The Warded Man

Replacing prayer with machine and chemic,

Healing those meant to die,

He thought himself equal to his maker.

Brother fought brother, to benefit none.

Evil lacking without, it grew within,

Taking seed in the hearts and souls of men,

Blackening what was once pure and white.

And so the Creator, in His wisdom,

Called down a plague upon his lost children,

Opening the Core once again,

To show man the error of his ways.

And so it shall be,

Until the day He sends the Deliverer anew.

For when the Deliverer cleanses man,

Corelings will have naught to feed upon.

And lo, ye shall know the Deliverer

For he shall be marked upon his bare flesh

And the demons will not abide the sight

And they shall flee terrified before him.

“Very good!” Mery congratulated with a smile. Arlen frowned.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked.

“Of course,” Mery said.

“Do you really believe that?” he asked. “Tender Harral always said the Deliverer was just a man. A great general, but a mortal man. Cob and Ragen say so, too.”

Mery’s eyes widened. “You’d best not let my father hear you say that,” she warned.

“Do you believe the corelings are our own fault?” Arlen asked. “That we deserve them?”

“Of course I believe,” she said. “It is the word of the Creator.”

“No,” Arlen said. “It’s a book. Books are written by men. If the Creator wanted to tell us something, why would he use a book, and not write on the sky with fire?”

“It’s hard sometimes to believe there’s a Creator up there, watching,” Mery said, looking up at the sky, “but how could it be otherwise? The world didn’t create itself. What power would wards hold, without a will behind creation?”

“And the Plague?” Arlen asked.

Mery shrugged. “The histories tell of terrible wars,” she said. “Maybe we did deserve it.”

“Deserve it?” Arlen demanded. “My mam did not deserve to die because of some stupid war fought centuries ago!”

“Your mother was taken?” Mery asked, touching his arm. “Arlen, I had no idea …”

Arlen yanked his arm away. “It makes no difference,” he said, storming toward the door. “I have wards to carve, though I hardly see the point, if we all deserve demons in our beds.”