The Daylight War

Arlen seemed to pay it no mind, his face serene as he guided them towards the centre of town.

There were dozens of homesteads and cottages, all freshly built, and hundreds more under construction. The twists of the greatward left huge swathes of unmolested forest throughout, letting the Hollow retain a simple village feel quite unlike the crete streets, stone walls, and huge buildings of Riverbridge.

‘Place almost feels like home,’ Renna said. ‘Like we could turn this corner and see Town Square and Hog’s General Store.’

Arlen nodded. ‘Here they call it the Corelings’ Graveyard, and it’s Smitt instead of Hog, but you squint a bit, it’s hard to tell the difference. Think maybe it’s why I settled in the Hollow awhile. Wasn’t ready to go home, and this was the next best thing.’

They turned a corner, and the graveyard came into view. The cobbled central area was much like that of Town Square. At one end stood a stone Holy House that could as easily have been Tender Harral’s on Boggin’s Hill, but it was dwarfed by the foundation being laid around it, hundreds of men digging trenches and hauling stones.

Arlen stopped short, and for a moment, the serenity left his face. ‘That Angierian Tender din’t waste any time. Looks like he’s building a cathedral to swallow Jona’s Holy House like a frog does a fly.’

‘You talk like that’s a bad thing,’ Renna said. ‘Town’s growin’ as much as you say, ent they going to need the extra pews?’

‘Reckon,’ Arlen said, but he sounded unconvinced.

There was a great platform at the far end of the cobbled square with a large stage and a shell to amplify sound. Renna was drawn to the chatter of a huge crowd, but one voice rose above the din. She saw Jow Cutter standing onstage, showing no sign that he had been injured near to death just a few hours before. Renna caught sight of a now familiar set of robes, and saw Tender Hayes standing at the edge of the crowd with one of his acolytes, leaning on his crooked staff and watching with cold eyes.

‘Saw Him with my own eyes!’ Jow cried. ‘Woodie laid me clean open, an’ I heard Darsy Gatherer say there wan’t nothing she could do! But then the Painted Man came and waved His hands, and now I barely got a mark on me!’

‘Get off that stage, Jow Cutter!’ someone shouted. ‘You may be a fool, but you’re no Jongleur! Spin your tampweed tales somewhere else!’

‘Swear by the sun!’ Jow cried, and he held up his torn and bloody jerkin, showing the faded scars where the wood demon had mauled him. When the crowd still looked sceptical, he pointed at a man in the crowd. ‘Evin Cutter, you seen it, too!’

All eyes turned to Evin, but his great wolfhound bristled, keeping them back.

‘Din’t see no magic healing,’ he said after a moment. ‘Leastways not with my two eyes. But ay. The Deliverer’s returned.’

Arlen groaned, putting his face in his hand as the crowd turned back to Jow with renewed interest.

‘Ay!’ Jow cried. ‘The real Deliverer’s come back to bring Mistress Leesha home and put that desert rat down!’ The crowd roared in approval.

‘Dumb as a pile of rocks, but he ent all wrong,’ Arlen muttered.

Just then Jow looked up, seeing Arlen and Renna at the edge of the crowd. ‘There He is!’ he cried, pointing. ‘The Deliverer!’

Arlen put his hands on his hips as the entire crowd turned to him at once, looking at Jow like a dog that had shit inside the house.

And then suddenly the crowd closed in, everyone reaching, grabbing. Hundreds of people crushing inward, all shouting at once.

‘Deliverer!’

‘Bless you!’

‘Bless me!’

‘I need—!’

‘You must—!’

Renna struggled in the press, even her new strength overwhelmed by the swarm of people. ‘Get back!’ she screamed, but they seemed not to hear, and Renna felt her blood come to a boil, her vision going red as she reached for her knife.

In that instant, Renna saw a bottle flying through the air at Arlen’s head, but she was in no position to stop it.

She needn’t have worried. Arlen’s hand moved faster than her eyes could see, snatching the bottle out of the air. Everyone gasped, and a path opened up in the crowd along its trajectory, all those innocent of the deed stepping quickly away to reveal a group of three men glaring at Arlen. Their clothes were patched and threadbare, and there was a hollow look about them that bespoke hard times. They had thrown their bottle, but Renna knew drinkers when she saw them, and knew it could spur all sorts of mean. Again, her hand fell to the handle of Harl’s knife.

‘Deliverer!’ one of the men spat on the ground. ‘If you’re the ripping Deliverer, where were you when the Krasians took my daughter?!’

‘And my son!’ another shouted.

‘And my farm!’ the third added.

‘Show some ripping respect,’ Linder Cutter growled, punching the lead man in the face. He went down heavily, and in response the other two tackled the giant Cutter. They struggled back and forth, the men’s legs swinging freely off the ground as they tried to pull Linder down. The man he had punched was shaking his head and struggling to get back to his feet with murder in his eyes.

‘Ay, he asked a fair question!’ someone else in the crowd cried, and there were grumblings of assent and argument. Half a dozen Cutters were racing to the scene.

Arlen was there in an instant, crossing the distance inhumanly fast. ‘Enough!’ He picked the men off Linder by their shirt collars, holding them like insolent children. Linder looked smug until Arlen glared at him as well.

‘Next time you punch someone in my name, Linder, I’ll crack your skull.’ Linder suddenly looked his age, the overgrown boy’s face reddening.

Arlen tossed the other two men aside gently enough for them to land on their feet and reached out to the man on the ground, helping him up. When he spoke, his voice was gentle, but it carried as easily as Jow’s in the sound shell so all could hear.

‘Know you’re hurtin’, friend, and I’m sorry for your daughter, but throwing bottles and acting the fool ent helping her, and I’m not the one you ought to be mad at. Never claimed to be the Deliverer. I may be painted up, but I’m just folk like you.’

‘But you Delivered the Hollow,’ the man said, almost pleading.

Arlen shook his head, scanning the crowd as he did. Everyone was quiet, hanging on his words. ‘Didn’t deliver the Hollow. Hollowers did that themselves, bleeding right here on the cobbles under our feet. I threw in when they had a bad patch, ay, but so did Leesha Paper and Rojer Inn. So did Linder and Evin Cutter, and a hundred other folk. Even Jow, though it seems he’s got it in his head to act the fool as well.’ He glanced at Jow, who looked sheepish as he leapt down from the stage.

Arlen put his hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘Know what it’s like to lose people. Apt to make you crazy and mad as the Core. But there’s more storms comin’. I’m here to help, but what I do won’t mean spit if I’m doing it alone. It’s your choice if you want to throw in or drink and point fingers, but I don’t owe you any explanations.’

He turned, taking in the crowd as his voice rose to a boom. ‘Got more useful things to do than rabble-rousing in the Corelings’ Graveyard! Wager that goes for the rest of you, too!’