The Curse on the Chosen (The Song of the Tears Book 2) (68 page)

‘Really?’ said Flydd. ‘How come the scrutators didn’t know
that?’

‘I kept it from you,’ said the Numinator. ‘I already knew
their bloodlines.’

‘Illiel was a quiet, scholarly man, devoted to his mancery,
though he never employed it on any useful task,’ said the Numinator. ‘He
refused me, and with all the Faellem arrayed behind him I dared not try to take
him back. He had only one child, a daughter, Liel, but he hid her from me and
by the time I tracked her down it was too late.’

‘You mean she was too old to bear children,’ said Yggur, ‘even
if you could have found a suitable triune mate.’

‘How come you were still fertile after thousands of years,’
Maelys said to Yalkara, ‘yet the Numinator’s granddaughter was not, after,
what, fifty years? It doesn’t make sense.’

‘We Charon are not as other species,’ Yalkara said
imperiously. ‘We might only be fertile once in five hundred years, and then
only with the right mate. But once we know it,’ she said with a chilly glance
at the Numinator, ‘no force in the universe can keep us apart.’

‘But you did not give up,’ Yggur continued to the Numinator
as though the exchange had not taken place.

‘I never give up,’ said the Numinator. ‘I was continuing the
breeding project that Rulke began long ago, in a last attempt to save something
of his kind. I owed it to him to complete it.’

‘There was one other way to create a quartine,’ said Yggur,
evidently thinking aloud. ‘Though it would be agonisingly difficult. The
Charon, Faellem and Aachim rarely interbred with old humans, but it had
happened from time to time and those blendings had many descendants. Few would
be suitable, yet if you could assemble a bloodline registry covering everyone
on Santhenar, you might, with immense labour, identify which blendings to breed
together, and rebreed their triune offspring. It could take hundreds of years
to produce the perfect quartines you needed, but you had infinite patience as
well as long life.’

‘Do you mean that the sole purpose of the scrutators,’ cried
Maelys, ‘was to compile the bloodline registers for the Numinator? But …
thousands of people must have suffered and died at their hands.’

‘Tens of thousands,’ said Flydd harshly, clearly mortified
at how he had been used, ‘and hundreds of thousands more died in the
senselessly prolonged war. And I played a part in it. I thought I was doing the
right thing, aiding the war, yet all my life I’ve been a pawn in a greater game
–’

‘It was no game. It was the noblest purpose of all,’ said
the Numinator, ‘though none of you would have the vision to understand it.’

‘There’s not a drop of nobility in you, Numinator,’ cried
Maelys. ‘You’re evil; sick!’

Yellow light shot from the Numinator’s hand and would have
burned her eyes out had not Yggur deflected it with his right bracelet. It
fizzed; his wrist sizzled; smoke rose from it and he thrust it into the
shin-deep ice slurry on the floor, grimly enduring the pain. ‘Maelys, be
quiet!’

‘So that’s what all the monstrosities in jars are, down
below,’ said Colm, shaking his head. ‘And the inhuman creatures in the ice
coffins –
failed breedings
.’

‘And the breeding factories were yours as well,’ Flydd said,
sparks flying from his eyes. ‘They were set up so enough children would be born
to replace everyone killed in the war, but that never rang true to me. The
women in the breeding factories never mated with the same man twice, and that
was your doing too.’ His voice rose; he was shaking. ‘Everything the scrutators
did was a lie!’

‘The flaws in your character are gaping, Flydd,’ said Colm.
‘You scrutators ruthlessly used everyone else, yet you can’t bear to discover
that you were duped.’

‘It was the most far-reaching scheme of all time,’ said the
Numinator matter-of-factly. ‘The bloodline registers had revealed a host of
blendings; the breeding factories were my way of screening out those few worthy
candidates from thousands of useless ones. They were fodder for the war, while
those who showed promise were sent to me.’

‘Where you callously bred them to produce the monstrosities
down below,’ said Flydd. ‘So what went wrong, Numinator? You’d thought of
everything; you’d perfected your plan over a hundred and fifty years. Why did
it fail?’

‘I was so close,’ said the Numinator, tight-mouthed. She
wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth on the balls of her
feet. ‘Twenty-five years ago I finally saw born two perfect triune children,
and all I had to do was wait until they grew old enough –’

‘Then mate them like cattle in the barn!’ Maelys burst out.

‘I would not have treated
them
so crudely,’ said the Numinator. ‘They were worthy; they were
precious and I did not want to damage them in any way. I planned to bring them
together at the critical time, and then their offspring – their perfect,
quartine children – would be mine. I came so close. Ten years ago the girl
was within weeks of bringing forth her first child when … when …’ Her face
crumpled and she covered it with her hands.

‘When the war with the lyrinx ended,’ said Yggur, ‘and
brilliant, foolish Tiaan, who had never come to terms with her own childhood in
a breeding factory, destroyed every node on Santhenar. A bitter irony indeed.’

‘A savage blizzard swept across Noom that night, and it
raged for weeks,’ whispered the Numinator, shivering as though it was blowing
through her eyrie now. ‘I could not use my Art; I was lucky to survive. Had it
not been for my loyal Whelm I would have frozen to death.’

‘They were my loyal Whelm, once,’ said Yggur, staring over
the barricade at the silent gathering on the stairs. ‘Though their oaths proved
hollow when a better master came along.’

‘They were Rulke’s first of all,’ said the Numinator, ‘and
once he escaped the Nightland their oath to him took precedence. Besides, they
could have no better master than I, and they knew it.’ She paused, then
continued, her eyes wide in the horror of her memories. ‘After the blizzard
passed, I discovered that the hundreds of useful blendings I had so
painstakingly gathered from the corners of the globe, the handful of worthy
triunes, and my perfect pair with their unborn quartine, had frozen to death. I
had lost everything.’

‘Yet you did not give up,’ said Yggur. Was that a trace of
admiration in his voice? Surely he wasn’t falling under her spell? ‘You never
despaired.’

‘I despaired many times,’ said the Numinator, ‘but how could
I give up? I began from scratch, though it was far harder this time, with no
scrutators to do my work for me, and little power –’

‘Until you enticed me here,’ said Yggur, ‘knowing that my
mancery came from an older Art, independent of the nodes and not destroyed when
they were lost. Your Whelm bound me with these bracelets, to tap my power for
yourself.’ He held up his wrists. The bracelets were somewhat corroded now, but
still looked strong.

‘I would have done anything,’ said the Numinator. ‘My
memorial had to be completed, whatever the cost.’

‘It never will be,’ said Flydd. ‘This ends here, now.’

He sprang towards her, and Yggur did too, but she wove
between them, tapping Yggur’s left bracelet as she passed, and a dazzling flash
lit up the tower top. He fell to his knees, shaking his wrist; Maelys smelt
burnt skin and charred flesh.

When she could see clearly again, the Numinator had
scrambled over the ice barricade and the Whelm were closing around her,
concealing her from view. Jag-swords up, they went backwards en masse, around
the turn of the stairs.

‘She took an awful lot of power that time,’ said Yggur
through bared teeth. His left arm had developed an uncontrollable tremor and he
had to cling to the side of the empty fire bowl. ‘She’ll be back. Flydd, make
the bloody portal and get us out of here!’

‘I’m still suffering from the last one. Besides, we have one
more matter to deal with.’ Flydd’s eyes met Yalkara’s.

‘My son is dead,’ she said, ‘but if a child comes of his
union with Maelys, I will have it.’

‘You won’t!’ cried Maelys despairingly.

‘The Numinator’s determination pales before mine,’ said
Yalkara. ‘My power is almost spent but, when I return, I will have the child.
Until then, Maelys is under my protection.’

She made a sign over Maelys’s head and her aura sprang out,
deep blue with a carmine border. The taphloid’s innards spun; the aura faded.

‘Your protection won’t matter to Jal-Nish,’ Maelys burst
out.

‘What’s he got to do with it?’ Yalkara said.

‘I – I told him I was pregnant with Nish’s child; it was
the only way to save my family, for Jal-Nish wants a grandchild more than
anything.’

‘Yet you were a virgin when you lay with my son,’ said
Yalkara. ‘Explain.’

Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut? Maelys would have given
anything to avoid repeating her mortifying lie, but there was no way out of it.
‘I nursed Nish when he was injured. Back at Mistmurk Mountain, I told Jal-Nish
that I had gathered Nish’s spilled seed and placed it within me, so as to get
with his child, but that wasn’t true.’

‘You lied to the God-Emperor?’ said Yalkara. ‘Are you very
bold, or incredibly stupid? The latter, I think; assuming you’re telling the
truth now.’

‘I am,’ Maelys said desperately, staring at the hard faces
around her, and none harder than her former friends, Colm and Flydd. ‘You’ve
got to believe me this time …’

‘How can I believe anything you say,
even the story you fed me about Emberr
? I think that, knowing his
secret vulnerability, you carried chthonic fire back to the Nightland to kill
him.’

‘I loved him!’ Maelys wailed, feeling every pillar of her
life crumbling around her.

‘Another lie?’ said Yalkara, granite-faced.

‘Everyone tells lies sometimes,’ said Maelys. ‘I –’

‘But they don’t boast about it to their enemies. You’re a
fool, Maelys Nifferlin, and that’s unforgivable in the mother of
my
grandchild.’

‘I didn’t boast,’ wept Maelys. ‘I was just trying to
explain.’

Yalkara cut her off. ‘The Numinator is coming back, armed
with a mighty power. Flydd, we need the portal
now
.’

Flydd put his hand into the pocket of his coat and began
fiddling with something there. ‘I’ll try, though I don’t know where to go.
Portals can only open in a few special locations, but I can’t think of any that
would be safe from Jal-Nish.’

‘I know a couple of lands we might try,’ said Yggur, ‘though
they’re at the furthest corners of his empire.’

‘I’ll jump to any corner of the empire, as long as it’s
warm. The very marrow of my bones has frozen.’

‘I’ll conjure up an image –’ began Yggur. ‘Maelys, what
is it?’

HELP! HELP! HELP!
HELP! HELP!
She fell to her knees in the slush, holding her head, as the
painful cry went on and on. It was vaguely familiar now. Pictures began to form
in her mind.

‘Feet, squelching through knee-deep mud,’ she wheezed.
‘Forest covered in vines and ferns; beautiful birds with tails like
rainbow-coloured umbrellas. Hot! Sweating.’

‘Hot sounds good,’ said Flydd.

‘A tall mountain shaped like a white, curved thorn or horn,’
said Maelys.

‘I know it!’ cried Yggur. ‘Far to the tropical north,
Lauralin ends in a stubby peninsula called Gendrigore. No boat can land on its
wild shores; the only way in is via a jungle track over a high pass guarded by
a horn-shaped peak of white rock. We could hide in Gendrigore forever.’

HELP! HELP! HELP!

Could it be who she thought it was? It didn’t seem right,
for she never panicked, never seemed out of control. ‘I think it’s Tulitine,’
whispered Maelys. ‘Calling for help.’

‘Who is Tulitine?’ said Yalkara.

Maelys explained.

‘You mentioned her when we first met,’ said Flydd
thoughtfully. ‘If the Defiance have gone to Gendrigore, Nish might be there
too. Can you locate this place, Yggur?’

‘I believe I can pull the image from her mind and give it to
you.’ He took Maelys’s wrist.

‘Hold the taphloid to your forehead, Maelys,’ said Yalkara. ‘Hurry!
I don’t know where the Numinator has found such power, but it’s growing fast.
Soon she’ll be stronger than all of us.’

Maelys didn’t like the way Yalkara said
us
. She could never be one of us.

‘The Whelm are coming!’ rapped Flangers, on watch at the
barricade. ‘And the Numinator is carrying Zofloc’s fire flask – it’s as
bright as the moon.’

Maelys pressed the taphloid against her head and
concentrated on the white-thorn peak.

‘Got it,’ grunted Flydd, scooping up chthonic fire from the
pit in the floor. The other hand was still in his pocket.

‘Gather around,’ Yggur said quietly to the prisoners. ‘Get
ready to jump the second it opens.’

With a roar, at least twenty Whelm stormed the barricade,
boosting each other up and over, then the Numinator came soaring high above it,
holding the flask of distilled white fire in her right hand. Maelys could feel
the peril radiating from it. If only Flydd had left it alone. But if he had,
she would never have met Emberr.

And Emberr would still be alive. If only she hadn’t gone
back to him.

The Numinator landed a few spans away, sliding in a curve
like an ice skater. ‘Hold! Be still!’ she rapped, shaking the flask, whose
brilliance swelled until it was dazzling. ‘I have enough distilled flame to
raze the entire Island of Noom. Maelys, come with me.’

‘Don’t move,’ said Yalkara, shielding her eyes. ‘Flydd, make
the portal.’

Flydd whipped his fist from his pocket, held it high, then
brought it together with the hand holding the chthonic flame. This time a
whirling, cocoon-like portal exploded into being, pointing north.

‘Get in!’ he cried, and the prisoners ran for its puckered
entrance. A shrill wind whistled down its wormhole, briefly interrupted as each
person sprang in and was fired away like peas down a pea shooter.