Barren

by Peter V. Brett

“That why you never . . .” Jeph trailed off at the glare Selia gave him, waving weakly at Selia’s belly.

  “Don’t see that’s your business, Jeph Bales,” Selia said.

  Jeph was quick to nod. “Ay, Speaker. Sorry.”

  “Time we were going, in any event,” Selia said. “Wasted enough of your night with storytelling, but folk are going to talk, and it was best you heard it from me.”

  Meada put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing.

  “Dun’t sound like you done anythin’ wrong, Speaker,” Brine said. His eyes lingered a moment on Lesa Square, the lone member of the Square militia Selia brought into Jeph’s common for her tale.

  “Ay, well,” Selia said. “Ent the whole story, but it’s all you’re getting tonight.”

  Her militia was waiting outside, armed and alert as they escorted her back to town. Word would spread soon enough. Fifty years was a long time, but there were still a few in the Brook who remembered what happened next, and the rumors that went along with it.

  Selia left Lesa with the militia in the square, riding home alone with memories that had haunted her for fifty years. She wanted nothing but her bed, but instead she found Lesa waiting in the darkness on the porch.

  “Go home, girl,” Selia said.

  “Mam and Da are still camped at Jeph’s.” Lesa moved to follow Selia into the house.

  Selia turned, blocking the entrance. “Ay, maybe. But I’m tired, Lesa.”

  Lesa smirked. “Always say that, until I—”

  “Not tonight.” Selia tried to close the door, but Lesa shoved her foot in the frame.

  “Don’t care what happened fifty years ago, Selia. This ent then, and we ent promised to anyone.”

  Selia reached out, gently putting a hand on Lesa’s shoulder. The girl tried to lean in, but Selia shoved her back instead. She stumbled and caught herself on the porch rail. “Woodbrained girl. Ent told you how it ended.”

  Lesa stepped forward, and Selia slammed the door in her face, dropping the bar.

  Then she put her back to it, slid to the floor, and wept.

  * * *

  Sleep was harder to find than usual. Selia paced the house till nearly dawn, lost in memories fifty years in the past. When she finally crawled into bed, it seemed her eyes barely closed before a loud rap on her door startled her awake.

  “Fool girl,” Selia muttered, seeing light streaming through the window. “Wants the whole town to see her.” She pulled on a dressing gown and went to the door as the rapping continued.

  She lifted the bar and yanked the door open. “Enough!”

  Mack Pasture’s young grandson Tam took a step back at her shout, eyes wide. “Sorry, Speaker. Din’t think you were asleep. Midmorning.”

  Selia glanced at the sky and saw he was right. She’d slept more than she thought. “Everything all right?”

  “Ent,” Tam said. “Da says you need to hurry. Corelings’re actin’ . . . strange.”

  Selia’s eyes narrowed. “Strange, how?”

  “Up to something in the woods,” Tam said. “Heard the noise all night. Crashes and cracks, like a crew of Cutters clearing a stand.”

  “Night,” Selia said, remembering Renna Tanner’s warning. “Come in and tell me everything.” She led him to the kitchen table, pushing the cookie crock his way while she put the kettle on.

  * * *

  Selia sent Tam up Boggin’s Hill to the Holy House, where Tender Harral blew a signal on the great horn. Less than an hour later, Selia’s militia was mustered in the square.

  “What’s happened?” Lucik asked as Selia rode up, armor and weapons strapped to her horse.

  “Trouble up on Mack Pasture’s land. Just going for a look now, but expect fighting tonight. Want a warded camp set up in his fallow field.”

  “Ay, Speaker.” Lucik turned and went to give the orders.

  Lesa approached next. “Get your rest?”

  Selia heard the bitterness in the words, and took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly through her nostrils. “Slept like a babe. Sounds like the Pastures had a rougher night. Mount up. I want to be at his farm before we lose the afternoon.”

  Selia could see the young woman was stung by the dismissal, but there was nothing for it. Daylight was wasting.

  The Cutters met them on the road and Selia set a hard pace that had them at Mack’s farm by midafternoon, but not fast enough, it seemed.

  The Watches beat her there.

  “Should’ve worn my armor,” Selia muttered, seeing Jeorje Watch talking to Mack while his men hobbled horses and set up wardposts in the field she’d meant for her own fighters.

  “What’s that, Speaker?” Lucik asked.

  “Just grumbles.” Selia slipped down from her horse, leaving her spear and shield behind with her armor.

  Sometimes a straight back’s as good as armor, her da used to say, and Selia took the advice, striding right up to Mack and Jeorje. “Pasture. Speaker.”

  “Speaker.” Mack nodded. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

  “Selia.” Jeorje’s head barely tilted as he deliberately left off her title.

  As ever, Selia was forced to ignore the slight. It would cost more face to correct him than to let it slide, as Jeorje well knew. “What’s happened?”

  “Demons came out in force last night,” Mack said.

  “Happens on new moon.” Selia’s eyes passed over Mack’s farmhouse, barns, day pens, and fields. “Doesn’t look like they did much damage.”

  “Din’t attack the wards,” Mack said. “Like I was tellin’ Jeorje, they stayed out in the woods. Heard crashes and bangs all night. Could see the glow of fire, smell smoke. Up to something, Selia. Bet the farm on it.”

  “Ent gone for a look since sunup?” Selia asked.

  Mack swallowed hard. “Figured it was best to wait for the militia. Dark in those woods.”

  Selia snorted. “Little shade ent dark enough for demons, Pasture.”

  “Did the right thing,” Jeorje said, if only to contradict her. He laid a hand on Mack’s shoulder. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  Despite her chiding of Mack, Selia took the time to fetch her weapons and armor before heading into the woods with Brine and Lucik while the militia made an uncomfortable camp next to the Watchmen.

  As Mack had claimed, there were signs of felled trees everywhere. Cracked stumps, deep holes, flinders of wood and roots jutting from the torn soil like broken bones. Of the trees themselves, there was little sign.

  “Night,” Lucik said.

  “Ent normal, Selia,” Brine said. “Mack’s got the right of that.”

  They found Jeorje deeper in the woods, squatting in front of a wide trench and running his hand over the bank. It was shallow, perhaps a yard deep in most places, but it ran in both directions, curving around out of sight.

  “Soil’s fresh,” Jeorje said, examining the dirt on his fingers with a sniff. “This was dug last night, and then packed smooth.” He turned to Brine. “Ever see a demon clean its own mess, Cutter?”

  “Ent.” Brine was a giant of a man, but he shuddered, eyes roving the surrounding trees as if expecting wood demons to drop down from the boughs at any moment. “What do you make of it, Selia?”

  Selia pursed her lips, walking along the edge of the trench, following its curves with her eyes. “They’re building a greatward, just like on Jeph’s farm.”

  Even Jeorje looked up at that. “Surely not.”

  Selia blew out a breath, continuing to walk the lines, more certain with every moment. “Arlen Bales told his da something like this happened in Hollow County on new moon. Means a coreling prince has come to Tibbet’s Brook.”

  Lucik’s eyes grew wide. “Demons got royalty?”

  “No more than hornets,” Selia said, “but that don’t mean we want ’em building a nest. Brine, I want Cutters up in the trees. Now. See if you can map it out.”

  “Ay, Speaker.”

  “You and Jeph Bales been keepin’ secrets.” J
eorje’s jaw was tight. He didn’t like that there were things she knew that he didn’t. “Messenger didn’t trust the council with any of this.”

  “Any reason he should’ve?” Selia asked. “Had it your way, his promised would be in a demon’s belly.”

  Jeorje looked to be chewing his own cheek. “Ent one to talk, Selia.”

  Stung, Selia had no retort. She sighed. What was the point of arguing now? Jeorje had a right to know what they were facing.

  “Mind demons, they’re called. Only come out three nights a month—new moon and the nights before and after. Pinch your thoughts like stealing an apple from a cart, you’re not careful. Make sure your men have mind wards on their helmets.”

  “Saw to that already,” Jeorje said. “Anything about how to kill ’em, or what this demon ward does?”

  “Expect it’s like our wards. Meant to keep us out once night falls. We let the corelings finish it, they can work more mischief in succor. As for how to kill them . . .” Selia shrugged. “Put a spear in ’em, I reckon.”

  Brine’s Cutters scaled trees easy as climbing a ladder, shouting and pointing to something deeper in the woods. Selia and Jeorje went to investigate, pulling up short as they found the missing lumber.

  “Night,” Selia said.

  “Creator protect us,” Jeorje added, drawing a ward in the air.

  The trees had been hauled to the center of the demon ward, arranged like twigs in a dome that had the appearance of a gigantic weaver bird’s nest, packed with dirt from the trenches. Shielded from the sun, its entrance was dark and forbidding.

  “Ent goin’ in there, day or not,” Brine said.

  “Honest word,” Lucik agreed.

  “Can we burn it?” Selia asked.

  Brine put a hand against the structure, trying not to let the others see his fingers shaking. “Damp soil. Raw wood. Maybe if we had time, but,” he looked up at the dim light filtering through the trees, “runnin’ out of sun.”

  “Wardposts,” Selia said. “Circle that nest. Make sure the mind wards are biggest. If a coreling prince has come to the Brook, you can bet the farm it’s in there.”

  “Ent going to matter, that demon ward lights up,” Jeorje noted.

  “Could we fill the trenches?” Lucik asked.

  “If we put every hand on it,” Jeorje said, “we might do in a few months.”

  Selia shook her head. “We can’t undo the demons’ work, but we can mar it.” She pointed to the map. “Here and here. Lucik, have men with spades collapse the banks. Brine, have Cutters fell trees to fall across the trenches.”

  “Ay,” Brine said.

  “What good will that do?” Mack demanded. “Corelings will just come haul them away.”

  “Ay,” Selia agreed. “And we’ll be waiting.”

  * * *

  “They’ll be risin’ soon,” Selia called to her fighters. “Everyone remember why we’re here. We keep the ward from activating at all cost. Do not let the demons work.”

  This is a terrible idea. Selia gripped her spear in a sweaty fist as she dropped into the shallow trench and hunched down. It was barely waist-high—she could leap clear in an instant—but it was still hard to shake the feeling of being cornered. Trapped.

  It didn’t help that Jeorje Watch knelt a few feet away, face serene as he prayed, his walking stick laid across his knees. He’d gone along with Selia’s plans, acting as if they were his all along, but he wouldn’t allow her the glory of holding the front line alone.

  And so they waited as the shadows lengthened and full dark fell. Selia’s breath hissed as the rising began, corelings drifting like smoke from the ground. Jeorje’s eyes popped open, scanning the trench floor, but demons couldn’t rise through worked surfaces, and the hard-packed soil of the trench seemed sufficient to push them up the bank. A wood demon began to materialize right above Jeorje. It was at its most vulnerable at this moment, but he took his time, making sure he did not ruin their surprise. Then he gave a signal, echoed down the line among his men. They readied weapons as he unsheathed the spearpoint at the end of his cane, then drove it like a stake up through the demon’s belly into its black heart.

  Magic crackled along the cane like lectricity drawn to a lightning rod, and Selia could well imagine the rush of power he felt.

  “Now!” she cried, picking her own target, a wood demon materializing a few feet away atop the trench bank. She straightened to her full six-foot height, coming up from hiding to drive her spear into the coreling’s back. The warded head punched through scale and hide, drinking deep of the demon’s magic and turning it into killing power. Only a fraction of that energy fed back into her, but it was enough to fill her with a mad strength. She yanked the demon down into the trench, Lucik and Lesa putting spears into it as well. It gave a final thrash, and lay still.

  Selia had her shield up now, moving north along the trench with her fighters as Jeorje moved south. Demons that had materialized away from the trench raced their way, but Brine and his Cutters roared from the trees, hacking at them from behind.

  There were shrieks and flashes of wardlight from deeper in the woods, as demons attempted to exit the nest, only to find it surrounded by wardposts that kept them pinned.

  Selia’s eyes swept ahead, seeing a ten-foot-tall rock demon around the next bend of the trench. The beast looked confused, expecting to dig rather than do battle, but it was more than willing as Selia and her fighters rounded the bend.

  The rock demon swiped its great talons at her, but the wards on Selia’s angled shield deflected the blow. She planted her feet and weathered the impact as she stabbed with her spear. The demon had greater reach, but she managed to poke its arm before it retracted. Piercing wards flared and the demon roared from the sting, but it was a minor blow that failed to penetrate its thick carapace.

  It swiped again with its other arm, but Lesa was there, putting her shoulder behind her shield to cover Selia. The demon tried to spin, swiping at them with its great tail, but the narrow trench tripped it up and, as it stumbled, they struck hard. Lesa stabbed into the joint of the demon’s armored knee, buckling the limb and allowing Selia a clear strike at the gap between the plates in the demon’s groin.

  The demon fell their way, but the women danced back, steps in sync like a festival reel. They parted and Lucik rushed between them, planting his spear into the demon’s eye.

  It was a killing blow, but even in its death throes a rock demon was dangerous. One of its flailing arms caught Lucik against the trench wall. Her senses alive with magic, Selia heard the sound of bone breaking.

  “Lucik!” She bulled in, heedless of the danger. The demon had stopped thrashing, but Lucik was trapped by its bulk, face reddening. Selia stuck her spear between the demon and tunnel wall like a lever.

  “Get him out! He can’t breathe!” She grit her teeth and put her back against the spear, bracing against the wall with both feet. She screamed, straining against the rock’s weight as Lesa ran in, dragging Lucik free.

  “He all right?” Selia asked when she extricated herself.

  “I’m . . .” Lucik’s breath was labored, “. . . fine . . . Speaker . . .”

  “Good boy, Lucik, but you ent fine. Out of this fight.”

  “Just . . .” Lucik tried to put a hand under himself, “. . . need a minute for the magic to set me right.”

  There was a low growl, and Selia looked up to see a field demon crouching on the lip of the trench. “Ent got a minute.”

  Lesa tried to get her shield up as the coreling pounced, but it was too fast, knocking her sprawling. Her spear bounced out of reach and one of the straps on her shield snapped, causing it to hang awkwardly from her arm, a poor defense. The smaller wards on her armor sparked and flared as the demon’s claws scrabbled across them, but they dimmed as she and the demon rolled on the trench floor, dirt gumming the etchings.

  “Lesa!” Selia cried, rushing in, but she could not find a clear target to stab without risk of hitting Lesa as they str
uggled.

  The demon’s claws found purchase at last, tearing armor plate like paper as its jaws snapped forward at Lesa’s bared throat. Selia abandoned her own spear and shield to tackle the demon, knocking it off Lesa. Selia landed atop the creature, the impact blowing the breath from its lungs. Her heavy gloves were reinforced with warded steel across the knuckles, and there was a thunderclap as she punched the wriggling demon in the face.

  Ground and pound, her father used to call the move. Selia pressed warded greaves into the demon’s lower limbs, keeping it pinned as she fell into her breath, hammering it with punch after punch. Each blow leached a little more magic from the beast, making the next one stronger as her momentum built. Again and again she struck, blowing a breath from her mouth with each punch and sucking a fresh one through her nose on each recoil.

  “Selia.” The voice was distant and she ignored it. Nothing mattered but hammering the demon. The world fell away, and there was only the struggle for survival.

  “SELIA!” Lesa screamed, grabbing her shoulder. Selia turned on the girl, magic burning through her limbs, and nearly punched her head off.

  Lesa saw the blow coming and parried it, rushing in to wrap Selia in her arms. “All right now, Selia. It’s dead. It’s dead.”

  Selia stared at the ichor-spattered demon beneath her, its head a ruined mass. Only then did she let out a shuddering breath, returning Lesa’s embrace.

  “You almost died.” Selia’s vision blurred as she began to weep. “And I was so awful to you, the last time we—”

  “Shhh,” Lesa whispered, kissing her. “It’s all right. Just Old Lady Barren tryin’ to scare me off. But I don’t scare easy.”

  “Thank the Creator.” Selia returned the kiss, then caught sight of Lucik Boggin, staring at them, eyes wide.

  “Got something to say, boy?”

  Lucik immediately dropped his eyes. “No, Speaker.”

  “Good boy.”

  * * *

  The demon ranks thinned after the initial assault, and the militias were able to hold the trenches until the sky began to lighten. When the remaining demons began to mist back down to the Core, Selia finally put up her spear and blew out a breath.

  “Creator be praised.” Jeorje sheathed the tip of his cane and turned to his great-nephew Fredd Watch. “Send runners to Southwatch and Soggy Marsh. I want every strong back in town up here first thing in the morning, taking this ward apart.”