Curse: The Dark God Book 2

by John D. Brown

  Sugar sat at the wooden table. Withers turned back to his pots. In moments he produced a bowl full of some kind of fowl, which he’d been cooking with vegetables and raisins. In another pot were biscuits covered with melted cheese. In yet another pot were apples cooked down to butter.

  “Here,” he said and scooped some of the meat and raisins onto a wooden plate. “We found this fat fellow this morning strolling about the yard.” On another table lay some pheasant tail feathers. She assumed those had, as recently as this morning, belonged to the fat fellow she was about to eat.

  “And you’ll have some of this,” he said and added some biscuits. He laid the plate in front of her with a spoon. “Go on,” he said rubbing his knuckles.

  Sugar picked up the spoon and took a bite of the pheasant. It was pure delight in her mouth.

  “Ha,” Withers said and pointed at her. “Like a starved dog. Try the bread now. Go on.”

  She took a bite of the biscuit. It was flaky and redolent with butter. “This is very good,” she said.

  “No speaking,” he said. “Chew. That is all.”

  And so she ate and chewed, him watching her, and ate some more until she was almost stuffed. Then he brought out one more pot full of walnuts candied with butter and honey.

  “I can’t,” she said.

  He tipped his head and looked out from underneath his eyebrows as if he didn’t believe a word of it.

  “No, truly,” she said.

  “You’ll take them with you for later,” he said and put the pot back. He sat down next to her and began to examine the working of her joints, clucking like a hen, asking her about twinges. He made her open her mouth so he could inspect her teeth. He opened a shutter to get a bit better light and checked her eyes. He smelled her hair and felt the quality of her muscle. He poked and prodded until she felt like a goose on the table.

  At last he finished. “So let us see the weave,” he said.

  She produced her mother’s necklace. He held out the end of a wooden spoon, and she looped the necklace over it. Then he held it up to the light and began fingering the segments and making small sounds of approval. He fingered the horse and a moment later snatched his hand back.

  He said, “The soul and flesh are bound together, but the proper weave can loosen that binding without breaking it altogether and killing the wearer.” He held the necklace out to her, and she removed it from the spoon.

  She said, “Urban says you were a Walker.”

  “Oh, my dear. My sweet biscuit. I walked glorious paths.”

  “He doesn’t walk anymore,” said Urban. “Not for a long time. The ability was seared out of him.”

  “Seared?”

  Withers sucked in through the teeth he had. “They were all dying anyway. I just made sure it didn’t go to waste. No harm done. And then I’d use it on my pigs. I raised the most succulent pigs in the territory. I put it to good use.”

  “Many years ago he cooked for a warlord,” said Urban. “After the battles, he’d go out among the fallen.”

  “Only the enemy fallen,” Withers corrected.

  “He’d go out to those who were wounded and dying, and he’d steal their Fire.”

  “Like a fright,” Withers said. “And that’s where their Fire was going anyway. I said to myself, why give it to those ugly monsters? It was only practical not to waste it.”

  Sugar asked, “What does it mean to be seared?”

  “It’s a punishment in the Groves. Somewhat like forcing. It scars you, makes it almost impossible to use the lore, even when you heal again. All skill was burned out of Withers.”

  “The Grove seared him?” asked Sugar.

  “They were going to do more, but now he cooks for us. They took his lore, but they couldn’t take the knowledge that littered his mind.”

  “No,” Withers said, “but sometimes I wish they would have. Sometimes it would be easier to bear. But we aren’t here to talk about old Withers, are we? No, indeed. The Captain wants a ferret, and that’s what he shall have.” He looked at Sugar. “Can you quicken it?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then let’s not waste a moment,” he said and rubbed his hands in excitement. “Put it on.”

  Sugar put the weave on.

  “To be free,” he said, a wild longing in his eyes.

  She hesitated.

  “Don’t mind him,” Urban said.

  “Something happens,” she said, “and I’m going to haunt you both.”

  “Ho,” Withers laughed in delight. “I like this one, Captain. I do. Now find the mouth, Sweetness, and feed it.”

  Sugar knew that despite her reservations she really had no choice. She wanted to learn the lore, so she braced herself with a deep breath and felt for the thread. It was easy to find now that she’d already done it once.

  “I’m going to feed it now,” she said and gave it the smallest amount of Fire. Almost immediately she heard the thrumming. The heat ran along her bones, and she gritted her teeth.

  “It hurts,” Withers said. “It burns, but only a little, and then it will pass.”

  The heat built, a tearing along her bones, and then the room shifted, and she was seeing double. She blinked and blinked again.

  “Your vision is blurring?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “That’s because you’re seeing with both the eyes of the flesh and the soul. You could step out of yourself if you wanted to. Close the eyes of your flesh.”

  She closed her eyes and the double vision vanished, leaving everything cast in yellow. Everything looked strange, the surfaces textured differently. Withers and Urban sat at the table. Their bodies were dark, but shone with a wavering aura. Outside the door, the sky was yellow with a lavender tinge at the horizon.

  She looked at her hand and found she was looking at the hand of her soul, including, surprisingly, her tattoo. She’d thought that would have only been a part of the flesh, but it appeared more solid here. “What if something gets into my body while I’m out?”

  “Is there anything here that looks like it might get in?”

  She looked about. “No,” she said.

  “Then go, dear,” said Withers.

  “How?”

  “Can you feel your soul?”

  “I think so.”

  “Just take a step then.”

  Sugar stepped forward, felt the soul pull away, and exited her flesh. Some part of her remained back with her body, but the bulk was standing outside. A world of sound rushed in—pops and cracks and some odd singing in the distance. She took a step and then another, but didn’t feel in control. She moved differently here, and suddenly she wondered if she might float away. She panicked and stepped back to her flesh, which accepted and cleaved to her again along the bones as if there were something sticky binding the two parts of herself together.

  She immediately removed the weave. The odd vision left. The house returned to normal, but the heat still prickled along her bones.

  Withers touched her arm gently. “Do you realize what you’ve just done?”

  She did, and for the second time today, she was both amazed and terrified.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked.

  “It’s a bit disconcerting,” she said.

  “Like falling in love,” he said wistfully.

  “I don’t know I’d compare it to that,” she said.

  “Oh, you will,” he said. “You will. But you’re going to have to do more than peep in and out. I want you to walk. Just walk and tell me what you see. Can you do that?”

  “What about frights?” she asked.

  Withers rubbed the knuckles of one hand. “What you need is a soul cleaver in your hand and a skir to do your bidding. That’s how it’s done in the world of light. But I don’t suppose you’re any sort of Skir Master.
”

  “No, Zu,” she said.

  “No,” he repeated. “So you’ll have to do with a poker. Blackspine should be enough to give the howlers and ayten something to think about. Do you know how to handle a staff?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Blackspine is nothing more than a long staff with a deadly point at one end. It’s a good weapon. I’ve used it myself to chase off frights. And I’m not talking about the little ones. I’m talking about the disgusting ancient ones, all fat and knobby with multiple eyes. Monstrous sows that will suck you dry in a blink. But they don’t like pokers; no they don’t.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what blackspine is.”

  “It grows in every land I’ve walked,” said Withers, rubbing his wrist. “No reason why it shouldn’t grow here. But you’re going to have to walk to find it.”

  Sugar nodded.

  “And here’s another thing: I’m sure your soul’s lovely in its nakedness, but you can’t walk around like that in the world of soul, even if the Captain fancies it a fine idea. It’s not practical or safe. No. A little bit of protection is what we’re wanting. And a weapon. That’s what we need, and old Withers can help you get both.” He rubbed his knuckles again. “Let’s walk for real this time, shall we?”

  22

  Soulwalk

  SUGAR QUICKENED THE WEAVE for the third time today. She winced again at the pain along her bones, then stepped out of her flesh into the yellow world of souls.

  “Captain,” said Withers, “we’re going to have to bring her body with us. I don’t want her straying too far. Make it nice and secure on a horse.”

  Urban picked up her body of flesh and carried it out of the shack. Withers gestured for her to follow. “Outside, my dear.”

  His voice came from the wrong direction, and then she realized she was hearing him with the ears of her flesh that was now outside the house.

  Withers picked up a small box that had been covered in copper and walked out of the shack. Sugar followed into the sunlight and dappled shade of the trees outside. Urban straddled her body upon a horse and secured it to the saddle. The horse’s flesh was dark, but it too shone with an aura.

  Above her, a flock of small blue creatures flew in a wavy line across the lavender-tinged sky. They looked and moved more like a school of sting rays.

  “While you roam, you will talk to me with the mouth of your flesh,” said Withers. “You will listen to me with the ears of flesh. When you ferret, this is how it’s done. What do you see?”

  She described the blue creatures.

  “Did you try to speak?” he asked. “It’s tricky in the beginning to control the flesh while most of you is standing outside of it.”

  Sugar focused and used the mouth of her flesh to repeat what she’d said. The ray-like creatures flying high above were mottled robin egg blue and white. Their heads trailed long black hairs. They were much larger than she first thought.

  “That’s much better,” said Withers. “Every land on earth has some common animals, some wholly unique. It’s the same in the world of souls. What you see are minor urgom. They like to feed at the mouths of rivers.”

  Sugar watched the minor urgom recede in the distance, then turned her attention to the area about the shack. The trees appeared odd here, as if they were made of felt. She took a step toward one and moved much farther than she would have suspected. She looked down at her legs and realized Withers was right—she was naked.

  Her body was in the form of a human, but it shone with a faint luminescence. She raised her arms, looking at herself and saw some sort of membrane that extended a hand’s span out from either side of her body. The membrane undulated, augmenting her movements. It was like she was some kind of eel from the sea. “Withers,” she said. “My body . . .”

  “Beautiful,” he said, “isn’t it?”

  “I—” she said, gazing at her limbs. “I am not the creature I thought I was.”

  “None of us are. I think this is one of the truths the Divines destroyed when they rose to power.”

  Her hair moved to the side and in front of her as if the wind were blowing it. But there was no wind. Furthermore, she could feel things, sense something off in the woods with it. It was as if she’d grown a new sensory organ. “My hair,” she said in wonder.

  “Marvelously alive,” he said. “The soul guides the growth of the flesh. But the flesh has limitations. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say it has its own needs. And so our bodies of flesh look like our bodies of soul, but they are not identical. There are some things our souls can do and feel that our flesh cannot, and vice versa. In this sphere of existence, the soul and flesh are not yet fully joined. One or the other dominates. But when we journey to the brightness that awaits, we are reborn. We become new creatures.”

  She could have never imagined this. She felt in a way like a hermit crab or oyster out of her shell. “I feel like a butterfly that has stepped out of its chrysalis before its time.”

  “Exactly,” Withers said. “Which is why you need protection. The Creators endowed the flesh with wondrous properties. Chief among these is the ability to keep your soul safe. It’s like a fortress. Safe, unless you let something inside. And there are many things that would want to get in there. Some to gorge, others to nest. So when you leave that fortress, you need something to protect you.”

  He set the small copper box he’d carried out onto the ground and opened the lid. “Put these on.”

  Sugar moved over to the box and looked in to see an odd set of clothes neatly folded. She pulled out a cap, shirt, and trousers. But they weren’t solid. They looked like thick-whorled lace that would certainly not provide much protection in the world of flesh. “There’s nothing in the box but moth-eaten clothes. If there are indeed moths on this side.”

  He laughed. “Sweet girl, those moth-eaten rags are worth more than the wealth of all the Shoka put together. You’ll find them quite adequate against those that would want a nibble of you. Put them on. Put them on.”

  Sugar put the strange clothes on. The hat fit like a knitted cap with thin strips of the strange lace hanging down that tied to the shoulders of her shirt. The fabric was thin and exceedingly supple, clinging to her like a second skin. The shirt tied to the pants. When she’d fastened it all to her, she felt invigorated.

  “Are you dressed?” he asked.

  “I am.” Then the clothes shifted slightly of their own accord. “This odd lace, it’s moving.”

  He laughed again and rubbed his hands with excitement. “It’s a very old and excellent servant, handed down from the ancestors. Woven and trained by their own hands.”

  “You’ve seen the ancestors?”

  “In all my years, mine never made themselves known to me. I’ve seen the dead, but the ancestors, the bright ones, I only saw one once, very far off. It disappointed and troubled me. I walked far and wide and never found the Ways. But that’s another matter. I have seen the recently dead, and I have seen the famished ones. You avoid them at all costs. But this wasn’t given to me by some soul. I received it from my grandfather who received it from his until the names are forgotten. It’s a skenning. It protects and conserves you even as it draws strength from your soul.”

  The clothing moved in small ways until it was snug against her. “Just when I think things can’t get any stranger,” she said. She held up her arm and saw that the gaps in the lace were now much smaller.

  “It’s not impervious,” he said. “But it’s strong against many things on that side. And when it’s torn, it grows to renew itself.”

  “Like a skin of flesh.”

  “Precisely,” he said. “Soul wants to be joined with another substance. This is one thing that can be worn outside the world of flesh. Now, let’s walk. You still need blackspine.”

  Withers led Urban and her body upon the horse down a trail. Sh
e followed, but it felt so wrong to see her body riding away without her in it. She said, “How far away can a soul travel from its body?”

  “You’re not all outside yourself,” he said. “If I were to take your body a distance down the road, you’d know exactly where it was, just as your body would know exactly where your soul stood. You can roam some distance, but the farther you go, the more your longing to be reunited grows until that longing consumes you, becomes almost a pain. I myself traveled three miles once; there are some who can go farther.”

  “What are the limits?”

  “It all depends, but I’ve heard of some who walked great distances. But most must stay close.”

  “What about the weaves that employ bits of soul? Don’t those travel?”

  “Those bits are in a body of sorts, so different rules apply. But they still feel that discomfort of separation at great distances. There’s a tale of a lord of Trolumbay who had part of his son’s soul put into a soul stone. The soul stone was to be given to a warring neighbor as part of a treaty in an exchange for one of the enemy’s own. But the ship wrecked out at sea and the soul stone was lost. The son went on with his life, but as the years past, he was often to be found standing in the surf, looking out to sea. His father tried to guard him to keep him safe. But early one foggy morning the son slipped away. The last anyone saw of him he was rowing out into the mists.”

  The tale gave her chills. “I supposed it will require some time to learn the hazards in this yellow world.”

  “Time and a good guide. There are very few Walkers who learn it on their own. Most of those who go it alone simply do not return. Now, tell me what you see.”

  Sugar did, and after each report Withers talked to her about the flora and fauna in the world of light. Numerous times he asked her to look up in the sky and tell him what she saw. If there was anything at all there, she described it to him, and he named it and detailed its behavior and habit and whether it posed a danger.

  He told her about other things she had not seen yet: ayten, hoppen, shades, seven-arms, racers, wind mums, urgom. He’d ask her to watch the ground and give a report. She did. He asked her to listen, to jump, to feel the difference in motions. She realized he was savoring a place he loved through her. As they walked he told her stories of spying, of fighting ravening predators and chasing frights. He told her how water, air, and earth affected soul. He explained how stone was hard in both worlds and could damage her and protect her soul just at it could her body of flesh.