The Fate of the Fallen (The Song of the Tears Book 1) (35 page)

‘What do we have to do?’ Nish got up reluctantly, feeling as
though he were being railroaded.

‘I need to search out the secret paths, and that can only be
done in the Pit of Possibilities. You must come too.’

‘Why?’ The late hour had caught up with him and Nish didn’t
have the strength to take Monkshart on again. The earlier struggle had cost him
too much.

‘The secret paths are like no way you’ve ever encountered,
Deliverer. They don’t like to be seen, much less used. They’re deceitful; evil,
some say, and if they get the chance they’ll lead us to our deaths. A single
traveller – yes, even one as clear-sighted as myself – can easily
be led astray, but if we compare the paths we’ve been shown independently we’ll
see where any deceit lies. Make haste. Time passes swiftly in the Pit of
Possibilities.’

‘I’ll get Maelys.’

‘Let her sleep. A third presence is never advisable at the
Pit, for conflicts inevitably arise and the possibilities become blurred.
Phrune will signal as soon as the attack begins. Time enough then to gather her
and take the deadly paths.’

They headed down the glassy track, and several times Nish
found himself stumbling with weariness, but each time Monkshart steadied him
before he could slip. At the bottom the zealot said, ‘I’ll go first. When I
come up, I’ll say nothing about what I’ve seen for fear of influencing you.
Only after you climb up from the pit will we compare the paths we’ve been
shown, to make sure we have the true one.’

Monkshart descended the ladder and settled himself against
the wall of the Pit, where he sat motionless, eyes closed. Nish watched him uneasily,
having no idea what to expect this time, but nothing happened for so long that,
despite his myriad fears, he dozed.

He woke abruptly; Monkshart was shaking his shoulder. ‘Your
turn, Deliverer.’

Nish scrambled into the Pit but had only seen the vaguest
blurry images of glassy paths when he was ripped out of the envisioned
possibility by Phrune shouting and his feet slapping down the path.

‘Master, Master!’ he screeched.

‘What is it this time, Phrune?’ Monkshart said irritably.

Phrune’s face appeared in the opening, eerily lit by the
glow from the pit. Sweat was dripping off him. ‘The army came up the mountain
more quickly than expected, and a company of soldiers dropped from
air-dreadnoughts into the village. The village has fallen and they’re storming
the crater even now.’

Nish began to run up the ladder. His foot missed one of the
rungs, sending the ladder swaying wildly.

Monkshart cursed. ‘But we need Cryl-Nish’s view of the
paths. Without it –’

‘There’s no time, Master.’

‘Then we’ll have to go with what I’ve seen, and that’s not
going to be easy. Stay where you are, Deliverer. The paths lead down from the
Pit. Phrune, have you got my new gloves?’

‘Of course, Master!’ Phrune said.

Nish kept climbing. Thrusting his head up beside the beam
which the ladder was tied to, he squinted towards the dimly illuminated circle
of the crater’s rim. A number of figures were silhouetted against the night
sky, which had a red tinge now. ‘I’ll get Maelys!’ he panted.

‘She – she went up to the village, to see how close
the enemy were,’ said Phrune, with a glance at Monkshart. ‘A band of soldiers
landed all around her. She had no chance.’

Nish felt as though he’d been struck in the chest with a
hammer. His feet slipped on the rungs and he caught on desperately. ‘What are
you saying. Is Maelys –
dead
?’

‘I believe so, Deliverer.’

‘You’re lying!’ Nish thrust past Phrune, knocking him flying
onto the shard-strewn floor. ‘I’m going up.’ His whole chest was aching, his
legs had turned to jelly and his eyes hurt. He couldn’t believe it. How could
Maelys be gone, just like that?

Suddenly Monkshart was behind him, gripping his shoulder. ‘I
know how you feel, Deliverer –’

‘You know nothing about how I feel!’ Nish cried. ‘You don’t
know anything. Maelys!’ he shouted, twisting free.

Monkshart caught him, holding him back easily. ‘If you go
up, Deliverer, all will be lost. Phrune, are you sure?’

Phrune picked himself up, fastidiously brushing the dust and
shards off. ‘Quite sure, Master. I’d reached the rim of the crater and was
turning down the path to the village when an air-floater appeared out of the
mist, above the houses. There were soldiers everywhere. I just had time to grab
your … gear on the way down.’ He hefted a canvas bag.

Nish wanted to drive his fist into Phrune’s mouth and spread
those red, self-satisfied lips right across his face. Why would Maelys go up to
the village with an army approaching? It didn’t make sense. ‘And you saw her
slain?’

‘I lost sight of her among all the troops, but they were
doing dreadful slaughter.’ Phrune’s tongue slid slowly across his lower lip,
then back. ‘They must have had orders to leave no one in the village alive.’

‘Save Maelys,’ Nish said desperately. ‘Father would want her
alive.’

‘Possibly,’ said Monkshart, ‘though the troops wouldn’t have
expected her to be in the village. She would be just another rebel to them. I …
I want you to be satisfied that’s she’s gone, Deliverer, but we don’t –’

Shouting echoed back and forth across the crater, then a
vast, familiar shape blocked out the ruddy glow from the burning village. An
air-dreadnought was hovering directly above the crater and someone aboard was
bellowing orders, though Nish couldn’t make them out over the roar of the
rotors.

‘Into the Pit, quick!’ said Monkshart in a low voice. ‘He’s
broken my halo of protection.’

Nish stared up towards the pavilion, unable to believe that
Maelys was gone and that there was nothing anyone could do about it. He had to
go after her. He sprang, but Phrune blocked his way and Monkshart caught him
around the waist.

Nish struggled but could not tear free. ‘You’re a proven
liar and murderer,’ he said wildly, ‘and Phrune is a sadistic pervert. Why
should I believe either of you? You’ve been trying to turn me against Maelys
since we arrived.’

A lucky blow caught Monkshart in the eye. Nish tore free,
danced around him and began to run up the path, but had only gone a few steps
when Monkshart caught him again.

‘She’s gone, Deliverer!’ Monkshart hissed, ‘and the enemy
will be on their way down within minutes. My potion takes a minute to work and
if you rob yourself of that time, you’re risking everything for nothing.’

‘I don’t abandon my friends,’ Nish hissed.

‘Shh!’ Tall, blocky shapes were moving onto the top of the
glassy path. Monkshart dragged Nish back towards the sump and forced him onto
the ladder, shaking him. ‘Listen! The Deliverer must do what is necessary to
survive. There’s no middle way – either you gain everything, or lose it,
and if we don’t fly now all will be lost. Go down the ladder.’

Nish didn’t move but he couldn’t fight, either. The burning
resolve with which he’d overpowered Monkshart earlier was gone and he couldn’t
dredge it up again. He felt empty, sick.

‘She’s gone, Deliverer,’ said the zealot softly. ‘I can
sense it.’ He jerked his head at the pit.

Nish bowed his head for Maelys, then went down. His chest
had a deep-seated throb now and his eyes were burning. At the bottom, Monkshart
took the little box from Nish’s pocket, pulled the stopper and held it out to
Phrune. ‘Just the merest taste on your tongue, remember? Too much is as bad as
too little. Then count to fifty-five and go.’

Phrune tasted the potion, made a face and handed it back
hastily. His lips appeared redder and more swollen than before. Monkshart’s
left eye was swelling from Nish’s lucky blow. He handed the flask to Nish but
Nish didn’t take it.

‘After you. I don’t know what to do. I never saw any paths.’

‘I know, and that’s going to make it far harder.’ Monkshart
tasted the potion and passed it to Nish. ‘Count to fifty-five then follow me.
Tread exactly in my footsteps and keep an image of something you know well in
your mind the whole time, else you’ll lose the path. Or go mad.’

That wasn’t reassuring. Nish was sniffing the top of the
phial when there came a series of brittle cracks from above, like crossbow
bolts smashing into the glassy floor. Someone shouted a furious order and the
sounds ceased. He tilted the phial, allowing the thick liquid to surge onto his
tongue. Too much! Ugh, it was bitter.

Phrune said, ‘Fifty-five,’ stepped forwards and dropped into
the green, miasma-filled Mistmurk. The murk roiled and he was gone.

Monkshart was staring at Nish. ‘Ready?’ Nish nodded numbly.
Monkshart clapped him on the shoulder again. ‘Steady!’ and followed Phrune.

Nish realised that he hadn’t begun to count. It must be
thirty seconds by now, surely? He counted down to fifty-five, took a deep
breath and stepped into the Mistmurk.

Lights flashed before his eyes, then all senses blanked out,
save one – he could still feel. He was falling, though very slowly, and
had the oddest feeling that his arms and legs were dissolving into drifting
vapour, before reforming. He landed on something soft and rubbery, bounced
twice and heard an audible snick inside his head.

His senses returned; Nish made out a steep slope
corkscrewing down to the right and caught a flash of movement there. Realising
that he was still holding the phial, he tossed it away and heard it break.

Maelys was gone. It hurt more than he could ever have
imagined. He tried to fix her in his mind and use her as the focus he’d need to
survive the uncanny paths, but she kept slipping away from him. He should have
gone back to make sure, whatever the risk. No, he should never have come down
to the pit without her. Why on earth had she gone up to the village?

Nish still couldn’t focus on her, and finally, guiltily, he
went back to the only memory that would never fade – Irisis. It helped at
once, and he began to climb down into a maze of pathways.

Preoccupied as he was, for the first few minutes he barely
noticed the strange world they were trudging through. Now he looked around. A
myriad of tracks, many clearly impossible, stretched away from his feet in
every direction, including straight up, straight down and out to either side,
tilted so that their surfaces were vertical.

Each path moved and shifted with every step he took, though
they were just transparent phantoms compared to the track he was on, which
wound off into the murky distance ahead of him, clear and solid. There was
nothing else, though – they weren’t in a building, cavern or landscape
– just the maze of paths.

Nish hadn’t realised that the others were seeing things
differently until Monkshart, who was leading, fell to his knees, groaning and shaking
his head.

‘What’s the matter?’ Nish said coolly.

‘The paths! The infinite paths are driving me insane,’ the
zealot said through gritted teeth.

Nish was pleased to see that Phrune was suffering even more
cruelly. Sweat was pouring down his round cheeks, his eyes were running with
tears and his upper lip was shiny with mucus oozing from his nose. He swayed
from side to side as he walked, mumbling a dirge with desperate concentration
as if, should he forget it, he would lose his mind.

‘You can see?’ Monkshart was rubbing his eye. The deep,
bruise-dark sockets were swollen, the left one more than the right, and his
corrugated cheeks were cracked and weeping.

‘The path is perfectly clear to me,’ Nish said with
deliberate arrogance.

He had to take every advantage he could in the battle with
Monkshart, though he wondered why he could see better than they could. Ah! His
clearsight was back. Did that mean he’d passed beyond the influence of
Tifferfyte? Perhaps, though his talent felt stronger and clearer now, as if it
had been changed, perhaps even enhanced by passage through the Mistmurk. Was it
showing him the most direct path towards his imagined future?

‘You’re not troubled by sickness, shooting pains or
unsteadiness in the limbs?’

‘The only thing that troubles me is the loss of my friend,’
Nish said curtly, though that wasn’t true. Whenever he focussed his clearsight
hard to locate the path, his eyes burned and he felt the beginning of an ache
at the base of his skull. Could that be aftersickness?

Monkshart ignored the bitterness. ‘
Seeing
here in the maze is another sign that you’re the Chosen
One.’

‘Another sign?’

‘The people need signs, Deliverer –’ Monkshart’s head
whipped around, his eyes rolled sickeningly, but through sheer will he managed
to steady himself. ‘What’s that?’

‘Didn’ hear anythin’,’ slurred Phrune.

Monkshart withdrew a small six-sided brass tube from a pouch
under his arm, rotated a knurled wheel and raised the tube to his right eye,
staring back the way they had come. He shook his head, whereupon his eyes
rolled the other way. He staggered and had to clutch at Nish’s shoulder.
Rotating the knurled wheel another half turn, he scanned their path.

‘Just as I thought,’ he said grimly. ‘They’re after us
already. I can’t think how they got through the Mistmurk unscathed. Vomix must
have smoothed the passage for them, though not even his mancery can carry them
though this maze unaided.’

‘Vomix?’ said Nish. ‘I thought it was Father this time.’

‘I can read the stench of Vomix’s aura from here.’ Monkshart
folded at the knees, managed to recover then blinked several times in rapid
succession. ‘I can’t see how to get out. The potion, Deliverer.’ He held out a
shaking hand.

‘I threw it away.’

Monkshart choked, then his eyes flashed. ‘Fool, fool!’ He
seized Nish by the shoulders and began to shake him ever more violently as the
murderous rage took hold of him again.

Nish choked; lights whirled before his eyes and in a flash
of clearsight he knew that Monkshart was going to kill him. He kicked out vainly
as he struggled to get a breath, but suddenly Monkshart let Nish fall.