Servant: The Dark God Book 1

by John D. Brown

  Surely, she was talking about a Divine’s gift. “They went to the temple?” he said.

  River shook her head, and dread washed over him.

  “You were broken in body and soul. Da could not see how to heal you and steeled himself to losing you. He had given up. After all, many families lose one here or there. But Mother would not give up. She saw possibilities invisible to him. You struggled a week, then two. Everyone marveled at your spirit. But then Da discovered one night it was more than your tenacity keeping you alive. He caught Mother pouring her life into you. Her Fire flowed through you and held you together. And when you finally vanquished the disease, she was spent. A whole lifetime spent in two weeks.”

  River smiled, but her eyes glistened in the dim candlelight.

  “She died in the morning the day after your fever broke, holding your hand.”

  Talen could not speak.

  “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  He nodded. But it just couldn’t be.

  “Your veins, brother, run, in very fact, with our mother’s Fire.”

  “But—”

  “Shush,” said River. “Mother said that parts of you, parts of your very weave were . . . twisted. Most of that she was able to heal. But as she delved into the fiber of your being, she found other parts that defied her knowledge. Parts she said were complex, beautiful, unlike anything she’d ever encountered. There are things about you she could not change. Things she dared not change.”

  He glanced at Nettle, but his expression was unreadable. Then the sleth girl came and stood in the doorway.

  River said, “At the end, she was half mad with the effort. She kept telling us she needed to find the flaw. She thought you were perfect. We’ve all been waiting to see what you would become, to see what gifts the wisterwives had bestowed.”

  Talen felt lost. It was all too much. Wisterwives, sleth, weaves. “Nobody’s seen a wisterwife,” said Talen.

  “They are elusive, but Mother and Da found the charm.”

  “The charm? You mean that odd necklace she used to make me wear?”

  “The very same. Legs has it now. Mother gave it to Purity when he was born, thinking it might still have some virtue.”

  “It was yours?” the girl asked in confusion.

  River nodded. “Mother woke early one morning to find the shutters to her room open and the mosquitoes buzzing about her face. The charm was lying on the chair inside the Creator’s wreath. Something had taken the wreath from above the door to the house and brought it inside. Mother looked out the window. A troop of ferrets stood about the yard gazing at her, still as stone. They stood for some time, considering her in silence like wise little men. And then, just before the light broke above the hills, the little creatures turned and disappeared into the forest. Mother conceived Talen with that charm about her neck, and he wore it for the first few years of his life. But when Legs was born, she thought it had a better purpose.”

  Talen had heard about the ferrets, but not the charm.

  “But my mother said it was given to us,” said the girl.

  “It was, but not by a wisterwife,” said River. “She probably didn’t want to repeat the story. Such encounters are special, and should be treated so.”

  Talen said, “Did Mother see the wisterwife?”

  “No, but how else do you explain the curious charm, the ferrets, and the wreath?”

  Talen wondered. Wisterwives were said to bestow great blessings upon humans. Some said they served the Divines. Others said they served none but themselves.

  It puzzled him that his family hadn’t said anything about this. Of course, a wisterwife’s charm was a rare and precious thing because it gave fertility and health. He supposed if people knew the source of that necklace, they would have stolen it. Perhaps that was the reason for the silence. Or perhaps it was something else.

  “Regret has servants as well” said Talen. “How do you know it was a blessing? How do you know it even has anything to do with me?”

  “I don’t,” said River. “I am trusting Mother’s judgment.”

  “I might not manifest anything at all,” said Talen. “Maybe those changes were already in the bloodline. Traits can sometimes skip generations.”

  “That’s true,” said River. “But the differences in your weave were exceptional.” She shook her head. “And they needed exceptional care. Da was reckless. I have no idea how much of your life you’ve lost. Nor whether you’ve burned yourself to the core.”

  River’s description of his “weave” bothered him. “You talk as if I’m some piece of wrought jewelry.”

  “We all are, Talen. Every living thing is a weave of one kind or another.”

  “So what was different about me?”

  “I don’t know. Mother died and took her secrets with her. But there’s this: Fire can be eaten only very slowly, and so it must be given only very slowly. To do otherwise is to risk the life of the person you’re giving it to. How she transferred a lifetime of Fire in the space of only a few days is beyond us. It should have killed you. Your exhibition tonight should have killed you. You were pouring forth quantities of Fire that would have killed ten men had they tried to tap into it. The amounts of Fire you’re able to handle is astonishing. And then there’s this: the band Da put upon you should have only had the slightest effect. It’s as if you’ve amplified its effect.”

  “You’re talking about that godsweed charm, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” said River.

  “That was a weave?”

  “Yes.”

  Talen thought about it. If it was a weave, then it was a living thing on some level. He looked at Nettle and the girl who were both standing aside with grim faces.

  Talen looked down at the floor. “Who made the weave?”

  “Da.”

  The only ones that used the lore were the Divines or sleth. And Da wasn’t a divine. Mother and Da had been using lore for years. These hatchlings hadn’t subverted anyone here. And suddenly a number of things that had always puzzled him suddenly made horrible sense. Harboring the hatchlings, for one. Da’s dislike of the Divines, for another. His demonstrations of uncanny strength when there was nobody but a son to see them, his odd lack of sickness.

  Talen thought of Ke. His brother was strong as stone and just as unmovable. Yet, at other times he was lively as a cat. Talen remembered once a few years ago spying Ke upon a cliff in the distance. One moment he was standing on a ledge, and then next he was moving, leaping and scrabbling up the rock like a mountain goat. Talen knew that cliff. He’d asked Ke how he’d done it, and Ke had said he had a rope. And that Da was pulling him up. It seemed plausible and Talen had dismissed what he’d seen. But now it made sense. Ke hadn’t used a rope. He’d jumped, just as Talen had jumped and scrabbled up that elm earlier today.

  Dozens of such events came rushing back to him. River swimming out in impossible seas to help Blue. A deer Da brought home from the hunt with a broken neck and nary an arrow wound. The time Talen went out to chase after Ke, who had just disappeared down the trail, only to find the trail was empty for as far as he could see.

  Talen thought about his earlier day-dreams of hunting and catching sleth. There was nothing like this in the old stories.

  “You’re saying we’re soul-eaters,” he said. “And that really what runs in my veins along with all that Fire is bits and pieces of the people and creatures Mother stole from.”

  River cleared her throat. “That is the difference between us and them. When you give Fire freely, it flows between two people as clean and easy as the wind. Freely given, it is without taint. You haven’t a speck of Mother’s Soul, Talen. What she gave was all Fire—pure and brilliant and sweet. It is only when you forcibly take, as the Divines and soul-eaters do, that you contaminate. Taking tears the Soul and brings madness to the thief. The Divines think to avoid the consequences with their filtering rods. But you cannot filter away the darkness such deeds sow into the heart.”

>   “But the people freely sacrifice themselves.”

  “They offer themselves up. But that is not a free gift. You must know what you’re giving. And to do that, you have to be able to give it yourself. Why do you think they give sacrifices wizardsmeet or opium? No, they do not gift their Fire. What they do in reality, Talen, is promise to struggle less. And if they only take part of a man, they’re still killing him, only it’s by degrees.”

  “So you are not sleth?”

  “Do you know where that word comes from?”

  Talen did not.

  “It comes from Urz. In that country it is the name given to the dry, killing wind that comes from the East. The wind that steals all moisture from the crops. The wind that steals life. Brother, I do not steal life.”

  Talen searched his sister’s eyes, those kind, lovely eyes, and he believed her. “But what are you then?”

  “In the beginning, the Creators taught all how to use their powers. Some excelled in the lore, but instead of sharing their knowledge, they hoarded it, and in some instances killed to keep their advantage. Over the ages, those people have gained the upper hand. Look at the Divines: they kill any who try to use what was given freely in the beginning.”

  “There are others then?”

  River nodded. “A few. We cannot do the mighty deeds that were done of old, but still we work what we may. We are banded together in an Order whose purpose is to break the yoke of the Divines and let every man, woman, and child control their own Fire just as they control their own breath.”

  Her words astonished him. “How do you know you’re not under some spell? How do you know your master, or whatever you call it, hasn’t subverted your will?”

  “Talen, there are those that practice wickedly. There are indeed nightmares in this world. But I’m not one of them. This is the truth of the matter.”

  “But why was all this kept from me?”

  “Because telling you would endanger many lives.”

  “Despite what Da thinks, I do not have a butter jaw. I can hold my tongue.”

  “No, that isn’t what I mean. It doesn’t matter how much you want something, you need the skill to perform the act. You have a pure and loyal heart, but you don’t have the skill to close your mind to a Seeker. And that can’t be taught to a child. And so it is better to tell you nothing so that if something happens, and you are taken, you have nothing to share. The Order is not yet powerful enough to reveal itself. One day we will walk in the sun, but for now we must keep to shadows. We are bound by oath to do so.”

  The little blind boy joined Nettle and the girl in the doorway. Talen felt too ashamed to look at them.

  Nettle said, “So Purity, Sugar’s mother, and my da are both part of the Order as well?”

  “Yes.”

  Talen’s world was spinning.

  “And the creature?” Talen asked. “That thing that fetched the sleth woman?” Talen did not want to hear the answer to that question, but he steeled himself.

  “Her name is Purity, not Sleth Woman,” River corrected. “And we have no idea what the creature is, much less who it belongs to.”

  Talen heaved a sigh. At least there was that. Then something struck him. “If I couldn’t keep a secret yesterday, what has changed so I can keep it today?”

  “Nothing,” said River. “A Seeker would ransack your mind as easily as you would a cupboard. But, as I said, we are leaving. In time you will learn the skill.”

  “Leaving? But what about Da?”

  River looked down. “We are bound by an oath,” she said. “Da.” Her voice faltered. She closed her eyes and regained control of her emotions. When she opened them, they were wet with tears. “Ke has been set to watch him. Once he’s assessed the situation, he will meet us at the refuge where I’m taking you. We’ll see what we can do at that time. But you need to prepare yourself because Da might not be coming back.”

  * * *

  Prunes was roused by a sharp dig into his ribs.

  “It seems we have ourselves a situation,” said Gid.

  Gid had already wakened him twice. Once to inform him that he’d told a pack of Fir-Noy they already had the place under observation. Another time to watch the spectacle of two boys in a wagon pull into the yard. If this was another false alarm, Prunes was going to throw the man off the side of the mountain. And he didn’t care about blowing their cover.

  Prunes sat up. He was wrapped in his soldier’s sleeping sash. “This had better be good.”

  “Oh, it’s the tart’s delight. They’ve been busy as bees down there all night. In and out, lamps burning. And someone interesting just went into the barn, but he’ll be back out.”

  “Who?”

  “That girl who told the Bailiff she was from Koramtown. And there’s also a boy with her that can’t find his way unless she leads him about by the arm.”

  “A blind boy?”

  “Aye.”

  Prunes blinked the sleep out of his eyes. The moon was not large, but it was big enough to see shapes. The door to the house stood wide open, light spilling out into the yard. Someone exited the old sod house and walked toward the wagon in the yard, holding a lamp in front. That had to be the older sister. She made her way around the buildings and entered the house. That’s when two figures stepped from behind the barn, walking boldly as you please.

  One was a girl. And the other, the smaller one, she led him by the hand. Even from here he could see the boy was blind.

  Prunes was wide awake now.

  “Busy as bees,” said Gid. “And preparing, in haste it seems, to depart.”

  Their duty was to watch, but if they left now, it was likely they’d lead a hunt back to a deserted farmstead.

  “I say we don’t take any chances,” said Gid and held up his knife. “We take them one-by-one.”

  “This isn’t an extermination. The Lords will want someone to question.”

  “We’ll do our best,” said Gid. “But if things begin to sour, I’m not going to hesitate. Besides, all we need to do is kill one of them as an example and the rest will comply.”

  “And who will that be?”

  “Who else? The blind one.”

  Gid was perhaps too eager, but he made sense. These youth might look like babes; however, a callow youth, given the right opportunity, could kill a man just as easily as a veteran of many battles. In fact, they might need to kill more than the little one. But that didn’t matter. They only needed to keep one alive for the Questioners.

  Prunes nodded agreement.

  “You and I, friend,” said Gid, “are going to be rich.”

  “Not if we don’t get you downwind,” said Prunes. He motioned for Gid to lead, and the two began to pick their way quietly downhill.

  31

  A Broken Wing

  HUNGER STOOD AT the edge of the wood. The scent of the burning boy lay in the hollows and ravines here as thick as a fog. He looked over a bend in a river. Beyond it lay a farmstead. That’s where the boy would be, waiting like a fat chicken in his coop.

  He began to descend the bank to the water when a woman came out of the house carrying a lamp. He glimpsed her face for a moment in the light as she walked across the yard to the well. The gait of her walk, the angle of her shoulders—it pulled a memory into his mind.

  He knew her. He was sure of it . . .

  Moments passed.

  She drew water, then returned to the house. Hunger stood in the shadows still as a heron stalking frogs.

  Then the name slide into his mind as softly as dew: River.

  Yes, that was her name. And with that name a number of strong memories rose in his mind. He followed them, and every one of them ended with this: she’d held his hand once and he had been unable to speak. Not because he found her so lovely. No, it was not his desire for her that had stolen his words; it was gratitude. He remembered one spring evening in a bower, blindfolded, waiting for River who had worked so hard to make the match, waiting in the moonlight with the lilacs
in bloom, their fine scent perfuming the night. Waiting to hear the feet on the path, the rustling of skirts, and then River taking his hand and putting Rosemary’s warm, strong hand in it. River removed the blindfold so he could see Rosemary standing there before him, holding the flowered crown that meant she’d accepted his offer of marriage, looking at him with those laughing, moon-sparkled eyes.

  Rosemary, the carpenter’s daughter, the face of the woman he’d remembered after eating the man who had been humming as he washed himself. The man who was called Larther. And now Hunger had a name to hang that sorrow upon. He stood motionless, contemplating the horror he’d become.

  The water ran below him; three deer came to drink and left.

  And then he realized that River was the one he needed. Her brother, the burning son, was nothing. He wasn’t even part of the Order yet. But River, she was skilled at all sorts of Weavings. She would know the workings of the collar. She would fix it. And he would bind the Mother. Bind her and destroy her.

  River had been a beauty to him, then friend, and finally sister. She would not run away; she would see though his rough form. He was sure of it. River would help him.

  He took a step toward the water, and something moved downwind of the house.

  He peered closer. Two men crept along in the grass, their helmets and knives shining in the moonlight.

  Whatever their intent, they would flush River like untrained dogs flush quail from the brush. Except once River ran, you did not catch her.

  Those two would have to go. Silently, but they would have to go. Hunger waited to see if there were more of them, and when he saw they came alone, he descended the riverbank and quietly entered the dark waters.

  * * *

  Prunes stood in the shadow of a tree. Across the yard, Gid peered between the cracks of a shutter on that side of the house just to make sure there were only five of them. Prunes scratched his neck, and when he looked back at Gid, something monstrous and dark had risen, it seemed, from the very earth.

  It was bigger than a man. Hairy in patches. No, not hair. Grass. Then Prunes recognized it from the stories of the creature at Whitecliff.