Next Rojer laid the music over the stone demon. The field demons leapt at it as well, but the stone demon caught one by the head in its talons and crushed its skull against the cobbles. It took the other by the tail, swinging it like a man might swing a cat. Another wind demon swooped in, but veered off as the stone swung the field demon at it, then threw the field demon so hard it smashed against one of the porch wardnets in a lightning flare and fell to the ground, smoking and still. A flamer spat on the stone demon’s feet, setting them ablaze, but that did not save it from being kicked clear across the square to strike the wardnet with a flash of magic. When the flame died, the stone demon’s feet were unharmed.
Rojer allowed himself a smile. It was all teachable. All these refrains, these ‘spells’ he had cast on the demons, were melodies they had practised and written down. Other players might not be able to bring the power and harmony of their trio to bear, but they could learn by rote how to call demons or repel them, how to hide from them or send them into a frenzy.
But that was only the barest surface of the power Rojer felt with the women at his side. The truly subtle work he could never hope to write down. It had to be lived and felt in the moment, dependent not only on the demon breeds, but local variables as well, building on the very atmosphere.
This was what he had never been able to teach. He looked back at his jiwah, seeing awe in their wide eyes, and a little fear. Even Amanvah had lost her mask, her dama’ting serenity overwhelmed. They could imitate him, but not innovate.
There’s more, my loves, Rojer thought, turning back to regard the demons again. He took on a predatory demeanour, stalking the corelings as he and his wives herded them, separating them by breed. The song was done now, but Rojer kept on playing, building the final refrain louder and stronger, adding shifts and changes as quickly as Amanvah and Sikvah could pick them up. The demons backed into tight knots, hissing and clawing at the air, terrified of the power that was building but afraid to run lest they turn their backs on whatever hunted them.
And then Rojer began to hurt them, driving the music into them in jarring, discordant waves that seemed to strike the creatures like physical blows. They screamed, some falling to the cobbles, clawing at their own heads as if they could tear the sound out and be free of it. Even the wind demons above shrieked in agony, but the music held them fast, and they could not flee, circling endlessly.
Rojer looked up and changed his tune again, calling the wind demons down from the night sky. The source of your pain is here! Strike now and silence it!
The windies dived with terrifying speed, but Rojer and his wives were not where the music led – off to the side, and several feet low. The wind demons struck the cobbles with incredible force, their hollow bones crunching and splintering on impact. In seconds, the square was littered with their corpses.
He turned to the wood demons next, howling like trees bent near to breaking in a gale. Rojer thought of the fire-eaters, Jongleurs in Angiers who pretended to swallow fire, then spat it back out again with a spark and a mouthful of alcohol. It was generally thought a ‘low’ act – dangerous flash used to hide a lack of talent. Jongleurs who did it often got hurt, and in the forest fortress, spitting fire was against the law save in very specific circumstances. It was usually an opening act for a Jongleur of more renown.
I have flame demons to open my act now, Rojer thought as he made the flamers spit fire on the wood demons, aiming them as easily as Wonda might her bow.
The wood demons caught fire immediately, and unlike the stone they were not immune to its effects. They shrieked and flailed, snatching up the flame demons and crushing the life from them, but it was too late. Black smoke billowed into a thick stinking cloud as they collapsed to the ground, immolated.
Only the stone demon remained, close to eight feet of muscle and sinew, covered in indestructible knobs like river stones. It stood silent as a statue, but Rojer knew it was desperately seeking them, a killing rage barely contained. He smiled.
The trio began to circle, intensifying the refrain, notes going ever higher even as they revealed more and more of the wards of amplification. The demon began to shriek, covering its head in its talons and looking frantically about for an escape, but they tightened their circle, and it seemed the pain came from all sides. The demon wobbled, then dropped to one knee, letting out a roar of agony as sweet as any music.
Even the folk around the square were covering their ears now. Rojer’s own head was ringing, ears aching, but he ignored the pain, taking his chin from the fiddle entirely.
The stone demon gave a final twist, and there was a crack! like an old oak snapping in a windstorm. Fissures spiderwebbed through the demon’s armour, and it fell to the ground, dead.
Rojer stopped playing instantly, and his wives followed. The square fell silent, and Rojer inhaled the hush before the roar.
15
The Paper Women
333 AR Summer
16 Dawns Before New Moon
‘Close your mouth, dear,’ Elona told Leesha. ‘You look like a woodbrained bumpkin.’
Leesha turned to retort, but realized she was indeed standing with her mouth open. Her teeth clicked as she snapped it shut, just as everyone around the Northfork town square burst into a roar, hooting and clapping and stomping their feet. One of the Sharum let out an ululating cry of delight, and even Kaval looked as if he had forgotten his rage.
It was understandable. The Sharum respected nothing more than a man’s ability to kill demons, and Rojer had just displayed incredible power, killing corelings without even touching them. Even the Shar’Dama Ka could not do that. They looked at him awestruck, but no less so than the local villagers. Even Gared had that fanatical gleam in his eye, the one she thought reserved for Arlen alone.
But the power was not all Rojer’s. She had heard him charm demons with his fiddle many times, but never so loudly her ears rang and the floorboards rattled. There was hora magic at work, she would bet her bottom.
At barely seventeen, it was easy to think Amanvah just a girl – one Leesha had dominated before. But she wore the white of dama’ting, and that meant she was schooled in the secrets of demon bone magic. Magic Leesha had seen Inevera display to powerful effect. She had done something to Rojer’s fiddle, as well as the golden chokers she and Sikvah wore, using the magic to amplify their music.
Leesha understood the principles now – using bones to power wardings even when there were no demons about. Already she had begun to experiment, but the Krasian holy women had centuries of experience to draw on, while she was only just now feeling her way.
The crowd was still cheering when she left the porch, going out to the trio. Rojer was bowing like a master showman, gesturing for his wives to do the same. Sikvah did, bowing lower than her husband, as was the custom, though in her bed silks the move was downright scandalous. Amanvah looked decidedly uncomfortable at the idea of bowing to her lessers, and settled for nodding to the crowd like the Duchess Mum acknowledging a curtsy.
Rojer beamed at Leesha as she approached, and she embraced him, ignoring Amanvah’s hiss. ‘Rojer, that was incredible. Amazing.’
Rojer’s boyish smile threatened to take in his ears. ‘I couldn’t have done it without Amanvah and Sikvah.’
‘Indeed.’ Leesha nodded to the women. ‘You sounded like the Creator’s own seraphs.’ Both women’s eyes widened at the compliment, and Leesha turned her attention back to Rojer before they could recover.
‘Did Amanvah ward your fiddle?’
Rojer nodded. ‘Just the chinrest. The wards let me play loud enough to break the barn. And using it makes me feel …’
‘Energized?’ Leesha asked. ‘You should be half deaf after that.’
Rojer started, wiggling a finger in his ear. ‘Huh. Not even a ring.’
‘May I see?’ Leesha asked, her tone casual. Rojer unclipped the piece and handed it to her without a thought. Amanvah moved to stop him – too late. Leesha snatched it and took a quick
step back. She unbuttoned a special pocket on her apron, slipping out the pair of gold-rimmed spectacles Arlen had made for her.
The lenses were not corrective, but wards in the frame and glass granted her the same wardsight Arlen used, letting her see the flow of magic. The chinrest was bright with power, its wards shining as if carved from lightning. She recognized almost all of them, wards of siphoning and linking, along with projection and … resonance.
‘There’s more here than just amplification, Rojer,’ she said. ‘There are resonance wards.’
Rojer looked at her blankly. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means anything said near this fiddle will resonate somewhere else.’ Leesha turned to Amanvah. Several of the many piercings in her ear glowed bright with magic. ‘With an earring, perhaps?’
Amanvah kept her expression calm, but her hesitation betrayed her nevertheless. Rojer looked at his wife and his joyous expression fell into a stung look. ‘Is that how you knew what we said in the taproom?’
‘You were conspiring—’ Amanvah began.
‘Don’t hand me that demonshit!’ Rojer snapped. ‘You spent weeks making that chinrest. This wasn’t a reaction to anything I did on the road, it was your plan all along to spy on me.’
‘You are my husband,’ Amanvah said. ‘It is my duty to support you and keep you from trouble, sending aid when you are in need.’
‘Always lies with you!’ Rojer shouted. The Sharum stiffened at that – shouting at a dama’ting was an unthinkable crime, but they did not move to intercept as they might have before, still awestruck at Rojer’s power. Even Enkido hung back, waiting for a signal from his mistress.
‘You are so fast to quote the Evejah when it suits you,’ Rojer went on, ‘but does it not command truthfulness?’
‘Actually,’ Leesha cut in, ‘the book expressly states that oaths and promises to chin are meaningless if they in any way hinder service to Everam.’ Amanvah glared at her, but Leesha only smiled, daring her to contradict.
‘The Core with this,’ Rojer said, snatching the chinrest back from Leesha and lifting it high to hurl it down at the cobbles.
‘No!’ Amanvah and Leesha shouted at once, both reaching to grab his arm and forestall him. Amanvah looked at her curiously.
‘You saw the power it gave you,’ Leesha said. ‘Don’t throw that away in your anger.’
‘The mistress speaks truth, husband,’ Amanvah said. ‘It would be a month and more to make a new one, if we could even find a piece so fine to work with.’
Rojer looked at her coldly. ‘When you first gave me the box, I wondered if it might be a pair of golden shackles. Seems I wasn’t far off. I won’t be your slave, Amanvah.’
‘Are we slaves to fire because it can burn us?’ Leesha asked. ‘You are wise to its power now, Rojer. I can paint wards of silence on a box for it. Put it away when you want your privacy, but don’t destroy it.’
‘Throwing it to the stones would do little in any event,’ Amanvah added. ‘The magic strengthens the metal and wood. You will find it hard to destroy, and there is none other worthy of its power.’
Rojer seemed to deflate. He looked at the object sadly, then shoved it into a pocket and turned back to the inn. ‘I’m going to bed.’ He headed off without waiting to see if anyone followed. Amanvah and Sikvah heeled him like dogs, Enkido with them.
A few villagers had wandered out into the square to look in fascinated horror at the demon corpses, but a wind demon cry cut the night and sent them scurrying back inside. Leesha moved to do the same, though the wards on her shawl were enough to turn any coreling attention from her.
Before she went inside, she took one last look down the way to the Messenger road, where even now one of the Sharum raced back towards Everam’s Bounty.
Alone in her room, Leesha wept.
She did not fully understand the demon dice, their secrets of foretelling closely guarded by the dama’ting. The Evejah spoke of a ward of prophecy, but it was not shown, and Leesha did not think she would ever persuade a Bride of Everam to willingly let her examine a set.
But from what she gathered, the dice did not provide specific predictions, only facts that hinted at what the future might hold. Odds were Amanvah had not guessed the poison Leesha had given the Sharum, and its cure was tricky and time-consuming to prepare. Given the speed with which the warrior left, Leesha doubted she had done anything to aid him. In a day, he would weaken. In two, he would be dead.
There had been no choice. She didn’t know how Ahmann would take the news she meant to militarize the Hollow as a bulwark against him. She couldn’t keep it from him forever, but she needed time. Time to warn the Laktonians and Duchess Araine. Time to fill the Hollow and prepare, both for the coming Waning and for Sharak Sun. But that made her feel no less wretched as she crawled into bed, throwing the coverlet over her head.
For the first time, Leesha wished she’d never gone to Everam’s Bounty. Night, she wished she had never left Cutter’s Hollow, never gone to Hag Bruna’s hut and learned Herb Gathering. She’d have been a wonderful papermaker, and it would have made her father so happy.
But much as she would have liked to shift the blame, Leesha knew that was too easy, and a lie.
‘Why must I learn poison?’ she had asked, all those years ago.
‘So you can cure it, girl,’ Bruna told her. ‘Learning the mixtures and signs won’t turn you into some stinkhearted Weed Gatherer.’
‘Weed Gatherer?’ Leesha asked.
Bruna spat. ‘Failed Herb Gatherers. They sell weak cures and poison the enemies of nobles for coin.’
Leesha was aghast. ‘Women actually do that?’
Bruna grunted. ‘Not everyone is as sweet and moral as you, dearie. I had one of my own apprentices turn that way. Corespawn me if I let it happen again, but you need to know what you’re up against.’
I’m up against myself, Leesha thought. Killing men for my convenience. Am I any better than a Weed Gatherer?
She sobbed again, her body racked until exhaustion took her and she passed into slumber. Even there she found no peace, her dreams haunted with violence. Inevera, turning purple under her choking hands. Ahmann, standing by as his warriors killed Rizonan men and raped the women. Gared, his throat slashed by the blade of Abban’s crutch. Rojer, strangled in his bed by his own wives. Kaval, beating Wonda to death and calling it ‘training’. The Cutters and Sharum locked in a bloody storm of spear and axe as Arlen and Ahmann pointed them at each other.
A lone Sharum, dead on the road.
She woke with a start, her stomach roiling, and practically fell from bed in her desperation to get the chamber pot. It sloshed as she dragged it from under the bed, but she was not fast enough even so, and vomit mixed with last night’s urine on the floorboards. She knelt there, shuddering and retching, tears streaming down her face. Her eye socket ached, and she knew another cluster of headaches was on its way.
Oh, Bruna, what have I become?
There was a knock at the door, and Leesha froze. Dawn was only a purple hint outside the window. Too early to leave for the caravan.
Again the knock. ‘Go away!’
‘You open this door, Leesha Paper, or I’ll have Gared break it down,’ her mother said. ‘You just see if I don’t.’
Leesha stood slowly, her legs watery and her stomach still roiling. She found a clean cloth and wiped her face, then pulled a robe over her stained nightdress, cinching it tight.
She went to the door and lifted the bar, opening it a crack. Elona’s face, looking like she’d just swallowed a lemon, was never the first thing she wanted to see in the morning.
‘Now isn’t a good time …’ Leesha began, but Elona ignored her, pushing into the room. Leesha sighed and shut the door behind her, dropping the bar back in place. ‘What do you want, Mother?’
‘Thought you’d grown out of waking me and your father with your blubbering,’ Elona said. ‘Feeling bad about what you did, killing that boy?’
&nb
sp; Leesha blinked. No matter how many times her mother read her mind and cut to the quick, it never ceased to shock her.
‘Well don’t,’ Elona snapped. ‘You did what you had to, and that boy knew what he was getting into when he picked up his first spear.’
‘It’s not that simple—’ Leesha began.
‘Pfagh!’ Elona waved a hand dismissively. ‘How many Rizonans you think he killed when they took the city? How many lives are you saving by keeping him from telling tales?’
Leesha felt her legs giving way, and fell to a seat on the bed, trying hard to make it seem as if she had meant to sit all along. Her stomach felt like a boiling pot, stirred too quickly and threatening to foam over the rim. ‘I wouldn’t have done it otherwise, but that doesn’t mean I should be proud of it.’
Elona grunted. ‘Maybe not, but for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you, girl. Know I don’t say it as much as you deserve, but there it is. Didn’t think you had it in you to stand up like that. Glad to see something of me in there, after all.’
Leesha frowned. ‘Sometimes I think there’s too much of you in me already, Mother.’
Elona snorted. ‘You should be so lucky.’
‘Why the change of heart?’ Leesha asked. ‘You were the one pushing me to marry Ahmann and let him make me a queen.’
‘Had a better look at his rule since then,’ Elona said. ‘Ent no way I’m spending the rest of my wrinkle-free days with everything except my eyes wrapped under seven layers of cloth.’ She hefted her breasts, barely contained in a dress with a swooping neckline. ‘What’s the point of having paps like these if you can’t put ’em on display and laugh as men drool and women simmer?’
Leesha raised an eyebrow. ‘Wrinkle-free?’
Elona glared, daring her to say more. ‘Letting that warrior go would have jeopardized everything you’ve worked for. You might have laid the drama on a bit thick, but there’s no denying this trip was good for the Hollow. You bought a conditional peace, scouted the enemy camp, whispered wisdom and doubt into the ear of its leader, learned of those mind demons and bone magic. All that, and you got your toes curled in the process. Hag Bruna was still around, she’d be prouder than Jan Cutter showing off his prize bull.’