by Blake, Bruce
His fingers found her arm and his face jumped to life in her vision. For a moment, they stared at each other, neither speaking. Ailyssa’s heart fluttered.
Who is this man?
“Did you understand me when I spoke?”
He shook his head, grimaced at the pain it caused. “No, but I do now.”
Instinct told her this was against the nature created by the Goddess. But didn’t the Goddess create everything? Wasn’t She the cause of all?
Ailyssa shuffled closer, careful not to break contact with the man, and fell into his arms.
***
“You’re gonna be okay, Kooj.” Juddah scratched the thick fur at the dog’s neck. “Don’t seem nothing is broken. Just a few scratches, but they’re gonna heal.”
He straightened with a creak of his knees and gripped the small of his back where pain flared, as it did every time he bent over. The dog looked up at him from his stuffed sack bed and thumped the floorboards with his tail.
“Maybe you’re making it seem bad so I’ll pay you some attention, hey, Kooj? Lucky for both you and him it ain’t worse.”
Juddah left the dog and crossed to the window facing out into the yard and the barn beyond. He pulled open the shutter and glared at the not-quite-square building.
“Feel bad leaving her in there. She didn’t have nothing to do with you getting hurt.” The dog’s tail thumped the floor again at the sound of his master’s voice. A pang of worry flared in Juddah’s gut. “Probably I should get her out before he hurts her, too.”
He pushed the shutter closed again and went to the door, the floorboards groaning under his weight. Five or ten of them needed replacing soon; might be a good idea to make the fellow locked in the barn cut him some boards before he ended up in a sack.
“Be right back, Kooj.” Juddah opened the door. “I’ll bring us company, too.”
The thought made the snake between his legs quiver and he stopped on the porch to give it a light rub.
“I might bring company for you, too, fella.”
A smile on his face, Juddah bounded down the steps to the yard, the events in the barn left in the past where they belonged. Kooj’d heal and so would the man chained to the floor, then he’d be able to get back to digging Juddah’s well and making new floorboards. He’d likely find a few other uses for him, too, before he finished with him.
The breeze coming in off the sea shifted Juddah’s long beard, tickled his lips with his own moustache. He smoothed it with one wide hand and paused in front of the barn door. As he reached out to grab the handle, the sea wind died and sounds floated to him from inside the building.
Words.
Juddah’s brow crinkled; he leaned in to the door, cocking his ear to the wood. Two voices: his and hers, but he couldn’t understand what either of them said, the words muted by door and space.
He don’t even talk.
Juddah sucked a few long moustache hairs into his mouth, chewed the ends, the bulge that’d been growing in his britches shrinking. He considered bursting in on them, surprising them and carrying Ailyssa back to the house, but sudden uncertainty it’d be the thing to do overtook him. He realized that, if he wanted her to be more than just another piece in his collection, he’d need to treat her differently.
Tiptoeing, Juddah crept to the ocean side of the barn. The sun shone bright on this side and he realized they might notice his shadow passing in front of the gaps between the wall boards, but it’d also be the easiest place to peek in. He stepped over a pile of rotted wood, navigated a tangle of branches. His boots rustled through the tall grass growing up the wall as he found his way to one of the widest gaps.
A chunk of stump he often used for a chopping block rested against the wall in front of the wide gap, preventing him from getting close enough to peep through. He thought about leaning his hands on the wall boards to lean closer, but doing so might make the boards protest and reveal him. Juddah ran his fingers through his beard, pulling at the tangle of hair, pondering how best to handle this.
He rested one hand on his hip, the other remaining buried in his facial hair, scratching an imaginary itch while the sun shone on his back. More words floated out of the barn. Mingled curiosity and anger mashed his lips together and creased his brow. With a creak of his joints, Juddah put a knee on the chopping block, rested a hand beside it, and leaned toward the gap in the wall.
At first, he spied nothing but shadows interspersed with streaks of sunlight. More words reached his ears, and a flutter of movement caught his eye. He directed his attention to it, squinting.
His sight adjusted to the dimness within the building in time to catch Ailyssa, whom he’d risked his life to rescue from the temple at Jubha Kyna—fall into the arms of the bastard he’d found half-drowned on the beach.
Juddah jerked away from the gap, not wanting to watch her betray him, but he overbalanced. His bulk toppled backward off the chopping block, hands clasping at empty air in an attempt to stop his tumble. His ass hit the ground, a rock digging into his fleshy cheek, and he bit his lip rather than cry out. For a time, he sat on the grass, frowning at the side of the barn and fighting to keep from imagining what might be happening within, what they might do to taint his own building.
Vague and distant, he heard Kooj barking, and the sound pulled him out of his angry despair, brought him to his feet. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he glared at the building, his fingers curling into fists, the flesh hidden beneath his thick beard hot with emotion. He drew one hand up, arm cocked to lash out at the grayed wood, to direct his anger somewhere, but he stopped. Punching the wall would hurt himself and the board, not to mention alert the lovers that he knew what they were doing.
Juddah lowered his fist. He’d find better ways to punish them for their betrayal, ways that wouldn’t abrade his knuckles or damage his barn. With a heavy breath drawn through flared nostrils, Juddah tromped back across the yard toward the porch and poor Kooj lonely within.
“Let them have their fun,” he muttered. “And then I’ll have mine.”
XXI Kuneprius—The Inn
The aroma of cooking meat skipped right past Kuneprius’ nose to find its way straight to his aching belly. It growled and gurgled loud enough he worried those within the building might have heard.
They can’t hear. They’re too busy eating and drinking and being comfortable.
Never had moss-covered stone walls and a thatched roof looked so inviting. After so many nights sleeping on the forest floor followed by as many days traveling with little time for rest, Kuneprius supposed a cave with a few pieces of straw scattered on its floor might appear pleasing. The sight of an inn fairly made him salivate at the prospect of food, ale, and a bed.
He eased back from the edge of the thicket and into the woods. He’d been hesitant to leave the golem alone with Thorn, even only a few paces behind him, but he’d needed to find out what produced the succulent smell so teasing and tempting him.
He broke through a veil of leaves and nearly walked into the clay man’s broad chest. The golem—whom he had a more and more difficult time thinking of as his friend Vesisdenperos—didn’t so much as flinch. Kuneprius took a step around him to see Thorn seated on a fallen log, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Over the past few days, his pale gray flesh had faded to off-white and wrinkled in areas like someone who’d stayed too long in his bath. Kuneprius went to the small man and kneeled beside him.
“Thorn? Are you all right?” He reached out toward him, but stopped when he saw his own hand quivering. He curled his fingers into a fist and took it back.
Thorn raised his head. His lids closed and opened with a slow blink and his eyes hunted around until they found Kuneprius. The previous clarity of color and glint of knowledge and understanding he’d seen shining in those eyes had faded almost to the point of disappearing. A wan, strained smile and half a nod were the only response he offered. A pang of regret added to the discomfort in Kuneprius’ gut. He stood and faced the golem who h
adn’t yet moved.
“Ves…” His voice cracked, so he paused, cleared his throat, and began again. “The Small God is dying. Without sustenance and sleep, he won’t make it to Murtikara.”
The clay man gave no sign he’d heard. Kuneprius glanced at Thorn, who’d replaced his head in his hands, the skin on his arms sagging as though his muscles had become jelly. Seeing him that way—this being who’d at first appeared so vital, so powerful—made Kuneprius forget his hunger and exhaustion, the burning ache in his loins to dispense his seed, the throbbing in his temples at not being able to lave his sins. What troubles were they when compared to this poor fellow wasting away so far from his home?
“Vesisdenperos, my friend.” Kuneprius raised his hand, ignoring the tremor along his arm, and rested his fingers on the golem’s shoulder. The clay was cool to the touch. “There’s an inn the other side of this thicket. They’ll have a hot meal for us, a warm bed, and cold ale. Things to refresh me and allow us to travel faster, and to revive the small man, keep him alive until he can fulfill his destiny.”
No response. He pressed harder against the golem’s shoulder, intending to exert pressure to urge him to reply; his fingers sank into the clay and he jerked them away. The indentations remained for a second before healing itself back to its normal, unblemished state. Kuneprius suppressed a shiver. Did any of his friend remain within this molded man to hear his pleas?
He curled his fingers into his palms, fighting the surge of fury jolting through him, the urge to slam his fist against the abomination. So much anger swirled in his head; he didn’t know whether Vesisdenperos being transformed into a mound of soulless clay caused it, or the fact he’d become party to the coming death of a creature who deserved a better fate.
You knew this might be your role when Kristeus appointed you keeper of the sculptor.
Season after season, he’d cared for Vesisdenperos, ensured he was fed, rested, clean, and happy as he learned his craft. Even as the boy went to practice his skill every day, and then the teen, and finally the man, Kuneprius was never sure this day would come. In his understanding, the prophecy hinted at what was to happen, not when. Maybe they’d misinterpreted it. If so, Thorn would die in vain, and he suspected Ves already had. The thought infuriated him, but he forced himself to remain calm, counting his breaths until the tightness in his chest eased enough to let him speak again.
“The prophecy speaks of sacrifice, Ves.” He swept his arm toward Thorn seated on the log, his entire body appearing to sag. “This is not sacrifice. This is neglect.”
The golem’s eyes flickered in the Small God’s direction—his only movement or reaction. His head didn’t turn, his expression remained unchanged. Hope sparked in Kuneprius and he pressed on.
“One night is all, Ves. I’ll tell them my son is sick and we need a room. I’ll sneak him in when no one is looking and we’ll take our meals in the chamber. We’ll leave before sunrise and none will be the wiser.”
He fell silent and waited, gaze fixed on the golem’s face despite the worry tugging at him to glance at the small man, make sure he was all right. A nightjar sang out from a bough overhead, calling the sun down from the sky; a dull wind stirred the bracken against their knees. The golem stood as still as the statue he so closely resembled while Kuneprius counted the pulse thumping in his ears.
Fifty-five. Fifty-six. Fifty-seven. Fifty—
The clay face relaxed almost imperceptibly and the thing nodded once. It so surprised Kuneprius, his mouth fell open and he remained unmoving for ten more beats of his heart.
Food. A night in a bed. A chance for repentance and tribute.
More importantly, this slim bit of humanity suggested a touch of Vesisdenperos yet survived within the man of clay. The possibility invigorated Kuneprius, pulled him from his trance.
He rushed over to Thorn, kneeled once more beside the Small God, this time not hesitating when he reached out to the gray man. He put a hand on Thorn’s shoulder and found his flesh cool and clammy.
“Come, Thorn. Food and rest await us inside.”
Thorn raised his chin again, found Kuneprius’ eyes more easily this time.
“Food for Thorn?”
“Yes.”
“Will Horace Seaman be there?”
“I’m afraid not. Your friend is…gone.”
Thorn nodded, then placed his face back in his hands, the sliver of enthusiasm he’d shown disappearing as quickly as it came. Kuneprius’ chest ached at seeing the being’s natural vigor quashed so completely. He put his hand under Thorn’s arm and stood, tugging to make him do the same.
“Come on. Get up and we’ll get you fed, watered, and rested.”
Thorn rose on shaky legs and Kuneprius noticed the way his ribs showed through his skin. A dark splotch on the Small God’s side below his armpit caused him some alarm.
“We need to disguise you,” he said, slipping out of his shirt. It left him wearing only his undershirt to cover his own chest, but it would have to do. Without clothing, Thorn would attract unwanted attention.
He draped it across his companion’s shoulders and knew right away it wasn’t enough. He yanked the shirt’s collar up, pulling it over the small man’s head so nothing but his face showed. Better, but he’d still need to be careful and conceal Thorn behind him, keep him hidden from curious eyes.
“Come,” he said and took the Small God’s arm again. Thorn followed.
As they passed the golem, Kuneprius glanced up at the clay man’s face, offered a smile of thanks. The thing that once was his friend Vesisdenperos didn’t meet his gaze.
***
The barkeep—a man whose face appeared to have seen the seasons turn only a few times more than Kuneprius had, but whose body looked as though it had lived through a good deal more—raised a brow and craned his neck to see past the new customer. Kuneprius shifted to prevent him from getting a good view of Thorn.
“Sick, you say?”
Kuneprius nodded. “Very ill. Poor tike’s cheeks have gone ashen with it.”
As he spoke, he struggled to maintain an appropriate expression while his nerves tugged at the corners of his mouth and begged him to dance back and forth, one foot to the other. He resisted, remaining still and keeping the Small God hidden behind him.
“Don’t want no sick kid vomiting all over m’room.”
“Oh no, not to worry. It’s not that sort of sickness.”
The barkeep leaned away, crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What sort of sickness is it, then?”
Kuneprius drew a sharp breath between his lips, his brain freezing at the question. What illness poses no danger of vomit?
“He’s homesick,” he blurted before his better judgement intervened. The only thing to do was to expand and hope for the best. “And weary. And he’s hurt his leg.”
The barkeep’s eyes narrowed. “Not really sick then, is he?”
“I guess not,” Kuneprius replied and dipped his hand into the pocket of his breeches. He produced a silver coin and laid it on the bar. “Is this enough for food and lodging? We’ll keep to our room and bother no one.”
The barkeep lowered his arms, his demeanor shifting with the glint of lantern light shining on the coin. He scooped it up and held it in front of his face, rotating it between his fingers to see both sides.
“More’n enough. Take a table and I’ll bring you a couple of plates and tankards of ale.”
He turned away from the bar, reaching for the aforementioned goblets, but Kuneprius interrupted.
“No, no. We don’t want to be a bother and we’d prefer to take food in our room, if it’s all right by you, kind sir.”
The barkeep faced them, flicked the coin up in the air with his thumb and caught it. “I think this might be enough for me to bend the rule regardin’ food in the rooms. Yours’ll be up the stairs, last door to the left.”
“Thank you.”
Kuneprius crossed the room to the staircase, ushering the Small God ahead of him
to keep himself between Thorn and their host.
“I’ll have the plates ready when you want ‘em,” the barkeep called after them. “Be you needin’ anything else?”
Kuneprius paused at the bottom of the stairs, peered back over his shoulder. “Is it too much to ask a bowl and a pitcher of clean water? We haven’t had opportunity to wash in several days.”
“I’ll have it for you with your food, if you’d like.”
“Yes, fine.”
Kuneprius prompted Thorn on and mounted the steps behind him, relief flooding his chest. Things had gone more smoothly than expected.
They paused at the top of the stairs to ensure no one in the hall might see Thorn’s pale flesh and unusual appearance. To his relief, it lay empty. He hurried the gray man ahead of him, soles of his bare, gray feet dragging on the wooden floor. Not until they crossed the threshold into the room did Kuneprius realize he’d been holding his breath the entire way.
He closed the door behind them and sighed the air out of his lungs.
The chamber was exactly what he’d expected from a country inn: a single bed, a table, a chamber pot and not much else. It was fine with him, he’d become used to just such accommodations after living in Murtikara for all those turns of the seasons. The problem was, with but one bed, they’d either have to sleep cozy or he’d have to take the floor.
“This will do, won’t it, Thorn? Be nice to have a good night’s sleep.”
The Small God stood in place, swaying somewhat, but otherwise giving no sign he’d heard his roommate speak. Kuneprius pursed his lips. The farther they took him from his home, the worse his condition. If it continued, would he even make it to their destination?
“Can’t worry about it now,” he murmured aloud as he set his hands on the Small God’s bare shoulders.
The faintest sensation of energy emanated from the cool, gray flesh. Thorn turned his head with the intensity and effort of a man moving a heavy object, directing his gaze toward his companion at the touch. A haze clouded his formerly clear and joyful eyes.
“Come,” Kuneprius said, exerting light pressure to move him. “Let’s get you into bed to rest.”