Peter Brett - The Core

Like humans, demons closed their eyes and clenched up when they sneezed. Briar used that moment to step in, catching the woodie’s arm in his left hand. The pressure ward smoked against its skin, flooding Briar with strength as he shattered its wrist with the impact ward.

The demon howled, clutching at its limp talons as Briar slipped back out of reach, circling.

Wisdom dictated he take his time. He was growing stronger with every blow, delivering harm quicker than the demon could heal, especially with Briar draining its magic. That kind of caution was why Briar had survived so many years, living in the naked night since he was six summers old.

He struck again, hitting the corie in the back and knocking it off balance. It swept its good arm at him. Briar ducked back, then shot forward, delivering an open-palm blow to its snout.

His mind told him to retreat again, but the demon seemed to have slowed. It was vulnerable as it reeled back, and Briar kept the offensive, landing blow after blow. He forgot caution. Forgot defence. He sensed the kill.

A wild swing of the wood demon’s great gnarled arm took Briar in the stomach, cracking ribs and launching him through the air. He hit the ground hard several feet away, and the crowd, cheering a moment ago, gasped.

Coughing blood, Briar shook himself off, rolling to his feet. Already the magic was healing him, but the world spun as he tried to take a step, and the recovered demon leapt at him.

The Wardskins shouted encouragement, Stela loudest of all, but none of them moved to help him. This was part of the initiation. Either the initiate killed the demon, or the demon killed them.

Wood demons’ arms were long and powerful, but they were not nimble. Too dizzy to fight, Briar fell flat on the ground. The talons whiffed overhead as the demon passed.

Briar kept prone, letting the magic rushing through his body do its work. The world had stopped spinning by the time the woodie pulled up short, talons tearing the soil atop the bluff in great clumps.

It roared, rushing him again. Briar rolled away at the last moment, throwing a pouch into the demon’s gaping maw. The woodie snapped at it instinctively, filling its mouth and nostrils with powdered hogroot.

While the demon choked and retched, Briar got back to his feet. He watched for a moment, then saw his chance and rushed in, using the woodie’s gnarled knee as a step to climb onto its back. He put a leg into its armpit, hooking it around the corie’s good arm to lock it in place as he caught its throat with his left hand. The pressure ward smoked and burned, Briar’s grip growing strong enough to crush steel. The demon’s neck was filled with powerful corded muscle and sinew, but it was only flesh.

Briar put his right hand against the back of the woodie’s neck. The impact ward flared, pushing forward even as Briar’s other hand pulled back. Slowly, his hands moved closer together.

The demon thrashed wildly, stumbling around the bluff. It drew close to the onlookers, but the crowd only jeered, shoving it back toward the centre with warded kicks and punches.

The demon threw its free arm at its back, but with the wrist broken, it could not bring its talons to bear. Briar accepted the blows, keeping his hold. The more the magic built, the stronger he felt.

The woodie threw itself to the ground, rolling to try to dislodge him. The wind was knocked out of him, but Briar sensed desperation and tightened his grip. The Wardskins stood silent, holding collective breath until the corie’s neck broke with an audible snap.

The crowd erupted in cheers, everyone rushing in as Briar lifted the huge demon clear over his head and threw it off.

Then he was up in their arms, bounced above the crowd as they carried him about the bluff chanting, ‘Wardskin! Wardskin! Wardskin!’

Briar had never felt so alive.

One of the girls produced a pipe, playing a lively song, and the crowd began to dance.

Briar tired of being tossed about, slipping down to his own feet right in front of a beaming Stela Inn.

‘Knew you could do it!’ Stela kissed him, his lips still tingling from magic. ‘That was the fastest kill yet, and I didn’t pick a little one.’ She winked. ‘Wanted to show you off.’

Briar knew he should say something, but no words came. He just stood there, stupidly grinning at her.

Stela drew her knife and flipped it in her hand, holding it out to him handle-first. ‘Ent over. You have to cut out its black heart.’

Briar stared dumbly at her for a moment, then shook himself, taking the knife. He strode over to the demon, catching one of its armour plates and prising the knife underneath. Cutting wards flared as Briar yanked on the plate, half cutting, half tearing its chest open.

Black ichor covered the wards on his hands. They glowed, leaching its magic, making him strong beyond belief. He dropped the knife, ripping the next armour plate off with his bare hands. He weakened the demon’s rib cage with the pressure ward, then struck hard with the impact, shattering bone.

Briar thrust his hands inside the creature. In a moment he held up its heart, and the Wardskins cheered again. They had produced a great barrel of ale and were passing sloshing cups.

‘My uncle Keet didn’t think Mudboy had it in him!’ Stela boomed to the crowd. ‘Said Briar Damaj wasn’t good enough to be Pack.’

There was jeering in response, and Stela put her hands on her hips. ‘What do the Wardskins say?’

‘Pack!’ the others shouted, punching fists in the night air. ‘Pack! Pack!’

Stela stepped up to Briar, putting her hands on the heart. They came away black with ichor. ‘Pack.’ She wiped the fluid across her breast, gasping in pleasure as her wards glowed, absorbing the power.

‘The Deliverer is strong within you,’ Franq agreed, stepping up next to touch the heart. Like Stela, he wiped the blood across his tattoos, shivering as they brightened. Then he turned to Briar, reaching out a black finger to trace a ward on his forehead. ‘Pack.’

The Wardskins formed a queue, each touching the heart and wiping ichor across their wards. ‘Pack,’ they whispered.

‘Want another taste,’ Stela said, giving the heart a squeeze, rubbing ichor onto her warded arms like lotion.

‘Ay, you going to take a bite of it, next?’ Ella Cutter jeered.

‘Don’t think I won’t!’ Stela said.

‘Hear that, Wardskins?’ Ella cried. ‘Stela’s going to take a bite of the demon’s heart!’

‘Do it!’ someone shouted from the crowd.

‘She ent got the stones!’ a girl cried.

‘You’ll slosh for sure!’ a gangly young man added, laughing.

‘Gatherers say ichor’s poison!’ someone said.

Stela looked at Franq, but the Brother did not try to stay her. Indeed, he eyed Stela and the heart intensely. Hungrily.

‘Eat it!’ the crowd boomed. ‘Eat it! Eat it! Eat it!’

Stela gave a wild smile, chomping down and tearing free a chunk of demon flesh. Her mouth ran black as she chewed, a mad look in her eyes. She retched once, but managed to swallow the mouthful.

‘Tastes like a coreling shat in my mouth!’ Stela cried, and the crowd laughed. She turned to Briar, offering him the heart. When he baulked, she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in, kissing him wetly on the mouth.

The ichor was foul on his lips, clinging and noxious, but he felt its power, even so. He felt his bile rise and swallowed hard, feeling the ichor burn its way down into him.

Franq strode at them as she pulled away. Briar half expected him to condemn them as corespawned. Instead the man stepped up and kissed Stela, tasting the ichor from her lips as Briar had.

Briar expected her to push him away, but Stela seemed to welcome the kiss, ecstatic in the rush of magic.