Barren

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.’