The Darkness Comes (The Second Book of the Small Gods Series) by Bruce Blake

edges as they’d been these last three sunrises. The emptiness and order of it made Kuneprius shake his head. He took a cloth from the stand, dunked it in the water. After wringing it out, he washed his body, anxious to get to the seed garden and commence his day, though it promised nothing more than waiting.
    Alone with his thoughts.
    Kuneprius donned his robe and went to the door, pausing to consider the empty room once more before he stepped across the threshold.
    Sunrise hues of pink and orange smeared across the distant horizon and bled away into a still-dark sky where the Small Gods continued to reign. Kuneprius closed his eyes and bowed his head, saying a silent thanks to the gods for whom he lived—for giving him this day, this life. He didn’t thank them for taking away his friend.
    With his morning thanks complete, Kuneprius made his way across the courtyard toward the seed garden, thankful to find it unoccupied. Many of the other Brothers did their seeding in groups, but Kuneprius preferred to offer his tribute alone.
    Pebbles pressed into the soles of his bare feet, but they didn’t bother him. Unlike the priests and most of the Brothers, Kuneprius rarely wore sandals, for his job didn’t require foot protection. With the passage of seasons, he’d developed thick calluses on his heels, toes, and the pads of his feet. In fact, he rarely wore more than the simple robe.
    A robin perched on a low branch in the tree beside the seed garden, the bird’s breast the same color as the arbutus tree’s trunk beneath its peeling bark. Kuneprius stood at the edge of the garden, watching the bird singing its morningsong, letting its melodic strains calm him. Upon noticing him, its twittering ceased and it hopped to a higher limb.
    “You’re right. I best get to it before someone else comes.”
    Kuneprius settled his feet and inserted his hand between the folds of his robe, taking his manhood in his fingers. He began manipulating it, closing his eyes and counting each short stroke. In his mind, he pictured the Small Gods—their struggle, their sacrifice—as he’d been taught from the time he became old enough to produce seed.
    Nothing happened.
    He opened one eye and peeked back over his shoulder at the courtyard. It remained deserted. At least he had time.
    His eye closed again, Kuneprius increased the pace of his strokes and shortened his breathing. He abandoned counting to concentrate on his tribute, his stomach knotting at having done so. The images he’d been trained to hold in his mind faded and reshaped themselves until he saw the young girl’s face.
    Her eyes gazed back at him, but they didn’t shine with hatred as in his most recent dream. They were soft and caring, filled with emotion he’d been taught since childhood that women didn’t possess.
    In his hand, his manhood trembled and grew.
    Kuneprius thought of her lying on the ground, staring up at him, but he didn’t see blood and death around her. Instead, he pictured a field of grass and flowers and her curves hidden beneath the plain gray smock. He imagined what the coarse, gray fabric might hide.
    His staff hardened and Kuneprius stopped stroking, opened his eyes.
    He couldn’t seed the garden of the Small Gods with such blaspheme in his mind; to do so would be sacrilege—an act he’d perpetrated too often. Now that his friend’s fate rested in the hands of the gods, he’d take no chance he might offend them.
    The robin sang overhead. Kuneprius scanned the courtyard once more and, finding it still empty, snorted hard through his nose, drawing its contents into the back of his throat. He spat the wad of mucus into the garden where it spattered against the side of a rock, the viscous fluid sliding toward the dirt. Not exactly the right color, but it would pass a cursory inspection.
    Kuneprius let his robe fall closed and tilted his head back to view the bird again, slowing his breathing while in wait for his erection to deflate. The robin