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?
Perhaps she was just. Perhaps she was doing nothing more than teaching the dog that it was a dog, not a master. And in that thought he saw a clear path, a small glimmering of hope-he would be her best servant. He would meet her every whim. He would be the dog that the master grew to love and called to feed at his lap. And by so doing he would save his wife and daughter and remaining son.
He would serve this creature with all his mind, might, and strength. “Will you forgive me?” he asked.
“Forgive? That word has no meaning. But I shall give you one more chance to prove yourself. And in time you may win my trust.”
“Tell me then what you desire.”
“We shall continue what we’ve begun,” she said. “Gathering the ones that stink. Yours was a good plan, even if wrought with the wrong intent.”
He felt a lightening in his mood. He had chosen the right course.
“The one you led here,” she said. “You will take her and see if she is fit to lead or ripe for the harvest. And then you shall find the rest.”
“As you command,” he said and turned back toward the mouth of the cave. The last moments of his son’s existence played before his mind-all his cursed fault. He should never have fought her.
Never.
And he would never do it again; he was the Mother’s now, body and soul, and he would demonstrate that to her.
____________________
Sugar found the monster to be one of the easiest things she’d ever tracked. A stupid beast that could not navigate well enough in the darkness to avoid the branches. But when there was light enough to see, she realized that the branches being broken were not those that someone would accidentally step on and break, nor were they ones that would break easily as someone brushed past. No, they had been broken on purpose. She concluded River knew someone was following and had done this to leave a trail.
But Sugar now looked down at the spot where an immense rotted log had recently lain and was not so sure. Worms and grubs wriggled in the soil of the impression. This log had obviously been moved aside, but it was too large for River to do such a thing. Sugar attempted to push it, but could not move it an inch. How could River have moved it as she was carried along by that beast?
To Sugar’s left rose a steep hill. On her right the ground descended to a cluster of hundred-foot bald cypress, their massive knees rising out of the dark tea water. A muskrat swam through a layer of duckweed out to a clear slip of deeper water.
She wondered if the creature had taken River into that mess.
Lilies, bog bean, and goat willow choked the far side. The place breathed with the croaking of frogs and stank of things rotting in the water. But she knew that it was full of far more than frogs and stink and scum. She’d find snakes, leeches, and snapping turtles there in abundance.
A chip of something small and dark fell from the cypress trees above. Sugar looked up and saw a handful of grayfans, large game fowl that fanned their tail feathers when threatened. They stood in the branches above, pecking for the cypress seeds. More dark chips fell and she realized it wasn’t bark, but grayfan droppings.
She stepped aside in disgust and walked toward the swamp to see if perhaps the mud at the edges would show any footprints, but as she did so a crack sounded up the hill.
The creature had gone up the hill, not into the swamp. She turned and followed the noise, glad to leave the stink and the rising mosquitoes.
A few paces later the tree cover gave way and there at her feet a trail of footprints led through the dew-soaked undergrowth, clear as you please up the hill.
Sugar followed the trail back into the trees, always going up, finding scuffled leaves here and there or matted grass, until she came to a small stream. She stopped and looked about, then saw a footprint in the stream itself. She followed the stream uphill to a slight ridge of rock. She crossed the stream and found herself standing in front of the mouth of a cave, a cool breeze blowing out of the darkness and into her face. She immediately crouched and moved to one side so she did not darken the entrance with her silhouette.
She wondered if this was a natural cave or one made by the stone-wights. If it was one of the ancient ruins, did that mean this creature was connected with them? Many had been lost in the stone-wight ruins. All of Sugar’s life she had been warned to stay clear of them, for who knew what dark thing waited within? But this is where the creature had taken Mother, and so this is where she would have to go. She looked down the hill. Only someone standing right where she was could see this opening. And now she’d wished the monster had taken River to the swamp. In a swamp you could at least see what you were about. Here the creature might be only a dozen paces away, watching her from the darkness.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Sugar listened. She could hear nothing but the trickling water. She waited for a long time, but nothing stirred. The breeze meant this would be a long cave. It was quite possible that the monster’s lair was hidden deep within.
She would have to go in, if only a small distance. Whomever she brought back would want to know what lay just inside this entrance so they might avoid a pit or slope. Any information she could give them would be better than leaving them to charge in completely blind.
She edged toward the darkness and then crab-walked in and waited for her vision to adjust.
The walls were narrow and tilted to one side. Water oozed down their face. The ceiling of the cave trailed up and was lost in the darkness.
Sugar moved farther in, away from the sound of the water outside and listened. She thought she heard voices, but then decided it was only the breeze or water. Rocks fell in the distance, the sound echoing along the cave walls. Moments later something splashed through the water. And then she realized it was moving, not away from her, but back toward her and the mouth of the cave.
She could not judge the distance well, but it sounded close.
Fear rose in her. She turned and scrabbled back, trying to keep a low profile. When she reached the mouth of the cave, whatever it was began to run.