Servant of a Dark God (65 page)

River paused. He could see the anxiety in her bruised face.

“I do not have the strength, so you must deny her the one thing she desires. Put Talen beyond her reach. And then eliminate the rest of us.”

River’s eyes grew wide in dismay.

“I beg you,” he said. “Tell me another way.”

Death was their only escape. He wasn’t prepared to go through that doorway, but who ever really was? He thought of his wife, his daughters, and wondered if they still lived. He could not protect them now. He thought of Nettle lying on that table and the sacrifice that Argoth had recklessly wasted. Grief welled up in him.

He could see River felt that same grief. Her mouth was a line of grim determination. Her eyes brimmed with angry tears.

River nodded. Then she slipped the collar ever so slightly to the left, gave it a smart tug, and broke it free.

The woman’s words reverberated through Talen. They stroked and caressed him. Every time she spoke he was filled with a small elation. He wondered if she were one of the old gods. And yet, there was Da, lying in the dust.

Da jerked. Beneath the monster’s hand, he screamed. And then the screaming stopped. Da’s body relaxed, and his arm dropped to the floor.

“No!” Talen cried out. “No.” His ribs were on fire. They cut like knives every time he took a breath. Talen tried to stand and gasped from the pain.

The woman was cooing, her shining escort swimming about the monster kneeling between Da and the clay figure on the floor.

He needed to stop this. The crown lay in the dust within his reach. It still glittered as it had upon Da’s brow. He clutched at his side, crawled forward, and picked it up.

A vast power stirred within. It
was
alive as the Creek Widow had said. He could feel its music. A small thread of peace welled up in him. He could feel the power, but he was blocked from it as if a heavy iron door stood fast in his way. What was more, Talen had no idea what to do with this weave. He knew no lore, only the bestowing of Fire River had taught him. The crown was useless to him.

He looked up at the Creek Widow for help, but she was on her hands and knees as if recovering from a mighty blow. He turned to Uncle Argoth. “Help me,” he mouthed.

“I’m sorry,” Uncle Argoth said, his face full of despair.

Talen clutched the crown. There had to be a way, but he could not think.

Through the ribbons of light, he watched a thick blackness pass from Da into the monster’s arm.

Da’s leg shuddered.

The blackness rose into the monster’s forearm. It reached its elbow.

Talen could not speak. Was that the essence of Da’s soul?

A moment passed. Another. The blackness rose almost to the monster’s shoulder.

“Well done,” the woman said. “Well done.”

Talen felt the praise in those words and craved it.

The monster removed its now black hand from Da’s face, and Da’s head flopped to one side.

“Da,” Talen said, horror slithering itself about him.

The monster held its ink-black arm aloft, then it punched it into the belly of the figure lying on the floor. It knelt there until Talen realized the blackness was leaching out of the monster’s arm and into the clay belly of the second monster.

Talen could barely whisper. “No,” he said in a small voice. “No.”

An eternity passed, and then the monster withdrew its fist. The blackness was gone.

The earthen body upon the floor stirred. Its hideous mouth opened as if taking a breath. Then it turned its awful head to look Talen in the face.

Talen recoiled.

He could not breathe. Could not speak.

They had killed Da, used him to animate that creature.

The woman turned to them. She reached up, her escort shimmering about her.

Talen’s attention was drawn to her hands. They were smoky, flickering. Almost like that of a wraith. He had not noticed this before.

“Your former masters were lax and allowed untamed elements into the populace. So I shall educate you. There is a great order of beings. This is the nature of creation. Humans have mastered many things, but not all. There are greater powers still. I will protect you from all takers. Serve me, and I will give you knowledge and power beyond what you can imagine. I shall raise you and crown you as Divines to your people. Think of all you could do with such power. Just bring me the master of the harvest.”

Her words were as smooth as silver. She was so beautiful, so convincing. A scrap of a memory came to him. And he realized that when he was a child, he’d dreamt of this woman, of the bands of living light. He remembered the joy of those dreams. So long ago. Before Mother had died.

Part of him wanted to bask in her radiance. But there was a part of Talen that resisted her, part of him roiling with revulsion. If he could only don the crown, perhaps he could do something. But the power of the crown was beyond him.

“So I shall ask again,” the woman said. She held up the wisterwife charm. “Where are you hiding the one that bore my might?” Her words caressed Talen like silk. If he had known the truth, he would have told her.

But perhaps . . .

The charm, the dreams, the words River and the Creek Widow had spoken to him—they all roiled in his mind. His mother had discovered, working in the fiber of his body, strange and intricate patterns of power. “Twisted,” River had said. “Pruned and grafted for a great purpose,” the Creek Widow had said.

They had all suspected it was for some greater good. But none of them could have imagined this.

It’s
me
, he thought. I am the one she seeks. With a clarity that rang like a bell, Talen felt the truth of it. It sounded in his very bones.

But what was he? Was he even human? He felt the panic of standing next to a high precipice and knowing he was going to tumble over the edge. He felt the fear of being dragged by a treacherous current far out to the deep and rough waters of a cold sea.

The woman motioned at Da’s body. “He’s cooling even as we speak, but it’s not too late. I can reverse the quickening. Tell me where the master is and you shall save your friend.”

He could save Da. Talen’s world was gone, replaced by this nightmare. But he could save Da.

His mind told him this was true. But in his heart was a warning.

He looked over at River. Her face was wracked with grief and fear. She shook her head, indicating he should say nothing. He noticed she’d freed herself of the collar, which meant she was probably working her lore, multiplying her powers. Even so, what could she do that Da as a victor could not? Her attack would be as futile as Ke’s had been.

“Don’t listen,” said Uncle Argoth. “She means to put us up like so much smoked meat.”

“That is true,” the woman said. “But this is the order of things. You love and cherish your cattle, your sheep, your beasts. But in the end you feed off of them. Why should it be any different with us? Besides, you will fare better under my management than you ever could on your own. Your people will grow old in peace. You yourself will live to the age of a tree, doing, if you decide, much good. You will protect those most dear to you. You will put down injustice and grind your enemies beneath your feet. You will heal sickness in children, cattle, and herb. Peace and fatness will reign in these valleys and hills, these shores and mountains, until the end of your days. This is what I give you—the power to bless.”

The joy of her vision overwhelmed Talen. Indeed, he thought, why should they fight her? Is this not what every man and woman desired? The good he could do was unimaginable. And how could he be so ungrateful when she was offering him the means to save Da?

Again, revulsion roiled in him. The vision faltered. Was she lying?

He looked at Da lying in the dust. He could save Da. He could do good. And if they didn’t pick up the reins she offered, surely someone else would. Someone like Fabbis who would rule with cruelty.

Her words filled him with hope, and he made his decision.

“I am the one,” he said. “It is me you seek.”

“No, Talen!” Uncle Argoth shouted. “She twists life. She will steal your will.”

“On the contrary,” the woman said.

Her countenance shined upon Talen and it made him glad.

“An overseer must take the position freely or not at all,” said the woman. “It must be so. Thralls do not endure. They are creatures destined for madness and wrath. And when a creature’s wrath is full, there is nothing left to do but cut it down for the devouring. Thralls are used for those who fight, but not for those who rule. And it’s best that humans rule other humans. It’s a matter of trust.”

“She lies,” said Uncle Argoth. “You can fight her.”

“Does not a dog glory in the praise of its master? Has it not been bred to do so? The world of men was domesticated ages ago. Your very nature makes you dependent on us. The only difference between you and your dogs is the genius with which you were bred.” She turned to Talen. “You were woven to work with me without impediment. Your only taskmaster will be my approbation.”

The woman came to him in her beauty and shining light.

“Save him,” Talen said and pointed at Da.

“All in good time,” said the woman. “All in good time. First, we shall see if you are what you claim to be.”

Yes, he thought. That was right. But underneath it all he knew it was not. Da was dying. Every second would count.

“You have been bred to wield power impossible to others. We will raise an army from the very earth,” said the woman. “And you will command it.”

She approached him, reaching out with her smoky hands. Her shining escort enveloped him.

He should have felt fear, but all he felt was the ease of the woman and her smiling eyes. The music in the crown built. He could feel it vibrating in his feet and across his shoulders. But why was he even holding it? He let it drop to the floor. An odd thought came to him: Atra was nothing compared to this woman, yet this woman looked like Atra.

Something probed him. Talen held his doors closed, but he could feel her gnawing all along his essence with something as small and sharp as the teeth of rats.

The probing became stronger.

Reflexively, he shut himself tight as River had taught him.

The woman pulled away and appraised him. He felt her pleasure and it almost sent him to his knees. “You are indeed mine. Mine from the moment you were conceived. The weave has been changed. But it’s nothing that, with time, cannot be undone.”

She spoke in Atra’s voice. Looked at him with Atra’s eyes. Except they weren’t Atra’s. They were at once more alien and more captivating than Atra’s could ever be.

Another wave of pleasure washed over him. He looked at Da’s body. It was not right to have such wondrous feelings. It was wicked. It was an abomination. And yet he could not deny the power of them.

“In time you will become as great as the Goat King himself.”

Suddenly a music inside him swelled. It sang in his blood and bones. He thought it was the crown, but then he remembered he’d dropped that. For a brief moment the fog in his mind cleared away. The woman’s voice fell flat.

Talen looked at her. Gone were the luminous eyes, the elegant neck and brow. Gone the alluring lips. In their place were black pits for eyes and a sucker mouth full of sharp teeth.

He recoiled.

An illusion—she was
not
one of the old gods. Not a benefactor. It was as if a huge blast of cold wind had just awakened him. His mind had been foggy, but now was crystal sharp.

And yet the desire to serve her seeped back through him.

“Yes,” said the woman. “He too was a master of the harvest that served my mother ages ago. For a time, the populace under his care yielded marvelous results. You will be his heir.”

The Goat King’s heir . . .

The title felt marvelous, and yet, underneath it ran a filth with a sickening taint.

The glorious woman was back. His heart longed to serve her. But in his blood and bones he knew the truth—that longing was her doing.

He
had
been twisted—to crave her.

That knowledge momentarily lessened her power, and he wondered: Was this what his mother had seen in him and given her life to fix? Surely even the pox wouldn’t take a whole life to heal. No, more likely she’d recognized the enemy’s tool and given her life to engineer one small flaw so that his adoration wouldn’t be totally complete.

But if that were the case, it wasn’t much of a flaw because the woman’s joy rushed back to suffuse him.

“River!” roared Uncle Argoth. “Now!”

River rushed toward him. She moved with frightening speed. In an eyeblink she sped from across the chamber and leapt into a flying kick.

He’d fought with River. He knew, at this speed, her kick would carry the force to break bones.

The woman stepped back, and as she did, Talen realized River was not directing the attack at the woman. She was directing it at him. At his head. Her blow would crack his skull. At the very least it would snap his neck bones.

River’s face was twisted with fury and grief.

Talen had no time to react.

But the blow did not land.

The monster rushed forward and, in a lightning strike, caught her ankle. River’s foot stopped a breath away from his face.

The monster twisted her leg, and River fell to the ground.

“Another one,” the hideous woman said. “It looks like we shall raise our army a bit faster than expected. Put her next to the male.”

The monster moved to carry River next to Da.

“Wait!” Talen said. “Wait.”

The woman turned. “Will you serve me?”

“Boy,” said Uncle Argoth. He made a small movement with his hand indicating Talen should come close. In his hand, close to his leg, he held a stone.

Why did they want to kill him?

The answer came: they believed they couldn’t fight this creature. They didn’t have the power.

But he was something else. “A body,” River had said, “can only accept so much Fire at once.” He had poured forth Fire that would easily kill ten men. He could pour forth a flood. He had been bred to it. And he’d been given one tiny flaw.