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Briar couldn’t deny he liked the sound of that. He didn’t resist as Ella reached out to him. Her hands were soft as they took his, turning them over to inspect the palms.
‘Blackstem first,’ Ella said, taking a brush and inkpot. ‘Hold still.’ With a quick, bold hand, she drew an impact ward on his right palm, and a pressure ward on his left.
‘Offence and defence,’ Stela said. ‘The first tools of gaisahk.’ The word was Krasian, meaning ‘demon fighting,’ but Briar had never heard it before.
Ella finished her work, glancing at Stela. ‘What do you think?’
‘Perfect!’ Stela said. ‘Do it.’
Ella put a small table between them. ‘Arm here.’ The table had straps on it, and when Ella reached for them, he snatched his hand away. The last time he saw a table like that, it was an instrument of torture.
Stela steadied him. ‘Just to keep you from flinching. Even the best of us do sometimes. I’m right here, Briar. Ent gonna let anyone hurt you.’
Briar met her eyes and took a deep breath, putting his arm on the table, palm up. Stela pulled the straps tight as Ella took up what looked at first like a small brush. It wasn’t until she began passing it through the fire that he saw the bristles were needles.
‘What do you think?’ Ella asked, wiping the blood from his left hand. His right was already poulticed and wrapped in a bandage.
Briar flexed his hand, watching the ward conform. He straightened the palm and curled his fingers and thumb in tight around it in the proper form his father had taught for an open-hand sharusahk blow.
‘Beautiful,’ he said. A weapon he could never lose, a part of him, even more than his hogroot sweat. The thought made him hopeful in a way he had never known. As Ella wrapped his hand he looked down at her long legs, covered in wards, and envied her their protection and power.
Stela gave him a smack on the back of the head. ‘Ay, that’s enough of that. Go have a bite and a rest while I talk with Ella a spell.’
Briar nodded, leaving the tent. The sun was high in the sky, and most of the people in camp were asleep in the shade. Still, enough moved about that he felt crowded. He needed time to himself.
He circled behind the tent before anyone noticed him, meaning to make his way out of the Painted Children’s camp and back into Gatherers’ Wood.
‘Honest word?’ Ella’s voice was clear even through the tent wall. ‘Ya stuck that filthy little bugger?’
‘Didn’t just stick him,’ Stela said. ‘Took his first seed.’
‘No!’ Ella squealed. ‘Ya sure?’
Stela laughed. ‘Didn’t have a clue what he was doing.’ Briar felt his face heat at the words. Her laughter, so beautiful a moment ago, cut at him.
‘Bad, then,’ Ella guessed.
‘Didn’t say that,’ Stela said, and Briar perked up. ‘Little stinker made it up in enthusiasm. Popped quick the first time, but I wasn’t far behind. Then it was popping all over.’
Briar smiled from ear to ear.
‘Do all Krasian men have small cocks?’ Stela asked, freezing the grin on his face.
‘Not ones I been with,’ Ella said. ‘Not as big as Cutters, but bigger’n most.’
‘Briar’s half Laktonian,’ Stela said. ‘Maybe that’s why.’
‘How small are we talking?’ Ella asked. Stela must have shown with her hands, because her squeals of laughter followed Briar as he fled the camp.
Briar cleared the few possessions from his hideaway, returning to the hollow he dug beneath the goldwood tree, far from the Painted Children’s hunting grounds. He didn’t know how to feel about Stela any more, but he knew he would never be able to sleep with the Pack nearby.
His thoughts were still in chaos when he made his way to Mistress Leesha’s keep. There were guards on patrol, but they never saw Briar slip over the wall and through the courtyard, scaling a shadowed wall of the manse.
His bandaged hands were a hindrance in the climb, both for the loss of grip and for the reminder of all that had transpired in the past day. For better or worse, a simple scouting mission had changed his life forever.
He ran across the roof, crouched too low for any to see, until he came to the spot above the mistress’ office window and clambered down to the sill.
Careful not to be seen, Briar checked the hall window first. Two of Wonda’s guardswomen stood at the chamber doors, attention outward. He moved to Leesha’s office window.
The mistress was on the office divan, Olive in her arms. Her back was to the window, and Briar could not see or hear anyone else in the room. He reached out to knock.
‘Come in, Briar.’ Leesha spoke before he could make a sound. ‘Close the window quick. Cold as a demon’s heart out there.’
Briar slid a wire between the panes, tripping the lock. Warmth from the roaring fire engulfed him as he slipped inside and shut the pane. Cold seldom bothered him, but few things did. He adjusted easily to the heat, stepping carefully to avoid leaving dirt on the warded floor.
The mistress’ dress was unlaced, the babe latched at one breast. A day ago, Briar would have thought little of it, but now he felt himself flush, casting his eyes down.
‘No need to look away,’ Leesha said. ‘Nothing to be ashamed of, using them for the purpose the Creator meant for them. Folk are going to have to get used to the sight.’
She gestured to the laden tea table. ‘Help yourself to tea and a bite.’
Briar’s mouth watered when he saw the sandwiches on the table. Not the delicate crustless fingers Duchess Araine served, these were thick brown bread with generous cuts of meat. He stuck one in his mouth, holding it while he took a handful of dried hogroot leaves from his pocket, crumbling them into a cup and pouring hot tea over it.
Briar glanced warily at the empty couch across from the mistress. He was freshly bathed but still felt too dirty to sit on such fine material.
‘Sit, Briar,’ Leesha said. ‘Elissa told me they didn’t want you muddying the furniture in the Monastery of Dawn, but here you are my guest.’
Briar sat stiffly, legs tight together to put the least surface of his backside possible on the couch. He hunched, gnawing on his sandwich while the tea steeped.
Leesha cleared her throat. ‘That doesn’t mean you don’t need a napkin.’
The scolding was one his mother had given a thousand times, and Briar quickly snatched a napkin off the table, laying it across his knees.
‘What happened to your hands? Let me look at them.’ Olive began to thrash and cry as Leesha broke the latch.
Briar raised his hands to forestall her. ‘S’fine. Just scraped. Washed and wrapped.’
He meant to tell her about the tattoos, but when the moment was upon him the lie came easily. He didn’t know himself what the ink meant, and had no desire to share the question before he thought it through.
Leesha looked ready to insist, even as she allowed Olive the nipple once more. ‘You’re not the clumsy type, Briar. What happened?’
‘Found Stela Cutter fighting cories and threw in,’ Briar said, skipping the details. ‘She brought me back to the Children’s camp.’
‘Stela Cutter was out hunting alone?’ Leesha demanded. ‘Does she have a night wish?’
‘Safer’n you think,’ Briar said. ‘She’s strong. Leads the Children.’
‘Stela?’ Leesha gaped. ‘She’s the sunny side of a hundred pounds and eighteen summers old.’
‘Everyone’s afraid of her and the other Wardskins,’ Briar said. ‘Act like they’re not, but I can tell.’
‘Afraid why?’ Leesha asked.
Briar shrugged. Stela changed dramatically when they were no longer alone. There was still so much he didn’t understand about her and the other Children.
‘How many are there?’ Leesha asked.
‘Hundred, at least,’ Briar said. ‘Wardskins, Bones, Pumps, Sharum, and Brothers. Call themselves the Pack.’
Olive fell asleep at the breast. Leesha pried her gently away and rose, throwing the babe over a shoulder. Olive gave a contented burp, still sleeping as Leesha glided to the crèche and laid her down.
She returned a moment later, dress laced tight, and sat across from Briar. Her eyes, the colour of sky, pierced him.
‘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! Wardskin!’
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.
