Curse: The Dark God Book 2

  MOKAD IS COMING . . .

  Just as Sugar went to grab the handle, the door opened. A huge bearded man stood there. His clothes were dark. His eyes were orangish-brown, but it wasn’t their color that filled her with dread. It was the shape of the irises—horizontally slit like those of a goat.

  Sugar stumbled back.

  “Ho there, Darling,” he said.

  Someone else entered the front of the house.

  Sugar tried to dart around the big man, but he was quick and blocked her path. Were these two of the Famished? Had they drained the life out of this village and now come for her?

  He raised his voice and grinned. “I think we’ve found what we’ve been looking for.”

  For Nellie

  Contents

  Teaser

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Contents

  Map

  1. Skull and Weave

  2. Dogs

  3. Dreadman

  4. Water

  5. Visitors

  6. Meat

  7. Eresh

  8. The Queller

  9. Redthorn

  10. Grass

  11. Lust

  12. Plan of War

  13. Chicken Bone

  14. Gifts

  15. Ferret

  16. Yellow Dream

  17. Slayer

  18. Nilliam

  19. Nettle

  20. Suckle

  21. Withers

  22. Soulwalk

  23. Rabbit

  24. Alert

  25. Scruff

  26. Beyond Land's Edge

  27. Pursuit

  28. Woolsom

  29. The Practical Thing

  30. Mission

  31. The Wilds

  32. Dreadman's Camp

  33. Nightingale

  34. Beetle

  35. Kains

  36. Ke

  37. Black Harvest

  38. Urban's Warning

  39. Ferret's Choice

  Dear Reader

  Terms & People

  Acknowledgements

  By John D. Brown

  About the Author

  Copyright

  1

  Skull and Weave

  TALEN HAD ALREADY died once this season, and it was not something he wanted to do again. Not anytime soon. And yet here he was, well past midnight, sneaking into the heart of enemy Fir-Noy territory.

  Sugar, River, and five of Shim’s soldiers were with him, all of them crouching in the moon shadow cast by a tree next to a pile of stones someone had hauled out of the adjacent field. All of them but River wore weaves of might, increasing their strength and speed, which was one of the reasons why all of them had sizeable Fir-Noy bounties on their heads. And not only in Fir-Noy lands. Five of the nine Mokaddian clans had sided with the Fir-Noy against Shim and the Shoka.

  Talen and a number of the others held bows, arrows ready. They had risked coming to the village of Plum to retrieve a cache of weaves and other unknown items of lore from the ruins of Sugar’s house. Her mother, upon her deathbed a little over three months ago, bid Sugar to retrieve them. Sugar had wanted to go immediately, but Uncle Argoth prevented that, telling her she needed to wait until the right opportunity arose. It appeared tonight was that opportunity, for all over the New Lands, Mokaddians and Koramites had been distracted with the Apple Dance, one of the biggest festivals of the year. So while Talen and the others were sneaking through the woods, most everyone else was dancing and feasting and becoming groggy with large quantities of hard cider. And thus far the strategy had worked, but it was one thing to sneak through the darkness of the woods and quite another to enter a village washed with moonlight.

  Talen preferred his dark spot under the tree. It was much better than the moonlit fields that spread about the village. Out there anyone with an eye in his head could spot them coming from a hundred yards away. And it was better than the moonlit road running in front of them that led to the village where those that had shot Sugar’s mother with arrows and murdered her father all lay, he hoped, dreaming in their abominable beds.

  Except this wasn’t right. Talen and the others were supposed to have come out across from the ash ruins of Sugar’s old house. The one these fine folk had burned to the ground. “I think you’ve brought us to the wrong end,” Talen whispered to Sugar.

  “No, I’m just coming to get something important first.” Sugar pointed up the road to the entrance of the village.

  Talen followed her finger. The Fir-Noy here had begun to build a wall around their village, presumably to keep sleth like him out. It was a wooden palisade atop a mound of dirt. But she wasn’t pointing at the half-finished wall with its timber supports still showing like bones. She was pointing at a tall pole that had been erected at the gate of the village. Something had been fastened to the top of that pole. Talen peered closer and saw a human skull shining pale in the moonlight.

  It took him a moment, and then he knew whose it was. “That’s your father’s.”

  “You’re going to help me,” she said. “He deserves better than that.”

  Talen nodded. He deserved much better than that.

  The night shadows of the clouds played over the fields and road that ran its crooked way through the village. Talen started to rise, bow in hand, but Sugar suddenly put a hand on his shoulder to keep him down.

  A small longing ran through him at her touch, and it surprised him.

  She motioned to the right. He turned. Something moved in the shadows a bit farther down the half-finished wall.

  A patrol? The wall wasn’t finished, but it was still large enough in many places to hide a number of men. Two of Shim’s soldiers prepared to draw their bows. A minute passed, and then a solitary dog showed itself on this side of the wall, snuffling the ground.

  The dog wasn’t on a leash, but that didn’t mean its owner wasn’t following behind. A slight breeze blew in Talen’s face, and that was a good thing because it meant he was downwind of that dog. But Talen wasn’t thinking so much of the dog as the spot on his shoulder where Sugar’s hand rested. That small longing had grown.

  The last few weeks he’d started to feel odd things, vague sensings of another’s Fire and soul. But those stirrings had never felt like this. He pulled away from her, the electric feeling of her touch lingering, and felt a hunger jangle along his bones.

  River had warned him that the awakening to the lore was as big a change as that of going from boy to man. The ways of the lore were odd, and sometimes the body reacted in strange ways, but nobody had ever said anything about this.

  Maybe this had nothing to do with the lore. Maybe this was simple attraction. Sugar wasn’t one of those voluptuous soft ladies, but lately he’d caught himself staring at her, her dark shining hair and honeyed skin, her eyes. A spark often lit those green eyes, and Talen knew there were all manner of thoughts running like wild horses behind them. She had nice lips as well—

  The man next to Talen froze. And Talen realized he’d lost his focus. He shook his head and cursed himself. Now was not the time to lose his concentration to some idiot Fire-induced twitterpation.

  He looked at the scene in front of him and realized everyone was still watching the dog. It had raised its head as if it sensed the fist of soldiers under the tree. It sniffed the wind for a moment, turned their way and sniffed more, then dropped its head and padded off down the length of the wall away from Talen and the others.

  When the dog was out of sight, River blew
out a sigh of relief. “Dogs are the last thing we need.”

  Talen whispered, “You’d think that if they’re worried enough to build a wall, they’d be worried enough to have a guard to go with it. You’d think they’d have a night patrol.”

  “You’re assuming ‘thinking’ and ‘Fir-Noy’ are two words that go together,” whispered Sugar. She rose. “Come on. We don’t have time to waste.”

  She ran onto the dirt road and up to the half-built gate where the tall pole with her father’s skull stood. Talen glanced about, saw the area was clear, and followed her out, running over the hard-packed dirt in his bare feet. He ran with the quickened pace that a weave of might imparted, bow in hand. River and three of the soldiers followed Talen and Sugar, taking up flanking positions to keep watch.

  In this fist of soldiers, River was the only one who could multiply her might fully. She had mastered that lore years ago. The rest of them wore the weaves of candidate dreadmen, those that were in training. A candidate weave increased the wearer’s abilities maybe by a fourth or half, preparing them for the large multiplication that came when you wore the weave of a full dreadman.

  But candidate or full, no weave made a man invulnerable, as Talen could testify. He had plenty of bruises and cuts from training. There was a stitched gash on his arm from a practice with spears. And the pointer finger on his left hand was still wrapped tightly to its neighbor to give it support after it was broken a few weeks ago.

  He followed Sugar to the half-finished village gate and the pole that stood next to it.

  Sugar looked up at her father’s skull. “Dirty whoresons,” she spat.

  The pole looked to be about eleven feet tall. The villagers had fastened a wide board below the skull and written something on it in dark script. It was hard to make it out, but there was just enough light to catch the letters. It said “Sparrow’s End.”

  It appeared these villagers were trying to claim some honor for having killed Sugar’s father. They probably hoped to change the name of their village. The irony was that Sparrow hadn’t known a thing about the lore. The Fir-Noy mob had murdered an honest man, not some vile sleth.

  Talen whispered, “The Fir-Noy are greasy goat lovers. When Shim ascends, they’ll rue their cabbage brains.”

  “Just get me up,” she whispered back.

  Talen set down his bow and took a knee next to the pole. He said, “So, I heard you agreed to the Sower’s Jack with that Koramtown weaver, him with the fancy blue tunic and shiny boots.”

  “I thought the boots were striking.”

  “Too bad you had to miss them. Shall I tell him that instead of dancing with him and his fancy boots, you decided to cavort around a village pole with me in the wee hours of the night?”

  “Not if you value your life,” she said.

  “You like him that much?”

  “He’s got all of his teeth.”

  “I always thought his nose was a little too dainty for someone like you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He held out his hand to help her climb up onto his shoulders. “Just pointing out the facts.”

  Sugar took his hand. “Well, the fact right now is that you need to not drop me.” She steadied herself with one hand on the pole, took one step up on his leg and another onto his shoulders. Talen grabbed both of her legs just above her ankles to stabilize her, and stood.

  And as he did, the intoxicating scent of her Fire and soul flowed down over him like a river. He staggered back a step.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed.

  “Sorry,” he said and moved her back to the pole.

  She unsheathed her knife and sawed at something. And he struggled not to lose his wits as the delicious smell rolled down.

  A moment later she said, “I’ve got him. Let me go.”

  Talen barely heard her.

  “Talen!” she hissed.

  “Right,” he said and let her go.

  The next thing he knew she was on the ground with the skull in her hand.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  He shook his head to clear it. “What kind of magic is the Creek Widow teaching you?” he asked.

  “Same as you. What kind of a question is that?”

  The Creek Widow, that old plotter, had probably been teaching the women some secret glamour. And Sugar had set it all in motion for that weaver and his boots, only to be sent off behind enemy lines.

  “You could have told me,” Talen said.

  “Told you what?”

  “Nothing,” he said. It was a glamour. He was sure of it.

  Sugar shrugged. “Whatever,” she said and held the skull out to him. “Take this.”

  Talen took the skull, careful not to touch her again, and was surprised to find the skull as light as an apple. All the flesh had been burned off and the soft matter burned out when the Fir-Noy had cast the bodies of Sparrow and every other living thing he owned into the great inferno they’d made of his house and workshop. But someone had fetched the skull out, cleaned it, and painted the mark of sleth upon its forehead. The mark was made with a line running horizontally through a V to make a triangular face with two sets of horns. The face represented a man; the four points represented the twisted horns of a beast possessed by Regret himself.

  The dark eye sockets and grinning mouth of the skull looked up at him. Someone had used thin leather strips to keep the bottom jaw firmly attached. They obviously took great pride in this kill. And they obviously thought themselves very brave indeed, for the bones of sleth were usually ground and scattered in the sea.

  Sugar slipped off the leather sack she carried at a diagonal across her shoulders. She loosened the flap tie, retrieved a square cloth, then held out her hand. Talen passed her the skull, which she gently wrapped in the cloth and slipped into the sack. Then she tied the flap tight again. “We’ll go back into the woods and circle around to get the other items. We don’t want to be trying to sneak past Solem and his dogs.”

  And so they moved silently back to the woods and began to skirt around the fields. As they made their way, Talen stayed away from Sugar and her womanly conniving, but the odd haze of desire continued to afflict him. And that annoyed him. It was risky enough having to sneak behind enemy lines—he didn’t need his fistmates increasing that risk by dulling his mind. He sighed in frustration and forced himself to think of something else, and his mind ran to his own father. The images of what had happened down in the stone-wight cave still tormented him. On a regular basis he would dream of the monster grasping his father’s throat, drawing out his soul and Fire. Dream of that soul and Fire being transferred into the rough earthen body of that other creature with its vicious muzzle. And in all those dreams the monster would gape its mouth wide, then turn its awful head to look at him.

  He hated the Divines. Hated what they’d done. Hated what they did to the humans they ruled, drawing out their souls and feeding them to their masters. He hoped these things Purity had hidden were indeed powerful weapons.

  The fist of soldiers followed Sugar along a dark trail under the moonlit trees. Talen’s throat felt dry. He’d been multiplied for a number of hours already, and he could feel the strain in his body. He twisted his water skin around, un-corked the top, and drank to slake his thirst.

  As he slowed, one of the other soldiers, a big brute named Black Knee, put a hand on Talen’s shoulder, then brushed past.

  And as he did, Talen smelled sausages and sweat, and then a desire similar to the one he’d felt with Sugar washed over him.

  Talen stumbled to a halt. A tingle lingered where Black Knee’s finger had brushed his skin.

  By Regret’s rotted heart, was he now wanting big hairy men?

  River came up behind him. “What are you doing?”

  “Losing my wits,” Talen said, still feeling the scent of Black
Knee’s Fire and soul. At least he hoped that’s what it was. He shoved the cork back into his water skin.

  “You don’t need to be worried,” she said. “We’re prepared for this raid. You’re going to do fine.”

  “Right,” he said and began to think all those warning against the lore might have some merit.

  Up ahead Sugar dropped down in a dry streambed and signaled for them to follow.

  The streambed ran like a black snake out of the woods, through a field, and to the village. It was maybe twelve feet across, three or four feet deep. It appeared this was their way in, and so the fist followed Sugar, crouching and picking their way over the rocks and dry silt beds, keeping their heads below the grass that grew along the bank.

  Partway through the field, they came around a bend and ran into a group of cattle standing in the bed. Sugar stopped, trying not to spook them. But the cattle startled anyway, lowed, then clambered up and out of the streambed.

  Sugar motioned for the fist to keep down. A cloud passed over the moon and away again. The cattle moved away. And the fields fell silent as death. Sugar motioned the group forward, and they continued on, crouching low and following the streambed all the way to the village.

  The fist slipped below the shuttered windows of a home standing next to the streambed. They slinked forward to a stone bridge, and then Sugar motioned them up.

  They climbed out of the streambed, keeping themselves low and in the shadow of the bridge. The village was made up of about twenty homes strung along a road. They were surrounded by garden spaces and barns and sheds and other outbuildings. The streambed bisected the village almost in half. The ash ruins of Sugar’s old house lay two houses down the road from this bridge.

  Sugar silently ran to the shadows of the first house. Talen followed, arrow nocked in his bow. They paused long enough to look about and hear a man snoring loudly on the other side of the wall. Then they scampered to the shadows of the next house. Inside, a dog gave a weak woof.

  Talen and Sugar froze, but the dog fell still.

  Behind them the others ran one by one from the shadows of the bridge to the shadows of the houses.