Servant: The Dark God Book One (Volume 1) (30 page)

There was nothing more to be done. Hogan would be furious. But he would come around. The vision was breathtaking. The opportunity was right. He could feel it quaking in his bones.

Argoth basked in that bright hope for a moment longer and then brought himself back to the present. Right now he needed to focus on the Skir Master and these dreadmen; otherwise that fine dream would never come to pass.

29

Fright

MURDER, TALEN THOUGHT. That’s what Nettle was proposing.

Except killing those outside the law wasn’t murder. For example, it wasn’t murder to kill Bone Faces wherever you happened to find them. Nor was it murder to kill someone the law demanded exterminated. The lords would prefer sleth be brought in alive so they could question them, but dead was perfectly acceptable.

Talen had never killed a person. He’d fought in last year’s battles with the Bone Faces as a skirmisher. But who knew if your arrows and stones actually finished a man or merely wounded him?

Just thinking about killing these two turned his gut. It was different from going to battle. It would be a nasty business. If they were simply what they appeared to be—two unlucky children—then an arrow in the back would be enough to bring them down. Another to the heart or through a lung would end it.

Afterwards, he’d need to smoke himself with godsweed to prevent the souls of the slain from trying to attack him. Certainly the armband Da had given him would not be enough.

It was a dark, nasty business. He couldn’t understand why he should hesitate, why he didn’t feel right about it. None of the old tales of sleth hunters ever mentioned them balking at cutting the abominations down. But who was he fooling? He wasn’t a mighty sleth hunter.

What if the hatchlings
were
innocent? What if they were just like him? Caught up in the bad decisions of their parents. Talen said, “It’s possible they learned nothing from their mother.”

“Anything’s possible,” said Nettle. “But that’s unlikely. Either way, masters of the dark or snotty-nosed children, I don’t think anybody is going to care. After all—” Nettle stopped himself.

Talen knew what he had been about to say. “After all, what?” said Talen.

“Nothing,” said Nettle.

“My hairy arse,” said Talen. “You were going to say it didn’t matter. After all, they’re just two Koramites.”

“I knew you’d take it that way, but it’s not how I feel. It’s how the lords feel, and I can’t help that. All I’m saying is that nobody is likely to accuse you of a crime.”

No, of course not. But that didn’t seem to matter. “It would even be less of an issue if you did it, Mister Mokaddian Captain’s son,” said Talen. “If any murdering is to be done, then you’ll have a hand in it, you can be sure of that.”

Talen sighed. The sins of Purity had done nothing but put his family in danger. And the danger and risk would only increase. They’d have to kill the girl and boy. There was no way around it. A sick feeling welled up inside him, a black numbing.

Nettle must have felt the black numbing as well, for he did not reply.

Talen flicked Iron Boy’s reins. They’d wasted precious time going to the glass master’s. The only consolation was that nobody would expect them along this route. Of course, nobody should have expected them to pass through Gallow’s Gate either, but riders had come after them all the same.

They traveled for many rods, in silence, Talen pondering this bloody medicine and hoping no Fir-Noy had thought to search this road. If he killed the boy and girl, his father would be furious. But how did he know that Da wasn’t threatened? Da hadn’t told him a thing. Why? Why couldn’t he tell them his big secret on the way to Whitecliff? Why wait?

Because he wasn’t going to tell them anything. He just wanted them out of the way so the children could escape. Which meant that Da was involved with something. And that something included a sleth woman and her monster.

As they traveled Talen began to feel tired, and he realized that the itch in his legs was lessening. They came to a crossroad and turned down a narrow trail that led into a piney wood, and an overwhelming weariness fell upon him.

The baker had probably used something like thresher’s seed. It was the way with such herbs that they left you weaker than when you first took them. And that herb was probably the root of his black thoughts.

Or it was his heart. It was sometimes said the heart perceived things the head could not. It was said that sometimes the ancestors could speak to a man’s heart even when his head was full of stone.

He made a decision then. “We’re not going to kill them,” he said. “Not immediately.” The road here was thick pine needles. It muffled Iron Boy’s hooves. It seemed to muffle Talen’s words. He knew it was not a smart decision, but the moment he said it the dark cloud smothering his heart seemed to lift a bit.

“They’re going to tumble mountains of troubles upon your whole family,” said Nettle.

“You’re probably right,” said Talen. “But we can’t just kill them. What if that brings the monster? What if this nest does something to Da in retaliation?”

“Is it right to appease evil?”

“It’s right to oppose evil with wisdom,” Talen said.

“Wisdom can sometimes be used to mask cowardice.”

Talen shrugged. “I’ve never killed anyone like this.”

“Neither have I.”

Talen looked at Nettle. It was unfair to ask him to take these risks. There was trouble down this road Talen was on, and there was no reason Nettle had to travel it. “You’re a good friend, cousin. Maybe you should go home and tell your father what’s going on.”

“Now?”

“Yeah,” said Talen. “He might be able to help.”

“You just want me to get up and go?”

“I think so.”

Nettle gave Talen a frustrated look. “Even you,” he said.

“What?” asked Talen.

Nettle set his jaw. “I’ll leave, and you’ll get turned into some wicked minion, and then, no doubt, I’ll be the one that will have to kill you. No thanks. I’m coming.”

“You’ll drag your whole family into this. Even if Da’s right and the children are not sleth, there’s a huge chance anybody involved is going to find themselves hanging in Gallow’s Grove.”

“I’m not running home to Daddy,” said Nettle.

Talen had actually been hoping he would say that. “I guess this means when monster comes round, you’ll be the man to take it.”

“I said I wasn’t running home. Not that I was an idiot.”

“Oh, you’re an idiot,” Talen said. “That’s already well established.”

“Right,” said Nettle. “And if I’m an idiot, that puts you somewhere just above the level of a cabbage.”

Talen smiled. With all that had happened and all that was a risk, the clear and easy choice was for Nettle to take his leave. A wave of gratitude washed through Talen. There probably wasn’t a finer friend in all the New Lands than the one sitting next to him on the wagon. He reached over and clapped Nettle on the shoulder.

“What?” asked Nettle.

“Nothing,” Talen said. He gave Nettle’s shoulder a squeeze, then let go.

In front of them the tall pines cast long shadows across the trail. One lone firefly shine and wink out as it ascended to a tree. In a few hours the woods would pulse and sparkle with thousands of them.

Iron Boy’s ears suddenly pricked forward.

Talen looked up the road, but didn’t see anything that should alarm him.

Iron Boy raised his head up and slowed.

“What is it, boy?”

Talen scanned the woods and caught movement out of the side of his eye. He turned.

Iron Boy pulled to a stop, blew his lips, and stamped one foot.

“Where are they?” asked Nettle.

“It’s not a they,” said Talen. “It’s an it.”

“Where?”

Talen pointed at a tree in front of them. Something was standing in the boughs about halfway up. It was not a mountain cat. Not nearly that large. Nor was not one of those troublesome monkeys that were expert in stealing everything from knives to fruit. It was about the size of a small dog, hunched, and long-limbed.

He looked closer. It was a light gray, the color of shadow and bark, and its limbs seemed awkward and long. Or maybe it was just the light. “What is that?”

Nettle followed Talen’s gaze and stared. “Well, it’s kind of hard to say. I can’t be sure, but it looks like a tree to me.”

“Goh,
in
the tree. About fifteen feet up that pine. There’s something looking at us.”

Nettle looked at Talen; he looked back at the tree, squinted, and looked back at Talen again.

“Nothing’s there.”

“It’s right in front of your face.”

“Hallucinations.” Nettle said. “Maybe those stupid sweet almond abominations did have come-backs.”

Talen wasn’t seeing things. It was right there.

“I never have this problem with bread pudding,” said Nettle.

Whatever it was moved out of the shadows of the trees and into the waning light.

Talen blinked. It was still there.

Iron Boy chuffed.

“See that?” Talen asked. “Iron Boy didn’t have any sweet almond.”

He had to admit the coloring of the thing made it difficult to see. It put him in mind of insects that camouflaged themselves to look exactly like bark or leaves.

“There’s nothing in the tree,” said Nettle. “Nothing on the trail. Let’s just get home.”

Talen flicked the reins and started Iron Boy into a trot. The mule protested and tried to turn away, but Talen gave the reins a good tug to keep him on the road and put Iron Boy in motion.

When they passed by the pine, the creature began to move again.

Iron Boy whinnied and picked up his gait.

The creature swung down the limbs of the tree to the pine needles on the road. Then it began scampering after the wagon in an odd, hunched gait, quickly closing the distance.

“You’re right,” said Talen, “I’m hallucinating.”

Because if he wasn’t, that meant they’d attracted the attention of a small nightmare. What else could it be? As the thing drew nearer, Talen could more easily discern the eyes, hands, and feet. But they were misshapen. The nose was flat and crooked. The fingers too long.

There were creatures not wholly of this world. There were the mighty skir that the Divines enthralled; there were the souls of the dead. But there were also other things, some of which could, under certain circumstances, be seen with the naked eye. This thing matched the descriptions of one of those. Talen had never seen one before, but he’d heard about them. They fed upon the Fire of the weak and dying. Like the creatures that ate carrion of the flesh, they were attracted by death and disease. They shadowed the edges of armies and hid in cellars and that thatch roofs of villages smitten by pestilence. They did not flock in great numbers like crows and ravens. At least, he’d never heard tell of anyone seeing more than a handful together at once. But did numbers matter? When they got a hold of you, they burrowed in like ticks to gorge upon your Fire. And like ticks they were hard to dislodge and sometimes left bits of themselves behind.

Godsweed was supposed to keep them at bay which is why soldiers smoked themselves with it before battle. Drinking it in a tea was also supposed to help, but such a tea gave men horrible cramps. Talen reached up and felt the godsweed braid on his arm. Even wearing the herb was supposed to have an effect.

Iron Boy trotted down the road, nervously turning his head to the left then right so he could get a better view of what was behind him.

Talen looked back again and the hair stood up on the back of his neck. The odd-limbed thing was only a few paces behind them.

“Cousin,” Talen said, “I believe that we’ve just attracted ourselves a fright.”

At that moment the creature closed the final distance, then grabbed the wagon bed with one long-fingered hand and disappeared underneath.

30

Secrets

“IT’S UNDER THE WAGON,” Talen said.

Iron Boy kicked and jerked into a canter.

“Will you shut up,” Nettle said. “You’re giving me the willies.”

Iron Boy tossed his head. He might bolt, and it would not do to lose control of the wagon, so Talen braced himself, but he felt like he did after an exceedingly hard day’s worth of work. And then such a wave of weariness fell upon him that he could not keep his eyes open. He sagged into Nettle.

Nettle elbowed him back to his senses. “What are you doing?”

“I think the come-backs have finally worked their way through,” Talen said. “Take the reins. I’ve got to lie down.”

“What about your fright?” asked Nettle.

Talen looked down at the boards beneath his feet. Frights did not have power to steal from a healthy man. He and Nettle had nothing to fear. And panicking might only lead to them crashing the wagon. Besides, they had godsweed with them.

“It’s gone,” said Talen. “A vapor of my mind.”

“Lords and lice,” Nettle said, “I’ve never heard of come-backs like this. We’ve got to get you to River.”

Talen wasn’t going to argue. “Sure,” he said. Then he handed the reins to Nettle and half-climbed, half-fell into the wagon bed.

He rode that way, flat on his back, looking up at the tops of the pines and the darkening sky beyond. Nettle drove too fast. Once, Talen almost bumped completely out of the wagon bed. But he couldn’t bring himself to object. Nettle kept turning around to look at him. At one point he reached down to feel Talen’s forehead for fever, then turned back and spurred Iron Boy even faster.

Talen said nothing. The moon and the stars shone through the breaks in the tops of the trees. After a time he realized something cold lay on his ankle. Talen looked down. There, squatting in the back corner of the wagon bed was the fright. It was a hideous thing, all twisted and gray like a piece of knotty driftwood. One of its long fingers touched Talen on the bare skin of his ankle.

He kicked, and the thing released him, but it soon stretched out its finger once again.

“Nettle!” he said.

But Nettle did not turn.

Then Talen remembered the godsweed charm about his arm. Maybe he could brandish it and chase the thing off. He yanked on the charm, but it would not tear free, and the knot was suddenly too complicated for his fingers. He was so very tired. The touch of the fright was so very cold. It wasn’t supposed to touch him, not with the godsweed. So maybe this wasn’t a fright. Or maybe it was, and godsweed didn’t have the virtue everyone claimed it did.

They bumped along the road, and the creature reached out with another finger.

Talen kicked again. But he could not kick a third time—he was exhausted and in a cold sweat. His thirst was beyond anything he’d ever experienced. There was not enough spittle to even wet his tongue, much less swallow. And so he let the thing’s cold fingers wrap about him, wondering if frights took more than Fire.

Iron Boy trotted at a good clip for some time. Talen lay there, the fright at his leg. Then the wagon passed under some trees Talen recognized. He recognized the run of the slope off to his left.

Nettle drove the wagon across the stream and up the bank on the far side, then into the yard. But he did not slow quickly enough and almost side-swiped the well. When he finally got Iron Boy to stop, he turned around and looked down at Talen. “Goh, you look rotted through. This isn’t come-backs. This is some plague. Can you stand?”

“I can get up,” said Talen.

But he couldn’t. He could hardly move. His lower left leg was ice. The fright had elongated its fingers, split and multiplied them, and wrapped them around his calf. It looked as if the spidering root of a young tree had attached itself to him.

Nettle called out for help. Then he jumped into the wagon bed and helped Talen sit up. The fright moved slightly, but it did not disengage.

“The fright,” Talen said.

“Yes,” said Nettle, then he looped his arms underneath Talen’s and around his chest and dragged him to the back of the wagon. He pulled a lever and dropped the back gate of the bed, then in one fluid movement jumped out and pulled Talen over his shoulder like a sack of meal.

“River!” Nettle called.

Talen’s head hung low. The fright still clung to him with one of its odd hands. Talen kicked, but the fright just swayed with the motion. Then Nettle pushed the front door of the house open, and Talen found himself in the main room. River stood from where she’d been sitting at the table. The candlelight shone off the beads about her neck. In her hands, she held clippings of Da’s hair that she’d been braiding into an intricate decoration.

Talen looked for the hatchlings and saw the door to the cellar lay flat, shut up tight.

When River looked up, Talen saw her face go from annoyance to concern. “What’s happened?” she asked.

“It’s an overdose of come-backs,” said Nettle. “Or worse. Earlier, he’s a picture of liveliness—blinding fast, wrestling Fabbis to the ground, leaping to the tops of the trees. Now look at him. Nothing more than smelly dishrag. And he’s seeing frights.”

“I need something to drink,” said Talen.

“He’s drunk a barrel today. I’ve never had to stop so many times waiting for a body to relieve himself.”

River cleared the table. “Put him here.”

“Did the Fir-Noy come here?” asked Talen.

Nettle dumped him on the table.

“I haven’t seen any Fir-Noy,” said River. She began pulling up the sleeve of Talen’s tunic. “Where did Da tie the charm?”

“How did you know he gave me a charm?” asked Talen.

“Where did he tie it?”

“Here,” said Talen and lifted the other sleeve. He looked down at his leg. The fright was there, squatting all knobby and hideous, staring at him with one of its raisin eyes.

River fingered the braid and cursed. Her face turned grave. “And
he
talks about risks.” She removed the charm and cast it to the floor.

“Who?” asked Talen.

“Nobody,” said River. Then she slid her hand into the collar of his tunic. She had no sooner put her hand to his chest than she gasped and withdrew it.

“He’s got the plague,” Nettle said. “Doesn’t he?”

“Do you have any of the baker’s goods left?”

“Three small cakes,” said Nettle. “I’ll get them.” Then he went back outside.

“Has he poisoned me?” asked Talen.

“No,” said River. “And it’s not Nettle’s plague either.” She looked at him, and Talen could tell something had happened. She was deciding if she should share some secret with him.

“Goh,” he said. “It
was
the kiss. That girl!” He’d been wrong; they would have to kill her after all. Talen’s weariness pressed down upon him even more. “And her familiar has attached itself to my leg.”

River said nothing, but of course she wouldn’t. Not if the girl had magicked her. He thought of the girl kissing him, and of kissing Atra, and then about being married, and that idiot that was courting River, and then he realized his mind was wandering. He focused on River, and it all came back to him in a rush.

“We’ll have to be quick,” he whispered.

“What?” said River.

“Quick,” said Talen more loudly. “Quick. Kill them, the boy and girl, quick.”

At that moment he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and saw the girl standing in the doorway to the back room.

River followed his gaze. “He’s out of his mind,” she said to her.

“I’ll divert her,” said Talen. “You clobber her with the pot.”

“Be still,” River commanded.

Talen looked at the girl for a while, waiting for her to spring. “Playing us like a cat? Is that your pleasure?”

“Sugar,” River said. “I need you to fill the mule’s watering trough. We’re going to need to lay Talen in it. Have Nettle help you drag it in here.”

Sugar looked at the two of them, a storm brooding on her face. Talen thought she was going to say something, but she must have decided against it, for she strode across the room and out the door.

“Now’s the time,” said Talen.

“Will you shut up,” said River. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. This isn’t her doing. It’s Da’s.”

That made no sense, no sense at all. But River wouldn’t listen to him. She brought a candle near to get a good look at his eyes and mouth. Then she began peppering him with questions: when did the thirst start, how many small cakes did he eat, what did Da do when he tied the charm on his arm, had he been hearing a ringing in his ears? Talen struggled to answer them all.

Finally, he held up his hand. “My leg. She’s sucking the life out of my leg.”

Something moved at the window.

The shutters had not been closed tightly, and a pair of pale twigs seemed to shoot in over the sill. From his position on the floor, he couldn’t make any sense of them, but there they were. Tree roots on the window. Then a twisted head appeared, followed by a long body. Another fright, smaller than the one about his leg, pulled itself up onto the sill.

“There’s another,” he said.

“Another what?”

“Nasty little thing,” he said and motioned at the window. “It’s got cold fingers.”

River looked up and followed his gaze. “There’s nothing there.”

“There is,” said Talen. “And there’s another wrapped about my leg. Right there by your hand.”

River froze, her expression changing from puzzlement to dismay. The creature about his leg didn’t move either. It watched them, extending its fingers in a slow crawl.

River put her hand on Talen’s leg, partially covering the thin fingers of the fright. Her hands felt warm.

“You’re touching it,” Talen said. “Do you not feel it?”

She pulled her hand away. “How many are here?”

“Two,” he said.

She cursed then calmly picked up Talen’s godsweed charm, took it to the hearth, and thrust it into the fire. The godsweed smoked then caught fire. “And thus a portion of my life goes up in smoke,” she said, which made no sense at all to Talen. Then she pulled the weed back out of the fire, blew out the flames, and tossed the smoking remains onto the ash pan. Then she took a pair of tongs and removed three hot coals from the fire and put them in the pan as well.

“Where are they now?” she asked.

“The little one’s at the window. The bigger one is right here.” Talen moved his leg.

River picked up the ash pan and approached, blowing on the smoking braid. She blew smoke into his face. Blew it on his leg. Godsweed was not a sweet herb and Talen did not like the taste of its smoke.

“Don’t worry,” He said. “Nettle says it’s just the come-backs.”

“Be gone!” said River. She blew more smoke about his leg.

The knobby creature on his leg eyed her.

“It’s not afraid of you,” said Talen.

River blew again and waved the smoking pan around him.

The creature turned as if trying to avoid the smoke. But River blew again, and the thing released Talen’s leg and jumped to the floor.

“There he goes,” Talen said. But the thing only shuffled a few steps, then stopped.

River followed Talen’s gaze. She waved the smoking bowl around in the air. Blew more smoke. Then the fright scuttled up the wall and out the window. The little one lingered a few seconds longer, then followed the first.

“You got him,” said Talen. “He’s off to torment the chickens.” Then Talen wondered why it would do that? Was this the reason Da’s last batch of hens died off? It seemed reasonable. “They’re the ones killing the chickens,” he said.

“You’re babbling,” said River. She went to the window and waved the smoking bowl there, and then she closed up the shutters and brought the bowl back and placed it in the middle of the room on the floor. There was no fire to it anymore. Just coals and smoke.

Nettle and Sugar opened the door and bumped their way through with the empty trough and set it close to the hearth.

“Stand over that bowl,” she said. “Smoke yourselves.”

“Goh!” Nettle said. “Are you kidding? A real fright?”

“Just do it.”

When Nettle and Sugar finished, River said, “Now fetch the water.”

“With a fright out there?”

“The smoke’s in your clothes. No move!”

Nettle growled, and Talen couldn’t tell if it was in frustration at River or to muster up his courage to face the fright. Then he marched out the door, the sleth girl right behind him. River walked over to the wall where their five white ceramic plates hung. She took down one plate, brought it to the table, and broke a small cake upon it. Then she lit four more candles and turned them on their sides about the plate to give the small cake more illumination.

She dug at it with the point of a knife, examining the crumbs. “I see nothing.”

She held one up, sniffed it, and then took a bite. After savoring it for a while swallowed it and shook her head. She ate the other two small cakes and drank a cup of water. “Sometimes certain herbs magnify the effects of the weave. But I can detect nothing of that sort in these,” she said. “If there’s anything in them, we will shortly know. In the mean time you need to soak. Take off your clothes.”

All this time Nettle had been hauling in water, first to fill the large pot Sugar had put over the fire and then to fill the trough. The thought of moving daunted him, and Talen found he couldn’t do more than look at that trough.

“Never mind,” River said. “I’ll do it. Sugar, is that hot yet? We don’t want to freeze him.”

Talen wanted to protest, but it was no use. River had him out of his tunic and pants in moments. Mercifully, she left his linens on. Then she helped him over and slid him into the trough.

The trough was slick with orange slime, and the freezing water just about sent him into shock. But a second later, he couldn’t muster enough energy to care. The cold meant nothing. He didn’t even care when the girl dumped the boiling water in too quickly and scalded his legs. The hatchlings were in control now—it was too late for all of them.

His eyes were heavy, so itchy with sleep. He closed them.

A moment later River shook him by the shoulders. “Talen!”

“Let me alone,” Talen said and drifted off into no thought at all.