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

by Ian Irvine

  They finished their tea and struck out for Thuntunnimoe at once, though they didn’t head directly for it. Thommel was painstaking in covering their tracks, for which Maelys was grateful. Phrune wouldn’t give up until he took her skin.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about that, night and day, nor Monkshart’s and Phrune’s speculations about destroyed nodes, and what she’d seen in the Pit. If Jal-Nish had a weakness, what could it be? He was afraid that all his work would come to nothing in the end, and perhaps that he’d be undone by the very forces that had made him great in the first place. What forces? The tears? How could they undo him?

  Nothing goes to nothing. Monkshart had meant that no power or force could be destroyed, only transmuted into another form and, rarely, its antithesis. He’d been talking about the Tifferfyte node being transformed into the Pit of Possibilities, but surely the principle must also apply to the node whose destruction had created the Profane Tears.

  Maelys laboriously followed her chain of logic. The tears had been formed by the destruction of a node in a particular way; they were the distilled essence of that node. But why was Jal-Nish afraid?

  Then it struck her, so strongly that it took her breath away. Could the tears and their antithesis have been created at the same time? Was that what he was really afraid of? Maybe that’s why he’d captured or killed all the mancers in the world – so no one else could find the antithesis to the tears, wherever it was, and use it to nullify their power.

  She was getting a headache, and her idle speculations were no help, so she put them aside for another time and went on to Monkshart’s other revelation, that her talent was strong but had been deliberately stunted. It would be very difficult to learn at her age and she couldn’t help resenting that.

  Two days later they entered the vast, steamy rainforest that ran north and south for fifty leagues, and east-west nearly as far. It was easy walking for the most part, for the gigantic vine-clad trees cut off most of the light and in consequence the leaf-covered ground supported only scattered tree ferns and gigantic, unpleasant-looking fungi. They were constantly slapping mosquitoes, and picking ticks and leeches off each other.

  However, in these empty lands, which had been further depopulated by the war, they often walked for days without seeing a soul, and Maelys’s spirits rose the further they went. No people meant no watchers for the God-Emperor and, since opening up, Thommel had become pleasant company. He was also a quick and skilled hunter with a short bow, and they’d had fresh meat nearly every day, which was just as well, for Maelys was still ravenous. She was eating more than Thommel, though she often felt ill afterwards and sometimes was weak from hunger a few hours later.

  Five or six days into the rainforest, she woke in the middle of the night with her stomach churning as though she’d eaten bad food. Not wanting to disturb Thommel, she got up quietly, slipped out of the circle of the firelight and stumbled a polite distance into the forest before throwing up violently. Maelys raked leaves over the mess with one foot, went back and washed her face, then slipped into her thin bedroll.

  She slept at once, but woke not long after, alternately hot and cold, with her belly churning painfully as if two cats were fighting in it. She didn’t feel sick this time, but her stomach was in too much turmoil to lie down, so she got up and began to walk back and forth, leaning backwards with her hands folded over her belly because that was the least uncomfortable position.

  Her stomach felt hot and swollen. Having helped to look after the clan’s animals since an early age, she knew that cattle could suffer from bloat if they ate certain herbs in the wrong season, and if their bellies weren’t punctured to let the gas out they would die. Could that be the matter with her? It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

  ‘Maelys?’ Thommel was lying on his side, supported on one elbow, looking up at her.

  ‘Just a pain in the stomach,’ she said, walking the other way. She never wanted to trouble others. ‘I’m sure I’ll be all right in a –’ Her stomach heaved so violently that she couldn’t control it and a stream of vomit burst out of her mouth. She fell to hands and knees, retching and retching until there was nothing left to bring up, by which time she could only lie on her side, knees drawn up, gasping.

  Thommel crouched beside her, holding her hand. She wanted him to go away; she couldn’t bear for anyone to see her in such a state, but was too weak to say so. Maelys just lay there, her stomach churning ever more violently. Despite throwing up everything she’d eaten and drunk, it felt even hotter and more swollen than before.

  Eventually she started to feel a little better. Thommel washed her face and hands with a wet cloth and held her up. ‘Must have been something I ate,’ she whispered.

  ‘But you’ve eaten the same things as I have.’ He sat back. ‘You’re not pregnant, are you? To Nish?’

  She wanted to laugh, but couldn’t manage it. ‘No,’ she said faintly. Her throat felt raw.

  ‘Are you sure? It can take time to show –’

  ‘I’m a virgin, Thommel.’ Just saying that would have embarrassed her, had it been Nish, but she felt so much more comfortable with Thommel.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘And I don’t see how it can be food poisoning, since we’ve eaten the same things ever since we left, though maybe I’ve got a stronger stomach. Tell me exactly how you’re feeling.’

  Maelys described her symptoms. He shook his head.

  ‘I don’t understand it. Stand up. I want to look at you.’.

  He had to help her up, and hold her up once she was on her feet, for her knees were wobbling. He looked her over, pulled up her shirt and felt her stomach, then knelt and put his ear to it.

  It tickled and now Maelys did feel uncomfortable. She tried to pull away. ‘I’m sure I’ll be all right in the morning.’

  ‘Stay there.’ He put one arm around her back and pulled her towards him until her belly compressed against the side of his head. Her stomach began to churn even more violently. ‘You’ve got a bug!’ He stood up.

  ‘Well, obviously,’ she muttered. ‘A stomach bug, but I’ll soon be over it. I hardly ever get sick.’

  ‘Not this one. Lie down. I’ve got to get it out.’

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  She lay down, then lurched up again. ‘You’re not going to cut me open or puncture me like a bloated cow, are you?’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ he said in the infuriatingly soothing way in which healers speak to sick people. ‘Wait here. I just need to find the right herb. It’s a common one, fortunately.’ He thrust a branch into the fire until it was well ablaze and, holding it up, walked into the forest.

  Maelys lay down, more worried than before. What did he mean by ‘Get it out?’ Her stomach was still swelling so she got up, though she could find no position that wasn’t acutely uncomfortable.

  Thommel was gone for hours and by then she was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe, for her distended belly was squashing her lungs and she could not draw in enough air. What was happening to her? She began to think that she was going to die.

  She heard his pounding feet long before he got there. Shortly he burst into the firelight, carrying a blazing strip of bark. The branch must have burned away hours ago. ‘Sorry,’ he gasped. ‘I was looking for slugwort. Usually you see it everywhere, but I must have walked two leagues before I found any.’ He threw the bark into the fire and listened to her stomach again.

  ‘Slugwort?’ She felt even sicker. ‘I haven’t a slug inside me?’

  ‘Of course not,’ he said, though he looked more anxious than before. ‘Just hang on. I won’t be long.’ He drew a clump of blue-green herb from his pocket. The tiny, shiny leaves reflected the light in crescents. ‘It’s tough and I’ve got to chop it up or it will pass through without doing any good.’

  Maelys knew a lot about herb lore but she didn’t recognise this one. She sat down, leaned back to ease the pressure on her lungs and watched while he chopped the slugwort finely on a metal plate, going over a
nd over it, then stirred it into a mug of cold tea.

  ‘I’ll swirl it around to keep the slugwort suspended, then I want you to drink the lot in a single gulp; all right?’

  ‘Why in a single gulp?’ said Maelys, anxious again. ‘Just drink it. The sooner you do, the sooner I can get on with it.’ He was swirling the contents as he spoke.

  ‘Get on with what?’

  ‘If you’re not going to cooperate, I’ll have to hold your nose as if you’re a little kid.’

  Maelys managed a smile, for she’d often done that while helping Aunt Haga dose the small children of the clan for the winter. She nodded and held out her hand obediently. He gave the mug a final swirl and she poured it down in one swallow.

  She’d expected it to taste revolting but the herb had no more flavour than grass. It was like drinking a cup of tea leaves, and some stuck to her teeth and the roof of her mouth. She licked them off, swallowed, then felt an agonising pain in her stomach, which began to churn as if a lizard were leaping around inside it.

  Maelys reached out blindly, caught Thommel’s hand and squeezed it so tightly that he had to clench his jaw. ‘What is it? What’s the matter with me? Am I going to die?’

  Thommel’s hesitation was tiny, but it was there. ‘Why would you think that?’

  ‘Don’t tell me any lies! If there’s something badly wrong with me I’ve got to know.’

  ‘You’ve got a bug inside you, and it’s growing fast. Wild meat sometimes has the eggs in it, and if it’s not cooked through they can survive.’

  She felt sick, disgusted, and very, very cold. ‘What kind of a bug?’

  ‘It’s called a slurchie. It’s not common here; I’ve only seen it once before. I should have warned you to be careful, and not eat any meat that was still pink inside.’

  ‘That’s the way I like it,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Me too, but –’

  ‘And when you saw a slurchie before, what happened?’.

  Thommel paused. ‘The man who had it died. How does your stomach feel now?’

  ‘It’s still churning, though not as much. But it doesn’t hurt any more.’

  ‘Good. That means the herb’s working. It numbs the organs to pain. I’d better get to work before …’ He got up and began to rifle through his pack, pulling things out and tossing them on the ground.

  Maelys didn’t ask what he was doing, for she didn’t think he would tell her. She’d never heard the name slurchie before but it sounded nasty. Thommel had a length of thin cord and was weaving and knotting something on the end, like an open basket about the size of a large lemon. He finished his work, examined it carefully then rolled it into a ball between his palms and came across bearing another mug of water.

  He handed her the ball, which had an arm’s length of cord trailing from it, but held onto the free end. ‘Swallow this with as much water as you can drink.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Quickly. There’s not much time left.’

  Maelys didn’t see how it could work, or even how she could get the ball down, but she took it into her mouth with half a mug of water and swallowed. The water went down but the string caught in the back of her throat. She gagged and began to heave it up, but Thommel held her mouth open and poured the rest of the mug down her throat, and she felt the string go down further.

  He ran for more water. She swallowed it and the ball of cord went the rest of the way. He held onto the end. It felt horrible, the cord running up the back of her throat, and she was constantly suppressing the urge to heave.

  ‘Just keep taking tiny sips if it troubles you,’ he said. ‘How’s your stomach now?’

  ‘Hardly churning at all.’

  ‘Oh!’ She’d thought that would be good news but he looked grave. ‘Well, I’m sure it’ll be all right.’

  He didn’t sound confident and Maelys, who could only imagine what was going to happen if it wasn’t all right, felt sick.

  ‘Lie down, Maelys. Pull your shirt up.’

  She lay on her back and drew her shirt up above her stomach. He got down beside her, put his ear to her belly and kept moving it around, listening. He frowned, pushed her left breast up out of the way and listened to the top of her stomach, then did the same to the right. She didn’t protest; for the moment he was a healer and she was just a body to him.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Sit up and turn over. I need you on hands and knees, bum up as high as it will go, head down until your forehead touches the ground.’ She complied, feeling most undignified. ‘Now, straighten the curve of your back. Your belly’s a bit compressed and we don’t want that.’

  She did so. Her lower back immediately began to ache, but she ignored it.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered, feeling very afraid. With his free hand he stroked her hair and she felt better. She had confidence in Thommel. If it could be done, he would do it. And if not, well, people often got sick and died for no discernible reason. That was fate.

  ‘Now I’m going to draw out the cord, really slowly. Stay calm and don’t move, no matter what happens – or no matter how much it hurts. Can you do that?’

  She nodded, almost imperceptibly. He stroked her hair again and she felt a calm descend on her, a kind of peace.

  Thommel began to pull on the cord, ever so gently, taking up the slack. Maelys felt vaguely nauseous. The cord grew taut. He drew on it even more carefully, frowned, eased off the tension and pulled it taut again.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he replied to her unasked question. He eased off, pulled taut, eased off, pulled taut. ‘Ahhh! I think – yes. I’m sure I’ve got it.’ He pulled harder, drawing a finger-joint length of cord from her mouth. Something flipped back and forth in her lower belly and she felt a twinge of pain. This time it was like a spiny eel thrashing on a line.

  Her lower back was throbbing now and it was growing ever harder to hold it straight against the curve of her backbone. The backs of her legs were aching too, and the muscles in her neck. She began to feel shaky. How long was this going to take?

  ‘You’re doing well, really well. It won’t be long now.’

  Unfortunately Maelys knew he was lying; that it had barely started. It was the kind of soothing nonsense healers said all the time, yet it did make her feel better. She wasn’t in it alone. Thommel was looking after her.

  He eased out a finger’s length of cord. The slurchie flipped again, as if it were trying to tie itself in a knot. It was in her upper stomach now, which had not been numbed by the slugwort, for she felt such an agonising pain there that she let out a stifled gasp.

  Thommel eased off at once, wrapped the cord around his finger several times, then took her face in his hands and kissed the top of her head. It was just a healer’s kiss, nothing in it, but she felt better at once.

  ‘Have you done this before, Thommel?’

  ‘No. Are you afraid that I don’t know what I’m doing?’

  ‘I have every confidence in you.’

  ‘I wish I did,’ he said under his breath. ‘Ready to try again?’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

  This time it was even worse, but she managed to endure it. It’s good pain, she told herself. It proves that whatever he’s doing is working.

  It went on for an agonisingly long time. Like childbirth in reverse, she imagined, in the moments when she was capable of thinking. It felt as though Thommel was tugging a barbed eel out of her. He got part of it up through the opening between her stomach and throat, but the pain was so great that Maelys shrieked and doubled up, nearly tearing the cord out of Thommel’s fingers. He released the tension suddenly, the slurchie slipped back down and when she could think clearly again she knew that he would have to do it all over again.

  ‘I’m sorry, Maelys,’ he said, putting his arms around her, and he was, for she saw his tears splash on the leaves below her face. He massaged her lower back and began again, though this time he tied the cord around his wrist and made another turn the
re each time he’d drawn enough cord out, so the slurchie couldn’t slip back.

  It was coming up her gullet now, which wasn’t numbed at all, and suddenly it no longer felt like good pain. It was agony worse than anything she’d ever imagined. It felt as if her gullet were being shredded.

  The slurchie filled it so completely that she could hardly draw breath, for the passage to her lungs was squashed flat. She couldn’t breathe; she could feel herself blacking out, her knees giving. She was going to choke to death.

  ‘Hold on, Maelys. Hold on, my love. It’s not long now.’

  She held on, he pulled harder on the cord and she managed to draw a tiny breath – just enough. The creature’s head came up into the back of her throat and cut off her wind again, scoring her as if it were wrapped in brambles.

  Maelys’s consciousness was fading. He was shouting at her but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. ‘Open your mouth!’ he shouted in her ear. ‘Open your damned mouth, quick.’

  Her jaw was clenched tight. He tugged harder, the head of the slurchie came up into the back of her mouth, she felt herself falling as she fainted from lack of air, then in a panic he jerked too hard and the cord broke.

  Thommel let out a cry of despair. Maelys hit the ground with her left cheek, hard enough to feel it, then he was down beside her, crying out as he threw her over onto her back, prised her locked jaw open and thrust one hand into her mouth. Maelys could hear horrible sucking and gasping sounds coming from her, and repulsive gurgles and squelches, followed by a thin squeal like no sound she had ever heard, as Thommel caught the slurchie around the head and in one desperate, agonising heave, ripped it out of her.

  Maelys sucked in three breaths worth of air and it was the sweetest she’d ever drawn, though her mouth tasted foul and slimy, and her lips were burning. She tried to spit it out but the slurchie’s mucous was so thick that it wouldn’t move.

  Something popped in her stomach, then it heaved uncontrollably and she threw up all over herself, bringing up a bucketful of watery slime flecked with black ovoid specks. It burned too, though at least it washed away the muck that had coated her mouth and tongue.