The Warded Man

“Yes!” the crowd roared.

“They can’t hear you!” the Jongleur shouted.

“Yes!” the people screamed, punching fists in the air; Arlen most of all. Jessi imitated him, punching the air and shrieking as if she were a demon herself. The Jongleur bowed and, when the crowd quieted, lifted his lute and led them into another song.

As promised, Arlen left Town Square with a sack of salt. Enough to last weeks, even with Norine and Marea to feed. It was still unmilled, but Arlen knew his parents would be happy to pound the salt themselves, rather than pay Hog extra for the service. Most would, really, but old Hog never gave them a choice, milling the salt as soon as it came and tacking on the extra cost.

Arlen had a spring in his step as he walked down the road toward the Cluster. It wasn’t until he passed the tree that Cholie had hung from that Arlen’s spirits fell. He thought again about what Ragen had said about fighting corelings, and what his father had said about prudence.

He thought his father probably had the right of it: Hide when you can and fight when you must. Even Ragen seemed to agree with that philosophy. But Arlen couldn’t shake the feeling that hiding hurt people too, in ways they couldn’t see.

He met his father in the Cluster and earned a clap on the back when he showed his prize. He spent the rest of the afternoon running to and fro, helping rebuild. Already, another house was repaired and would be warded by nightfall. In a few more weeks, the Cluster would be fully rebuilt, and that was in everyone’s interest, if they wanted enough wood to last the winter.

“I promised Selia I’d throw in here for the next few days,” Jeph said as they packed the cart that afternoon. “You’ll be the man of the farm while I’m gone. You’ll have to check the ward-posts and weed the fields. I saw you show Norine your chores this morning. She can handle the yard, and Marea can help your mother inside.”

“All right,” Arlen said. Weeding the fields and checking the posts was hard work, but the trust made him proud.

“I’m counting on you, Arlen,” Jeph said.

“I won’t let you down,” Arlen promised.

The next few days passed with little event. Silvy still cried at times, but there was work to do, and she never once complained of the additional mouths to feed. Norine took to caring for the animals naturally, and even Marea began to come out of her shell a bit, helping with the sweeping and cooking, working the loom after supper. Soon she was taking turns with Norine in the yard. Both women seemed determined to do their share, though their faces, too, grew pained and wistful whenever there was a lull in the work.

Arlen’s hands blistered from pulling weeds, and his back and shoulders ached at the end of each day, but he didn’t complain. The only one of his new responsibilities he enjoyed was working on the wardposts. Arlen had always loved warding, mastering the basic defensive symbols before most children began learning at all, and more complex wardnets soon after. Jeph didn’t even check his work anymore. Arlen’s hand was steadier than his father’s. Warding wasn’t the same as attacking a demon with a spear, but it was fighting in its own way.

Jeph arrived at dusk each day, and Silvy had water from the well waiting for him to wash off. Arlen helped Norine and Marea lock up the animals, and then they had supper.

On the fifth day, a wind kicked up in the late afternoon that sent dust whorls dancing in the yard, and had the barn door banging. Arlen could smell rain coming, and the darkening sky confirmed it. He hoped Jeph saw the signs, too, and came back early, or stayed on in the Cluster. Dark clouds meant an early dusk, and early dusk sometimes meant corelings before full sunset.

Arlen abandoned the fields and began to help the women herd the spooked animals back into the barn. Silvy was out as well, battening down the cellar doors and making sure the wardposts around the day pens were lashed tight. There was little time to spare when Jeph’s cart came into sight. The sky was darkening quickly, and already there was no direct sun. Corelings could rise at any moment.

“No time to unhitch the cart,” Jeph called, cracking the whip to drive Missy faster toward the barn. “We’ll do it in the morning. Everyone in the house, now!” Silvy and the other women complied, heading inside.

“We can do it if we hurry,” Arlen yelled over the roar of the wind as he ran after his father. Missy would be in foul spirits for days if she spent the night harnessed.

Jeph shook his head. “It’s too dark already! A night hitched won’t kill her.”

“Lock me in the barn, then,” Arlen said. “I’ll unhitch her and wait out the storm with the animals.”

“Do as you’re told, Arlen!” Jeph shouted. He leapt from the cart and grabbed the boy by the arm, half dragging him out of the barn.

The two of them pulled the doors shut and threw the bar as lightning split the sky. The wards painted on the barn doors were illuminated for a moment, a reminder of what was to come. The air was pregnant with the promise of rain.

They ran for the house, scanning the way before them for the mist that would herald the rising. For the moment, the way was clear. Marea held the door open, and they darted inside, just as the first fat drops of rain stirred the dust of the yard.

Marea was pulling the door closed when a howl sounded from the yard. Everyone froze.

“The dog!” Marea cried, covering her mouth. “I left him tied to the fence!”

“Leave him,” Jeph said. “Close the door.”

“What?” Arlen cried, incredulous. He whirled to face his father.

“The way is still clear!” Marea cried, and darted out of the house.

“Marea, no!” Silvy cried, running out after her.

Arlen, too, ran for the door, but not before Jeph grabbed the shoulder straps of his overalls and yanked him backward. “Stay inside!” he ordered, moving to the door.

Arlen stumbled back a moment, then ran forward again. Jeph and Norine were out on the porch, but stayed within the line of the outer wards. By the time Arlen reached the porch, the dog was running past him into the house, the rope still trailing from its neck.

Out in the yard, wind howled, turning the drops of rain into stinging insects. He saw Marea and his mother running back toward the house just as the demons began to rise. As always, flame demons came first, their misty forms seeping from the ground. The smallest of corelings, they crouched on all fours as they coalesced, barely eighteen inches tall at the shoulder. Their eyes, nostrils, and mouths glowed with a smoky light.

“Run, Silvy!” Jeph screamed. “Run!”

It seemed that they would make it, but then Marea stumbled and went down. Silvy turned to help her, and in that moment the first coreling solidified. Arlen moved to run to his mother, but Norine’s hand clamped hard on his arm, holding him fast.

“Don’t be stupid,” the woman hissed.

“Get up!” Silvy demanded, yanking Marea’s arm.

“My ankle!” Marea cried. “I can’t! Go on without me!”

“Like night I will!” Silvy growled. “Jeph!” she called. “Help us!”

By then, corelings were forming all over the yard. Jeph stood frozen as they took note of the women and shrieked with pleasure, darting toward them.

“Let go!” Arlen growled, stomping hard on Norine’s foot. She howled, and Arlen yanked his arm free. He grabbed the nearest weapon he could find, a wooden milk bucket, and ran out into the yard.

“Arlen, no!” Jeph cried, but Arlen was done listening to him.

A flame demon, no bigger than a large cat, leapt atop Silvy’s back, and she screamed as talons raked deep lines in her flesh, leaving the back of her dress a bloody tatter. From its perch, the coreling spat fire into Marea’s face. The woman shrieked as her skin melted and her hair ignited.

Arlen was there an instant later, swinging the bucket with all his strength. It broke apart as it struck, but the demon was knocked from his mother’s back. She stumbled, but Arlen was there to support her. More flame demons closed in on them, even as wind demons began to stretch their wings, and, a dozen yards off, a rock demon began to take form.

Silvy groaned, but she got to her feet. Arlen pulled her away from Marea and her agonized wails, but the way back to the house was blocked by flame demons. The rock demon caught sight of them, too, and charged. A few wind demons, preparing to take off, got in the massive beast’s way, and its talons swept them aside as easily as a scythe cut through cornstalks. They tumbled broken through the air, and flame demons set on them, tearing them to pieces.

It was only a moment’s distraction, but Arlen took it, pulling his mother away from the house. The barn was blocked as well, but the path to the day pen was still clear, if they could keep ahead of the corelings. Silvy was screaming, out of fear or pain Arlen didn’t know, but she stumbled along, keeping pace even in her wide skirts.

As he broke into a run, so too did the flame demons half surrounding them. The rain began to fall harder, and the wind howled. Lightning split the sky, illuminating their pursuers and the day pen, so close, yet still too far.

The dust of the yard was slick with the growing wet, but fear granted them agility, and they kept their feet under them. The rock demon’s footfalls were as loud as the thunder as it charged, growing ever closer, making the ground shake with its stride.

Arlen skidded to a stop at the pens and fumbled with the latch. The flame demons caught up in that split second, coming in range to use their deadliest weapon. They spat flame, and Arlen and his mother were struck. The blast was weakened by distance, but still he felt his clothes ignite, and smelled burning hair. A flare of pain washed over him, but he ignored it, finally getting the gate to the pen open. He had started to take his mother inside when another flame demon leapt on her, claws digging deep into her chest. With a yank, Arlen pulled her into the pen. As they crossed the wards, Silvy passed through easily, but magic flared and the coreling was thrown back. Its claws, hooked deep in her, came free in a spray of blood and flesh.

Their clothes were still burning. Wrapping Silvy in his arms, Arlen threw them both to the ground, taking the brunt of the impact himself, and then rolled them into the mud, extinguishing the flames.

There was no chance to close the gate. The demons ringed the pen now, pounding at the wardnet, sending flares of magic skittering along the web of wards. But the gate didn’t really matter. Nor did the fence. So long as the wardposts were intact, they were safe from the corelings.

But not from the weather. The rain became a cold pour, whipping at them in cutting sheets. Silvy could not rise again after the fall. Blood and mud caked her, and Arlen didn’t know if she could survive her wounds and the rain together.

He stumbled over to the slop trough and kicked it over, sloshing the unfinished remnants of the pigs’ dinner to rot in the mud. Arlen could see the rock demon pounding at the wardnet, but the magic held, and the demon could not pass. Between the flashes of lightning and the spurts of demon flame, he caught sight of Marea, buried under a swarm of flame demons, each tearing off a piece and dancing away to feast.

The rock demon gave up a moment later, stomping over and grabbing Marea by the leg in a massive talon the way a cruel man might a grab a cat. Flame demons scattered as the rock demon swung the woman into the air. She let out a hoarse gasp, and Arlen was horrified to discover she was still alive. He screamed, and considered trying to dart from the wardnet and get to her. But then the demon brought her crashing down to the ground with a sickening crunch.

Arlen turned away before the creature could begin to eat, his tears washed away by the pouring rain. Dragging the trough to Silvy, he tore the lining from her skirt and let it soak in the rain. He brushed the mud from her cuts as best he could, and wadded more lining into them. It was hardly clean, but cleaner than pig mud.

She was shivering, so he lay against her for warmth, and pulled the stinking trough over them as a shield from the downpour, and the sight of the leering demons.

There was one more flash of lightning as he lowered the wood. The last thing he saw was his father, still standing frozen on the porch.