Curse: The Dark God Book 2 Page 16

  Talen began to wipe his arm with a cloth and saw her watching him. She waved a small hello. He grinned, then soap ran from his hair into his eyes and he fumbled for the rinse pot.

  Sugar crossed to the cellar where she and the other fell-maidens slept. Soft candlelight spilled out the open door onto the paving stones of the bailey. The cellar was full of barrels of grain and other food, beds, and a cage with three ferrets. Ferrets, in addition to being muzzled and sent into a hole to scare up rabbits into the teeth of hunting dogs or the cudgels of the hare beaters, were also used to hunt mice and smaller rats. A cat was good. But in a room like this, stacked with barrels, there were too many places a cat could not go. And so the ferret master had tasked Sugar and the others with releasing the ferrets each night to hunt any vermin who thought it clever to steal the lord’s food.

  Two candles illuminated the bunks and the stacked barrels of barley, wheat, and peas. The Mistress, a handsome, large-boned woman with big hands, two of the other washerwomen who slept there, and Legs were talking with Urban.

  They all looked up when she entered.

  “There’s our beautiful Koramite warrior now,” said the Mistress. “Although why you’d want a young inexperienced thing I cannot tell.”

  The bruise about Urban’s eye was deep purple. He said, “I’m surely not worthy of one such as yourself.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” said the Mistress. “Besides, you’ve already seen the bruising that one gives her suitors.”

  “Lucky for me,” Urban said, “I’m actually here on other business. Sugar’s being reassigned to another hammer.”

  She wondered if she’d offended Commander Eresh with her comments earlier. She said, “I think I like my fist, thank you very much.” Besides, she couldn’t imagine the Creek Widow allowing her fist of fell-maidens to be broken up.

  Urban looked over at the three ferrets. Two were normal black and brown with bandit mask coloring. The third was white. He reached through with a finger and scratched one of the bandits behind the ear. It enjoyed the scratch for a moment, then bounded away. “Ferrets are interesting fellows,” he said. “A bit too much musk for my taste, but they sneak into places cats and terriers cannot. Quiet useful, wouldn’t you agree?”

  She folded her arms. “Sure,” she agreed.

  He reached into the sack he carried and retrieved the yellow cloth that held her mother’s necklace. He unwrapped it and held up the necklace. “Every army needs a ferret or three to chase things out into the light that others cannot.”

  “What has that got to do with my mother’s necklace?”

  He smiled. “Come outside with me, and we’ll chat.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” said the Mistress. “How about she goes outside and you chat with me?”

  “And risk the safety of my brilliant parts?” Urban asked.

  “You haven’t seen anything yet, honey pot.” She patted the bed beside her. “Stay a while.”

  “Duty calls,” said Urban with mock regret.

  “Duty keeps a cold bed.”

  “Alas,” Urban said. “I shall rehearse the memory of your face to keep me warm.”

  The Mistress sighed. “Talker.” She turned to Sugar. “You be careful, girl. Foreigners are slippery things.”

  “I shall remember that,” Sugar said. And, indeed, she would. Despite what he’d done for her, she didn’t quite trust this Urban. Still, she followed him out of the cellar and back into the bailey. An apple tree grew over by a plot of ground next to the great hall that was used as a garden. The garden had been used for normal vegetables when Shim’s army had come here, and a few rows of kale still grew, but most of it was godsweed now. Urban led her to a bench in the dark evening shadows under the apple tree.

  Across the way, a now-clothed Talen emerged from the base of the stairway leading up to his barracks on the second story. He was carrying a jug and walked quickly across the bailey to her cellar and disappeared inside. A few moments later he walked out again without the jug. He paused at the doorway and looked about the bailey, then spotted her and Urban. For a moment she thought he’d come their way, but he turned and walked back to the stair.

  Urban patted the bench next to him. She sat down. He smelled nice: a little of man mixed with some spiced oil he had in his hair that had mint in it. Above them the first stars of evening shone in the dark blue sky.

  “Your mother left you an incredible gift,” he said and held out the cloth and necklace to her.

  She took them. “This is a weave of some sorts, isn’t it?”

  “Did you mother talk much about the dead?”

  “No more than anyone else,” she said. Then she stopped. That wasn’t entirely true.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Well, she told me once she’d met her great, great grandmother. But I could never figure out how.”

  Urban nodded.

  “I know she saw things later with the Devourer. When she died, she said she was going to help my da. Said something was wrong in the world of souls. But that didn’t have anything to do with this necklace.”

  Urban said, “I’m sorry she’s not here. Your mother was quite the lore mistress. That isn’t just a common weave. With it you can see things, go places that others cannot.”

  What was he talking about?

  “We’re fairly sure it will let you send a portion of your soul forth into the yellow world.”

  The yellow world was the world of souls and skir. Sugar was taken aback. Such things were only done in tales told at the ale-house.

  “Argoth and Matiga both agree that you need to be trained.”

  Sugar looked down at the necklace.

  “Once you can soul walk, you can go behind enemy lines without being seen, gather intelligence. You can direct a hammer of men so we can hit the enemy the hardest or avoid being seen.”

  Sugar marveled that her mother would have such a thing. And for not the first time she wondered how much her mother really knew. “I would leave my body? Isn’t separating soul from body dangerous?”

  “Very much so,” he said. “But becoming a fell-maiden is dangerous. Taking a swim in your river, it appears, can be dangerous. People have killed themselves digging in the garden.”

  It seemed odd, them trusting her with such a thing. “Why me? Why not use it yourself?” Despite his pleasant nature, there was something secretive about Urban.

  “Because I cannot.”

  “You mean you won’t. You don’t want to risk it yourself.”

  “No,” he said. “I would if I could. But I cannot. The weave itself prevents me, which was made very clear when I picked it up in Redthorn.”

  Sugar knew of two kinds of weaves. There were wildweaves that could be handled by anyone. Dreadmen used such. Their weaves of might would magnify any who put them on. But there were other weaves that only someone with lore could use. “You don’t know its operation, but you expect I will? My mother never spoke a word about the lore to me.”

  “Someone of great skill can weave a part of themselves into a weave. A very small part of themselves, but enough to recognize friend from foe. They act as gatekeepers.”

  She narrowed her eyes and looked at the weave. “A piece of my mother is in there?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe not. It looks old. It could be from an ancestor or someone else entirely. Every natural weave requires a soul. Some just a little. Some substantially more. Your body is a weave, and the soul and Fire quickens it. This type of weave requires more soul than a dreadman’s weave of might. And that soul protects it. Not like you protect your body, but the principle is the same. And that’s to be expected with weaves of such power. You can’t have just anyone using them. There must be a way to recognize authorized use. Whoever is there recognizes you as friend. That is why you did not feel the pricking of daggers that I did.”

&n
bsp; “Someone is in here?” she asked again, not quite willing to believe.

  “In a manner of speaking,” he said.

  Mother, Sugar thought. But then she tamped down that idea. It was possible the weave had been handed down to her from some relative or friend. But if Mother had indeed put herself in it . . .

  “Can you speak to the soul inside?” Sugar asked.

  “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “Why not? Have you tried?”

  “I have not,” he said. “But others have. It’s not . . . reliable. It’s not a complete soul, only a portion.”

  Sugar didn’t understand why that would matter. But even so, the possibility that a living part of her mother was there, in her hand—her heart lurched.

  After a few moments, Urban said, “You’re very quiet.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “We want you to become part of my crew. I proposed the idea to Argoth earlier. He agreed to it. But I’m not the type to force. The Order of Hismayas has its fine points, but I also disagree with it over a number of thingss. You’ve already met Soddam and know the kinds of people you’ll be dealing with.”

  She’d be dealing with true sleth—a possible problem, but not the biggest. “I don’t know enough lore.”

  “You can learn the lore. You’re quick, and you won’t be doing it alone. You’ll be working with someone familiar with that place.”

  “Someone in your crew?”

  “Our cook,” he said, “who makes honeyed buns that would tempt the Creators themselves. What do you say?”

  “And Argoth knows and agrees with your intentions?”

  “I wouldn’t have the weave otherwise. Mokad is here, and Shim needs eyes. This is an opportunity, Sugar. It might well be that the information you provide will give mankind the power to stand.”

  “That’s a lot to expect,” she said.

  “Well, you’re Purity’s daughter,” he said as if that explained everything.

  She considered him. This was Mother’s, and she’d sent her to find it. She obviously wanted it to be used. And if Zu Argoth had agreed, who was she to gainsay him? “Tell me what I have to do,” she said.

  “Later we can talk about what you owe me for this black eye, but what I need now is your hand.”

  She felt a small apprehension, but pushed it aside. She turned her hand palm up and offered it to him.

  He took her hand in his. His skin was rough and warm. “You said you didn’t know the lore well enough. Tell me what you know of the three vitalities and how they operate.”

  The three vitalities, the powers in all living beings, were flesh, soul, and Fire. Everyone learned that as a child. Those who were blessed by the Creators could use the vitalities to work wonders. Sugar repeated this, then told him what River had taught her these last months and what she’d learned about the Devourers and their fight to subdue humans.

  When she finished, he said, “Very good. Now I’m going to teach you something new. Just as there is an intimacy of flesh, there is also an intimacy of soul. And just as you protect your flesh, you want to be able to protect your other vitalities. I want to see your defense.”

  Suddenly she felt something change inside her. A moment later it felt as if someone was taking all her air. She couldn’t breathe. She struggled to pull her hand free from Urban’s grasp, but he would not let go.

  Then as suddenly as it had come, the menacing presence departed, and she took in a great breath.

  He shook his head in disapproval. “A weave opens up a door to the soul,” he said. “That’s how they operate. And if you’re not careful, anyone with the skill will walk right through it. Do you understand?”

  She yanked her hand away.

  “Do you understand?”

  She was breathing hard. “I wasn’t ready.”

  “The Grove here.” He shook his head in disapproval. “They haven’t taught you how to close the doors of your soul?”

  “They have,” she said. “I’m just not as quick with it as some.”

  “You’re going to need to be. This is what you will practice tonight and tomorrow and the next day and the next until it’s second nature.” He held his hand out for her to take it again.

  “If you misuse me,” she said in warning.

  “If I misuse you at any time, you are free to go,” he said. “I told you I do not compel those who follow me.”

  Sugar gave him her hand. “What abour curfew?”

  “An exception has been made,” he said.

  They spent what must have been the better part of an hour there under the apple tree by the garden, the sky fading to black, the stars coming out to shine in the darkness above, Urban holding her hand, prompting her and probing her soul. At first, all she could think of was his terrifying presence. But after the dozenth try, she suddenly figured out how to close her doors against him. Her relief was immense. But he didn’t stop. He forced her to continue to open and close, and as she gained more control, she noticed how gently he held her hand.

  Eventually, he told her it was time to take a rest and broke contact. She could still feel where he had held her, and she could still feel the workings of her soul. It was like suddenly finding you had a new limb.

  “You will practice that until it’s as natural to you as breathing,” he said. “That one skill alone will save your life many times over.”

  “Why don’t they teach that earlier?”

  “Because the Grove follows the techniques used by the Divines, and the Divines don’t want their dreadmen learning much lore. But we’re not tools of the Divines, are we?”

  “I think you’d be hard put to accuse the Creek Widow of being a tool.”

  “True enough,” he said.

  She looked at him. “So if you’re not of Hismayas, then what are you?”

  “We can talk about that another time. You just remember that the closing defense not only protects you with weaves in general, but it’s required to use your mother’s weave safely. When you walk, you open your doors, and you must be able to shut them again. Now, I think you need to begin to learn one more thing. I want you to put the weave on. Have you learned how to give and take Fire?”

  “We were just beginning that.”

  “There are a number of ways to quicken weaves. Some require one method, some another. This weave, if I’m not mistaken, just needs you to feed it Fire.”

  Sugar put the necklace on.

  “Can you feel the weave’s pattern?”

  “River’s tried to help me with this, but the patterns make no sense.”

  “Just be calm. Open your doors.”

  “There’s nothing.”

  “Feel.”

  Sugar concentrated on the weave. “It’s a tangle.”

  “Focus on the tangle,” he said. “See if you can’t follow one thread.”

  Sugar focused. She found a thread, lost it, found another. She tried to follow this one, but it kept slipping from her just as it had every time River tried to help her in these last few weeks. She sighed heavily. “I can’t do this.”

  “If you say you can’t, you never will. Why do you think you should be able to do this hard thing on the very first try?”

  Above them the moon had come out. A wind had also picked up, and she felt a chill. “It’s not my first attempt.”

  “Why should you expect to succeed on the tenth, fourteenth, or even twentieth try? Where is that written? Keep at it. If you can find a thread, you can learn to feel the pattern. Once you do that, you will find the weave’s mouth. And then it’s just a matter of sharing your Fire.”

  Sugar concentrated one last time, but the threads slipped away. “I’ll try,” she said.

  “Good,” he said and stood, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. “Very good. I will tell Argoth it appears Shim�
��s army will soon have itself a ferret.”

  * * *

  Sugar walked with Urban back to her cellar. At the doors, he bid her goodnight. Then she hurried inside to get out of the chill and shut the door behind her. The cellar was pitch dark. She listened for a moment and heard the slight snore of the Mistress. She also heard the patter of small feet somewhere off to the left behind the barrels, which meant Legs must have opened the cage to let the ferrets out to do their work.

  She tiptoed over to her bunk and sat down on it, holding the weave in her hand. She couldn’t quite believe she was going to walk in the world of souls. She thought of her mother and father—would she be able to find them there? She sat up straight. Was that possible?

  Something stirred in her bed. “Talen was by,” Legs whispered.

  “I saw,” she whispered back.

  “Left you some wine.”

  That was thoughtful of him. There were a number of other girls who talked about him. He’d certainly been enjoying himself with that sailor’s daughter a few days ago.

  “I think the Mistress drank half of it,” Legs said.

  “Figures,” she said.

  “So?” Legs whispered.

  “You should be sleeping,” she whispered.

  “What did your foreigner want?”

  She took a breath. “He wants me in his crew.”

  “The crew nobody sees?”

  “I saw them.”

  “I don’t know if you should trust this Urban. I overheard River and Ke talking about him. They themselves don’t know what to think.”

  “Argoth agreed to his idea. So even if he is a bit dangerous, I’m not going to protest. Besides, there’s more to it than that.” She found Legs’s hand and pressed the necklace into it. For some reason he picked up on patterns faster than anyone. “Feel this,” she said.

  Legs ran his fingers over the segments of the necklace. “It’s a weave.”

  She envied his quick ability. “It’s Mother’s.”

  Legs was feeling each of the figurines, running each of the segments through his fingers. “This pattern is strange.”