Fallen by Tim Lebbon Page A

believe we're heading for the unknowable. And I'm scared, Nomi. More frightened than I ever have been before. And I . . .” He put his hand to his eyes, rubbing above them as if suffering a headache. “I wanted to give you a charm. You know I don't believe in shit like that, but it doesn't matter what I believe. If you believe, and it may help, then that's my aim fulfilled.”
    “Ramus . . . I'm not sure what to say.”
    “Well, take it, at the very least.”
    She took the rope charm from him. It was much heavier than it looked, as though the knot contained more rope than was possible. “Thank you.”
    “The idea is to—”
    “I know. Untie the knot if I feel it's needed.”
    Ramus smiled and turned away, heading off to talk to Beko.
    Nomi turned her back on the rest of the team, blinking back tears that stung her eyes. What am I? she thought. And what have I done? Whatever sickens him should have been mine.
    A tear ran down her cheek. She rubbed it away in case anyone saw its mark in the trail dust.
     
    RAMUS WOKE, THE world crashing in around him in sound and smell, feel and taste. Grass and heather scratched at his hands and the exposed skin at the back of his neck, the smell of cooking meat assailed his nostrils and he could hear the genial banter of the Serians. He smelled hot horses and humans perspiring in early-afternoon sun.
    He kept his eyes squeezed shut because the pain was so bad.
    There are no children chasing us. He had dreamed of swarms of children pursuing them across the hillsides, picking off the Serians one by one and slaughtering them with hooked hands, and behind each child had fluttered a length of black cloth.
    The nightmare was already fading, yet the pain still throbbed hard behind his eyes, as though the children really had caught him, pummeling down on his forehead with their tiny clenched fists.
    He opened his eyes a crack and allowed in some light. It felt better than he had expected, and he slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, looking around at where they had stopped for lunch.
    He couldn't have been asleep for long. Rhiana was kneeling beside a fire, stripping and gutting a couple of small rabbits. She worked with casual ease, no hint of distaste on her face at what she was doing. Guts and innards she dropped into a patch of ground where the sod had been lifted, and she used a small, sharp knife to cut off chunks of meat. She skewered these on two long metal spikes, placed them on brackets above the fire, then glanced over at Ramus.
    “Nice sleep?” she said.
    Ramus nodded, not trusting himself to answer.
    “Smell of my cooking bring you awake?”
    He nodded again.
    “I do the best spiced rabbit stew you've ever tasted, but that'll wait for an evening. Quick stop for now, your friend tells us, so for now it's just roasted steaks. Good for you?”
    Ramus smiled, surprised at the rumbles in his stomach. “Sounds very good to me.”
    Rhiana stood and walked over to him, squatting down and leaning over to whisper some secret. “Best spices for rabbit aren't violet skin and shred, like most will tell you. You know what they are?”
    “Haven't got a clue,” Ramus said. “Buy mine from street traders, and I don't know what they use at all.”
    “Street traders,” Rhiana said, with disgust in her voice. “For every good one, there are a dozen who don't know how to cook, let alone serve food at its best. I'll tell you, Ramus—best spice for roasting rabbit is port root.”
    “That's poisonous!” Ramus said.
    “It is. Eat port root and your guts will tie up, you'll puke blood and crap like the Violet Dogs themselves are after you!But if you use the port root tendrils, they're not yet poisonous. Too deep, lots of water passing through them. Beat them, dry them and strip the brown flesh out of them, and they give you the best spice for rabbit you have ever tasted.”
    “I'll take your word for it.”
    “No you won't,” she said. “You'll try it.”
    Ramus looked at