Demons flitted about in the firelight, waiting for the wards to fail. The Damaj family was already screaming when they broke in the door.
Briar jerked awake, thumping his head against the ceiling of his den.
“Whazzat?” Stela moaned, but Briar couldn’t breathe. The walls were closing in on him. He had to get out. Get out or die.
He pulled away while Stela was still confused, grabbing at his clothes as he scrambled out the trap.
Outside, he could breathe again. He filled great lungfuls with the cold night air, but it never seemed to be enough. His chest constricted, muscles knotting. He paced around, swinging his arms about to reassure himself there were no walls around him.
His senses were on fire, taking in every sight, every sound. The breeze on the leaves and stalks. The quiet rustle of nocturnal life. The distant cries of demons. He was aware of everything, ready to react in an instant to any threat. His fists were bunched, and he almost wished there was a threat just so he could release the tension, building and building until he thought he would tear himself apart.
He heard the trap open and considered running into the night before Stela found him.
“Briar?” she called. “You all right?”
“Ay,” Briar said, though he felt anything but.
“It’s all sunny,” Stela said. “Don’t need to explain. Know how you feel.”
Briar put his back to her, peering into the night. “No one knows.”
“Started to relax, ay?” Stela asked. “Then remembered what happens to folk that relax. Chest got tight. Hard to breathe. Maybe felt like the walls were closing in. Had to get out into the open air, and been pacing like a chained nightwolf.”
Briar looked at her. “How could you…”
“Got the flux last year,” Stela said. “Half the town was falling down with it. Folk dropping candles and knocking over lamps. Fires everywhere.”
“Fire brings the cories,” Briar said. “Watch and wait for the wards to fail.”
Stela nodded. “Stayed in Grandda’s inn till smoke filled the room, then stumbled out into the night with my little sister and my uncle Keet. Keet was half carryin’ me, and we were slow. Demons would’ve had us…”
She turned away, breathing hard, and Briar went to her. He reached out, not knowing what to say, and she leaned into him.
“But my sister stumbled,” Stela went on. “Got her instead.”
She looked back at him, eyes wet. “Ent just you that hates walls, Briar. Ent just you that wakes with a jump and can’t seem to breathe. Arlen Bales talks of it in the New Canon.”
“New Canon?” Briar asked.
“Brother Franq’s been talking to everyone ever met Arlen and Renna Bales,” Stela said. “Making copies of their teachings so we don’t ever forget again.”
She turned in his arms. “Ent alone, Briar. Everyone in the Pack feels it. We’ve all lost someone, all seen up close what the night can do. Makes us different from folk in town, but we’re there for each other. Can be there for you, too, you let us.”
Briar nodded. He could not imagine wanting anything more.
—
Briar knew the way to the Warded Children’s camp, but he let Stela lead, drifting along in her wake. It was still dark and the magic tingled inside him, his senses on fire. He floated along, following her as much by scent as sight.
Stela. He felt drunk at the thought of her.
Briar could hear the camp a mile off. By the time they were close, the chatter of it filled the woods. There was a bark ahead, and Briar saw a huge wolfhound leap atop a stone on the path. Moments later a guard appeared.
All the Hollowers were taller than Briar, but this one towered nearly a foot over him, with biceps the size of Briar’s head. He wore wooden armor—helm, breastplate, gauntlets, and greaves, warded and lacquered. At his waist hung a three-foot spear, demon ichor still smoking against the wards on its broad silver blade.
“Ay, Stela!” the giant cried. “Nearly dawn! Where in the dark of night you been?”
Stela laughed, shoving him aside. “Needed a few hours away from your donkey smell, Callen Cutter.” Callen gave the ground, if grudgingly. Briar could see with his night eyes that she was dominant.
“Who the Core’s this?” Callen slapped a hand at Briar as he followed in Stela’s wake. Briar seized his wrist and pulled, twisting the blow into a throw that flipped the larger man onto the ground. The wolfhound growled, crouching to spring, but Briar met its eyes and growled right back, checking it.
There were close to a hundred people in the camp. A few were children and elders, but most were of an age with Briar—not yet twenty. Briar saw Milnese faces and Angierian, Rizonan, Laktonian, even Krasian. Some wore robes or bits of armor; others bared warded flesh to the limits of decency.
Now every eye was on Briar, pinning him with the weight of their collective stare. He wanted to flee, but Stela took his hand and gave a reassuring squeeze. Callen got back to his feet, face a thundercloud, but Stela snarled and he held back.
Stela cast her eyes over the crowd. “This is Briar Damaj! The one Gared said saved His Highness on the road.”
“Then led him to his death.” A bearded man stepped forward, his thick brown hair pulled back to show a mind ward tattooed on his forehead. He wore a Tender’s brown robes covered in needlepoint wards, and carried a carved crooked staff. “I remember him. Mudboy. The Krasian traitor.”
Briar bared his teeth. “Ent a traitor. Laktonian. Ent my fault I look like them.”
Stela gave his hand another squeeze. “Mudboy,” she confirmed loudly. “But anyone other than me calls him that, they’ll be doing it with missing teeth. We shed ichor together. He is Pack.”
Pack. The word sang to him, but looking at the staring faces, he knew it would take more than words to make it so.
“That how it works now?” The speaker wasn’t as tall as Callen, lanky instead of broad. His armor was lighter as well, wards burned into boiled leather. He and Stela shared a resemblance. He pointed at Briar with his short spear, wards on its blade glowing with inner power. “You decide who’s Pack and who’s not?”
Stela put her hands on her hips. “Keep pointing that spear at me, Uncle Keet.” She used the honorific mockingly. “Everyone’s here to see me shove it up your arse.”
Keet hesitated. His eyes flicked about for support, but there was little to be had. Few in the camp wanted anything to do with this confrontation. They kept their eyes down, though all were watching with interest. Callen still glared at Briar, but even he seemed unwilling to challenge Stela directly.
Stela leaned in, and Keet reflexively leaned back. “Briar is Pack.”
After a moment, Keet dropped his eyes. “You want to make him a Wardskin, ent my business.”
“We’ll initiate him,” Stela agreed. “But he can find his own path after that. Once folk see what Briar can do, might be some folk start calling themselves Mudboys.”
Briar scowled, and Stela winked. “Better than Hogbreaths.”
Briar laughed in spite of himself.
“We all must find our own path.” The man in Tender’s robe stepped up to Briar. Stela’s grip on his hand tightened painfully, but the man only bowed.
“Welcome, Briar. I am Brother Franq.”
Stela’s grip on his hand eased, and the rest of the Warded Children followed suit. Callen and Keet might not have been able to challenge Stela, but this man could. “You’re the one writing New Canon.”
Franq dismissed the thought with a wave. “The words belong to Arlen and Renna Bales. I merely record them.”
“And help us find their meaning,” Stela said.
Franq bowed to Briar a second time. “I apologize for calling you traitor. The Tenders of the Creator taught me to judge, but Arlen Bales has shown us a better way. All who stand together in the night are brothers and sisters. We are all Deliverers.”
All around the camp, people drew wards in the air, echoing his word. “All Deliverers.”
—
“Mistress Leesha had us split into three groups at first,” Stela said as she walked Briar through the camp. “Strongest were training to join the Cutters one day. Mistress gave them all specially warded spears, short to make the Draw more efficient. We call ’em gut pumps, because you stick one in a demon’s gut and it pumps magic into you. Callen leads the Pumps.”