The Border Keeper

by Kerstin Hall

  Lanesh turned and gestured down the slope. “The channel back to Buyak’s realm is through the Bone Grove.”

  Eris gazed upwards at the swaying dark green leaves. Water collected on her hair and lashes, and her expression was difficult to interpret, distracted and perhaps sad.

  “Eris?” Vasethe ventured.

  She lowered her gaze and smiled. The expression did not reach her eyes.

  “Just enjoying the rain,” she said. “Lead on.”

  The low sounds of the forest accompanied them through the trees. The undergrowth was sparse—only lichen-covered boulders and fallen branches impeded their passage. Mushrooms sprang up from the shadows; the pale-barked trees groaned a little in the wind. Tiny lilac birds darted above their heads.

  The slope levelled and the trees thinned to reveal a gleaming expanse of water. The lake shone pearl grey beneath the dense bank of clouds. Small waves lapped along the shore and a rowboat swayed in the water. As they approached, Vasethe realized the vessel was lined with shell, the interior streaked with crests of iridescence.

  Eris stumbled and he reached out to steady her. She cursed under her breath and glared at him.

  “It’s slippery,” he said.

  She pulled her arm out of his grasp.

  “The hex still hurts you, doesn’t it? Returning to Ahri didn’t help.”

  “It’s fine.” She stepped into the boat and settled down on the rear bench. “Make yourself useful and row.”

  Lanesh clambered aboard and crouched in the middle of the boat, pressing his pincers and legs close to his carapace. Leaning over him, Vasethe saw that the child inside his shell had relaxed somewhat and curled into a foetal position.

  He pushed the vessel a little deeper into the water and jumped in, causing the craft to rock dangerously.

  “If you upturn this boat . . .” Eris fixed him with an evil look.

  “A curse for the next twenty lives?”

  “That would be lenient of me.”

  The oars were light and smooth in his hands. Vasethe stretched and curled his fingers around the handles, then dipped the paddles into the water and pulled. They glided forward onto the lake. Eris leaned back and closed her eyes, her lips parted to catch the rain.

  Vasethe rowed evenly. The water scattered light as he cut through the surface, and shoals of pale blue and silver fish swam in their wake. A flock of waterfowl watched them from the shallows before melting into the reeds, and a lone kite hovered far above, her wingtips fluttering in the cool breeze.

  “A region of his realm was like this,” Eris said quietly, her eyes still shut. “Yett, I mean. Rivers and lakes and trees. He made it rain the first time I met him.”

  Vasethe took a while before answering. “That sounds discourteous.”

  “Maybe. He was like that. He had just ascended. I think he meant it as a kind of joke, or maybe he was testing me. But I liked it. It was . . . different.” She lapsed into silence for a while. “Shade and cool water have always seemed like gifts to me.”

  “Comes with living in a desert.”

  “Hm. I know.” She opened her eyes. “But a desert makes you hard and sharp and dangerous, and all this”—she gestured to encompass the landscape around her—“just makes your thoughts hazy. Makes you soft.”

  Rain dripped from Vasethe’s chin. He brushed it away.

  “You disagree?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “No, I don’t. But I was thinking that your job asks too much of you.”

  “Job?” She weighed the word. “I don’t really consider being the border keeper a job. I’m not like you, jumping from one occupation to the next. My ‘job’ is somewhere between what I am and what I live for.”

  “Except during his life.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again.

  “Is that where we’re supposed to go, Lanesh?” Vasethe turned and pointed past Eris’s shoulder.

  The lake narrowed into a channel surrounded by rustling trees. Thirteen enormous towers arose from both sides of the forest edge, yellow and pitted and curved inwards to almost touch at their summits. Looping swing bridges ran between them. Vasethe could just make out strange figures crossing them.

  “Yes, that is our destination,” said Lanesh. “The Bone Grove was built from the ribcage of the 713th realm’s former ruler. Res Tiba resides within.”

  Vasethe rested the oars above the water and allowed the current to guide their boat into the channel. Beneath the ribs, the trees had been cleared to make room for thatch-roofed buildings. Ivory sculptures rested on raised buoys, painted birds and fish scaled with smooth river pebbles. Streams ran between the buildings, and a number of small boats bobbed on the lazy waves.

  Vasethe started and snatched up the oars when their vessel lurched sideways. A leaf-green reptile streaked by, webbed human hands powering through the water. Beneath the surface, colossal honeycomb structures supported the bulk of the bone towers, providing homes to the denizens of the lake. He caught glints of bright scales and smooth hides through the murk.

  The shadow of a rib darkened the water. At Lanesh’s instruction, Vasethe manoeuvred the craft to a small dock and climbed out. The slick wooden deck was covered in yellow algae. He offered Eris a hand. She looked at it, then reached out and clasped his wrist.

  “I’ve decided to make a stop before returning to Buyak’s realm,” she said.

  Lanesh hopped over the gunwale. He hooked one pincer over the side of the dock and pulled himself up.

  “As you wish,” he said. “Where would you like to go?”

  “Can you take me to Tiba?”

  A pause.

  “I—I can request an audience with the relevant authorities—”

  “That won’t be necessary. I just need to know where she is.”

  “Border keeper, with respect, such a breach of etiquette is not recommended.”

  Eris grinned. “Oh, Mkalis has forgotten how I operate, hasn’t it? Don’t worry, Lanesh; I only want to make a request.”

  Lanesh stepped from side to side, anxious.

  “It won’t take long.”

  “Yes, border keeper. Of course.” He sighed and hurried down the jetty.

  Vasethe looped a length of rope around the cleat on the dock, securing the rowboat. “What are you up to?”

  She leaned closer and spoke so that only he could hear.

  “Buyak knew about the lightfish. As Tiba is his ally, I’d like to ask her some questions.”

  “Ask, or . . .”

  “I doubt she’ll be cooperative, so I may need to draw on more of my power.”

  “The hex will revert to me?”

  “If there is a confrontation, yes, but I hope it won’t come to that.”

  “It’s fine.”

  She nodded. “It would be a short fight, anyway. Outside of the fifty highest realms, no ruler presents much of a threat to me.”

  He smiled. “Scary.”

  “I am, aren’t I? Come, our guide is miserable enough as is; let’s not keep him waiting.”

  The ribs divided the settlement into bands of brightness and shadow; rays of sunlight scattered silver across the lake. The smell of damp thatch and river weed was thick in the air. The wooden walkways creaked under their weight, but otherwise the village was quiet.

  Then the world twisted and Vasethe found himself hundreds of feet above the ground. The lake spun in his vision.

  Stay calm.

  Eris’s voice resounded inside his mind.

  “I believe that you wanted to talk to me?” said someone behind him.

  Vasethe could not move, could not even blink. Eris had paralysed him to ensure that he adhered to the realm’s rules. He knelt on a transparent platform suspended between the peaks of the ribs.

  “It was kind of you to pick us up. I was dreading the stairs.” Eris’s voice had a different resonance now, louder, like she might be speaking to more than one person. His throat twinged. “Allow me to move, and we can have a ci
vil conversation.”

  “It has been, what, four hundred years? And yet here you are, the same as ever. Or perhaps . . . reduced.” Tiba had a strange voice, multiple people speaking in perfect unison. Her feet appeared within Vasethe’s line of vision: four of them, three-toed, taloned, the colour of river mud. She wore anklets of fingerbones. They clinked together when she walked. “After all this time, still pining after your dead god.”

  A flock of birds passed below them, black arrows shooting south.

  “Grant me permission to move, demon.”

  “I want you to leave my realm now. Whatever you came for, I have no interest in helping you.”

  Vasethe’s throat burned.

  “You misunderstand me. That was not a request. Grant me permission to move, or I will kill you. Slowly. And when I am done, I will be the ruler of your pitiful realm and all your subjects.”

  “You’re making threats?” Tiba began to laugh, an awful seesawing sound.

  Vasethe’s body jerked forward, as if a rope around his waist had been wrenched by a giant hand. His feet barely touched the ground. He hurtled forward and, in the same movement, his hand snatched a dagger from the demon’s belt and drove it into her collar.

  Tiba stopped laughing. Vasethe’s hand pulled out the blade with a wet sucking sound. She coughed. Blood flecked the platform, drops splattering Vasethe’s face.

  “Last warning.”

  “H-how?” the demon hissed. The wound gushed black blood.

  “‘Do not move in the presence of Res Tiba unless granted permission.’ There was nothing to stop me from moving someone else. Did you really think that your little restriction could stop me? Give up, Tiba.”

  “I won’t let you touch my dwellers.”

  “I only want to talk. But don’t test me.”

  Tiba coughed again. “You have permission to move.”

  The pain in Vasethe’s throat decreased. He took a shuddering breath and backed away from the demon, looking at her properly for the first time.

  Tiba was twice Eris’s size. Her skintight sheath was ripped and soaked in oily black blood. Thick braids brushed her calves, hanging like ropes down her back. She had spread her wings, both the length of Vasethe’s body, and scarlet tattoos covered their surface. She glared at Eris. Each of her pupils split into two half-moons.

  Eris placed a hand on Vasethe’s shoulder, steadying him. “Change the rule so that I can speak aloud without the need for a duel.”

  “You should have stayed out of Mkalis,” Tiba spat.

  “Cooperate, and you will have nothing to fear from me.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I will not ask again.”

  Tiba growled. She touched the wound with her fingers and smeared the blood over her lips. Her legs trembled slightly.

  “Guests may speak to the ruler of the realm without restraint,” she said stiffly, her mouth stained glossy black.

  The world rippled.

  “Thank you.” Eris inclined her head. “Please attend to your injury.”

  For a moment, Vasethe thought that the demon might refuse purely to spite Eris. Then she touched blood to her lips a second time.

  “Heal,” she murmured, eyes downcast. She swayed and her wings folded. The seeping wound began to shrink, and Tiba’s breathing eased.

  “Let’s start again,” said Eris. “I greet you, Res Tiba, Sower of Bones, Ruler of the 713th Realm of Mkalis.”

  “Don’t bother with decorum,” Tiba said bitterly. “Whatever you want, just spit it out.”

  Eris scrutinised her for a moment.

  “Information,” she said.

  Tiba eyed Vasethe, then swung her gaze back to Eris, wary as a snake. “Regarding?”

  “Buyak.”

  “Oh.” Some of the anger drained from Tiba’s expression. She licked her lips clean. “That’s all?”

  “We’ll see. Have you noticed any changes in his behaviour?”

  “To be honest, we’ve never been close. I am not influential enough for that.”

  Eris looked down pointedly at the houses nestled at the base of the ribs.

  “Yes, I think his recent behaviour has been strange.”

  “You think?”

  “I’ll tell you what I know, but why do you want the information?”

  Eris considered before replying. “Creatures of his realm accosted me. I need to know if this was deliberate provocation.”

  “You mean, if he urged them to attack you?”

  “Exactly.”

  Tiba mulled it over.

  “He has never been reckless, so that would be out of character.”

  “But?”

  “He’s . . . he’s changed. He’s more confident, and perhaps with your current reputation, he might have thought—”

  “What do the rulers of Mkalis say about me these days?” Eris asked.

  Tiba was silent.

  She sighed. “Never mind. Any idea why he might be feeling particularly bold?”

  “There are whispers.” A muscle in Tiba’s jaw tensed. She lowered her voice.

  “Over the last two hundred years, six realms have become untethered: 953, 921, 845, 914, 899, and then, just recently, 406.”

  “Res Kstille’s realm.” Eris frowned. “He’s dead?”

  “No one in the lower realms knows anything. Access to his domain just ceased, the channels vanished. He may have been assassinated, but he was tough and careful, one of the old guard. It wouldn’t have been easy.”

  Eris looked disturbed. “And no new rulers have stepped forward to claim the realms?”

  “They might have, but there hasn’t been any kind of formal declaration. No one knows where the realms are now. It’s as if they were annexed, then abandoned.”

  “That’s not good,” muttered Eris. “That really isn’t good.”

  “Do you know something?” Tiba asked.

  “I have suspicions. And, unfortunately, I think I’ve been trying to reach one of the untethered realms.” She rubbed her forehead. “This is more complicated than I anticipated. Why do you suspect Buyak?”

  “At the last assembly before his disappearance, Kstille got into a violent disagreement with Buyak. I wasn’t there, but I heard that Kstille proposed a Tribunal of the High for Buyak’s impeachment.”

  Eris whistled.

  “Can you impeach a god?” asked Vasethe.

  Both Tiba and Eris turned to look at him. Their gazes were equally disconcerting.

  “Theoretically, yes,” said Eris. “In all the years I’ve been border keeper, there have been three Tribunals. Only one succeeded. The grounds for a meeting of the High involve a ruler breaking the most fundamental laws of creation. If Kstille dared to suggest that Buyak could be struck from his throne, he must have discovered something damning.”

  “And with the disappearing realms and rulers . . .” Tiba shrugged.

  “I catch your drift. And it would suggest the cause of his newfound arrogance.” Eris scowled. “What a mess.”

  “It’s all rumour, you understand.”

  “Of course. But I wouldn’t put it past Buyak.” She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. “In that case, I have one more request.”

  The demon nodded warily.

  “The hex on this man’s throat? Remove it.”

  Tiba’s lips thinned. Eris raised her eyebrow fractionally and waited. Her stillness radiated danger, like a knife held to Tiba’s windpipe. The wind whistled across the platform.

  The demon nodded, the barest movement of her head. “I will try.”

  She beckoned to Vasethe. He stepped forward. With surprising gentleness, Tiba tilted his head upwards to examine the wound. Up close, she smelled of smoke and honey. He felt her breath on his skin and repressed a shiver.

  “You are absorbing its malice?” she asked Eris.

  “I am.”

  “Perhaps I underestimated you.”

  “You don’t say.”

  Tiba inhaled deeply and frowned. �
��It’s a strange hex. I don’t know if interfering with it is a good idea; it might just kill him outright if I try to unstitch it.”

  “Then you’d better be careful.”

  “What do you want?” Tiba spoke to Vasethe directly for the first time. Her voice was kinder, and she looked him in the eyes. He held her gaze.

  “Please do what you can,” he said.

  A rumbling noise rose from deep within her chest. Vasethe’s throat stung and the maggots quivered. Tiba’s frown deepened. “Who laid this?”

  “Someone in Ahri,” said Eris. “The hex has been present from the moment he crossed into Mkalis.”

  “Then why does it smell of the High?”

  A pause. Eris shook her head. “That’s impossible. I haven’t let a ruler cross the shadowline in centuries.”

  Tiba sniffed again. “I’m certain of it. This is godtouched.”

  Eris pursed her lips. “Can you sense anything else?”

  Tiba was quiet for a few seconds. Vasethe held his breath.

  “Smells broken? Fragmented? Twisted somehow. The residue of the caster’s magic is so faint that I can hardly detect it. It’s . . .” She grimaced. “I don’t know. It’s difficult to put into words.”

  “Try.”

  Tiba hesitated. “It’s waiting.”

  The wind chilled the sweat along Vasethe’s spine. The maggots burrowed deeper into his flesh.

  “I will let the malice revert just before you begin unstitching the hex,” Eris said. She hesitated, before adding, “Be quick.”

  Tiba nodded.

  “Ready?” she asked Vasethe.

  He took a deep breath. “Yes.”

  The demon opened her jaws wide and bit into his throat. The world dissolved in white agony.

  Chapter Ten

  IT TOOK VASETHE a while to remember himself.

  Eris poured tea down his throat until he choked. But even though he was securely back inside his Ahri body, he could not recognise himself, or her, could not remember how he had arrived in the unfamiliar bed at the edge of the desert, could not recall his family, where he grew up, what he had done, who he had loved, desire, language, faces, anything. A vision replayed in his mind, of standing beneath a waterfall in autumn, the rush of water against his skin, a voice drifting from trees. Later, he realised that the painting on Eris’s wall matched the scene in his mind.