Fallen (23 page)

NOMI SAW SHADOS
moving into the camp, and she knew that they were Ramin and Rhiana, yet still the fear had settled in her and refused to let go.

“Well?” Beko asked. He had remained close to Nomi from the moment the first strange cry rose up in the night.

“We found a small fire, nothing else,” Ramin said. “Whatever was making those sounds spread out and disappeared into the landscape. First it came from one place, and then many.”

“I've never heard anything like that before,” Rhiana said.

Beko stood quietly for a beat, listening to the darkness with a frown on his face.

“Some Steppe marauders use animal calls to communicate,” Rhiana said. “Birds, frogs, lizards.”

“Didn't sound like animals to me,” Ramin said. “Sounded like someone having their nuts squeezed.”

“Charming.” Rhiana came closer to the fire, squatting to warm her hands.

“If it was marauders, we'd have seen some sign,” Ramin said. “I've dealt with them before. I know what to look for.”

“Different clans have different methods,” Beko said.

Ramin shrugged. “I'm telling you, there was no one out there. Maybe it was something that fell with the rain.”

Beko turned to Nomi and included her in the conversation for the first time. “Nomi?”

She looked around at the three Serians. Konrad and Noon were still out there somewhere, hidden away to watch and listen for anyone or anything approaching. They had all acted with confidence and professionalism, but although she felt safe, still there was a sliver of fear. She saw Ramus's face and remembered the sickness that had once afflicted her. “You're the experts,” she said. “I'll do what you say is best.”

“I just don't like this so soon after what happened last night,” Beko said. “The voyage is young, but already it's feeling ruined.”

“It's not ruined!” Nomi said.

“But he took those pages—”

“I know where we're going, Beko, as do you. The pages were something else, and I can remember them.”

“All of them?”

“Enough.”
Even though I cannot read,
Nomi thought.
I can remember the pictures . . . some of them . . . but that's like remembering the color of a map, but not the contours or scales. I know where we're heading, but now it feels as though we're traveling blind.

Beko nodded. “Right. We stay here for the night, because we all need rest. We won't be flustered by phantoms or wraiths. Konrad's out there to the south, and Noon will remain with the horses. Rhiana is close to the camp but in the shadows. The rest of us will sleep, watch rotation every two hours.”

“You don't sound flustered,” Nomi said lightly.

Beko glared at her, then smiled. “Just being cautious.”

SHE LAY IN
her tent, listening to the night noises and wondering where Ramus was now. He was probably miles ahead already, using his rage to drive him and Lulah on, and when daylight came he would be examining those pages from Ten, searching for any advantage he could gain over her.

She tried to recall what the parchments contained. Closed her eyes, absorbed the safety of Beko and the others outside, settled her mind and cast it back to Long Marrakash. She could picture the pages in her mind, but when she tried to organize the various images, they became clouded and hazed. She concentrated some more, remembering her first meeting with Ten. The image of the Sleeping God was clear, and given a quill and paper she could reproduce it herself. But she had nothing like that with her. On this voyage, she had agreed to leave the mapping to Ramus. He had that journal of his, and he would be filling its pages with each new discovery. And each page filled would lead him one more step ahead.

Nomi slipped from the tent and stood close to the fire. Much of the wood had burned down now, and Rhiana was feeding it just enough to keep it alive. There were whole worlds in there—ash caverns, burning wooden ravines, forms in smoke and fire—and Nomi blew on the flames to see whether they gave her any shapes she could remember.

She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and pulled her saddle close to the fire. The Serians came and went about her, changing watch and moving off into the darkness. Nothing else disturbed them that night.

Dawn came gradually, lighting the bushes and trees around them, then showing individual blades of grass. She was exhausted.

“We need paper or parchment,” she said when Beko came to her. “I need to remember what was on those pages.”

“Very well. But you do know we're close to the border with the Pavissia Steppes?”

“Yes,” she said. “And so, out into the wilds.”

“I'd say we're in the wilds already.”

AS RHIANA PEELED
some ground-fruits, Noon rushed into the camp. “There's something wrong with the horses!”

Nomi followed the others past the tents and into the trees, and with every step the sense of dread weighed heavier. Ramus was in her mind—in truth, he had not left her since the night before—and she could picture his cool smile.

“I thought you were here watching them,” Beko said.

“And so I have been!” Noon said, anger and confusion in his voice. “By that tree over there, watching, listening. But now the sun's up, I can see that I was fooled. I think we've all been fooled.”

Nomi could see nothing wrong. Eight horses stood there, loosely tethered to the trees, neighing softly in the cool morning mist. Some chewed grass and soft heathers; others still seemed to be asleep. It was these that Noon went to first.

“Touch them,” he said.

Beko and Rhiana went forward and touched the motionless horses. Stroked their hair, put their hands beneath the creatures' mouths, then passed them before the horses' open eyes. Their open, glazed, lifeless eyes.

Rhiana slapped her horse hard on the side. It swayed, and then its two far legs crumpled and it tilted heavily to the ground.

Nomi cried out and stepped back, stamping on Ramin's foot as she did so. The big Serian held her arms and kept her steady, but she could hear his own panicked gasp.

The other horses pulled back tight against their reins, one of them rising on its hind legs and breaking free of its tether. It turned and galloped between the trees, slipping on wet leaves and stumbling to a stop a hundred steps away.

“The other two as well?” Beko asked.

Noon nodded. “Dead. Cold. Stiff. They must have been dead for some time.”

“Poisoned,” Nomi said.

Beko turned. “How can you tell?”

“It's a guess. Ramus knows a lot about poisons from his travels. The Widow in the peaks taught him.”

Noon knelt before the dead horses still standing and scanned the ground, shifting grass with his hand. “I can't see anything,” he said.

Nomi closed her eyes and fear pressed in.
This is all my doing,
she thought.
I should have said nothing to Ramus. I should have taken his anger and turned it back on him, not made it worse.

“We ride on,” Beko said. “Perhaps we can buy new horses at the border.”

“Perhaps,” Nomi said.

“Six people, all our equipment, five horses,” Ramin said. “Numbers not being my good point, I'd say we're pissed on already.”

“Nomi will ride with me,” Beko said. “Konrad and Ramin, you share a mount. The spare will be our packhorse.”

“One horse can't carry everything we have,” Noon said. “We'll kill it just as well as poison.”

“Then we lose what we don't need. Share tents. Compromise.”

Nomi nodded and looked around at the group. Fear was suddenly replaced with determination.
Only until the sun goes down again,
she thought, but she grabbed on to the positive and tried to drive the negative away. “We should ride through the day,” she said. “Try to buy horses at the border. I have money, and Ramus has nothing, so he's only inconvenienced us for now.”

“He could have ridden on ahead,” Rhiana said. “Could have gained thirty miles on us last night. But he chose to stay back and do this.”

“And Lulah with him,” Beko said.

The Serians fell silent, and Nomi wondered whether they saw this as betrayal by their friend. Or perhaps it was all just work, and they were admiring a job well done.

THEY BROKE CAMP
and mounted up, leaving the spare saddles behind and loading the empty horse with a pack saddle. The creature did not seem happy with this imposition—it was obviously bred to be ridden, not loaded—but Noon whispered soothingly into its ear, and soon they were ready to leave.

Nomi sat behind Beko, and even before they left the campsite she felt the saddle cutting into her lower back. This would be an uncomfortable day.

“We've left it a mess,” she said. The Serians were usually very particular about how they left a campsite, burying waste, scattering the fire's ashes and giving the impression that no one had ever stayed there. This time things were different.

“We can stay and spend another hour clearing up if you like,” Beko said over his shoulder.

They wended their way between trees and emerged eventually onto the plains. Leaving the hills and woods behind felt good to Nomi, but the landscape before them had just as many places to hide. Clumps of trees grew here and there, the land rolled and dipped subtly toward the near horizon; there were signs of halfhearted attempts to work the land: hedge lines, tumbled walls. They urged the horses into a trot.

She and Beko said very little. After their intimacy, the air between them had felt loaded and tense, a potential that kept Nomi warm, nervous and expectant. But since finding the dead horses, breaking camp and heading for the border, the tension had evaporated. He had hardly looked at her, and the warmth in her belly had faded to a cool distance. So she sat behind him and smelled his familiar smell, and any thoughts she had of reaching out and holding herself against his back were soon dispelled.

“Are you worried?” she asked at last. The morning was drawing on and the sun was high. They would be at the border with the Pavissia Steppes soon, and the next stage of their troubled voyage would begin.

“Concerned that things will fall apart.” He sighed and stretched his arms above his head, the horse trotting on of its own accord. Nomi heard Beko's joints click and saw muscles tensing beneath his shirt.
Are my scratches still on his back? I fear they'll fade, never to be replaced.

“Ramus . . .” But she was not entirely sure what she wanted to say.

“We had a strong group, Nomi,” Beko said. “Two Voyagers with high hopes, myself and five Serians I trust with my life. Enough horses and equipment. But now we're fractured. And we've hardly even begun.”

“What do you think of what Ramus said?” The question had been burning, because none of the Serians had commented on the argument and what had been revealed.

Beko shook his head but did not turn around. “That's none of my business, and I've no right to judge.”

“Thank you,” she said, though she was not certain he had spoken through kindness.

They rode in silence once again. She looked back at Noon, Ramin and Konrad bringing up the rear, and ahead at Rhiana, where she scouted their route half a mile away. She could just see the tall Serian, looking around confidently, as her horse climbed a slight incline. Nomi wished she could feel as much confidence . . . but she also wondered at the simplicity that Ramus claimed she dwelled within.
Nothing in my life is simple,
she thought bitterly. Ramus was so wrong there.

“And us?” she whispered, surprising the silence.

Beko turned around and looked at her, and she could read nothing in his eyes. That frightened her. She remembered his face above hers, eyes half-closed, hair damp with sweat and hanging beside his face. There had been desire there, and a fulfillment of an aged lust.

“That caused problems,” he said. “Right now, and for the duration of the voyage, I'm your Serian captain.” He turned away and took up the reins, urging the horse to catch up with Rhiana.

AS THE DAY
wore on, Nomi's anger grew. It was like a flower blooming in the sun: stunted with shock that morning, stretching high at midday and spreading into an encompassing bloom come late afternoon. The heat of the day, the wear of the saddle, Beko's cool silence, the dust and flies and sunburn, all conspired to make her irritable and annoyed—bad companions for anger. When they finally stopped within sight of a border post, Beko slid from the horse and held out his hand to help her down.

“I can get down on my own,” she said. “Keep your hands to yourself, warrior.” She had not meant to sound petulant, but Beko's surprised reaction meant little to her right then.

Ramus stole from me.
This was the thought that had implanted itself in her mind, seared there by the sun.
He stole from me. First Timal, and now those parchment pages that Ten brought to me, and which I paid for. He rode away with them, self-righteous and superior, and it was not only
me
who wronged
him.