The Fate of the Fallen (The Song of the Tears Book 1) (11 page)

Her fist disappeared, then fire ran along her nerve endings
all the way up her arm, around the back of her head and into her skull, and
Maelys experienced the strangest feeling of
connection
,
as if she were an extension of the great beast she was mounted on. She felt
many things: its core-deep pain for its dead rider; a dull ache from the
splinted rotor blade; a sharp pain and a sense of loss from the stub of the
severed speck-speaker; a dull emptiness in its gut, and other emotions too dark
and alien for her to comprehend.

She heard shouts now, and about twenty soldiers appeared out
of the fog a few hundred paces away, plodding in their heavy armour up the
slope.

‘Go, Flappeter!’ she cried, whipping her hand out.

Are you taking on
Hinneltyne’s contract, little one?
said a deep, shivery voice inside her
head. She looked up to see its eyes fixed on her. The moonlight reflected off
them in geometric patterns.

Maelys didn’t know what to say. Presumably
contract
meant the bond between
flappeter and rider. No time to think; she had to take the risk. ‘Yes, yes! I’m
taking on the contract.’ She felt its relief; its pain and loss seemed to ease.

Are you strong enough?
You seem young and callow to me.

‘I killed your rider.’ Why had she said that? ‘I cut you
free of Vomix. I fixed your rotor blade. I’m strong.’

You’d better be, for
if you falter I’ll devour you and take the amulet for myself. You do know that,
don’t you?

‘But you owe me –’

Never make the mistake
of thinking I’m human. I was made without any human frailties. I owe you
nothing.

‘Then why are you talking instead of eating me?’

It didn’t answer. It must need her for the moment, though
she was worried about the consequences of cutting off the speck-speaker. Had
that weakened it? Or by ridding it of the bond to Vomix, and perhaps Jal-Nish,
had she offered it the chance of freedom?

‘What’s your name, flappeter?’

My name is Rurr-shyve,
amulet-bearer.

‘Go, Rurr-shyve,’ she said desperately. ‘Take us to
Hulipont, please.’

Hool … eee … ponttt …

It didn’t move and her panic was rising again. Threats were
no way to get the best out of a creature, though Rurr-shyve was a monster created
by the God-Emperor to oppress people, and perhaps threats and brute force were
the only things it understood.

An arrow whistled overhead. The soldiers were just within
range; soon their marksmen would be able to pick her off. Maelys thrust her
fist through the circle of the wisp-controller, feeling the heat grow along her
arm and the inside of her skull warming up. ‘Go to Hulipont, Rurr-shyve!’ she
said in the most commanding voice she could manage.

She raised her hand and felt the thin legs flex. They folded
down until she could have stepped onto the ground, then snapped upright,
catapulting the flappeter three or four spans into the air with such force that
the blood drained away from her skull. Her belly churned, she tried desperately
to avoid throwing up, then the lower feather-rotor began to spin, the upper one
too, scooping the air down in huge blasts. It was like standing in a gale. The
flappeter shot higher but it didn’t turn north, in the direction of distant
Hulipont. It began to head east, directly towards the God-Emperor’s palace, and
though Maelys wriggled her hand this way and that in the wisp-controller until
every nerve in her body was singing, she could not divert it from its path.

 
SEVEN

Maelys had tried reasoning, and failed; she had even
pleaded with Rurr-shyve, but it had cut itself off from her. How Jal-Nish must
be sneering at her frantic efforts to escape. What pleasure he must have taken
from the foolish hopes she’d raised after overcoming each new obstacle. Perhaps
he’d allowed her to do so, knowing that her final, irrevocable failure would be
all the more crushing.

There was one last way to frustrate him. It wasn’t in her to
harm Nish, and Maelys was now resigned to Rurr-shyve taking him back to his
father, but she might still save her family if she had the courage for it. If
she threw herself off the flappeter from a great height her body would be
unrecognisable.

Suicide was such a terrible wrong that Maelys could barely
contemplate it. Not in the worst of times had she fallen prey to despair, and
she wouldn’t choose death to avoid the God-Emperor’s torturers; it wasn’t in
her nature. But if there were no other way to save her family, did duty require
her to take her life? It was a question her simple moral outlook wasn’t
equipped to answer, though if Jal-Nish took her alive he’d soon torture the
names of her family out of her.

Maelys couldn’t see any alternative but to die. After all,
she would defend her little sister with her life, and that would be accounted a
noble sacrifice. Was defending Fyllis by taking her own life so very different?
She felt that it was. The one was showing courage in the face of desperate
odds, the other, taking the easy way out. Yet if her survival meant Fyllis
being tortured, surely Maelys had to make the sacrifice …

She didn’t want to die. She’d do anything to escape such a
fate. The flappeter was so high now that in the distance she could see the
pinpoints of the lights of Morrelune. The flight wouldn’t take long and there
was no point putting off her end, in case Jal-Nish took steps to prevent it.
She had to do it now …

But first she must make sure Nish was all right and say
goodbye, even if he couldn’t hear her. She couldn’t go without doing that.
Slipping her feet out of the stirrups, Maelys climbed backwards over the saddle
horn, hanging onto the straps as Rurr-shyve bounced on the air currents. The
moon was high now, shining on Nish’s face. He looked younger, more at peace,
and cleaner too. Immersion in the pond had soaked the worst of the filth off
him.

His cheek was cold but his throat was warm, and so were his
feet inside the fur-lined boots. He would survive, a small miracle in itself.
If only he wasn’t going back to his father. Well, she’d done her best and it
hadn’t been enough, but that was how things were fated to be.

Maelys turned away bleakly, turned back and, on a whim, bent
and kissed Nish on the lips. It was the most shocking liberty, one that made
her cheeks grow hot, but even a condemned prisoner was allowed one last request.

As she sat back, Nish’s eyes opened, he looked up at her
sleepily and smiled. ‘Maelys,’ he said, and the name was like poetry on his
lips. ‘You saved my life.’ He sat up, looking around in wonder, and his voice
grew stronger. ‘You stole a flappeter from its rider, and you’re
flying it
?’

‘He – he came at me with a knife. It was sheer luck
that I – I killed him.’ She couldn’t bear to think about it.

‘But only a trained,
talented
rider can compel a flappeter. Are you a mancer, hidden from my father all this
time?’

‘I’m just an ordinary gir– boy.’ She hoped he hadn’t
noticed her slip, though it didn’t matter now. ‘I – I’m sorry, Nish. I
did everything I could but I’ve failed. I – goodbye.’ She turned to climb
over the saddle horn but he caught her arm.

‘What are you doing?’

She pointed dumbly towards the lights. ‘I can’t control the
flappeter and it’s taking us back to Morrelune. If I’m identified, you know
what the God-Emperor will do to Fyllis. I’ve – I’ve got to jump …’

He didn’t let go. ‘No you don’t.’

‘But it’s my duty.’

‘I understand all about duty, Maelys,
and the way people use it against you
. We’re not finished yet.
It’ll take half an hour to get to Morrelune in this headwind. How did you take
command of the beast?’

A wave of relief washed over her. Nish had been a leader of
men; he’d know what to do. She hastily explained how she’d splinted the
feather-rotor blade and compelled the flappeter into the air. ‘I was going to
cut off its wisp-controller too, in case your father could use it to take
control from afar. Perhaps I should have.’

‘If you did that it might not be able to fly.’ He thought
for a moment, then said in a low voice, ‘My guards often talked about
flappeters. Of all Father’s created creatures, they’re the wildest and most
wilful beasts; they don’t even serve
him
willingly. He should never have given them intelligence. They resent the
bridle; sometimes they refuse to obey and he’s had to threaten them.’

‘How?’ asked Maelys listlessly, watching the lights of
Morrelune come ever closer as the flappeter descended, and feeling a pain in
the pit of her stomach.

‘I don’t remember,’ said Nish, oblivious to her torment. She
was glad about that. It had nothing to do with him and she didn’t want him
trying to talk her out of what she must do. Maelys began to ease her boots from
the stirrups, took a deep breath and tried to go calmly and with dignity. Old
people, children and even babies were robbed of life every day. Her death did
not matter. There wouldn’t be any pain.

But I don’t want to die!
It was a scream from the depths of her being. She clenched her fists on the
saddle horn and tried to ignore it.

‘Severing!’ cried Nish.

‘What?’ She settled back in the saddle. The question and
answer would gain her another minute.

‘The guards said Father had threatened reluctant flappeters
with severing.’

‘Severing what?’ she asked quietly, so Rurr-shyve wouldn’t
hear.

‘I don’t know.’

Maelys turned forwards to study the flappeter in the
moonlight, then lowered her voice until it could barely be heard above the
thup-thup
of the feather-rotors.
‘Rurr-shyve spoke into my mind and told me its name, so perhaps Jal-Nish meant
severing their consciousness. No intelligent beast could bear that.’

‘Yes, that must be the answer. But how would Father do it?’

Maelys was staring blankly at the bulbous protuberance at
the back of the flappeter’s skull, like a second brain grafted behind the
first, when it hit her. ‘What if that’s a second brain for flight, or
consciousness? The two must be connected in some way, and if they were cut
apart –’

She gave Nish a meaningful look, wanting him to take charge
and do this terrible thing to Rurr-shyve, but he flopped backwards in his
saddle, white-faced under the water-smeared dirt. He was having a relapse.

‘I – I’d better do it then,’ she said.

‘Tie on first,’ he said faintly. ‘Flappeter – won’t
like it.’

She tied the last of the thin rope around her waist, checked
the knots twice, then fastened the free end to a ring on her saddle. Maelys
inched forwards until she could reach the bulge, but as soon as she drew the
knife Rurr-shyve bucked wildly and turned upside down.

Maelys, taken by surprise, fell off and heard the line
creaking as her weight pulled on it. If it gave, all her troubles would be
over. Her head hung just above the whirling feather-rotor and if it struck her
she’d die.

The knot pulled so tightly around her waist that she could
scarcely draw breath. The flappeter was falling, the feather-rotors now driving
it down. They stopped then spun the other way, whereupon Rurr-shyve let out a
cry, its pain setting up sympathetic echoes in Maelys’s mind.

The damaged feather-rotor slowed; the other one sped up to
compensate and the flappeter flew on, upside down. Perhaps Rurr-shyve wasn’t
game to try another manoeuvre in case the injured blade gave. She wiped her
brow, then noted the thin legs unfolding, the hooks and barbs extending. They
couldn’t get her from here, but once the beast turned right-side up, leaving
her hanging beneath, they’d have her.

She sheathed the knife and locked the thong over it so it
wouldn’t fall out. Gripping her lifeline in both hands, she watched the
flappeter carefully. Nish’s eyes were on her but he was too weak to help.

The lower rotor reversed; Rurr-shyve doubled up its long
body and twisted so as to come upright. As it rolled, she heaved on the
lifeline with all her strength, slammed into the saddle and clung desperately
to it. But she couldn’t stop to get her breath; she had to do it now, else
sooner or later Rurr-shyve would rid itself of her.

Scrambling up its neck, she whipped out the knife, raised it
high then stabbed it into the valley between its skull and the protuberance.
The knife cut through the horny scales, sank in the length of her little finger
and stuck. Rurr-shyve let out a shivering peal of agony that reverberated up
and down her nerve fibres. Maelys hung on with her thighs, snatched out the
legged amulet with her free hand and thrust it backwards through the
wisp-controller. Pressing down on the knife, she shouted. ‘Stop, Rurr-shyve!
Stop or be severed.’

The flappeter went still, apart from a thrumming of its
folded legs against its lower body and a quivering of the discs on its tail,
then hovered on its spinning feather-rotors. She could feel the great muscles
that drove them clenching and contracting between her thighs.

Who are you, little
Maelys?
The voice in her mind was far more menacing this time.

She raised the knife. ‘Wh–what do you mean?’

I only took you on
because you had the same aura as Rider Hinneltyne. Lacking that aura, I would
have torn your head off and sucked your brains out through your nostrils.

It pronounced the last word as
nossstrrillllsssss
, and Maelys shuddered. ‘But you offered me his
contract.’

No, I asked if you
were taking it on. But his aura is gone now. You deceived me, little Maelys.
Only people with a talent for the Art produce an aura, and every aura is
unique, so how could you have Hinneltyne’s then, and now none at all?

‘I have no idea,’ she said, feeling as though she were
sinking ever deeper into a pit. ‘I know nothing about auras and I don’t have a
trace of talent.’ Yet if that were true, how had she commanded Rurr-shyve, and
how could she hear its mindspeech now? ‘All I did was break my crystal –’