CHAPTER 18

HOMESTEAD

334 AR

Jeph Bales sucked his pipe in his favorite rocking chair as he watched the yard. His children lined the porch rails, eyes scanning every direction as the sun dipped in the sky. Inside, he could hear Norine and Ilain bustling in the kitchen, readying supper.

Shadows lengthened across the yard, and Jeph resisted the urge to check the wards again. He leaned back, drawing the embers in his pipe bowl to brightness.

His control surprised even him. Sunset had a way of exposing all the fears folk kept bottled during the day, and Jeph had always been a coward. Not a year ago he’d have been pacing the house, checking locks and wards over and over.

Fifteen years ago, he watched from this very spot as his wife Silvy was cored, unable to do more than clench his thighs and hope not to piss himself.

But last summer Renna Tanner appeared in his yard screaming, and years of shame and tension inside him snapped. He picked up his axe, stepped off the porch, and did what he should have done for Silvy all those years ago.

Then came the tattooed Messenger with his warded weapons. Jeph had killed or helped kill thirty-seven demons since then. His favorite method—the safest—was a heavy blow before they could solidify, holding the warded weapon in the wound as its magic drained the demon’s power.

Demons came in two types. The first, Regulars, always rose in the same spot, hammering at the same wards with the patience of an immortal, waiting for that one inevitable night when maintenance failed and the forbidding could be breached.

The other type, Wanderers, moved from place to place in search of prey. They shied from places claimed by Regulars unless drawn in by a commotion.

Not long ago, the yard would have been full of misting forms at sunset. But the Messenger scoured it with warded arrows, killing most of the Regulars. Jeph had done for the other Regulars on his land slow and steady, like weeding a field.

His land had been clear for weeks now, but places like Jeph’s farm, isolated and stinking of humans and livestock, drew Wanderers that could become Regulars if left unchecked.

“There!” Silvy squealed, pointing to the pigs’ day pen. A telltale blurring, like smoke or a summer haze, signaled the rise of a demon not ten feet from where her namesake was cored.

Jeph spat, knocking the burning dottle from his pipe into it, crushing them underfoot.

“Corespawned things’re worse’n voles,” he said. “Every time I start to relax…”

Jeph Young lifted his bow, fitting a warded arrow. “I got it, Da.”

“No, you don’t.” Jeph reached for the handle of his heavy axe mattock. “You stay on the porch and keep an eye for others. Got this.”

Jeph admired the boy’s spirit, but at fourteen Jeph Young wasn’t as good a shot as he liked to think. Demons healed quick. If he failed to kill it, the coreling might flee and return with a will.

He strode into the yard, still marveling how things changed. Striding beyond the wards with a demon materializing in the yard used to mean certain death. Now it was another chore. Dangerous, but so were many tasks on the farm, if you weren’t careful.

Jeph was always careful. He kept watch over the forming demon, but scanned the rest of the yard as well, making sure the coreling had not brought friends.

The mist coalesced into the shape of a field demon by the time Jeph reached it. It opened its mouth to hiss at him, but no sound came; the materialization was not yet complete. For a few seconds more, it could not harm him.

But he could harm it. With practiced ease, Jeph swung the mattock up over his shoulders in a smooth arc, letting the heavy blade at the end do most of the work as he brought it down on the demon’s head with force enough to split a log.

A normal blade would have bounced off the demon’s armored skull, angering it without doing real harm, but Jeph had warded the mattock himself. The symbols flared to life as it struck, sending a jolt of magic up his arms as the blade bit deep and stuck.

He shivered with something akin to pleasure, something akin to lust. Power rushed through him, making him feel strong, invincible. He was nearing fifty, but felt stronger than he had at thirty. His senses came alive, hearing clearly the voices of the children on the porch, the women inside, even the animals locked behind the heavy barn doors across the yard.

He listened for sounds of other demons. For a moment, he even hoped there were more, just so he could feel the rush of power again. So he could take something back, for all they had taken from him. He bared his teeth.

Get hold o’ yerself, Jeph Bales you fool. The voice in his head belonged to his father, always speaking common sense. What kind of idiot hopes for demons in his yard?

He shook himself, coming back to his senses. He killed demons, but unlike many in the Brook, he hadn’t grown to like it. The jolt of power was pleasure like nothing he had ever known, but it was not worth the loss of control. Control was what kept folk alive when others went to the pyre.

“Da! Look out!” Jeph Young called.

Jeph turned to see another form materializing barely a few feet away. Usually the rising occurred right at sunset. This’n must’ve slept in, he thought as it coalesced. Upright and bipedal, it was probably a small wood demon.

He moved quickly to pull this weed as well, but as he raised his mattock, a second demon began to form next to the first. He hesitated.

Ent a match for two, his father said in his head. Run. Run now.

Jeph Young shared his father’s fears. “Da! Get down!” The boy drew back an arrow and loosed just as the closer of the demons leapt at Jeph, solidifying faster than he would have believed possible. There was a hiss, and the sound of the arrow shaft quivering.

Jeph blinked, seeing the Messenger standing before him, face grim as he held the quivering arrow inches from where it would have struck Jeph’s head.

Gone were the Tender’s brown robes he had worn on his last visit, though there was no mistaking the Messenger’s tattoos. He wore an open-collared shirt of faded white cotton and denim trousers, cuffs rolled away from bare hands and feet.

The Messenger turned to glare at the porch. “You ent learned not to shoot when folk’re in the way, Jeph Young, then you got no business holding that bow!”

“Messenger?!” the boy cried. “Thought you was a demon!”

“Boy’s got a point,” Jeph said, turning back to the man. “You misted like they…” His words broke off as he took in the woman who materialized by the Messenger’s side. He almost didn’t recognize her. She had hacked her long hair away, cut her dress down to almost nothing, and covered herself with painted wards, but the eyes, the shape of her face, so like his wife’s, were unmistakable.

“Renna?” he asked. “Renna Tanner?”

“Renna Bales, now,” the Messenger said.

“Eh?” Jeph asked, turning back to the man.

The Messenger glanced at the warding on the arrow and grunted. He put a hand on Jeph’s shoulder and met his eyes. There was something familiar about that look, but Jeph couldn’t place it until the man spoke again. “Got a lot to talk about…Da.”

Jeph stood there, staring. The yard was dark, but his mattock still tingled with magic that ran up his arm, and his night vision was strong. He peeled away the wards with his mind as he had with Renna, seeing in the man’s face an echo of his mother, killed fifteen years past on this very spot.

His knees buckled, and the mattock blade dropped to sink into the ground at his feet. Suddenly dizzy, he leaned on the handle for support. The air felt thick, the night closing about him like water.

“Arlen?” He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t stand.

The Messenger caught him as he stumbled. “Ay, Da. It’s me.”

Jeph was numb as he escorted his son and—What was Renna to him now? Sister-in-law? Daughter-in-law?—onto the porch.

“Inside and wash up for supper,” he told the children. “Tell your mam to set two extra places at the table.” They stood their ground, staring at the newcomers, until Jeph clapped his hands. “Go on!”

Jeph couldn’t blame the children as he watched them scamper into the house. He moved aside to let his guests enter first, staring at the man his son had become. He could forgive himself for not seeing it before, but now that he knew, the resemblance was unmistakable, wards or no.

Arlen was alive.

His boy had come back a man.

The air at the supper table felt fragile, as if speaking would shatter the dream and the pair would mist away like they had never been there at all. Norine led a brief prayer and they set to eating in silence, even the children sensing the tension. There was none of the usual squabbling, no pinches under the table, no tall tales of the day’s work.

“Pass the taters, please?” Arlen asked Cholie, and the boy jumped like he’d seen a ghost. In a way, he had. The ghost of his elder brother, now returned and asking for taters.

Finally Ilain could stand it no more. “Gonna take some gettin’ used to, Ren. You bein’ my daughter-in-law.”

“Shun’t be hard. Been acting like you was mam for years.” There was something about the way Renna said the words, like there was a barb to follow. Creator knew, there were plenty to throw. Their mother had died when Renna was young, and Ilain ran off with Jeph only a few years later, leaving her sisters to the care of their coreson of a father.

Ilain tensed, waiting for the slap, but whatever she might have said, Renna swallowed it, painting a smile on her face. She looked at the children. “Goin’ by my niece and nephews, looks like you’ve got a knack for the job.”

Ilain let out a breath, returning the smile. “Been blessed to learn from my mistakes.” She turned to Arlen before either of them could muddy the waters. “Guess you kept your promise after all, comin’ back for Ren like that.”

Jeph grit his teeth. Couldn’t the fool woman leave well enough alone? Was she determined to drive them away again?

But Arlen seemed to seize on the words as a lifeline. “Din’t come back for Ren. Came back to see home one more time, and to make sure you had the wards to protect yourself. To make sure what happened…” He paused like Renna had, thinking better of his words. “…to so many families in the Brook,” he nodded to Norine, “never had to happen again. But when I saw Ren there, staked…” He shook his head. “Couldn’t just stand by, could I?”

There was an awkward silence around the table, for standing by was what they—what the entire town—had done.

“Course not.” Jeph found his voice at last, meeting his son’s eye. “That ent ever been your way, thank the Creator. Shamed the whole town, but we needed shamin’.”

Arlen gave an almost imperceptible nod. “Remembered Ren. Thought of her some nights while I was…away. Kiss she gave me that last night before Mam died.” He shook his head. “Din’t believe a handshake between das made us promised, really. Figured a woman like her would’ve found someone else.” He turned, taking her hand and looking her in the eyes. “Been to Miln and the Krasian desert. Seen most everyplace worth seein’ in between. Lot of folk tried to find me a wife and settle me down, but it never took. Who knew the one for me was waitin’ back at home all along?”

“I knew.” Renna squeezed his hand. “But Arlen Bales has always been stubborn.”

“Ay, that’s undersaid,” Jeph agreed, and the laughter about the table seemed almost at ease.

“Think it’s romantic,” Jeni Tailor said, taking Jeph Young’s hand. They were promised, no doubt in much the same way, though it would be years yet before they were old enough to marry. “Would you cross the world and back for me, Jephy?”

Jeph Young looked green, coughing something that approximated assent. Jeni seemed not to notice his discomfort, smile undiminished.

“You two back for good, then?” Ilain asked. “Come home to start a family? We been talkin’ about buildin’ a new house—takin’ on hands. Folk’re flocking to the Brook from Sunny Pasture. Things’re better all around, even with the troubles.”

Arlen looked up at that. “Troubles?”

“Cholie, Silvy,” Jeph said. “Clear the table and put on the kettle, then run off and play a bit.”

“Made a sweet cake this morning,” Norine said. “Savin’ it for after Seventhday service, but this is a special occasion. Jeni? Why don’t you and Jeph Young slice it up and bring the tea?”

“I want to stay,” Jeph Young whined.

“You and Jeni can come back to the table when the tea and cake are ready,” Jeph allowed. “Now scoot!”

The children scurried off, and Jeph got up from the table, taking his time fetching his pipe and weed pouch. He offered the pouch to his son. “I’ve a spare pipe…”

“S’all right,” Arlen said, waving a hand. “Used to smoke sometimes, when I was a Messenger. Made me think of home. Now I’m here…” He shrugged. “Don’t feel right.”

Jeph nodded, grateful for the excuse to drop his eyes as he packed the bowl and took a taper to light it. He puffed a moment, bringing the weed to a glow and surrounding himself with a fragrant cloud before returning to his seat. “Things been…messy since you left. Brook’s prospering, but folk’re…”

“Harder,” Ilain supplied.

“Folk found the stones to fight corelings,” Norine said, “but some…got to like it.”

Arlen nodded. “Ent unexpected. They causin’ trouble?”

“Nothin’ Selia can’t handle,” Jeph puffed his pipe. “She put a militia together—cleared most of the demons been hauntin’ Town Square and Boggin’s Hill. Brine’s got things harder in the Cluster by the Woods, but the Cutters took to choppin’ wood demons like it was second nature.”

“Not surprisin’,” Arlen said. “Bet they’re turning out more lumber than they have in years.”

“Ay.” Jeph set the pipe in his teeth. “Most everyone’s yield is up. Ent no empty bellies in the Brook.”

“Good news,” Arlen said. “You’ll be needin’ lumber for your new fence.”

“New fence?”

“Gonna show you a new kind of wardin’ we tested out in Cutter’s Hollow,” Arlen said. “Put an end to demons on your land once and for all.”

Jeph took the pipe from his mouth, exhaling a cloud of sweet smoke. “Sounds too good to be trusted.”

“Plenty o’ bad news to go with it,” Arlen said. “Get to that. Want to finish hearin’ about things in the Brook. Fishin’ Hole still givin’ you trouble?”

“Bit, at first.” Jeph leaned back. “But without wards for their fishing spears, other folk got…”

“Stronger,” Arlen supplied. “Killin’ demons does that.”

Jeph nodded. “Fisherfolk couldn’t push people around after that. Raddock kept tryin’ to hold firm, but folk wanted protection from the militia and voted him down. He’s still Speaker, but ent got the pull he once did.”

“Don’t approve, what they done,” Norine said. “But Creator my witness, ent a good time to be a Fisher. Militia bullies ’em somethin’ nasty, and takes more’n a fair share o’ fish.”

“Need to put a stop to that, ’fore it gets worse,” Arlen said.

“Reckon they got it comin’,” Renna said. Fishing Hole led the mob that staked her out for the demons after her father killed Cobie Fisher.

“Raddock Lawry’s got it comin’, Ren,” Arlen agreed. “Garrick Fisher, maybe. But they been shown the error of their ways. Ent no good can come from punishin’ the rest of the borough for a couple waterbrains. We’re all on the same side against the demons.”

Renna looked ready to argue, but she only nodded. “I’ll skate over and talk to Selia about it after cake.”

“Skate?” Jeph asked.

“Bit of a…magic trick I picked up in my travels,” Arlen said. “How Ren and I got here.”

“You misted,” Jeph said. Night, he had almost forgotten. “Rose up like demons, steada comin’ in on that big scary…”

He trailed off, but Arlen only chuckled. “Ay, Dancer can be intimidatin’ when he’s not kickin’ in a demon’s skull. Faster’n any horse you ever seen, but even that’s a crawl when you can mist down underground and ride the currents.”

“Currents?” Ilain asked.

“Magic currents,” Renna said. “Run up from the Core like streams from a pond. Learn how, and you can ride ’em like a paper boat.”

“Nonsense,” Norine said.

“Show you later,” Arlen said. His matter-of-fact tone quieted her. No attempt to convince—he spoke of something impossible like it was a new plowshare he’d show off after tea. “That the worst of the Brook’s troubles? Folk pickin’ on the Fishers?”

Jeph shook his head. “Jeorje.”

Arlen frowned but kept his peace as Jeni and Jeph Young brought out the tea and cake. Jeorje Watch, Speaker and Tender for Southwatch, had stood as magistrate when the town council decided to put Renna out in the night.

Arlen held Jeph’s eyes, waiting. When the plates and cups were settled, Jeph Young and Jeni back in their seats, Jeph could hesitate no more. “Southwatch seceded from the Brook once they got the fightin’ wards.”

Arlen took a spoonful of honey and put it in his tea. “Wern’t much part o’ things to begin with.”

“I was a girl,” Norine put in, “Watches were as much part o’ the Brook as any borough. But then Jeorje got in a feud with the Town Speaker, Selia’s da, after one o’ his granddaughters got cored in Town Square. Watches stopped comin’ round after that, ’cept once in a while to trade or answer the great horn. No one talks about it, but they say both sides hold a grudge.”

“How long ago was that?” Arlen asked.

Norine shrugged. “Fifty years, give or take.”

“Long time to carry a grudge,” Arlen said.

“Hard feelings only get heavier with the years,” Jeph said. “Till the weight of it breaks you, and you snap.”

“What did he do?” Arlen asked, cutting the sweet cake with his fork.

Jeph forced himself to lean back and take a puff of his pipe. “Annexed Soggy Marsh.”

Arlen had just taken a bite of cake when his eyes snapped up. “Say again?”

Jeph pulled on his pipe. “Marshes were always queer folk. Kept to themselves, had their own ways. Din’t like their young’uns coming to Town Square—too many wanted to stay once the mud on their clothes dried off. And they got their own demons in the Marsh. Ent like the ones out here.”

“Ay,” Arlen nodded. “Swamp demon spit can eat through iron, and they run across branches like coons. Bog demons are slow, but they blend into the trees and got terrifyin’ reach. And that’s not even gettin’ to the ones in the water…”

Jeph swallowed. “Ay. Well the Marshes were having a harder time than any, clearing their lands of corelings. Lost some folk and turned resentful. That’s when Jeorje made his offer.”

“What offer?” Arlen’s voice had gone cold.

“Protection, same as Selia’s militia gives the Fishers,” Jeph said.

“And in exchange?” Arlen pressed.

“They convert,” Jeph said. “Accept Jeorje as Tender and Speaker, both. Give him young wives and a weekly tithe.”

Jeph met Arlen’s eyes. “Thinks he’s the Deliverer.”

“Corespawn it!” Arlen threw down his fork.

“Ent no one to blame but yourself,” Norine said. “You put that fool notion in his head and it took.”

“That was rippin’ sarcasm,” Arlen growled.

“I know it,” Norine said. “Everyone north o’ the Marsh knows it. But they got different notions in Southwatch.”

“What if he is?” Jeph Young asked.

Jeph looked at his son. “Eh?”

“What if he really is the Deliverer?” Jeph Young asked again.

“He ent,” Arlen said.

“He’s a hundred and eleven,” Jeni put in. “But they say he’s got black hair, and leads the fighting. Ent a demon left alive in Southwatch.”

“Magic can do that,” Arlen said. “Killin’ demons can make old folk young, make you stronger, but that don’t make you the Deliverer.”

“Selia’s hair has gone yellow at the roots,” Norine said. “And she’s older’n me. Don’t make her the Deliverer.”

“Creator, I’m feeling it, too,” Jeph said. “Back used to hurt so bad on plow days I couldn’t move. Now I’m pushin’ the corespawned thing without a horse.”

“You listen to me, Jeph Young,” Arlen said. “As your brother and your elder. Ent no such thing as a Deliverer. That’s work every man and woman’s got to do for themselves. Can’t count on someone to save you from the demons. Learn to save yourself—and others, when you can.”

Jeph nodded. “Good advice, your brother’s got.”

“This is goin’ to mean trouble for the Brook, you don’t put a stop to it,” Arlen said. “Corelings ent all brainless. Tend to notice when a leader organizes folk to kill off all the Regulars. Draw attention the Brook ent ready for.”

“Maybe we can set him straight,” Renna said.

“Too risky,” Arlen said. “Watches think too much of Jeorje. Liable to backfire, you try and spank him like you did Franq.”

Jeph felt a growing dread in his stomach. “What kind of attention will it draw?”

Arlen looked around. “Got paper?”

Jeph shook his head. “Hogs got it at a premium, these days.”

Arlen looked at the table, then to Ilain. “Know it ent good manners, but I need to paint on the tablecloth. Wouldn’t ask, it wern’t important.”

“Ay, that’s all right,” Ilain said, though the cloth had been a gift from Selia when their first child was born. She looked at it sadly as Arlen unrolled his warding kit, selecting a worn brush and a jar of black ink.

“Mind demons can only rise at new moon,” Arlen said. “Night before, night of, night after.” He painted a large ward on the tablecloth. “Need this ward to keep ’em out or they can rummage through your thoughts and memories like an old drawer.”

“How does it connect to a circle?” Jeph asked.

Arlen showed how to link the ward to others, his hand steady as ever. Jeph had taught him personally, and always been proud when his young son’s skill began to exceed even his.

“Don’t take chances,” Arlen said. “Start watching the calendar, and on new moon nights put the ward on a necklace, band of your hat, even a strip of cloth around your forehead. Kids, too.”

“Demons get smart, when a mind’s around,” Renna said. “Start workin’ together, usin’ weapons an’ tools, throwin’ stones.”

“Night.” Jeph had to squeeze his legs together to hold his bladder. “What do you do against that?”

“First step is to banish them from your property.” Arlen began a new warding, this one much larger and more complex than any Jeph had ever seen. “This is a greatward.” He continued drawing as he spoke. “Need to shape your property with it.”

Jeph gaped. “How’s that?”

“Fences and walls, mostly,” Arlen said, waving a hand over the jagged edge of the symbol. “House and barn are here.” He sketched little buildings inside the ward. “Lay stone paths for the inner lines, or plant shrubs.” He pointed with the brush handle. “Maybe build a funny-roofed shed over here. You can plant right up to the fence. Closer the better—it’ll strengthen the ward.”

“Back aches just thinkin’ about it,” Jeph said.

“Ay, it’s a lot of work,” Arlen agreed. “But not so much when you never have a demon on your land again. Kids can walk the yard after dark. Animals won’t need to go in the barn every night.”

“How do you make a ward that big without mistakes?” Jeph asked.

Arlen took a straightstick from his kit and began drawing a measured grid over the ward. “Make a grid outside and match. Build a little tower on the roof, so you can look down on it.”

Jeph considered the drawing. There were familiar wards contained within, overlaying one another. “Say you’ve tried this elsewhere?”

Arlen nodded. “Whole towns being built to shape in Angiers. Streets themselves are the lines of protection.”

Arlen reached out, putting a hand on Jeph’s shoulder. It was a fatherly gesture, something he never expected to get from his own son. “Need you to do this, Da. Need you to do it quick as you can, and show it to others. Call a council meetin’, and give out the mind wards, as well. Could mean the life of every man, woman, and child in the Brook.”

Jeph laid a hand over his son’s. “Get it done. Swear it by the sun.”

Selia Barren still felt the tingle in her fingers as the militia rode back into Town Square, heading home after a quiet patrol. The town’s Regulars had long since been killed off, and these nightly patrols did for most of the Wanderers. They only found one demon tonight, and Selia speared it personally.

The skin on her hands was smoother now, wrinkles all but gone. Even her face had lost its lines, save for a few creases at the eyes and mouth.

“Ready to call it a night, that’s all right with you, Speaker.” Lucik Boggin fingered his spear wistfully as they approached the road to Boggin’s Hill. Like many of the others, he’d grown to crave the thrill of magic.

“Ay, go on home and get some rest,” Selia said. “And be thankful for the quiet nights. Creator knows they aren’t all so.”

“We’ve prayed for three hundred years to have a night so quiet.” Tender Harral didn’t carry a spear, but his crooked staff was carved with impact wards and defenses. A big man, he could hook a demon by the throat, pull it from its feet, and bash its head in. But for all his ferocity, the Tender never seemed taken with ichor lust.

“Ay, quiet night does us all good.” Lucik turned his horse up the road, followed by Harral and the other men and women from Boggin’s Hill.

“Be takin’ our leave, too,” Ferd Miller said. “Got to report in.”

“Can’t keep old Hog waitin’.” Selia dismissed the men with a nod. Rusco Hog seldom rode out with the militia, but he hired men to bolster the ranks in his name.

“Wonder if they get a cut in pay, they don’t bring back a coreling to hold down for him,” Coline Trigg mused.

It was a fair question. Hog didn’t fight, but he’d grown as addicted to demon magic as any. It was no secret his men brought him demons to spear, so he could steal a bit of their power. It was dangerous work, but Hog paid well for it.

“Hog’s shed almost as many gray hairs as I have,” Selia said. “Can’t put a price on that.”

“Yet somehow, Hog managed to find a way.” The Herb Gatherer’s words were only a little bitter. Coline never fought, still burdened by weight and age even as the new combat wards restored others to their physical prime. Still she rode with the patrol each night, ready with her needles and poultices when one of them was injured.

“Want us to hold down a coreling for you, mistress?” Lesa Square asked. The girl was barely twenty, but magic had made her strong. Muscles rippled along her bare arms. The hands that held her spear were crisscrossed with tiny scars. But there was a softness about her, too. A roundness in her pretty face that…

Selia shook her head, turning away before she was caught staring.

Coline sniffed, turning up her nose. “Ent natural. We’re born, we grow old, we die. That’s the way o’ things. Maybe the Creator wants you fighters stronger—I’m no Tender to guess His plan—but holdin’ a coreling down so I can suck it like a skeeter? Ent for me.”

“Don’t know what you’re missin’,” Lesa said.

“Enough of that,” Selia said loudly. “Rest of you head on to your beds. Got work to do under the sun, no matter what the night brings.”

The remainder of the patrol broke off for home as Selia headed down the road alone. Not long ago such a ride would have been fraught with fear, but Selia was alert, her senses alive with the rush of magic. Her spear was in easy reach, and the wards cut into her horse’s hooves could break demon bones.

The safety of the town center should have relaxed her, but it served as a reminder that bigger questions loomed. The outer boroughs and farms still had demon problems, not to mention the looming threat of Southwatch and Jeorje.

For everyone’s sake, her father and the Tender from Southwatch kept the scandal quiet, all those years ago. But Jeorje hadn’t forgotten. He wouldn’t rest until everyone in Tibbet’s Brook was dressed in black clothes buttoned tight, following his strict interpretation of Canon.

Preferably with me staked out in Town Square.

She reached her property, crossing the wards and taking her mare to the stall behind her cottage. She lit a lantern and brushed the animal down, giving it water and grain, then headed for the house.

Lesa stepped from the shadows, grinning like she’d just stolen a cookie. She was quick, grabbing Selia by the back of her neck and pulling her close. Her lips were soft, slick with scented wax. It tasted of honeysuckle and made Selia’s mouth water.

She pushed Lesa back, drawing a breath she hoped sounded more dignified than a gasp. “Fool girl! What in the Core you think you’re doing?! What if someone saw?”

“Don’t care.” Lesa reached for her again.

Selia batted the hands away. “Course you don’t. Ent got a notion what we’re in for, word gets out.”

Lesa’s smile didn’t waver. “Circled the block before I came. Mam won’t know if I take an extra hour. I could come inside…”

She moved in close again, and Selia felt her heart thudding in her chest. Vitality thrummed in her, her senses alive. She could smell Lesa’s sweat, the scent of her arousal. She felt her own as well, slick between the legs like she hadn’t been in thirty years.

“Can’t keep takin’ you to bed,” Selia said. “Night, girl, I’ve fifty summers on you!”

Lesa shrugged, putting hands around Selia’s waist and pushing her against the wall of the stall. “Can do it here, you prefer. No one’ll see.” She reached down, tugging at Selia’s skirt.

In a moment, she would squat down, and Selia, corespawn her, wouldn’t stop her. She glanced at the house, and Lesa’s nose crinkled in victory. But then Selia’s sharp eyes caught a movement in the shadows. She stiffened, pushing Lesa back as she searched in the dim light for the source of the movement.

Lesa was immediately on guard, hand dropping to the warded knife at her belt. “What is it? Coreling?”

Selia shook her head. “Jumpin’ at shadows. Run on home now.”

“But…!” Lesa whined. The tone was a reminder of her youth, and only hardened Selia’s revolve.

“Another time,” Selia said. “Scoot!”

Lesa’s shoulders slumped, but she left. Selia waited till she was gone, then turned to the shadowed porch and crossed her arms. “Might as well come on out.”

She didn’t recognize the young woman at first, seeing only the bare arms, legs, and midsection, covered with painted wards. Her hair was roughly cropped from her face, with a long braid in back. She had the look of the Messenger—not just the warded flesh, but the predatory look in her eyes. From there, it took only a moment to guess.

“Renna Tanner, come back to Tibbet’s Brook,” she said.

Renna stepped further into the lamplight. “Ent a Tanner no more. Got married.”

“Congratulations,” Selia said. “The Messenger, I take it?”

Renna nodded. “Renna Bales, now. Folk used to call you Selia Barren, but tonight’s got me wonderin’ they got it wrong. Maybe you ent barren after all.”

Selia put her hands on her hips, foot tapping. “Gonna tell folk?”

“Ent my business who kisses who,” Renna said. “Sure as sunrise ent the business of the town. I should know.”

“Thank you,” Selia said.

“Don’t owe me thanks,” Renna said. “Other way ’round. Night take me ’fore I turn on you, Speaker. Wern’t in my right head, but I remember what you did for me. Stood by me when my own kith an’ kin din’t have the stones.”

Selia’s throat tightened. “I failed you.”

Renna moved close, and Selia saw again how pretty she was. The wards and cropped hair gave her a fierce look not unlike Lesa’s.

“Din’t,” Renna said. “Gave me time to pull my head back together. Time for Arlen to come and fetch me.”

Selia started, all thoughts of Renna’s beauty forgotten. “Arlen? Arlen Bales? Are you tellin’ me that rippin’ Messenger who turned the Brook on its ear is Jeph Bales’ boy?”

“Ay,” Renna said. “And that ent all, by a long sight.”

Selia sighed. “Come inside, girl. I’ll put the kettle on.”

Jeph and Arlen sat on the porch with a pitcher of Boggin’s Ale. The whole scene felt like a dream, even if they hadn’t just watched Renna turn into mist and vanish.

The children whooped at the sight and were a terror getting to bed after, but now all was quiet save for the crickets and the sound of Jeph’s rocking chair.

“Strange, settin’ on this porch again after so many years, starin’ at the yard like nothin’s changed,” Arlen said.

“But they have,” Jeph said. “Remember you used to peek through the shutters every night, lookin’ for corelings. Won’t find those in my yard anymore.”

“Ay, for now.” Arlen sipped his ale, eyes distant.

Jeph cleared his throat. “Might as well talk about the coreling in the common. Can’t be easy, lookin’ out at the place your mam got cored. Settin’ in the spot I was rooted to, tryin’ not to piss myself while you ran out to save her.”

“Ent,” Arlen agreed, taking another sip. “Older now, though. Seen more o’ the world. Seen what the demons done to folk. Made ’em feel helpless, like there was no point in fightin’ back.”

“But you did,” Jeph said. “Eleven years old, you fought the demons and won.”

“Din’t win,” Arlen said. “Just managed not to die.”

“Stopped ’em killin’ your mam,” Jeph said.

Arlen sighed. “Din’t do that, either. Bought her a couple days, but wern’t any stoppin’ it.”

“Might have been,” Jeph said, “I’d had the stones to press on to Old Mey Friman.”

Arlen shook his head. “Thought that back then. Thought it for years after, and blamed you. Hated you.”

Jeph grit his teeth at the words. He’d imagined his son’s spirit telling them to him for fifteen years, but it was another thing to have him there in the flesh, saying them.

“But I seen a lot of folk cored since then,” Arlen said. “We’d had a Hollow Gatherer here on the farm that night, Mam might’ve made it. Even if Coline Trigg had known her business the next day like a proper Gatherer in the Free Cities. But by the time we’d of made it to Mey…” He spat over the porch rail. “Too late.”

“Wasn’t too late when your mam called me for help, though,” Jeph said.

“Ay.” Arlen kept his eyes on the yard, taking another sip of ale.

“Ent got any excuses,” Jeph said. “Ilain’s been a good wife. Love her and the young’uns. But I could go back, I’d undo it all to have your mam back, even if it meant taking her place on the claw. Loved her all my life. Used to break my horseshoes on purpose…”

“Just for an excuse to see her at the farrier shop,” Arlen finished. “Mam loved tellin’ that’un.”

Jeph choked, clenching his throat and squeezing his eyes. His son had a right to hate him, and he wasn’t about to try to guilt him to sympathy with tears.

“Failed you both, that night,” Jeph managed when he had recovered himself.

“Ay,” Arlen said. “Won’t lie. Carried a lot of anger at you on my travels. Used to hear you in my head, times I was thinkin’ of doing somethin’ foolhardy. Hated that voice. Used to do fool things, just to spite it.”

Jeph snorted, and Arlen looked at him in surprise.

“Ent funny,” Jeph said. “Only made me think how I hear my da’s voice in my head, same way. Callin’ me fool, every time I try’n screw my courage up.”

Arlen sat back, taking another drink. “Ay. Maybe it’s just the way o’ da’s and their boys.”

“Ay,” Jeph said.

“Meant to have a reckoning, I came back to the Brook last year,” Arlen said. “Out of my head, back then. Convinced I’d become somethin’…inhuman. Ready to die, and wanted to settle accounts ’fore I let the night take me.”

“Creator.” Jeph wanted to reach out to his son, but his hand betrayed him. If he reached out and Arlen pushed him away, he didn’t think he could bear it.

“Don’t care what you done,” he said instead. “What you become. Seen what you done for your mam. What you done for Renna. What you done for this town. You ent human, what hope the rest of us got?”

“All have our low moments,” Arlen said. “Things we carry even when folk around us forget, or never knew.”

“Honest word,” Jeph said. “Carried those few days with me like they just happened, even as the years blew by.”

“Know you did,” Arlen said. “That night made the world clear to both of us, in our way. Took a while, but when the night came callin’ in the yard again, you din’t set on the porch. Expected us to fight, I came back, but then I heard what you done for Ren, and realized what a fool I been.”

“Had every right to carry a grudge,” Jeph said.

“Ay, maybe, but grudges never made anyone a better man,” Arlen said.

“Honest word.” Jeph eased a bit, taking a long pull of his ale. “Any chance you two come home for good, like Lainie hopes? Be good for the young’uns to get to know their brother.”

“Like to,” Arlen said. “Creator, dunno anything I’d like more. But it ent in the dice. Truer is, come back to say goodbye.”

Jeph blinked. “Goodbye?”

Arlen rubbed the back of his neck. “ ’Fraid I might’ve…started a bit of a war, when I brought back the fightin’ wards. Time’s come to settle it, and things’re apt to get ugly. Wern’t right, not tellin’ you who I was last time. Needed to set that right.”

Jeph had begun to relax, but the tension returned. “Ugly, how?”

Arlen blew out a breath, then raised a finger, drawing wards in the air. Jeph found himself clutching his cup and had to force his hand to unclench as he waited.

“Like I said,” Arlen said when he was done, “fightin’ back draws attention from a particularly nasty breed o’ demon. They came at us, got a kickin’ for it, and now they’re plannin’ to come back in force. Got this crazy plan to meet ’em on their own ground before it goes down.”

Jeph felt his face go cold and his bladder strain. He clenched tight, hoping Arlen didn’t notice. “Own ground?”

Arlen tilted his head toward the ground. “Downstairs.”

“Creator,” Jeph said. “How’s that even possible?”

“Can’t say,” Arlen said. “Mind demons can pinch your thoughts like a carrot from a field. More I say, more I endanger the plan.”

“Ren’s all right with this? You going off…below?” The idea was still numbing to Jeph, almost too big to grasp, but he’d watched Renna turn into mist and slip into the ground. This wasn’t much harder to believe.

“Don’t go tellin’ her sister, but Ren’s comin’, too,” Arlen said. “And a couple others.”

“Take an army,” Jeph said.

“Armies draw notice. Takin’ just enough to get the job done, but few enough to sneak.” Arlen took another drink. “Least, I hope I am. Truer is, dunno if I’m pullin’ out a rotten stump or breaking open a hornet’s nest.”

Jeph wanted to argue. To convince Arlen to abandon this path, to come home and be safe. Looking at his son, he knew that was what he expected, the father’s voice urging caution to the son.

The look hardened him to the fear. There was never any turning Arlen from a path once he set his mind to it, but perhaps Jeph could ease his doubts. “Never know what you’re gettin’ with either, son. Had stumps give me such trouble I’d welcome a stingin’, and hives that dropped into the sack and tied up neat as can be. But you can’t leave either one on your property without regrettin’ it.”

“Ay,” Arlen said. “Thanks, Da.”

“Sounds like we both got our work cut out for us,” Jeph said. “You really think one o’ them mind demon’s going to try and nest in the Brook?”

Arlen shrugged. “Sooner or late. Might be next month, might be in a decade, but you keep killin’ demons and one’s sure to check in. Too many folk in the Brook, and they know from my memories you’re here, far from help.”

“What’re we supposed to do about that?” Jeph asked.

“Just demons, Da,” Arlen said. “Smarter’n most, and got their tricks, but I killed more’n one. Renna, too. We ent the Deliverer. Just Brook folk like you and everyone else in town. We could do it, so can the rest of you.”

He finished his ale. “No more standin’ still. Night’s gonna come get us, we don’t get it first.”