And Night Descends (The Third Book of the Small Gods Series) (22 page)

The water’s temperature made it difficult to remove the fat, instead spreading it across his skin. He scrubbed harder and quickly realized it was for naught. Hands still in the bowl, he scanned the room, searching for a towel or something to use in place of one.

In the near to empty chamber, the only fabrics in sight were the blanket covering the slumbering Thorn and the threadbare curtain draped in front of the window.

Kuneprius sighed, took his hands from the water, and shook the droplets off over the bowl. Satisfied he’d removed as much of the excess fluid as possible, he gripped the edge of the bowl, carried it to the window, and dumped out the dirty fluid with its oily film. The sound of it splashing on the ground below reached his ears and he cringed; he hadn’t peered out to make sure no one stood below. He hoped not, but assumed it to be the case as no curses floated up to the window on the night air.

He dried the bowl with the curtain, removing the last of the greasy smudges from the edges he’d touched, then set it on the floor at his feet. Next, he found the cleanest spot possible on the fabric and used it to scrub the remnants of their meal from his fingers and palms. As he did, he stared out the window. The moon lit the short yard stretching from the inn to the woods beyond, but the forest itself lay in darkness. Kuneprius squinted, trying hard to make out the shape of a large, clay man, but to no avail; darkness prevented him from recognizing one tree from another, so he gave up. Glad to be inside as he was, he missed his friend, despite still being unsure if a part of him yet existed or if he was gone forever.

High in the night sky, Ine’vesi, the evenstar, shone bright; brighter than usual, Kuneprius thought.

Expectant.

Was it possible the Small God—the One Who Watched From Above—knew what had come to pass? Could it be the priest Ine’vesi, banished by the Goddess so long ago, understood the contents of his prophecy had been put into motion making his return imminent?

Kuneprius realized he’d stopped wiping his hands on the curtain and suddenly felt as though eyes bore into him. He spun around, expecting to catch Thorn observing him, but the gray man lay facing the other direction, his shoulder rising and falling with his sleeping breath. Kuneprius’ head snapped back toward the window, instantly finding the evenstar again. It appeared brighter still, more intense.

He took his hands from the curtain and backed away a step, a shiver shaking along his spine.

He’s watching me.

Kuneprius stared at the window, the shoddy curtain having fallen across it, blocking out the night sky. Noise from the tavern below floated up through it; the crowd sounded to have gotten more rowdy than when he retrieved their food. It made sense—as the night wore on and the patrons consumed more ale, they’d naturally become more raucous. He put the noise from his mind and let his gaze fall on the bowl sitting below the window.

Relief was close, less than a pace away. He knew the respite the simple combination of bowl and water offered him from the world. Despite knowing it was so near, Kuneprius found himself hesitant to approach the window to retrieve the vessel.

Ine’vesi might be watching.

No matter, the relief waiting for him with his ritual couldn’t wait. The flesh of his cheeks burned with sin and it was all he could do to keep from clawing it off his head.

He knelt, leaned forward gingerly, reaching out until his fingers brushed the lip of the bowl. His gaze flickered to the window and, for an instant, he thought he saw the glow of the evenstar shining even through the fabric.

He grabbed the bowl’s edge and shuffled back, falling onto his buttocks and pushing away from the window with his feet. The light his eye detected faded, the clamor of the bar seeping back into his notice. He sat on the floor for a time, heart beating fast, then shook his head and laughed at himself.

“The priest is nothing but a light in the sky. He can’t watch you from there.”

Kuneprius laughed again and stood, picking the bowl up from the floor as he did. He went to the table where the pitcher of water sat but amended his path on his way to pass close by Thorn.

As he’d hoped, the Small God had found some peace. He breathed deeply and smoothly, his gray lids closed, his lips parted. Kuneprius took a moment to marvel at the creature he stood over, wishing he’d known him when he still had use of the powers the legends spoke of, that he himself experienced inklings of ,despite Thorn’s condition.

He might have spent a great deal more time staring at this fantastic being if the burn in his cheeks and the itch in his forehead he’d forgotten with the evenstar’s gaze upon him hadn’t returned. He raised his shoulder and rubbed one cheek on it, then spun on his heel and hurried across the small room to the tiny table.

It shifted and the ewer clinked against the edge of the bowl as he set it down. Water splashed against the side. The sound it made caused an ache in his chest the way a hungry man might salivate at the aroma of cooking meat.

He could wait no more.

Kuneprius picked up the jug and tilted it over the bowl, fighting the urge to pour it in all at once. If he did, it would spill, wasting precious water. He decanted it slowly, watching the thin stream flow from the lip of the pitcher, savoring the splash it made filling the vessel that would help bring his relief. He poured until the ewer was empty, shaking it to get the last few drops, then set it aside and gripped the edge of the table with both hands.

Lamplight glimmered on the surface of the water, inviting Kuneprius to plunge his face in, to relieve days of pent up tension and guilt. He cupped his hands, filled them with water, and splashed it on his cheeks. Once. Twice. Three times. He stood over the bowl, droplets plummeting from his nose and chin, and waited, sighing deep breaths in and out of his chest as he counted his heartbeats.

One. Two. Bump-bump, bump-bump. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

On the tenth, he drew one last breath to fill his lungs to capacity, then gripped the edge of the table and leaned forward. Instead of submerging his face all at once, he eased it in, eyes open to watch the water’s approach.

The tip of his nose touched first, the coolness of the water instantly easing his discomfort at the path his life had taken. His nose went in, then his chin, brows, and lips. Finally, when his entire face broke the surface, he pushed his head forward until his nose brushed the bottom of the bowl. Water slopped over the sides onto the table, splashing his hands, but he barely noticed. The visage of the woman was already finding its way into his mind.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

As her features swam into his vision, staring back at him from the bottom of the bowl, he realized he hadn’t been able to call her features to mind since the last opportunity to lave his sins. He’d tried to picture her—mostly at night—with no success.

Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

Concern pulled her smooth, young mouth taut, drawing her brows down and tilting her lips into a frown. In truth, this was how he’d seen her face the one time he’d met the woman—the time he’d taken her life—but it was rarely how she appeared to him when he tried to wash away his guilt.

Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty. Thirty-one.

Normally, she had a smile for him and forgiveness in her eyes. Only in his dreams did she accuse him, blame him. Her expression now concerned him and he concentrated hard enough on changing it he nearly lost count.

Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five.

The girl’s lips moved, her concern deepening, transforming to another aspect he’d seen the day she died: fear.

His counting ceased. Never had the girl in his vision behaved this way, not when he had control of his mind. When she visited his dreams, she did as she pleased. At times, she blamed him for her death, for the state of the world; at others, he thought she was warning him—the same sense he got from her this time.

Kuneprius blinked her away and pulled his head from the bowl, water dripping off his nose and chin. A knot in his chest made filling his lungs difficult, but he fought through and plunged his face back in, restarting his count.

One. Two. Three.

Her likeness reappeared, the concern it had shown having become panic—the same expression she’d worn at the moment his sword ended her time in this world. The muscles in Kuneprius’ jaw tightened and he released air through his nose. The bubbles swirled her image before his eyes but dismissed neither her visage nor the alarm it wore like a mask.

Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.

The creak of a board usurped his attention and the vision of the girl shut her eyes.

Thorn?

Water splashed into his ear and the side of the bowl slammed into his cheek, throwing him off balance. He held onto the table, keeping himself from falling as the bowl and pitcher crashed to the floor, water spilling onto the cracked boards as the earthenware broke into pieces.

Kuneprius gasped a breath into his lungs, coughed out water. He used his forearm to wipe wetness from his face and straightened, anger flaring through him.

“Thorn! What are you—?”

The golem loomed over him, three paces away, the Small God held under his arm. The odor of clay invaded Kuneprius’ head as his nostrils flared and his eyes widened with the sudden realization something was desperately wrong.

“What’s…?”

His lips continued to move, but the noises they made ceased. The golem’s always stern expression bore into him, weighing on him; Thorn looked confused, as might be expected from one ripped from their sleep.

The clay man grabbed Kuneprius by the arm, fingers digging deep into his bicep and sending pain up into his shoulder. A moment of confusion blurred his thinking as the abomination yanked him away, dragging him across the floor toward the door which was open and hanging at an odd angle.

The golem had broken through it without Kuneprius noticing.

How long did he stand in the room watching me?

The thought passed through his mind, but disappeared as other, more pressing questions forced it out.

Where is he taking us?

Why?

They went through the doorway and into the hall before he got his feet moving, relieving some of the pressure of the clay man’s grip. The big man’s long strides carried them quickly to the top of the stairs.

“What are you doing?” Kuneprius knew the query would go unanswered, but he asked anyway.

As expected, the golem ignored his words and pulled him down the staircase. Kuneprius directed his attention to his footing, making sure he didn’t trip and tumble his way to the bottom. Under the clay man’s arm, Thorn made a noise in his throat. Hearing it made him aware of the lack of other sounds emanating from the previously boisterous tavern crowd. Goose bumps crawled along his arms and Kuneprius looked up.

His gaze first took in the Small God, but he saw nothing of Thorn but his legs. Beyond him and the golem’s muscled back, he spied the first corpse lying at the bottom of the stairway.

It was the serving girl, the one Kuneprius presumed to be the barkeep’s daughter. Her ale-stained white apron was red, her eyes stared toward the ceiling, her body twisted at a grotesque angle. If the golem hadn’t been pulling him onward, Kuneprius would have stopped and gawked in horror.

As they reached the bottom of the staircase, he found so much more to be horrified by.

Corpses littered the tavern, some draped across tables, others tangled with chairs or each other, still others leaning forward in their spots as though they’d dozed off after drinking too much ale. Spatters and gouts of blood painted the walls and floor.

Kuneprius gaped. The stench of fresh blood penetrated the odor of clay, the coppery taste of it found his tongue and threatened to gag him. His feet refused to move, scraping on the wooden floorboards as the golem dragged him through the slaughterhouse.

The barkeep’s head sat on the bar, tilted to one side and resting on his ear, the body nowhere to be seen. Kuneprius recognized others he’d noted when he came to get food for himself and Thorn, not an unsheathed dagger or inch of bared steel amongst them.

The pieces of the puzzle came together in his mind.

They saw Thorn. Somehow, the golem knew.

His foot caught on an arm no longer attached to a body and he danced away from it, a squeak emanating from his tight throat. They passed the other server—the barkeep’s wife—her head twisted around to look behind her at a man torn in two from shoulder to groin; his insides drooped out over his belt.

He killed them all.

“W…why? Why did you do this?”

Fear and despair clenched his throat so tightly it hurt to speak. An unnoticed tear rolled along his cheek. The other man the golem had killed was bad, and the two children worse, but this…

The clay man made no answer, merely continued through the massacre toward the door, pushing corpses and body parts aside whenever they got in his way. His gray feet left red footprints anywhere they touched a clean spot on the floor.

They crossed the threshold into the dark night, passing the splintered door that was the golem’s first victim upon entering the inn. He’d torn it from its hinges, shattering its boards and splitting the jamb, the force had been so great. What must the patrons have thought when they saw this monster stride in and begin killing those nearest to him?

“They didn’t deserve this, Ves. They did nothing wrong.” Tears flowed freely from Kuneprius’ eyes, a line of snot trickled from his nose. He craned his neck to look back through the doorway, desperate to see someone left alive. Nothing moved. “They wouldn’t have told. They didn’t know what they saw.”

The golem dragged them across the courtyard toward the trees, as unresponsive and uncaring of his words as always. In that moment, whatever hope he held a sliver of his friend might remain in the monster—that there was any chance of having his dear Vesisdenperos returned to him—vanished.