Darkfall

by Isobelle Carmody

  ‘Why did you come?’

  In answer, Alene pointed to Ember.

  ‘Ahh,’ he said. ‘The ailing visionweaver. Welcome to the darkest of the cities, Lady.’ He gave a mocking bow and Alene beckoned to Ember, forcing her to come out of the shadows and into the light.

  ‘Take off the veil,’ Alene commanded, and Ember did so reluctantly.

  The mocking smile disappeared when Bleyd saw her face properly. ‘By the Horn, she looks like …’

  ‘I know,’ Alene said tartly. ‘Even her hair is red. I had hoped to get her out of the citadel and onto a ship for Myrmidor before anyone saw me. That is why I came.’

  ‘Myrmidor?’ Bleyd looked startled. ‘You mean she has soulwe …’

  ‘Let us just say she wishes to travel to Myrmidor,’ Alene said smoothly. ‘I sent for you because I must know more about what has been happening in the citadel. You say the situation has worsened and I see that. What I want to know is why.’

  ‘You have heard of the Draaka?’ Bleyd asked.

  ‘Aye,’ Alene murmured. ‘My sisters spoke from time to time of her chits and her questions. Some of them raised issues that produced fascinating debates among us. Then she began to propose her own interpretations of the Legendsong, some verging on blasphemy. The Myrmidori who have visited me in the last few days speak of a cult following and of her hold on Acantha. It is not surprising her cult should find a home there, given Jurass’s hatred of soulweavers.’

  ‘That balladeer I spoke of sang her version of the Legendsong and it is now a great deal more than merely verging on blasphemy. And it is not just on Acantha that she has a following,’ Bleyd said grimly. ‘It is also on Fomhika, thanks to my father’s liberal nature. And here in the citadel, where people bear the brunt of Tarsin’s behaviour, the cult is taking a swift hold.’

  ‘Tarsin permits it?’

  ‘I doubt he could prevent it, but in any case he does not care. Coralyn, of course, encourages it because although she believes in the Draaka’s theories no more than in Darkfall’s, the resulting hatred of Darkfall suits her.’

  ‘You think they are linked – the Draaka and Coralyn?’

  ‘It is a possibility.’

  ‘I am about to seek an audience with Tarsin. I will raise the matter of the Draaka cult and see how he responds.’

  ‘You think it is wise to go to him?’ Bleyd asked. ‘If anything, I think he is getting worse. If only he was …’

  ‘I do not know why Tarsin was chosen as mermod,’ Alene said sternly. ‘I was but a young woman when it happened, overwhelmed at being told I would be soulweaver to him when he assumed the role of Keltan Holder. But I do not question the choosing and nor should you. All things have their place in the Song. Even this Draaka, whether she knows it or not.’

  Bleyd shrugged. ‘You might as well know it is being said openly now that Darkfall made a mistake in choosing Tarsin and that Kalide was the rightful choice,’ Bleyd said.

  Alene said grimly, ‘I have no doubt whence that rumour arose.’

  ‘Coralyn wishes for an opportunity to discredit you and crush Darkfall because, without the Decree, she will have no difficulty in putting Kalide on the throne.’

  ‘And what of the mermod, who is to inherit the title of Holder after Tarsin?’ Alene’s voice was sharp.

  ‘I think Coralyn will dare anything to get what she wants,’ Bleyd said grimly. He hesitated, and glanced at Ember. ‘Alene, I do not know what it means that a visionweaver should look so like Shenavyre, but if I can see the likeness, others will too. The mask alone is not enough. You must use cosmetics to change the shape of her eyes and cheeks …’

  Feyt entered at that moment, panting hard. ‘Thank the Horn no one is here but you, Bleyd,’ she said in a low urgent voice. ‘Coralyn is behind me, headed this way.’

  14

  A man, too, loved Shenavyre, whose name was Lanalor,

  but Shenavyre was blind to him …

  LEGENDSONG OF THE UNYKORN

  Ember found herself hustled through a side door by Feyt and Bleyd.

  In the hall outside, the amazon turned quickly to Bleyd. ‘I must go back in. I dare not leave Alene alone with that poisonous viper. Can you take Ember somewhere? For obvious reasons it would be better if none see her. Lanalor damn me, I forgot the veil!’

  Bleyd took hold of Ember’s elbow. ‘It does not matter. I will take her to the mermod’s wing by the back ways. No one would think to look for her there.’

  ‘Good,’ Feyt said. ‘Go, then.’

  As usual, no one asked Ember what she wanted to do.

  Bleyd led her out of the main area by way of a series of dark back corridors. He explained that these had been designed to run parallel to the main corridors for the use of servants and other menials. Sometimes they were used by nobles setting about on romantic trysts. They met only two giggling servants, who, because Bleyd closed his arms about Ember and pulled her into his chest so that her face was hidden, clearly made this assumption about them. Reaching a door which brought them back into the finer part of the palace, they emerged in a broad hall, lined with relief carvings of men.

  Ember looked at them curiously. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Past Holders,’ Bleyd said. He led her into another passage which brought them to an elaborately enamelled door. He unlocked it, using a key he wore around his neck on a chain.

  Following him inside, Ember wondered why everyone had panicked at the possibility that she might be seen by the Iridomi chieftain. True, the woman might want her dead if anyone guessed that she was a stranger. But she had given no one any cause to be suspicious of her in that way. Anyway, Coralyn could have no interest in a sick visionweaver, how ever rarely Sheannites were seen away from their own island. From what Ember had heard, her sights were firmly set on Alene.

  Shunting her into the mermod’s room was an overreaction which would have to be accounted for if Coralyn did ask for her. She should have withdrawn into the inner rooms of the apartment as she had over the past few days whenever there were visitors.

  And what if the mermod himself came and found her in his apartment? He must be allied with Alene, since he had been chosen by Darkfall as successor to Tarsin. But even if he was loyal he might find this an imposition, and he would certainly want to know why she was here. Of course, Feyt would not have let Bleyd bring her here if there was any doubt about the mermod, but Ember did not relish having to explain her presence to the man. No doubt he was edgy enough already. She imagined it would be an uneasy thing to be a prince-in-waiting in a palace ruled by a mad king with a mother who had another in mind for the throne.

  Had anyone ever refused to be mermod?

  And where did Bleyd come into the picture, carrying around a key to the mermod’s apartments, she wondered, watching him lock the door behind them. He turned and seemed to be listening for something, then shrugged. ‘He is not here.’ He must mean the mermod, Ember realised, relieved. They were in a reception room rather similar in design to the entrance of the soulweaver’s apartment. Turning, she caught her toes on a fringed mat and stumbled.

  Bleyd scooped her up in his arms and carried her through a door leading off from the reception area.

  ‘Put me down,’ she cried, feeling absurd and embarrassed. These Keltans seemed to have a positive mania for picking people up!

  He said calmly, ‘You look as if a faint breeze would knock you down, and Feyt would have my guts if you swooned on the floor.’

  Ember’s brief flare of anger faded. She did feel weak.

  Coming to a curtained alcove, Bleyd shouldered aside the draperies to reveal an archway leading to a small, white, circular room containing only a smooth, pale-quilted bed and a whitewashed timber side table. On it was a curious knot of polished wood. The bed was set against the wall, and opposite it was a large round window with thick, white curtains drawn shut.

  The bare pallor of the room reminded Ember of a hospital and, once again, she experienced a wave of familiarity at the
thought of hospitals and all the paraphernalia that accompanied them. Not fear or dislike – just familiarity.

  Bleyd set her down gently by the bed, then bowed. ‘Lady …’

  A loud knock at the outer door interrupted whatever he meant to say. He made to speak again, but whoever was outside hammered impatiently. He shrugged, put a finger to his lips and pointed to the bed, conveying in mime that she should lie down and rest.

  He went out, pulling the curtain closed behind him. The key turned in the lock a moment later and he was saying something in a low courteous voice. Then she heard the familiar pompous voice of the court emissary, Asa. Chilled, Ember recalled the dream she had experienced of the man before she had even met him. She had forgotten it for a time but she must tell Alene about it.

  ‘I must speak with the mermod,’ Asa demanded.

  Ember strained her ears to hear Bleyd’s response.

  ‘He is unable to receive you at this time.’

  Ember understood belatedly that of course Bleyd must serve the mermod. That was why he carried the key to his apartment.

  ‘I will see him,’ Asa insisted. ‘He has to be made to understand that he may not do as he pleases as if he were any other person on Keltor.’

  ‘Are there truly those who do as they please on Keltor?’ Bleyd asked coolly.

  ‘I will not play word games with you, Bleyd. The mermod has a duty.’

  ‘His only duty is to stay alive long enough to inherit the throne.’ There was a cutting edge in Bleyd’s words now.

  ‘I have no idea what you mean …’ the emissary blustered.

  ‘Come back later,’ Bleyd advised.

  ‘Very well,’ Asa said, sounding all at once amiable. ‘Oh, there is a message that you are to pick up a package from your father. An urchin brought word to the legionnaire at the gate from some shipmaster. It seems his vessel sails this day so you will have to hurry. It is nearing dusk.’

  ‘I will send a messenger.’

  ‘I suggested this but the boy said you must collect the package with your own hands. No doubt it is valuable.’

  ‘That is strange.’ Bleyd sounded puzzled. ‘I spoke to my father by callstone some days ago and he made no mention of any parcel.’

  ‘It may have slipped his mind, or perhaps it is intended as a surprise for your nameday. I am sure I heard the mermod mention it was soon to come.’

  ‘Perhaps that is it, but why send it to me?’ Bleyd sounded perplexed. ‘I will go to the pier now. Walk with me to the centre chamber and you can tell me what the mermod did do to ruffle your feathers …’

  The deliberate sound of a key being turned in a lock gave way to silence. Ember relaxed onto the bed. She did not bother to remove the mask, which was hooked somehow onto her hair. Gradually, the tension in her limbs quietened. She struggled fleetingly before succumbing to the sleep that dragged at her eyelids and then she was in the dream wood again, and the music rose around her in a heartbreaking crescendo.

  Frightened of what must follow, she tried to wake but, instead, found herself flying in a thunderous darkness, buffeted by invisible winds. She saw a golden light and was drawn to it by the very act of focusing on it. At the last second, she felt herself dragged violently sideways into deepest shadow.

  The noise was cut off, to be replaced by the sound of a guitar being strummed lightly in the silence. Ember found she was standing in a dim slice of light spilling through a half-open door. The music was coming from beyond the door, and, going in, she found herself in a small round room containing a bookcase full of scrolls, a side table and an enormous chair facing a fireplace. The fire was lit and there was a glass of water on the table beside a scroll, and on the mantelpiece a candle. The strumming was coming from the chair, and it stopped suddenly.

  ‘Welcome.’

  The chair turned and Ember stared down at the manbeast that had saved her from drowning. He was clad now in dark woollen leggings and boots and a loose green shirt. A narrow three-stringed guitar like the one in Alene’s apartment lay across his knees. The clothing and the instrument had the effect of making her notice the human aspects of the strange creature, whereas in the water she had noted only those parts of him which were bestial – his cat’s eyes, his pointed ears and claws. Now she was conscious of the intelligence in his eyes, the strong curve of his jaw and the frayed collar on his shirt.

  ‘Who are you?’ she whispered, then realised she had not spoken the words aloud. Of course. Telepathy. This is a dream, Ember thought, but she was not overly reassured.

  ‘I am Ronaall, Lady.’

  The words were in her head again, but there was no pain.

  He rose, laying aside the instrument. ‘There is no pain in our communication now because we are both within the Void. When I spoke with you last, I was projecting myself from there into the Made world. I had to breach the barrier from this side. That is very difficult.’

  ‘Why have you brought me here?’

  ‘I did not. I do not have that power. Did you will yourself to me?’

  Ember shook her head. ‘I was having a nightmare and suddenly I was … flying. I was going towards a light and then something pulled at me hard and I was here.’

  His feline eyes narrowed. ‘You were soulweaving. It can only be that there is a link between us. Perhaps because I touched you.’

  Ember swallowed, remembering the kiss and the metallic taste of blood. The manbeast held out his hand and Ember slowly laid her own in it. His was human, though the back of it was lightly furred and the nails retractable, like a cat’s.

  ‘Lady, this is dangerous beyond anything I could have anticipated. If the Chaos spirit had followed you, we would both be doomed. I at once, and you in time, along with my poor Keltor. My only safety is to remain secret. I must ensure this does not happen again. I will set wards.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Ember said.

  ‘In time you will know everything.’

  ‘Will I remember who I am?’

  ‘You are what your will makes you. Farewell for now.’

  He kissed her palm then lifted his other hand to touch her between her brows. Ember screamed as she was spun away into the shrieking darkness. And then, brightness: a bloody reddish glow and, a little further away, a livid purplish light. Thinking of the light brought her towards it. Entering the red light, she found herself staring into the face of the Unykorn, but instead of the unearthly serenity of its tapestried image, its eyes were filled with desperate, ravaged sorrow. As she watched, its expression changed, grief transforming into maniacal fury.

  Incredibly, Ember felt its searing anger reach out to her.

  No … she screamed, reeling back, but her voice was swallowed by the storm.

  She woke abruptly and the scream became a grating of wood against wood. She opened her eyes just in time to register that she was in the mermod’s apartment, before the curtains flapped and bulged to allow the entry through the circular window, bottom first, of a very dirty-looking boy.

  Glad she had not removed her mask before lying down, Ember sat up with a rustle of quilts.

  ‘Shenavyre save me!’ the boy hissed, spinning to face her, his eyes wide with fright. Whatever he had feared, it was clearly not her, and the boy looked relieved as he approached the bed. He had a nice but unremarkable face, intelligent hazel eyes and sweat-streaked mousy hair.

  ‘Are … you a friend of Bleyd’s?’ A missing front tooth gave his speech a peculiar intermittent whistle.

  ‘I’m a friend of a friend,’ Ember said, concluding that this simple room must belong to Bleyd. She had been foolish to imagine he would put her in the mermod’s bed.

  The urchin looked puzzled. ‘You do speak so queerish, Lady.’ His eyes rested on her mask. ‘I know! You are the visionweaver everyone is talking about.’

  Ember nodded reluctantly, and wondered why he did not see her resemblance to Shenavyre as Bleyd had done. It could only be a combination of the dimness of the curtained room, the approach of evening s
hadows and the mask.

  ‘Are your scars truly dreadful?’ The boy squinted with ghoulish interest at her mask.

  Ember ignored the question in good visionweaver fashion. ‘What is your name?’

  The boy looked surprised, then he grinned mischievously. ‘I am Anyi, the last and least son of a highborn Fomhikan.’

  Ember couldn’t help smiling a little at the aplomb of the pert urchin.

  ‘Why are you in Bleyd’s room?’ he asked, plumping himself on the bed beside her.

  ‘I might ask you the same,’ Ember countered.

  He grinned. ‘You do have a funny way of saying words, running them all together. I suppose it is because of the disfigurement. It sounds better than my lisp. I have a good idea about this business of our being in Bleyd’s room. How would it be if you do not ask me what I am doing here, and I will not ask you either?’

  Ember shrugged her agreement.

  ‘I have to go now,’ Anyi said, looking over at the window. Ember could hear faint shouts from below, and wondered if the ruckus had anything to do with him. He had, after all, climbed in the window, which was almost certainly at least two floors above ground level. The entire city was constructed on a multitude of levels. Probably the boy was a thief, which accounted for his evasions.

  He went to the curtains beyond which lay the mermod’s apartment, clearly having no intention of leaving the room the same way he had entered it. Then he hesitated, looking over a shoulder. It was so dark now that she could not see his expression at all. ‘You … you will not tell Bleyd you saw me, will you?’ he asked.

  She shook her head, wondering how he knew Bleyd. Perhaps he had taken refuge here before and had encountered the older man then. No doubt he had been given leeway and warned not to come again, hence his request. Well, she would not give him away. He had not moved, which told her that he could not see her, the shadows had grown so thick. ‘I won’t tell him,’ she said