pit below the crude waste bench.
Through the cracks in the wood, Renna watched the light dim as the sun began to set. She kept hoping, praying, that Harl would come back, that it was just a scare, but as the last glimmer of light died, so too did her hopes. Outside, the corelings were rising. She felt in her apron pocket, clutching the polished stones of Cobie’s necklace tightly for strength.
The demons came silently; the day’s heat drifting up from the ground gave them a path from the Core, it was said, and their misty forms even now would be coalescing into claws and scales and razor teeth. Renna could feel her heart pounding in her chest.
There was a snuffling at the outhouse door. Renna stiffened, biting her lip in fear, and in the silence of her stillness she could hear claws digging at the dirt of the yard, quick sniffs as the coreling inhaled the sharp tang of her fear.
Suddenly the demon shrieked and struck hard at the wards. There was a flare of magic, so bright it came through the cracks in the wood and illuminated the interior of the outhouse, and Renna screamed so hard it felt as if her throat would tear.
The wards held, but the demon was undeterred. There was a flap of leathery wings, and another flare of magic from the roof. The entire outhouse shook with the impact, and Renna screamed again as dust and dirt clattered down on her, shaken loose by the blow.
The wind demon tried again and again, shrieking its rage at the prey so near and yet so far. The wards threw the coreling back each time, but the rebounds shook the outhouse, and the old wood groaned in protest. How many blows could it withstand?
At last, the coreling gave up. Renna heard the flap of wings and its receding cries as it soared off in search of easier prey.
But the ordeal did not end there. Every coreling in the yard caught her scent before long. She endured the sparks of magic as flame demons raked at the wood with their tiny claws, shivering at the blasts of cold air as the wards converted their firespit. Worse were the wood demons, which drove off the others before long and pounded the wards so hard that the entire structure rocked with the force of each rebound. Renna felt every flare of the wards like a physical blow, and sank down to the floor, curling into a ball and sobbing uncontrollably.
It seemed to go on for an eternity. After Creator only knew how many hours, Renna found herself praying for the wards to fail—as they surely must before the night was through—just to put an end to it. If she ’d been able to muster the strength to stand, she would have opened the door herself to let them in.
More interminable time passed, and she found she lacked even the strength to cry. The flare of magic, the shrieks in the night, the stench of the midden pit, all faded as she sank deeper and deeper into a primal fear so powerful that the details ceased to exist.
She lay curled tight, every muscle tensed at once, and tears flowed silently from her wide eyes as they stared into the darkness. Her breath came in short, sharp intakes, and her heart was a hummingbird’s wing. Her nails dug grooves into the wood of the floor, oblivious to the resulting blood and splinters.
She didn’t even notice when the sounds and flashes ceased, and the demons returned to the Core.
There was a thump as the outside bar was lifted, but Renna didn’t react until the door opened wide to the blinding light of the rising sun. After hours of staring into darkness, the light seared her eyes, snapping her mind from its retreat. She gasped deeply and bolted upright, throwing an arm up against the light, screaming as she kicked back until she was scrunched against the rear wall of the outhouse.
Harl put his arms around her, soothing her hair. “There, there, girl,” he whispered, gentling her hair. “That hurt me as much as it did you.” He hugged her, firmly but gently, and rocked her from side to side as she sobbed.
“That’s it, girl,” he said. “You have yerself a good cry. Get it all out.”
And she did, clutching at him as she convulsed in sorrow, before she finally calmed.
“Think you can mind me now?” Harl asked when her composure began to return. “Don’t want to have to do this again.”
Renna nodded eagerly. “I promise, Da.” Her voice was hoarse from screaming.
“That a girl,” Harl said, and lifted her in his arms, carrying her into the house. He put her in her own bed, and made her a hot broth, bringing lunch and dinner to her on a board she could lay across her lap. It was the first time Renna had ever seen him prepare food, but it was warm and good and filling.
“You sleep in tomorrow,” he said that night. “Rest up, and you’ll be right as rain by afternoon.”
Indeed, Renna did feel better the next day, and better still the day after that. Harl did not come to her at night, and he let her work at her own pace by day. Time passed, and it became clear that Cobie wasn’t coming back. It was just as well, Renna thought.
Sometimes, between chores, she remembered flashes of the night in the outhouse, but she blocked them quickly from her mind. It was over, and she would be a good daughter from now on, so she need not fear going back there again.
CHAPTER 15
MARICK’S TALE
THE CROWD HAD GATHERED at Leesha’s hut early in the evening, while the sky was still awash in lavender and orange. At first it was just Darsy, Vika, and their apprentices, but then Gared and the other Cutters began to filter in, carrying their warded axes on their shoulders, and Erny and the rest of the Warders in the Hollow, along with their apprentices. Rojer arrived soon after, and Benn the glassblower. More and more came, until the yard was filled with onlookers, more than she could hope to house for the night. Some had brought tents to sleep in after the lesson.
Many of the visitors shifted nervously as the sun set, but they trusted in Leesha and the strength of her wards. Lanterns were lit to illuminate the stone table at the center of the gathering.
A few misty forms seeped from the ground as full dark came, but the corelings fled as soon as they solidified. They had learned that attempting to breach Leesha’s wards could bring more than simple forbiddance.
Soon after, the Painted Man arrived, walking beside his giant stallion. Slung over the horse’s back were the carcasses of several demons.
The Warders moved quickly, deactivating a portion of the wardnet long enough for the Painted Man to bring the coreling bodies through. The Cutters took over then, hauling the carcasses over to the stone table as the Warders reestablished the net.
“That didn’t take you very long,” Leesha told the Painted Man as he drew close.
The man shrugged. “You wanted one of each breed. It wasn’t exactly a challenge.”
Leesha grinned and took up her warded scalpels. “Rapt attention, all,” she called loudly as she went to the wood demon and prepared to make the first incision. “Class is in session.”
There was a communal breakfast in the morning for those who had remained at the hut. The Cutters had left soon after Leesha’s lesson with the Painted Man at their lead, looking to reinforce their learning with practical application, but most others had stayed safe behind her wards until dawn.
Leesha had her apprentices cook a great vat of porridge, and brewed tea by the cauldron. They passed out the bowls and mugs as guests emerged from their tents, rubbing sleep from their eyes after the late night.
Rojer sat away from the others, tuning his fiddle on the porch of Leesha’s hut.
“It’s not like you to sit off by yourself,” Leesha said, handing him a bowl and sitting beside him.
“Not really hungry,” Rojer said, swirling his spoon in the porridge halfheartedly.
“Kendall is going to be all right,” Leesha said. “She’s recovering quickly, and she doesn’t blame anyone for what happened.”
“Maybe she should,” Rojer said.
“You have a unique gift,” Leesha said. “It’s not your fault it’s hard to teach.”
“Is it?” Rojer asked. Leesha looked at him curiously, but he did not elucidate, instead turning away from her
