The Boundless

by Peter Newman

  She let go of the chain, and that too passed through them and out of sight.

  Fine. Let’s try something else.

  With a single stroke of her arms, she swam forwards, closing the gap between her and the demons. She’d noticed that they’d left a uniform space around her and Arkav, and wanted to see what would happen if she changed it. As the light of her aura intensified, she saw the bodies of the nearest demons begin to smoke. They writhed and wriggled, like a Purefish that had been pulled from a river, but they did not break formation.

  Interesting. Our armour is poison to these demons just as it is to the ones in the Wild above.

  She uncoiled the whip at her side and flicked it out so that the barb of sharpened tanzanite on the end would make contact. After many lifecycles’ practice, her aim was perfect and the barb embedded in the demon’s hide.

  This time there was a reaction.

  At the point of contact, she saw a section of the demon simply evaporate. Lines of light scorched outward from the initial wound, searing across its body, dividing it into separate chunks that burned and burned until there was nothing left. Beyond it she saw another piece of living dark, another demon, settling in to fill the gap.

  She also heard whispers, quieter than before, but she was very close now and able to pick up the odd word.

  ‘… Fixed …’

  ‘… Pain …’

  ‘… Prisoners …’

  ‘Arkav,’ she said. ‘Come closer.’

  He paddled awkwardly to her side. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Listen. Can you hear them?’

  He edged still closer, and she saw the demons squirm even more. Time passed and Arkav said nothing. She knew he was attending to the demons and she dearly wished for his insight. However, she also knew they were still moving.

  ‘Arkav?’

  ‘I think something else is holding them here against their will.’

  ‘I heard them say prisoners before. Do you think they’re talking about themselves?’

  ‘No. That’s not right … I think that’s how they refer to us.’

  She looked at the nearest demon. ‘I am Lady Pari, child of the Tanzanite Everlasting. If you can understand me, say something.’

  ‘… Burning …’

  ‘Sorry about that. If you let us out, we’ll stop burning you.’

  ‘… Fixed …’

  Arkav shook his head. ‘They can’t let us out. They don’t have a choice.’

  ‘Don’t make me feel sorry for these demons, Arkav. Things are bad enough as it is.’

  His head jerked down and to the left. ‘We’re too late. It’s here.’

  Vasinidra had ordered the hunt but the castle was eerily quiet. No drums played. The castle did not sing. It was a liminal time, caught between mourning the death of the old High Lord and celebrating the rise of the new one: Him. Yesterday he had been Vasin, a lord of the Sapphire Deathless. Now he was head of the house, with a new name to go with his new title: High Lord Vasinidra Sapphire. Nobody knew quite how to behave, nor how to act on a hunting day without the ancient traditions to guide them. For all that, Vasinidra felt oddly calm. Usually, he was a bundle of nerves on the morning of a hunt, the anticipation growing until the release of flight and action. Today was different. He was different.

  Long ago, the village of Sorn had made a sacrifice and it had gone unanswered. Because of that, many had died or been dragged into the Wild, and the Scuttling Corpseman roamed their land unchecked.

  So many things to set right: Mother. The threat of the Scuttling Corpseman. Aiding House Ruby before it crumbles. Clearing up the mess Yadavendra left behind. What to do about the false Lord Rochant? For that matter, what to do about the real one when he emerges again? And do I truly trust Gada or Yadva to support me?

  He paused for a moment. Without the drums, it was hard to know when he should leave. Then, his face split into a grin and he laughed aloud.

  Whatever time I choose will be the right one. They will all keep pace with me now.

  He was just about to go when he heard a familiar voice singing for entrance; his brother, Gada. Vasinidra waved him inside, and noted Gada was dressed as he was, in tight silks that would fit under their armour. His hair was pulled into a topknot, making the long face seem even longer.

  ‘I won’t keep you, High Lord. I merely wished to offer my congratulations again, and speak privately on a matter close to both our hearts.’

  It was odd seeing Gada be so deferent but Vasinidra could not bring himself to direct his brother to do otherwise. This was one perk he would happily get used to. ‘Thank you for your support, though in future, if you could act before Yadva hits me, I’d appreciate it.’

  Gada’s eyebrow twitched but his face remained solemn. ‘Does it hurt badly?’

  He nodded, remembering the violence that had preceded his promotion. His stomach ached where she’d struck, his neck felt tender, and with the pain came a memory, of being lifted off the floor by Yadavendra, his predecessor. His uncle.

  ‘I suspect the bruises will follow me to my next lifecycle.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘What was this other matter?’

  ‘Mother, of course. How is she?’

  ‘The years have been hard on her, but she endures. She’s in Sorn. After we’ve dealt with the Corpseman, I’m going to bring her home.’

  ‘Might I counsel you to wait. Her return will be even more controversial than your new name, and you have only just taken power.’

  ‘She’s suffered long enough, brother.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mean that she should linger in the Wild. I’m just counselling that we bring her in quietly. That way we can choose the best time to break the news to the others.’

  ‘That would be a different kind of torture. She is innocent, and I will make that clear to the house.’

  In times past, he knew Gada would argue, but he simply nodded. ‘You know that I stand with you.’

  ‘I know and am grateful. Now, are you ready?’

  ‘Yes.’ He turned to go, then stopped by the door. ‘I am proud of you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘In the past I may not have treated you with the proper respect. That is, I have not always done right by you. I may even have given up on you for a while. For once, I’m happy to be proven wrong.’

  Vasinidra crossed the room and embraced Gada. ‘I’m going to need cautious heads to advise me in the years ahead. And sometimes I’ll need someone to hit Yadva with a giant stick.’ He patted Gada on the back. ‘I’m glad I have you, brother.’

  The weak smile came back, but it didn’t irritate Vasinidra as much as normal.

  ‘Is it time to hunt, my High Lord?’

  ‘Yes, Lord Gada, it is time to hunt.’

  Satyendra scowled as he wound his way into the depths of Lord Rochant’s floating castle. He’d woken that day with a headache. Or the equivalent of a hangover. Or perhaps both combined. The headache part had come from having his skull smashed against the hard floor of the throne room by that monstrous beast, Yadva. The hangover part was more of a come-down, the low that inevitably followed a great high.

  When Yadavendra, the High Lord of the Sapphire and great thorn in Satyendra’s side, had been disgraced in front of the house, he had felt the man’s shame and fear. Literally felt it. Felt it and tasted it and drunk it down until it had filled him up. For a brief ecstatic time, he had been strong, powerful, quick. The best that he could be. That power had enabled him to stand toe to toe with the strongest of the Sapphire Deathless and hold his own. Nevertheless, raw strength was not enough when faced with multiple lifetimes of experience, as Lady Yadva had taught him most painfully.

  The worst of his injury had already healed. But, as his fractured skull had slowly popped back into shape, it had weakened him. Whatever power he had stolen from Yadavendra had been used up to save his own life.

  He was hungry now, and grumpy. And he knew just what to do to feel better again.

  Down he went, below the le
vel of the castle’s walls, into the areas excavated from the great slab of rock it sat upon. No sunslight could reach down here, and for that he was grateful. Where everyone else drew comfort from the three suns, he found them unpleasant. Much better to be in the shade somewhere, preferably without the endless chatter and babble of others.

  Veins of the purest sapphire cut through the rock in places, shedding a soft blue light. It was said that the crystals on the outside absorbed the energy of the suns over the day and then fed it throughout the structure, providing heat and light within. Perhaps that was why Satyendra didn’t like them much either.

  It wasn’t just the sight of the glowing crystal, it was the sound as well. The castle talked. Constantly. Oh, everyone knew that on hunting days or times of great celebration, the castle would sing in response to the music of its people. But what most people did not know was that it was always making some noise or another. Sighing to itself, humming, communing in some way with the essence below and the suns above.

  Satyendra knew.

  And he hated it. The sound grated in his ears and set his teeth on edge. Though the light was lesser here, there was nothing to distract him from the castle’s whisperings. He wondered if the castle was aware in some way. Sometimes it felt like it was watching him, and that it disapproved.

  On he went, to a little pocket of rocky chambers that sat in a space between the veins; dull, grey, and lifeless. Perfect.

  Some of the chambers were used to store food that needed to be kept cool. Others were used as cells, dark places to hold those who had fallen out of favour. Satyendra made his way towards one of these.

  He saw a guard in House Sapphire livery coming the opposite way. She had a lantern in one hand. A pitiful little shard of blue on the end of a chain. When she came to a stop, it swung towards him, making him grimace as the light washed over his face.

  ‘My lord,’ she said, saluting. ‘Have you come to see the prisoner?’

  He nodded. Lord Rochant was known to be a man of few words, though he was also known to be possessed of surpassing eloquence when the need arose. Satyendra found it much easier to fake the former.

  ‘I’ve just brought him some food,’ added the guard. ‘If I may, my lord, he’s very sorry about what he did.’

  Satyendra kept his face a passive mask. ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘He told me so. Begged for a chance to make it up to you.’

  ‘I thought he was gagged.’

  ‘Well, he is, my lord. I have to take it off to feed him.’

  He paused for a moment. The guard was getting nervous, just enough to make his blood stir and take the edge off his headache. He knew it was wrong to treat her this way, and he knew his hunger could take him to dark places, but he was too weak to resist. I’ll draw it out just a little, he told himself. An appetiser to keep me going. ‘Do you recall my orders?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Recite them to me.’

  She swallowed hard. ‘You said … to bring Pik here and … bind his mouth.’ When he didn’t say anything, she continued, ‘And that you’d deal with him after the celebration of your rebirth had ended.’

  He nodded again, sharp. ‘And what else did I say?’

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘It’s a simple question: What else did I say?’

  He watched her frantically try to recall. Her embarrassment was like the first smells of a cooked dinner, the shred of fear bubbling beneath a sneaky taste of the sauce before the food was served. After a few painfully delicious moments she shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, my lord. I don’t remember.’

  ‘I said that we were to forget that he existed.’ She nodded hurriedly as if to say: Of course! That was it! It was on the tip of my tongue! ‘If he tries to talk when you feed him, we must withhold his food. He has betrayed us. I do not want to hear what he feels or what he thinks. I do not even want to hear his name. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. I’m sorry, my lord. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Go to the entrance to this corridor and wait there until I return. See to it that I am not disturbed for any reason. Dismissed.’

  She moved past him, then hesitated. ‘You have no lantern, my lord. Would you care for mine?’

  ‘Keep it. I have lived in this castle for many lifecycles and know it as I know myself.’

  The awe in her eyes was pleasant in a very different way, and he savoured it as she marched out of sight. The truth was he knew the castle well because he had worked hard in his short life to do so.

  It’s better like this, he thought. Fitting. To meet him in the dark where we both belong.

  Satyendra waited for the guard’s footsteps to become distant echoes, and went inside. The cell was really a stunted hole with a door attached to one end. There was just enough room for one person and a bowl for their waste.

  The prisoner, Pik, a teenager three years his junior, was still wearing yesterday’s clothes and the stink of sweat was pungent. His wrists were bound and fixed to the wall, and his mouth was gagged. Satyendra could well imagine Pik’s stupid face. Often worried. Sometimes smug. Always dominated by that ridiculous nose.

  He had seen that face many times in the courtyard when they had trained together. Like him, Pik had been an apprentice hunter. He had also been a spy for his mother and had betrayed his secrets to her. He owed Pik a horrible revenge, but first he would get some sustenance from him.

  ‘Now,’ he began. ‘What are we going to do with you?’

  There was muffled sound as Pik tried to respond through the gag. Satyendra ignored it. ‘Usually, a traitor would be cast out. Either sent back to the road-born in disgrace or into the Wild to die.’

  The mere mention of the Wild was enough to set Pik’s heart racing. His chains clanked in time with the trembling of his limbs. As the sweet fear rose into the air, Satyendra inhaled deeply.

  Ah, yes, that’s more like it.

  ‘I cannot send you back to the road-born. They are my people and I love them too much to insert a nasty little Wormkin like you into their lives.’

  His headache from earlier was completely gone now. The lethargy with it. He could feel his mood lifting, his body filling with energy, his bones starting to wake.

  It was tempting to do something truly horrible, like stab Pik or pull out some of his hair. The emotions he could stir! But he held off. Such crude methods would provide a hearty meal but he wanted something more nuanced, something closer to what he’d enjoyed from Yadavendra. He also held off to make sure he still could. The desire to hurt, physically hurt, pulled at him like a master tugging on a leash. Deep down, he was as scared by it as he was thrilled.

  ‘I have, however, decided to be merciful and spare you the Wild.’

  A sudden spurt of hope mixed in with the boy’s fear. The new emotion did not dampen the old one, it heightened it, like a hint of sweetness in a sharp drink, enhancing both flavours.

  Better. I’m getting closer to it. Now to build him up just a little more before the twist.

  Pik was holding his breath.

  ‘Even you don’t deserve that.’

  The breath was let go in an explosive mumble of gratitude. Probably some kind of thanks or obeisance.

  ‘No,’ he continued, ‘you lack the spine for it. The Wild would finish someone like you too quickly for it to be a true punishment.’

  He felt a fresh surge of panic smother the hope, mixing with it and the older despair, making layers, giving texture. His mouth began to water.

  ‘Tonight, when the suns have set—’

  A song outside the door interrupted him. Immediately, the mood shifted, the perfect tension becoming something not quite so perfect. He ground his teeth in frustration, and also fear. What if he’d been overheard by one of the older staff, or worse, one of the many Deathless currently in residence? They would find his behaviour suspicious, out of keeping with the real Deathless he was impersonating.

  ‘My lord?’

  It was t
he guard’s voice. As soon as he recognized it, his fear flipped into frustration. Can she not follow one simple instruction!

  He opened the door and stepped out so abruptly that she nearly dropped her lantern. ‘What did I say? What did I say just moments ago?’ He was aware he was doing a poor job of imitating Lord Rochant’s legendary patience but couldn’t stop himself. ‘Was I not clear enough? Should I have the Cutter-crafters carve it into your forehead?’

  ‘I—No, my lord, you were most clear. But Win came down to see me himself. You’ve been summoned by High Lord Vasinidra.’

  ‘And it couldn’t wait for a few minutes?’

  She looked appalled, then said in a voice high with tension, ‘He said you were to go now, my lord. It’s not my place to say but … it sounded urgent.’

  The rushing in his blood calmed, allowing sanity to return. Even Lord Rochant cannot be seen to disrespect his High Lord. Especially him. Why was I cursed to be descended from the loyal, clever one?

  He shut the door behind him.

  ‘Very well. I will go to him directly. Keep the prisoner gagged until my return.’

  He turned away before she could respond.

  As he made his way back towards the light, he decided that the day had still got off to a good start. He felt strong, energized. Even the brief encounter with Pik had done much to rejuvenate him. Yes, his moment had been spoiled but, perhaps, it was for the best. How far would I have gone if she hadn’t interrupted? Better that I keep away from Pik, for my own sake. Yes. It’s better this way, for both of us.

  But even as he thought this he knew that, sooner or later, he would return.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Wild closed in around Chandni. Silhouettes of trees and Birdkin blurred together to become a single creature: A darkness formed of compound eyes and feathers, leaves and branches, all focused on her. And somewhere ahead, a figure waited. Taller than a person should be, as tall as a Deathless exalted in armour. She couldn’t see them any more, not truly, but their outline remained etched in her mind, a black line on a black canvas. It too was made of many things, of wings and hearts that beat together, pulsing in time with each drop of blood that ran from her forearm to fall from her deadened fingertips.