The Dark God: Servant Part 42

"It killed a man right there," said Sugar and pointed to the wall where she'd seen him fall.

River rose and cautiously, looked out the door to the side of the house, and gasped.

"I told you something was there," said Nettle.

River shut the door and turned to face them. "Tell me what you saw." Sugar told her everything except Legs' comments about seeing Mother. When she finished, River stood looking at the floor, gathering her thoughts.

After a moment, she looked up at them. "Listen to me. You have one chance, and that is out the back window. Run as quickly and quietly as you can. Under no circ.u.mstances will you come back here. None. I will meet you at the Creek Widow's."

"Where are you going?" asked Talen.

"To play a game," she said, "of hide and seek."

Talen set himself to argue, but before he could say a word, River slipped out the door and into the yard.

Sugar felt like her one stay had just been taken out from underneath her. She wanted to cry out, but could find no words.

The four of them stood frozen. Then Talen broke the silence. "You heard her," he hissed. "Out the back!"

Nettle went first, then Legs and Sugar. Talen tossed his bow and a quiver of arrows through to Nettle, then tumbled out. When he rolled to his feet, he pointed toward the shallows dozens of yards up the river and said, "We'll go to the bank of the river and then up to the crossing." He turned to Nettle. "We'll take the hill road, past your house, then on to the Widow's"

He and Nettle dashed for the river. Sugar held Leg's hand and followed, crouching low, the tall autumn gra.s.s brus.h.i.+ng the tops of her thighs. At the lip of the bank, she risked one look behind her and stopped.

Beyond the house and barn, past the pig pen, out in the mule's field, she could see River's slender shape in the moonlight and the beast's larger form approaching her.

River changed her course and began to walk away from the creature. It followed her, and Sugar realized River was leading it along, dragging, as it were, a broken wing like a mother bobwhite luring a fox away from her nest.

She turned and ran with her brother to catch Talen. And in that moment Sugar realized she was running again. Running as she had when Mother and Da were cut down. Running from the very creature that knew where Mother was.

Things to act. Things to be acted upon. Now was not the time to flee. It was a mad idea. Wild. But no more so than anything else that had happened in the last few days.

"Talen," she called.

Talen made an angry silencing gesture with his hand, but he did stop.

When Sugar caught him, she held Leg's hand out. "Take him."

"He's your brother," said Talen.

"You don't have time for me to explain," she said. "Keep him safe."

She couldn't argue or wait. She bent low to her brother's ear. "I'm going to find Mother."

Legs, ever brave, reached out for her arm and gave it a squeeze. She squeezed back, then turned and ran back from where they'd just come. Back to the house and around the corner to the moonlit yard.

She paused and glanced at the river. Talen and Nettle ran along the bank, each holding one of Leg's hands. Talen could have balked. He could have left Legs on the bank of the river. He could have done a great many things besides help, and a wave of grat.i.tude welled up in her.

She faced the yard and field beyond. This was the creature that had stolen Mother. It hadn't killed her, but taken her away. And this might be, as crazy as it seemed, the only chance to follow it and find its lair. Or its master's. Perhaps it had fed on Mother, and all she would find was a half-rotted carca.s.s. But perhaps it had not. Mother might yet be alive. And who knew: maybe finding the location of the monster's lair might tip this battle.

She had no idea what she would do if she found Mother. But whatever it was, it would be more than she could do hiding in holes.

And if the monster caught her, would that be any worse than being caught by the Fir-Noy or some bounty hunter? What could it do to her that the flaying knives couldn't?

She stole past the house, across the yard, and into the shadow of the barn. When she looked out at the field, she thanked the Creators that River had not yet disappeared into the woods.

Sugar crouched as she ran to the fence bordering the field, then it was up and over the fence and into the field as sly as a cat hunting prey. She moved as quickly and silently as she could, and when both River and the creature finally did disappear into the woods on the other side, Sugar stood and ran.

River came within a half-a-dozen paces of Hunger, but then she began to walk at an angle away from him. Hunger followed, but she kept just out of his reach, like a reluctant horse that didn't want to be harnessed.

He held his hands wide, then knelt upon the field and prostrated himself in submission. How else would she know he meant her no harm?

When he looked up, she stood still, studying him. He made one of the signs of the Order with his right arm, and stood again.

She backed away.

He motioned for her to halt. Then he made another sign of the Order. This time she stood still when he took the next step, and the next. One more and he would be able to reach her.

Of course, she was frightened. Who wouldn't be? But he'd catch her, and when she'd calmed, he'd make her understand.

He lunged for her.

But River danced out of his reach.

He made another sign of the Order and took a step. It's me, River. Can't you see past this form?

Another step. She danced further away.

He would have to do this the hard way then. He picked up a stone, made sure she saw he had it, and hurled it at her head. Not too hard, but enough that she'd have to duck. Enough to distract her.

But instead of ducking, River rolled away and was instantly on her feet again.

Would that he had a voice. Hunger expelled the air in his gullet in frustration.

She took another step back.

Hunger lost patience and charged her. One, two, three steps, her hair flickering through his fingers, and then she was into the wood, running, lively and elusive as a deer.

He crashed along after her, over a fallen stump, around a thick bramble, down a ravine, expecting all the time to lose her, to see her marvelous burst of speed, but she did not widen her lead on him. Perhaps it was the dark or this new form he wore that gave him greater speed; whatever the cause, he could keep pace, and that gave him great satisfaction, for she would tire. And he would not. It might take some time, but she would tire, and he would not.

She's leading you along, you fool, the Mother said.

With those words his hopes of persuading River fell.

Turn around, and she'll come to us.

Hunger resisted her. I won't kill her.

Turn around. Now! Run back in the direction you came.

Hunger could not resist. He turned and ran. Back she pushed him, around a bend, down the trail until the darkness of the ravine lay at his feet.

Here, said the Mother, this is where you'll take her. Quick now. Hide in the shadows.

I won't, he said. But he did. He descended into the darkness and stood waiting, the exposed roots of a tree at his shoulder. He prayed River did not return, prayed the Mother was wrong.

I don't want her, said Hunger Oh, but you do.

He knew what she wanted River for. Your ugly children can rot.

Mine? You simple creature. Did you think the other humans would follow something like you? That's much too obvious. You can't handle them that way. No, she will become one of those that govern.

Govern what? Of what would she be a ruler? But he did not have time to ponder it, for River appeared at the top of the ravine in a shaft of moonlight. She paused, silent and lovely as a moth. She took a step down into the ravine and paused again, listening, paused like a huntress stalking her prey. Another step, another pause, another step.

The Mother had been right. River was coming back to find him, to lure him, to make sure he didn't find the others.

Another step, pause, another, until she stood only feet away. Down in the depths of the night shade of the ravine, he could only just see her face and the pale whites of her eyes. He smelled her stink. But underneath that, Hunger caught mint and sweat and the smell of fresh cut barley.

He pushed his fingers into the bank of dirt at his side. He would throw dirt at her in warning, and she would run away.

Now, said the Mother. Take her!

At that very moment, as if River had heard the voice in Hunger's mind, she turned and looked at him.

He could not fight the compulsion. He released the dirt he was going to throw in warning.

Forgive me, sister, Hunger thought. Then he struck, and with his rough hand, s.n.a.t.c.hed her by the face.

32.

Spoor HUNGER COULD NOT contain his rage. He hated the Mother. Hated her!

He quickly changed his grip on River and threw her over his shoulder. With his free hand, he grasped one of the roots exposed by the bank of the ravine. The root was as thick as a man's leg and rough with bark. Hunger gave the root an angry shove. Other roots popped. The tree shook and listed to one side, and then the root he held broke with a loud crack.

This infuriated him even more, and he jumped to the top of the ravine, River still upon his shoulder. He struck the tree squarely in the trunk with all his might. Once. Twice. Each time hating the Mother more. His blows shook the tree, rustling the branches and leaves above. He gave the trunk a ma.s.sive shove that sent the whole thing cras.h.i.+ng down, breaking other trees as it fell, lifting both him and the earth he stood on with its root pan.

He jumped to get out of the way of the lifting root pan. Above him a large branch that had been knocked loose from another tree crashed towards him. At the last moment, he stepped away, knocking it aside and immediately realized that it could have killed River. If that branch had come down upon him, it would have broken her like an anvil would break a gourd.

He sagged with dismay. The Mother made him destroy everything that was most precious to him. And it did not matter that she'd not forced him to shuck River's soul from her body on the spot because that only meant River would have the agony of living in the darkness with the other woman before her end came.

River lay on his shoulder struggling against his grasp like some animal caught in a snare. It could not be comfortable being held there for great distances. So he brought her around front and cradled her like a father might his babe. Her face, he knew, would be bruised from his initial grip.

He tried to stroke her hair to calm her, but River did not stop struggling. She pounded at him and then began to tear at his eyes.

She would hurt herself more than anything else, so he caught both her hands in his ragged mouth and held her close.

I cannot die. I cannot disobey.

I am so sorry, sister. So very, very sorry. He wished he could tell her. Wished dirt could speak! But the Mother's compulsion was upon him, and he began to make his way back toward the caves.

After only a dozen paces, he heard the distinct thock of someone stepping on and breaking a branch behind him.

He stopped and turned toward the sound. It was not an animal, for no beast that size would have remained close after he'd knocked over the tree. And it was not the sound of a branch falling, but one snapping on the ground.

Leaves rustled as if someone had tripped.

Someone was following him in the dark. The burning son, perhaps. Or the older son. Or maybe even Zu Hogan himself.

She would take them as well, the Mother would. She would command him to kill them, and he would do it.

Horror rose in him at the thought, and he turned and ran away from the stalker. He crashed through the trees and brush, s.h.i.+elding River from the branches that whipped him. He ran up a slight hill and stopped to listen for his pursuit.

The sound of running footsteps rose from the forest below. A light sound, not a heavy animal. Not a large person.

He turned to run again. He would outdistance them in the dark, but what if he couldn't outrun this pursuit? The family was all part of the sleth nest. No, he corrected himself. Not a nest; the Order. Either way, what if his pursuer followed him all the way back to the Mother's lair?

They'd find the Mother, that's what. And she'd take them there.

Or would she?

Zu Hogan had fought him in the tower. But what if there had been three or four with his strength? Perhaps it would have been Zu Hogan taking him instead of the other way around. The Mother had said something once about humans long ago, rising up against their masters. Perhaps Zu Hogan knew such secrets. Perhaps Zu Hogan's failing to stop him in the sea tower had been more a function of surprise than strength.

His terror turned to hope. He could lead whoever was down there to the Mother. And that person in turn would lead Zu Hogan. And if not, Hunger could come back and lead Zu Hogan himself. Hunger looked down the dark, wooded hill.

Nothing moved. They were waiting for him to continue.

He grabbed a branch and broke it smartly to announce his position. Then he turned and walked away. A few paces later he broke another branch, and a few paces after that, yet another.

Hunger walked through the remaining hours of the morning, keeping only slightly ahead of the person following him. When dawn arrived he stood atop a ridge and looked down at the small valley below that still lay in the morning's shadow. Just beyond the edge of the wood, a flock of sheep grazed the gra.s.s bordering both sides of the road. In the village, the sun had just begun to kiss the thatch roofs with a rosy light. Still farther along, a man drove a wain laden with a fifteen-foot pile of hay. Two boys sat atop the pile, stabilizing themselves with one hand on the side poles while sharing what looked to be a red cheese round. They pa.s.sed by a woman throwing kitchen sc.r.a.ps to her white and black speckled chickens.

This was the village closest to the Mother's lair. He'd smelled these villagers with longing on many an evening. He'd even come in and stolen about the homes in the darkness, listening to the humans, tempting his appet.i.te, until the Mother had ordered him to stay away.

Hunger looked behind him. He had not heard the person shadowing him for some time, but that probably only meant it was light enough for them to see the way better and avoid things that cracked in the dark.

This also meant he could leave visible spoor. Nevertheless, it was quicker to follow sound, so he broke yet another branch and continued along the ridge past the village, past the stand of fat spruce from which the Mother had called him, and to the entrance that stood up on the hill above the swamp.

There were three entrances he knew about. The one in the cliffs by the sea. This one. And another found in the buried ruin of the Stone-wights on the other side of the hill.