Kitabı oku: «The Deathless», sayfa 3
She was also a traitor, accused and found guilty of selling out their people to the Wild. Treating with demons was a terrible crime in itself, but for a Deathless it was a thousand times worse, a betrayal of their most sacred duty. Such a thing could not stand, especially not in House Sapphire where it had happened before.
But this was his mother, alive and fierce. He’d never entirely believed she was guilty. Never forgiven himself for not doing more to defend her when he’d had the chance.
‘Forgive me, Mother. I’m happy to see you, thrilled. I never thought … I mean … I thought you were …’ He couldn’t finish the sentence. There was a chance he was dreaming and if that was the case he didn’t want it to end.
Nidra gestured to the looming trees. ‘This is a kind of death. A slow and terrible kind.’ She gave him a bitter smile. ‘I intend to outrun it.’
‘But how did you survive? Where have you been living?’ He looked down at the smoking torch. ‘How did you become one of Sagan’s tributes? I don’t understand.’
‘I’ve spent lifetimes studying the Wild. I’m not afraid of it like my brother is. A hunter is more than weapons and armour. That knowledge saved me. And I have allies still, ones that serve from the shadows. We have been preparing, they and I. One will come to you soon. Treat her requests as if they were mine.’
‘I will, of course I will, but I need to know, where have you been?’
‘Sorn. The Wild has had its way with it and nobody else dares to go there. It’s a ghost town, and I’m its ghost.’
‘And now you’re in Sagan?’
‘No. I stole the torch so that I could signal you. I knew none of the other hunters would be able to fly this deep.’
With the Sky-legs he was so much taller than her that he had to lean down to bring his face close to hers. Her fingers touched his cheek, smearing the fresh tears there and he finally leaned into her touch, the grief and sadness he had kept bottled up these years melting away.
‘I’ve been lost without you.’
‘I know. And now you’re found again.’
Her stoicism made his guilt worse. How could she be so strong when she had lost so much? ‘I should have been there at the end. I’m so sorry.’
‘There was nothing you could have done. I’m glad you didn’t have to see. Your uncle made the whole thing a public show. My humiliation a spectacle for his amusement.’ Her face hardened at the thought of it. ‘They hacked at my reputation with their lies, the Story-singers making me into a monster in the minds of my people, and then the Bringers came and cut the bonds between my soul and my Godpiece. It was an agony I have no words for. It left me without dignity, an animal.’ She shook her head, firm. ‘No, that is not how I wanted to be remembered by my son.’
‘I still should have gone to the trial. I know Gada did.’
‘Yes. But Gada is not you. If you had been there, you would have done something beautiful and foolish. It was right that Gada was there then, just as it’s right that you’re here now. I need you, Vasin, I need you more now than I did then.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s simple, do you want me to die, finally and forever?’
‘No! No. Not when I’ve just found you again. I’d do anything to make things the way they were, you know that.’
She removed her hand from his face. ‘Good. Because I am going to need you to do things for me, things you may not like.’
Vasin frowned. Living too long in the Wild was known to bring on madness. ‘But there is nothing to do. The Sapphire High Lord has given his judgement. And even if he overturned it, he’s already destroyed your Godpiece. Your soul is without anchor … It’s too late.’
Her features hardened. ‘There are other Godpieces among the Sapphire that would suffice.’
He was aware of her eyes on him as he thought through what this would mean. It would be like becoming Deathless for the first time again. Her soul would need to be attuned to a new Godpiece by the Bringers of Endless Order. Though what she said was true about there being other Godpieces within the house, they were already allocated. To give one to his mother would mean destroying another member of the family, wiping out every member of their line. Rather than follow that to its unpleasant conclusion he decided to focus on a different issue. ‘But only the High Lord can take or give Godpieces.’
‘Then you will have to find a way to persuade the High Lord … or replace him with another more sympathetic to our cause. There are those that will support us. It will take a long time to achieve but things have already begun, this very night plans are in motion. I will provide the Godpiece and you will mobilize the house to see that it is used to restore me.’
‘I wouldn’t know how. Since your exile, I have not been myself. I turned my back on the court. I … left those things to Gada.’
She took a deep breath and Vasin shrank from her barely contained anger. When she spoke however, her voice was calm. ‘Then you will go back to court and you will see who remembers the name of Nidra Sapphire with fondness.’ She slipped a pack from her back and began unfastening the top.
‘There was a time, before you were born, when I was considered the best choice for High Lord. However, the machinations of my brother and his pet, Lord Rochant, put paid to that. Your uncle was not always head of this house, nor will he reign forever, that I promise you.’
She opened the bag and held it out for him.
Vasin peered inside to see what looked like a human arm rendered in shell, with antennae sprouting from the knuckles. ‘What’s that?’
‘A trophy. You’ll take it back with you, as part of your glorious return to court.’
His eyes widened as he realized what it was. ‘Wait, you killed the Scuttling Corpsema—’
She hurriedly put a finger to his lips, cutting him off. ‘Not killed. Maimed.’ She looked over her shoulder suddenly as if expecting to see something. Vasin tensed and did the same but there was only darkness between the trees. ‘It’s still out there, somewhere. We would be wise not to use its full name.’
‘But how?’
‘Later. You must go before questions are raised. Take my gift, take the glory. Use it well. Come to me when you have news and I’ll tell you all about the Corpseman and what I’ve been up to in the last few years.’
‘I will. I won’t fail you again.’
‘I know you won’t.’ She pulled up her hood and made to step back into the shadows, but Vasin could not bear the thought of her leaving, and dragged her into an embrace, lifting her till her toes skimmed the top of the long grass. ‘I love you.’
‘And I you, my sweet one. Remember that when you are in the world above the Wild and I am but a memory.’
She had to force herself out of his arms, and only when she was gone from sight did he turn back towards home. He would find a way to make this right, or he would die, a true and final death, in the attempt. Vasin swore to himself that if it came to that, he would not go alone.
CHAPTER THREE
It was as Pari feared. The majority of the castle’s guard had taken up posts outside the Rebirthing Chamber, protecting the two doorways into the room. Traditionally, one was used by the Bringers of Endless Order as they escorted the vessel in, one was for the High Lord, if he or she wished to attend. There was a third way into the room but this was used only as an exit should the ritual fail.
Pari had never witnessed a ritual go wrong but she had heard rumours of bodies inhabited by infernal spirits and turned into tragic, destructive creatures. Some believed, if the proper rites were not observed, a demon could push aside the waiting soul and enter the world in its place. Pari had little time for such notions, sure that the pain and confusion of a botched rebirth would be more than enough to explain away the rage of the poor wretches.
Whether due to madness or demonic possession, the results of a failed ritual were too dangerous to be allowed to live, and the third exit was a means of dealing with them: a beautifully designed portal covering a chute that was nothing more than a glorified hole in the underside of Rochant Sapphire’s floating castle. Anyone unfortunate enough to use it was ejected directly above the gaping chasm, far beneath.
Unguarded, and unknown to most of the castle’s inhabitants, it was arguably the ideal route for someone trying to sneak in without being seen. However, the only way to reach it was by scaling the outer walls, and even if she’d had time, such feats were beyond her in this lifecycle.
Pari studied the faces of the three guards stood to attention outside the first entrance. The Bringers of Endless Order must have already gone inside. She didn’t like what she saw. Nothing was obviously wrong but she didn’t recognize any of the guards, and as her eyes swept over them, a word screamed into her mind: killers.
Quickly, she moved to the second entrance. It was similarly guarded, but one of the men was familiar.
She tried to think where she had seen him before. A wispy beard covered his chin and cheeks, but beneath it was a face she knew. Older and harder but not entirely unfriendly. The picture of a young boy came to mind, shy, with watchful eyes, who blushed at the slightest praise.
She approached him, so bold that it took them all a moment to react.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded, one hand going to the Sliver Pistol at his side. The man and the woman flanking him followed suit, reaching for well-worn hilts.
She ignored the impulse to run and focused on the man she knew. ‘Shush now, Dil, I need you to listen.’ Then she noticed the extra bands of colour around his right arm. A captain now, she thought. And he was such a quiet boy.
The man spluttered in surprise at the use of his name but something in her tone and manner disarmed him and he came forward. ‘Do I know you?’ He frowned. ‘No! It can’t be! Lady Pari Tanzanite?’ Despite himself, Dil bowed.
She couldn’t help but smile at his naked amazement. ‘Your eyes are sharp as ever.’
And there it was, the sudden colouring of his cheeks. ‘But …’
‘There’s no time to explain, Dil. Lord Rochant is in danger. Assassins are in the castle dressed in House Sapphire uniform. You must find them. And you must let me inside the chamber. I’ll protect him.’
‘What? That’s … No.’
‘No? You don’t believe me?’
‘I believe you.’ A little sweat formed on his top lip. ‘Has anyone already been killed?’
‘Mohit and Dhruti.’ She let it sink in. ‘At least one of your people died defending them. One assassin tried for Satyendra but I managed to save him …’
She sighed inwardly as Dil’s hand slipped from the Sliver Pistol, his frown deepening. ‘Who else knows?’
‘Just you, me, and Chandni.’
‘Good. Where are Chandni and Satyendra now?’
‘Safe.’
‘Are they in their room?’
‘They’re safe, don’t worry.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Later. We don’t know who else might be listening.’
He turned away with a scowl. ‘Of course.’
She stepped past him to find the other two guards had drawn blades and were levelling them at her chest.
‘Stand down,’ commanded Dil and they reluctantly sheathed their weapons. ‘Open the doors.’ As they complied he turned to Pari and added. ‘If you do anything to disrupt the rebirthing …’
‘I’ll be quiet as a Flykin,’ she replied, ‘I promise.’
The Rebirthing Chamber was not much to look at, smooth stone walls that curved to make a circle, and a stone floor, equally smooth, grey, featureless. A spiral of pillars started by the first entrance and slowly wound their way towards the centre. Though the pillars were as dull to look at as the walls, each one was double her girth, giving Pari plenty of places to hide.
The soft light in the room came from the Bringers of Endless Order: stored sunslight released slow and muted through cloudy diamonds atop their wands of gold. As tradition dictated, seven Bringers were present, dressed in robes of black and white, their faces covered in plain masks divided down the middle, white on the left, black on the right.
Pari wasn’t convinced that any of them were required for the rebirthing to work but she was grateful for their sing-song murmurs as they masked the sound of her tiptoeing from one pillar to another.
She could see a young man, naked, strapped down on a slab set at the centre of the room: Kareem Sapphire, living the last moments of his life before his soul made way for Rochant’s to return. In typical Sapphire fashion, the young man was stoic about his fate, neither railing against it nor revelling in the honour his body was about to receive.
She took some time to appreciate the new form her lover was to assume. Lean but not too thin, with a pleasing firmness to biceps and buttocks that she looked forward to exploring further. She was also pleased to see Kareem had cut his hair short against the fashion. Not only was this good for Rochant, who had proven himself immune to the fashions of court, it was also good for her. Long hair was fine to look at, but it tended to get in the way. Pari was already imagining what those lips might feel like against hers.
One of the Bringers took out a needle, raising it theatrically in the seven directions: up, then down, to the left and right making a cross, then three times more, across the left shoulder, then the right, and finally down at a forty five degree angle from the right hip.
The sight of the needle made the breath catch in her throat. Could one of the assassins have hidden themselves within the Bringers? But no, this needle was different to the other two she’d seen, a more elaborate tool. She watched as the Bringer switched it on, and a concealed pouch began to beat within their robes, like a second heart jutting from the small of their back. Shimmering liquid was pumped from the pouch through a tiny corkscrew tube that ran within the Bringer’s sleeve, and into the back of the needle. The other six were humming but she could hear the needle humming too, like a living tongue, sharp, now tipped with golden spittle and ready for its task. The Bringer raised the needle to Kareem’s unblemished flesh, and set to work.
Kareem’s head was worked on first, a jagged line of gold drawn from forehead to cheek, narrowly missing the eye. At the bottom the line forked and forked again, forming a lattice that spread back towards the ear: this was to symbolize Rochant’s first death, when his head had been split open defending his lord during the Battle of Bloodied Backs.
Next, the Bringer worked on his chest, inscribing tiny rows of text across his heart. Rochant’s second death had come when his body was ancient, and was caused by heart failure, which in turn was caused by the arrival of an unexpected message, the contents of which remained a mystery to Pari, much to her irritation.
Not all of his deaths would be represented, only the ones of significance. With bated breath, she watched as they added marks to his right hand and his cock. Neither of these were familiar to her and there was little of Rochant’s body she had not seen. Another puzzle. If only she could examine them more closely, she might be able to discern clues as to why they’d been added but if the Bringers found her here, there would be consequences even she feared to face.
Pari took a moment to appreciate Kareem’s strength of character. Though the young man gripped the edges of the slab and his body was locked rigid, he did not cry out at any time, enduring the stab-stab of the needle with barely a grunt. Even from a distance, it made Pari’s eyes water.
This is why he was chosen. Not for those cheek bones, that’s a common enough Sapphire feature. For his self-discipline. Rochant is a stickler for it.
Eventually, the needle went quiet, vanishing into the cavernous sleeves of the Bringer’s robes. More whispering followed, the Bringers reciting history and lineage, recounting a life that skipped across generations before surfacing to influence the Sapphire line, then vanishing again.
The whispers were just loud enough to sound enticing and, for the second time, Pari wished she could get closer. She also wished there was somewhere to sit down. Her feet were throbbing, and one of her knees was starting to tremble.
The Sapphires can have their self-discipline and suffering, she thought, right now I’d trade all of my dignity for a cushioned seat and a footrest.
Though she couldn’t hear the words, it became clear to her that the Bringers weren’t addressing Kareem, rather their masked faces were tilted towards a small box that had appeared on the upturned palm of the lead Bringer. Fine lines were brushed into the sides of the box, each movement making ghost-shapes along its surface. The lid was open. She could see the contents nestled snugly within: a platinum sphere, about the size of a human eye. From this distance it appeared flawless, but she knew in the right circumstances clever mechanisms within would rotate, cracking open to allow vapours to pass through the outer shell.
Nobody knew exactly where the soul went between rebirths but there was a good chance that it was there, right now, in the box, in the Godpiece, waiting to begin its next life.
For a rebirth to be attempted, a noble house would have to entreat the Bringers of Endless Order to attempt a ritual. This was normally a formality but one which had to be observed, and paid for.
Assuming this went well, the family would have to produce the relevant Godpiece: a relic of the immortals that once ruled the world, and the only thing capable of anchoring a soul once it had left the body.
Each Godpiece was attuned to a different member of the crystal dynasties; each one was unique, irreplaceable. Its allocation was a thing of incredible potency, and the singular right of the Crystal High Lords.
Most of the houses, her own included, had already allocated all of their Godpieces, meaning that any new immortals could only be made by removing one of the old, again a power held by the Crystal High Lords. It was also why Pari was always polite to High Lord Tanzanite, no matter how annoying she could be at times, and why Pari kept her affair with Rochant a secret.
It was one thing to break a taboo, quite another to get caught doing it.
The third requirement of the ritual was its location, ideally the correct family stronghold, though Pari and Rochant had debated whether any of the dynasties’ floating castles would suffice.
The fourth was time, the Bringers scheduling the ceremony to take place at the same moment of the day, and with the same alignment of the suns, as the immortal’s original birthday. This was why everyone, even the least fortunate, took careful note of the sky when a child was born.
Finally, a suitable host was required. They had to come from the immortal’s line, with stronger blood ties preferable. Each house endeavoured to groom potential hosts to have skills and interests similar to the immortal, to make the rebirth easier, however this was not always possible, and some immortals had lived lives in the opposite gender, and in bodies of a variety of shapes and sizes.
For Rochant, the signs were good, better than good, and yet Pari could not help but worry as the ritual drew to a close. The thought of having to wait another generation to be with her love was painful, the thought that she might never see him again, unbearable.
Somewhere nearby, Rochant’s enemies were moving, preparing to act. Pari doubted they’d dare try anything while the Bringers were present, but as soon as they had gone, Rochant would be easy pickings for any that could get past his guard.
And if they do, they’ll find me waiting, thought Pari, but the bravado sounded hollow, even in her own mind. She was tired already, and scared. What if I’m not good enough? What then?
One of the Bringers produced a mesh of wires and solemnly approached Kareem. Another stepped up to the side of the young man and placed their hands either side of his head. Kareem did not resist, though she thought she saw him flinch as he caught sight of the device. The lump in Kareem’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and then the young man opened his mouth.
The mesh was placed inside, flattening down Kareem’s tongue and jacking open his jaws. There was a click, loud, and the device locked into place, whereupon the lead Bringer stepped forward, took the Godpiece from its box to place it carefully, ritualistically, into Kareem’s mouth, into the mesh.
The others closed in, making a loose circle around Kareem, wands pointing inward, much of their light blocked from Pari. Their murmurings became louder, not quite a song, but a series of harsh lyrical whispers, ends and beginnings brushing over one another. Planes of light could only escape in the gaps where the Bringers’ robes were not touching and in the space above their heads. A tableau of shadow danced on the ceiling, and to Pari, it looked at times as if the shapes were wrong, the Bringers seeming to have too many limbs, and extra protrusions defying the human form.
She looked away but the noise still reached her. The strange words, and beneath them, muffled by the mesh, Kareem, making a sound she could not name but was born of suffering.
Until now she had never really thought about the ones that gave up their lives so that she and those like her might live again. It was always spoken of as an honour, and of course, those that took that honour for her, Pari had never met. But she found herself thinking about it now, that curious part of her brain forced to consider that Kareem did not sound like a man experiencing a great honour, and to wonder what would happen to his soul once Rochant’s took up residence.
Gradually, the whispers faded, each of the Bringers falling quiet in order, like waves receding from the shore. When they were done, they took a step back, widening the circle.
She risked a glance, and saw that Kareem’s eyes were closed. Or were they Rochant’s now? She had to know if he had survived the ritual and edged out from behind her pillar, sliding rather than stepping, until she managed to align herself with a gap in the ring of Bringers.
His chest. Is it moving? Yes. It moved! She felt joy that he was alive, tempered with fear. The body lived, true, but it was not yet certain what dwelled inside it.
Together, the Bringers raised their golden wands, touching them one to the other, so that the seven diamonds clinked softly.
The man on the slab groaned, then opened his eyes.
‘One man is welcome here,’ the lead Bringer said. ‘Are you that man?’
Pari saw the muscles in his arm flex against the straps that held him fast. He worked his jaw slowly, as if testing it for damage. The motion was so considered, so calm, that her heart leapt. It was Rochant, it had to be! The Bringers may not know it yet, but she was already certain.
‘I am Lord Rochant Sapphire,’ he said. And again, Pari rejoiced, she knew that intonation better than her own.
‘Lord Rochant Sapphire is welcome,’ replied the Bringer, ‘if you are he.’
‘If,’ hissed the others.
‘If you are he,’ continued the lead Bringer, ‘you will prove your humanity. Examine yourself, and tell us what you find.’
This was to be the test then. Pari had undergone several herself. Each time was different, a means to be sure that the immortal had truly returned, rather than a demon.
‘I feel the marks on my skull. The scars of my first life.’
The Bringers said nothing, none of them moved, though each seemed poised to act.
‘I see the marks on my heart, and remember my second life.’
Again, the Bringers said nothing, and Rochant turned his attention to his hand. There was a long pause. She saw the flicker of concern on Rochant’s face.
Something’s wrong.
The silence was stretching too long. If Rochant didn’t answer correctly, and soon, the Bringers would become suspicious. He might even fail the test.
‘What is this on my hand?’ Rochant asked.
The lead Bringer matched the pause, and Pari felt her heart clench. Then said ominously, ‘You do not know?’
Rochant only frowned.
Perhaps this is it. What if the assassin is among the Bringers, or if the Bringers themselves want him dead. If they put a mark on him that should not be there, then he cannot identify it, and he cannot pass. They will kill him and there is nothing I can do to stop it.
Rochant licked his lips to moisten them. ‘I know nothing of it.’
‘It is a mark of shame.’ The other Bringers made a soft chorus of the word ‘shame’ as the lead Bringer continued. ‘When you were killed for raising your hand in disagreement with your High Lord.’
‘Then, this cannot be my hand,’ replied Rochant. ‘For it, like me, has always been loyal.’
There was another long pause before the lead Bringer stepped in close. Pari’s breath caught in her throat as she saw a sweep of the robed arm, too fast for her to intervene.
When the Bringer stepped back, the marks on Rochant’s hand were gone and the straps that had held him in place hung loose on the sides of the slab.
‘Lord Rochant Sapphire is welcome.’
‘Welcome,’ agreed the others.
Their work complete, the Bringers bowed, but before they could leave, Rochant spoke again. ‘Wait, there is another mark I do not know.’
The Bringers paused, and the sense of them being poised to act, to strike, returned.
Shut up! Pari urged silently. You’ve passed the test you idiot. Just let them leave.
‘The one in silver ink rather than gold –’ Rochant allowed a delicate pause ‘– below. Can you explain it to me?’
A look passed between the Bringers. If Pari did not know better she’d have said there was some gentle humour being shared.
‘It is a warning from your High Lord. Of an end for this life if you do not heed it.’
Rochant didn’t reply but she saw his jaw clench and his eyes close.
He’s being told to stay away from me! She consoled herself that High Lord Sapphire could only suspect. If he’d learned the truth about their relationship, Rochant’s rebirth would have ended much more abruptly. We’ll have to be even more careful from now on.
The Bringers turned from him, processing outward, single file, following the spiral of pillars towards the first doorway.
For a moment, she was sure one of them was looking at her, and she caught a glimpse of peridot eyes that seemed to glow with their own soft light.
Pari pressed herself back against the pillar and held her breath.
The tunnel was smaller than Chandni had expected it to be. Why go to all the trouble of making a secret passage that’s almost impossible to use? she thought to herself. What were the architects thinking?
She hated being in this undignified position, squeezing herself and Satyendra through the tiny space between floor and ceiling. It made her feel like a stubborn lump of food stuck in the throat.
But most of all she hated Lady Pari. Bad enough that the Tanzanite had broken into her chambers, she’d started giving orders in a Sapphire castle. Even worse, she knew more about the castle’s secrets than Chandni herself. It hinted at the true depths of the friendship between Pari and Lord Rochant.
She stopped.
If it is just a friendship.
No. Such a thing was unthinkable, impossible, against the rules that governed the Deathless.
She shook her head, forcing herself to carry on. It was not her place to question her lord. She was just in shock, that was all. Whatever was happening, there would be a true and proper explanation that would be given to her if it was deemed appropriate.
She still hated Pari though.
Most of the stress in Chandni’s life had been the kind one could prepare for. From difficult guests from other houses who needed to be handled with care, to complicated negotiations over rights, to pregnancy. All were managed with meticulous planning and Chandni was proud of how smoothly she’d navigated through.
To the outside eye, it appeared that she never broke sweat or struggled, and that was just how she liked it. Exactly as a true Sapphire should be.
Yet again, her head knocked against the top of the tunnel, and she bit her lip to stop from crying out. Satyendra jolted in her arms but did not cry. His tiny fingers splayed in surprise, then settled again, gathering the front of her nightgown in two tight bunches.
Pride for her son’s stoicism overwhelmed the throbbing on the back of her skull and she paused to kiss his forehead. He’d always been calm in spectacular circumstances, including those surrounding his birth. For Satyendra was born on the same day as the Sapphire High Lord, Yadavendra, and under the same alignment of the suns. Upon hearing this, the High Lord had come in person to inspect the baby, and was so taken with him, he decreed they should share a name of equal length, an honour normally reserved for the other heads of the Crystal Dynasties.
Beneath her, the castle was surprisingly quiet.
Surely Pari should have raised the alarm by now? But even as she thought that, Chandni knew there were many reasons for Pari to fail. Perhaps the assassins had caught her, or perhaps the real guards had arrested her. Perhaps she was still hobbling along in that ancient body. She’s probably fallen asleep!
The image made Chandni start to giggle until she realized she was being hysterical, at which point she started to cry.
It was cold and dark in the tunnel. Her knees were raw from crawling, and she had to shuffle one-handed so that she could hold Satyendra in the other. As babies went, hers was small and light, like her, but over time that little weight seemed to increase, until it was like hefting a sweet, huggable boulder.
