Spear Mother: A Tale of the Fourth World by Brandon M. Lindsay
5
They found Dormaun a short while later, unharmed... at least physically. She was crouching, rocking back and forth, mumbling something. When Sandrena went to rouse her from her disturbed state, the Lady put a restraining hand on her arm. "Let her be for now. We're safe until true morning."
Sandrena nodded and began to shuffle back to the campsite. The others, save Dormaun, fell in behind her.
The red hue of the clouds seemed to deepen, making the world seem awash with fire. Was true morning even going to happen? Did the sun rise in this twisted world? Everything seemed so wrong. Sandrena wondered if life would ever go back to normal.
She eyed her bedroll with yearning. For once, she wanted to sleep without dreaming or remembering. But there was something that needed to be done first. "We need to bury Caella," she said. Sandrena was getting sick of burying people.
"No, Spear Mother," Semorie said quietly. "I failed to protect her. I will bury her."
Sandrena opened her mouth to protest, but saw something in Semorie's eyes. "I understand." Did she ever.
The Faceless woman nodded, stalked off.
Rayell, always so stolid, seemed shaken. "Lady," she said, then hesitated. "Will—Now that Ca— Now that we are one less, is there any hope that we will succeed?"
Sandrena groaned. In her grief, she had forgotten. In the dreams she had sent them, the Lady had told them that not one of them could die lest the mission fail.
The bleakness in the Lady's expression echoed what Sandrena knew in her heart was true. "I can't... say for certain. The slight chance we had depended on the seven of us being there, together, when we faced this god. There is power in that number, power I thought we might be able to use against him. I suspected some would die in our battle with him, but before..." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I wish I had better news."
"Thank you." Rayell seemed to rediscover her resolve. "I will fight on."
"Good," said the Lady. "Because we don't really have any choice. The only hope for the Fourth World is the six of us. If we don't at least try, then everyone and everything we know is going to die. Forever."
It was a chilling thought, that Sandrena and her bleached-white companions were all that stood between existence and annihilation. Though she had untapped some of the Spear's power, it seemed so meager in light of what they would face. She remembered seeing the god in her dream. The chain-creatures were horrible, and had already killed one of them. What chance did they have against a god?
Dormaun stepped into the open circle of the campsite, eyes puffy, arms drooping at her sides. That spark of luscious sensuality that always seemed to burn within her was quenched utterly. She sank to her bedroll and lie down, facing away from the rest of them.
All was silent. Then Dormaun spoke. "That thing, it... touched me. Touched my legs." She squeezed her legs together and almost managed to suppress a shudder. "I don't like things like that touching me." Her voice sounded so small. She didn't even seem like a woman anymore, just a scared, abused child.
—doing some real sick stuff to that little gimp before shoving her over the side—
Sandrena stifled a sob. Jonah's voice rang through her head like a bell. Slowly, its echoing dissipated, and so did the anguish such a memory of a memory always brought. Oh, Dormaun. What happened to you?
Was it the same for all of them? Had all of them been hurt somehow? Is that why every one of them answered the Lady's call?
Sandrena took a sharp breath. If it was true that pain bound them to the Lady, did that mean that she, too, had suffered? Curious, she glanced over at the Lady.
Whose silver eyes had been fixed on her. Watching her.
Sandrena resisted the impulse to look away from that implacable gaze. No, she searched for something, anything, to help make sense of this hopeless quest. So she stared right back.
What she saw there staggered her. Desolation. Failure. A door, slamming shut. A light snuffed, leaving only night. Weakness. Frailty. A broken body, a broken heart.
She knows she's going to die.
Tears streamed down Sandrena's face. She raised a hand, to reach out to the Lady, to give her comfort. To give her hope. "Oh," she whispered as her voice quavered. "Oh, my Lady."
Abruptly, the Lady broke eye contact and stood. "Get some sleep if you can. I will stand watch for the rest of the..." She glanced up at the red sky. "Night." She turned and stepped into the grass.
Sandrena didn't sleep. She lay there, helpless once again, and trembled.
It was all she could do.
They found Dormaun a short while later, unharmed... at least physically. She was crouching, rocking back and forth, mumbling something. When Sandrena went to rouse her from her disturbed state, the Lady put a restraining hand on her arm. "Let her be for now. We're safe until true morning."
Sandrena nodded and began to shuffle back to the campsite. The others, save Dormaun, fell in behind her.
The red hue of the clouds seemed to deepen, making the world seem awash with fire. Was true morning even going to happen? Did the sun rise in this twisted world? Everything seemed so wrong. Sandrena wondered if life would ever go back to normal.
She eyed her bedroll with yearning. For once, she wanted to sleep without dreaming or remembering. But there was something that needed to be done first. "We need to bury Caella," she said. Sandrena was getting sick of burying people.
"No, Spear Mother," Semorie said quietly. "I failed to protect her. I will bury her."
Sandrena opened her mouth to protest, but saw something in Semorie's eyes. "I understand." Did she ever.
The Faceless woman nodded, stalked off.
Rayell, always so stolid, seemed shaken. "Lady," she said, then hesitated. "Will—Now that Ca— Now that we are one less, is there any hope that we will succeed?"
Sandrena groaned. In her grief, she had forgotten. In the dreams she had sent them, the Lady had told them that not one of them could die lest the mission fail.
The bleakness in the Lady's expression echoed what Sandrena knew in her heart was true. "I can't... say for certain. The slight chance we had depended on the seven of us being there, together, when we faced this god. There is power in that number, power I thought we might be able to use against him. I suspected some would die in our battle with him, but before..." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I wish I had better news."
"Thank you." Rayell seemed to rediscover her resolve. "I will fight on."
"Good," said the Lady. "Because we don't really have any choice. The only hope for the Fourth World is the six of us. If we don't at least try, then everyone and everything we know is going to die. Forever."
It was a chilling thought, that Sandrena and her bleached-white companions were all that stood between existence and annihilation. Though she had untapped some of the Spear's power, it seemed so meager in light of what they would face. She remembered seeing the god in her dream. The chain-creatures were horrible, and had already killed one of them. What chance did they have against a god?
Dormaun stepped into the open circle of the campsite, eyes puffy, arms drooping at her sides. That spark of luscious sensuality that always seemed to burn within her was quenched utterly. She sank to her bedroll and lie down, facing away from the rest of them.
All was silent. Then Dormaun spoke. "That thing, it... touched me. Touched my legs." She squeezed her legs together and almost managed to suppress a shudder. "I don't like things like that touching me." Her voice sounded so small. She didn't even seem like a woman anymore, just a scared, abused child.
—doing some real sick stuff to that little gimp before shoving her over the side—
Sandrena stifled a sob. Jonah's voice rang through her head like a bell. Slowly, its echoing dissipated, and so did the anguish such a memory of a memory always brought. Oh, Dormaun. What happened to you?
Was it the same for all of them? Had all of them been hurt somehow? Is that why every one of them answered the Lady's call?
Sandrena took a sharp breath. If it was true that pain bound them to the Lady, did that mean that she, too, had suffered? Curious, she glanced over at the Lady.
Whose silver eyes had been fixed on her. Watching her.
Sandrena resisted the impulse to look away from that implacable gaze. No, she searched for something, anything, to help make sense of this hopeless quest. So she stared right back.
What she saw there staggered her. Desolation. Failure. A door, slamming shut. A light snuffed, leaving only night. Weakness. Frailty. A broken body, a broken heart.
She knows she's going to die.
Tears streamed down Sandrena's face. She raised a hand, to reach out to the Lady, to give her comfort. To give her hope. "Oh," she whispered as her voice quavered. "Oh, my Lady."
Abruptly, the Lady broke eye contact and stood. "Get some sleep if you can. I will stand watch for the rest of the..." She glanced up at the red sky. "Night." She turned and stepped into the grass.
Sandrena didn't sleep. She lay there, helpless once again, and trembled.
It was all she could do.