For a moment he lost his courage. The Mother was cunning and strong. How could beings with such frail bodies hope to contend with her?

But they had. She had said so herself. Hunger looked back. He hoped whoever followed him had such power. He felt the Mother’s compulsion upon him. Hunger stepped into the thin, cold water with River in his arms and disappeared into the dark.

33

Hunger laid River down next to Purity in the ink-black chamber. Both River and Purity cried out at first, but then they recognized each other and began to sob. For joy or despair, Hunger did not know. He left to get some of the wood he’d stored in another chamber to make a fire.

He’d left Purity with fire in the beginning, but she’d tried to run away, and the Mother had made him steal hobbles from a smith and put them on her ankles. The hobbles had taken all thoughts of flight out of her. And, in truth, it would have made escape impossible, for there was a steep cliff she’d have to scale to escape, if she could even find it in the dark. He supposed he’d have to get hobbles for River as well.

River and Purity talked in low voices, but they stopped when they heard him enter his chamber. He placed his small nest of tinder and kindling a pace from them on the floor, struck the flint against his fire-steel until three sparks fell into the tinder. Then he blew. A small flame leapt up. He added small bits of kindling. The fire grew. And he finally added a small stick.

He felt the Mother behind him.

Had she discovered his plan? A small panic rose within and he turned.

But it was not the Mother that stood before him. Instead, a woman of strange and exquisite beauty, clothed in brightness, looked upon him. Dark hair tumbled down her naked shoulders. Pale shoulders. Pale skin. He’d seen this woman before: the memory of that face lay just under the surface of his mind. But she was not human. Was this another of the Mother’s kind then, come to steal the souls of these women?

He rose in alarm and prepared to defend them.

“You’ve lost your focus,” the beauty said.

Hunger could not tell if she spoke the words with her mouth or directly in his mind, but he knew it was indeed the Mother.

“You are beautiful,” he said in both wonder and confusion. But this was some trick. He looked closer to see if he could detect the lie, then reached out and touched her arm, but she was as real as the rocks about him.

What kind of power must one have to change the very form of one’s body? Surely, more than anyone in the Order, and that thought filled him with dismay.

He looked at her again and swore her visage shifted. “What are you?” he asked.

She ignored his question and held up the stomach that contained the souls of his family. “You still fight me. Have I ever given you a reason not to believe I will do what I say?”

What was she going to do with them? His panic began to rise again, but he could not let her know that. She was wicked. Wicked and cruel and the slightest slip would mean the end of his wife or children. He looked at the stomach and said nothing.

“Wicked?” she asked. “Is it wicked for the master to demand obedience from his dog? Is it wicked to break a beast of its rebellious ways? And if it demonstrates quality, is it wicked to administer praise and reward?”

“I am not your dog.”

“Oh, but you are. And I will have loyalty from you. It is your decision. Obey me and you will eat from my table. Defy me and you will learn by the things you suffer.”

“I can withstand your pain.”

“Perhaps I did not state myself clearly before-you can be free one day, and so can your family. I’m not a cruel master. I don’t want to be such, even when such methods do have their advantages. No. I govern by giving you choices. You’ve chosen poorly and shall reap what you’ve sown. But I will give you this: I will let you decide which one I shall eat.”

His panic swelled. “No,” said Hunger. “Please.”

“Choose.”

“I’ll do whatever you say,” he said. “Spare them.”

“It is too late,” she said.

“Take me then. Eat my soul.”

He was close enough to reach out and take his stomach from her, but he could not move. And the horror of his helplessness washed over him.

“Then I shall choose,” she said. “I will take the lesser of them to show you I am merciful. I shall take the youngest male.”

“No,” he said. Not, his son.

Not any of them!

She opened the mouth of the stomach, reached in, and withdrew a shining form. It bucked and sparkled like a hooked fish in the sunshine.

Souls held the same rough form as the bodies they animated, or so the wise ones said. And while Hunger could see part of the form, he could not see it all. It was like glimpsing something in the water, seeing only one distorted facet. But distorted facet or not, he knew this soul. “Russet,” he whispered. “Son!”

This was a nightmare.

“I keep my promises,” she said. “Remember that.” Then she opened her mouth and fell upon the shining like a cat might the neck of a large hare.

“No!” Hunger cried.

The silvery light struggled violently.

Then she wrenched it. The light flexed in one brilliant flash, then hung limp in her hand. She gulped a portion of his son like a swamp snake gulped in part of a piglet, like a man gulped overlarge quantities of blood pudding.

Hunger’s mind split. His world turned white.

Rage and horror and grief flooded him. He turned to the women behind him. The Mother wanted them, well, he would deny her that. He might not strike her, but he could strike them and deprive her of their service, whatever hideous form that would take. And by so doing, he’d save them from her awful bondage.

“Halt!” said the Mother.

“Let me go!” he said and fought her binding with all the force he could muster. He succeeded in taking one step toward the women. Ha! he crowed in triumph.

“Enough,” said the Mother, and Hunger found he could not move. A smoke of confusion clouded his eyes, and he knew no more.

Hunger woke on the cave floor. He smelled the women-Purity and River. Smelled the coals of the dead fire. And remembered Russet, his son.

His grief rose like a tide.

“You have a choice,” said the Mother.

He wanted to strike her, but could not. “I will not listen to you.”

“Quiet.”

Hunger fell in on himself.

“Pursue this course and I will eat them all. There are three others here in this stomach. Live to free them. I’ve given you my promise. I am not cruel. Obey me and reap your reward.”

He could not trust this creature. “When will you free them?”

“When your loyalty is thoroughly tested. And then, after a time of service, I will free you.”

“You lie.”

The Mother shook her head. “Prove to me your loyalty. Stop fighting me. You will see I am just.”

He could be freed if he could only fix the collar.

“No,” the Mother said. “Do you think I did not know your plans the very moment you removed the collar from the woman? Do you think I was ignorant of the man washing himself or the burning son? Did you think you could hide your thoughts from me?”

“Yes,” said Hunger in defeat. And he knew it was hopeless. It had been hopeless from the beginning. He should not have resisted her.

His stupidity had cost him his son.

“Your people will prosper under my hand. Not be left to fend for themselves as happened with your last, inattentive master. I will make your lands fertile. I will fight your battles and keep you safe. Serve me and all your kindred will flourish.”

He could not die. He could not disobey. He could not even hide his thoughts. What was left to him? He was indeed a dog on a chain. A horse corralled for the breaking. The Mother, this creature, whatever it was, held more power than any human. More power than the Divines. She was as far above him as a man was above a beast. Besides, he wasn’t even a man anyway. He was something else-a soup of souls and stone. Why then should he not obey?