Free Servant of a Dark God by John Brown

too hot,” said Legs and tugged at her.
    She took a step; Legs followed. She broke into a jog. “To the woods, straight through Galson’s fields.” That’s what Mother had said.
    She glanced back and saw a number of soldiers running toward them.
    “Then to the pond,” she said, her voice sounding strange to her ears. “Over the fence and to the pond.”
    Hand in hand, they ran across Galson’s paddock. She felt the knife at her waist. The knife Da had given her. A voice in the back of her mind told her to fight. But the voice was small, so very small.
    She saw Fancy lying in the grass, arrows sticking from her, but Sugar only noted it. Her mind was filled with the image of Mother and Da and that terrible black blade. Twice Legs stumbled because of her inattention.
    When they reached the pond, Sugar looked back. Soldiers ran through Galson’s paddocks toward them. On the far edge of a paddock the district lord rode atop his horse looking for a gate through. She snapped back to the task at hand.
    Sugar knew the woods well. She’d played hide-and-seek here and foraged for acorns and firewood. She’d hidden here from the village boys before Da taught her how to fight. The wood was old and in many places did not allow enough light to the ground to support much more than mushrooms. But mushrooms would not hide them. And even if they had cover, the mob would bring dogs.
    So Sugar decided they would take the forest creek for their path. She and Legs had a small craft there they sometimes floated on. They would ride the water downstream. And just before they reached the confluence with the main river, they would leave the craft and escape into the woods on the other side.
    Sugar looked down at the wisterwife charm Legs wore about his neck. Wisterwives were servants of the seven Creators. It was said that even Regret, the Creator who wanted to destroy the world, was served by them, but neither Mother nor Da had ever seen the creature that had left this charm. “Let us hope the wisterwife is watching us,” she said.
    Sugar looked back one last time to where Da and Mother had fallen. One of the village women bent over Mother, probably stripping her. It flickered through Sugar’s mind that this was hopeless. She should stand here and meet her fate. But she quickly pushed that idea aside and faced the woods.
    “You’ve done this a hundred times, brother. It’s over the bluff and to the river.”

PREY

    H
    unger lay under the towering, fat spruce that grew in his glade and felt some small thing, a very small thing, scratching about the grass on his chest. The Mother had said not to devour the men, but she’d never said anything about small things, so he cracked one eye and spied the creature.
    It was a . . .
    The name floated away.
    He grunted.
    The names always floated away. His thoughts continually ran from him. Everything fled before his appetite.
    Hunger could smell the creature’s Fire, its tasty little Fire. Not much, not enough for a meal. But enough to taste.
    He watched the creature grasp a stalk of grass on his chest and bend the ragged head of seeds to its mouth.
    Before it could take a bite, Hunger snatched the creature up.
    The little thing struggled, but in moments Hunger separated it. The Mother had shown him how to do that down in her cave. Fire, soul, and flesh: these three made up all living things, even him with his body of earth and grass. The Mother had shown him what bound the parts all together, and then she’d taugh him how to pick and pry until the binding unraveled in his hands. Of course, there were some things he had not yet been able to separate. But the little thing he had in his hands, he knew its secrets.
    The tiny body he cast away. The Fire he bolted, increasing the hours of his life, but the soul—the soul he nibbled, oh, so slowly for it was sweet with thought and fear.
    Above him a swarm of insects made their comforting click and buzz. Farther up, the tops of the ancient spruce