The Darkness Comes (The Second Book of the Small Gods Series) (8 page)

No. She saw a wagon in the avenue, but drawn by two horses, the seat occupied by a tall, thin man and a stout fellow wearing a disgruntled expression. Danya stepped back as they passed, the weapons they carried rattling and clanking in the back of the wagon. She watched them go, a sliver of panic starting in the pit of her gut. Did she lose the corpse-merchant?

A moment later, the familiar wagon came around the bend in the roundabout. Danya let out her breath but didn’t relax. She reached across her body and gripped her sword’s hilt, ready to draw it as she stepped into the street directly into the wagon’s path. The driver reined his horse in and flipped his hood back from his head, one brow raised.

“You again?”

“Yes,” Danya said taking a purposeful stride forward. “And I mean to look in your wagon.”

The man shrugged. “Go ahead, if you want.”

Suspicious, Danya stepped forward. She skirted the driver, staying carefully out of range in case he should produce a spear from some hidden place, and made her way to the side of the wagon. Once there, she stopped, her gaze on the man watching her, a bemused expression on his face. It angered her. Who was he to dally as though she was a child?

She peeked into the wagon, then quickly back at the driver to make sure he didn’t move. He smiled. An instant later, Danya realized what she’d seen and stretched up to peer over the side of the wagon.

It was empty.

Dried blood stained the floor boards and a stray boot lay in one corner, but all three corpses were gone.

“Told you someone else’d buy him if you didn’t.”

The steel of Danya’s sword hissed against the leather scabbard as she yanked her weapon free and pointed it at the driver. His eyes widened and he raised his hands, dropping the reins in his lap.

“Where is he?” Danya demanded. “What have you done with him?”

“Sold ‘em.”

“To whom?”

The driver shook his head. “Don’t know. It ain’t polite to ask the name of those buying the dead.”

Danya stepped forward, the blade steady. The point hung in the air close enough to the man’s throat she could pierce it if she lunged, and the expression on his face suggested he knew it.

“Who bought him?”

The driver swallowed hard, the prominent lump in his throat bobbing. He shook his head slowly, then his gaze flickered to something beyond Danya’s shoulder. Her heart jumped.

Be aware of your surroundings.

Trenan’s voice spoke the words in her head, one of the many lessons he’d taught them.

“Everything all right here, Zel?”

The voice, deep and menacing, came from not far behind her and a pace or two to her right. She flicked her gaze over her shoulder and back, caught a glimpse of a long and tangled beard, the glint of sunlight on a short, curved blade.

“No, it ain’t all right. This whelp’s got a sword at my throat.”

“Want me to take care of that?” the deep voice asked.

“Tell your friend not to move,” Danya said, forcing steadiness in her voice, “or he’ll have a corpse to sell on your behalf.”

The man behind Danya laughed, the sharp, barking sound bursting through the morning air and drawing attention to them. She heard feet shuffle as others gathered; a smile crept across the corpse-merchants lips.

“You might want to take a gander about,” he said, smirking. “We take care of our own here in Sunset.”

Against everything Trenan ever taught her, Danya glanced back over her shoulder—four men with bare steel in their hands had joined the fellow with the tangled beard.

“I suggest you put down your sword or it’ll be your corpse I’ll be selling.”

Danya inhaled a slow breath through her nose, ignoring the scent of horse manure and sour herbs, using the air in her chest to calm her, prepare her. If she laid her sword aside, these men might not kill her but, if they didn’t, whatever they did might be worse. She wasn’t going to let that happen. And if she were to die, she’d do it with a sword in her hand.

She spun around, sword raised, knowing the armed men behind her presented a greater menace than the corpse merchant. The man with the tangled beard fell into a defensive stance—a trained fighter. The others around him bared their teeth and tensed their limbs. Danya scanned them, assessing the threat each posed, and read in most of their eyes they’d rather not risk their lives. She needed to worry about the bearded man—his presence gave the others courage. If she disposed of him, the rest would likely flee.

She glared at him and moved to the ready position Trenan had trained her again and again. In this pose, she waited for him to accept the challenge.

A heartbeat passed, then another and another. The man didn’t move until his eyes widened; his mouth opened as though he might speak, then he took a step away, hands raised in surrender. The other men did the same.

A thrill of excitement pulsed through Danya. She’d never expected her first real sword fight to go so well.

“Leave the girl alone,” a woman’s voice said from behind Danya. She cursed herself for making the same mistake twice. “She is with me.”

The man backed farther away, and the princess took the opportunity to see who’d seemingly come to her rescue.

A figure wearing a dull green robe stood off to the side of the corpse merchant’s wagon, her stance not in any way threatening. When Danya’s gaze found the robed figure’s face, her own eyes widened, mimicking those of the men.

The woman’s cheeks and forehead were of white wood, a black mustache painted above red-painted lips. Dark eyes gleamed through round holes.

She’s wearing a mask.

The green robe fell away from delicate fingers and a small hand as the figure raised her arm.

“Come.”

Danya lowered her sword but didn’t replace it in its scabbard. Her instincts told her not to go with the woman—girl, judging by her hands and the sound of her voice—but the alternative was far less appealing. She strode toward the figure.

“Go back to your business,” the girl said with a wave of her dainty hand, then she led Danya away.

The princess didn’t look back, but she sensed the gazes of the men upon them, watching, ensuring they left the market. She could imagine the amazement in their expressions, because she felt it herself.

“Who are you? Where are you taking me?”

They hurried along the avenue, choosing the arm Danya thought would take them toward the setting of the sun. The stranger didn’t answer so, when they were out of sight of the market, Danya stopped.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

Unafraid of the sword Danya held, the girl reached out and wrapped her fingers around her hand.

“Come,” she said. “We have been waiting for you.”

VI Ailyssa - Rescue

Once, the woman who’d been known as N’th Ailyssa Ra relished the caress of wind on her cheeks and the warmth of the sun touching her skin. The woman known only as Ailyssa despised how the breeze cooled the fearful sweat on her brow, the manner in which the sun dried tears on her cheeks, tightening her skin.

Another careful step, one hand leading the way, groping, her blind eyes unable to see more than the glow of the sun. The aroma of baking bread that encouraged her when first she woke had been replaced by the scent of trees and dirt. The burble of the creek she sought to follow also eluded her, gone from her hearing, usurped by the drone of insects, the songs of birds.

When she resided at the temple and possessed the ability to see, she considered being alone in nature as being closer to the Goddess. Now, blind and lonely, lost and afraid, it seemed the Goddess had forsaken her.

Ailyssa blinked hard, wishing for the thousandth time to reclaim her vision as her other senses had returned. The world remained a blur of light without shade or shape. Was this how it was for every woman cast out from the Goddess’ bosom? Had the woman once known as N’th Sylla Ra wandered blindly until the elements or an animal ended her existence?

Ailyssa shuddered.

She stopped, shoulders shaking with a sob she could no longer contain. Her hands covered her face. Tears moistened her palms—anguish at both her current situation and for having been forced to give up the only life she’d known.

Without the Goddess, do I have any life at all?

“No.” She sniffed, attempting to stem the flow of tears. “They took my children, and now my Goddess, too. There is no reason to go on.”

A sigh filled her chest and she resumed her trek, finally with a destination in mind, but unsure how to reach it. Blind eyes kept her from finding a cliff to throw herself off, or from weaving a noose of vines and grasses. If she found a sharp rock, might she find the courage to open her veins?

The soles of her bare feet rubbed on what she suspected was a carpet of dried needles, fallen from the trees that were so pungent in her nose. Her toe caught on a root, sending pain through her foot. She yelped and stopped again.

“There’s no reason to go on,” she sobbed.

“There’s always reason to go on, sister.”

The voice held the timbre of a young woman, and it startled Ailyssa. She jumped back, hands extended in front of her, fingers splayed.

“Who’s there?”

A rustle of feet on the ground, the whisper of fabric. Ailyssa took another step away and her foot struck a rock; she tumbled to the dirt. Before righting herself, a hand touched her arm. She scrambled away.

“Who are you?”

Ailyssa wanted to be hopeful, to believe she’d been discovered by someone willing to help. In her heart, she wanted it to be a savior sent by the Goddess to rescue her, but after her expulsion, and being administered drugs that left her blind, faith failed her.

The hands didn’t seek to touch her again.

“My name is Creidra,” the voice said, and its tone gave Ailyssa the impression the woman might be smiling. “I won’t harm you.”

Ailyssa blinked rapidly, attempting to discern a shape amongst the bright glow, a distortion to show where the woman was; she saw nothing but the blurred light. She shook her head, staring at blank whiteness.

“Are you all right?” the voice asked.

“I…I can’t see.”

“Oh my.”

Ailyssa heard cloth brush against cloth—the woman kneeling beside her. She still didn’t touch her again.

“What happened to you?”

“I…They…” Ailyssa’s words cracked with emotion, her throat clogged with the words she wanted to speak. Without knowing this woman, the urge to tell her everything nearly overtook her.

“There, there.” This time, the woman patted the back of Ailyssa’s hand; she didn’t pull away. “Take a deep breath. Everything will be all right.”

Nodding, Ailyssa did. She opened her mouth and inhaled, air shuddering into her chest. It tasted of the forest, and the threat of rain.

“Better?”

Ailyssa let one corner of her lips curl in an awkward thanks.

“How do you come to be here?” Creidra asked.

An insect buzzed past. “I was left here.”

“Left? How awful. Who left you?”

Ailyssa’s lips trembled, wanting to answer, but she found herself unable to. She shook her head; her chin dipped toward her chest.

“You are of the Goddess, aren’t you?”

The question surprised Ailyssa and she raised her head, directing her sightless gaze toward the voice.

“Why…why do you say that?”

“Your hair,” Creidra said, fingertips brushing the side of Ailyssa’s head by her ear. “The Mothers of the temple in Olvana shear their hair in the same manner when they prepare to couple.”

Ailyssa sat up straighter, her chest loosening at the mention of her order, allowing hope to enter.

“You know Olvana? Are we near?”

“Oh, no. Olvana is leagues upon leagues away. But you are of the Goddess, yes?”

How am I so far away? How long was I unconscious?

Ailyssa’s chin sagged again. She let her arms go limp and fell back, a rock jabbing her in the ribs. She ignored it and threw one arm over her forehead, drew a breath heavy with regret.

“I was. The order cast me out. The Goddess has deserted me.”

“That’s a silly thing to say. The Goddess does not desert her subjects. She simply provides new opportunities.”

“You don’t understand.” Ailyssa squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out the blurred glare.

“But I do. I am a Daughter.”

Ailyssa’s breath caught in her throat and she pushed herself up on her elbows again.

“A Daughter? What are you doing so far from Olvana? Can you take me back?”

“I am not of the Olvana order. Did they leave you here?”

“Yes. I am too old to bear children. I am of no use to the Goddess anymore.”

“Nonsense,” Creidra said and Ailyssa heard the stirring of fabric again as the other woman stood. “Let me help you.’

Ailyssa could do nothing more than nod.

“Give me your hand.”

Blindness prevented her seeing Creidra holding her hand out, awaiting the opportunity to help her up, but Ailyssa sensed it. A heartbeat passed as she hesitated, unsure why this woman was here. If the Goddess had forsaken her, shouldn’t she be left alone to perish, to starve to death or succumb to the elements?

Maybe the Goddess has not turned her back on me.

“Come,” the woman prompted. “I’ll take you to my temple. You will be welcomed—the Goddess holds a place for everyone.”

Ailyssa raised her arm. Creidra grasped her hand and Ailyssa found the woman’s skin smooth with the barest hint of calluses from performing work. She tugged on her arm, pulled Ailyssa to her feet.

“You’ve cut your toe. Can you walk? My wagon is on the other side of the hill.”

Ailyssa nodded, the warmth of the sun on her skin bringing hope to her heart, the caress of the breeze on her cheeks gentle and loving. Creidra put her arm around Ailyssa’s waist to guide her; Ailyssa supported herself on the young woman’s shoulders.

“They left me to fend for myself, cast out by my order. But why are you here, Creidra?”

“I am gathering herbs and roots, but I didn’t expect to find a new sister in the forest.”

“You are a herbalist?”

Creidra giggled. “No, I am helping out. My duties in the temple are much more…pleasurable.”