Curse: The Dark God Book 2

by John D. Brown

  “Creators bless them,” said Black Knee.

  As the men went into the hall, Ke exited. He spotted Talen and began to make his way over. A number of the women by the hall said something to him. Ke grinned, and they laughed. Sugar watched Ke, and then she looked at Talen. He looked over at her and her green eyes. She smiled, her teeth white against her honey skin, and something thunked inside of him, disorienting him a bit.

  She got this look on her face.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she said and looked away. “I’d better go see if I can do anything to help the Creek Widow with these forcings.”

  “Aye,” said Talen.

  She gave him another look, hugged Black Knee, then left the three of them there. Talen watched her go.

  When he’d died the first time, he’d been laid out on the dusty floor of the Mother’s cave like a doll with all its straw scattering to the wind. He’d been floating above himself until the monster stuffed him back into his bones and made a request. A request which Talen had fulfilled. And now, having met death once, Talen did not want to go into that peril again loaded down with regrets, if-onlies, should-haves, and small cowardices.

  A man could die not having ever really lived. Life was like the setting sun—the spectacle lasted but a few moments, and if you were too stupid or afraid to seize the moment, it would be gone. He’d begun to think that Sugar was just such a moment. And if he delayed, that sunset would be gone forever, snapped up by one of the men here with the guts and sense to act.

  “What are you looking at?” Black Knee asked.

  “Nothing, grandfather,” he said. “Just contemplating the task of hauling you up the stairs.”

  “Legs,” said Black Knee. “Let’s save Talen some effort. Why don’t you take me to your quarters instead?”

  Legs bunked with Sugar and the fist of women training to become fell-maidens. “You’re a bit large to sneak in,” said Legs.

  “I’ll pretend I’ve been blinded like you.”

  “Oh, that will fool them for sure.”

  Ke threaded past a group of soldiers and hailed them. “Still milking that leg wound I see,” Ke said.

  “Indeed,” Black Knee said. “I was just telling Legs that it appears I’ll have to bed with him and his crew of women.”

  “Maybe I need a leg wound,” Ke said.

  “You’ve got plenty of admirers,” Black Knee said. “Leave the leg wounds to us less favored folk. Besides, I thought you were helping Argoth with this forcing, which means you won’t be using a bed anyway tonight.”

  “No, I’ve got other duties.”

  “Oh, other duties he says. Would these be duties with that milk maid from Grib?”

  Ke groaned. “No. A bit of eyes and ears work.”

  “Ah,” said Black Knee. “Well, watch out for Fir-Noy dreadman. That’s all I can tell you.”

  “We shall,” Ke said. “But I’m not going to be gone long. I’ll be back in an hour or so. You keep a bed warm for me.” He turned to Talen and fished about in his pocket. “I’ve been meaning to give you something. I thought I’d better do it before all of the chaos tomorrow will bring.” He removed a length of ivory from a pocket.

  The ivory was carved all over with intricate designs and banded in silver. Parts of it had yellowed. “Da’s sending,” Talen said and took the ivory.

  It was like a whistle, as long as a finger, but a little thicker. There was a hole carved in one end that would allow it to be strung on a necklace. It was heavier than it appeared. A sending was supposed to be able to allow someone in the world of the flesh to communicate with the dead. Talen said, “I thought Da said these didn’t work.”

  Ke shrugged. “I don’t know the lore. But I’m not giving it to you to call the dead. I thought you’d like to have it to remember him by.”

  Da had secrets. Even Ke and River didn’t know them all. He had been the head root of the Grove of the Order of Hismayas here in the New Lands. He was obviously a man of great power. Who knew? Maybe he had actually called the dead with this.

  “Thank you,” Talen said. The relationship between him and Ke had changed since the battle in the stone-wight’s warren. They’d become closer. Talen had always wanted to be like his older brother, always wanted Ke to be proud of him. A great sense of gratitude welled up in him at this gift.

  “There are many stories of sendings working,” said Legs. “I think the legends are true.”

  Ke looked down at Legs with his wild hair. “Oh?”

  “My ancestor, he saw one of the shining ones.”

  The shining ones were those from the world of the dead who had made the perilous journey to the great brightness and clothed themselves in flame. A soul all by itself was a weak thing, but clothed in everlasting burnings it became formidable. Of course, there were more than the souls of men who journeyed to the great brightness.

  “You sure it wasn’t an herb-induced hallucination?” asked Black Knee. “Some old reprobate in your line?”

  “He was indeed a reprobate, but I don’t think it was something he smoked.”

  “So what happened?” asked Talen.

  “Old Ethem was on a great cliff running from a bear. He knew he was going to die one way or the other. So he figured it would be better to die quick at the bottom of the cliff instead of in bits and pieces to the bear. He blew his sending and yelled for his grandfather, but just as Ethem was about to jump, that bear stopped. It walked back and forth a number of times as if something stood between it and its prey. Then it spooked. Ran off as if Ethem himself was the predator.”

  “Sometimes bears bluff a charge,” said Ke.

  “True,” said Legs. “But Ethem swore he saw the ancestor. Saw him like a flame. And then he was gone. Didn’t even linger to bind Ethem to a task.”

  “All those old stories,” Talen said. “Why don’t you hear about the ancestors visiting someone now?”

  “You do,” Legs said.

  “Not like that.”

  Black Knee nodded. “The dead seem to only communicate with the dead these days.”

  “There are many things that are yet mysteries,” said Ke. “I don’t doubt the tale. Maybe this Ethem was spared for great things.”

  “No,” said Legs. “He was tried and executed not much later for stealing his own lord’s mare.”

  Black Knee laughed. “Which goes to show there’s no sense saving a man who lacks brains.”

  Ke looked at Talen. “Do we just give up on you now then?” he asked.

  “Har,” Talen said.

  Ke grinned and clapped Talen on the shoulder. “Hold your course. Make Da proud.”

  “I will,” Talen said and put the sending in his pocket.

  Ke bid them a goodnight, then made his way to the stables.

  “That’s a fine thing for your brother to give you.”

  “Aye,” said Talen. It was a very fine thing.

  By this time the sun had sunk low in the west. The shadows of the fortress walls stretched almost all the way across the bailey. The cooks and their helpers began cleaning up, the smoke of their extinguished fires filtering away. A number of hammers put on their gear went out to patrol or change places with those on the walls. Others were moving to their barracks. A few of the washerwomen who slept with Sugar’s fist in the grain cellar were retiring as well.

  “Looks like it’s time to haul my carcass up,” said Black Knee. He motioned at Talen. “Give me a hand, will you? This leg is going to be murder.”

  Ringing the inner wall of the fortress were two stories of buildings. Barracks ran along two sides. Each fist had its own quarters. Talen’s and Black Knee’s was on the second level.

  Talen looked at the big man. “Murder on me you mean.”

  “You’re young and strapping,” Black Knee said. “I’ll be like a fe
ather.” He used a staff to get to his feet and groaned.

  Legs had stopped running his fingers over his da’s skull.

  “Do you need help finding your way?” Talen asked.

  “No,” Legs said. “This bailey is easy.”

  So they bid Legs good evening and, despite his odd craving, Talen helped the big man up the stairs to their quarters on the second level. There were two rooms to each fist’s quarters. The backroom held twelve bunks, three to each wall. The front room, where the men stowed their weapons and gear, was smaller.

  Black Knee moved to the back room. Talen lingered in the front room. He used a striker to light one of the lamps, then pulled out Da’s sending and examined it in the light.

  A moment later Black Knee shouted. There was some banging, then the dark body of a weem came flying out the door and landed on the floor by Talen’s feet. A weem was a large relative to the centipede. It was big enough to eat mice and had a poisoned bite.

  Talen scrambled back, but the weem was dead.

  “I’m going to kill Crane,” Black Knee said.

  Talen put the sending down, then walked into the back room with the lamp and found Black Knee standing next to his bed. A small cord hung down from the upper bunk.

  “He had it hanging right here,” Black Knee said. “Its legs were on my face!”

  Talen smiled. Crane was such the jokester. “You sure he put it there?”

  “Who else?” Black Knee said.

  Talen helped Black Knee search for other surprises. When they’d cleared the room, he went back to sit at the table and examine the sending. Some of the whorls and loops on its exterior had symbols carved into them, but Talen didn’t know what any of them meant. Nor did he have any guess how a person was supposed to use this to enhance his words so that his dead ancestors might hear them.

  He remembered one old story of an ancient king who lived in a desert and used a sending to speak with his ancestors to help him find a new well during a drought. In another story, shining ones had crowded into the room of a greedy and arrogant man who was contemplating the murder of his brother. With the eyes of so many ancestors upon him, he gave up his plans. But only for a while. He eventually murdered his brother and turned to wicked magics, trying to avoid death. He lived far longer than he should have, but death caught him anyway. He went weeping into the world of souls because there were none that would guide him to brightness. Some tales said he wandered there still, a ravening and mad soul.

  But those tales and others he’d heard were of people dead many ages ago. He turned the sending in his hand. Wouldn’t it be marvelous to talk to Da again? And to visit with Mother?

  He blew on the sending. “Da,” he said quietly. “I hope you are safe.” The image of Da, his booming laugh, his great strength rose in his mind. Talen mused on the many hours he’d spent teaching Talen how to draw and aim his bow.

  It was just a little over three months now since Da had been killed by the Devourer, his soul and Fire ripped from his human body and stuffed into one of her monsters of earth. But Da had not become her servant. Talen had released him from that body with the Skir Master’s raveler.

  Talen did not weep at the memories any longer, but there was a huge hollow inside where Da had been. He wondered if that emptiness in his heart would ever leave.

  “Hoy,” a voice sounded from the doorway.

  Talen looked up to see Flax standing there.

  “So this is where my accomplice lives.” Flax held up the jug of wine he’d won from Eresh. “You didn’t get your fair portion. I saved you some. I suggest you drink it before your fist mates come back and gulp it all down.” He held it out to Talen.

  Talen took the jug. “Thanks,” he said.

  “Go on, have a sip. You earned it.”

  Talen uncorked it and sniffed. It smelled delicious. “You know, the Creek Widow says none of us should drink spirits. Says it weakens the defenses of your soul.”

  “That Creek Widow,” said Flax and shook his head. “A little drink can’t hurt a flea. Moderation is the key. Even Eresh gave the troops drink.”

  Talen brought the jug to his lips and took a drink. It was sweet and smooth.

  Flax fished a crock out of his pocket. “I also brought something for the big man’s leg.”

  “Who is that?” Black Knee called out from the back.

  “Someone come to make sure your leg doesn’t rot off,” Flax said.

  A moment later Black Knee came hobbling out of the back room.

  Flax held out the crock. “This is old country. Put on a clean smear every morning and night. Being multiplied will do most of the work for you, but this will cut the healing time down by half.”

  Black Knee took the crock, removed the lid, and sniffed it. “It doesn’t smell very potent.”

  “Stink doesn’t heal,” said Flax. “Trust me. It’s plenty strong.”

  “What I need,” said Black Knee, “is some more of the Creek Widow’s goat’s milk, laced with a little of the poppy.”

  “Ah,” said Flax. “I thought you looked a little too much at ease. Now, that is a drink you do need to be careful of. We don’t want to be too much at ease, not with what I heard happened in Redthorn. Or with that thing in the river.”

  “Aye,” said Black Knee.

  “You think Mokad’s turning the fish against us?” Talen asked.

  “I don’t believe much in coincidence,” said Flax. “Not where Divines are concerned.”

  At that moment the horn sounded giving the troops a half hour warning to get to their quarters before curfew.

  Flax said, “Well, looks like I’d better get back to my quarters before some nanny catches me out past my bedtime. You two sleep well.”

  “Oh, I’m already primed for a wicked dream,” said Black Knee.

  Flax turned to Talen. “Reward yourself, boy.”

  “I will,” said Talen, putting his hand on the jug.

  A look of satisfaction flashed across Flax’s face. “See you on the morrow lads.” Then he exited.

  Black Knee set the salve on the table. “I think I’m liking these foreign sleth more each day.”

  “Yes,” Talen said. He looked down at the jug of wine. “Do you think Sugar got any?”

  Black Knee unwrapped his awful wound and placed the bandage on the table. “If you want to woo her, you need to use some brains to outthink your competition.”

  “Who said I was wooing?”

  “You did with all those looks and sighs.”

  “I wasn’t sighing.”

  “You were melting like butter in the summer sun.”

  “Sugar’s a friend.”

  “And that’s what she’ll stay unless you use your brains.”

  Talen waited.

  “If you’re going to give a woman a gift,” Black Knee said, “you want to make it a true gift.”

  “How is wine not a true gift?”

  “You want to give her a thing that is exactly what she wants or needs, but is precisely not what she is expecting. Give her a surprise like that, and she’ll be filled with delight. It shows you’ve been thinking about her wants, not just yours. So the wine is good. It’s a nice gesture, but any fool can take wine. You want to take what she is wanting, maybe without even knowing it.”

  “That sounds good, but what does she want or need?”

  “Use your brains, man. What were she and the boy carrying around like it was made of gold?”

  “Their da’s skull.”

  “And what does that skull need?”

  Talen imagined it in her bag, jostling around, getting banged about. Insight blossomed. “It needs a place where it can be protected. A small box.”

  Black Knee touched his nose, then pointed at him. “Now you’re thinking.”

  “Make it pretty,” said Talen. “Fi
ll it with straw.”

  “That’s the way to a woman’s heart. Add some flattery, and a strict rule to never discuss her bunions. And a manly chest, like I myself possess, and you might be in the running. But, of course, you’re just friends.”

  “Right,” said Talen.

  Black Knee examined the wound on his thigh, then dipped his finger into the crock Flax had left and gingerly smeared a bit around the stitching.

  “A box will take time,” Talen said. “So I can take the wine tonight. A box tomorrow.” He picked up the jug.

  “So says the young man who wasn’t sighing. But you’re still forgetting something.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know about Sugar, but most women don’t fancy the smell of horse sweat.”

  15

  Ferret

  SUGAR FOUND the Creek Widow in the great hall. She spent about a half an hour helping the other women heat water and make a special tea before the Creek Widow spotted her and marched over. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

  “Getting the tea ready for the candidates and warming blankets.”

  “Nonsense. The biggest thing you can do to help is take care of that body of yours. The last thing we need is a sick fist member.”

  “I feel fine.”

  “Did you not hear me? You go get some rest. Now be gone,” the Creek Widow said and shooed her out of the hall.

  So Sugar left the women. Outside, the sun had sunk below the horizon, and the deep shadows of evening were gathering in the bailey. She turned back to her quarters and saw Talen on the other side of the bailey by the kitchens with his shirt off and a pot of water at his feet, soaping his chest and armpits.

  These last few months of work with the weaves and lore had changed him. She could see it in his walk and the thickening of the muscles in his limbs and chest. If they were horses, Ke would be a big destrier. Talen, on the other hand, was turning out to be more of a courser, built for a different purpose. His slick shoulders and chest looked quite nice from this angle. Surprisingly nice.

  She and Talen had started out at the same place in their slethery, competing against each other, but he had outdistanced her. Ke and River now took him out for special lessons sometimes, but it was clear he was bred for great things.Or terrible things. The Devourer had, after all, claimed him as hers down in the stone-wight warren.