by Tim Lebbon
“It's called having a wandering soul,” Ramus said.
Nomi uttered a sharp laugh. “That's us! Wandering souls.”
He had found his horse's rhythm much quicker this morning, and even before the Lowkie farmstead passed from view behind them, Ramus was riding with a smooth, fluid pace.
“Did you sleep well?” Nomi asked.
“I did. Fresh air. The excitement too, I think, knocked me out.”
“And the wine,” Nomi said.
Ramus nodded, but when he looked across Nomi seemed distant and concerned. “What is it?” he asked.
She stared into his eyes as though she had never seen them before. “Are you really scared?”
“Yes.” There was no reason to lie.
She lowered her voice. “But the Sleeping God . . . you don't believe in things like that.”
“Just because I choose not to worship them doesn't mean I don't believe. There's too much written about them to discard them entirely.”
“We'll be fine,” Nomi said, but she seemed distracted.
“What is it?”
“Bad dreams last night. Change of diet, maybe.”
Ramus went to say something but Nomi clucked her horse on, cantering forward until she was riding side by side with Beko.
Change of diet, Ramus thought. Or the map I made, the parchment Ten sold us, the place we're going, the thing we may be going to see. Yes, bad dreams are understandable. He only hoped that this day would pass without his having another nightmare. He would do his best not to close his eyes for too long and allow one in.
SPRINGTIME IN MARRAKASH was often quite warm, but today was more like summertime, the sun beating strongly against the subtle southern breeze, a combination that made the air light and sweet. Ramus stripped off his jacket and hung it from the saddle, and soon after, Ramin was the first of the Serians to take off his leather tunic. The others followed suit, and by mid-morning they were riding in their undershirts.
Ramus could already see an order developing amongst the riders. Ramin and Noon were obviously good friends. When they were not chatting, they rode in an easy silence, each of them guiding one of the packhorses with casual care. Ramus suspected that they had been chosen to lead the horses because they were closest to the animals, and some of their chat seemed to be directed to the horses as much as to anyone else. Though Ramin's appearance was intimidating, there was a gentleness about him that Ramus liked. It made him easy to talk to, and the big man's good humor was always infectious.
Konrad was serious but affable, and he usually rode behind Ramin and Noon. Lulah would ride behind him, and she was the one Serian that Ramus had not even had a chance to fathom. She said so little, and when she did speak he always felt excluded, as though she was talking only to her comrades and never to him and Nomi. He had attributed her solemnity to the studded eye patch that must have such a story to tell, but he realized that conclusion was too hasty. Just because she displayed a terrible wound did not mean that she had been any different before receiving it. Maybe she was simply mistrustful. After all, she had been hired to protect Nomi and himself on the voyage, not make friends with them.
Rhiana usually rode up front, either alongside Beko or a few lengths in front of or behind him. They seemed to change the lead regularly. Rhiana had boasted most kills out of all of them, and looking at her tall, imposing figure and honed physique, he could well believe that she could fight when called upon to do so.
It was he and Nomi who changed their positions most among the group. They could decide whether they wanted to be alone or in company, chatting to a Serian or to each other. Ramus was already starting to find the Serians' ordered riding somewhat cloying. Others he had ridden with were much more casual, unless the situation called for more caution. Beko, their captain, had started the voyage as he meant to go on.
Ramus fell back and waited for the Serians to pass him by. Nomi had taken up position at the rear of the line midmorning,
and she had remained there ever since.
Lulah passed by without a glance. She had stripped to woolen trousers and a soft vest, and he could see now that the missing eye was not her only wound. Her entire left shoulder and upper arm were a mass of scar tissue, twisted and ugly in the blazing sunlight. Her beaded hair hung across it, and the textures of hair and skin matched.
“Hot today,” he said, wishing he could think of a better silence breaker.
Lulah glanced sidelong at him, up at the sun, and then forward again.
Ramus shrugged, waited until Nomi drew close, then fell in beside her. “She's so quiet,” he said.
“Beko tells me there's some betrayal in her past,” Nomi said.
How free Beko is with his words to you, he thought. “Maybe that's why she's so quiet during the day.”
“Of course,” Nomi said. “But don't you hear her at night?”
Ramus frowned, shrugged.
“She doesn't sleep all night. She spends some of it praying to the death moon.”
“Praying for what?”
“What do moon worshippers usually pray for?”
“Same thing as most other people who choose one god over another,” Ramus said. “Health, wealth, good harvests. Luck.”
They rode silently for a while, both watching Lulah moving easily on her horse.
“Somehow I think she prays for more than that,” Nomi said.
THEY RODE THROUGH lunch, eating the bread left over from breakfast. It was still fresh, the crusts crispy. Rhiana leaned almost sideways in her saddle to pluck some tall, yellow flowers, discarding the petals and crushing the rest inside her bread.
Ramus glanced down at the flowers as he passed, but he knew that he would end up falling from his saddle and making a fool of himself.
Around mid-afternoon, well on their way across the Marrakash plains, Beko rode back to speak to Ramus and Nomi. They had been riding in silence for a while, and Ramus welcomed the conversation. He did not know how Nomi felt, but sometimes the silence between them seemed to seethe.
“There's an old temple ruin a mile from here,” Beko said. “I visited it once on a voyage several years ago. Deep, interesting, and it's relatively untouched.”
“What sort of temple?” Ramus asked.
“It's said that it's an ancient shrine to the Sleeping Gods.”
Ramus was aware of Nomi's glancing sidelong at him but he kept his expression neutral. “I'd like to see it.”
Beko rode back to the head of the line without another comment. He took them off the rough trail they were following and into the grasslands proper, heading for a hill and the forest that started at its base. There was a stream there as well; Ramus could smell the water from here, and hear the chatter of wading birds. Cults of the Sleeping Gods had often built their temples close to running water, believing that the river or stream would carry their words across the land and beneath it, to where the Gods still slept. More recent temples to the Gods were less elaborate, and more likely to be built in residential areas, whether close to running water or not. It was as though civilization engendered apathy, and people would only worship if it was convenient.
They passed from sunlight into the shadow of the hill, and the relief among them was palpable. Even the horses seemed to have more energy out of the heat. Beko led them into the trees, and soon they could see some of the ruin—a collection of walls and tumbled stones much like a hundred others across Noreela. It was hidden away in a steep-sided ravine in the hillside which must have been caused by an ancient landfall.
They dismounted, and Noon and Ramin volunteered to remain with the horses. Ramus and Nomi followed close behind Beko, approaching the front lip of the ravine and the tangle of rock and undergrowth scattered there.
“Strange,” Nomi said. “Worshippers usually wanted their place of worship on display.”
They made their way over the scatter of fallen rocks and the plant life that had made it home. There were new rockfalls here—jagged edges and dark pits not ye
t weathered by time— and Ramus glanced up at the sides of the open ravine. It would happen someday, he knew. Voyagers venturing somewhere unknown, and timing their visit exactly with the next fall of rocks. Why not here and now?
“Nervous?” Nomi asked.
“Cautious.”
Beko called a halt and stepped forward guardedly, stretching to look at something on the ground. “Raynon cactus,” he said. “Not blooming right now.”
Beko went on and they followed him, and Ramus noted yet again how curious everyone was about death, whatever their beliefs. Even Lulah peered at the squat, viciously spiked cactus, trying to see who or what lay dead beneath the flesh-eating plant. The fact that it was not blooming meant that the body was likely rotted away completely by now, and Ramus caught a brief glimpse of bone. It would only need the plant to catch a small bird or rodent, and then the flowers would blossom and the deadly pollen released when someone or something walked by. He'd heard of a whole family being infected and killed when they ventured too close to a group of Raynon cacti in the Poison Forests. The wonder of this most fearsome plant was that it spread itself by making the infection slow and painful, so that victims wandered far and wide as the roots grew deep into their vital organs.
“Last visitor to the temple,” Ramus muttered.
“I think it was an animal,” Rhiana said, but no one commented because none of them could tell for sure.
They climbed into the mouth of the ravine, the Serians looking ahead at the ruins and up at the cliffs on either side. It was quiet and peaceful, but danger often hid in silence.
The temple was now in full view. It was much larger than many of the other ruins Ramus had seen on his travels, and it spoke of a fierce commitment to whatever it was built to honor.
“I always find these places chilling,” Nomi said.
“That's because you have no soul,” Ramus said, and he walked on with a smile.
“If you weren't such a friend . . .” Nomi muttered. He could hear from her voice that she wasn't sure whether he was joking.
He reached the first mound of rubble from a fallen wall and moved vegetation aside with his foot. There were no carvings or shapes in the stone here, so he went on.
“There's actually a doorway still standing around the back,” Beko said. “At least there was last time I was here.”
“How long ago was that?” Ramus asked.
“Three years. It feels just the same as it did then.”
Ramus looked at the captain, but he did not elaborate.
The Voyager climbed over a low wall that still stood a couple of blocks high, taking care where he was treading. The undergrowth was rampant here, tangled ground vines twisting in and around the stones, curled together and pointing roots to the soil, leafy fronds at the sky. They hid the ground from view, and every footstep risked a sprained ankle or worse.
The Serians had taken up position around the front of the ruin. Beko stood with Rhiana, while Konrad and Lulah had gone to opposite sides of the ravine. They all looked alert and on guard, and Ramus felt comforted.
He moved some more vines away from a wall, and there were the first carvings. He traced them with his fingers, trying to make out the shapes and symbols, but weather and time had made them vague.
“What do you think?” Nomi asked.
“I can't tell yet,” he said. “But your captain seemed certain.”
“My captain?”
Ramus glanced back and smiled at Nomi. She was half embarrassed, half angry.
Ramus headed around the rear of the ruin to the doorway Beko had mentioned. When he reached it, he moved back a few paces, trying to make out the whole façade of the temple before going inside. It was surprisingly well preserved, perhaps protected from the weather by the sheer walls of the ravine, which ended a dozen steps beyond the building. It was almost as though the ravine had been made for the temple, but he guessed it was the other way around. Whoever had built this place, however long ago, had meant it to fill this wound in the land.
“It's a weird place to build,” Nomi said.
Ramus shrugged. “We can't pretend to know the minds of whoever built it. Could be a thousand years old, or even older.”
“Shall we go inside?”
Ramus swept his hand toward the ruin. “After you.”
IT WAS DARKER inside, but other than that there should have been no difference. There was no roof, and once through the door it was clear that few walls still stood higher than his head. But still Ramus felt as though he was moving into another place. In the ravine there was nature and shade, the Raynon cactus awaiting its next victim and creepers using the tumbled walls as their home. Outside, time went on.
In here, time was frozen in place.
He could almost taste the final breaths of whoever had built this temple to the lost Gods.
The remaining walls were lined with carvings. Most of them were badly weathered, but a few were still quite clear. Ramus read some sigils, translating as best he could, and he nodded in silent confirmation.
“Sleeping Gods?” Nomi said.
“Yes. Your captain was right.”
“I wish you wouldn't call him that.”
“And that's why I shall continue.” Ramus pointed at the base of one wall, where a sloped pile of debris was home to a vibrant purple heather. “There were tiles on the wall once,” he said. “If we could spend a year here piecing those together, we'd know more about the people who built this place than anyone else.”
Nomi whistled softly. “That's a job for you on the way back, perhaps. Me, I choose travel over archaeology.”
“What is it you think we do on our voyages?” he asked. “We dig up the past by discovering the present.”
“Very profound, Ramus. You should write a book.”
He smiled at her, opening the leather pouch on the side of his backpack and bringing out the empty journal. “I'm going to start right here.”
“Recording your voyage?”
“Our voyage.” He showed her the title page he had written before leaving Long Marrakash.
“And what will you say about me in your book?”
“That's for me to know,” he said, “and you to read.”
“You know very well I can't read.”
“Ah.” Ramus selected a hard charcoal stick from his writing roll and sharpened it with a small blade.
Nomi wandered away, idly kicking through the low undergrowth as if expecting to find something amazing beneath. She touched the walls, ran her fingers across some of the carving, looked at Ramus, and then headed for the opening through which they had entered.
“I'll see you outside,” she said.
“I won't be long.” Ramus did not look up from the open book until he was sure he was alone once more.
And when he did look up and cast his gaze across the walls, and saw the carvings and images engraved by ancient hands, he was filled with a terror that punched straight through his chest and grabbed his heart.
For an instant, he sensed this place as it had once been. People had worshipped here, but they had also feared.
A breeze rustled the undergrowth, like the satisfied sigh of a giant.
They are long gone and barely known, he thought. So old that whether they really existed ceased to matter centuries ago. And now we're making it matter once again. We're going beyond the known Noreela in pursuit of what Noreelans have believed for millennia.
He looked around the walls at the vague carvings. There were images he recognized from the texts he had read about the Sleeping Gods, and some shapes he had never seen before. He took out the parchment, unrolled it and tried to find a match for the image of the Sleeping God drawn thereon. He looked closer at the crumbling walls and—
Something moved before him. A shadow shifted, left the shade of a wall, crossed the ruined temple and faded slowly into sunlight.
A wraith.
Ramus gasped, reaching for breath, leaning his elbows on his knees and watching the book tu
mble to the ground. It landed with blank pages facing up, and his fingers spasmed and let the charcoal fall. It bounced from the paper, left its own random mark, bounced again. Ramus saw nothing in the shape given life.
“Who can truly face their gods?” Ramus whispered.
The pain in his head slammed him once. Then he sat back and sighed, listening to the Serians chatting beyond the walls, birds calling from tree to tree, and he looked up and saw the same sky beneath which they all existed.
NOMI WALKED FROM the ruin toward the ravine walls. She did not like the feel of the place, and Ramus's strange behavior made it worse. She knew that he could withdraw into himself when faced with something that fascinated or perplexed him, but she hated being subject to his sudden mood swings.
She glanced back at the old temple. She could just see him past one of the tumbled walls, sitting on a fallen stone with the book open on his legs before him. He made me a part of his title, she thought. He's making me a part of his book. The urge to learn to read was strong, and perhaps when this voyage was over she would do just that. The fame would ensure that she would never have to work again. But the thought of sitting in dusty old libraries poring over the yellowed pages of books written centuries before she was born . . . she could find no allure in that. She'd much rather come out into the world, sit around a campfire and hear history related by the likes of Konrad. Tonight the Serians would tell another story, and tomorrow morning she and Ramus would know more than they had before. She had always thought word of mouth a more honest, immediate method of relaying history down through the ages.
Ramus seemed to drop the book and lean forward to pick it up. Then he leaned back and looked around himself at the walls, the ruin, the sky.
Nomi turned her back on Ramus and stared up at the lip of the ravine. The wall before her was sheer, speckled here and there with tufts of moss and heather, and she could see a few birds' nests gripping the small ledges. The birds themselves were keeping well out of sight. She wondered whether their ancestors had nested here and watched this temple being built, and the richness of time washed over her. She wondered what language the builders had spoken, whether they had used slave labor, what they had looked like, what clothes they had worn. And for an instant, she considered that a Sleeping God itself may have overseen construction.
