Raveler: The Dark God Book 3

by John D. Brown

  “Hogan’s son,” Harnock said, “you are a massive boil on my arse.”

  “That wasn’t my strategy,” Talen replied.

  “I don’t think boils have strategies,” Harnock said. “They just are.”

  “We can talk about beauty treatments later,” River said. “I think now’s the time for an exit.”

  “Those rotted hairy blighters,” Harnock said. “I healed their chief tree warrior. They’re going to pay.”

  “Not now,” said River. “And don’t you think of sending us out on our own. We have no idea where to run.”

  “We’re running down to the river,” Harnock said. “Now, stick close. This is going to be tight.” Then he bolted back down the path. River followed. Talen ran after them. He glanced back at the woodikin only to realize the creature had loosed another arrow. He tried to jump out of the way, but was too late. The arrow sank into the pack on his back. If it hadn’t been for the folded-up blanket inside, he was sure it would have gone all the way through. Talen’s heart thumped in his throat.

  Talen had already multiplied himself beyond what he was used to with the candidate weave. But he was not going to be left behind. He increased his Fire. Then increased it a bit more, and flew down the gentle slope, dodging past the trees, trying to catch up to Harnock and River.

  Behind them, the woodikin began shouting and hooting, blowing their whistles, filling the trees with noise. A number began to run along the branches after them, sometimes making great leaps from one branch to the next.

  Talen caught up to River, the packs and quivers jostling about him, and broke from the last tango nut tree to a clearing by a creek.

  Harnock stood ready with a sling and a number of stones the size of bird eggs.

  “Should I string the bows?” Talen asked.

  “Run,” Harnock said. “Follow the creek to the river!”

  River sprinted along the creek trail. Talen followed.

  Behind them, Harnock yelled something in woodikin and slung his first stone. The stone whistled through the air. Moments later a woodikin cried out.

  “Maggot bird-lovers,” Harnock said and slung another stone.

  River and Talen whipped through branches and brush. Harnock and his insults faded behind them; however, the hoots of the woodikin in the woods grew more numerous. There was the original troop back where Harnock was, but a new group began shouting up the slope to the right. Another blew whistles somewhere else in the forest. That group was farther away, but it didn’t take any great brains to know that the woodikin were trying to get ahead of them and cut them off.

  They flew down the trail for what must have been a quarter of a mile, the hoots and hollering of the woodikin growing. Then the creek emptied into a river that was maybe fifty yards across.

  River charged into it, splashing in water that came up to her calves. Talen followed. The bottom here was a shelf of stone, and the small rocks that lay on top of it hurt his feet.

  Talen had only run halfway into the river when something splashed into the water behind them. He glanced back, and saw Harnock high-stepping it through the water.

  The calls of the woodikin grew close. A number leapt in the heights of the trees behind Harnock. Talen picked up his pace. Suddenly, River sank under the surface. A moment later she bobbed back up again. Then he too came to the end of the rock shelf and the bottom dropped out from underneath him. He tried to keep the bows high, but plunged beneath the cold current.

  The river ran much faster here in the channel and carried him along. He kicked and broke the surface, shrugged out of his pack. Soon it and the wicker quivers would fill with water and begin to drag on him.

  In front of him, River pushed her pack along as she swam. Then one of the wicker quivers broke free, floating away. He turned to swim after it, but Harnock yelled from behind. “Let it go!”

  A short arrow zipped into the water not two yards from where Talen labored. Back on the bank of the river, woodikin poured out of the wood and charged out into the water.

  Talen kicked as hard as he could, and swam for the far bank. The earth there was shorn away by the current. But there were plenty of exposed tree roots and shrubbery to grab onto. Ahead of him, River grabbed a thick root and pulled herself out of the cold water. Then she jumped to her feet and immediately strung her bow. A short woodikin arrow snicked into the brush by her. Others cut into the water next to Talen.

  She fetched out three arrows, gave them a sharp tap to knock the water out of the feathers, then nocked one, drew, and released. The feathers and bow string were still wet, and the arrow didn’t fly as hard or as straight as it should have.

  River moved to the side, refusing to give them a stationary target and shot another arrow. Two more arrows snicked into the brush beside her.

  Talen kicked hard for the bank. He wanted a tree root and aimed for one, but the current was too fast. He missed and got a handful of scrub instead. He pulled on it, but it broke away in his hands, and he splashed back down into the water. He grabbed another handful of branches, and this time felt a shove from behind as Harnock sent him flying up and over the edge.

  Talen rolled in the bushes with his packs and quiver. He turned to help Harnock up, but Harnock was already heaving himself out of the water. “Into the trees!” he bellowed.

  River and Talen turned and sped up the bank.

  Behind Harnock the woodikin raced across the shallow portion of the river.

  “Keep going!” Harnock yelled.

  An arrow struck the quiver Talen held in his hand. Another came flying for him, and he dodged, then ran for the wall of thick foliage at the top of the river’s bank. He scrambled up through the trees a number of yards, then plowed into River who was standing frozen.

  In front of her, three dozen woodikin were arrayed in a semicircle with bows up and ready to be drawn, ready to release a flurry of what surely were poisoned arrows.

  Most of these woodikin were a lighter brown than those in the orchard. Some had the white mane. Others had two white streaks that ran up the neck and rose to a point on either side of their heads. They wore necklaces of feathers and some type of breast armor made of wooden and metal slats sewn onto leather.

  Harnock crashed up behind Talen. “What are you doing?” he growled in anger.

  “Um,” Talen said and pointed at the woodikin.

  Harnock stopped.

  There were too many woodikin behind them crossing the river. Too many bows in front pointed at their chests.

  A woodikin who was bedecked in a collar encrusted with iridescent jewel bugs hooted once loudly and made a hand gesture. The line of woodikin immediately yelled and raced forward.

  Talen drew his knife and took a defensive position. There was no way they were going to survive this. Not unless Harnock truly was a nightmare. But Harnock put his hand on Talen’s shoulder and pulled him back.

  The woodikin streamed around Talen and the others toward the river. They disappeared into the brush. Moments later the cries and barks of the woodikin changed in pitch, then turned into a racket as this new woodikin troop began to engage the one on the other side of the river.

  Talen turned back around. A dozen woodikin remained where Talen had first spotted them.

  “You!” said the leader and pointed at Harnock. “Today you are lucky.” He spoke his Mokaddian with such a thick accent and different cadence that Talen could barely make out what he was saying.

  “No,” Harnock said.

  “Yes,” said the woodikin. “Today you owe plenty.”

  Harnock let out a sigh. “Lords and lice,” he said.

  “Who is he?” asked Talen.

  “A Spiderhawk,” said Harnock. “Sworn enemy of the Orange Slayers.”

  “That sounds good,” said Talen.

  “Unless you’re a human,” said Harnock, “because then all th
ey really want to do is eat your liver.”

  6

  Tanglewood

  THE COLD RIVER water dripped out of Talen’s saturated clothes and onto the ground. His Fire raged. He’d multiplied himself far beyond where he’d ever gone. He was ready to attack. Ready to flee. He said, “How are we going to get out of this?”

  “We?” asked Harnock. “I’m not human; they’re not looking to eat my liver.”

  “Harnock,” River reprimanded.

  “I don’t know if I can save even you,” Harnock said to her. “So be quiet.”

  Down by the river, the fighting broke off, and it sounded like the Orange Slayers were retreating to the bank on the far side. In front of Talen, the Spiderhawk woodikin leader folded his arms. He swayed from side to side, thinking. His collar was resplendent with the shining carapaces of a multitude of jewel bugs that glistened in lines of turquoise, gold, and green.

  “You will come with us,” said the leader. “You fight, we will kill you.”

  “We will not fight,” said Harnock.

  “You try to escape, we will kill you.”

  “We will not try,” Harnock said. “We will talk of trade.”

  “Yes,” the leader said. “You owe plenty.”

  The leader said something in woodikin, and three of the soldiers walked forward with cords.

  “Let them bind you,” said Harnock.

  The three woodikin came forward, teeth bared, moving with a smooth grace. These wore necklaces strung with the bodies of jewel bugs and the fat pincers of black, tree scorpions. Talen expected the woodikin to stink, but they smelled vaguely of pine.

  The woodikin bound Talen’s hands behind his back. They did the same to the others. Then they searched them all and took their packs. One of the woodikin found the wurm’s egg Harnock had stolen, and the other woodikin soldiers chirped a loud approval. The woodikin leader came forward, took the egg, and smiled.

  When the other woodikin finished searching the trio and their belongings, the leader walked up to Talen. A long white moustache fell past both edges of his mouth to his jaw. Three rings pierced one of his ears. He stood only as high as Talen’s chest, but he was thick-limbed, powerfully built.

  He slapped Talen’s chest, prodded his belly, felt his arms. He walked around behind and prodded him where his liver would be and pinched him as if gauging his quality. He shouted something in woodikin. The other woodikin hooted soft and low.

  “What did he say?” asked Talen.

  “He said they’d probably have to make jerky out of you to make you palatable.”

  “Yes,” Talen said addressing the leader. “I’m very bad meat.”

  The leader struck Talen in the side, the pain sending Talen to one knee.

  “You will be quiet,” said the leader.

  “Chot,” said Harnock inclining his head in respect. “He is a stupid boy.”

  “So says the man-lion,” said the leader. His face curled in disgust. “The friend of the Orange Slayers.”

  “I would be a Spiderhawk friend,” said Harnock.

  “Ssa!” said the woodikin and held up his hand for Harnock to be quiet. “You will run now. And you will not try to escape.”

  * * *

  Talen and the others did run. Their path followed a worn trail that took them deeper into the Wilds. Before and behind them loped the woodikin warriors, sometimes on two legs, sometimes using their long arms as a third and fourth leg. As they ran, other troops appeared out of the woods and joined them until it seemed the woods and trees surged with Spiderhawks.

  River stumbled once, tumbling into the dust. Harnock told the woodikin she was sick, but the Spiderhawks didn’t care. They hauled her to her feet and prodded her until she was running again as fast as they had gone before. They led their captives up and down hills, along hollows. As they ran the miles, Talen’s bindings chafed. And because he couldn’t move his arms freely, they began to fall asleep.

  They skirted a small lake where a group of woodikin fished with nets. After the lake, the woods changed, showing more signs of cultivation and more woodikin. More than he would have imagined.

  The group ran alongside a large tango nut orchard, woodikin high up in the trees shouting down to the troop that hustled Talen and the others along. Talen’s thirst and hunger grew. He kept waiting for a chance to escape, for Harnock to do something, but he realized their best chance had been at the river. So he diminished his Fire until it was elevated just enough for him to keep up with the troop.

  And that was another puzzling thing. The woodikin ran with great speed, but didn’t seem to be multiplied. He looked for signs of lore, but none of the woodikin wore anything that remotely looked like a weave. They were running under their own power.

  Above him, a woodikin took a flying leap from the fat branch of a large tree. The branch was at least twenty feet off the ground, but the woodikin landed with a roll and was immediately up and running. He saw another younger, smaller woodikin do the same not one minute later.

  Talen was astounded. What human could match that without being multiplied? He ran on, pondering the strength of these creatures.

  The autumn wind blew through the woods and swirled a light rain of bright fluttering leaves upon them. Soon the trail widened into a main thoroughfare. Up ahead in the distance, a huge mass of giant trees rose above the rest of the forest. The tree trunks were dark at the bottom but lightened as they rose until the wood at the top seemed white. The leaves were a deep blue green. The span of their branches stretched out dozens of yards on either side.

  “A tanglewood,” said River.

  “Aye,” said Harnock.

  Talen was in awe. He’d known tanglewoods were supposed to be large, but this one looked like it stretched a mile wide, maybe more. And each of the trees reached hundreds of feet into the air. Some tribes of woodikin lived in burrows in the ground. But the majority of woodikin lived in towns built in the giant tanglewood trees. The trees were evergreen, but not of the pine family. Instead, their leaves were flat and arranged into large fan shapes. At one time, mature tanglewoods had existed out on the coast in the human lands, but after the wars with the woodikin ended, the Divines had ordered them cut down. Ever since that time, every Mokaddian and Koramite was duty bound to chop down any tanglewood tree they found. Over the decades, tanglewood trees had become scarce in the settled lands.

  Talen avoided a stone in the path. He said, “Is this a major tanglewood?”

  “The Spiderhawks are a powerful tribe,” said Harnock. “Their territory stretches past the southern end of the clan lands. They have five tanglewoods. This is their largest; it’s the queen’s seat.”

  “How many woodikin live here?”

  “Ten, twenty thousand,” said Harnock.

  The woodikin leader smacked Talen with a rod. “Ssa!” he said. “You will be quiet.”

  Talen shut his mouth and looked down at the ground, running with his hands still tied behind his back.

  The leader said, “You will go to the queen, then I will get you, skinman. I will make your hide into fine leather. This winter you will keep me warm.” Then he hooted and ran to the head of the warriors.

  Wonderful, Talen thought, watching the leader’s back. I hope my skin gives you enough for shirt and trousers. He looked over at River, but she appeared not to have heard the brief exchange. She was tiring. He wanted to comfort her, but didn’t dare open his mouth.

  They continued to follow the wide thoroughfare toward the tanglewood. As they approached, more woodikin flocked to the sides of the roads to view them. Only then did the leader slow the procession. Then the forest gave way to patches of open land.

  Talen had not expected the woodikin to farm, but autumn fields and gardens surrounded the tanglewood. However, the gardens were planted in clumps and masses, not in straight lines like those of the Clans.


  Up ahead, a few dozen woodikin worked on the side of the road braiding ropes. In a tree above the braiders, small woodikin children played some game that involved a pig bladder. As Talen jogged past, he saw the children were no taller than the calf of his leg. A bit farther down the road, they passed a group of woodikin pulling crocks out of a large clay oven. The crocks were stuffed with some kind of baked insect. One of the woodikin there wore a shawl of feathers, black at the shoulders and white below. All over the fields hundreds of woodikin worked.

  Talen was amazed at what he was seeing. He’d never imagined there were so many bloodthirsty brutes just beyond the borders. Of course, he could see why few who ventured deep into the Wilds ever came back to tell the tale.

  A cluster of eight smaller tanglewood trees stood off the side of the road. Talen and the others jogged under the shade of the soaring branches. Each tree was of a different height, the dark bark running to white high above. Ropes and odd bridges connected many branches.

  The main tree in this tiny tangle was immense. Twelve people might hold hands and still not reach around its circumference. A small flock of birds wheeled around the upper portion of the tree, but he could not see the top. He was trying to gauge how far up the birds were, when a woodikin leapt out of the tanglewood tree into the air.

  “Goh,” he said.

  Talen waited for the woodikin to plummet to its death. A twenty foot drop was one thing, but that woodikin had to be over a hundred feet in the air. However, the woodikin didn’t fall. It extended its arms and legs and, with some fabric that made it look like a flying squirrel, glided to a platform on another tree.

  “Did you see that?” Talen asked.

  “They weave those wings from some kind of silk,” said Harnock. “And so woodikin can, for short distances, fly.”

  Talen was astounded yet again.

  They continued forward, moving beyond the small tangle, woodikin coming to get a look at them. Some tried to throw things at Talen and the others, but the troop leader hollered at them, and the hazing stopped. They crossed a stream, then proceeded up the road leading to the massive tanglewood.