Servant: The Dark God Book 1

by John D. Brown

  Hunger made the binding, brought it to life, and put it round the woman’s neck. Then the Mother sent him out to find the others.

  * * *

  Hunger gladly left the Mother in the caves and emerged out of one of the exits. The winds were up, moving down from the hills, carrying all manner of scents to him. He lumbered through the woods. She’d commanded him to bring the other two men to her. He knew the Mokaddian was Argoth. Knew exactly where he lived, and so set out in that direction.

  But he’d only gone a mile or so when he caught a whiff of magic. It was odd how often he smelled the magic of late. Perhaps the woman was bringing the sleth out of hiding, drawing the nest to her. Or perhaps Hunger was simply maturing in his powers. One thing was for sure, he could smell a male in this magic.

  Maybe he wouldn’t have to go to Argoth. Maybe Argoth would come to him. He followed the scent out of the lower hills and up onto the plains, to a farmstead past the edge of the settlements. He paused in the woods on the edge of a field.

  A bat darted above him and flittered out over fields of ripe grain shining pale and blue in the evening. On the far side of the fields stood a simple cabin with light shining from its small windows.

  Hunger took in a great breath of the scent. He knew he shouldn’t do that because it only enflamed his appetite, and the Mother had wanted this human to live. But he couldn’t help himself.

  He walked along the tree line toward it and noticed a number of new stumps. Somebody had been busy this year clearing the land. When Hunger finally approached the cabin, he could hear the soft sounds of a man humming over the thrum of the night insects. He circled the cabin until he found a window. The scent of magic was pouring from the cracks around the window frame. Hunger looked in. But he did not see Argoth.

  A burly man stood naked in a large round tub set close to the hearth. He was washing himself. A pot of water steamed over the cheery fire. The man took a cake of soap and lathered his hairy chest. Hunger did not recognize him. He was not the Koramite that had attacked him in the tower. Yet he stank.

  Hunger considered the Mother’s promise. It had raised his hopes at first, but the more he pondered it, the more it unraveled. What cattleman did his cattle favors? When did one spare a healthy animal from slaughter? You might keep a bull or cow a number of years; the slaughter might be delayed, but when animals ceased to be productive, they, with all the rest, were harvested. It was that simple. The Mother thought he was stupid. And maybe he was. But he could see through this lie.

  The Mother had forbidden him to eat the ones that stink. Why was that?

  She didn’t want him eating their secrets; that’s why. Because if he knew their secrets, maybe he could challenge her. Surely they would know how to remake the collar. And if they knew that, they might hold other secrets far more powerful. Secrets strong enough to overpower the Mother.

  Hunger walked up to the door. The man sang a few words, then continued to hum his tune. Something about the tune pricked Hunger’s mind, and he paused, listening. The music filled him with longing as wide as the sky, but no thoughts. Nothing to hang the longing upon.

  He felt a revulsion at the thought of eating this man. He realized he’d felt this revulsion before, but it had always been lost in the raging fire of his appetite. But the revulsion didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that what he was doing was abomination. What mattered was that he had an opportunity to stop the Mother. What mattered was that he could free his family.

  The humming swelled.

  He would eat this man and satisfy his appetite.

  Hunger thrust open the door.

  The man did not look at him in horror, only surprise that turned to cold calculation. Then the man lunged out of his tub toward the window.

  Hunger followed.

  The man took two steps and dove at the window. He burst through the shutters.

  He was quick and would have escaped, but Hunger was quicker and caught him by the leg just before it disappeared through the window. The man kicked like a horse, but Hunger dragged him back in.

  The man did not cry out. He simply turned and delivered a blow to Hunger’s throat that would have killed a bull. But the Mother’s handiwork wasn’t so easily defeated. Instead of felling Hunger, all the man succeeded in doing was breaking his own hand. He drew it back, pain wracking his face.

  The Mother didn’t know he was here. She was crooning to her children, deep in the caves, and watching over the sleth woman. Nevertheless, he expected to fight her compulsion.

  Then he realized she hadn’t said not to eat this one. No, she hadn’t said that.

  The man used his good hand to pick up a chair. He hammered at Hunger’s grip. But Hunger did not let him go. Hunger would not bend to the Mother’s wishes like some idiot cow whose only thought was of grass. He was, underneath all this dirt, a man. And even though this sleth didn’t realize it, he was going to help save Hunger’s family. He was going to be put to good use. And who knew: if Hunger learned the secrets and defeated the Mother completely, and then this sleth would be the means of saving every mother and daughter and son of the Nine Clans.

  Hunger felt along the fiber of this sleth’s being. Soon enough he found an edge. It took only a few moments and Hunger shucked his soul. The soul was sweet and beautiful and Hunger could not help but bolt great portions of him.

  Then the Mother stirred and Hunger froze. He immediately released the remnants of the man’s soul which flew to the wind. He stood quietly for some time bracing himself for her ire. But the Mother didn’t search him. She didn’t walk into his mind. She was too busy. Much too busy.

  Except now the man was gone.

  Hunger hated himself and yet delighted in the savor of the man. He only hoped he’d eaten enough.

  He stepped to the table and fingered the comb. He handled a sea shell brush, a polished mirror, and a length of yellow cloth—all woman things. He could not say why, but he threw all these in the fire. Then he watched them burn to ash. He knew the tune the man had been humming. He played it in his mind, waiting for the memories to digest. Waiting for the secrets.

  But Hunger did not receive secrets. All he felt was the growing of an unaccountable sorrow. And then the picture of a tall, plain woman with laughing eyes rose in his mind and the sorrow stretched wide.

  I am a ruin, he thought. He picked up one of the red, dying coals and held it in his hand. But if he had to become a ruin, if he had to become ash, then so be it. There were other sleth to hunt tonight. He knew the house of the Shoka’s Hammer, knew exactly where he could find Argoth.

  * * *

  Hunger arrived in the dark of the early morning and walked up to the door to Argoth’s house. He slid his fingers between the back door and its frame and silently lifted the bar.

  The dogs surprised him, but he quickly twisted their necks, gulping down their fire and soul. Hunger stood in the kitchen with the dead dogs at his feet, but when nobody came to investigate, he proceeded to search the house. He found four rooms. There was nothing in them but beds filled with sleeping children and servants. He creaked down the hallway and found Argoth’s wife asleep. Argoth was not with her.

  Hunger retreated to a dark corner of the room and waited for Argoth, watching his wife toss and turn and finally kick the bedcovers to the floor. But when he smelled the beginnings of the morning winds, Hunger exited as quietly as he had come.

  He took the bodies of the dogs with him and waited in the tree line by a fat chestnut. He would catch Argoth when he returned.

  18

  A Cold Kiss

  SUGAR SAT IN the cellar of Zu Hogan’s house listening to Legs sleep. The cellar was both wide and deep and hadn’t yet been filled with the winter stores, and so she didn’t have to contend with mosquitoes or any of the monstrous black and yellow spiders that seemed unable to stay out of the dog warren. It was vastly more comfortable here than out in that hole under the old sod house. But it was not safe.

  Not with men in the woods, and tha
t idiot Talen making a scene. Goh, that stinking load of scours had scared the life out of her. He’d nearly broken her nose throwing that door in her face. He’d nearly killed her and Legs both.

  But then . . . what would she have done in his position? These folks were risking their lives. Obviously, he hadn’t been asked if he were willing to do that. Wouldn’t she want to be asked to risk her life for a stranger?

  So she couldn’t fault him totally for his behavior. But that still didn’t make this cellar a wise choice for concealment. It was the first place anyone would look.

  Legs slept on the narrow bed River had placed down here, next to old cabbage leaves and the scattered potatoes with their multitudes of long, pale stems, looking like a nest of ghostly, spindly-legged crabs. He’d fallen asleep brushing her hair with his fingers, picking out the knots and debris.

  He was putting a brave front on as Da had always taught him to do. And Da had taught him so much. He had spent hours, days demanding Legs learn do hard things despite his blindness—chores around the yard, holding pieces on the anvil while Da hammered them, working the bellows, learning every foot of the village and the surrounding fields so he could take water in his goat cart to those that worked in the fields.

  Da had seemed a force of nature, and now he was gone.

  What would he do in this situation? He’d tell her to stop aggravating over things she couldn’t change. He’d tell her that she was bred to do hard things, that it was in her blood.

  She began to organize the potatoes and cabbages, putting them into tidy rows and stacks. It comforted her. Calmed her. Tidiness helped a person think.

  They weren’t safe here. And sooner or later Hogan’s family would find out that Mother really was sleth. It was hard to admit. But that was the truth. The Questioners in Whitecliff would pry things out of Mother. And then these good folks would turn both her and Legs in. No, it wasn’t safe. She and Legs needed to leave. They would do so tonight under the cover of darkness, but that left a whole day of danger. She needed a plan for the next ten hours of light.

  She pulled the spindly legs off of a potato and placed it on the pile she was making.

  If Hogan didn’t find out about Mother, she and Legs still had to deal with the hunters in the woods, some of whom just might stop by like the first batch had. She needed a plan should that occur. Because, sooner or later, here at Hogan’s or in some other bolt hole, the hunters would come. They would find her, and she’d better have a cover.

  Ke had suggested a cover to Zu Hogan when she’d first come. “She could be a girl from Koramtown,” Ke’d said, “visiting.”

  “Visiting who?” Zu Hogan had asked.

  “Have your pick,” said Ke. “Both Talen and I are of marriageable age. Or maybe she’s visiting River as a friend.”

  “Maybe,” said Zu Hogan. “Maybe.” But he’d never come back to tell her what he’d decided. Sugar had visited friends regularly in Koramtown. They were some of the happiest moments of her life. There was such an ease being among your equals. She knew what friends did when they visited. And while Ke was handsome, all the neighbors around this farmstead would know who Ke was courting, what his prospects were. Her tale would be news to them. And she didn’t want to be news. She wanted to be nothing. Talen would probably not be making such arrangements. So he was an option. But she couldn’t be sure. It would be easier if Sugar was River’s friend visiting from Koramtown, someone come to help with the harvest.

  “Sugar?” Legs asked in a quiet voice.

  She said nothing and stacked another potato. He hadn’t slept all last night and needed rest.

  “You’re not sleeping,” he said.

  “Oh?” she said.

  “You breathe different when you sleep,” he said. “It’s something like this.” He began to make small grunting noises like a pig.

  “I don’t either.”

  “Yes,” he said. “You do. But then so did Mother.”

  A momentary silence fell upon them both. Sugar should have felt something in that silence, but she was empty still. How was it that she could not feel?

  “Does,” Sugar corrected. “She’s not dead. You heard those soldiers. And not only that, but it’s possible she will be freed.”

  Those had been Zu Hogan’s words when he’d shown them the dog warren: “Have hope; if your mother survives her wounds and is taken to Whitecliff, then there is a chance I can free her.”

  “Do you think he can free her?” Legs asked. “He’s just a Koramite.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Zu Hogan has a powerful brother-in-law. A captain of the Shoka. Perhaps he will save her.”

  But he wouldn’t. Not even a Mokaddian territory lord would save a sleth. Except she didn’t feel like telling Legs that. She hadn’t yet told him what she’d witnessed of the battle at the smithy and Mother’s horrible speed. So instead of talking, she put down the leggy potato in her hands and scooted next to Legs. She reached out and began to smooth his hair, tracing the whorls of his wild cow-licks.

  The lines of her world were shifting, and where they’d stop she did not know. It was like the one time she’d seen a perfect rock to sit on and rest, but as she neared it, the lines and shadows shifted and she realized the rough stem she’d thought was a weed at the base of the rock was really a brown viper, coiled in the dry grass and ready to strike.

  “This isn’t a good place to hide,” Legs said.

  “I know,” said Sugar.

  “We should make a cubby,” he said. “Like we did in the woods to escape the miller’s son.”

  There weren’t enough cabbages and potatoes to make a pile big enough to hide both of them. But if she used the bushel basket there might be enough for Legs.

  “You’re right,” she said. Then she had him move over and started to arrange the cabbages to make a spot for Legs.

  She’d completed a good portion when someone walked heavily on the floor above her. Alarm shot through her. They weren’t ready with the cubby. Then she heard River singing the fisherman’s lullaby, the all-clear signal, and relaxed.

  But Sugar did not join River above. It was safer down here in the dark and they needed to finish what they’d begun. After some time, someone came to the cellar door and stopped. She heard the person grab the hook, and then the door opened, spilling in the dim light of early morning.

  River looked down at her. “Did you not hear me?”

  “Yes,” Sugar said. “We did.”

  “I see,” said River. “Well, come on up; eat while you can. The boys are all out in the yard doing chores.”

  “Do you have a chamber pot?” asked Legs.

  River smiled. “Somewhere,” she said. “We refused to carry out each other’s stink years ago. And who wants to carry their own when you can trot out to the privy? But I don’t think we threw it away. Besides, I know someone who would benefit from playing the good host. Come up. You can eat and take care of your business like people instead of grubs.”

  Sugar and Legs climbed out of the cellar. A hard loaf of bread sat on the table. Fat slices of dark sausage sizzled in a pan over the fire. And a thick broth for softening the bread bubbled in a pot.

  River led Legs to the back room. When she returned, she sawed off a sizeable piece of bread and gave Sugar a bowl of the broth.

  Talen, Nettle, and Ke came in shortly after that, taking off their muddy boots and setting them alongside the wall next to the door. When Talen saw Sugar, he stopped short.

  “What is she doing up here?” he asked.

  “It looks like she’s eating,” said Ke and shoved Talen along.

  Talen gave Ke an angry glance.

  Nettle held a creel. He walked over to River, eyeing Sugar the whole way, opened the creel and pulled out an enormous catfish that had been cleaned, gutted, and skinned. “Here’s our afternoon soup.”

  “Put it in there,” River said motioning with her chin toward an empty pot on the floor.

  Nettle slid the fish in the pot.
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  Talen still stood on the other side of the room brooding.

  “What are you doing?” River asked him. “Go sit down.”

  “I’m not getting anywhere close to that,” Talen said and pointed at Sugar.

  “Her name is Sugar,” River corrected. “And you are going to be the gracious host.”

  Just then, Legs appeared in the doorway of the back room holding the covered chamber pot.

  River smiled. “Here’s the perfect chance. It looks like you have a little business in the back room that needs to be dealt with.”

  Talen looked at Legs and curled his nose in disgust. “A little business?” he asked in dismay. “No.” He shook his head. “I will not.”

  “You will empty the chamber pot for him, and then you will empty it for Sugar.”

  “No,” said Sugar. “Please.” They’d already put this family in grave danger. She didn’t want them to do one thing more.

  “You can’t go outside,” said River. “That would be foolhardy. Besides, we wouldn’t have this problem except for Talen. So he can take responsibility for the messes he makes.”

  “I’m not doing it,” said Talen. He looked at Nettle.

  Nettle held up both hands. “This is your house, not mine.”

  Ke shifted his enormous frame in his seat to face Talen squarely. “You’re going to be the little chamber pot man,” said Ke. “And you’re going to be happy about it.”

  The threat was obvious, but Talen didn’t move. Then Ke stood and took a threatening step toward Talen.

  “Fine,” Talen said, irritated. “Tell him to put it down and step away.”

  Legs set the pot on the floor and backed away.

  “Come,” said Sugar, “we’ll go back down.”

  Legs began to feel his way over to Sugar. Only then did Talen brush past. He picked up the pot with great distaste and hurried outside.