Raveler: The Dark God Book 3 Page 4

  He tried to put it out of his mind and focus on circling their position, keeping an eye out for Harnock or woodikin, but his thought kept turning to the smell of her. His roamlings began to circle a bit closer to her. And he realized that when his roamlings were outside of his body, his hunger for her soul felt sharper, more compelling.

  “What do you see?” she asked.

  He told her about the animals. His roamlings continued to circle, the hunger looping about him. He needed to eat. Somehow he knew a bit of soul would ease his pain. And yet to eat soul was the very essence of abomination. “I think I’m going to pull them back in,” he said.

  As the roamlings came in close, the smell of River’s soul overpowered him, filling him with a desire stronger than it had ever been with Sugar or Black Knee or those rotted goats he’d had to milk. He hesitated, letting the roamlings linger outside himself for a moment, letting them take in the scent of soul like one might stand outside a baker’s oven and smell the bread.

  It was lovely.

  River put her hand on his shoulder. “You don’t look well,” she said. “Are you okay?”

  Her touch was like fire to dry brush, and the desire to rip into her surged. He cried out in alarm and stepped back.

  All he had to do was strike. His roamlings moved in close, looped about her. Maybe he could just savor the scent.

  “No!” he said and backed up. “Rot and Regret, I will not!”

  River stepped forward, concern on her face.

  “Stay back!” he shouted. He wanted to rip and tear, but he dragged the roamlings away from her and forced himself to pull them back into his wrists. As he did, the yellow world winked out, and then he slammed his doors shut.

  Immediately, the desire lessened, but it did not depart. Not by a long shot.

  He panted. What was happening to him?

  Something broke a branch in the trees behind them.

  They glanced at each other, then snatched up their bows and nocked arrows. Talen scanned the woods.

  Another sound.

  They both swung their bows in the direction of the sound.

  Then Harnock came into view. His fur was matted with sweat, and there was a wild gleam of joy in his eyes.

  “Thank the Creators,” River said and lowered her bow. “We were beginning to worry.”

  “You think you two could make any more noise?” Harnock asked.

  “Did you stop them?” River asked.

  “We got at least one of them, and the wurms are now swarming. Most of the time, they’re happy to stay in their holes. But these are riled up. They’re going to be swarming the countryside all around that vale, looking for food and vengeance. What’s more, I have this.” He held up something gray the size and shape of a very small loaf of bread.

  Talen and River just looked at it.

  “A wurm’s egg,” Harnock said in delight. “It’s going to come in very handy when bargaining with the woodikin.”

  The smell of Harnock’s soul wafted over to Talen, and he grimaced.

  “What, you don’t like eggs?” Harnock asked and grinned.

  “He was attacked by skir,” River said.

  “It’s not that,” said Talen.

  Harnock waited.

  Talen didn’t want to reveal what he’d almost done to River. He was ashamed of it. But he thought of Harnock, blended with a lion. He thought he might not be able to hold back next time. “How do you fight the lion in you? How do you fight its desires?”

  “It’s awakening, isn’t it?” Harnock asked. “The thing you’re blended with.”

  “I don’t know what’s happening. That’s the whole problem.”

  “Every day, you become more the tool they fashioned you to be,” Harnock said.

  “I don’t want to be someone’s rotted tool.”

  “There is a way out.”

  “No,” River said. “We’re going to work through this just like you did. You need to help him.”

  Harnock looked over at Talen. “Tell me what happened,” he said.

  Talen didn’t want to reveal anything, but what good would keeping it secret do? He sighed. “I can smell Fire and soul.” He took a breath and screwed up his courage. “Just now I almost attacked River. I wanted to tear her apart. I wanted to devour her.” He looked down, ashamed and horrified.

  Harnock licked his lips.

  “It’s bad, isn’t it?” Talen asked.

  “It is what it is.” Harnock said and put his hand on the hilt of his knife.

  “You want to kill me, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know, Hogan’s son. Do you want to die?”

  “I want to be rid of these desires.”

  “The only way to do that is not to become a blend in the first place.”

  “A little too late for that,” Talen said. He remembered talking with those in his fist about those who were true sleth. Some had speculated about how fearsome they might be if they consumed the soul of a bear or bull or horse. He now saw how foolish they’d been.

  “Surely, there’s something,” River said to Harnock. “You’ve avoided giving into the lion.”

  “Have I?” Harnock asked.

  “I see a man standing before me.”

  “You and Moon,” Harnock said, shaking his head. “You water a plant and feed your animals, and they grow. They multiply. You withhold food and they don’t. There are things that trigger passions. That feed them, urge them on. A man who has been twisted to crave drink, why, the very scent of an ale house awakens his hunger. And so he goes in. He tells himself he doesn’t want to give in. And maybe he doesn’t. But every moment he’s there, he’s looking at the froth, watching the men lick their lips. Every moment he’s there, he undermines that resolve. Every moment he stays, he’s feeding the other part of himself, bit by bit, until his thirst grows into something he has no desire at all to put away. Until it becomes his master. Stay away from the ale house, my abominable friend. Stay away from the things that quicken the passion. That’s what I have to offer you.”

  Talen thought about it, but when had he ever fed his desire? It came and went of its own accord. Touch sometimes brought it to life. As did proximity to living things. So how did one avoid life? He didn’t know what triggered it, but he was sure that he had not bidden it to come.

  “I haven’t fed this,” said Talen, “but it grows nevertheless.”

  “That’s what I would say to Moon. And then she would ask, are you sure? Aren’t you feeding it now by making it out to be a monster? Fear only gives it power. Fear turns you into prey.”

  “What kind of mumbo jumbo is that?”

  “I don’t know what lives in you, Hogan’s son. I don’t know the nature of this particular thrall. You will have to test it for yourself. Be vigilant, watch for those things that inflame it. Flee them if you must. Do it in the first moments when you still have a choice. Before it rises up and fights to be the master.”

  “And if you can’t?”

  “Then pray to the Creators and hold on until the desire, sooner or later, crests and passes.”

  Hold on? That was his advice? Had Harnock held on when he ate those men? Talen shook his head.

  “You don’t have to take the hard road, Hogan’s son.”

  “Men do hard things,” River said.

  Harnock looked at Talen. “Are you a man?”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Trying won’t be enough.”

  “Trying is the first step toward doing,” River said. “That’s what it means to be a man. A man tries even when he knows he’s got a long road of failure between him and his destination. A man fights.”

  “And a woman?” asked Harnock. “What does she do?”

  “What she always does,” River said and glowered. “She knocks sense into the men.”

 
Harnock grunted, then turned to Talen. “Whatever you decide, Hogan’s son, we need to get moving. The wurms will delay the Divine, but they’re not going to stop his crows. We need to disappear while we have the chance.”

  “Where are we going?” River asked.

  Harnock picked up the sack of larva, pulled out a few and popped them into his mouth. “We’re going to visit some blood-thirsty friends.”

  4

  Ferrets and Vipers

  SUGAR WALKED INTO Shim’s chamber and immediately felt she’d made the wrong choice.

  The room was lit only by candles. The windows had been shuttered and a thick drape pulled across so no sound could escape into the bailey. Shim, Eresh, the Creek Widow, and a number of the more powerful dreadmen were there, the candles casting odd shadows behind them. A woman stood at the table in the middle of the room. She had the kind of figure men liked, but her hair had been cut too short and ragged. And while her face might have been beautiful once, it was now crossed with lines and planes of pain and weariness. The woman smiled at Sugar and revealed she was missing a few more teeth than most.

  Argoth followed Sugar in and closed the door behind him. “Our eyes arrive,” he said.

  There were enough soldiers in the room to make a fist. She spotted Oaks, the only mature dreadman among them, and suspected that these were the men who had been selected to try to break into Blue Towers with her and assassinate the Skir Master.

  She shook her head. A fist of men against patrols of dogmen and maulers and Walkers and who knew what else. A fist of men against five legions.

  Deep down in the pit of her gut, her misgivings grew. Urban was right: Shim’s army had no chance against the might of Mokad. There was no way this mission could succeed.

  Argoth walked up next to her and put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a fatherly squeeze. “As bold as the mother that bore her. She’s going to lead us in.”

  Eresh turned the gaze of his one good eye upon her. “She looks like she’s about to faint. Are we really sure we want to trust all of our lives to some weak paste of a girl?”

  Despite her misgivings, Sugar bridled at the insult.

  “She’s not going into battle,” the Creek Widow said. “She’s going in to ferret.”

  “She’s not going to do much ferreting if she wilts along the wayside, is she?”

  Sugar spoke. “I’m not going to wilt, Zu.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m Sugar, Sparrow’s daughter. Wilting is not in my blood.”

  “It had better not be,” Eresh said. “Because if you fail, we might as well throw our hats onto the water and go stand underneath them. There’s not going to be a second chance. If you fail, Mokad will rise in fury and devour us.”

  “I’m Purity’s daughter, and I wear Purity’s weave. I will see us in.”

  “Indeed she shall,” said Argoth.

  “Perhaps it’s time to bring Flax into our circle,” Shim suggested. “He could be a great asset on this venture.”

  “No,” Eresh said. “That is what we must not do. That snake is hiding something. Time after time, he slips my men. Where does he go? Who does he see?”

  “He’s a spy,” Shim said.

  “He’s more than that, my lord.”

  “We don’t need him,” the Creek Widow said. “I can go.”

  “You can’t,” Eresh said.

  She gave him a withering look. “Do not presume to tell me what I can and can’t do.”

  “No,” Argoth said. “He’s right. You know you can’t go. If something goes wrong, you need to bear off the Grove. We have enough dreadmen. We’ll make do. You and Eresh need to be ready.”

  Eresh looked over at her and leered. “I’m ready, but is she ready for me?”

  She groaned and rolled her eyes.

  Eresh grinned. “I think that’s a good sign. I think she’s warming up to me.”

  “Indeed,” said Shim, “there are nothing but twinkling stars in her eyes. Now, let us get to the matter at hand.”

  Argoth motioned Sugar to the table. Upon it lay a large piece of linen. An outline of the Blue Towers fortress had been sketched upon the linen with charcoal. Argoth turned to the woman. “Let’s go through it again. Explain what you told us to Sugar and the other dreadmen.”

  The woman stepped up to the table and pointed at a spot by the river. “Here,” she said through her missing teeth. “The rocks here hide an escape from the lord’s tower. Lord Hash often has guards posted at the corners of the fortress here and here. But there’s a way up the cliff between them.”

  Cliff? Sugar thought, and her dread returned.

  The woman said, “The way in is across the face above the cliff, into the secret door under the tower, then up to Lord Hash’s room.”

  “Do we know how many soldiers accompany the Skir Master?” Oaks asked.

  Shim said, “Our eyes say there are at least three thousand stationed in the fortress itself. Thousands more outside.”

  A handful of men against an army.

  They were going to die. There was no doubt about it. And Urban was going to sail away. And she could have been on that ship, both she and Legs. She could still be on that ship.

  Sugar clenched her jaw and focused on her friends here. Focused on the fact that if she fled, all those that remained would die. But if she stayed, if she saw this through, if they could actually eliminate the Skir Master, then the thousands who followed Shim just might have a chance to survive.

  She looked at the map. “And where is the Skir Master?”

  Argoth pointed at a grand apartment down the hallway from Lord Hash’s chamber. “We’re fairly sure he’s here.”

  “Fairly sure?” she asked.

  “They are the best rooms in the fortress,” the woman said.

  And if the Skir Master hadn’t taken the best rooms, then they’d have to find him in a fortress filled with three thousand dreadmen.

  “Right,” said Sugar. “Let’s go through this again.”

  They went through it again. And again. They talked about how they would cross the river below the fortress, where they would land, and the trail she needed to look for that would lead them up the steep slope above the cliff. They brought out other maps and talked about the escape. They talked about what to do if they were separated. And when Sugar and the others could recite it all from memory, they let her go to get some rest.

  Sugar walked out of Shim’s chambers, down the stairs to the clerk’s table, and out into the sunlit bailey. She blinked in the sunlight.

  A normal ferret was sent in to scare up rabbits into the teeth of dogs. But they weren’t sending her in to scare up rabbits. They were sending her into a pit of vipers. Fat vipers that would like nothing better than to swallow her whole.

  * * *

  Sugar found Legs in their cellar quarters, but the barrels had been moved out. All that was left was their bedding and the ferrets, which she was sure the ferret master would soon be along to pick up.

  Legs had been sitting on the bed. He rose. “Where are they sending you? It’s something big, isn’t it?”

  She thought about Urban’s comments about traitors in their midst and said, “I’ve been sworn to silence. I’m sorry.”

  “Silence with even me?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, then moved over and gave him a hug. She looked down at him, his honest face and wild hair. “I love you, brother.”

  “I kind of like you too,” he said.

  A beat passed.

  “I want to behold your face,” he said. “I want to see your hair. Will you let me try the weave?”

  “We talked about this—”

  “You might not come back,” he said.

  “I need some sleep.”

  “Just let me try.”

  Everything was
high risk, she thought. Why not give him this one thing? She couldn’t come up with a good reason, so she removed the necklace from the pouch she carried about her neck and handed it to him. She yawned. “Follow the thread,” she said, “and find the mouth.”

  Legs tried for almost an hour. He found the thread easily enough, but the weave would not accept him. Every time he tried to feed it, he said it seemed to sprout thorns.

  He tried once more, then yelped and dropped the weave to the cobbled floor. Tears sprang to his eyes.

  “I don’t understand,” he said. He turned to the weave. “Mother, it’s me.”

  “I don’t think she can hear you, if it is even her in there at all.”

  “Why won’t it accept me?”

  “I don’t know,” said Sugar. It was puzzling. “But I’d wager Withers would.”

  “You must take me to him.”

  She paused, then told him Urban’s opinion of their odds as well as his offer.

  When she finished, Legs was disgusted. “Fat lot of good Withers will do us now,” he said. “The cowards.”

  “We could join them.”

  “What are you talking about?” Legs asked.

  “Urban’s not a coward; he’s prudent.”

  “He’s running when he’s needed most.”

  “A mouse might pip and squeak at a cat, but the cat is still a cat, and the mouse is a fool not to run and hide.”

  “Flax is staying as are all his men of the Hand,” Legs said.

  “He told you this?”

  “He thinks we can win. And I trust that Flax and Argoth and Eresh have experience we don’t.”

  “Urban has experience as well,” she said.

  Legs sighed in frustration and slumped. “What do I know? I’m just a blind boy. I sing and joke. And while Flax has been nice to me, I’ve no better friend than you, sister. If you think the right course is to run, then I will happily trust your decision. You’ve never led me astray before.”

  “Oh? Not even that one time when I led you into that patch of thistle so I could ditch you?”

  “Well,” he said.

  Sugar reached out and stroked his hair, then held him close.