The Border Keeper

by Kerstin Hall

  “Are you familiar with God Instruments?” she asked at last.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “A God Compass can track powerful souls and allows its bearer to cross realms without permissions.” Her voice was dispassionate. “During the War of Black Sand, Kan Imasu of the 67th realm was successful in creating one. Using it, she hunted down and slaughtered ninety members of the Demonic Concord.”

  “And now there might be another one?”

  “Possibly. Forging any Instrument is taboo because their creation disrupts the circulation of life between Ahri and Mkalis. God Instruments are shaped from souls willingly forfeited, tempered in the lifeblood of a conquered ruler.”

  “Willingly forfeited? In Umbakur, the lanterns in the corridor referred to a forge.”

  “I saw,” she said shortly. “Buyak and I need to talk.”

  A skull dropped from the gunwale and landed with a clatter on the arid soil. Vasethe stared up at the ship.

  “Is something wrong?”

  The figurehead gazed down at him with sun-bleached eyes, lips parted hungrily. Her nose had snapped off.

  “I’m not sure,” he said.

  “Keep moving.”

  He nodded. The wind swelled, and the ships groaned in chorus; their sails fluttered and twisted. Music drifted from the hulls, soft but increasing in volume. As they passed a half-submerged brig, Vasethe glimpsed movement through the portholes.

  Da-dum.

  The drum fell silent again, one heartbeat in a graveyard. Eris gestured for him to stop.

  The creature emerged from a splintered cavity in the hull. It stood around Vasethe’s height, back bowed by the weight of its huge head, steps apelike and teetering. Two rows of steel spines protruded from its white brow, and two eyes glinted in their sunken sockets. It lumbered forward, violin in hand, sawing the strings with vigour. No mouth, no nose or ears that Vasethe could see. Masses of densely curled black fur covered its heavy limbs, leaving only elegant human hands and a smooth, bone-white visage exposed.

  “State your purpose, realm dweller,” said Eris.

  It played on, advancing towards them. With a growl, Eris raised one hand and the creature froze. Although its fingers had stopped moving, the music did not falter. Another creature emerged from the hull.

  “I have no desire to harm you,” Eris told the frozen musician. “But neither will I hesitate to.”

  “More are coming,” Vasethe said, watching the other ships. From beneath the ground, he could hear the sound of drums.

  “Buyak’s got a death wish,” Eris snarled.

  A second later, she cried out and doubled over. Pain lanced through Vasethe’s throat.

  “Eris?” he gasped.

  She spat blood. “Sorry, Sethe. Seems that I lied. How many are there?”

  “At least twelve.”

  The first musician was nearly upon them. Eris gestured and it slid backwards, freezing again.

  “More than I would like.” She paralysed the next creature. Vasethe shielded her back.

  The violinist twitched under Eris’s spell, fighting the binding. Music poured from the ships, bright and cheery and unrelenting, all perfectly in key, as synchronised as an orchestra. Dark figures wove across the steppe, steps falling in time to the deep vibrations of hidden drums. Da-da-dum-da, da-da-dum-da. Regular, insistent.

  “Draw on your power,” Vasethe said.

  “No.”

  “Then at least arm me with something.”

  “Quiet.”

  The violinist pushed the bow across the instrument’s strings, one sheer note, and froze again. Vasethe could now count twenty musicians, all inching towards them. Eris’s breathing was heavy.

  She slashed her arm through the air. The violinist crumbled into ash. The violin fell to the ground and the music faltered.

  “Any more takers?” she called.

  Da-da-dum, da-da-dum. The song recommenced with vigour.

  “Let’s move.” She stepped forward.

  “We’re surrounded,” he said.

  Eris swore.

  “Let the hex revert to me for a few seconds.”

  “I told you to be quiet.”

  “Just do it!”

  “No.”

  Eris incinerated another musician and Vasethe’s throat burned. The music paused, gathered again, swelled.

  “I can handle it,” he said. “Please.”

  She ignored him.

  The drumming resonated within his diaphragm. He crouched and snatched up a stone. The creatures moved quicker now, waltzing towards them. Vasethe threw the rock at a flutist. The missile bounced harmlessly off the creature’s shoulder and hit the instrument, producing a discordant note. The music paused.

  Vasethe glanced at Eris.

  “I’m going to try something,” she said.

  She swept her arms outwards and sent the musicians stumbling back. Then she inhaled, as if to dive underwater, and sang.

  Her voice soared over the ships, wrenching through the creatures’ orderly rhythms with a penetrating, erratic sound, wordless and angry and demanding. The musicians halted, their fingers hovering over frets and strings.

  A vicious grin played across Eris’s face. Still singing, she grasped Vasethe’s wrist and dragged him forward through the maze of ships. The strange creatures were unable to move; they twitched like the hands of a stopped clock, their bodies turning to track Eris’s progress through their midst. The steppe stretched for miles, offering no shelter, only sparse grey vegetation and lone, leafless trees. Eris sang on, undaunted. The sunken leviathans groaned as if battered by her voice.

  A high-pitched bellow rang out over the plain.

  “What is that?” asked Vasethe.

  Eris tightened her grip around Vasethe’s wrist. Her voice cracked and the musicians lunged towards them, lightning quick, but she recovered and they froze.

  Seven figures appeared in the distance, raising a storm of dust in their wake. Riders on top of strange animals. They streaked across the steppe at breakneck pace.

  Eris stopped and shoved Vasethe behind her.

  A rider whooped. Their mounts were huge and armoured, bird-faced creatures the size of bears, with two thick legs and cloven hooves. The animals produced high yips like a pack of feral dogs, and their riders wore horned skull masks draped with strings of multicoloured beads and copper wire and quartz. Bars of dark red paste streaked their arms.

  The rider at the head of the pack pulled sharply on her reins, and the mount skidded to a stop in front of Eris. Behind her, another rider blew on a curved horn.

  “Quickly,” she said, voice muffled by her mask, “Come with us.”

  Eris kept singing.

  Vasethe’s mouth was dry. “State your purpose, realm dweller.”

  “I am Tyn, Second Spear of the retinue of Res Lfae, Ruler of the 194th Realm. My current ‘purpose’ is to rescue a pair of travellers from a grisly death.” She tugged on the reins, causing her mount to bank to the right, and offered him a hand. “Now move.”

  Vasethe looked at Eris. She nodded. He grasped the stranger’s wrist and she pulled him up behind her. Muscles corded her wiry arms. She wheeled her animal around, and Vasethe grabbed hold of her waist.

  Eris’s voice faltered again and the pause was enough. The musicians recommenced their brash music, louder and fiercer than before. The ground thrummed with the force of the unseen drummers. She whirled around to face them and pushed the creatures away with a furious gesture. A second rider rushed up to her, leaning far out of his saddle, and swept her onto his animal.

  Tyn ululated and her mount leapt forward. Then they were flying across the scrubland.

  Other riders whooped and cheered, egging their animals on. The mounts thundered across the steppe, breathtakingly fast. Tyn crouched low in the saddle. The way she moved, she could have been an extension of the creature’s body.

  Without warning, they veered left and Vasethe lost his grip. The ground raced up to meet him,
but Tyn reached out and caught him by the back of his shirt. She pulled him upright.

  “Easy there,” she said.

  He swallowed hard. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t tuck your elbows in; it makes it harder to balance.”

  He adjusted his posture.

  “Better.”

  It did not feel any better to Vasethe, but he kept his arms up anyway. The other riders veered and shifted, jostling for a place at the head of the pack. Their skull masks leered at him. He caught sight of Eris through the fray.

  “Want to see what Pax can really do?” Tyn asked over her shoulder. She wasn’t even looking at the terrain ahead and her mount navigated its own way. Eyes glinted through the slits of her mask.

  “What?”

  Tyn laughed and the wind whipped her long hair across his face. She crouched lower in the saddle, leaned forward, and spoke into her mount’s ear. The animal’s muscles rippled beneath Vasethe.

  The motion wrenched him by the arms and he swore. Their mount surged ahead; the world blurred around them, an impression of brush and earth and sky. Tyn laughed. Every part of Vasethe sang with adrenaline: the world alight with brighter colours, the sound of the mount’s hooves magnified in his ears, a second heartbeat. Everything was clear.

  They raced on, heading for the distant hills, towards a thin plume of smoke rising in the air.

  Chapter Thirteen

  TYN SLOWED HER MOUNT at the base the ochre cliffs. Out of sight, water gurgled. The air was sharp with the smell of vegetation.

  “We will meet up with Res Lfae at the pass,” she said, slightly out of breath.

  The other riders were specks on the horizon, shimmering in the haze. Vasethe wiped sweat from his forehead. The sun was at its height; when Tyn had offered him a drink, he almost accepted before remembering the rules.

  Tyn led her mount, Pax, through a thicket of thorn bushes, and they emerged beside a shallow rivulet. The animal bent and drank.

  “She’s the second-fastest d’wen in the pack,” Tyn said with affection. “Bad-tempered but loyal. Isn’t that right, grouchy?”

  Pax chittered.

  Vasethe patted the animal’s haunch. Its feathers were the colour of sand and surprisingly soft. “Thank you for coming to our aid.”

  “Res Lfae told us to. So, that was the border keeper back there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hm. Apparently, she and my ruler are old friends. That makes you . . .”

  He shrugged. “My name is Vasethe.”

  Tyn worked at the knot that held her skull mask in place. “I’m guessing you’re from Ahri, given that you don’t want to drink.”

  “Astute.”

  She was tall and lithe. Her skin was covered with intricate tattoos: illegible writing, letters entwined with birds, with vines and flames and water. “Who are you looking for?”

  “I never said I was looking for anyone.”

  “Yeah, but that’s generally why Ahrians come to Mkalis, isn’t it?” She removed the mask and set it on a rock. She had hawkish features, a nose that had broken and healed skew. “If the old stories are anything to go by, you should be here to track down some helpless lover and drag them kicking and screaming back to Ahri.”

  He snorted.

  “No?”

  “No.”

  Tyn splashed her face with water and slicked back her hair. In the distance, Vasethe could hear the sound of hooves. Pax raised her head and looked towards the noise. She barked and the pack answered.

  “Patience, you silly creature.” Tyn retrieved her mask and hoisted herself back into the saddle. She offered Vasethe her hand. “Are you heading to Demi Anath?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  She tapped Pax’s ribs. The animal grumbled and turned around. “Perhaps you can travel with us.”

  “Us?”

  “My tribe and the rest of the retinue from the 194th realm. Domain of Res Lfae, One Who Wields the Machete, Marquis of the Spine Light”—she gestured theatrically as she rattled off the titles—“and partygoer of note.”

  Vasethe smiled. “I’d like the company, but it’s Eris’s call.”

  “She will be in for a long, hot walk if she declines.”

  They left the thicket and emerged into sunlight. The other riders were only a few hundred feet away; Tyn waved to them and they slowed. The d’wens panted and crooned.

  “You’ll exhaust your animal,” one of the riders called.

  “I wanted to stretch her legs,” Tyn replied.

  “Apparently, she needs stretching every hour or so.”

  Sounds of general amusement. Vasethe caught Eris’s eye. She looked tired.

  Having fun? Her voice inside his head caught him by surprise, and she smiled.

  “Honoured border keeper,” Tyn said, in a more formal tone, “please forgive me for the rushed introductions earlier. My ruler is waiting for us to rejoin the caravans at the base of the Jifui Pass. It is not too far from here and you are welcome to accompany us.”

  “Good,” said Eris. “I’d like to talk to Lfae anyway.”

  The riders were relaxed and talked amongst themselves; some removed their masks. Relaxed but still dangerous. Strapped to the d’wens’ saddles were spears and crossbows, scimitars with stained blades, and battered shields. They looked ready to ride into battle. White-barked quiver trees dotted the cliffs, casting stiff black shadows across the ground. A lappet-faced vulture swung lazy arcs through the sky.

  “Have you been to Demi Anath before?” Vasethe asked Tyn.

  “Not personally, no, but some of my tribespeople have seen it. ‘The City of Inverted Waters.’ I expect it will be quite impressive.” She swatted an insect. “Although I doubt it will rival my ruler’s cities.”

  “I suspect you might be biased.”

  “I suspect you might be right.” She pointed at the cliffs ahead. “Here we are.”

  Vasethe leaned sideways in the saddle. A giant crack split the rock face at the end of the valley, and at the base of the cliffs stood a host of covered wagons. One of the riders behind them blew their horn. An answering blast echoed across the steppe, accompanied by a cacophony of barking.

  “Hale, Thethametsu, Saa, Koitu, take your d’wens to drink,” said Tyn. “Nthu, Matir, come with me.”

  Eris’s rider urged his mount forward. Another man, his chipped skull mask resting on his lap, did likewise. The others turned and made for the stream.

  Enormous bird nests festooned the shaded interior of the crack in the rock face, the walls streaked with white droppings. As they approached, Vasethe felt a cool wind blowing through the cleft. The d’wens sidestepped nervously.

  “They are edgier than usual,” said Eris’s rider, his voice a low rumble.

  Tyn shot him a glare. He shrugged.

  “They’ve never liked the dark,” she said, after a moment.

  “It’s not that dark in there. They smell something.”

  “Enough, Matir.”

  He fell silent.

  The caravans were draped in coloured silks and decorated with painted skulls and wire antennae. There were fifteen wagons in total, harnessed to giant horned beetles. The beetles appeared foul-tempered, tossing their heads and pawing at the ground. Minders scratched their backs with long sticks and wafted smoke towards them with large fans.

  “Hey, Upstart!” A woman strode towards them. She addressed Tyn. “Where is everyone else?”

  Tyn dismounted. “They’re just behind me. The d’wens were thirsty.” She tucked her mask into the crook of one arm.

  “Res Lfae has been waiting for you.”

  “I know.”

  Vasethe slid off Pax. His legs were stiff and unsteady.

  “Border keeper, this is First Spear Vehn,” said Tyn.

  The woman bowed smoothly from the waist. “I apologize for not assisting you myself, your Reverence. I had been scouting the pass, so Res Lfae sent the Second Spear in my place.” She motioned for two youths to collect the mounts. �
�May I take you directly to my ruler?”

  “Please do.” Eris climbed down. Her voice sounded in Vasethe’s head. Lfae was amongst Yett’s closest allies. As rulers go, one of my favourites.

  “Are you allowed favourites?” he muttered to her.

  I do what I like. She followed Vehn and nodded politely to Tyn in farewell. It’s well known that we’re friends, so nobody has tried to invade Lfae’s realm in centuries.

  Vasethe stepped out of the way to let the d’wen pass. Tyn threw him a lazy salute and headed for a striped red caravan with Matir.

  “Stay out of trouble,” she called.

  “I’ll try.”

  Flies buzzed. Vasethe caught up with Eris and Vehn. Members of Lfae’s retinue lolled around in the shade of their caravans, their faces dyed in brilliant hues by the reflected light of the silk.

  Vehn stopped in front of a green and gold caravan and stood to attention.

  “Res Lfae?” she called. “The border keeper is here.”

  Vasethe heard rustling, and the silk was swept aside.

  The demon was tall and slender, with platinum hair that fell in soft waves to the ground. The strength of their jaw was offset by the delicacy of their mouth, and their age was indeterminate. Young, old, male, female, Vasethe could not tell. The light soaked into their honey-coloured features, and they seemed at once alien and kind, warm and regal. Their deep hazel eyes met his, and Vasethe had the sense that the demon knew every secret he had ever kept.

  Eris nudged him in the ribs. “Close your mouth.”

  Vasethe shut his mouth.

  “I do enjoy watching the effect I have on the unsuspecting.” Lfae’s voice was like a wind instrument in early morning mist. “Hello, mortal.”

  Vasethe made a garbled sound.

  “Oh, get a grip, Sethe.” Eris was grinning. “Long time no see, Lfae. Thank you for the assistance.”

  The demon motioned for her to come inside, wrists tinkling with silver jewellery. “So nice to see you again. I worry about you, Midan.”

  “Not Midan anymore.”

  “Still. I worry.”

  “I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.” Eris entered the caravan.

  “You look tired.”

  “You didn’t have to say so.”