by Tim Lebbon
“If there is a Sleeping God—” Lulah began, but Ramus cut her off.
“They were good. And only good will come of finding it.”
Ramus went first, keen to head as far south as possible before darkness fell. He felt a terrible moment of sickness later that afternoon and the sun seemed to explode, casting a bright light into his eyes that he knew originated from within. The pains scorched his skull and he lowered his head, letting the horse carry him on. When he could look up again, he lifted the charms around his neck—the bone from the border guard, the circular stone that Lulah had seen, and Konrad's snapped-off fingers, which she had not—and pressed them to his lips. He exhaled past each and inhaled again, hoping to breathe in charmed air.
The pain subsided, barely, and he imagined Nomi standing before him naked, her body pierced by bolts fired from a crossbow held in his hands. The bolts went in slowly. They hurt. She screamed, and he aimed at the parts of her he had never seen. Let Beko kiss them better, he thought. The daydream went on for a long time, and when his horse stumbled and jarred him back to reality, it took a while to lose the image. It did not shake him as much as it would have a score of days before. He hadn't realized he had changed so much.
Chapter 14
THE SKY HAD become overcast a few miles back, an even grayness that filtered weak sunlight, and the cliff itself seemed swallowed by its blandness. But distance was very difficult to determine. When they first saw the cliff face—the ridges and textures of rock instead of the haze of mist—Lulah guessed that they would be there within the hour. Ramus was not so sure. He concentrated on the landscape rather than where it ended, and he could see hills and plains disappearing into the distance. He thought another day's ride. This was something neither of them had ever seen or been able to imagine before, and scale seemed to obey no laws. The sky looked huge, but it was dwarfed against the cliff.
Ramus could feel the weight of the Divide pulling him onward. It was unbelievable, this bulk, this mass, and the pain in his head seemed to be coming from somewhere just in front of him rather than inside. He stopped paying attention to things close by and instead looked ahead, focusing on the wall of rock that sprouted from Noreela and disappeared into the level gray cloud cover above. How high up those clouds were he could not tell; they felt low, but sometimes he saw the specks of birds or other things circling and drifting high up, and on occasion those specks disappeared to nothing as they rose even higher. A mile, perhaps two, maybe three . . . he could not know. And they would not find out until they started climbing.
Around mid-afternoon, several shapes drifted toward them from the south, wings flapping now and then but mostly riding the air currents. It was difficult to tell how large they were, but they kept formation: two in the lead, three more behind. Ramus listened for their calls, but there were none, and they did not deviate from their path.
As the shapes began to lose height, Lulah rode before him and drew a crossbow from her saddlebags.
“Hold this,” she said, lobbing the weapon back at him. Ramus caught it in one hand, rested it across his saddle and then caught the rack of bolts Lulah sent after it.
The shapes had four wings each, bulbous eyes and silvery legs that trailed behind them as they drifted lower. Each was the size of a man.
“What are they?” he asked. “Livid eagles?” But livid eagles were so rarely seen that some thought them myth, grabbing their victims with metallic claws and exuding a cloud of acidic vapor from their feather tips to strip skin, melt flesh.
“Hardly matters right now,” Lulah said. She took the bow from her back and strung an arrow without taking her eyes off the creatures coming at them.
The animals did not circle or stalk, but dived in to attack without preamble.
Lulah loosed three arrows quickly, and one of them found its mark. As Ramus saw more detail of the lead creatures—two sets of webbed wings folded as they dived, vicious curled claws trailing behind, fur rather than feathers lining their chests and backs, narrow heads and long hooked beaks slung low and ready to attack—the arrow pierced one of the creatures' shoulders and broke its wings on that side. It shrieked, a terrifying sound reminiscent of a sheebok being slaughtered, and then veered to the left as its good wings folded under the pressure.
The others came on, seemingly unfazed by their companion's fate.
Lulah tipped sideways on her horse and hauled it to the left, and Ramus did the same to the right. The birds—if that word could be applied—screeched as they flapped by, and Ramus felt something score across his upraised arm. Blood splashed the air and he smelled it, combined with the rank stink of wet fur.
Trying to sit up on the horse again he overbalanced, falling to the ground and kicking his feet from the stirrups. He rolled onto his side, raised the crossbow and fired at the birds as they swung around for another pass. The bolt missed, but Lulah was already firing arrows again. She took down two more of the creatures, and when the last two came in again, they were higher than before, more cautious.
Ramus primed the crossbow and fired directly up as a thing passed overhead. He heard rather than saw the bolt rip through a wing, and the creature swayed in the air for a beat before finding its balance again, wings flapping harder than before to keep it airborne.
Ramus ran to his horse and remounted, guiding it close to Lulah.
The birds were flying back the way they had come, silent and seemingly unconcerned about their missing companions.
“What the piss were they?” Lulah said. She was breathing hard but her eyes were wide, her face flushed with excitement. She's a warrior, Ramus thought, though she's had little chance to fight so far.
“Weird and angry, that's what they were.” Ramus looked down at his left arm and felt immediately queasy when he saw the gash there.
“Let's dress that,” Lulah said. “I'll clean it first. No saying what illnesses those things carry.”
Ramus almost laughed, but thought better of it. She was right. He may be dying, but there was no need to let complacency kill him quicker.
WHAT IF THERE are hundreds of those things down here? he thought. What if they roost on the Divide and we can't even get close? And what of the tumblers that Ten mentioned; we haven't even seen one of those yet.
They rode on beneath the clouds, only able to make out the position of the sun from the paler, lighter spread of sky to the west. And the closer they drew to the Divide, the closer the sun came to touching the cliff, until the time came when shadows grew even deeper, the air cooler, and the Great Divide cast its shadowy influence over them.
“I've heard things—” Lulah began, but Ramus cut her off.
“It's not true.”
“How do you know? How many people do you know who have returned from where we are right now?”
“One,” he said. “But that's proof enough for me.”
“I don't know,” Lulah said, shivering. She pulled a rolled blanket from her saddle and placed it loose around her shoulders, ready to throw it off should the birds approach again. “I don't know, I feel different. Don't you? Can't you feel the shadow?”
“It's cooler,” Ramus said. He looked down at the ground and saw that grasses had given way to moss and a type of stumpy herb, with wide leaves and a thick, low stem. “The sun doesn't shine here for very long. But that doesn't mean anything.”
Lulah shook her head but seemed unconvinced.
The flora changed rapidly the closer they rode to the Great Divide. Ramus knew that there would come a place soon where the sun never shone, through all the seasons of the year. A place where the shadow of the Divide always fell, and where its influence dictated what could live there, and what could not. That would be where Lulah made her choice.
And can I assume I'll pass by that place without a moment's doubt?
He knew that the answer was yes. He was going to be the greatest Voyager of them all. And though nobody would remember his name, that had never really been his desire. For Ramus, the thrill of di
scovery was a very personal thing.
IT WAS ALMOST dusk when they reached the place where much of the flora changed. If Lulah noticed, she said nothing, and Ramus did not bring it to her attention. By then the Divide dominated their view, rising high before them until it disappeared into the cloud cover, and stretching left and right as far as they could see. It was magnificent and terrible, awe-inspiring and shocking. And the thought of climbing that great cliff almost made Ramus weep.
He kept thinking that they were close enough to see surface imperfections that could mark a route up the Divide, but then they would ride for another hour and still seem to be no closer. Perspective was shattered by the wall of rock.
The end of Noreela, Ramus thought. He tried to imagine what he would see if this cloud cover ever shifted or faded away.
They found an old camp. There were two tents crushed into the ground, the material torn, tattered and moldy. Other signs of habitation were scattered around: a rotting saddle, some cooking utensils rusted into the soil, a bow without its string. They dismounted and explored the camp for a while, kicking things over and trying to make out what had happened to the owners.
“They didn't just leave,” Lulah said. “There's too much here that anyone would have taken. They must have been killed or taken by force.”
“Perhaps they went to climb?”
Lulah shrugged.
They moved on another few hundred steps before making camp. Lulah quickly lit the fire and produced food she had brought along from the previous night. The meat was not as fresh and the herbs not as fragrant, but neither of them felt like being left alone. The light from the fire darkened their view of the Divide until it was a huge looming blankness that swallowed sound and sight.
“How do we climb?” Lulah asked.
“We'll find something to help us.”
“How do you know?”
Ramus shrugged. He knew she sensed the movement because they sat close to each other, sharing warmth and comfort. “There's no alternative,” he said. “We haven't come all this way to turn back now.”
“We should have brought some of the climbing equipment.”
“As if Beko would have let us.”
Ramus stared into the flames and wondered what nightmare he would share with Nomi tonight.
BUT THERE WERE no nightmares, because Ramus did not sleep.
When morning came, and the sun rising in the east smeared itself along the Great Divide, Lulah jarred awake from a troubled dream. Ramus had been keeping the fire alight all night, and they shared the last of the stored food.
“We'll find stuff to eat as we climb,” he said.
“Or something will eat us.” Lulah stretched and strolled away to find somewhere to piss.
An hour after heading off, they came across another old camp. This one had been larger than the first, though without tents or cooking equipment. There were skeletons, though. At least six of them, though some were so tangled and twisted together that it was difficult to tell exactly how many people had died here. There were no signs of arrows, bolts or other weapons, and when Lulah examined one of the skulls she found what she thought were claw marks across the cracked dome.
Ramus was searching for something else. And he found it just outside the remains of the camp, buried beneath a leather groundsheet that was smothered with a growth of pale pink fungi. There were ropes, pitons, waist straps and other climbing gear, even down to a bag containing gloves and spiked boots. Some of the ropes had become brittle and decayed, and the first big coil that Ramus picked up virtually crumbled in his hands. But as he dug down into the store, he found several coils that were dry and tough, and he and Lulah unwound one and pulled to test its strength.
They left the camp, keen to distance themselves from that scene of death. Ramus had felt a sense of something there, a wretched thing aware of their presence but unable to change. A wraith, perhaps, seeking comfort from the place where it had been made. He saw nothing, but he felt observed, skin itching under that unknown attention.
Lulah was more nervous than ever, and she kept her bow drawn and an arrow strung as she rode.
When they stopped for lunch, Ramus knew that things were about to change. The ground was becoming steeper, the slopes varied from shale to damp soil to compact moss, slippery and sickly to the touch. The horses were becoming agitated, and the huge cliff loomed over them as if ready to fall at any moment.
“We need to leave the horses now,” Ramus said.
Lulah nodded. “I know. But what about when we come back down?” When you come back down, Ramus thought, but he could not say that. “We worry about that when it happens. Nomi and I had planned on leaving one of you down here with the horses as the rest climbed, but I don't want us to split up. We'll take off their saddles and let them go. Who knows, they might even wait.”
“They'll be dead or long gone by the time we come back down from there,” she said, staring up at the rock face. She shook her head. “I've climbed sea cliffs before, but never anything like this. Ramus, I've never imagined anything like this.”
“That's why I'm here,” Ramus said. “Because it's beyond imagination.”
They unsaddled their horses, both of them working slowly because neither really wanted to lose this link to the north. Even though Ramus was sure that once he started climbing, that would be the end of his time in Noreela, the option of turning back would no longer be his once the horses left.
The animals stood close to them, stripped of their gear yet still ready to ride on. Ramus and Lulah cooked and ate a bird that Lulah shot from the sky, a small creature whose meat tasted tough and bitter. Then they divided up the climbing gear and stood to leave.
“You're sure?” Lulah said. “If we're tied together up there and you pass out from your illness . . .”
“Then we won't be tied together. We climb close, but uncoupled. I'll not take you with me if I fall, and if you fall—”
“I won't fall,” she said, and that simple statement seemed to cut through her uncertainties. She was unsettled, yes, but she was a Serian.
And me? Ramus thought. Am I really that sure? He closed his eyes and his head swam, the weight of the growing badness behind his eyes leaning him forward toward the Great Divide. No, not sure at all. But I don't have any choice.
The slope of the ground increased, the surface soon became more rock than soil, and the shadow of the cliff lured them on.
NOMI AND BEKO debated leaving one of the Serians with the horses, but Nomi did not like the idea. Whoever they left—and either Noon or Ramin was the obvious choice—would be on their own, relied upon to defend the horses from whatever threats may exist down here. Several times they had spotted creatures circling high above, as if watching their group approach. No one could identify them, but they acted like birds of prey. There were also the tumblers they had seen on the plains, rogue marauders that might come far enough south to wander the foot of the Divide and whatever other dangers existed here that had not yet made themselves apparent. Planning the voyage, it had been easy to suggest leaving a Serian to guard the horses. But now that they were here, the immensity of the Divide made the climb seem something even more treacherous than Nomi had imagined.
Besides, Konrad was dead and Lulah had left with Ramus. She did not want to lose anyone else.
They decided to let the horses go. When they came back down they would be faced with a long, hard march northward, through those seemingly endless forests and back to the Pavissia Steppes. But once there, they could trade or steal horses. And there was no telling just how long their ascent and whatever may follow would take.
While Noon and Ramin unloaded the horses and went about making a store for the equipment they would leave behind, Nomi, Beko and Rhiana stood staring up at the solid gray wall before them. None of them spoke for a while; no one was used to the sight yet, and Nomi guessed they never would be.
“Edge of the world,” Rhiana said at last. It was almost a whisper.
�
�Maybe not,” Nomi replied. “Maybe it's just the beginning of another.”
The cliff before them was streaked with smears of pale plant growth. Rhiana had suggested that this was a good sign because it indicated there were crevasses, cracks and ledges upon which soil had accumulated. But there were many places where the sun never touched the cliff surface, and Nomi was worried that the plants would be brittle, or slick with damp.
“There's our starting place,” Beko said, pointing slightly to the west. “A mile that way. Cliff looks textured and cracked; could be easy going to begin with.”
Nomi's stomach fluttered and doubt pressed against her chest. Was she arrogant to believe that she could voyage all this way and then lead a climb to the top? She had rarely climbed before, and when she had it had been on safe, known peaks in the hills north of Long Marrakash. She'd been with experienced climbers then, people who knew the routes they were taking and the risks they would face, and even then there had been accidents.
If anyone fell here . . .
“Which of you has climbed the most?” she asked.
Beko turned and nodded to Rhiana. “Rhiana, you used to do the Painback Cliffs on Mancoseria, didn't you?”
The Serian did not seem happy at being singled out. “I did three rescues from there, yes. Foolish children who thought themselves old enough to take a seethe-gator, mostly. But . . .”She looked up at the cliff and Nomi saw its bulk reflected in her eyes.
“Same techniques,” Beko said. “Just a bit higher.”
“A bit?”
“The light's pissing awful,” Noon said. “What happens when it goes altogether? Do we just hang there till morning?”
Nomi turned her back on the Divide, hoping the gesture would paint her with confidence she was not feeling. “When mid-afternoon comes, we start looking for somewhere to spend the night,” she said. “A crevasse, a ledge, maybe even a cave if we're lucky. We wrap up warm, tie ourselves in and wait until dawn.”