Fallen

by Tim Lebbon

  Ramus could not move. He should flee now, he knew, but his body would not obey.

  The Serian stood again, growling instead of speaking, and started scuffing along the wall back toward the entrance. Ramus heard the Serian's labored breathing, the sound of leather against stone, metal clinking here and there . . . and then a single loud crack. Stone against stone.

  The Serian cried out. It sounded as though his voice came through gravel.

  Ramus listened to the agonized retreat, and when he could hear no more movement, he followed. The sound of flowing water led him around a corner, and then he could see the weak ocher illumination of the death moon fingering through the entrance hole.

  What have I done? he thought as he climbed. But there was something other than guilt plaguing him. Something very much like excitement.

  “OH, RAMUS,” LULAH called. “What have you done?”

  “Ramus!” It was Ramin, roaring into the night yet not moving a step from where Konrad lay sprawled at his feet. The Serian must have rolled from the cairn and landed below, close to where Ramin and Lulah argued by the campfire, and the rain now splashed from his wide-open eyes.

  Ramus walked from the darkness and into the fire's light. “I gave him the words Nomi seeks,” he said. “Now he can carry them back to her.” He was aware of Lulah and Ramin staring at him but they were only shapes, shadows beyond what he really had to look at—Konrad, squirming on the ground. A continuous low groan came from his mouth, changing tone every few beats, and Ramus realized it was the sound of the Serian's breathing.

  “He's dying,” Ramin said. There was disbelief in his voice, and then anger as he stepped around his fallen cousin. “He's dying!”

  Lulah pressed her sword across the side of Ramin's neck. He was a head taller than her and the weapon rested at an angle, but it was still obvious that she could inflict a terrible injury with just a flick of her wrist.

  “We shan't fight,” Ramin said.

  “No,” said Lulah, “and so you shan't fight him.”

  Ramin glared at Ramus, then turned and knelt beside the writhing Serian. “Konrad,” he said gently. But he could only look on hopelessly as the man suffered.

  “This is what Nomi wants so much,” Ramus said. He tried to inject venom into his voice but he felt suddenly wretched, looking down at the man he had doomed. Konrad's eyeballs were turning pale. I did that, Ramus thought. A bout of queasiness hit him and he closed his eyes, pain thumping down his spine.

  “Help me with him,” Ramin said, but he was no longer talking to Ramus.

  Lulah helped Ramin lift Konrad to his feet, the stricken man screaming as his joints ground and popped. The Serians dragged him across to his horse, moving carefully but still unable to prevent the pain. Together they helped him up onto his mount. Ramus was excluded now, the cause of this pain and yet not allowed to help.

  And can I? he thought. Perhaps if I translate more of the parchments I'll find a cure? But unlikely as that seemed right now, some deeper part of him—the new part that hearkened to the Sleeping God, perhaps—knew that this was an example that needed to be made. When Nomi discovered what he could do she would pursue him no longer. She would fear him.

  I did that, Ramus thought again.

  Lulah stepped back with a startled cry when two of Konrad's fingers snapped off in her hand.

  LULAH HELPED SECURE the dying man to his saddle.

  “Is there a cure?” Ramin asked, looking to Ramus. His voice was quiet, and in that hopelessness he already knew the answer.

  Ramus shook his head.

  For a few beats, Ramus thought that Lulah would mount up and ride away with the Serians. If that happened, he would not call her back, because Lulah could make up her own mind. He hoped that she would stay.

  She stood beside Konrad's horse for a while, touching the slumped man on the cheek and snatching her hand back. She said something to Ramin, but Ramus could not hear her words through the rain.

  Konrad's right arm looked gray and dead. His face was pale. His right hand was cracked and crazed, and it bore stumps instead of fingers.

  Ramin mounted up and grabbed Konrad's reins, riding away without another word. He threw Ramus one final glance. There was hate there, and something else besides. Fear, Ramus thought. It was a new experience for him.

  Lulah returned to the fire, keeping it between her and Ramus. “You did that?” she asked. “You did that with words?”

  “More than words,” Ramus said. “I'm not sure what they are. I . . . was afraid.”

  Lulah threw something through the dying flames, and it landed at his feet. “Konrad's fingers,” Lulah said. “You turned them to stone, and the rest of him is following. You've breathed another charm.”

  Ramus took a step back, looking at the dark wet things before him. Firelight touched them and cast harsh shadows from their broken edges.

  Chapter 12

  THEY SAW NO more marsh wisps. Nomi had ridden the rest of the previous day deeply troubled by the encounter, feeling as though the wisp had left her with something, changed her in some way. But she could not make out exactly what that was.

  “Maybe you changed yourself,” Beko had said the previous night. They had sat close together at the fire for a while, and she had relished their proximity.

  “How do you mean?” she had asked.

  “You didn't believe the wisps existed. They do. Perhaps your world is opening up.”

  “My world has never been closed,” she had said, but even as she uttered those words, the lie shone through.

  Now, riding through the midday sun and starting to dwell upon whatever lay beyond the Pavissia Steppes, Nomi was startled by Rhiana's shout from ahead. The Serians blustered around her, Beko and Rhiana riding off to the east while Noon rode close to Nomi. She looked after Beko, trying to make out what had caused the upset, and then she saw the two shapes moving across a low ridge in the distance.

  “Marauders?” she asked.

  “Serians,” Noon said, but his voice was troubled.

  Nomi squinted against the sun but could not see clearly. “And?”

  “Two horses, only one rider,” Noon said.

  Nomi brought her horse to a standstill and dismounted, walking slowly through the long grass to meet them.

  IT WAS RAMIN. Konrad had gone. The tall Serian rode in between Beko and Rhiana, guiding Konrad's riderless horse.

  When they arrived, Ramin dismounted, sparing a brief glance for Nomi that held more than a little anger.

  “Where's Konrad?” Noon said.

  “Ramus killed him.”

  “Ramus?” Nomi blurted. “He...” He wouldn't? Was that what she was going to say? Because she no longer believed that. Too much had changed for her to pretend to know him anymore.

  Ramin began fumbling at Konrad's saddlebags.

  “Have you brought the pages?” Nomi asked.

  He looked at her properly this time, untying a heavy bag from the saddle as he did so. “Piss on your pages,” he said. He knelt beside the horse and opened the bag, rolling down the edges as though whatever was inside could be damaged by the gentlest of contacts. “And piss on you.”

  Nomi let out a cry when she saw what the Serian had uncovered.

  Beko slid from his saddle and backed away.

  Rhiana closed her eyes.

  In death, Konrad's stony visage still carried the terrible scars he had borne through life.

  “IS THIS A sick joke?” Noon asked. He stared at the stone head, unable to look away.

  “Why would he make a cast of Konrad?” Rhiana asked.

  “It's no cast,” Ramin said. “When I left Lulah and that bastard, Konrad was sitting on his horse behind me. I had to tie him on. Whatever Ramus had done had frozen him, and all he could do was scream. And even his screams...” He trailed off, and Nomi thought, The head will finish his sentence. The head will speak! But its face remained unmoved.

  “His screams?” Beko asked.

  “Not his own,”
Ramin said. “They were changed by whatever was changing him.”

  Beko shook his head, as though to make sure he still could. “What happened?”

  “Before we left Lulah, Konrad lost fingers. They broke off. Snapped. And as we rode I tried talking to him, listened for his reply, but he could not speak. I'm not sure he even heard. He kept his head down and barely moved, as if he'd forgotten how to ride. His horse became agitated. I was trying to watch out ahead and around us, as well as keeping one eye on Konrad. The rain was heavy, and for a while I felt things hitting my shoulders and head. Spiders, I think, though I couldn't see in the shadows. So I was looking out for them as well, and I wasn't looking when he fell from his horse. I only heard. A heavy impact. His horse kicked and stomped, happy to be free of the weight, perhaps, and my own mount threw me and ran. When I went back to Konrad he was... broken.”

  Nomi looked at the stone head and wondered whether it was changed all the way through.

  “Shattered,” Ramin said. “He shattered when he hit the ground, and I couldn't just leave him there. But the rest of him was too heavy for the horse. So...”

  Beko stepped forward and knelt before the head, just out of touching distance. He looked at it for a while, then stood and backed away. “He still has his silver earring.”

  “And Ramus did this?” Nomi asked. “You saw him?”

  Ramin shook his head. “He ran from us, hid inside a burial cairn. Konrad went after him while Lulah and I faced each other down. He wasn't gone for long, and when he returned he was already... infected.”

  “How did Ramus do it?”

  Ramin shrugged. “I don't know. But he said he'd given Konrad the words you seek, and that Konrad could carry them back to you.”

  “This is bad magichala,” Rhiana said. “Very bad. This is cursed work, and we should have nothing to do with it.”

  “Just where are we going?” Ramin asked. He darted at Nomi, his usually cheerful demeanor now hard as stone.

  Nomi took a step back but the big Serian had stopped before her. “The Great Divide,” she said.

  “I've known that for a while. But what's there? Where do those pages come from that you and Ramus are so keen to own?”

  “I own them,” she said. “I bought—”

  “Nobody owns such cursed magichala,” Rhiana said. “It's of the shadows and wilds. Beko, I'm telling you, we should turn around and go back.”

  “What's there, Nomi?” Beko asked. “You said you'd tell me when the time is right. I believe now is that time.”

  “I can't—” Nomi began, shaking her head.

  “You will,” Rhiana said, “or I'll be the first to leave. And once one goes, others follow, and soon it'll be you, Ramus and that fool Lulah, with no one to protect you from whatever it is you seek.”

  “Can't be protected,” Nomi said quietly. “Not from a Sleeping God.”

  Silence fell like a mist of rain, cooling them all and concentrating their attention back on Konrad's head. His eyes were half closed, his mouth open in an endless scream of pain.

  “They're a myth,” Rhiana said, but Nomi saw the fear in her eyes.

  “A wanderer found the parchment pages at the foot of the Great Divide,” Nomi said, “on the body of someone who had fallen. I bought them. They showed what Ramus believed to be an unknown language that could have come from the top of the Divide, and images that hinted at a Sleeping God buried up there.”

  “You should have told us,” Beko said.

  “Would you have come?”

  “No,” Rhiana said.

  “Yes.” Beko nodded. The others were silent, but Nomi sensed their uncertainty.

  “I can't tell you any more than this,” Nomi said, “because it's all I know. But Ramus has been edgy ever since we left. Almost afraid. He must have started translating some of the parchments. What happened to Konrad is a tragedy, and I'm sad for the loss of your friend. But it shows that whatever is up there has or had knowledge no one else on Noreela possesses, or has ever possessed. Except in story.”

  “I've never heard a tale like this,” Rhiana said, “and I've heard many.” Nomi sensed the Serian's interest now, buried beneath grief but still there in the lilt of her voice, the tilt of her head.

  “So we bury Konrad,” Beko said. “And then we eat. And then we decide, and we all honor the decision we make.”

  It's already made, Nomi thought. I can see it in their eyes; the fascination, the excitement, the thrill of adventure. They're more adventurers than I've ever been, and far more deserving to be called Voyagers.

  Rhiana drew her sword.

  Nomi stepped forward, took it from her gently and started digging a hole.

  I'm digging to bury, she thought. But one day soon I may be digging to unearth.

  NOMI HAD BEEN right; the decision was already made. After she buried Konrad's head the Serians performed a small ceremony over his grave, and she backed away to give them privacy. Watching from afar, she realized yet again how different from them she was. They had lost a close friend, yet she was fascinated at the murder Ramus had performed. He'll want that for me, she thought. If and when we meet again, he'll have some words to say to me.

  The Serians conversed briefly after the burial and then rode, and for the rest of that day they journeyed in silence. She brought up the rear, never falling back too far but wanting to give them all space. Around mid-afternoon, they passed a series of streams and small pools, and Nomi untied from her saddle the rope charm Ramus had bought. She paused by a pool and weighed it in her hands, wondering what the charm breather had tied into the knot, what Ramus had told her. It felt heavier than it should, as if the knot contained much more than rope and air.

  Nomi threw the charm. She gasped as it left her hand, knowing that some believed it bad luck to dispose of a gifted charm unused. But this rope had the taint of Ramus's sweat upon it, the memory of his breath, and her feelings for him had changed. Now she feared him as well.

  The knotted rope struck the surface of the pond and sank. Nomi was not sad to see it go.

  The mood that evening in camp was sour, and Nomi took to her tent to try to recall more of the parchment pages, but her memory was failing her. And even if she did remember, she knew that it would do her no good. She had to be content with reaching the Divide and climbing, knowing that they had the equipment to do so. Ramus and Lulah did not.

  Next morning, the atmosphere was somewhat lighter, bathed in bright sunlight instead of rain. Serians were used to losing friends, she knew, because theirs was a dangerous life, whether they remained on Mancoseria or journeyed to Noreela to work for Voyagers. But she did not expect for an instant that this made their loss easier to bear. And she believed it was her silence more than anything that brought them back to her. Beko first, then Rhiana, and by the end of that first full day after Konrad's death she felt almost comfortable amongst them once more.

  She thought of Ramus often. It was as if, in riding away from her, he had left many recognizable parts of himself behind, and now she was imagining a stranger on a parallel course. Is he stronger as each day goes by? she wondered. If he continues translating those pages, what else will he find? The thought was chilling, and as dusk fell she tried to shut it out and replace it with the blank, comfortable presence of campfire stories.

  THEIR VOYAGE ACROSS the Pavissia Steppes continued. They camped at night and rode during the day, passing an old settlement destroyed by fire long ago. There were no bodies, but a mile farther on they found a sculpture of bones a dozen steps high, and on the skulls making up its head sat several ravens.

  Skull ravens. Nomi had heard of them, but had never seen them. They fed on dreams and reveled in nightmares, excavating them from sleeping victims' heads by pecking holes through their skulls and eating their brains.

  The birds showed no fear as Nomi and the Serians rode by.

  THREE DAYS AFTER Konrad's death, they reached the wide, unnamed river that marked the southern border of this wild place, and the
uncharted regions beyond. Most of the land between here and the Great Divide did not even have a name. They camped that night beside the river, and as Rhiana told a tale and Noon cooked a meal, Nomi felt her thoughts carried away on the water. Beko and the others surmised that Ramus and Lulah were to the east of them, and perhaps even now they were camped next to this same river. Nomi sat for a long time that evening watching the waters roll by, looking out for twigs, leaves or branches that Ramus may have laid eyes on hours or days before. Between one blink and the next she spied something that caused her heart to stutter—a shape that could only have been a body. It bobbed by, carried by the strong current, arms held wide as though halfway through a swimming stroke.

  At her alert, Noon ran along the bank, dived in and swam out to retrieve the corpse. They watched him pull it toward the shore, his expression unreadable, and Nomi felt a sense of dread envelop the group.

  Don't let it be Ramus, she thought. And she knew that the others were thinking something else entirely.

  But it was neither Ramus nor Lulah. The body was a young man, dressed in ratty leathers, torso and face pierced in a dozen places by spears or swords. His chest was spiked with the stumps of three snapped arrows. His face and neck were heavily tattooed, and his left ear was sliced off.

  He had wings. They hung limp and wet from his back, protruding through slits cut into his jacket for that purpose. They were sparsely feathered around their edges, leathery and thick elsewhere, and one of them had been slashed through to its thick, bony edge.

  “I know this marauder clan,” Beko said. “Graft these onto their young when they're designated as warriors. How they grow through time, I don't know.”

  “Do they really work?” Nomi asked, amazed and fascinated.

  Noon stared at her and blinked slowly. “Of course not.” He gave the body back to the river and they watched it spin away into the strong central current.

  They traveled upstream for several miles until they found a place where they could cross. It was a tense operation, but Pancet had been good to his word, and the horses were strong and capable. They went on immediately after crossing, even though they were all exhausted. Nomi sensed the excitement the others felt at being away from known territories, and she was starting to feel the draw of the Divide.