by Tim Lebbon
“You're sure you can do this in the dark?”
“I'm not completely blind.”
“Not yet.” She stripped her weapon belt and slung it on her saddle.
Ramus raised an eyebrow.
“I'm not fighting anyone,” Lulah said. “I'm sorry for your illness, but they're my friends. They catch me, that's it.”
Ramus remained silent, but he could not help thinking to the future. There was a long ride ahead, and at the end of it, if they climbed the Divide and found that a Sleeping God really was there, such petty conceits as friendship would cease to matter.
“Go well,” he said, holding out his hands. Lulah glanced down, nodded once and vanished like a shadow. He did not even hear her leave.
_____
RAMUS WENT SOUTH, then west. He moved slowly and cautiously, not wishing to give himself away. His head was throbbing and the pain behind his eyes gave a false light to the scene. What he saw as solid ground was marsh, and where he saw marsh was a spread of shale, slipping and sliding beneath him, loosened by the rain that had begun as soon as he started to move. His clothes were wet and heavy, his hair lank and plastered across his face. He held out one hand ahead of him, knowing that if he caused too much noise, he would likely encounter a Serian in the darkness.
When he judged he had gone far enough past the camp, he turned north once more, going carefully until he saw the glow of a campfire in the distance. He should have asked Lulah how far from the camp the Serian guard or guards would be, where they would choose to keep watch, how they would be armed. He could see the fire from here, but if he set the distraction he had planned, it was possible they would not hear it. Lulah would be waiting way past that fire even now, hunkered down in shadows, ready with the pouch of berry bugs.
Ramus moved closer. He entered a lightly wooded area, slipping from tree to tree and doing his best to avoid the undergrowth around their trunks. There were noises from all around: scurrying things, leaves rustling and caressing in the breeze, raindrops dripping from above.
This is not for me, he thought. Give me a warm library, a musty book and a bottle of root wine any day.
As if to mock him, the raindrops grew warmer, and he felt the occasional impact of something harder against his scalp. He held out his hands and caught a slick serpent, the length of his index finger. It flexed and snapped at the fleshy pad of his thumb. He dropped it, and more landed around him, slithering away into the damp grass. Something larger struck the ground to his left, and he heard the meaty sound of something bursting.
Ramus moved on, cringing whenever something other than rain hit him. He stamped on the small serpents when he saw them, kicked at running, many-legged shapes and stepped over the wet mess of things that had split upon impact. They streamed into the night; some had legs, a few had the stubs of rudimentary wings.
He slipped on a slick of leaves and went down, sliding into a gulley he had not even seen. His head struck the ground and the pain flared, sending spears of light into his eyes. The heat of agony did its best to draw a groan or a scream from his mouth, and he ground his teeth together to hold it back.
Lulah needs her distraction, he thought. This strange downfall would not suffice—this far north, squirm-storms only ever lasted a few beats. If he left it much longer, she would assume that he had been caught, and he suddenly had the image of her walking into Nomi's camp. Once that happened, he doubted she would be able to leave again.
As he sat up and slipped off his backpack, the storm turned to simple rain once more.
It would have to be here.
Ramus had brought several souvenirs from the Widow with him, and one of them was a handful of screeching-lizard eggs. These creatures were limited exclusively to one valley in the Widow's mountains, but their reproductive technique was so unusual that Ramus had felt compelled to bring some home. Not with any intention of hatching them, or selling them, or even presenting them to the Guild for its museum. It had been pure curiosity. These were the only animals Ramus knew of that were hatched by fire.
The rain had eased, for which he was glad, and he found it easy to dig down through the leaves to a level of drier soil. He worked by touch, making a nest from an old paper map and dried kindling from his bag, and placing the eggs on top.
He wished the Widow had told him more about these screeching lizards. She had said that they lived mainly in caves and crevasses, their eggs exuded a sticky fuel when heated, they were hatched by fire and they made a terrible sound once born into the world. Being woken from peace into pain did that, she'd said. But Ramus had no idea how long their hatching took, nor whether the tiny lizards would even still be alive. These eggs were old.
I could just shout, he thought. Scream and crash around in the woods. But that would give him no time to escape. And he had to accept that Lulah had been right about his eyesight.
Shielding the nest from the rain with his body, he used his flints to throw sparks, and it did not take long for the old paper to catch on fire. The kindling caught next, then came a shower of crackling sparks as the eggs began venting their own fuel.
Ramus ran. Hands held out before him, he darted between the trees, tripping several times before he burst back out into the open. South a little way, then east again, always aware of the vague glow of the campfire through the trees to his left. Is this right? he thought, and cursed his weakness. Why have doubts when the deed was done? He may well be a man of words and not action, but that had to change.
The sounds came sooner than he had expected. Several loud cracks first, like branches being snapped in the night, and then soon after, the screeches of the newborn lizards rose up. The eggs were small, but the noise they made was tremendous.
Ramus ran faster still, distancing himself from the crying lizards and the small fire that had birthed them. The rain continued falling, and now his wet clothes were musty and warm from the sweat rising from his body.
He soon slowed, heart thumping, vision clouding, and he had to sit beside a fallen tree to regain his breath.
Shouts came from the direction of the camp. It was too far away to make out who was calling, but if he concentrated he could hear the voices moving into the woods, seeking out whatever made the noise.
He wondered where Lulah was and what she was doing.
And then he began to wonder about Nomi: Would she be scared, worried, concerned? Would she suspect that this was Ramus's doing? She would be in the camp, guarded by Ramin and Beko, perhaps, while the others searched the trees for the source of the sounds.
Ramus rested his head back against the tree and closed his eyes. The lizards' cries still pierced the night, and the pain behind his eyes sang as though in harmony. He had run farther than he had for a long time. Exhaustion took him, and before he knew it he was drifting away from this rainy night and into the more complete darkness of a nightmare.
_____
HE IS AT the center of things. To his right is a fire, burned down to glows and ashen sculptures; to his left are unoccupied tents; ahead of him is the wood from which a howl of rage continues to rise, going higher and higher and yet somehow never passing beyond the realms of hearing. Moonlight bathes the trees and silvers a thousand sword blades across their leaves. Raindrops and limp serpents gather and drop from the tree canopy, and each impact is the footfall of a killer. Steam rises and flows where there should be no steam, and the ground gapes open as it vents its own nightmares to the night.
He is at the center of things, and events radiate outward. He sees the running shapes darting away in their search for whatever threatens them. Moonlight streaks across the grass, as though illuminating routes for those who have gone, or those who have yet to go. And then events radiate inward as well, and the trees begin to part as things emerge and come for him. He has never seen or imagined these things before, but he recognizes them as something personal and secret to someone other than him.
RAMUS SCREAMED HIMSELF awake, huddled against the fallen tree. For a beat everyt
hing startled him, but then the nightmare—Nomi's nightmare—faded rapidly, and it was as if he had never dreamed at all.
Nomi's nightmare . . . He had seen her fears, and they were terrible. He should have felt happy.
He stood, shivering and wet, listening for movement or voices. But he heard nothing, and when he looked around he could no longer see the glow of Nomi's campfire. There were no stars, and the rain was heavy again, blinding him. He had no idea how much time had passed.
Lulah could be back at the horses by now. He had to hurry.
But she came to him. As he struggled across the sodden ground, lightning cracked and thunder split the darkness, and shadows manifested before him. He drew his knife but quickly made out the shapes of two horses, one of them ridden by the slight but impressive figure of the Serian.
“Are you well?” she asked.
Ramus nodded, and it felt as though a ball of fire seethed behind his eyes.
“Mount up,” Lulah said. “Lean forward and rest if you must. I'll lead your horse.”
“Is it done?” he asked. His voice came from very far away.
Someone was helping him then, and every heartbeat was disjointed. He was suddenly astride his horse, and Lulah rode ahead, his mount's reins tied to her saddle. Is it done? he tried to ask again, but even his voice had failed him.
Nomi must think I wish her dead, he thought. And as pain and exhaustion dragged him down to a deeper, darker sleep where even nightmares would never reach, he could not feel pleased.
PART TWO
The Stone
Man
Curse—Widow's Warning—Ascent
“Voyaging great distances—through forests, from island to island, across plains and into the mountains—is all about finding ourselves.”
Sordon Perlenni, the First Voyager
Chapter 9
NOMI SAW SHADOS moving into the camp, and she knew that they were Ramin and Rhiana, yet still the fear had settled in her and refused to let go.
“Well?” Beko asked. He had remained close to Nomi from the moment the first strange cry rose up in the night.
“We found a small fire, nothing else,” Ramin said. “Whatever was making those sounds spread out and disappeared into the landscape. First it came from one place, and then many.”
“I've never heard anything like that before,” Rhiana said.
Beko stood quietly for a beat, listening to the darkness with a frown on his face.
“Some Steppe marauders use animal calls to communicate,” Rhiana said. “Birds, frogs, lizards.”
“Didn't sound like animals to me,” Ramin said. “Sounded like someone having their nuts squeezed.”
“Charming.” Rhiana came closer to the fire, squatting to warm her hands.
“If it was marauders, we'd have seen some sign,” Ramin said. “I've dealt with them before. I know what to look for.”
“Different clans have different methods,” Beko said.
Ramin shrugged. “I'm telling you, there was no one out there. Maybe it was something that fell with the rain.”
Beko turned to Nomi and included her in the conversation for the first time. “Nomi?”
She looked around at the three Serians. Konrad and Noon were still out there somewhere, hidden away to watch and listen for anyone or anything approaching. They had all acted with confidence and professionalism, but although she felt safe, still there was a sliver of fear. She saw Ramus's face and remembered the sickness that had once afflicted her. “You're the experts,” she said. “I'll do what you say is best.”
“I just don't like this so soon after what happened last night,” Beko said. “The voyage is young, but already it's feeling ruined.”
“It's not ruined!” Nomi said.
“But he took those pages—”
“I know where we're going, Beko, as do you. The pages were something else, and I can remember them.”
“All of them?”
“Enough.” Even though I cannot read, Nomi thought. I can remember the pictures . . . some of them . . . but that's like remembering the color of a map, but not the contours or scales. I know where we're heading, but now it feels as though we're traveling blind.
Beko nodded. “Right. We stay here for the night, because we all need rest. We won't be flustered by phantoms or wraiths. Konrad's out there to the south, and Noon will remain with the horses. Rhiana is close to the camp but in the shadows. The rest of us will sleep, watch rotation every two hours.”
“You don't sound flustered,” Nomi said lightly.
Beko glared at her, then smiled. “Just being cautious.”
SHE LAY IN her tent, listening to the night noises and wondering where Ramus was now. He was probably miles ahead already, using his rage to drive him and Lulah on, and when daylight came he would be examining those pages from Ten, searching for any advantage he could gain over her.
She tried to recall what the parchments contained. Closed her eyes, absorbed the safety of Beko and the others outside, settled her mind and cast it back to Long Marrakash. She could picture the pages in her mind, but when she tried to organize the various images, they became clouded and hazed. She concentrated some more, remembering her first meeting with Ten. The image of the Sleeping God was clear, and given a quill and paper she could reproduce it herself. But she had nothing like that with her. On this voyage, she had agreed to leave the mapping to Ramus. He had that journal of his, and he would be filling its pages with each new discovery. And each page filled would lead him one more step ahead.
Nomi slipped from the tent and stood close to the fire. Much of the wood had burned down now, and Rhiana was feeding it just enough to keep it alive. There were whole worlds in there—ash caverns, burning wooden ravines, forms in smoke and fire—and Nomi blew on the flames to see whether they gave her any shapes she could remember.
She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and pulled her saddle close to the fire. The Serians came and went about her, changing watch and moving off into the darkness. Nothing else disturbed them that night.
Dawn came gradually, lighting the bushes and trees around them, then showing individual blades of grass. She was exhausted.
“We need paper or parchment,” she said when Beko came to her. “I need to remember what was on those pages.”
“Very well. But you do know we're close to the border with the Pavissia Steppes?”
“Yes,” she said. “And so, out into the wilds.”
“I'd say we're in the wilds already.”
AS RHIANA PEELED some ground-fruits, Noon rushed into the camp. “There's something wrong with the horses!”
Nomi followed the others past the tents and into the trees, and with every step the sense of dread weighed heavier. Ramus was in her mind—in truth, he had not left her since the night before—and she could picture his cool smile.
“I thought you were here watching them,” Beko said.
“And so I have been!” Noon said, anger and confusion in his voice. “By that tree over there, watching, listening. But now the sun's up, I can see that I was fooled. I think we've all been fooled.”
Nomi could see nothing wrong. Eight horses stood there, loosely tethered to the trees, neighing softly in the cool morning mist. Some chewed grass and soft heathers; others still seemed to be asleep. It was these that Noon went to first.
“Touch them,” he said.
Beko and Rhiana went forward and touched the motionless horses. Stroked their hair, put their hands beneath the creatures' mouths, then passed them before the horses' open eyes. Their open, glazed, lifeless eyes.
Rhiana slapped her horse hard on the side. It swayed, and then its two far legs crumpled and it tilted heavily to the ground.
Nomi cried out and stepped back, stamping on Ramin's foot as she did so. The big Serian held her arms and kept her steady, but she could hear his own panicked gasp.
The other horses pulled back tight against their reins, one of them rising on its hind legs and breaking fre
e of its tether. It turned and galloped between the trees, slipping on wet leaves and stumbling to a stop a hundred steps away.
“The other two as well?” Beko asked.
Noon nodded. “Dead. Cold. Stiff. They must have been dead for some time.”
“Poisoned,” Nomi said.
Beko turned. “How can you tell?”
“It's a guess. Ramus knows a lot about poisons from his travels. The Widow in the peaks taught him.”
Noon knelt before the dead horses still standing and scanned the ground, shifting grass with his hand. “I can't see anything,” he said.
Nomi closed her eyes and fear pressed in. This is all my doing, she thought. I should have said nothing to Ramus. I should have taken his anger and turned it back on him, not made it worse.
“We ride on,” Beko said. “Perhaps we can buy new horses at the border.”
“Perhaps,” Nomi said.
“Six people, all our equipment, five horses,” Ramin said. “Numbers not being my good point, I'd say we're pissed on already.”
“Nomi will ride with me,” Beko said. “Konrad and Ramin, you share a mount. The spare will be our packhorse.”
“One horse can't carry everything we have,” Noon said. “We'll kill it just as well as poison.”
“Then we lose what we don't need. Share tents. Compromise.”
Nomi nodded and looked around at the group. Fear was suddenly replaced with determination. Only until the sun goes down again, she thought, but she grabbed on to the positive and tried to drive the negative away. “We should ride through the day,” she said. “Try to buy horses at the border. I have money, and Ramus has nothing, so he's only inconvenienced us for now.”
“He could have ridden on ahead,” Rhiana said. “Could have gained thirty miles on us last night. But he chose to stay back and do this.”
“And Lulah with him,” Beko said.
The Serians fell silent, and Nomi wondered whether they saw this as betrayal by their friend. Or perhaps it was all just work, and they were admiring a job well done.