taken a bite of cake when his eyes snapped up. “Say again?”

  Jeph pulled on his pipe. “Marshes were always queer folk. Kept to themselves, had their own ways. Din’t like their young’uns coming to Town Square—too many wanted to stay once the mud on their clothes dried off. And they got their own demons in the Marsh. Ent like the ones out here.”

  “Ay,” Arlen nodded. “Swamp demon spit can eat through iron, and they run across branches like coons. Bog demons are slow, but they blend into the trees and got terrifyin’ reach. And that’s not even gettin’ to the ones in the water…”

  Jeph swallowed. “Ay. Well the Marshes were having a harder time than any, clearing their lands of corelings. Lost some folk and turned resentful. That’s when Jeorje made his offer.”

  “What offer?” Arlen’s voice had gone cold.

  “Protection, same as Selia’s militia gives the Fishers,” Jeph said.

  “And in exchange?” Arlen pressed.

  “They convert,” Jeph said. “Accept Jeorje as Tender and Speaker, both. Give him young wives and a weekly tithe.”

  Jeph met Arlen’s eyes. “Thinks he’s the Deliverer.”

  —

  “Corespawn it!” Arlen threw down his fork.

  “Ent no one to blame but yourself,” Norine said. “You put that fool notion in his head and it took.”

  “That was rippin’ sarcasm,” Arlen growled.

  “I know it,” Norine said. “Everyone north o’ the Marsh knows it. But they got different notions in Southwatch.”

  “What if he is?” Jeph Young asked.

  Jeph looked at his son. “Eh?”

  “What if he really is the Deliverer?” Jeph Young asked again.

  “He ent,” Arlen said.

  “He’s a hundred and eleven,” Jeni put in. “But they say he’s got black hair, and leads the fighting. Ent a demon left alive in Southwatch.”

  “Magic can do that,” Arlen said. “Killin’ demons can make old folk young, make you stronger, but that don’t make you the Deliverer.”

  “Selia’s hair has gone yellow at the roots,” Norine said. “And she’s older’n me. Don’t make her the Deliverer.”

  “Creator, I’m feeling it, too,” Jeph said. “Back used to hurt so bad on plow days I couldn’t move. Now I’m pushin’ the corespawned thing without a horse.”

  “You listen to me, Jeph Young,” Arlen said. “As your brother and your elder. Ent no such thing as a Deliverer. That’s work every man and woman’s got to do for themselves. Can’t count on someone to save you from the demons. Learn to save yourself—and others, when you can.”

  Jeph nodded. “Good advice, your brother’s got.”

  “This is goin’ to mean trouble for the Brook, you don’t put a stop to it,” Arlen said. “Corelings ent all brainless. Tend to notice when a leader organizes folk to kill off all the Regulars. Draw attention the Brook ent ready for.”

  “Maybe we can set him straight,” Renna said.

  “Too risky,” Arlen said. “Watches think too much of Jeorje. Liable to backfire, you try and spank him like you did Franq.”

  Jeph felt a growing dread in his stomach. “What kind of attention will it draw?”

  Arlen looked around. “Got paper?”

  Jeph shook his head. “Hogs got it at a premium, these days.”

  Arlen looked at the table, then to Ilain. “Know it ent good manners, but I need to paint on the tablecloth. Wouldn’t ask, it wern’t important.”

  “Ay, that’s all right,” Ilain said, though the cloth had been a gift from Selia when their first child was born. She looked at it sadly as Arlen unrolled his warding kit, selecting a worn brush and a jar of black ink.

  “Mind demons can only rise at new moon,” Arlen said. “Night before, night of, night after.” He painted a large ward on the tablecloth. “Need this ward to keep ’em out or they can rummage through your thoughts and memories like an old drawer.”

  “How does it connect to a circle?” Jeph asked.

  Arlen showed how to link the ward to others, his hand steady as ever. Jeph had taught him personally, and always been proud when his young son’s skill began to exceed even his.

  “Don’t take chances,” Arlen said. “Start watching the calendar, and on new moon nights put the ward on a necklace, band of your hat, even a strip of cloth around your forehead. Kids, to
o.”

  “Demons get smart, when a mind’s around,” Renna said. “Start workin’ together, usin’ weapons an’ tools, throwin’ stones.”

  “Night.” Jeph had to squeeze his legs together to hold his bladder. “What do you do against that?”

  “First step is to banish them from your property.” Arlen began a new warding, this one much larger and more complex than any Jeph had ever seen. “This is a greatward.” He continued drawing as he spoke. “Need to shape your property with it.”

  Jeph gaped. “How’s that?”

  “Fences and walls, mostly,” Arlen said, waving a hand over the jagged edge of the symbol. “House and barn are here.” He sketched little buildings inside the ward. “Lay stone paths for the inner lines, or plant shrubs.” He pointed with the brush handle. “Maybe build a funny-roofed shed over here. You can plant right up to the fence. Closer the better—it’ll strengthen the ward.”

  “Back aches just thinkin’ about it,” Jeph said.

  “Ay, it’s a lot of work,” Arlen agreed. “But not so much when you never have a demon on your land again. Kids can walk the yard after dark. Animals won’t need to go in the barn every night.”

  “How do you make a ward that big without mistakes?” Jeph asked.

  Arlen took a straightstick from his kit and began drawing a measured grid over the ward. “Make a grid outside and match. Build a little tower on the roof, so you can look down on it.”

  Jeph considered the drawing. There were familiar wards contained within, overlaying one another. “Say you’ve tried this elsewhere?”

  Arlen nodded. “Whole towns being built to shape in Angiers. Streets themselves are the lines of protection.”

  Arlen reached out, putting a hand on Jeph’s shoulder. It was a fatherly gesture, something he never expected to get from his own son. “Need you to do this, Da. Need you to do it quick as you can, and show it to others. Call a council meetin’, and give out the mind wards, as well. Could mean the life of every man, woman, and child in the Brook.”

  Jeph laid a hand over his son’s. “Get it done. Swear it by the sun.”

  —

  Selia Barren still felt the tingle in her fingers as the militia rode back into Town Square, heading home after a quiet patrol. The town’s Regulars had long since been killed off, and these nightly patrols did for most of the Wanderers. They only found one demon tonight, and Selia speared it personally.

  The skin on her hands was smoother now, wrinkles all but gone. Even her face had lost its lines, save for a few creases at the eyes and mouth.

  “Ready to call it a night, that’s all right with you, Speaker.” Lucik Boggin fingered his spear wistfully as they approached the road to Boggin’s Hill. Like many of the others, he’d grown to crave the thrill of magic.

  “Ay, go on home and get some rest,” Selia said. “And be thankful for the quiet nights. Creator knows they aren’t all so.”

  “We’ve prayed for three hundred years to have a night so quiet.” Tender Harral didn’t carry a spear, but his crooked staff was carved with impact wards and defenses. A big man, he could hook a demon by the throat, pull it from its feet, and bash its head in. But for all his ferocity, the Tender never seemed taken with ichor lust.

  “Ay, quiet night does us all good.” Lucik turned his horse up the road, followed by Harral and the other men and women from Boggin’s Hill.

  “Be takin’ our leave, too,” Ferd Miller said. “Got to report in.”

  “Can’t keep old Hog waitin’.” Selia dismissed the men with a nod. Rusco Hog seldom rode out with the militia, but he hired men to bolster the ranks in his name.

  “Wonder if they get a cut in pay, they don’t bring back a coreling to hold down for him,” Coline Trigg mused.

  It was a fair question. Hog didn’t fight, but he’d grown as addicted to demon magic as any. It was no secret his men brought him demons to spear, so he could steal a bit of their power. It was dangerous work, but Hog paid well for it.

  “Hog’s shed almost as many gray hairs as I have,” Selia said. “Can’t put a price on that.”

  “Yet somehow, Hog managed to find a way.” The Herb Gatherer’s words were only a little bitter. Coline never fought, still burdened by weight and age even as the new combat wards restored others to their physical prime. Still she rode with the patrol each night, ready with her needles and poultices when one of them was injured.

  “Want us to hold down a coreling for you, mistress?” Lesa Square asked. The girl was barely twenty, but magic had made her strong. Muscles rippled along her bare arms. The hands that held her spear were crisscrossed with tiny scars. But there was a softness about her, too. A roundness in her pretty face that…

  Selia shook her head, turning away before she was caught staring.

  Coline sniffed, turning up her nose. “Ent natural. We’re born, we grow old, we die. That’s the way o’ things. Maybe the Creator wants you fighters stronger—I’m no Tender to guess His plan—but holdin’ a coreling down so I can suck it like a skeeter? Ent for me.”

  “Don’t know what you’re missin’,” Lesa said.

  “Enough of that,” Selia said loudly. “Rest of you head on to your beds. Got work to do under the sun, no matter what the night brings.”

  The remainder of the patrol broke off for home as Selia headed down the road alone. Not long ago such a ride would have been fraught with fear, but Selia was alert, her senses alive with the rush of magic. Her spear was in easy reach, and the wards cut into her horse’s hooves could break demon bones.

  The safety of the town center should have relaxed her, but it served as a reminder that bigger questions loomed. The outer boroughs and farms still had demon problems, not to mention the looming threat of Southwatch and Jeorje.

  For everyone’s sake, her father and the Tender from Southwatch kept the scandal quiet, all those years ago. But Jeorje hadn’t forgotten. He wouldn’t rest until everyone in Tibbet’s Brook was dressed in black clothes buttoned tight, following his strict interpretation of Canon.

  Preferably with me staked out in Town Square.

  She reached her property, crossing the wards and taking her mare to the stall behind her cottage. She lit a lantern and brushed the animal down, giving it water and grain, then headed for the house.

  Lesa stepped from the shadows, grinning like she’d just stolen a cookie. She was quick, grabbing Selia by the back of her neck and pulling her close. Her lips were soft, slick with scented wax. It tasted of honeysuckle and made Selia’s mouth water.

  She pushed Lesa back, drawing a breath she hoped sounded more dignified than a gasp. “Fool girl! What in the Core you think you’re doing?! What if someone saw?”

  “Don’t care.” Lesa reached for her again.

  Selia batted the hands away. “Course you don’t. Ent got a notion what we’re in for, word gets out.”

  Lesa’s smile didn’t waver. “Circled the block before I came. Mam won’t know if I take an extra hour. I could come inside…”

  She moved in close again, and Selia felt her heart thudding in her chest. Vitality thrummed in her, her senses alive. She could smell Lesa’s sweat, the scent of her arousal. She felt her own as well, slick between the legs like she hadn’t been in thirty years.

  “Can’t keep takin’ you to bed,” Selia said. “Night, girl, I’ve fifty summers on you!”

  Lesa shrugged, putting hands around Selia’s waist and pushing her against the wall of the stall. “Can do it here, you prefer. No one’ll see.” She reached down, tugging at Selia’s skirt.

  In a moment, she would squat down, and Selia, corespawn her, wouldn’t stop her. She glanced at the house, and Lesa’s nose crinkled in victory. But then Selia’s sharp eyes caught a movement in the shadows. She stiffened, pushing Lesa back as she searched in the dim light for the source of the movement.

  Lesa was immediately on guard, hand dropping to the warded knife at her belt. “What is it? Coreling?”

  Selia shook her head. “J
umpin’ at shadows. Run on home now.”

  “But…!” Lesa whined. The tone was a reminder of her youth, and only hardened Selia’s revolve.

  “Another time,” Selia said. “Scoot!”

  Lesa’s shoulders slumped, but she left. Selia waited till she was gone, then turned to the shadowed porch and crossed her arms. “Might as well come on out.”

  She didn’t recognize the young woman at first, seeing only the bare arms, legs, and midsection, covered with painted wards. Her hair was roughly cropped from her face, with a long braid in back. She had the look of the Messenger—not just the warded flesh, but the predatory look in her eyes. From there, it took only a moment to guess.

  “Renna Tanner, come back to Tibbet’s Brook,” she said.

  Renna stepped further into the lamplight. “Ent a Tanner no more. Got married.”

  “Congratulations,” Selia said. “The Messenger, I take it?”

  Renna nodded. “Renna Bales, now. Folk used to call you Selia Barren, but tonight’s got me wonderin’ they got it wrong. Maybe you ent barren after all.”

  Selia put her hands on her hips, foot tapping. “Gonna tell folk?”

  “Ent my business who kisses who,” Renna said. “Sure as sunrise ent the business of the town. I should know.”

  “Thank you,” Selia said.

  “Don’t owe me thanks,” Renna said. “Other way ’round. Night take me ’fore I turn on you, Speaker. Wern’t in my right head, but I remember what you did for me. Stood by me when my own kith an’ kin din’t have the stones.”

  Selia’s throat tightened. “I failed you.”

  Renna moved close, and Selia saw again how pretty she was. The wards and cropped hair gave her a fierce look not unlike Lesa’s.

  “Din’t,” Renna said. “Gave me time to pull my head back together. Time for Arlen to come and fetch me.”

  Selia started, all thoughts of Renna’s beauty forgotten. “Arlen? Arlen Bales? Are you tellin’ me that rippin’ Messenger who turned the Brook on its ear is Jeph Bales’ boy?”

  “Ay,” Renna said. “And that ent all, by a long sight.”

  Selia sighed. “Come inside, girl. I’ll put the kettle on.”