Curse: The Dark God Book 2 (15 page)

“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 feather.” 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. “Fill 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.

Talen began to wipe his arm with a cloth and saw her watching him. She waved a small hello. He grinned, then soap ran from his hair into his eyes and he fumbled for the rinse pot.

Sugar crossed to the cellar where she and the other fell-maidens slept. Soft candlelight spilled out the open door onto the paving stones of the bailey. The cellar was full of barrels of grain and other food, beds, and a cage with three ferrets. Ferrets, in addition to being muzzled and sent into a hole to scare up rabbits into the teeth of hunting dogs or the cudgels of the hare beaters, were also used to hunt mice and smaller rats. A cat was good. But in a room like this, stacked with barrels, there were too many places a cat could not go. And so the ferret master had tasked Sugar and the others with releasing the ferrets each night to hunt any vermin who thought it clever to steal the lord’s food.

Two candles illuminated the bunks and the stacked barrels of barley, wheat, and peas. The Mistress, a handsome, large-boned woman with big hands, two of the other washerwomen who slept there, and Legs were talking with Urban.

They all looked up when she entered.

“There’s our beautiful Koramite warrior now,” said the Mistress. “Although why you’d want a young inexperienced thing I cannot tell.”

The bruise about Urban’s eye was deep purple. He said, “I’m surely not worthy of one such as yourself.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” said the Mistress. “Besides, you’ve already seen the bruising that one gives her suitors.”

“Lucky for me,” Urban said, “I’m actually here on other business. Sugar’s being reassigned to another hammer.”

She wondered if she’d offended Commander Eresh with her comments earlier. She said, “I think I like my fist, thank you very much.” Besides, she couldn’t imagine the Creek Widow allowing her fist of fell-maidens to be broken up.

Urban looked over at the three ferrets. Two were normal black and brown with bandit mask coloring. The third was white. He reached through with a finger and scratched one of the bandits behind the ear. It enjoyed the scratch for a moment, then bounded away. “Ferrets are interesting fellows,” he said. “A bit too much musk for my taste, but they sneak into places cats and terriers cannot. Quiet useful, wouldn’t you agree?”

She folded her arms. “Sure,” she agreed.

He reached into the sack he carried and retrieved the yellow cloth that held her mother’s necklace. He unwrapped it and held up the necklace. “Every army needs a ferret or three to chase things out into the light that others cannot.”

“What has that got to do with my mother’s necklace?”

He smiled. “Come outside with me, and we’ll chat.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” said the Mistress. “How about she goes outside and you chat with
me
?”

“And risk the safety of my brilliant parts?” Urban asked.

“You haven’t seen anything yet, honey pot.” She patted the bed beside her. “Stay a while.”

“Duty calls,” said Urban with mock regret.

“Duty keeps a cold bed.”

“Alas,” Urban said. “I shall rehearse the memory of your face to keep me warm.”

The Mistress sighed. “Talker.” She turned to Sugar. “You be careful, girl. Foreigners are slippery things.”

“I shall remember that,” Sugar said. And, indeed, she would. Despite what he’d done for her, she didn’t quite trust this Urban. Still, she followed him out of the cellar and back into the bailey. An apple tree grew over by a plot of ground next to the great hall that was used as a garden. The garden had been used for normal vegetables when Shim’s army had come here, and a few rows of kale still grew, but most of it was godsweed now. Urban led her to a bench in the dark evening shadows under the apple tree.

Across the way, a now-clothed Talen emerged from the base of the stairway leading up to his barracks on the second story. He was carrying a jug and walked quickly across the bailey to her cellar and disappeared inside. A few moments later he walked out again without the jug. He paused at the doorway and looked about the bailey, then spotted her and Urban. For a moment she thought he’d come their way, but he turned and walked back to the stair.

Urban patted the bench next to him. She sat down. He smelled nice: a little of man mixed with some spiced oil he had in his hair that had mint in it. Above them the first stars of evening shone in the dark blue sky.

“Your mother left you an incredible gift,” he said and held out the cloth and necklace to her.

She took them. “This is a weave of some sorts, isn’t it?”

“Did you mother talk much about the dead?”

“No more than anyone else,” she said. Then she stopped. That wasn’t entirely true.

“What?” he asked.

“Well, she told me once she’d met her great, great grandmother. But I could never figure out how.”

Urban nodded.

“I know she saw things later with the Devourer. When she died, she said she was going to help my da. Said something was wrong in the world of souls. But that didn’t have anything to do with this necklace.”

Urban said, “I’m sorry she’s not here. Your mother was quite the lore mistress. That isn’t just a common weave. With it you can see things, go places that others cannot.”

What was he talking about?

“We’re fairly sure it will let you send a portion of your soul forth into the yellow world.”

The yellow world was the world of souls and skir. Sugar was taken aback. Such things were only done in tales told at the ale-house.

“Argoth and Matiga both agree that you need to be trained.”

Sugar looked down at the necklace.

“Once you can soul walk, you can go behind enemy lines without being seen, gather intelligence. You can direct a hammer of men so we can hit the enemy the hardest or avoid being seen.”

Sugar marveled that her mother would have such a thing. And for not the first time she wondered how much her mother really knew. “I would leave my body? Isn’t separating soul from body dangerous?”

“Very much so,” he said. “But becoming a fell-maiden is dangerous. Taking a swim in your river, it appears, can be dangerous. People have killed themselves digging in the garden.”

It seemed odd, them trusting her with such a thing. “Why me? Why not use it yourself?” Despite his pleasant nature, there was something secretive about Urban.

“Because I cannot.”

“You mean you won’t. You don’t want to risk it yourself.”

“No,” he said. “I would if I could. But I cannot. The weave itself prevents me, which was made very clear when I picked it up in Redthorn.”

Sugar knew of two kinds of weaves. There were wildweaves that could be handled by anyone. Dreadmen used such. Their weaves of might would magnify any who put them on. But there were other weaves that only someone with lore could use. “You don’t know its operation, but you expect I will? My mother never spoke a word about the lore to me.”

“Someone of great skill can weave a part of themselves into a weave. A very small part of themselves, but enough to recognize friend from foe. They act as gatekeepers.”

She narrowed her eyes and looked at the weave. “A piece of my mother is in there?”

“Maybe. Or maybe not. It looks old. It could be from an ancestor or someone else entirely. Every natural weave requires a soul. Some just a little. Some substantially more. Your body is a weave, and the soul and Fire quickens it. This type of weave requires more soul than a dreadman’s weave of might. And that soul protects it. Not like you protect your body, but the principle is the same. And that’s to be expected with weaves of such power. You can’t have just anyone using them. There must be a way to recognize authorized use. Whoever is there recognizes you as friend. That is why you did not feel the pricking of daggers that I did.”

“Someone is in here?” she asked again, not quite willing to believe.

“In a manner of speaking,” he said.

Mother
, Sugar thought. But then she tamped down that idea. It was possible the weave had been handed down to her from some relative or friend. But if Mother had indeed put herself in it . . .

“Can you speak to the soul inside?” Sugar asked.

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“Why not? Have you tried?”

“I have not,” he said. “But others have. It’s not . . . reliable. It’s not a complete soul, only a portion.”

Sugar didn’t understand why that would matter. But even so, the possibility that a living part of her mother was there, in her hand—her heart lurched.

After a few moments, Urban said, “You’re very quiet.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“We want you to become part of my crew. I proposed the idea to Argoth earlier. He agreed to it. But I’m not the type to force. The Order of Hismayas has its fine points, but I also disagree with it over a number of thingss. You’ve already met Soddam and know the kinds of people you’ll be dealing with.”

She’d be dealing with true sleth—a possible problem, but not the biggest. “I don’t know enough lore.”

“You can learn the lore. You’re quick, and you won’t be doing it alone. You’ll be working with someone familiar with that place.”

“Someone in your crew?”

“Our cook,” he said, “who makes honeyed buns that would tempt the Creators themselves. What do you say?”

“And Argoth knows and agrees with your intentions?”

“I wouldn’t have the weave otherwise. Mokad is here, and Shim needs eyes. This is an opportunity, Sugar. It might well be that the information you provide will give mankind the power to stand.”

“That’s a lot to expect,” she said.

“Well, you’re Purity’s daughter,” he said as if that explained everything.

She considered him. This was Mother’s, and she’d sent her to find it. She obviously wanted it to be used. And if Zu Argoth had agreed, who was she to gainsay him? “Tell me what I have to do,” she said.

“Later we can talk about what you owe me for this black eye, but what I need now is your hand.”

She felt a small apprehension, but pushed it aside. She turned her hand palm up and offered it to him.

He took her hand in his. His skin was rough and warm. “You said you didn’t know the lore well enough. Tell me what you know of the three vitalities and how they operate.”

The three vitalities, the powers in all living beings, were flesh, soul, and Fire. Everyone learned that as a child. Those who were blessed by the Creators could use the vitalities to work wonders. Sugar repeated this, then told him what River had taught her these last months and what she’d learned about the Devourers and their fight to subdue humans.

When she finished, he said, “Very good. Now I’m going to teach you something new. Just as there is an intimacy of flesh, there is also an intimacy of soul. And just as you protect your flesh, you want to be able to protect your other vitalities. I want to see your defense.”

Suddenly she felt something change inside her. A moment later it felt as if someone was taking all her air. She couldn’t breathe. She struggled to pull her hand free from Urban’s grasp, but he would not let go.

Then as suddenly as it had come, the menacing presence departed, and she took in a great breath.

He shook his head in disapproval. “A weave opens up a door to the soul,” he said. “That’s how they operate. And if you’re not careful, anyone with the skill will walk right through it. Do you understand?”

She yanked her hand away.

“Do you understand?”

She was breathing hard. “I wasn’t ready.”

“The Grove here.” He shook his head in disapproval. “They haven’t taught you how to close the doors of your soul?”

“They have,” she said. “I’m just not as quick with it as some.”

“You’re going to need to be. This is what you will practice tonight and tomorrow and the next day and the next until it’s second nature.” He held his hand out for her to take it again.

“If you misuse me,” she said in warning.

“If I misuse you at any time, you are free to go,” he said. “I told you I do not compel those who follow me.”

Sugar gave him her hand. “What abour curfew?”

“An exception has been made,” he said.

They spent what must have been the better part of an hour there under the apple tree by the garden, the sky fading to black, the stars coming out to shine in the darkness above, Urban holding her hand, prompting her and probing her soul. At first, all she could think of was his terrifying presence. But after the dozenth try, she suddenly figured out how to close her doors against him. Her relief was immense. But he didn’t stop. He forced her to continue to open and close, and as she gained more control, she noticed how gently he held her hand.