Darkfall

by Isobelle Carmody

  Ember came to sit on the bench beside the soulweaver. The garden was cool, but the sun was warm and the air smelled delicious. ‘How long before Coralyn returns?’

  ‘Perhaps the day after tomorrow.’ Alene sighed. ‘It is very pleasant here. I had forgotten.’

  ‘Do you never get tired of being a soulweaver?’

  ‘Not of that, but of the politics and deceptions that come with being the soulweaver appointed to the Holder. And I weary of always being guarded. When I was a girl my mother would scold me for wandering off alone. “What will become of you?” she would say.’ Her smile faded. ‘It was not always so onerous to be soulweaver to the Holder. In the past the soulweaver who held this role was feted and honoured. The myrmidons appointed to guard her were mere formalities. Well, I suppose Feyt and Tareed tire of protecting betimes, as much as I tire of being protected.’

  ‘They are afraid for you.’

  Alene bowed her head as if the truth of this weighed on her.

  ‘I heard you say to Asa when we were down at the pier, that you can’t leave Ramidan. Is that true? Can’t you go back to Darkfall even for a holiday?’

  ‘I have no notion of what a holyday is, Ember, though I take your meaning. In truth, there is no getting away from what I am. There is a saying we have on the misty isle for when our training seems hard to us: We, who are chosen, have fewer choices.’

  ‘Why do you have to stay if Tarsin doesn’t want you and doesn’t listen to you? It doesn’t make sense. It would serve him right if you left.’

  ‘But serving right is the point of it, Ember. I do not so much serve Tarsin personally, as his position as the Darkfall-Decreed ruler of Keltor. In submitting myself to the Darkfall process, I gave myself entire to the soulweaver cause, and to Lanalor’s Charter. Even the Holder himself cannot turn me from that.’

  There was a little silence between them, and the brook made a laughing, bubbling music at their feet, as if mocking their gravity.

  ‘How did you become a soulweaver in the first place?’

  ‘It is a long story, but also a short one. I had no ambition to be a soulweaver, though I had soulweaving tendencies. I meant to be a white cloak but the white cloaks on Myrmidor turned me away when I applied to the academy, saying I was too young. My sister, who was with me that day, teased me into trying out at the Darkfall landing. Neither of us imagined that they would accept me. In those days many girls offered and few were accepted, especially girls as young as I was. Once the offer was made and accepted, there seemed nothing to do but go on. I have been several times to the white cloaks for lessons in healing, such as can be had by one who is silverblinded. The master there told me I could have been a good healer, though never a great one, and that was some little comfort.’ For a moment her silver eyes seemed to gaze into the distance, and Ember wondered if she was regretting what might have been. Somehow she did not like to ask. ‘If someone had predicted the outcome of that adventure, I would have laughed and thought them a fool,’ Alene murmured, and turned her face to the sky, seeming to look up straight into fiery Kalinda.

  Ember looked up too, without thinking, and was dazzled.

  ‘We, none of us, can know what the future holds.’ Alene’s voice was grave.

  ‘I wish I knew what the past held,’ Ember said.

  ‘Sometimes the past is best forgotten. Who knows what despairs your past encompasses? Everyone has memories they would like to wipe away, but yours are truly erased. Once Coralyn travelled to Myrmidor to offer herself at the Darkfall landing. I think she would wish that forgot.’

  ‘Coralyn wanted to be a soulweaver? I thought she wanted to have her sons rule Keltor.’

  ‘That was later.’

  ‘Then she was refused?’

  ‘There was no response to her offer, which is the same thing. Coralyn had neither soulweaving tendencies, nor a true vocation. She desired only the power which she perceived soulweavers possessed. She had no interest in the mysteries nor any desire to serve the Song. No doubt her hatred of Darkfall stems from that rejection. But truly each thing has its song to sing, for even her fruitless journey had an impact. It was while she tarried on Myrmidor that she met and dazzled poor Ranouf into a course that changed his life and the fate of Vespi. He was brother to Fulig who is now chieftain of that sept.’

  ‘More politics?’ Ember sighed.

  Alene smiled. ‘This is a love story, but like all such stories that come among the powerful, there are politics involved. Ranouf and Coralyn formed a liaison as he waited for a delayed cargo, and she persuaded him to abandon his set route to take her direct to Iridom. She was dazzlingly beautiful as a girl and though Vespians are strong, they are not proof against love. So he did what she asked although he knew this meant, according to the Vespian ship code, that he could never return to Vespi. When Coralyn cast him off, he could not go back. He and his ship had been declared outcast and renegade.’

  ‘Why did she cast him off?’

  ‘Because he was of no use to her as an exile from his sept. She had made a mistake in demanding Ranouf abandon his course and take her to Iridom. She did not understand how Vespians are about duty. She knew Ranouf was successor to the chieftaincy of Vespi, of course. I do not think I do her an injustice to say that therein lay the main part of his attraction for her. She assumed his position meant a certain freedom from ritual as is the case on Iridom. No doubt she meant to handfast with him in life bond, thereby assuring herself of a stake in the Vespian monopoly of the waves. But in breaking the ship code, Ranouf had forfeited his right to be chieftain, and so it fell to his younger brother, Fulig, to take up leadership of Vespi.’

  ‘And … Fulig is Kerd’s father, and now Kerd loves Unys who is … stepdaughter to Coralyn,’ Ember said slowly. She thought of poor earnest Kerd in love with Coralyn’s vacuous stepdaughter, and then of the hungry way Bleyd of Fomhika stared at her lately. ‘It would be better if no one ever loved anyone.’

  An odd expression crossed the soulweaver’s face. ‘You think that? It is true that love is the cause of much pain, but love is to life what Kalinda is to the world. Would it be better if we dwelt safe from pain but always in darkness?’

  ‘If you never love, then you can’t be hurt when it ends. It’s simpler not to love anyone.’

  ‘But is that the point of life, Ember? To have it simplified?’

  Ember did not know how to answer. For the last few moments, she had felt as if someone else had been speaking through her. Someone terribly frightened and alone. Perhaps the words had risen from her lost self. If so, maybe that young woman would be better left asleep, as Alene warned.

  The soulweaver stirred. ‘You have reminded me; I had forgotten that Kerd is coming to see me. He is probably there now. We must return to the apartment.’

  ‘But we just got here!’ Ember protested. ‘Please let me stay a while, Alene. Tareed can come back for me when Feyt returns. I won’t be alone long and there is no one about. I’ll just sit here quietly, I promise.’

  Alene considered her words seriously, but with a strange air of sorrow. Finally, she nodded. ‘Very well. Enjoy the garden while you may, Ember. Meditate on the flowers and forget the past. I think no harm will come to you here. Do not leave this place, though. I will send Feyt or Tareed back for you shortly.’

  Alone for the first time in days, Ember sighed deeply and stared into the water. Alene said she did not regret becoming a soulweaver, but could that be true? It was clear soulweavers did not have families or the Keltan equivalent of husbands, though it seemed lovers were not forbidden.

  The tree rustled overhead and a leaf spiralled into Ember’s lap. She glanced up automatically and gasped at the sight of a face looking down at her from out of the thick tangle of veswood branches.

  It took her a moment to realise she was looking at the same urchin she had seen climbing through Bleyd’s window some days ago.

  ‘Good morrow,’ he said brightly. ‘Stand back and I will come down.’

  Ha
stily she got up and watched him climb with agility down on to the seat where she had been sitting, and then to the ground.

  ‘Have you been there all the time?’ Ember demanded, trying to remember what had been said. She was almost certain they had not mentioned her being a stranger.

  ‘I was here before you and Alene came,’ the boy confessed cheerily. He blinked like a sleepy owl in the sunlight.

  ‘You were eavesdropping,’ Ember accused. Anyi, she remembered, that was his name.

  ‘I was there first,’ he reminded her virtuously. ‘I was sitting in the tree drowsing and minding my own business when you came and sat yourselves right under me! I could not help but listen. Alene should have known I was there.’

  Ember was trying to think how to answer this, when the boy’s smile faded. ‘Are you dying? I have heard people saying that you were.’

  The question gave her an odd chill. ‘I am ill,’ she said slowly, wondering if Feyt had deliberately set this grim new rumour in motion, or if the old rumour had simply become exaggerated.

  Anyi nodded solemnly, and took her hand in his dirty paw. He pulled her gently to sit back on the garden seat beside him. ‘You are not really a Sheannite visionweaver, are you?’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Ember stammered, her hands going to the veil.

  Anyi shrugged skinny shoulders and smiled, revealing the gap in his teeth. ‘Every Sheannite is suckled on the story of Ranouf’s love for Coralyn with their mother’s milk. Sheannites love romantic stories,’ he added, screwing his nose up. ‘In fact, it is odd to find any Keltan who knows nothing of Ranouf’s doom. What sept do you come from?’

  Ember’s mind was a blank. But before she could even begin to frame an answer, Anyi’s face changed, his eyes widening so much she thought they would pop out. ‘You are not Keltan, are you?’ he whispered. ‘You are one of those the balladeers now call demons. A stranger come through Lanalor’s portal!’

  Ember started to rise, but the boy pressed her hand, his eyes alight. ‘Do not go. I will keep your secret for I cleave to Darkfall. It is wonderful that you have come for it means the portal is not closed. Many of us feared the Chaos spirit had betrayed its bargain with Lanalor and closed the portal, though that was supposed to be impossible.’

  ‘Anyi, I don’t understand half of what you’re saying!’

  He patted her hand as if she were a child that needed soothing. ‘I am sorry. I will say nothing of what I know. I can even warn you if I hear any rumour that someone has guessed you are not a visionweaver.’

  ‘Eavesdropping …’ Ember said, still shaken.

  ‘You have to here,’ Anyi said cheerfully. ‘Everyone tells lies. Only a fool believes what he has been told. You must listen to what people say when you are not with them, more than the sweet things they say to your face. Even those who do not lie, rarely tell all there is to tell. The soulweaver, for instance. She told you of love and Coralyn and Ranouf, but she did not tell you she met her own truest love in much the same circumstances as Coralyn. She spoke of love as if it were a thing she had never known, yet for love of her, a man was banished from this isle. But tell me of the place you come from. All my life I have dreamed of …’

  Before he could go on, there was the sound of running feet and shouts beyond the wall.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ Anyi said, jumping up. ‘I must not be found here. As a matter of fact, given what you are, we had both better hide. Come on.’

  ‘Try the garden …’ a man cried, sounding angry and frustrated.

  ‘Quick!’ Anyi hissed, and Ember turned to find his feet disappearing up the veswood tree. ‘Stand up on the back of the seat, I will pull you up.’

  Without thinking, Ember obeyed, and he hauled her unceremoniously up onto the branch beside him with surprising strength. She opened her mouth to ask what was going on, already regretting the impulse that made her hide, but he forestalled her by holding a grubby finger to her lips.

  ‘The legionnaires are too stupid to think of looking up when they search, unless we give them cause.’

  Ember drew her long skirt up and stared through the branches despairingly. What on earth would she say if they were discovered? How would she explain that a Sheannite visionweaver felt the need to climb up into a tree like a monkey with a boy who was probably a thief? Could it be explained as part of a visiontrance?

  The gate to the garden burst open and a troop of green-clad legionnaires ran in, trampling beds of flowers beneath their boots.

  ‘Search this place, you two,’ commanded a big, dark-haired man. ‘The rest of you, come with me. He is somewhere near about.’

  Ember resisted the desire to groan aloud. The guards were actually searching for the boy beside her! Worse, they were green legionnaires, which meant they were of Coralyn’s legion. What had the boy done to rouse them? Probably he had stolen something, or worse, he had eavesdropped one too many times. They would judge her guilty by association and she would be killed.

  The men stood and stared about for a moment, then departed, their boots ringing on the cobbled yard outside the garden.

  ‘Whew,’ Anyi said softly, when the footsteps had faded. He shimmied down the tree trunk, then helped Ember to climb down. ‘I am going before they come back. You should go back to the soulweaver’s apartment.’

  ‘Wait a minute!’ Ember protested. ‘Why were they searching for you?’

  ‘There is no time to explain. I will see you again. Do not tell Alene you saw me, please!’ And Anyi ran across the garden and disappeared.

  segue …

  The watcher segued in the world of the Unraveller, trying to understand a people that could exist without knowing the nature of their dreams. No wonder Chaos reached them in this way. Chaos and the Song battled in this world, as they did in the other, but people appeared to have no clear awareness of what was happening, for all that they bore the scars of a battle that seemed to be driving them deeper and deeper into shadow.

  The watcher came upon a boy sitting in a treehouse with his pigeons. To its wonderment, when it tasted the boy’s essence, it found pure traces of the Song.

  The boy was hiding out in the treehouse until after school hours. He was thinking that someone always saw you when you went to town. The smartest thing was to lie low. That’s where crooks always made their mistake. They would go out flashing a wad of money, or they would get drunk and boast. Wagging school was not exactly criminal, but the same rule applied. Lie low and keep your mouth shut.

  Besides, he preferred being in the pen with the pigeons to wandering around town with all those adults looking sideways at you, and no one to talk to. The birds were better company than people anyway. They clucked and fluffed and cooed and brushed against him. They didn’t ask questions.

  He was going to release the whole lot of them for a flight soon, because he loved watching them explode into the sky in a whirling cloud. Owning them was like owning the wind.

  Sometimes he dreamed he flew with them. He would stumble or fall, and suddenly he would be flying. Just like that. In the dreams he could fly only when he was not thinking about it, but it never worked when he tried.

  If he ever topped himself that would be the way to do it. He’d go somewhere high and dive out into the air. They said if it was high enough, you were dead before you hit the ground, though how they could know that was a puzzle. He had nearly found out himself the week before.

  He looked for the big, ugly, wild bird that was his most recent acquisition. Its neck was twined with his favourite, Carmen, and it was definitely serving her up some sweet bird talk. He sighed at the incongruity of it. She was a fiery red colour with violet ring markings around her eyes that gave her a haunting gaze, and when she flew she looked like a tongue of flame leaping up into the sky. The man who sold her had called her a freak. He had saved for weeks to buy her on his paper-run money. He had taken on two shifts in winter and nearly froze to death until he learned to stuff the papers down his clothes.

  He had intended her to m
ate with the blue-tip he had bought, in the hope of getting babies that would be even more beautifully coloured. But for some reason she was attracted to this big, wild, lop-sided male, and uncategorically rejected the bewildered blue.

  He had named the big guy Bruiser, and watching them together was like watching a boxer court a tiny Spanish flamenco dancer.

  He had a sudden flashback of being high up inside the façade of the movie theatre. He caught wild birds there by climbing up in the pitch dark, and shining a torch suddenly into their eyes. They would just sit there mesmerised and he would put them gently in his bag. Bruiser had seemed to wake up to the danger at the last minute and flapped his wings. Sean grabbed him, unmindful of his precarious position, and had almost fallen as the bird stabbed a savagely sharp beak into him. He still wasn’t sure whether it was stupidity or determination that had made him hang on to the bird as the torch fell in a bright curve to smash on the concrete below. Maybe it was just shock.

  He looked ruefully at his bandaged hand, remembering how swiftly the bird’s rage had abated at the sight of Carmen. Sean had expected her to send him on his way, but if she’d had eyelashes she would have been fluttering them.

  There was no accounting for chemistry, not in birds or people. But the whole thing gave him hope because though he was no big muscle-bound Bruiser, he was a long way from Prince Charming. His school nickname was Birdman, which wouldn’t have been too bad, except the name had not come from his having pigeons, but from having a father who was in gaol. A gaol bird.

  Girls seemed to think criminality was hereditary, like red hair. He remembered an older girl who used to live a few blocks away when he was a little kid. She had been really beautiful and he had pretended to himself that she was a princess, until his mother had told him she was dying. He had been afraid because he had somehow got it into his head that he would die too because they both had red hair. He supposed the girl had died by now. His mother would probably know. She knew everything and would have made a good spy but she was also a talker.