‘Hello,’ she called timidly. ‘A songmaker seeks the help of a white cloak!’
There was no answer and she had the sudden chilly notion that the place was empty, transformed into a giant trap. Then the memory of Sharra’s murders crept into her mind and she began to feel frightened. She hurried along the hall towards the room where Bleyd had been carried the previous day, deciding that it was better to walk than to stand listening to the silence. She found the dim room with the raised stone slab at the centre where Bleyd had been treated, but it, too, was empty.
All at once, the brusque elderly white cloak who had tended Bleyd pushed through the door behind her. ‘What are you doing here? I did not hear the summon-bell.’
A bell! Obviously it was at the door and she had not noticed it. No wonder no one had answered her calls and knocks. Ember began to stammer an apology but the healer made an impatient gesture. ‘You people never think what your disobedience to rules might provoke, do you?’ he snapped, and Ember fell silent, confused. ‘This is not a public hall for you to wander about in. We have people here with infections and illnesses of the mind that require utter peace and quiet. Your own brother is barely stable and ought not to be disturbed, and yet here you come marching in without the slightest concern for anyone but yourself.’
Unable to think how he had recognised her, Ember could only guess that the very dimness that hid her clothes and features had made the white cloak judge her by the shape of her form and the sound of her voice. Fortunately, nothing in his irascible demeanor suggested that there were legionnaires lurking in the wings waiting to descend and take her prisoner. She explained as calmly as she could that she had neglected the formalities because she had been preoccupied by thoughts of her brother, and asked how he was.
The white cloak gave her a frosty look. ‘How is he! How do you think he is after his idiotic exploits! Do not imagine for a second that I believe this tale that the pair of you have concocted about him being set upon and beaten by ruffians!’ He stumped out of a door on the other side of the chamber. ‘I presume you are Ember?’ the white cloak suddenly barked over his shoulder.
Just in time, Ember caught herself. ‘I am Gola, as I told you when I brought my brother here.’ With a sinking heart, she suddenly remembered the sort of things that the Fomhikan had shouted in his delirium aboard the ship. Obviously he had babbled enough to rouse the suspicions of the white cloak who now led her into a small chamber with a shuttered window. Though the whole centre seemed uniformly dimly lit, this room was almost dark, so it took a moment before her eyes had adjusted enough for her to make out that only one of the four beds was occupied. Bleyd lay naked upon it on his stomach, broad shoulders brown and bare above a bandage only slightly paler than his hair, which had been plaited into a neat rope that coiled on the pillow beside his head. A light sheet had been laid across his buttocks.
Ember saw his head move and, fearful that he would catch sight of her and blurt out her real name, she hurried over to the bedside and flung herself on her knees, ‘Brother! It is I, your sister, Gola. I have been so worried!’
‘I was dreaming of you …’ Bleyd whispered. Ember noticed with dismay how flushed his face was and how glazed his eyes.
‘Brother it is I, Gola!’ she said firmly and loudly.
The green eyes widened and Ember was relieved to see Bleyd’s expression sharpen. ‘Gola?’ he croaked. ‘They … they tell me I almost died.’
Ember glanced back at the white cloak who frowned and withdrew, closing the door behind him. Ember could only hope that he was not going off to summon the legionnaires, but if he was, it was too late for her to worry about it. She leaned closer to Bleyd. ‘I think that white cloak is suspicious of us.’
‘Told them … my name is Bendi. Listen … you have to … to go on alone.’
‘Do they say when you can leave?’ Ember asked.
‘Not for … some time,’ Bleyd said. ‘You must go … without me. When does Revel plan to leave?’
‘I don’t know,’ Ember admitted. ‘She was supposed to come and tell me last night but she didn’t. I have been to the ship just now but it seemed deserted.’
‘Of course it was,’ Bleyd grimaced as he repositioned himself slightly. ‘No crew stays aboard a ship on Vespi. They all go home while they may, to see their families and sweethearts. There would be a single person on watch. Prob … probably snoring in a bunk below.’ He was beginning to sound dazed and when his eyes closed for a moment, Ember thought he had fallen unconscious. But his eyes opened again. ‘They … they told me you fainted while I was being treated. Your … your illness grows worse?’
‘It was just tiredness …’ Ember hesitated, then on impulse said softly. ‘Bleyd, when I was bringing you in here, there was a man … a halfman called Soonkar. He works for the seerat whom Revel enlisted to help get us ashore without being seen …’ She stopped, suddenly realising that she could not say that Soonkar knew she was a stranger because Bleyd did not know it. ‘He … he knows who I am,’ she finished lamely.
There was no response from Bleyd and Ember lifted her head to find that he had fallen asleep. She sat back on her heels with a sigh, wondering why she had tried to tell the Fomhikan anything. He was in no position to be able to do anything to help, after all.
‘Do not fear the halfman,’ said a chilly, elegant voice.
14
For grief is one of the six madnesses by which the Chaos spirit
controls those of the Lastborn who permit it to enter.
The others are the madness of love, the madness of hate,
the madness of greed, the madness of envy, the madness of fear.
LEGENDSONG OF THE UNYKORN
A tall, very slender woman stood in the doorway to the small recovery chamber. She was clad in a dove-grey dress and over-tunic and her hair hung past her waist, unadorned and almost the same shade as her clothes. But her most striking feature was her eyes, for the pupils were overlaid by the glimmering silvery shadow that was a byproduct of the Darkfall process.
‘You are Faylian who serves Fulig!’ Ember guessed, for there was only one soulweaver upon Vespi as far as she knew.
‘I serve Darkfall, not Fulig,’ the woman corrected her brusquely. ‘I was sent here to counsel Chieftain Fulig. And to serve Darkfall’s purposes. Which means that I am bound to aid you.’ This last word was said with unmistakable emphasis.
Ember did not know how to respond. The woman was one of Alene’s own order but the soulweaver had not suggested that Ember seek her out. Maybe that was only because Alene had not anticipated her disembarking on Vespi, but what if there was another reason? Ember realised that she did not like the tall, cold-looking soulweaver.
She wondered, too, how the woman had known to find her at the white-cloak centre.
As if reading her thoughts, Faylian said, ‘Two nights past I wove of Bleyd of Fomhika crossing the waters to Vespi. Though he was evidently gravely ill and battered, I recognised him, and I saw also that a veiled woman was tending his wounds. You. It was not hard to guess who you were, given that all Keltor seethes with rumours about the ailing visionweaver who saved Tarsin’s life, then disappeared so mysteriously at the same time as Bleyd. I suppose Alene arranged to send you both from Ramidan.’
‘How did you know we were here at the white-cloak centre?’ Ember persisted. ‘Did you weave to find us?’
‘No soulweaver dares weave a purpose with the Void as it is now. My vision of you was unsolicited and came upon me in sleep. But it was not hard to guess where a desperately ill man would be taken.’ Her thin lips curled into a brief, rather sneering smile. ‘The senior white cloak who treated Bleyd believes that you are lovers escaping – or not entirely escaping – the wrath of your husband or father and brothers, hence Bleyd’s condition. White cloaks are a prudish lot. Fortunately for you both, although Zeban is a gifted healer, he pays no attention to politics and so has not linked the pair of you to the missing couple from Ramidan.’
‘What did you mean by saying I need not worry about the halfman, Soonkar?’
Again the flickering smile. ‘He is known to me, and if he guessed that you are the missing visionweaver, he will not betray you, nor will he gossip. Now, let us speak of more pressing matters. How soon before you leave Vespi?’
Ember was disliking the brusque woman more every moment, but oddly this made her less mistrustful. Someone wanting to deceive her would surely have been nicer. ‘I don’t know. Bleyd needed a white cloak and now I must find out how long the white cloaks will keep him here …’ They both glanced at the sleeping Fomhikan.
‘I presume Alene laid a friendbinding upon the shipmaster?’ Faylian asked crisply. Ember nodded and opened her mouth to explain about Revel’s failure to appear the previous night, but Faylian was moving in an unerring glide to Bleyd’s bedside. ‘That was wise, however a ship will not be able to delay indefinitely without causing dangerous speculation, and not all healers here are as innocent of politics as Zeban. If you are not to be exposed, both of you need to leave Vespi as soon as possible.’
‘But Bleyd is too ill to be moved …’
‘In his present state he would certainly perish if moved,’ the soulweaver said, again interrupting her. ‘Technically, that would leave you without the protection of a friendbinding.’
Ember realised that Faylian assumed the friendbinding to be focused on Bleyd, and rather coldly imagined that to be her own main concern. This meant that the woman definitely did not know Ember was a stranger, although the soulweavers upon Darkfall almost certainly knew it. Either they had decided to confine those who knew about her to those who dwelt upon Darkfall, or they had decided not to tell Faylian in particular.
‘What do you suggest?’ Ember asked warily.
‘I told you. The pair of you must leave Vespi. If this man’s true identity is discovered while he is here, it will be disastrous. For him, of course, but more importantly, for Fulig, who would be forced to choose between obedience to Tarsin and loyalty to Darkfall. Indeed, I can hardly believe that Alene sent the Fomhikan here at all, knowing what his discovery could bring down on us.’
Ember was startled at the acid in the woman’s voice whenever she referred to Alene, and realised that this, as much as her manner, had made her unappealing. ‘He wasn’t supposed to come here …’ she began.
‘Somehow things never come out as they are meant to with Alene,’ Faylian cut in again with a small icy smile. ‘Well, it is no matter now what she intended. I see no alternative but to hasten the Fomhikan’s natural healing processes so that he will be fit to leave immediately.’ She sighed as if contemplating some heavy task. ‘This will take some time. I presume you have accommodation?’ Ember nodded. ‘Good. Go there and remain in your room until the morrow. Do nothing that will call attention to you.’
Ember seldom knew anger, but she felt it slither up her spine at the soulweaver’s haughty commands, and decided she would not expose herself to more of Faylian’s acid judgements by revealing her promise to perform as a songmaker.
‘Send word to your shipmaster to let him know that your companion will be fit to travel on the late tide tomorrow,’ Faylian said. ‘He will still be in some discomfort, but at least he will be free.’
‘Will he be able to walk?’
‘From here to a carriage, with help,’ the soulweaver said. ‘I presume you brought him here from the ship by this means?’
‘Yes. But what if Fulig asks you to weave of our whereabouts before tomorrow?’
‘I doubt he will bother. They are still searching for you both upon Ramidan. Indeed, so certain are they that you have not left the Holder’s isle, that Tarsin has had the Edict bell rung in order to trap you both there. The citadel is even now being searched, house by house, after a sighting of the Fomhikan there …’
‘But that’s impossible …’
‘Of course. His appearance must be some ruse of Alene’s to keep the attention of Tarsin and the legionnaires from moving elsewhere. So, as I said, Fulig will not ask me to vision for the Fomhikan. Indeed his own attention is on other matters …’
‘Kerd and Unys?’ Ember was pleased to see the soulweaver look taken aback. ‘Kerd visited Alene when I was with her upon Ramidan. He announced the betrothal in privacy to her the same day that Bleyd was arrested.’
‘A pity Alene did not display some of her famous wisdom and advise him against the match,’ Faylian snapped.
‘I think she tried …’
‘Tried! A soulweaver to the Holder should be capable of more than trying. Kerd is biddable enough. Why did she not point out that such a match would enrage his father?’
‘He is in love,’ Ember said, and expected the soulweaver to make some sarcastic comment, but instead she seemed to lose her rigid self-righteousness for a moment.
‘How seldom love considers consequences,’ she sighed. ‘Fulig desires to forbid the match, of course. He is confident that Kerd will obey him, but if the boy is in love, he might not. Fulig would have no course left to him then but to go to Ramidan and formally lay before Tarsin a document of opposition to the match. Did you have the impression that the girl loves Kerd? It might not be so bad if it is a genuine love match, despite who she is …’
‘Feyt and Tareed said often that she didn’t. As far as I could tell, she never acted as if she even liked him much,’ Ember said.
‘I am not surprised. Kerd is fully capable of deluding himself into believing that a girl loves him as much as he loves her. Ever was he prone to paint the world with his own colours.’ There was less irritation in her words than simple exasperation, an emotion Alene had also seemed to feel for the Vespian, often. ‘The worst of it, of course, is that Kerd advised his father that he means to offer a life-bond match. Given what you have said, it may be better to convince Fulig not to forbid the match, but to moderate his choler and ask Kerd to change his offer to a year-end contract. If Unys has no love for the boy, the relationship could be decently ended in a year.’ Faylian pondered a moment, as if to order her thoughts.
‘I don’t understand why Fulig hates Coralyn so much,’ Ember murmured. ‘In a way, it’s because of her that he became chieftain.’
‘True. But all who gain power do not desire it. Certainly Fulig did not. He had no choice but to accept the chieftain’s seat when Ranouf was exiled. He blames Coralyn for the corruption of his brother, and for the change in his own circumstances that this wrought. If Coralyn had not seduced Ranouf to forward her ambitions, Fulig would be free to command a ship, and his brother would rule Vespi. It is all made worse because Fulig knows that he must ever be compared to Ranouf and found wanting, though he gave up his own heart’s desire to fulfil his duty while Ranouf abandoned duty for desire.’ The sightless eyes rested on Ember’s face. ‘It was said in gossip from Ramidan that you are dying. Is it true?’
A little chill blew along Ember’s spine at the indifference in the woman’s voice, yet hadn’t dark Ember been as cold? ‘It is true,’ she said and was surprised how calm she sounded. ‘But Alene drained the poisons from me before I left Ramidan to allow me a journey free from pain, and if I can reach the misty isle in time, Signe will heal me.’
‘Alene foresaw that?’ For the first time, Faylian peered at her in a way that made her blindness obvious.
‘I suppose she must have.’
Ember thought of Glynn. ‘Is there any way I can safely contact Alene from here?’
‘Of course not,’ Faylian snapped, the earlier arrogance she had displayed returned to her features and stiffened them. ‘I have only a small amount of power left in my callstone. Enough for one last message. Is your need to commune with Alene so great that I should allow you to use it up?’
‘No,’ Ember said slowly. ‘I suppose I will learn anything I want to know once I get to Darkfall.’
‘Alyda once wrote that the road to all answers begins on the misty isle, although those who travel to ask their questions at the Darkfall landing believe it ends ther
e.’ Bleyd moaned and the soulweaver turned to him. ‘Go now and let me work. Return for him tomorrow.’
Ember had no time to reflect upon the encounter, for Sharra was waiting outside the white-cloak centre, chewing on one of the red-tinged leaves of the creeper that covered the wall. ‘I felt that you would not order a carriage and I feared for your safety if you would walk alone to the nightshelter,’ she said apologetically. Sharra’s shy sweetness was like a balm after the abrasive Faylian, and Ember sighed and said, smiling, that they had better make their way back to the nightshelter.
As they walked through the lengthening shadows, Ember reflected that she had made the mistake of thinking that all soulweavers would be alike and aware of what one another knew, either because of shared information or because of their soulweaving powers. But that was clearly not the case. It appeared that there were conflicts among the soulweavers, and clearly Faylian disliked Alene. Absurdly, Ember felt disappointed.
‘The treatment was unpleasant?’ Sharra asked. Before Ember could formulate a response, dark Ember stirred and rose like a shark to the surface of her mind, drawn by Sharra’s mention of treatments.
‘No treatment given by healers can be called truly pleasant,’ she said, and Sharra recoiled.
‘What is it? Ember asked, resuming control of herself and forcing lightness into her tone. Dark Ember laughed mockingly inside her, then withdrew into the depths of her mind again.
‘I don’t know,’ Sharra confessed. ‘For a moment you seemed … you sounded like someone else.’
Faces may be their own masks, Ember thought as they entered the nightshelter, and crossed her fingers that there would be a message waiting for her, or even Revel. It was her last thin hope. But there was no shipmistess and no message. Ember realised then that she had no alternative but to honour her promise to perform.
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