Servant: The Dark God Book 1 (32 page)

31
A Broken Wing

HUNGER STOOD AT the edge of the wood. The scent of the burning boy lay in the hollows and ravines here as thick as a fog. He looked over a bend in a river. Beyond it lay a farmstead. That’s where the boy would be, waiting like a fat chicken in his coop.

He began to descend the bank to the water when a woman came out of the house carrying a lamp. He glimpsed her face for a moment in the light as she walked across the yard to the well. The gait of her walk, the angle of her shoulders—it pulled a memory into his mind.

He knew her. He was sure of it . . .

Moments passed.

She drew water, then returned to the house. Hunger stood in the shadows still as a heron stalking frogs.

Then the name slide into his mind as softly as dew: River.

Yes, that was her name. And with that name a number of strong memories rose in his mind. He followed them, and every one of them ended with this: she’d held his hand once and he had been unable to speak. Not because he found her so lovely. No, it was not his desire for her that had stolen his words; it was gratitude. He remembered one spring evening in a bower, blindfolded, waiting for River who had worked so hard to make the match, waiting in the moonlight with the lilacs in bloom, their fine scent perfuming the night. Waiting to hear the feet on the path, the rustling of skirts, and then River taking his hand and putting Rosemary’s warm, strong hand in it. River removed the blindfold so he could see Rosemary standing there before him, holding the flowered crown that meant she’d accepted his offer of marriage, looking at him with those laughing, moon-sparkled eyes.

Rosemary, the carpenter’s daughter, the face of the woman he’d remembered after eating the man who had been humming as he washed himself. The man who was called Larther. And now Hunger had a name to hang that sorrow upon. He stood motionless, contemplating the horror he’d become.

The water ran below him; three deer came to drink and left.

And then he realized that River was the one he needed. Her brother, the burning son, was nothing. He wasn’t even part of the Order yet. But River, she was skilled at all sorts of Weavings. She would know the workings of the collar. She would fix it. And he would bind the Mother. Bind her and destroy her.

River had been a beauty to him, then friend, and finally sister. She would not run away; she would see though his rough form. He was sure of it. River would help him.

He took a step toward the water, and something moved downwind of the house.

He peered closer. Two men crept along in the grass, their helmets and knives shining in the moonlight.

Whatever their intent, they would flush River like untrained dogs flush quail from the brush. Except once River ran, you did not catch her.

Those two would have to go. Silently, but they would have to go. Hunger waited to see if there were more of them, and when he saw they came alone, he descended the riverbank and quietly entered the dark waters.

* * *

Prunes stood in the shadow of a tree. Across the yard, Gid peered between the cracks of a shutter on that side of the house just to make sure there were only five of them. Prunes scratched his neck, and when he looked back at Gid, something monstrous and dark had risen, it seemed, from the very earth.

It was bigger than a man. Hairy in patches. No, not hair. Grass. Then Prunes recognized it from the stories of the creature at Whitecliff.

“Gid!” he shouted.

Gid turned, but it was too late.

The dark shape engulfed him. Only the silhouette of Gid’s lower half was visible in the moonlight. He struggled, cried out, and then the thing shook him out like a wife shakes a rug and cast Gid’s broken body aside in a heap.

Prunes was rooted to the spot in horror. That thing had killed Gid like he was a fly.

The creature raised its head and chuffed like a horse. Then it turned and looked straight at Prunes across the yard.

He’d fought in a number of battles, nearly lost his life a dozen times. But nothing had ever put fear into him like the gaze of that rough monster.

By all that was holy . . .

His bladder released. He dropped his knife, backed up in horror, then ran.

* * *

Sugar stood in the barn filling a barrel with barley and oats for the horse. They had a long ride ahead and the animal would need rich food. Legs stood by her side.

“Did you hear that?” he asked.

Sugar hadn’t heard a thing. She was too busy thinking about what had just happened with Talen and what River had said. What she was doing now.

River sat at the table back in the house with Talen, making him open and close the doors in his being, whatever that meant, over and over again. For the last hour all River had done was sit there, holding Talen’s hand at the table, telling him to open and close, again and again, telling him that she had to be sure he could hold himself to himself.

In her mind, Sugar knew it was a great evil they practiced at the table. But in her heart she could not help but want to learn it as well, for when River had told her what her mother was, it had come, not as a shock, but a loss. Because she didn’t believe Mother was wicked.

“The story is never what you first hear,” Mother had always said. And she’d always held to that belief in her dealings. When Sugar was a little girl and had been accused of stealing a village boy’s carved, cherry-wood horse, her mother had believed her denials. Later that same day, when Sugar finally confessed and showed her mother the horse, her mother had not sent her away. She’d taken her in her arms and stroked her hair and kissed her forehead and said, “It’s a brave thing to admit to a lie. Foolish to lie in the first place. But brave to put the lie out in the sun for everyone to see.” She’d hugged her tight. “Your bravery is as fine as peas and fatty beef,” Mother had said. “Fat peas and fatty beef.” From that time forward, “fat peas and fatty beef” had been their saying.

How many times had Mother seen through her mistakes to what was praiseworthy? Even when Da was teaching her to fight, she believed Sugar would find a find young man in Koramtown and raise splendid children. The two of them had talked about what they’d do together with Sugar’s future children, all the wonderful places she and Mother had visited with Legs in tow. The crabbing bay, their waterfall in the woods, the patch of wild blueberries by the buttes. And Mother would come stay with her in Koramtown and join in the knitting hours and teach Sugar’s daughter how to knit just as she’d taught Sugar.

So much lost. For the first time since they left, Sugar could feel the emotion rising in her.

“There’s that sound again,” said Legs.

Sugar emerged out of her reverie. “What did you say?”

“I think a man’s outside,” said Legs.

The hairs on the back of Sugar’s neck stood up, and she doused the lamp. She stood in the dark for a moment listening, then ran to a knot hole in the side of the barn that gave a view of the yard. She put her eye to the hole and saw nothing at first. Then something large moved by the house.

She didn’t have her night vision yet, and thought, unaccountably, that it was the mule. But then the body of a man fell to the ground and a dark shadow walked out from the side of the house and into the moonlight.

She got a good look at the shadow. A massive thing. Then it looked right at her, as if it could see her eye at the knot hole. Fear ran up her spine, and she drew back, grabbing Leg’s hand, and pulled him down. Surely it had seen her light earlier and heard her talking. It would know they were in the barn. Yet, she didn’t dare run, for then it would surely mark them.

Outside the barn, someone ran across the hard dirt of the yard. Something heavier followed behind.

They needed to hide, to burrow in the hay, but the creature was coming too fast. The door stood wide open to the moonlit yard, and Sugar could do nothing but watch as a misshapen thing, huge and shaggy, walked into view.

A scream rose inside her. She cried out. She could not help herself, and the beast glanced her way.

But it did not stop. It walked past the door and then it began to run. In moments its footfalls receded from the barn.

Sugar could not move. Her heart beat in her throat. She could barely breathe.

“Those heavier footsteps, what were they?” asked Legs.

Sugar did not reply.

Legs said, “It was the thing that carried Mother away, wasn’t it?”

Sugar looked at him. How could he have known that? “I don’t know.” And yet, what else could it be?

“I held the charm today, down in the cellar,” said Legs. “Do you think the creature has come to help us?”

“No,” said Sugar. Not that thing. The wisterwives created beauty. That was from some other source. Whatever it was, River could offer more protection than this barn ever would. “We need to get to the house.”

“I saw Mother. I held the charm in my hand and saw her.”

“What?”

“I saw Mother.”

“With the charm?”

“Yes,” Legs said.

“But I thought you said you didn’t trust the charm.”

“River said it was a gift.”

He was right; she had indeed said that. “Mother’s alive?”

“She was calling. Telling me to watch and be ready.”

“This is all too confusing,” she said. “River claims the creature is not part of this Order she and Mother belong to. It’s a wicked thing.”

Legs said, “You’re convinced it’s not Mother’s?”

“I don’t know what to think. And we don’t have time now to ferret it all out. We’ll discuss it later with River.” She took him by the hand, stood, and quietly walked to the barn door and peered out into the night. Then, with all the courage she could muster, she tightened her grip on Leg’s hand and dashed across the yard. When they burst into the dimly lit house, both Talen and River looked up at them.

“It’s here,” said Sugar. “The creature from Whitecliff.”

Both looked at her in silence.

“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’s 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 circumstances will you come back here. None. I will meet you at the Creek Widow’s.”

The Creek Widow was like an aunt to them. Every year Da hauled them over to help her harvest her apples. Except this year the Creek Widow and Da were feuding.

“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 grass brushing 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 back 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 gratitude 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 carcass. 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?