He lunged for her.
But River danced out of his reach.
He made another sign of the Order and took a step. It’s me, River. Can’t you see past this form?
Another step. She danced farther away.
He would have to do this the hard way then. He picked up a stone, made sure she saw he had it, and hurled it at her head. Not too hard, but enough that she’d have to duck. Enough to distract her.
But instead of ducking, River rolled away and was instantly on her feet again.
Would that he had a voice. Hunger expelled the air in his gullet in frustration.
She took another step back.
Hunger lost patience and charged her. One, two, three steps, her hair flickering through his fingers, and then she was into the wood, running, lively and elusive as a deer.
He crashed along after her, over a fallen stump, around a thick bramble, down a ravine, expecting all the time to lose her, to see her marvelous burst of speed, but she did not widen her lead on him. Perhaps it was the dark or this new form he wore that gave him greater speed; whatever the cause, he could keep pace, and that gave him great satisfaction, for she would tire. He would not. It might take some time, but she would tire, and he would not.
She’s leading you along, you fool.
The Mother. But she had been sleeping.
Turn around, and she’ll come to us.
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.
You simple creature. Did you think I would waste her on something like you? No, she will become one of those that govern.
He could not imagine of what she spoke. But he did not have time to ponder it through, 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 darkness 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 it 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.
Forgive me, sister. Lords, forgive me.
He struck and, with his rough hand, snatched her by the face.
32
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, 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 and knocking a dead branch loose from the canopy. The branch crashed through the lower branches and fell to the ground a dozen paces away with a heavy thud, only to be followed moments later by numerous other smaller branches.
He gave the trunk one more shove that sent the whole tree crashing down, breaking other trees as it fell, lifting the earth with its root pan under his feet.
He jumped to get out of the way of the lifting root pan and realized that he could have killed River. If that branch had come down upon him, it would have broken her like an anvil upon 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 made him shuck River’s soul from her body. This 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 them there.
I cannot die. I cannot disobey.
He held River close.
I am so sorry, sister. So very, very sorry. He repeated it over and over in his mind, then began to make his way back toward the Mother’s 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.
Leaves rustled as if someone had tripped.
Someone 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. Through the trees, crashing through the brush, trying to cover River from the branches that whipped him. He ran up a slight hill and stopped to listen for his pursuer.
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 him in the dark, but what if he couldn’t outrun this pursuer? The family was all part of the Sleth nest, the Order, he corrected himself. 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.