Barren

by Peter V. Brett

  The field demon clawed at the thick roots, pulling itself forward. It snapped at Selia and she thrust her spear hard down its throat, praying its armor was weaker on the inside.

  It seemed she was right. The demon choked and convulsed, scrabbling desperately backward. Its jaws snapped shut, breaking the thick goldwood spear shaft like kindling. Selia slammed the demon with her shield for good measure, knocking it from the gap. The demon rolled in the scrub, hacking and growling, then seemed to think better of the fight and fled, the spearhead still in its belly.

  Selia wanted to cheer, but the small victory made little difference. The trapped wood demon was tearing through the tree like a pair of cutters, ripping off large pieces of trunk. It was only a matter of time before the growing debris obscured Anjy’s warding, or the tree itself collapsed, taking the forbidding with it.

  The second wood demon stalked in, but then something struck it on the back with the sound of breaking glass. The demon looked over its shoulder in confusion, then shrieked as fires blazed all over its body.

  “Selia! Run!” Jahn had a short spear slung over his shoulder and carried a blazing torch in his shield hand. He threw a glass vial that shattered on impact with the demon still stuck in the forbidding, spattering it with fluid. He took the torch in his spear hand and set it alight.

  Selia didn’t hesitate, dropping her broken spear shaft and grabbing Anjy’s hand. She hauled her along as they fled back to the road.

  Their eyes, accustomed to the blaze of wardlight, took time to adjust to the darkness of the woods, even with the glow of fire at their backs. They stumbled on, Selia leading with her shield to keep them from running into anything solid.

  A moment later Jahn caught up to them, torch still in hand to light their way. “Just lamp oil. Won’t stop them for long. They’ll roll on the ground till it’s out, then come after us twice as mad.”

  The three of them ran as fast as they could, lurching through the brush. Selia slipped and banged her knee on a root, biting back the pain as she bounced right back to her feet and kept running. Thornbushes caught at Anjy’s skirts, and Jahn gave no thought to her modesty, tearing cloth until she was free.

  They made the road and put on speed until the campfire, horses, and warded circles were in sight.

  But the camp had drawn Wanderers. Half a dozen demons stood between them and succor.

  * * *

  Field demons raced their way, and Jahn put his shield out at an angle. “Wedge!”

  Selia understood, angling her shield to mirror his, forming a point as they charged. Wards flashed and the demons were deflected, stumbling to keep their feet. A flame demon spat at them, but the sticky firespit found no purchase on the wards, winking out in midair. Jahn kicked the demon aside and they put on a burst of speed.

  The circles were close when one of the field demons caught up with them from behind, teeth closing on the trailing cloth of Anjy’s torn skirts. Her hand yanked from Selia’s grasp as she fell.

  “Run on!” Jahn turned to face the demons, dropping his torch to pull the spear from its harness on his back.

  The Messenger was clad in warded armor, better prepared to face the demons, but Selia hadn’t come all this way to abandon her friend. She tackled the demon while it was still pulling on the cloth of Anjy’s skirt. Selia took a handful of the thick black cloth and wrapped it around the demon’s head, tangling its jaws as Anjy tried to wriggle free of the skirt.

  Anjy managed to get clear, clad only in her bloomers. She screamed as the demon’s blindly scrabbling claws raked her thigh, drawing dark lines of blood in the dim light.

  Jahn kicked the demon onto its back, thrusting his spear hard into its unarmored belly. The point penetrated, but not deeply. Still, the demon gave a muffled cry beneath the cloth, wriggling desperately.

  Jahn threw his shield on the ground, face-up. “Stand on the shields!”

  Messenger shields were wide and round, with concentric circles of wards starting at the outer rim. They were designed, in a moment of last resort, to be miniature circles of protection, just large enough for a single person to stand upon.

  “What about you?” Selia cried.

  “I have my armor!” Jahn pointed to her shield. “Selia Square, for once in your corespawned life, do as you’re told!”

  The demons were circling, and Selia knew he was right. She threw down her own shield, helping Anjy shakily to her feet and onto the shield.

  “I don’t think I can stand.”

  “You have to!” Selia had just enough time to leap onto Jahn’s shield as a field demon pounced. She had to gather her skirt, but the wards held, knocking the demon back.

  Jahn was less fortunate. The flame demon leapt at him and the wards on his armor knocked it away, but the rebound sent him stumbling. A field demon sensed his imbalance and used the rebound to knock him from his feet.

  They were all around him now, swiping, biting, and spitting. His armor held, but the weight of the metal, the exhaustion from their desperate flight, and the continued blows from the corelings were overwhelming. He struggled to rise.

  “Get back to the circles!” Selia shouted to him.

  Too harried to argue, Jahn began a slow crawl back to the camp. Inch by inch he made his way, sometimes managing a staggering step or two before being brought back down. Dirt crusted the wards etched on his armor now, and demon talons began to gouge and scratch the metal. One raking claw slipped from a plate into the unwarded metal links at the back of his knee, and Jahn screamed.

  Still he crawled, drawing attention from Selia and Anjy as he drew closer and closer to the camp. At last he reached the circles and rolled across to safety.

  The corelings smashed at the barrier for a time, then lost interest, turning back to more vulnerable prey. Selia wrapped her skirt tight with a fold and tuck to hold it close inside the shield’s circle while leaving her hands free.

  She looked at Anjy, bare-legged, and saw the young woman shaking. Blood ran down her wounded thigh, pooling at her feet and running over the wards, weakening the protection.

  The demons smelled blood and fear in the air, ignoring Selia and Jahn to focus on Anjy. They paced around her shield, hissing and growling at one another, each seeking to be the first to sink its teeth into Anjy when she inevitably collapsed.

  “Selia!” Jahn hissed from the protection of one of the circles as Selia slowly squatted down, stepping off the shield and slipping it back onto her arm.

  Anjy’s leg buckled, and the young woman stumbled, falling off the shield. A flame demon leapt at her as Selia charged in. She met the demon head-on with a shield bash that knocked it across the road in a flash of magic.

  She caught Anjy with her free arm, supporting her as she waved her shield at the other demons.

  “Leave me!” Anjy cried.

  “Going to be all right,” Selia said with assurance she didn’t feel. “We’ll walk to the circles, nice and slow. Pick up your shield.”

  A field demon pounced as Anjy reached for the bloody shield, but it was knocked aside in a flare of light.

  Selia looked back to see Jahn throw a warded stone, scattering a trio of demons. “Forget the shield! Go now!”

  “Come on,” Selia said, half supporting, half dragging Anjy toward the circles. She was still losing blood, eyelids heavy and movements clumsy.

  Another field demon charged Anjy, slavering for her bloody bare thigh. Jahn missed his throw, but Selia thrust her shield in its path, then threw her shoulder into it, knocking the demon sprawling.

  Still they moved, the circles just a few feet away.

  But then there was a shriek and a flap of wings. Suddenly a wind demon was right next to her, so close Selia could smell its horrid stench and feel its leathern skin as it dug its talons into Anjy’s body. Anjy tried to cry, but it came out as a gout of blood.

  Selia was buffeted as the demon flapped its wings again, taking off as quickly as it had appeared. Without thinking, Selia swung her shield as sh
e was knocked back, the wind wards along its edge striking the joint where the thin bones of the demon’s wing met the shoulder.

  There was a crack, and the wing collapsed. The demon had been rising swiftly into the air, and it came crashing down atop Anjy, the impact pushing the claws buried in her back out through her front.

  “Anjy!” Selia shrieked, but before she could regain her feet, the other demons struck, tearing into the young woman and rending her apart. Selia screamed, raising her shield to charge into them.

  “Selia, corespawn it!” Jahn had come limping from the circle to grab her arm. “She’s dead! We’ll be, too, if we don’t get back to the circle right ripping now!”

  Selia sobbed, but she stumbled along with him until they stepped over the circle. She fell to her knees, seeing her dress soaked in Anjy’s blood.

  And she wailed.

  * * *

  What they found the next day was barely recognizable as human, just bones and blood and bits of clothing. Enough to fill a small box for a symbolic funeral pyre, but nothing compared to the woman Anjy had been. The woman she might have become, given the chance.

  “Take me with you,” Selia told Jahn. “Let me come to the Free Cities, and corespawn Tibbet’s Brook.”

  “Like night I will. Can’t just run away from your problems, Selia.” Jahn nodded to the box. “They’ll catch up to you every time.”

  It was late in the day when the caravan rode back into Town Square. She expected her father to shout, to rage that she had lied, but he only swept her into his arms and wept.

  The town council was less forgiving. Tender Stewert, the Triggs, and the Speakers from every borough listened as Jeorje laid bare her and Anjy’s love like some kind of crime. Selia sat through it at her father’s side, eyes down, too tired to fight anymore. What did it matter, now that there was no one to fight for?

  “Selia Square’s sinful ways are a burden on this town,” Jeorje said. “My granddaughter is dead, murdered much as if this girl had done it with her own hands. I demand she be held to account.”

  “Lies.” Edwar bashed a fist against the table. “Selia didn’t banish Anjy to Town Square. Selia didn’t force her to marry an old man who raised his hand to her. Selia didn’t come to drag her back to that corespawned house when she fled in terror. If any are to blame for this, Jeorje Watch, it’s you and Obi. Stake yourselves in the square, if you want justice.”

  Jeorje bared his teeth, but he and Edwar were only two voices on a council of many.

  “Jeorje’s got a point, Edwar,” Isak said. “If not for Selia, Deardra—”

  “Demonshit,” Edwar cut him off. “Don’t blame your daughter’s choices on Selia. She’s grown, and knew she was kissing the woman her brother shined on. Did my daughter cast some magic spell out of a Jongleur’s tale on her?”

  “No,” Isak said. “But if you had taken a firmer hand with her . . .”

  “Then what?” Edwar demanded. “I could have driven my own child into the naked night like Jeorje did with his granddaughter?”

  “Maybe,” Angos Marsh said. “Or maybe knocked enough sense into her to come to you when the Watch girl ran off.”

  “She came to me.” Jahn, still in his armor, scraped and gouged from battle, cut an impressive figure none could ignore. “Selia Square may be willful, but in the naked night she risked her life again and again for her friend. If that’s a sinner, I never understood a single Seventhday sermon.”

  “Might be you didn’t,” Jeorje said.

  Jahn crossed his arms. “And might be the Duke needs his salt more than he needs trade with Southwatch.”

  “Enough,” Edwar said. “On the matter of Obi Watch, punishment for raising your hand to a woman is ten lashes. What does the council say?”

  Nine hands rose, Jeorje alone abstaining. He scowled, but nodded. “I’ll administer them personally.” Obi turned to look at him wide-eyed, but Jeorje met his look, daring the man to argue, and Obi wisely kept silent. “Now, on the matter of Selia Square, accused of murder—”

  “No one but you is accusing her of murder, Watch,” Angos Marsh sneered. “Girl ent an innocent, whatever the Messenger says, but I ent going to be party to putting some girl out in the night to rub your ego.”

  Jeorje’s fists clenched, eyes scanning the rest of the room. Isak Fisher nodded to him. “Marsh has a point. Selia ent a murderer, but she needs punishment.”

  “Nonsense,” Sallie Trigg said. “Selia ent done anything but right by Anjy Watch.”

  “Ay,” Harve Trigg agreed.

  “And you, Tender?” Edwar asked.

  Stewert wrung his hands, looking from Edwar to Jahn to Jeorje. At last he sighed. “If Selia can abandon her . . . ways, the Creator can forgive. But not without punishment for bringing false witness, naming the Creator’s holy succor to lead you astray in your search.”

  Selia looked up at that. “Would you have given it? Would you have protected her?”

  Tender Stewert leveled her a disapproving stare. “We’ll never know now, will we, child?”

  “Ten lashes, same as Obi.” Jeorje slammed his copy of the Canon down on the table.

  “And what of you, Jeorje?” Edwar demanded. “Your part in this is no less than Obi’s or Selia’s. Will you accept ten lashes, as well?”

  Selia could tell Edwar expected the Speaker for Southwatch to balk, but Jeorje smiled. “I will.”

  Edwar blinked, stunned.

  “All in favor?” Jeorje asked, before Edwar could manage a reply.

  The punishment was kept private, with only the council to bear witness. Edwar would let no other swing the lash, but he did not lighten his hand for his daughter.

  It didn’t matter. Selia felt nothing as the whip struck.

  5

  The Vote

  334 ar

  The Tibbet’s Brook charter was an ancient document, dating nearly back to the Return, but it had kept the Brook in relative peace for all that time. It laid out the rules for voting, and required prospective Speakers to arrive at a vote unarmed and unarmored.

  Selia reluctantly left her spear, shield, and armor behind, arriving in the same dress she’d worn on voting day for decades. It didn’t fit as it once had. New muscles strained sleeves meant for thinner arms and chest; the waist hung loose around her slim stomach. Around her neck she wore a brookstone necklace carved with mind wards.

  The entire town turned out. Squares, Boggins, Baleses, Pastures, Cutters, and more. They looked sadly at Selia, letting their eyes drift over Lesa as they nervously rolled the wooden balls Hog was handing out in their palms. Many had drawn mind wards on their foreheads. Others wore necklaces like Selia’s, hats with warded bands, or embroidered headscarves.

  The Fishers looked belligerent, glaring angrily at Selia and sneering at Lesa. Like the Watches, they were armed, and Selia wondered if things had truly fallen so far they might use them. There were more Marshes than Selia had ever seen in town—more than she had realized there were. They were mud-stained and dirty, faces grim, but many clutched frog spears in one hand and voting balls in the other.

  The Watches looked triumphant. How long had they waited for this day? They worshipped Jeorje, and Selia held little hope for a single dissenting vote among them. Jeorje flouted the charter, leaning on his cane and wearing his heavy black coat, the lining sewn with plates of warded glass. He gave his customary hint of smile, daring her to try to deprive the oldest man in the Brook of the walking stick he’d carried for fifty years.

  When the crowd was fully gathered, Selia left Lesa and went up to the stage erected in the square, standing to the right with Meada, Coline, Brine, Harral, and Jeph. On the far side stood Jeorje, Raddock, Coran, and . . . Hog. Selia glared at him, but the Speaker for the Square only shrugged.

  “Hog’s taking two-to-one odds under the counter on Jeorje taking the gavel,” Brine said. “Ent such a fool as to be seen voting on the losing side.”

  “He’ll feel the fool when Jeorje hauls off half his
inventory as sinful,” Harral said.

  “I know Hog,” Meada said. “He’s already hidden his ale stores someplace safe to sell after Jeorje starts prohibition.”

  “Always profit in sufferin’,” Jeph agreed.

  “Someone else run,” Selia said. “Brook’s more important than my pride.”

  “You can’t mean that!” Meada was aghast.

  “Can and do,” Selia said. “Jeph?”

  Jeph Bales’ jaw dropped. “Me?”

  “Your fault we’re in this mess,” Selia said. “Folk know the Messenger is your son, now. They seen the strength of your wards. Might be you can win this.”

  Jeph shook his head. “Don’t know that, Selia. Got my own share of scandals, and the Fishers and Marshes are going to vote with the Watches no matter what. Besides, ent qualified to lead the militia tonight.”

  Selia looked at Brine. “Ay, don’t look at me. Never wanted that job.”

  “Folk know I’ll just defer to you anyway,” Meada said before Selia could call on her. Harral and Coline stepped back. Tender and Herb Gatherer commanded respect in town, but neither were eager to lead in times of trouble.

  “Just look weaker, you bow out,” Jeph said. “Town ent gonna abandon you, Selia. Got to trust in that.”

  The Speaker for Southwatch stepped out to center stage, thumping his cane until the crowd fell silent. “Sunlight’s wastin’, so we’ll get right to it. New moon comes again tonight, and we all remember what happened last month, when everything was nearly lost due to the poor leadership of Speaker Selia.”

  “Ay, that’s a rippin’ lie!” Brine shouted. “Whole Brook would have been overrun, not for Selia!”

  “Tell that to my kin, with our borough burned to the ground while you were lost in the woods!” Raddock shouted back.

  “Had a month to debate,” Raddock went on. “Everyone knows why we’re here. I call for a vote of no faith in Speaker Selia. She’s been showin’ poor judgment for fifty years, and now, in our darkest hour, we need new leadership.”