Part 43 (1/2)

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

She immediately winced and 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. She looked so fragile in his arms. He smoothed her hair back from her face with one finger. This time, she did not pull away.

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 because it was beyond him. Then he turned and stepped into the thin, cold water with River in his arms and disappeared into the dark.

33.

Body and Soul 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 firewood he'd stored in another chamber and to fetch hobbles for River.

They'd tried to keep Purity without them, but she kept running away, so the Mother had him steal hobbles from a smith and put them on her ankles. Hunger gathered the wood and hobbles.

In the other room, River and Purity talked in low voices, but they stopped when they heard him return. 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 their body? Surely, more than anyone in the Order, and that thought filled him with dismay.

He looked at her again and swore her visage s.h.i.+fted. ”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?”

Why was she holding that stomach? She was wicked. Wicked and cruel and the slightest slip would mean the end of his wife or children. His panic began to rise again, but he could not let her know that, so 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,” Hunger said.

”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 steal the stomach from her, but he could not move. And the horror of his helplessness rose up to drown him.

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

”No,” he said. Not his son. Not any of them!

She opened the mouth of the stomach, reached in, and withdrew a s.h.i.+ning form. It bucked and sparkled like a hooked fish in the suns.h.i.+ne.

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!”

”I keep my promises,” she said. ”Remember that.” Then she opened her mouth and fell upon the s.h.i.+ning like a cat might the neck of a large hare.

This was a nightmare. ”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 quant.i.ties 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 the Mother, 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 demanded 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 and smelled the women. He smelled the coals of the dead fire and remembered Russet, his son.

His grief rose like a tide. And then anger. He lunged to his feet and tried to strike the Mother, but his limbs would not obey.