He could not imagine of what she spoke. But he did not have time to ponder it through, for River appeared at the top of the ravine in a shaft of moonlight. She paused, silent and lovely as a moth.

She took a step down into the ravine and paused again, listening, paused like a huntress stalking her prey. Another step, another pause, another step.

The Mother had been right. River was coming back to find him, to lure him, to make sure he didn’t find the others.

Another step, pause, another, until she stood only feet away. Down in the depths of the darkness of the ravine, he could only just see her face and the pale whites of her eyes. He smelled her stink. But underneath that, Hunger caught mint and sweat and the smell of fresh-cut barley.

He pushed his fingers into the bank of dirt at his side. He would throw it at her in warning, and she would run away.

Now, said the Mother. Take her!

At that very moment, as if River had heard the voice in Hunger’s mind, she turned and looked at him.

He could not fight the compulsion.

Forgive me, sister. Lords, forgive me.

He struck and, with his rough hand, snatched her by the face.

32

Hunger could not contain his rage. He hated the Mother. Hated her.

He quickly changed his grip on River and threw her over his shoulder. With his free hand, he grasped one of the roots exposed by the bank of the ravine. The root was as thick as a man’s leg and rough with bark.

Hunger gave the root an angry shove. Other roots popped, the tree shook and listed to one side, then the root he held broke with a loud crack.

This infuriated him even more, and he jumped to the top of the ravine, River still upon his shoulder. He struck the tree squarely in the trunk with all his might. Once. Twice. Each time hating the Mother more. His blows shook the tree, rustling the branches and leaves above and knocking a dead branch loose from the canopy. The branch crashed through the lower branches and fell to the ground a dozen paces away with a heavy thud, only to be followed moments later by numerous other smaller branches.

He gave the trunk one more shove that sent the whole tree crashing down, breaking other trees as it fell, lifting the earth with its root pan under his feet.

He jumped to get out of the way of the lifting root pan and realized that he could have killed River. If that branch had come down upon him, it would have broken her like an anvil upon a gourd.

He sagged with dismay. The Mother made him destroy everything that was most precious to him. And it did not matter that she’d not made him shuck River’s soul from her body. This only meant River would have the agony of living in the darkness with the other woman before her end came.

River lay on his shoulder struggling against his grasp like some animal caught in a snare. It could not be comfortable being held there for great distances. So he brought her around front and cradled her like a father might his babe. Her face, he knew, would be bruised from his initial grip.

He tried to stroke her hair to calm her, but River did not stop struggling. She pounded at him and then began to tear at his eyes.

She would hurt herself more than anything else, so he caught both her hands in his ragged mouth and held them there.

I cannot die. I cannot disobey.

He held River close.

I am so sorry, sister. So very, very sorry. He repeated it over and over in his mind, then began to make his way back toward the Mother’s caves.

After only a dozen paces, he heard the distinct thock of someone stepping on and breaking a branch behind him.

He stopped and turned toward the sound. It was not an animal, for no beast that size would have remained close after he’d knocked over the tree. And it was not the sound of a branch falling.

Leaves rustled as if someone had tripped.

Someone following him in the dark. The burning son, perhaps. Or the older son. Or maybe even Zu Hogan himself.

She would take them as well, the Mother would. She would command him to kill them, and he would do it.

Horror rose in him at the thought, and he turned and ran away from the stalker. Through the trees, crashing through the brush, trying to cover River from the branches that whipped him. He ran up a slight hill and stopped to listen for his pursuer.

The sound of running footsteps rose from the forest below. A light sound, not a heavy animal. Not a large person.

He turned to run again. He would outdistance him in the dark, but what if he couldn’t outrun this pursuer? The family was all part of the Sleth nest, the Order, he corrected himself. What if his pursuer followed him all the way back to the Mother’s lair?

They’d find the Mother, that’s what. And she’d take them there.

Or would she?

Zu Hogan had fought him in the tower. But what if there had been three or four with his strength? Perhaps it would have been Zu Hogan taking him, instead of the other way around. The Mother had said something once about humans long ago, rising up against their masters. Perhaps Zu Hogan knew such secrets. Perhaps Zu Hogan’s failing to stop him in the sea tower had been more a function of surprise than strength.

His terror turned to hope. He could lead whoever was down there to the Mother. And that person in turn would lead Zu Hogan. And if not, Hunger could come back and lead Zu Hogan himself. Hunger looked down the dark, wooded hill.

Nothing moved. They were waiting for him to continue.

He grabbed a branch and broke it smartly to announce his position. Then he turned and walked away. A few paces later he broke another branch, and a few paces after that, yet another.

Hunger walked through the remaining hours of the morning, keeping only slightly ahead of the person following him. When dawn arrived he stood atop a ridge and looked down at the small valley below. Just beyond the edge of the wood, still in the shadow of the hill, a flock of sheep grazed the grass bordering both sides of the road running toward a village. The sun lit the fields and thatch roofs with a rosy light. Still farther along, a man drove a wain laden with a fifteen-foot pile of hay. Two boys sat atop the pile, stabilizing themselves with one hand on the side pole while sharing what looked to be a red cheese round. They passed by a woman throwing kitchen scraps to her white-and-black-speckled chickens.

This was the village closest to the Mother’s lair. He’d smelled these villagers with longing on many an evening. These were the homes he’d stolen about in the darkness, listening to the humans, tempting his appetite, until the Mother had ordered him to stay away.

He had not heard the person shadowing him for some time. But that probably only meant it was light enough for them to see the way better and avoid things that cracked in the dark.

This also meant he could leave visible spoor. Nevertheless, it was quicker to follow sound. So he broke yet another branch and continued along the ridge past the village, past the stand of fat spruce from which the Mother had called him, and to the entrance that stood up on the hill above the swamp.

There were three entrances he knew about. The one in the cliffs by the sea. This one. And another found in the buried ruin of the stone-wights on the other side of the hill.

Hunger stood at the entrance, the small stream running out of the lopsided mouth and down the hill. He looked down at River and released her hands from his mouth. She clutched her shoulders in pain.

He was sorry. He should have thought about the pain and numbness that would result from holding her arms in one position for so long. He smoothed her hair back from her face with one finger. She did not pull away this time. She looked so fragile in his arms.