Fall of Light (85 page)

‘The only thing hungry and thirsty here is you, Envy.’

‘I told you. I’m older than I look.’ The serpents sank back beneath the skin of her arms and she beckoned. ‘Forget Jinia. I’m much better, Wreneck. With my help, we can banish those old spirits. Back into the black earth. Give yourself to me and I’ll keep you for ever, and as for those soldiers who hurt you and raped Jinia, well, with me at your side, Wreneck, we’ll show them such agony as to shatter their souls.’

‘I’d rather use my spear.’

‘You won’t get close to them.’

‘Lord Anomander will help me.’

‘That pompous fool? He’s frightened of sorcery. I once thought he might be worthy of me, but he isn’t. Sorcery, Wreneck. A new world is coming, and there will be beings in it with such power as to topple mountains—’

‘Why?’

She frowned. ‘Why what?’

‘Why topple mountains?’

‘Because we can! To show our power!’

‘Why do you have to do something just because you can? Why do you have to show your power if you already have it anyway? Aren’t you even more powerful when you don’t bother toppling mountains, when you don’t bother showing off?’

Envy scowled at him. ‘Those old gods are feeding on you,’ she said. ‘Give yourself to me, Wreneck, and together we’ll turn on them. We’ll feed on them instead. We’ll devour them and take their power. With sorcery you can get to those soldiers, no matter where they’re hiding. More to the point, Wreneck, they won’t be able to hide at all.’ She rose and moved down a step. ‘We could go straight to them. We could leave tonight with none to stop us.’

‘I need my spear—’

‘I’ll make you a new one.’

‘I don’t want a new one.’

Her small hands curled into fists. ‘Are you going to mess up everything I’m promising you on account of a damned spear?’

‘Anyway,’ said Wreneck, ‘Ivis said Lord Anomander was going to talk to the Azathanai about catching you and your sister.’

Envy’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve told you too much.’

The serpents of flame reappeared. Writhing, they shot out from her hands, the snake-jaws stretching wide.

Something roiled up in front of Wreneck, luminous and billowing. The twin snakes sank their fangs into it, and Wreneck was rocked back as a scream arced through his skull. He felt the death of the old god like a fist to his chest. All breath knocked from his lungs, he fell against the blackwood door.

Something upon the other side of that door hammered into it, rattling the frame and spilling wet grit from the ceiling. The impact jolted Wreneck and he sagged, stunned and helpless.

Envy struck again, the snakes lashing out.

Another god intervened, took the wounds, and died in agony.

Laughing, Envy stepped down on to the landing. ‘I’ll kill them all, Wreneck! Unless you surrender to me!’

Dimly, Wreneck saw a flash of motion on the stairs behind Envy, and then that form launched itself through the air, landing upon Envy’s back. Arms wrapped tight about her neck, dirty fingers raking red furrows across the girl’s chest, neck and face.

Shrieking, Envy twisted round, as the weight of the other girl, wrapped about her by the neck, dragged them both to the floor.

The other girl howled manic laughter as she clawed at Envy. ‘You can’t have him! You’ll never have him!’

Oh, this must be Spite.

He pulled himself towards the edge of the landing, ignoring the hammering fists upon the door behind him, ignoring the two sisters tearing at each other with snarls and lashing nails. Bruising his elbows and knees, he slid awkwardly down the steps.

Keening, the remaining gods closed in around him.

‘Warn the Azathanai, child! Warn the High Mason! These two, these two … these two …’

The words faded, as if the entire chorus of voices uttering them had been pushed off a cliff’s ledge. Wreneck felt very tired. He was lying upon another landing, half in and half out of the dull light from the corridor beyond. The sounds of fighting and thumping fists echoed down the stone steps still, and he found it hard to believe that no one else in the keep could hear.

He shivered in the icy draught that flowed above the tiled floor of the corridor. From somewhere outside, he could hear the wind, gusting and punching at shutters, beating against stone walls.

A winter storm was upon them.

And the dinner bell was sounding, low, like distant thunder.

Wreneck closed his eyes, and let darkness take him.

  *   *   *

‘The lad’s taken to wandering,’ said Yalad. ‘Hunger will draw him to the table before too long.’

They sat at the dining table with the others from the household staff, along with the Azathanai, awaiting Lord Anomander, Ivis and Wreneck.

Sandalath frowned at the gate sergeant. ‘You describe him as if he was a dog.’

Yalad’s soft smile faltered. ‘My apologies, milady. I meant no disrespect. But Lord Anomander found him half starved, and the boy is not yet fully recovered.’

‘He has known too little comfort in his life,’ she replied. ‘I must accept some responsibility for that. I should have stood against my mother, in whom grief fed cruelty. She struck at Wreneck because he was the most helpless among us.’ She shook her head. ‘There is much to mend here.’

Seated opposite Yalad, Surgeon Prok collected up his goblet. ‘Flesh heals quickly when compared to the spirit. Milady, for the child you will need patience. Perhaps indeed your mother was too free with her whip, but that may prove less damaging, in the long run, than simple neglect. The lad has no reason to trust, and no precedent in which to place any faith in the notion itself.’

‘He need not fear me,’ Sandalath said, her tone hardening. ‘I feel castigated by you, Surgeon Prok, for the boldness of my love.’

Prok blinked at her. ‘You can love a stone, but do not expect it to love you back. Milady, that child has guarded eyes. His wounds now bear scars, and those scars dull all feeling. You may see that as a flaw, but I assure you, just as the body will protect what was damaged, so too will the soul.’ He swallowed down a mouthful of wine, meeting her glare with a calm expression. ‘All too often, in seeking to heal, we reopen wounds. Never a good idea, in my experience.’

‘The fact remains,’ Sandalath said, ‘I don’t know where he has gone, and the dinner bell has sounded.’

At that moment, Lord Anomander and Ivis arrived in the dining hall.

Relieved, Sandalath said to Ivis, ‘Young Wreneck is nowhere to be found, good sir. Both your gate sergeant and the surgeon here believe that I worry without reason, whilst the High Mason and the others say nothing at all. I am made to feel foolish.’

Caladan Brood spoke. ‘Thus far, I have made no effort to quest through the stones of this keep.’

Anomander grunted, and asked, ‘Why the reluctance?’

The Azathanai made no reply.

Ivis swung to Yalad. ‘Gather a squad and inform the patrols – find the lad.’

‘Yes sir,’ Yalad replied, rising from his chair. ‘Milady, again, my apologies.’

‘We shall assist,’ Prok said. ‘Madame Sorca? Bidishan?’

In moments the others, along with Setyl and Venth Direll, had departed the chamber, leaving Sandalath alone with Ivis and their two guests.

‘He shall be found, milady,’ Lord Anomander said, drawing out a chair and settling into it. ‘High Mason, you would not explain your reluctance earlier. Will you do so now?’

Caladan Brood hesitated, and then shrugged. ‘These daughters – the blood of their mother runs fierce within them. Since our arrival, I have felt them explore their power. This is a crowded keep, Anomander, and by that I do not mean those of flesh and blood as we find around us. Something else dwells here, and it knows I have come, and likes it not. Regarding Wreneck, however …’ He hesitated, and then shrugged. ‘He has acquired formidable protectors.’

‘All this mysticism tires me,’ Anomander said in a growl, reaching for a goblet. ‘This sorcery proves to be an insidious art, inviting the worst in us.’

Though Ivis said nothing, Sandalath – who had been watching him – saw in his expression something sickly. ‘Master Ivis, are you unwell?’

The man seemed to flinch at the question. He combed thick fingers through his greying beard, and then spoke. ‘This sorcery seems in step with our natural unravelling of decorum and decency,’ he said, eyeing Caladan Brood. ‘The forest is restless with earth spirits. I have seen with my own eyes the spilling of sacrificial blood, only it was no mortal doing the bleeding. High Mason, I am told your powers belong to the earth. What can you tell me of a goddess suspended above the ground on a bed of wooden spikes? Impaled through her body, even her skull, yet she lives, and speaks …’

With the others, Sandalath stared at Ivis. The scene the man described horrified her, and upon his visage, now laid bare, was something both haunted and suffering.

After a long moment of silence, Lord Anomander spoke. ‘Ivis, where did you find this … goddess?’

Ivis started. ‘Milord? In the forest, a glade.’

‘Does she remain there?’

‘I do not know. I confess, I have not the courage to return.’

‘And she spoke to you? What did she say?’

Frowning, Ivis glanced away. ‘That we shall fail in all that we do. The world changes and there will be no peace in what comes. What will be born anew will be as a babe atop a heap of corpses. A living crown,’ he concluded in a hoarse rasp, ‘upon dead glory.’

With a muffled oath, Anomander rose to his feet. ‘Enough of this nonsense. You did not imagine this, Ivis? She is out there? I will speak with this goddess – I will defy these prophecies of failure and death.’ He drew his cloak about him. ‘Failing that,’ he added with a half-snarl, ‘I will end her torment.’

‘I sought the same, milord,’ Ivis said. ‘She mocked me for it. Remove the spikes and she will indeed die. To live, she must suffer, a goddess of the earth.’ He looked again to Caladan Brood. ‘As the earth suffers in turn.’ Facing Anomander once more, he said, ‘Milord, the Tiste are as talons carving through the flesh of the world. Every ragged furrow is a victory won. Every savaged span of flesh maps our progress – but it’s all for naught. When we kill what we stand on, it all ends, and whatever destiny we believed in for our kind is revealed as worthless.’

By the time he was done, Ivis was trembling. He took hold of the wine jug and drank from its curled lip, spilling on to his shirt.

Lord Anomander stood as if frozen in place. Then he swung to face the Azathanai. ‘What advice, High Mason, or has your tongue died in your mouth?’

The Azathanai’s attention seemed to be fixed on the tabletop before him. ‘One in pain longs to share the suffering,’ he said. ‘Even a goddess. She has made artistry of despair and delights in an audience. Anomander, she will have nothing worthwhile to say to you. Indeed, she will deceive where she can. In any case, she is not real.’

Ivis scowled. ‘I saw her—’

‘You walked into a dream, Master Ivis, but not one of your own making. There are places, in the wilderness, when the visions of the Sleeping Goddess become manifest. Most often, they are caught from the corner of the eye, a flash, something blurred or hinted at. If violence attends her dreaming, however, they can sustain themselves, even unto an exchange of words.’ He rolled his shoulders in an odd shrug. ‘But most often, they appear as beasts. Hounds, or demonic cats with red eyes—’

‘An impaled goddess?’

‘Hers is an uneasy sleep, Master Ivis. In any case, none here can deny the wounding done to the earth in these Tiste lands. The assault has been savage and sustained, and the wilderness dies. Here, in this place, the Sleeping God does indeed bleed from wounds. Every wooden spike marks a triumph of progress.’ He lifted his gaze to Anomander. ‘Would you now undo all that has been achieved in the name of civilization?’

Anomander’s eyes flattened as he studied the Azathanai. ‘Should I walk out from this keep on this night, I have that power? Should I find this goddess? Speak the truth now, Brood, if you would earn my respect.’

The High Mason’s broad face seemed to stretch as the Azathanai bared his teeth, revealing long canines. ‘Arrogance does not intimidate me, Rake, as you well know by now. Presumption, even less so. Upon my answer hangs all respect? But what if the answer displeases you? What manner of friendship do you seek?’

‘Then quest through the stones of this keep, and tell us what dwells here,’ Anomander said. ‘Between us,’ he added in a bitter tone, ‘only one of us has been free with admissions of weakness and flaw. Or shall I assume you perfect?’

Caladan Brood slowly closed his eyes. ‘Then I shall say it plain. Unleash me upon this keep, and few shall survive the night. If I awaken my power, I will be a lodestone to the daughters of Draconus, and to the host of forgotten gods protecting young Wreneck, and to whatever other entity hides here. Sorcery will feed upon sorcery. Come the dawn, this estate and most of the lands of Lord Draconus could well be a scorched ruin.’

‘Now who mocks with bravado?’

At that, Caladan Brood rose. ‘You’ll sting me awake, Anomander? So be it then.’

  *   *   *

‘He’s mine!’

Sleepily, Wreneck opened his eyes. The back of his head ached and something made the hair sticky in that place, where it rested upon cold flagstones. Blinking, he stared up at a low ceiling of black stone slick with mould. Both shoulders were pressed against gritty walls, as if he’d been thrown into a sarcophagus. He struggled to sit up, only to be roughly pushed back by a naked heel slamming into his chest.

‘Stay there, fool!’

Envy moved into a crouch above him, her knees on his chest. ‘Say nothing,’ she continued in a harsh whisper. ‘We’re between the walls. People might hear us. If they do, we’ll have to kill you.’

‘They’re nowhere close,’ hissed another voice, from somewhere behind Wreneck. ‘That was the muster bell we heard. Everybody’s rushed down to the main hall. Listen – not a sound now. But I heard the main doors slam.’

‘That was the demon pounding on the door,’ Envy replied.

‘No it wasn’t.’

‘You’re bleeding from your ears, Spite, on account of me bashing your skull. It’s no wonder you’re hearing things.’