Servant of a Dark God (27 page)

“No,” said Talen, “but you might blind yourself so you couldn’t see the danger. All this time it’s been about Koramite oppression, jealous Mokaddians. Well, the facts are staring us in the face, but you won’t look at them.”

“
You
are the one that won’t look at them,” said Da. “What do you think the questioners will do with them? What do you think the Fir-Noy will demand?”

They’d demand the children be locked up as bait. They would torture them until they produced answers. Or they’d kill them.

“Only a coward lets the innocent be punished when it’s within his power to stop it,” said Da.

This was crazy. These weren’t two children accused of stealing apples from their neighbor’s orchard. “It’s not cowardice,” said Talen. “We’re talking about Sleth, Da. Sleth.”

“Sleth,” said Da. He sighed. “Fine. I suppose River’s right. It’s time. Although I do not believe you’re ready.” He turned to Nettle. “That would go as well for you. Of course, this should be your father’s office, shouldn’t it? But we can take care of that. You two are coming with me today, we’re—”

Talen didn’t understand half of what Da had just said. But it didn’t matter. “What about them?” he asked, pointing at the girl and boy.

“What about them? River and Ke will return soon enough. And it doesn’t appear you enjoy their company much.”

“You’re just going to leave them here unattended?” And then he understood what Da was doing. “You’re going to give them a chance to run, aren’t you? And that way if someone asks, you can truthfully say you have no idea where they are.”

Da shook his head. “Them running is the last thing I want, Talen. Because then they’ll surely be caught. You might want to think about that. Even if you haven’t a nit’s teaspoon of compassion, you’ll want to consider what will happen when the questioners begin their work. How long will it take before the boy is tortured into revealing who hid him for so long?”

That was easy to calculate. As were the consequences. Da had placed them all on a crumbling precipice and asked them to dance. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” said Talen.

“Nettle,” Da said, “tell me. Does your da tell you everything that goes on in his councils? You’re his son. If you were to ask him, would he tell you all his battle plans?”

“He tells me a lot.”

“Everything?”

“No.”

“Why is that? He trusts you, doesn’t he?”

“Well,” said Nettle, then he fell into silence and shrugged. “I guess he thinks I’ve got a butter jaw.”

Da laughed. “Hardly. It’s because some truths, if shared, would hurt those who do not deserve it. And it is at such times that you cannot simply pass the responsibility of the secrets you hold to someone else. You either carry the burden of the secret or release the whirlwind.”

“Secrets?” This did not sound right. This did not make him feel comfortable. What secrets did Da keep that concerned the girl and the boy?

“There’s more to this than the flimsy logic you’ve tried to fob me off with today, isn’t there?”

“There’s more to everything, son. Even when all the words have been spoken. But right now I have an appointment to meet the Clan Council. I was overtaken by a messenger earlier. I’ve been summoned back to Whitecliff to testify about what happened in the tower. I can understand your frustration, but I can’t trust you here alone. So you’re going with me. Now get the wagon hitched.”

Talen buckled the second loin strap about Iron Boy, their mule. Nettle was gathering food because, despite the current turmoils, Da said there were families needing supplies. And now, according to Da, was just as good a time to deliver what they needed as any other. Talen suspected it was only to cover something else, but he could not guess what that was. He didn’t understand his father.

Talen stroked Iron Boy’s neck. He almost wished he could trade places with the mule.

“I’m not oblivious to all the dangers about us,” said Da.

Talen turned. Da had walked up to the wagon. He secured the Hog under the seat. When he finished there, he came to stand before Talen, an unusually dark braid of godsweed in his hand. Despite Da’s protestations, River had wrapped his neck with a poultice. “I want you to wear this for protection.”

Godsweed was used to ward off things not wholly of this world. Its smoke was potent. But even having it upon you was supposed to have an effect. “Why are you giving me that? This isn’t about malevolent souls.”

“Oh, but it is,” said Da. “Did you not listen to what I said about the creature at the fortress? It was full of the dead. Now, hold out your arm.”

Talen pulled back the sleeve of his tunic and let Da tie the braid about his upper arm. The braid was thicker than most, woven in an odd pattern. But he’d never seen Da or River braid it.

“Where did you get this?”

Da said nothing. When he finished tying the braid, he pulled the sleeve of Talen’s tunic back down over it, nodded, then reached out, cupped the back of Talen’s neck with his large hand, and looked deep into his eyes. “Courage, son.”

This was Da’s habit since Talen was a boy. He’d look him in the eyes and make him focus on a word.

Talen felt stupid. Annoyed. He wasn’t a little boy anymore. He tried to shrug out of his father’s grasp, but Da’s grip was even stronger than Ke’s. Da waited for Talen’s response.

“Courage,” said Talen.

Da smiled. “See, you feel better already.”

“All I felt was your hand, cold as the tomb.” Talen hated that little ritual, and he swore at that moment he would never subject his sons to anything like it.

Da nodded. “We’re almost done here. I just need a bit of barley.”

Nettle returned shortly with what looked like most of what had been hanging in the smoke shed, including the salmon Talen had caught just last week. Nettle placed it next to a basket of cabbages and another of carrots resting in the wagon bed. Then Da came out of the house rolling a medium-sized barrel of barley.

“Goh,” said Talen. “How many are we to visit?”

“Not enough,” said Da.

Every two weeks Da went to Whitecliff and delivered supplies to struggling families along the way. Most were widows whose Koramite husbands had died or been maimed in the battles with the Bone Faces. One of the families had lost both mother and father, and the oldest son had sold himself to one of the clans to pay their debts.

Talen didn’t know how Da knew who to visit. He supposed they discussed such things in the Koramite council Da attended. All the Koramites in the area were supposed to donate their surplus to help the affected families. But it seemed a large portion of what Talen delivered came from his family’s own larder and garden. This time was no different.

Da drove the wagon and made Talen and Nettle walk alongside to spare Iron Boy. They traveled in silence for a time. Then Da tied the reins to the wooden hook under the seat and began undoing the thin, black leather strips holding his beard braids and combing the the hair out with an old bone comb. Iron Boy plodded along. When Da began to retie the first braid, Talen figured he’d had enough time for his temper to die down. He looked up at his father on the wagon seat and said, “So have you got some godsweed for Nettle?”

“Not today,” said Da. He held the braid with one hand and brought up the leather tie. “That’s his father’s office.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that.”

“I’m glad you can count,” said Da.

“It never does any good to hold on to your anger,” said Talen.

“You’re absolutely right,” said Da.

Talen walked in silence for a few more yards waiting for more. When Da didn’t respond, he decided to take another tack. “So what are all these facts you were going to bestow on me?”

“What?” asked Da in mock amazement. “An idiot like myself attempt to explain anything to you? I wouldn’t presume.”

“Oh, come,” said Talen.

“You’ll get your facts,” said Da. “Both of you. Just a little patience is all you need.”

“We shall bind her first,” said the Mother. Hunger approached the woman with a weave the Mother had directed him to make, but the woman scrambled back, and before he could reach her, she rose and, with what only could have been multiplied might and speed, ran headlong at the wall of the chamber, crashing into a rock.

The woman fell to the floor.

“You careless fool,” the Mother said. She delivered a blow of pain that sent Hunger to his knees.

The Mother turned back to the woman. She bent to her and began singing the odd music of hers, pressing herself into the world of men. Soon the scent of her clean magic filled the room. But the woman did not move.

“She’s dead,” said Hunger.

“Quiet,” commanded the Mother.

He didn’t deserve the reproach. He hadn’t been careless. It was the woman, the wily woman. How could Hunger know she would try to break her head like a squash? He did not know how the woman could survive such a blow. But then she spoke.

“No,” she said.

“It is time,” said the Mother.

“Nightmare,” said the woman, “depart.” She was still unsteady from her injury and slurred her words.

“Your son,” said the Mother. “Where has he gone?”

“Dead,” she said.

“No,” said the Mother. “I can feel him through the weave. He is not dead.”

“He is dead,” said the woman. “My son is mingled with a stork.”

The Mother paused, agitated. “Do not try to deceive me.” Then she did something and the woman groaned. “Where is the one with the weave?”

“Why do you torment my dreams?” asked the woman.

“The weave.”

The woman was silent again. But again the Mother did something that pained the woman.

“With horse,” she said.

“Where did he go with the horse?”

“You can’t have him. You will not sacrifice him for his Fire.”

“I would never do such a thing,” said the Mother. “He is precious to me.”

The woman hesitated. “They’re looking for him.”

“I will protect him. Where is he?”

The woman paused, and the Mother asked again.

“To horse,” said the woman weakly.

It made no sense. The woman was babbling. She was not going to live. Not here in the dark, not with that injury.

“Who is horse?” asked the Mother, but the woman closed her eyes. The Mother tried to bring her back with pain, but the woman fell limp in her hands.

“She’s dead,” said Hunger.

“Her heart is still beating,” said the Mother. “But what’s this?” She sniffed. The Mother put a finger to the woman’s bloody head and licked the blood off. “Sickness.” She savored the blood. “And something else. She’d been eating something. But I’ve tasted worse. I can fix this one. She’s going to live and lead us to others.”

Hunger had wanted to watch the Mother as she attempted to heal the woman, but he’d caught a whiff of magic and she’d sent him out into the night to track it. It was odd how often he’d smelled the magic of late. Perhaps the woman was bringing the Sleth out of hiding, drawing the nest to her. Or perhaps he was simply maturing in his powers. One thing was for sure, he could smell a male in this magic.

Hunger thought of the two men who had attacked him in the tower only a few hours ago. He knew the Mokaddian. It was Argoth, a captain of the Shoka. Perhaps this was his stink.

He followed the scent for miles, up onto the plains, to a farmstead past all settled parts. He paused in the woods on the edge of a field.

A bat darted above him and flittered out over fields of ripe grain shining pale and blue in the moonlight. On the far side of the fields stood a simple cabin with light shining from its small windows.

Hunger took in a great breath of the scent. He knew he shouldn’t do that because it only enflamed his appetite. And the Mother had wanted this human live. But he couldn’t help himself.

He walked along the tree line toward it and noticed a number of new stumps. Somebody had been busy this year clearing the land. When Hunger finally approached the cabin, he could hear the soft sounds of a man humming over the thrum of the night insects. He circled the cabin until he found a window. The scent of magic was pouring from the cracks around the window frame. Hunger looked in.

But he did not see Argoth. A burly man stood naked in a large round tub set close to the hearth. He was washing himself. A pot of water steamed over the cheery fire. The man took a cake of soap and lathered his hairy chest. Hunger did not recognize him. He was not the Koramite that had attacked him in the tower. Yet he stank.

Hunger considered the Mother’s promise. It had raised his hopes at first, but the more he pondered it, the more it unraveled. What cattleman did his cattle favors? When did one spare a healthy animal from slaughter? You might keep a bull or cow a number of years; the slaughter might be delayed, but when they ceased to be productive, they, with all the rest, were harvested. It was that simple. The Mother thought he was stupid. And maybe he was. But he could see through her lie.

The Mother had forbidden him to eat the ones that stink. Why was that? They couldn’t be trusted to serve her. She was going to cull them. So why not order him to do it for her?

He knew why: she didn’t want him eating their secrets. Because if he knew their secrets, maybe he could challenge her. Surely they would know how to remake the collar. And if they knew that, they might hold other secrets far more powerful. Secrets strong enough to overpower the Mother.

Hunger walked up to the door. The man sang a few words then continued to hum his tune. Something about the tune pricked Hunger’s mind, and he paused, listening. The music filled him with longing as wide as the sky, but no thoughts. Nothing to hang the longing upon.

He felt a revulsion at the thought of eating this man. He realized he’d felt this revulsion before, but it had always been lost in the raging fire of his appetite. But the revulsion didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that what he was doing was abomination. What mattered was that he had an opportunity to stop the Mother. What mattered was that he could free his family.

The humming swelled.

He would eat this man and satisfy his appetite.

Hunger thrust open the door.

The man did not look at him in horror, only surprise that turned to intelligence. Then the man lunged out of his tub toward the window.