The Demon Cycle Books 1-3 and Novellas: The Painted Man, The Desert Spear, The Daylight War plus The Great Bazaar and Brayan’s Gold and Messenger’s Legacy. Peter V. BrettЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Leesha rose doubting she had ever slept. Her mother had paid Steave another late-night visit, but Leesha felt only numbness as she listened to their grunts over the cacophony of the demons.

      Gared, too, caused a thump deep in the night, discovering the door to the house barred. She smiled grimly as he tried the latch a few more times before finally giving up.

      Erny came over to kiss the top of her head as she set the porridge on the fire. It was the first time they’d been alone together in days. She wondered what it would do to her already broken father when Gared’s lie found his ears. He might have believed her once, but with his wife’s betrayal still fresh, Leesha doubted he had much trust left to give.

      ‘Healing the sick again today?’ Erny asked. When Leesha nodded, he smiled and said, ‘That’s good.’

      ‘I’m sorry I haven’t had more time for the shop,’ Leesha said.

      He took hold of her arms and leaned in close, looking her in the eyes. ‘People are always more important than paper, Leesha.’

      ‘Even the bad ones?’ she asked.

      ‘Even the bad ones,’ he confirmed. His smile was pained, but there was neither hesitation nor doubt in his answer. ‘Find the worst human being you can, and you’ll still find something worse by looking out the window at night.’

      Leesha started to cry, and her father pulled her close, rocking her back and forth and stroking her hair. ‘I’m proud of you, Leesh,’ he whispered. ‘Papermaking was my dream. The wards won’t fail if you choose another path.’

      She hugged him tightly, soaking his shirt with her tears. ‘I love you, Da,’ she said. ‘Whatever happens, never doubt that.’

      ‘I never could, sunlight,’ he said. ‘I’ll always love you, as well.’

      She held on for a long time; her father the only friend she had left in the world.

      She scooted out the door while Gared and Steave were still pulling on their boots. She hoped to avoid everyone on her way to the Holy House, but Gared’s friends were waiting just outside. Their greeting was a hail of whistles and catcalls.

      ‘Jus’ came by to make sure you and yur mum ent keeping Gared and Steave abed when they oughta be working!’ Ren called. Leesha turned bright red, but said nothing as she pushed past and hurried down the road. Their laughter cut at her back.

      She didn’t think she was imagining it; the way people stared and broke into whispers as she passed. She hurried to the security of the Holy House, but when she arrived, Stefny blocked the door, her nostrils flaring as if Leesha stunk of the lye her father used to make paper.

      ‘What are you doing?’ Leesha asked. ‘Let me pass. I’m here to help Bruna.’

      Stefny shook her head. ‘You’ll not taint this sacred place with your sin,’ she sneered.

      Leesha pulled herself up to her full height, taller than Stefny by inches, but she still felt like a mouse before a cat. ‘I have committed no sin,’ she said.

      ‘Hah!’ Stefny laughed. ‘The whole town knows what you and Gared have been up to in the night. I had hopes for you, girl, but it seems you’re your mother’s daughter after all.’

      ‘What’s all this?’ came Bruna’s hoarse rasp before Leesha could reply.

      Stefny turned, filled with haughty pride, and looked down at the old Herb Gatherer. ‘This girl is a whore, and I won’t have her in the Creator’s House.’

      ‘You won’t have?’ Bruna asked. ‘Are you the Creator now?’

      ‘Do not blaspheme in this place, old woman,’ Stefny said. ‘His words are written for all to see.’ She held up the leather-bound copy of the Canon she carried everywhere. ‘Fornicators and adulterers keep the Plague upon us, and that sums this slut and her mother well.’

      ‘And where is your proof of her crime?’ Bruna asked.

      Stefny smiled. ‘Gared has boasted their sin to any who would listen,’ she said.

      Bruna growled, and lashed out suddenly, striking Stefny on the head with her staff and knocking her to the ground. ‘You would condemn a girl with no more proof than a boy’s boast?’ she shrieked. ‘Boys’ bragging isn’t worth the breath that carries it, and you know it well!’

      ‘Everyone knows her mother is the town whore,’ Stefny sneered. A trickle of blood ran down her temple. ‘Why should the pup be different from the bitch?’

      Bruna thrust her staff into Stefny’s shoulder, making her cry out in pain.

      ‘Hey there!’ Smitt called, rushing over. ‘Enough of that!’

      Tender Michel was hot on his heels. ‘This is a Holy House, not some Angierian tavern …’

      ‘Women’s business is what this is, and you’ll stay out of it, if you know what’s good for you!’ Bruna snapped, taking the wind from their sails. She looked back to Stefny. ‘Tell them, or shall I lay bare your sin as well?’ she hissed.

      ‘I have no sin, hag!’ Stefny said.

      ‘I’ve delivered every child in this village,’ Bruna replied, too quietly for the men to hear, ‘and despite the rumours, I see quite well when things are as close as a babe in my hands.’

      Stefny blanched, and turned to her husband and the Tender. ‘Stay out of this!’ she called.

      ‘The Core I will!’ Smitt cried. He grabbed Bruna’s staff and pulled it off his wife. ‘See here, woman,’ he told Bruna. ‘Herb Gatherer or no, you can’t just go around hitting whomever you please!’

      ‘Oh, but your wife can go around condemning whomever she pleases?’ Bruna snapped. She yanked her staff from his hands and clonked him on the head with it.

      Smitt staggered back, rubbing his head. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘I tried being nice.’

      Usually, Smitt said that just before rolling up his sleeves and hurling someone bodily from his tavern. He wasn’t a tall man, but his squat frame was powerful, and he’d had plenty of experience in dealing with drunken cutters over the years.

      Bruna was no thick-muscled cutter, but she didn’t appear the least bit intimidated. She stood her ground as Smitt stormed towards her.

      ‘Fine!’ she cried. ‘Throw me out! Mix the herbs yourself! You and Stefny heal the ones that vomit blood and catch demon fever! Deliver your own babies while you’re at it! Brew your own cures! Make your own flamesticks! What do you need to put up with the hag for?’

      ‘What, indeed?’ Darsy asked. Everyone stared at her as she strode up to Smitt.

      ‘I can mix herbs and deliver babies as well as she can,’ Darsy said.

      ‘Hah!’ Bruna said. Even Smitt looked at her doubtfully.

      Darsy ignored her. ‘I say it’s time for a change,’ she said. ‘I may not have a hundred years of experience like Bruna, but I won’t go around bullying everyone, either.’

      Smitt scratched his chin, and glanced over to Bruna, who cackled.

      ‘Go on,’ she dared. ‘I could use the rest. But don’t come begging to my hut when the sow stitches what she should have cut, and cuts what she should have stitched.’

      ‘Perhaps Darsy deserves a chance,’ Smitt said.

      ‘Settled, then!’ Bruna said,