Return to Deltora

Much later, Lief lay still in the darkness. His eyelids were very heavy, but his mind was fighting sleep. He was afraid — afraid of what he would see. Who was Fallow? What was he? Lief thought he knew. Words he had heard Fallow say to his father echoed in his mind:

… where one dies, there is always another to take his place. The Master likes this face and form. He chose to repeat it in me …

Lief had not known what that meant, when first he heard it. Now he knew only too well.

Fallow was an Ol, and perhaps — almost certainly — one of the Grade 3 Ols Doom had heard of in the Shadowlands. The triumph of the Shadow Lord’s evil art. An Ol so perfect, so controlled, that no one could tell it was not human. An Ol that could mimic nonliving things as well as living creatures. An Ol that was evil and powerful beyond anything Lief could imagine.

Prandine, King Endon’s chief advisor, had been one such being. Of that Lief was sure. Fallow, made in his image, had taken up the Shadow Lord’s work where Prandine had finished.

Lief turned restlessly. Queen Sharn had killed Prandine — tipped him from the palace tower window to crash to his death. Grade 3 Ols paid a price for their perfection, then. They could die as humans could.

He closed his eyes and forced his mind to go blank. It was time to give in to the Dreaming Water. Time to visit the world of Fallow.

White walls, hard and gleaming. A gurgling, bubbling sound. And in the corner a tall, thin figure — Fallow — shuddering in a shower of sickly green light, bony arms flung high. His mouth was gaping open like the jaws of a skull, its corners thick with foam. His eyes had rolled back so only the whites showed, shining, horrible …

Lief choked back his cry of horror, though he knew he could not be heard. His stomach churned, but he could not look away.

Thump! Thump!

Lief jumped violently as the sound, like a great heartbeat, throbbed through the room.

The green light disappeared. Fallow’s long arms dropped to his sides. His head fell forward.

Thump! Thump!

Lief clamped his hands over his ears. But still the sound vibrated through him, filling his mind, making his teeth chatter. It was unbearable. But it seemed to compel him. It seemed to be calling him. Wildly he searched the room, looking for its source.

Then he saw it. A small table in the center of the room. A table that looked like any other, except that its glass surface was thick and curved — and moving like water. Lief felt himself drawn forward. The urge to look into that moving surface, to answer the summons, was irresistible.

But, panting, Fallow was stumbling out of the corner, snatching a cloth from his sleeve. Wiping his face hurriedly he staggered towards the table and leaned over it, staring down at the rippling surface.

The throbbing sound lessened, dimmed. The ripples grew smoky, rimmed with red. And deep in the midst of the grey and red there was a hollow darkness.

Fallow leaned closer. A voice hissed from the darkness. Deathly quiet.

“Fallow.”

“Yes, Master.” Fallow quivered, his mouth still flecked with drying foam.

“Do you abuse my trust?”

“No, Master.”

“You have been given the Lumin for your pleasure in your place of exile. But if you neglect your duties because of it, it will be removed.”

Fallow’s eyes darted to the corner where the green light had showered, then swerved back to the table surface. “I do not neglect my duties, Master,” he whimpered.

“Then what news do you have for me? Has the blacksmith Jarred confessed at last?”

His heart wrung, Lief pressed his hands together in an agony of fear.

“No, Master,” said Fallow. “I think —”

“Is someone with you, slave?” the voice hissed suddenly.

Startled, Fallow whirled around and scanned the room. His dull eyes passed over Lief, standing motionless behind him, without a flicker.

“No, Master,” he whispered. “How could there be? As you ordered, no one enters this room but me.”

“I felt … something.” The darkness in the center of the whirling shadows grew larger, like the pupil of a giant eye widening.

Lief stood still as a stone, trying to keep his mind blank, holding his breath. The Shadow Lord could sense him. That evil mind was probing the room, trying to find him. He could feel its malice.

“There — there is no one here.” How strange to see Fallow cowering, those cruel lips trembling.

“Very well. Continue.”

“I — have begun to think the blacksmith indeed knows nothing,” Fallow stammered. “Starvation and torment have not moved him. Even the threat of death or blindness for his wife did not cause him to speak.”

“And she?”

“If anything, she is stronger than her husband. She rails at her tormentors, but says nothing of use.”

Mother. Lief felt hot tears trickling down his cheeks. He did not dare move to wipe them away. He held himself rigidly, trying to cut off his mind from his heart.

“They have made a fool of you then, Fallow,” whispered the voice from the darkness. “For they are guilty — guilty of everything we suspected. Their son is one of the three. There is no doubt.”

Fallow gaped. “Their son is with the king? But the blacksmith laughed when I suggested it. Laughed! I could have sworn the laughter was real.”

“It was. The man who is travelling with the boy is not Endon, but a palace guard named Barda. No doubt Jarred found your mistake amusing.”

Fallow’s face twisted with rage. “He will pay!” he croaked. “And the woman, too. They will wish they had never been born! I will —”

“You will do nothing!” The hiss was icy. Fallow grew rigidly still.

“Perhaps you have been living too long among human peasants, Fallow, and have started to think as they do. Or perhaps too much use of the Lumin has weakened the brain you were given by my hand.”

“No, Master. No!”

“Then listen to me. You are my creation, whose only purpose is to do my will. Do exactly as I tell you. Keep the blacksmith and the woman safe. I have need of them. While they live, they can be used against the boy. Once they are dead, we have no hold over him.”

“Beings in their shapes —”

“He wears the great topaz. The spirits of his wretched dead will appear to him, the moment they leave the world. Ols in their shapes will not deceive him.”

There was silence. Then Fallow spoke again.

“May I ask where the three are now, Master?”

“We have lost sight of them. For now.”

“But, I thought your —”

“Do not think of what does not concern you, Fallow! Curiosity is for humans, not for such as you. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Master. But I was not asking for myself — only out of concern for your plans. The three may, by some miracle, restore the Belt. And this will — displease you.”

The words were humble. But Lief thought he saw a tiny spark of rebellion in the downcast eyes.

Perhaps the Shadow Lord saw it, too, for the swirling red that edged the grey seemed to flare, and a crafty note entered the hissing voice.

“I have many plans, Fallow. If one does not succeed, another will. If you follow my orders exactly, sooner or later you will be free to have what sport you wish with the boy’s mother and father. And with Endon himself, if he at last lifts his cowering head and crawls out of hiding.”

A chill ran down Lief’s spine.

“And the three?” Fallow asked greedily.

There was a long, low laugh. The red swirls deepened to scarlet.

“Oh, no. The three, Fallow, will be mine.”

Lief awoke, his heart thumping, his stomach knotted. There was a sour taste in his mouth — the taste of fear and misery.

He was not sure how long he had been asleep. Moonlight still filtered palely through the Torans’ cloud, flooding the clearing with its dim, mysterious glow. Lief forced himself to lie still until the pounding of his heart had quietened. Then, quietly, so as not to wake the other sleepers, he roused Barda and Jasmine.

With the ease born of long practice, they were instantly awake and alert, reaching for their weapons.

“No! There is no danger,” Lief whispered. “I am sorry to disturb your rest. But I had to speak with you.”

“You learned something!” hissed Jasmine, sitting up.

Lief nodded. He glanced over to where Doom and Dain lay, and, lowering his voice still further, told of what he had seen and heard. He made himself tell it all, biting his lip to stop his voice from shaking.

His companions listened in silence till the end.

“So he hopes that we will fall into his hands,” Barda muttered. “We shall see about that!”

Lief glanced at him. The big man’s fists were clenched and his face was filled with grief and anger.

Jasmine put her hand on Lief’s arm. “At least we know that for now your parents are safe, Lief,” she said softly. “And Doom can stop his sneering. We were right. The Shadow Lord is not certain where we are.”

Barda nodded. “And, plainly, he does not know where Endon, Sharn, and their child are, either. He thinks that we will lead him to the heir’s hiding place.”

Lief’s stomach was churning. “And perhaps we will,” he breathed. “For do you not see what else we have learned?”

They both stared at him blankly. He swallowed and went on. “The Shadow Lord has found out who you really are, Barda. And he knows my name as well. How could that be? Unless …”

“Unless someone in the Resistance stronghold is a spy!” whispered Jasmine, suddenly realizing the truth. “For it was at the stronghold that Barda’s name was revealed to all, by that acrobat, Jinks. And no doubt Dain told Lief’s name, and mine, while we were imprisoned. He would not have seen the harm.”

Lief gnawed at his lip. “And someone — someone in the stronghold has made contact with the Shadow Lord. Dain told us that Doom suspected there was a spy in the Resistance. This proves it.”

“Glock!” hissed Jasmine with loathing.

“Or Jinks himself,” Barda muttered. “It could be anyone.”

“Yes,” said Lief, glancing again at the sleeping figures of Dain and Doom. “It could be anyone at all.”