by John Brown
“What have you got there, boys?”
Talen turned. A huge, armed man stood only a few paces away. His dark beard was long and unkempt like the fur of a shaggy dog. The tusk in his wrist tattoo marked him as Fir-Noy. But his tattoo had been extended. He’d seen that same design on the Fir-Noy that had set the Stag Home villagers on him. But even that tattoo had been extended. The man’s belt and leather cuirass drew Talen’s attention. A blue hand was painted on the right breast of the cuirass. Each of the Nine Clans had many orders; the blue hand was one of the smaller Fir-Noy orders, but it was not made up of common men. This was an armsman, a professional soldier. His military belt with its ornate buckle and honor disks confirmed it. Only an armsman was allowed to wear that belt and the leather apron straps signifying his seniority.
“Armsman?” Talen asked. “Zu?”
How had this man sneaked up behind them? The dogs began to bark, and the shock of this man standing here hit him. Talen stood in alarm and glanced to the fields and river, looking for others.
“We’re all about, boy,” the man said.
Talen had expected some reprisal from the Fir-Noy at Stag Home. But he thought it would come as a fine levied by the Shoka authorities. He didn’t think the Fir-Noy would send his men, and certainly not so quickly.
The cords of the muscles on his arms and neck stood out. Most soliders were levied from the ranks of the common people for a battle or watch, but it was always temporary; they served, and then went back to their lives. Commoners practiced regularly, it was true, but that could not be compared to the armsmen who did nothing but practice war. And not only was he an armsman, but the dark feathers in the tubes on either side of his untied helmet marked him as someone who held authority. Not a leader of a hundred, but a Hammer, someone marked for his performance in battle, someone who had proved himself and was marked for others to follow. Talen suspected this one had probably killed many men.
“Nothing terrible needs to happen here today,” said the man. “We just need your cooperation. You ought to start by calling your dogs before they get hurt.”
Talen didn’t believe a word of it. Somebody was going to get hurt. Something valuable was going to be taken.
The armsman had tied a piece of black cloth around his left upper arm. It signified he was a Sleth hunter.
“Call your dogs,” the man said again.
Talen called out for the dogs, but they did not come.
“What are you doing here?” asked Nettle. “This is Shoka land.”
It was rude for Nettle to address the armsman without the formal “Zu.” Uncle Argoth as a captain for the Shoka was a rank above this man. But that didn’t mean Nettle could address an armsman in that way.
Nettle stood there, looking this man straight in the eye. “I am Nettle, Argoth’s son, captain of the Shoka. You have no authority here.”
The man grinned a surprisingly rot-free smile. Then he stepped up to Nettle and backhanded him in the face, knocking him to the ground.
Talen turned to help Nettle up, but Nettle only pushed his hand away. When he gained his feet, his face was red, eyes tearing from the pain of the man’s blow.
The armsman drew his sword and pointed it at Nettle. “If I were you, I’d watch what I said. None of daddy’s men are here to keep you from stubbing your toe. Now. You’re going to round everyone up. I want them standing by the well.”
Suddenly the dog’s barking rose to a pitch and then a scream.
“You see,” the armsman said, “I told you to call your dogs.”
“Blue!” Talen yelled. “Queen!”
Talen ran toward the sound over by the old house. He soon saw there were about half a dozen others with this man. All but two of them were armsmen. They had positioned themselves in a ring around the farm and now closed the circle. Blue lay on the ground, yelping in pain: one of them had stabbed him in the hindquarters. Queen stood behind Blue, facing down another armsman.
The door to the house swung open. Da strode out carrying the Hog. “What’s going on here?”
Ke and River followed him out.
“You’ll put that down,” said the big armsman, “and tie your dog up.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m here in the name of the Council. You will stand and account.”
Two men closed on Da, their swords in hand.
Da considered them and then dropped the Hog to the side.
This was going to end badly. Talen knew it.
Da looked at Talen and motioned to the dogs. “Go get them.”
Talen turned and found Nettle behind him. “You get Queen,” said Talen. Then he put his hands under Blue so he could carry him. Blue cried out and turned to nip at Talen, but Talen murmured gentle words and carried Blue to the barn and laid him on a pile of fresh straw. Nettle tied Queen up to the closest post.
“Fir-Noy rot,” said Nettle.
Talen ignored him and smoothed Blue’s head and neck. Blood matted Blue’s fur. “You’re going to have to hold his head while I try to stop the bleeding.”
“Just let him lie. He’ll only fight us and pump more blood.”
“Blue,” Talen said. “You stupid dog.” He stroked him again. Blood ran from the wound. “We’ve got to compress this. It’s not going to stop on its own.”
One of the other armsmen appeared in the barn doorway. “You two. Get out here.”
Blue whined, but these armsmen had violence in their eyes. Talen stroked Blue’s head once more and then walked outside.
“Over there.” The man pointed with his sword at the well.
“Zun,” Da said. He faced the big armsman. “You come onto my land and threaten me?”
“Actually, Koramite,” the armsman said, flinging that word at Da instead of returning the proper title, “it’s not your land.”
“You can’t hunt here.”
“The Council has opened up the restrictions. Hunters are allowed free rein.”
Da paused. “Then I’ll need to see your token.”
The big man pointed to his armband. “Are you blind?”
“Any fool can put on a band,” said Da, “that doesn’t mean anything. You need a token, even when restrictions are eased. In these lands it’s the bailiff that determines who will hunt. I’ve already spoken to him about it.”
“Listen to this clever Koramite,” said the man.
“It’s Shoka business. Not yours. If you want to search us, you’ll come back with the bailiff’s token.”
The man grinned and dropped his gaze as if Da had made some joke. He glanced at the two armsmen that were closest to Da, Ke, and River. “Boys,” he said, “is this woman begging me to plow her field?” He turned back to Da. “Are you?”
“Would you allow just any band of men who came along free access to your home? Especially when they demand it at sword point? You need to move on,” said Da.
“No,” said the man. He rolled his shoulders to loosen them. “Actually we don’t. Now I’ve given you an opportunity, but it seems you insist…” He walked forward toward Da. “I know who you are, Zun.” He used the title in obvious mockery. “You think you’re something-a master archer. But you’re nothing more than a high-and-mighty camp lady.”
Among some soldiers, bowmen were considered lesser warriors, fighting only from a distance. It was true that sometimes boys and women were found in their ranks. The real warriors stood their ground and faced the men they would kill. Of course, others didn’t share that opinion, and Da had proven himself many times in battle. But this armsman obviously wasn’t among them.
The armsman stopped two paces from Da and raised his sword point to Da’s chest. “A Koramite, commanding his handful of cowards. Except, oops, you forgot your bow.” He paused. “You know, all this resistance just makes me wonder what you’re hiding.”
Da did not flinch. “This has nothing to do with hiding. It has everything to do with order. You come back with a token and you can pry into every cranny. That’s the law.
And you know it.”
“Don’t lecture me, Koramite. These are the facts. One of your own was practicing the dark arts. And one of you is harboring-”
“Ridiculous,” said Da.
The man raised his sword to Da’s neck. “Don’t interrupt me again. We’re going to search this place. Then maybe you’ll make us some dinner. Afterward, if we feel like it, your tasty daughter there will entertain us.”
“This is why hunts are regulated. Now, I want you to move on.”
“You want?” Then the man’s face changed and he jabbed his sword forward.
But Da moved. One moment he was standing heron still, the next he dodged to the side and delivered a blow to the man’s sword hand with such violence that the sword leapt from the man’s hand and fell to the dust a number of yards away.
The man gasped. He clutched his sword hand.
Da kicked the man’s leg and sent him to one knee.
The two men by the house rushed forward, but Ke and River, fast as snakes, snatched up the Hog and fallen sword and faced the hunters.
The two hunters hesitated. But Talen saw the others draw their swords.
Da knocked off the man’s helmet and held him by the hair with a knife at his throat. “Now,” said Da. “You-”
A man Talen had forgotten was behind him took Talen by the neck and pressed a knife to his back.
“Two can play that,” the man said. “Throw down, you buggered Koramite!” There was nervousness in the man’s voice. “I’ll poke him! I’ll poke him! I’ll poke him!” Each time he said it, the pitch of his voice rose, and Talen felt the knife point push a little harder into his back just where his ribs ended.
There was a deep thud like the sound of a stick hitting a melon, and the man suddenly slacked his grip and fell to the ground.
Talen turned. There stood Nettle holding a hunk of firewood.
Talen felt his back. When he pulled his hand away, blood stained his fingers.
“The sword!” Nettle said. “Get his sword!”
Talen bent over, fumbled at the man’s scabbard, and soon held the sword. It was heavy and did not feel right in his hands.
“You call your men off,” said Da to the big armsmen whose head he held by a fistful of hair. “You tell them to drop their weapons.”
“You’re dead, Koramite,” the big armsman said. He tried to break Da’s grip, but Da simply pushed the knife closer.
“Now,” said Da.
“We can take them,” one of the hunters said, and the remaining four men began to move forward. Talen would not be a match for any of them. Ke might be able to hold his own. But if they had to fight these armsmen, they would lose.
In a flash, Da stabbed the big armsman’s shoulder and put the knife point back to his neck.
The big man cried out in pain.
“The next one goes right into your neck,” said Da.
“Put them down!” the armsman called out.
The hunters hesitated.
“Drop them!” the leader bellowed.
The men reluctantly dropped their swords.
“Everything,” said Da and he pushed the knife harder into the man’s neck. “And kick them away.”
“Do it,” the leader said. His face was red and strained, a massive vein standing out on his forehead.
The men threw daggers after their swords.
“Get the bows, Nettle,” said Da, then he stood the big man up. By the time he’d walked the man past the weapons, Ke, Talen, and River each had a bow, and had strung it.
Da shoved the big man forward. “I’m going to give you ten seconds to get across that stream. Then I don’t want to see you here ever again. You can make complaints to the Shoka warlord to get your weapons back.”
The man looked at the arrows pointing at him. “You’re going to pay for this, goat-lover.”
Da took a step toward him. The man raised his arm in defense, but Da was too quick. One, two punches to the face, and the man’s nose folded to the side. Blood ran down in a thick stream. Then a kick to the groin.
The man doubled over in pain and fell to the ground.
Da grabbed him by the hair and wrenched his head back.
“Am I going to see you again?” asked Da.
The man sucked in great breaths. “No, Zun,” he managed at last. This time there was no mockery in the tone. “No.”
“Because if I do,” said Da, “I’m just going to assume you’re one of those men who hasn’t got the sense to know when to leave well enough alone. And there’s only one way to deal with those types. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Good,” said Da. “You’re a big man, a fine asset; I’m sure your Fir-Noy commanders would hate to lose one with your good sense. And just in case you change your mind, I’m going to alert the Shoka warlord that there’s someone lost on his lands.”
Then Da released him and looked at the other hunters. “I think I’ll start counting at one.”
These weren’t cowards, but Talen could see they knew they’d been beaten.
The big man got to his feet, holding his nose, the blood matting his unkempt beard, but he didn’t say a word. He limped off toward the stream. Two others helped the man Nettle had brained.
Talen and his family followed a comfortable distance behind the men, stopping at the crest of the stream bank. Talen kept his bow up but did not dare to keep his arrow fully drawn lest he accidentally loose it and strike one of them. Da may have beaten the leader, but the presence of these men still frightened him. What would happen next frightened him even more. They’d been sent by the Fir-Noy at Stag Home. You couldn’t shame part of an order and not expect the rest to rise up against you. Who knew what string of events this had initiatied?
The hunters splashed through the water. On the other side, one of them turned. It appeared he was going to say something, but before he’d fully turned, Ke’s bow hummed and Talen watched an arrow miss the man by only a foot and bury itself in a tree behind him.
The man jumped back and cursed.
“Don’t badger them,” said Da.
But Ke had another arrow nocked. “I won’t. I’ll just maim a few.”
“Ke,” Da warned.
The hunters hurried to the woods. Just before they disappeared around a bend, one of them turned and gestured a curse at them. Then he too turned and slipped into the trees.
“Those men will be back,” said Talen. “And they’ll bring the rest of their cohort with them.”
“There’s no cohort,” said Da. “This wasn’t a military mission. If it had been, we would have seen many more. And it would have been led properly. These were opportunists.”
“Someone ought to follow them anyway,” said Ke. “Just to be sure.”
Da nodded. “But you use that bow only as a last resort. We blew the fire out of them. I don’t want you stoking it up again.”
“They won’t even know I’m there,” said Ke. Then he loped after the men.
“River,” said Da. “I need you to scout the hills around the farm. I don’t want any more surprises.”
“Yes,” she said.
Da turned to Talen and Nettle. “And you two: go see to that dog.”
12
THE MOTHER
Hunger stood upon the cliff. Hundreds of feet below him a river surged. He knew its name-the Lion. He knew many names now, all of them taken from the villager named Barg. And more would grow in him over the next few days as he finished digesting the soul of this man. But he wanted no more.
At first, each name had been a delight and thrill. Each had added to a building ecstasy, but then it all changed horribly. The image of the girl he’d killed in the village of Plum-the sons, the pretty wife-they rose in him again. Those images swelled a tide of grief, and he floundered in it like one drowning because it was not the girl, the sons, the wife, but his girl, his sons, his lovely, precious wife.
Somehow, in some wicked way, he was the villager Barg, twisted beyo
nd all reckoning.
It made no sense. But new words tumbled into him every hour. New ideas. In some inexplicable way he’d mixed with the villager like copper and tin mixed to make bronze. He was Hunger and Barg and all the small things he had eaten: a rat, two lazy dogs, a multitude of insects, a horse.
After devouring Barg, he had reached out and, with his own rough hands, wrenched the life from his daughter. He’d separated her, taking her Fire and soul and casting her body aside. He’d swallowed her whole, but he hadn’t eaten her like he had Barg. He’d swallowed her into the place the Mother had told him to.
But he could have chosen not to. He could have run.
The image of his wife’s back breaking, of her folding over like a stick of wood, took his vision away.
Lords, he could have spared her, his son, and little Rose. Oh, sweet little Rose. His grief stretched wide and he roared at the confusion and pain. But Hunger had no tears. No way to purge the pain. And he could not escape. The souls of his family struggled within him, imprisoned inside that place the Mother had made. They would not get out. Even he didn’t know how to release them. That was the power of the Mother. So he could not open his stomach, but perhaps it was possible to break this body and, thereby, set them free.
He looked down at his legs and arms. Earth and grass… it was not right. It was not his body. He could feel worms burrowing through his limbs. This morning he’d pulled away chunks of the grass growing on his legs and stomach and dug in. He was nothing more than dirt and sticks and stone.
There was a name for what he was, but it floated away from him. But name or not, he knew he must die.
The river surged at the bottom of the gorge below him. If he broke himself upon the rocks below perhaps he could undo the horror. It would not bring him back as father or husband. But perhaps it would release their souls, and they could find a way to continue in the world of the dead.
The Lion was a treacherous river and had drowned many men. He spotted a run of thick rapids and marked it as his target. He would break upon the rocks there and sink to the bottom. In time the rushing waters would carry his body out to sea.
