Servant of a Dark God

by John Brown

  “What is this?”

  “White for purity,” said Shim, “blue for courage and loyalty. The sun for knowledge and power.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “It’s old, my friend. Very old, passed down for generations. This is going to be our standard.”

  “Ours?” asked Argoth.

  “All those,” Shim said, “who fight those that would be our masters.”

  “I’ve watched the faces of the men,” said Argoth. “They are going to have a difficult time accepting this. We cannot simply dump the whole truth upon them.”

  “No,” said Shim. “First we will demonstrate our power. And when we have the confidence of those who matter, we shall tell them by what means we work.”

  “We will not have long. A few days at the most before they begin to question the fine points of our story.”

  “What I need from you is living weaves,” said Shim. “A hundred in three days.”

  “Three days?” It was impossible.

  Shim nodded. “We have some dry weaves. Two dozen maybe. You can fill those.”

  That would leave about seventy-five weaves to create. Nobody in this Grove knew how to make anything but crude weaves in metal. River could weave them of other things. But the amount Shim asked for was out of the question. Besides, they didn’t have the Fire. Only the current members of the Grove could give Fire. And Argoth would never take it again. “I can deliver another ten.”

  “Twenty,” said Argoth. “We must come to them in power.”

  “You can’t train up a dreadman in a few hours.”

  “We don’t need full dreadmen. We just need to show them the power available. Can you train the men and women you give the weaves to perform some feat?”

  “Yes,” said Argoth. “But even if we’re able to convince the lords of the Shoka, the Fir-Noy will not go along. And if they turn against us, three of the other clans will follow.”

  “In the beginning,” said Shim, “they will resist us. But it will not last. The Prime is with us. Bosser as well. Furthermore, I have reports. The death of the Skir Master will shake Mokad. The lords of Nilliam will press this advantage. Mokad, more than ever, has no resources to spare. The Fir-Noy will receive no help.”

  “The Skir Master gave them weaves,” said Argoth.

  “How many? A dozen? And every day we will add to our numbers. In a few weeks we shall have hundreds. And then we shall raise dreadmen who need no weaves. Men like yourself. When the Bone Faces come and these Mokaddian loyalists have to contend with them on their own, they will find their objections are small things.”

  “Yes,” said Argoth, “but we do not fight against the men of Mokad or Cathay or even the Bone Face ships. We fight against their masters. We have attacked, maybe killed, one of their kind.”

  “You think the glorydoms will join forces against us?”

  “Look at how Seekers work. They hunt soul-eaters across the glorydoms of the earth, and none bar their way. Why? Because they hunt a mutual threat.”

  “Perhaps you are right,” Shim said. “But perhaps they are not so different from us. Who is to say that some of these creatures might not find it in their interest to stand aside, to delay, in order to weaken an enemy? From what you told me of the creature in the cave, they are not unified.”

  “We should prepare for the worst,” said Argoth.

  “If they come at us with all their might, can we withstand them?”

  Argoth had witnessed the power of the Skir Master firsthand. He’d felt the might of the being in the cave. She’d raised living things from stone. She’d smitten him so powerfully with the illusion of her beauty that it echoed in his heart still. “The old gods once fought them and kept them at bay for years. But we have lost too much.”

  “Then we shall find a way to open the seal on this book of yours and learn the things we forgot. We shall raise an army of dreadmen. And we will find someone who can bear the weight of the victor’s crown. We cannot hesitate, my friend. Mankind’s hour is in our grasp.”

  Argoth looked at Shim and wondered. The man had a weave his family had passed down, he had an ancient device-what was his history? Not all humans could wield the powers of life with equal effect. Not all could quicken themselves to the same degree. Bloodlines mattered. Was he simply a man with a powerful family heirloom? Or was Shim part of a line that stretched back to the old ones?

  Argoth felt as if he’d had this conversation once before. Indeed, had not both Nettle and Ummon, his son of long ago, been asking him to fight? To step fully out of the shadows? Perhaps Hismayas had never intended his Order to hide itself so deeply.

  He realized it was time, whether he wanted it or not. The wheels were in motion. The Order was going to stand forth in the sun.

  “We will fight,” said Argoth. “We will raise an army from Koramite and Shoka, from Vargon and Burund.” He thought of the Groves scattered through the many glorydoms. He thought of the dark days before he joined the Order. Of the men and women who yet walked those forbidden paths. “There are many in every nation who will anwer our call.”

  The very next morning Argoth told Serah everything. Serah did not weep. Instead, she turned as hard as stone. Later in the day Matiga, without invitation, showed up with a pot of spicy sausage and potatoes and her famous currant rolls. The girls ate it all with relish, but neither he nor Serah touched their food. They both knew he had stolen her son. She had every right to hate him.

  When the cleaning was done, Matiga sent everyone but Argoth and Serah outside. Then she turned to them both.

  “I assume he’s told you all?”

  “Yes,” said Serah.

  Matiga might not be able to see it, but it was clear to Argoth. She was a pot of simmering fury.

  “At least he got that right,” said Matiga. “And I assume you know what will happen if you tell your sisters before Lord Shim brings this before the Council.”

  “I do.”

  “We will bind you with an oath,” she said. “And you will keep it.”

  “I need no binding,” said Serah. “But I will take it anyway.”

  “Good,” said Matiga. “He was stupid not to bring you in. Women provide ballast. And that’s something this one desperately needs.”

  “Indeed he does,” said Serah.

  Argoth tried to take her hand, but she moved it away. “The woman talked about restoring Hogan to his body,” said Argoth.

  Matiga and Serah waited for him to go on, but he could not. He could not tell them that he almost wished Talen had not overcome the monster. He could not tell them about the dreams he had of that woman guiding his hands as she had guided the monster’s, except instead of him kneeling between two bodies, he stood with one hand on Nettle’s scarred neck and the other holding the filtering rod.

  Argoth looked down. “I am not myself. The roots of the thrall still work in me.”

  “That will pass,” said Matiga.

  So said the books, but he still felt a compulsion and prying. A door somewhere was still open. A door to another being like the one they’d faced in the cave.

  They’d discussed what had happened in the cave, and they’d realized that every Glory in every land was ruled by such a creature. Every Glory was cultivating a field and delivering its harvest.

  “We don’t have the knowledge to fix this open door in me,” he said. “We don’t know their powers. It is better to just eliminate the threat.”

  “No,” said Matiga. “We don’t have the knowledge. But we will. We have the gifts of Hismayas: the victor’s crown and the Book.”

  “The Book has always resisted us. And the crown-well, we obviously don’t know all we should about it.”

  “No,” she said, “we don’t. But I think I understand a few things I did not before. I think we should try to open the Book again.”

  “And if we fail?” asked Serah.

  “We have the seafire,” said Matiga. “We have our lore. We might know less than we’d like, but
we know enough. If we cannot unlock the secrets of the Book, then we shall prepare with the knowledge we do have.”

  All this talk of the enemy didn’t seem to matter at the moment. Argoth thought of Nettle again. Of the trust and pain that had shone in his eyes as Argoth drew forth his Fire.

  He looked up at Serah. “Nettle was a man. He made the choice of a man.”

  “I’m not angry with Nettle,” she said, pain and frustration and anger flashing in her eyes.

  Argoth waited.

  “You said you’d tell me a story about a woman who married a monster. You’ve told me that story. And it was all true. Now you need to wait for me to tell you the end.”

  Argoth nodded. He would wait. He’d wait, if he had to, until the Creators raveled the earth.

  49

  FAREWELL

  In the days following the battle in the caves, Uncle Argoth and Lord Shim began raising dreadmen. The Creek Widow and River began teaching Talen the first things about using Fire and soul and the history of the earth. But Talen found he couldn’t focus. The monster had saved them all. Talen needed to honor its last wishes.

  Talen was able to convince River and the Creek Widow to join him. He went back and stood on the hill above the refuge and looked down at the valley where the Divine had battled. The damage was clear to see-great erratic swathes and loops of dead grass and trees. Off to one side of the meadow a boar staggered and sounded out its pain.

  Talen suspected he knew why. By the time he descended the hill, the boar was on its side kicking weakly. There was a wound on its side-that was probably the spot where the raveler had wriggled in. The boar might have been sleeping or eating. It could have been doing any number of things when the weave had found it. But Talen was sure it was the cause of the boar’s throes. Then the boar ceased its struggling.

  Talen waited, and not long after his suspicions were confirmed: the raveler worked its way out from underneath the animal and snaked into the grass.

  Wearing the white, gold-studded gauntlets, Talen quickly plucked it up. The raveler immediately stilled, and he placed it in the case.

  After obtaining the raveler, he searched for the monster’s stomachs.

  Uncle Argoth and the Creek Widow had taken the remains of the original monster and opened it up to discover its lore. They’d also search their books for any record of the sons of Lamash.

  They did not unlock its mysteries. In fact, the mysteries seemed only to multiply. But Talen was able to identify what he might be looking for. Inside the creature’s chest had been a row of identical organs, black as coal, woven of willow withies, and merged into the flesh of stone. One, Uncle Argoth said, contained soul.

  The monster had spoken of the stomachs the woman had already taken. And so Talen went back into the cave with Sugar and two loyal dreadmen.

  They searched the chamber of battle. They searched the passageways leading in and out. They found many rooms, but they never saw a nest.

  They were about to descend the broad path that led to the belly of the mountain, when Sugar asked if they’d been looking in the wrong place. Perhaps, she suggested, they should look up.

  It took less than an hour to find the woman’s roost. In one room with a sulfur pool there were a scattering of her dead eel creatures lying on the floor. When the group held their torches aloft, they saw an opening to a small chamber above. It contained silk clothing that Lumen, the former Divine of the clans, wore, an ancient, cankered sword, and a handful of abominable weaves, including two of the monster’s stomachs.

  And so it happened that on the morning of a cool autumn day, Talen placed the monster’s stomachs on a large slab of granite on their farmstead. The survivors of the battle in the cave gathered around.

  Talen donned the fine, white, gold-studded gauntlets and removed the last hag’s tooth from its silver case. He held it up.

  “This,” he said, “is to honor the bravery of Barg, Larther, and all the many other things that composed the servant of our enemy. May they find the safe path in the world of souls.”

  Then he lowered the tooth to the stomachs. When its sharp tip touched the first stomach, it came to life and wriggled out of his hand.

  All stood around the stone, watching the tooth weave its way in, around, and through the stomachs that lay on the rock. The blackness of the withies leached away, leaving behind simple wood.

  A small breeze gusted through, and then, for the briefest moment, Talen thought he heard singing.

  The tooth wriggled out of the pile of spent stomachs and rolled off the rock into the dust.

  Talen picked it up. It had yet one more task to perform.

  That evening Talen stood on the hill above the farmstead. At his feet lay three graves: one for Mother, a new one for Da’s body, and another for that of Sugar’s mother.

  When Sugar had said she had no home, River and Talen had insisted she did. It was too risky for her to go back to her village and gather up any of her father’s bones that might remain. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t make a small monument for the time when they could retrieve the bones. Nor did it mean they couldn’t bury Sugar’s mother here.

  Talen had expected someone to desecrate the graves, for the Fir-Noy were causing more troubles than ever. But that had not happened yet. Instead, they’d found gifts left on the graves in respect. Some were gifts of apples, others were bunches of late summer flowers. There weren’t many. But it surprised Talen. Once they even found a bowl of blood from a small sacrifice. It was believed by some that the ancestors could drink the Fire of a newly killed animal as it poured forth.

  But there were no gifts this evening. Instead, Nettle crawled in circles below the graves as if searching for something in the grass. Uncle Argoth had told them all what he’d done, and it pained Talen to see Nettle so. Half mad, the other half lost. Legs, River, and Sugar were with Talen on the hill.

  There were reports of something in the woods, something killing the deer and sheep. Legs said he’d heard it one night in the yard. They had found footprints the next morning, and the evening after that Talen had seen its face in the shadows staring at him. They’d tried to track it, but lost the trail, and the dead bodies of animals began to mount.

  “Let us hope it isn’t the woman seeking revenge,” said River.

  “If it were, wouldn’t it be killing humans?” asked Legs.

  “It’s Da,” said Talen. “Who else could it be?”

  “I don’t know,” said River. “We hardly know anything.”

  “Well, I know this,” said Talen. “During that last battle, it was Da that was looking at me from the eyes of the earthen figure. It was Da in that awful body, and he wants release.”

  They built a fire when the sun set, Legs sang a few mournful songs, and then they waited, watching the bats flit over their heads and an owl occasionally swoop silently across the field below.

  Talen wore the gauntlets. In his hand he held the last raveler. The case now lay on the ground at his side.

  The air was cold with the first breath of autumn. The leaves had begun to turn color and fall, and he could smell the fine scent of leaf mold. It had not yet frozen hard enough to kill all the insects, so the mosquitoes rose as the sun set, but an evening wind kicked up to blow them away. River fed the fire, and they waited, the stars shining above them in the night sky, a hard-edged sliver of a moon giving them light.

  One by one each of the others fell asleep in their bedrolls, but Talen did not. He waited and watched, and when he began closing just one eye to rest it, he roused himself and stood.

  A light burned in the window of their house across the field below. Ke was there, being nursed back to health by the Creek Widow.

  Talen walked to a stone on the far side of the hill. When he came back, he found River awake, making them both a cup of tea, the Creek Widow sitting next to her. Talen took his cup gratefully, then sat with the two of them, sipping the red liquid and letting the cup warm his fingers.

  He looked a
t his sister. She had tried to kill him. He did not hold it against her. However, she was not quite the sister he knew from before.

  He’d just poured himself a second cup when a branch cracked at the edge of the wood behind them.

  Talen turned.

  He could make nothing out at first; the shadows along the forest edge were too deep.

  “Just to the left of that great pine,” said River.

  It was the earthen figure, the one with the vicious muzzle, the one the monster had awakened.

  “Slowly,” the Creek Widow said.

  They rose and faced the creature.

  “Da?” Talen called out.

  The thing did not move. It was covered in grass as the first monster had been. Talen hesitated. The other creature had been so powerful.

  Behind them the fire popped, and Nettle snuggled up closer to Legs.

  “Father,” said River, taking a step forward.

  “Careful,” said Talen.

  But the creature stepped out of the deep shadows of the wood into the remaining vestiges of the moonlight. In one hand, it held a doe by the leg, dragging it along behind like a child might an overlarge doll.

  “We’ve brought help,” said Talen and held up the raveler.

  The creature opened its ragged mouth.

  It reminded Talen of the first creature, and he began to fear. What if the woman had returned?

  He forced himself to take another step forward. Then another.

  Soon he stood an arm’s length away.

  This body was shorter than the first one. It was made of more than dirt and stone, for he saw many growths of withy wood rising from its skin.

  “The ancestors are waiting,” said Talen. “It is time for your release.” He held the last raveler up.

  The creature dropped the doe into the tall autumn grass. It stood for a moment, and then it reached out for Talen. At first Talen thought it was going to grasp him by the throat as the first had, and he stiffened. But it simply ran its rough fingertips down the side of his face.