THE BURIED GOD
Chapter 9: The Old Man
The old man’s name was Rook.
He had been a soldier once. In the wars before the silence. In the wars before the god. In the wars before the hunger.
He had seen the mountain rise. He had seen the god bury. He had seen the priests feed.
And he had run.
Like Lyssa.
Like Vespera.
Like Damon.
“I know why you’re here,” Rook said. “I know what you’re planning. I know what you’re hoping.”
“Then you know we need your help,” Lyssa said.
Rook looked at Vespera.
His gray eyes were wet.
“I knew your mother. She was a priestess too. Before the burial. Before the sacrifice. Before the death.”
“I never knew my mother.”
“She died giving birth to you. In this house. In this room. In this bed.”
Vespera’s silver eyes widened.
“This house?”
“This room.”
“This bed?”
Rook nodded.
“I was there. I held her hand. I watched her die. I watched you live.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Rook was silent for a long moment.
“Because I was afraid. Because you were the key. Because the priests were hunting you.”
“They’re still hunting me.”
“They will always hunt you. You are the only one who can wake the god. The only one who can bury him. The only one who can end this.”
Damon stepped forward.
“How do we end it?”
Rook looked at him.
“You find the heart. You touch the heart. You speak the words.”
“What words?”
Rook was silent for a long moment.
“The words that were spoken at the beginning. The words that opened the door. The words that will close it.”
“I don’t know them.”
Rook smiled.
It was a sad smile, small and tired and full of years.
“Neither did your mother. Neither did Vespera. Neither did any of the priestesses.”
“Then how did they bury the god?”
Rook looked at Vespera.
“They didn’t. The god buried himself. He was tired. He was hungry. He was afraid. He went to sleep.”
“And now?”
Rook looked at the mountain.
At the silver light.
At the hunger.
“Now he’s waking.”