Fallen

by Tim Lebbon

  “Learn!” Ramus said, almost spitting the word.

  Nomi raised her hand. “And in return, you intrude into my life, destroy a relationship . . .” She shook her head and angrily wiped away a tear.

  A shadow fell across them, Beko walking around the fire and going to stand between them. He glanced at Ramus, then looked at Nomi until she returned his stare. “It's time to bed down for the night,” he said.

  Nomi was still shivering. She started shaking her head, lips pressed tightly together, and then she gave Ramus the most humorless grin he had ever seen.

  “Nomi,” Beko said. “Your tent. And Ramus, you should bed down too. Daylight will ease this and make things easier for—”

  “Stay out of this, Beko,” Nomi said. The Serian tensed as if about to speak, but she looked at him and shook her head. “I hired you.”

  Beko raised an eyebrow. “So I obey your orders?”

  Nomi said no more, but Beko turned and walked away. “Just keep your voices down while we try to sleep.”

  “How's your head, Ramus?” Nomi asked.

  His breath hitched, his heart stuttered. How's your head, Ramus? He blinked and the weight was there, it was always there, the extra weight behind his eyes that he should never have been carrying.

  How's your head, Ramus?

  Nomi glared at him. She looked as if she had just stepped from a cliff, and the fall would be a long, long way.

  NOTHING CAN BE unsaid, Nomi thought. No backing out of this one. Perhaps if Timal had come back to me after he saw Ramus, we could have undone what he said. The lies. The cruel lies.

  But not this.

  “Does it ache?” she asked.

  Every beat altered things, but this was when the world changed forever. For both of them.

  “Have nightmares that don't feel like yours?”

  His shock cut her, but the pain in her soul was not bad. It didn't feel like vengeance, not exactly. But the guilt she had suffered was breaking free, being shredded and whittled down by what Ramus had revealed to her.

  “Something heavy, Ramus? Behind the eyes?”

  But this all happened before Timal, she thought. She drove that down. It didn't matter. The vagaries of time had no place juggling with such sins.

  “What do you know about what's wrong with me?” he said slowly, quietly.

  Nomi sensed the Serians listening again, and she glanced right through the heat haze above the waning campfire. Beko was there, and the way he looked at her now was nothing like earlier.

  “Nomi!” Ramus shouted. He stepped toward her and she stumbled back, expecting a blow that did not come. “What do you know?”

  “I think you know already,” she said. “You're the one with the brains.”

  He frowned, putting his left hand to his temple as if to question the thing growing in there. The cancer. “You gave me this?” His frown smoothed out, his hands fell to his sides and he grew terribly still. “How?” he asked. Not why, or when, but how. Ramus, ever the seeker of knowledge.

  “I caught it from a steam vent in Ventgoria,” Nomi said. “I was tracing the track of an old vine-hanging field when the vent erupted. No sign of it one second, and the next . . . an explosion. Mud, rock, steam and gas, and something else from the ground. I didn't see or sense it at the time, but later I heard about these things from the Ventgorians. They're the eggs of giant mind-worms, things that twist up and down from and to the heart of Ventgoria. I . . . didn't understand. Still don't.” She was aware that she had an audience, but her words were only for Ramus. And herself. Expressing what she knew, putting it into order, made real what she had been living with for two years. It was like dragging a ravenous beast from the depths of a black pool and up into the sun. Revelation, realization and perhaps understanding. But at the same time, its full horror would be appreciated.

  “You told me you were ill,” Ramus said.

  “There was a woman—a shaman—and she used magichala to tend wounds and treat illnesses. They kept me in one of their highest stilt houses, fed and watered me, and they wouldn't let anyone come to visit. Not Beko, not anyone.” She looked at the Serian captain to make sure he heard every word, because this was a confession for him as well.

  “Go on,” Ramus said.

  He lost me Timal, Nomi thought. But her anger had suddenly drained, and she felt hollow and devoid of emotion.

  “The shaman woman came to me morning, noon and night for three days. She made me talk about my dreams and nightmares, and gave me potions. I had no idea what was in them, but she wanted to help me. Even though I wasn't Ventgorian . . . It was as if she was ashamed that I'd caught such an illness there.”

  “What was it like?” Ramus asked.

  “Something inside me that shouldn't be there. Growing. A cancer, but fast. And as my eyesight began to fade, the shaman told me there was only one way to save my life.”

  Ramus nodded, a terrible acceptance. “Pass it on to me.”

  “She came with a doll made of mud and reeds. No features, just a torso with arms, legs and a head. She pressed it to my chest and said it had to feel my heartbeat for a night. In the morning I would imagine a person and name them, and the shaman would pass the sickness on.”

  “You're lying,” Ramus said. “You know there's something wrong with me—I don't know how. And you're sick that I ruined it with Timal, so you're trying to go one better. Make me believe you're responsible for this.”

  “You have nightmares that aren't your own,” Nomi said. “That's because they're mine.” It was a stark statement, making her feel so exposed.

  But Ramus's face dropped and he believed. His anger simmered behind his eyes, but still he wanted to know. Perhaps he wanted to kill her . . . but not yet. He was Ramus the Voyager, Ramus the explorer, and here was something beyond his experience and knowledge.

  “How . . . ?” he muttered.

  “Someone I knew well, the shaman told me. Someone whose soul I had felt. And all our differences aside, you were the only one.”

  She could see Ramus trying to work things out, casting through the dates in his mind, and she knew that it would make sense because it was true.

  “You cursed me to die,” he said.

  Nomi's tears came. This was revenge of a sort, but she was cursing herself as well. “It hurt so much, I didn't know what else—”

  “It's your fault that I'm going to die.”

  “You took Timal from me,” she sobbed.

  “After you did this to me!” he screamed, slapping at his head as if to loosen the illness. “That's nothing! I didn't kill you! I didn't doom you!”

  “The shaman said—”

  “She said you'd die?”

  “Yes,” Nomi whispered. “In great pain. Soon. And I'd only just met Timal, and I didn't want to die.”

  Ramus's anger had withered and now he looked lost, alone. He looked shrunken. He glanced around the camp at the tents, the rapt Serians and the quietly nodding horses.

  Then he looked back at Nomi and she realized his anger had not vanished at all. It had simply grown so cold and concentrated that it had taken on the color of night.

  “Neither do I,” he whispered. And he went for Nomi.

  The change was startling. The camp went from motionless to chaotic, and even the fire seemed to leap and spark. Nomi stumbled back as Ramus came at her, his hands reaching for her throat. She tripped and fell, and as she went down she kicked out, her right foot connecting with Ramus's wrist. He grunted and let his momentum carry him forward and down, sprawling onto Nomi and crushing her into the heather.

  Nomi let out an involuntary laugh. This was so ridiculous, so unbelievable, it could not really be happening.

  Ramus's right fist crashed into the side of her head and knocked aside all such thoughts. The fire illuminated his face, his wide eyes, his mouth drawn into a savage grimace as he struck again, fist glancing from Nomi's shoulder and head.

  “No!” she shouted, but he was raised above her now, entwining
his fingers and bringing both hands up ready to crash them down into her face. “Ramus!”

  The horses neighed and snorted, startled from their sleep.

  The fire spat and threw sparks at the sky.

  Nomi surged up and lashed out, feeling her fist drag across Ramus's teeth. He shouted and fell sideways away from the fire, and Nomi kicked his legs away and reached for a burning stick.

  Anger and shame, fury and sadness, her tears bled all of them across her skin.

  “You killed me!” Ramus shouted, spitting blood.

  Nomi turned and knelt in one motion, bringing the burning stick around with her.

  “You think I'm afraid of fire, Nomi?” he cried, slapping the dressed burn on his arm. “My brain's dying, and you think you can scare me with that?”

  The Serians were around them then, Beko standing before Ramus with his arms outstretched, Noon behind him, and Lulah kicked the stick from Nomi's hand as Ramin pressed down on her shoulders.

  “Both of you calm down and keep quiet,” Beko said. He spoke softly but his words carried a great weight. “I won't watch you fight, and if either of you try, you'll get hurt.”

  “I pay you to protect us, Beko!” Nomi said.

  “And I'm doing just that.”

  Nomi shrugged Ramin's hands from her shoulders. His face appeared beside hers. “Very well,” he said, “but don't move.”

  “Ramus?” Beko said. “Are you calm?”

  Ramus seemed unable to answer. He stared at Nomi with hatred. Shame as well? She wasn't sure. She hoped so but . . . they should both be ashamed.

  “Ramus,” she said, “we need to end this.”

  “End?” he said, incredulous. “It's ended already! I'll be dead soon, and that's the only end you wanted, isn't it?”

  “I never wanted that!”

  “You gave me your disease!” he roared, and Noon grabbed his arms when he tried to stand. “How could you? You fucking sheebok bitch, how could you?”

  Nomi started crying, but the tears only seemed to spur Ramus on even more. He shouted and raged, and Noon and Beko guided him away to the other side of the camp.

  “I didn't mean it,” Nomi said, fighting back the tears. She thought of Timal and what could have been, and the voyage she had ruined for Ramus, and she had never been so confused. Her own intentions seemed to have altered with time, and as she considered them, they changed some more.

  “Tell that to your dying friend,” Lulah said.

  Nomi looked at Beko where he stood talking to Ramus in calm, even tones. Beneath his shirt the Serian bore scratches on his back from her nails, but that seemed like a dream now, something seen away by the changes and violence of the last few moments.

  And what's going to happen now? she thought. The voyage was over. But it could never be over, not this journey, because it was still the voyage of a lifetime.

  “We can make up,” she whispered.

  “Can you cure him?” Lulah asked. Nomi had not meant for anyone to hear, but she looked up at the Serian and shook her head.

  “No. But I can be sorry.”

  “Only now?”

  “I was sorry when it happened.”

  Lulah laughed and shook her head. “The madman's right. You are a sheebok bitch. By every god that cares, I hope I never have a friend like you.”

  You can't talk to me like that, Nomi thought, but she knew that Lulah could. Back in Long Marrakash, perhaps, there was a pretense at respect, but out here, on the borders of the wilds, they lived by baser rules.

  Lulah walked across to calm the horses, with Noon and Rhiana, and Ramin knelt down beside Nomi.

  “Don't worry about her,” he said. “She's always angry.”

  “Don't give me sympathy,” Nomi said.

  The big Serian held up his hands. “None from here.”

  She closed her eyes and sighed. Her head ached, two of her knuckles were split from where she had punched Ramus in the mouth, and she thought back to that illness that should have killed her. She'd had nightmares she could not explain, and the shaman had told her they were the unknowable dreams of the thing that had passed the illness to her. And now Ramus is living my nightmares, she thought. He's under my skin, in my head. And what nightmares will this night bring?

  When she opened her eyes, Ramus had already started taking down his tent.

  “WHO WILL COME with me?” Ramus said. “I can't pay as well as Nomi Hyden, but I'll promise rewards at the end, when we're back in Long Marrakash.”

  He had rolled his tent and folded the poles, and Noon agreed to bring him his horse. He was leaving. There was no way he could stay, and much as he thought of this voyage as his, he knew that Nomi had paid for everything.

  And he would make her pay for more.

  “I'll go,” Lulah said.

  “Lulah—” Beko began.

  “Captain, I terminate my employ here and now. My apologies, and I hope we can serve together again. But it's the start of a voyage, not the end. I don't feel that my absence will trouble you in any way.”

  “I do,” Beko said.

  Lulah did not reply. She had not even glanced at Ramus yet, but she stared at her captain until he sighed and relented.

  Beko stepped forward and clasped Lulah's hands. “Good journeys, Lulah.”

  “And to you, Beko.”

  She walked to Ramus then, her one eye giving nothing away.

  “Thank you,” Ramus said. “We can discuss—”

  “Plenty of time for that,” Lulah said. Noon arrived with Ramus's horse then, smiling sadly at Lulah. “Pack your horse,” Lulah said. “I need to gather my things and say my good-byes, and then we'll be on the trail.”

  “It's still dark,” Ramin said.

  “There's no danger here.” Lulah went back to her tent and started packing. Ramin, Rhiana and Konrad went to her while Noon went for her horse. They helped her pack and saddle her mount, and all the time they whispered things Ramus could not hear.

  “Ramus . . .” Nomi began, her voice small and lost.

  Ramus shook his head and turned away.

  “The pages,” she said. Her voice was still weak, but she was not about to ask for mercy. Not now. Things were said and decisions made.

  “The parchment pages?” Ramus said. He touched the backpack already slung over his shoulder. “In here. Come and take them.”

  “They're mine. I paid Ten for them.”

  “You don't have the first idea what they say. You can't even read!”

  “They belong to me, and I want them back.”

  Ramus posed mock-thoughtful for a while, tapping his foot and looking up at the death moon. “Well, perhaps we can perform an exchange,” he said. “My life for the parchment pages.”

  Nomi shook her head sadly and turned away.

  Ramus saw her talking to Beko, both of them looking past the horses into the darkness that still surrounded them.

  “I'll fight whoever comes for them!” Ramus said. He drew his knife and shifted it slightly so that it reflected firelight.

  Beko turned and watched Ramus, completely unconcerned. If he wants the pages, he'll take them, Ramus thought. I'm being a fool.

  “You'll have to kill me,” he said. “I'm dying already. If Hyden tells you to take the pages by force, you'll have my blood on your sword before they're in her hands. You want that?”

  Beko moved away from Nomi, shaking his head at her insistence. He stood six paces from Ramus, looking at the backpack.

  “Nomi says they're hers,” he said. “I don't know what's on the pages, nor do I care right now. But she'd like them back.”

  Ramus's lip bled from where Nomi had punched him. He sucked in a dribble of blood and spat it out. “You heard me,” he said, turning the knife to throw a reflection at Beko's face.

  The Serian could probably kill him in the space of five heartbeats.

  Beko sighed and turned away. “I'll not fight him,” he said. “And I'll not risk him fighting me, because then he'll be dead.�
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  “Beko, please, those pages are—”

  “This is your fight, Nomi. If you must, try and take them from him yourself.”

  For a moment Ramus was sure she would do just that. She was younger than him, fitter, faster. But she was even less of a fighter than he.

  “Please, Ramus,” she said.

  “Piss on you, Nomi.” He turned his back on the camp, grabbed his horse's reins and set off. Ramus would have been happy knowing he would never see Nomi again. But that was not likely.

  This voyage of a lifetime had become a race.

  Chapter 8

  IT TOOK A while for Lulah to catch up. Ramus even began to fear that the other Serians had persuaded her to stay behind, and he went slowly, trying not to consider the prospect of traveling on his own for so long.

  When he heard her coming, he breathed a long sigh of relief.

  “We'll ride until dawn,” she said, “and then we need to pause and take stock. Noon gave me a parcel of food and a skin of water, but we have little else.”

  “We have to gain a lead on the others,” Ramus said. “We won't be stopping.”

  Lulah fell in alongside him, their horses moving slowly across the darkened landscape. Ramus knew how dangerous it was to travel by night. They were not only risking their horses' stepping into a hole or tripping on a loose stone, but there could be different perils, easily avoidable by day.

  “I'm with you for my own reasons,” Lulah said. “Maybe you'll hear them, maybe not. That's my choice. But I'm here as an equal, and I'll not take orders from you.”

  Ramus actually laughed. “Lulah, I never for a moment thought you would.”

  He wondered if she smiled, but it was too dark to tell.

  DAWN CAME AND burned the sky. They stopped, took a drink, ate some dried biscuits from the parcel Noon had given Lulah, and Ramus took out his map.

  “I drew this from everything I have at home,” he said. “It's well mapped where we are now, but even so there are differences. We're closing on the border. We need to take care.”

  “Last night you were all for riding on regardless,” Lulah said.

  Ramus nodded, looking up at dawn's spectacular blaze on the eastern horizon. “I'm more tired now. More angry.”