The Fate of the Fallen (The Song of the Tears Book 1) (75 page)

‘You’re playing with my mind, Father, for the most cynical
of motives. I know what you’re thinking and it’s not about making amends for
the evil you’ve done. You’d say anything to get me back, but you’ll never
change. You’re a monster and you’ll be a monster until the day you die. I
cannot serve you.’

This time Jal-Nish’s expression didn’t flicker, though his
back grew ramrod-stiff. ‘Never tell a man that you know what he is thinking
– clearly you have no idea, for my plea was heartfelt. But if I must go
forward alone, so be it.’ He waved a hand in dismissal and paced to the opening
of the cave, then out onto the plank, where he stood swaying in the wind.

Suddenly, awfully, and with perfect clarity, Nish’s
clearsight told him that he’d been wrong. Jal-Nish had been sincere after all.
He
had
been prepared to change, and
had hoped desperately that his only son would help him do so. Nish couldn’t
imagine what might have caused such a transformation, but he had to seize the
opportunity to wrest some good out of this monster.

He started forwards, then stopped, realising that it was too
late. His father was a proud man. What must it have cost him to humble himself
in such an appeal? And how much more humiliating to be rejected so coldly?

It would only reinforce the darker side of his father, his
grim view about the faithlessness of humanity in general and his family in
particular, and most of all his selfish, disrespectful son. Jal-Nish, despite
his demeanour, was shattered. He’d really believed that Nish would come to him
this time, but rejection would turn his father irrevocably to the dark side of
his nature. The offer would never be repeated.

What a fool I am, Nish thought. Father is right. I am
unworthy.

He was belabouring himself thus when stone squealed at the
back of the cave and a door grated open on the flat surface between the
half-columns. Stale air gushed out, laden with dust, and before it had cleared
a man stood swaying in the opening. He staggered through and the door slammed
shut.

Nish didn’t recognise the intruder at first. He was very
tall, with an elongated head completely bare of hair, as if it had recently
fallen out. His olive-dark skin was baby-smooth but swollen and streaked with
stains that might have been dried blood, and his face was flushed as if he were
burning up with fever. He had a beaked nose, black, swollen eye sockets and
eyes that stared straight ahead, unblinking, as if he were blind. He was clad
in pale robes thickly covered in grey dust and more rusty bloodstains.

Jal-Nish parted the moss curtain and stepped into the cavern
entrance, his grim face transformed. ‘Vivimord! This is a pleasure.’ He was
actually smiling.

Vivimord, or Monkshart, did not smile. He moved as wearily
as an old man, as if the events of the past hours had drained him to the dregs.
‘It’s been a long time, Jal-Nish.’ He shuffled forwards and held out his hand.

Nish didn’t think his father would take it, but he did.

‘You look terrible,’ said Jal-Nish. ‘Aftersickness?’

Vivimord nodded. ‘Taking on the persona of Vomix, then
calling down your flappeter to carry me up here, took more power than I had at
my disposal. It began to consume me from the inside; and then I suffered an
unexpected attack which nearly finished me.’ He related the story of Nish’s
barrel of mucilage.

‘He’s a man with an innovative mind, my son,’ said Jal-Nish,
again studying Nish thoughtfully. ‘But you survived?’

‘Faithful Phrune hauled me all the way to the cursed flame
– thank you for breaching its age-old defences, Jal-Nish, else I’d be
dead hours ago – and there shed his own life’s blood into the fire to
cure me of my afflictions. I’ll miss his service.’

‘He served his purpose,’ said Jal-Nish indifferently. ‘So,
what of you, Vivimord? Do you still hold to your notion of turning my son into
the Deliverer and toppling me?’

‘I do,’ said Vivimord, ‘though it grows ever more unlikely
that I’ll succeed.’

‘You rate yourself lower than I do, but …’ Jal-Nish’s cheek
spasmed and he seemed to be going through an inner struggle, as if the
rejection of his previous appeal made it impossible to try again. He went on in
a rush, ‘I’ve never had more need of an ally, and you were ever my closest
friend. You were more a son to me than that treacherous little worm who cares
not a jot for his family.’ He slashed his stiff arm towards Nish. ‘You’re the
only man I ever truly trusted, Vivimord, and I need you now. There’s a growing
threat in the void and not even with the tears can I face it alone.’

It hurt. Nish could never have imagined that his father’s
words would cut him so. He went to his knees, holding his head in his hands and
cursing his folly.

Vivimord looked as though he’d anticipated the appeal;
moreover, that he’d been moved by it. ‘Ah, old friend, would that I could. But
you forget – I know everything about you. I know all the evil you’ve done
to get where you are today. Shocking evil and dreadful betrayals.’

Jal-Nish bowed his head. ‘I have. I acknowledge it.’

‘I know how much you’ve gained; or should I say, how little.
And what it’s cost you.’

‘Aye,’ said Jal-Nish. ‘It’s cost me. It’s cost me every
single thing I ever cared about.’

‘And yet you can’t turn your back on what you’ve done.’

‘I might have done.’ Jal-Nish glanced at Nish. ‘I tried, but
it came to nothing and I cannot try again.’

‘Not for any price?’ Vivimord said compassionately.

‘Alas not,’ said Jal-Nish.

‘I thought that would be your answer, and here is mine. But
for one thing alone, I would come back to you, Jal-Nish. And you know what that
thing is.’

‘My declaring myself as God-Emperor.’

‘Emperor I could take, for that is what you are –
emperor of the world, and I admire you for having the foresight to aspire to
such heights, and the strength to seize Santhenar at the critical moment. But
no man may declare himself a god. That is a matter of personal faith on which I
cannot yield.’

‘I know and understand, but even if I were of a mind to give
up the title, I cannot. You understand the basis of power, Vivimord. The moment
I denied my godhead, every jackal on Santhenar would fall on me, and even with
the tears I could not keep them all at bay. It would be a fatal sign of
weakness from which I would never recover.’

‘I thought you were better than that. I confess I’m
disappointed, Jal-Nish.’

Jal-Nish laughed harshly. ‘Are you? Are you really? At least
I’m not a mealy-mouthed hypocrite. You forget that I know where
all
your bodies are buried, Vivimord,
and there’s an awful lot of them. I know how you appeased Phrune, allowing him
to slake his sordid and murderous lusts on the innocent because you couldn’t do
without him.
Or wouldn’t
. And I know
about the things you do in your ungovernable rages –’

Vivimord clenched his fists; pale flames dripped from his
knuckles and his face grew ever more inflamed, as if a fire were burning inside
him. ‘That affliction comes from the touch of the tears, Jal-Nish. While I was
saving them
for you
.’

‘Does it? Or were the tears a convenient excuse? You always
had to control everything around you, yet you could never control yourself.’

Vivimord tried to do so now, but couldn’t. He shuddered with
fury, then snapped, ‘Why should
you
have it all? You’re not half the man I am.’

‘You show your real colours, Vivimord. Envy burns you,
doesn’t it? That’s why I let you go, despite all you meant to me. So, you’re
challenging me. Must we fight, then?’

‘We must, though not today.’

‘If we must fight, it will be now,’ said Jal-Nish,
regretfully. ‘I love my few friends despite their weaknesses, but you’ve
declared yourself my enemy and I can’t allow any enemy to walk away and recover
his strength.’

He was reaching for Reaper when Vivimord flung out his hand,
blue fire jagging from his fingertips. ‘I may be at death’s door but the cursed
flame burns strong in me, thanks to Phrune’s sacrifice. Let the chaos within
Reaper turn against you, false God-Emperor! Fall!’

Jal-Nish recoiled as if he’d been burned and fell sideways
to the floor of the cave, the tear slipping from around his neck and wobbling
across the floor into a bed of moss. Vivimord thrust out his arm and the pale,
dripping fire shot out like water from a hose, setting the damp moss ablaze
between Jal-Nish and Reaper. Vivimord swung his arm, pointing, and the door at
the back of the cave opened to a shoulder-wide crack.

‘Run, Deliverer,’ he said hoarsely. ‘This is your chance.
You’ll not get another.’

Jal-Nish got up and raised his hand. ‘I don’t need to touch
Reaper to draw power from it.’ He gestured and the door began to grind shut.

Vivimord stopped it with a finger gesture and the two
mancers strove against each other for a minute or two, though neither had the
strength to prevail and the door remained ajar. Despite Jal-Nish’s words, it
was clear that without the touch of the tears his power was greatly weakened.

It was their chance. Flydd lurched towards the door. Colm
and Zham followed. Nish was starting after them when his father, who stood near
the mossy entrance, looked up sharply.

‘Hello?’ He turned towards Vivimord, rapped out, ‘Truce,’
then turned his back, as if knowing that he would not be struck down from
behind.

After a long hesitation punctuated by convulsive jerks of
his fingers, Vivimord overcame the temptation. His lips moved, ‘Truce,’ though
Nish couldn’t hear the word over the sound of the wind.

Jal-Nish stepped out through the moss curtain, saying, ‘The
last of the crew has come. Can you also think to bring me down, Maelys of
Nifferlin?’

Nish froze, then, ignoring Vivimord’s gasped, ‘Run, you
fool!’ turned back to the entrance. The burning moss had gone out.

Maelys was coming down the rope ladder, which was swinging
wildly back and forth in the updraught. She let out a cry as it slammed against
the wet cliff, cracking her knuckles between the rock and the rope, then clung
desperately to the rungs as the wind lifted the ladder almost to the horizontal
before slamming it back. She managed to swing around this time and take the
impact on shoulder and hip, though she almost lost her grip. She wrapped her
arms around and through the rungs and hung on grimly, eyes closed, but Nish
knew she wouldn’t survive another such impact.

‘Go up, Maelys!’ he said hoarsely. ‘There’s nothing you can
do.’

She wouldn’t have heard him over the sound of the wind, and
she had her back to the entrance so she hadn’t seen Jal-Nish either, though she
must know he was here. She hung limply on the rope for a moment, took a deep,
sobbing breath, then straightened her back and continued down.

Maelys turned when she was just a rung above the plank,
searching for a safe way to get off the ladder and inside, then froze when she
saw Jal-Nish standing by the entrance, swaying on the balls of his feet like a
sailor on the deck of a ship.

He took hold of the ladder, holding it still for her. She
moved down stiffly; her feet settled on the plank.

‘Come in,’ he said, gesturing with his good hand. ‘Join your
friends.’ Jal-Nish moved sideways in the entrance to give her room, the curtain
of moss sweeping wetly across his shoulders.

‘Fly, Maelys!’ cried Nish.

Maelys looked past him to Zham and Colm, who had gathered
inside the curtain and were also urging her to go back. Flydd had managed to
stumble halfway before falling to his knees.

Maelys came inside. Nish didn’t dare say anything that might
give away what she’d gone for. Could she have succeeded after all?

She was spattered with dried blood, and streaked with dust
and green moss stains. Her eyes were as hollow as her cheeks. She looked as if
she’d been to the depths of the abyss and back.

‘What happened to you out –?’ began Colm.

Zham brought his weight down on Colm’s toes and he broke
off.

‘Phrune caught me and … took me to the cursed flame.’ She
shuddered involuntarily. ‘I – I – managed to kill him, but he gave
his blood to the flame, to save his master’s life.’ Maelys glanced at Vivimord,
whose blind eyes were on her, then away hastily. ‘It was a terrible death,’ she
said softly. ‘I’ll never get over it.’

Vivimord went as rigid as a poker. ‘Nor I,’ he rasped. His
jaw knotted and for a moment Nish thought he was going to give way to his
affliction and strike her down, but the zealot managed to control himself this
time. ‘I’ll deal with you later,’ he spat, then turned to Jal-Nish. ‘Truce
over?’

Jal-Nish nodded. He waved his hand. The door between the
columns slammed shut and disappeared. ‘Truce over.’

The cavern suddenly went dark save for the faint outline of
Jal-Nish near the entrance. Now Vivimord became an outline too, as the green
nimbus of before surrounded him. Reaper, lying half buried in the damp moss,
appeared to shimmer as it reflected the zealot’s glow. Jal-Nish moved his hand
again and a transparent barrier sealed off Nish, Flydd, Colm and Zham, who had
retreated to the rear of the cavern. Another small hemisphere trapped Maelys
against the side wall. Nish presumed it was to protect them.

A struggle ensued, full of long tense silences as the two
mancers manoeuvred for position in the gloom, then sudden violent flashes which
lit up the cave as they used unknown powers on each other. Vivimord kept moving
so as to keep himself between Jal-Nish and Reaper, though the zealot maintained
his distance from the deadly tear. After what it had done to him long ago, Nish
understood why he kept away.

Without the direct power of Reaper at Jal-Nish’s disposal,
he and Vivimord seemed evenly matched. The zealot, with the cursed flame
burning within him, might have had the edge in power had he been well enough to
use it, but he moved ever more stiffly and often stumbled. His ordeals had
greatly weakened him.