The Darkness Comes (The Second Book of the Small Gods Series) (28 page)

How had this happened to his friend? To either of them?

He squeezed his eyes closed and bowed his head toward the girl, wanting to ask the Small Gods to care for her in death, but how could he do so when it was their fault her life had come to its end?

Tears rolled down his cheeks. He inhaled a shaking breath, the stink of water and mud and clay scraping the insides of his nostrils raw. If he never inhaled their scent again, it might be too soon. But what was he to do?

He opened his eyes, blinked three times to clear his vision, and gazed at the girl’s face again. She was pretty, as young children always are, but he thought there’d been a glow about her as she kneeled beside the stream, the muddy stick in her hand. The golem’s thick fingers had crushed the glow, extinguished it before given the chance to blossom and grow.

Nightjars twittered and sang in the trees. Kuneprius tilted his head back and saw them flit through the sky, tiny shadows across the sky vanishing as quickly as they appeared. A corona of mist surrounded the moon, obscuring the Small Gods perched around it in tribute, but one shone through, larger and brighter than the others.

Ine’vesi, the evenstar.

Kuneprius turned his head away and wept.

XXVIII Danya - Seed of Life

Despite the warm sun shining into the courtyard, the stone floor chilled the soles of Danya’s feet. She waited inside the doorway, not knowing what to do or what to expect. A thin sheen of perspiration covered her palms and she resisted the urge to wipe it on the front of the vibrant green smock Evalal had dressed her in.

“Are you all right?” the girl asked standing behind her.

“Yes. I think so.”

The princess stared straight ahead, eyes fixed on the slivers of dark earth in the center of the courtyard she glimpsed between jagged rocks. Beyond, figures lined the far wall, some wearing painted masks, others with bare faces allowing her to see women of all ages watching, waiting.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Get the seed of life.”

“How? When?”

The girl’s gentle touch on her back startled Danya. “You will know.”

The princess shook her head. “But I don’t.”

“The Mother of Death said you will.”

Danya suppressed a shiver. The thought of N’th Sylla Re’a Shi with her wizened skin and pregnant belly made nausea rise in her throat, adding discomfort to the nerves churning her gut. How could a woman of such age give birth, alive or dead? More importantly, with no men in the temple…

“Take your time,” Evalal said. Danya heard her feet shuffle, carrying her away.

The princess inhaled deeply through her nose and scented the aroma of the moist earth. Her gaze darted from the dirt to the girls and women standing against the far wall, then to the line of sharp rocks ringing the tiny garden. Now she stood near them rather than staring at them from above, it became obvious they’d been chosen and placed to protect the garden’s treasure.

With a loud exhalation, Danya stepped across the threshold and into the sun. Once through the doorway, she saw that Mothers and Daughters were lined up against the wall all the way around the courtyard. They stood on a narrow strip of ground between the temple wall and the jagged rocks. Each woman and child watched her.

“Evalal, I—”

Danya turned back, doubting her task, but the hallway behind her lay empty. A shroud of dread fell across her, blurring her vision, until she recalled the reason she was doing this and her senses returned.

For you, Teryk. Wherever you are.

The princess faced the garden again and stepped up to the edge of the rocks. The one closest to her stood as high as her knee, but others even larger stood between her and the garden mound in the middle of the rocky ring. She placed her hand atop the nearest stone and leaned over, surveying the best path to take. Precarious, but she’d spent her life looking for adventures, small and large. Here was a small adventure poised to lead her to the biggest one she’d ever know.

Danya set her foot on a low rock, its rough surface warmed by the sun. Coarseness scoured the sole of her foot as she put her weight on it. She stepped up, placing her other foot on the rock beside the first, balancing between the two.

Pain lanced up Danya’s leg and breath hissed in through her teeth. She waved her arms to maintain balance and peered down to see a thin line of blood trickling along the side of the rock. She shifted, relieving the pain, and raised her gaze toward her goal which seemed farther away than before. The eyes of the Mothers and Daughters bore down on her and she wondered what they’d do if she chose to climb down off the rocks and leave.

I’d never find my way out.

She imagined herself wandering the labyrinthine temple, lost and alone, until hunger and despair finally took her. That was no solution.

Danya moved her wounded foot, a drop of blood spattering on the sharp edge of another stone. Carefully, she eased forward, setting the ball of her foot on the flat surface of the next before following up with her trailing foot. Pause, choose her next step, continue. She considered stepping between the rocks, but not a hint of ground showed among them and she worried she’d be trapped.

Halfway across the ring of stones, Danya’s thighs burned and blood ran from the bottoms of both feet, each step leaving a bloody footprint in its wake. She struggled to remain focused, distracted by the pain and by wondering who’d set these stones here, how, and why.

The sun seemed to have grown hotter, glaring on her with an intensity approaching hatred that brought sweat to her brow. Perspiration ran down her temples, caught in her hair, and stung her eyes; it moistened the smock Evalal had made her wear, sticking the rough cloth to her skin. She wished for the sun and its unbearable heat to leave her alone.

Danya raised her head and looked across the stretch of rocks at the patch of dark soil. Close as she’d come, she still observed no sign of a seed planted in the garden—not so much as a weed disturbing the earth.

Blood squelched beneath her foot as she took another step. She lifted the other to move forward and the wetness of her foot and the rock’s smooth surface conspired to make her slip.

Danya gasped as her foot went out from under her. She sprawled forward, knees scraping down the side of a rock. Her hands flashed out, grasping for something to catch herself on and finding sharp edges. She jammed her finger, sliced her palm, but stopped herself, her eye a finger’s-width away from a jagged point.

The muscles in her arms and shoulders knotting, the princess held herself for a moment, staring at the rock’s sharp edge. Time had shaped it to an edge worthy of a weapon, but in its lines and contours, she glimpsed shapes and figures; tiny people stacked in heaps. Danya blinked hard and they disappeared.

A shuddering breath helped her regain her equilibrium and she carefully found her way back to her feet. She stood teetering and glanced at the rock that had cut her palm, saw her blood glistening on its surface. As she watched, it sizzled and dried, as though the rock sat in the bottom of a fire pit, though she knew it was not hot.

Danya raised her head, fixing her gaze on the patch of dark earth ahead.

“I wish you were here, Teryk,” she whispered.

After wiping her hand on the front of her smock and smearing it with blood, she set out again, stepping gingerly from one stone to the next. The soles of her feet ached, the flesh shredded with lacerations. A few more steps and she peered back over her shoulder at the trail of bloody footprints marking her path across the bed of rocks.

Concentrate.

She returned her attention to the precarious way ahead instead of what she’d left behind, her eyes searching out the best spots to place her feet. The muscles in her thighs and backside felt as though they’d been transformed into hot steel, burning away the flesh covering them. Cold sweat covered her as she pressed on, picking her way rock to rock, pausing before each step to ensure she didn’t stumble again—doing so might be the end of her.

When Danya next looked up, she found but one more step separating her from the round patch of moist soil. She stopped and stared at it, inhaled its earthy odor. Silence clogged the air around her, free of the calls of birds, the rustle of wind, the breath of the Mothers and Daughters she knew ringed the courtyard. Concentration reduced the world to her sore feet on the rocks, her pulse beating in her temples, and the impossibly rich-looking soil.

She stepped up onto the last rock and hesitated, the blood on her soles making the hard stone slick. If she trod upon the garden, the dirt would penetrate her cuts, and might lead to infection. Did the temple house a medical practitioner? They must, but it didn’t matter. The members of the temple believed the garden contained the Seed of Life, and she suspected it may be the key to finding her brother.

Danya lifted her right foot off the rock and held it over the soil without setting it down. A drop of blood ran along her sole to her heel, dangled there before plummeting to the garden. The droplet indented a tiny divot into the earth and an instant later, a tender green shoot sprang up.

Breath held, the princess took a step, guiding her foot past the unbelievable new growth, and her toes sank into the cool soil. Its touch soothed her and relieved her pain. She stood for a few heartbeats, relishing the sensation in her feet as it snaked up her legs, unknotting her muscles. It climbed through her belly into her chest, easing her unrest. It touched her mind, calmed her thoughts, and Danya fell to her knees.

She dug into the garden with her bare hands, knowing neither where to search for the Seed of Life nor how it appeared. Dark earth clogged the space under her fingernails as she pushed dirt aside, striving to find it, ignoring thoughts of her dreaded return trip across the treacherous rocks.

With the hole as deep as her wrists, the princess thought to give up on the spot and try another, but her fingertip brushed a hard, smooth surface. She stopped digging and rocked back, staring into the hole. In the darkness of the soil, she spied something darker still.

Sunlight gleamed on the sliver of black at the bottom of the hollow. It might have been a rock, or the carapace of a huge beetle, but Danya knew neither to be true. This was what she’d been seeking.

The Seed of Life.

She leaned forward again and reached into the hole, gently pushing soil away from the dark shape until its curve became apparent. Danya noticed the stillness and silence around her as she pressed her fingers into the rich earth, inserting them around and under the seed until she cradled it in her grip.

She lifted it carefully out of the garden.

The seed was oval and big enough to fill her palm, its veneer black and smooth. No fissures out of which might grow roots or shoots marred its surface, no cracks to allow in water or light. How any life might spring from this, the princess didn’t know; it appeared no more capable of bringing forth life than the rocks that had cut her feet, or the Mother of Death.

Danya lifted the seed, supporting it in both hands; a rustling of cloth broke the silence. She thought to seek out the source of the sound, but the black oval in her hands held her mesmerized. She closed her palms around it, polishing away the dirt stuck to its surface and another noise startled her—the grate of stone rubbing against stone.

The princess blinked and shook her head, breaking the seed’s spell, and climbed to her feet. Her body felt refreshed and rejuvenated, better than it had since she and Trenan left Draekfarren in search of Teryk. She pulled her gaze away from the dark seed resting in her cupped palms and noticed the Mothers and Daughters who’d lined the wall of the courtyard had fallen to their knees. Each one of them—bare-faced Mothers and mask-wearing Daughters alike—leaned forward until their foreheads touched the ground, their arms stretched out in front of them. Danya regarded them, her breath easing, until she realized what else had changed.

Between her and the Mothers and Daughters, the garden of stones had disappeared. In its place grew colorful flowers and emerald grass, leaves and blades waving in a gentle breeze that brought their delicate fragrances to Danya’s nose.

She inhaled deeply, and the scent of new life breathed hope into her heart.

XXIX Trenan - Tracking Teryk

The point of the sword hovered an arm’s length from the big man’s throat, Trenan’s weapon as rigid as his expression. The sound of his words died away, leaving the room in silence as the gaze of the woman’s son darted around the room, hesitating upon reaching his mother.

Out of the corner of his eye, the master swordsman saw her head move almost imperceptibly as she discouraged her mammoth progeny from revealing the truth.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man said. “What’s a Prince Teryk?”

Trenan surveyed the man—bigger than average; well-muscled from physical work, but carrying the paunch of too much drink; one arm ended in a stump covered with a smooth, pink scar. His eyes glittered with the nervous excitement of a poor liar on the precipice of doing something stupid.

“Dansil,” Trenan said and tilted his head toward the woman without removing his gaze from her son.

The queen’s guard crossed to the woman in two strides and raised his axe, its sharp and gleaming edge touching the flesh of her throat. The woman—Bieta was her name—sucked a whistling breath through the gap in her front teeth.

The man—Stirk, she’d told them—tensed. His remaining hand clenched into a fist and the muscles in his jaw flexed as he bit hard on his back teeth. The nervous glimmer in his eyes disappeared, replaced by a flare of anger and fear. Trenan watched the cords in his neck tighten and recognized this fellow intended to leap forward to aid his mother. He wouldn’t stand a chance against the four soldiers, but any information he might provide about Teryk would die along with him.

Trenan stepped forward until Godsbane’s tip floated a hand’s breadth from Stirk’s neck. The man diverted his gaze back to Trenan and swallowed hard, the lump in his throat rising and falling.