And Night Descends (The Third Book of the Small Gods Series) (28 page)

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The susurration of the surf rolling onto the rocky shore grew as the man led her away from the robed men and toward the sea. She’d remained quiet as long as possible.

“How come they didn’t see us?”

He didn’t respond. She stopped and released his hand, knowing it would throw her back into blindness but trusting him not to leave her. It may be she required his touch for her vision, but he needed her for connection to this world so foreign to him.

The white haze overtook her instantly, like a weighted curtain dropped in front of a stage. Despite expecting it, the blindness startled her, speeding her heart. What if he decided not to touch her again? Or he thought her more trouble than she was worth and left her to find her way on her own? What if her sight didn’t return when her fingers found him again? Panic welled up in Ailyssa’s chest and she struggled to suppress it but, a half-dozen fearful heartbeats later, he grasped her hand and dispelled both the fog and the anxiety it brought.

When sight returned, she found him standing in front of her, staring into her eyes. He didn’t speak.

“How come they didn’t see us?” she asked again. “What did you do?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

His answer brought a knot to her chest.
How could he not know?

“But you stopped us. You…you embraced me. You must have known.” A phantom of the sensation she’d experienced with his arms encircling her shoulders and her cheek on his chest passed through her.

He shook his head again, squeezed her hand. She wanted to pull away but dreaded the thought of being plunged back into blindness.

“I held you to comfort you,” he said. His gaze dropped away. “I thought they’d kill us.”

Ailyssa stared. He’d stopped them to await their death, yet their pursuers walked right by them without noticing their presence. How could it be?

“The Goddess,” she whispered and raised her eyes toward the sky.

High branches in the tall evergreens waved overhead, blocking her view of the pristine daytime sky, the place she’d always associated with her deity. Nothing in Olvana’s teachings said the Goddess lived in the sky, but it made sense to Ailyssa. If she’d banished the Small Gods to the night sky, then the daytime’s blue firmament must be the Goddess’ domain.

“What did you say?”

She lowered her gaze and their eyes met. She shook her head.

“Nothing. Just…” Her attention flickered skyward again, then back. “Nothing.”

The man’s expression suggested her answer didn’t satisfy him, but he said no more and, rather than inquire further, started out again. Ailyssa allowed herself to be led, glancing up once in a while to glimpse the blue sky peeking between branches.

They hadn’t gone far when the trees thinned and the heavens above widened more and more. She hurried her step to walk beside her companion and saw the forest came to an end farther ahead and an expanse of yellow-green grass began. Butterflies flitted amongst the blades, and birds wheeled through the sky overhead, but she paid these only brief attention.

A group of buildings sat in the middle of the field.

Ailyssa’s eyes widened. Sunlight gleamed on what might have been fresh white paint on the building’s eaves; the grass around the tiny village was cut short and recently tended.

Someone lived here, someone who might help them.

Had she ever seen a town so beautiful?

“We’re saved,” she said. She looked to her companion, who stood still and tense as a statue, staring toward the group of buildings. She tugged on his arm. “Let’s go.”

Ailyssa took two paces into the field before her grip slipped from the man’s unmoving arm. The sea of grass and the pristine village disappeared with it, dissolving into the white haze, and her steps ceased. Her breath caught and she reached behind her, searching for the man’s hand.

“Where are you?”

The need to ask and the nervous tone it brought to her voice sent a lance of anger through her chest. When would she ever stop depending on others?

No response came. He didn’t understand her, of course, and couldn’t communicate when they weren’t touching any more than the world appeared in her vision without him. His fingers brushed hers and the meadow flickered back to life.

“Step back,” he said.

Their touch parted again. She stretched her hand out toward where his voice had been, but didn’t find him.

“Take my hand.” She strived to keep desperation from her voice.

Ailyssa’s lips pressed together tight. Why wouldn’t he hold onto her while they went to the village and found someone to help them? Their salvation might well lay ahead of them and he was unwilling to go to it.

The white haze wrapped around her, pressing in on top of her. Sighing, she took a cautious step back, then another.

His fingers grasped hers and the grass and buildings returned to her vision. Though she knew—hoped—he wouldn’t have deserted her, their appearance was all the sweeter for having disappeared. She held his hand tighter, ensuring her grip wouldn’t slip from his, and tugged on his arm to prompt him forward.

“Come on,” she said, peering over her shoulder at him.

His head pivoted side to side, refusing.

“We can’t.”

“Why not?” Ailyssa looked toward the village, longed to accept its invitation to cross the field. “People live there. They might help us.”

His head continued shaking. “There is evil.”

Ailyssa’s brow furrowed, she tilted her head, looked from her companion to the gleaming white buildings and back. Nothing in the white paint or straight lines, nor anything in the stretch of waving blades of grass suggested evil or good or things in between to her. Pure neutrality and detachment, like every other inanimate object. Besides, the Goddess had revealed herself again by protecting them from the robed men; surely she didn’t do so to lead them to their doom elsewhere.

Did she?

A shiver trotted its way along Ailyssa’s back. Her companion stared past her, ignoring the pleading look in her eyes, his own expression slack. She thought to pull on his hand again, coax him toward this haven, but hesitated as he shook his head.

“What is it?”

He responded with action rather than words as he began walking, following the forest’s edge and keeping within sight of the village, but going no closer. Ailyssa let herself be led again, cursing herself for doing so. They went twenty paces before stopping. The man raised his arm, pointed toward the group of buildings.

She followed his gesture. When her gaze fell upon the buildings, her breath caught in her throat.

Wooden walls with faded paint peeling away and the boards beneath weathered to the gray of a stormy day stood where the fresh painted ones had been, tangled ragweed and stunted broom overgrew the pristine lawn leading to the village, and it seemed to grow and expand before her eyes. The wind that had swayed the grass fell still, the heat’s oppressive grip pressing on her, bringing sweat to her brow and under her arms. Her gaze darted between the buildings, the weeds, the deserted, neglected appearance so hopeful moments before.

Her eyes fell upon a motionless figure looming at the edge of the hamlet.

With the sun glaring on the land, it was no more than a black silhouette: two arms, two legs, a faceless head. She couldn’t tell if the shape belonged to a male or female, adult or child, but a malevolence gathered around it like a storm cloud. An uncomfortable twinge inserted itself into the bottom of her gut.

“You were right,” she whispered and faced her companion. “Something is wrong here. How did you know?”

He shook his head, refusing to meet her gaze, then struck out again, faster than before. They moved into the forest and away from the village with an urgency as though he thought the group of buildings might catch up to them if they tarried.

Ailyssa glanced back before they disappeared into the brush. The walls flickered between newly painted and old and faded, the field of grass grew and disappeared, grew and disappeared. Only the haunted silhouette remained unchanged, unmoving, watching them as they went.

Ailyssa pulled her hand away from her companion’s to allow the blank white of her blindness to swallow the mysterious figure.

XXVIII Horace—The Faceless

The too-tight boots skidded in the dirt, leavin’ little trails as what lay before him made Horace come to a sudden stop. He held his breath and leaned forward, peerin’ through branches and leaves, forgettin’ what might’ve been behind him.

Four o’ them gathered around a carcass o’ some sort. They’d stripped it beyond recognition, but what kinda thing it might’ve been were less important than what the hell the things eatin’ it was.

Tattered clothin’ draped their man-shaped bodies, some wearin’ more’n others. Sickly white skin, long necks, egg-shaped heads with patches o’ scraggly hair. Frightenin’ enough, them things, but it were their lack o’ faces what made the ol’ sailor’s porthole clench in fear.

He saw nothin’ but dents in the eggs where eyes should’ve been, a lump for a nose, and a ridge what should’ve been a mouth. Blood smeared this place on each o’ them as they used long, claw-like fingers to tear flesh from the carcass and push it against their faces as though they didn’t realize they didn’t have no mouths. The ol’ sailor watched in horror as one tore a chunk off, pressed it to its face, rubbin’ and grindin’ it until tossin’ it aside in clear frustration.

“Fuck me dead,” Horace whispered, his voice low enough he barely heard it himself.

One o’ the creatures stopped, tilted its head in the sailor’s direction. Only then did Horace see the impressions in the side o’ them eggs where ears normally was.

Horace’s lips pursed to draw a startled breath, but a hand reached around from behind to cover his mouth. Panic shot through his limbs and he jerked, attemptin’ to get away, until a second arm encircled his body, pinnin’ his arms to his sides. The strong bear hug squeezed hard enough to get across its desperate insistence, but not so much as to hurt. He didn’t know who or what grabbed him, but he thought heedin’ its advice to stop strugglin’ might be his best choice o’ actions for the time bein’.

The white thing’s egghead remained tilted toward Horace for the space o’ more heartbeats than he cared to count. The blood smudged across its non-face gave the creature a grisly smile; its eye dents fixed on the exact spot where the ol’ sailor stood captive, but it made no move as though it saw him.

It ain’t got no eyes.

He did his best to hold in his air, but the wait dragged on too long and it forced him to suck some air in through his nose. He did so a quarter breath at a time, fearful o’ discoverin’ the hand o’er his mouth smelled o’ clay. It didn’t but, with the white thing starin’ at him eyelessly, the lack o’ earthy odor didn’t ease his trepidation no better.

After far too long, the creature returned its attention to the carcass, its flesh havin’ dwindled as the thing’s companions tore bits away while the one stared in Horace’s direction. It dug its fingers into the animal’s belly, pulled out a long string o’ innards and ground them into its mouth ridge. Horace gagged against the hand coverin’ his mouth.

Whatever held onto him didn’t let him go nor even ease its grip. Instead, it began movin’ away from the carnage, pullin’ the ol’ sailor along with it. He gave some consideration to strugglin’ but decided stealth were the better choice for now.

Horace moved as careful as the circumstances allowed, but his boots scraped against the ground and leaves and branches rustled at his passin’. The white creatures didn’t notice this time, for which he were relieved while wonderin’ why.

They backed away until the faceless things disappeared from his sight, then whoever held him let him go. Horace spun around quick, raisin’ his fists as though he possessed strength and energy enough to defend himself, but any thought o’ doin’ so left him when he saw the small gray being what’d been holdin’ him.

Thorn?

The Small God must’ve seen a word bubblin’ up toward his mouth, for he pressed a finger to his lips and gestured for the ol’ sailor to follow. The horror at seein’ the faceless things disappeared as he watched Thorn turn and walk away; relief lightened the weight on his chest.

He’s lost his britches.

Horace chuckled silently and followed his friend into the brush, feelin’ somewhat safer’n he’d done in some time. In the Green, the Small God’d have his power back, he’d be able to protect the ol’ sailor, help him get out from behind the veil.

When he thought they’d gone far enough to be outta earshot o’ them creatures what didn’t have no ears, Horace decided to find out where Thorn intended on takin’ him.

“Where you be leadin’ Horace, Thorn?”

The Small God stopped in his tracks as though the sailor’s words was rocks what hit him in the back o’ the head. He twisted toward Horace, an awe-struck expression raisin’ the little feller’s brows.

“You know Thorn?”

If the words spoken wasn’t enough o’ a hint, the voice what came outta the Small God’s mouth weren’t Thorn’s. Surprised, Horace took a step back, inspected his rescuer for the first time and found no man-thing danglin’ betwixt its legs. The heat o’ embarrassment touched the ol’ sailor’s cheeks and he diverted his gaze from this obviously-not-Thorn’s lady bits.

“Who…who are you?”

“Ivy, sister to Thorn. How could you know Ivy’s brother?”

“He fell on me.”

Ivy’s face contorted and she tilted her head. “How did you get behind the veil for Thorn to fall on you?”

“I weren’t. I met Thorn on th’other side. A big, black bird took him o’er.”

“Father Raven,” Ivy whispered.

“Sounds about right.”

She looked toward the ground, eyes flitting as though searchin’ for somethin’. Horace used the time to examine her more closely and decided that the missing man-thing were the only difference from one o’ them to the other, least far as he remembered. Maybe if they stood side by side, he’d recognize other ways to tell them apart. The Small God raised her gaze and the ol’ sailor glanced away again.