The Core

‘Everyone’s afraid of her and the other Wardskins,’ Briar said. ‘Act like they’re not, but I can tell.’

‘Afraid why?’ Leesha asked.

Briar shrugged. Stela changed dramatically when they were no longer alone. There was still so much he didn’t understand about her and the other Children.

‘How many are there?’ Leesha asked.

‘Hundred, at least,’ Briar said. ‘Wardskins, Bones, Pumps, Sharum, and Brothers. Call themselves the Pack.’

Olive fell asleep at the breast. Leesha pried her gently away and rose, throwing the babe over a shoulder. Olive gave a contented burp, still sleeping as Leesha glided to the crèche and laid her down.

She returned a moment later, dress laced tight, and sat across from Briar. Her eyes, the colour of sky, pierced him.

‘Tell me everything.’

The sky was darkening when Briar returned to the Painted Children’s camp. He’d told Leesha everything about the Children, but kept private the details of his own interactions with them. Wasn’t her business.

The Children bustled about, preparing for the coming night. They mended and folded nets of wardplates, sharpened blades and painted wards on their skin. The young Krasian girl Shalivah was teaching sharusahk to a large class with all factions of the Pack in attendance. The girl looked like a snake, flowing from pose to pose with impossible grace.

Briar moved close, mesmerized.

‘Everam blessed my granddaughter,’ Jarit said, moving to stand next to him. ‘She used to watch Kaval train her brothers. One time he caught her practising the moves and struck her. If you dare take the sacred poses, you had best do them properly! he cried. If a man who is not your husband lays hands on you, will you shame the house of Kaval, or will you break his arm?’

Jarit smiled. ‘My honoured husband made her repeat the move a hundred times, and set her to endlessly cleaning in the training room.’

‘Fifty miles in any direction is Sharak Sun.’ Briar used the Krasian term for the Daylight War, the conquest of humanity that the Evejah taught was necessary to win Sharak Ka. ‘What side will you take, when it reaches you?’

‘The Pack will not fight in Sharak Sun,’ Jarit said. ‘As the son of Jeph revealed to us, There is no honour in shedding red blood.’

‘Honest word,’ Stela said, coming to stand with them. She slapped Briar on the back. ‘Starting to worry you weren’t coming back.’

‘Like to be by myself,’ Briar said.

‘Ay, I get it,’ Stela said. ‘But the light’s fading. Time we went to the initiation ground.’

Briar looked at her curiously but followed as she led him to where the Wardskins were mustered. There were more than twenty of them, dressed in scraps and covered in wards. They were often small and thin, but with predator’s eyes. Brother Franq stood with them, clad only in a brown bido. His thickly muscled body was covered in tattoos, but he kept his crooked staff as well.

They ran into the night, coming to a high bluff, warded with pillars on all sides save the path upward.

‘Wait here,’ Stela told Briar. Without waiting for him to respond, she gave a whoop, thrusting an alagai-catcher into the air, then ran off with the others.

Briar itched to follow the sounds of battle and flashes of wardlight that followed, or to flee them, but he waited patiently as it went on, noting after a time that the sounds and flashing grew closer.

Soon the Wardskins came back into sight, led by Stela and Franq. Between them they dragged a struggling wood demon, bent almost double by the alagai-catcher’s cable and crooked staff hooked around its neck. Behind, the other Wardskins jeered, kicking and punching to keep the corie off balance as it was dragged into the warded circle were Briar stood.

The sight answered any questions Briar might have about his ‘initiation’. He began unwrapping the bandages on his hands as the Wardskins formed a circle around them. His palms were a little tender, but the impact and pressure wards were sharp and clear.

Stela looked at him as she and Franq dragged the demon to the centre of the bluff to stand before Briar. ‘Initiation’s over when it’s dead.’

Briar nodded, and she pressed a button on her alagai-catcher, releasing the cable even as Franq unhooked his staff. He drew a ward in the air over Briar. ‘Blessings of the Deliverer upon you, Briar Damaj.’ Then the two of them stepped back into the ring of onlookers.

The wood demon shook itself off with a roar, hauling in great breaths and scratching at its throat. It was not seriously injured, and in moments its magic would restore it to full combat ability.

Briar never gave it time, leaping in close and driving his open right palm into its knee. The impact ward flared and the demon toppled with a shriek as a rush of power rocked up Briar’s arm. While the demon was prone, Briar spat hogroot juice in its eyes, blinding it. The Wardskins cheered.

Briar gave ground as the corie lurched back to its feet, seven feet tall with arms long enough to drag talons on the ground. It tried to pinpoint Briar by sound, but the shouts of the Pack drowned its ears. It sniffed for him, sneezing at the scent of hogroot.

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.