The Core

Like humans, demons closed their eyes and clenched up when they sneezed. Briar used that moment to step in, catching the woodie’s arm in his left hand. The pressure ward smoked against its skin, flooding Briar with strength as he shattered its wrist with the impact ward.

The demon howled, clutching at its limp talons as Briar slipped back out of reach, circling.

Wisdom dictated he take his time. He was growing stronger with every blow, delivering harm quicker than the demon could heal, especially with Briar draining its magic. That kind of caution was why Briar had survived so many years, living in the naked night since he was six summers old.

He struck again, hitting the corie in the back and knocking it off balance. It swept its good arm at him. Briar ducked back, then shot forward, delivering an open-palm blow to its snout.

His mind told him to retreat again, but the demon seemed to have slowed. It was vulnerable as it reeled back, and Briar kept the offensive, landing blow after blow. He forgot caution. Forgot defence. He sensed the kill.

A wild swing of the wood demon’s great gnarled arm took Briar in the stomach, cracking ribs and launching him through the air. He hit the ground hard several feet away, and the crowd, cheering a moment ago, gasped.

Coughing blood, Briar shook himself off, rolling to his feet. Already the magic was healing him, but the world spun as he tried to take a step, and the recovered demon leapt at him.

The Wardskins shouted encouragement, Stela loudest of all, but none of them moved to help him. This was part of the initiation. Either the initiate killed the demon, or the demon killed them.

Wood demons’ arms were long and powerful, but they were not nimble. Too dizzy to fight, Briar fell flat on the ground. The talons whiffed overhead as the demon passed.

Briar kept prone, letting the magic rushing through his body do its work. The world had stopped spinning by the time the woodie pulled up short, talons tearing the soil atop the bluff in great clumps.

It roared, rushing him again. Briar rolled away at the last moment, throwing a pouch into the demon’s gaping maw. The woodie snapped at it instinctively, filling its mouth and nostrils with powdered hogroot.

While the demon choked and retched, Briar got back to his feet. He watched for a moment, then saw his chance and rushed in, using the woodie’s gnarled knee as a step to climb onto its back. He put a leg into its armpit, hooking it around the corie’s good arm to lock it in place as he caught its throat with his left hand. The pressure ward smoked and burned, Briar’s grip growing strong enough to crush steel. The demon’s neck was filled with powerful corded muscle and sinew, but it was only flesh.

Briar put his right hand against the back of the woodie’s neck. The impact ward flared, pushing forward even as Briar’s other hand pulled back. Slowly, his hands moved closer together.

The demon thrashed wildly, stumbling around the bluff. It drew close to the onlookers, but the crowd only jeered, shoving it back toward the centre with warded kicks and punches.

The demon threw its free arm at its back, but with the wrist broken, it could not bring its talons to bear. Briar accepted the blows, keeping his hold. The more the magic built, the stronger he felt.

The woodie threw itself to the ground, rolling to try to dislodge him. The wind was knocked out of him, but Briar sensed desperation and tightened his grip. The Wardskins stood silent, holding collective breath until the corie’s neck broke with an audible snap.

The crowd erupted in cheers, everyone rushing in as Briar lifted the huge demon clear over his head and threw it off.

Then he was up in their arms, bounced above the crowd as they carried him about the bluff chanting, ‘Wardskin! Wardskin! Wardskin!’

Briar had never felt so alive.

One of the girls produced a pipe, playing a lively song, and the crowd began to dance.

Briar tired of being tossed about, slipping down to his own feet right in front of a beaming Stela Inn.

‘Knew you could do it!’ Stela kissed him, his lips still tingling from magic. ‘That was the fastest kill yet, and I didn’t pick a little one.’ She winked. ‘Wanted to show you off.’

Briar knew he should say something, but no words came. He just stood there, stupidly grinning at her.

Stela drew her knife and flipped it in her hand, holding it out to him handle-first. ‘Ent over. You have to cut out its black heart.’

Briar stared dumbly at her for a moment, then shook himself, taking the knife. He strode over to the demon, catching one of its armour plates and prising the knife underneath. Cutting wards flared as Briar yanked on the plate, half cutting, half tearing its chest open.

Black ichor covered the wards on his hands. They glowed, leaching its magic, making him strong beyond belief. He dropped the knife, ripping the next armour plate off with his bare hands. He weakened the demon’s rib cage with the pressure ward, then struck hard with the impact, shattering bone.

Briar thrust his hands inside the creature. In a moment he held up its heart, and the Wardskins cheered again. They had produced a great barrel of ale and were passing sloshing cups.

‘My uncle Keet didn’t think Mudboy had it in him!’ Stela boomed to the crowd. ‘Said Briar Damaj wasn’t good enough to be Pack.’

There was jeering in response, and Stela put her hands on her hips. ‘What do the Wardskins say?’

‘Pack!’ the others shouted, punching fists in the night air. ‘Pack! Pack!’

Stela stepped up to Briar, putting her hands on the heart. They came away black with ichor. ‘Pack.’ She wiped the fluid across her breast, gasping in pleasure as her wards glowed, absorbing the power.

‘The Deliverer is strong within you,’ Franq agreed, stepping up next to touch the heart. Like Stela, he wiped the blood across his tattoos, shivering as they brightened. Then he turned to Briar, reaching out a black finger to trace a ward on his forehead. ‘Pack.’

The Wardskins formed a queue, each touching the heart and wiping ichor across their wards. ‘Pack,’ they whispered.

‘Want another taste,’ Stela said, giving the heart a squeeze, rubbing ichor onto her warded arms like lotion.

‘Ay, you going to take a bite of it, next?’ Ella Cutter jeered.

‘Don’t think I won’t!’ Stela said.

‘Hear that, Wardskins?’ Ella cried. ‘Stela’s going to take a bite of the demon’s heart!’

‘Do it!’ someone shouted from the crowd.

‘She ent got the stones!’ a girl cried.

‘You’ll slosh for sure!’ a gangly young man added, laughing.

‘Gatherers say ichor’s poison!’ someone said.

Stela looked at Franq, but the Brother did not try to stay her. Indeed, he eyed Stela and the heart intensely. Hungrily.

‘Eat it!’ the crowd boomed. ‘Eat it! Eat it! Eat it!’

Stela gave a wild smile, chomping down and tearing free a chunk of demon flesh. Her mouth ran black as she chewed, a mad look in her eyes. She retched once, but managed to swallow the mouthful.

‘Tastes like a coreling shat in my mouth!’ Stela cried, and the crowd laughed. She turned to Briar, offering him the heart. When he baulked, she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in, kissing him wetly on the mouth.

The ichor was foul on his lips, clinging and noxious, but he felt its power, even so. He felt his bile rise and swallowed hard, feeling the ichor burn its way down into him.

Franq strode at them as she pulled away. Briar half expected him to condemn them as corespawned. Instead the man stepped up and kissed Stela, tasting the ichor from her lips as Briar had.

Briar expected her to push him away, but Stela seemed to welcome the kiss, ecstatic in the rush of magic.

Briar lost sight of her as the other Wardskins swarmed forward to take their own bites from the heart. Soon the heart was consumed, everyone retching and laughing, faces black with demon blood. Unsatisfied, some went to the demon’s body, tearing into its chest and pulling out gobs of meat.

More of the Wardskins began kissing, rubbing ichor over one another’s faces and bodies. Briar saw Ella and the gangly young man move away from the demon, smeared with ichor. Ella laughed at Briar, wiggling her littlest finger at him as the man laid her back in the dirt.

Briar felt his face heat, turning away, but it was becoming a common scene atop the bluff, the few scraps of cloth the Wardskins wore being pulled away, wards glowing brightly in the night.

Stela had vanished. Briar wandered through the cavorting Pack looking for her. The chaos was surreal amid the magic flooding his senses. Stela was nowhere to be found atop the bluff. He moved down the pathway into the woods.

He heard her grunting and picked up his pace, not knowing what he would find. He burst through the trees to see Stela naked on all fours, growling. Brother Franq knelt behind her, bido pulled aside to reveal a cock thrice the size of Briar’s. His hands were on her hips, pulling her onto it.

Briar clenched his fist, every instinct screaming at him to strike the man. To kill him. To tear open his chest as he had the demon’s and feast on his heart.

But then Stela looked up. ‘Briar! Don’t be shy! I’ve openings for two.’

She beckoned, and Briar froze, terrified. The thought of joining them was horrifying. A perversion of the beauty they shared. He was repulsed, but his cock betrayed him, hard in his breeches.

He shook his head sharply, turning and running into the trees.

‘Briar, wait!’ Stela cried. He heard Franq’s bellow as she threw him off. He picked up speed at the sound of her feet, pounding across the forest bed after him.

Briar zigzagged through the trees, but while Franq’s angry shouts receded into the night, Stela kept pace. ‘Corespawn it, Briar! Will you please stop and talk to me?!’

He kept running, but he had no plan. The territory was unfamiliar, his thoughts still reeling. Stela gained ground until she could reach out and catch his arm. ‘What in the dark of night’s gotten into you?!’

Briar whirled to face her. ‘You were … You …!’

Stela crossed her arms. ‘Ay, I was what? Don’t belong to you, Briar Damaj, just because you stuck me.’

Briar shook her arm off. ‘Din’t say you did! Know you want more than the little stinker with the small cock.’

Stela’s expression softened. ‘Heard me and Ella, din’t you? Night, I’m sorry, Briar. Din’t mean it cruel.’

Briar barked a laugh. ‘Else could it be?’

‘Just girl talk,’ Stela said, giving him that wicked smile. ‘Don’t mean you won’t still get your turn.’

‘What?’ Briar stumbled back as Stela stalked in.

‘Like you, Briar,’ Stela said. ‘Din’t lie about that. Felt safe with you at my back last night.’

Briar backed into a tree and she was against him, still wearing nothing but tattoos and ichor. His heart thudded in his chest.

She put a hand between his legs, squeezing. ‘Did good work on my front, too, when the scrap was over. Small cock or no, I ent letting go a man who can kick a demon’s arse and curl my toes when it’s done.’

She kissed Briar again, breath still hot with magic and hinting at the noxious ichor of the corie.

Stela took his chin in her free hand as their lips parted, turning him to meet her eyes. ‘We don’t own each other in the Pack. I’ll stick who I want, when I want, and you should, too. Ella may joke, but don’t think she ent curious after what I told her.’

She undid the laces of his breeches, freeing him. Everything seemed to be spinning, but in that one place he felt rigid – ready to explode. ‘But not tonight.’ She took him in her hand, skin on skin. Briar shut his eyes and gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. ‘Tonight is your night, Wardskin. Let’s get the first one out of the way, and then you can have me as you please.’

She pushed him back against the tree, mounting him standing. She ground her full weight down on his crotch, reaching back between their legs to fondle his seedpods. Briar howled, and Stela gave a whoop of delight, picking up the pace as they gripped and scratched at each other.

Stela slipped off him when it was done, taking a few unsteady steps before turning around and kneeling on all fours. She turned to look him in the eye, smiling. ‘This is what Franq wanted. Now he’s pulling himself and it’s yours.’

The words teased a primal hunger – the exquisite pleasure of thrusting aside a rival and taking what was his. And why not? Dominance was the natural order of the world. Wolves did it. Cories did it.

Gonna be like them now?

He looked at Stela, covered in ichor, beckoning, and something churned in him. Was this the life he wanted?

He shook his head, reaching down to pull up his pants. ‘No.’

Stela threw him an angry look. ‘No? What in the Core do you mean, no?’

Briar finished lacing himself up. ‘Last night in the Briarpatch, I thought …’

‘What, Mudboy?’ Stela snapped, springing to her feet. ‘That we were one spirit the Creator tore in half?’

‘That you understood,’ Briar said.

‘We killed two demons and stuck each other,’ Stela said. ‘What’s there to understand?’

‘World’s bigger than this,’ Briar said. ‘Folk struggling for their lives outside Gatherers’ Wood, and all the Pack are doing is …’

‘Hunting and killing the demons that prey on them,’ Stela growled.

Briar shook his head. ‘Prey on them yourself. Stealing ale and supplies, even from your own family. Ent looking to protect them when night falls. You just want …’ He swept a hand at her.

Stela put her hands on her hips. ‘Just want what, Mudboy?’

There was danger in her eyes, but now that he had started talking, Briar was past caring.

‘To bathe in ichor and rut,’ he said. ‘And corespawn any that ent Pack.’

Stela lashed out at him. The magic made her fast, but Briar had tasted it, too. He took a quick step back, avoiding the slap.

‘So what, you’re just gonna walk away?!’ Stela demanded. ‘No one walks away from Stela Cutter, you quickshooting little stinker, least of all you.’

She snatched at him, and Briar batted her arm aside with his right hand. There was a flare of power as the impact ward struck, throwing her off her feet.

Briar looked at her in horror. Stela wasn’t a demon, but covered in ichor, the wards reacted as if she were. He could still taste it in his mouth, and spat.

Then he turned and ran into the night.

Briar returned to Mistress Leesha’s keep, slipping unseen past the night guards and into her private garden. If Stela or the other Painted Children were hunting for him, this was the last place they would think to look.

The hogroot patch looked inviting, but sleep was far from Briar’s thoughts. Just the opposite, his limbs shook with unreleased energy.

So he paced until he knew the garden intimately. There were three entrances – two grand and inviting, and one carefully hidden against one of the manse walls, obscured by flora.

Briar dug a small burrow in the hogroot for future use. He practised sharusahk. Anything to keep his thoughts from drifting back to Stela Cutter.

Leesha had shown an affinity for Duchess Araine’s gardens, walking the rows at least twice a day. Sure enough, while the sky was still brightening, the hidden door opened and the mistress slipped out among the herbs.

When he was certain she was alone, Briar stepped out to face her. ‘They’re dangerous.’

Leesha’s hand snapped into one of the many pockets of her dress, but then recognition caught up. ‘Night, Briar! One of these days you’re going to end up with a faceful of blinding powder.’

Briar nodded at the distance between them. ‘Can’t throw powder that far.’

Leesha tsked. ‘Are you all right, Briar?’

He didn’t know how to answer. He’d washed every inch of himself, but still he felt the ichor on his skin, tasted it in his mouth. Stela’s scratches had already healed, but he could still feel them itch.

‘Who’s dangerous, Briar?’ Leesha asked.

‘The Children,’ Briar said. ‘Ent fighting to keep the wood safe. Fighting because it feels good to fight. Magic makes us feel unbeatable.’

‘Us?’ Leesha asked. She stepped close, taking one of his hands and turning it over. She gasped at the ward there.

Briar pulled his hand away. ‘Thought they were like me. Ent. Ent like me at all.’

‘Briar, what’s happened?’ Leesha asked.

‘Ate a coreling’s heart tonight,’ Briar said. ‘Made’m … drunk. Wild. Only going to get worse.’

Leesha looked taken aback. ‘Idiot girl,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Told us himself! Said he ate them.’ She growled, clenching her fists.

‘Ay?’ Briar asked, confused.

‘The tattoos are only half the reason Arlen Bales can ripping fly,’ Leesha said. ‘It’s the corespawned meat!’

Briar looked at her dumbly, having no idea what she meant. After a moment she collected herself, looking back at him. ‘I need you to go back, Briar. I need you to convince them to meet with me.’

Briar shook his head. ‘Ent going back. Not now, not ever. Going home.’

‘Home?’ Leesha asked. ‘Elissa and Ragen won’t head north for weeks yet.’

‘Not north,’ Briar said. ‘Home. Lakton.’

6

Everam Is a Lie

334 AR

Renna gritted her teeth, watching as Shanvah spoon-fed a thin gruel to her father. Shanjat swallowed mechanically, eyes straight ahead, staring at nothing. His aura was bright with life but flat and unmoving. Auras showed emotions, but Shanjat had none to show.

The sight sickened her. Two days ago, Shanjat had been a powerful man in the prime of his life. A better fighter by far than Renna. Now he had all the will of Renna’s old milking cow. He could walk a path if led, squat in the privy and wipe himself when told, even spoon his own gruel if it was placed before him. But if left to his own devices, he would stand in his stall staring at nothing until he dropped.

It didn’t help that Arlen and Jardir were shouting at each other on the tower’s next level. In some ways, that was the worst of it. Shanvah, usually so calm and detached, was weeping openly, and flinched at every angry sound from above.

‘Be strong,’ Renna said. ‘They’ll find a way to bring your da back to us.’

‘Will they?’ Shanvah asked, using the edge of the spoon to scrape a dribble of drool from her father’s lip. She kissed his cheek and moved away, Renna following.

‘Not all will make it to the end of Sharak Ka,’ Shanvah’s voice was low, ‘if indeed any do. It is an honour to die on alagai talons. But this …’ she gestured to her father, staring at nothing, ‘… half life? Alagai Ka made a mocking shell of my father to whisper his evils. If the Deliverer cannot restore him, I will kill him myself.’

Renna’s throat was heavy, and she found herself blinking back tears of her own. She and Shanvah were hardly friends, but that no longer mattered. The Krasians believed that all who shed blood together against the night were family, and for better or worse that was what they were now.

Shanvah was watching her, eyes daring Renna to argue. ‘Time comes,’ Renna said, ‘I’ll be there to catch your tears.’

Shanvah wept anew, throwing her arms about Renna. Renna fought the instinct to pull away, holding the girl tight and patting her back.

When she was finished, Shanvah pulled back, sniffling as she undid her scarf and moved to the basin to wash. When she looked up at her reflection in the silvered mirror, there was grim determination on her face.

She turned to Renna, producing a small, sharp knife. ‘I won’t share my father’s fate.’

Renna eyed the blade warily. ‘Don’t know yet that they can’t save him, Shan. Ent time yet.’

‘It is not for him.’ Shanvah flipped the knife in nimble fingers, handing it to Renna hilt-first. ‘It is for me. I want you to cut mind wards into my forehead.’

Renna shook her head. ‘I can paint them with blackstem …’

‘Blackstem fades,’ Shanvah said. ‘And our supply may dwindle as we walk the road to the abyss. You heard the father of demons. The journey is long, and you are mortal. The time will come when your guard grows lax, and then I will be free.’

Renna blinked. ‘Ay, you may be right about that. We can tattoo …’

Shanvah shook her head. ‘The Evejah commands we not profane our bodies with permanent ink. I will follow the example set down by the Shar’Dama Ka.’

Renna looked at her, seeing the strength and determination in the girl’s aura. ‘Ay, all right.’ She took the knife, laying Shanvah on her back. ‘Need something to bite on?’

Shanvah shook her head. ‘Pain is only wind.’

‘Ent no choice but to stick to the plan,’ the Par’chin said.

Jardir looked at him incredulously. ‘Of course there is a choice, Par’chin. There is always a choice. You had a choice when you broke into Sharik Hora and started us on this path, and there is a choice now. Do not let the honeyed words of Alagai Ka blind you. The very fact that he endorses your mad plan is reason to reconsider. He seeks to lure us into forgetting our true responsibility.’

‘And that is?’ the Par’chin asked.

‘To lead our people in Sharak Ka, vanguard in the battle between Everam and Nie.’

‘Night.’ The Par’chin rolled his eyes. ‘You still spouting that nonsense? Everam is a lie, Ahmann. Nie is a lie. Demon said it himself. Fiction to keep folk from fearin’ the dark.’

The blasphemy no longer surprised him, but still Jardir marvelled at how stubborn the Par’chin could be. ‘How can you say that after all we have seen, Par’chin? How many prophecies must come true before you begin to have faith?’

The Par’chin closed his eyes. ‘I can see the future now. The sun will … rise tomorrow.’ He smirked as he opened his eyes. ‘Gonna think I speak to the Creator when that comes true?’

‘You were not so insolent when I was your ajin’pal,’ Jardir said. ‘Mocking what you do not understand.’

‘Ent,’ the Par’chin said. ‘Mocking stories you make up to explain what we both don’t understand. We’re cattle to these things, Ahmann. Sharak Ka means no more to them than a bull stirring up the cows, and we’ve started a stampede. It will happen now whether we’re there or not. I trust my people to stand against the night. Do you?’

‘My people stood in the night long before yours, Par’chin,’ Jardir reminded him.

‘Then let them!’ the Par’chin cried. ‘While they hold the surface, we have this one chance to take it downstairs.’

‘To Nie’s abyss,’ Jardir said. ‘Yet you deny Kaji’s divine instruction, set down in the Evejah …’

‘The Evejah is a book,’ the Par’chin said. ‘A book that’s been rewritten over the years, and never had the whole story anyway.’

‘And how do you know this story, Par’chin?’ Jardir asked. ‘How do you, an infidel, know more of Kaji than his sacred order of scholars?’

‘The dama are political creatures,’ the Par’chin said. ‘Corrupt. Said it yourself. That’s why you cast the Andrah from his throne. The Evejah bends to suit their will, selectively enforced. The real version is painted on the walls of Anoch Sun. Or was, till your diggers knocked most of them down.’