And it was true. Lords and lice, what would the Bailiff say now?
They took another few steps in silence.
“Do you trust your sister and father?” Legs asked.
“Do you trust yours?”
“I’m blind,” he said. “I’ve had to trust them all my life.”
“So it doesn’t bother you that your mother is sleth?”
“‘Sleth’ isn’t the word we use,” said Legs. “Weren’t you listening?”
Squeak indeed. “Whatever they’re called. The Order then.” And was that just another lie? They’d lied to him all this time. Years of lying. And if they could hide such a huge mountain of stinking cess, then they could lie about anything.
“Your mother lied,” said Talen.
“Yes, she did,” said Legs. “But everyone lies.”
“No, they don’t.”
“Yes, they do. You’re telling me a Mokaddian hasn’t ever pushed ahead of you in some line, and you nodded politely, but inside you were all resentment?”
“That isn’t a lie,” said Talen. “That’s called avoiding a beating.”
“That’s a lie,” said Legs. “It’s a lie to swallow your tears when you get hurt so others don’t think you a child. It’s a lie to act bravely when facing an enemy, even when you want to run. Lies are useful.”
Talen grunted. Maybe everyone did lie. Maybe the kinds of lies you told defined who you were. And what did it say when the lies were as monstrous as the ones his family kept?
“You asked me if I was bothered,” Legs said. “I am bothered. But mostly I just feel a crushing nothing where my da used to be. I feel like I’ve taken a step where I thought ground was, but there’s nothing there. And I’m falling. I’m falling.” His voice grew small, as if he’d curled in on himself. “And I have no idea how I’m going to land, or if I’m going to break my neck.”
That was exactly how it felt, Talen thought. “My Da says Sparrow was a great man.”
“He was,” said Legs. “He was everything.”
They walked on in silence then, each left to his own thoughts, which was actually better if they wanted to avoid detection. As they traveled, Talen realized that the current road would eventually lead them to Whitecliff. Part of him said that was the trail he should take. Everyone knew sleth twisted things. If his family could be redeemed, then only a Divine could do it. But if they couldn’t be redeemed, then they would only spread the poison of those arts to others. He should follow the trail to Whitecliff, to the first official he could find and ask for the Skir Master. He should offer his services to inform on the activities of this Order. After all, who better than a trusted family member? And if they tortured and killed him, what of it? He’d done his duty.
Dawn was coming. It was light enough for him to see quite a distance down the path. He could be in Whitecliff before some of the rich there took their breakfast.
But what if River was telling the truth?
What if?
They walked some distance farther, and when they came to the turnoff that led to the Creek Widow’s, Talen stopped.
“What are we doing?” asked Legs.
“I’m getting my bearings,” said Talen. “Give me a moment.”
Following a trusted face—that was how one lost his bearings. You hesitated, wanting to show mercy and patience, wanting to give people the benefit of the doubt, and soon enough you lost all perspective. Soon enough you wanted justice to prevail only when it was convenient, and then not at all, for by that time your idea of right and wrong was so warped it could not serve as a standard.
Perhaps the only defense against the dark ones was a heart of stone. A heart so hard with righteousness it could carry through the murder of those it loved most.
No wonder the Divines destroyed whole families.
Talen knew where his duty lay. He should march this blind boy right into the hands of those who sought him.
And yet, despite the secrets River had revealed, there wasn’t an evil bone in her body. Lords and lice, she was his sister! And what evil grew in Da or Ke? None. This he knew. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t have made an honest mistake joining this Order. It didn’t mean they couldn’t have been coerced.
But if what River had said were true? What if the Divines really were nothing more than a guild that had chased away all competition? If that was so, then he’d be making the biggest error of his life. Was it possible that the world was as topsy-turvy as she described with Divines hunting down those who encroached on their monopoly like greedy merchants? Was it possible the Creators gave vast powers to commoners?
It didn’t explain the sleth monster or all the horrifying stories of soul-eaters. But then, it did explain how some Divines fell from grace.
River could be right, even if the possibility was remote.
Talen looked down the road to Whitecliff again.
He owed it to River to give her a chance. He owed it to Da and Ke and Mother. To Uncle Argoth.
Part of him said it was wicked, but he couldn’t see a better way. Besides, maybe it was his task to walk into the heart of the black forest in which they were lost, find them, and lead them back from shadows and into the light.
He sighed and shook his head. This whole situation was a tavern story headed for a dark end. He looked down at Legs. “So you don’t know any tricks? No bloody rites? It’s just me and you out here on our own?”
“I can sing you a ditty about a one-legged slave,” said Legs.
“Your mother put half an army to flight, and that’s all you’ve got?”
“I can do this,” Legs said. He looked up at Talen and did this repeated rolling of the whites of his eyes.
It was unnerving. Certainly not something that should be witnessed before breakfast. “Goh,” said Talen. “Now you do look like sleth. When we want to make our enemies lose their appetites, we’ll bring you in as a secret weapon.”
“And what have you got?”
“I’ve got my bow,” said Talen. “I’ve got my brains. They’ll get us to the Creek Widow’s, and maybe there we’ll find some clarity.”
Legs cocked his head and held his hand up for Talen to be silent.
Talen looked about that shadowed wood but saw nothing.
“Somebody’s coming,” Legs whispered.
Talen listened. At first there was nothing, and then he heard the soft thud of men running on dirt, running down the path that led to the Creek Widow’s.
“Off the road,” Talen hissed and pulled Leg’s hand. “Quick.” The road here was bordered by a few tall pines and some beech, which meant there wasn’t a whole lot of cover. But if they could get fifty paces in, the trunks of the trees would hide them.
They had barely entered when three Shoka appeared on the road behind them. Two were bowmen; the third carried a spear. They stopped, and Talen and Legs froze.
The man in the lead said, “You two take that side. We don’t want to proclaim our presence. We can watch the road from here.”
The other two nodded and stepped into the woods on the far side of the road. The leader moved into the woods on Talen’s side at a slight diagonal from where he and Legs stood. The Shoka stopped at the trunk of a fallen pine, knocked off the nub of a branch, then sat himself down.
He was close enough that Talen could have pinged him in the head if he were spitting seeds in a musk melon contest.
Talen carefully took one step back and a twig popped underneath him. He froze.
The Shoka on the pine log turned his head slightly as if trying to listen.
By the Goat King’s hairy arse, Talen thought. He’s going to turn, and I’ve got my bow in the wrong hand.
36
Pursuit
SUGAR FOUND THE monster to be one of the easiest things she’d ever tracked. A stupid beast that could not navigate well enough in the darkness to avoid the branches. But when there was light enough to see, she realized that the branches being broken were not those that someone would accident
ally step on and break, nor were they ones that would break easily as someone brushed past. No, they had been broken on purpose. She concluded River knew someone was following and had done this to leave a trail.
But Sugar now looked down at the spot where an immense rotted log had recently lain and was not so sure. Worms and grubs wriggled in the soil of the impression. This log had obviously been moved aside, but it was too large for River to do such a thing. Sugar attempted to push it, but could not move it an inch. How could River have moved it as she was carried along by that beast?
To Sugar’s left rose a steep hill. On her right the ground descended to a cluster of hundred-foot bald cypress, their massive knees rising out of the dark tea-water. A muskrat swam through a layer of duckweed out to a clear slip of deeper water.
She wondered if the creature had taken River into that mess.
Lilies, bog bean, and goat willow choked the far side. The place breathed with the croaking of frogs and stank of things rotting in the water. But she knew that it was full of far more than frogs and stink and scum. She’d find snakes, leeches, and snapping turtles there in abundance.
A chip of something small and dark fell from the cypress trees above. Sugar looked up and saw a handful of grayfans, large game fowl that fanned their tail feathers when threatened. They stood in the branches above, pecking for the cypress seeds. More dark chips fell and she realized it wasn’t bark, but grayfan droppings.
She stepped aside in disgust and walked toward the swamp to see if perhaps the mud at the edges would show any footprints, but as she did so, a crack sounded up the hill.
The creature had gone up the hill, not into the swamp. She turned and followed the noise, glad to leave the stink and the rising mosquitoes.
A few paces later the tree cover gave way and a trail of footprints led through the dew-soaked undergrowth, clear as you please up the hill.
Sugar followed the trail back into the trees, always going up, finding scuffled leaves here and there or matted grass, until she came to a small stream. She stopped and looked about, then saw a footprint in the stream itself. She followed the stream uphill to a slight ridge of rock, crossed over, and found herself standing in front of the mouth of a cave, a cool breeze blowing out of the darkness and into her face. She immediately crouched and moved to one side so she did not darken the entrance with her silhouette.
She wondered if this was a natural cave or one made by the stone-wights. If it was one of the ancient ruins, did that mean this creature was connected with them? Many had been lost in the stone-wight ruins. All of Sugar’s life she had been warned to stay clear of them, for who knew what dark thing waited within? But this is where the creature had taken Mother, and so this is where she would have to go. She looked down the hill. You’d have to be standing right where she was to even see this opening.
She now wished the monster had taken River to the swamp. At least there you could at least see what you were about. Here the creature might be only a dozen paces away, watching her from the darkness. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.
Sugar listened. She could hear nothing but the trickling water. She waited for a long time, but nothing stirred. The breeze meant this would be a long cave. It was quite possible that the monster’s lair was hidden deep within.
She would have to go in, if only a small distance. Whoever she brought back would want to know what lay just inside this entrance so they might avoid a pit or slope. Any information she could give them would be better than blindly charging in.
She edged toward the darkness, then crab-walked in and waited for her vision to adjust.
The ceiling of the cave trailed up and was lost in the darkness. The walls were narrow and tilted to one side, water oozing down their face.
Sugar moved farther in, away from the sound of the water outside and listened. She thought she heard voices, but then decided it was only the breeze or water. Rocks fell in the distance, the sound echoing along the cave walls. Moments later something splashed through the water. And then she realized it was moving, not away from her, but back toward her and the mouth of the cave.
She could not judge the distance well, but it sounded close.
Fear rose in her. She turned and scrabbled back, trying to keep a low profile. When she reached the mouth of the cave, whatever it was began to run.
Sugar ran out of the cave into the light and considered running back downhill to escape whatever it was coming at her from the inky darkness, but because running downhill was her first choice, she rejected it. It would expect her to run downhill; it would expect her to hide somewhere away from the cave, perhaps in the waters of the swamp. Moreover, the sound of her very footfalls would make her an easy mark.
No, she wouldn’t run. She looked around for a place to hide close by and spotted one above the mouth of the cave behind an outcropping of rock. She didn’t know if it was big enough to hide her, but it would have to do.
Quickly, carefully, she moved away from the mouth and climbed up the small ridge that ran along the brow of the cave.
Below her, just inside the mouth of the cave, something splashed through water.
She took one more careful step and slid behind the rock. But she didn’t have time to lie down, for the beast burst into view below her. It took a number of steps then stopped, surveying the slope below.
The creature stood like a man of freakish proportions. Heavy-limbed, wide, maybe seven feet tall, with a small odd-shaped head. It was immense. She thought she saw an ear on the side of its head, but it was too ragged to tell exactly what it was. Shaggy grass grew in patches over the whole of its body. One patch along its back appeared to be green grass mixed with the small yellow flowers of creeping wood sorrel.
If the beast turned around and looked up, it would see her. But she didn’t dare crouch, didn’t dare make adjustments for fear of making even the smallest of sounds.
The creature moved slightly and made a hideous sound that froze her spine.
It moved again. Again came the awful sound, and Sugar realized it was the intake of breath. A loud horrid gasp like a man suffering from the black lung.
Was it trying to scent her?
The air about her was still, no morning updrafts or crosswinds. No down drafts. The breeze in the cave blew outward, and so the thing would not have smelled her in there. But that also meant the breeze might, at this very moment, be carrying the scent that pooled about her.
A crack sounded from the woods below.
The creature turned to it.
Heartbeats pounded in her ears.
Then the thing moved, loping downhill in the direction of the sound, the grass about its body jolting with every stride.
Sugar realized she’d been holding her breath and gasped for air.
The creature bounded into the air, clearing a large tangle, and landed heavily on the other side. Two more strides, and then it was nothing but a flash through the trunks of the trees.
She gauged the distance it had covered in the few breaths since it had first moved. Never in her life could she have outrun it.
The rustling of a tree sounded from below, and she knew when it found nothing below, when it smelled her trail growing stale, it would come back.
Her legs shouted out for her to run, but she fought it. Sugar turned and carefully—oh, so carefully—began to ascend the hill. She would find her escape on the other side, or not at all.
* * *
Hunger backtracked for about a quarter of a mile along the trail he’d taken earlier and then stopped under a cluster of tall pines. He had seen nothing. Heard nothing but a bunch of noisy grayfans. He would find nothing along this trail. The scent had been stronger back at the cave. He turned and began to walk back, looking, listening for anything at all.
He came to the tree in which the grayfans sat. He searched the ground and then looked up. It didn’t take long before he found it: one rotted branch hanging at a broken angle. Noisy birds cracking branches—that’s what he’d
chased after. Or maybe some deer. It could have been anything that had made the noise earlier.
He cursed himself, crouched down on all fours, and began to follow the scent more closely. It was the woman that had followed him; he could smell that.
Back up the slope he went, making sure to check for trails of scent leading away from this one. But he found none. He stood at the mouth of the cave, and could smell her in there. Could he have run by her in his haste? He followed her trail in, but found it ended not far inside.
If he’d run by, then she had come back out, but she hadn’t run downhill. No, Hunger examined the area around the mouth of the cave and found her scent clinging to the rock. He followed it up to a ridge just above the mouth of the cave and found a pool of her scent. She had stopped here. She could have been squatting right there when he’d run like a fool down the hill.
But it didn’t matter. He had her scent and her trail. He would catch the wily thing and bring her back. He was the Mother’s now; his family depended on it.
He felt good to have such a clear purpose. He felt as if a burden had been lifted. Serving the Mother wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
Hunger followed the woman’s trail, sometimes loping on two limbs, sometimes staying close to the ground on all fours. He followed her scent up over the crest of the hill and back down into the valley on the other side and to the banks of a marshy river.
She was smart, hoping he’d lose her scent on the water. But there were some parts of a person’s scent that did not sink into the depths. Some of it hung in the very air. Oh, water made it harder to track. Sometimes it flowed away at great speeds erasing all traces of a trail, but not this sluggish river, this half-marsh. He got down on all fours and strode out into the water and smelled her on the surface. The scent was faint, but it was thick enough to follow.
Then he lost it. She had fallen or dived under and swam. He searched in widening circles around the area where he last smelled her, and in a short time found the scent again and followed it down river about fifty yards to the far bank.
Up on the land, her scent grew fresher and stronger with every step. He ran into the trees. Here, the dampness and the cover from the sun kept her trail together and made it as easy to follow her as a slow parade of cattle.
Servant: The Dark God Book 1 Page 39
