The Curse on the Chosen (The Song of the Tears Book 2) (62 page)

He darted into the oval hall and ran down to another hall,
then glanced left and right. To the right he saw steps. ‘Ah! This way.’

He hurried to the Thousand Steps and began to climb. ‘Should
be called the Tower of a Million Steps,’ he muttered, feeling his age before
he’d gone two flights.

Below, he could hear the racket made by the Whelms’ wooden
sandals, hundreds of pairs of them, coming up in dreadful haste. Flydd felt
sure they would catch the stragglers before the top, but didn’t dare put on an
extra burst of speed. That would leave nothing for the end, and the end was not
far away.

He was labouring now, gasping with every step, and many of
the prisoners had passed him already. Colm went by, his long legs moving
tirelessly. He did not glance at Flydd as he passed, and Flydd knew that
nothing had been forgiven.

On he struggled, ever upwards. Only Flangers was below him
now, with Chissmoul supporting him, but they weren’t going to make it. The
Whelm were only two flights below, and as Flydd turned, a brutally scarred male
aimed a short spear at Flangers’s back.

Flydd wrenched off a piece of fire-riven ice and hurled it
down at the Whelm. It burst in his face and he fell backwards, crashing into
the two Whelm below him and carrying them down as well. Zofloc, directly below
them, ducked aside and allowed them to fall. He held something glassy in his
left hand, swirling with luminosity – the flask containing the distilled
fire.

A chill crept down Flydd’s back. If those few wisps of
chthonic flame he’d brought here could do all this damage, what ruin might a
whole flask of concentrated chthonic flame wreak?

They staggered up the last few flights together. The
prisoners, under Yggur’s direction, were building a wall of ice blocks across
the top of the stair into the Numinator’s eyrie.

Flydd was so weary he had to crawl over the wall. There was
no sign of Yalkara. ‘Where’s the portal to the Nightland?’

‘Yalkara must have hidden it after she went through. Get us
out of here, Flydd. Anywhere.’

Flydd slumped beside the fire bowl. ‘At the moment I
couldn’t make a portal from one pocket to the other.’

‘Then we’ll have to fight on until you’re better; or until
it doesn’t matter any more.’

‘Or the Numinator comes back through her portal to finish us
off.’

 
FORTY-FIVE

Maelys slid blindly across the black floor of the
Nightland and came to a stop against a fluted column whose upper end soared
beyond sight. She was stinging all over from the chthonic flame, even inside
her furs and boots, and her eyes were watering so badly that she could barely
see. She wiped them on the inside of her coat, noted the tiny white flickers
die there, and looked around.

The Nightland was the same impenetrable gloom as before,
however she had the impression that her arrival had made a loud cracking noise,
which surely the Numinator must have heard, so where was she? Maelys crawled
around the buttress and made out a glimmer in the distance. Could that be her?

The light seemed to be growing and spreading, and Maelys
felt a spasm of panic, for her column was too obvious a hiding place. Which way
to go? Away from the approaching light was too predictable so she turned right.

Maelys’s innards were knotted again, but at least the effect
of the flame had faded to a peculiarly sensual tingling all over; it felt as
though all her senses had been heightened. The floor had such a creamy
silkiness that every movement was like having the soles of her feet stroked.
Her ears were hot inside and she could hear sounds she’d never heard before: a
faint breathy sigh, as though the Nightland was breathing, and a distant
thumping like a slowly beating heart.

No – that was the Numinator’s metronomically regular
footsteps and she was heading this way. Maelys could see her clearly now, for
she was shimmering all over with chthonic fire, and she held the ice stiletto
in her right hand. Its poison-yellow churning core looked deadly.

You fool, Maelys told herself. You should not have followed
her. The Numinator was fanatical about her privacy and would not tolerate any
intrusion on it. But if Maelys had not come here, she would never see Emberr
again; if she had not come, Emberr would have been killed.

Where to hide? Maelys noticed that her hands were still
covered with a faint tracery of chthonic fire – not nearly as bright as
the fire lapping the Numinator, but enough to give her away in the Nightland.

Pulling her sleeves down, and her hood low over her face,
she crawled away, worrying she might even be leaving a fiery trail. She looked
back. Tiny worms of light glimmered at the base of the column, and the
Numinator could hardly miss them if she looked that way, but Maelys couldn’t
see any on the floor.

She had just set off again, head down, when she felt a slow
surge of air, as from a large door being slammed, and made out a hiss, as of a
sharply indrawn breath. The Numinator was looking around in alarm.

Maelys lay flat on the floor, watching her from the corner
of her eye. Was the Numinator afraid that prisoners were held here, or beasts
from the void? It was an uncomfortable thought, but even if there were, Maelys
had to get to Emberr and warn him. She’d broken her word and betrayed his
trust, and she had to make up for it.

The Numinator shook her head and continued, following a
series of zigzagging curves sweeping out to left and right. If she kept to that
pattern, the next time she headed right she would see Maelys.

As soon as she turned away on the other arm of the zigzag,
Maelys changed course and scuttled into the deepest darkness she could find.
Since she had no idea where she was, it made no difference which way she went.

The Numinator turned sharply and headed directly for her,
the poisoned stiletto jerking up and stabbing down with every stride. She must
have seen her. Maelys was unarmed, for she had lost her club on the Thousand
Steps; she dared not let the Numinator get close. She sprang to her feet,
slipping on the smooth surface, and ran for her life.

‘Stop, Maelys Nifferlin,’ cried the Numinator, ‘or it will
go worse for you.’

The stiletto was upraised, ready to throw. Maelys swerved
from side to side, to make herself a more difficult target, then raced on,
expecting to feel the blade sear into her flesh. It did not, and after a minute
she glanced back. The Numinator was jogging after her, but she was not a young
woman and was being left behind. Maelys’s boots were making a racket, though.

She took them off and stuffed her socks into them. Her bare
feet glistened faintly but the Numinator might not see them from a distance.
Veering to her left, Maelys ran silently and randomly until she could no longer
see the faintest glimmer of her enemy. She slowed to a fast walk, fretting.
Would the Numinator continue after her, or go for Emberr?

She would go after him, of course, and the stiletto was not
a defensive weapon. Maelys tried to remember what the Numinator had said after
learning about Emberr. Not much, though it was clear she knew who he was.
Emberr had never been out of the Nightland, though, so why had the Numinator
come after him in such haste? Only two reasons came to mind: to revenge herself
on his mother by killing him, or to eliminate him because he posed some threat
to her.

She stopped, shivering and rubbing her arms; the soles of
her feet were tingling on the cold floor; she felt exquisitely sensitive all
over, and she remembered every detail of his face and figure as clearly as if
he stood before her now.

Emberr was in deadly danger, but how was she to find him?
Previously he had scented her; he had spoken into her mind, then she had
answered and he had heard her voice. Could she open herself to him the same
way?

Emberr
? she said
softly.

There was no answer. Perhaps he was asleep. It could be the
middle of the night here; there was no way of telling. Or she might be too far
away.

Emberr?

What if the Numinator could also pick up her call? Maelys couldn’t
allow herself to think about that. She had to find him first and hope that,
together, they could get him out of here. What had he said – that he
couldn’t leave
unless a woman took his
place
.

Maelys had a wicked thought; so shocking that she immediately
shied away from it. No, she had to consider it, for Emberr would never be safe
while the Numinator was free. Could she trap her here forever and allow Emberr
to go free in her place?

It was a terrible thing to do to anyone but, Maelys reminded
herself, the Numinator was a monster who had ruined thousands of lives through
her failed bloodline project. And she had come here to kill Emberr. It was a
fitting exchange. It would be justice.

Emberr?
She put
all her passion, her loneliness and desperation into the call.

Maelys? Have you
really come back?

The tingling washed across her body again, and Maelys felt
her nipples harden.
I had to see you
again
.

Where are you? I can’t
smell your scent at all. Walk about; wave your arms in the air.

She did so, feeling flushed and faint at the thought of him
finding her by her scent. Her knees were trembling; she wanted to lie down, but
she had to warn him, protect him, free him.

I don’t know where I
am. Emberr, you’re in terrible danger. You’re being hunted by the Numinator,
and she’s a powerful mancer.

Is she the woman who
has come to free me and take my place?

I think she’s your
mother’s enemy. She carries a poisoned stiletto and I’m scared she wants to
kill you.

The Numinator?
he
said thoughtfully, not sounding concerned at all.
Does that mean ‘The Numinous One’?

‘I don’t know what numinous means,’ Maelys said aloud,
frustrated that he was ignoring the danger. Yet after spending his entire life
in the Nightland, all alone, how could he understand the evils of the real
world? How could he understand the malice, bitterness and rage that drove some
people until they became inhuman monsters, incapable of feeling for their
fellow men and women?

It’s to do with a
divine power or spirit …

‘Not another one!’ Maelys exclaimed, thinking about the
God-Emperor.

Does she act like a
divinity?

‘No. She dwells in the frozen south and talks to no one save
her faithful Whelm.’

Perhaps the title is
meant to inspire fear and keep people at a distance. Ah, I’m picking up your
scent.
He sighed dreamily.
Maelys,
Maelys. I know where you are. Would you turn to your right?

She did so.

A little further.

She complied, and Emberr said,
Come to me, my love. Quiet now
, and he was gone.

My love! He called me his love. Maelys’s eyes flooded; she
swayed on her feet, quite overcome.

Again she felt that rush of air and was reminded that the
Nightland could have a myriad of unknown dangers. She wiped her eyes and told
herself to stop being a stupid romantic girl. To save Emberr, she had to keep
all her wits about her; she had to be as tough as the Numinator herself. But
not as hard. Never as hard.

She went forwards as she had done last time, walking blindly
into the darkest recesses of the Nightland but this time trusting Emberr
completely. She knew instinctively that he would never deceive or trick her.
Knew with absolute surety that he was
the
one
.

That shocked her, and Maelys had to stop for a moment to rub
her hands on the cold floor and press them to her inflamed face. Her girlish
passion for Nish, and her brief affection for Colm, she now knew to be mere
infatuations born out of the romantic daydreams she’d indulged herself with
through all the terrible years after Nifferlin Manor had been torn down and her
clan lost. With Nish and Colm, though, she’d always had doubts; now she had
none. This was the real thing – Emberr would be the love of her life.

Her face was still burning. Cooling her hands again, she
rubbed them over her cheeks and throat, trying to regain some semblance of
self-control. She felt as though she was boiling inside, and her tingling skin
had become so sensitive that every movement was exquisite torment.

On Maelys went, step by slow step, in such a fever that she
had no idea how far she had gone, or how long she had been walking. It must
have been hours, though, for her empty stomach was grumbling and she felt faint
from hunger before she finally saw the yellow lights of Emberr’s cottage
windows in the distance, then the door opening and the silhouette of a tall man
blocking out the light shining from within.

Her self-control vanished and, letting out a glad cry of
‘Emberr!’, she ran to him, able to think of nothing but flinging herself into
his arms. She did not think for an instant that he might have tricked her or
laid some enchantment on her, to trap her here so he could go free. She trusted
him utterly.

He was at the gate when she reached it, and he was dressed,
as before, in just a knee-length kilt.

He swung open the gate of weathered grey wood. ‘Maelys, my
love, I have never stopped thinking about you. Every moment you were gone I
prayed that you would come back, though I never expected you would manage it
where my own mother, with all her mighty Arts, could not.’

She looked up at him and hesitated, suddenly feeling shy.
She had no idea what to say or do. ‘I – I –’

‘I don’t know the words either,’ Emberr said, smiling down
at her, ‘but sometimes, words aren’t needed.’ He frowned at a private thought,
quivered as if going through some internal struggle, then dismissed it and
opened his arms.