‘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! W
ardskin!’
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 f
rom 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.’
The Core (The Demon Cycle, Book 5) Page 11