by John Brown
“As you command,” he said and turned back toward the mouth of the cave. The last moments of his son’s existence played before his mind-all his cursed fault. He should never have fought her.
Never.
And he would never do it again; he was the Mother’s now, body and soul, and he would demonstrate that to her.
____________________
Sugar found the monster to be one of the easiest things she’d ever tracked. A stupid beast that could not navigate well enough in the darkness to avoid the branches. But when there was light enough to see, she realized that the branches being broken were not those that someone would accidentally step on and break, nor were they ones that would break easily as someone brushed past. No, they had been broken on purpose. She concluded River knew someone was following and had done this to leave a trail.
But Sugar now looked down at the spot where an immense rotted log had recently lain and was not so sure. Worms and grubs wriggled in the soil of the impression. This log had obviously been moved aside, but it was too large for River to do such a thing. Sugar attempted to push it, but could not move it an inch. How could River have moved it as she was carried along by that beast?
To Sugar’s left rose a steep hill. On her right the ground descended to a cluster of hundred-foot bald cypress, their massive knees rising out of the dark tea water. A muskrat swam through a layer of duckweed out to a clear slip of deeper water.
She wondered if the creature had taken River into that mess.
Lilies, bog bean, and goat willow choked the far side. The place breathed with the croaking of frogs and stank of things rotting in the water. But she knew that it was full of far more than frogs and stink and scum. She’d find snakes, leeches, and snapping turtles there in abundance.
A chip of something small and dark fell from the cypress trees above. Sugar looked up and saw a handful of grayfans, large game fowl that fanned their tail feathers when threatened. They stood in the branches above, pecking for the cypress seeds. More dark chips fell and she realized it wasn’t bark, but grayfan droppings.
She stepped aside in disgust and walked toward the swamp to see if perhaps the mud at the edges would show any footprints, but as she did so a crack sounded up the hill.
The creature had gone up the hill, not into the swamp. She turned and followed the noise, glad to leave the stink and the rising mosquitoes.
A few paces later the tree cover gave way and there at her feet a trail of footprints led through the dew-soaked undergrowth, clear as you please up the hill.
Sugar followed the trail back into the trees, always going up, finding scuffled leaves here and there or matted grass, until she came to a small stream. She stopped and looked about, then saw a footprint in the stream itself. She followed the stream uphill to a slight ridge of rock. She crossed the stream and found herself standing in front of the mouth of a cave, a cool breeze blowing out of the darkness and into her face. She immediately crouched and moved to one side so she did not darken the entrance with her silhouette.
She wondered if this was a natural cave or one made by the stone-wights. If it was one of the ancient ruins, did that mean this creature was connected with them? Many had been lost in the stone-wight ruins. All of Sugar’s life she had been warned to stay clear of them, for who knew what dark thing waited within? But this is where the creature had taken Mother, and so this is where she would have to go. She looked down the hill. Only someone standing right where she was could see this opening. And now she’d wished the monster had taken River to the swamp. In a swamp you could at least see what you were about. Here the creature might be only a dozen paces away, watching her from the darkness.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Sugar listened. She could hear nothing but the trickling water. She waited for a long time, but nothing stirred. The breeze meant this would be a long cave. It was quite possible that the monster’s lair was hidden deep within.
She would have to go in, if only a small distance. Whomever she brought back would want to know what lay just inside this entrance so they might avoid a pit or slope. Any information she could give them would be better than leaving them to charge in completely blind.
She edged toward the darkness and then crab-walked in and waited for her vision to adjust.
The walls were narrow and tilted to one side. Water oozed down their face. The ceiling of the cave trailed up and was lost in the darkness.
Sugar moved farther in, away from the sound of the water outside and listened. She thought she heard voices, but then decided it was only the breeze or water. Rocks fell in the distance, the sound echoing along the cave walls. Moments later something splashed through the water. And then she realized it was moving, not away from her, but back toward her and the mouth of the cave.
She could not judge the distance well, but it sounded close.
Fear rose in her. She turned and scrabbled back, trying to keep a low profile. When she reached the mouth of the cave, whatever it was began to run.
34
SACRIFICE
Argoth held Serenity, his youngest daughter, in a great hug, her legs dangling loose. She growled like a bear, bit him on the neck, and then giggled.
He growled and bit her back. “Little beast, you go help your sisters outside. Your mother and I need to talk.” He set her down.
Serenity ran out the back door of the kitchen, and Argoth shut the door behind her. He turned to Serah.
She leaned back on the dry sink, one long dark tress curling across the sweat on her neck, and stretched. Before her on the table lay the carcasses of five pheasants along with the celery, raisins, and cut onions she’d been stuffing them with. The giblets from the birds soaked in a bowl of brine. Serah’s eyes brimmed with onion tears.
It could not be easy being pregnant as she was and carrying the workload she did. And he wasn’t going to make it any easier.
“The servants are all outside?” he asked.
“You could have sent someone ahead to give me warning. We have so little time to pack. I can’t show up in Mokad in rags. And I’m not going to leave my sisters in these lands to face the Bone Face attacks that will surely come.”
Argoth shook his head and spoke in a low voice. “I’m not taking you with me on the ship. In fact, from this day forth, Mokad will be your death.”
Confusion clouded Serah’s expression.
“Listen to me. You and the children must disappear tomorrow before noon. Go into the wilderness, book passage on a ship under another name to another nation-I don’t care. In fact, I must not know how you do it.”
“Why would we need to-”
“Do not contact your sisters. In three days I will either return whole, or your world will begin to fray like a cheap rope. I am sorry, Serah. I never wanted this. But it has come upon us. Do not wait. You will not be able to flee in the moment of your crisis.”
Serah’s face turned from confusion to disbelief. “Mokad has made some treaty with those blackheart Bone Faces, haven’t they? Giving these lands away like Koram did when they lost the wars with Mokad.”
Argoth shook his head. “No. Nothing to do with the Bone Faces. I cannot explain it to you now.” He held his hand out to her. “Trust me. As soon as the Lions depart with me, you must go. Pack light. You will have only a short time.”
Serah did not take his hand. “This isn’t just another battle you’re riding off to, is it? You’ve plunged into some idiot’s plot.”
“My love,” he said and reached out for her again.
She took his hand this time, but did not embrace him.
“You will come back to me,” said Serah.
He hoped that would indeed be the case.
He thought of his children, of his girls begging him to take them on his hunting trips. Of Serenity’s growls and bites and Grace’s affinity for dogs, training his proud coursers to jump through hoops and wear bright ribbons in their collars. He thought of Joy leaving messy clay puppets in his pockets and Net
tle who wanted so much to be a man. He thought of Serah’s contagious laughter.
But he always knew his joys in this life might suddenly end. Any man of war knew that. If that happened, he was prepared, and he’d wait for them in the world of souls.
“Husband,” said Serah, more tears brimming in her eyes. “I am weary of worry.”
“I would rather you eat that bitter bread than feast on the bleakness that comes with oppression and slavery.”
She looked down, and he stepped toward her, enfolding her in his embrace. Her hair smelled of the lager she used to bring forth its brilliance.
This time she yielded to him. “I know you must go. But sometimes I wonder if you love war more than flesh and blood.”
“My capable and sweet wife. I love our life so much I cannot see it ruined or stolen by wicket men.”
She sighed. “If you were a little less noble, I think we’d find a little more peace.”
He did not respond. How could he?
“Come back to us,” she said. “Come back and put down the sword.”
“And what would I do?”
“Grow vegetables, race your dogs, and sit in the sun. When our children are grown, you can dote upon your grandchildren with figs and cakes. And when you die, you will be old, shriveled, and happy.”
The vision of it tugged at his heart. “Will you be shriveled by my side?”
She looked up at him, her smile full of weariness, pain, and love. “Women do not shrivel.”
Argoth laughed. And in that moment he realized he’d made a huge mistake. He should have never kept the Grove from her despite the risk her blabbermouth sisters posed. If he survived, he would never keep another thing from her.
“When I return,” he said, “I’m going to tell you a story about a man who held too many secrets and the woman he loved. And then you will tell me what the woman did when she found out she married a monster.”
It was well past midnight. Argoth stood outside the house in the dark, his chances of ever returning to his wife and children slipping between his fingers like sand.
There had been no word from Matiga. He wondered if perhaps the Skir Master had killed the messenger. Had he killed Matiga?
No, the Skir Master wouldn’t be so foolish. He wanted to only give them a scare so they would run and he could follow.
Perhaps the messenger delivered the coded requests, but Matiga felt it too risky to send him the weave he needed so desperately. Or perhaps she had already gone to the Grove’s refuge to prepare to bear the Grove off and the messenger found her house empty. Whatever the reason, dinner had come and gone. And now it was late, exceedingly late.
Argoth did not have the Fire to battle a Divine. And even if the weave arrived this very minute, he suspected it was too late. Fire could be poured out in great quantities. But to swallow such a flood would be the death of any man. Fire could only be accepted in a trickle. It took time. And time had slipped away.
Half of the Lions patrolled the border of his yard. One stood just a stone’s throw away, his bright helm gleaming in the moonlight.
Argoth thought of Shim. He could send word to him. And what? Have him arrive here only to be slaughtered by this troop of dreadmen?
No. This was his burden. His mind raced for other options. But all of them ended in death. And then he heard the Lion below him call out for someone to identify themselves. Nettle’s voice came in reply.
Argoth’s hopes soared. Perhaps Matiga was sending the weave with Nettle.
Argoth left the side of the house and went to greet his handsome boy. He found the dreadman holding him at the point of a spear. Nettle’s face was anxious. And there was no sign of his horse. Something was wrong.
“He’s mine,” said Argoth.
“Yes, Zu,” said the dreadman, raising his spear out of the way.
Argoth put his arm around Nettle and began walking him back to the house.
Nettle looked up at his father with urgency. “Da,” he said.
Argoth shook his head. “When we get in the house.”
They walked in silence until the front door of the sleeping house was shut behind them.
“Have you been to the Creek Widow’s?” asked Argoth.
“No,” said Nettle. “We’re on the way there.”
Argoth’s heart fell. Without a weave he could do nothing. Nothing. “Who’s we?” he asked.
Nettle spoke in barely a whisper. “River told me everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know, Da,” he said. “I know what we are. River sent us to the Creek Widow’s. The hatchlings were at Uncle Hogan’s. Then the creature came, and River led it away. Talen and the boy are waiting in the woods.”
“You mean the monster from Whitecliff?” Argoth asked.
“Yes.”
Argoth’s groaned. This confirmed his previous guess-it was the Divine’s creature. And that meant the Divine would be watching his family. It meant Serah and the children would be caught when they ran. Caught and questioned and tortured. In the end, they would die horrible deaths. The picture of Serenity being flayed to make Serah speak rose in his mind.
“Da?” asked Nettle.
He couldn’t believe the end had come like this. He was caught. His family was caught with him. There was only one way out. He still had the tin of poison he’d given to Purity. He looked down at Nettle. He had enough for all of them.
“Come with me,” he said, motioning to his library. He opened the door, the comforting smell of the two well-oiled sets of armor that sat in either corner filling the room. He followed Nettle in, then barred the door behind him.
“Da,” said Nettle, his voice full of intensity, “are we Soul-eaters?”
Argoth looked down at his son. He’d never wanted it to happen this way. He looked about the room collecting his thoughts, at the smudged maps he’d used on campaigns in other lands, at the feather-festooned spear he’d broken in the leg of a Black Hill giant and the lock of hair from that giant’s head, at the necklaces of teeth. Years of prowess at war, and he still had to hide. Still had to face his son as if he were some ignominious criminal.
Argoth walked to the hearth and grabbed one large flagstone set at the bottom of the face on the right. It was about four feet high and two wide. He caught the hidden ring that would release the catch and pulled. The stone swung inward to a dark compartment.
“In, to your right one step, then take the ladder down.”
Nettle looked at Argoth with disbelief.
“Hurry now.”
Nettle crouched, then twisted through the opening and disappeared into the darkness. Argoth followed. It was a tight squeeze, but just big enough for him. He stood in the oversized space between the walls and shut the narrow flagstone door. Then he descended the ladder in perfect blackness to the hidden cellar below.
Nobody knew about this place. Not even Hogan. This is where he kept his secret books, his weaves, and the implements of his life before the Order.
“Da,” said Nettle in the darkness. “What is this?”
Next to the ladder stood a case with many shelves. He felt for the lamp with a flint striker, then worked the striker until a spark ignited the wick. When the flame burned brightly, he set the lamp down on the small table and motioned for Nettle to take the one chair.
Nettle sat, looking about the room with puzzlement. Argoth noticed his ear had been cut and stitched.
Argoth had used good timbers and brick to build this room. All had been sealed over with a thick layer of white lime render. This kept the room bright. Furthermore, Argoth made sure to lay drainage tiles into the soil all around this part of the house so that all the runoff was taken down the hill and away from this dry room.
There was not much in this close room: a stack of wood next to a small, smoke-blackened hearth; a long, but narrow table; a chair; and two cases for his books and the implements of the lore.
“Son, tell me what River told you.”
“It
’s true, isn’t it?” Nettle said, looking at the plates of inscribed tin that lay on one of the shelves.
“That depends on what you’ve been told.”
Nettle turned back to his father and related everything that had happened since Nettle had left for Hogan’s, the discovery of Purity’s children, the events at Whitecliff, the cutting of his ear. He repeated everything River had said about the Order, about Talen’s days pouring forth, and what happened afterward with the creature.
When he finished, Argoth did not immediately respond. River had taken upon her a right that was his. He had looked forward to testing Nettle and bringing him into the Order. He had planned it for so many years. She had taken that anticipated joy from him, but he couldn’t be angry with her.
“I am a root in the Order of Hismayas,” said Argoth. “And we are not soul-eaters.” Although that’s exactly what he once had been. Bless the Six, but the memory of his years before the Order still pained him. “You will never apply that term to us again.”
Nettle didn’t speak for a moment. When he did his expression and voice were full of desperate relief. “It’s true then, what River said? We do not prey on others. We haven’t stolen Fire?” He was almost pleading to hear that his father wasn’t a monster.
But what struck Argoth was that Nettle used “we.” He’d expected his son to fight against this idea. The Order had to be so careful. They had to teach their children the propaganda of the Divines just as any common parent might teach their children so that no one would suspect them. And Argoth had done his job well. But here his son, his loyal boy, had already decided to follow him, come what may.
Argoth would not betray that trust with prevarications. “I was once a nightmare,” he said. “But then I was brought into the light.”
“I don’t understand,” said Nettle.
“You won’t,” said Argoth. “Just know that I found the right path. And that I do not steal and haven’t since before you were born. And know too that you have a choice. Not all are brought into the Order. Your mother, for example, does not know.” He regretted how he’d misjudged her.