The Warded Man (Demon Cycle, #1)(15)
“From these great wars arose powerful nations,” he said, turning the tune into something uplifting, “and mankind spread far and wide, covering the entire world. The Age of the Deliverer came to a close, and the Age of Science began.
“The Age of Science,” the Jongleur said, “was our greatest time, but nestled in that greatness was our biggest mistake. Can any here tell me what it was?” The older children knew, but Keerin signaled them to hold back and let the young ones answer.
“Because we forgot magic,” Gim Cutter said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
“Right you are!” Keerin said, snapping his fingers. “We learned a great deal about how the world worked, about medicine and machines, but we forgot magic, and worse, we forgot the corelings. After three thousand years, no one believed they had ever even existed.
“Which is why,” he said grimly, “we were unprepared when they came back.
“The demons had multiplied over the centuries, as the world forgot them. Then, three hundred years ago, they rose from the Core one night in massive numbers to take it back.
“Whole cities were destroyed that first night, as the corelings celebrated their return. Men fought back, but even the great weapons of the Age of Science were poor defense against the demons. The Age of Science came to a close, and the Age of Destruction took hold.
“The Second Demon War had begun.”
In his mind’s eye, Arlen saw that night, saw the cities burning as people fled in terror, only to be savaged by the waiting corelings. He saw men sacrifice themselves to buy time for their families to flee, saw women take claws meant for their children. Most of all, he saw the corelings dance, cavorting in savage glee as blood ran from their teeth and talons.
Keerin moved forward even as the children drew back in fear. “The war lasted for years, with people slaughtered at every turn. Without the Deliverer to lead them, they were no match for the corelings. Overnight, the great nations fell, and the accumulated knowledge of the Age of Science burned as flame demons frolicked.
“Scholars desperately searched the wreckages of libraries for answers. The old science was no help, but they found salvation at last in stories once considered fantasy and superstition. Men began to draw clumsy symbols in the dirt, preventing the corelings from approaching. The ancient wards held power still, but the shaking hands that drew them often made mistakes, and they were paid for dearly.
“Those that survived gathered people to them, protecting them through the long nights. Those men became the first Warders, who protect us to this very day.” The Jongleur pointed to the crowd. “So the next time you see a Warder, thank him, because you owe him your life.”
That was a variation on the story Arlen had never heard. Warders? In Tibbet’s Brook, everyone learned warding as soon as they were old enough to draw with a stick. Many had poor aptitude for it, but Arlen couldn’t imagine anyone not taking the time to learn the basic forbiddings against flame, rock, swamp, water, wind, and wood demons.
“So now we stay safe within our wards,” Keerin said, “letting the demons have their pleasures outside. Messengers,” he gestured to Ragen, “the bravest of all men, travel from city to city for us, bringing news and escorting men and goods.”
He walked about, his eyes hard as he met the frightened looks of the children. “But we are strong,” he said. “Aren’t we?”
The children nodded, but their eyes were still wide with fear.
“What?” he asked, putting a hand to his ear.
“Yes!” the crowd cried.
“When the Deliverer comes again, will we be ready?” he asked. “Will the demons learn to fear us once more?”
“Yes!” the crowd roared.
“They can’t hear you!” the Jongleur shouted.
“Yes!” the people screamed, punching fists in the air; Arlen most of all. Jessi imitated him, punching the air and shrieking as if she were a demon herself. The Jongleur bowed and, when the crowd quieted, lifted his lute and led them into another song.
As promised, Arlen left Town Square with a sack of salt. Enough to last weeks, even with Norine and Marea to feed. It was still unmilled, but Arlen knew his parents would be happy to pound the salt themselves, rather than pay Hog extra for the service. Most would, really, but old Hog never gave them a choice, milling the salt as soon as it came and tacking on the extra cost.
Arlen had a spring in his step as he walked down the road toward the Cluster. It wasn’t until he passed the tree that Cholie had hung from that Arlen’s spirits fell. He thought again about what Ragen had said about fighting corelings, and what his father had said about prudence.
He thought his father probably had the right of it: Hide when you can and fight when you must. Even Ragen seemed to agree with that philosophy. But Arlen couldn’t shake the feeling that hiding hurt people too, in ways they couldn’t see.
He met his father in the Cluster and earned a clap on the back when he showed his prize. He spent the rest of the afternoon running to and fro, helping rebuild. Already, another house was repaired and would be warded by nightfall. In a few more weeks, the Cluster would be fully rebuilt, and that was in everyone’s interest, if they wanted enough wood to last the winter.
“I promised Selia I’d throw in here for the next few days,” Jeph said as they packed the cart that afternoon. “You’ll be the man of the farm while I’m gone. You’ll have to check the ward-posts and weed the fields. I saw you show Norine your chores this morning. She can handle the yard, and Marea can help your mother inside.”