Events had taken a toll on her, however. She had behaved with growing agitation in recent days, and Jak noticed she spent more time apart from her male companions. He and Kluber let her have some distance, in silent respect for all she had been through.
Thankfully, she showed none of that irritability now, and her simple good nature could not be denied. Jak put the knife away. The itch was something he could live with.
The noise of heavy rain sounded off all around them. The canopy of leaves shielded them from the worst, but the downpour quickly became a deluge.
“I think I miss being underground!” Calla cried out. But she giggled in good humor, and even Kluber grinned for the first time in ages.
“Come on,” Jak suggested. “Let’s follow the stream.”
The deep immersion in nature allowed them to forget the trials of below, yet Jak’s active mind would not let him lose sight of his chosen purpose. There was still much to learn, but the beginnings of a plan were already forming. He had led his companions out of danger. Now that they were free to find new lives in whatever community they chose, he could focus on himself. And the devils.
Each part of Ra’Cheka, the underworld empire far beneath their feet, had its own Pantheon dedicated to the accumulation of lore and worship of the divines. These libraries were a trove of insight and wisdom, and Jak had lingered at each for days, until the persistent tugging of his companions pulled him away. Most of the books and scrolls contained therein were as decayed as the buildings around them, but each one had a magically sealed sanctum where much was preserved. Along with the discovery of secret keys to access these sacred chambers—a discovery made with Kleo’s help, he remembered with sadness—the artifact Jak now carried allowed him to unlock the knowledge of bygone eras, no matter the language they were written in.
That was the other problem with the books in those libraries, however. They were written long ago by ancient cultures, and many things had changed in the intervening centuries.
What he really needed access to were the great libraries of Imperial cities. He felt certain that more recent scholarship would fill in the missing pieces in his understanding.
Vast worlds had opened up for an illiterate youth. Jak had always thought of himself as a bit of a flat, but Disciple Hobbes once told him otherwise—that Jak was, in fact, the sharpest pupil to ever enter the temple. Now he did not know what to believe. Just thinking about the difference in his education in the span of one season made his head spin.
As if she could read his thoughts, Calla made her offer for the dozenth time. “Let me teach you to read. We have time, now.”
He shook his head. “I thank you, but I still don’t see the need. I have the Eye—”
She scowled, and he closed his mouth. She did not approve of his using the mystical object. She had never approved, even before learning how he willingly cut himself in his devotions to the devils. She did not understand that these things were all part of a higher plan—a plan to save her and others from the malignant whims of evil overlords.
“I want you to stop using that stone,” she said. “I want you to promise to stop. You don’t need it, if you let me teach you.” A pleading quality entered her tone, and he knew how important this was to her. But he had made a vow, and to do as she asked would be an unacceptable setback.
Yet to explain all that without hurting her feelings was no easy task. “I love you, Calla, but I won’t make that promise.”
She stared at him blankly, until he realized what he had done.
“Did you say you love me?”
“What I meant was—”
“I love you, too. I think that’s important information, don’t you?”
A burden he had not known he carried suddenly slipped from his shoulders. An oppression of a lifetime transformed into a sensation that felt so good, he had difficulty accepting it could happen in the midst of so much suffering.
She smiled at him, watching the emotions play out on his face. This, like the shaving episode, was another of those tender moments he cherished. But this one would require no concentration to remember forever.
It was also interrupted by Kluber’s announcement. “Someone approaches.”
Sure enough, Jak heard a feminine voice, calling out to them. Or was it speaking out to the woods?
Neither. It was singing.
In sudden fascination at the sight of another living person, they mutely watched a thin, middle-aged woman carrying a basket of laundry to the stream. Seemingly oblivious to their presence, she finished the ditty and kneeled at the water’s edge. She lifted the first item of clothing, examined it for a few seconds, then dipped it into the water. Only then did she address the three slack-jawed strangers.
“You don’t look like you belong here,” she said. “Though come to think of it, none of the things I’ve seen these last tendays make much sense. I’d worry that you come to rob us, but we have nothing to take.”
“We don’t come to rob you,” Calla said.
“But if you have any food you might share with us, that would be appreciated.” Kluber added.
The woman shook her head and answered abruptly. “Nay, we don’t.” She studied them for a long moment, then sighed. “Well, Gronen is hunting. These days, he usually comes back with nothing. The forest has changed, you may have noticed. But if he has a good day…well, I suppose we ought to help strangers.”
The reluctance showed not only in her words but in her posture, and was a source of many questions for Jak. Yet for now, he let his companions do the talking. Calla was especially good at soothing frayed nerves and reaching the best inner nature of others. While she moved closer to speak with the woman, he reseated himself on the trunk and considered their next steps.
Survival, first. Civilization, next. A city—whether Varborg or somewhere else. He needed to find out where they were and the state of the world. And warn everyone of the demon invasion, if by chance they did not already know.
Third, research. He had made a promise to himself, and nothing would dissuade him from the task.
“Come on, you two.” Calla waved at the men. The older woman already had her back turned, heading the way she had come.
The home was not much more than a hovel. He knew from first sight that she had not exaggerated about having nothing to steal.
An assortment of cages and traps were visible near the flimsy front door, most resting against the crude logs of the outer wall. Intact, but unused.
They heard the baby crying even before entering. Sori, the woman, left the door open for the visitors and headed straight to the second of only two rooms. “Hush, child.” They watched her rock it gently, but Jak wondered why she did not feed it a breast. Was she afraid to?
He had a sudden, terrible vision. The babe must be corrupt. Mutated. In his mind’s eye, he saw the scaly skin like Kleo’s, and his heart broke.
Stepping closer, he sought a better look. With relief, he saw nothing unusual about the infant. It was simply hungry.
She met their questioning gazes and answered. “We’ve not had much this past tenday and more. Something happened this winter. The harvest spoiled. The animals either gone or…worse. The other hunters, fled.
“Most, anyway. Others have turned mad. As have the authorities. They patrol the roads, looking for the taint of evil, as they call it. Killing the sick and innocent.”
She looked down in abject sorrow. “And my milk is gone, so my babe suffers. We are helpless to do aught but wait. And hope.”
“Why do you not flee, like the others?”
“Because this is our home,” came a voice from behind, deep and powerful.
They turned to the newcomer. A big man with broad shoulders, and a beard that put Jak’s to shame. By contrast, small eyes were almost hidden in the round face. But they twinkled in delight at the sight of his wife and son, and the mouth curled into an open, if ugly, smile. Though the man emanated strength, Jak did not feel threatened.
All ey
es gravitated toward the object in the stranger’s gloved hand—a dead squirrel, held by the tail.
“I would have had two,” he said, following their stares, “but the damn thieving bears got to the other first. Just our luck that while other predators disappear, the bears remain.”
“Gronen hates bears,” Sori announced. Her spirits had noticeably improved since her husband’s arrival. “The bane of the hunter, he says.”
The giant man nodded. “When they wake in the spring, they’re hungry as wolves. They eat everything they can find, dead and living. Sometimes I think they get more from my traps than we do.
“They’re not usually active this early in the year, but spring is early. I’ve never known those beasts to be out while the days are still dark—but the sky’s stayed dark much longer than usual, though the spring thaw is early.
“Terrible portents,” he said with a shake of the head. He handed the squirrel over to Sori, who took it to the corner of the main room used for cooking and dining. The baby had quieted at the very presence of its father. “They say it’s the devils’ doing.”
Jak’s skin prickled. “The devils?”
“Aye. Some say the devils bring bad weather. The thunder and lightning. The perpetual night.”
In his experience, Jak had learned that most people used the terms devil and demon interchangeably. He considered himself both fortunate and not to know the difference, and to have first-hand experience with all kinds of evil. Now he wondered to which the hunter was referring.
“So…there are devils about?” he asked.
“Aye. They say an army is formed in the north, full of all manner of demons and malformed creatures.”
“The Veldt,” Jak said.
Kluber looked at him quizzically. “The Veldt?”
“It’s what a horde of demons and velbeasts is called.”
“Velbeast?”
“An animal that shouldn’t exist.”
Calla sighed. “I wish you didn’t know things like that.”
Gronen watched the back-and-forth with a blend of curiosity and annoyance, then continued. “They say it’s marching this way, sure as we stand here today. I don’t know about that, but I have seen some awful things in these woods. Nay, nothing would surprise me now.”
The powerful voice had noticeably softened, and Jak felt the man’s burdens. Clearly, the people of Everdawn were not the only ones who suffered.
“The worst thing isn’t the demons, though,” Gronen said. “It’s what they do to men, to women. The sad tainted—in mind, body, or heart. Bringing out the worst in folk.
“They say a man leads this devil-army. That is, half a man, and half a demon himself. Eight feet tall, with a sword as large as he. That one spreads this taint, that Kevik the Corrupt.”
Jak felt that his heart had stopped beating. The world did not seem real, these events merely a nightmare, though he was aware of Calla crying beside him.
“Forgive me,” the hunter said at last. “You are our guests, and I have upset you. I will help Sori with the meal.”
Kluber and Jak did their best to soothe Calla, but her anguish seemed endless. Clearly, her heart had never fully moved on from the man she intended to marry before the winter solstice. Before the attack, and the destruction of everything she ever cared about.
Perhaps he should have felt jealous, but Jak understood her sorrows too well. He even sympathized. Kevik had been his master, his best friend, and—for most of their time together—the finest man he had known. The last tendays had been trying, to say the least, but nothing could undo the bonds of a lifetime.
Jak was thankful that Calla allowed him to put his arms around her. She buried her head in his chest, and they commiserated together.
The dinner was a modest affair. Gronen and Sori were apologetic for the meagerness of the meal—a few bites of meat per person and some dry scraps of root vegetables. But their friendliness provided more sustenance than the food they offered, and none of the three visitors complained. They had eaten far from well in the down-below, but seldom as badly as this poor family.
The table was not spacious enough for five, so Sori stood and worked about the house while the others sat and talked. Currently, she was adding wood to the hearty fire, for fuel was one resource they had in abundance.
Jak allowed the others to do most of the talking while he studied their host. Gronen was a likable man, but an oddity. For one thing, he was one of the few left-handed people Jak could recall meeting. At least, he used his left hand for everything, though he looked clumsy doing so.
There was nothing awkward in the banter between man and wife, however. Their love for one another was inspiring. It was an achievement to which Jak, so recent to find love of his own, could only aspire. If the baby survived, this would be a wonderful environment in which to be raised.
If the baby survived. The palpable worry was an ever-present sadness that infected every thought, and dampened attempts at cheer.
Jak studied his companions, also. The tears long gone, Calla looked as beautiful as ever—even in the tattered, loose robes provided by the temple. She was smiling now, listening to another of Gronen’s embellished stories. The man was a gifted talker, and Jak owed him a tremendous debt of gratitude for restoring her spirits.
Kluber, meanwhile, did not seem to be paying attention to the story. Several years older than Jak, he had a habit of inspecting everyone and everything around, as if passing judgment. This home would certainly not meet the standards of the son of a magistrate, but the focus of his investigation was the hunter himself.
Jak watched as his friend leaned forward. “Gronen, why do you still wear those gloves?”
The older man’s face fell. All the good nature disappeared along with the redness in his cheeks, replaced by a cold, pale distrust.
“Kluber—”
“Jak, it’s hot as Tempus in here.”
“Kluber, we are their guests.”
The large man leaned back in his chair. “Sori, the babe cries again. Please see to it.”
The woman looked distraught. “Gronen—”
“It’s all right, love.”
“I’ll help you,” Calla said. She put her arm around the woman’s shoulders as they left the men. In the other room, the baby shrieked louder at their entrance.
The hunter stared at Kluber for a long moment, during which no one spoke. For nothing needed to be said. At last, with a sigh, he shifted his gaze to his hands. He studied them for a long time, like they were strangers.
He placed his hands on the table, one over the other. Then, clumsily, he pulled the left glove off first, revealing a large, hairy, perfectly normal hand. “It began almost three tendays ago.” Then the right. Twisted and unfinished, but visibly a paw. He motioned, trying to uncurl fingers that were no longer there.
“I thank the gods every day for afflicting me, rather than my wife or son.”
“The gods don’t hear you,” Jak said. “For there are no gods to thank.”
The man simply nodded. “Will you kill me for this? I’ll not fight you… If I cannot care for my family, I do not deserve...” His throat choked, ending the sentence.
“Jak,” Kluber said. “Listen.”
“I hear nothing.”
“Exactly.”
The baby is quiet, all too suddenly. Please let it not be dead.
His fears were echoed in the eyes of the hunter. The man could accept his own death, but not his child’s. He looked afraid to stand.
Jak was, too, but did so anyway. He left the man on the chair and approached the doorway between rooms, Kluber at his back. Through the opening, he saw both women looking down.
There was the baby, suckling at Calla’s exposed, swollen breast. It gulped ravenously and contentedly, its raw pleasure mirrored by the look on its mother’s face.
Calla knew the men were there, staring, but did not take her eyes from the babe.
Kluber put his hand firmly on Jak’s shoulder. Symp
athy—or restraint.
So many things began to make sense now. Her moodiness, for one. Along with the frequent signs of discomfort—clearly, she must have started leaking earlier than most. Even so, he could not help thinking that the time did not add up.
Jak wished he could sort through his emotions, but the others were staring. Waiting. He needed to speak, though all he had were questions.
“Calla, you have milk?”
She was smiling down on the tiny pink face in her arms. “Isn’t exactly milk yet. But he seems to like it well enough.”
“How long?”
“I suspected before, but I didn’t know for sure until the temple. I started…this…a tenday ago.” Embarrassment burdened her words.
“And you never told us?”
“I was ashamed.” She looked up at last. “And I was afraid you’d be angry. Please don’t be angry, Jak.”
He wondered why she would worry so. If his favorite two people brought new life into this world, that was better than anything he could achieve. Yet he could play a supporting role, as always.
A new child, and another survivor of Neverdawn. If it was to be a girl, she would be just like the finest woman he knew. If a boy—well, if anyone could raise him to be just like Kevik, it was Calla.
The old Kevik, that is. Kevik the Kind.
Jak finally compelled his legs to move again. The room was cramped, but there was enough space to sit beside the women. “Angry? Calla, this is a blessing.”
He saw a tear roll down her cheek, and quickly reached out to wipe it away before it could fall onto the baby. Judging by that smiling face, it would not have minded in the slightest.
They spent another day with the hunter’s family, until Jak sensed that their presence was more of a burden than a favor. Calla gave what she could—which, sadly, was not much—and now the three extra mouths to feed were an unnecessary strain.
Gronen stood at the door as they departed. “I don’t know what the future holds, but we’re not the type to give up easily.”
“Good man. Resist the taint as long as you can. I’ll do my best to stop it.”
“How will you do that, friend?”
Empire Asunder BoxSet Page 51