The Core

by Peter V. Brett

  Together the ring of statues formed the most impenetrable net in Miln. If the rest of the city fell, this place would be their last hope.

  But in the moment, all that paled in comparison with the organ, rising to life. Ragen meant to go directly into the Library, but found himself drawn to its power.

  The Cathedral was filled with worshippers, and there were glances and whispers at his passing. Mothers, Gatherers, and Tenders alike pretended not to stare. To escape, he flashed his guildmaster pin for access to the high balcony where the organist sat, overlooking the crowded nave. Far below he could see Tender Ronnell finishing services.

  The organist was not an acolyte or even a Tender, but Ronnell’s daughter, Mother Mery. Ragen watched as her skillful fingers rolled down the levels of keys as effortlessly as a stream flowed over stones. Shoes lay beneath the bench as she worked the pedals with bare, nimble feet.

  The sound gathered in the nave, rising to the domed ceiling a hundred feet above, painted like the mountain sky. The song was one that had thrummed through him, from bones to balls, since his earliest memories. He felt tears welling in his eyes, realizing how close he had come in recent months to never hearing it again.

  Mery finished her playing, reverently covering the organ’s keys. She was putting on her shoes as Ragen approached.

  “That was beautiful,” he said.

  “Guildmaster Ragen!” Mery gave a little hop and fell back onto the bench, one shoe flying.

  Ragen caught the shoe on reflex, kneeling to hold it for her to slip her foot into. “Just Ragen, unless you insist I call you Mother.”

  Mery shook her head. “Of course not. We haven’t spoken in many years. I didn’t want to presume.”

  “Years make no difference,” Ragen said. “You were under our roof enough when you were young that Elissa and I will always consider you family.”

  Mery blushed and dropped her eyes. “Thank you, Guil…Ragen. That means a lot to me.”

  “Your playing brought tears to my eyes,” Ragen said. “I did not realize it was you, all these years.”

  “I only play the services my father celebrates,” Mery said. “Every acolyte is trained at the organ, but it does not begin until they take first orders at fourteen summers. My father taught me from his lap starting before I could reach the pedals.”

  “I daresay it shows,” Ragen said. “I’ve heard the choir sing in the Temple of the Horizon, and the dama calling prayers from the minarets of Sharik Hora, but nothing to shake the ground and resonate in the bones like the organ of Miln with a skilled player.”

  “Thank you,” Mery said.

  “All those years,” Ragen chuckled, “you listening to Jaik struggle to carry a tune…”

  “Biting my lip.” Mery giggled. “I knew then he was not serious about becoming a Jongleur. It was Arlen who wanted so desperately to believe.”

  The name was a cold wind blowing between them. The smile left Mery’s lips. “What brings you to the Library? I’ve seen the private collection at your manse, and it is not lacking.”

  “I’m here to see your father,” Ragen said. “I have a message for him.”

  “I can take it if you wish,” Mery said. “There’s only an hour before sunset, and I’m sure you’re eager to return home after so many months abroad.”

  “Indeed I am,” Ragen agreed. “But this message is of a personal nature, and addressed to your father, alone. It was entrusted to me by Countess Paper of the Hollow, and I am duty-bound as Messenger to put it in his hand and no other.”

  “Of course.” Mery got to her feet. “I can take you to him.” Ragen could see the gears turning behind her eyes. He was taking a chance, trusting even her.

  Ronnell’s office was high above the stacks in the adjoining Library, along a narrow balcony that let the Librarian look down over the tens of thousands of paper charges in his care.

  Ronnell had not yet returned when Mery pushed Ragen inside and closed the door. “You said it came from Countess Paper in the Hollow. Is there news of Arlen? More than in the official account?”

  Her sudden intensity made Ragen shift uneasily. “Of a sort, but I cannot…”

  “Who sent the letter?” Mery demanded.

  “Mery, I can’t—”

  “Who?!” she cut in just as Tender Ronnell entered the room.

  The Tender looked at Ragen in shock. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Guildmaster Ragen has a secret message from the Hollow.” Mery crossed her arms in a way that reminded him of Elissa when she set herself. “One he did not see fit to mention at court.”

  Ragen’s eyes flicked to Mery. “May we speak privately, Ronnell?”

  Ronnell recognized the look on his daughter’s face and gave a resigned shake of his head. “I have no secrets from my daughter.”

  Ragen sighed, pulling the sealed envelope from his jacket pocket. “It is a letter from Arlen Bales.”

  Mery’s mouth fell open, and Ronnell rocked back a step. “How is this possible? We are told he fell from a cliff in the battle against Ahmann Jardir. Does he yet live?”

  Ragen held up his hands. “I could not say. This letter was written shortly before he left to challenge the demon of the desert. I am told he wrote several such, to be delivered in the event of his death. It was entrusted to Mistress Leesha, who entrusted it to me.” Ronnell’s eyes widened and took on a covetous gleam as he reached for the letter.

  “Night!” Mery exclaimed, causing Ronnell to snatch his hand back. “As if Arlen hasn’t caused enough trouble, now he’s sending letters from the grave?”

  Ronnell reached out and took her arm. “Perhaps it’s best you give the guildmaster and me a moment.”

  “No,” Mery said. “Now that I know there’s a letter from him, I need to see it.”

  “I understand.” Ronnell tightened his grip on her elbow as he moved her toward the door. “But I fear your attachment to Arlen clouds your judgment. Allow us a moment to—”

  Mery yanked from his grip. “Like night I will. If you try to kick me out, I’ll go right to Jone.” She looked over to Ragen. “No doubt she and the Mothers’ Council will have many questions about why neither you nor Mother Elissa mentioned this letter while you were being debriefed at court.”

  Ragen scowled. “Will you reveal your own part in this so-called conspiracy, as well?”

  Mery looked at him in surprise. “What?”

  “I know Arlen revealed himself to you, before his meeting with the duke,” Ragen said. “He told us what happened.”

  Ronnell looked to his daughter. “Is this true?”

  Mery’s eyes flicked down, staring at the thick carpet. “He came to see Jaik, I think, not knowing we were married. He…ran when I answered the door.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Ronnell asked.

  “I’m so sorry,” Mery said. “I…I chased him into the streets. Knocked his hood away, and saw what he’d done to himself. He’s…unhinged, Father. You saw him. How he…mutilated himself. How he’d rather live out among the demons than with his own kind. He’s a madman. To think I meant to marry him…”

  “But you didn’t betray his trust,” Ragen noted. “It was months before the duke got word of his identity. What do you think they will do if they discover you knew all along?”

  “Are you threatening my daughter?” Ronnell demanded, putting his arms around her as she began to weep.

  “Of course not,” Ragen said. “But this is a Holy House of Learning, so let us speak only honest word. You said you and your daughter had no secrets, but that isn’t entirely true, is it? She had one from you, and you still have one from her.”

  Mery looked up. “Father?”

  Ronnell let go of her and stuck his head outside to scan the terrace. He pulled the thick goldwood doors shut and lifted an ancient key from the ring on his belt. The click of the lock echoed through the room.

  Ronnell looked at his daughter. “He came to me, too.”

  Mery gaped. “W
hat?”

  “After he met the duke and cracked the floor,” Ronnell said, “Arlen Bales visited me here, in this room. He told me he had already given the combat wards to Ragen, and dared me to tell His Grace, giving him time to suppress them or to rescind his offer of succor to the refugees from Rizon.”

  “It wasn’t fair of him to put you in such a position,” Mery said.

  “It was,” Ronnell said. “He asked me to choose between tending my flock and my liege’s pride. Between standing in the Creator’s light, or hiding in shadow.”

  “That does not make us accomplices to his crimes,” Mery argued.

  Ronnell shook his head. “His Grace would think otherwise. But even if not, what I did next was a crime most grave.”

  Mery said nothing, just staring.

  “His Grace’s copy of Weapones of the Olde Wyrld was not damaged by a leak in the ceiling,” Ronnell said quietly.

  “That almost cost your position,” Mery said. “It took a week and a score of scribes to re-create. Father, tell me you did not…”

  “I gave it to him,” Ronnell said.

  “Why?” Mery demanded.

  “Because he is the Deliverer.” Ronnell strode to his desk, snatching his Canon from its pedestal. He opened to a marked page and began to read. “For he shall be marked upon his bare flesh, and the demons will not abide the sight, and they shall flee terrified before him.” He snapped the book shut.

  “The Creator didn’t mark him,” Mery argued. “He did that to himself. Anyone could have.”

  “But anyone did not, until the coming of Arlen Bales,” Ronnell said. “He was the first.”

  Mery shook her head. “I believe in the Canon, Father. I believe in the Plague, and that one day a Deliverer will come. But I will be corespawned before I believe it is Arlen Bales.”

  “Do not speak blasphemy in this holy place!” Ronnell barked, and Mery dropped her eyes. “I know this is difficult for you, but I have bent my every thought to it for nearly a year, and I believe it with my heart and soul. Arlen Bales is the Deliverer, sent by the Creator to end the Plague. Think of his miracles.”

  Even Ragen raised an eyebrow at that. “Miracles?”

  “He withstood the naked night as a boy, cutting the arm from a rock demon.”

  “I heard that story a thousand times from his own lips,” Mery said. “It was luck that saved him, and his own stupidity that put him at risk.”

  “He brought us warded glass, and built the exchange that Ragen sits atop,” Ronnell added.

  “They ward differently in the hamlets,” Mery said. “All he did was write them down and sell them.”

  “He saved the Hollow,” Ronnell said. “Flew in the sky by many accounts, throwing lightning from his hands and saving thousands.”

  “Demonshit,” Mery said. “Those are ale stories. Tampweed tales to dress up a battle.”

  “He slew the demon of the desert,” Ronnell said.

  “The only truly good thing he’s done,” Mery said. “Throwing them both from a cliff.”

  “Enough!” Ragen barked. “You may be a Mother now, Mery, but you ate at my table when you were just a Daughter. Did I ever show you the slightest disrespect?”

  Mery shook her head. “I apologize. That was…unkind of me.”

  “Unkind doesn’t begin to cover it,” Ragen said. “I’m sorry Arlen broke your heart when he left. He broke ours, too. But you knew the kind of man he was. I won’t have you spinning lies into his life.”

  The words shook Mery, and for a moment she had no response, torn between loyalties. As a Mother, she was bound to the council; as a daughter, to her father. But as herself?

  Ragen held up the letter again. “Do you wish to keep speculating, or do you wish to read in his own words?”

  Ronnell took the letter and Mery moved close as he broke the seal. Ragen had never thought they looked much alike, but as both tilted their heads at precisely the same angle to read, the resemblance was uncanny.

  Summer, 333 AR

  Tender Ronnell,

  I am not a believer.

  I never believed the corelings to be a plague sent from Heaven. Never believed a loving Creator could inflict such horror upon people. Never believed in a Deliverer. Waiting for another to solve our problems only lets them fester.

  But these last years have taught me I do believe in something. I believe it is time for humanity to stand. I believe we can cast off the demons and take back our world.

  They know we are getting stronger. They know, and they are massing. There will be blizzards and quakes in the coming months. You and Ragen have magic to defend against them, but it will take more than wards. It will take belief. Belief that we must put aside our differences and unite against the corelings. Belief that every life matters, and that we fight not just for ourselves, but to succor those who cannot.

  My friend Rojer discovered a way to forbid demons without wards. If the Creator exists and speaks to anyone, it is him. Enclosed find sheets of his music to teach your choir the Song of Waning. With it, even the weak can have power. Use it when new moon comes and times are darkest.

  Tomorrow I go to battle Ahmann Jardir. I do not know if I will survive, but I believe it doesn’t matter. What’s been started is bigger than me.

  Arlen Bales

  “There, in his own words.” Mery flicked the paper with a finger. “He is not the Deliverer.”

  Ronnell shook his head. “His words make no difference. The Deliverer is an agent of change. He cannot serve his function if he believes in the old ways. He is here to show us the new.”

  “This is nonsense,” Mery said. “Blizzards and quakes? Magical choirs? Arlen has always had delusions of grandeur, but this is too much to believe.”

  “You think it coincidence that demons were tracking us on the road back to Miln?” Ragen asked. “That they crushed the way stations between here and Angiers, killing dozens of Mountain Spears? Ask the survivors if there was magic in Keerin’s music those nights.”

  Mery looked at her father. “What will you do?”

  “Speak to the choirmaster,” Ronnell said. “Order my Tenders and acolytes to begin using the new wards I’ve taught them.”

  He looked down at the paper in his hands. “And I have a sermon to write.”

  —

  “Would we have to live with her?”

  Elissa laughed at Ragen’s guarded response to the news. “No, but we’ll need to meet with her regularly. My mother will retain her full title and Sunrise Hall during the transition. Power will not transfer to us fully until her death. We can decide then if we wish to move my family’s two-hundred-year-old seat of power.”

  Ragen made a face. “I thought you hated the place.”

  “I hated my mother,” Elissa said. “For a long time, she and that hall were one and the same. But now…”

  “Do we get titles?” Ragen asked.

  Elissa smiled. “You would be Guildmaster Ragen, Neocount of Morning.”

  Ragen let out a slow whistle. “I do like the sound of that. Can your mother leave you leadership of the council?”

  Elissa shook her head. “Only a majority vote of Mothers can do that. More reason to start the transition early.”

  Ragen sighed. “A good thing Derek just became fabulously wealthy. He might be the only one in Miln I’d sell my home to.”

  Elissa put her arms around him, and he held her until there was a knock at the door.

  “Yes?” Elissa called.

  Margrit entered. “Begging your pardon, but the Messengers have arrived.”

  —

  “Thank you for answering my call.” Ragen strode down the lines of men in the yard. As Malcum warned, nearly every Messenger in Miln was there, along with the fittest men and women of the Warders’ Guild.

  “For too many years, Messengers have been forced to cower inside our circles at night, unable to defend ourselves if the demons broke through.” There were a lot of familiar faces in the ranks, including some
who had long since retired, drawn by rumors of the rejuvenating power of magic.

  Ragen selected one of the spears Elissa had infused with hora, holding it up and manipulating the net with his fingers to make the wards glow brightly in the twilit courtyard. “Those days are over.” He thumped the spear on the flagstones as gasps ran through the crowd.

  “Each of you will be given a warded weapon, and training to use it. Keep it close at night. Even when you are behind the wards. Even behind Miln’s walls. Even in your homes.”

  There were more than just Messengers and Warders watching. A skeptical-looking group of Gatherers led by Mistress Anet stood to one side, Keerin and his apprentices to another. Even Tender Ronnell had broken curfew with a handpicked group of Tenders and acolytes to observe.

  Mother Mery was absent.

  “We going to be fightin’ in our bedrooms?” one Messenger asked. She was gray and leather-skinned, years retired.

  “I pray to the Creator not,” Ragen said. “Nor will any of you be pressed to go into the night looking for trouble. I have no intention of doing that, either.”

  He pointed the glowing spear at his walls. “But Miln’s walls were breached once not so long ago, and the demons are growing stronger. One by one, Euchor’s way stations fall silent. Make no mistake, the corelings are coming to Fort Miln. There will be blizzards and quakes. We need to be ready for them.”

  CHAPTER 22

  THE EDGE OF NIE’S ABYSS

  334 AR

  Briar’s tattoos had long since healed, but his palms still itched. It was a constant reminder the wards were still there beneath the dirty cloth.

  As if he could forget.

  He tried to resist the power they represented, keeping them wrapped and relying instead on his spear. But even through the shaft and the layers of cloth, magic still passed into his hands when he struck a demon. The wards drank it greedily, an addictive pleasure that had him seeking corie encounters he would otherwise have avoided.

  And every time he thought of the tattoos, he was reminded of Stela Inn, and the night they spent in the Briarpatch. Stela Inn, naked and covered in demon ichor. Stela Inn, on hands and knees with Brother Franq behind her.