Darksong

by Isobelle Carmody

  ‘No,’ Ember said.

  ‘What, then?’

  ‘What did Revel tell you?’ she countered.

  He beamed at her. ‘You evade like an agent of the Shadowman. Revel told me that you travel with the Fomhikan to care for him, yet your body language tells me that you are neither lover nor sister to him, despite what my friend tried to imply. Indeed, Revel focused her concern so much upon your companion and so little on you, that it made me wonder the more about you. You are not Fomhikan, I think.’

  Ember thought that this seerat was as dangerous a man as she had met on Keltor, and the first who might simply guess she was a stranger if he had time enough to study her. ‘Revel said that you and she were students together?’

  The seerat’s smile became dry. ‘Now you remind me of my halfman, Soonkar, who also thinks questions are answers. But I will answer your question. We were students together, yes, and our friendship was strong enough to survive even our diverging lives and interests. Strong enough for one of us to occasionally ask a great favour of another without supplying much in the way of information. Yet I suspect that this matter goes beyond personal loyalties.’

  ‘Revel told you who he is,’ Ember guessed.

  ‘Let us say only that he is Fomhikan and speak no more of the matter. Sometimes the air carries voices far and a certain name may be heard even from a passing carriage. His is a very dangerous name at this time. And perhaps yours as well. I thought I had guessed who you were, but now I am not so sure. Your appearance fits, but your accent is quite unplaceable. You must have worked very hard to alter the auditory markers so that your home sept would not be perceived even by a seerat.’

  Ember made no response. The seerat said mildly, ‘You need not be afraid of my curiosity. Revel did not tell me who you were. Perhaps she does not know. She asked me to see you safe to the white-cloak shelter, and I will do this in good faith. And rest assured that I did not see anyone show especial interest in you – and I would have, I assure you, even among so many faces.’

  ‘I believe you,’ Ember said.

  The seerat studied her thoughtfully. ‘I should like to throw the disks for you, child, and that is not a thing I often desire, for at some level all lives are the same and no one knows that more wearily than a seerat. But I have a feeling that your telling might be very interesting indeed. What may I call you?’

  ‘My name is … Gola,’ she answered, taking a name at random from the many that had come to Alene at the palace for healing.

  The carriage drew to a halt. ‘Well, she-who-calls-herself-Gola, we have reached the primary healing shelter of the white cloaks on Vespi,’ the seerat said softly. ‘Redleaf it is called. Go now.’

  Ember hesitated, looking over at Bleyd.

  ‘Soonkar will carry the Fomhikan to the entrance.’

  ‘Goodbye and thank you,’ Ember said as she scrambled from the shadowy, over-scented carriage into the glaring light of day. She found herself standing on a straight, narrow road running between two rows of squarish stuccoed villas ensconced behind high walls, with a path running along one side only. The dwellings and walls were of bluish green stone, but the one beside the carriage was almost obscured by a red-leafed creeper rather like a glory vine. It grew right over the round archway entrance, through which was visible a pleasant courtyard with a small fountain at the centre.

  The dwarf shouldered the curtain aside and lifted Bleyd out, shifting him into a fireman’s hold. He carried his burden without apparent effort, though Ember noticed that one of the dwarf’s legs twisted badly inward. It was this that gave him the rocking gait she had noticed on the pier. She wondered suddenly when the seerat had given him instructions to stop at the healing centre and to carry Bleyd inside, since they had exchanged only a few words, and none concerning passengers or white cloaks. She could only suppose that they had some sort of signals that would allow them to speak frankly when others were about. Given the seerat’s line of work, it would be useful. Or perhaps they had discussed it before they came to the ship.

  Once through the archway, she saw that the buildings behind the wall bordered the cobbled area on three sides. The entrance to the centre lay opposite the gate and directly behind the fountain where a wide set of steps led to an equally wide single door flanked by thick white columns shrouded in vivid creeper. As they passed the fountain, beaked butterflies rose up in a shimmering blue cloud.

  Soonkar was carefully lowering Bleyd to the top step when, without warning, the unconscious Fomhikan spasmed violently and slipped from his grasp. As Ember dived forward to stop his head cracking on the step, a flailing hand tore the veil from her face and she found herself staring into the astounded blue eyes of the dwarf. Bleyd had fallen limp after his spasm and lay cradled awkwardly between them. For a long moment there was nothing but the hum and buzz of flyts and the sound of their ragged breathing.

  ‘You!’ Soonkar whispered. Then he seemed to stare more closely at her and, if possible, he looked even more amazed. ‘But you are silverblinded in one eye …’

  Ember felt strangely calm, although she had long feared the moment in which the silvery caste over her blinded eye would be discovered.

  Ember laid Bleyd’s head gently to rest on the step then, without haste, replaced her veil. ‘Some say that a stranger coming here, looking as I do, heralds the coming of the Unraveller. Maybe it is true,’ she said quietly. ‘On Darkfall, they will tell me what it means if I can get there safely. I … I would be grateful if you would not speak of what you have seen.’

  The dwarf nodded, but before he could manage to formulate any words, the door to the healing shelter opened and a thin, harried-looking young man in white, priest-like robes emerged. He stopped dead when he saw them. ‘What is here?’

  The carriage driver rose swiftly and bowed with unexpected grace. ‘Forgive the intrusion, Master White Cloak, but my own master was passing by in his carriage when he saw this good lady struggling to bring her companion into the white-cloak centre, and sent me to aid her. I will leave them in your good hands.’ He bowed to Ember, and departed without a backward glance. Ember heard the sound of the carriage wheels on the cobbles and prayed that Soonkar was loyal enough to Darkfall to wait a few days before gossiping of what he had seen. If he did not, and happened to tell his story to the wrong people, both she and Bleyd were likely to be arrested for, seeing his injuries, it would be obvious that she could not be his prisoner.

  The young white cloak was pressing the heel of a slender hand to the Fomhikan’s chalk-white forehead, his brow furrowed in concentration. At length, he turned a grave face to Ember. ‘This man is very ill. Wait with him and I will summon help.’ He hurried away inside and Ember looked down at Bleyd, thinking how it would please Coralyn and Kalide if the Fomhikan perished without clearing his name.

  Bleyd moaned as if he heard her thoughts, and Ember took his hand, ignoring the admonitions of the darker Ember to avoid pity. ‘Bleyd, we are at the Redleaf centre on Vespi now. The white cloaks will help you.’

  To her surprise, his eyes fluttered open. ‘Shenavyre is come again and again she is blind to one who loves her …’ he muttered.

  He was delirious, but his words woke in Ember the realisation that his ravings could very well be their undoing. ‘Bleyd. Listen to me for Anyi’s sake. You must not speak of him or me or anything that has happened to you. I am your sister, and you were beaten up. I am Gola,’ she said and his eyes fluttered open and seemed for a moment to be lucid. ‘I am your sister Gola, and you were attacked here on Vespi where you came to do our father’s business,’ she said urgently. ‘The beating has made you forget everything else, but remember that.’

  ‘Gola …’ Bleyd whispered and fell still again. Ember sat back on her heels, feeling helpless. Seconds later, the young healer returned with three other white cloaks of similar age, carrying a stretcher. They were accompanied by a much older man with a severe, ascetic face. Just as the younger white cloak had done, he bent and pressed a hand to Ble
yd’s forehead.

  ‘I know what you want …’ Bleyd moaned.

  The white cloak straightened up with a grunt. ‘You were right, Lamba. Get this man into the treatment chamber immediately. There is no time to lose. His prime chakra is almost completely black.’ The younger white cloaks eased Bleyd onto the stretcher gently, but he gave a thin scream of pain before lapsing again into unconsciousness. Ember followed the group of white cloaks as they bore him through the front door and along a hall open on one side to a green courtyard. Ember was reminded by the silence and visual serenity of a monastery she had once visited at Glynn’s insistence.

  She, however, felt anything but serene as they entered a round, high-domed room with a single, raised block at the centre. Bleyd was laid upon the block and the older white cloak commanded that his clothes be removed. ‘Use water if there is any resistance,’ he said, then he gave Ember a stern look. ‘White cloaks are not versed in raising the dead. If you had waited much longer, you would have had a corpse on your hands.’

  ‘I … My brother was attacked and left for dead. I did not find him until this morning and it has taken me this long to get him here.’

  ‘He was attacked? Is this a gambling matter?’ the white cloak demanded.

  ‘No … I don’t think so,’ Ember said. ‘My brother is a man of strong beliefs and passions and he does not always declare them wisely.’

  ‘Politics then?’ The white cloak said with a hint of distaste. ‘And who is to say I will not heal him and then find he is murdered as he walks out my door?’

  Ember was not sure it was a question. ‘We are supposed to leave for Fomhika very soon. The passage was arranged some time ago. We came here to further our father’s business interests.’ She had a thought and added quickly, ‘My brother dreamed that he was attacked and killed when first we arrived here, and we laughed at it. But now that this has happened, I might go and consult the soulweavers at the Darkfall landing …’

  ‘There are too many dreams that lead to Darkfall,’ the white cloak said coolly, confirming Ember’s impression that the white cloaks were not for Darkfall even if they were not actively against it. ‘Why do you wear a veil?’ he asked.

  She answered softly that she feared being recognised by whomever had attacked her brother.

  ‘Master,’ one of the healers called, and to Ember’s relief, the older white cloak abandoned her to tend his now naked patient. He made a gesture and the healers turned Bleyd. Even from where she stood, his wounds were an horrendous stew of yellow mucous streaked with blood and red-raw flesh with a livid purplish look. If the physical was but a manifestation of the spirit, then Bleyd was dangerously ill indeed.

  ‘By the Horn! He must have offended someone, for he has been whipped and whoever did it wanted him to die painfully.’ He waved at the younger white cloak. ‘Go. Bring cooled boiled water and bindings and prepare a poultice of rotworms and a double measure of belsirop. Make haste for we have very little time. I will do what I can.’ The white cloak lay two huge hands gently on the back of the Fomhikan’s head and kept them there for over twenty minutes, then shifted to the Fomhikan’s shoulders. Sweat glistened on his face and, drawn involuntarily closer, Ember realised suddenly how bad Bleyd smelled. She had grown accustomed to his odour on the ship. The white cloak seemed oblivious to the stench, however, and he made no attempt to wash the wounds or treat them physically. Ember knew that he was treating Bleyd’s etheric body. On Keltor, unlike on her own world, the physical healing of a body was regarded as a secondary and lesser skill. Most wounds and illnesses were dealt with long before they advanced enough to manifest on the physical level. People would come to Alene feeling nauseous or unexpectedly weary, or even depressed, and Alene would treat them. Ironically, this meant that the Keltans had somewhat primitive methods of physical healing because it was so seldom needed.

  The young healer who had found them on the step returned wheeling a trolley piled with various bottles and cloths and instruments and a bowl of something that looked like blancmange, though it smelled putrid. Like the others, he ignored Ember. ‘Master?’ He touched the white cloak gently on his shoulder.

  The older healer grunted, and when he looked up, Ember saw that he was grey with exhaustion. ‘I have dealt with the chakra, but the poultice must be applied immediately to strip away the bad flesh. If the infection deepens it will afflict the chakra again and his energies are too weak to save him.’

  ‘But master the … the belsirop will have no time to take effect if we apply the rotworms at once,’ the younger man protested.

  ‘Better a painful poultice than death,’ the healer snapped. ‘Give the sirop to him, but we can’t wait for it to take effect. Each second now is precious.’

  Ember watched as the younger healer dribbled the contents of a small phial down a tube into Bleyd’s mouth. Then he took the bowl and began to tip the grey mass in it onto his back. Only then did Ember realise the grey shivering pulp was writhing.

  A moment later, shockingly in that quiet cool place, Bleyd began to scream. The two healers held him down as he struggled and shrieked and Ember staggered back as the world drained of colour and slipped away.

  Ember was in the Void, a screaming wind howling on all sides, driving golden globes of light and glistening purple bubbles of darkness before it. She felt she must surely be torn apart if she could not escape the sound and punishing assault of the maelstrom.

  She was suddenly enveloped in a chilly mist so thick that it was difficult to breath. She was in a lane that seemed deserted until she saw a shape moving stealthily along it, pressing itself to the wall and glancing behind every few minutes. A boy, she thought as he dragged open a gate with some effort, ghosted across a small moonlit yard and clambered up a wall. Ember willed herself to the other side of the wall and found herself looking into the pale, determined face of the young mermod, Anyi. He looked older than she remembered and he seemed to know exactly where he was going. Even so Ember held her breath when two green-clad legionnaires went marching by the very wall in whose shadow Anyi stood. A few moments later the same thing happened again and Ember found herself wondering if Anyi was actually in the Iridomi part of the citadel palace. The thought of it dried her mouth. But surely he would not be such a fool!

  Anyi made his way along the wall to another door and, glancing around, he then pressed his mouth to the door and called in an urgent whisper, ‘Rill! Rilka, are you here?’

  ‘Yes … who is it?’ another voice responded at once. A girl.

  ‘It’s me, Anyi.’

  ‘Anyi! They said you were dead!’

  ‘Wait,’ Anyi hissed and he set to work on the lock with a knife. After a few seconds there was a loud twanging sound that made him freeze for a moment, then the door burst open and a delicate-looking blonde girl with dirt-streaked cheeks and ragged finery hurled herself out and into Anyi’s arms, kissing and hugging him.

  ‘Rill!’ Anyi protested, half in horror and half in apprehension. ‘We have to be quiet. There are legionnaires everywhere and if they catch me I’ll be …’

  ‘Anyi!’ The girl drew back, blood draining from her cheeks. ‘What are you doing here? They will kill you if they find you!’

  ‘I know. We have to get moving. The Shadowman is with me. He has a ship waiting for us. Wait until you see which one.’

  ‘You would leave Ramidan?’

  ‘Now that Tarsin has left, there is no reason for me not to go.’

  ‘I hope you know what you are doing,’ the girl said.

  ‘So do I,’ Anyi said, and opened the door. ‘Let us go …’

  Ember found herself back in the Void, bewildered. The girl’s name had been oddly familiar, though her face was not. But what was Anyi doing in the palace when he and Feyt were supposed to be at the soulweaver’s hut; and what did he mean by saying that he was with the Shadowman. And where had Tarsin gone, if he was not upon Ramidan?

  Another globe of light burst over Ember and now she was in the bright day
light watching Tareed carry a bucket of water across the clearing in front of the soulweaver’s hut. The soulweaver Alene stepped from the door and ran silverblind eyes around the clearing in that way she had which always made it seem that she was not blind at all. Her expression was troubled, but she only shook her head and went back inside the hut without speaking.

  Was this a true weaving Ember wondered? It was easy to couple it with the other brief vision and imagine that Alene was looking for the arrival of Feyt and Anyi, and wondering why they had not come. But if the other dream had been true, and both were dreams of the present, then where was the senior myrmidon? Ember told herself that it would be a mistake to try to fit her visions together as if they were parts of a jigsaw puzzle. At the very least, one had taken place at night, while the other had happened in broad daylight.

  Willing herself inside the hut she found Alene at her workbench chopping herbs for the herbal infusions she dispensed to supplicants. Her lips were moving but Ember could not make out the words. Then it came to her that the soulweaver was singing. With a pang, she thought of the a’luwtha and wondered for the first time why the soulweaver had given it to her. She had not known that Ember was a musician, unless she had seen it in her weaving dreams.

  Alene looked up pensively, almost as if she had heard the question, and Ember’s surprise shunted her back into the Void. She tumbled wildly until she thought of Tareed’s comment that soulweavers used music to control their segueing. Ember did not have an instrument with her in the Void, nor was she a true soulweaver, yet she had her voice and so she began to hum. She became aware that the Void was a maelstrom of random sounds clashing and clanging together and her own weak hum only added to the cacophony.