“Except I can’t walk on my own,” said Purity. “I am one tree. I am not the Grove.”
“Then we’ll think of something else.”
“Please,” said Purity. “You risk everything. You risk the lives of my children. If you want to save me, save my children.”
Hogan put a hand on Argoth’s shoulder. “Brother,” he said. “I shall never forgive myself.” Then he reached down and twisted off the lid to the tin. And Argoth couldn’t tell if Hogan was saying he would not be able to forgive himself for killing Purity or if he could not forgive himself if he put the rest of the Grove at risk.
Purity reached out, but her wounds prevented her from extending her arm far enough.
Argoth hesitated, looking at the few inches between the tin and her damaged fingers. And then, as if it were someone else’s hand holding the tin, he moved it close enough for her to take a pinch of rough powder.
“How much?” she asked.
“Two,” he said, his voice miles away. “Two should be more than enough.”
Purity took a pinch then put her fingers to her mouth. She grimaced at the bitterness, sucked her fingers, then reached out and took another pinch.
Hogan’s face fell. He stroked her shaved head again. “My dear,” he said. “My dear, dear-”
Something scraped above them. Argoth motioned for Hogan and Purity to be silent and looked up.
Argoth took another tone of voice, as if they had been interrogating her. “There are many more things you must tell us,” he said. He stood as if to stretch his legs. “Tonight is the beginning. And your children will reap the reward. But it all depends on what you do tomorrow when we return. It is your choice.” He continued in that line as if he were a reasonable interrogator, all the while furtively searching the ceiling. And then he found one of the holes in the ceiling that did not reflect his lamplight back.
It appeared Droz had not been able to contain his curiosity. He was only amazed Droz had waited this long. He made a small motion, letting Hogan know they should leave.
“You’ve been helpful,” said Hogan. “Every Koramite will thank you in their hearts.” It was a good touch. Argoth only hoped it was enough to fool Droz.
Purity said nothing in reply, only sucked on her two fingers.
He led Hogan back to the grate door. A chain hung from the ceiling. It connected to a bell in the upper level. Argoth gave it three good tugs and waited. A few minutes later, Droz opened the massive door and let them out.
On the stairs, Droz broke the silence. “So did you get our fish to speak?”
Argoth looked at Droz. “We know that the murder of the butcher’s family was independent of this woman,” he said.
“Goh,” exclaimed Droz. “There are two groups?”
“At the very least,” said Argoth. “Of course, we’ll have to verify what she said. But if it’s true, then it raises many troubling questions.”
“What else did you find?”
“I’ve already thrown you a bone,” said Argoth. “The rest is for Lord Shim.”
Argoth and Hogan found a place in the middle of the fortress courtyard where they could speak. They didn’t want to be up against one of the walls where their words might echo. And even if their words didn’t echo, they couldn’t know who might be close enough to hear: there were too many crannies and windows and deep shadows. No, it was best to talk in a spot where they could see everything that was to be seen.
Hogan held the reins of his mule. A smattering of clouds had blown in and obscured part of the night sky, but there was still enough light to see most of the courtyard.
“My heart is ash,” said Hogan.
Argoth could say nothing.
“We will make a sacrifice,” said Hogan, “so that her ancestors may be strong.”
A sacrifice of Fire would help her in the world of the dead. But he knew it wouldn’t lighten the pain he felt in his chest.
After a few moments of silence, Hogan said, “So, what emptied those bones? Wizards?”
It had always been a wizard’s dream to collect the bones of slaughtered animals and deceased humans, to harvest Fire without cost. The soul has departed; so there shouldn’t be any power there to resist a harvest of what remained in the bones. Battlefields, slaughter pens, dinner plates heaped with the remains of a meal-they should all be rich with easy Fire. But they weren’t. The bones resisted them. “Either someone has finally discovered how to persuade bones to release their treasure,” said Argoth, “or there’s a new power abroad.”
“Or an old one,” said Hogan. “Perhaps that is what killed Lumen.”
The ancient stories told of gods inhabiting many places. In the beginning, the old gods were servants of the Creators. There were gods for fish and beasts and trees, each chosen from its own kind. Each taught the lore by the Creators themselves so that they might guide and bless a certain small territory: a vale, a wood, or a group of hamlets.
But these old ones had proved unstable. One never knew if a god would end up being a curse or a blessing. And so the legends say the six Creators withdrew their presence from them. Regret, of course, did not. In time, a new order arose, an order of human Divines who sought to battle the old ones and rule huge territories. Some said the new order began with a group of gods seeking the ways of the first parents; others said it had nothing to do with the old ones, but had been established by the Creators directly.
Whatever the origin, the new order began to hunt the old gods. There were many tales of the ancient battles. In the end, the Divines triumphed. They claimed total extermination, yet there were always rumors of old ones that had slipped through the cracks. Could this be one of the old gods who had survived?
“This changes everything,” said Hogan.
“It does,” said Argoth. “Of course, why Barg? That part makes no sense. He was the key to… nothing.”
“A mere butcher, a harvest master,” Hogan said. He shook his head and looked up at the stars.
“Hogan,” said Argoth, “Lord Shim has been making suggestions again. Perhaps this is the opportunity we’ve been looking for. We do have the Book and Crown. Perhaps our time has come.”
“And who can read it?” asked Hogan. “No. We won’t risk that.”
Hogan was overly conservative. The Book and Crown of Hismayas held many things now lost to the world. It was said that Hismayas, the founder of their order, knew things not even the Glories of this world knew, things given him by the Creators themselves.
“We’ve discussed this before,” said Hogan. “Rushing to harvest only ruins the crop. The Order is not yet ripe.”
What would happen if they declared their powers openly? Some would join. Perhaps many. They might defeat the Bone Faces. But many might also prefer to submit themselves to that rot rather than ally themselves with Sleth. Bosser was one of those. He would fight against Argoth, and sooner or later, Mokad would find out; they would send an army to obliterate anyone having anything to do with the Order. The Nine Clans would join with them. Hogan was right: it could only end in chaos and ruin, but that did not make this cold logic any easier to bear.
A guard yelled back at the tower door, a mastiff snarled and was cut off. There were grunts, the sound of something metal clanging violently into the wall.
Argoth turned and looked at the gate, but the shadows obscured everything.
Something dark flashed in the corner of his vision and dropped from the sky. It thudded to the ground not two paces from where Argoth stood. At first Argoth thought it was a pile of rags, and then he realized it was one of the mastiffs that had been guarding the tower door.
It lay in a broken heap.