The Fate of the Fallen (The Song of the Tears Book 1) (43 page)

Maelys woke with such a desperate headache that, for a
minute at least, she wished she had died. She opened her eyes, which hurt even
though it was dark. Or had she gone blind? She remembered being hit on the
forehead and Phrune coming after her, though the memories after that were
fuzzy. She tried to get up but it felt as though the weight of a mountain were
holding her down.

Closing her eyes, she slumped onto the muddy rock and
drifted back into an exhausted sleep. Whatever Monkshart and Phrune had
planned, there was nothing she could do to stop them.

The next time she woke it was daylight and her mouth
was so dry that her lips crackled when she licked them. Her head felt better
though. It hardly ached at all.

She couldn’t see anything but the green outlines of ferns
– she was still under the shelf-like overhang. Maelys wriggled out
through the ferns and was reaching instinctively for her taphloid when she
remembered Phrune taking it. It had seldom left her hands since her father had
given it to her. She felt a pang of loss, though she was too desiccated to shed
a tear for the only treasure she’d had left. Besides, it had done its work. The
image of Vomix convulsing as he desperately tried to rid himself of the
taphloid would never leave her.

She didn’t quite understand that; didn’t have the energy to
think about it either. Maelys stumbled out into brilliant sunshine that hurt her
eyes and crept along the base of the cliff in the shade, looking for water. She
was sure she’d heard it trickling earlier, and around the curve came upon a
moss-covered buttress of granite, facing south, threaded with tiny ribbons of
water from a seep. She lapped at them like a dog, washed her face and hands,
wet her hair, and pressed herself against the surface until her gown was
saturated.

Sitting with her back to the wall, she tried to work out
what to do. Nish, Monkshart and Phrune must be long gone, though she couldn’t
tell if they had escaped or been captured. The lush herbs and ferns along the
base of the wall had been trampled flat by a host of men with big feet, the
soldiers from Gundoe Citadel.

Nish was gone without ever knowing that she was alive, or
what she’d done to save him. And he’d been so close. At one point she could
almost have reached out and touched him.

Jil had fled with Timfy and Maelys couldn’t blame her. Using
the boy against Vomix had been unforgivable, even though it had saved all their
lives. And perhaps Jil had thought she’d killed Maelys, and had fled to avoid
being taken for punishment.

They were all gone. She was alone and friendless. Half of
her mission had succeeded, the other was an utter failure. The only consolation
was that both Vomix and the sergeant were dead, so her identity was safe; and
her family.

She turned back to the streaming wall and lapped at it until
her belly was full, then headed down into the forest, avoiding the tracks made
by the soldiers.

Going nowhere.

After an hour or two she came to a pebbly stream, just
deep enough to lie in with her nose sticking out. The water was tepid and
hardly cooled her at all, but it was a pleasure to scrub herself clean, clothes
and all. Afterwards she tramped the banks on both sides, searching for
Monkshart and Nish’s trail, but if they’d come this way they had hidden it
carefully. After weaving a broad-brimmed sun hat from reeds, she continued,
heading north, since the plateau of Nish’s true future lay that way.

There was no sign of winter here. The nights were pleasantly
mild, and only in the hours before dawn did she ever feel cool, but the days
were sweltering and unbearably humid for someone who had lived all her life in
the cool southern mountains. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like here in
summer.

The plants were unfamiliar too, though on the second
afternoon she discovered a bramble thicket behind an abandoned cottage which
held enough late fruit to gorge herself on, and fill a basket woven from dry
grass. The morning after that she tickled a fish out of the river and ate it
raw, even the eyes. It was flavourless and full of tiny bones that stuck in her
teeth, but she was too hungry to care.

Late in the afternoon she made out a village downstream on
the far side of the river. Remembering the doom she’d brought to Byre and
Tifferfyte, Maelys didn’t approach it at once. She followed the river down
until she was opposite the village, then sat under a tree, watching what went
on there and trying not to think of her empty belly.

She had nothing with which to buy food, for Vomix had stolen
her bracelet before he’d kicked her pack away into the maze. She could work for
food if there was work to be had, or she could beg, though beggars were often
taken before the wisp-watchers and picked up by the next patrol, for the
God-Emperor’s workhouses.

Maelys had no choice. She didn’t know where to find Nish’s
plateau, so she’d have to ask, which would immediately put her at risk.
Besides, though she was resourceful enough to find food where it was available,
and to hunt small animals, feeding herself would take most of each day. She
could make rude shoes from hide when her boots wore out, though untanned
leather would stink and not last long. However, she couldn’t replace her gown
which, after another week of travel, would be as stained and battered as any
vagabond’s. Then people would treat her like one and drive her off.

She scanned the village again. She couldn’t see a
wisp-watcher from here, though there was bound to be one. However, a crowd of
people were setting up trestles in a shady meadow by the water, below the high
upper bank of the river. People were often more friendly on market day, at
least until they’d sold their goods and drunk too much sour wine. Maelys headed
for the ford.

But it wasn’t market day and no one was drinking. They were
listening to someone standing halfway up the sloping bank, out of sight of the
wisp-watcher. The villagers were tall, lean and dark-skinned, nothing like her,
and she expected them to push her away. One or two people gave her curious
glances as she edged into a space in the crowd, but they didn’t look
unfriendly.

The speaker was an old woman with white hair and a leathery,
seamed face, and she was concluding a speech.

‘… when the Deliverer spoke, his tale brought tears to my
old eyes. He has come a long way to find us, my friends, and suffered
grievously to get here, but he never faltered.’ She took a breath.

‘Ten years we’ve groaned under the yoke of the God-Emperor.
Ten years he’s been killing or taking our
talented
ones, never to be seen again. For ten years his brutal officers have abused our
sisters, wives and daughters. And for ten years we’ve had but a single hope
– that his son would return as he promised to do, and overthrow the
father.

‘The Deliverer has honoured us by beginning his campaign in
our beautiful Campanie. Now it’s up to us to honour him. Will we rise up to
support the Deliverer, or cower in our beds and allow the God-Emperor to
tighten his grip on the world until all hope is lost?’

She looked over the gathering with clouded eyes, as if
staring into the future, and Maelys felt a shiver run up her spine. This old
woman, and others like her, had the power to make Nish’s campaign, or break it.

‘It will not be easy. Many of us will die, more will suffer,
and we could well fail.’ Her eyes moved back and forth across the crowd. ‘Or be
betrayed. Or,’ and now the chill covered Maelys’s entire back, ‘we could betray
the Deliverer and the Defiance to the God-Emperor and be rewarded beyond our
wildest dreams.’

Again she scanned the crowd and her eyes appeared to settle
on Maelys for a moment before moving on. ‘We could betray him here and now,
though how would we sleep in the jewelled beds the God-Emperor rewarded us
with, knowing that we’d robbed the world of the one good thing it had left
– hope? I could not! We’ve never kowtowed to authority in Campanie. We’ve
never given our allegiance willingly, save to those who earned it. We’re rebels
and proud of it, so let us do something, here and now, to make our children
proud of us. The Deliverer needs us. Let us go to him. Let us begin the
Defiance, right here. Right now!’

The crowd seemed to draw in a deep breath, and hold it. Only
the old woman looked calm – no, serene – as if she already knew
what their response would be.

Suddenly everyone in the crowd thrust their right arms high.
‘The Deliverer! The Defiance!’

Maelys did the same, without hesitation, caught up in the
intensity of the moment. ‘The Deliverer! The Defiance!’

She lost sight of the old woman as everyone began leaping
about, shouting, yelling and embracing one another, and even her. Then a big
man clapped twice, and the racket broke off.

‘We have work to do,’ the old woman said hoarsely, and two
men helped her down from the bank.

The people went back to the village in ones and twos. Maelys
was climbing the high bank, planning to ask if she could work for her supper,
when she noticed the upper curve of the iris of a large wisp-watcher between
the cottages. It wasn’t pointing towards her but she hastily turned away,
shielding her face with her arm, and ducked out of sight.

She was wondering what to do when she sensed someone
watching her. She stiffened involuntarily, then made to climb down towards the river.

‘Stay where you are, girl.’ It was a man’s voice. ‘Turn
around.’

She considered running but there were villagers between her
and the ford, and they’d easily catch her. She half-turned, shielding her face
again.

‘Turn around!’ the man said.

‘Leave her to me, Vixil,’ said the old woman from below.
‘Off you go.’ The man turned for the village at once. The old woman laboured up
the bank. ‘You’ve come a long way, girl, yet you don’t look like a traveller.’

‘W – what do you mean?’ said Maelys.

‘I’m not blind yet. You’re born and bred in the misty
mountains of the south coast, if I’m not mistaken.’ The old woman touched her
hair. ‘Only the mountain dwellers of that region have such silky ebony hair and
such creamy skin. From the shape of your face and the way you speak, I’d say
you were a native of the province of Fadd, and not long left home.’

The old woman was no fool. The city of Fadd was only a
week’s walk down to the coast from Nifferlin Manor, and Fadd Province included
the mountain spine where Maelys had lived all her life.

The old woman touched Maelys’s cheek with a dry hand, but
drew back at once, looking thoughtful. ‘Yet your complexion is unmarred by sun
and wind. Had you trudged hundreds of leagues from the south, it would not be.’

‘I might have ridden,’ Maelys said faintly. ‘Or come by
ship.’

‘You don’t walk like a rider.’ She lifted the back of
Maelys’s hand to her nose, sniffing it. ‘And you’ve never seen the sea. You
dwelt in the mountains all your young life and never travelled before this, yet
here you are, looking as fresh as if you’d just left home.’

Maelys snorted, for she was dirty, sweaty, ragged and
unkempt. She didn’t ask how the old woman could tell so much about her. It was
worrying enough that she could. ‘What are you going to do to me?’

‘Perhaps I’ll take you with me – at least until I
unravel your mystery.’

‘Take me where?’

‘To follow the Deliverer, of course.’ The old woman’s eyes
were clearer now. ‘All the way, as long as my legs can carry me.’

‘But … you’re …’

‘A frail old woman who hasn’t got long to live.’ She
laughed. ‘I’ve buried three husbands and worn out four lovers, and all my
children died in the war. I’ve no one to answer to, I’m tough as ironwood and
I’m going on the great adventure of my life. Nothing can stop me save only
Death, and do you think I’m afraid of her? I’ll see the God-Emperor brought
down first, or all hope lost.’

‘Have you seen Nish – the Deliverer?’ Maelys said, a
trifle too eagerly. ‘Is he all right?’

If the old woman noticed the slip, she didn’t comment on it.
‘He looked well enough, considering all he’s been through. I
think
he has the mettle for it.’

‘But … after what you just said …’

‘The future is not fixed and can never be, no matter what
fool or seer tries to tell you otherwise, nor what is seen in pool or pit. Even
in the very moment of victory one random action can undo all, and the Defiance
is a long way from its first sniff of victory. But we
will
defy the God-Emperor. Not for the likelihood of victory, but
rather because the trying gives us hope, and without hope, life is no more than
living death. What is your name, girl?’ she rapped out.

‘It’s Maelys,’ she said without thinking, ‘and I’m
nineteen
.’

‘Therefore not yet of age, and still a girl. I’m
seventy-eight.’ The cloudy eyes roved over her. ‘You know him, don’t you?’

‘I – I –’ How could she tell? ‘The Deliverer,
you mean?’

‘Don’t treat me like a fool, girl! I can see it in your
eyes. You know the Deliverer and you want something from him.’

Maelys bowed her head, afraid of this old woman who saw
everything so clearly, despite her clouded eyes. ‘I know him,’ she whispered.

‘I’ll take you with me, just to see what happens. It could
be rather amusing. But tell me no lies.’

 
THIRTY-TWO

The old woman’s name was Tulitine. She didn’t say where
she had come from, but Maelys gathered that she was a wise woman well respected
in these parts for her herb lore, as well as for clear-sightedness in other
ways unsaid.

Tulitine left the village at dusk, along with twenty-two
believers who were off to follow the Deliverer. They separated a few hours
later, and Tulitine, Maelys and Rog, a muscular, smiling farmhand who slept in
the old woman’s tent, took a wandering path, and she spoke at every village on
the way. Consequently three days had passed before they reached the secluded
valley where Monkshart had camped for the night. They arrived at the ridge top
on the eighth day after Maelys had emerged from the maze, in the mid-afternoon.