Servant of a Dark God (39 page)

“Is it right to appease evil?”

The answer to that was obvious. As were the risks.

Talen looked at Nettle. It was unfair to ask him to assume these risks. There was trouble down this road and there was no reason he had to travel it. “You’re a good friend, cousin. Maybe you should go home and tell your father what’s going on.”

“Now?”

“Yeah,” said Talen. “He might be able to help.”

“You just want me to get up and go?”

“I think so.”

Nettle gave Talen a frustrated look. “Even you,” he said.

“What?” asked Talen.

Nettle set his jaw. “I’ll leave and you’ll get turned into some wicked minion, and then, no doubt, I’ll be the one that will have to kill you. No thanks. I’m coming.”

“You’ll drag your whole family into this. Even if Da’s right and the children are not Sleth, there’s a huge chance anybody involved is going to find themselves hanging in Gallow’s Grove.”

“I’m not running home to daddy,” said Nettle.

Talen heaved a sight of relief. “I was hoping you’d say that,” said Talen. “I guess this means when monster comes around, you’ll be the man to take it.”

“I said I wasn’t running home. Not that I was an idiot.”

“Oh, you’re an idiot,” Talen said. “I think that’s already been established.”

“Right,” said Nettle. “And if I’m an idiot, that puts you somewhere on the level of a cabbage.”

Talen smiled. With all that had happened and all that was at risk, the clear and easy choice was for Nettle to take his leave. A wave of gratitude washed through Talen. There probably wasn’t a finer friend in all the New Lands than the one sitting next to him on the wagon. He reached over and clapped Nettle on the shoulder.

“What?” asked Nettle.

“Nothing,” said Talen.

Up ahead there was a break in the tall pines to either side of the road, and the sun cast long shadows across that part of the trail. Talen saw one lone firefly shine and wink out as it ascended to a tree. In a few hours the woods would pulse and sparkle with thousands of them.

Iron Boy’s ears suddenly pricked forward.

Talen looked up the road, but didn’t see anything.

The mule held its head up, alert, and slowed.

“What is it, boy?”

Talen scanned the woods and caught movement out of the side of his eye. He turned.

Iron Boy had stopped now. He stamped one foot.

“Where are they?” asked Nettle.

“It’s not a they,” said Talen. “But an it.”

“Where?”

Talen pointed at a tree in front of them. Something was standing in the boughs about halfway up. It was not a mountain cat. Not nearly that large. Nor was it one of those troublesome monkeys that were expert in stealing everything from knives to fruit. It was about the size of a small dog, hunched, and long-limbed.

He looked closer. It was a light gray, the color of shadow and bark, and its limbs seemed awkward and long. Or maybe it was just the light. “What is it?”

Nettle followed Talen’s gaze and stared. “Well, it’s kind of hard to say. I can’t be sure, but it looks like a tree to me.”

“Goh,
in
the tree. About fifteen feet up that pine. There’s something looking at us.”

Nettle looked at Talen, he looked back at the tree, squinted, and looked back at Talen.

“Nothing’s there.”

“It’s right in front of your face.”

“Hallucinations.” Nettle said. “Maybe those stupid ginger abominations did have come-backs.”

Talen wasn’t seeing things. It was right there.

“I never have this problem with bread pudding,” said Nettle.

Whatever it was moved out of the shadows of the trees and into the waning light.

Talen blinked. It was still there.

Iron Boy chuffed.

“See that?” Talen asked. “Iron Boy didn’t have any ginger.”

He had to admit the coloring of the thing made it difficult to see. It put him in mind of insects that camouflaged themselves to look exactly like bark or leaves.

“There’s nothing in the tree,” said Nettle. “Nothing on the trail. Let’s just get home.”

Talen flicked the reins and started Iron Boy into a trot. The mule protested and tried to turn away, but Talen gave the reins a good tug and shake and put Iron Boy in motion.

When they passed by the pine, the creature began to move again.

Iron Boy whinnied and picked up his gait.

The creature swung down the limbs of the tree to the needle-strewn road. Then it began scampering after the wagon in an odd, hunched gait, quickly closing the distance.

“You’re right,” said Talen, “I’m hallucinating.”

Because if he wasn’t, that meant they’d attracted the attention of a small nightmare. What else could it be? As the thing drew nearer, Talen could more easily discern the eyes, hands, and feet. But they were misshapen. The nose was flat and crooked. The fingers too long.

There were creatures not wholly of this world. There were the mighty skir that the Divines enthralled and the souls of the dead. But there were also other things, some of which could, under certain circumstances, be seen with the naked eye. This thing matched the descriptions of one of those. Talen had never seen one before, but he’d heard about them. They fed upon the Fire of the weak and dying. Like the creatures that ate carrion of the flesh, they were attracted by death and disease. They shadowed the edges of armies and hid in cellars and the thatch roofs of villages smitten by pestilence. They did not flock in great numbers like crows and ravens. At least, he’d never heard tell of anyone seeing more than a handful together at once. But did numbers matter? When they got a hold of you, they burrowed in like ticks to gorge upon your Fire. And like ticks they were hard to dislodge and sometimes left bits of themselves behind.

Godsweed was supposed to keep them at bay, which is one of the reasons why soldiers smoked themselves with it before battle. Drinking it in a tea was also supposed to help, but such a tea gave men horrible cramps. Talen reached up and felt the godsweed braid on his arm. Even wearing it was supposed to have an effect.

Iron Boy trotted down the road, nervously turning his head to the left then right so he could get a better view of what was behind him. The odd-limbed thing was only a few paces behind them.

“I believe,” Talen said, “that we’ve just attracted ourselves a fright.”

At that moment the creature closed the final distance. It grabbed the wagon bed with one long-fingered hand and disappeared underneath.

SECRETS

W

ill you shut up?” said Nettle. “You’re giving me the willies.”

Iron Boy kicked, then jerked into a canter. It would not do to lose control of the wagon. He braced himself, but Talen felt like he did after an exceedingly hard day’s worth of work. Then a wave of weariness fell upon him, and he could not keep his eyes open. He sagged into Nettle.

Nettle elbowed him back to his senses. “What are you doing?”

“The come-backs have finally worked their way through,” said Talen. “Take the reins. I’ve got to lie down.”

“What about your fright?” asked Nettle.

Talen looked down at the boards beneath his feet. Frights did not have power to steal from a healthy man. He and Nettle had nothing to fear. And panicking might only lead to them crashing the wagon. Besides, they had godsweed with them.

“It’s gone,” said Talen. “A vapor of my mind.”

“I’ve never heard of come-backs like this,” Nettle said. He cursed. “I’m getting you home.”

Talen wasn’t going to argue, “Sure,” he said. Then he handed the reins to Nettle and half climbed, half fell into the wagon bed.

He rode that way, flat on his back, looking up at the tops of the pines and the darkening sky beyond. Nettle took the reins and drove. He drove too fast. Once, Talen almost bumped completely out of the wagon bed. But he couldn’t bring himself to object. Nettle kept turning around to look at him. At one point he reached down to feel Talen’s forehead for fever, then turned back and spurred Iron Boy even faster.

Talen said nothing. The moon and the stars shone through the breaks in the tops of the trees. After a time he realized something cold lay on his ankle. Talen looked down. There, squatting in the back corner of the wagon bed was the fright. It was a hideous thing, all twisted and gray like a piece of knotty driftwood. One of its long fingers touched Talen on the bare skin of his ankle.

He kicked, and the thing released him, but it stretched out its finger once again.

“Nettle,” he said. Or at least he thought he’d spoken. “Nettle!”

But Nettle did not turn.

Then Talen remembered the godsweed charm about his arm. He could brandish it and chase the thing off. He yanked on the charm, but it would not tear free, and the knot was suddenly too complicated for his fingers.

He was so very tired. The touch of the fright was so very cold. It wasn’t supposed to touch him, not with the godsweed. So maybe this wasn’t a fright. Or maybe it was and godsweed didn’t have the virtue everyone claimed it did. Besides, what if it did take some of his Fire? At least it didn’t have the power to eat his soul.

The creature reached out with another finger.

Talen kicked again. But he could not kick a third time—he was exhausted and in a cold sweat. His thirst was beyond anything he’d ever experienced. There was not enough spittle to wet his tongue, much less swallow.

Then Talen recognized the trees and the run of the slope to his left. He twisted around and saw their barn ahead.

Nettle did not slow quickly enough and almost crashed into the well. When he finally got Iron Boy to stop, he turned around and looked down at Talen. “Goh, you look rotted through. This isn’t come-backs. This is some plague. Can you stand?”

“I can get up,” said Talen.

But he couldn’t. He could hardly move. His lower left leg was ice. The fright had elongated its fingers, split and multiplied them, and wrapped them around his calf. It looked as if the spidering root of a young tree had attached itself to him.

Nettle called out for help. Then he jumped into the wagon bed and helped Talen sit up. The fright moved slightly, but it did not disengage.

“The fright,” Talen said.

“Yes,” said Nettle, then he looped his arms underneath Talen’s and around his chest. Nettle dragged Talen to the back of the wagon. He dropped the back gate of the bed. In one fluid movement Nettle jumped out, then pulled Talen over his shoulder like a sack of meal.

Talen’s head hung low. He could see his leg. He could see that the fright still clung to him with one of its odd hands. Talen kicked, then Nettle pushed the door open and Talen found himself in the main room. River sat at the table, the candlelight shining off the beads in her hair. She was braiding clippings of Da’s hair into an intricate decoration.

Talen looked for the hatchlings and saw the door to the cellar lay flat, shut up tight.

When River looked up, Talen saw her face go from annoyance to concern. “What’s happened?” she asked.

“It’s an overdose of come-backs,” said Nettle. “Or worse. Earlier, he’s a picture of liveliness—blinding fast, wrestling Fabbis to the ground, leaping to the tops of the trees. Now look at him. Nothing more than a smelly dishrag. And he’s seeing frights.”

“I need something to drink,” said Talen.

“He’s drunk a barrel today. I’ve never had to stop so many times waiting for a body to relieve himself.”

River cleared the table. “Put him here.”

“Did the Fir-Noy come here?” asked Talen.

Nettle dumped him on the table.

“I haven’t seen any Fir-Noy,” said River. She began pulling up the sleeve of Talen’s tunic. “Where did Da tie the charm?”

“How did you know he gave me a charm?” asked Talen.

“Where did he tie it?”

“Here,” said Talen and lifted the other sleeve. He looked down at his leg. The fright was there, squatting all knobby and hideous, staring at him with one of its raisin eyes.

River fingered the braid and cursed. Her face turned grave. “And
he
talks about risks.” She removed the charm and cast it to the floor.

“Who?” asked Talen.

“Nobody,” said River. She slid her hand into the collar of his tunic. She had no sooner put her hand to his chest than she gasped and withdrew it.

“He’s got the plague,” Nettle said. “Doesn’t he?”

“Do you have any of the baker’s goods left?”

“Three cookies,” said Nettle. Then he went back outside.

“Has he poisoned me?” asked Talen.

“No,” said River. “And it’s not Nettle’s plague either.” She looked at him, and Talen could tell something had happened. She was deciding if she should share some secret with him.

“Goh,” he said. “It
was
the kiss. That girl!” He’d been wrong; they would have to kill her after all. Talen’s weariness pressed down upon him even more. “And her familiar has attached itself to my leg.”

River said nothing. Of course, River wouldn’t kill her. Not if the girl had magicked her. His thoughts strayed for a time. He looked at River and for a moment forgot what she was doing. Then it came back to him in a rush.

“We’ll have to be quick,” he whispered.

“What?” said River.

“Quick,” said Talen more loudly. “Quick. Kill them, the boy and girl, quick.”

At that moment he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and saw the girl standing in the doorway to the back room.

River followed his gaze. “He’s out of his mind,” she said to her.

“I’ll divert her,” said Talen. “You clobber her with the pot.”

“Be still,” River commanded.

Talen looked at the girl for a while, waiting for her to spring. “Playing us like a cat? Is that your pleasure?”

“Sugar,” River said. “I need you to fill the mule’s watering trough. We’re going to need to lay Talen in it. Have Nettle help you drag it in here.”

Sugar looked at the two of them, a storm brooding on her face. Talen thought she was going to say something, but she must have decided against it, for she strode across the room and out the door.

“Now’s the time,” said Talen.

“Will you shut up,” said River. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. This isn’t her doing. It’s Da’s.”