Читать книгу The Demon Cycle Books 1-3 and Novellas: The Painted Man, The Desert Spear, The Daylight War plus The Great Bazaar and Brayan’s Gold and Messenger’s Legacy - Peter V. Brett - Страница 14

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They had just enough time to stow the cart and check the wards before the corelings came. Silvy had little energy for cooking, so they ate a cold meal of bread, cheese, and sausage, chewing with little enthusiasm. The demons came soon after sunset to test the wards, and every time the magic flared to throw them back, Norine cried out. Marea never touched her food. She sat on her pallet with her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, rocking back and forth and whimpering whenever the magic flared. Silvy cleared the plates, but she never returned from the kitchen, and Arlen could hear her crying.

Arlen tried to go to her, but Jeph caught his arm. ‘Come talk with me, Arlen,’ he said.

They went into the small room that housed Arlen’s pallet, his collection of smooth rocks from the brook, and all his feathers and bones. Jeph selected one of these, a brightly coloured feather about ten inches long, and fingered it as he spoke, not looking Arlen in the eye.

Arlen knew the signs. When his father wouldn’t look at him, it meant he was uncomfortable with whatever he wanted to talk about.

‘What you saw on the road with the Messenger—’ Jeph began.

‘Ragen explained it to me,’ Arlen said. ‘Uncle Cholie was dead already, he just didn’t know it right away. Sometimes people live through an attack, but die anyway.’

Jeph frowned. ‘Not how I would have put it,’ he said. ‘But true enough, I suppose. Cholie …’

‘Was a coward,’ Arlen finished.

Jeph looked at him in surprise. ‘What makes you say that?’ he asked.

‘He hid in the cellar because he was scared to die, and then killed himself because he was scared to live,’ Arlen said. ‘Better if he had just picked up an axe and died fighting.’

‘I don’t want to hear that kind of talk,’ Jeph said. ‘You can’t fight demons, Arlen. No one can. There’s nothing to be gained by getting yourself killed.’

Arlen shook his head. ‘They’re like bullies,’ he said. ‘They attack us because we’re too scared to fight back. I hit Cobie and the others with that stick, and they didn’t bother me again.’

‘Cobie ent a rock demon,’ Jeph said. ‘No stick is going to scare those off.’

‘There’s got to be a way,’ Arlen said. ‘People used to do it. All the old stories say so.’

‘The stories say there were magic wards to fight with,’ Jeph said. ‘The fighting wards are lost.’

‘Ragen says they still fight demons in some places. He says it can be done.’

‘I’m going to have a talk with that Messenger,’ Jeph grumbled. ‘He shouldn’t be filling your head with such thoughts.’

‘Why not?’ Arlen said. ‘Maybe more people would have survived last night, if all the men had gotten axes and spears …’

‘They would be just as dead,’ Jeph finished. ‘There’s other ways to protect yourself and your family, Arlen. Wisdom. Prudence. Humility. It’s not brave to fight a battle you can’t win.

‘Who would care for the women and the children if all the men got themselves cored trying to kill what can’t be killed?’ he went on. ‘Who would chop the wood and build the homes? Who would hunt and herd and plant and slaughter? Who would seed the women with children? If all the men die, the corelings win.’

‘The corelings are already winning,’ Arlen muttered. ‘You keep saying the town gets smaller each year. Bullies keep coming when you don’t fight back.’

He looked up at his father. ‘Don’t you feel it? Don’t you want to fight sometimes?’

‘Of course I do, Arlen,’ Jeph said. ‘But not for no reason. When it matters, when it really matters, all men are willing to fight. Animals run when they can, and fight when they must, and people are no different. But that spirit should only come out when needed.

‘But if it was you out there with the corelings,’ he said, ‘or your mam, I swear I would fight like mad before I let them get near you. Do you understand the difference?’

Arlen nodded. ‘I think so.’

‘Good man,’ Jeph said, squeezing his shoulder.

Arlen’s dreams that night were filled with images of hills that touched the sky, and ponds so big you could put a whole town on the surface. He saw yellow sand stretching as far as his eyes could see, and a walled fortress hidden in the trees.

But he saw it all between a pair of legs that swayed lazily before his eyes. He looked up, and saw his own face turning purple in the noose.

He woke with a start, his pallet damp with sweat. It was still dark, but there was a faint lightening on the horizon, where the indigo sky held a touch of red. He lit a candle stub and pulled on his overalls, stumbling out to the common room. He found a crust to chew on as he took out the egg basket and milk jugs, putting them by the door.

‘You’re up early,’ said a voice behind him. He turned, startled, to find Norine staring at him. Marea was still on her pallet, though she tossed in her sleep.

‘The days don’t get any longer while you sleep,’ Arlen said.

Norine nodded. ‘So my husband used to say,’ she agreed. ‘“Baleses and Cutters can’t work by candlelight, like the Squares,” he’d say.’

‘I have a lot to do,’ Arlen said, peeking through the shutter to see how long he had before he could cross the wards. ‘The Jongleur is supposed to perform at high sun.’

‘Of course,’ Norine agreed. ‘When I was your age, the Jongleur was the most important thing in the world to me, too. I’ll help you with your chores.’

‘You don’t have to do that,’ Arlen said. ‘Da says you should rest.’

Norine shook her head. ‘Rest just makes me think of things best left unthought,’ she said. ‘If I’m to stay with you, I should earn my keep. After chopping wood in the Cluster, how hard could it be to slop pigs and plant corn?’

Arlen shrugged, and handed her the egg basket.

With Norine’s help, the chores went by fast. She was a quick learner, and no stranger to hard work and heavy lifting. By the time the smell of eggs and bacon wafted from the house, the animals were all fed, the eggs collected, and the cows milked.

‘Stop squirming on the bench,’ Silvy told Arlen as they ate.

‘Young Arlen can’t wait to go see the Jongleur,’ Norine advised.

‘Maybe tomorrow,’ Jeph said, and Arlen’s face fell.

‘What!’ Arlen cried. ‘But—’

‘No buts,’ Jeph said. ‘A lot of work went undone yesterday, and I promised Selia I’d drop by the Cluster in the afternoon to help out.’

Arlen pushed his plate away and stomped into his room.

‘Let the boy go,’ Norine said when he was gone. ‘Marea and I will help out here.’ Marea looked up at the sound of her name, but went back to playing with her food a moment later.

‘Arlen had a hard day, yesterday,’ Silvy said. She bit her lip. ‘We all did. Let the Jongleur put a smile on his face. Surely there’s nothing that can’t wait.’

Jeph nodded after a moment. ‘Arlen!’ he called. When the boy showed his sullen face, he asked, ‘How much is old Hog charging to see the Jongleur?’

‘Nothing,’ Arlen said quickly, not wanting to give his father reason to refuse. ‘On account of how I helped carry stuff from the Messenger’s cart.’ It wasn’t exactly true, and there was a good chance Hog would be angry that he forgot to tell people, but maybe if he spread word on the walk over, he could bring enough people for his two credits at the store to get him in.

‘Old Hog always acts generous right after the Messenger comes,’ Norine said.

‘Ought to, after how he’s been fleecing us all winter,’ Silvy replied.

‘All right, Arlen, you can go,’ Jeph said. ‘Meet me in the Cluster afterwards.’

The walk to Town Square took about two hours if you followed the path. Nothing more than a wagon track of hard-packed soil that Jeph and a few other locals kept clear, it went well out of the way to the bridge at the shallowest part of the brook. Nimble and quick, Arlen could cut the trip in half by skipping across the slick rocks jutting from the water.

Today, he needed the extra time more than ever, so he could make stops along the way. He raced along the muddy bank at breakneck speed, dodging treacherous roots and scrub with the sure-footed confidence of one who had followed the trail countless times.

He popped back out of the woods as he passed the farmhouses on the way, but there was no one to be found. Everyone was either out in the fields or back at the Cluster helping out.

It was getting close to high sun when he reached Fishing Hole. A few of the Fishers had their boats out on the small pond, but Arlen didn’t see much point in shouting to them. Otherwise, the Hole was deserted, too.

He was feeling glum by the time he got to Town Square. Hog might have seemed nicer than usual yesterday, but Arlen had seen what he was like when someone cost him profit. There was no way he was going to let Arlen see the Jongleur for just two credits. He’d be lucky if the storekeep didn’t take a switch to him.

But when he reached the square, he found over three hundred people gathered from all over the Brook. There were Fishers and Marshes and Boggins and Bales. Not to mention the town locals, Squares, Tailors, Millers, Bakers, and all. None had come from Southwatch, of course. Folk there shunned Jongleurs.

‘Arlen, my boy!’ Hog called, seeing him approach. ‘I’ve saved you a spot up front, and you’ll go home tonight with a sack of salt! Well done!’

Arlen looked at him curiously, until he saw Ragen, standing next to Hog. The Messenger winked at him.

‘Thank you,’ Arlen said, when Hog went off to mark another arrival in his ledger. Dasy and Catrin were selling food and ale for the show.

‘People deserve a show,’ Ragen said with a shrug. ‘But not without clearing it with your Tender, it seems.’ He pointed to Keerin, who was deep in conversation with Tender Harral.

‘Don’t be selling any of that Plague nonsense to my flock!’ Harral said, poking Keerin hard in the chest. He was twice the Jongleur’s weight, and none of it fat.

‘Nonsense?’ Keerin asked, paling. ‘In Miln, the Tenders will string up any Jongleur that doesn’t tell of the Plague!’

‘I don’t care what they do in the Free Cities,’ Harral said. ‘These’re good people, and they have it hard enough without you telling ’em their suffering’s because they ent pious enough!’

‘What …?’ Arlen began, but Keerin broke off, heading to the centre of the square.

‘Best find a seat quick,’ Ragen advised.

As Hog promised, Arlen got a seat right in front, in the area usually left for the younger children. The others looked on enviously, and Arlen felt very special. It was rare for anyone to envy him.

The Jongleur was tall, like all Milnese, dressed in a patchwork of bright colours that looked like they were stolen from the dyer’s scrap bin. He had a wispy goatee, the same carrot-colour as his hair, but the moustache never quite met the beard, and the whole thing looked like it might wash off with a good scrubbing. Everyone, especially the women, talked in wonder about his bright hair and green eyes.

As people continued to file in, Keerin paced back and forth, juggling his coloured wooden balls and telling jokes, warming to the crowd. When Hog gave the signal, he took his lute and began to play, singing in a strong, high voice. People clapped along to the songs they didn’t know, but whenever he played one that was sung in the Brook, the whole crowd sang along, drowning out the Jongleur and not seeming to care. Arlen didn’t mind; he was singing just as loud as the others.

After the music came acrobatics, and magic tricks. Along the way, Keerin made a few jests about husbands that had the women shrieking with laughter while the men frowned, and a few about wives that had the men slapping their thighs as the women glared.

Finally, the Jongleur paused and held up his hands for silence. There was a murmur from the crowd, and parents nudged their youngest children forward, wanting them to hear. Little Jessi Boggin, who was only five, climbed right into Arlen’s lap for a better view. Arlen had given her family a few pups from one of Jeph’s dogs a few weeks ago, and now she clung to him whenever he was near. He held her as Keerin began the Tale of the Return, his high voice dropping into a deep, booming call that carried far into the crowd.

‘The world was not always as you see it,’ the Jongleur told the children. ‘Oh no. There was a time when humanity lived in balance with the demons. Those early years are called the Age of Ignorance. Does anyone know why?’ He looked around the children in front, and several raised their hands.

‘Because there wasn’t any wards?’ a girl asked, when Keerin pointed to her.

‘That’s right!’ the Jongleur said, turning a somersault that brought squeals of glee from the children. ‘The Age of Ignorance was a scary time for us, but there weren’t as many demons then, and they couldn’t kill everyone. Much like today, humans built what they could during the day, and the demons would tear it down each night.

‘As we struggled to survive,’ Keerin went on, ‘we adapted, learning how to hide food and animals from the demons, and how to avoid them.’ He looked around as if in terror, and then ran behind one child, cringing. ‘We lived in holes in the ground, so they couldn’t find us.’

‘Like bunnies?’ Jessi asked, laughing.

‘Just so!’ Keerin called, putting a twitching finger up behind each ear and hopping about, wriggling his nose.

‘We lived any way we could,’ he went on, ‘until we discovered writing. From there, it wasn’t long before we had learned that some writing could hold the corelings back. What writing is that?’ he asked, cupping an ear.

‘Wards!’ everyone cried in unison.

‘Correct!’ the Jongleur congratulated with a flip. ‘With wards, we could protect ourselves from the corelings, and we practised them, getting better and better. More and more wards were discovered, until someone learned one that did more than hold the demons back. It hurt them.’ The children gasped, and Arlen, even though he had heard almost this same performance every year for as long as he could remember, found himself sucking in his breath. What he wouldn’t give to know such a ward!

‘The demons did not take well to this advancement,’ Keerin said with a grin. ‘They were used to us running and hiding, and when we turned and fought, they fought back. Hard. Thus began the First Demon War, and the second age, the Age of the Deliverer.

‘The Deliverer was a man called upon by the Creator to lead our armies, and with him to lead us, we were winning!’ He thrust his fist into the air and the children cheered. It was infectious, and Arlen tickled Jessi with glee.

‘As our magics and tactics improved,’ Keerin said, ‘humans began to live longer, and our numbers swelled. Our armies grew larger, even as the number of demons dwindled. There was hope that the corelings would be vanquished once and for all.’

The Jongleur paused then, and his face took on a serious expression. ‘Then,’ he said, ‘without warning, the demons stopped coming. Never in the history of the world had a night passed without the corelings. Now night after night went by with no sign of them, and we were baffled.’ He scratched his head in mock confusion. ‘Many believed that the demon losses in the war had been too great, and that they had given up the fight, cowering with fright in the Core.’ He huddled away from the children, hissing like a cat and shaking as if with fear. Some of the children got into the act, growling at him menacingly.

‘The Deliverer,’ Keerin said, ‘who had seen the demons fight fearlessly every night, doubted this, but as months passed without sign of the creatures, his armies began to fragment.

‘Humanity rejoiced in their victory over the corelings for years,’ Keerin went on. He picked up his lute and played a lively tune, dancing about, but then the tune turned ominous, and the Jongleur’s voice deepened once more. ‘But as the years passed without the common foe, the brotherhood of men grew strained, and then faded. For the first time, we fought against one another. As war sparked, the Deliverer was called upon by all sides to lead, but he shouted, ‘I’ll not fight ’gainst men while a single demon remains in the Core!’ He turned his back, and left the lands as armies marched and all the land fell into chaos.

‘From these great wars arose powerful nations,’ he said, turning the tune into something uplifting, ‘and mankind spread far and wide, covering the entire world. The Age of the Deliverer came to a close, and the Age of Science began.

‘The Age of Science,’ the Jongleur said, ‘was our greatest time, but nestled in that greatness was our biggest mistake. Can any here tell me what it was?’ The older children knew, but Keerin signalled them to hold back and let the young ones answer.

‘Because we forgot magic,’ Gim Cutter said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

‘Right you are!’ Keerin said, snapping his fingers. ‘We learned a great deal about how the world worked, about medicine and machines, but we forgot magic, and worse, we forgot the corelings. After three thousand years, no one believed they had ever even existed.

‘Which is why,’ he said grimly, ‘we were unprepared when they came back.

‘The demons had multiplied over the centuries, as the world forgot them. Then, three hundred years ago, they rose from the Core one night in massive numbers to take it back.

‘Whole cities were destroyed that first night, as the corelings celebrated their return. Men fought back, but even the great weapons of the Age of Science were poor defence against the demons. The Age of Science came to a close, and the Age of Destruction took hold.

‘The Second Demon War had begun.’

In his mind’s eye, Arlen saw that night, saw the cities burning as people fled in terror, only to be savaged by the waiting corelings. He saw men sacrifice themselves to buy time for their families to flee, saw women take claws meant for their children. Most of all, he saw the corelings dance, cavorting in savage glee as blood ran from their teeth and talons.

Keerin moved forward even as the children drew back in fear. ‘The war lasted for years, with people slaughtered at every turn. Without the Deliverer to lead them, they were no match for the corelings. Overnight, the great nations fell, and the accumulated knowledge of the Age of Science burned as flame demons frolicked.

‘Scholars desperately searched the wreckages of libraries for answers. The old science was no help, but they found salvation at last in stories once considered fantasy and superstition. Men began to draw clumsy symbols in the soil, preventing the corelings from approaching. The ancient wards held power still, but the shaking hands that drew them often made mistakes, and they were paid for dearly.

‘Those who survived gathered people to them, protecting them through the long nights. Those men became the first Warders, who protect us to this very day.’ The Jongleur pointed to the crowd, ‘So the next time you see a Warder, thank him, because you owe him your life.’

That was a variation on the story Arlen had never heard Warders? In Tibbet’s Brook, everyone learned warding as soon as they were old enough to draw with a stick. Many had poor aptitude for it, but Arlen couldn’t imagine anyone not taking the time to learn the basic forbiddings against against flame, rock, swamp, water, wind, and wood demons.

‘So now we stay safe within our wards,’ Keerin said, ‘letting the demons have their pleasures outside. Messengers,’ he gestured to Ragen, ‘the bravest of all men, travel from city to city for us, bringing news and escorting men and goods.’

He walked about, his eyes hard as he met the frightened looks of the children. ‘But we are strong,’ he said. ‘Aren’t we?’

The children nodded, but their eyes were still wide with fear.

‘What?’ he asked, putting a hand to his ear.

‘Yes!’ the crowd cried.

‘When the Deliverer comes again, will we be ready?’ he asked. ‘Will the demons learn to fear us once more?’

‘Yes!’ the crowd roared.

‘They can’t hear you!’ the Jongleur shouted.

‘Yes!’ the people screamed, punching fists in the air; Arlen most of all. Jessi imitated him, punching the air and shrieking as if she were a demon herself. The Jongleur bowed, and when the crowd quieted, lifted his lute and led them into another song.

As promised, Arlen left Town Square with a sack of salt. Enough to last weeks, even with Norine and Marea to feed. It was still unmilled, but Arlen knew his parents would be happy to pound the salt themselves, rather than pay Hog extra for the service. Most would, really, but old Hog never gave them a choice, milling the salt as soon as it came and tacking on the extra cost.

Arlen had a spring in his step as he walked down the road towards the Cluster. It wasn’t until he passed the tree that Cholie had hung from that Arlen’s spirits fell. He thought again about what Ragen had said about fighting corelings, and what his father had said about prudence.

He thought his father probably had the right of it: Hide when you can and fight when you must. Even Ragen seemed to agree with that philosophy. But Arlen couldn’t shake the feeling that hiding hurt people too, in ways they couldn’t see.

He met his father in the Cluster and earned a clap on the back when he showed his prize. He spent the rest of the afternoon running to and fro, helping rebuild. Already, another house was repaired and would be warded by nightfall. In a few more weeks, the Cluster would be fully rebuilt, and that was in everyone’s interest, if they wanted enough wood to last the winter.

‘I promised Selia I’d throw in here for the next few days,’ Jeph said as they packed the cart that afternoon. ‘You’ll be the man of the farm while I’m gone. You’ll have to check the ward-posts and weed the fields. I saw you show Norine your chores this morning. She can handle the yard, and Marea can help your mother inside.’

‘All right,’ Arlen said. Weeding the fields and checking the posts was hard work, but the trust made him proud.

‘I’m counting on you, Arlen,’ Jeph said.

‘I won’t let you down,’ Arlen promised.

The next few days passed with little event. Silvy still cried at times, but there was work to do, and she never once complained of the additional mouths to feed. Norine took to caring for the animals naturally, and even Marea began to come out of her shell a bit, helping with the sweeping and cooking, working the loom after supper. Soon she was taking turns with Norine in the yard. Both women seemed determined to do their share, though their faces, too, grew pained and wistful whenever there was a lull in the work.

Arlen’s hands blistered from pulling weeds, and his back and shoulders ached at the end of each day, but he didn’t complain. The only one of his new responsibilities he enjoyed was working on the wardposts. Arlen had always loved warding, mastering the basic defensive symbols before most children began learning at all, and more complex wardnets soon after. Jeph didn’t even check his work anymore. Arlen’s hand was steadier than his father’s. Warding wasn’t the same as attacking a demon with a spear, but it was fighting in its own way.

Jeph arrived at dusk each day, and Silvy had water from the well waiting for him to wash. Arlen helped Norine and Marea lock up the animals, and then they had supper.

On the fifth day, a wind kicked up in the late afternoon that sent dust whorls dancing in the yard, and had the barn door banging. Arlen could smell rain coming, and the darkening sky confirmed it. He hoped Jeph saw the signs, too, and came back early, or stayed on in the Cluster. Dark clouds meant an early dusk, and early dusk sometimes meant corelings before full sunset.

Arlen abandoned the fields and began to help the women herd the spooked animals back into the barn. Silvy was out as well, battening down the cellar doors and making sure the wardposts around the day pens were lashed tight. There was little time to spare when Jeph’s cart came into sight. The sky was darkening quickly, and already there was no direct sun. Corelings could rise at any moment.

‘No time to unhitch the cart,’ Jeph called, cracking the whip to drive Missy faster towards the barn. ‘We’ll do it in the morning. Everyone in the house, now!’ Silvy and the other women complied, heading inside.

‘We can do it if we hurry,’ Arlen yelled over the roar of the wind as he ran after his father. Missy would be in foul spirits for days if she spent the night harnessed.

Jeph shook his head, ‘It’s too dark already! A night hitched won’t kill her.’

‘Lock me in the barn, then,’ Arlen said. ‘I’ll unhitch her and wait out the storm with the animals.’

‘Do as you’re told, Arlen!’ Jeph shouted. He leapt from the cart and grabbed the boy by the arm, half-dragging him out of the barn.

The two of them pulled the doors shut and threw the bar as lightning split the sky. The wards painted on the barn doors were illuminated for a moment, a reminder of what was to come. The air was pregnant with the promise of rain.

They ran for the house, scanning the way before them for the mist that would herald the rising. For the moment, the way was clear. Marea held the door open, and they darted inside, just as the first fat drops of rain stirred the dust of the yard.

Marea was pulling the door closed when a howl sounded from the yard. Everyone froze.

‘The dog!’ Marea cried, covering her mouth. ‘I left him tied to the fence!’

‘Leave him,’ Jeph said. ‘Close the door.’

‘What?’ Arlen cried, incredulous. He whirled to face his father.

‘The way is still clear!’ Marea cried, and darted out of the house.

‘Marea, no!’ Silvy cried, running out after her.

Arlen, too, ran for the door, but not before Jeph grabbed the shoulder straps of his overalls and yanked him backwards. ‘Stay inside!’ he ordered, moving to the door.

Arlen stumbled back a moment, then ran forward again. Jeph and Norine were out on the porch, but stayed within the line of the outer wards. By the time Arlen reached the porch, the dog was running past him into the house, the rope still trailing from its neck.

Out in the yard, wind howled, turning the drops of rain into stinging insects. He saw Marea and his mother running back towards the house just as the demons began to rise. As always, flame demons came first, their misty forms seeping from the ground. The smallest of corelings, they crouched on all fours as they coalesced, barely eighteen inches tall at the shoulder. Their eyes, nostrils, and mouths glowed with a smoky light.

‘Run, Silvy!’ Jeph screamed. ‘Run!’

It seemed that they would make it, but then Marea stumbled and went down. Silvy turned to help her, and in that moment the first coreling solidified. Arlen moved to run to his mother, but Norine’s hand clamped hard on his arm, holding him fast.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ the woman hissed.

‘Get up!’ Silvy demanded, yanking Marea’s arm.

‘My ankle!’ Marea cried. ‘I can’t! Go on without me!’

‘Like night I will!’ Silvy growled. ‘Jeph!’ she called. ‘Help us!’

By then, corelings were forming all over the yard. Jeph stood frozen as they took note of the women and shrieked with pleasure, darting towards them.

‘Let go!’ Arlen growled, stomping hard on Norine’s foot. She howled, and Arlen yanked his arm free. He grabbed the nearest weapon he could find, a wooden milk bucket, and ran out into the yard.

‘Arlen, no!’ Jeph cried, but Arlen was done listening to him.

A flame demon, no bigger than a large cat, leapt on to Silvy’s back, and she screamed as talons raked deep lines in her flesh, leaving the back of her dress a bloody tatter. From its perch, the coreling spat fire into Marea’s face. The woman shrieked as her skin melted and her hair ignited.

Arlen was there an instant later, swinging the bucket with all his strength. It broke apart as it struck, but the demon was knocked from his mother’s back. She stumbled, but Arlen was there to support her. More flame demons closed in on them, even as wind demons began to stretch their wings, and, a dozen yards off, a rock demon began to take form.

Silvy groaned, but she got to her feet. Arlen pulled her away from Marea and her agonized wails, but the way back to the house was blocked by flame demons. The rock demon caught sight of them, too, and charged. A few wind demons, preparing to take off, got in the massive beast’s way, and its talons swept them aside as easily as a scythe cut through cornstalks. They tumbled broken through the air, and flame demons set on them, tearing them to pieces.

It was only a moment’s distraction, but Arlen took it, pulling his mother away from the house. The barn was blocked as well, but the path to the day pen was still clear, if they could keep ahead of the corelings. Silvy was screaming, out of fear or pain Arlen didn’t know, but she stumbled along, keeping pace even in her wide skirts.

As he broke into a run, so too did the flame demons half-surrounding them. The rain began to fall harder, and the wind howled. Lightning split the sky, illuminating their pursuers and the day pen, so close, yet still too far.

The dust of the yard was slick with the growing wet, but fear granted them agility, and they kept their feet under them. The rock demon’s footfalls were as loud as the thunder as it charged, growing ever closer, making the ground shake with its stride.

Arlen skidded to a stop at the pens and fumbled with the latch. The flame demons caught up in that split second, coming in range to use their deadliest weapon. They spat flame, and Arlen and his mother were struck. The blast was weakened by distance, but still he felt his clothes ignite, and smelled burning hair. A flare of pain washed over him, but he ignored it, finally getting the gate to the pen open. He had started to take his mother inside when another flame demon leapt on her, claws digging deep into her chest. With a yank, Arlen pulled her into the pen. As they crossed the wards, Silvy passed through easily, but magic flared and the coreling was thrown back. Its claws, hooked deep in her, came free in a spray of blood and flesh.

Their clothes were still burning. Wrapping Silvy in his arms, Arlen threw them both to the ground, taking the brunt of the impact himself, and then rolled them into the mud, extinguishing the flames.

There was no chance to close the gate. The demons ringed the pen now, pounding at the wardnet, sending flares of magic skittering along the web of wards. But the gate didn’t really matter. Nor did the fence. So long as the wardposts were intact, they were safe from the corelings.

But they were not safe from the weather. The rain became a cold pour, whipping at them in cutting sheets. Silvy could not rise again after the fall. Blood and mud caked her, and Arlen didn’t know if she could survive her wounds and the rain together.

He stumbled over to the slop trough and kicked it over, sloshing the unfinished remnants of the pigs’ dinner to rot in the mud. Arlen could see the rock demon pounding at the wardnet, but the magic held, and the demon could not pass. Between the flashes of lightning and the spurts of demon flame, he caught sight of Marea, buried under a swarm of flame demons, each tearing off a piece and dancing away to feast.

The rock demon gave up a moment later, stomping over and grabbing Marea by the leg in a massive talon the way a cruel man might grab a cat. Flame demons scattered as the rock demon swung the woman into the air. She let out a hoarse gasp, and Arlen was horrified to discover she was still alive. He screamed, and considered trying to dart from the wardnet and get to her. But then the demon brought her crashing down to the ground with a sickening crunch.

Arlen turned away before the creature could begin to eat, his tears washed away by the pouring rain. Dragging the trough to Silvy, he tore the lining from her skirt and let it soak in the rain. He brushed the mud from her cuts as best he could, and wadded more lining into them. It was hardly clean, but cleaner than pig mud.

She was shivering, so he lay against her for warmth, and pulled the stinking trough over them as a shield from the downpour, and the sight of the leering demons.

There was one more flash of lightning as he lowered the wood. The last thing he saw was his father, still standing frozen on the porch.

If it was you out there … or your mam … Arlen remembered him saying. But for all his promises, it seemed that nothing could make Jeph Bales fight.

The night passed with interminable slowness; there was no hope of sleep. Raindrops drummed a steady beat on the trough, spattering them with the remains of the slop that clung to the inside. The mud they lay in was cold, and stank of pig droppings. Silvy shivered in her delirium, and Arlen clutched her tightly, willing what little heat he had into her. His own hands and feet were numb.

Despair crept over him, and he wept into his mother’s shoulder. But she groaned and patted his hand, and that simple, instinctive gesture pulled him free of the terror and disillusionment and pain.

He had fought a demon, and lived. He had stood in a yard full of them, and survived. Corelings might be immortal, but they could be outmanoeuvred. They could be outsped.

And as the rock demon had shown when it swept the other corelings out of the way, they could be hurt.

But what difference did it make in a world where men like Jeph wouldn’t stand up to the corelings, not even for their own families? What hope did any of them have?

He stared at the blackness around him for hours, but in his mind’s eye all he saw was his father’s face, staring at them from the safety of the wards.

The rain tapered off before dawn. Arlen used the break in the weather as a chance to lift the trough, but he immediately regretted it as the collected heat the wood had stored was lost. He pulled it down again, but stole peeks until the sky began to brighten.

Most of the corelings had faded away by the time it was light enough to see, but a few stragglers remained as the sky went from indigo to lavender. He lifted the trough again and clambered to his feet, trying vainly to brush off the slime and muck that clung to him.

His arm was stiff, and stung when he flexed it. He looked down and saw that the skin was bright red where the firespit had struck. The night in the mud did one good thing, he thought, knowing his and his mother’s burns would have been far worse had they not been packed in the cold muck all night.

As the last flame demons in the yard began to turn insubstantial, Arlen strode from the pen, heading for the barn.

‘Arlen, no!’ a cry came from the porch. Arlen looked up, and saw Jeph there, wrapped in a blanket, keeping watch from the safety of the porch wards. ‘It’s not full dawn yet! Wait!’

Arlen ignored him, walking to the barn and opening the doors. Missy looked thoroughly unhappy, still hitched to the cart, but she would make it to Town Square.

A hand grabbed his arm as he led the horse out. ‘Are you trying to get yourself killed?!’ Jeph demanded. ‘You mind me, boy!’

Arlen tore his arm away, refusing to look his father in the eye. ‘Mam needs to see Coline Trigg,’ he said.

‘She’s alive?’ Jeph asked incredulously, his head snapping over to where the woman lay in the mud.

‘No thanks to you,’ Arlen said. ‘I’m taking her to Town Square.’

‘We’re taking her,’ Jeph corrected, rushing over to lift his wife and carry her to the cart. Leaving Norine to tend the animals and seek out poor Marea’s remains, they headed off down the road to town.

Silvy was bathed in sweat, and while her burns seemed no worse than Arlen’s, the deep lines the flame demons’ talons had dug still oozed blood, the flesh an ugly swollen red.

‘Arlen, I …’ Jeph began as they rode, reaching a shaking hand towards his son. Arlen drew back, looking away, and Jeph recoiled as if burned.

Arlen knew his father was ashamed. It was just as Ragen had said. Maybe Jeph even hated himself, as Cholie had. Still, Arlen could find no sympathy. His mother had paid the price for Jeph’s cowardice.

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

Coline Trigg’s two-storey house, in Town Square, was one of the largest in the Brook, and filled with beds. In addition to her family upstairs, Coline always had at least one person occupying her sickbeds on the ground floor.

Coline was a short woman with a large nose and no chin. Not yet thirty, six children had made her thick around the middle. Her clothes always smelled of burnt weeds, and her cures usually involved some type of foul-tasting tea. The people of Tibbet’s Brook made fun of that tea, but every one of them drank it gratefully when they took a chill.

The Herb Gatherer took one look at Silvy and had Arlen and his father bring her inside. She asked no questions, which was just as well, as neither Arlen nor Jeph knew what they would say if she did. As she cut at each wound, squeezing out sickly brown pus, the air filled with a rotten stench. She cleaned the drained wounds with water and ground herbs, then sewed them shut. Jeph turned green, and brought his hand to his mouth suddenly.

‘Out of here with that!’ Coline barked, sending Jeph from the room with a pointed finger. As Jeph scurried out of the house, she looked to Arlen.

‘You, too?’ she demanded. Arlen shook his head. Coline stared at him a moment, then nodded in approval. ‘You’re braver than your father,’ she said. ‘Fetch the mortar and pestle. I’m going to teach you to make a balm for burns.’

Never taking her eyes from her work, Coline talked Arlen through the countless jars and pouches in her pharmacy, directing him to each ingredient and explaining how to mix them. She kept to her grisly work as Arlen applied the balm to his mother’s burns.

Finally, when Silvy’s wounds were all tended, she turned to inspect Arlen. He protested at first, but the balm did its work, and only as the coolness spread along his arms did he realize how much his burns had stung.

‘Will she be all right?’ Arlen asked, looking at his mother. She seemed to be breathing normally, but the flesh around her wounds was an ugly colour, and that stench of rot was still thick in the air.

‘I don’t know,’ Coline said. She wasn’t one to honey her words. ‘I’ve never seen anyone with wounds so severe. Usually, if the corelings get that close …’

‘They kill you,’ Jeph said from the doorway. ‘They would have killed Silvy, too, if not for Arlen.’ He stepped into the rooms, keeping his eyes down. ‘My son taught me something last night, Coline,’ Jeph said. ‘He taught me fear is our enemy, more than the corelings ever were.’ Jeph put his hands on his son’s shoulders and looked into his son’s eyes. ‘I won’t fail you again,’ he promised.

Arlen nodded and looked away. He wanted to believe it was so, but his thoughts kept returning to the sight of his father on the porch, frozen with terror.

Jeph went over to Silvy, gripping her clammy hand in his own. She was still sweating, and thrashed in her drugged sleep now and then.

‘Will she die?’ Jeph asked.

The Herb Gatherer blew out a long breath. ‘I’m a fair hand at setting bones,’ she said, ‘and delivering children. I can chase a fever away and ward a chill. I can even cleanse a demon wound, if it’s still fresh.’ She shook her head. ‘But this is demon fever. I’ve given her herbs to dull the pain and help her sleep, but you’ll need a better Gatherer than I to brew a cure.’

‘Who else is there?’ Jeph asked. ‘You’re all the Brook has.’

‘The woman who taught me,’ Coline said, ‘Old Mey Friman. She lives on the outskirts of Sunny Pasture, two days from here. If anyone can cure it, she can, but you’d best hurry. The fever will spread quickly and if you take too long, even old Mey won’t be able to help you.’

‘How do we find her?’ Jeph demanded.

‘You can’t really get lost,’ Coline said. ‘There’s only the one road. Just don’t turn at the fork where it goes through the woods, unless you want to spend weeks on the road to Miln. That Messenger left for the Pasture a few hours ago, but he had some stops in the Brook first. If you hurry, you might catch him. Messengers carry their own wards with them. If you find him, you’ll be able to keep moving right until dusk instead of stopping for succour. The Messenger could cut your trip in twain.’

‘We’ll find him,’ Jeph said, ‘whatever it takes.’ His voice took on a determined edge, and Arlen began to hope.

A strange sense of longing pulled at Arlen as he watched Tibbet’s Brook recede into the distance from the back of the cart. For the first time, he was going to be more than a day’s journey from home. He was going to see another town! A week ago, an adventure like that was his greatest dream. But now all he dreamed was that things could go back to the way they were.

Back when the farm was safe.

Back when his mother was well.

Back when he didn’t know his father was a coward.

Coline had promised to send one of her boys up to the farm to let Norine know they would likely be gone a week or more, and to help tend the animals and check the wards while they were away. The neighbours would throw in, but Norine’s loss was too raw for her to face the nights alone.

The Herb Gatherer had also given them a crude map, carefully rolled and slipped into a protective hide tube. Paper was a rarity in the Brook, and not given away lightly. Arlen was fascinated by the map, and studied it for hours, even though he couldn’t read the few words labelling the places. Neither Arlen nor his father had letters.

The map marked the way to Sunny Pasture, and what lay along the road, but the distances were vague. There were farms marked along the way where they could beg succour, but there was no way to tell how far apart they were.

His mother slept fitfully, sodden with sweat. Sometimes she spoke or cried out, but her words made little sense. Arlen dabbed her with a wet cloth and made her drink the sharp tea as the Herb Gatherer had instructed him, but it seemed to do little good.

Late in the afternoon, they approached the house of Harl Tanner, a farmer who lived on the outskirts of the Brook. Harl’s farm was only a couple of hours past the Cluster by the Woods, but by the time Arlen and his father had gotten underway, it was mid-afternoon.

Arlen remembered seeing Harl and his three daughters at the summer solstice festival each year, though they had been absent since the corelings had taken Harl’s wife, two summers past. Harl had become a recluse, and his daughters with him. Even the tragedy in the Cluster had not brought them out.

Three-quarters of the Tanner fields were blackened and scorched; only those closest to the house were warded and sown. A gaunt milking cow chewed cud in the muddy yard, and ribs showed clearly on the goat tied up by the chicken coop.

The Tanners’ home was a single storey of piled stones, held together with packed mud and clay. The larger stones were painted with faded wards. Arlen thought them clumsy, but they had lasted thus far, it seemed. The roof was uneven, with short, squat wardposts poking up through the rotting thatch. One side of the house connected to the small barn, its windows boarded and its door half off the hinges. Across the yard was the big barn, looking even worse. The wards might hold, but it looked ready to collapse on its own.

‘I’ve never seen Harl’s place before,’ Jeph said.

‘Me neither,’ Arlen lied. Few people apart from Messengers had reason to head up the road past the Cluster by the Woods, and those who lived up that way were sources of great speculation in Town Square. Arlen had sneaked off to see Crazy Man Tanner’s farm more than once. It was the farthest he had ever been from home. Getting back before dusk had meant hours of running as fast as he could.

One time, a few months before, he almost didn’t make it. He had been trying to catch a glimpse of Harl’s eldest daughter, Ilain. The other boys said she had the biggest bubbies in the Brook, and he wanted to see for himself. He waited one day, and saw her come running out of the house, crying. She was beautiful in her sadness, and Arlen had wanted to go comfort her, even though she was eight summers older than him. He hadn’t been so bold, but he’d watched her longer than was wise, and almost paid a heavy price for it when the sun began to set.

A mangy dog began barking as they approached the farm, and a young girl came out onto the porch, watching them with sad eyes.

‘We might have to succour here,’ Jeph said.

‘It’s still hours till dark,’ Arlen said, shaking his head. ‘If we don’t catch Ragen by then, the map says there’s another farm up by where the road forks to the Free Cities.’

Jeph peered over Arlen’s shoulder at the map. ‘That’s a long way,’ he said.

‘Mam can’t wait,’ Arlen said. ‘We won’t make it all the way today, but every hour is an hour closer to her cure.’

Jeph looked back at Silvy, bathed in sweat, then up at the sun, and nodded. They waved at the girl on the porch, but did not stop.

They covered a great distance in the next few hours, but found no sign of the Messenger or another farm. Jeph looked up at the orange sky.

‘It will be full dark in less than two hours,’ he said. ‘We have to turn back. If we hurry, we can make it back to Harl’s in time.’

‘The farm could be right around that next bend,’ Arlen argued. ‘We’ll find it.’

‘We don’t know that,’ Jeph said, spitting over the side of the cart. ‘The map ent clear. We turn back while we still can, and no arguing.’

Arlen’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘We’ll lose half a day that way, not to mention the night. Mam might die in that time!’ he cried.

Jeph looked back at his wife, sweating in her bundled blankets, breathing in short fits. Sadly, he looked around at the lengthening shadows, and suppressed a shiver. ‘If we’re caught out after dark,’ he replied quietly, ‘we’ll all die.’

Arlen was shaking his head before his father finished, refusing to accept it. ‘We could …’ he floundered. ‘We could draw wards in the soil,’ he said at last. ‘All around the cart.’

‘And if a breeze comes along and mars them?’ his father asked. ‘What then?’

‘The farm could be just over the next hill!’ Arlen insisted.

‘Or it could be twenty more miles down the road,’ his father shot back, ‘or burned down a year ago. Who knows what’s happened since that map was drawn?’

‘Are you saying Mam ent worth the risk?’ Arlen accused.

‘Don’t you tell me what she’s worth!’ his father screamed, nearly bowling the boy over. ‘I’ve loved her all my life! I know better than you! But I’m not going to risk all three of us! She can last the night. She has to!’

With that, he pulled hard on the reins, stopping the cart and turning it about. He cracked the leather hard into Missy’s flanks, and sent her leaping back down the road. The animal, frightened by the coming dark, responded with a frantic pace.

Arlen turned back towards Silvy, swallowing bitter anger. He watched his mother bounce around as the wheels ran over stones and dips, not reacting at all to the bumpy ride. Whatever his father thought, Arlen knew her chances had just been cut in half.

The sun was nearly set when they reached the lonely farmhouse. Jeph and Missy seemed to share a panicked terror, and they screamed their haste as one. Arlen had leapt into the back of the cart to try and keep his mother from being thrown about by the wildly jolting ride. He held her tight, taking many of the bruises and bashes for her.

But not all: he could feel Coline’s careful stitches giving, the wounds oozing open again. If the demon fever didn’t claim her, there was a good chance the ride would.

Jeph ran the cart right up to the porch, shouting, ‘Harl! We seek succour!’

The door opened almost immediately, even before they could get out of the cart. A man in worn overalls came out, a long pitchfork in hand. Harl was thin and tough, like dried meat. He was followed by Ilain, the sturdy young woman holding a stout metal-headed shovel. The last time Arlen saw her, she had been crying and terrified, but there was no terror in her eyes now. She ignored the crawling shadows as she approached the cart.

Harl nodded as Jeph lifted Silvy out of the cart. ‘Get her inside,’ he ordered, and Jeph hurried to comply, letting a deep breath out as he crossed the wards.

‘Open the big barn door!’ he told Ilain. ‘That cart won’t fit in the little ’un.’ Ilain gathered her skirts and ran. He turned to Arlen. ‘Drive the cart to the barn, boy! Quick!’

Arlen did as he was told. ‘No time to unhitch her,’ the farmer said. ‘She’ll have to do.’ It was the second night in a row. Arlen wondered if Missy would ever get unhitched.

Harl and Ilain quickly shut the barn door and checked the wards. ‘What are you waiting for?’ the man roared at Arlen. ‘Run for the house! They’ll be here in a moment!’

He had barely spoken the words when the demons began to rise. He and Arlen sprinted for the house as spindly, clawed arms and horned heads seemed to grow right out of the ground.

They dodged left and right around the rising death, adrenaline and fear giving them agility and speed. The first corelings to solidify, a group of lithesome flame demons, gave chase, gaining on them. As Arlen and Ilain ran on, Harl turned and hurled his pitchfork into their midst.

The weapon struck the lead demon full in the chest, knocking it into its fellows, but even the skin of a tiny flame demon was too knobbed and tough for a pitchfork to pierce. The creature picked up the tool in its claws and spat a gout of flame upon it, setting the wooden haft alight, then tossed it aside.

But though the coreling hadn’t been hurt, the throw delayed them. The demons rushed forward, but as Harl leapt onto the porch, they came to an abrupt halt, slamming into a line of wards that stopped them as surely as if they had run into a brick wall. As the magic flared brightly and hurled them back into the yard, Harl rushed into the house. He slammed and bolted the door, throwing his back against the portal.

‘Creator be praised,’ he said weakly, panting and pale.

The air inside Harl’s farmhouse was thick and hot, stinking of must and waste. The buggy reeds on the floor absorbed some of the water that made it past the thatch, but they were far from fresh. Two dogs and several cats shared the home, forcing everyone to step carefully. A stone pot hung in the fireplace, adding to the mix the sour scent of a stew perpetually cooking, added to as it diminished. A patchwork curtain in one corner gave a touch of privacy for the chamber pot.

Arlen did his best to redo Silvy’s bandages, and then Ilain and her sister Beni put her in their room, while Harl’s youngest, Renna, set another two cracked wooden bowls at the table for Arlen and his father.

There were only three rooms, one shared by the girls, another for Harl, and the common room where they cooked and ate and worked. A ragged curtain divided the room, partitioning off the area for cooking and eating. A warded door in the common room led to the small barn.

‘Renna, take Arlen and check the wards while the men talk and Beni and I get supper ready,’ Ilain said.

Renna nodded, taking Arlen’s hand and pulling him along. She was almost ten, close to Arlen’s age of eleven, and pretty beneath the smudges of dirt on her face. She wore a plain shift, worn and carefully mended, and her brown hair was tied back with a ragged strip of cloth, though many locks had freed themselves to fall about her round face.

‘This one’s scuffed,’ the girl commented, pointing to a ward on one of the sills. ‘One of the cats must have stepped on it.’ Taking a stick of charcoal from the kit, she carefully traced the line where it had been broken.

‘That’s no good,’ Arlen said. ‘The lines ent smooth anymore. That weakens the ward. You should draw it over.’

‘I’m not allowed to draw a fresh one,’ Renna whispered. ‘I’m supposed to tell Father or Ilain if there’s one I can’t fix.’

‘I can do it,’ Arlen said, taking the stick. He carefully wiped clean the old ward and drew a new one, his arm moving with quick confidence. Stepping back as he finished, he looked around the window, and then swiftly replaced several others as well.

While he worked, Harl caught sight of them and started to rise nervously, but a motion and a few confident words from Jeph brought him back to his seat.

Arlen took a moment to admire his work. ‘Even a rock demon won’t get through that,’ he said proudly. He turned, and found Renna staring at him. ‘What?’ he asked.

‘You’re taller than I remember,’ the girl said, looking down and smiling shyly.

‘Well, it’s been a couple of years,’ Arlen replied, not knowing what else to say. When they finished their sweep, Harl called his daughter over. He and Renna spoke softly to one another, and Arlen caught her looking at him once or twice, but he couldn’t hear what was said.

Dinner was a tough stew of parsnip and corn with a meat Arlen couldn’t identify, but it was filling enough. While they ate, they told their tale.

‘Wish you’da come to us first,’ Harl said when they finished. ‘We been t’old Mey Friman plenty times. Closer’n going all the way to Town Square t’see Trigg. If it took you two hours of cracking the whip t’get back to us, you’da reached Mack Pasture’s farm soon, you pressed on. Old Mey, she’s only an hour-so past that. She never did cotton to living in town. You’d really whipped that mare, you mighta made it tonight.’

Arlen slammed down his spoon. All eyes at the table turned to him, but he didn’t even notice, so focused was he on his father.

Jeph could not weather that glare for long. He hung his head. ‘There was no way to know,’ he said miserably.

Ilain touched his shoulder. ‘Don’t blame yourself for being cautious,’ she said. She looked at Arlen, reprimand in her eyes. ‘You’ll understand when you’re older,’ she told him.

Arlen rose sharply and stomped away from the table. He went through the curtain and curled up by a window, watching the demons through a broken slat in the shutters. Again and again they tried and failed to pierce the wards, but Arlen didn’t feel protected by the magic. He felt imprisoned by it.

‘Take Arlen into the barn and play,’ Harl ordered his younger daughters after the rest had finished eating. ‘Ilain will take the bowls. Let’cher elders talk.’

Beni and Renna rose as one, bouncing out of the curtain. Arlen was in no mood to play, but the girls didn’t let him speak, yanking him to his feet and out the door into the barn.

Beni lit a cracked lantern, casting the barn in a dull glow. Harl had two old cows, four goats, a pig with eight sucklings, and six chickens. All were gaunt and bony; underfed. Even the pig’s ribs showed. The stock seemed barely enough to feed Harl and the girls.

The barn itself was no better. Half the shutters were broken, and the hay on the floor was rotted. The goats had eaten through the wall of their stall, and were pulling the cow’s hay. Mud, slop, and faeces had churned into a single muck in the pig stall.

Renna dragged Arlen to each stall in turn. ‘Da doesn’t like us naming the animals,’ she confessed, ‘so we do it secret. This one’s Hoofy.’ She pointed to a cow. ‘Her milk tastes sour, but Da says it’s fine. Next to her is Grouchy. She kicks, but only if you milk too hard, or not soon enough. The goats are …’

‘Arlen doesn’t care about the animals,’ Beni scolded her sister. She grabbed his arm and pulled him away. Beni was taller than her sister, and older, but Arlen thought Renna was prettier. They climbed into the hayloft, plopping down on the clean hay.

‘Let’s play Succour,’ Beni said. She pulled a tiny leather pouch from her pocket, rolling four wooden dice onto the floor of the loft. The dice were painted with symbols: flame, rock, water, wind, wood, and ward. There were many ways to play, but most rules agreed you needed to throw three wards before rolling four of any other kind.

They played at the dice for a while. Renna and Beni had their own rules, many of which Arlen suspected were made up to let them win.

‘Two wards three times in a row counts as three wards,’ Beni announced, after throwing just that. ‘We win.’ Arlen disagreed, but he didn’t see much point in arguing.

‘Since we won, you have to do what we say,’ Beni declared.

‘Do not,’ Arlen said.

‘Do too!’ Beni insisted. Again, Arlen felt as if arguing would get him nowhere.

‘What would I have to do?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘Make him play kissy!’ Renna clapped.

Beni swatted her sister on the head. ‘I know, dumbs!’

‘What’s kissy?’ Arlen asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

‘Oh, you’ll see,’ Beni said, and both girls laughed. ‘It’s a grown-up game. Da plays it with Ilain sometimes. You practice being married.’

‘What, like saying your promises?’ Arlen asked, wary.

‘No, dumbs, like this,’ Beni said. She put her arms around Arlen’s shoulders, and pressed her mouth to his.

Arlen had never kissed a girl before. She opened her mouth to him, and so he did the same. Their teeth clicked, and both of them recoiled. ‘Ow!’ Arlen said.

‘You do it too hard, Beni,’ Renna complained. ‘It’s my turn.’

Indeed, Renna’s kiss was much softer. Arlen found it rather pleasant. Like being near the fire when it was cold.

‘There,’ Renna said, when their lips parted. ‘That’s how you do it.’

‘We have to share the bed tonight,’ Beni said. ‘We can practise later.’

‘I’m sorry you had to give up your bed on account of my mam,’ Arlen said.

‘It’s okay,’ Renna said. ‘We used to have to share a bed every night, until Mam died. But now Ilain sleeps with Da.’

‘Why?’ Arlen asked.

‘We’re not supposed to talk about it,’ Beni hissed at Renna.

Renna ignored her, but she kept her voice low. ‘Ilain says that now that Mam’s gone, Da told her it’s her duty to keep him happy the way a wife is supposed to.’

‘Like cooking and sewing and stuff?’ Arlen asked.

‘No, it’s a game like kissy,’ Beni said. ‘But you need a boy to play it.’ She tugged on his overalls. ‘If you show us your thingie, we’ll teach you.’

‘I am not showing you my thingie!’ Arlen said, backing away.

‘Why not?’ Renna asked. ‘Beni showed Lucik Boggin, and now he wants to play all the time.’

‘Da and Lucik’s father said we’re promised,’ Beni bragged. ‘So that makes it okay. Since you’re going to be promised to Renna, you should show her yours.’ Renna bit her finger and looked away, but she watched Arlen out of the corner of her eye.

‘That’s not true!’ Arlen said. ‘I’m not promised to anyone!’

‘What do you think the elders are talking about inside, dumbs?’ Beni asked.

‘Are not,’ Arlen said.

‘Go see!’ Beni challenged.

Arlen looked at both girls, then climbed down the ladder, slipping into the house as quietly as he could. He could hear voices from behind the curtain, and crept closer.

‘I wanted Lucik right away,’ Harl was saying, ‘but Fernan wants him makin’ mash for another season. Without an extra back around the farm, it’s hard keepin’ our bellies full,’ specially since them chickens quit layin’ and one of the milk cows soured.’

‘We’ll take Renna on our way back from Mey,’ Jeph said.

‘Gonna tell him they’s promised?’ Harl asked. Arlen’s breath caught.

‘No reason not to,’ Jeph said.

Harl grunted. ‘Reckon you should wait till t’morrer,’ he said. ‘While yur alone on the road. Sometime boys cause a scene when they’s first told. It kin hurt a girl’s feelin’s.’

‘You’re probably right,’ Jeph said. Arlen wanted to scream.

‘Know I am,’ Harl said. ‘Trust a man with daughters; they’ll get upset over any old thing, ent that right, Lainie?’ There was a smack, and Ilain yelped. ‘But still,’ Harl went on, ‘you kin do them no hurt that a few hours of cryin’ won’t solve.’

There was a long silence, and Arlen started to edge back towards the barn door.

‘I’m off t’bed,’ Harl grunted. Arlen froze. ‘See’n how Silvy’s in yur bed tonight, Lainie,’ he went on, ‘you c’n sleep with me after you scrape the bowls and round up the girls.’

Arlen ducked behind a workbench and stayed there as Harl went to the privy to relieve himself, and then went into his room, closing the door. Arlen was about to creep back to the barn when Ilain spoke.

‘I want to go, too,’ she blurted, just after the door closed.

‘What?’ Jeph asked.

Arlen could see their feet under the curtain from where he crouched. Ilain came around the table to sit next to his father.

‘Take me with you,’ Ilain repeated. ‘Please. Beni will be fine once Lucik comes. I need to get away.’

‘Why?’ Jeph asked. ‘Surely you have enough food for three.’

‘It’s not that,’ Ilain said. ‘It doesn’t matter why. I can tell Da I’ll be out in the fields when you come for Renna. I’ll run down the road, and meet you there. By the time Da realizes where I’ve gone, there’ll be a night between us. He’ll never follow.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that,’ Jeph said.

‘Your farm is as far from here as there is,’ Ilain pleaded. Arlen saw her put her hand on Jeph’s knee. ‘I can work,’ she promised. ‘I’ll earn my keep.’

‘I can’t just steal you away from Harl,’ Jeph said. ‘I’ve no quarrel with him, and I’m not about to start one.’

Ilain spat. ‘The old wretch would have you think I’m sharing his bed because of Silvy,’ she said quietly. ‘Truer is he raises his hand to me if I don’t join him every night after Renna and Beni are off to bed.’

Jeph was silent a long time. ‘I see,’ he said at last. He made a fist, and started to rise.

‘Don’t, please,’ Ilain said. ‘You don’t know what he’s like. He’ll kill you.’

‘I should just stand by?’ Jeph asked. Arlen didn’t understand what the fuss was about. So what if Ilain slept in Harl’s room?

Arlen saw Ilain move closer to his father. ‘You’ll need someone to take care of Silvy,’ she whispered. ‘And if she should pass …’ she leaned in further, and her hand went to Jeph’s lap the way Beni had tried to do to Arlen. ‘… I could be your wife. I would fill your farm with children,’ she promised. Jeph groaned.

Arlen felt nauseous and hot in the face. He gulped, tasting bile in his mouth. He wanted to scream their plan to Harl. The man had faced a coreling for his daughter, something Jeph would never do. He imagined Harl would punch his father. The image was not displeasing.

Jeph hesitated, then pushed Ilain away. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We’ll get Silvy to the Herb Gatherer tomorrow, and she’ll be fine.’

‘Then take me anyway,’ Ilain begged, falling to her knees.

‘I’ll … think about it,’ his father replied. Just then, Beni and Renna burst in from the barn. Arlen rose quickly, pretending he had just entered with them as Ilain hurriedly stood. He felt the moment to confront them slip past.

After putting the girls to bed and producing a pair of grimy blankets for Arlen and Jeph in the main room, Ilain drew a deep breath and went into her father’s room. Not long after, Arlen heard Harl grunting quietly, and the occasional muffled yelp from Ilain. Pretending not to hear it, he glanced over at Jeph, seeing him biting his fist.

Arlen was up before the sun the next morning, while the rest of the house slept. Moments before sunrise, he opened the door, staring at the remaining corelings impatiently as they hissed and clawed the air at him from the far side of the wards. As the last demon in the yard went misty, he left the house and went to the big barn, watering Missy and Harl’s other horses. The mare was in a foul temper, and nipped at him. ‘Just one more day,’ Arlen told her as he put her feed bag on.

His father was still snoring as he went back into the house and knocked on the doorframe of the room shared by Renna and Beni. Beni pulled the curtain aside, and immediately Arlen noted the worried looks on the sisters’ faces.

‘She won’t wake up,’ Renna, who was kneeling by Arlen’s mother, choked. ‘I knew you wanted to leave as soon as the sun rose, but when I shook her …’ She gestured towards the bed, her eyes wet. ‘She’s so pale.’

Arlen rushed to his mother’s side, taking her hand. Her fingers were cold and clammy, but her forehead burned to the touch. Her breathing came in short gasps, and the rotting stink of demon sickness was thick about her. Her bandages were soaked with brownish yellow ooze.

‘Da!’ Arlen cried. A moment later, Jeph appeared with Ilain and Harl close behind.

‘We don’t have any time to waste,’ Jeph said.

‘Take one’a my horses t’go with yours,’ Harl said. ‘Switch ’em when they tire. Push hard, and you should reach Mey by afternoon.’

‘We’re in your debt,’ Jeph said, but Harl waved the thought away.

‘Hurry, now,’ he said. ‘Ilain will pack you something to eat on the road.’

Renna caught Arlen’s arm as he turned to go. ‘We’s promised now,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll wait on the porch every dusk till you’re back.’ She kissed him on the cheek. Her lips were soft, and the feel of them lingered long after she pulled away.

The cart bumped and jerked as they raced along the rough dirt road, pausing only once to rotate the horses. Arlen looked at the food Ilain had packed as if it were poison. Jeph ate it hungrily.

As Arlen picked at the grainy bread and hard, pungent cheese, he started to think that maybe it was all a misunderstanding. Maybe he hadn’t overheard what he thought he had. Maybe Jeph hadn’t hesitated in pushing Ilain away.

It was a tempting illusion, but Jeph shattered it a moment later. ‘What do you think of Harl’s younger daughter?’ he asked. ‘You spent some time with her.’ Arlen felt as if his father had just punched him in the stomach.

‘Renna?’ Arlen asked, playing innocent. ‘She’s okay, I guess. Why?’

‘I spoke to Harl,’ his father said. ‘She’s going to come live with us when we go back to the farm.’

‘Why?’ Arlen asked.

‘To look after your mam, help around the farm, and … other reasons.’

‘What other reasons?’ Arlen pressed.

‘Harl and I want to see if you two will get along,’ Jeph said.

‘What if we don’t?’ Arlen asked. ‘What if I don’t want some girl following me around all day asking me to play kissy with her?’

‘One day,’ Jeph said, ‘you might not mind playing kissy so much.’

‘So let her come then,’ Arlen said, shrugging his shoulders and pretending not to know what his father was getting at. ‘Why is Harl so eager to be rid of her?’

‘You’ve seen the state of their farm; they can barely feed themselves,’ Jeph said. ‘Harl loves his daughters very much, and he wants the best for them. And what’s best is marrying them while they’re still young, so he can have sons to help him out and grandchildren before he dies. Ilain is already older than most girls who marry. Lucik Boggin is going to come out to help on Harl’s farm starting in the fall. They’re hoping he and Beni will get along.’

‘I suppose Lucik didn’t have any choice, either,’ Arlen grumbled.

‘He’s happy to go, and lucky at that!’ Arlen’s father snapped, losing his patience. ‘You’re going to have to learn some hard lessons about life, Arlen. There are a lot more boys than girls in the Brook, and we can’t just fritter our lives away. Every year, we lose more to dotage and sickness and corelings. If we don’t keep children coming, Tibbet’s Brook will fade away just like a hundred other villages! We can’t let that happen!’

Arlen, seeing his normally placid father seething, wisely said nothing.

An hour later, Silvy started screaming. They turned to find her trying to stand up right there in the cart, clutching at her chest, her breath coming in loud, horrid gasps. Arlen leapt into the back of the cart, and she gripped him with surprisingly strong hands, coughing thick phlegm onto his shirt. Her bulging, bloodshot eyes stared wildly into his, but there was no recognition in them. Arlen screamed as she thrashed about, holding her as steadily as he could.

Jeph stopped the cart and together they forced her to lie back down. She thrashed about, screaming in hoarse gasps. And then, like Cholie, she gave a final wrack, and lay still.

Jeph looked at his wife, and then threw his head back and screamed. Arlen nearly bit through his lip trying to hold back his tears, but in the end he failed. They wept together over the woman.

When their sobs eased, Arlen looked around, his eyes lifeless. He tried to focus, but the world seemed blurry, as if it wasn’t real.

‘What do we do now?’ he asked finally.

‘We turn around,’ his father said, and the words cut Arlen like a knife. ‘We take her home and burn her. We try to go on. There’s still the farm and the animals to care for, and even with Renna and Norine to help us, there’s going to be some hard times ahead.’

‘Renna?’ Arlen asked incredulously. ‘We’re still taking her with us? Even now?’

‘Life goes on, Arlen,’ his father said. ‘You’re almost a man, and a man needs a wife.’

‘Did you arrange one for both of us?’ Arlen blurted.

‘What?’ Jeph asked.

‘I heard you and Ilain last night!’ Arlen screamed. ‘You’ve got another wife all ready! What do you care about Mam? You’ve already got someone else to take care of your thingie! At least, until she gets killed too, because you’re too scared to help her!’

Arlen’s father hit him; a hard slap across the face that cracked the morning air. His anger faded instantly, and he reached out to his son. ‘Arlen, I’m sorry …!’ he choked, but the boy pulled away and jumped off the cart.

‘Arlen!’ Jeph cried, but the boy ignored him, running as hard as he could for the woods off to the side of the road.