48

Talen awoke with his eyes closed, wailing in pain.

“Talen,” a voice so soft he almost didn’t hear it. “Brother.”

It was River. But Talen couldn’t contain his wails.

River stroked his forehead. “Shush,” she said gently. “Shush.”

He gritted his teeth, tried to stop. He panted and then the wailing turned to sobs, great wracking sobs, and tears streaming down his face.

He opened his eyes.

Blood had run out of one of River’s nostrils and dried in the dust on her face. The odd beast light still lit the room behind her, but it had diminished greatly.

“Where’s Da? Ke?”

A weary grief rose in River’s eyes. “Ke is fading fast.”

“And your father,” said the Creek Widow, “let us hope that he has been gathered by the ancestors.” Talen turned and looked at her. She’d tried to wipe it away, but he could see her mouth had been smashed. Dried blood caked the edges of her lips. It caked her gums. She was missing three teeth.

A sob rose in him. But he swallowed it. He could not fathom Da being gone.

Talen closed his eyes and composed himself.

“It wanted me to unravel its stomachs,” he said.

The Creek Widow narrowed her eyes.

“The monster,” said Talen. “Before it put me back.”

“Talen,” Uncle Argoth said, “how did you do it?”

“River had said you could kill a man by giving him too much Fire,” said Talen. “I gave the monster everything.”

“Incredible,” said Uncle Argoth.

The Creek Widow shook her head. “My boy,” she said and took his hand. “My bright, shining boy. You have snatched victory from the jaws of death.”

“But I didn’t,” he said. “The monster put me back.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The monster,” said Talen. “It put me back into my body.”

“But the monster lies in pieces,” said Argoth.

“It was there, on the other side. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

“This place,” said the Creek Widow, surveying the chamber. “It will take a great many days to understand what went on here.”

“Is the woman gone?” asked Talen.

“Can you feel her inside you?” asked Uncle Argoth.

Talen turned inward. He could not feel her. “I heard her scream,” he said.

“Yes,” said Uncle Argoth. “We heard it also.”

“There were doors between us,” said Talen. He felt inward and could find no trace of that link between him and the woman. “They are gone.”

“Let us hope. But even if she is gone, I do not think her sisters that rule the glorydoms will sit long. To them we are mad bulls broken from the pens and goring the good villagers.”

“Talen,” said River. “Do you think you can stand? We need to make our way out while this odd light lasts.”

“I can stand,” he said. He rolled over and pushed himself to his hands and knees. Every joint of him protested in pain. His head swam. But he forced himself up. “I can stand.”

A multitude of what looked to be pale sea kelp littered the chamber floor. “What is that?” he asked.

“The woman’s creatures,” said River.

“Or were they her children?” asked the Creek Widow. “There are simply too many questions.”

Sugar knelt at her mother’s side. She wondered how they would remove her collar.

“Mother,” she said. “They’re gone. We can get you out of here.”

Mother licked her dry and peeling lips. She smiled and reached out to cup Sugar’s face. “You take care of Legs,” she said and winced.

The way she said that carried a finality that frightened Sugar.

“You’re coming with us,” Sugar insisted.

Mother smiled again. “You are a strong girl. I will find your father, and we shall prepare a place for you.”

“No,” said Sugar.

At her side, Legs held Mother’s hand to his face. Tears were streaming down his cheeks.

“You beautiful boy,” said Mother. She took both Sugar and Legs in her gaze. “I am so proud of you both.”

She winced again in great pain.

“Zu Hogan,” Sugar called. “The collar is killing her!”

“Listen,” Mother said. “I have something for you. I was waiting. Under the hearth-” But her words cut off.

The others rushed to her side. The Creek Widow knelt and felt Mother’s face. She felt along the collar. “She’s worn it longer than any of us. I suspect its weave destroys its wearer when the bond with the master is broken.”

“Purity,” said the Creek Widow. “Can you walk? We need to get out of here.”

Mother’s gaze seemed to be focused on something behind them. She smiled. Her features relaxed. “Sparrow,” she said.

And then Sugar felt her go. Mother’s hand fell limp. Her breathing stopped.

“Mother,” Sugar said.

With that word, the tears and grief that had deserted Sugar since the mob attacked sprang forth. She wept. And as the fountains of her tears rose so did a resolute determination: come what may, the daughter of Sparrow and Purity, the smith’s wife, would learn her mother’s lore. She would finish whatever it was her mother had began.

Talen picked up the remaining torches from the passageway to the chamber. They would have to return and recover Da’s and Purity’s bodies. They lit the torches and began the journey back, but they could not move quickly with River carrying Ke and Argoth and Sugar supporting the Creek Widow. Nor could Talen do much more than shuffle with his injuries.

The torches burned out long before they’d reached the entrance to the caves. However, Legs had kept his wits about him on the way in and had marked orientation points-a dead spot where there was no breeze, the place where you could hear the pouring of distant water, the corridor with the double echo. They walked for what seemed hours, in a line. Each person keeping one hand in front of themselves to feel the blackness. With the other they held the tunic of the next person in line. This is how they worked their way back. And with only a few wrong turns and retracing of steps, Legs led them out of the cave and into the light.

Talen blinked in the sunlight. The warm air of early evening wrapped about him like a blanket. He took in a great breath of free air.

Then the woods about the cave boiled to life with armed men wearing Shoka blue and green. A hundred bows drawn and aiming at the group. Teams of hunting dogs barked, straining at their masters’ leashes.

Talen didn’t care. He’d already died once today. Take him, string him up, and pull off bits and pieces until there was nothing left. He simply didn’t care.

____________________

Argoth looked at the faces of the men surrounding him. He looked at their dogs. They stood thirty paces away, the proper distance for confronting Sleth. He knew all of them. Then Shim, the warlord of the Shoka, pushed his way through and stood at the front of their line.

“Captain Argoth,” the warlord boomed. “Whom do you serve?”

For a moment Argoth faltered. Had he misjudged Shim? Were all of his pleadings and talks of alliances just a ruse? After all, it was Shim who had told him the lie that the Skir Master had lost his beast. It was Shim who had wanted him to expose the Order just before the Skir Master arrived.

“I serve you, Lord.”

“Oh, but I have a bailiff here that says the monster is yours.” Shim motioned at the bailiff of Stag Home. Next to him stood the man they called Prunes, a warrior of many battles, a man that was frightened by neither death nor torture. His face, oddly enough, shone with fear. And Argoth realized these men were preparing to slaughter them.

Argoth shook his head at the futility of their fight. They’d just dealt a blow to an unimaginable enemy, and these fools were going to kill them.