Kitabı oku: «Barren»

1
Greatward
334 AR Summer

Selia shifted, wrapping her arms tighter around the body next to her. Smooth skin with hard muscle beneath, warm like a crock filled with fresh-baked cookies. She put her nose into the thick braid of hair and inhaled. The scent was euphoric.

Selia’s eyes popped open.

‘Night, girl!’ She gave Lesa a shove to wake her. ‘Fell asleep again!’

Selia glanced at the window, where a faint glow shone through the shutter slats of her house. ‘Nearly sun-up. You’ve got to get—!’

‘Shhhhhh.’ Lesa reached a hand behind her, stroking Selia’s face until her calloused fingers settled gently on Selia’s lips. ‘Mam and Da went up to Jeph Bales’ farm to help prepare. Never know I ent been home.’

Lesa snuggled back into the feathered pillow, quickly falling back to sleep. Selia drew a deep breath and curled around her, attempting the same. Lesa was right.

But Selia had never been good at sleeping when there were problems to worry at. Lesa’s parents might be away, but she was still living under their roof. The young woman had barely twenty summers, while Selia was laying stores against her sixty-ninth winter. Lying with another woman was already enough to ignite town gossip. Taking a lover less than a third her age might see folk strip her of the Speaker’s gavel – if they didn’t just put her out in the night and have done.

Even as Selia squeezed her eyes shut, the sight of Renna Tanner, staked in Town Square for the demons, remained.

No. We don’t do that any more.

But Selia remembered how quickly Jeorje had turned the town against Renna, and he had far more reason to want Selia staked than some barley-headed farm girl.

Selia’s arm, tucked beneath Lesa, grew numb. The woman’s heat had them both sweating, a sticky bond to their skin. Too uncomfortable to sleep, Selia began the slow process of working her arm free without waking her partner.

Already, she was planning the day. Lesa’s family wasn’t the only one to head up to Jeph Bales’ farm. It was new moon, and Jeph had called the town council to meet on his property that night.

It was an unusual request for the council to meet outside Town Square – not to mention at night. But there were rumours about what Jeph was building on his farm, and all wanted to know the truth of it.

Selia didn’t need to guess. Arlen Bales paid his father a visit last moon. She knew this because that same night, Renna Tanner had materialized in Selia’s yard, catching her and Lesa with their skirts up.

The Brook’s prodigal children brought grave warnings. Smart demons. Shape changers. Corelings working in concert, dismantling wards like Baleses reaping a field. Tibbet’s Brook was still coming to grips with fighting even ‘normal’ demons. The battle wards were spreading, but few had tested themselves against the night. Folk weren’t prepared for what was coming.

Selia slipped from the bed, quietly padding to the washbasin. Lesa’s scent clung to her, evidence of their indiscretion. Renna had stayed hidden until Selia sent Lesa away, and offered no judgement over the tea and cookies, but it was a reminder of how careless they had become.

Folk used to call you Barren, Renna told her, but tonight’s got me wonderin’ they got it wrong.

If Selia and Lesa didn’t stop, it was only a matter of time before the town found out. She feared the grey-beards might already be recalling old rumours and making guesses.

Selia splashed her face. The water was cold, shocking away the last vestiges of sleep. She looked at her reflection in the same silvered mirror she’d used for almost seventy years, but the face staring back was only dimly familiar – a faded memory brought back to life.

The deep lines in her face had shallowed to nothing. Her once-white hair was yellow at the roots and growing. That hair was a rarity in the Brook, a gift from her father Edwar, a Milnese Messenger who decided to make Tibbet’s Brook his home.

Selia looked at her hands. The once-translucent skin was now thick and tough, spots of age melting away into sun-browned flesh.

She straightened, but there wasn’t so much as a twinge as her back aligned. No ache in her shoulders and knees. No sparks of pain as her knuckles flexed.

Next to the basin, within easy reach, was the spear Arlen Bales had given her. She brushed her fingertips over the delicate wards carved into its length, shivering in remembrance of the rush of magic that travelled up its shaft when she struck her first demon with it. The power was wild – intoxicating. In its grip she moved with strength and speed that were … inhuman, fighting with animal passion.

The feeling of invincibility faded soon afterwards, but a bit of the strength lingered. She woke the next day feeling stronger than she had in years.

Selia had killed many demons since, leading the Town Square militia to victory after victory. Corelings were slowly being cleansed from every yard and field in the Brook.

The rush of magic was addictive, as many folk were learning. Even Selia was caught in its grip. It did more than strengthen the body; it heightened passion as well.

She drew her hand back from the weapon as if it had suddenly grown hot, and looked back at Lesa, snoring contentedly.

Any fool who’d seen a Jongleur’s show knew magic came with a price.

‘Out of bed, lazy girl.’ Selia gave Lesa a shove. ‘Tea is hot and there will be the Core to pay if you let it get cold.’

Lesa flung back the covers, shameless as she slipped out of bed and bent to pick up her trousers. She glanced up, smiling as she caught Selia staring.

Selia snatched the blouse from her bedpost and threw it at the girl, but she was smiling too. ‘Get dressed while I take the butter cookies from the oven.’

Lesa entered the kitchen soon after. Even with her back turned, Selia could tell the young woman was reaching for the batter-covered spoon resting in the mixing bowl. Without looking up, Selia snatched the spoon and used it to swat the back of Lesa’s hand.

‘Ow!’ Lesa snatched her hand away.

‘Licking the spoon’s a reward, not a privilege.’ Selia laid a plate of cookies on the windowsill to cool. ‘Set the table and pour the tea. Yesterday’s batch is in the crock.’

Lesa held up a fist, turning it to show the batter splashed across the back. Then she deliberately licked it clean.

Selia raised the spoon threateningly, and Lesa laughed, darting to the cookie crock on the table. ‘Forget sometimes, you’re still Old Lady Barren.’

Selia raised a brow. ‘That what children call me now?’

Lesa coloured. ‘Din’t mean …’

Selia waved the apology away. ‘What will your young friends say, when they learn you’ve been sleeping in Old Lady Barren’s bed?’

Lesa winked. ‘Ent done much sleeping.’

‘Know what I mean,’ Selia said.

‘You say “when” like it’s written somewhere folk are gonna find out,’ Lesa said.

‘Live to be an old lady, you’ll learn folk find everything out eventually.’

Lesa threw up her hands. ‘So what if they do? You’re Speaker for the Brook, and every night you go out and kill corelings to keep folk safe. Town couldn’t do without you. And I done everything my parents ever asked, and got demon scars to show what I’ve given this town. Who cares, folk find out we’re square girls?’

Selia winced at the term. ‘Where did you hear that? Do you even know what it means?’

Lesa shrugged. ‘Everyone knows. Means girls who kiss girls.’

Selia bit her tongue. ‘Schoolyard talk’s changed since I was teaching.’

Lesa blinked. ‘You were schoolmam?’

‘No.’ Selia shook her head. ‘That was Lory, my mother.’

Lesa splashed tea as she dunked a cookie, cramming it into her mouth before it had time to soften. Crumbs sprayed as she spoke. ‘Want to hear all about her.’

Selia swatted the air with the wooden spoon. ‘Ent story time. Sun’s coming up. Finish your tea and head out the back before someone sees you. Take Dyer’s Way.’

Lesa wrinkled her nose. The alley behind Dyer’s shop where Jan kept his chemical vats stank, discouraging casual traffic. The perfect path for one wishing to be unseen.

‘Don’t want to go,’ Lesa said. ‘Just tell folk I came at dawn to escort you.’

‘Since when do I need an escort to walk down the street to Town Square?’ Selia gave Lesa the look. Her wrinkles might have smoothed away, but her grey hair still carried weight in the Brook.

‘Ay, Speaker.’ Lesa wiped her mouth and left without another word.

You’ll pay for that later. Selia let out a breath of relief when the door closed behind the girl. Another moment successfully stolen. How many more would they have?

Her appetite lost, Selia set the cookies aside and took out her writing kit, continuing a series of letters to kin in Fort Miln. There hadn’t been a Messenger for over a year, but sooner or later one would come, and her father taught her better than to be unprepared.

After an hour she packed the fresh cookies and went to the stable where Butter, her spirited gelding, waited. Her father’s old Messenger armour was stowed in the saddlebags she slung from Butter’s back. The Smiths removed some plates and shifted others, hammering until it all fit her, but the smell of oil, steel, and old sweaty leather still reminded Selia of Edwar. There was comfort knowing the same metal that succoured her father on his journeys now protected her.

His shield was goldwood covered in a layer of fine Milnese steel, defensive wards still strong after decades of use and fifty years above the mantel. Only his spear hung there now, the fine weapon no match for the one Arlen Bales gifted her.

Selia led her horse down the road to Town Square. She was thankful for her discretion when she saw Tender Harral, Meada Boggin and Coline Trigg already waiting in the square with the militias. It would not have done for so many to see her arrive with Lesa.

Meada’s son Lucik was with them, along with his wife Beni, and nearly a dozen men and women from Boggin’s Hill. Their round shields had two concentric rings of wards, with a frothing mug of ale painted at their centre. The Boggins wore boiled armour with wards burned into the leather, and kept their warded spears close to hand.

The change magic wrought on Selia was more pronounced, but any fool could see the power at work here, too. Folk she’d known their whole lives were changing in noticeable ways. Tender Harral’s armour was hung from an acolyte’s horse, but he kept spear and Canon close. Muscles strained the sleeves of his once-loose robe.

Meada’s grey hair was streaked with brown. She led the Boggin militia in clearing the demons from Boggin’s Hill, but had since given her spear to her son. Lucik was always a strapping boy, but he’d added fifty pounds of muscle in recent months. A quiet lad, he was fierce when fighting corelings.

‘Speaker.’ Lucik dropped his eyes when he noticed Selia’s gaze. Fierce in battle, yes, but still loyal as a pup.

‘Good boy.’ She resisted the urge to scratch him behind the ears.

Meada snorted as Lucik’s ears coloured. ‘Good to see you, Speaker.’

‘And you, Meada. Sorry I ent been up the hill recently.’ As she spoke, Selia’s eyes scanned the assembled Square militia, mounted five wide and five deep. Twenty-five of her best fighters to keep the peace and stand guard when the sun set. The wards on their wooden shields were a perfect square, a map of Tibbet’s Brook painted in the centre of its succour.

‘Don’t think on it,’ Meada said. ‘Creator knows you’ve been busy clearing corelings out of town, and it’s got everyone feeling sunnier.’

‘Credit for that goes to a lot of folk, you and your son included.’ Selia spotted Lesa in her assigned place in the second row of the formation – close enough to see, but far enough to mask any hint of favouritism. Normally Lesa would meet her eyes and give Selia a private smile, but today the girl had her eyes studiously forward.

She was still upset.

Perhaps that’s best, while the council meets.

‘Brine sent word not to wait on the Cutters,’ Harral said. ‘They’ll come in their own time. Hog left at dawn with a dozen store security.’

Selia harrumphed. ‘Store security’ Hog called them, but they were fast becoming his personal army. The Square militia was all volunteers, men and women with normal day lives, coming out to fight for their town when the sun set. Most made and warded their own weapons and equipment, with varying degrees of quality.

Hog’s store security all wore armour of thick leather, studded with warded silver. Their matching spears were of the finest quality, etched expertly with wards. The three concentric ward circles on their steel-covered shields had in their centre a painting of the original General Store Hog built when he first came to Tibbet’s Brook.

Store security pulled their weight in town, keeping the square clear of demons and aiding the militia in culling corelings from valuable land, but there was no illusion about whom they answered to.

‘Let’s not waste time, then.’ Selia mounted and they set off north.

Jeph’s farm was already bustling when they arrived. Hog’s pavilion was set, his thick-armed daughters, Dasy and Catrin, selling food and ale. Security was still unloading carts, and Hog himself carried a keg in each arm.

‘Night,’ Coline said. ‘He looks thirty again.’

Hog had always been robust, but he carried more than sixty winters, and in recent years it had begun to show. But, as with Selia, the seasons had melted away with the lines on his face. His hair and beard were coal-black, any last vestiges of grey trimmed away. Thick curls grew on his crown where not long ago there had been bare skin.

‘It’s unnatural,’ Coline said. Harral grunted in agreement. Even Meada was nodding.

Selia turned to them, raising an eyebrow.

‘That’s different and you know it, Speaker,’ Coline said. ‘You’re out every night, riskin’ your life to keep folk safe. Ent the same as payin’ store security to drag you a chained-up demon every Fifthday to suck on like a skeeter.’

‘Ay, maybe,’ Selia said. ‘But Hog’s always pulled his weight with this town. I’d have run him out for a cheat long ago if he hadn’t.’

‘Ay,’ Meada agreed. ‘But don’t forget he voted Renna Tanner into the night because he thought it was better for business.’

Coline dropped her eyes, losing bluster. For, of course, she had voted Renna out, too. No one, not even Selia, had entirely forgiven her for it.

‘Creator plans our trials as well as our triumphs,’ Harral cut in. ‘Could be He put Hog here to cast that vote. Might be that’s what brought the Deliverer to heal our divisions.’

‘If that Messenger was the Deliverer I’ll eat my cookie crock,’ Selia said. ‘Didn’t heal a corespawned thing. Brook’s more divided than ever.’

‘That, too, is the Creator’s plan,’ Harral said. ‘Brook’s been evening a long while. Might be it needed to get dark before the dawn.’

Selia wrinkled her nose. ‘Can’t know the Creator’s plan, my da used to say, but we do know He’s not going to come down from Heaven to carry the mail.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Coline asked.

‘Means we own our problems.’ Selia locked eyes with the Herb Gatherer. ‘And our choices.’

Coline flinched and dropped her eyes. ‘Ay, Speaker.’

Jeph Bales was showing off his new greatward like a prize pig at the summer Solstice festival. Bales’ property was one massive ward of protection now, formed by fences, shrubs, hedges, stone paths, and curve-roofed storage sheds, not to mention the barley fields, manicured from the straight rows of their original planting. Simple shapes flowed seamlessly into one another, creating something altogether more complex. Folk walked around eyes agog as they waited for a turn to climb the watchtower to see the greatward from above.

Jeph broke away from a group of guests when he noticed Selia arrive. ‘Speaker.’

‘You’re a Speaker now too, Jeph Bales,’ Selia reminded him. ‘You can call me Selia.’

Jeph shook his head. ‘Ent ready for that. Not looking to lead this town.’

‘Ready or not, Jeph Bales, that’s what you’re doing. There’s more to leading than fancy words. Folk need an example, and you’ve impressed everyone with this monstrosity you’ve built.’

‘Wait till sunset,’ Jeph said.

There was a shout, and they saw Mack Pasture storming away from Hog, who had his arms crossed. Behind him, two store security guards loomed.

Mack headed their way and Selia sighed. Pasture had become a thorn in everyone’s side since he was voted off the council as Speaker for the farms in favour of Jeph.

‘Everything all right, Pasture?’ Selia called.

‘No, it corespawned ent!’ Mack cried. ‘Hog won’t sell me a warded spear on credit.’

‘Could have had your own,’ Jeph said, ‘you’d had the stones to stand when the Messenger came.’ There was no divide in town deeper than those who wanted to protect Renna Tanner and those who voted her into the night.

‘Din’t need it,’ Mack snapped, ‘till Hog bought the old Tanner farm and sent store security to sweep the property. Sent all the corelings runnin’ my way, scarin’ the cattle and apt to overload the wards. And now he won’t so much as rent me a spear.’

Selia pursed her lips. She had little more sympathy for Mack than Jeph, but her father’s advice sounded in her head.

Town Speaker speaks for everyone, not just the folk they like.

‘I’ll have the militia out tomorrow night to start clearing your property,’ Selia promised.

Next to arrive was Brine Broadshoulders with his adopted son Manie Cutter. Selia remembered the boy, shivering at her table the night corelings breached the wards of the Cluster by the Woods in 319 AR. Manie was a man grown now, tall and heavily muscled, with a warded axe mattock strapped to his back. He and his father led a score of giant Cutters onto Jeph’s property.

It was afternoon before the Fishers made their way up the road. Raddock Lawry, their Speaker, was older than Selia, his thick beard stark white, face deep with crags.

Raddock’s eyes widened when he saw Selia. She’d shed decades since he saw her last, now looking much as she had when Raddock tried to court her, fifty years ago. ‘Guess it shouldn’t surprise me you’ve exploited the unnatural too, Selia.’

Selia felt a flash of anger. ‘I’ve done nothing but stand up for this town when you and yours were too stubborn.’

So much for speaking for everyone. Anger came easily where Raddock was concerned.

‘Punishing Fishers is how you stand up for the town, Speaker?’ Garric Fisher was not so old, taller than Selia and half again her weight. He leaned in, trying to intimidate, but Selia hadn’t scared easily when she was old and her bones ached. She sure as the Core didn’t now.

‘Ent punishing anyone.’ Selia’s eyes flicked over his stance, deciding how best to put him on the ground without breaking anything. ‘Been sending militia to keep Fishing Hole safe, like we agreed.’

‘Ay, for the Duke’s tithe worth of fish!’ Raddock growled. ‘While your militia bullies and robs us.’

Selia blinked. ‘Come again?’

‘Drunk on demon magic and looking down on regular folk,’ Raddock said. ‘Garric’s got Boggins pissing on his fence and leaving demonshit on his doorstep. Other night, someone staked a coreling in my yard. Turned into a rippin’ bonfire when the sun came up.’

None of this was surprising. The Fishers had turned Tibbet’s Brook on its head last year, and a lot of folk resented them for it. Raddock wasn’t wrong about what magic did to folk, whetting emotions already sharp.

She blew a breath through her nostrils. ‘Thank you for bringing it to my attention, Raddock. I’ll put a stop to that nonsense straight away.’

‘Stopping it ent enough, Selia,’ Raddock said. ‘Want to see some punishment. Stam Tailor had Maddy Fisher below decks in her father’s boat!’

Selia clenched a fist, imagining she was squeezing Stam’s throat. ‘Girl wasn’t willing?’

‘Don’t matter!’ Raddock snapped. ‘She’s thirty summers his junior! It’s an abomination.’

Selia’s eyes flicked to Lesa, and this time the girl met the look proudly. She stood with the rest of the Square militia, all of them ready to pounce if the Fishers got out of hand. Raddock caught the glance, taking in the militia with a scowl. The Fishers brought a dozen men with them, but both sides knew they were no match for warriors who killed demons each night.

‘Maddy’s got nineteen summers, Raddock,’ Selia said. ‘Ent for you to say who she should be kissing.’

‘What about her da?’ Raddock demanded. ‘Tried to break it up and Stam blacked his eye.’

Selia pursed her lips. ‘I’ll have a talk with Stam and get to the bottom of it. If it’s like you say, he’ll make it right.’

‘Needs more than talk, Selia,’ Raddock said. ‘Law calls for a whippin’ in the square.’

Selia shook her head. ‘Last time we tied someone up in the square, whole town turned upside down. We’re better than that.’

‘Always an excuse why Fishers don’t get justice,’ Raddock sneered. ‘Ent even botherin’ to pretend the town council means spit any more.’

‘No one’s saying that,’ Selia said. ‘But we don’t take every dispute to the council, Raddock. Might be this can settle if Stam apologizes, does right by Maddy, and makes some fresh sails for Fishing Hole.’

‘Don’t want rippin’ sails,’ Raddock growled.

‘Of course not,’ Selia said. ‘All you ever want is blood, Raddock. Ent changed in fifty years.’

Raddock’s face tightened, wrinkles becoming fissures on the craggy landscape. ‘Don’t want blood, Selia. All I ever want is respect, but that’s always been too much to ask.’

Not for the first time, Selia’s hand itched to punch him in the mouth. After all he’d done when they were young. How dare he?

‘Fisher’s got a point, Selia.’

Selia turned to see Jeorje Watch had arrived with fifty armed Watchmen. They wore their traditional garb – bleached white shirts under suspendered black pants, tall black boots, black jackets and wide-brimmed hats. The jackets were bulkier than a year ago, sewn with plates of warded glass to absorb coreling blows. Their hats were likewise armoured, secured by heavy straps.

Coran Marsh was at Jeorje’s side, pushed in his wheeled chair by his eldest son Keven. Big as Lucik Boggin, Keven had been killing demons since the night the Messenger gave his father a spear, but though his body had failed, Coran’s mind remained sharp, and it was to him the Marshes answered.

It was more than a moon since Southwatch annexed Soggy Marsh, but it was still disturbing to see Marshes and Watches standing together. Combined, those boroughs counted nearly four hundred of the thousand or so folk who called the Brook home. A dozen Marsh militia marched with the Watches, carrying thin, warded fishing spears.

But it was Jeorje who led them. The oldest person in the Brook by two decades, Jeorje looked not a day over thirty. His thin wisps of white hair had been replaced with a thick mat of nut brown, his leathern skin smooth once more. His coat was off, the sleeves of his bleached white shirt rolled over meaty forearms. Thick muscled biceps and chest looked ready to split the seams.

He wore no armour, not even a hat, and carried no shield. The cane he used to stomp to make a point was like a sceptre now, covered in intricate warding, with a sheathed speartip at the narrow end. Selia had watched Jeorje beat corelings to death with that cane.

Selia fixed him with the look, though it never affected Jeorje the way it did others. ‘Ent one to talk, Jeorje. Hear tell you just married Mena Watch last month. Girl ent seen twenty summers.’

‘Married, Selia,’ Jeorje said. ‘I don’t dishonour women’s families by luring them into fornication.’

‘Just into your harem,’ Selia quipped. ‘Mena is your … sixth?’

‘Seventh.’ There was pride in Jeorje’s voice. ‘A holy number. And my wife Trena arranged the match with Mena’s family personally. I didn’t lure her in secret and steal her virtue.’

‘Only bought it from her da,’ Selia muttered.

Jeorje ignored the words. ‘Stam Tailor has ever been a burden on this town, given to drink and poor choices.’

Jeorje might be a hypocrite, but he was not without a point. Plenty of folk liked getting drunk on festival days or at night after the wards were checked, but Stam was seldom sober, and someone was always cleaning his mess, one way or the other. He’d taken the rush of magic over drink, but addiction was addiction.

A burden on this town. It wasn’t the first time Selia heard Jeorje use those words, and it always led to the same place.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Council’s all here now. Send someone to fetch Maddy and I’ll send for Stam. We’ll hear their case and vote tonight.’

It was an empty promise. Hog and Coline were still paying for their votes against Renna Tanner, and Mack had been replaced by Jeph. With those votes turned, the council would never support the Fishers’ calls for blood again.

Selia saw a fleeting smile twitch Jeorje’s lips, and she realized he had never wanted the vote. He wanted to be seen supporting the Fishers when she was against.

‘You need not depend on Town Square for protection from corespawn,’ Jeorje told Raddock. ‘Southwatch can offer better.’

Selia flexed her knuckles. Adding Fishing Hole would only give Jeorje three council votes out of ten, but half the Brook’s population would answer to him. If that happened, the council really would become obsolete, and Selia would be lucky to avoid being staked in the square herself.

‘Talk about it on your own time,’ Jeph cut in loudly. ‘I called this meeting, and the sun’s settin’.’

It was crowded atop the watchtower with all ten Speakers and Keven Marsh – who had carried his father up the ladder. Private squabbles died away as they took in Jeph’s greatward, clearly visible from above. The symbol brightened as shadows lengthened. By sunset the ward was glowing softly, illuminating all Jeph’s property.

Jeph pointed. ‘Led a couple Wanderers that way last night.’

Demons came in all shapes and sizes, but folk in the Brook lumped them into two groups: Regulars and Wanderers. Regulars tended to haunt the same paths, imprinting on an area and almost never leaving. Wanderers hunted where sound and spoor led, ranging wide and without pattern.

Corelings always rose in the same spot they used to flee the sun the night before. As the dark strengthened, black mist vented from the ground like smoke, coalescing into a pair of field demons.