Kitabı oku: «The Deathless», sayfa 2
As they descended on the first tribute, they could see the light was moving quickly through the trees, bouncing and flickering as it flitted under the canopy: something was making them run. This was to be expected, as each tribute was cut before they set off, the combination of blood and light designed to lure any demons from their hiding places as quickly as possible.
Another cry went out from the hunters. The second tribute had been spotted. Vasin frowned as he located them. They had become separated from the first and were moving deeper, their light flickering off to his left. The second tribute was not going as fast as the first, suggesting they were not under immediate threat, but Vasin was sure that would soon change.
He considered his options. The sensible thing to do would be to lead the hunters after the first tribute. They would surely lose the second but would maximize their chance of saving the first and killing the beast that pursued them cleanly.
However, this hunt did not need just to be successful, it needed to be perfect. The second tribute was nearly beyond the reach of his hunters but he could still get to them if he went immediately.
The thought made his wings nudge that way, as if the part of him that had seeped into the armour over the years, the better, bolder part, already knew what had to be done and was just waiting for him to catch up.
‘Mia,’ he called out. Hoping that his voice would carry over the winds. ‘You have the hunt.’ He pointed to the light of the first tribute and the dark shape glimpsed behind it. ‘Go!’
Whether or not she heard his words, she saw the way his spear pointed and read his intent, leading the hunters down in a sharp dive.
As they sped away, he banked left, doing everything he could to maintain his height. Still, it was not long before the greens and browns of the trees were racing only a few feet from his chest.
The canopy was thick here and he lost sight of the second tribute’s light, but it did not trouble him. In his mind he could still picture it, his imagination mapping its progress where his eyes could not.
This deep into the Wild, the gaps between the trees were few and far between, and it was a delicate choice to decide when to drop to ground level. Too soon and he would have to chase the tribute on foot, too long and he would crash into the branches.
One gap passed him, and through it, he was rewarded with a glimpse of a torch, another, and he could just see the outline of the one holding it. To his surprise, they’d stopped moving.
He dived into the next gap without thinking, submerging himself in the dark of the woods. The sudden stealing of the light left him blind for a second but he twisted and turned with the wind, instincts guiding him between the trunks as lesser branches clawed at his armour.
Three times his Sky-legs touched the ground, absorbing momentum until he could skid to a halt on the fourth.
Without the roar of the winds, the silence was abrupt, shocking. Vasin turned on the spot in the direction of the tribute’s torch, to find it was coming slowly towards him. An outline of a cloak, and a hood. Vasin’s eyes were still adjusting but he could tell the tribute was an adult.
A little of the red sunslight fingered its way through the trees above, coming in slender shafts in the space between them.
‘You have called and we have answered,’ he said. ‘Fear not, for you are under the protection of the Sapphire Everlasting.’
The figure stopped to laugh, a bitter and oddly familiar sound. The torch went out and the tribute threw it to land, smoking, at his feet, the damp grass hissing in protest against its heat.
Vasin raised his spear in readiness, glancing about for signs of others. He could see no one else, though in that moment he wasn’t sure who this favoured.
‘Who are you?’
The figure moved closer and Vasin’s throat tightened, his body knowing and reacting to the truth before his mind could grasp it.
‘Oh my sweet one, do I pass so quickly from memory?’
She pulled back the hood. Her dark skin had paled a little, and there was a scar on her cheek he did not recognize. Sorrow had marked her eyes and put new lines around her mouth but there was no doubt who she was.
Ashamed, Vasin lowered the spear and cast his helmet aside. ‘Mother?’
‘Always,’ she replied, stepping into the space where his spearpoint had just been.
CHAPTER TWO
It was quiet as Chandni hurried along the castle halls and she hated it. Most of the inhabitants were in their beds, asleep or fretting for the future, and Captain Dil had pulled the guards back to the Rebirthing Chamber. It made the place seem deserted. Normally the castle moved to a beat she knew, everything and everyone in its right place. On special days, like those of a hunt, the beat changed, but it was still one that was known. This was the first rebirth to take place in her lifetime, and the strangeness of it put her on edge.
By now her summons would have reached Captain Dil and she imagined he’d be unhappily making his way to her room. She was determined to get there before he did.
Chandni only paused by Honoured Vessel Kareem’s door. The room was empty now and would never be filled by his presence again. The young man had already been taken away for the rebirthing ceremony. Either he would prove to be worthy for Lord Rochant Sapphire’s soul, or something else would come through and make an abomination. Kareem would die in the morning, that was certain. Only the manner of his death remained to be decided.
She’d miss the man’s quiet confidence, and the dash of humour lurking behind his studious nature. Chandni’s thoughts went to Kareem’s Honoured Mother. How must she feel right now? Such a strange thing to balance the joy of a son being chosen as an Honoured Vessel against the grief of losing him.
An impulse made her hug Satyendra close. Of course, if the house ever needed her to give up Satyendra, she would. But I hope it never comes to that. Kareem must succeed, he must. And Lord Rochant must have a long and prosperous lifecycle, and my Satyendra must live a full life. One that stretches far beyond my own.
Not just for herself, but for the house, she hoped Kareem would succeed. He was a good match for Lord Rochant, disciplined, intelligent and well educated. If Kareem failed then the honour would pass through his other living descendants: Mohit was next in line, then Dhruti, and then her Satyendra.
However, any vessel other than Kareem would be a disaster for the house. Mohit, for all his sweetness, was a bad match. He was hard working but dogged, lacking the brilliance that so characterized Lord Rochant’s actions. And while Dhruti and Satyendra were more promising, both were too young, which would mean more years of waiting.
Chandni prayed it would not come to that.
We need you now, my lord.
She rested her hand on Kareem’s door for a moment, a silent goodbye, then walked the short distance to her own chamber.
Satyendra seemed sleepy but not quite ready to settle. She carried him over to the Wall of Glory. A single slab of grey amid the brickwork, the Wall of Glory recorded those of importance. Names were engraved deep, then painted in gold. Lines of blue displayed family links and unions. Each of House Sapphire’s Deathless was inscribed there, and she had positioned Satyendra’s cot so that it would be the first thing he would see in the morning and the last thing at night. She pointed to the highest and boldest name, and tried to sound sincere when she said: ‘This is High Lord Yadavendra, greatest of all.’
Her finger paused in the air over a blank piece of stone. Once it had held the name of Nidra, Yadavendra’s sister, but since her exile those details had been removed, leaving the stone a paler shade than those around it. Somehow it made the absence more glaring, harder to forget. The sight of it always brought on a sadness in Chandni. Normally, if one of the Deathless lost their status, they would be replaced, just as Lord Rochant had replaced Samarku Un-Sapphire. But not this time.
Since the end of the Unbroken Age, seven Deathless Sapphire had stood watch over the land. In his grief, Yadavendra had made them six, destroying not only his sister but the seat of her immortality as well. There was a hole in House Sapphire and no good would come of it.
Not wanting Satyendra to see her unhappy before bed, she pointed at the name below the empty space. ‘Look here,’ she pointed at some golden letters, ‘the name of the one leading the hunt in Sagan this night. Yadavendra’s nephew, Lord Vasin, who is always happiest in the sky.’
And may the sky restore him. May this night restore all of us.
‘You see,’ she continued, ‘all of the Sapphire Deathless are related by blood, save one.’ She held Satyendra up so that he could paw at the one name separate from the others in their nest of blue lines. ‘Your grandfather, Lord Rochant, started life as a road-born but he was so brave and so clever that High Lord Yadavendra brought him to his castle to serve as a hunter, and later, an adviser. When Rochant gave his life to save the house against Samarku Un-Sapphire, High Lord Sapphire made him into a Deathless. Your grandfather is wise and perfect, the very essence of what it means to be a Sapphire.’
She heard a voice sing for permission to enter and granted it, recognizing Captain Dil’s voice immediately.
The captain wore his best uniform, and had put a little wax in his beard to make it look fuller. Nerves made him seem younger than usual. It is his first time protecting a rebirth too, I must remember that.
‘Honoured Mother, I hear there’s a problem?’
‘I saw someone in the castle, a stranger wearing a guard’s uniform. I didn’t like the way he was creeping about.’
Dil nodded to himself. ‘I should have guessed it would be something like that. There’s nothing to worry about, you just saw some of the extra protection I’ve brought in for tonight. I’m sorry, Honoured Mother, I should have informed you.’
‘I see.’
‘Is that all?’
She didn’t like his tone, it made her feel as if she was being unreasonable rather than thorough. ‘No, that is not all. I spoke to Ji earlier tonight on the ramparts. When I finished my walk, I saw that he was no longer at his post. Nobody was.’
‘All of the guards are checking in with me at regular intervals. As a matter of fact, I’ve just spoken to Ji.’
‘He left his post without replacement? That makes no sense. Why was a section of the castle unguarded on this night of all nights?’
Dil bristled. ‘No attack is going to come over the wall, Honoured Mother. We live in the sky. That is why Ji is on duty there, it’s the safest posting I could find for him. The bridge is secure, the Rebirthing Chamber is secure. They are the places that matter and they are protected at all times by several of our best. I have it all in hand.’
‘My apologies, captain, I’m sure you do.’
He took a step towards the corridor. ‘Can I ask you to keep to your room from now on, it makes it easier if I know where everyone is.’
She looked down at Satyendra who had gone very still in her arms. ‘I don’t think that will be a problem. Is all well with you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Forgive me, captain, but you don’t seem yourself.’
Dil paused to fuss with his uniform. ‘The Bringers have arrived. They make me nervous.’
Few people got to meet the Bringers of Endless Order. They were the ones who carried out the rebirth ceremony, and dealt in matters of the soul. Nobody even knew what they looked like under their masks and heavy robes. ‘Has it started?’
‘Not yet. Soon though. I should be going.’
He left quickly, leaving Chandni with a sense of foreboding. He’s worried. Good. We should be worried, it will keep us focused.
As if giving the lie to that, Satyendra fell asleep. She placed him in his cot with a faint smile and settled down, knowing she would not be able to relax until the ceremony was over.
Few were allowed to bear witness to a rebirthing ceremony, the honour reserved for Crystal High Lords and the Bringers of Endless Order.
Pari Tanzanite was neither.
The tunnel she’d used to breach the inner castle was secret, winding, hidden by glittering architecture and sumptuous art carved in ancient crystal, smoothed by the touch of admiring hands. Behind hard faces of blue gemstone it went, through spaces between the castle’s floors, bending around stairwells and pillars, allowing one to spy on the great halls of House Sapphire, or gain entry to a select number of bedchambers.
It was said that in the ancient days, when the gods still walked the earth, unbroken, that there were those who could look into the face of another and know their secrets. Pari had spent many of her lifetimes trying to rediscover that art with only partial success. She could not read thoughts or summon specific knowledge from the minds of her enemies. Nor could she overwrite their thoughts with her own, such powers remained the province of the shattered gods and the things that lurked in the Wild below.
However, her efforts had borne some fruit. Sometimes, Pari would know that a lie had been spoken, or have a sudden insight into where a person was going, or who they might harbour secret affections for. As if all of her observations were gathered in a wordless part of her mind and joined together, the resulting sequences given back to her as feelings or hunches.
These insights were only sometimes useful and always impossible to prove, but she had learned to trust them, to grasp and follow them before they slipped away. It had led to her having a reputation of being flighty and chaotic when the truth was very much the opposite.
So when an anonymous message had arrived four days ago, slipped under her dinner plate, she had known at once that she was reading truth:
Things are not well in the home of your lover. Loyal friends are posted elsewhere. Strangers walk the halls, sharpening knives while they wait for his return. He needs help. He needs you. Come now. Come carefully.
Without hesitation, she had made a show of throwing up and had then retreated to her room, leaving strict instructions that she was not to be disturbed. An hour later, she was on the road, hidden in the back of a wagon, and en route to the castle of Lord Rochant Sapphire.
He was in danger, of this she was certain, and that was enough to have her enter, uninvited and unlawfully. Discovery would mean disgrace and the possible loss of her immortal status. But not to act, to allow whatever was coming for Rochant to take his life unopposed, was unthinkable.
She had been twenty years younger the last time she used the tunnel. Though it was unchanged, her age lengthened the journey, doubling the effort required for each drag of the knee, tripling it where walls and ceiling narrowed and she was forced onto her chest, worm-like.
For Rochant, it would feel like no time at all, the space between death and life but a moment for him, while she had felt keenly every second they had been apart. And she had lived those seconds, time taking its toll on her body. Would he still be drawn to her? Would he still recognize her? Of course he will, she chided herself, our attraction is stronger than common sense, or family taboos, or time. She tried to picture his surprise at seeing her, and his joy. The picture in her mind found a mirror on her face, infused by the growing sense of excitement that, at last, they would be reunited. And while the feeling did little to remove her discomfort, it made it a lot easier to ignore.
As she inched her way forward, noises of the castle wound their way up to her. The chatter of servants, hushed, preparing to retire. Snores of the drunk, rattling and regular. And softer, a groan of relief, followed by a litany of curses directed against shoes and the people that made them so tight. Nothing that suggested danger. A little doubt wormed its way into her thoughts. What if she was wrong? And what if, by being here, she put his life and reputation at risk? Perhaps the letter was a trap rather than a warning and her instincts were wrong. What a bitter irony that would be.
One by one, the noises settled, till only the snoring could be heard, and Pari came to the end of the tunnel and her lover’s bedroom. In the dark, her fingers fumbled, memory not enough to guide them, until persistence brought them to the catch.
Inside the room, a painting of a surprised young man slid aside, allowing Pari to pull herself free. Able to stand upright again, each limb was stretched in turn, joints cracking like whips. Pari grimaced, knowing that she would pay for this excursion tomorrow. Such is the price of age, she thought. Not so much that we have less fun, just that the cost of it keeps going up.
She allowed her hand to slide along the gem-studded wall, until there was warmth under her skin, and pressed. Solar light, captured over the day and piped where needed, spilled out, filling the room with heat and illumination, blue-tinted.
The bedroom was mostly as she remembered it. Plain walls hardly visible beneath the paintings, all of them of live subjects, and by a variety of different artists. She used to know the history of every piece but it was so long ago. The subjects were long dead and her memories were of Rochant’s face rather than his words, and the way his stern features became so delightfully boyish when enthusiastic.
No dust had settled on the furniture, and the sheets on the bed were perfectly smooth until Pari sat on them. The room smelt fresh, clean, but it did not smell of him, and she was struck by the hollowness of the place.
It’s waiting for you to come back. We all are, my darling.
Pari went to the door on the opposite wall and slid it back to reveal a rack of clothing. Hanging underneath Lord Rochant’s cloak, hidden, was a second simpler one of Sapphire design, the kind worn by the castle staff on a cold night.
She took out the cloak and slipped it over her shoulders, pulling the hood forward till it cast her face in shadow, hiding her only concession to vanity: a pair of golden earrings that fastened to the top and bottom of each ear; a gift from him to her from their early, heady days.
There was a sad lack of mirrors but some of the paintings were protected by glass and, from the right angle, she was able to see a paler version of herself. Her reflection gave her an approving nod, before smiling.
Much better.
So far, her intrusion had been easy. The routines of the castle had not changed, and it was a small matter for her to sneak in through the servants’ quarters. House Sapphire had few enemies, and Lord Rochant fewer still. With most of the guards assigned to the ceremony, she had plenty of opportunities to cross from the courtyard where visitors were taken, to the outer wall. From there, it had only been a short run to the tunnel’s entrance and complete concealment all the way to Rochant’s bedchamber.
The hard part was yet to come. She slipped out into the corridor and began her walk towards the Rebirthing Chamber. By her estimate, the suns would only just be starting to rise. Rochant had been born under the lesser red sun, Wrath’s Tear, and so she still had a little time before the ceremony began.
In short bursts, she travelled, crouching by glazed vases bursting with yellowed leaves, then dashing forward to hide by a statue of a serious looking man in long robes: Lord Rochant Sapphire, rendered in crystal, and mounted on a plinth. It had been grown over years, sculpted meticulously to match the subject at every stage of life. If the rebirthing ceremony was successful, the statue would be moved to the ancestral hall and a new one would be put in its place. Accuracy had been given priority over flattery, every feature worked to match the original’s. The artist had done an exquisite job and it was no accident that Pari’s hand came to rest on the statue’s bottom.
Where are the guards? she wondered. So far, she had seen no one, heard nothing.
Halfway to her next hiding place, she saw one coming out of a bedroom, closing the door, carefully, quietly. It would only be a few moments before he looked up and saw her. Instead of diving for cover, Pari straightened, trusting to her disguise.
No longer creeping, the sudden sound of her footsteps filled the pre-dawn quiet, and the guard jumped so high the plume of his helm nearly tickled the ceiling.
Making the most of the man’s surprise, Pari hurried past: the guard stayed facing the door until her back was to him. She heard him then set off quickly in the opposite direction.
She’d noted the slight shine of his cheeks and wondered about it as she turned the corner. Something in the man’s manner nagged at her, slowing her steps. Embarrassed or not, the guard she had encountered was in the family wing of the castle on the night of Rochant’s ceremony, and he should have challenged her.
Suddenly, all thoughts of her reunion faded away, banished by the puzzle. Not only had the guard not challenged her, she realized, he had been as keen to get away as she was. And then another thing occurred to her. When the guard had left, he was going at speed, and yet she could not remember hearing the sound of his footsteps.
Pari stopped. She didn’t understand what was going on but all of her instincts were telling her to run, and so she did, away from where the ceremony would be starting and back to the door where she had first encountered the guard.
It was quiet on the other side of the door, the same kind of quiet she’d experienced in Rochant’s room. With a sickening feeling, Pari turned the handle and pushed open the door.
Dim light from the corridor bled through into the dark room, painting a sleeping girl in greys, serene. Pari would guess her to be no more than fifteen, most likely one of Rochant’s grandchildren.
Around her the room contained a few hints of chaos: a broken chair, a scattering of beads and a second body, a young woman in a guard’s uniform, chest down, head twisted too far to the left, as if she wished one last look at the ceiling as she died. Her right hand clutched at a dagger, the tip daubed in fresh blood. She marked him before she died. Good.
Unable to help the unfortunate guard, Pari crossed to the bed where the girl was. Her chest neither rose nor fell, and in the soft light, she saw a thin needle protruding from the girl’s throat.
Too late, Pari. She cursed herself. Far, far, too late.
A part of her wanted to examine the scene, another to rush to Rochant’s side but the guard, the assassin, she corrected herself, hadn’t been going towards the Rebirthing Chamber. Either he’s finished here or his next target isn’t Rochant.
Pari rushed outside and noticed a speck of blood, glinting in the gemlight of the corridor. She went in the direction the assassin had gone, finding another speck some way further down. Whatever wound he’d received was bleeding slowly, making a poor tracking aid, but it confirmed she was going the right way.
She ran, wondering where in the name of the Three Blessed Suns any of House Sapphire’s guards were. Their absence now seemed glaring, ominous rather than fortunate.
A soft thud sounded from one of the rooms behind her. She slid to a stop, backtracked three paces until she was level with the door, and went straight in.
The assassin was kneeling, bent over a baby’s crib, his right hand raised and curled around something she couldn’t make out through the gloom. The thud she’d heard had been his head being banged against the side of the crib by the woman on his back.
Even in the half light, Pari could tell the woman was highborn, her skinny arms sticking from her flapping nightdress like sticks from a sail.
By some miracle, the baby wasn’t crying, making Pari fear she was too late a second time.
With a grunt, the assassin drove his elbow backwards into the noblewoman’s gut. She bucked with the force but kept hold, knocking his head against the crib a second time. The assassin elbowed her again, then brought his fist up into the woman’s face.
Pari was halfway across the room as the woman fell down.
She considered her opponent, as yet unaware of her arrival. He looked young, fast and strong. Closer now, she could just make out another of those long murderous needles in his grip.
Not someone to play games with.
Though her body was not as fast as it once was, her instincts remained sharp, and Pari let them guide her, flowing into action before her conscious mind fully understood what she was about to do.
She reached out to his raised hand and plucked the needle from it. His reaction was swift, one fist lashing out on instinct. Pari barely managed to get her arms in the way in time. The force of the blow slammed into her, bruising forearms, and she tripped on the other woman’s leg, stumbling back to the far wall for support. Before she could recover her breath the assassin was leaping after her, one hand raised, index and middle fingers locked together ready to strike.
His movements suggested that his hand-to-hand training was excellent, at least as good as one could be in a single lifetime. In a younger body, she would have dealt with him easily, now most of her efforts were going into staying upright.
As if he sensed her fatigue, the assassin lunged forward but Pari, still leaning against the wall, showed him her empty hands before giving her best smile and flicking a look to his throat.
The gesture made him pause. His eyes widened as his fingers touched the side of his neck and the needle protruding from it.
He just had time to look at her in understanding before something seemed to switch off inside, and he collapsed to the floor.
Pari pushed herself upright and moved to the side of the crib, rubbing her arm. It turned out that the baby had woken after all, his eyes staring up at her, two black pools in the grey.
‘Well,’ she said, picking him up. ‘You’re a very calm fellow, aren’t you?’
The baby didn’t reply, watching her with intensity. The woman by Pari’s feet however, was another matter. ‘I know that voice … Pari? Lady Pari Tanzanite, is that you?’ At her nod, the woman became haughty. ‘I demand that you tell me what is going on this instant! Who was that man? Why was he trying to kill my Satyendra? And what are you doing here?’
Pari peered down at the woman, unflustered. Satyendra did the same. She saw a delicate face, the kind that smiles too rarely and was not built to handle tears. ‘All good questions …’ she paused to allow the woman to introduce herself.
‘Chandni.’
‘Can it be? Little Chandni, all grown up and an Honoured Mother! I never would have recognized you. Who is in charge here?’
‘I am,’ she replied, standing up and regaining something of her dignity. ‘Lord Rochant entrusted me to oversee the castle in his absence.’
‘My, my, it has been too long, my dear.’
‘You haven’t answered my questions.’
‘True,’ replied Pari, ‘and you haven’t thanked me for saving you and your baby either.’
‘I … thank you,’ said Chandni, then again more calmly, earnest. ‘Thank you.’
‘Much better. As to who the man is, I’m not sure yet. But he’s already killed at least twice tonight.’
Chandni took a fortifying breath. ‘Who?’
‘One was a girl, younger than you, the other her guardian.’
‘No!’ Her hands flew to her mouth. ‘It must be Dhruti. But why?’
‘She was a descendant of Lord Rochant.’
‘She was,’ Chandni’s eyes widened. ‘Like Satyendra!’
‘Yes –’ she replied, giving the baby a squeeze ‘– like Satyendra. How many more blood descendants are there in the castle?’
‘I …’
‘Come on, Chandni, think!’
‘Well, two. There’s Satyendra’s father, Mohit, and Kareem. But Kareem was chosen, he’s in the Rebirthing Chamber now.’
‘Show me Mohit’s room.’
A minute later they stood at Mohit’s bedside. There had been no guard to protect him and the needle in his neck was still quivering. Like the girl beforehand, Mohit’s death had been swift and, she hoped, painless.
‘He’s only just died. You know what this means?’ Pari asked, pointing at the needle.
Chandni covered her mouth and gasped behind her hand, ‘Poor Mohit. Quickly, turn Satyendra away.’
‘It means there’s a second killer, maybe more. The castle isn’t safe.’ She passed Satyendra back into Chandni’s arms. ‘You have to leave.’
‘What?’
‘Right now. Don’t stop to pack, take Satyendra and go, use the tunnel.’
‘What tunnel?’
‘I’ll show you. It’ll take you to the main doors.’ Pari took off one of her earrings. ‘I have a man outside, his name is Varg. Give him this,’ she said, and placed the earring into Chandni’s hand, ‘tell him I sent you. Tell him to get you as far away from here as he can.’ She kissed the baby’s forehead. ‘Keep Satyendra close. If things go badly, he might be Rochant’s last hope. I’ll come for you when it’s safe.’
‘Wait, where are you going?’
‘To the Rebirthing Chamber. Someone is trying to erase Rochant’s line, and I intend to stop them.’
Vasin’s mother stood before him. Wonderfully impossible. Though her body had been weathered and scarred, aged by time and sorrow, it didn’t matter. She was here! As purposeful as ever. Just the sight of her made him feel safer, as if things could begin making sense again. And yet, her very presence meant that the world did not make sense, and would not again.
‘They may take my title, strip me of my crystal skin, sever my link to the immortal, bury me with lies and hatred –’ she reached up to his face and he could not decide whether to move forward or back ‘– but I will always be your mother, I will always be yours, and you mine.’
