And Night Descends (The Third Book of the Small Gods Series) (29 page)

“Where did you come from?”

Horace sighed. “It’s a long story what starts on a boat—”

“A boat? You ride upon the sea?”

“I guess you might call it that.”

“Where is Thorn now?”

Her question brought Horace back to reality; in his fear o’er bein’ lost, followed by seein’ the faceless things, and then his excitement when he thought he’d found his friend, he’d forgotten what happened to Thorn.

“They got him.”

“Who?”

“Some feller I ain’t ever seen before. Him and a big fucker made outta clay.”

“No.” The word came out as no more’n the sound o’ breath.

“I tired to stop them, but he—”

“The prophecy,” she said, interrupting Horace’s guilt. “It is true.”

“Prophecy? What’re you—”

“Come.”

Ivy leapt forward and caught Horace by the wrist, her grip tight. The ol’ sailor’s bones ground against each other, making him wince as she dragged him away.

“What about them things in the forest?” he asked, craning his neck to look back. Nothin’ to spy but trees and brush.

“You are safe from the Faceless while you are with Ivy. They cannot see the folks of the Green.”

They hurried through undergrowth and o’er broken off branches faster’n Horace cared to go. Ivy navigated fallen logs, roots and rocks, tree trunks and tangled brush with nimble agility and confidence born o’ knowledge. Horace’s boots pinched his toes with ev’ry step; he stumbled and blundered, Ivy’s grip on his wrist the only thing keepin’ him upright more times’n he’d care to’ve admitted.

They crossed a stream, the Small God’s footsteps skimming o’er the surface while the water splashed up and drenched the sailor past his ankles. His breath went short and ragged, but Ivy’s pace didn’t falter.

She led him up one hill, then down another. O’erhead, the branches first grew more dense, then less, then more again. Birds flitted in the foliage above them, their numbers growing as they went. Horace caught glimpses o’ feathers in colors he couldn’t’ve put names to along with the ones he recognized. Birds as big as his head, others as small as his thumb, and ev’ry size in between.

“Where…” He panted. “Where are you taking me?”

His guide neither replied nor slackened her pace. Her footsteps carried an urgency what put a desperation to Horace’s thinkin’ about his lost friend , added worry to the ol’ sailor’s chest. No way to know if the little feller still lived, or what might’ve happened to him if he did, but he figured Ivy knew somethin’ about the situation he didn’t.

They started up a long hill, the incline increasing as they went, the frequency of trees and brush decreasing as the slope grew. Lookin’ up toward the top o’ the rise made Horace’s thighs ache and brought distress to his lungs. To avoid both, he limited his gaze to the smooth, gray back o’ the Small God leadin’ him on, or the flock o’ birds o’ all different kinds wheelin’ and squawkin’ in the sky.

Horace’s legs faltered, his weight draggin’ on Ivy enough to slow her pace. She stopped, faced the ol’ sailor, and laid her free hand on his head. At first he thought to pull away, partially because he didn’t know what she intended, but also because he didn’t want her to notice the sweat what’d been drenchin’ his brow pretty much since they started out. When her cool flesh touched his warm head, any idea o’ avoidin’ it flitted away to join the birds.

Refreshin’ energy flowed into Horace’s head, like a breath o’ air bein’ blown into a floatation bladder they sometimes used aboard ship. Its sweet touch spread down his neck, through his chest, along his limbs. His fingers tingled with it, the ache left his thighs. It were best when it found its way past his ankles, into his feet and toes. Instead o’ the pinched and blistered feelin’ his feet’d experienced for what might well’ve been forever, the soreness melted away, leavin’ behind a sensation as though they was soakin’ in a cool spring and had been doin’ so for quite some time.

Ivy took her hand off his head, but the energizin’ force remained.

“Come,” she said, her voice calm, even as an unmissable desperation burned in her eyes.

The ol’ sailor pushed his legs as fast as he dared, leapin’ o’er rocks and stumps like a man many turns o’ the seasons younger’n what he really were. He thought he might get used to such a thing, but the anxiety what’d dimmed Ivy’s expression kept him from dwellin’ on it. Seemed he were safe with her—for now, at least—but Thorn’d still been captured by those what meant him no good.

They reached the top o’ the ridge as the pleasant energy fortifyin’ Horace dwindled. The fatigue, aches and pains didn’t rush back in, but crept back into his muscles, makin’ themselves known again little by little. They’d’ve caused him worry if not for the vast meadow stretchin’ out at the foot o’ the ridge on which they stood.

Animals filled the grasslands; grazin’, frolickin’, sleepin’. Ev’ry kinda animal Horace could’ve imagined lingered on the pasture alongside ones he’d never seen before. He’d’ve spent some time gawkin’ at them if it weren’t for the collection o’ mud huts gathered together in the center o’ the clearin’.

And the scores o’ small, gray figures scurryin’ about.

XXIX Kuneprius—On the Run

The night pressed in around Kuneprius, a living thing pressing on his chest, insinuating itself into his mind. He struggled to find his breath, his limbs felt carved of rock; he pressed on in spite of it all, dragging Thorn along with him.

The sun had set and risen since they made their escape from the clay abomination. More than once, the fiery ball crossed the sky, more than twice. How many more times, Kuneprius couldn’t recall as fear the golem must be catching up to them consumed his mind. Steps, heartbeats, breaths; he counted nothing, nor could he count them if he tried. To him, every branch shaking in the wind, every bush shuddering at an animal’s passing, every sound in the forest screamed of the creature getting closer to them. When he found them, their fate—their doom—would be fulfilled.

Since leaving the dirt track, the trees had been unrelenting, then hills added to Kuneprius’ effort and his state of utter exhaustion. The high branches hid the Small Gods from view at night, and he was glad not to have to face the judgement of the evenstar, but it also stole his map in the sky. They disguised sunrise and sunset from him, as well, leaving him naught but his internal compass to guide their journey to the Green.

Most of the time, Thorn was little more than comatose. He did what he could to take the weight off his companion’s shoulders when he felt strong enough, but he needed rest often. At first, Kuneprius had been hesitant to stop, but it wasn’t long before he needed the opportunity to refresh as much or more than the small man. He did his best not to doze, but just this day it had been dark when they sat on the mossy ground to rest against a log, and light the next thing he knew.

“We’re lucky he didn’t catch us,” Kuneprius wheezed as he tugged on Thorn to help him up yet another hill.

Thorn’s head nodded, perhaps in response, perhaps because the task of holding it up was too great. Kuneprius turned to gaze at him and saw his eyes hooded, his lips parted as he gasped for breath. The flesh of his cheeks looked as though it had begun melting from his jowls.

“Shouldn’t you be getting…better as we near the Green?”

He realized a considerable journey lay ahead of them to reach the Small God’s home, but he did his best not to dwell on the distance. If he set his mind to the task ahead, his heart sank and his spirit flagged. The only chance they had to make it was for him to concentrate on reaching the top of the next hill and not allowing himself to think any farther ahead.

The ground rose at a steeper angle than the other hills they’d traversed. Little space showed between tree truck and bush, rock and root, leaving no natural path to follow, forcing him to take care in choosing his footing. The extra effort made his back ache and his thighs burn despite the accidental snatch of sleep he’d gotten. Thorn attempted to aid his rescuer, but his weak knees gave out beneath him frequently, each time he faltered adding to the weight on Kuneprius, threatening to drag him down.

He peered up the hill, its crest tantalizingly near.

We can make it.

His gaze fell back to choosing the proper placement for his steps. With the rough and rocky ground beneath his feet, roots and thorns and twigs, he gave thanks for the first time for the footwear he’d so loathed when they left Murtikara.

Thorn sagged in his grasp and Kuneprius let out a grunt of effort to keep the small man from slipping. Without thinking, he fell to his old habits for comfort and support and resumed counting his steps.

One…three…nineteen…six…

No, no. That’s not right.

Ten…fifty-two…thirteen…nine?

He paused, blinked sweat out of his eyes.

What’s wrong with me?

He drew a shuddering breath and blew it out between his lips in a huff, raised his eyes back toward the top of the hill. It appeared no closer.

He lifted his foot over a root, past a branch, and set it on a mossy piece of earth.

One.

The other foot left the ground, found a spot atop a flat rock.

Two.

Kuneprius nodded, knowing he’d gotten that much right. Another step.

Three.

Runners and branches clogged the path ahead, so he changed direction, moving to the right.

Four.

This way, another step toward the top available for him, so he stepped forward. He paused, his foot settling into a patch of loam, and waited for the next number to come to him.

It didn’t.

His tongue came out and scratched across his dry lips. He held his hand up in front of his face and gazed at his quivering fingers, folding each one into his palm as he counted them.

One. Two. Three. Four…

His thumb remained, sticking skyward by itself. Kuneprius gritted his teeth, concentrating until his head throbbed. The next number refused to come to him, so he unfolded his fingers and gave it another go without success. Again. Again. Five times he tried—he knew because he counted his attempts—but recalling the number for the last digit eluded him.

Frustrated, Kuneprius slapped his hand against his thigh and started out again. Instead of watching his footing, he raised his chin and stared straight ahead at the top of the hill, using his goal to drive him forward, hoping for progress to squash his distress.

He dragged Thorn along beside him, doing his best to protect the Small God, but knowing branches would scratch at his chest and arms as they did his own. The effort transformed his thighs to knots of fiery pain, each step agony. His foot came down half-on, half-off a thick root, twisting his ankle. Kuneprius stumbled forward to compensate, barely staying upright and jarring his back in the process.

By the time the tangle of brush eased nearing the crest of the hill, his entire body had become a mass of knots and cramps and pain. His breaths refused to fill his lungs, leaving them starving for air. With each step, Thorn moaned as though Kuneprius’ torments passed along to him through their contact.

Finally, the ground flattened and they reached the hill’s apex. Kuneprius had hoped to find the trees and brush cleared on the other side, allowing him to see farther ahead, ideally to spy the glittering sheen of the veil. But more trees and brush, roots and rocks lay ahead, crushing his hopes. The hill descended to a shallow valley, then another began.

Kuneprius intended to set Thorn down gently, but his back refused to bend. A shock of pain shot along his spine and he tumbled forward, twisting to land on his shoulder instead of on the Small God. An involuntary cry spilled from his lips and he clamped his mouth closed around it; if the golem was near, surely it would have heard.

The two of them lay on their backs, the mossy ground soft beneath them as they both labored to find their breath. Kuneprius’ lungs protested with each gasp of air, adding their fire to the one burning in his thighs.

He shut his eyes, his fatigued brain setting off colorful fireworks against his lids. Exhaustion settled into him, pushing him deeper into the ground. He considered taking steps to ensure he wasn’t sinking into the earth, sucked toward its core, but his body refused to comply. His breathing eased, the pain in his legs and hips and back faded.

The light show dimmed, growing darker and darker until it went black and the pains, the dirt at his back, the Small God at his side, all disappeared.

***

“…end.”

The world shook. Kuneprius let out a groan and wondered if he might be dead.

“Friend.”

The darkness enveloping him eased and he sensed sunlight falling on his face, filtering through his eyelids. He struggled to open them, but sleep gummed them shut.

“Friend.”

The world trembled again, but this time he noticed the hand gripping his shoulder, shaking him. He raised the other arm and wiped it across his mouth, then dug a knuckle into first one eye, then the other. It allowed him to part his lids.

The quality of the light differed from what he remembered it being when last his eyes were open. He blinked, considering this. After a moment, he realized it meant the day was later than it had been. The vague sense he should be concerned by the fact inched into him, but his sleep-fogged brain refused to recall for what reason this should be.

A silhouette leaned over him, its shape odd with ears sticking out to the side. He stared at it, attempting to make out the features of the face on the head.

“Thorn,” he said, his voice little more than a croak. Whatever time had passed had dried his throat to a sheet of ancient parchment akin to what the prophecy had been written upon.

The prophecy!

Kuneprius jerked upright, pain exploding through his back as he recalled why he lay on the forest floor with a Small God leaning over him. He remembered the man sculpted of clay pursuing them.

“I fell asleep.”

“Yes. Thorn did, too. Here.”

The Small God held up a broad leaf in the palms of his hands, the edges folded up so it resembled a bowl. Water covered the bottom of the leafy vessel; not enough to wash Kuneprius’ sins, but enough to wet his throat.