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.
“What did you say?” asked Shim.
“The monster,” said Argoth, “is destroyed.”
“And its master?”
“Fled. But you can search the cave and verify what we say. You will find a room with the bodies of those who fell and of those that would have overrun the land.”
The warlord turned to the bailiff. “Since you bring the accusations, I’m going to let you lead the search. Pick fifty men.”
The bailiff turned and looked at Prunes, who appeared to quail at the prospect of entering the cave. But he did not refuse and soon the two of them had selected the men to go with them. They decided to use Purity’s daughter as their guide, bound her hands, and disappeared into the hole.
Argoth and the others waited outside with Shim’s army ready to fill them with arrows.
The search party returned as the sun was setting and confirmed what Argoth had told them. They brought with them the bodies of Hogan and Purity and part of the monster’s leg.
“There were eight others like this,” said the bailiff.
Eight? But there had been nine. Hogan, Argoth thought, my dear friend-where have you gone?
Argoth turned to Shim. “They need to be collected and destroyed. Their master must not return and find them.”
“We also found a passage beyond the chamber where the battle took place. It is deep and broad and leads into the belly of the mountain.”
Shim nodded. “For years we’ve lived with the caves of this land, ignoring them, ignoring those who disappear. Perhaps it is time we find out what lives in their depths.”
He walked the distance between his men and Argoth’s group to stand before Argoth. Shim searched his face. “You’ve done well, Captain,” he said. “Very well. And you’ll have your celebration feast, but not just yet.”
Argoth looked into the eyes of his old friend and found… honesty.
What a fool he’d been to doubt him.
“What’s wrong?” asked Shim.
“Nothing,” said Argoth.
“You don’t trust me yet?” asked Shim. “Lords, I should take offense.”
“I-”
“I nothing,” said Shim.
“Do they trust this?” asked Argoth.
“You are so full of doubts and fears. Perhaps that’s what comes of excessive hiding. But it doesn’t matter. I trust it,” said Shim. “I trust you. And they trust me.”
“You’re taking a great risk,” said Argoth in a low voice.
“Such little faith,” said Shim.
He put one of his arms around Argoth’s shoulders and turned to his men. “My lords,” he called.
Lords?
Two men separated themselves from the other soliders. As they approached, Argoth saw it was Bosser, a captain of the Vargon Clan, and the Prime, the head of the Clan Council.
“Do you see?” asked Shim. “You are not alone.”
Both Bosser and the Prime came forward to stand before Argoth.
Bosser stroked the mustache that grew down to his chin.
“Welcome back, Captain,” said the Prime.
In a quiet voice, Shim said, “It is time, my friend, for us to receive a little instruction.”
Argoth should have felt hope or worry, but after all that had happened, he only felt a weariness descend upon him.
“A new order will arise in this land,” whispered the Prime.
The words struck Argoth. Weren’t those exactly the words the woman had used? Argoth looked to Bosser. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Not all Glories inherited their rule,” said Shim. “Some of them had to take it by force.”
“There are more powers at work here than just those of men,” said Argoth.
Shim shook his head. “Then we adjust the strategy.”
He turned to the men circling them. “Men of Shoka,” he said. “It is time to celebrate, for one of ours has saved the land.”
They did celebrate that night at the Shoka fortress Lord Shim himself commanded. Shim made sure to ease his men with plenty of ale. They ate and drank and danced and then Argoth told them about how the monster had come after him and Hogan, the two who had first attacked it in the tower. He described the giant night maw and its bluish light. He described the power of the monster and its beautiful master. He told of Sugar and Talen having the courage and sense to deliver the Skir Master’s ravelers. Of the battle, he spoke little. Then he told of how Legs had led them out.
He left huge gaps in the story. He had to. Over the next few days the men would begin to wonder-what of Purity, why did the beast rescue her, what was Matiga’s connection? He suspected the Crab, before he died, would have revealed that the Skir Master enthralled Argoth. He was sure that report was running, even now, through the clans. There were knots upon knots left to untangle, and he would cut them all with the truth. But not just yet.
After the tale, someone called out for a song. “That blind one’s a singer,” one of the men said. Argoth remembered Purity saying something about that.
Legs sat up, chewing on a mouthful of frog’s leg.
“Come on, boy,” someone called. “A song.”
Legs swallowed, put down his frog leg, and wiped his mouth. He rose. “Only if you promise not to pelt me with vegetables, bones, or knives.”
A few men chuckled.
“I don’t want to be blindsided,” Legs said.
More laughed at that jest.
Argoth considered Legs again. The boy was resourceful. He kept his wits. He also was a puzzle. Had he been changed by the woman’s weave as well?
Legs took a big breath, made a flourish, then began a song about the Mighty One Hundred-Sleth hunters in old Cathay. Again Argoth was surprised. Legs sang with strength. It wasn’t the full-bodied voice of a mature man. It was simple and clear and Argoth couldn’t help but feel the emotion of the story. When Legs finished the song there was silence for half a beat. Then the men cheered and called for another. But not all the men were as pleased. Some of them still looked at Legs with wariness.
Legs next led a group song about a one-legged slave who saved the village onions. Then someone called out for “The Hogwife.” It was a humorous song about a beautiful Sleth who had consumed the soul of a boar. Usually the singer sang each verse alone, then the group came in on the choruses. Argoth wondered if this song was right for this moment.
He saw Legs had the same thought, for Legs paused, then he made a decision and started the men by clapping the rhythm.
Legs began.
Her face fired devotion,
Her body fired blood,
If only she’d cease
Her rooting in the mud.
Argoth watched the faces of the men. This was not the best song to sing at this moment. It would only raise questions about Purity. He wondered if the men would sing the chorus or if they’d feel the jarring as well. Most of the men joined in.
Oh, I’ve got me two wives
All mixed up in one,
A woman and a sow,
But begets have I none.
Legs continued.
I married her sweetly
We labored to breed
But, blister me, monsters
Can’t quicken men’s seed.
Legs belted out the last bit like some depressed lout and it was perfect. He sang like one of the entertainers at the gaming fields. More of the men joined in this time.
Oh, I’ve got me two wives
All mixed up in one,
A woman and a sow,
But I want a son.
When they sang the last line, the men raised their fists and shook them in demand.
Ere long came my pretty,
Blackened weave in her hand,
To bed, and I’ll make you
A proper hogman.
Someone made a lovesick call. Legs changed his tone and sang on in a secretive voice.
To bed, in darkness
Irresistible she
Fed me the boar
Enhanced my breed.
Now dirt’s my mustache,
And worms muddy my eyes
Legs paused then came back full of gusto.
But, oh, honeyed heaven
There’s nothing so fine
As Hogwife and I
Rooting side by side.
The men joined in again, some swinging their mugs of ale.
Oh, I’ve got me two wives
All mixed up in one.
She bore me a litter-
Five smart piglet sons.
The men clapped, whistled, hooted. Someone called out for another, but Legs waved them off, took a bow, and sat down. The men around him clapped him on the back. The ale had loosened them. But tomorrow when they were sober, they would begin thinking. Argoth knew this because one or two were thinking right now, watching their brethren clap and holler.
Argoth looked at Shim who, it appeared, had been watching him. Shim pointed at the door with his chin, indicating he wanted to talk with Argoth outside. Argoth walked out of the room into the night. Behind him a group of men began another song.
The stars hung bright in the heavens. Below those stars, in the middle of the fortress inner court, lay the bodies of the monster’s brethren found in the cave. There was so much the Order didn’t know.
A few moments later, Shim exited the building. “That blind one’s full of surprises,” he said.
“I’m sure we don’t know the half,” said Argoth.
Shim nodded. “Come with me.” He led Argoth to his command room across the bailey. Shim lit a lamp. The shutters were closed, but Shim pulled a small, thick blanket across each. In the winter such would keep the cold out. But they also muffled sound.
They sat in chairs, the lamp burning on the table to the side of them. “My friend,” said Shim. “I have shown you my love. I have shown you my trust. You need to honor that now and tell me your tale.”
Argoth hesitated. Such secrets were so dangerous. But he had hidden all his life. And it had led to nothing but loss. How could bringing the truth into the light of the sun be any worse? “Give me your hand, Lord.”
Shim stretched out his rough and callused hand. Upon the wrist was the tattoo of the Shoka clan. Surrounding that and running up Shim’s arm were the tattoos of Shoka manhood and his military orders.
Each clan had their own designs for manhood, military orders, and other markings, but each was built around the same simple clan pattern. Each child was required to have that pattern dyed into their flesh by a Divine. The pattern of Mokad.
By all that was holy. He looked at Shim’s clan tattoo again, and the true nature of the marking shot through him.
Those who followed other Glories had a different base pattern. And if they should be conquered, the tattoo of the conquerer was added. He thought of Hogan with the simple Koramite tattoo and the Mokaddian added to it. He thought of all those he’d seen-the men of other nations, Bone Faces, Cathay. All wore tattoos. All of them inked by Divines…
How could he have not seen it before? So simple. Despite all the flourishes added by the clans, the heart of the tattoo, the clan marking, was nothing more than an elaborate livestock brand. The woman was right: they were indeed cattle, marked by their various masters.
Argoth shook his head and took Shim’s hand. Nettle’s sacrifice had not all been a waste. He still had great portions of his son’s Fire in him. Shim’s hand was rough, strong, full of experience. Argoth looked Shim in the eyes, then poured a small amount of Fire into him.
Shim took in a breath, his eyes widened, but he did not let go.
Argoth spoke into Shim’s mind, In the beginning, all men were gods.
____________________
Argoth told Shim the fragments of the history of the humankind as he knew it. He told of the wars between the Divines and the old gods, knowing now it was not a war between men, but one between men and the race of the creature in the cave. He told of Hismayas, one of the last remaining gods, who sent his followers into the wilderness to hide, to preserve the truth until the time would come that they might throw off their masters. Then he told Shim about his tale, of his days of darkness, and stepping into the light. He told everything important up to and including the recent events with the Skir Master and the battle in the cave.
Shim said nothing for a long time. Then he pointed at small chest on the table next to Shim. “Open that,” he said.
Argoth did. In it lay folded a cloth. Argoth picked it up by two corners and let it unfurl. It was a device in the shape of a shield that Argoth had never seen before: a field half blue, half white, and upon that field lay a sun, the thread of which was made of brass. The sun glistened in the lamplight.
“What is this?”
“White for purity,” said Shim, “blue for courage and loyalty. The sun for knowledge and power.”
“Where did you get it?”
“It’s old, my friend. Very old, passed down for generations. This is going to be our standard.”
“Ours?” asked Argoth.
“All those,” Shim said, “who fight those that would be our masters.”
“I’ve watched the faces of the men,” said Argoth. “They are going to have a difficult time accepting this. We cannot simply dump the whole truth upon them.”
“No,” said Shim. “First we will demonstrate our power. And when we have the confidence of those who matter, we shall tell them by what means we work.”
“We will not have long. A few days at the most before they begin to question the fine points of our story.”
“What I need from you is living weaves,” said Shim. “A hundred in three days.”
“Three days?” It was impossible.
Shim nodded. “We have some dry weaves. Two dozen maybe. You can fill those.”
That would leave about seventy-five weaves to create. Nobody in this Grove knew how to make anything but crude weaves in metal. River could weave them of other things. But the amount Shim asked for was out of the question. Besides, they didn’t have the Fire. Only the current members of the Grove could give Fire. And Argoth would never take it again. “I can deliver another ten.”
“Twenty,” said Argoth. “We must come to them in power.”
“You can’t train up a dreadman in a few hours.”
“We don’t need full dreadmen. We just need to show them the power available. Can you train the men and women you give the weaves to perform some feat?”
“Yes,” said Argoth. “But even if we’re able to convince the lords of the Shoka, the Fir-Noy will not go along. And if they turn against us, three of the other clans will follow.”
“In the beginning,” said Shim, “they will resist us. But it will not last. The Prime is with us. Bosser as well. Furthermore, I have reports. The death of the Skir Master will shake Mokad. The lords of Nilliam will press this advantage. Mokad, more than ever, has no resources to spare. The Fir-Noy will receive no help.”
“The Skir Master gave them weaves,” said Argoth.
“How many? A dozen? And every day we will add to our numbers. In a few weeks we shall have hundreds. And then we shall raise dreadmen who need no weaves. Men like yourself. When the Bone Faces come and these Mokaddian loyalists have to contend with them on their own, they will find their objections are small things.”
“Yes,” said Argoth, “but we do not fight against the men of Mokad or Cathay or even the Bone Face ships. We fight against their masters. We have attacked, maybe killed, one of their kind.”
“You think the glorydoms will join forces against us?”
“Look at how Seekers work. They hunt soul-eaters across the glorydoms of the earth, and none bar their way. Why? Because they hunt a mutual threat.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Shim said. “But perhaps they are not so different from us. Who is to say that some of these creatures might not find it in their interest to stand aside, to delay, in order to weaken an enemy? From what you told me of the creature in the cave, they are not unified.”
“We should prepare for the worst,” said Argoth.
“If they come at us with all their might, can we withstand them?”
Argoth had witnessed the power of the Skir Master firsthand. He’d felt the might of the being in the cave. She’d raised living things from stone. She’d smitten him so powerfully with the illusion of her beauty that it echoed in his heart still. “The old gods once fought them and kept them at bay for years. But we have lost too much.”
“Then we shall find a way to open the seal on this book of yours and learn the things we forgot. We shall raise an army of dreadmen. And we will find someone who can bear the weight of the victor’s crown. We cannot hesitate, my friend. Mankind’s hour is in our grasp.”
Argoth looked at Shim and wondered. The man had a weave his family had passed down, he had an ancient device-what was his history? Not all humans could wield the powers of life with equal effect. Not all could quicken themselves to the same degree. Bloodlines mattered. Was he simply a man with a powerful family heirloom? Or was Shim part of a line that stretched back to the old ones?
Argoth felt as if he’d had this conversation once before. Indeed, had not both Nettle and Ummon, his son of long ago, been asking him to fight? To step fully out of the shadows? Perhaps Hismayas had never intended his Order to hide itself so deeply.
He realized it was time, whether he wanted it or not. The wheels were in motion. The Order was going to stand forth in the sun.
“We will fight,” said Argoth. “We will raise an army from Koramite and Shoka, from Vargon and Burund.” He thought of the Groves scattered through the many glorydoms. He thought of the dark days before he joined the Order. Of the men and women who yet walked those forbidden paths. “There are many in every nation who will anwer our call.”
The very next morning Argoth told Serah everything. Serah did not weep. Instead, she turned as hard as stone. Later in the day Matiga, without invitation, showed up with a pot of spicy sausage and potatoes and her famous currant rolls. The girls ate it all with relish, but neither he nor Serah touched their food. They both knew he had stolen her son. She had every right to hate him.
When the cleaning was done, Matiga sent everyone but Argoth and Serah outside. Then she turned to them both.
“I assume he’s told you all?”
“Yes,” said Serah.
Matiga might not be able to see it, but it was clear to Argoth. She was a pot of simmering fury.
“At least he got that right,” said Matiga. “And I assume you know what will happen if you tell your sisters before Lord Shim brings this before the Council.”
“I do.”
“We will bind you with an oath,” she said. “And you will keep it.”
“I need no binding,” said Serah. “But I will take it anyway.”
“Good,” said Matiga. “He was stupid not to bring you in. Women provide ballast. And that’s something this one desperately needs.”
“Indeed he does,” said Serah.
Argoth tried to take her hand, but she moved it away. “The woman talked about restoring Hogan to his body,” said Argoth.
Matiga and Serah waited for him to go on, but he could not. He could not tell them that he almost wished Talen had not overcome the monster. He could not tell them about the dreams he had of that woman guiding his hands as she had guided the monster’s, except instead of him kneeling between two bodies, he stood with one hand on Nettle’s scarred neck and the other holding the filtering rod.
Argoth looked down. “I am not myself. The roots of the thrall still work in me.”
“That will pass,” said Matiga.
So said the books, but he still felt a compulsion and prying. A door somewhere was still open. A door to another being like the one they’d faced in the cave.
They’d discussed what had happened in the cave, and they’d realized that every Glory in every land was ruled by such a creature. Every Glory was cultivating a field and delivering its harvest.
“We don’t have the knowledge to fix this open door in me,” he said. “We don’t know their powers. It is better to just eliminate the threat.”
“No,” said Matiga. “We don’t have the knowledge. But we will. We have the gifts of Hismayas: the victor’s crown and the Book.”
“The Book has always resisted us. And the crown-well, we obviously don’t know all we should about it.”
“No,” she said, “we don’t. But I think I understand a few things I did not before. I think we should try to open the Book again.”
“And if we fail?” asked Serah.
“We have the seafire,” said Matiga. “We have our lore. We might know less than we’d like, but we know enough. If we cannot unlock the secrets of the Book, then we shall prepare with the knowledge we do have.”
All this talk of the enemy didn’t seem to matter at the moment. Argoth thought of Nettle again. Of the trust and pain that had shone in his eyes as Argoth drew forth his Fire.
He looked up at Serah. “Nettle was a man. He made the choice of a man.”
“I’m not angry with Nettle,” she said, pain and frustration and anger flashing in her eyes.
Argoth waited.
“You said you’d tell me a story about a woman who married a monster. You’ve told me that story. And it was all true. Now you need to wait for me to tell you the end.”
Argoth nodded. He would wait. He’d wait, if he had to, until the Creators raveled the earth.