The Destiny of the Dead (The Song of the Tears Book 3)

by Ian Irvine

  ‘I was never just a librarian,’ said Nadiril, as though he had read her thoughts. ‘I was a member of the Great Council of Santhenar for two centuries, and I would certainly have had that twerp’s measure when I was alive.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Maelys. ‘But I thought the taphloid would hide me from the revenants.’

  ‘It would, in the physical world, but not here, and I pray that we can protect you. Ah, here they come.’

  A flock of spirits soared towards them like birds in flight, their garments fluttering. There were children and crones, toothless old men, pregnant young women and every other age, size and shape of humanity. They whirled into a cylinder around Maelys, took hold of her and lifted her towards the clouds above.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Maelys made out something red but blurry winding in her direction like a python gliding across a carpet. More screams issued forth; the spirits tightened their grip and flew faster.

  Another flock of spirits appeared on the left, coming to her protection, but a second sinuous red shadow curved around them, this time like a tiger circling a herd of deer. The spirits flocked one way, then another, like frightened birds. A red shadow darted, snapped; a straggling spirit wailed as it was gulped and devoured.

  So it went on, as they fled across the shadow realm for what seemed like hours. There were seven revenants, and they took down the spirits in the second flock one by one, then the flock Vivimord recruited after that, until the last spirit had been taken and no others dared approach. Soon they would come after Maelys.

  ‘They’re gaining; we must go faster,’ said Nadiril to her spirit shield.

  ‘We can’t carry her any faster,’ said a strong, heavy-bodied spirit, in an exhausted voice. ‘She’s alive. She has weight and we have none.’

  ‘We must all try a little harder,’ said Nadiril, taking Maelys’s arm in his fleshless hand.

  ‘The revenants are coming,’ said a spirit youth who could not have been older than thirteen when he died. He looked like the little brother Maelys had often wished for. ‘Why should we be consumed to save her?’

  ‘Because it’s the right thing to do,’ Nadiril said gently.

  ‘I’m scared,’ said the boy.

  ‘So am I,’ said Nadiril. ‘Come in beside me, lad. We’ll get there yet.’ Nadiril moved up ahead, taking the boy with him.

  Now the five Phrunes came slithering in between the spirits of her flock, rubbing their chubby hands together and leaving snail trails of ectoplasm behind them. ‘We promised revenge,’ leered the first of them, ‘and we’re going to have you.’

  Maelys clutched the knoblaggie. Was now the time to use it? No, for that would surely cost her protection as well, and the gate was not yet in sight.

  The Phrunes approached, leering, and her stomach churned with revulsion; in life he had been a sadistic killer and death had not improved him. The plump fingers were almost touching her when Vivimord appeared from above. ‘Phrunes, begone!’

  ‘But, Master, you promised!’ they wept.

  ‘Things have changed, and now she’s mine. I have no further need of you.’

  ‘Master!’ snivelled the Phrunes. ‘I gave my life for you.’

  ‘And I thank you for it, but I am going where no spirit can follow. Leave us.’

  The Phrunes wailed and shot out like sparks from a firework, without looking where they were going. The circling revenants snapped as one, gagged, swallowed and the Phrunes were gone.

  But the revenants weren’t satisfied, and they were moving in – they must have scented her. They looked larger, stronger, more solid now, and they began to dart at the tail end of her protecting flock, picking them off one by one. Maelys was afraid that her spirits would abandon her, but Nadiril kept encouraging them and, though they were terrified, none fled or tried to save themselves.

  A revenant shot by in a long red blur streaked with black. Dark spots at the front seemed less than eyes; it had a swaying tail like a running crocodile, limbs that dissolved and reformed, and a round, fleshy maw that appeared better suited to suction than to biting. Maelys did not find that comforting.

  ‘They’re shapeshifters,’ said Nadiril, who was still holding her arm, ‘as is Stilkeen itself, and before being severed they could take on any aspect they wanted, though in the shadow realm they always look much the same – rather reptilian. For half an eternity they had whatever they wanted and they believe it is their right. That’s the arrogance of absolute power, the arrogance of the being – look out!’

  Two revenants shot in, one from either side, nosing the spirits out of the way and going for Maelys like red rockets. Just as they were about to strike, she willed a solid shield around her with the knoblaggie.

  It formed around Vivimord and Nadiril as well, and the revenants slammed into it and recoiled, snarling and snapping at their tails. Unfortunately the remaining spirits, sent tumbling through the air, were hurled aside by the shield and gulped down one after another. The boy who had been so frightened was attacked last of all, his wet eyes staring desperately at them.

  ‘Nadiril, help me!’ he cried.

  ‘I’m sorry, lad, I can’t reach you.’ Nadiril, trapped inside the shield, could only watch as the boy was taken.

  Tears sprang to Maelys’s own eyes. He had died so young; and now his spirit was gone too, forever. It didn’t seem fair.

  As they continued, the knoblaggie’s shield slowly faded. There were only two spirits with her now: Nadiril and Vivimord, and Nadiril was thinning visibly.

  A revenant bored in at him, expecting another easy victim. Nadiril raised his hand, a stubby wand was outlined there, and the revenant was blasted away. It rolled over and over, snapping at its tail, before sinking out of sight.

  ‘Get on with it, Vivimord,’ said Nadiril faintly. ‘I’ve used half my ectoplasmic essence and I didn’t have much to start with.’

  The revenant came slinking back up and the others joined it. Vivimord stopped in mid-air and called out to them, though Maelys only caught the first part of his oration.

  ‘Revenants, Stilkeen has the white fire at last; that’s why it told you to fatten up. And now it is calling you to rejoin with it, to come together as one. Just think how wonderful your reunion is going to be, after thousands of years of severance. It will soon be safe to leave the shadow realm and I, Vivimord, or Life-in-Death, am the one person who can cleave the shadow realm to the real world to let you out …’

  His voice faded as she passed out of hearing, but shortly the revenants reappeared. Had Vivimord’s oratory failed, or had he offered her to them?

  They came spiralling in from the rear, seven attacking at once, and Maelys put on a desperate spurt, thinking she was gone. Again Nadiril drove them off with his wand, but not far this time, and it was clear he could not do it a third time.

  Vivimord renewed his siren song, more compellingly than before, and the revenants dropped back. Maelys could see the great gate now, not far ahead, but before she reached it the revenants came streaking for her like a seven-headed trident, and Nadiril was struggling to keep up.

  ‘Sorry, Maelys,’ he said, trying to smile. ‘There’s nothing left of me.’ He was much more transparent than before; barely there, for the power he’d used had been drawn from his spirit and could not be replenished. ‘And I had so much to mull over,’ he added huskily. ‘A whole lifetime of reading to digest. Ah, well; all things must pass. All lives, and all deaths.’

  Her heart went out to the ancient, gentle spirit. ‘We can still make it.’

  She took his arm and clutched the useless knoblaggie to her chest with her other hand, wishing it was the weapon that could destroy the revenants out in the real world. If she got the chance, she would not hesitate.

  ‘Make it,’ he echoed.

  As they raced for the gate, Vivimord flew alongside the revenants, and his oratory would have charmed a snail out of its shell. Unfortunately, with such a sweet, fleshly victim so near, they would not be distracted.
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  The seven of them dived for her, lunged together, but Nadiril’s long, bony arm hooked around Maelys’s waist and from the last of his essence he drew the strength to hurl her at the barred gate, so hard that she felt sure she was going to break her neck. She was trying to protect her face with her arms when light stabbed from the old librarian’s wand and the gate opened just wide enough to let her through.

  The revenants turned on him, snapped, and Nadiril was gone. The gate slammed closed, the shadow realm faded and she went skidding across one of the floors of Morrelune on her backside.

  Maelys came to a halt and sat up, rubbing her bruised bottom. Old Nadiril, that great librarian and dear old man, was gone forever, his spirit consumed. How was she going to tell Lilis?

  She got up, shaking. A great and noble spirit had been lost, and for what? She still did not know how to stop Stilkeen.

  ‘Who else must be destroyed?’ she raged. ‘How many more are we going to lose?’

  And she had rewarded one of the most sickening scoundrels in all Santhenar. She had given Vivimord the means to come back from death, which surely he was going to take.

  She was trudging towards a stair when she slipped on a sticky patch of floor and saw Klarm’s boot and severed foot. She had returned to the level below the audience chamber. She set the knoblaggie down beside it and looked around for him, trying to think.

  The creatures from the void have had a great victory, Vivimord had said. An army has fallen and the other cannot last. But which army had fallen – Nish’s? She climbed the steps, stumbled across the sand-strewn, bloodstained audience chamber and out a side entrance to the promenade, to look down over a scene of chaos.

  Smoke drifted across the paved plain, and in the garish, fume-yellowed glow from the lanterns of Morrelune and Mazurhize she saw bodies everywhere in gory, unidentifiable heaps.

  Around to her left, not far from the edge of the Sacred Lake, a company of the white-armoured Imperial Guard was fighting a horde of beasts like long-tailed bears – no, not beasts, for they carried forged weapons and knew how to use them. Further off, a phalanx of lyrinx was in furious melee with several winged serpents, and other struggles were visible fleetingly through the smoke.

  A monstrous creature rose from the fumes, standing on its back legs and beating its chest with a pumpkin-sized fist, making a sound like a huge drum. It was at least two spans high, and in its other hand it held two Imperial Guardsmen. Raising them to its mouth it bit their heads off, spat their plumed helmets high into the air and beat its breast again.

  Now it began to lay into a squad of Vomix’s soldiers with the bodies, battering the troops out of the way with great sweeps of its arms. It turned, caught sight of Maelys on the steps, dropped the headless bodies and headed in her direction.

  For a few seconds, she couldn’t move. Had it seen her? Even if she ran, she could not hope to get away, for it could take six strides to her one.

  The sky-galleon came rocketing around a corner of the palace, piloted by Tiaan. It banked sharply and M’lainte, who was seated at the javelard, fired three spears at once into the chest of the beast. They disappeared, it slapped its chest as if it had been bitten by a fly, and kept coming.

  Maelys forced her paralysed legs into action and was backing away when a river of brown blood fountained from the beast’s mouth and it crashed to the paving stones at the foot of the steps, shattering several of them.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, raising an unsteady hand, but the sky-galleon had already zoomed away.

  The smoke was getting thicker; she could hardly see anything now, and apart from M’lainte and Tiaan she hadn’t recognised anyone. Her friends might all be dead.

  Even if they were, she had to fight on. Stilkeen had to be beaten and the world saved; there must be a way. Nadiril had said that there was one single way to beat Stilkeen, and it involved the revenants. Maelys turned, puzzling over that, and ran straight into Yalkara.

  ‘So,’ Yalkara said, holding her so tightly that there was no chance for escape.

  Maelys had not seen her since her arrival at the Range of Ruin, weeks ago. ‘What do you want with me?’ she whispered, looking up at the much taller woman. ‘Oh! What’s happened to you?’

  The right side of Yalkara’s face was black and blue, a ragged scar marred her once-perfect left cheek, and her nose had recently been broken. Her clothing was tattered but, more tellingly, she no longer wore the aura of ageless self-assurance that had so characterised her previously. Yalkara looked defeated.

  ‘I have been fighting the Numinator ever since Stilkeen came to the Range of Ruin,’ she said breathlessly, and her voice had the hoarseness of old age now. ‘And she has beaten me. My own granddaughter has brought me down. Yet I still have one hope.’

  Placing her battered hands on Maelys’s belly, Yalkara pressed gently, eyes closed, as if reading what lay within. Her fingers were hot and had a slight tremor. What was she reading?

  Yalkara froze, the tremor stopped and the heat drained from her fingers, replaced by a prickly chill.

  Maelys jerked away, more afraid than ever. ‘What are you doing to me?’

  Yalkara was trembling again, her whole arm this time, and she could not stop it. She rubbed her fingers, which were blue, while her knuckles were red and swollen like the joints of an arthritic old woman. ‘I would never harm you, nor the child you carry.’

  ‘What?’ said Maelys dazedly. ‘Are you saying that I am pregnant?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Definitely?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Haven’t you been feeling ill in the mornings?’

  Maelys was stunned. Pregnant? She had hardly thought about the possibility since the Range of Ruin. She had not wanted to think about it, and when there had been no signs, not even sore breasts, she had decided that she could not be pregnant.

  ‘No … but it hasn’t yet been a month since Emberr and I … What’s the matter? Is there something wrong with the baby?’ Her voice rose; she was shaking too.

  ‘You carry a perfect, old human baby,’ said Yalkara. ‘And all my endeavours have come to naught. I will never see Emberr’s child, for soon I will be dead.’

  Being pregnant changed everything. ‘Then my baby will be all alone,’ said Maelys, for she felt sure that the rest of her family were dead.

  ‘I’m sorry. My life is running out, but before I go, reparation must be made.’

  ‘You can start by telling us where you hid the pure fire.’

  ‘The Numinator and I saw Stilkeen’s proclamation during one of our battles,’ said Yalkara absently. ‘But she does not know where any pure fire lies, and neither do I.’

  ‘How can you not know?’ said Flydd, staggering out of the smoke with Yggur. They were supporting each other, and both were blood-spattered, smoke-stained and bleeding from many small wounds. The rivalry was gone; for the first time they seemed like old friends, and Maelys smiled to see it.

  ‘You stole the fire and hid it,’ Flydd snapped. ‘You alone had custody of it until you brought it to Santhenar.’

  Yalkara did not reply. Maelys ran and threw her arms around Flydd, then Yggur, heedless of the blood. ‘How goes the battle? I heard, in the shadow realm –’

  Flydd’s eyes nearly started out of their sockets. ‘What the blazes were you doing in there?’ he bellowed, wrenching Maelys from Yggur’s grasp and shaking her furiously. ‘Who let you in? And how did you ever get out?’

  ‘If you’ll stop shaking me, I’ll tell you. Is – is Nish all right? I heard that an army had fallen and another was on its knees.’

  ‘The Imperial Guard has fallen,’ said Flydd. ‘Nosby is dead, and two-thirds of his men – they took the brunt of the attack and died valiantly.’

  ‘And Vomix’s army is on its knees, more than a thousand dead already –’

  Yggur broke off as Tulitine hobbled out of the smoke. She had a long cut across her brow and two rents down her left shoulder, almost to the elbow, and yet, astonishingly, she loo
ked better than she had hours ago. Yggur helped her up to the top step, where they sat down together.

  ‘You should not be fighting,’ said Maelys, going to her knees beside Tulitine. She had to keep busy; had to distract herself from the thought of being pregnant, not to mention her worries about Nish. ‘Let me bind –’

  ‘The wounds are clean and I can barely feel the pain,’ said Tulitine. ‘Indeed, it’s a welcome distraction from my aching bones.’

  ‘What about Vomix?’ said Maelys. As long as he lived she could not feel safe.

  ‘He disappeared not long after the atatusk first attacked,’ said Flydd.

  ‘Dead?’ she said hopefully.

  ‘Alas, no. He took his best thousand men and said that he was trying to outflank the enemy, but he hasn’t been seen since.’

  ‘Has he run?’

  ‘Not Vomix. He’ll be in hiding, waiting for us to fall so he can claim the spoils,’ said Flydd, and spat down over the steps. ‘But not if I can help it.’

  ‘Where’s Nish?’ Maelys caught Flydd by the arm. ‘What’s happened to him?’

  ‘We don’t know where he is,’ he said wearily. ‘He and Ryll made some absurd plan to try and close the opening into the void, but …’

  Maelys looked up, but the barrier could barely be seen through the smoke and the opening was not visible. ‘I’ve got to find him.’

  ‘Not in all this mess,’ said Flydd. ‘And you have questions to answer. What the blazes were you doing in the shadow realm?’

  ‘Looking for a way to attack a being. Klarm let me in –’

  ‘Where is the little runt?’ growled Flydd. ‘With his help, and the tears –’

  ‘I don’t know …’ Too many thoughts were crowding through Maelys’s mind; she could not tease them apart. ‘He sent me there to find old Nadiril, and his spirit told me …’ Her voice faded as she thought about that dear old man, giving up all he had left to save her, ‘… before the revenants got him. Nadiril gave his spirit to get me out.’

  ‘What did he tell you?’ said Flydd.

  ‘That the revenants can only be attacked when they’re outside the shadow realm. Vivimord is trying to convince them that it’s safe to come out –’