The Fate of the Fallen (The Song of the Tears Book 1) (15 page)

Later Maelys took off Rurr-shyve’s splint, applied
salve to the broken skin and re-fastened the sheath carefully so as to better
support the injury, yet cause as little pain as possible. That night they took
to the air again, flying at treetop height across the forest, and though they
saw flappeters high up, silhouetted against the moonlit sky, Rurr-shyve was not
seen against the dark canopy.

After that it was overcast for days and she had to fly in
daytime, for night flying in these rugged mountains became too dangerous. There
had been no sign of pursuit for the past three days, nor any evidence of human
habitation. All Maelys had seen were the towering mountains on either side and
the forested valley winding between them. However, Rurr-shyve was, for the time
being, compliant.

Flying hadn’t become any easier, though. It was always exhausting,
and she never got over her urge to scream whenever the amulet unfolded its legs
and began to creep about inside her shirt. She couldn’t keep it anywhere else,
though, for unless it was touching her skin or in her fist, she couldn’t
control Rurr-shyve.

As the sun was setting, in the distance Maelys made out a
long clearing and a pattern of cultivated fields on either side of a river,
then a large village set on a heart-shaped rise partly enclosed by a meander.
She turned away at once, flying low and close to the dark mountain slope, and
brought Rurr-shyve down between a series of rock spires where a luxuriance of
ferns and moss offered good grazing, plus shelter from the cold wind.

The village couldn’t be seen from here but she guessed it
was half a league away. An hour’s walk, in the dark, as long as the country
wasn’t too rough. She mentally traced a route to it, down the ridge then
through the forest to the edge of the clearing.

They set up camp in silence, after which Nish began to pace
around in a ragged circle, head down. He did it every night and it was driving
her mad.

‘Is something the matter, Nish?’

‘I need to think things through.’

He said that every night as well, though she couldn’t
imagine there was anything left to think about, after all his years in prison.
It was time for action, surely, but Nish appeared to be recycling the same
despairing thoughts over and over. She had to shake him out of it.

‘We should go down to the village and ask for help.’

‘What help can they give us?’ he said dully. ‘My father’s
reach extends across the known world.’

‘So his servants say, but we’re a long way from Mazurhize
now and maybe he hasn’t bothered with such a remote village as this.’

‘No detail, however small, escapes my father’s eye.’

‘We’ve got to
do
something, Nish! We can’t run forever …’ Maelys didn’t go on, sure he’d think
she was criticising him. But the time was rushing by. It was almost winter now.
Her family would have to come out of hiding at winter’s end, if not sooner, and
once they did, Jal-Nish must find them. She had to convince Nish to become the
Deliverer long before that, to gather a protective host of followers around him
and begin the uprising. To strike before his father expected it, then use
Nish’s reputation to raise the world against the God-Emperor.

It sounded easy, when she put it that way, but it wouldn’t
be. Jal-Nish had spies everywhere, and many people would be prepared to betray
the fledgling revolution out of fear or greed. How could she know who to trust?
She’d have to rely on Nish’s experience and good judgement. Maelys avoided
thinking too hard about that irony, but she had to begin making him into the
Deliverer right away.

The fires of the village were just visible in the distance
and Maelys had an idea. What if she put him in a position where he had to act?
It felt sneaky and wrong, but what choice did she have?

‘I’m going to go to the village … to get fresh food.’ She
coloured at the half-truth but he didn’t notice. ‘Will you come with me?’
Please, please do. She didn’t want to go by herself.

‘You go. It’s not far. I’ve got to think,’ he said abruptly,
walking away.

She felt like shouting at him – it’s past time for
thinking. You’ve got to do something! But she didn’t; respect was ingrained in
her. Besides, they did need fresh food, if any was available, though Maelys
wasn’t hopeful at this time of year.

Ducking out of sight, she dressed in her boy’s clothes,
bound her breasts as flat as they would go – not very flat – and
buckled the cut-down belt, and the knife, around her waist. She took a single
gold link out of her bracelet, for payment, leaving the rest of it in her pack.

Maelys pulled the chain of the taphloid over her head,
feeling a mental wrench as she took it off for the first time since she’d been
given it. All of a sudden she felt naked; exposed. But after all, it was
useless without the crystal. She put the taphloid in her pack as well, but kept
the amulet inside her shirt. She dared not leave it behind in case Rurr-shyve
got it.

The flappeter stirred in its slumber, then settled down
again. Nish sat on a rock, staring at the clear sky.

‘I’ll be off then,’ she said, still hoping he would come.
She felt uneasy at going alone, and afraid that she’d make a fool of herself at
the village, for she planned to appeal to the villagers on behalf of the
Deliverer. It would go much better if he were there. Once they saw Nish, they
couldn’t help supporting him.

Nish grunted but did not look around. Maelys felt a wild
urge to hurl a clod of dirt at him, but suppressed it and set off down the
hill. It was growing dark, though a full moon was rising and there would soon
be plenty of light. Besides, she was used to walking in the dark.

It was rough going down the ridge and she had to descend
parts of it backwards, clinging to the knobbly rock. After a quarter of an hour
she reached the edge of the forest and here the walking was easier, between
tall, widely spaced trees with just an understorey of knee-high bracken. The
moon had risen high enough that an occasional shaft slanted in through gaps in
the canopy, and shortly she hit upon a narrow but well-used track probably made
by small animals. It led in the general direction of the village so she
followed it, trying to work out what to say when she got there.

She’d never spoken in public but Maelys was sure the words
would flow when she needed them. Surely it couldn’t be that hard to appeal to
the people? No village in the known world was untouched by the God-Emperor’s
cruel whim, so once she told the villagers that Nish was here, and reminded
them of his famous promise, they would surely flock to him.

Then Nish, fired up by their support and loyalty, would
finally take on his life’s role – he wouldn’t have any choice. He’d
probably be angry at first, though Maelys shied away from thinking about that.
One day he’d thank her for it.

She smiled as she walked. It felt good to be doing her duty,
and helped to overcome the nagging voice which kept reminding her that she’d
done nothing about endearing herself to Nish. I can’t do everything at once,
she rationalised. I’ve got to give Nish time. Let’s get the Defiance underway
first.

Her main worry was that the villagers would have gone to bed
by the time she arrived. If she had to wake them they wouldn’t be in a good mood.
She walked faster. Ahead the path divided, one branch heading right, the other
off to her left.

After checking the angle of the moon, Maelys took the
right-hand track, climbed a long, gentle slope and on the downhill side reached
the edge of the forest. Below and to the left she saw lights in the distance. A
large blaze looked like a bonfire; smaller ones scattered around it would be
lanterns. The villagers must be celebrating a festival or a wedding. She
couldn’t believe her good fortune.

Slanting across the cropped grass, she hit upon a beaten
path and followed it until she reached the edge of the village, a broad,
straggling circle of two-storey houses and simple huts. The bonfire blazed in
the centre and she could hear singing and clapping; a large group of people
were dancing while others carried blazing torches on poles.

Maelys moved between two huts and stood in the shadows,
watching the revelry and wondering how best to approach them. About thirty
pairs of young men and women were dancing in an oval around the bonfire, while
a smaller circle of girls skipped to a tune played on bone flutes beyond the
fire, and a straggle of boys were clapping away to her left. A throng of
adults, perhaps a hundred strong, stood to the back, clapping and chanting.

She couldn’t see either a wisp-watcher or loop-listener,
which made her feel better – clearly Jal-Nish didn’t have them in every
village in the world. Should she wait until the dancing stopped before making
her appeal? No, if she were discovered they might think she was a spy. Maelys
began to feel anxious and, knowing it wouldn’t help, took a deep breath,
stepped out into the lighted circle and called, ‘Hello.’

The chanting and clapping broke off; the dancers froze in
position and everyone stared at her. There was not a welcoming face among them
and suddenly the words she’d been rehearsing slid out of her mind.

A tall, stringy old man limped out of the throng. He was
clad in homespun pants and baggy, dun-coloured shirt, and wore a long sheepskin
coat with the wool on the inside, fastened with thongs, plus a cap made from
animal fur with a long grey tail wrapped around his neck like a scarf. His
weathered skin was seamed and he had but five or six yellow teeth.

‘What are you doing here, boy?’ the headman said in a deep,
throaty voice, as if suffering a bad cold. He stooped to squint at Maelys.
‘What is your clan?’

‘I – I –’ She couldn’t think what to say. She
looked from face to face, desperate for inspiration, but found no interest,
kindness or tolerance – just dumb hostility that she’d interrupted their
celebration.

The old man clenched gnarled fists. ‘Your Histories, boy!’
The crowd were slowly moving forwards.

Just say what you’ve come for! Taking a deep breath, she
looked him in the eye, but raised her voice to speak to them all. ‘I am the
emissary of Cryl-Nish Hlar, Nish,
the son
of the God-Emperor
, and he speaks to you all.’

As she paused, there came an audible intake of breath from
the adults. The old man took a hasty step backwards. One of the smaller
children screamed and others began to cry. Perhaps mentioning the God-Emperor’s
name had been a mistake. Maelys hastily went on.

‘Nish,’ she repeated loudly. ‘The great hero of the war
against the lyrinx, and the bitter enemy of his father, who imprisoned him for
ten years.’ They stared at her, blank-faced. ‘Enemy’ hadn’t done her any good
either. Why hadn’t she thought her speech through on the way and rehearsed it
in the forest? She struggled on. ‘Nish, who promised to return and become
the Deliverer
.’

Maelys began to quote his famous last words before he was
dragged off to prison, but they didn’t come out the least bit inspiring. They
sounded like a lesson out of the Histories, and she could see that she was
losing these dull, stolid folk. Living so far from anywhere, they must be
suspicious of strangers, and while they knew of the God-Emperor’s dread power
it was beyond imagination that his son should come to their insignificant
little village.

That thought made it even harder to find the right words,
but she tried again. ‘The Deliverer has come and he needs your aid. Will you
help him begin the uprising against the God-Emperor …’

No, no! Why had she said that? She should have told them why
it was important to aid Nish, and what they would get out of it. She could see
in their faces that she’d offered them nothing but their doom.

‘We’re loyal worshippers of the God-Emperor, here, and he
knows it,’ grated the headman. ‘We shall worship his Son, too, if the Father
asks it of us, but we will never support the Son against the Father, who has
given us the food we eat and the mead we drink, blessed be his name. Be off,
tempter.’

‘Blessed be his name and all his works,’ echoed the crowd
fervently.

Surely they didn’t think Jal-Nish had sent her to test their
faith? ‘But I haven’t come from the God-Emperor to tempt you into betraying
him,’ said Maelys. ‘I’ve come from his son, Nish.’

‘That’s a lie,’ said the headman, advancing on her, ‘for the
Son is held in prison for his crimes against the Father. Begone back to your
master, lad, and tell him so. Tell him that, even should every other village on
Santhenar rebel, the hamlet of Byre remains steadfast. Jal-Nish is our
God-Emperor now and for all time.’

‘For all time,’ hissed the crowd, in tones that sent worms
wriggling up Maelys’s spine.

The headman was close now, and though his back was bent, he
towered over her, treating her to a blast of sour mead fumes. ‘Were you a man
full grown, I’d beat you black and blue for such blasphemy and send you to the
God-Emperor in chains. Scurry back to your master, boy, whoever he is. Beg him
to surrender to the God-Emperor’s mercy before he condemns you both.’

‘Please listen.’ How could she convince them that she was in
earnest? Risking everything on a last desperate appeal, she said, ‘My master is
Cryl-Nish Hlar, the son of the God-Emperor, and he curses Jal-Nish’s evil name.
The God-Emperor is a stinking liar, a disgusting, deformed monstrosity who
should have been slain long ago. I –’

She could not have chosen worse words. The entire village,
from the most withered crone to the smallest child, let out a collective gasp
of horror, then the adults surged forwards, brandishing sticks and clubs.

‘Wait!’ she cried, but they kept coming. ‘Listen –’

‘Blasphemous dog of a boy!’ cried the headman. ‘How dare you
take the God-Emperor’s name in vain?’

‘The lout is a spy and a rebel who threatens us all,’ rasped
a woman from the crowd. ‘He must be taught a lesson such that the God-Emperor
will never question our loyalty. Beat him within an ell of his life and cast
him out to die.’