The Curse on the Chosen (The Song of the Tears Book 2)

by Ian Irvine

  ‘Vapours seep up through fissures in the rock from bituminous layers deep below Mistmurk Mountain. The same vapours feed the cursed flame and the greater abyssal flame that is its uncanny source –’

  ‘What greater flame?’ said Nish. ‘I haven’t heard of any other kinds of flame.’

  ‘I built the fireplace in my hut over a fissure, years ago,’ Flydd continued as though Nish had not spoken, ‘thinking that, once I grew too infirm to cut and carry peat, I would still have warmth and a blaze to cook on. And the well of dreams when I needed it …’

  ‘Well of dreams?’ frowned Colm.

  ‘The seeping vapours induce prophetic visions in those who have the gift of the seer, which thankfully I do not, and by breathing their vapours, oracles can connect with the ethereal realm where the shape and timbre of the future is encoded.’

  ‘Like the Pit of Possibilities?’ Nish said uneasily, remembering the dark futures it had predicted, especially for Maelys, and among them the solitary bright possibility for himself. He had always craved the respect that high office brought and, despite seeing how power had corrupted his father, a little part of Nish still yearned for it.

  ‘No!’ Flydd said firmly. ‘Not like it at all.’

  That made little sense. ‘Then surely, with the vapours, you would have had strange dreams every night?’

  ‘On warm nights, when there was no need for a fire, I lit the vapours before retiring; I am no oracle and prefer my own dreams. But during renewal, when Maelys was asleep, the fire flared as though vapour had gushed forth, then died down and I heard a hissing beneath me. The mystical vapours had found a new path up through the rock and it was then that I had the dream – if it was a dream …’

  No one spoke, and Flydd went on. ‘I didn’t feel myself at all; I felt like someone else. Her!’

  ‘But … you haven’t become a woman, inside, have you?’ Nish wasn’t sure he could deal with that.

  ‘You know I haven’t,’ said Flydd, ‘though it can happen. The woman dressed in red was standing by the greater, abyssal flame, and though I could see her, I was also looking out of her eyes.’

  ‘Do you mean that you were in her mind?’

  ‘It felt that way, though she could have been in mine.’

  ‘What was she doing?’

  ‘Trying to do something with the abyssal flame, but it wasn’t working.’

  ‘Perhaps she was an amateur,’ said Colm. ‘Out of her depth.’

  Flydd chuckled at the unintended pun. ‘Not at all. She’s a master of the Art; or once was.’

  ‘Where is the abyssal flame?’ said Nish.

  ‘Deep down. She had a stern, handsome face, from what I saw of it,’ mused Flydd, all dreamy and distant. ‘And she was dressed in robes that have not been worn since ancient times. I’m sure I’ve never seen her before, yet I feel I know her.’ Clothing rustled against rock as he stood up. ‘Maelys should have given the signal by now.’

  Nish came back to the present with a start. ‘She’s been ages. Something must have gone wrong.’

  He felt tense all over; his muscles were as taut as cables. Waiting here was like thumbing his nose at fortune; every minute Jal-Nish would be tightening his cordon around the mountain, and sending his scouts creeping further into its hidden passages, cutting off every way of escape save the one Flydd could not get into – the shadow realm.

  ‘We’ll give her a bit longer,’ said Flydd.

  ‘What is the shadow realm, Xervish?’ said Nish. ‘I’d never heard of it before you mentioned it the other day.’

  ‘It’s a nether world, a way station for spirits detached from the body after death to rest until they finally fade into nothingness. I’ve heard that it was benign once – though scary – but something that did not belong was trapped there in ancient times, and has corrupted it.’

  ‘What something?’ said Colm.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s now the home of dark shades called revenants, and darker nightmares: it’s the ethereal realm where necromancers delve to further their unpleasant Arts. In the later stages of the war, Chief Scrutator Ghorr, a mancer who had mastered more of the Dark Arts than anyone, set out to find the shadow realm, for he thought it might prove useful in the war, or, if the worst happened, provide a final refuge for a select few.’

  ‘Your depraved council, no doubt,’ said Colm frigidly. ‘If they hadn’t prolonged the war, I would never have lost my home, my family and my inheritance.’

  Flydd ignored the bitterness. ‘Ghorr decided it was too dangerous to use, so he sealed all known ways into the shadow realm.’

  ‘Forever?’ said Nish.

  ‘Well, nothing is forever. What one brilliant mancer can lock, another will eventually unlock.’

  ‘When was this?’ asked Colm.

  ‘About fifteen years ago, but destruction of the nodes broke the power that had been used to seal the entrances – that’s how I can hope to get in.’

  Flydd was being careful with his words. The scrutators had always been close-mouthed; they guarded their secrets with other people’s lives.

  ‘I felt a tug on the rope!’ hissed Colm. ‘Two and two. It’s the signal.’

  Nish could hear it rasping on rock and its coils settling on the ledge beside him, then Colm cursed.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ said Flydd.

  ‘Her weight’s gone off it,’ said Colm hoarsely. ‘She’s fallen!’

  Light suddenly flared at Flydd’s fingertips, bright enough to hurt Nish’s eyes. ‘You’ve got your Art back!’ he hissed.

  ‘Any fool can make a bit of light,’ Flydd said in an imperious voice, rather higher than his usual tones, then stared at his fingers.

  ‘Are you all right? Your voice –’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Flydd said harshly, in his normal voice. ‘We’ve got bigger things to worry about than my state of mind.’ He studied the coils of rope. ‘Maelys wouldn’t have been more than a span above the slab. She won’t be hurt. She’ll try again.’

  ‘How could she fall with her harness on?’ Nish swallowed hard. And she might be pregnant, with his child. There were times when he still ached for the child he’d fathered on Ullii, a dozen years ago – a child killed in the womb by the foul sorcery of Scrutator T’Lisp. Why had he let Flydd send Maelys down? ‘She must have been attacked.’

  ‘She took the harness off,’ said Flydd. ‘Maelys has trouble following the simplest orders.’

  Colm let down a couple of coils and they waited again.

  ‘About your Art –’ said Nish.

  ‘A tiny bit has come back – no more than a gifted five-year-old might display,’ Flydd said without expression.

  ‘But you just said –’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it!’

  Flydd allowed the light to dwindle to the feeblest of glow-worm gleams. Colm sat rigidly upright, hands clenched into a knuckled knot over the rope. Despite his harsh words, he did seem to care about her. Flydd began muttering again, though Nish couldn’t make out the words. He rubbed his knotted jaw. What was the matter with Flydd? That voice had definitely not been his – it could have been a woman’s voice. What if the woman in red was trying to take him over?

  Colm’s hands jerked, then again and again. ‘She’s back!’ He came to his feet, feeling the rope, but frowned. ‘She’s trying to climb it. Why doesn’t she tie on?’

  Flydd was staring down into the black hole. ‘She’s been discovered.’

  The rope went slack. ‘She’s gone this time,’ Colm said dully, and reached for his sword. ‘They’ve got her.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Flydd.

  ‘We’ve got to go down,’ said Nish.

  ‘There’s no more defenceless man than one climbing down a rope,’ said Flydd.

  ‘Maelys has been a good friend to me – a better one than I have to her – and I will never abandon her.’

  ‘Nor I.’ Colm’s knuckles had gone white. ‘Despite … everything.’

  Flydd
sighed. ‘And sometimes I forget that I am no longer a scrutator, but just an ordinary man. Of course I won’t abandon Maelys; I should never have sent her down in the first place. I merely wished to teach her a lesson.’

  ‘But … none of us could have gotten through,’ said Nish.

  ‘I lied; chimneys don’t narrow downwards; they get wider. Even Colm could squeeze through with a bit of effort and a liberal coating of swamp creeper goo.’

  ‘She’s braver than all of us put together,’ Colm said, flushing in mortification.

  ‘Indeed she is,’ said Flydd, ‘for we’re men of action who’ve spent a lifetime learning our brutal trade. It’s all new to Maelys, and very hard, yet does she ever refuse a challenge? Come on.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ said Nish.

  ‘Down and in the back way: the first guarded way we came to. Leave the rope.’

  ‘We may need it,’ said Colm.

  He tossed the rapier to Nish, who caught it awkwardly. It felt good to have a weapon again.

  ‘If we haul the rope up, they’ll know we’re coming,’ said Flydd. ‘If we leave it, they’ll have one more way to watch.’

  ‘Father has enough men to watch a hundred ways,’ said Nish.

  ‘Years ago I protected these caves against him; his men won’t find their way through easily.’ The finger-light died.

  ‘How come you didn’t tell us that before?’ said Colm, aggrieved.

  ‘I’ve only just remembered that I’d done it.’

  It explained why the men they’d encountered earlier had been lost and confused, though Nish didn’t take much comfort from it. His father could have broken Flydd’s enchantment by now.

  ‘So how come Vivimord got in when you were taking renewal?’ said Colm.

  ‘When I set the enchantment,’ Flydd replied, ‘I didn’t know he was my enemy. No single enchantment can protect against every mancer. This way.’

  Nish couldn’t imagine how Flydd knew where to go, for he couldn’t see a thing, nor remember the myriad twists and turns they’d taken since escaping from Jal-Nish.

  ‘Quiet,’ whispered Flydd after some minutes. ‘We’re close.’

  ‘How are we going to do it?’ said Nish.

  ‘With extreme violence. And no chance offered.’

  No one became a member of the God-Emperor’s Imperial Guard without losing most of their humanity, and they would ruthlessly exploit any hesitation. Even so, and despite all the killing he’d done during the war, Nish could not take another man’s life without a qualm.

  He hardened his heart. It was their lives or his; their lives or Maelys’s; their lives or else the God-Emperor would prevail, and if the tears gave him the secret of immortality his brutal reign would last until the end of time. Nish could not endure that thought; Jal-Nish had to be overthrown.

  They turned another corner and saw the faintest illumination reflecting off the stone wall from around the next bend.

  ‘Wait here.’ Flydd went forward silently.

  Nish felt an urge to practise a few strokes with the rapier, a weapon he had not used in many years, but restrained himself. Flydd would not appreciate its point coming his way in the dark.

  Shortly he was beside them again. ‘There are three guards, sitting ten or twelve paces past the corner, just before the entrance to the flame cavern. They’ve got their backs to us, watching the other passage. At the corner, I’ll make light and we’ll rush them while they’re dazzled. We’ve got to take them down without warning. If one gets away …’

  ‘We know,’ said Nish, holding the rapier point down so as to avoid accidents. He was longing for bloody action now. It would help to take his mind off the pain.

  They agreed on battle signals and headed for the corner. Flydd peered around it, then moved noiselessly out. Nish followed half a span to his right, for the passage was broad here. A little way ahead, he made out a flicker coming from an opening to their left – the entrance to the cursed flame chamber. This side of it, three large silhouettes waited in the dark.

  Flydd touched their wrists again, the signal that he was ready. Nish tensed; on the count of five a brilliant light burst forth from Flydd’s upstretched fingers and they charged.

  The man on the right was scrambling to his feet when the rapier took him in the back of the neck; he collapsed without a sound. On the other side, Colm had taken the head off his man with a single savage blow. Blood sprayed onto the tunnel roof and all over them.

  Unfortunately Flydd stumbled and fell hard, and the third soldier took off into the dark so quickly that Nish had no hope of catching him. Before he could move, Colm swung his sword over his shoulder and sent it flying viciously through the air. It struck the fleeing soldier in the back and brought him down.

  Colm went after him without a word and finished the job, returning with jaw set and eyes hard.

  ‘That was a … mighty throw,’ Nish said, uneasily, for it showed a side of Colm he hadn’t seen before. Nish had killed with military efficiency, while Colm’s blows revealed a violent rage, barely kept in check.

  ‘I’ve suffered plenty at their hands,’ Colm grated. ‘In the past, your father’s men showed me no mercy, and I’ll give them none.’

  ‘You never forget an injury, do you?’

  ‘Why should I?’ said Colm with a hard stare. ‘All I ask for is what is mine by right.’

  Nish withdrew his rapier, wiped it on the soldier he’d killed and helped Flydd up. The light from his fingers was just a glimmer and he was waxen pale.

  ‘Bloody renewal!’ Flydd muttered. ‘Legs gave out as soon as I tried to run.’ He studied the bodies. ‘They’re not wearing uniforms. I wonder why?’

  Nish could not have cared less. His pulse was racing, and every heartbeat sent a fresh spasm of agony through his burned hand, but he had to endure it. He had to find Maelys – if she was still alive.

  He wiped the worst of the still-warm blood off his face, went around the headless man, whose neck stump was dribbling blood, and headed into the flame cavern. Left, right, left he went, the light of the cursed flame growing; now the long stone slab Maelys had described was no more than twenty spans away, with the rope and harness suspended above, but there was no sign of her.

  ‘Keep watch on the entrances,’ Flydd said quietly. ‘I’ll look for her.’

  Nish moved into the shadows, rapier out. He wanted to use it on someone, and if they’d hurt Maelys, he would. Colm, keeping well clear of the cursed flame, went across to guard the unseen far entrance, though it seemed a useless gesture. Neither of them would be a match for Jal-Nish’s highly trained Imperial Guard, face to face.

  The pain grew ever worse until it was impossible to think about anything else. In a sweaty daze, Nish watched Flydd moving towards the slab, eyes sweeping right and left.

  He picked up something from the floor. ‘Shards of my crystal: she overcharged it and it burst. The flame must be more powerful than I’d thought. And it’s shrunk back? Is that because of Vivimord?’ Flydd bent low. ‘Congealed blood; hours old, so it can’t be hers. It must have come from Phrune or Vivimord.’

  Colm eyed the cursed flame warily. Nish couldn’t blame him; he felt its power too.

  Flydd inspected the slab, and the floor around it, from which he picked up Maelys’s taphloid by the chain, wrapped it in a rag and pocketed it. ‘This is bad. Why did she undo the rope? Because the crystal burst, and she could not return to confess such a failure?’

  ‘Why not?’ said Colm from the darkness.

  ‘Her family blame her for the ruin of the clan. In their eyes she can do nothing right, and she’s always been expected to make up for the failings of others, but when she tries, it always goes wrong – like the story she told back in the cavern.’

  ‘It didn’t sound like a story to me,’ Colm said coldly.

  ‘She acted to save her family in the only way she knew how. I’m sure you would have done the same.’

  ‘Not that way.’ Colm could not contain his
disgust.

  ‘You judge her harshly.’

  ‘The line has to be drawn; she crossed it.’

  ‘Let’s all bow to Saint Colm,’ Nish sneered, for his pain was getting the better of him.

  ‘Pay your own debts before you criticise me,’ spat Colm.

  ‘We’ve got enough enemies without you two at each other’s throats,’ said Flydd. ‘Clearly, Maelys was driven to make her failure good, to save us.’ He hauled his reluctant flesh onto the slab. ‘These footmarks are too big for Maelys. She encountered someone here, but not one of Jal-Nish’s big men. Not with plump, stubby feet like these.’

  ‘And not Vivimord either,’ said Nish, coming closer. ‘He’s got long feet.’

  ‘Come up.’ Flydd reached down to give Nish a hand, and he scrambled up. ‘Hold your burnt hand just above the cursed flame. It might help.’

  ‘Is that how Vivimord was healed?’

  Flydd jumped down and began to pace around the slab. ‘Not exactly; Phrune shed his own blood into the flame, thence onto Vivimord who lay beneath, and the purified sacrifice healed him.’

  ‘I don’t suppose …?’ Nish began.

  ‘I wouldn’t recommend it,’ said Flydd. ‘It’s the cursed flame, remember, and if any two men were already cursed, it was those two.’

  ‘I’m equally cursed,’ Nish said bitterly. He held his hand above the flame, biting his lip as the pain flared to new levels of excruciation. ‘I don’t see how it can do any harm.’

  Flydd walked into the darkness, head down, studying the floor. ‘Phrune’s sacrifice might have perverted the flame. It will take a long time to cleanse it.’

  Nonetheless, with the possibility of healing right in front of him, the pain suddenly became unbearable and, desperate for relief, Nish stabbed his wrist on the point of the rapier and allowed his blood to fall onto the slab beside the star hole. It began to run into the flame, which flared red and green. He half-scrambled, half-fell off and crawled underneath, tearing the moss bandage from his charred and repulsive hand.

  Blood began to drip through onto his wrist. It was hot and made his unburned skin creep as if thousands of stinging ants were running over it. He rubbed the blood across his burned hand and fingers, where he could see bone showing through charred flesh. It smelled awful – cooked.