Servant: The Dark God Book 1 (36 page)
Read Servant: The Dark God Book 1 Online
Authors: John D. Brown
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Fantasy, #Coming of Age, #Epic, #Historical, #Sword & Sorcery, #Teen & Young Adult
The Fire flowed up the rod into the stomach. He lost track of time, but estimated he was taking not mere days, but years. The frost spread from collar to the rod, then extended up Nettle’s neck and down his chest. Argoth took off his tunic and spread it over Nettle’s chest, hoping to warm him. Then he started again.
It was so much, but he had to both quicken the thrall and take enough for himself.
A tear ran down the side of Nettle’s face. Argoth pulled back his tunic and touched the collar. The tip of his finger froze to it.
He winced. So much. Too much. The frosted skin would die and leave a scar. He was sorry, so sorry, but he couldn’t stop yet; he didn’t have enough. “Just a little more,” he said and began to sing again.
A soft moan escaped Nettle’s lips. Pain wrenched his face, and then he raised his hand, the one with the clan wrist, and grasped the filtering rod.
The wizardsmeet was wearing off.
Argoth felt Nettle’s wrist and sought to gauge how much Fire was left in his boy.
Enough to continue, but less than he’d thought. He’d drained so many of Nettle’s days away. But if he didn’t get enough the weave would never quicken and it would all be for naught. He saw the pleading in his son’s eyes.
“Courage,” he said. He could not stop now. To do so would be to waste all that Nettle had given. He gently pried Nettle’s fingers off the rod, and began again to sing.
Nettle tensed; his back arched.
Argoth chanted, grief welling up inside him. Perhaps they should have just run, the whole family. But he ground that idea into the dirt like he would a spider. He’d made his decision. He would see it through. Second-guessing, questioning, would only poison his resolve.
He continued to pull, watching his son’s slow writhe.
Then Nettle spoke one word in a broken voice. “Father.”
Argoth closed his eyes. “Lords,” he said. “Forgive me.” He could not continue. He would have to succeed or fail with what he had.
“It is at an end,” he said, his voice faltering with emotion. “We’re done. Your test is past.”
He quickly removed the rod from the collar and began to chant the form of emptiness, and the blackness in the rod quickly leached up into the stomach. When he could see no blackness in the tongue or rod, he set the rod, tongue, and stomach aside.
Nettle lay upon the table laboring to breathe, then his breathing calmed, and he fell asleep.
Sometimes people died during the rite, but if they made it to this point, they usually lived. Argoth left the collar around Nettle’s neck. It was still black, but if he left it there, the body would quickly draw back any remaining soul captured within.
Argoth’s mouth tasted like a bitter cucumber, a side effect he’d forgotten about. He put his hands to Nettle’s chest, trying to warm it, then added more wood to the fire. When he’d finally cleared the frost, he saw the skin underneath was dead and white, blackened in spots.
Argoth pulled his own tunic off and stretched himself along Nettle’s side, warming him with the heat of his own body. He held Nettle close until he could no longer feel the cold of his skin.
When he was satisfied, he clothed Nettle, then sat with the stomach and Thrall and pulled his son’s Fire into himself. Then he directed it to the Thrall. Just when he began to worry that he would not have enough for the Thrall and himself, he felt the weave quicken in his hands and thrum to life. It was metal, nothing more, but it felt like a living thing, like a snake in his hands.
With the thrall quickened, it was now time to replenish the stores of his own Fire, but he did not know what time it was and feared dawn had come, so he put the Stomach in his pocket and clambered up to the library. It was still dark outside, but he knew morning was close. He would have to wait to eat the Fire he’d need.
Argoth returned to the cellar and carried Nettle up to the study and laid him upon the couch as if he’d fallen asleep there. Then he realized he needed to get something to cover that neck.
He stroked Nettle’s hair again. Such a fine, strong young man. What would he have become?
Argoth would never know, and the pang of that loss stretched as wide as the sea.
He kissed Nettle’s brow, then someone knocked at the door. He crossed the room to the door and unbarred it. Uram stood there in the darkness holding a pry bar.
“Forgive me, Zu, but we thought something had happened. I’ve been knocking for quite some time. We need to be going; the Skir Master likes an early start.”
“It’s been a long night, Captain. My son has fallen ill.”
Uram looked beyond Argoth into the room. “I’m sorry to hear that, Zu.”
“Captain, if you’ll step aside, I shall call my family and bid them farewell. Then I will join you outside.”
“Yes, Zu. Of course,” Uram said and stepped back.
Argoth retrieved a lap blanket to pull up around Nettle’s neck. Serah and the children were already roused, standing with blankets around their shoulders. He hugged each, knowing he might not come back, then bid them farewell and walked out to join Uram and the other dreadmen outside.
He mounted his horse, gave his family a wave, and rode into the night. When he reached the road, he turned to survey his family and lands one last time. But the night still lay thick and dark.
35
Crossroad
TALEN SQUATTED WITH Legs behind a tangle of blackberry brambles that grew at the wood’s edge. In front of them a small orchard of pear trees glistened in the moonlight. At the end of one of the rows and across a path stood Uncle Argoth’s home, and patrolling the grounds about the house were three Lions of Mokad, dreadmen all.
Talen had his bow and more than twenty arrows. He might be able to pin three regular soldiers down for a minute or two, might even be able to take out one of these Lions if his aim was true and the arrow took the man in a vital part, but the others would not stay put. And once they entered the woods, his arrows would be worth nothing.
So Talen sat and waited, and while he waited he practiced what River had taught him. He opened himself. He closed himself. He opened. He closed. Over and over. It still wasn’t easy, but he figured it would become as natural as swimming soon enough, which wasn’t a hopeful thought. He still couldn’t believe what she’d told him. Rotted sleth—that’s what his family was! And here he was himself most assuredly practicing some form of the abomination.
“He’s not coming,” whispered Legs. “It’s past time.”
What did this boy do—count the seconds? “Since when do the blind know what time it is?” asked Talen.
“The mosquitoes have begun to rise. The mice and deer are moving. Morning’s coming.”
Mice and mosquitoes? Then Talen realized he had indeed just shooed away a mosquito. He looked to the eastern horizon and saw the faintest lightening of the sky over the peaks of the mountains. The boy was right.
“So you’re not blind?” asked Talen.
“I’m blind. I just pay attention.”
Talen grunted. What had happened to Nettle? Was he sleeping peacefully, knowing that coming out would only reveal them, or was he on some table being put to the question?
Talen whispered, “What else have you been paying attention to besides deer and mice?”
“Nothing,” said Legs. “If the dreadmen know we’re here, then they don’t care.”
“Or they’re waiting for daylight to get a good look at us. Give me your hand,” said Talen. “It’s time for us to go.”
“You’re just going to leave him?”
“I don’t see that we have much choice,” said Talen. “Besides, Uncle Argoth’s with him.”
“Maybe they have him too,” whispered Legs.
“Then our only hope is to muster the rest of this . . . Order.”
“Nest” is what he had wanted to say, but he just could not apply that term to Da, River, and Ke. He didn’t know what terms to use. Sleth, good soul-eaters, bad Divines—it was all a bewildering mess.
Legs held his hand out. Talen took it, and then they picked their way carefully down the line of brambles. The forest canopy here was thick, and as a result, squelched almost all growth on the forest floor. Still, he had to keep an eye out for branches that would crack under foot and give them away.
They passed a fat chestnut and Legs yanked on Talen’s hand.
“What?”
“There’s something dead here.”
Talen paused and smelled the air. Some carcass was indeed rotting nearby. The leaves off to their left suddenly rustled.
Talen froze. His heart began to palpitate. The last thing he wanted was to stumble upon some bear’s or wildcat’s kill. But then, Argoth had dogs, and they would have smelled this out long ago. They would have chased off any cat or bear.
The leaves rustled again.
Whatever made the noise, it was something smaller than a bear or wildcat: a weasel or badger perhaps. Talen’s heart calmed.
He realized he hadn’t seen Nettle’s dogs. Nor had he seen Blue or Queen back at home. They’d often go hunting in the evenings, but they never stayed away. They always came home before it got too late. Had that beast gotten them?
He thought of River running out to draw that thing away, and a gloom descended upon him. Da had fought it to no avail. It had eluded the cohorts of the fortress. Surely, one girl, even with River’s talents, could not best it. He wanted more than ever to get to the Creek Widow’s to see if River had arrived. They needed to move faster.
“This way,” he whispered to Legs and pulled on his hand. “We’re going to take the roads.”
“Won’t that be risky?” asked Legs.
“Yes, but I don’t know the woods in these parts like I do at home. We’ll be stumbling about. If we’re going to sneak, I want to do it quickly.”
They left the line of bramble and, as carefully as they could, took a direct route to the road. Not too much later he saw the road cutting like a pale ribbon through the dark woods. When they came to the road’s edge, they stood in the darkness of the forest for some time watching and listening. When Talen was satisfied they were alone, he led Legs out onto the moonlit road, and hand-in-hand they went, Legs keeping his other hand out in front of him so something didn’t smack him in the face. Down the hill they walked, to the first crossroads, a left, over a muddy brook, around the bend where a woodikin had been spotted last year, and along the Misty Falls trail.
Their grip became wet with sweat. “Change hands,” said Talen. He released his grip and switched his bow to the other hand.
“We’ll go faster if you just give me a stick,” said Legs.
“I don’t doubt it,” said Talen. “But the last thing we need is for someone to hear you rattling along. Change hands.”
And it wasn’t just hunters he was worried about. What if that beast was out here? The whole incident with that thing back at the house was unreal. But River’s comments about him were more disturbing. So he could handle astonishing amounts of Fire, so what? She’d made it sound like he’d been put together by some carpenter. And the whole business about Mother pouring out her life into him and her odd comment about him needing a flaw. What did it all mean? A hundred questions coursed through his mind. But all of them came back to the fact that he was walking a lonely road in the middle of the night, holding hands with this hatchling like a lover.
“So did your mother teach you anything about the black arts?”
“They’re not black,” said Legs.
“No, of course not. There’s just that ragged dirt and grass monster killing people left and right and chasing down our women. But other than that, I’m sure the whole business is as pure as the morning’s dew. So, did she teach you anything?”
“She taught me that some people are idiots,” said Legs.
Talen looked down at the boy and his wild hair. “You’ve got a lot of squeak for a little man. Look, you and I are in the same boat, heading down the same river toward the same rapids. Besides, having been worked on by not only my father and my mother, but now also my loving sister, I suppose I’m more hatchling than you.”
And it was true. Lords and lice, what would the Bailiff say now?
They took another few steps in silence.
“Do you trust your sister and father?” Legs asked.
“Do you trust yours?”
“I’m blind,” he said. “I’ve had to trust them all my life.”
“So it doesn’t bother you that your mother is sleth?”
“‘Sleth’ isn’t the word we use,” said Legs. “Weren’t you listening?”
Squeak indeed. “Whatever they’re called. The Order then.” And was that just another lie? They’d lied to him all this time. Years of lying. And if they could hide such a huge mountain of stinking cess, then they could lie about anything.
“Your mother lied,” said Talen.
“Yes, she did,” said Legs. “But everyone lies.”
“No, they don’t.”
“Yes, they do. You’re telling me a Mokaddian hasn’t ever pushed ahead of you in some line, and you nodded politely, but inside you were all resentment?”
“That isn’t a lie,” said Talen. “That’s called avoiding a beating.”
“That’s a lie,” said Legs. “It’s a lie to swallow your tears when you get hurt so others don’t think you a child. It’s a lie to act bravely when facing an enemy, even when you want to run. Lies are useful.”
Talen grunted. Maybe everyone did lie. Maybe the kinds of lies you told defined who you were. And what did it say when the lies were as monstrous as the ones his family kept?
“You asked me if I was bothered,” Legs said. “I am bothered. But mostly I just feel a crushing nothing where my da used to be. I feel like I’ve taken a step where I thought ground was, but there’s nothing there. And I’m falling. I’m falling.” His voice grew small, as if he’d curled in on himself. “And I have no idea how I’m going to land, or if I’m going to break my neck.”
That was exactly how it felt, Talen thought. “My Da says Sparrow was a great man.”
“He was,” said Legs. “He was everything.”
They walked on in silence then, each left to his own thoughts, which was actually better if they wanted to avoid detection. As they traveled, Talen realized that the current road would eventually lead them to Whitecliff. Part of him said that was the trail he should take. Everyone knew sleth twisted things. If his family could be redeemed, then only a Divine could do it. But if they couldn’t be redeemed, then they would only spread the poison of those arts to others. He should follow the trail to Whitecliff, to the first official he could find and ask for the Skir Master. He should offer his services to inform on the activities of this Order. After all, who better than a trusted family member? And if they tortured and killed him, what of it? He’d done his duty.
Dawn was coming. It was light enough for him to see quite a distance down the path. He could be in Whitecliff before some of the rich there took their breakfast.
But what if River was telling the truth?
What if?
They walked some distance farther, and when they came to the turnoff that led to the Creek Widow’s, Talen stopped.
“What are we doing?” asked Legs.
“I’m getting my bearings,” said Talen. “Give me a moment.”
Following a trusted face—that was how one lost his bearings. You hesitated, wanting to show mercy and patience, wanting to give people the benefit of the doubt, and soon enough you lost all perspective. Soon enough you wanted justice to prevail only when it was convenient, and then not at all, for by that time your idea of right and wrong was so warped it could not serve as a standard.
Perhaps the only defense against the dark ones was a heart of stone. A heart so hard with righteousness it could carry through the murder of those it loved most.
No wonder the Divines destroyed whole families.
Talen knew where his duty lay. He should march this blind boy right into the hands of those who sought him.
And yet, despite the secrets River had revealed, there wasn’t an evil bone in her body. Lords and lice, she was his sister! And what evil grew in Da or Ke? None. This he knew. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t have made an honest mistake joining this Order. It didn’t mean they couldn’t have been coerced.
But if what River had said were true? What if the Divines really were nothing more than a guild that had chased away all competition? If that was so, then he’d be making the biggest error of his life. Was it possible that the world was as topsy-turvy as she described with Divines hunting down those who encroached on their monopoly like greedy merchants? Was it possible the Creators gave vast powers to commoners?
It didn’t explain the sleth monster or all the horrifying stories of soul-eaters. But then, it did explain how some Divines fell from grace.
River could be right, even if the possibility was remote.
Talen looked down the road to Whitecliff again.
He owed it to River to give her a chance. He owed it to Da and Ke and Mother. To Uncle Argoth.
Part of him said it was wicked, but he couldn’t see a better way. Besides, maybe it was his task to walk into the heart of the black forest in which they were lost, find them, and lead them back from shadows and into the light.
He sighed and shook his head. This whole situation was a tavern story headed for a dark end. He looked down at Legs. “So you don’t know any tricks? No bloody rites? It’s just me and you out here on our own?”
“I can sing you a ditty about a one-legged slave,” said Legs.
“Your mother put half an army to flight, and that’s all you’ve got?”
“I can do this,” Legs said. He looked up at Talen and did this repeated rolling of the whites of his eyes.
It was unnerving. Certainly not something that should be witnessed before breakfast. “Goh,” said Talen. “Now you do look like sleth. When we want to make our enemies lose their appetites, we’ll bring you in as a secret weapon.”
“And what have you got?”
“I’ve got my bow,” said Talen. “I’ve got my brains. They’ll get us to the Creek Widow’s, and maybe there we’ll find some clarity.”
Legs cocked his head and held his hand up for Talen to be silent.
Talen looked about that shadowed wood but saw nothing.
“Somebody’s coming,” Legs whispered.
Talen listened. At first there was nothing, and then he heard the soft thud of men running on dirt, running down the path that led to the Creek Widow’s.
“Off the road,” Talen hissed and pulled Leg’s hand. “Quick.” The road here was bordered by a few tall pines and some beech, which meant there wasn’t a whole lot of cover. But if they could get fifty paces in, the trunks of the trees would hide them.
They had barely entered when three Shoka appeared on the road behind them. Two were bowmen; the third carried a spear. They stopped, and Talen and Legs froze.
The man in the lead said, “You two take that side. We don’t want to proclaim our presence. We can watch the road from here.”
The other two nodded and stepped into the woods on the far side of the road. The leader moved into the woods on Talen’s side at a slight diagonal from where he and Legs stood. The Shoka stopped at the trunk of a fallen pine, knocked off the nub of a branch, then sat himself down.
He was close enough that Talen could have pinged him in the head if he were spitting seeds in a musk melon contest.
Talen carefully took one step back and a twig popped underneath him. He froze.
The Shoka on the pine log turned his head slightly as if trying to listen.
By the Goat King’s hairy arse, Talen thought. He’s going to turn, and I’ve got my bow in the wrong hand.