The Warded Man (Demon Cycle, #1)(14)

“Best find a seat quick,” Ragen advised.

As Hog promised, Arlen got a seat right in front, in the area usually left for the younger children. The others looked on enviously, and Arlen felt very special. It was rare for anyone to envy him.

The Jongleur was tall, like all Milnese, dressed in a patchwork of bright colors that looked like they were stolen from the dyer’s scrap bin. He had a wispy goatee, the same carrot color as his hair, but the mustache never quite met the beard, and the whole thing looked like it might wash off with a good scrubbing. Everyone, especially the women, talked in wonder about his bright hair and green eyes.

As people continued to file in, Keerin paced back and forth, juggling his colored wooden balls and telling jokes, warming to the crowd. When Hog gave the signal, he took his lute and began to play, singing in a strong, high voice. People clapped along to the songs they didn’t know, but whenever he played one that was sung in the Brook, the whole crowd sang along, drowning out the Jongleur and not seeming to care. Arlen didn’t mind; he was singing just as loud as the others.

After the music came acrobatics, and magic tricks. Along the way, Keerin made a few jests about husbands that had the women shrieking with laughter while the men frowned, and a few about wives that had the men slapping their thighs as the women glared.

Finally, the Jongleur paused and held up his hands for silence. There was a murmur from the crowd, and parents nudged their youngest children forward, wanting them to hear. Little Jessi Boggin, who was only five, climbed right into Arlen’s lap for a better view. Arlen had given her family a few pups from one of Jeph’s dogs a few weeks ago, and now she clung to him whenever he was near. He held her as Keerin began the Tale of the Return, his high voice dropping into a deep, booming call that carried far into the crowd.

“The world was not always as you see it,” the Jongleur told the children. “Oh, no. There was a time when humanity lived in balance with the demons. Those early years are called the Age of Ignorance. Does anyone know why?” He looked around the children in front, and several raised their hands.

“Because there wasn’t any wards?” a girl asked, when Keerin pointed to her.

“That’s right!” the Jongleur said, turning a somersault that brought squeals of glee from the children. “The Age of Ignorance was a scary time for us, but there weren’t as many demons then, and they couldn’t kill everyone. Much like today, humans built what they could during the day, and the demons would tear it down each night.

“As we struggled to survive,” Keerin went on, “we adapted, learning how to hide food and animals from the demons, and how to avoid them.” He looked around as if in terror, then ran behind one child, cringing. “We lived in holes in the ground, so they couldn’t find us.”

“Like bunnies?” Jessi asked, laughing.

“Just so!” Keerin called, putting a twitching finger up behind each ear and hopping about, wriggling his nose.

“We lived any way we could,” he went on, “until we discovered writing. From there, it wasn’t long before we had learned that some writing could hold the corelings back. What writing is that?” he asked, cupping an ear.

“Wards!” everyone cried in unison.

“Correct!” the Jongleur congratulated with a flip. “With wards, we could protect ourselves from the corelings, and we practiced them, getting better and better. More and more wards were discovered, until someone learned one that did more than hold the demons back. It hurt them.” The children gasped, and Arlen, even though he had heard almost this same performance every year for as long as he could remember, found himself sucking in his breath. What he wouldn’t give to know such a ward!

“The demons did not take well to this advancement,” Keerin said with a grin. “They were used to us running and hiding, and when we turned and fought, they fought back. Hard. Thus began the First Demon War, and the second age, the Age of the Deliverer.

“The Deliverer was a man called upon by the Creator to lead our armies, and with him to lead us, we were winning!” He thrust his fist into the air and the children cheered. It was infectious, and Arlen tickled Jessi with glee.

“As our magics and tactics improved,” Keerin said, “humans began to live longer, and our numbers swelled. Our armies grew larger, even as the number of demons dwindled. There was hope that the corelings would be vanquished once and for all.”

The Jongleur paused then, and his face took on a serious expression. “Then,” he said, “without warning, the demons stopped coming. Never in the history of the world had a night passed without the corelings. Now night after night went by with no sign of them, and we were baffled.” He scratched his head in mock confusion. “Many believed that the demon losses in the war had been too great, and that they had given up the fight, cowering with fright in the Core.” He huddled away from the children, hissing like a cat and shaking as if with fear. Some of the children got into the act, growling at him menacingly.

“The Deliverer,” Keerin said, “who had seen the demons fight fearlessly every night, doubted this, but as months passed without sign of the creatures, his armies began to fragment.

“Humanity rejoiced in their victory over the corelings for years,” Keerin went on. He picked up his lute and played a lively tune, dancing about. “But as the years passed without the common foe, the brotherhood of men grew strained, and then faded. For the first time, we fought against one another.” The Jongleur’s voice turned ominous. “As war sparked, the Deliverer was called upon by all sides to lead, but he shouted, ‘I’ll not fight ’gainst men while a single demon remains in the Core!’ He turned his back, and left the lands as armies marched and all the land fell into chaos.