The Destiny of the Dead (The Song of the Tears Book 3) (46 page)

‘I’ve enjoyed watching you do it.’

She was an oasis of calm and perfection in a world that,
lately, had mostly shown him its ugly side, and he wanted to see more of her.

They headed down a long underground passage. ‘This comes out
in a mean little alley which isn’t watched,’ said Persia. ‘But when we get
there, I’ll go out first, to make sure. When I walk past the exit, follow me,
but don’t say anything or meet my eyes.’

‘Why not?’

‘My dress tells everyone that I’m high caste, rich and
beautiful, while you’re a filthy silver miner, one of the lowest castes of all.
I would not acknowledge your existence, and you wouldn’t go near me in case I
ordered you flogged.’

‘Thanks,’ Nish muttered. ‘Do you often have people flogged?’

She laughed. ‘Not as often as some of them deserve.’

‘So, did you choose this disguise to trim me down to size?’

The smile faded. ‘Why would I do that?’ she said quietly.
‘You’re the son of the God-Emperor and a hero of the wars. High caste though I
may be, I could never aspire to move in
your
world.’

Her silky cheeks had taken on the faintest ruddy tinge, and
Nish felt mortified, and humbled. ‘I’m sorry, I really am. It’s just that … I
don’t see myself as the son of the God-Emperor. I never have.’

‘Really? What do you see yourself as, deep down?’

He would not have said it to anyone else, but Persia’s
manner invited confidences, and he knew she would not use his against him.

‘The boy who was always trying to please a harsh father and
an indifferent mother … yet, no matter how hard he tried, it was never good
enough.’

‘Ah, Nish, I’m sorry. If only we could see ourselves as we
really are, and not through the distorted prism of the expectations of others.’
She stopped, looked into his heavily made-up eyes, then moved on. ‘But you’re
still a hero among heroes. Still far more elevated than I.’

‘I suppose I am,’ Nish said absently. ‘A hero, I mean,’ he
added hastily in case she took offence. ‘Well, of course I am, and everyone
sees me differently because of it, but I don’t puff out my chest and recount my
mighty deeds before breakfast. I’ve only done what I had to do, but I had the
good fortune to survive when so many other people, many braver than me, did
not.’

‘Then we’re not so different after all.’ They were
approaching the alley. ‘Outside, I won’t acknowledge you in any way, but I’ll
always be close by and, in case of trouble, you must do exactly as I indicate.
If we’re separated, come back here, press this hollow and someone will come for
you.’ She indicated an oval depression in the rough stone wall.

Persia went out and shortly she walked past the exit. Nish
followed, using the bent-backed miner’s shuffle she had taught him, and keeping
his eyes lowered. Despite these handicaps, he felt his spirits lift the moment
he was outside, in the great city.

She led him through the alleys to an enormous square filled
with hundreds of market stalls, all with colourful signs, streaming pennants,
peddlers crying out their wares and thousands of people sampling them. Roros
was also famous for its food and he could smell a dozen different kinds of
cuisine, not to mention the hanging bundles of spices, the dried fish and
meats, the blossoms and perfumes and enchanting stacks of pastries.

This would be a good place for spies to meet, he thought.
Two wisp-watchers loomed over the square but they could only see part of it,
and it would be easy to exchange secrets privately among the teeming shoppers.

Nish had no interest in anything being sold here. All he
wanted from the outing was a respite from feeling like a prisoner, and to see
the great city of Roros and assess its people through his own eyes. He did not
get the chance to do either.

He was wandering between the stalls when a coruscating light
burst from the huge wisp-watcher mounted at the far end of the square, dazzling
him. He threw his arm over his eyes, but felt the burning rays of an equally
brilliant beam issuing from the wisp-watcher behind him.

It’s Father, he thought, and acid burned a track up his
throat. He’s got free; he’s back and this disguise hasn’t fooled him. He’s
pinned me like a beetle to a board.

Nish began to back away, but the beam remained on him and he
bumped into the front of a booth clustered with boots, bags and belts. He could
smell hot leather.

Where could he go? Nowhere; he could barely see while the
wisp-watchers had him, and they wouldn’t let go.

Then, incredibly, the broad beams from both wisp-watchers
slipped off him. He rubbed his eyes. The beams were moving upwards until they
faced each other. What was going on? They must be signalling to Gatherer, who
would alert the local seneschal.

Nish was about to slip under the booth when a ground-shaking
rumble issued from a pair of huge loop-listeners he had not noticed. Booths
toppled and objects smashed on the ground.

The two beams combined, brightened, and a tower-high figure
of light formed in the air between them, the same figure that had appeared so
shockingly in the little valley below the white-thorn peak and seized Nish’s
father. It was
Stilkeen
, or, rather,
the image of it.

The hair stirred on the top of Nish’s head; even the skin on
the soles of his feet was crawling. Persia cast him a wide-eyed glance but
Nish, remembering that he was a silver miner of Twissel and therefore low-caste
vermin, looked away.

Stilkeen had a broad head, flattened at the top; bony plates
flared out from the sides and swept back like a multi-winged helmet. The small
yellow eyes were covered in clear membranes that swept slowly across and back;
its nose was split at the bottom, revealing two clusters of nostrils, and its
gaping, thick-lipped mouth held hundreds of needle-shaped teeth. Its long
clawed fingers were webbed, as were its broad flat feet, while a frilled
membrane flared out from the backs of its long arms all the way across its
shoulders.

‘I am Stilkeen,’ the figure made of light rumbled. Wisps of
red flame dripped from its nostrils; it snapped at them. ‘I have roamed the
eleven dimensions of space and time for an eternity and a half. I cannot die,
and nothing you may do can harm a
being
such as me, but I can
ruin
you and
your world. Oh yes!’

 
THIRTY-ONE

A woman began screaming hysterically. Beside Nish, a
man collapsed in apoplexy. The leather seller had retreated under his counter
and Nish could hear his teeth chattering. From the corner of his eye Nish noted
Persia edging towards him.

Stilkeen went on. ‘Long ago a mortal, Yalkara, stole that
which was most precious to me, the
rancicolludire
or white-ice-fire – you call it chthonic fire – which for all of my
existence had bound my physical and spirit aspects together. Without fire and
spirit, I am diminished and in pain … and when I hurt, I
hunger
to make worlds pay.’

Nish felt his own silver-black teeth chatter. He clenched
his jaw.

‘Because of this crime,’ Stilkeen went on, ‘one of your
Three Worlds, the world of Aachan, has been destroyed by volcanic fire, and
Santhenar stands in peril. Corrupted chthonic fire has been spilled in the
south and now consumes the ice across that vast wasteland. Should the great ice
cap at the southern pole melt, Santhenar will drown. Only I can stop it, but
why should I?’

The figure of Stilkeen paused, and its eyes seemed to look
directly at Nish, then it went on.

‘Your God-Emperor failed me and has paid the price –’

People cried out, and Nish missed the next few words. What
did Stilkeen mean,
has paid the price
?
What had it done to his father?

‘– who brings Stilkeen the true, uncorrupted chthonic
fire will be rewarded beyond their dreams. Who keeps true fire from Stilkeen
will suffer such agonies as no human has ever felt, endlessly prolonged. Bring
the fire to Morrelune within
fifteen
days, or I will release the most savage creatures from the void into Santhenar,
all human life will be erased – and the waters will engulf the ruins of
your civilisation.’

Something struck Nish as odd about Stilkeen’s words but,
with another booth-shaking rumble, the beams went out. For a few seconds there
was a shocked silence, then chaos erupted. The woman began screaming
hysterically again; a man bellowed in fear; a thousand other throats joined
them and the crowd stampeded towards the exits from the square.

Persia appeared beside him, her eyes wide and staring.
Grabbing his arm, she hissed, ‘We’ve got to get back,
right now
.’

He pulled away, saying from the corner of his mouth, ‘I’m a
low-caste miner from Twissel and the wisp-watchers could be watching.’

‘Not after
that
!’
However, she let go and stepped away. ‘Now!’

He ran with the crowd until he felt sure that no one could
have followed him, but when he entered the alley and looked back, Persia was
close behind. They went up the secret passage in silence, Nish trying to think
through the implications of Stilkeen’s ultimatum.

No one could now be in any doubt that the God-Emperor was
missing, yet in Klarm’s continued absence with the tears, no legitimate deputy
had stepped forward to take his place. The empire was in desperate peril, and
with no one in charge, there was a real danger that when Santhenar most needed
unity it would be plunged into civil war.

‘We saw it too,’ said Flydd when they met in Yulla’s rooms
at the top of the mansion that evening.

‘The message issued from every wisp-watcher, loop-listener
and speck-speaker in Roros,’ said Yulla, ‘and probably in the whole empire.
That tells you how all-encompassing Stilkeen’s power is.’

‘Its power is great,’ said Flydd, ‘yet not nearly as great
in our material world as it would be on the ethereal planes, since, I’m told,
many of its powers cannot be used here. Stilkeen is severely constrained in
what it can do on Santhenar, and that’s our best hope. Surely that’s why it has
ordered us to search for the true fire – because it can’t do so itself.’

‘But did it speak the truth when it said we could not harm
it?’ said Persia.

‘That depends what you mean by harm. It would take a mighty
weapon, or a very particular one, to kill an immortal
being
or do it serious damage, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be
hurt. Since being severed from its spirit aspects, Stilkeen’s mere presence in
the physical world causes it pain and therefore, if we should encounter it, our
best defence would be to cause it so much pain that it has to retreat.’

‘A
being
might be
able to endure a lot of pain,’ said Nish absently.

‘Or it might be so used to having whatever it desired that
any pain would be unbearable.’

‘It’s a risky plan,’ said Yulla, ‘but I don’t see any
alternative. I’ll consult the librarians; let’s find out what will cause a
being
greater pain. However, that can’t
save us. We’ve got to have a weapon that can threaten a being’s very
existence.’

‘Little has been written about
beings
,’ Flydd said mildly. ‘They’ve seldom been encountered in the
Three Worlds or the void and, when they have been, it has commonly proven fatal
to the observer.’

‘Nonetheless, if humanity is to survive, we need that
weapon.’

‘What about the tears?’ said Persia.

‘I don’t think the answer lies in sheer power,’ said Flydd.
‘Nish, are you listening?’

‘Sorry,’ said Nish. ‘I’ve just worked it out.’

Yulla raised a grey eyebrow.

‘I’ve been thinking through what was so odd about the
proclamation. When we first met Stilkeen and it took Father hostage, it
demanded chthonic fire in return. But this time it demanded the
true, uncorrupted
chthonic fire. Has the
ordinary chthonic fire been corrupted?’

‘That is the nature of such things,’ said Flydd. ‘Once taken
from their natural place, and especially when carried via portals between
worlds, as the fire Yalkara stole was, uncanny objects or forces often become
corrupt.’

‘Then this changes everything,’ said Nish. ‘There’s no point
heading for Morrelune now. We don’t have any pure, uncorrupted fire.’

‘It changes nothing,’ said Yulla coldly. ‘Morrelune is still
the heart of the empire, and that’s where Stilkeen is. And you heard what it
said about Jal-Nish.
Your God-Emperor
failed me and has paid the price
.’

Nish froze. ‘Was Stilkeen saying that Father is dead?’

‘That’s how I would interpret it,’ said Flydd.

‘As would I,’ said Yulla. ‘And every rogue in the empire
will soon be on the way to Morrelune to try to seize it.’

Nish couldn’t take it in. His all-powerful father
dead
?

‘Nish, you’ve got to get to Morrelune first,’ said Flydd.
‘We must have a steady hand at the centre, and a leader who
isn’t
there for what he can get. One
that the common folk can believe in, and the wealthy and influential rely on.
One who has a legitimate claim to the throne –’

‘I will not become my father,’ Nish said coldly, for he knew
how corrupting absolute power could be, and in the past he had often longed for
it. It was so very tempting and he could not afford to give in to that
temptation. ‘I’ve made that clear many times.’

‘What if some upstart steps forward,’ said Yulla, ‘saying
he’s the bastard son of Jal-Nish and claiming the throne by right? If there is
no true heir, many will see his claim as legitimate, and the only way to stop
him is for you, your father’s acknowledged heir, to claim the throne.’

She was right, of course, and Nish was starting to feel
trapped. At every turn, circumstances were forcing him to take a course he’d
sworn to avoid.