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Saul woke up often in the middle of the night.
Even if he was wrapped in the arms of his partners. Even if exhaustion weighed down every muscle in his body.
Every single time he would get up and pad to his window, nails digging into the sill. There was usually nothing to see but pitch blackness outside, aside from the moon occasionally. The urge to open the window and bask in the darkness was always so very, very tempting…to smell the air, the fresh, damp soil, the cool dirt beneath his feet-
But he would turn around. He would rub the itch from his eyes, tuck back into bed, and wait for the dawn to drive its golden stakes into his brain. For years it had been this way.
He couldn't recall the last time that he had slept a full night. It could easily be chalked up to stress, of course. Saul could remember the face and name of every curious explorer who went missing under Mildread; each waving off his warnings with little care.
Their God had never left anything behind. No traces to be found, no scraps to send home. The town had never blamed him for it, no. They had listened, the small community…and while the days of joy and jubilee had long since passed, there was an understanding that his warnings were out of a place of experience.
At 7 years old, he could just barely remember wandering from his Uncle’s side, bare feet kicking pebbles along the path.
The tunnels hadn't seemed so scary back then. Offerings left on an altar next to a Pit deeper than he was tall would disappear within the hour. The crops would flourish. The townsfolk would sing and dance, knowing the ground below was kept solid by the God crawling beneath their feet.
He came to reason, then, that Their God was a kind God, surely. Surely she would not mind a visit. Surely she was real, and would not mind revealing herself to one of her people.
He had gotten lost far quicker than he had anticipated. Turning around wasn't an option when the ceiling forced him into a crawl.
Roots clawed at his hair. Tremors in the earth sprayed dirt into his eyes.
Eventually, closing them made more sense than keeping them open. His throat burned with thirst, his body trembled with exhaustion. All he knew was moving forwards, nails caked with mud and grit.
He couldn't recall exactly how he had escaped.
A voice, motherly, comforting him. Thin hands caressing his filthy cheeks, plucking open his unseeing eyes before brushing them closed again.
He had been held close to a body, long hair tickling his nose. The claustrophobic space opened up, lighter and lighter behind his eyelids.
A gentle kiss pressed on his brow. A firm scolding. The warmth of the sun washing over him as he had been set down outside the Pit, his ear to the soil… listening as something slithered deeper and deeper into the earth.
Why she had spared him, he couldn't say. Maybe he hadn't been appetizing enough. Maybe he had shown her some nebulous merit that had earned her favor.
His eyes had never worked properly since then. Bloodshot, itchy and sensitive. Goody always made sure to have saline drops on hand for both him and Bayker as they grew older.
Bayker's new role as her priest had made things better in recent times. Easier. Fear was no longer a cloying scent in the air in Mildread.
Somehow though, he still felt restless. Relieved of his duty, there was nothing for him to really worry about.
Their God was no blood drinker. She had said so herself, exonerated by Bayker's efforts to summon her.
…and yet…Saul was beginning to think something was wrong.
He avoided her as much as he could. It was difficult now that she was so eagerly participating in the lives of her people, but he managed…staying indoors most of the day with the curtains drawn. Being close to her made his vision ache and his skin itch, but nobody else seemed to share in his problems.
Gods could drive people to madness. Huzzle Mug, Bauhauzzo…he'd heard it first-hand from Bayker's recollection. He was sure that something similar was happening, but why to him only he could barely fathom.
Long sleeves covered up lines of scratch marks over his pale skin. Headaches pounded against his temple if he stood outside for more than 10 minutes. Goody and Bayker took turns staying with him, airing out the house and massaging the muscles in his shoulders as his sleep schedule rolled over into the day.
“ Are you sure you don't want us t’ bring Cobigail to you? Maybe she could help make you feel better.” Goody asked him one morning, ladling soup into a bowl.
“ It's getting better.” His lips were dry, parched in the morning rays. The warm broth was a relief sliding its way down his throat.
“ It's working. I'm just a little under the weather ‘s all. No need to worry about lil’ ol’ me.”
“ Of courth we do,” Bayker had insisted. “ We all love you and care about you. Everybody’th worried about you, Thaul.”
They didn't need to be. Saul was fine. The townsfolk knew he had rough patches. It was just the way things had been since he was a kid.
Years of warnings, years of fear, all over.
Warnings were no longer needed. Saul was no longer needed.
It wasn't a bad thing, was it? Saul had been relieved, hadn't he?
He didn't need to stress anymore, didn't need to stay up with the sun and keep the window closed at night anymore, did he?
Years of tension, taut and tight were snapping inside him. Something was giving way, something terrible. A shoe waiting to drop that he couldn't see, couldn't prepare for.
The light in the sky was too bright. The space beneath the soil called to him.
It came to a head after a few weeks. He hadn't returned to bed after waking up in the middle of the night, instead staring out his window into the field behind his house.
He was practically dead on his feet. Tired, so very very tired. Parched and hungry and blind in the world above. Ol’ Bloom came to visit at Bayker's insistence, carefully turning over his wrists and pulling up his sleeves.
“ …We need t’ bring her here…let her see ‘im. We've run out of options.”
“ He isn't dying, is he?”
“ I…don't know. I wish I knew. I wish I had someone t’ ask…but all we have is her, and she might not know either. This hasn't happened before.”
“ I’ll go find her. She’th been waiting to thee him until he thaid he wath ready.”
“ But…he didn't tell us-”
“ He can't, not in thith thtate. Any more waiting might be the end of it, and I'm not gonna let that happen.”
Footsteps exited the room. It wasn't long before the sound of many, many legs drew across the floor, closer and closer to his bed.
Long hair brushed against his face.
“ Mm, is he always this pale?”
Her voice was rough, like the call of the cicadas in summer.
“ Not this bad, no. Can you tell what's wrong with him?”
Claws gently pulled at his eyelids. They refused to open. He whined, trying to turn away.
“...I…I have to talk to my Mama. I think…I think this is my fault.”
Voices raised against his ears. He tried to burrow into the blankets in an attempt to block it out. A quilt was tenderly drawn over his head, blissfully muffling the noise.
“ -mean your fau-”
“ -idn't know. I must have ble-”
“-ou undo it?”
“ -Mama’ll know. I'll make this right. I swear on it.”
Things were quieter for a long while afterwards. There was a constant, comforting pressure on the end of the bed at all times, never leaving him alone for an instant. Saul could hear quiet sniffling from Bayker, while Goody gently stroked the top of the blankets over his legs. Hours passed like minutes this way, the closest he could liken to true rest.
Crickets were beginning to chirp outside by the time their God returned.
“ Lady Cobigail?”
“ I'm…I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean to do this to him. I just thought I was healing him back then, I…I didn't want him to suffer like those others did-”
“ …Tho it can't be undone? He’th going to die?”
“....No. he won't, I just…I have to take him with me. He has to stay with me so I can keep him stable. Mama…she said that it'll be fine…but he's gonna be different, and, Gods, I'm so sorry, I swear, I didn't mean-”
“ We know you didn't, Miss Cobigail. You were tryin’ t’ help him. Still are, even. He's one of yours.”
The God hiccupped somewhere at his side.
“ …Thank you, Bloom. So much younger than me and yet plenty more wise…”
The blankets were pulled back. Fresh air hit his sweat-drenched skin. No light broke through from behind his eyelids.
“... He'll be in a burrow closer to the surface. Not too far away, I promise.”
Arms wrapped around him, and suddenly he could recall Her embrace like no time had passed at all. The soil sang to him, roots woven through his hair and heart, tying him directly to Her.
They retreated through the door, out into the yard. The Pit was not too far from his house, stationed in the center of the town. Bayker's boots thudded against the ground behind them while Goody's slippers slid against the leaves and grass, Ol’ Bloom’s cane creating a beat not unlike a pulse.
“ …Can we…say goodbye at least?”
Chitin brushed against the edges of the Pit. He was so close now.
“ …I'm sure he'd like that, sweetpea.”
Soft lips pecked his nose, wet eyelashes wisping against his cheekbone. A calloused hand rubbed a circle into his temple before reaching over to smooth his hair from his face.
“...it won't be for forever, Thaul. If you can hear uth…we love you tho, tho much.”
Bayker's touch lingered for a moment longer before pulling away. Saul turned his face to chase it.
Slowly the sounds of the outside world dimmed and muffled. Falling dirt and pebbles bounced around in his mind's eye, sinking further and further into the earth’s veins. His God's grip on him tightened as the tunnels grew more narrow, squeezing him flush to her torso as she maneuvered further and further down.
“ Breathe with me, Saul. Just a little longer.”
His breath stuttered. It hadn't even occurred to him that he'd stopped. The tunnels didn't feel as oppressive as he'd remembered; the walls instead cradling him in their strength and solidity.
They were moving in a different direction now. Cobigail’s chest vibrated with a gentle hum, reverberating through his skull. The tiredness from before was slowly sinking its claws into his awareness, shredding his thoughts like tissue paper.
The space opened up abruptly, the flow of air coiling around in a circular dead end. Her grip on him relaxed a smidge, a sigh ghosting over the top of his head.
“ Here we are, honeybee…nice and quiet.”
The dirt was soft, it's rich, earthy smell like a child's blanket as she laid him down. The length of her body coiled around him, heavy and firm. Saul found himself curling up into a ball, nuzzling gently into her side.
“ There… just relax. No need t’ worry. Let the community take care of you for once.”
Her claws gently scratched at his scalp. Muscles loosened, untensing with each pass of her fingers.
He had been right, all that time ago. Cobigail was a kind God. With her around, he had nothing to fear.
He let go. The taut lines holding him together went slack.
Instead, he let the roots over his head bind him, the layers of earth pressing all of his worry from his head.
He held a part of Her, now.
And in turn, he belonged to the soil, no longer borne to the world above.