“And I felt my flesh burn. I saw it wither the slightest amount and grow pale.
“I am a coward. I backed away from the promises in her voice and the blessed contact with my brother’s lover.
“And she laughed at me. It was a sound of pure contempt. It was a sound that Seryn, the Seryn I had known and loved, could never have made. It was a sound she was incapable of making. She had not a drop of venom in her soul, you see. Neither she nor my brother. Oh, I know my beliefs are colored by my heart, but the fact is, that was not Seryn any more than the thing that spoke with Garth’s tongue was my brother.
“I looked at my hand where she’d touched me, and I looked at that room full of things that were supposed to be my troupe, my family, and I ran.
“Seryn came for me. She flickered and shuddered as she approached and her hands reached out to me with long shadowy nails that looked like claws. I did not panic. I knew what I was doing. I’d seen the plague-dead and I’d seen the shadows and I wanted no more of either, so I shoved over the brazier closest to the door and watched a wave of ashes and coals scatter across well-seasoned wood.”
He stopped and gulped air, struggling to find his breath as he sorted through memories he did not want to recall. Myridia almost told him to stop, but she could not. She needed to know all that she could about the night people if she and hers were to survive.
“I did not stay around to see what happened next, but I heard screams of anger and I saw the night light up with flames as I moved toward the camp where the troupe was resting.
“By dawn the Gilded Goose had burned down. We left the town not long after that. That’s all there is to tell, really. We’ve heard stories from time to time about the plague-dead. They tend to show up in town after we’ve left, because we never stay more than a few days.
“I hear of them and what they’ve done. I don’t dare stay long enough to know that they are following, us, but I know it. I know they are. They’ve been following for a long time now.”
Garien looked at each of the women, focusing at last on Myridia. “Does that answer your questions?”
“Yes.” Myridia could not lie to herself. She felt differently about him after his tale. She was not yet certain how it was that she felt differently, only that her perceptions of him had changed. She would ruminate on that before responding to any of the signals he offered her with his quiet gestures.
“Wonderful.” He smiled again and it was a genuine smile. “I’ve told you, now you tell me. What are you running from? What are you running to?”
“We are running from what was. Our home was destroyed and our people were captured.” Myridia looked him in the eyes as she spoke. “We are running to a place that is supposed to be exactly like our home. It is called the Mirrored Lake. There, if we can manage it, we will appease the gods and do all that we can to prevent the end of the world.”
“Who is ending the world again?”
“The gods.”
“Your gods?”
“There are only gods. They do not belong to anyone. If anything, we belong to them.”
“Why?”
“Because they are angry, Garien. Because they have been offended by the man who came to stop a sacrifice, and who, when he failed that, killed our men and enslaved our people.”
“What sort of madness is that?”
Lorae answered. It was not her place, truly, but she wanted to impress the man. “The gods chose to kill his family. They were chosen by the He-Kisshi, the Undying, to be the sacrifices, and…” The younger woman’s voice broke for a moment and her lip trembled but she made herself be strong. “He was so angry. He came with others and they tried to stop the sacrifices, to deny the gods their right. And when he failed, he started killing everyone he saw, even the men who were always so devout and so gentle.”
Garien did not laugh at the notion of gentle men. He had traveled most of the Five Kingdoms, it seemed. Likely he had met many men who were not warriors.
“So what must you do now?”
Lorae answered again. “We must prepare the way for the next sacrifice. The He-Kisshi will come. They will bring us what we need. But the Sessanoh, the Mirrored Lake, it must be made ready, it must be sanctified in the ways of the gods.”
“And you say the world will die if you fail?”
“Yes.”
“Why would the gods do this?”
Lorae looked to Myridia, suddenly silent in the face of his question.
“Because they are gods,” Myridia answered. “They created the world and they make the rules for what lives in their creation.” It was a lie. They had not created the world, she knew, but taken it from the creators. Still, it simplified the tale and she felt a growing fear that there simply was not enough time.
“The first time the gods are defied they destroy the world?” Garien leaned forward, his face inscrutable, and stared at Myridia.
“Well, no. Of course not. We are taught that they have been defied ten times in the past and that each time they offered a larger punishment.” She shook her head. “They do not tell us why they do things. They do not speak to us at all. They speak only to the He-Kisshi and to the scryers.”
“Scryers?”
“They are the voices of the gods. They are chosen at birth and prepared. Many can be scryers but only a few at a time.”
“Really?” He frowned. “How are they chosen?”
“Only the gods could say, and they do not.”
“Rather elusive for beings of ultimate power, aren’t they?” Garien spoke lightly but his face was serious. “It would make more sense if they simply said what they wanted.”
“They did. They want four sacrifices every month, to be delivered to my people for purification and execution. Those four are chosen by the Undying, who serve the gods as messengers and as personal servants. They are granted great power and eternal life in exchange for their service.”
“And what do you get out of it?” Garien raised an eyebrow as he asked, and Myridia could not decide if he was challenging her or if he were merely curious. She did not know his expressions well enough.
Myridia frowned. “What do you mean?”
“If these Undying get eternal life, what do you get?”
“Nothing. We are told to serve the gods and we do.”
“Hardly seems fair. I mean, honestly, you do the work and you get nothing.”
“We are gifted by the gods. We are blessed to them. Even now they will find the ones who took our people and bring them to justice.”
“How?”
“The He-Kisshi will stalk and kill the people who have our children and sisters. They will find the right people to sacrifice. We will save the world. That is all that matters.” Despite herself, she was getting agitated. The questions should have been easy to answer and yet they were not.
“I am making you angry.” Garien leaned back. “I apologize. That was not my intention. I just thought, well, Evelyn could sometimes see what has not happened and what should happen. I thought she might be able to help.”
“Evelyn is a scryer?”
“She can sometimes see things. I suppose that means she is. Would you like to talk to her about what’s going to happen?”
She could not put a face to Evelyn. “Yes. If I could. I think that would help us.”
Garien smiled. “I’m sure we can work something out.”
Before she could respond, the same sounds they’d heard before came again, ululating noises that echoed from the mountains and seemed to dance around the thick veil of evergreens to their west.
Garien’s smile faded. “They are closer.” He shivered. “Much closer.”
“Then we should talk to Evelyn all the sooner.”
“Tomorrow,” said Garien. “Tonight I think she will be busy trying to find the best way to escape the night people.”
Ten
The Slave Trade
“Shut it!” Argus smashed his club against the bars of the cage, expecting the boy
who was jabbering on to flinch. Instead the boy looked his way and stared with his large, dark eyes. If he was at all intimidated, he hid it well.
Argus stared back, furious with the whelp. He was tired of the pale folk.
The pale people were a creepy lot, to be sure, but they would earn a good price. That was what mattered.
Beron had sent riders to offer up the news of all that happened in Saramond. They would not be meeting in the slavers’ city after all. They’d be meeting in Edinrun.
Edinrun was as fine a choice as any. More banks and businesses there and it seemed, with Saramond likely destroyed, they’d need a new place to call home and a new business besides.
Aside from Argus there were fifteen men on the trek. They’d been picked by hand and they knew their duties. They were leading the very finest of the crop to Torema, there to sell them at the bidding houses owned by the slavers.
They’d paid a fortune to have the pale ones and now they needed to make as much as they could in short order. The thing about children was, even if they were savages and liked to fight back, the clients didn’t mind. Pure were preferred and paid better, but at the end of the day the sorts that liked children didn’t mind if they struggled. Some of them even preferred it. Argus preferred the little shits behave. They apparently couldn’t even speak the common tongue, which meant they were annoying and disobedient. He couldn’t beat them, however, as they tended to bruise easily and heal slowly.
The pale skin and general looks of this lot would make them a prize, but they were a prize he’d be glad to be done with.
For that reason it was eight men at a time riding with longbows. They wore the slavers’ colors and bore the flag of Arthorne. Whether or not Saramond still existed, the country did. Whether Frankel was in charge or one of his siblings was also irrelevant. They represented the king in any event. People would stay their distance, but just in case, eight marksmen kept any possible raiders at bay.
The sun was setting. The crew followed orders and as the sun descended, the flag was lowered and the red adornments were peeled from their garments. Raiders would not be warned off. They would be killed.
Some might have worried about the children. Argus did not. They were fed and given water. There were two rivers before one reached Torema and at the closest they would be bathed. Until then they could stink as much as they pleased. So far none of them were foolish enough to avoid eating. Some seemed to try it on every trip, but not this lot. They ate their food, they watched the areas around them and they were mostly quiet. Argus was feeling positively spoiled by them.
The screaming boy was still quiet, but he was looking at Argus with that contemptuous expression again. Argus resisted the urge to beat him senseless. It wasn’t worth the effort of pulling him from the cage.
If any of the children spoke the common tongue they hid it away. When they did speak it was in a subdued babble that sounded wrong to Argus’s ears.
Off to the west, behind him, he heard a horse let out a whinny and a moment later heard the sound of a man – was it Allan? He couldn’t be certain – calling out an alarm. There was a powerful desire to go and investigate, but he knew better.
“Daren?”
“Aye, Argus?” Daren was resting. He could spare a few minutes.
“Go find Allan. He’s screaming about something.”
Daren nodded, looked annoyed and got up. He was paid well to obey. That was the thing about the slavers, they paid a good wage.
Four, perhaps five minutes. Long enough for the sun to finish descending and the herd master to call it a night. The task of feeding the little shits would start up soon.
Long enough for Argus to wonder what the hell was going on with Daren.
Call the name and the troubles come. That was what his mother had always said. He thought of Daren and sure enough the man came trotting back toward him his bow unslung and an arrow half-notched.
“No sign of Allan. His horse is there. He’s gone.”
“Horse looked scared?” There was always the chance Allan was foolish enough to try to find a place to relieve himself. If so he’d answer to Argus for abandoning his post.
“Not scared so much as extra alert.”
“Rouse Beck and Morris. Look for the damned fool and check with the others if you see them.”
“Beck’ll be pleased.”
“If Beck finds Allan first, he can take out his anger as he sees fit.”
Daren smiled. Beck liked little as much as beating the breath out of anyone foolish enough to make him lose rest.
It was too easy to assume innocent actions. Someone needing to empty his bowels wasn’t the only option. That was why three extra men were out looking. Just the same, Argus took a look around the landscape. The stars were bright above them and Emila, the first moon, was already in the sky. Harlea wouldn’t be far behind. The night was darker than the day, but not as black as pitch. The winds picked up and Argus felt the fingers of breeze teasing through his blond hair.
The area around them was low and level. They’d chosen their routes a long time ago to ensure that no one could easily surprise them. Every attempt in the past had been rebuffed, but there weren’t many as thought it was a good idea to attack them in the first place.
Fine drops of rain fell across his arm and Argus frowned. The sky was clear. The rain was dark and warm.
Allan’s body crashed to the earth only fifteen feet away. Allan was a big man. He was a skilled fighter and one of the bravest men Argus had ever met. He hit the ground with such a force that most of the meat on his body exploded away like a melon dropped from a tower.
Argus was not a coward. Just the same, he backed away, his eyes looking to the heavens.
And there he saw the shape, moving high in the sky, well above where an arrow could reach. It had wings of a sort, which rippled and moved with the air.
Not twenty feet away, a second body fell from the sky and broke as it struck the earth. He thought it might be Orton, but could not be certain; the face was buried in the ground.
“Get off your asses! We’re attacked!” His voice broke like an adolescent’s but he barely noticed. He could worry about appearances after he’d killed the invaders.
“You are warned.” The voice was soft and seemed to come from directly behind him, but when he turned to look, no one was there. He glanced up, but saw nothing aside from the stars. The shape he’d seen before was gone. “You have offended the gods and taken their children. Set them free. Now. Or suffer for your choices.”
“Come speak to me face to face!”
“As you wish.” There was an unsettling level of glee in that voice.
Before he could say he had changed his mind, the heavy claws punched into his shoulders and sent blood and pain soaring down his arms. Argus closed his eyes against the agony and then wished he had not.
His stomach lurched and a sickening feeling moved through his body. The ground fell away and he rose into the air.
“Open your eyes and look at me.” He felt the warm breath of the speaker against his face and shivered. Despite his dread he opened his eyes and stared into the face of his captor.
The face made no sense. There was a large hood of flesh, dark and lightly furred, and inside that hood there was a surface like the inside of a mouth. That surface fell inward to an array of teeth, each as long as a finger and as sharp as a good cutting blade, but there seemed hundreds of them moving down toward a throat that bellowed out the smell of a slaughterhouse with each breath. Around that hood of flesh, were glossy black spots. It only took him a second to realize that they were eyes, like the eyes of the spiders he used to kill and examine as a child.
Did he scream? Of course he did, and pissed himself too.
“I am Ellish-Loa. I serve the gods. You have angered them. Do you understand me?”
Argus could not make himself speak. Instead he nodded his head and trembled. Part of him wanted to look down, to see how far from the ground he was. He couldn’t.
He was far too busy looking into the face of a nightmare and trying not to faint. Argus was not a man who believed in anything he could not see and until that moment he had never seen one of the Undying.
“You will free the children. I will take them with me. If you agree, nod your head. If you do not agree, I will kill you.”
The pain in his shoulders was potent. He looked first at the thick claws that sank deep into his arms, then downward. The heavy hide of the Grakhul snapped and moved in the powerful winds, and below them, far away, the black earth stretched on and on.
“Only don’t drop me! Don’t let me fall!”
They dropped together toward the ground, leaving most of Argus’s courage above them. Just before they could be have smashed into the earth, they halted. Argus moved his feet and felt the tips of his boots scrape at grass and dirt.
Deep inside that hood several dark shapes moved; tongues he supposed, though they moved more like snakes.
“Free the children. Take your remaining men and move away from the wagons.”
Argus closed his eyes for a moment and considered. He was paid well to deliver merchandise. His men were paid well. They would not be paid if they were dead.
“Take them.”
Argus lifted his hands and backed away. Not far away another of his men let out a scream as he descended at the speed of falling fruit and was saved at the last possible moment. Another scream from a distance. There were at least three of the monsters. That was three too many.
“Take them!” He stepped farther back, his body shivering with adrenaline. He would not run. He could not fight.
An arrow drove into the shoulder of Ellish-Loa. The thing grunted then moved. The winds tore at Argus hard enough to stagger him and then the living cloak was in the air, moving like an arrow itself.
Argus could only watch as the creature slashed out with the same claws that had dug into his shoulders and disemboweled Daren in one strike. The blow was massive and Daren’s body flew backward, leaving a heavy trail of guts and blood. Daren’s bow never left his hand.
The Last Sacrifice Page 19