Darkfall

by Isobelle Carmody

  Those assembled reminded her of butterflies as well, in their loose silky draperies and dazzling head-dresses shimmering with jewels and flowers, with their chatter and peals of laughter. Her own purple and violet dress seemed harsh against this pastel-hued court, though it suited her sombre mood.

  People stared at her when she entered on Tarsin’s arm, but their eyes were avid with fascination rather than hostility. The Holder had changed into a loose scarlet toga, edged in gold, but he had clearly not bathed. There was grease on his chin, his hair was a matted nest, and his body odour was horrendous. Yet he must have some aesthetic sense, for he had frowned at Ember’s attire, commanding Asa to send dressmakers to produce a wardrobe fitting an honoured guest of the Holder.

  She had thanked him, trying to maintain the sort of distracted look she imagined an unworldly visionweaver would affect, and hoping fervently she was not in the apartment when the dressmakers arrived since it would mean their plans had failed.

  Tarsin brought her to an alcove where there was a low couch draped in scarlet silk. He handed her to the seat, before sitting down beside her. This gesture met a buzz of talk, and Ember guessed it must be a mark of special favour that she had been seated first by him.

  Immediately people had begun to come up and bow to Tarsin, and to her, and present themselves and their children and friends. Ember had smiled and nodded, knowing she could be seen only faintly through the veil. It was all she could do not to shudder when she saw people kissing Tarsin’s filthy, black-nailed fingers.

  Her eyes found Anyi and Feyt, and she was comforted to see them, though she knew she must not go to them. Safer for them all if it were thought a coolness had sprung up between her and the soulweaver. The night before, they had decided Feyt would retire early with Anyi, so that neither would be present when the subject of Bleyd arose. Aside from anything else, Feyt had thought it a wise idea to keep the volatile Anyi from hearing any discussion of his brother’s supposed crime, though he had promised to control himself.

  She caught sight of Kerd talking animatedly to a man with a wave of sapphires on his head. Looking for Unys, she found the girl seated with her stepmother, and was chilled to see Coralyn watching her like a cat eyeing a mouse. She was fervently glad that Alene had agreed that she should wear both mask and veil. What she really wanted was a brick wall between herself and this blue-eyed woman with the glittering head-dress and gown of shimmering blue.

  But another part of Ember wanted to tear the veil aside and look at everything: the mural and the sea and the fluttering butterflies that sang like birds, even Coralyn who was as lovely as she was vicious. She wanted to eat everything up with her one hungry eye, because she was beginning to fear that she would not see anything for much longer, not this world, and not her own.

  That brought back, with a sickening spasm of fear, the memory of the terrifying period of blindness she had suffered that morning. Feyt and the soulweaver had been talking about freeing Bleyd, and Ember had fallen blind without warning.

  In the eternity of those minutes when she could see nothing, she had understood starkly that time was running out.

  Bad, her mind whispered. Very, very bad.

  The darkness had seemed to widen like a mouth, and she let herself drift into it, alone and floating as she had been in the beginning of her life on this world; her only life, since the other remained lost to her. Drifting on a sea of shadow, she let herself be carried into the blackness, from which the sound of tortured horses, and the touch of the hand and lips of a beast who was partly a man, had once kept her.

  This time it was Alene who drew her back.

  ‘Ember, I cannot do this alone. I am too weak. You must fight …’

  The soulweaver’s voice had come to her like a dream, woven with music, and that thought had stilled her deadly descent. For it was the music of the dream wood, bringing her to light and the knowledge that this blackness was not a blindness of the eyes, but of the mind. A withdrawal that, in her world, would be called catatonic.

  The song and Alene had brought her back. She had opened her eyes to see Alene swaying over her. The soulweaver looked brutally ill, black bruises under her burning eyes accentuating the pallor of her skin. Ember stared into her own Dorian Gray portrait, knowing that all she saw in the face of this thin, blind seer was hers.

  Feyt had helped Alene to sit and for a minute or two the soulweaver had dry-retched.

  ‘She cannot do this again,’ Feyt had said to Ember, almost accusingly.

  ‘I know,’ Ember had whispered back.

  I’m frightened! she had wanted to scream. The blackness seemed to hover over her, red-tinged as the shadow that had swooped on the red-haired singer in the dream glade.

  Feyt knelt before her, and Ember had felt how wrong it was that this strong proud brave woman should kneel to her. Pity and compassion showed in the amazon’s eyes.

  ‘I do not presume, Lady, to know what you can be feeling and I am no balladeer with words. A moment past, Alene reproached me because I spoke of using you to bring Bleyd from the cliff cells, when I had not asked if you were willing. Forgive me. But I ask it, even now after what has happened. I ask it for Bleyd, who loves you no matter that you do not love him, and who will surely die without your help; for Anyi, who loves his brother and whom I think you care about. For the sake of this world into which you have been drawn and which harms you so deeply, even so do I ask: will you help us before you go from this island tomorrow?’

  Even with fear lying heavy as a red-tinged stone over her heart, Ember was moved by the grace of the amazon’s words. She was so very afraid of what was happening to her, but truly what was she being asked to do? Very little, really. To suggest a thing that might or might not be agreed to. Nothing more, and tomorrow, no matter what happened, she would be at sea, bound for Darkfall and a healer who would cure her.

  She had taken a deep breath and found a shred of courage in the thought that if Alene could bear the killing weight of her sickness, she could bear the weight of this one small task.

  ‘I will do as you ask, though I think you have lied to me.’ She had made herself smile a little. ‘You said you were not a balladeer, Feyt, but I think your words were worthy of a balladeer’s song.’

  For the first time since Ember had known her, the amazon looked taken aback. But almost at once, she had regained her composure, rising and bowing. ‘Thank you. This is no small thing, Lady, and if ever you ask a boon of me, I swear it will be granted.’

  No small thing to offer in return, for all it was unlikely Ember would ever call that promise in.

  Feyt had turned to Alene then, still diffident, to ask another thing. ‘Soulweaver, it is in my mind that you should leave the citadel when Ember does, and go with her to Darkfall on the Stormsong. Tareed and I can take care of Anyi. What more can you do when Tarsin will not heed you, and with the Draaka arriving at any moment? Especially weakened as you are now.’

  ‘I would abandon honour if I went, Feyt. The oath I made as soulweaver to the Holder was not to a man but to Lanalor’s Charter and I would die before breaking it. Do not speak of this again. It ill becomes a myrmidon to talk of flight when there is danger.’

  Feyt had coloured. ‘Forgive me. I am a myrmidon, but I am a person too, and I fear for you.’

  Alene rose and lifted her fingers to the amazon’s cheek. ‘My dear, dearest protector. I cannot leave this isle, but if it please you, I will leave this day for the soulweaver’s hut.’

  ‘Tarsin will not permit …’

  ‘He will, if I explain I need herbs to treat Ember.’

  ‘It … would please me,’ Feyt said humbly.

  Alene smiled. ‘Then I shall go. It may well be thought that I am jealous of the visionweaver who has replaced me in Tarsin’s favour, and that is all to the good. You will remain here, and Tareed will accompany me. Tarsin will take your presence here as surety that I mean to return. You will see that Bleyd is freed and hidden, and ensure Ember goes to the Stormson
g. Then you will come to the hut to let me know what has transpired. If all is well, we will return to the citadel and I will explain that I did not come back at once because I was ill.’

  None of them had spoken of what would happen if all was not well.

  ‘What about Anyi?’ Feyt had asked, only moments before the boy had returned with Tareed.

  ‘I will take him with me to the hut.’

  In the end, perhaps predictably, Anyi had refused utterly to go with Alene, saying, with that thread of steel that seemed to be part of his nature, that he would not leave the citadel until he knew his brother was safe. Feyt, unexpectedly, had suggested it might be as well for all of them if Anyi did stay, for if he went with the soulweaver, it would give the court more cause than ever to speculate on the connection between the green and the misty isle over the poisoning.

  Besides which, Anyi had pointed out, he had to attend the dusk festivities organised to honour Ember. Fortunately for their plans the Draaka, who had been expected to arrive that afternoon, was late. There were rumours of a wild storming from Vespians whose ships had limped into port having been lashed by the edges of it. Now no one knew when the Draaka and her entourage would arrive because calls could not be made to or from ships blown off course by stormings.

  ‘Nevertheless,’ the servitor had announced in ringing tones, ‘nevertheless my Lord Holder decrees that the celebration planned for this night will honour the visionweaver, Ember.’

  Feyt had feared that Tarsin would refuse permission for Alene to go to her hut, but he had not, and the soulweaver left the palace without fanfare just before dusk, accompanied by Tareed. Ember had been reminded not to raise the subject of bringing Bleyd from the cells until the very end of the evening when Alene was far away and everyone was tired and somewhat the worse for cirul. She was to say her visions came most often in the early morning, and to suggest Bleyd be brought to her then, in the hope that seeing him would enable her to vision the accomplice. She was to mention a vision she had experienced during which a woman had held the bottles of poison. She was to imply the woman might have been a soulweaver, but she must make it clear that the vision had been ambiguous.

  That would protect her from Coralyn.

  Let someone else suggest where Bleyd should be examined, Feyt warned, so long as it was out of the dungeons. It must not look as if Ember had set Bleyd up to be taken. If their plot worked, the Shadowman’s people would be informed at once, and they would come under cover of the night and conceal themselves in readiness for the abduction of the Fomhikan. Already, outside the palace grounds, another of the Shadowman’s people waited with a carriage to bring Ember to the Stormsong the moment her part was over. Revel had been alerted to be ready for immediate departure.

  A diversion had been planned within the grounds, to attract any legionnaires on duty at the time of the abduction, and a false trail laid into the thick forest on the south side of the citadel to give the impression that Bleyd had been taken to one of the casting settlements to prevent the possibility of the Edict bell being rung. This was to ensure that the Stormsong could depart unhindered. It would also create maximum confusion so that the ruffians could get Bleyd deep into the citadel, and hide him before a search of the settlement was initiated. Later he would, if necessary, be smuggled onto a ship for Fomhika.

  The possibility that the Edict bell would be rung too soon was the weakest part of their plan, for if it rang before the ship cast off from the shore to halt all travel to and from the island, Revel would be bound by it, and would not go. That frightened Ember, but she told herself sternly that hers was not the only life at stake. She had more chance than Bleyd to survive. Unless he could escape by Kalinda’s zenith, he would be judged and, soon after, executed.

  With a start, Ember realised Tarsin was offering her a goblet. She accepted it, trying to shake off the dreaminess that had come over her. She must not let her mind drift away. Not here where she was being watched by too many eyes. Lifting the veil, she drank sparingly.

  She noticed Coralyn whispering into the ear of an exquisite young man with long golden curls and clear blue eyes. One of his arms was caught up into a silken sling and this told Ember he was Coralyn’s other son, Kalide, who had been gored by some animal on the hunt.

  He bore himself with a proud haughty air, yet he deferred so obviously to his mother that Ember did not wonder Coralyn would prefer this son on the throne.

  Ember felt again the dizzy drawing away from the world that preceded a vision. Then she was soaring through the swirling darkness towards a glow of light, buffeted by eldritch winds. She hummed softly, and was surprised to find that it stabilised her motion.

  She found herself looking at Kalide, but a much-changed Kalide. He was older and little remained of his good looks. Sitting in the corner of a stone room, he wore clothes that were stiff with grease, his hair was matted with sweat and his skin grey with ingrained filth. The sunlight fell full through a window onto his face as he laughed, a mindless cawing, blue eyes aglitter with insane glee.

  He’s mad! Ember thought.

  Then with a gut-wrenching lurch she was back at the hall, gazing through the smoky folds of her veil at Kalide, throwing his head back and laughing merrily. Her vision must have lasted bare seconds and miraculously no one had noticed anything.

  She heard Coralyn’s throaty chuckle mingle with Kalide’s laughter and, studying the pair, she puzzled over her vision. What had she seen? The future? A possible future?

  A wave of nerve pain rose in her neck and shoulders and she sat trembling and enduring. Then, as swiftly as it had come, the tide of pain ebbed. She lifted the goblet and drank. Over the rim she saw that both mother and son were looking at her now, and neither of them was smiling. She repressed a shiver at the chill weight of their regard, knowing what it would mean if either of them guessed who and what she really was.

  And who and what am I? she wondered, looking out to the night sky and the alien stars. She had become part of the fabric of this world, and yet she was not of it. Not Songborn, for all that music meant to her.

  Which brought her to the farewell gift Alene had given her. The a’luwtha. That and the name of the healer who would cure her.

  ‘There is a soulweaver on Darkfall called Signe whose healing powers are very great,’ she had said. ‘She will be able to help you. The voyage will be bad, but Signe is at the end of it.’ Then she had held forth the a’luwtha.

  ‘Carry this with you to Darkfall and perhaps some day, by the grace of the Song, I will return there to claim it. I think you will find a use for this when there is pain, Ember, for music has great power in our world,’ she had said very gently.

  ‘In my world as well,’ Ember said and, although she wanted to refuse, she took it and had not been able to help her fingers caressing the lovely thing. In a way the a’luwtha was a promise.

  ‘Farewell, Ember,’ Alene had said finally, weariness deep in her face. No tears, though.

  Tareed had given her a bone-crushing hug and the young myrmidon, very young in that moment, had wept. ‘Song keep you safe and … Oh Ember, I wish I had heard you play the a’luwtha.’

  She had been both friend and sister to Ember in the short time they had known one another. For that, Ember had mustered what little kindness she possessed in the grip of her fears to say, ‘I will play for you one day. I promise.’

  ‘I will hold you to that,’ Tareed said, brushing her tears away. ‘Something tells me I have seen only half of you until you do, and I would like to know the whole of you.’

  They had bid Feyt and Anyi a less intense farewell, because they would be joining them in a few days. Watching them go, Ember wondered if she would ever see them again.

  ‘They have a long way to go and it is late,’ Anyi worried.

  ‘There is a cave stocked against such a moment as this,’ Feyt assured him. ‘They will spend the night there and go the rest of the way tomorrow.’

  She had gone on to say that the Shadowman
’s agent had been elated to learn that Alene had sanctioned the request for help. Never could it be said again that the Shadowman did not serve the misty isle.

  Feyt had taken Anyi to his rooms to prepare for the evening festivities, leaving Ember to make her own preparations. She had sat for a long time with the a’luwtha in her arms, but she had not played it. Something stayed her hand because again she sensed her forgotten self hovering; a ghost, waiting to be summoned by the voice of the instrument. And with it, whatever had caused her to forget in the first place. Something that included the music from the dream, and the blonde-haired girl and her own mysterious sickness. Something dark.

  Soon, she promised the ghost. Just let me get away from Ramidan. Once I am on the boat and out to sea, I can bear anything.

  She had laid the instrument aside gently and begun to make up her face. Feyt had returned with a resplendent Anyi in a blue silk tunic and red hose to escort her to Tarsin’s chamber.

  Now the evening was drawing to a close. Ember felt her nervousness increasing.

  ‘Are you enjoying yourself?’ Tarsin asked suddenly, looming over her.

  ‘I am not used to such luxury …’ Ember answered, trying not to look into his vacant gaze. She focused her senses on the delicate fragrance of her veil, mentally blessing Feyt for scenting it, and wondered if it was not late enough yet. Anyi and Feyt had departed unnoticed, as had Kerd of Fomhika. Many of the guests were lolling back with vacant expressions or laughing too loudly.

  ‘It must … seem very gay to you here, compared to barren Sheanna,’ Tarsin was saying, stumbling over his words as if his brain stumbled over his thoughts.

  It occurred to Ember that it would be foolish to leave what must be said until Tarsin was drunk.

  ‘It is not like Sheanna here,’ she said, trying to think of a way to bring Bleyd into the conversation. It would be perfect to do it now, when no one else was listening, and she did not want Tarsin to question her any more about Sheanna. There was still a danger she might inadvertently reveal that she had never set foot there.