Servant of a Dark God (68 page)

They sat in chairs, the lamp burning on the table to the side of them. “My friend,” said Shim. “I have shown you my love. I have shown you my trust. You need to honor that now and tell me your tale.”

Argoth hesitated. Such secrets were so dangerous. But he had hidden all his life. And it had led to nothing but loss. How could bringing the truth into the light of the sun be any worse? “Give me your hand, Lord.”

Shim stretched out his rough and callused hand. Upon the wrist was the tattoo of the Shoka clan. Surrounding that and running up Shim’s arm were the tattoos of Shoka manhood and his military orders.

Each clan had their own designs for manhood, military orders, and other markings, but each was built around the same simple clan pattern. Each child was required to have that pattern dyed into their flesh by a Divine. The pattern of Mokad.

By all that was holy. He looked at Shim’s clan tattoo again, and the true nature of the marking shot through him.

Those who followed other Glories had a different base pattern. And if they should be conquered, the tattoo of the conquerer was added. He thought of Hogan with the simple Koramite tattoo and the Mokaddian added to it. He thought of all those he’d seen—the men of other nations, Bone Faces, Cathay. All wore tattoos. All of them inked by Divines . . .

How could he have not seen it before? So simple. Despite all the flourishes added by the clans, the heart of the tattoo, the clan marking, was nothing more than an elaborate livestock brand. The woman was right: they were indeed cattle, marked by their various masters.

Argoth shook his head and took Shim’s hand. Nettle’s sacrifice had not all been a waste. He still had great portions of his son’s Fire in him. Shim’s hand was rough, strong, full of experience. Argoth looked Shim in the eyes, then poured a small amount of Fire into him.

Shim took in a breath, his eyes widened, but he did not let go.

Argoth spoke into Shim’s mind,
In the beginning, all men were gods.

______

Argoth told Shim the fragments of the history of the humankind as he knew it. He told of the wars between the Divines and the old gods, knowing now it was not a war between men, but one between men and the race of the creature in the cave. He told of Hismayas, one of the last remaining gods, who sent his followers into the wilderness to hide, to preserve the truth until the time would come that they might throw off their masters. Then he told Shim about his tale, of his days of darkness, and stepping into the light. He told everything important up to and including the recent events with the Skir Master and the battle in the cave.

Shim said nothing for a long time. Then he pointed at small chest on the table next to Shim. “Open that,” he said.

Argoth did. In it lay folded a cloth. Argoth picked it up by two corners and let it unfurl. It was a device in the shape of a shield that Argoth had never seen before: a field half blue, half white, and upon that field lay a sun, the thread of which was made of brass. The sun glistened in the lamplight.

“What is this?”

“White for purity,” said Shim, “blue for courage and loyalty. The sun for knowledge and power.”

“Where did you get it?”

“It’s old, my friend. Very old, passed down for generations. This is going to be our standard.”

“Ours?” asked Argoth.

“All those,” Shim said, “who fight those that would be our masters.”

“I’ve watched the faces of the men,” said Argoth. “They are going to have a difficult time accepting this. We cannot simply dump the whole truth upon them.”

“No,” said Shim. “First we will demonstrate our power. And when we have the confidence of those who matter, we shall tell them by what means we work.”

“We will not have long. A few days at the most before they begin to question the fine points of our story.”

“What I need from you is living weaves,” said Shim. “A hundred in three days.”

“Three days?” It was impossible.

Shim nodded. “We have some dry weaves. Two dozen maybe. You can fill those.”

That would leave about seventy-five weaves to create. Nobody in this Grove knew how to make anything but crude weaves in metal. River could weave them of other things. But the amount Shim asked for was out of the question. Besides, they didn’t have the Fire. Only the current members of the Grove could give Fire. And Argoth would never take it again. “I can deliver another ten.”

“Twenty,” said Argoth. “We must come to them in power.”

“You can’t train up a dreadman in a few hours.”

“We don’t need full dreadmen. We just need to show them the power available. Can you train the men and women you give the weaves to perform some feat?”

“Yes,” said Argoth. “But even if we’re able to convince the lords of the Shoka, the Fir-Noy will not go along. And if they turn against us, three of the other clans will follow.”

“In the beginning,” said Shim, “they will resist us. But it will not last. The Prime is with us. Bosser as well. Furthermore, I have reports. The death of the Skir Master will shake Mokad. The lords of Nilliam will press this advantage. Mokad, more than ever, has no resources to spare. The Fir-Noy will receive no help.”

“The Skir Master gave them weaves,” said Argoth.

“How many? A dozen? And every day we will add to our numbers. In a few weeks we shall have hundreds. And then we shall raise dreadmen who need no weaves. Men like yourself. When the Bone Faces come and these Mokaddian loyalists have to contend with them on their own, they will find their objections are small things.”

“Yes,” said Argoth, “but we do not fight against the men of Mokad or Cathay or even the Bone Face ships. We fight against their masters. We have attacked, maybe killed, one of their kind.”

“You think the glorydoms will join forces against us?”

“Look at how Seekers work. They hunt soul-eaters across the glorydoms of the earth, and none bar their way. Why? Because they hunt a mutual threat.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Shim said. “But perhaps they are not so different from us. Who is to say that some of these creatures might not find it in their interest to stand aside, to delay, in order to weaken an enemy? From what you told me of the creature in the cave, they are not unified.”

“We should prepare for the worst,” said Argoth.

“If they come at us with all their might, can we withstand them?”

Argoth had witnessed the power of the Skir Master firsthand. He’d felt the might of the being in the cave. She’d raised living things from stone. She’d smitten him so powerfully with the illusion of her beauty that it echoed in his heart still. “The old gods once fought them and kept them at bay for years. But we have lost too much.”

“Then we shall find a way to open the seal on this book of yours and learn the things we forgot. We shall raise an army of dreadmen. And we will find someone who can bear the weight of the victor’s crown. We cannot hesitate, my friend. Mankind’s hour is in our grasp.”

Argoth looked at Shim and wondered. The man had a weave his family had passed down, he had an ancient device—what was his history? Not all humans could wield the powers of life with equal effect. Not all could quicken themselves to the same degree. Bloodlines mattered. Was he simply a man with a powerful family heirloom? Or was Shim part of a line that stretched back to the old ones?

Argoth felt as if he’d had this conversation once before. Indeed, had not both Nettle and Ummon, his son of long ago, been asking him to fight? To step fully out of the shadows? Perhaps Hismayas had never intended his Order to hide itself so deeply.

He realized it
was
time, whether he wanted it or not. The wheels were in motion. The Order was going to stand forth in the sun.

“We will fight,” said Argoth. “We will raise an army from Koramite and Shoka, from Vargon and Burund.” He thought of the Groves scattered through the many glorydoms. He thought of the dark days before he joined the Order. Of the men and women who yet walked those forbidden paths. “There are many in every nation who will anwer our call.”

The very next morning Argoth told Serah everything. Serah did not weep. Instead, she turned as hard as stone. Later in the day Matiga, without invitation, showed up with a pot of spicy sausage and potatoes and her famous currant rolls. The girls ate it all with relish, but neither he nor Serah touched their food. They both knew he had stolen her son. She had every right to hate him.

When the cleaning was done, Matiga sent everyone but Argoth and Serah outside. Then she turned to them both.

“I assume he’s told you all?”

“Yes,” said Serah.

Matiga might not be able to see it, but it was clear to Argoth. She was a pot of simmering fury.

“At least he got that right,” said Matiga. “And I assume you know what will happen if you tell your sisters before Lord Shim brings this before the Council.”

“I do.”

“We will bind you with an oath,” she said. “And you will keep it.”

“I need no binding,” said Serah. “But I will take it anyway.”

“Good,” said Matiga. “He was stupid not to bring you in. Women provide ballast. And that’s something this one desperately needs.”

“Indeed he does,” said Serah.

Argoth tried to take her hand, but she moved it away. “The woman talked about restoring Hogan to his body,” said Argoth.

Matiga and Serah waited for him to go on, but he could not. He could not tell them that he almost wished Talen had not overcome the monster. He could not tell them about the dreams he had of that woman guiding his hands as she had guided the monster’s, except instead of him kneeling between two bodies, he stood with one hand on Nettle’s scarred neck and the other holding the filtering rod.

Argoth looked down. “I am not myself. The roots of the thrall still work in me.”

“That will pass,” said Matiga.

So said the books, but he still felt a compulsion and prying. A door somewhere was still open. A door to another being like the one they’d faced in the cave.

They’d discussed what had happened in the cave, and they’d realized that every Glory in every land was ruled by such a creature. Every Glory was cultivating a field and delivering its harvest.

“We don’t have the knowledge to fix this open door in me,” he said. “We don’t know their powers. It is better to just eliminate the threat.”

“No,” said Matiga. “We don’t have the knowledge. But we will. We have the gifts of Hismayas: the victor’s crown and the Book.”

“The Book has always resisted us. And the crown—well, we obviously don’t know all we should about it.”

“No,” she said, “we don’t. But I think I understand a few things I did not before. I think we should try to open the Book again.”

“And if we fail?” asked Serah.

“We have the seafire,” said Matiga. “We have our lore. We might know less than we’d like, but we know enough. If we cannot unlock the secrets of the Book, then we shall prepare with the knowledge we do have.”

All this talk of the enemy didn’t seem to matter at the moment. Argoth thought of Nettle again. Of the trust and pain that had shone in his eyes as Argoth drew forth his Fire.

He looked up at Serah. “Nettle was a man. He made the choice of a man.”

“I’m not angry with Nettle,” she said, pain and frustration and anger flashing in her eyes.

Argoth waited.

“You said you’d tell me a story about a woman who married a monster. You’ve told me that story. And it was all true. Now you need to wait for me to tell you the end.”

Argoth nodded. He would wait. He’d wait, if he had to, until the Creators raveled the earth.

FAREWELL

I

n the days following the battle in the caves, Uncle Argoth and Lord Shim began raising dreadmen. The Creek Widow and River began teaching Talen the first things about using Fire and soul and the history of the earth. But Talen found he couldn’t focus. The monster had saved them all. Talen needed to honor its last wishes.

Talen was able to convince River and the Creek Widow to join him. He went back and stood on the hill above the refuge and looked down at the valley where the Divine had battled. The damage was clear to see—great erratic swathes and loops of dead grass and trees. Off to one side of the meadow a boar staggered and sounded out its pain.

Talen suspected he knew why. By the time he descended the hill, the boar was on its side kicking weakly. There was a wound on its side—that was probably the spot where the raveler had wriggled in. The boar might have been sleeping or eating. It could have been doing any number of things when the weave had found it. But Talen was sure it was the cause of the boar’s throes. Then the boar ceased its struggling.

Talen waited, and not long after his suspicions were confirmed: the raveler worked its way out from underneath the animal and snaked into the grass.

Wearing the white, gold-studded gauntlets, Talen quickly plucked it up. The raveler immediately stilled, and he placed it in the case.

After obtaining the raveler, he searched for the monster’s stomachs.

Uncle Argoth and the Creek Widow had taken the remains of the original monster and opened it up to discover its lore. They’d also search their books for any record of the sons of Lamash.

They did not unlock its mysteries. In fact, the mysteries seemed only to multiply. But Talen
was
able to identify what he might be looking for. Inside the creature’s chest had been a row of identical organs, black as coal, woven of willow withies, and merged into the flesh of stone. One, Uncle Argoth said, contained soul.

The monster had spoken of the stomachs the woman had already taken. And so Talen went back into the cave with Sugar and two loyal dreadmen.

They searched the chamber of battle. They searched the passageways leading in and out. They found many rooms, but they never saw a nest.

They were about to descend the broad path that led to the belly of the mountain, when Sugar asked if they’d been looking in the wrong place. Perhaps, she suggested, they should look up.

It took less than an hour to find the woman’s roost. In one room with a sulfur pool there were a scattering of her dead eel creatures lying on the floor. When the group held their torches aloft, they saw an opening to a small chamber above. It contained silk clothing that Lumen, the former Divine of the clans, wore, an ancient, cankered sword, and a handful of abominable weaves, including two of the monster’s stomachs.