by Blake, Bruce
He sprang forward, launching himself in to the nearest of the ‘brothers,’ knocking him from his feet. The element of surprise on his side for a fraction of a moment longer, he knocked over a second of the dangerous men before a third grabbed his arm. Juddah did his best to jerk away, intending to go back after Birk who’d been holding the rope; Birk who dogged him season after season; Birk who was to blame for Kooj’s death and everything bad that ever happened to Juddah—he understood that now. The man had stalked him, used him, and now was the time for him to pay.
He made it one step toward his goal before a robed man grabbed Juddah’s head in both hands, the grip tight enough his eyeballs bulged in their sockets, causing the swollen one to shoot agony through his head and along his neck. The pain ceased as the man twisted Juddah’s head, a popping sound filling his ears. His aggressor let go and Juddah intended to stop himself from falling to the ground, but found his body refused to respond to his wishes.
As he tumbled, gray crept in at the edges of his vision. Through it he saw the man he’d discovered lying on the shore push the woman from Jubha Kyna—Ailyssa, her name is Ailyssa—through the green glowing wall, hopefully to safety.
By the time Juddah hit the ground, life had left his body.
XXXIII Horace—Small Gods
By the time they reached the bottom o’ the ridge and grass were brushin’ the legs o’ his breeches, exhaustion and fatigue’d returned to Horace with the force o’ a fourth season squall. He considered askin’ the Small God for more o’ whatever she’d given him before, but doubted his voice’d work the way he meant it to. His legs became short stone pillars, barely capable o’ bendin’ and movin’. His lungs refused to fill themselves more’n half full and his muscles cried out for the air they was supposed to supply. Ivy were fairly draggin’ him along behind her when she let go her hold on his wrist.
Horace tumbled to the ground, twistin’ himself at the last second to land on his shoulder instead o’ his face. He lay on his side for a bit, wishin’ to spend some time enjoyin’ the rest. Since he couldn’t, he pushed himself to his elbows, arms what had nothin’ to do with walkin’ givin’ him as much discomfort as his legs.
The Small God were sprintin’ across the field, her skinny legs a blur. Animals raised their heads as she passed, but none o’ them seemed disturbed by her presence or her hurry. As soon as she’d gone by, each beast returned to whatever they’d been doin’.
A grunt made its way up from Horace’s chest and forced itself out between his lips as the ol’ sailor struggled to his feet. Them heavy legs didn’t wanna help out, and he tumbled back to the ground at first. He sighed and gave it another go, pushin’ himself up to hands and knees. He crawled toward the mud huts, draggin’ his feet in the grass, stainin’ the knees o’ his filthy britches. The length o’ three men’d passed beneath him when the big cat sauntered into his path.
He’d not seen an animal like this before, bein’ a seafarin’ man as he were, but he’d heard tell o’ such creatures. What the stories’d said didn’t give him no confidence it wouldn’t eat him.
Muscle rippled under the cat’s tawny coat. Its long tail flicked side to side like a thing with its own life. The beast stared at him, movin’ as though it thought to be sneakin’ up on him. Horace froze, more sweat burstin’ on his brow and a sudden and urgent need to piss makin’ itself known.
The big cat licked its lips.
Horace gulped hard and forced his uncooperative limbs into reversin’ course. His hands and knees scuffled through the grass; a rock dug into his palm, causin’ him to draw a sharp breath, but he forgot it as the beast took to stalkin’ his direction.
It means to make me its lunch.
Were this why Ivy brought him here? She must be blamin’ him for losin’ her brother, and bein’ consumed by the animal slinkin’ toward him were his punishment. How could it be he’d survived a watery god for the same life to get ended by a land animal’s teeth?
Scufflin’, cursin’, and quakin’ in fear o’ his life, Horace drug himself back the way Ivy’d brought him, but the big cat picked up its pace. Its quick feet and easy stride ate up the ground the way the cat’d eat him up when it got to him. The ol’ sailor’s arm and legs gave out under him, pitchin’ him to the ground; he strained his neck to keep his chin outta the dirt.
So this is it. This is the end.
He let out a sigh and pulled his arms up ‘round his head. He didn’t imagine doin’ so’d stop the big cat’s jaws from splittin’ his skull and snackin’ on his brain, but he figured he needed to do somethin’. His muscles clamped tight, tyin’ themselves into fearful knots for the very last time.
I’m sorry I didn’t take better care o’ you, Thorn. And sorry, Rilum, I weren’t a better dad to you.
The quiet pad o’ the cat’s paws drew close; for him to detect them steps, Horace estimated the beast must be damn close. The sailor gritted his teeth, preparin’ for the death blow, whether it came by tooth or claw.
Nothin’ happened.
“Fuck me dead.”
The words escaped his lips despite his not wantin’ to speak lest it’d anger the big cat. It didn’t. Instead, someone laughed; tittered’d be a better description. A quiet rumblin’ joined in with them snickers.
Horace relaxed his muscles and took his arms away from his face. He didn’t remember doin’ it, but he found he’d closed his eyes, too. He opened them slowly, prayin’ he’d see nothin’ but grass close by him and mud huts in the distance.
The cat sat on the grass a bit more’n an arm’s length away. Seein’ it so close made a drop o’ piss squeeze outta Horace against his will, but he kept his bladder from releasin’ any more, partially because Ivy stood beside the beast, fingers scratchin’ the fur between its pointed ears. The rumblin’ came from the animal, a response to the Small God’s touch. All around behind her and to both sides, other gray men and women gathered.
“This is the one Ivy told about,” she said. “The sailor from the prophecy.”
Horace shook his head, tryin’ to get them to understand he knew nothin’ o’ no prophecy and, even if he did, weren’t no way it mentioned him.
“The prophecy is not real,” one standin’ off to Ivy’s right said. “A story to keep our kind from escaping the veil.”
Many of the others nodded or mumbled their agreement. In fact, as Horace glanced about them gathered around, it appeared none but Ivy wasn’t agreein’.
“But my brother Thorn escaped. The sailor saw him on the other side of the veil, as the prophecy foretold.”
“Ha!” scoffed a gray feller what stood taller’n the others—not by much, but enough to be noticeable. Weren’t much way but height to tell them apart, with not even a heap o’ difference in that from one to the next. “Ivy believes…this?”
The taller feller gestured in Horace’s direction and the ol’ sailor felt a twinge o’ annoyance at his choice o’ words. He didn’t know Horace, nor nothin’ about him; he’d ne’er done anythin’ to deserve bein’ called a ‘this’.
“I saw him,” Horace piped up as he pushed himself up to his knees. “Fact, he fell outta the sky, right on toppa me.”
No titterin’ in response this time. A wave o’ laughter rippled from one Small God to the next and the next until they belly-laughed at him. All o’them except Ivy. A grave look’d settled on her face.
“You should not laugh. Why should this human lie to us?”
A diff’rent feller than what first spoke stepped forward. Horace knew it to be a feller due to the man-thing danglin’ betwixt his legs, but this Small God stood shorter than the first, and broader, too. Weren’t no belly on him, but he were wider at the shoulders and hips; even his face and head was diff’rent from the others. The laughin’ ceased as though this one’d given a silent command. Ev’ryone waited for him to speak, Horace included.
“This…man…should not be in our land.”
“But Thorn—”
The broad feller raised
his hand and Ivy stopped speakin’. Her chin drooped toward her chest and she lowered her eyes from his gaze.
“Sky understands Ivy misses her brother, but this is not the first time Thorn has gone off alone.” He shook his head and, for an instant, Horace thought he spied a smile flit across his lips, but then it disappeared and he doubted what he’d seen. “Because Thorn went exploring does not mean the sky will crash down upon us.”
Horace directed his attention from the broad feller what called himself Sky to Ivy. The muscles in her jaw bunched up as if she wanted to say somethin’ but forced her mouth closed to keep from doin’ so. The ol’ sailor didn’t like the way it made her look; Thorn’d been so happy-go-lucky, it seemed wrong the weight o’ the world pressed down on his sister.
“The prophecy is a story, as Branch spoke, and our land is no place for those other than our own kind. Ivy knows that. Every man who ever set foot behind the veil became Faceless.”
Faceless.
The word brought a picture o’ the creatures to Horace’s mind, blood smeared across their smooth, white faces as they attempted to feed themselves. He swallowed hard.
They once were men?
Knowin’ that brought a boatload o’ questions and icy fear. How did they get here? Where were their faces? What made them that way?
Did the Small Gods take their faces?
Horace’s gaze darted from one gray face to another; the tall feller called Branch leered at him with what the ol’ sailor thought were somethin’ like hunger burnin’ in his eyes. Sweat ran along Horace’s temple onto his cheek. Suddenly, it seemed havin’ his skull cracked open by the big cat might’ve been preferable to what might happen to him now.
“But Thorn—” Ivy’s voice trailed off as she raised her head to meet Sky’s gaze.
“Thorn will be fine and will likely return soon,” he said, his tone softer, soothing. It hardened when his gaze found Horace again. “Ivy must take the man away from here.”
Thorn’s sister didn’t respond with words, simply nodded once and closed the distance between herself and the sailor. The big cat stayed behind, its golden eyes watchin’ as Ivy put her hand under Horace’s armpit and helped him to his feet. The energy she’d given him before flowed from her touch again, allowin’ him to hold himself up without fallin’ on his face. Gave him vigor, but not courage; it seemed to him a hideous fate awaited him.
Many of the gray people was leavin’, headin’ toward the mud huts from where they’d come. Sky remained, and Branch and a few others, watchin’ as Ivy led Horace away across the meadow and up the hill leadin’ to the ridge.
Toward them Faceless.
***
They walked for a long time without speakin’; long enough the sun dipped down outta the sky, showin’ Horace which direction were Sunset. They wasn’t headin’ that way as shadows crept their way through the forest. Ivy kept her hand on his the whole time, her energy keepin’ his legs movin’ toward his fate.
Though it appeared they followed a similar path to what they’d taken to arrive at the clearin’—they’d need to, to get back to them Faceless fiends where he suspected she meant to take him—Horace didn’t find anythin’ familiar in their surroundin’s. Not recognizin’ anythin’ and not knowin’ what lay ahead for him filled his chest with dread the way Ivy’s touch put energy in his limbs. The ol’ sailor drew a deep sigh in through his nose, expectin’ to pick up the scents o’ carrion and death but findin’ only foresty odors. He’d never expected it’d happen, but his heart ached to smell the sharp tang o’ oiled boards and brine upon the wind.
Least I knew what to expect with my feet on a ship’s deck.
“Are you gonna take my face?”
Ivy quit walkin’, but Horace carried on for two paces; her touch left his arm, makin’ thick and gooey fatigue ooze back into his limbs. He had no choice but to halt, too, or he’d end up with his nose in the mossy forest floor.
“Ivy will do nothing to hurt you, sailor. Why would you think that?”
“Because o’ what the broad feller said. You’re to get rid o’ me and all the men what comes to the Green turn into one o’ them Faceless we saw.”
She closed the short distance between them and Horace resisted the urge to back away, mostly because he didn’t think his legs’d hold him up if he tried to move. He tensed as her hand returned to his arm.
“It is not Ivy and her kind who take the faces of men, but the Green, as you call it, sailor.”
“Seaman,” he corrected. “I be called Horace Seaman.”
“Is that what Ivy’s brother Thorn called you? Horace Seaman?”
“Yes.”
The ol’ sailor thought of the small, gray feller, his joyous way o’ bein’, his love o’ the world around him. What had become o’ Thorn?
“Then Ivy will call you Horace Seaman, too.”
She began walkin’ again, pullin’ him along with her.
“If you ain’t gonna take my face, then what are you doin’ with me?”
“The prophecy must be fulfilled.”
Horace shook his head, but it did nothin’ to clear the foggy confusion what were sneakin’ into it. “Your friends said there weren’t no prophecy.”
“Sky does not believe it, but that does not mean it is not truth.”
As they walked, a stiff wind picked up, rattlin’ leaves and branches. Had he been on his own, the racket would’ve frightened Horace for what might be lurkin’ in the gatherin’ darkness, their movements hidden by the gustin’ wind. Rememberin’ how them Faceless couldn’t see Ivy helped him put some o’ the fear aside. Some, not all.
“So you believe it.”
“Ivy does, Horace Seaman. A Small God missing and a man who rides upon the sea. Both are in the prophecy. Does Horace see it cannot be a coincidence?”
He shook his head again. “Can’t be me. I’m nothin’ more’n a man what spent too many turns o’ the seasons standin’ on one deck or another when I’d rather’ve been anywhere else.”
“Be that as it may, Horace is the sailor who met the Small God escaped from behind the veil. There can be no other.”
He didn’t respond at first. Were it possible he might be the feller mentioned in a prophecy? Seemed unlikely. He weren’t ever anythin’ but a less’n average man and it weren’t likely he’d be anythin’ but. What could he do what’d make him part o’ some prophecy? The ol’ sailor tilted his head skyward and saw the wind’d blown a bank o’ clouds in, hidin’ the moon and the stars from sight and throwin’ the world into deeper darkness. He shivered.
“If you ain’t makin’ me into one o’ them Faceless, then where are you takin’ me?”
“Horace’s arrival means the barren mother and the seed of life must be near.”
“My mother be long dead.”
“Not Horace’s. The barren mother.”
“What’s that s’posed to mean?”
“Ivy does not know. The prophecy suggests sailor, seed, and mother must come together for there to be any hope.”
Hope?
Horace tried to speak, but his voice came out as nothin’ but a croak. He cleared his throat and gave it another go.
“What’m I to do with this seed and mother?”
“The prophecy does not explain. Horace will know when the time comes, as Ivy knew what to do when Horace showed up.”
“And what happens if I don’t?”
“Then all will perish.”
She spoke the words matter-o’-factly, as though she hadn’t just proclaimed the end o’ life. Horace gulped back a flood o’ spit what threatened to overflow his mouth, its taste acidy with fear and dread.
They walked on in silence, the ol’ sailor’s mind racin’.
How can I save anyone when I can’t keep myself outta trouble?
Through the trees, he saw a greenish glow against the backdrop o’ scuddin’ clouds. They was gettin’ close to the veil what he’d crossed while floatin’ in the water but what he hadn’t been able to ge
t through here on the land. Why take him there? Even Thorn’d needed to use Father Raven to go o’er it because nothin’ were goin’ through it.
Horace’s eyes went wide. Were Ivy goin’ to make him fly o’er it with a bird? If that be the case, then the world were gonna end because Horace Seaman weren’t gonna fall from the sky the way Thorn’d done.
He peered up through the swayin’ branches at the clouds swirlin’ o’erhead; the wind stopped all o’a sudden. The leaves and limbs fell silent along with any other sound the forest might’ve been makin’. Ivy stopped walkin’ and looked up, too, leavin’ Horace’s own breath and the beat o’ his heart the only sounds in his ears. The world seemed to be waitin’, and Horace had no choice but to wait with it. After a bit, he could bear it no longer.
“What—?”
Thunder boomed, startlin’ him, and the wind whipped back to life, stronger’n before. Trees bent and flexed with its force and Horace suspected he might have to hold onto Ivy to keep her from blowin’ away. He moved closer to her, grabbin’ her hand when she spoke one word what sent a shiver along his spine.
“Thorn.”
Ivy still held her gaze skyward, so he did the same, lookin’ up in time to see a streak o’ light, but not like no lightnin’ he’d seen in many a storm. This streak o’ light trailed out behind a ball o’ fire what hurtled toward the ground.
Ivy ran.
XXXIV Kuneprius—Teva Stavoklis
The rumble of wagon wheels on hard ground became monotonous background noise soon after they left Murtikara. No one spoke aloud their destination, but the others knew, and Kuneprius suspected.
Teva Stavoklis.
When he’d first climbed into the covered wagon, his inclination was to peer out the side, both to see where they were going and to locate what the brothers had done with Thorn. He soon proved incapable of either as exhaustion leeched through his bones and muscles, bearing Kuneprius to the wagon’s floorboards and smothering him with sleep.
