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

by Ian Irvine

  ‘So how do I get to it?’ he mused. ‘And survive?’

  TWENTY-THREE

  ‘What if you offered the Numinator something it wanted badly?’ said Maelys.

  Calling the Numinator it felt strange, yet there were many intelligent, non-human creatures in the void, and it had appeared not long after the Forbidding, which protected Santhenar from the void, had been broken.

  ‘I’ve already thought of that.’ Flydd pressed his hand against the bottled flames in his inside pocket. ‘These are a magnificent gift for any mancer, even one of the greatest: a source of power unaffected by the destruction of the nodes. What secrets may be uncovered by a diligent study of these uncanny fires? Dare I give them to the Numinator, though? Will the gift gain us a boon in return, or be used against us? The gratitude of mancers is unreliable at the best of times.’

  ‘Don’t I know it,’ Colm said pointedly. ‘You can agonise for the rest of your miserable life, Flydd, or you can just get on with it.’

  ‘The future of Santhenar is at stake!’ Flydd flashed. ‘I’ll decide what to do in my own time.’

  ‘Can you tell us anything about the Numinator?’ Maelys asked hastily. ‘Where did it come from? What does it do; what does it want?’

  ‘The Council never knew, though the Numinator’s great age argues either for someone with blood from one of the longer-lived human species – that is, Aachim, Faellem or Charon – or a mancer who has taken renewal, and more than once; or a non-human creature that entered the world at the time the Forbidding was broken.

  ‘If Chief Scrutator Ghorr knew its origins, he told no one and the secret died with him. All we knew was that the Numinator created the Council of Scrutators nearly a hundred and fifty years ago out of the Council of Santhenar, which had existed in one form or another for thousands of years. The Numinator shaped our Council to its own purposes, of which only one was winning the war.’

  ‘What were its other purposes?’ asked Colm.

  ‘It wanted to control Santhenar, though not to exercise power over it – the Numinator was never interested in power for its own sake. It required the Council to collect information on every single person in the world: their ancestry, looks, family traits, habits, talents and gifts, and compile it in registers.’

  ‘What for?’ said Maelys curiously. Nothing she heard about the Numinator made sense.

  ‘No one knows,’ said Flydd. ‘A copy of each register was placed in Ghorr’s strongroom in the scrutators’ hidden bastion, Nennifer, and from there it vanished. However I did learn, by means I won’t go into, that the Numinator dwelt in the frozen south at the Tower of a Thousand Steps.’

  ‘Where is that, anyway?’ said Colm.

  ‘It lies on the forbidden Island of Noom, in the middle of the Kara Agel or Frozen Sea, an Antarctic wasteland so bleak that only ice bears and seals, walruses and snow leopards can survive there. A few trappers and prospectors cross in and out in the brief and bitter Antarctic summer, but no one winters near the Kara Agel.’

  ‘Save the Numinator.’

  ‘And perhaps ice runs in its veins instead of blood.’ Flydd shivered and pressed a hand to his chest again. ‘I most passionately don’t want to go there. Though my torture was half a century ago, I can still feel the scourges flaying the flesh from my body for daring to speculate about the Numinator.’

  ‘It may have given up by now,’ said Colm.

  ‘It has held to its plan for at least a hundred and fifty years.’

  ‘It could be dead.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Flydd. He looked at Maelys. ‘The thought of Noom arouses terrors that you cannot imagine, yet I must go there sooner or later. The Numinator knows the Histories better than anyone on Santhenar, even Jal-Nish. If there is an antithesis to the tears, that’s where we’ll find out about it. But not now; I’ve got to sleep. The way may be clearer in the morning.’ He looked around. ‘Ah!’

  Maelys followed his gaze and saw, about twenty paces away, a simple straw mattress, like Flydd’s former bed in his amber-wood hut on Mistmurk Mountain, covered in a single blanket. A good distance to the left, a black replica of Colm’s bedroll lay on the floor, while further off stood a wooden bed identical to the one Maelys had slept in when she’d been a little girl. It even had the same patchwork quilt her mother had made. Tears formed, but she didn’t brush them away.

  ‘Good night,’ she said, and headed towards the bed, her only hope of comfort in an alien world.

  It was smaller than she remembered, but Maelys didn’t try to imagine it differently in the hope that it would change to fit. She crawled under the covers, pulled them up around her ears, gave a little sigh and fell instantly asleep.

  Maelys did not dream, so far as she was aware, but woke feeling restless, having no idea how long she’d slept. Flydd was flat on his back with his legs spread and mouth open, snoring. Colm lay on his side in his bedroll, knees drawn up to his chest and an arm wrapped around them – a revealing posture. Was he unconsciously trying to protect himself, or to keep the world at bay because he could rely on nobody but himself?

  Colm wasn’t her problem. Sliding out of bed, she walked away from the dim illumination that surrounded them. The floor was cold under her bare feet but, being still warm from bed, she found it soothing and stimulating. At a point where Maelys could just see the twin glimmers on Flydd and Colm, she began to pace in a great circle around them. She needed to walk but dared not lose sight of them, else she might never find her way back.

  On her second circle, Maelys thought she heard a faint call. She looked back to the lights but they were not moving.

  Hello.

  This time it was clearer, a rich male voice, though it sounded far away. An attractive voice, she thought. Trustworthy. She searched the blackness for a sign of the man who had spoken, but the Nightland remained as impenetrable as ever. She didn’t answer.

  Who are you?

  Or was the voice in her head? She couldn’t tell. Maelys kept silent, for it occurred to her that the Nightland must still exist for a reason. It might be used as a prison for all manner of desperate scoundrels; why else would someone expend all that power to maintain it? She took a few steps into the darkness, in the direction from which the voice seemed to be coming.

  What’s your name?

  He didn’t sound like a villain. His voice sounded young, gentle and, well, nice. Maelys wasn’t foolhardy, though, and such impressions would not have carried her another step towards him except that he also sounded lost, and terribly lonely. She knew those feelings; she’d suffered them since childhood, and she felt for him.

  She checked on Flydd and Colm again. She must have gone further than she’d thought, for they were just small points of light in an infinite blackness.

  ‘What’s yours?’ she said softly.

  I’m Emberr, he said, in a rich burr.

  ‘Emberr.’ Maelys tried to roll her r’s the way he had. She liked the name – it sounded safe, yet strong. ‘Where are you?’ She went slowly forwards, still wary, taking no risks.

  This way. A point of light appeared in the distance. Please come.

  She stopped. She wanted to see him, but dared go no further. ‘I’ll get lost.’

  He gave a cheerful chuckle. You can’t get lost with me as your guide.

  ‘Are you a prisoner?’ Her voice quavered.

  No, but I am trapped here.

  Maelys believed him; she just knew he was telling the truth. She continued, step by step, and when she finally came to her senses and looked back, Flydd’s and Colm’s lights had disappeared.

  That shook her; she turned in a full circle but there was nothing to be seen save Emberr’s beckoning glimmer. Was he telling the truth? She believed so. Could she trust him to guide her back? She hesitated, coolly analysing her feelings for the least uncertainty, the tiniest unease. Feeling none, she went on.

  Maelys walked through the dark for a long time, and every so often the small glow illuminating her touch
ed other virtual contrivances hanging in the air to left or right. She gave them no more than a passing glance. Their design and purpose was unfathomable.

  As she went on, the light grew steadily, and shortly she made out a pretty little cottage with lights streaming through windows all around, surrounded by a low fence. Flower gardens luxuriated on either side of the path to the front door, while behind she made out a vegetable garden, fruit trees and a small forest fading into the night. It would have been beautiful, had all not been in shades of Nightland black.

  She stood at the front gate, afraid to go further. It was made of old, weathered wood; she ran her hand along it and splinters dug into her skin. It felt so real, so homely, yet Maelys was not such a fool as to think it might not be a trick. The stuff which made up the Nightland could be formed into any shape that could be imagined, if one had the Art for it.

  ‘What is your name?’

  His voice was much louder now; she could hear it properly, rather than just inside her head. He might have been standing on the other side of the door.

  ‘Maelys.’ She spoke in the barest whisper.

  ‘Such a pretty name. Come closer, Maelys, so I can see you clearly.’

  She didn’t move. ‘How did you know I was here?’

  ‘I smelled your perfume from a league away.’

  ‘I’m not wearing any.’

  ‘You smell like the most beautiful perfume in the world.’

  What a romantic thing to say. Maelys imagined that she smelled of sweat, mud, swamp creeper and perhaps even a trace of Phrune, but she was touched nonetheless. No man had ever said anything romantic to her before. Yet as soon as he saw her, all ragged and grubby and dressed in boy’s clothes, Emberr would realise how wrong he’d been.

  ‘Come inside,’ he said.

  Maelys was well brought up and wary; she was not that smitten. ‘Come out where I can see you.’

  The door opened. She swallowed; licked her dry lips; for a moment she was blinded by a flood of warm yellow light, the one thing in this place that wasn’t black.

  He stood in the doorway, a silhouette against the light, then the door swung shut behind him and he came slowly down the steps. He wore only a kilt fastened about his waist with a fabric belt. He was tall, which she liked, but not too tall, which she also appreciated. He had broad shoulders and a strong chest, a narrow waist and long legs. His hair was dark, curly and worn long, which she was not used to in a man, though she conceded that it looked right on Emberr. He was handsome and strong, yet she had been right about him: he had a kind face.

  The moment he saw her, his eyes widened and he stopped in mid-step, staring.

  ‘Is something the matter?’ said Maelys.

  ‘You’re … not what I expected.’

  ‘Oh!’ she said dully, thinking him disappointed. He’d expected a tall, elegant princess, as was his due, not a small, grubby girl who was inclined to be buxom.

  He looked her up and down, drinking her in and marvelling at her. ‘It’s not what you’re thinking. Not at all. You’re beautiful, Maelys.’

  It wasn’t flattery; he meant every word. She bit her lip; this was too much. Was she in some weird Nightland dream? If she was, she didn’t want to wake from it. But then, she thought, how many girls does he know? If I’m the only one he’s met, it’s no wonder …

  ‘What are you doing here, Emberr?’

  ‘I was born in the Nightland, so I can never leave.’

  ‘Never!’ she cried involuntarily. Poor man. She leaned forwards, staring at him just as avidly, and gained the impression that he was reconsidering a previously made plan.

  ‘Unless someone takes my place.’

  She took a hasty step backwards, thinking that it was a trap after all, but he was staring into the distance, sadly, pensively. ‘How do you know?’ she said.

  ‘My mother told me, a very long time ago, that I could only be freed from the Nightland if a woman took my place. I was too young to understand what she meant, and mother never came back to explain.’

  ‘Is that why you lured me here?’ Maelys said coolly, getting ready to run, though she had no idea which direction to take to find Flydd and Colm. What a fool she’d been – she should have realised it was a trap.

  ‘I didn’t lure you,’ Emberr said sadly. ‘I merely called you, and you came. I used no magic at all.’

  Yes you did, she thought. The most irresistible magic of all. But she said, ‘I’m not as big a fool as I look.’

  He slumped on the bottom step and put his head in his hands. ‘I knew this would go wrong. I don’t know anything about people.’ He looked up at her. ‘Maelys, I would never ask you to take my place, nor try and trick you into doing so. I was born here, and I can survive in the Nightland if I must, but it would destroy you.’

  ‘But …’ said Maelys.

  ‘I’m not unhappy here, for I know nothing else, but I’m terribly lonely. Yet if I have to live my remaining years here, I can endure it.’

  She believed him, and it was so sad that her eyes stung. It was such a waste. She pushed the gate open and went a step along the path, before stopping. ‘There must be a way to get you out.’

  He looked up at her. ‘Only the way I mentioned – by an exchange with a young woman. The rules which govern the Nightland were embedded within it when it was created, and nothing can change them. You’d better go – your friends are calling you.’

  Maelys couldn’t hear anything. She stared at his broad chest, feasting herself on him. He was everything her romantic soul dreamed of – the perfect mate – save that he was trapped here forever.

  ‘There must be something I can do.’ She could not think of a thing.

  ‘There’s nothing. Please don’t mention me to your friends.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘My mother has a terrible enemy, one who will not hesitate to harm me if it ever finds out where I am. No one must ever know about me.’

  It was the last thing she had expected him to say, and she could not doubt his sincerity. It drew her closer to him. She wanted to tell him of her own enemies, her own desperate flight, but did not want to add to his troubles.

  ‘All right,’ she said reluctantly, and turned to go.

  ‘Wait!’ He reached out to her. ‘Will you swear it?’

  ‘I swear that I will tell no one about you.’

  ‘Thank you. And there is one other thing,’ he said softly.

  ‘Of course,’ she said without thinking.

  ‘Would you kiss me, Maelys? I have never kissed a woman.’

  Danger signals went off in her head. Was this what he’d been aiming for all along? If she kissed him, would it trigger a spell that would trap her forever and allow him to go free? But why would he need a spell? He could leap up and catch her in a few bounds.

  ‘Nor I a man,’ she said, and went towards him, knowing she was a reckless fool, but she wanted this more than anything and for once she was going to give way to her feelings.

  He stood up as she drew near, staring at her with an intensity that sent shivers up her spine. He held out his arms and she went into them. He ran a finger along the line of her jaw where it was swollen, and she flinched.

  Emberr frowned and carefully turned her head to one side and back, touching the bruise with a fingertip. ‘Someone struck you?’

  ‘A very evil man; but I attacked him first; and I got him, too.’

  ‘Even so.’

  Emberr laid the flat of his palm on the bruise and the pain faded away completely. He did not question her, but bent his head and kissed her on the mouth, and she yielded to his arms, still half-expecting it to be some hideous trap but quite unable to resist.

  He did not kiss her passionately; it was just a delicate, lingering brush of the lips, yet it was more sensual than any touch she could have imagined. She pressed herself against him, clinging to him, only dimly realising the hardness growing between them. Emberr arched away at once and she tried to push herself against him, seek
ing the comfort of human touch, but he let go and stepped back, looking down at her with those soft brown eyes.

  ‘Thank you,’ Emberr said. ‘I will never forget you, Maelys, but you must go at once. I’m protected here but you are not.’

  ‘But …’ She rubbed her tingling lips, wanting more.

  ‘Go quickly!’ he said hoarsely. ‘That way!’ He pointed over her shoulder.

  She saw moving lights in the distance. She looked back at him, wanting him more than she had ever wanted anyone, but with a wave of his hand the cottage, the gardens and the forests vanished, and so did Emberr.

  Who was he, and why was he trapped here? There were no answers. Maelys stumbled back towards the lights, more alone than she had ever been, and terribly afraid that she would never see him again.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘That was foolish,’ Flydd said as she met them, though he did not seem angry. ‘Whatever possessed you to wander away?’

  ‘Sorry,’ Maelys said distractedly, trying to control her face so as to not make him suspicious. ‘I woke feeling restless. I needed to walk.’

  He was smiling and seemed so much more relaxed than before. ‘No harm done. The sleep has done me good – I think I know a way out of here. Let’s see if we can find one of Rulke’s virtual devices – the right one.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘The model for his construct. He couldn’t use it to make a portal and escape because he didn’t have the power.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He could make objects from the matter of the Nightland, but they would always remain part of it, for Rulke could draw on no power that did not come from here. But I can.’

  Flydd held up the pyramid-shaped ice flask. Chthonic flame swirled lazily inside it.