The Fate of the Fallen (The Song of the Tears Book 1) (33 page)

He didn’t ask what she’d seen, thankfully. She pressed her
palms against the floor to steady herself and closed her eyes again. Maelys
felt drowsy but she mustn’t doze down here. If she leaned against the wall she
would go to sleep. She got up and began to pace in a circle around the
Mistmurk, not too close, but with her eyes open she couldn’t see anything. She
closed her eyes, walking carefully, and shortly began to see blackness streaked
with occasional flashes of red.

That image lasted for ages, as she slowly circled, until she
must have walked too close to the Mistmurk. A tendril of its coldness touched
her bare ankles and her taphloid, which had been lifeless ever since she’d
imploded its crystal, suddenly grew warm. An image drifted into focus, though
it took a long time before she could make out what it was. It looked like a
single red-raw eye staring through an oddly curved and twisted mask.

The eye moved, and she smiled as she recognised what it was
– a man’s face seen in a distorting mirror, like the funny mirrors she’d
looked into when a travelling carnival had come to Nifferlin at the end of the
war. Probably one of the lying futures, she thought, preparing to disbelieve it
and move on to the next.

But it grew as though the man had drawn the mirror closer to
him, trying to see right through it to whatever lay beyond. He pulled the mask
away; for an instant his face became clear and Maelys cried, ‘No!’

‘Maelys?’ Nish called. ‘Do you want me to come down?’

‘No. Yes. No, stay there!’

It was horrible but she didn’t want to lose a second of it. It
wasn’t a distorting mirror, but a man’s face reflected in a shiny drop, like
quicksilver – it was Jal-Nish, using one of the tears! Jal-Nish, without
the platinum mask that normally concealed the ruined half of his face, was
searching for something in the tear.

She should have withdrawn right away, for he was a foe that
not even the strongest mancer could face. But it was one of her possible
futures and she needed to know about it. She had to know all of them and there
wasn’t much time. By now, Monkshart or Phrune might have realised that she and
Nish were missing.

Maelys clenched the taphloid tighter as Jal-Nish’s eye
appeared to rush towards the tear. Its shiny surface blurred and everything
went out of focus. He was inside the tear, or had melded himself to it, and for
an instant she had a flash of insight into the corrupt mind of the man who
controlled the tears.

Jal-Nish was gloating, for his mastery of Gatherer and
Reaper was growing every day and he was close to finding the three secrets that
would allow him to become invulnerable for all time: perfect knowledge of the
Profane Tears; complete mastery of himself; and a clear understanding of the
Art by which he used Gatherer and Reaper. And he believed he was close to
gaining all three.

Maelys, feeling panicky, swayed backwards and the Mistmurk
swirled about her legs again. The cooling taphloid grew hot between her
breasts, then Jal-Nish, with a gasp, dragged himself out of his melding with
the tears and looked around sharply, as if afraid he was being spied upon. Had
he seen her? She moved hastily away from the Mistmurk.

She couldn’t look at his ravaged face, but his eye bore a
haunted look. The God-Emperor, despite holding almost all the power in the
world, was afraid of something.

 
TWENTY-FOUR

Nish had sent Maelys in first so as to delay going down
himself. If he was to be robbed of both hope and serenity he wanted to hold it
off as long as possible, though the instant she cried out he regretted
pressuring her.

She came up, covered in sweat and clearly shaken. ‘What did
you see?’ he asked, helping her off the ladder.

‘My first future showed your father’s army attacking the
village, and only men and youths with farmyard implements to defend it. They’re
going to die, every one of them,’ she said bitterly, ‘and the women too. There
was no sign of Monkshart or his precious Arts. Or you. He must have fled with
you, concealed by illusions.’

‘Assuming it was a true vision,’ said Nish, swallowing.
‘Most of the possibilities in the Pit are not.’

‘I
know
it’s true,
and it’s my fault, just as the deaths of all those people in Byre village were.
If I hadn’t brought you here …’

‘No one who opposes my father is safe, Maelys, and the
people of Tifferfyte also knew the risk when they chose to oppose him. Besides,
I brought you here. What else did you see?’

She wiped her sweaty brow. ‘I saw –’ Her voice went
hoarse. ‘I saw your father, without his mask, reflected in one of the tears.
But then he seemed to go into the tear, to merge his mind with it, and …’

Nish’s mouth was open. ‘You saw
Father
?
Using the tears?
’

‘Worse. I saw
into
his mind; and what he was communing with the tears about.’

‘How could
you
see
him, yet he not see you? Why
you
,
anyway? Why not
me
?’

Maelys looked slighted. ‘He created your clearsight in the
first place, Nish, so he’d hardly leave himself vulnerable to it. But he
doesn’t know me at all, and maybe I’ve been touched by Gatherer, distantly, via
the link with the flap-peter. And I do have an unusual talent, it seems.
Perhaps my taphloid has something to do with it, too. Besides, surely that’s
not –’

‘Monkshart said the Pit of Possibilities was the one place
the tears could not reach, and I felt it as soon as I went down – as if a
great weight had been lifted from me. Father couldn’t touch me there.’

‘Nish –’

‘So how could you
see
him? I wonder … if the Pit of Possibilities shows our true futures as well as
false ones, there can’t be any constraints on it. If Father is in your future,
it’s got to show him.’

‘But it didn’t have to show him close up. It didn’t have to
let me into his mind.’

‘I don’t understand it either,’ said Nish.

‘Wait – could it be because I was holding my taphloid
at the time? A patch of the miasma touched me and the taphloid seemed to …
wake
.’ She got it out, turning it over
in her hands.

‘I don’t see how it could, unless there’s a chip of jade
from the amulet inside,’ he said doubtfully. ‘If Father’s Art made the amulet
in the first place, and he’d actually held it in his hands or empowered it with
the tears, it might explain why the Pit of Possibilities was able to see into
him.’

Maelys flipped open the compartment where the amulet had
been placed, but there was not even a shard of jade in it.

‘Unless it’s the taphloid itself …’ said Nish.

‘How could it be? I’ve had it since I was little and it’s
never been anywhere near your father.’

‘Hmn. What did you see when you looked into his mind?’

‘I thought you’d never ask. Nish, he needs only three things
to become invulnerable for all time: perfect knowledge of the tears; complete
mastery of himself; and a clear understanding of the Art by which he uses
Gatherer and Reaper. And he’s close to gaining all three.’

Nish reeled and nearly fell down the hole; she caught his
shoulder to steady him. ‘If he succeeds,’ Maelys hissed, ‘there won’t be
anything the Deliverer can do, even with all Santhenar behind you. He’s got to
be stopped and there isn’t much time to do it. Go down, Nish.’

‘What’s the point?’ he said despairingly. ‘The future
Monkshart showed me must have been a lie, and there’s no way out of here
anyway.’

‘I’ll bet there is. Monkshart looked pretty happy the last
time I saw him. Go down.’

He put one foot on the ladder, but stopped. ‘Wait! I’ve just
remembered something.’

‘Yes?’ Maelys said dubiously.

‘When I attacked Father after he let me out of prison, he
hesitated momentarily before attacking back.’

‘So what?’

‘He’s not a hesitating man. Right or wrong, he never
wavers.’

‘Why is that so important?’

‘It means that Father must still have a weakness ... even if
it’s just that he cares about me. If I can discover what it is, there may be a
chance to beat him after all.’

‘For a moment I thought he’d seen me, at the end,’ said
Maelys. ‘And for a second he looked afraid.’

‘I’m guessing, but this is what I think he’s worried about,’
said Nish. ‘Father has made out that he’s invulnerable and all powerful, but
he’s not. At least, not
yet
. And
despite all his power, he’s terrified that he’ll be overthrown and everything
he’s done will come to nothing. What he really craves is immortality, for
what’s the point of his great and terrible life if someone else will undo all
his work once he’s gone? Father wants to make a mark on Santhenar that can’t be
undone; one which people will still recognise in a thousand years. That’s the
immortality he really craves.’

‘If he wants it so desperately, it’s another weakness,’ said
Maelys. ‘When it comes to the ultimate test, he’ll do whatever it takes to
ensure his work endures.’

Two weaknesses. It did Nish’s heart good to discover them.
He climbed down into the Pit of Possibilities and this time, the instant his
feet touched the dusty, shard-strewn floor something felt different.

The maze of futures were foggy in his mind, all save one
which was brilliantly clear. On a remote, rain-soaked plateau a long way north
in this great mountain chain, something long hidden from his father lay waiting
for him. The vision didn’t say what it was, or precisely where it lay, though
Nish felt sure he’d recognise the plateau once he saw it. In all his travels
he’d never seen a landscape like it.

Though the scene was shrouded in drifting mist that didn’t
allow him to see the whole of the plateau at one time, its shape was clear. It
rose out of the rainforest like a needle whose point had been cut off. It was
so tall that its flat top lay in the clouds, and its sides were sheer wet black
rock that would be a nightmare to climb.

Unfortunately it didn’t seem that the change in his fortunes
extended to Maelys, for she had not appeared in this new future either, nor her
own. Nish scrambled up and told her what he’d seen.

‘And Monkshart lied!’ he ended, fighting mixed emotions. ‘He
manipulated the visions to show me just what he wanted me to believe. Come on!’
He strode across the shard-strewn floor towards the path, and for the first
time since escaping from prison he knew exactly what he wanted.

‘What are you going to do?’ Maelys said wearily.

She was plodding along behind him, looking as if she could
barely stay awake. ‘Find out how close the army is. Hurry!’

‘That vision could have been weeks away.’

‘I’ve a feeling the army has left Rancidore already and is
only days from here.’

‘Monkshart isn’t acting as though it’s near.’

‘Perhaps all his spies have been rounded up. My fortunes
have turned, Maelys,’ he said quietly, ‘and I’m going to ride my luck for as
long as it lasts. I’m not going to be manipulated by Monkshart again.’ Not by
anyone.

He looked up as they came around the curve towards the
pavilion, for a lamp was glowing there, and silhouetted against it at the top
of the path stood the lying, manipulating, murdering zealot.

Nish’s smouldering rage burst into flame, but he tried not
to show it. He kept walking, eyes downcast as if caught somewhere he had no
right to be, until he came within a few steps of the pavilion. Then, propelling
himself forwards like a rock from a catapult, he drove the top of his head into
Monkshart’s belly with such force that the zealot was knocked backwards off his
feet and cracked his head against the stone floor of the pavilion.

Diving onto him, Nish whipped the knife from Monkshart’s
sheath, tossed it to Maelys and hissed, ‘Get into the shadows!’ He dragged the
dazed and winded zealot to the edge of the pavilion so that his head, shoulders
and upper back hung over the brink, then raised his feet until he could feel
the cloth of Monkshart’s robes bunching against the edge.

Monkshart cried out, ‘Phrune, help!’

Nish raised the zealot’s legs higher and pushed him until he
reached the teetering point. Something tore under his palms. Monkshart’s legs
were also encased in tissue-fine leather and the rents had exposed cracked,
weeping skin. Nish took a better grip and tried to ignore the creepy feel of
it. ‘Things have changed, Monkshart.’

Monkshart shuddered violently at Nish’s tight grip on his
ravaged skin, but managed to gain control of himself. ‘Deliverer – if you
kill me – Defiance must fail.’ His eyes narrowed and Nish heard the pad
of plump feet in the corridor. He glanced back, praying that Maelys was ready.
If she failed him he would end up at the bottom of the crater with Monkshart,
for this time he wasn’t giving in.

‘Put him down!’ Phrune cried in a high, anguished voice,
advancing through the opening with a little jewelled stiletto in hand. It was a
woman’s weapon but deadly enough for all that, and Phrune’s glistening, babyish
face was twisted; sick.

He came on carefully, the knife held low and steady as if
he’d gutted people before, licking his swollen lips as if he’d enjoyed it. Nish
realised that he’d miscalculated. Phrune was a viper who would enjoy maiming
and mutilating, and unfortunately Maelys was on the wrong side of the opening.
She couldn’t jump him without Phrune realising she was there, and he’d carve
her up without a qualm. Nish had to distract him.

With a roar of defiance, he heaved Monkshart’s legs as high
as he could reach. The bunched cloth began to slide across the edge of the
pavilion as the zealot’s weight pulled him down.

‘Stop!’ cried Phrune, slitted eyes staring. He took a step
then froze, realising that the least wrong move could tip the balance beyond
recovery.