âNothing,â Arlen said quickly, not wanting to give his father reason to refuse. âOn account of how I helped carry stuff from the Messengerâs cart.â It wasnât 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.
âOld Hog always acts generous right after the Messenger comes,â Norine said.
âOught to, after how heâs been fleecing us all winter,â Silvy replied.
âAll right, Arlen, you can go,â Jeph said. âMeet me in the Cluster afterwards.â
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 didnât 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. Heâd be lucky if the storekeep didnât 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.
âArlen, my boy!â Hog called, seeing him approach. âIâve saved you a spot up front, and youâll go home tonight with a sack of salt! Well done!â
Arlen looked at him curiously, until he saw Ragen, standing next to Hog. The Messenger winked at him.
âThank you,â Arlen said, when Hog went off to mark another arrival in his ledger. Dasy and Catrin were selling food and ale for the show.
âPeople deserve a show,â Ragen said with a shrug. âBut not without clearing it with your Tender, it seems.â He pointed to Keerin, who was deep in conversation with Tender Harral.
âDonât be selling any of that Plague nonsense to my flock!â Harral said, poking Keerin hard in the chest. He was twice the Jongleurâs weight, and none of it fat.
âNonsense?â Keerin asked, paling. âIn Miln, the Tenders will string up any Jongleur that doesnât tell of the Plague!â
âI donât care what they do in the Free Cities,â Harral said. âTheseâre good people, and they have it hard enough without you telling âem their sufferingâs because they ent pious enough!â
âWhat â¦?â Arlen began, but Keerin broke off, heading to the centre of the square.
âBest find a seat quick,â 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 dyerâs 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 didnât 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 didnât 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 Arlenâs lap for a better view. Arlen had given her family a few pups from one of Jephâs 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.
âThe world was not always as you see it,â the Jongleur told the children. âOh 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?â He looked around the children in front, and several raised their hands.
âBecause there wasnât any wards?â a girl asked, when Keerin pointed to her.
âThatâs right!â the Jongleur said, turning a somersault that brought squeals of glee from the children. âThe Age of Ignorance was a scary time for us, but there werenât as many demons then, and they couldnât kill everyone. Much like today, humans built what they could during the day, and the demons would tear it down each night.
âAs we struggled to survive,â Keerin went on, âwe adapted, learning how to hide food and animals from the demons, and how to avoid them.â He looked around as if in terror, and then ran behind one child, cringing. âWe lived in holes in the ground, so they couldnât find us.â
âLike bunnies?â Jessi asked, laughing.
âJust so!â Keerin called, putting a twitching finger up behind each ear and hopping about, wriggling his nose.
âWe lived any way we could,â he went on, âuntil we discovered writing. From there, it wasnât long before we had learned that some writing could hold the corelings back. What writing is that?â he asked, cupping an ear.
âWards!â everyone cried in unison.
âCorrect!â the Jongleur congratulated with a flip. âWith 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.â 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 wouldnât give to know such a ward!
âThe demons did not take well to this advancement,â Keerin said with a grin. âThey 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.
âThe Deliverer was a man called upon by the Creator to lead our armies, and with him to lead us, we were winning!â He thrust his fist into the air and the children cheered. It was infectious, and Arlen tickled Jessi with glee.
âAs our magics and tactics improved,â Keerin said, âhumans 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.â
The Jongleur paused then, and his face took on a serious expression. âThen,â he said, âwithout 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.â He scratched his head in mock confusion. âMany 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.â 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.
âThe Deliverer,â Keerin said, âwho had seen the demons fight fearlessly every night, doubted this, but as months passed without sign of the creatures, his armies began to fragment.
âHumanity rejoiced in their victory over the corelings for years,â Keerin went on. He picked up his lute and played a lively tune, dancing about, but then the tune turned ominous, and the Jongleurâs voice deepened once more. âBut 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, âIâll not fight âgainst men while a single demon remains in the Core!â He turned his back, and left the lands as armies marched and all the land fell into chaos.
âFrom these great wars arose powerful nations,â he said, turning the tune into something uplifting, âand mankind spread far and wide, covering the entire world. The Age of the Deliverer came to a close, and the Age of Science began.
âThe Age of Science,â the Jongleur said, âwas our greatest time, but nestled in that greatness was our biggest mistake. Can any here tell me what it was?â The older children knew, but Keerin signalled them to hold back and let the young ones answer.
âBecause we forgot magic,â Gim Cutter said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
âRight you are!â Keerin said, snapping his fingers. âWe 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.
âWhich is why,â he said grimly, âwe were unprepared when they came back.
âThe 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.
âWhole 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.
âThe Second Demon War had begun.â
In his mindâs 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. âThe 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.
âScholars 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.