by John Brown
Stop. It was the Mother, reaching out to him. This will do you no good. Have you not learned yet to trust me? I told you not to eat the humans. But you disobeyed.
He felt her pull. Felt the pain only she could give him. But maybe she could ease the grief. Maybe she could ease his yearning and emptiness. Hunger looked at the waters below and hesitated.
She would hurt him. She would be furious. I only ate one. Only one. And he didn’t have any stink. You said not to taste the ones with stink.
That is what I said, you’re right. And you did cease your frenzy when you’d consumed one. Come back to me.
Maybe she wouldn’t punish him. But even this one, he said, even this one hurts.
Of course. Don’t you see? she said. It’s the man you ate that’s riding you, filling your mind with these thoughts. The filthy man. You’ve given him power over you.
The man wasn’t filthy. He was… Hunger. Himself.
I am an… he paused, then the word came to him, tumbled in with the weight of a massive stone. I am an abomination, he said. Let me go.
Come to me, she said. I will give you rest. I will show you how to eat these men and not suffer.
Her pull was not overwhelming here, not like in her cave, but he could feel the ease only she could give him. He almost turned then. Almost returned to her. But Hunger now knew the name for what he was, and that thing was not meant for this world.
No, he said. You made me. Not the man. You are a river of darkness. But I choose one of light.
Then he stepped back, and before he could change his mind, before she could say another word, he charged the chasm and, with a mighty leap, flung himself into the yawning gorge.
A satisfaction washed over him, for at least this deed was right. He plummeted in silence. He knew he should feel a giddiness, a rising thrill or panic. A man would feel that. And that’s what he had been. But all he felt was the black hunger of his heart.
Then the surging river rushed up at him and he crashed violently into the rocks. Part of his body slipped away. He thought it would continue: he’d dissolve and disperse like sediment.
But the water pushed him off the rocks, and he did not die.
He did not die!
The rushing current carried him along.
Dirt! Cursed, rotten dirt! He should have known-how could you kill dirt? He hadn’t even felt the pain of impact.
He sunk into the river’s depths, scraping, rolling, bumping along the bottom as the water ran its turbulent path.
Maybe the river would carry him out to sea. He might walk in the depths there, might even be eaten by a leviathan. Surely such a beast could kill him. Or maybe it would avoid him altogether, for what creature of the sea ate dirt?
The force of the water soon lessened and he found himself in a deep eddy, deposited in the shadow of an overhanging rock. He lay in a bed of sand at the bottom of this calm nook of the river. A school of large trout eyed him in the dark green and blue depths. Far above them, the sun shone like a pale dot. Maybe he could lie here forever, let the river cover him up with sand and mud.
Lie here. But his family would lie here with him, imprisoned in his gut.
He needed help. And of the seven Creators, there was only one he thought might answer.
Regret, he prayed in his mind. Deliver me. Destroy this creation, dissolve me forever.
But it was not Regret who answered him.
If you will not learn obedience through pleasure, said the Mother, then you will learn it through pain.
Hunger braced himself. He did not know what magical bond she held him with. But she could always find him. And she could deliver a white-hot flame that burned all thought from his mind.
Come to me, she said.
Then she did something. She pushed at him, and Hunger found himself rolling over to get his footing.
The trout darted out to the bright water then into shadows farther away. But he stopped himself. No, he said. Never again.
You can fight me, she said. But in the end, you will obey. It is your nature.
She pushed again, and Hunger found himself looking for a path up out of the riverbed. He took two steps and stopped.
She pushed again.
Another few steps.
It will cost you, Hunger said. I will fight you every bit of the way.
There was a pause and he felt the first trickle of the pain. A trickle that grew into a raging fire. It hurt. It seared. It rose in him and consumed him in a soundless scream.
When Hunger regained his senses, he found himself still under the water, lying on a stretch of river stones. This was a different part of the river. It took all his might, but he pushed himself up.
Hu, he said. Do you see? I can withstand your pain. Perhaps you will always beat me, but it will cost your attention and time. I will take that from you. I will force you to always think of me so you can think of nothing else.
There was a pause.
He felt her push.
He took a step, and then another. He tried to fight her.
But she flooded him with ease. He could trust her. She was good. And if he asked very carefully, with much obedience, she would release those he had so horribly imprisoned.
Hunger turned and climbed up the steep, slippery rocks of the bank of the riverbed, up out of the water and into the sunshine. When his strength returned, he began to run along the banks, leaping between massive boulders, back toward the Mother and her caves.
Hunger could smell the Mother here in the darkness. The warrens were full of her. She smelled of rock and sweet, clean magic.
She was smaller than he was, but quick and strong. He’d felt her sharp teeth and powerful hands. He’d seen her. She rarely left the caves, but she’d ventured forth with him a time or two, walking abroad in the night. He’d also seen her in the smallest of light that found its way into the depths from the mouth of the cave. She was pale. Pale as a mushroom. Pale as the moon.
He didn’t know what she was. She had two arms, two legs. A head. She had a muzzle, which the villagers did not. Her skin was covered with a fur. Smooth and soft as the small things he had eaten: the mice and squirrels, the rat.
His ease grew the deeper he went in the inky tunnels. Her powers were always stronger when he was close.
He felt along the walls as he walked, smelled the scent of rock and water, of the sulfur springs, and of the strange beasts that lived in the bowels of this mountain. When he came to the carving that marked the hole leading to the lower chambers, he climbed down. Then it was up a small slope, over the bridge that spanned the cold waters of the underground river.
He found her in the warm room, surrounded by her light. But now he considered that light as if for the first time. It wasn’t just light. It was-the word was “ribbons”-it was ribbons of light, ribbons flowing around her, circling her limbs. Living ribbons of light wriggling like the snake he’d eaten. And then he saw that her appearance was changed.
She no longer had a muzzle. Nor was she covered in soft fur.
The Mother was human. And beautiful. So stunning it took his breath away.
He wondered and marveled at the change. He looked closer at her. She looked like…
She looked like his wife. He was confused. “Lovely?” he asked.
“Come here,” she said.
The ribbons of light reached out to him and circled his arm, caressed his neck, wreathed his head. A continual shimmer.
“What do you want?” she asked.
He only wanted to be here with her. But no, that wasn’t right. Deep in his mind he knew there was something else. And then the nightmare of his family struggled past the feel of her beauty and stared him in the face.
He was going to tell her to free the souls inside, but he knew she must not know they meant anything to him.
“Freedom,” he said.
She laughed.
“You need a servant,” he said. “But you don’t need me. I will find you another, and you will give me th
is boon: you will dissolve this body and let me go.”
“And the souls inside you?” she asked.
Her face flickered like smoke. Alarm shot through him. He took a step back, but she grabbed him by the arm, and such was the power of her ease that his panic lost its grip. He knew he should run, but could not.
She thrust her other hand into his sodden chest. She reached deep into him with that powerful hand and grasped the part of him that held his family.
He wanted to struggle, but could not.
With a yank she broke them free-his bright daughter, his handsome sons, his admirable wife-and withdrew his monster’s heart.
Hunger fought her ease with all his might and managed to grasp her hand. He felt what she held. It was then he realized she hadn’t grasped his heart, if he even had one.
No, what she’d taken from his chest was a stomach.
It was a weave of willows. He’d been there when she’d made them; he himself had fetched the thin flexible willow branches she used for such weaving. They smelled of her magic. His body was packed with stomachs. Empty stomachs waiting to be filled. But this one was not empty. In this one Hunger could feel the souls of his family caught like moths in a wicker web.
The Mother pushed at him and yanked her hand away. “You stupid thing,” she said. “I will devour them.”
“No,” he begged. “Please.”
“Then help me prepare for the harvest. Bring me the ones that stink, all those that could fight against me. Bring me the young male that would be their leader. This is your duty. And when you have fulfilled that duty you will receive the boon you seek.”
The pull of her dazzling beauty and the desires for his family tugged against each other. He wanted to obey her. But he also knew she was lying. She would not keep her promise to free his loved ones.
Then something she’d just said sparked an idea in his mind. She had spoken of a harvest before, but he had not known then what the word meant. “What do you want to harvest? I am strong. I can serve you as the harvest master and you can let these go.”
Her anger seemed to flow away at this offer and her countenance smiled upon him. “It has been too long since any in my family have handled humans. So facile.”
This made no sense to Hunger and he could not tell if she had been talking to him or herself.
“You do not understand,” she said. “This herd of humans is mine. Mine by right. It was my mother’s mother’s before me and will produce for my daughters. But humans rebel against the natural order of things. It has ever been so. And if they would rebel against me, then think what they’d do if one such as yourself was set to watch over and harvest them. No, humans do best when one of their own sits at their head. Your part is to cull the herd. Nothing more.”
A part of Hunger recoiled at this information. Harvesting humans? Then he thought of how she taught him to unravel things, and he knew what she wanted to harvest.
A wave of her ease washed over him. What did it matter what she wanted. Or if she lied. She was so beautiful. So kind.
His alarm faded away.
“They are hidden, the ones that stink. Hidden so even the Mother who stole this herd from my ancestors could not find them. But you have been created to root them out.”
Hunger thought. A word came to him for the ones that stink-Sleth. That was their name. And he immediately knew where the men had taken one of them. He’d learned this not from following any scent trail, for the scent had ended in the fires. No, that knowledge had been one of the first things that had tumbled into him from Barg. Purity the Sleth was going to be held in a stone cage in Whitecliff. He could take her. Sleth would do anything to keep their secrets. They would go so far as to hunt and kill captured members of their nests, which meant if he did take her, he could then use her as bait to find the others.
“You will spare these?” he asked.
“Your kind is so weak. How you ever overpowered the Mothers I will never know.”
“Will you spare them?”
“You have two nights,” she said. She held up the stomach that contained his family. “If you fail, know that I and my daughters are hungry, and these firstlings will be prepared for our feast.”
13
SNARE
Blue wouldn’t let Talen near the wound. The dog had licked until the bleeding stopped, but if corruption set in and spread, they would have to put him down. Talen could not believe what had just happened. And Da was wrong: those men would be back.
He and Nettle went back to the house and found Da standing at the hearth. Three large red onions sat roasting on a pile of embers there. A pot of porridge hung from a crane over a cooking fire. The fish they’d filleted earlier were sizzling in a yet another pan. Da poked at them with a knife. The ends of his beard braids were tucked into the collar of his tunic to keep them from getting into the fire or falling into the food.
Ke sat at the table, propping himself up with his elbows. There was no bowl or plate before him.
“Shouldn’t River be back by now?” asked Talen.
Da swung the crane, and the pot of barley that hung from it, out of the hearth. “Don’t you worry about River. She’ll be fine.”
Da was probably right. River could take care of herself. She might not be as strong as Ke, but she knew woodcraft. She had her bow. And, if it came to it, he doubted any but a dreadman could run her down.
Da lifted the pot off the crane with a hook and brought it to the table. He took off the lid and dropped a large spoonful into each of their bowls, then he put a small chunk of butter onto the top. They rarely ate their porridge in the sweet Mungo style. “By the time you’ve eaten that, the fish and onions will be ready.”
Talen turned to Ke. “What did you find?”
“I followed the armsmen to their mounts,” said Ke. “Then I followed them to the edge of the forest. They’re headed out to Fir-Noy lands.”
That could mean the armsmen had given up or were going to make an official complaint. But Talen doubted that was the case. Da had just humiliated a Hammer; that surely wouldn’t go unpunished. “They’re probably circling round or going to gather a mob,” said Talen. He turned to Da. “We’re sitting here like a bunch of cattle.”
“We’ll watch,” said Da. “And it’s true somebody needs to go talk to the bailiff, but it’s too late now. I don’t want anyone out past dark with the country full of imbeciles like those who showed up today. There’s nothing else we can do at the moment.”
But that wasn’t true. The armsmen weren’t the real threat. Sleth were. Talen looked at Nettle, who was chewing a huge mouthful of the porridge. They’d discussed their plans, but he didn’t want to blurt them out now. Da needed to first see the prints. Only then would he listen.
Da walked back to the hearth. He grabbed the small frying pan from the wall. He put a knife full of lard in it and stuck the pan next to the andiron above the coals. When the lard melted and began to sizzle, he produced a large brown egg from his pocket, cracked it, and dropped the contents into the pan.
“Where did you get that?” asked Ke.
“Mol,” said Da. “I got half a dozen.” He grinned. “And if you’re polite and grovel like a proper son I might save you one for when you end your fast. But you must promise to help me. We’re going to be treating our four new ladies like fat Mokaddian city wives for the next few weeks. We need to hand-feed them grasshoppers and a slice of squash every day.”
“Da,” said Talen. “There is something we can do right now. We can solve the root of the problem.”
“You’re not going to reconcile Koramites with Fir-Noy,” said Da and turned back to his pan. “We’re oil and water.” He added a strip of fatback to his egg and let it all sizzle.
“I wasn’t talking about that. I’m talking about the hatchlings.”
Ke groaned. “Och, here he goes again about a monster running about the woods wanting his pants to cover up its naked bum-”
“They’ve got Sleth caged in Whi
tecliff,” said Talen, “and you seem to think the world is as safe as a pie bake.”
“Perhaps the woman in Whitecliff isn’t as dangerous as you think,” said Da. “What’s needed now is calm heads.”
“I agree,” said Talen. “And I am calm. But what you need to know is that not only did I see one of them, in broad daylight, but we’ve got its footprints in the yard.”
Da and Ke followed Talen out to the footprints. The sun had sunk low, but there was still enough light to see by. In fact, the angle of the light made the track clearer. He led them to the one by the old sod-roofed house and then finally brought them to the one by the pigpen.
“That’s too small for Sammesh,” said Talen. He put his foot next to it to make the point.
Ke stretched one of his massive arms to scratch a spot on his back. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a killer.”
“Oh, come on,” said Talen. “Look at it.”
A horsefly landed on Da’s arm. He looked down at it and let it prepare to bite. “That print could be anybody’s,” said Da. “Could be one of the children that came with that tinker family. They were here just last week.”
It could have been them. “But that doesn’t explain the sighting and my missing pants.”
Da smacked the horsefly with the flat of his hand. It fell to the dirt where Da ground it in with his foot. “Yes,” said Da, “the missing pants that were under your bed.”
“I saw something today,” said Talen.
“I’m sure you did. But I’m also sure that your beating this morning has you rattled. Do you remember when you were a boy and saw the shadows of a number of Og in the yard?”
Talen remembered. Their wagon had cast a shadow in the light of a full moon. And he’d been sure the creatures were in the yard ready to tear them all to pieces. Of course, Da had taken him by the hand, kicking and screaming, and forced him to face the fact that it was only moon shadows.
“I saw a leg,” said Talen. “Why won’t you believe me? I don’t understand why you’re not concerned.”
