And Night Descends (The Third Book of the Small Gods Series)

by Blake, Bruce

  They crossed the room and he pulled back the tattered blankets covering the thin mattress. A poor excuse for a bed, it turned out.

  Better than sleeping on damp ground.

  It took an effort to guide Thorn under the blankets. The Small God’s arms and legs flopped loosely and he acted as though he didn’t understand the concept of a bed. When he finally settled, Kuneprius tucked the covers in around him and stood.

  “Now to see if our food is ready. You’d like food, yes?”

  Thorn let his head tilt toward him on what passed for a pillow and put great effort into forming his lips into a smile. He didn’t achieve what he’d intended and his face ended up contorted in an uncomfortable grimace. Kuneprius’ heart ached at the sight.

  “I’ll be right back. You stay here and wait—”

  A knock interrupted his words, startling him. Thorn didn’t appear to notice.

  “Yes?” Kuneprius called, hoping he wouldn’t need to open the door.

  “I got you your water,” the barkeep’s voice replied through the wooden slab. “You want I should bring it in for ya?”

  “No, no. That’s fine.”

  He hurried across the room, lifted the latch, and opened the portal a crack. The barkeep stood in front of him, a pitcher in one hand, bowl in the other. He held them up for Kuneprius to see he’d done what he said, his lips tilted in the lopsided smile of a man well-paid for a simple job.

  “Where do you want ‘em?”

  “I’ll take them.”

  He peered back over his shoulder at the Small God in the bed. The blankets covered his bare chest, but his ashen face and wide nose faced the door. Kuneprius swallowed hard and opened it wider, placing his foot to prevent the gap from widening too far. He held his hands out to receive what the barkeep had brought.

  The man rotated the empty bowl sideways to fit it through the crack; it got stuck between door and jamb. For a moment, Kuneprius did nothing as the barkeep waited for him to widen the opening and allow him to complete his task.

  Kuneprius considered telling him he’d changed his mind and they didn’t need the washing supplies, but the thought brought tension to his muscles and limbs. The possibility of yet another day passing without scrubbing away at his sins made his hands shake and his mouth go dry, especially with the opportunity so close.

  He shifted his foot back the width of two fingers and the bowl slid through. He took it and immediately switched it to his other hand to more easily receive the pitcher, too. As the barkeep rotated the handle toward him, he tilted his head to see past the edge of door and into the room. Kuneprius leaned, keeping his body between him and the bed, blocking the barkeep’s view, he hoped. As soon as the pitcher made it through, he closed the door to only a crack. If doing so in any way offended the man, his expression didn’t show it.

  “Your meals be ready, too. Should I bring them, too?”

  Kuneprius’ heart jumped in his chest and he shook his head too hard. Water slopped over the lip of the pitcher and onto his boot.

  “No, no. I’ll be right down to collect them.”

  “As you like. They’ll be awaitin’ ya at the bar.”

  He stepped back and Kuneprius resisted the urge to slam the door shut.

  “Thank you,” he said instead, donning a smile he worried might appear false. “I’ll be along shortly.”

  The barkeep nodded but didn’t leave, forcing Kuneprius to close the door in his face. The latch clicked into place and he let out a sigh before crossing the room to the small table set against the wall opposite the bed. He placed the bowl on the flat surface and it rocked back and forth on uneven legs. Kuneprius frowned, grasped the edge and tested its stability. Satisfied it would be sturdy enough, he tilted the pitcher until a stream of water splashed into the bottom of the bowl. Just the sound of the cool liquid pattering against the earthenware vessel untied a knot inside him that had been tightening for days.

  Despite the relief, he stayed his hand and stopped the flow. As much as he desired to fill the bowl and plunge his face into the water, he couldn’t take the chance. If too much time passed before he claimed their meals, he’d find the barkeep knocking again, and a plate of food would necessitate opening the door enough for him to see in.

  With a sigh, Kuneprius set the pitcher on the table beside the bowl. He’d waited this long, he could survive a little more time to feed the Small God. His belly growled, reminding him Thorn wasn’t the only one in need of feeding.

  He went to the door and lifted the latch but hesitated before opening it, overcome with the creeping suspicion he’d find the barkeep waiting in the hall to try for a peek into the room. Kuneprius bit hard on his back teeth and pulled a deep breath in through his nose, then opened the door a crack, moving his eye close.

  The space beyond stood empty.

  “Be right back,” he called over his shoulder and closed the door behind him.

  With each step along the hall, and then down the stairs, his belly growled and grumbled. In his concern and worry, he’d forgotten how long it had been since he’d eaten a good meal. For more days than he cared to consider, he’d sustained himself on whatever berries and edible plants he found. None of it satisfied his stomach.

  Kuneprius reached the bottom of the stairway and paused. Far more people sat around the tavern than when they arrived; two or three at every table. Conversations competed to be heard, cutlery clattered against plates, flagons thumped on table tops.

  Two women wearing aprons moved amongst the tables, one a slender woman of plain appearance who appeared of similar age to the barkeep, the other a girl who didn’t look to have seen the seasons turn more than twelve or thirteen times. Despite her diminutive size, she carried a tray full of ales with the confidence of someone practiced at such a function.

  The barkeep’s wife and daughter, no doubt.

  Kuneprius knew he might be wrong in his assumption, but it mattered not. The elder of the two passed close by, so he stepped off the last stair, headed for the bar where the barkeep had told him he’d find their meals.

  “Busy tonight,” he commented to the woman.

  “Like this most nights,” she said in a tone suggesting she had other, more important things to do than talk to him. She glanced at him as they reached the bar. “You the one with the sick boy?”

  “I’m afraid I am.”

  She brushed a loose piece of hair behind her ear. It popped right back out before she lowered her hand.

  “I don’t got no medicine. Sheela was sick herself not so long ago and we used it up.” She nodded toward the younger girl on the other side of the room doling out ales to a table of laughing men. “But if there be anything you need, let me know.”

  “Thank you, I will.”

  Two plates appeared on the bar in front of him, and the barkeep waited, his expression expectant. Steam rose from the chunks of meat sharing the pewter surface with roasted potatoes and a piece of cornbread—a better meal than he’d hoped for and his belly gurgled in anticipation. If the tavern hadn’t been so busy, the barkeep surely would have heard.

  “It looks delicious,” Kuneprius said, offering what he presumed he’d been awaiting. The man nodded and smiled his lopsided smile.

  “Best meal you’re gonna get in these parts.” He nodded toward the stairs. “I think your boy’ll enjoy it, too. Looks like he needs a good meal.”

  Saliva flooded Kuneprius’ mouth as he stared at the food, his ravaged gut distracting him enough it took a few heartbeats for him to realize what the barkeep said.

  Your boy’ll enjoy it. Looks like he needs a good meal.

  Kuneprius raised his head to find the fellow looking past him and dread filled him. He snatched the two plates off the bar and spun around. Thorn stood at the top of the stairs, swaying as he gazed blankly at the crowded room.

  “He don’t look good,” the woman who may have been the barkeep’s wife said. “Kinda…pasty.”

  “It’s…he’s fine. Just needs food.”
>
  Kuneprius hurried away, weaving between tables and past the tavern’s patrons. The closer he got to the stairway, the greater the number of patrons who directed their gazes to the Small God.

  “Tho…” Kuneprius stopped himself. What man named his son Thorn? “I told you to stay in bed. You’re too sick to be with these people.”

  He hoped his proclamation of the ‘boy’s’ sickness might deter the room’s attention, but it created the opposite effect. More heads turned. Someone gasped upon seeing Thorn, but then Kuneprius reached the stairway, rushed up them as fast as he could make his legs move without spilling precious food from the plates. He halted at the top step, near to eye level with the Small God.

  “I told you to stay in the room,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Thorn raised his gaze toward Kuneprius, but his eyes caught on the meals in his hands. He licked his lips.

  “Come on,” Kuneprius said, stepping up and forcing his companion along the hall in front of him. He thought to look back and see just how many of the tavern’s patrons had noticed the small man at the top of the stairs, but he resisted; his heart needed no more reason to hammer its way out of his chest.

  ***

  Kuneprius hated wasting water but, in his haste to get out of the tavern and return Thorn to the room, he’d neglected to take the cutlery provided by the barkeep. After getting himself out of bed and traipsing down the hall, the Small God had been too weak to feed himself, so Kuneprius helped him.

  It reminded him of Vesisdenperos in his youth and he’d wondered how the golem occupied his time while they were at the inn.

  Hopefully doing nothing.

  He poured water from the pitcher into the bowl, set the jug aside and dipped his fingertips in, found the liquid cool to the touch. It both comforted him and increased his anxiety; he longed to yank his hands out and plunge his face into the water in their stead, but the greasiness of the meat’s juices that had run between his fingers prevented him.

  He needed to wash his hands before he could think about washing his sins.

  The water’s temperature made it difficult to remove the fat, instead spreading it across his skin. He scrubbed harder and quickly realized it was for naught. Hands still in the bowl, he scanned the room, searching for a towel or something to use in place of one.

  In the near to empty chamber, the only fabrics in sight were the blanket covering the slumbering Thorn and the threadbare curtain draped in front of the window.

  Kuneprius sighed, took his hands from the water, and shook the droplets off over the bowl. Satisfied he’d removed as much of the excess fluid as possible, he gripped the edge of the bowl, carried it to the window, and dumped out the dirty fluid with its oily film. The sound of it splashing on the ground below reached his ears and he cringed; he hadn’t peered out to make sure no one stood below. He hoped not, but assumed it to be the case as no curses floated up to the window on the night air.

  He dried the bowl with the curtain, removing the last of the greasy smudges from the edges he’d touched, then set it on the floor at his feet. Next, he found the cleanest spot possible on the fabric and used it to scrub the remnants of their meal from his fingers and palms. As he did, he stared out the window. The moon lit the short yard stretching from the inn to the woods beyond, but the forest itself lay in darkness. Kuneprius squinted, trying hard to make out the shape of a large, clay man, but to no avail; darkness prevented him from recognizing one tree from another, so he gave up. Glad to be inside as he was, he missed his friend, despite still being unsure if a part of him yet existed or if he was gone forever.

  High in the night sky, Ine’vesi, the evenstar, shone bright; brighter than usual, Kuneprius thought.

  Expectant.

  Was it possible the Small God—the One Who Watched From Above—knew what had come to pass? Could it be the priest Ine’vesi, banished by the Goddess so long ago, understood the contents of his prophecy had been put into motion making his return imminent?

  Kuneprius realized he’d stopped wiping his hands on the curtain and suddenly felt as though eyes bore into him. He spun around, expecting to catch Thorn observing him, but the gray man lay facing the other direction, his shoulder rising and falling with his sleeping breath. Kuneprius’ head snapped back toward the window, instantly finding the evenstar again. It appeared brighter still, more intense.

  He took his hands from the curtain and backed away a step, a shiver shaking along his spine.

  He’s watching me.

  Kuneprius stared at the window, the shoddy curtain having fallen across it, blocking out the night sky. Noise from the tavern below floated up through it; the crowd sounded to have gotten more rowdy than when he retrieved their food. It made sense—as the night wore on and the patrons consumed more ale, they’d naturally become more raucous. He put the noise from his mind and let his gaze fall on the bowl sitting below the window.

  Relief was close, less than a pace away. He knew the respite the simple combination of bowl and water offered him from the world. Despite knowing it was so near, Kuneprius found himself hesitant to approach the window to retrieve the vessel.

  Ine’vesi might be watching.

  No matter, the relief waiting for him with his ritual couldn’t wait. The flesh of his cheeks burned with sin and it was all he could do to keep from clawing it off his head.

  He knelt, leaned forward gingerly, reaching out until his fingers brushed the lip of the bowl. His gaze flickered to the window and, for an instant, he thought he saw the glow of the evenstar shining even through the fabric.

  He grabbed the bowl’s edge and shuffled back, falling onto his buttocks and pushing away from the window with his feet. The light his eye detected faded, the clamor of the bar seeping back into his notice. He sat on the floor for a time, heart beating fast, then shook his head and laughed at himself.

  “The priest is nothing but a light in the sky. He can’t watch you from there.”

  Kuneprius laughed again and stood, picking the bowl up from the floor as he did. He went to the table where the pitcher of water sat but amended his path on his way to pass close by Thorn.

  As he’d hoped, the Small God had found some peace. He breathed deeply and smoothly, his gray lids closed, his lips parted. Kuneprius took a moment to marvel at the creature he stood over, wishing he’d known him when he still had use of the powers the legends spoke of, that he himself experienced inklings of ,despite Thorn’s condition.

  He might have spent a great deal more time staring at this fantastic being if the burn in his cheeks and the itch in his forehead he’d forgotten with the evenstar’s gaze upon him hadn’t returned. He raised his shoulder and rubbed one cheek on it, then spun on his heel and hurried across the small room to the tiny table.

  It shifted and the ewer clinked against the edge of the bowl as he set it down. Water splashed against the side. The sound it made caused an ache in his chest the way a hungry man might salivate at the aroma of cooking meat.

  He could wait no more.

  Kuneprius picked up the jug and tilted it over the bowl, fighting the urge to pour it in all at once. If he did, it would spill, wasting precious water. He decanted it slowly, watching the thin stream flow from the lip of the pitcher, savoring the splash it made filling the vessel that would help bring his relief. He poured until the ewer was empty, shaking it to get the last few drops, then set it aside and gripped the edge of the table with both hands.

  Lamplight glimmered on the surface of the water, inviting Kuneprius to plunge his face in, to relieve days of pent up tension and guilt. He cupped his hands, filled them with water, and splashed it on his cheeks. Once. Twice. Three times. He stood over the bowl, droplets plummeting from his nose and chin, and waited, sighing deep breaths in and out of his chest as he counted his heartbeats.

  One. Two. Bump-bump, bump-bump. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

  On the tenth, he drew one last breath to fill his lungs to capacity, then gripped the edge of the table a
nd leaned forward. Instead of submerging his face all at once, he eased it in, eyes open to watch the water’s approach.

  The tip of his nose touched first, the coolness of the water instantly easing his discomfort at the path his life had taken. His nose went in, then his chin, brows, and lips. Finally, when his entire face broke the surface, he pushed his head forward until his nose brushed the bottom of the bowl. Water slopped over the sides onto the table, splashing his hands, but he barely noticed. The visage of the woman was already finding its way into his mind.

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

  As her features swam into his vision, staring back at him from the bottom of the bowl, he realized he hadn’t been able to call her features to mind since the last opportunity to lave his sins. He’d tried to picture her—mostly at night—with no success.

  Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

  Concern pulled her smooth, young mouth taut, drawing her brows down and tilting her lips into a frown. In truth, this was how he’d seen her face the one time he’d met the woman—the time he’d taken her life—but it was rarely how she appeared to him when he tried to wash away his guilt.

  Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty. Thirty-one.

  Normally, she had a smile for him and forgiveness in her eyes. Only in his dreams did she accuse him, blame him. Her expression now concerned him and he concentrated hard enough on changing it he nearly lost count.

  Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five.

  The girl’s lips moved, her concern deepening, transforming to another aspect he’d seen the day she died: fear.

  His counting ceased. Never had the girl in his vision behaved this way, not when he had control of his mind. When she visited his dreams, she did as she pleased. At times, she blamed him for her death, for the state of the world; at others, he thought she was warning him—the same sense he got from her this time.

  Kuneprius blinked her away and pulled his head from the bowl, water dripping off his nose and chin. A knot in his chest made filling his lungs difficult, but he fought through and plunged his face back in, restarting his count.