Above the Snowline (51 page)
The drifting moon intercepts my line of sight. Dellin’s face in the moon, pinched cheeks and narrow nose. That thin face, as I had seen her crazed with defiance, but now laughter crinkles the skin around her cat eyes. If only the clouds would cover it, if it were not always poised in endless view.
It gradually slips away to crouch behind the architrave. She casts a shadow over my life. She mocks me. She was under my hand, she screamed for mercy, and now she is free to raise fires again. I no longer want to live with it. I no longer need to live.
I realised I was gazing at nothing and turned away abruptly. As I moved, the window reflected the side of my face without the scar and I glimpsed my brother. I picked up my scarf - now every action seemed weighty and significant - wound it on calmly and opened the door. I descended the steps with my boot soles patting every one - there are thirty and I know the shape of each by heart. I alighted onto the landing, opened the door beside the treasury and went out onto the wall walk.
SNIPE
My lord just walked past. Knowing his moods, I hadn’t expected him to leave his room so soon. He didn’t look in to check on me and he had such a serene expression I was pretty surprised. I got up, ran over the burnt banknotes and peered out of the doorway.
He was standing with his back to me, unlocking the arched door that leads to the parapet walk. He opened it and a draught of icy air blew in. He walked out onto the parapet, leaving the door open and the key in the lock, with all the other keys of the keep dangling from the ring. Why was he going out there this time of night, bareheaded and with no gloves? Oh god, I thought. He must be following his plan to lock Lightning up. But since Lightning’s in my house, he must mean to keep him there. He could still arrest Jant. Then he’ll try to gather his men and start for Rachiswater. But they’ve been working all day! They’ll be knackered before he begins! He must be bloody crazy.
The thought of Lightning being locked in
my
house made me quake. I didn’t think anyone could trick him. Only a madman would try, especially since he’s got his bow at hand. This was too much. I couldn’t go along with Raven but how could I stop him? He was a man possessed.
my
house made me quake. I didn’t think anyone could trick him. Only a madman would try, especially since he’s got his bow at hand. This was too much. I couldn’t go along with Raven but how could I stop him? He was a man possessed.
I looked down at the silver ingots I’d been salvaging from a burnt casket and thought
fuck this
. I closed the treasury grille quietly and followed him.
fuck this
. I closed the treasury grille quietly and followed him.
RAVEN
The night air is pleasantly cool and caresses the warm cocoon I have made around myself. Wrapped in my coat I am comfortable up here for perhaps the first time. My boots crunch the gritted walkway and at its edges the ice crust encroaches on the rock salt like a hem of lace. Individual salt nuggets have worn holes deep into it.
At either side the untouched, frost-sealed snow glitters. More stars cover the path than there are in the sky - they twinkle at every step, a sheen of tiny diamonds as if someone has crushed the jewels of my chandelier and strewn the dust in my path. It is apt and fitting that my last walk is on a carpet of stars.
The rough parapet wall to my right is encased in verglas and ice rime. Over its surface fragile crystals like glass straws had formed, raised fluting all running parallel in the direction of the prevailing wind. On top of the wall, between the blocks, the sun’s light during the day has melted small puddles, which at dusk have frozen in stages so now the very thin panes of ice covering each hollow have white rings like tree rings.
My mind is untroubled and unsullied by worldly worries. I see everything with more-than-usual intensity, a clear percipience. As if I am observing the world for the first time, every object seems vibrant and peacefully itself. Would that I could have lived my whole life with such an uncluttered mind.
Beyond the wall there is nothing but blackness, a sense of the mountains’ lonely space and empty air, but I can see nothing apart from the abnormally bright constellations above.
SNIPE
What
was
he doing? He walked with measured tread, hands clasped behind him, but there’s nothing out here. Jant put all the guards to demolition duty, and they’re asleep after a hard day’s work. No one’s set foot up here since the lamplighter. Halfway along, though, a flight of stairs led down to the bailey. He must be going to my house, all right. He must be going the long way round to escape Jant’s notice. But the steps were covered in ice and dicey. I strained my eyes to see if soldiers were converging on the house next to mine. A glow in my cabin window showed the Archer was inside, but I couldn’t see any movement.
was
he doing? He walked with measured tread, hands clasped behind him, but there’s nothing out here. Jant put all the guards to demolition duty, and they’re asleep after a hard day’s work. No one’s set foot up here since the lamplighter. Halfway along, though, a flight of stairs led down to the bailey. He must be going to my house, all right. He must be going the long way round to escape Jant’s notice. But the steps were covered in ice and dicey. I strained my eyes to see if soldiers were converging on the house next to mine. A glow in my cabin window showed the Archer was inside, but I couldn’t see any movement.
Raven always walked with his head lowered, like he was tugging his whole body along by his forehead. He was pondering more deeply than ever, as if he was sleepwalking. I kept him in sight - a darker patch on the dark path. I hugged the wall and dashed across the light cast by one of the lamps, into the shadow between them.
Had he heard my footsteps? I paused, but he paced on. He passed another lamp and his shadow jumped like a clock hand, from lying behind him to angled in front. It glided on, as if keen not to be trodden on.
Perhaps he is sleepwalking and I should wake him. I prepared to run up and rest my hand on his shoulder, but curiosity stopped me. I really did need to know if he was going to barricade Lightning in my house. I followed, with my skin crawling, ’cause I thought any moment he’d swing round and shout, ‘Gotcha!’
RAVEN
This is certainly the perfect night for it. The ice shimmers more strongly around the storm lamps’ flames, as if practically alive. This is what eighteen ninety-one looks like. Quiet and peaceful, barren and void, and damnably the same as eighteen ninety. I have seen too many men overcome with fear when the end draws nigh and I would never be so craven. I am pleased to find myself just as I imagined I would be: composed and without qualms.
Jant’s destruction of Carniss, and my loss, is inevitable in a way. No matter how determined I am, the ignorance of others will always win because it is effortless. Stupidity and laziness are without cost of exertion so they will always outlast and prevail over any effortful work. Similarly, natural decay will always overwhelm our buildings and, at length, our own bodies. A multitude will always overpower an individual. The Castle will always prevail over a mortal . . . and the manor I have spent years building will be overturned in days by the reversion of the ignorant to their usual habits. No matter how much effort I have put in, the mountains are more powerful than I am because they are mindless. I have struggled to the last of my strength but in the end they have won.
SNIPE
Nearly slipped! Careful! I had to stay in the centre of the walkway or I’d crunch the ice, but I leant close to the wall. On the other side, the railing was plastered in icicles, hanging over the drop to the bailey.
Raven would have told the guards to gather in the captain’s house - that’s next to mine - and they would creep to my cabin and turn the key in the lock. The cabin’s sturdy enough, but they’d have to bar the window to stop Lightning getting out. Yeah, but even if Raven succeeded without Lightning shooting him, Jant would take to the air and vanish. How’s he supposed to arrest a man who can fly? He’s going to call down the wrath of the Castle as well as the king!
Raven reached the top of the steps and walked straight past. He didn’t even look down to the bailey but kept going and climbed another couple of stairs where the rock crags up. I followed him along an exposed section, our shadows slipping ahead of us. He’s walking all the way to the end.
I couldn’t understand what he was doing at all. I wondered if I should just shout to him, but then I’d have to explain why the hell I was following.
RAVEN
The promontory is narrowing. I am nearly there, but I walk no slower, nor any more hurriedly. I will take things at my own pace. Ironically, the immortals never have the leisure to feel as sedate as I do now. They are always rushed, fending off Challengers, fighting every crisis. Only a mortal can feel as if he has all the time in the world.
The cliff cuts in here and the wall grafted exactly on top of it sweeps in a long embayment. Below, I can see nothing. The three-hundred-metre drop is invisible; it is like looking down into a lake of ink. Thin, fine clouds drift below me. I have the impression the wall is afloat like a ship and the clouds are reflections in immeasurably deep water. I pass the last of the dimly lit houses in the bailey. Nothing else remains. Capercaillie peak with its serrated forest outline is just a black space blotting out the overcrowded stars. Carniss is all that exists, floating in the void, darkness lapping against it like water against a harbour wall. I shudder. By god, may I leave Carniss to those who deserve it.
It is colder out here, towards the tip of the cliff, and a breeze is blowing. The promontory is coming to its point. I can just make out the bell tower and, very indistinctly, the curtain wall on the other side. Sky and wall merge in the darkness so the storm lanterns on the opposite wall top hang like a line of stars.
I know what I am doing. I have never been more sane. Has any other King of Awia faced it with as much noble calm as I do? I arrive at the point of the promontory and walk past a small turret where sentries may shelter. The cold wind plays on my face and stirs a little melancholy in my soul. What man about to leave the world would not feel melancholy?
But my world is no longer Rachiswater but Carniss: I hate and abjure it. I feel no fear. I look down as I unbutton my coat. I can see nothing below. The drop may be three hundred metres or three thousand. All the same, it will be short. I shall feel the wind rush through my feathers as if I am flying. Thankfully, I will see nothing. It will be a brief rush of air, a shock and then oblivion. I welcome it.
I remove my coat and fold it neatly on the parapet. Then I put my boot toe into a crack, climb up carefully onto the top of the parapet and stand with my wings spread.
SNIPE
Shit - he’s climbing up! He’s going to jump! I shouted and ran towards him. He was looking straight ahead. He raised a foot and—
RAVEN
I step out.
SNIPE
He’s gone! I ran to the parapet and looked over. Nothing below. Nothing but the pitch darkness and a few shreds of mist. He’d fallen out of sight. Three hundred metres, he was probably still falling!
My legs buckled and I sat down, leant against the wall, clutched my fingers into the ice. For fuck’s sake don’t let me fall! Everything was spinning - the walkway could vanish and drop me into space!
He had stepped out and, as his foot met empty air, tilted forward till he was falling horizontally, with his wings spread like hooked canopies. He was looking past this world and his flight feathers were bending, already fluttering, as the air began to race.
My ears strained but I heard no noise. No cry, no . . . collision. God, it was the cliff fall all over again! After a few seconds the freezing water soaking into my backside brought me to my senses and I stood up. I felt my way along the parapet and gathered his coat. It was still warm.
I looked down into the abyss and realised I was shivering violently. No point shouting; he’s dead. He’s dead . . . down there . . . smashed on the rocks . . . and already freezing. Besides, if I shouted, who knows what might answer?
I pressed the coat to my chest and hurried back along the walkway towards the lights of the keep. It seemed that I had crept the opposite way hours earlier, though it had only been minutes. The sensation was so powerful I could almost see myself tiptoeing in the shadows, following my lord, who walked with sure tread some distance in front, and still walked there, just out of the corner of my eye. Something told me that Raven - his back broad, his head bowed - will always be walking along the top of this bloody wall. Every night, when the oil in the lamps is running low, the flames guttering out and ice is forming on the stone, he’ll walk here. By god, the sooner we demolish the keep the better!
But even if we level Carniss, I know I’ll always see him, up at the height of the wall with no parapet to support him, or pacing the ground below, or any-bloody-where - even if I’m walking through the market in the middle of Rachis town - because he’s branded on my mind’s eye.
I shuddered. Pull yourself together, I told myself. The dumb fantasies of nobles and immortals must have rubbed off on me. I’ve been mixing with ’em too long. So I made an effort to think carefully. I’m the only one who knows Raven is dead. Who knows Raven has . . . has committed suicide. If I find the Eszai and tell them straight away, I’ll be more likely to escape any blame. I know Lightning’s in my house, and last time I saw Jant, he was moping at the top of the tower. I took a deep breath. Brace yourself, man, I thought. This time, when I find them I’ll tell them the truth.
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