And Night Descends (The Third Book of the Small Gods Series) (27 page)

Kuneprius inhaled a sigh through his nose; he understood what needed to be done. But how?

He cast his gaze around for the first time in forever and saw farmers’ fields on both sides of them, the waving sea of yellow wheat blazing in the midday sun. Not far ahead, the trees began again, their shadows falling across the dirt track upon which they traveled.

Kuneprius blinked. Once, twice…a few more times after that, but he didn’t bother counting. The fact they followed a road between fields growing food meant something, but he couldn’t figure out what. His sleep- and nourishment-deprived brain spun around its meaning, but refused to find the answer. Instead, he wobbled, struggled to stay on his feet.

I need rest or I cannot go on.

He wondered if the clay man would allow him time for respite or if he’d push on and leave him behind, his strides relentless until he arrived at his destination. Now they had the Small God, the monster had little reason to care about the fate of his mentor.

He curled his fingers into fists, clenched his jaw and winced at the pain both caused his aching muscles. Despite his discomfort, he pushed his pace faster, determined to catch up.

Determined to fix what he had helped create.

Thorn lay limp over the clay man’s shoulder. Kuneprius didn’t remember the last time he’d moved, and couldn’t be sure he still drew breath. The beat of his heart increased in speed. What if he died before Kristeus sacrificed him? Would those who watch from above remain banished? Or might they return when the Small God of the Green expired, even without flourish or ceremony from the Brothers and the priests?

He didn’t want to find out. Maybe he was ultimately responsible for the blood on his hands, but the accursed prophecy set it all in motion. Enough people had died.

I have to stop this.

“Please,” he called out, his scratchy voice—unused for days—catching in his throat. “Please, we must rest.”

The golem continued his implacable pace without hesitation or any sign he’d heard his companion’s plea. Kuneprius sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, chewed on it until his own salty blood flowed onto his tongue. He increased his pace further, closing the distance between himself and the clay monstrosity, the effort sending droplets of sweat cascading from his temples. They passed from the sun beside the farmers’ fields into the shade cast by the trees before he caught up.

“Ves.” Using his friend’s name to reference the brute brought the bitterness of bile to his tongue. “I can’t continue without rest and food.”

No reaction. Kuneprius moved close enough to reach out and touch the thing’s clay flesh if he wanted. The notion repulsed him, but he raised his hand anyway, fingers shaking. Before they brushed the animated mud, he changed his mind and grasped Thorn’s wrist instead.

The Small God’s flesh was cool to his fingertips and Kuneprius’ heart leapt into his throat.

Is it too late?

If so, what did it mean for him? For the world?

Thorn’s finger twitched and he raised his chin off the clay monster’s back far enough to tilt his face toward Kuneprius. His eyelids opened to slits revealing rheumy eyes. Before doing anything else, his energy flagged and his head fell back against the creature’s back.

He’s alive. But for how long?

It was a question without answer. The unfamiliar countryside offered no clue how far from Murtikara they might be, nor could he guess how long the poor fellow might last in his state.

I have to take action now.

“Forget about me. It’s been days since Tho…the Small God ate. You may have forgotten, but living things need nourishment.”

For an instant, Kuneprius thought the abomination’s pace slowed but, before he could be sure, his own exhausted feet tangled with each other and he pitched forward. He caught the brunt of the fall with his hands, rocks digging painfully into his palms, but his chest struck the dirt track knocking the air from his lungs.

He lay still, struggling to regain his breath, panic tingling through him that he might not find it. After all he’d been through, to die in the middle of nowhere because he’d taken a fall…

A sliver of air squeaked into his constricted chest. It might have assuaged his fear if the certainty the clay man had left him to his own devices—taking the Small God away to fulfill the prophecy—hadn’t replaced it.

Can’t think about it now. Have to catch my breath.

He pressed his palms against the ground, the tip of his nose brushing the dirt, and concentrated. Another gulp of air made its way to his lungs, then another, and Kuneprius realized he’d survive the fall. But to what end?

When his breath returned to a resemblance of its norm, Kuneprius rolled onto his side, raised his head to see how far ahead the golem had gotten.

To his surprise, the thing stood facing him not five paces away. It had set Thorn down beside the track where the Small God lay limp. Dark veins showed through his near-white flesh in some places while sickly brown patches covered others. Kuneprius struggled to his hands and knees and dragged himself toward Thorn, ignoring the pain in his hands as he did. Upon reaching the Small God, he brushed dirt and blood from his palms and touched the small man’s forehead.

“He needs food,” Kuneprius implored. “He won’t survive without it.”

The golem stared at them with the same unreadable expression its sculpted face always wore. Its visage bore some resemblance to Vesisdenperos, a likeness he hadn’t noticed before.

“He’s dying.”

Kuneprius lifted Thorn’s hand and let it drop. It fell back to the ground, but whether it did so because the Small God was unable to hold it up anymore or because he played along, he couldn’t say. He suspected the former.

Without a sound, the monster raised its arm and extended a finger, jabbing it toward them, then it turned away and strode into the trees.

It worked.

Leaves trembled and thin trees shook in the golem’s wake; Kuneprius watched the signs of the beast’s passing until the clay man’s gray flesh disappeared amongst them. Its gesture had been an admonishment to stay put, a threat at what he’d do if they didn’t, but Kuneprius had no such intention.

For sunrise after sunrise, he’d been unable to scrub the sin from his cheeks and their burden weighed upon him. This was his chance for atonement. His opportunity to set things right. It might cost him his life, but it might save so many others.

Kuneprius grabbed Thorn’s arm and pulled him up. The Small God flopped and gave no aid: he wasn’t feigning his inability to move.

“Get up.”

Thorn’s eyelids fluttered. His eyes spun, then settled on his companion and recognition flickered on their milky surface.

“Horace?”

“No, I’m not Horace,” Kuneprius said as he draped Thorn’s arm across his shoulders and put his around the Small God’s waist. “But I will take you to him.”

He inhaled a deep breath and pushed hard with his legs, dragging Thorn to his feet. Despite the Small God’s diminutive size, he seemed impossibly heavy. Kuneprius faltered under his weight.

“Come on,” he said and glanced back over his shoulder at where the golem had disappeared into the trees. No sign of him yet. “I need your help.”

Thorn’s legs shifted beneath him, taking some of the load off Kuneprius’ shoulders, enough to allow him to walk.

“That’s better.”

He headed into the trees, away from the golem and the dirt track, half-dragging Thorn along with him, counting his stumbling steps as they went.

One. Two. Three…

XXVII Ailyssa—Fleeing

“Can we rest?”

The night hadn’t been chilly, but it dragged on. When was the last time she had a good night’s sleep? Her energy-sapped limbs and sagging lids suggested it had been even longer than she might have thought.

Ailyssa followed the nameless man through the forest, their hands joined until the sun rose again. She desired to stop and enjoy the sights—tall trees, glimpses of ocean between their branches, colorful birds she’d never seen before—but he insisted they keep a brisk pace.

At least we’re not running anymore.

“Not yet,” he replied without casting a backward glance. “They may still follow us.”

He hefted the chain he carried wrapped around his shoulder, the links clanking together, the muscles in his arm rippling. Ailyssa stepped over a broken branch lying in her path, careful where she set her tender foot. Why did everyone who rescued her want to hurry?

Why do I always need rescuing?

Similar thoughts had filled her mind through the night as they fled the robed men. Why was it so difficult to find someone to trust? Why did people want so much of her? What did she do to deserve this?

Who is this man leading me into the wilderness?

She wanted it all to be behind her. Olvana seemed so far away, so long ago, but she thought she might do anything to return to its plain walls, to the one place she’d ever felt safe. But had she? From the moment she birthed her first son, she’d worried about being forced out of the order, and it happened. They’d deserted her when she needed them most.

But Olvana’s cloistered walls were safer than being pursued through the wilderness, lost with a man without a name. Even Jubha Kyna might be a better choice than the untamed woods and the mysterious men in robes.

They skirted a thicket aromatic of berries hidden amongst the dark green leaves; the bouquet made her stomach rumble. The surrounding trees thinned, giving way to more brush; the remaining trees grew with wide trunks, the forest floor carpeted with moss and fallen needles.

Ailyssa put thoughts of safety from her mind; no finding it here, so why distract herself with it? Instead, she concentrated on appreciating the beauty around her though, for the first time in her life, it wasn’t life to the Goddess instilling it in her, but appreciation of her sight.

She looked right, attempting to catch sight of the shimmering sea, but the man had led her deeper into the forest without her notice. Nothing but trees and brush lay both ahead and to the sides. She peered over her shoulder: more trees, more brush.

And a flicker of black.

Ailyssa gasped but kept from making any further sound. She gripped her companion’s hand tighter to gain his attention, but he paid her no mind so she squeezed again, made a low, sharp hiss between her lips.

He looked back at her without slowing, one brow raised in question.

“They’re behind us,” she said, her voice an urgent whisper.

The man slowed, stretched his neck to look past her, then stopped. Ailyssa gazed up into his face, watched his expression change. The urge to spin around and find out what he saw struck her, but she kept herself from doing so. She watched the way his mouth pulled down at the corners, his eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared.

“How can it be?” he whispered.

Finally, curiosity won out and she glanced back to find the robed figures descending on them. Before she got a good view of them, the man pulled her toward him.

He released her hand and the world went white for an instant. Her heart jumped and her breath caught, but then the trees and brush returned as he wrapped his arms around her. The chain looped around his arm pressed uncomfortably against her back.

What’s he doing? Shouldn’t we run?

The thought got lost as he pulled her tight against his bare chest and his scent filled her nostrils. Mixed with the scents of the forest, the odor of his perspiration added a sharp tang and, beneath it, a musk she recalled from her coupling ceremonies. The smell of a man.

Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around him, hands finding the smooth skin of his back and the muscles tightening beneath it as he gripped her against him. Her mind spun, worry of their pursuers sucked into its movement like a boat ushered into a whirlpool.

She laid her cheek against his chest.

An unfamiliar sensation tingled in the pit of her belly, spilled up into her chest, and down, too. The thrill of it—not unpleasant, anything but unpleasant—surprised her. In all her life, she’d never experienced such a sensation, not from being close to a man. Warmth, tingling, pleasure.

She closed her eyes and images came to her unbidden—men she’d known in coupling ceremonies and at Jubha Kyna. In her mind, they touched her, and the sensation in her midsection grew. Ailyssa licked her lips, opened her eyes, wondered how his skin might taste if she trailed the tip of her tongue across it.

A figure dressed in black jarred her from the unexpected and unfamiliar thoughts.

She glimpsed him beyond the edge of her companion’s arm, passing within twenty paces of them. Though the cowl covering his head kept his face from her, she realized he surveyed the forest floor as he walked, searching for signs of their presence. They stood in plain sight, yet he went by without noticing them.

Ailyssa held her breath.

Another robed man passed, this one closer, creeping, moving with purpose. The only man without a robe and cowl followed him, and Ailyssa understood this to be the fellow who’d stopped her and Juddah on the road from Jubha Kyna.

In one hand he held the end of a thick rope—the same one Juddah had used to bind her arms and hold her fast to the wall of the barn. The rope trailed out behind him, hanging semi-taut between him and the wrists of his prisoner.

Juddah!

One side of his beard was singed to stubble, the small patch of skin visible around it red and blistered. The eye on the same side was swollen shut and ringed by an ugly purple bruise; he limped as he walked.

He drew even with Ailyssa, cocked his head and stared straight at her.

Their gazes met, but no recognition gleamed in his one open eye, only defeat and despair. Blood matted the hair on the other side of his face and his right arm hung limp and useless. His gaze lingered, but she knew he didn’t see her. He returned his attention to caring for his footing and a moment later, he was past.

Ailyssa closed her eyes and pressed her cheek tighter against her companion’s chest.