Fallen

by Tim Lebbon

  Ramus walked toward the rear of the hall, passing the Burnt Past. When the library was first gathered, a group of shamans came one night and tried to burn it down. They destroyed a thousand books before they were stopped, and the library keeper had left the damaged shelving as he had found it, a sort of shrine to all that lost history. It pained Ramus every time he saw it, because it represented knowledge that could never be regained.

  There was no one else sitting at the tables and chairs at the back of the hall. He breathed a sigh of relief and sat down, closing his eyes as he let the smell and feel of the place envelop him. He loved it here. So much potential, so much history, and he was quite certain that many of these books, if translated correctly, would change the world as they knew it today.

  And so could these, he thought, looking at the parchments. He smoothed them out on the table and spread them so he could see all three at once.

  He did not recognize much of the lettering, although some of the root formations looked vaguely familiar. What he had seen—and he was certain that Nomi had not spotted this—was that the symbols and strange lettering were contained within defined borders. There was no way of telling whether or not the pages were supposed to follow one another, or even in which order, but all of the pages displayed one fundamental similarity: a thick vertical line dividing the page into a space taken up by writing and an area of blankness.

  Ramus saw this as partial proof that these pages had come from the Divide. And whoever had written them had acknowledged one of the elemental aspects to their existence: the cliff. One side, there was life; the other side, only open air.

  He looked at the curled figure at the bottom edge of one page, like a serpent twisted into an egg. You know what that is, Nomi had said. He had seen and read much about the Sleeping Gods, and though descriptions of those mysterious deities varied hugely, this was a recurring image he'd seen in a handful of texts.

  Usually, the gods were drawn as beautiful winged creatures.

  Not lizards or snakes.

  He stood and went to one of the shelves, glancing around to make sure nobody could see the parchments. A sudden sickness rumbled in his stomach, and he recognized this for what it was: fear. Because as well as words and texts, he thought that much of what appeared on these parchment pages was more literal.

  Part of it, including the curled image of a Sleeping God, seemed to be a map.

  THE FIRST BOOK he chose was a heavy tome, loosely bound with twisted gut ties and covered front and back with thin wooden covers. It had no title or name, and there was no indication anywhere inside about who had written it, nor when or where.

  Ramus guessed it was maybe five hundred years old. Some of the glyphs used were similar to those in other volumes from around that time. He had referred to this book several times over the years, and there was one page in particular that had jumped into his memory.

  It took a while to find the page he wanted, inked on a rough sheet of layered silk-grass. The image there was, as he remembered, quite similar to that on the wanderer's parchment: a curled, serpentlike creature, only this one had a larger head, several limbs and hands. Each hand had six digits, and each digit was a person. Every person was screaming.

  Ramus tried to read some of the glyphs around the image. He had never translated this page, though he had seen the glyphs used before, and it took him a while to edge his concentration in the right direction.

  Fallen one put down, he read. Down is the fallen one. Deep is the God that fell. All saying the same thing in differing ways—and the more he read, the more he imagined a sense of panic overwhelming the writer. There was no information here; it was more like a statement of belief, a desire that would become more real the more it was written.

  Every story he had read of the Sleeping Gods had sprouted from the solid foundation that the Gods were benevolent, and extremely powerful. Some could move mountains, others were mountains themselves. Mention of a Fallen God was infrequent, a myth within a myth—one of those ancient Gods gone insane and fallen from grace, its wings torn from their roots and the God itself buried deep in the land by the other Sleeping Gods. Those few times he had read about it, the language had been as frantic as this.

  Superstition, he thought. Ramus liked to think of himself as a pragmatist with an open mind, but this was a tale designed to scare children at bedtime. That it managed to trouble him illustrated its power.

  He reached for another page of the parchment. This one had a more regular spread of lettering and glyphs, and across its center were images that looked like statues. Some were obviously people, with arms raised, heads thrown back and mouths open. Others looked more like representations of people—vaguely humanoid shapes, with extended necks, tall thin heads, arms that reached below their knees. These were drawn as frozen, or dancing, or perhaps paying worship to the other, more human statues. There was writing all around these images, and though Ramus recognized none of the lettering, he could already discern a pattern.

  The third parchment was damaged and darkened, and some of the stains could have been blood. It was covered in fine writing, using the same unknown language as the other pages, and interspersed here and there were images of the sun, moon and stars. Each image had a face, and the faces all had teeth.

  Ramus closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Footsteps came close and he sat up quickly, turning the parchments over so they could not be seen. Nobody appeared, and he waited until the footsteps retreated again to the front of the library before turning the pages back over.

  He looked at those thick lines once more, dividing the pages into thirds and two-thirds, the spaces to their left blank and sterile as if no ink would take there, no thoughts could hold weight.

  These are real, he thought, his heart pummeling his chest and sweat beading on his forehead. He could pass the parchments over to the Guild, but then news would spread. Or they could go themselves—he and Nomi—to see if they could find what these pages alluded to. But the risks were great.

  One thing of which he was certain: if they could prove that the Great Divide did not rise endlessly, this would be the greatest voyage ever.

  And if there was evidence of a Sleeping God up there, then they would change Noreela.

  He closed his eyes and wondered what to do.

  ON HER WAY home, Nomi called in to the runners' rooms. She sent a runner to Pancet's Stables, south of the city, with an order and promise token for ten good horses, riding and camping equipment and all the climbing gear Pancet could procure in the next day and night. She deflected queries about why she was not going to the Guild with a handful of coins. The runners needed to make a living as well, and they were known for their honesty.

  Then she returned home, readying herself to say good-bye. She lived in the hills above the river, her home one of twenty in a structure built around a central courtyard. In the courtyard were several young weeping trees growing from a small pond, and ducks and frogs made the high grasses and reeds their home. It was not a cheap place to live, but Nomi had the money. She'd been through a lot on her voyages, and she saw no shame in profiting from her travels. Let Ramus frown upon her all he wished. If it weren't for her, they wouldn't be able to undertake the journey they were planning right now.

  Still, as she entered her home a moment of doubt assailed her. Should I really have told Ramus about this? I could have gone on my own, perhaps with Ten as companion. But the Great Divide was a huge distance to travel for a fool's treasure. She needed Ramus's wisdom, his knowledge of language and the printed histories of words, to tell whether the parchments were real.

  Sometimes, she wished she were wise like him.

  She walked around her main room, examining artifacts she had brought back from her two voyages. Carvings hung on the walls; woven materials in the shape of a hawk swished from the ceiling; a steam sculpture repeated itself in a tray of heated water. Bottles of her own Ventgorian wine lay aging in one dark corner. A marsh harp, impossible to play unless you we
re a true Ventgorian, hung above her fire. All precious items. No books, no crumbling scrolls like Ramus had in his own little hovel.

  Nomi felt at home here, surrounded by the rewards of her life's chosen path.

  If only Timal were still here, she thought. He was the greatest reward. But Timal had left her a year earlier, saying nothing, never returning. She heard from a mutual friend that he had left for Pengulfin Landing and the rich crystal farms that had started to thrive on its eastern shores. She still had some of his clothes in her sleep-room, and on nights when she was most lonely she smelled them and imagined him beside her.

  She sighed. If he were still here he would not approve of this latest voyage, and maybe she would not even go. She'd let Ramus have the parchments and go on his own, make the find, reap the glory.

  “Did I really love Timal that much?” she said to the empty room. The metal shields on one wall rang with a sonorous response.

  Nomi lit the fire to warm water. She would bathe, change into fresh clothes, then go back down into the city to meet up with Ramus and Ten once more.

  In her mind, the voyage had already begun.

  RAMUS WALKED ALONG the riverfront, past the traders he'd seen setting up that morning. They were still trading, but business had slackened somewhat as the sun rose higher, and the Cantrass Angels had vanished. He wondered what they had achieved with their morning's work.

  As he approached the bridge out to Naru May's, he paused and looked across the water. It was almost half before midday and Ten was already there. He was sitting in the same seat he'd taken that morning at breakfast, head bowed, hands crossed on his lap. There was a mug on the table before him. Ramus guessed he had been there for some time.

  Eager to see us again? he wondered. Or eager to leave?

  He hurried across the bridge and stood before the table.

  “Real?” The wanderer looked up, then stretched his arms above his head, clicking his fingers.

  “Interesting,” Ramus said. “They're written in an unusual language, and contain some intriguing imagery.”

  “But don't you agree that they're from above the Divide?”

  Ramus stared at the wanderer for a dozen heartbeats, trying to see past his eyes. “Nomi will be here soon,” he said. “Our discussion should begin when she arrives.”

  Ten stretched again and looked around. “Good. Can't wait to get away from here. My feet are itching already.”

  “You didn't look around the city?”

  “What's to see?” Ten asked, and Ramus surprised himself by finding nothing to say.

  At Ten's signal, Savi came with cydrax and a mug for Ramus.

  “Another mug?” Ramus offered, but Ten shook his head.

  They sat in silence for a while, looking everywhere but at each other. The deck was filling rapidly with traders and buyers breaking off for their midday meal, and the chatter was upbeat and pleasant.

  “So where did you really find them?” Ramus asked at last.

  Ten frowned. He had been staring into the distance, lost somewhere beyond Long Marrakash. “You don't believe what I said?”

  “If there is a lie in your story, you'd best tell me now.”

  “No lie.”

  “Good. Because if there is one, Nomi will know it by now. Her mother's sister is a truthscryer.”

  “That's superstition!” Ten scoffed.

  Ramus raised his hands and shrugged. “I'm not pretending to know how it works.”

  Ten's eyes narrowed. “You're just trying to play me.”

  Ramus stared at the wanderer. “Believe what you wish.”

  NOMI ARRIVED , A look of doubt and suspicion on her face as she glanced from Ramus to Ten.

  “I thought we were meeting at midday?” she said to Ten.

  The wanderer stared at her with that implacable expression. “I was claustrophobic in the city. At least sitting here I can look out over the river.”

  Nomi offered Ramus a brief smile. “So do we have something to discuss?”

  Ramus took out the parchment roll and placed it on the table between them. “It's worth buying,” he said casually.

  “And it is from where Ten claims?”

  “I don't know. That's why I want to buy it, so we can pursue it further.”

  Ten looked at Nomi. Even a wanderer could discern wealth. “How much will you offer?”

  “How much will you take?” Nomi asked.

  Ten leaned forward, glancing at the tables around them. He placed his hands flat on the table, fingertips just touching the parchment as though he had missed its company. “There are other places I could go,” he said. “Other Voyagers who I'm sure would be interested in these pages.”

  Ramus looked at Nomi. She sat with her legs crossed, leaning back, presenting a casual air that he knew was anything but relaxed. He could see the small tic below her left eye which always began when she was most stressed.

  I should have made sure we talked alone. I should have made her aware of what this really is. “So what will you take?” he asked.

  Ten leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face. Then he looked down at the rolled pages, and smiled. “If your first offer is enough, I'll take it. If not, I go straight to the Guild; I'm sure they can finance my needs. No negotiation.”

  Ramus said nothing. Nomi shifted in her chair. Ten looked out across the river, and for the first time his scarred, weathered face seemed relaxed. He'll take whatever we offer, Ramus thought. He's come a long way, but I think he likes us. I think he sees the adventurous spirit the three of us share.

  “Fifteen thousand pieces,” Nomi whispered. “And a third of whatever we bring back.”

  Ten smiled. “As for the latter, the glory is all yours. I want no part in what you discover. But for the offer . . . I accept.”

  Nomi let out a held breath and Ramus closed his eyes.

  “I can give you a promise token now,” Nomi said. “I'll tell you which banker to go to, or . . . ?”

  “Yes, that's fine. I trust you.” Ten poured a little more cydrax for each of them. “Shall we toast our deal?”

  Should we? Ramus thought. Is this really something to celebrate?

  Nomi's nervousness vanished and she threw him her most dazzling smile. “A toast to your own voyage, Ten,” she said. “And good wishes for whatever will come for us all.”

  Ten nodded and raised his mug.

  They all drank, then Ten stood and stretched. “Time for me to leave,” he said. “I'll take your promise token with thanks, and if you could direct me to the banker, I'll be on my way.”

  Ramus watched the wanderer and Nomi conclude business, watched him walk away after exchanging silent nods, watched him leave the bridge and disappear into the midday crowd along the riverfront. And every step of the way, he wondered what the wanderer was thinking. Was he laughing at them? Or did he feel only pity?

  “So what did you find?” Nomi asked at last, obviously frustrated at Ramus's silence.

  He picked up the rolled pages and put them back inside his jacket. “When do we leave?”

  “What makes you think I've already made arrangements?”

  Ramus raised his eyebrows.

  Nomi laughed softly. “Dawn, the day after tomorrow, from Pancet's Stables.”

  “We should talk somewhere private. There's plenty to discuss.”

  “Just tell me that one thing, Ramus,” Nomi said, her voice louder than she probably intended. The patrons sitting around them glanced their way, then went back to their business.

  Ramus only nodded.

  Nomi's eyes lit up. “The voyage of a lifetime.”

  “A SLEEPING GOD. . .” Nomi said.

  They were back in Ramus's home, sitting in his main room with the remains of a sheebok and bread platter between them. Nomi had bought it from a street vendor a hundred steps from Ramus's home, and though it was still hot when they had arrived, neither of them had felt much like eating. The meat was tender and juicy, but the nervous tingles in Nomi's stomach
had made her feel queasy.

  “A myth,” Ramus said.

  “Many people worship them. Await their return to lead Noreela into a Golden Age.”

  “And many follow shamans, and others worship the life moon and the death moon.”

  “Are you saying they're all wrong?”

  “Not at all. I'm saying it's what may be atop the Divide that we must go for. Another land? Another race?” He shook his head, looking down at his greasy fingers.

  “But if it is there? If we do find it?”

  “Maybe this is a mistake,” he said.

  “You said it looked real!”

  “Not the parchment. I don't recognize any of the words it contains, so it must be from elsewhere. No . . . the mistake could be us.”

  “Then I'll go on my own.” Hurt, Nomi turned away.

  Ramus was silent for a long time. Nomi wanted to turn around to see what he was doing, but she felt it best to give him her back. She did not wish him to see the doubt in her eyes.

  “I'm not saying I don't want to go,” he said at last.

  Nomi spun around. “Then what the fuck are you saying?”

  “That we should not go blind. You called it the voyage of a lifetime, and I agree. But it may contain the dangers of a lifetime too.”

  “Good. Duly noted.”

  Ramus stared at her, unblinking. “We can't tell anyone,” he said.

  “Why should we?”

  He smiled coldly. “Not to retain the glory, Nomi. We need to keep this secret because of what just might be up there on the Divide. There must be very good reasons why no one has ever seen anything like this before.”

  “One beat you're a skeptic, the next you're protecting Noreela from a Sleeping God!”

  “Just being cautious.” He shook his head, sighing.