Part 42 (2/2)

Hunger resisted her. I won't kill her.

Turn around. Now! Run back in the direction you came.

Hunger could not resist. He turned and ran. Back she pushed him, around a bend, down the trail until the darkness of the ravine lay at his feet.

Here, said the Mother, this is where you'll take her. Quick now. Hide in the shadows.

I won't, he said. But he did. He descended into the darkness and stood waiting, the exposed roots of a tree at his shoulder. He prayed River did not return, prayed the Mother was wrong.

I don't want her, said Hunger Oh, but you do.

He knew what she wanted River for. Your ugly children can rot.

Mine? You simple creature. Did you think the other humans would follow something like you? That's much too obvious. You can't handle them that way. No, she will become one of those that govern.

Govern what? Of what would she be a ruler? But he did not have time to ponder it, 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 night shade 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 dirt 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. He released the dirt he was going to throw in warning.

Forgive me, sister, Hunger thought. Then he struck, and with his rough hand, s.n.a.t.c.hed her by the face.

32.

Spoor 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, and 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. He gave the trunk a ma.s.sive shove that sent the whole thing cras.h.i.+ng down, breaking other trees as it fell, lifting both him and the earth he stood on with its root pan.

He jumped to get out of the way of the lifting root pan. Above him a large branch that had been knocked loose from another tree crashed towards him. At the last moment, he stepped away, knocking it aside and immediately realized that it could have killed River. If that branch had come down upon him, it would have broken her like an anvil would break 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 forced him to shuck River's soul from her body on the spot because that 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 her close.

I cannot die. I cannot disobey.

I am so sorry, sister. So very, very sorry. He wished he could tell her. Wished dirt could speak! But the Mother's compulsion was upon him, and he began to make his way back toward the 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, but one snapping on the ground.

Leaves rustled as if someone had tripped.

Someone was 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. He crashed through the trees and brush, s.h.i.+elding River from the branches that whipped him. He ran up a slight hill and stopped to listen for his pursuit.

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 them in the dark, but what if he couldn't outrun this pursuit? The family was all part of the sleth nest. No, he corrected himself. Not a nest; the Order. Either way, 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 that still lay in the morning's shadow. Just beyond the edge of the wood, a flock of sheep grazed the gra.s.s bordering both sides of the road. In the village, the sun had just begun to kiss the 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 poles while sharing what looked to be a red cheese round. They pa.s.sed by a woman throwing kitchen sc.r.a.ps 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. He'd even come in and stolen about the homes in the darkness, listening to the humans, tempting his appet.i.te, until the Mother had ordered him to stay away.

Hunger looked behind him. 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.

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