The Warded Man

“My da was cored last night,” he said in a low, angry tone. He clutched the weapon and looked up at the Warded Man, showing his teeth. “I aim t’take his due.”

His words spurred others. One by one and in groups, some of them in fear, some in anger, and many more in despair, the people of Cutter’s Hollow rose up to meet the coming night.

“Fools,” Elona spat, and stormed off.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Leesha said, her arms wrapped around the Warded Man’s waist as Twilight Dancer raced up the road to Bruna’s hut.

“What good is a mad obsession, if it doesn’t help people?” he replied.

“I was angry this morning,” Leesha said. “I didn’t mean that.”

“You meant it,” the Warded Man assured her. “And you weren’t wrong. I’ve been so occupied with what I was fighting against, I’d forgotten what I was fighting for. All my life I’ve dreamed of nothing but killing demons, but what good is it to kill corelings out in the wild, and ignore the ones that hunt men every night?”

They pulled up at the hut, and the Warded Man leapt down and held a hand out to her. Leesha smiled, and let him assist her dismount. “The house is still intact,” she said. “Everything we need should be inside.”

They went into the hut, and Leesha meant to head straight for Bruna’s stores, but the familiarity of the place struck her hard. She realized she was never going to see Bruna again, never hear her cursing or scold her for spitting on the floor, never again tap her wisdom or laugh at her ribaldry. That part of her life was over.

But there was no time for tears, so Leesha shoved the feelings aside and strode to the pharmacy, picking jars and bottles and shoving some into her apron, handing others to the Warded Man, who packed them quickly and loaded them on Twilight Dancer.

“I don’t see why you needed me for this,” he said. “I should be warding weapons. We only have a few hours.”

She handed him the last of the herbs, and when they were safely stowed, led him to the center of the room, pulling up the carpet, revealing a trapdoor. The Warded Man opened it for her, revealing wooden steps leading down into darkness.

“Should I fetch a candle?” he asked.

“Absolutely not!” Leesha barked.

The Warded Man shrugged. “I can see well enough,” he said.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap,” she said. She reached into the many pockets of her apron, producing two small stoppered vials. She poured the contents of one into the other and shook it, producing a soft glow. Holding the vial aloft, she led them down the musty steps into a dusty cellar. The walls were packed dirt, wards painted onto the support beams. The small space was filled with storage crates, shelves of bottles and jars, and large barrels.

Leesha went to a shelf and lifted a box of flamesticks. “Wood demons can be hurt by fire,” she mused. “What about a strong dissolvent?”

“I don’t know,” the Warded Man said. Leesha tossed him the box and got down on her knees, rummaging through some bottles on a low shelf.

“We’ll find out,” she said, passing back a large glass bottle full of clear liquid. The stopper was glass as well, held tightly in place with a twisted net of thin wire.

“Grease and oil will steal their footing,” Leesha muttered, still rummaging. “And burn hot and bright, even in the rain …” She handed him a pair of cured clay jugs, sealed in wax.

More items followed. Thundersticks, normally used to blow free unruly tree stumps, and a box of Bruna’s celebration flamework: festival crackers, flamewhistles, and toss bangs.

Finally, at the back of the cellar, she brought them to a large water barrel.

“Open it,” Leesha told the Warded Man. “Gently.”

He did so, finding four ceramic jugs bobbing softly in the water. He turned to Leesha and looked at her curiously. “That,” she said, “is liquid demonfire.”

Twilight Dancer’s swift, warded hooves had them down to Leesha’s father’s house in minutes. Again, Leesha was struck hard by nostalgia, and again, she shoved the sentiment aside. How many hours until sunset? Not enough. That was sure.

The children and the elderly had begun to arrive, gathering in the yard. Brianne and Mairy had already put them to work collecting tools. Mairy’s eyes were hollow as she watched the children. It had not been easy to convince her to leave her two children at the Holy House, but at last reason prevailed. Their father was staying, and if things went badly, the other children would need their mother.

Elona stormed out of the house as they arrived.

“Is this your idea?” she demanded. “Turning my house into a barn?”

Leesha pushed right past, the Warded Man at her side. Elona had no choice but to fall in behind them as they entered the house. “Yes, Mother,” she said. “It was my idea. We may not have space for everyone, but the children and elderly who have avoided the flux thus far should be safe here, whatever else happens.”

“I won’t have it!” Elona barked.

Leesha whirled on her. “You have no choice!” she shouted. “You were right that we have the only strong wards left in town, so you can either suffer here in a crowded house, or stand and fight with the others. But Creator help me, the young and the old are staying behind Father’s wards tonight.”

Elona glared at her. “You wouldn’t speak to me so, if your father were well.”

“If he were well, he would have invited them himself,” Leesha said, not backing down an inch.

She turned her attention to the Warded Man. “The paper shop is through those doors,” she told him, pointing. “You should have space to work, and my father’s warding tools. The children are collecting every weapon in town, and will bring them to you.”

The Warded Man nodded, and vanished into the shop without a word.

“Where in the world did you find that one?” Elona asked.

“He saved us from demons on the road,” Leesha said, going to her father’s room.

“I don’t know if it will do any good,” Elona warned, putting a hand on the door. “Midwife Darsy says it’s in the Creator’s hands now.”

“Nonsense,” Leesha said, entering the room and immediately going to her father’s side. He was pale and damp with sweat, but she did not recoil. She placed a hand to his forehead, and then ran her sensitive fingers over his throat, wrists, and chest. While she worked, she asked her mother questions about his symptoms, how long they had been manifest, and what she and Midwife Darsy had tried so far.

Elona wrung her hands, but answered as best she could.

“Many of the others are worse,” Leesha said. “Da is stronger than you give him credit for.”

For once, Elona had no belittling retort.

“I’ll brew a potion for him,” Leesha said. “He’ll need to be dosed regularly, at least every three hours.” She took a parchment and began writing instructions in a swift hand.

“You’re not staying with him?” Elona asked.

Leesha shook her head. “There’s near to two hundred people in the Holy House that need me, Mum,” she said, “many of them worse off than Da.”

“They have Darsy to look after them,” Elona argued.