Demon Cycle: Messenger's Legacy Part 2

Briar always found it peaceful. Few came here save his family, and Briar felt safe with the rest of the refuse, at least while the sun was high. The dump was a quiet graveyard, filled with the skeletons of carts and furniture that had pa.s.sed beyond use, piled with mountains of smaller refuse, tall and stinking. Close to the bog, the ground was damp and soft, stinking even without the trash.

There was a wild hogroot patch behind one of the mountains of refuse, the weeds tall and thick, thriving in the composted soil.

Coriesall never find me there, Briar thought. The whole place stank too much for them to smell him, and demons wouldnat wander into a hogroot patch by accident.

Betteran sleeping in a briar patch.

3.

Ragen 324 AR Summer Ragen drew a deep breath. Some of it was his own stink after days on the road without a bed or bath, but greater was the scent of warm pollen to remind him why he loved the Messenger Road. It was summer in Lakton, something those in his home city of Miln, far to the north, could only read of and dream about. The rocky soil of the Milnese Mountains yielded reluctant fruit, but the fertile lands around the great lake gave without care.

He stood in his saddle, s.n.a.t.c.hing an apple the size of his fist from a low-hanging branch. The villages along the road planted the trees with Messengers in mind. It was a point of pride with many villages, and those working the road could feast like kings on apple and pear, peach and plum. One stretch had oranges so fine just the memory could water Ragenas mouth.

Take your time, he thought, biting into the apple with a satisfying crunch. Enjoy every moment and remember it, because youall never see the like again.

aA last tour,a head promised Elissa. aIall be back months before the babe comes, and hang up my spear for good.a With the months on the road before him, it had been an easy promise to make. He made the most of the time, taking local mail runs to see old friends and say goodbyes. Some were cordial, others surprisingly moving. Correspondences were promised on both sides, but they all knew they would never see each other again.

Head ridden all the way to Fort Rizon and beyond, travelling three more days just to visit a certain hill and look out over the desert flats one last time. But soon he would be leaving Lakton and entering Angiers, where his list of friends was thinner.

He longed to hold Elissa and see her swollen belly, but he could not help wis.h.i.+ng for just a little more time before the gates of Miln closed on him for the final time.

Ragen had made this run every year for two decades, a trusted face welcomed by merchant and Royal alike. It was a coveted position senior Messengers would cut throats for a" just a few years on that run would earn them enough for early retirement. Guildmaster Malc.u.m was likely rubbing his hands with glee thinking of what Messengers would bid in return for the a.s.signment.

But Ragen had already whispered in the right ears, and carried letters from Royals and merchants throughout the land asking for Ragenas ward, Arlen Bales, to take his place.

Ragen swallowed a lump of pride. Perhaps his tour was coming to a close, but it was fitting Arlen should take up where he left off, as Ragen had for his father, a Royal Messenger before him.

Ragen was jealous of Arlen, but it was his own future that weighed on him. Everyone spoke of his retirement as something desirable, like it should be some great relief to give up the beauty of the wide world and spend his remaining years on his backside behind warded walls.

aNight, Iam barely forty,a he muttered.

Forty-three, his inner voice answered. Used to take four hours and a plate of eggs to shake off a nightas drinking. Now your body aches for days.

aYouave got two choices as a Messenger,a Master Cob told him back when Ragen was his apprentice. aRetire young, or die young. Demons arenat forgiving when you canat move as fast as you did when you were thirty.a At last, the peat-farming village of Bogton came into sight on the road ahead, drawing Ragenas mind from his problems. Soon he would be with his friend Relan and his family, and could enjoy a warm meal and a laugh. Krasian goods were expensive in Fort Rizon, but nothing like the dukeas ransom they were in Miln. His saddlebags bulged with Krasian toys for the children, silk and spices for Dawn, and an entire jug of couzi for Relan.

Ragen smiled. For Relan, perhaps, but for himself as well. One last time, they would drink till they tasted cinnamon and spend the night terrifying Dawn and the children with tales of their adventures on the road.

A heavy knot formed in Ragenas throat as he looked at the burned-out house. The Boggers had thrown water on the last embers, and the whole yard was filled with the acrid stink of fire and blood.

It was a stench Ragen was sorry to say he knew too well. Every Messenger did. But no matter how many times it happened, it was never something you got used to.

Like ghosts, he could see the Damaj family running through the yard and taking ease on the porch, enjoying the long summer evenings.

Now the Boggers were laying their few remains on a bonfire pallet under the supervision of the local Tender, who was struggling to piece the bodies together enough for a proper pyre.

It was too much. Ragen stumbled down from his horse and bent almost double, putting his head between his knees, struggling to breathe.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up at Tender Heathas kind gaze. There were tears in Heathas eyes, too.

Ragen swallowed hard, his voice coming out a croak. aAnyone get out alive?a Heath gave a tired shrug. aOnly found pieces enough for one twin, but it might be parts from two for all I know.a Ragen nodded. aCouldnat tell where one of those ripping boys ended and the other began even when they were alive.a Heath grunted, as close to a laugh as one could get with such dark humour. aNo sign at all of Briar.a Ragen looked up at that. aHave you organized a search?a Heath nodded. aGot folk searching the bog, but aa He shrugged. aBoy was small. Good-sized demon could have swallowed him whole.a It was true enough, but Ragen wouldnat let himself believe it. Relan was his friend, and if two of his sons might still be out there, hurt and scared, he owed it to his friend to find them.

aHold the pyre,a he said. aGoing to have a look myself.a Heath nodded. aWeall take the pallet to the Holy House so I can scatter the ashes on warded ground. I can give you till dusk horn.a The Damaj yard had been churned by the feet of countless Boggers come to help or gawk, but in the garden Ragen found what he was looking for. Footprints. Dawn and Briar, from the look. Dawn had left the boy in the hogroot patch. Smart.

Then she had run back inside to be cored.

Ragen breathed through the tears. Briar had made it out of the house to a safe s.p.a.ce, but the heat and smoke must have been terrible. A careful search found where he had stumbled from the garden, running for the refuse cart, and from there, into the bog.

It was an hour before Ragen picked up the trail again, spotting the sugar candies lying in the dirt, covered in ants. Briaras prints were all around the base of the goldwood tree.

aBriar?a he called into the boughs. aYou up there, boy?a When there was no reply, Ragen sighed, catching the lowest branch and pulling himself up. This would hurt on the morrow.

The hollow in the branches where Briar had spent the night was easy enough to spot. A twist of corn husk from a sugar candy was stuck to a bed of churned leaves, and the nook stank of hogroot.

He lost the trail from there, wandering for hours in the bog, calling Briaras name. He searched the dump as well, knowing how much time the Damaj boys spent there, but still there was no sign.

The Great Horn sounded, signalling the dusk, and Ragen mounted Nighteye with a heavy heart, riding hard back to the Holy House. If there had been a single sign of the boy since he left the goldwood, Ragen would have set his circles and waited all night, listening for cries.

But it was pointless. Much as it cut at him, Ragen knew the truth. He might have made it further than most, but a boy of six, out in the naked night?

Briar was dead.

Boggers might not visit the Holy House every week, but the whole town would come to pay respects at a funeral pyre, even for a family that had never quite fitted in. They were sombre out of respect, but there were few tears apart from Ragen and the Tender. Only Tami Bales wept openly.

As folk were exiting the service, Masen Bales spat. aLeast I donat owe that mudlover Dawn eight sh.e.l.ls any more.a His brothers chuckled.

Ragen took a firm grip on the manas s.h.i.+rt, holding him in place for the punch. He felt a crack, and bits of tooth flew from Masenas mouth.

The other Bales men ran to defend Masen, but Ragen grabbed Masenas arm, ducking into a throw that slammed him into his brothers and brought them all down in a heap.

aYouall pay ten each to the Holy House for their grave marker,a Ragen growled, aor Creator is my witness, Iall see none of you ever get mail again.a Marta Speaker was there in an instant. She interposed herself between them, but it was hard to tell whose side she was on, glaring at all the men equally. aThat ent going to be necessary, Messenger.a She looked to the Bales brothers. aYou heard the man. You men canat respect the dead, then go on home and find your purses.a The men didnat move, and Ragen wondered if pride might demand a battle they were bound to lose. He almost wished they would come at him. A few broken bones would teach them to respect the dead, and remind them they were lucky to be alive.

The other Boggers watched the scene impa.s.sively. More than one likely shared Masenas sentiment, but none were stupid enough to cross a Messenger, especially one of Ragenas stature. Fortunes rose and fell on a Messengeras goodwill.

Tender Heath joined Marta, putting his hands on his hips and staring down the Bales men. The flames of the pyre roared behind him, adding a looming presence. Masenas brothers tipped their hats and left on the quick. Masen spat a wad of blood and waved for his family to do the same.

aThe Holy House offers you succour tonight, Messenger,a Heath said, when the fire had burned down.

aGrateful, Tender,a Ragen said. aGot a jug of Krasian spirits I meant for Relan. Be honoured if youad have a drink with me.a Heath coughed, looking at the tiny cup in disbelief. aHits harder than a pint of my best ale, and tastes like firespit. Drink like this ought to be illegal.a Ragen chuckled. aIt is. The dama will cut the thumbs off anyone caught selling it, and even being caught with some will earn you a whipping.a Heath shook his head. aImpossible. Relan said it was a popular drink in Krasia.a Ragen poured another round, clicking tiny cups with the Tender before they both drank. aKrasiaas just like everywhere else, Tender. Got their holy and their hypocrites. The Evejah says drinking spirits is a sina"a aCreator forbid,a Heath said.

aa"but that doesnat mean everyone listens.a Ragen stared into his empty cup. aRelan ever tell you why he left Krasia?a Heath nodded. aThey lock their warriors in a maze full of demons each night, and treat those that flee like refuse. He said you offered something better, and risked your life to sneak him past the gates.a Ragen laughed. aThat what he told you? Ay, itas true after a fas.h.i.+on, but it puts quite a s.h.i.+ne on things. Truer is Iad never seen Relan in my life when I left Fort Krasia that morning. Put hard miles between me and the city till nearly dusk, then unhitched the cart and set up my portable circles.a He poured two more cups of couzi. aSo Iam starting a fire and putting the kettle on when out of the shadows walks this Sharum in full warrior blacks, spear and s.h.i.+eld in hand. Scared the p.i.s.s out of me. Went for my spear, but even after hanging onto my cart axle all day, he picked off my thrusts like I was an apprentice still using a training spear. Donat think Iad have had a chance if head been fresh.a Heath took the offered cup. aWhat happened?a Ragen shrugged. aHe gave me a good whack with the spear that sent me sprawling. Mightave killed me if head taken advantage, but he just lowered his spear and waited. Realized then he wasnat attacking me, just defending himself. Coreson didnat speak a word of Thesan, but I knew the market pidgin well enough for us to stumble through half a conversation. Begged me to take him north, and we ended up riding together almost three seasons before your pretty Gatherer caught his eye.a Heath nodded. aWhole town was in an uproar when they asked me to wed them. Donat think I would have done it if Relan had converted just for her.a aHe was on his way to converting before we were out of the desert,a Ragen said. aRelan didnat want to die in the Maze, but he wanted to be right with the Creator. You gave that to him. I remember how he cried after you made the signs and blew incense over him.a Ragen lifted his cup. aSeemed like every year there were more of them in that little house. And now itas empty.a aTo Relan and the Damaj family,a Heath said as they clicked and drank. He looked at the cup curiously. aIt tastes aa aLike cinnamon,a Ragen agreed. aOnly youave got to be rot drunk to notice.a Heath stoppered the jug. aBest leave off a bit, then. Want to keep my wits about me tonight, and blow the horn every hour.a The Tenders of the Creator lived by the Law of Succour, that said the Holy House must be a place of refuge from the night at any hour. There were few Warders in the world who could match the powerful script Tenders learned as acolytes. Church wards were much harder to draw, but the complex nets were impenetrable, rebounding a corelingas attacks back on them with such force that a determined demon might beat itself to death at the wardwall without ever breaking through.

The path to the front doors was lit with lamplight through the night, to aid those running for succour, and never locked. Tenders lived by simple means, and had little to steal in any event.

The Great Horn was blown each evening an hour before dusk, and again at sunset, to show the way to those in need. If the Tender meant to blow it throughout the night a aYou still think Briar might be out there?a Ragen asked.

Heath looked at the clock and pushed unsteadily to his feet. aWhen I asked Relan why he was willing to foreswear the Evejah and follow the Canon, he told me, aI see now that if Everamas power is infinite, then even Nie exists only at his sufferance. And so the alagai must come at his will. What can this be, save punishment for our sins?aa Ragen frowned. aYouall forgive me, Tender, but Iave never held to that. Creator loves us, itas said. What loving being would set the corelings on us?a aItas a paradox,a Heath agreed. aOne better men than us have argued through the ages. But the Canon and Evejah both agree that the Creatoras power is infinite.a He stumbled over to the Great Horn, pausing to wet his lips. aWe live in the real world, and make our choices based on whatas in front of us, but we can always pray for a miracle.a He drew a powerful breath, and blew.

Ragen went hunting for Briar the next day, and the day after that, but he found no further sign. Perhaps the Creator could grant miracles, but if so, he was stingy with them.

Ragen had expected a sense of melancholy when the great walls of Miln finally came into sight, but found his heart lifting instead. Yes, he was leaving the world behind, but maybe Relan had the right of that. His friend had always been devoted to his family first. What better way could Ragen honour him than to stop his wandering and cherish his own family?

He entered the city looking forwards, not back.

He made his way into the warding district where Cob kept his shop, a quick stop before returning home for good. Arlen was polis.h.i.+ng his armour when Ragen entered the shop.

aIf you paid half the attention to that girl of yours you do to that armour, youad have her eating out of your hand.a Arlen looked up smiling. aIf that ent the night calling it dark, dunno what is. Might have more time for Mery if I wasnat waiting on Lady Elissa in your place.a Just her name sent a thrill through Ragen. aShe is well? The child aa aLooks like she swallowed the base of a snowman,a Arlen said, abut the Gatherer says everythingas sunny.a He turned to give a shout into the back. aCob! Ragenas back!a A moment later, the grizzled old Warder appeared. aRagen! How was your last tour?a aEasy and safe, for my part,a Ragen said.

aDid you make it all the way to the desert?a Arlen asked.

Ragen shook his head. aSettled for a night on Lookout Hill.a Arlenas smile soured. aBeen settling for looks too long. Canat wait till I get my licence and can see for myself. Going to go places no Messengeras ever been.a aYou want to be Marko Rover, then?a Ragen said.

Arlen shrugged. aEvery Messenger wants to be Marko Rover.a aAy, the boy has the right of that,a Cob said. aUsed to beg the Jongleurs for tales of the Rover when I was a lad.a Ragen nodded. aFair and true. The tales tell of the wondrous places Marko went, but they always seem to leave out the weights his heart brought home.a aAre you saying itas not worth it?a Arlen asked.

aCreator, no.a Ragen winked. aIave got letters in my bag from half the Merchants and Royals south of the Dividing, asking for Arlen Bales to take my summer run to Lakton.a Arlenas eyes widened. aHonest word?a Ragen nodded. aWith Count Brayan in your corner after your mad adventure to his mines, Guildmaster Malc.u.m will have a hard time refusing.a Arlen leapt to his feet with a whoop. It was so unlike the serious boy that Ragen did not know how to react. He looked to Cob, finding the old Warder equally dumbfounded.

aElissa wonat like it,a Ragen said. aNor Mery, I imagine.a aThey wonat hear it from you,a Arlen said, taking in both men with his gaze. aNeither of you. Iall tell them when Iam ready.a Ragen nodded. aNow all thatas left is for me to decide what to do with the rest of my life.a aIave some thoughts on the matter,a Cob said, asince youave all but ensured Iam losing my partner.a

4.

Mudboy 333 AR Autumn Mudboy watched the bog demon prowl the refuse mounds from the safety of one of his many hogroot patches.

aHogroot grows angrily as a weed,a his mother used to say. Simple cuttings grew stalks of their own in almost any soil. In the fertile ground of the dump they spread like firespit, choking out other plants to form islands of safety in the naked night.

The cory sniffed, finding the first rat, blood still warm on its fur. The demon gave an excited croak, catching the rat on a talon and tossing it into its open maw. It bit once and swallowed the creature whole.

Mudboy kept perfectly still. The demon was mere feet from him, but it heard nothing a" saw nothing. The hog resin and mud on his clothes blended him perfectly with his surroundings, and the stink of him was enough to turn any demonas nose.

Some cories were content to rise in the same place every night, hunting within a small radius and sinking back down in the same spot at dawn. Mudboy knew the ones in the area, and where they were apt to be found.

Other demons tended to roam, falling back to the Core wherever their wandering left them and rising in the same spot that night. This one had been drifting closer for days. Mudboy had planted cl.u.s.ters of hogroot at every approach, but the dump drew cories like standing water drew skeeters. Cories hungered for human flesh most of all, and the dump was thick with people stink.

Mudboy dug pits, laid tripwires, and even burned hog smoke in its path, but despite his every incentive to hunt elsewhere, the bog demon had got uncomfortably close to the briar patch, his hidden lair. It couldnat be allowed to stay.

The rat had barely been a mouthful, but a few feet away the cory found the next one, and another a few yards from there, leading it inexorably towards the precipice where the waste cart dumped.

Mudboy shook his head. It was the third time this particular demon had wandered into the dump and been lured to the exact same spot. Father said cories had brains as tiny as a sh.e.l.led pea. He s.h.i.+fted his grip on the old broomstick fitted to the head of his fatheras spear and slipped his arm into the mended straps of the s.h.i.+eld, wondering if this one would ever learn.

Already the bog demon was beginning to stumble. The rats were poisoned with a mix of skyflower and tampweed. A single rat had little effect, but after five it would be clumsy and slower.

Slower, but not slow. Even the slowest, stupidest cory could tear him to pieces if he was not swift and precise. He had seen firsthand what they could do.

You must always respect the alagai, my son, father had said, but you should never be ruled by your fear of them.

Mudboy embraced his fear and was moving in an instant, swift and silent as a bird. The demon was looking away, and would never know he was there. It would see only the flash of magic as it struck the s.h.i.+eld, and then it would be flying over the edge.

But as the demon reached for the final rat, it paused, as if remembering. Mudboy picked up speed. It was smarter than he thought. Next time he would need a new trick.

Even drugged, the demon was fast. Its head snapped around, seeing him coming in time to dig hind claws into the ground, swiping with its front talons.

Unable to stop in time, Mudboy tumbled into a roll, ducking the talons by inches. He pulled up just short of the precipice and turned just as the bog demon hawked and spat.

He ducked behind his s.h.i.+eld, but the mucky phlegm spattered off the surface, droplets. .h.i.tting him on the face and body. He could feel it burning, eating away at his flesh.

Keeping his eyes shut, Mudboy dropped his spear, grabbing damp clumps of soil and rubbing them into his face until the burning cooled. He kept his s.h.i.+eld up, but he had lost the advantage, and both of them knew it. The bog demon covered the distance between them in one great hop, landing in front of him with a terrifying croak.

It struck fast, but the blow skittered off the wards on the s.h.i.+eld. With his free hand Mudboy reached into his pocket, grabbing a fistful of hogroot powder. He threw it in the demonas face as it inhaled to croak at him again.

The demon choked, clutching its throat, and Mudboy danced around it, putting his shoulder to the s.h.i.+eld as he ploughed ahead, knocking it off the ledge.

He stood at the cliffas edge, watching as the demon shrieked and tumbled down the steep, garbage-strewn slope into the bog far below. The slime and muck gave no purchase to the demonas scrabbling talons as it disappeared into the fog.

The fall couldnat do any permanent harm to the demon a" nothing could, really a" but it got it away from his home, which was all that really mattered. Climbing back up would be all but impossible. The cory would shake itself off and wander into the bog. It might be months before he saw this particular demon again, if ever.

His face was still burning despite the cool mud, and looking down, Mudboy saw droplets of bogspit on his clothes, smoking as they burned. There was a broken half-barrel he used to catch rainwater, and he ran for it, dunking his head and scrubbing away the rest of the muck.

He touched his face, flinching back at the sting.

Stupid, he thought. Your fault. Careless.

Head need to mix a poultice.

When he saw the moon had set, Mudboy lifted the compress from his face, flexing his jaw experimentally to pull at the skin. It was red and raw where the bogspit struck, but the quick application of mud staved off the worst of it. The piecemeal smock of salvaged leather he wore under his clothes was pockmarked with a dozen tiny holes, some burned clear through the thick hide.

His mother would have said to keep the poultice on for the rest of the night, but it was Seventhday, and his mouth watered at the thought of the Offering.

He slipped out of the briar patch, moving the broken table that served as his door just enough to slip out, then pushed it back in place, covering the small entrance in the nook behind the largest of the refuse heaps.

He crouched as he moved, the hogroot tall enough to hide him completely. He broke off a few leaves as he went, crus.h.i.+ng them in his hands and rubbing them on his clothes to freshen the scent. The cloth was stained nearly black, as much resin as thread by now.

He stepped around the hidden demon pit, and nimbly hopped over the tripwire, pausing to scan the area from between the stalks before stepping from safety.

No cories.

He made his way down the road, pa.s.sing many dark and silent cottages a" the inhabitants long since asleep. Demons prowled the village, but Mudboy knew their habits, pa.s.sing largely unnoticed.

The few cories that sniffed the air quickly turned away, often with a sneeze. Hogroot soup, his usual dinner, made even his sweat and breath repellent to the cories. Those few that noticed him tended to leave him alone, unless he was fool enough to get too close.