Dark God (47 page)

The boy wailed, and Mirra
soothed him with soft words and brushed the dirt from his knees.
The woman held out her arms.

"Please,
healer, give
him to me."

Mirra walked over to her, and
the woman stepped forward to snatch the boy away so violently he
began to cry again, sensing her fear. She backed away, inspecting
the lad as if expecting to find missing fingers and toes.

Bane opened his mouth as Mirra
returned to his side, and she jabbed him in the ribs, knowing he
was about to say something bitingly sarcastic. He glanced at her,
then smiled and shook his head, allowing her to tug him away.
Behind them, a crowd gathered around the woman and joined in her
intense scrutiny, the poor child wailing his distress.

Bane looked puzzled. "Why are
they so concerned about the boy? He only fell down."

"It is not that. It is because
he was so close to you."

"I did not touch him."

"It does not matter. They think
you have the evil eye."

Bane frowned, and Mirra slipped
her hand into his, wishing people would not be so quick to judge
him badly, but rather remember the good he had done. Bane would not
harm anyone now, she was certain, not unless they tried to harm him
first, which seemed unlikely. Once he had given up his power,
however, he would be as vulnerable as any other mortal, and that
worried her. As they walked out of the village, she wondered if she
could set up some sort of event that would infuse the villagers
with a little trust in Bane.

The next morning, they returned
to collect Bane's new clothes, which the tailor had undoubtedly
slaved over all night, for Mirra had never heard of a suit of
clothes being made so quickly. Grem dropped them off on the
village's outskirts on his way to fetch eggs from a farmer, and
their stroll through Rill River was a repeat performance of the
previous day. Bane had not yet been purged. He had requested that
it be done that afternoon, and Mirra wondered if he was concerned
for his safety.

As they strolled towards the
tailor's shop, the sound of distant screams made Mirra glance
around in alarm. Bane spread his hands when she turned to him,
shaking his head.

"It is not me."

"I know." She took his hand and
tried to tug him towards the sound, but he dug in his heels. "Come
on, maybe we can help," she urged.

"They will just scream louder if
they see me coming."

Mirra thought that quite
possible. "You might be able to show them that they can trust
you."

"More likely I will be blamed
for whatever is happening."

The screams redoubled, and she
released him and trotted towards the sound. "I will see if I can
help."

Bane gazed after her, then
followed. They rounded a building to find a crowd facing the side
of a house, surging and screaming. A boy of about ten clung to a
window ledge, his face white with terror. Beneath him, a large,
mangy dog crouched and snarled, foam dripping from its mouth. It
was intent on the boy, leaping up against the wall to try to bite
his dangling legs, and every time it did, the crowd screamed. No
one was armed with a bow, and no one had the courage to take on a
rabid dog. The boy was tiring, his fingers slipping on the
ledge.

Bane muttered, "My
namesake."

"Bane..." Mirra trailed off as
he walked past her. The crowd parted to let him through, people
recoiling as he passed them. He walked towards the dog, which
ignored him, intent on its prey. The boy gibbered with fear when he
saw the Demon Lord approaching, his eyes becoming white-ringed. The
dog finally turned its attention to Bane when he was almost upon
it. It whipped around and sprang at him, teeth bared.

Bane made a swift chopping
motion, and the animal burst into flames, dying instantly. The
Demon Lord glanced up at the boy, then walked away. Mirra hurried
after him as people rushed to help the boy down. She caught up with
him back in the main street.

"Why did you leave so quickly? I
thought you would help the child down."

"And be accused of causing his
next bout of diarrhoea? I think not."

Mirra hung her head, knowing
that he was right.

At the tailor's shop, the little
man scuttled about in a frenzy of nervousness, presenting Bane with
a smart but hardy white shirt, a dark blue coat of impeccable cut
and trousers to match. Bane inspected the goods with satisfaction,
ordering three more shirts and two more pairs of trousers.

The tailor's face fell.
"Tomorrow, lord?" Bags hung under his eyes.

Bane started to nod, but Mirra
said, "No, in a few days."

The man slumped with relief as
the doorbell jingled. A burly farmer, his honest, careworn face
tight with fear, stood wringing his cloth cap in the doorway. One
callused hand rested on the thin shoulder of the boy whom the rabid
dog had trapped. Bane glanced at him, then turned back to the
tailor and continued to inspect the clothes.

The farmer cleared his throat,
but Bane ignored him, and his lack of interest puzzled Mirra.

The farmer coughed again.
"Beggin' yer pardon, Lord."

Bane turned slowly, his eyes
cold. "Yes?"

The farmer cringed, and the boy
was agog. "I - I wanted to thank yer, fer what yer done,
m'lord."

The Demon Lord shrugged. "Is he
all right?"

"Aye, sir, that 'e is."

"Good. I would have helped him
down, but then I would have been blamed for giving him warts or
something."

The man bowed under a mountain
of shame. "Us folks ain't treatin' yer right, I know. The 'ealers
say yer okay, but I 'eard about the boy yesterday."

"I did nothing to the
child."

"I know, Sire, we all do, it's
just... hard, yer know?"

Bane sighed. "Indeed. But if I
wished people harm, why did I save them?"

The farmer nodded. "That be
true, Yer Grace. Folks will come around, they just needs a bit o'
time." He nudged his son. "Thank the lord, Marel."

The boy performed an awkward,
gawky bow, his eyes wide, and mumbled.

Bane looked at the farmer.
"Presumably you were not there."

"Nay, sir, I 'eard what
'appened, it's all over town. I was out in me fields."

"What are they saying?"

He shuffled his feet. "Well,
Sire, they do say yer not as bad as they thought."

"How bad do they think I am
now?"

"Not so bad, m'lord."

Bane nodded, and the farmer
retreated, dragging his son and bumping into the door on his way
out, bowing. Bane turned his attention to the tailor, who
cringed.

"What do I owe you?"

"N-nothing,
My Lord,
not a penny!"

Bane glanced at Mirra, looking
puzzled. "Is it not customary for tradesmen to demand payment for
their work?"

"It is."

The tailor backed away, white
with terror, and Bane frowned at him. "Bring me your money."

The man fled, returning a few
moments later with a rattling money-box, which he emptied onto the
table, almost weeping. Bane surveyed the motley collection of
copper, brass, and a smattering of silver. It was probably the
tailor's life savings, and Mirra smiled, knowing what Bane was
about to do. The Demon Lord laid his hand on the money, and it
turned to gold. The tailor gasped, twisting his tape measure and
staring at it with bulging eyes. Bane picked up his parcel and
turned away, unaware, Mirra suspected, that he had just made the
tailor the richest man in the village.

That afternoon, Bane renounced
the dark power. He left the temple and walked out beyond the
hallowed ground, where he spread his hands and let the shadows pour
from his fingers. It sank into the ground like black smoke, soaking
away without a trace, drawn back into the Underworld. When he could
shed no more, he returned to the temple, where he was painlessly
purged of the last dregs. He lay on the altar encased in the blue
glow for several hours, and, when the last glimmer died, he
returned to his room to don his new clothes. Without his
distinctive garb, and lacking the aura the dark power bequeathed,
he could pass at a glance for nothing more than a strikingly
handsome young man. The only indelible marks of his ordeal were the
rune scars, but they were hidden under his shirt.

The following day, he
discovered, as the Goddess had promised, that sunlight no longer
hurt his eyes and water was quite enjoyable. He was willing now to
seek out his father, hinting to Mirra that his help might be
needed, and Ellese procured two sturdy horses to take them on the
journey.

A healer collected Bane's new
clothes from the tailor, and brought back five shirts, two coats
and three pairs of trousers, instead of what he had ordered. He
went through his leather pack and discarded all the potions except
for the green paste, which he would need for several more months.
He toyed with the idea of throwing away his Underworld clothes, but
decided against it, and packed them. The only articles of his
original clothes he still wore were the strong boots and
silver-studded wrist guards.

As they prepared to leave the
following day, surrounded by Mirra's friends and several Elder
Mothers, including Ellese and the Abbess, Grem appeared, leading
his horse.

"My lord," he said, "I'd like to
accompany you, if you'll allow me."

Bane's brows rose in
surprise.

Grem smiled. "I reckon there may
be some ill will towards you out there. Not everyone believes
you're a god, you know. And looking at you, I can see why. Where
you're going is hill country. Folks are pretty secluded, but
there's always a chance someone will recognise you, even in your
new togs."

"It sounds like you want to be
my bodyguard."

"Reckon I do. I'm handy with a
sword, been a mercenary since I was seventeen, and that's a few
years. Begging your pardon, but I've never seen you with a weapon,
other than that little dagger."

"I have not needed one." Bane
paused, thinking. "I did use a sword against the Black Lord, but
there was no skill involved on either side. It must still be lying
out there somewhere."

Grem's smile widened. "Well I
reckon you might need a weapon now, and I'm it. I enjoy travelling.
Never been out that way before." He hesitated, and his grey eyes
twinkled. "I heard you pay pretty good, too."

Bane chuckled. "Bring plenty of
coppers, and I will make it worth your while."

"I got plenty of coppers."

Bane nodded. "Then I would be
pleased by your company, though I hope your skills are not
required."

Grem hesitated, studying Bane.
"May I ask a question?"

"Certainly."

"Do you want to be called by
your title?"

Bane tilted his head. "What
title is that?"

"'Lord'."

"Ah. No, I would prefer that you
use my name."

Grem smiled and nodded. "I was
hoping you'd say that."

"I have never asked anyone to
call me 'lord', and if we are to be companions I would rather you
try to forget I am anything other than a man."

"That may not be so easy, but
I'll do my best."

"Good."

Mirra hugged all of her friends,
and Elder Mother at last embraced Bane. He endured it with good
grace, and as she stepped back, she cupped his cheek and gazed into
his eyes.

"Your father's name is
Mithran."

Bane inclined his head, then
turned and mounted the chunky grey gelding. They left the temple
amid a throng of waving healers, Ellese's eyes bright. The horses'
hooves clattered down the road, the temple dwindling until it was
out of sight.

Chapter
Nineteen

Father of the Curse

Bane gazed down at the
sleepy town of Nine Bells nestled in a hollow amongst the wooded
hills. The setting sun gilded thatched houses and a small lake
beyond. Belts of pale ghost trees mingled with a surfeit of
broad-leafed dragon pines and clumps of lofty arrow-woods. Bane's
face was taut with apprehension, for this was the village near his
father's cabin. According to the healers, Mithran lived somewhere
in the surrounding hills. Mirra urged her horse closer and slipped
her hand into his, drawing a smile from him, but it swiftly
faded.

"What if he does not believe
me?"

She squeezed his hand. Bane had
grown increasingly unsure as they neared their destination. "I am
sure he will, and he will be overjoyed."

Bane looked at Grem, who
shrugged. "If I was your da, I'd not turn away my son, no matter
who he had been."

"I still am."

Grem looked unimpressed. "No one
needs to know, not even him."

"I cannot hide the scars from
him for long."

Mirra said, "I think you should
tell him."

Grem shifted in his saddle. "I
doubt it'll make a difference. Who knows, he may even like having a
god for a son."

Glancing from one to the other,
Bane smiled. "Such optimism. I suppose we will just have to see."
He urged his horse down the final hill, Mirra and Grem
following.

The village did not cater for
travellers, but there was an alehouse with a shed at the back where
they stabled the horses. The chubby, jolly proprietor was delighted
to rent them two rooms, Bane and Mirra sharing one, which had two
beds in it. She had no doubt that a couple of servants would be
sharing the shed with the horses that night.

The common room spanned the
entire ground floor, strewn with sturdy, much-repaired furniture
and sweet-smelling sawdust. Cheerful chintz curtains framed
lead-paned windows, and polished brass pots hung over the
fireplace. Whatever hardships the villagers had endured during the
Black Lord's ascension had barely left a mark. Only a few dead
trees stood in the forest and patches of ash lay here and
there.