Servant: The Dark God Book 1

by John D. Brown

  “That one will do,” said the woman.

  The monster laid Hogan next to a rock and clay figure with a vicious muzzle. Splotches of dead grass sprouted from the side of the figure’s head and chest.

  The woman moved close to the monster. She hovered over it. “This,” she said, “will be your first child. He’ll be more aware than you were, have more human memories from the start, and be more intelligent, more powerful. You were a mishmash of many things; I couldn’t recover you whole. Not with the binding your original master had put upon you. But he is unfettered and pure.”

  What was she talking about? Fear rose in Argoth’s mind.

  “Separate the man,” she said. “Put his soul and Fire into the body of earth.”

  At first Argoth could not believe his ears. Then the shock rolled over him. She was transferring Hogan’s essence—spirit and soul—to one of the still creatures on the floor.

  “No!” he cried. “Stop!”

  The woman turned to them. “You all will serve me,” she said, “with a lesser binding or with one of rock and stone. With your current bodies or that of another. I am now your master.”

  Hogan struggled in the monster’s grasp. “Ke!” he called out. “River!”

  Ke was already charging. But how could he? The breaking of the bond had nearly crippled Argoth. Argoth marveled at the strength in the boy.

  Ke held Hogan’s chain in his hand. In a blinding motion, he drew back and struck at the monster with terrible ferocity. The chain wrapped around the monster’s neck.

  Ke grabbed the chain with both hands and yanked it backwards. Such a move would have ripped the head off a normal man. The monster jerked back, but it did not loosen its grip on Hogan. Instead, it reached up with one hand and tore the chain out of Ke’s grasp. Then it struck him with it full in the face, knocking him to the floor.

  Talen yelled. He held a knife aloft and charged.

  The monster turned slightly when Talen got close and struck out in an almost lazy fashion. Argoth thought he heard ribs crack. The blow sent Talen flying backward to land sharply on his side.

  Talen gasped, rolled over and tried to catch his breath.

  The monster turned back to Hogan.

  “Please,” said River, her collar still circling her neck. “We can come to an agreement.” But the woman paid her no mind.

  “Nothing!” Hogan shouted. “Give her nothing!”

  The monster covered half of Hogan’s face and head with one hand. It put its other hand on the face of the earthen figure.

  The woman turned to the rest of them and spoke. Her voice carried like soothing music into his mind. “You cannot hide the one that was conceived and developed by my power.”

  She held something up. It was the wisterwife charm Argoth’s sister had found on the chair in her bedroom. “Where is the one I planted? Where is the one that wore my might?”

  Her words confused him. The one she planted?

  Legs suddenly came shuffling in through the entrance to the chamber, feeling the wall as he went. “Sugar?” he called.

  “You are such wild creatures,” said the woman. “Such difficult things to manage.” She motioned at Legs. “You fooled my servant with your ploy, but you cannot fool me.”

  The ribbons of light obscured her face for a moment. “A new order is arising here,” said the woman. “One that hasn’t been seen in ages. And the master that leads this harvest will rule empires. You will bring him to me.”

  Argoth looked at Talen who was holding his side in pain. Arogth’s mind raced. His sister, Hogan’s wife, had conceived wearing that weave. She had worn it through the whole pregnancy as the boy ripened in her belly. She had placed it upon Talen from the day of his birth.

  They had all suspected he would be a prodigy: a restorer of lost knowledge, a champion. A gift from the Creators to help them fight their enemies.

  He looked at the weave, but this couldn’t be from the Creators. His mind snagged on something: “this harvest,” she had said. If her creature was any indication, he knew the kind of harvest she would oversee.

  Dear gods, what was Talen? A great foreboding rose up in him. Snippets of ancient tales and lore flashed in his mind. Tales of devouring. He’d thought they were figurative, but he now realized they were literal.

  “I have been calling,” the woman said. “I know he’s alive. I can feel him. He should have heard me. He should have come. But instead you hide him.”

  “Lies,” shouted the Creek Widow.

  “We shall see,” said the woman.

  The monster turned back to Hogan and the earthen figure on the floor. Then the creature covered Hogan’s face with its massive hand.

  Hogan twisted, trying to wriggle away, but he could not. He cried out and grasped the monster’s forearm.

  “Be careful,” said the woman.

  Hogan arched his back, he struck violently at the monster’s arm. The schools of light moved furiously, shining, shimmering, swirling around the woman, around the monster, around Hogan and the figure on the floor. Hogan jerked once, twice.

  Argoth was paralyzed.

  How could he fight this being? How could anyone when they didn’t even know what she was? The only thing he did know was that she was full of malice and that she wanted Talen. For what purpose, he could not guess. But she wanted him. And so that was the very thing she must not have.

  Argoth could not save Hogan, but he could rescue Talen from her.

  He turned to River who had almost worked the collar off her neck. “There is no way out,” he said. Even if they could find their way in the dark, they could not run fast enough to escape the monster. They could not fight it or its master with lore. “I used to think we could fight the thralls, but we cannot. Better to die free than live a slave to some horrible purpose in which we deliver our kind up on platters.”

  River paused. He could see the anxiety in her bruised face.

  “I do not have the strength, so you must deny her the one thing she desires. Put Talen beyond her reach. And then eliminate the rest of us.”

  River’s eyes grew wide in dismay.

  “I beg you,” he said. “Tell me another way.”

  Death was their only escape. He wasn’t prepared to go through that doorway, but who ever really was? He thought of his wife, his daughters, and wondered if they still lived. He could not protect them now. He thought of Nettle lying on that table and the sacrifice which Argoth had recklessly wasted. Grief welled up in him.

  He could see River felt that same grief. Her mouth was a line of grim determination. Her eyes brimmed with angry tears.

  River nodded. Then she slipped the collar about her neck ever so slightly to the left, gave it a smart tug, and broke it free.

  * * *

  The woman’s words reverberated through Talen. They stroked and caressed him. Every time she spoke, he was filled with a small elation. He wondered if she were one of the old gods. And yet, there was Da, lying in the dust. Surely that was not the work of one of the ancient Holy Ones. Not the work of those that blessed. So maybe she was one of the ones that served Regret.

  Da jerked beneath the monster’s hand, then screamed.

  “No!” Talen cried out. “No.” His ribs were on fire. They cut like knives every time he took a breath. Talen tried to stand and gasped from the pain.

  The woman was cooing, her shining escort swimming about the monster kneeling between Da and the clay figure on the floor.

  He needed to stop this. The crown lay in the dust within his reach. It still glittered as it had upon Da’s brow. He clutched at his side, crawled forward, and picked it up.

  A vast power stirred within. It was alive as the Creek Widow had said. He could feel its music. A small thread of peace welled up in him. He could feel the power, but he was blocked from it as if a heavy iron door stood fast in his way. What was more: Talen had no idea what to do with this weave. He knew no lore, only the bestowing of Fire River had taught him.

  He looked
up at the Creek Widow for help, but she was on her hands and knees as if recovering from a mighty blow. He turned to Uncle Argoth. “How?” he mouthed, begging him to tell him how to use the crown.

  “You can’t,” Uncle Argoth said, his face full of despair.

  Talen clutched the crown. There had to be a way, but he could not think.

  Through the ribbons of light, he watched a thick blackness pass from Da into the monster’s arm and rise up to its elbow. Was that blackness the essence of Da’s soul?

  Da writhed. “Nooooo!” he shouted.

  Talen could not speak.

  A moment passed. Another. The blackness rose almost to the monster’s shoulder.

  “Well done,” the woman said. “Well done.”

  Talen felt the praise in those words and craved it.

  The monster removed its now black hand from Da’s face and moved to the rough figure on the floor.

  Da’s head flopped to one side.

  “Da,” Talen said, horror slithering itself about him.

  The monster held its ink black arm aloft, and then it punched it into the belly of the figure lying on the floor. It knelt there until Talen realized the blackness was leaching out of the monster’s arm and into the clay belly of the second monster.

  Talen could barely whisper. “No,” he said in a small voice. “No.”

  An eternity passed, and then the monster withdrew its fist. The blackness was gone.

  The earthen body upon the floor stirred. Its hideous mouth opened as if taking a breath. Then it turned its awful head to look Talen in the face.

  Talen recoiled.

  He could not breathe. Could not speak. What had they done to him?

  The woman turned, her escort shimmering about her, and Talen noticed her hands. They were smoky, flickering. Almost like that of a wraith. He had not noticed this before.

  “Your former masters were lax to allow untamed elements into the populace. So I shall educate you. There is a great order of beings. This is the nature of creation. Humans have mastered many things, but not all. There are greater powers still. I will protect you from all takers. Serve me, and I will give you knowledge and power beyond what you can imagine. I shall raise you and crown you as Divines to your people. Think of all you could do with such power. Just bring me the master of the harvest.”

  Her words were as smooth as silver. She was so beautiful, so convincing. A scrap of a memory came to him. And he realized that when he was a child, he’d dreamt of this woman, of the bands of living light. He remembered the joy of those dreams, but they were so long ago. Before Mother had died.

  Part of him wanted to bask in her radiance. But there was a part of Talen that resisted her, part of him roiling with revulsion. He looked at the crown in his hand. If he could use it, perhaps he could do something, but the power of the crown was beyond him.

  “I ask you again,” the woman said. She held up the wisterwife charm. “Where are you hiding the one that bore my might?” Her words caressed Talen like silk. If he had known the truth, he would have told her.

  And then he stopped himself—he did know the truth.

  The charm, the dreams, the words River and the Creek Widow had spoken to him—they all roiled in his mind. His mother had discovered, working in the fiber of his body, strange and intricate patterns of power. “Twisted,” River had said. “Pruned and grafted for a great purpose,” the Creek Widow had said. They had all suspected it was for some greater good. But none of them could have suspected this.

  It’s me, he thought. I am the one she seeks. With a clarity that rang like a bell, Talen felt the truth of it. It sounded in his very bones. Talen’s world was gone, replaced by this nightmare.

  But what was he? Was he even human? He felt the panic of standing next to a high precipice and knowing he was going to tumble over the edge. He felt the fear of being dragged by a treacherous current far out to the deep and rough waters of a cold sea.

  The woman motioned at Da’s body. “He’s cooling even as we speak, but it’s not too late. I can reverse the quickening. Tell me where the master is and you shall save your friend.”

  He could save Da. His mind told him this was true. But the crown in his hand whispered a warning.

  He looked over at River. Her face was wracked with grief and fear.

  “No,” she shook her head.

  She’d freed herself of the collar, which meant she was probably working her lore, multiplying her powers. Even so, what could she do that Da as a Victor could not? Her attack would be as futile as Ke’s had been.

  “Don’t listen,” said Uncle Argoth. “She means to put us up like so much smoked meat.”

  “That is true,” the woman said. “But this is the order of things. You love and cherish your cattle, your sheep, your beasts. But in the end you feed off of them. Why should it be any different with us? Besides, you will fare better under my management than you ever could on your own. Your people will grow old in peace. You yourself will live to the age of a tree doing much good, protecting those most dear to you, putting down injustice and squashing your enemies beneath your feet. You will heal sickness in children, cattle, and herbs. Peace and fatness will reign in these valleys and hills and shores until the end of your days. This is what I give you—the power to bless.”

  The joy of her vision overwhelmed Talen. Indeed, he thought, why should they fight her? Is this not what every man and woman desired? The good he could do was unimaginable. And how could he be so ungrateful when she was offering him the means to save Da?

  Again, revulsion roiled in him. The vision faltered. Was she lying?

  He looked at Da lying in the dust. He could save Da. He could do good. And if he didn’t pick up the reins she was offering to them, surely someone else would. Someone like Fabbis or Sabin or The Crab who would rule with cruelty.

  Her words filled him with hope, and he made his decision.

  “I am the one,” he said. “It is me you seek.”

  “No, Talen!” Uncle Argoth shouted. “She twists life. She will steal your will.”

  “On the contrary,” the woman said, turning toward him. “This is your will, is it not?”

  His traitorous heart leapt to her. Yes, it was his will. And yet it was not.

  “Those that fight the thrall do not endure,” she said. “They are creatures destined for madness and wrath. And when a creature’s wrath is full, there is nothing left to do but cut it down for the devouring. But you see he comes to me without a collar. He was bred to rule. It is best that humans rule other humans. It’s a matter of trust.”

  “She lies,” said Uncle Argoth. “You can fight her.”

  “Does not a dog glory in the praise of its master? Has it not been bred to do so? The world of men was domesticated ages ago. Your very nature makes you dependent on us. The only difference between you and your dogs is the genius of your masters.” She turned to Talen. “You were woven to work with me without impediment. Your only task master will be my approbation.”

  The woman came to him in her beauty and shining light.

  “Save him,” Talen said and pointed at Da.

  “All in good time,” said the woman. “All in good time. First, we shall see if you are what you claim to be.”

  Yes, he thought. That was right. But underneath it all he knew it was not. Da was dying. Every second would count.

  “Just as a crucible is made to hold heat other vessels cannot contain, you have been bred to wield power impossible to others. We will raise an army from the very earth,” said the woman. “And you will command it.”

  She approached him, reaching out with her smoky hands. Her shining escort enveloped him.

  He should have felt fear, but all he felt was the ease of the woman and her smiling eyes. The warning in the crown built. It vibrated in his feet and across his shoulders—an urgent call to step away. But why was he even holding the crown? He let it drop to the floor, and as he did the glory about her grew. She was so beautiful. Atra was nothi
ng compared to this woman. And yet did this woman not look like Atra?

  Something probed him. Talen held his doors closed, but he could feel her gnawing all along his essence with something as small and sharp as the teeth of rats.

  The probing became stronger.

  Reflexively, he shut himself tight as River had taught him.

  The woman pulled away and appraised him. He felt her pleasure, and it almost sent him to his knees. “You are indeed mine. Mine from the moment you were conceived. The weave has been changed. But the flaw that’s been introduced is nothing that, with time, cannot be righted.”

  The flaw. Somehow that was significant, but he could not hold that thought. She spoke in Atra’s voice. Looked at him with Atra’s eyes. Except they weren’t Atra’s. They were at once more alien and more captivating than Atra’s could ever be.

  Another wave of pleasure washed over him. He looked at Da’s body. It was not right to have such wondrous feelings. It was wicked. It was an abomination. And yet he could not deny the power of them.

  “In time you will become as great as the Goat King himself.”

  Suddenly a music inside him swelled. It sang in his blood and bones. He thought it was the crown, but then remembered he’d dropped that. For a brief moment the fog in his mind cleared away. The woman’s voice fell flat.

  Talen looked at her. Gone were the luminous eyes, the elegant neck and brow. Gone the alluring lips. In their place were black pits for eyes and a sucker mouth full of sharp teeth.

  He recoiled.

  An illusion—she was not one of the old gods. Not a benefactor. It was as if a huge blast of cold wind had just awakened him. His mind had been fuggy, but now was crystal sharp.

  And yet the desire to serve her seeped back through him.

  “Yes,” said the woman. “He too was a master of the harvest that served my mother ages ago. For a time, the populace under his care yielded marvelous results. You will be his heir.”

  The Goat King’s heir . . .