by Peter Newman
‘Ow!’ said Sa-at.
‘Ow!’ said Tal.
‘Shut your mouths and open your ears,’ said Roh. Sa-at had thought his ears already open but decided he couldn’t ask about it without making Roh angry. ‘This armour is sacred. You handle it like you would the good Lord Rochant himself, gentle as a babe. I’ll wrap each piece and give it to you to carry. You carry it by the cloth. Your grubby little hands never touch a single bit of crystal, do you hear?’
‘Yes,’ said Tal.
‘Yes,’ added Sa-at.
‘Mmhn, I’ll be checking every piece when we get there and I’d better not find any smeary fingerprints if you know what’s good for you,’ muttered Roh.
The armour weighed less than Sa-at expected, each piece sitting lightly in his hands. The problem was bulk. The wings were attached to the back plate and there was no way to reduce their size. Tal and Sa-at had to carry it between them.
They moved through the castle quietly, back through the cold room with the meat and Roh’s ‘boy’. Back through the rough tunnels. Back to where the walls became carved and adorned with lights. Roh went ahead to make sure nobody saw their cargo. When they did encounter someone, she chattered irritably with them before sending the unfortunate on their way, often with a sore ear or a new errand.
The last bit of the journey was the worst. In the more populated parts of the castle it was impossible to move completely unseen. And even though they kept their heads down, and even though nothing overt was said, Sa-at felt questioning eyes fall on him.
It’s like being in the wrong part of the Wild as the suns go down. Trouble is already waiting for us.
They were nearly back to Roh’s room when the old cook stopped and bowed her head. Tal and Sa-at copied her, letting their hoods fall forward.
‘Shouldn’t you be in the kitchens?’ said a voice, young but imperious.
‘Ah,’ puffed Roh, ‘the good Lord Rochant misses nothing … I’ve been looking for Honoured Mother Chandni … Been all over the castle and I can’t find her anywhere. Most unlike her.’
Good Lord Rochant? Thought Sa-at. This must be the imposter. My enemy. He wanted to look very badly but he knew he should keep his head down. He bit his lip. Surely a little look wouldn’t hurt?
‘I have given her leave to travel and see her family, a reward for her long years of service.’
‘Very kind of you, my lord. People don’t forget that sort of kindness.’
Sa-at had the feeling that Roh was saying one thing and meaning another.
‘If you have need of my seneschal, Win has taken the post. Take your concerns to him unless you feel the need to come to me directly.’
‘No need to bother you, my lord. It’s nothing.’
‘You have run yourself half to death for nothing?’
‘I mean it’s nothing for a Deathless Lord to concern himself with. The little things are all the world to the likes of old Roh.’
Sa-at couldn’t bear it any longer. He lifted his head a fraction so that he could see the man Roh was speaking to. He saw black and blue silks, an inner layer that was tied tight on the arms and legs, and then an outer layer that flowed around him to pool at his feet. The man was not tall and the silks made him seem bigger than he probably was. Sa-at was not fooled though.
Many animals in the Wild do that trick, and they do it much better.
But a glance at a pair of legs and a body was not enough. Sa-at tilted his head a little more and saw a brown face with short black hair. His own face, but with a golden tattoo across one temple, the lines like cracks in the surface of his skull, or lightning, forking down to the cheek. It was identical to the one on Rochant’s cheek. He saw the man’s eyes – they are my eyes! – half-lidded by a frown, and he gasped. They were staring right at him.
CHAPTER FOUR
Satyendra’s eyes bored into the stranger’s. They were wearing a servant’s hood which was odd in itself as they were indoors. He noticed a long strand of hair spill from the hood. He had possessed hair like that once, as long and dark as his mother’s. Until, that is, she had cut it away. Not long ago, his face had been clear of gold paint just like this one. He looked into those wide eyes and it was like looking into a mirror of the past.
From the moment he’d found Roh in the corridor, he’d known something was going on. A liar always knew another liar and he was a creature made of lies.
‘I assume these staff are new,’ he said to Roh, though his gaze did not leave the too familiar face.
‘That’s right, my good lord. Two of my kitchen lads.’
‘I would have their names, and see them observe proper manners within my castle. Hoods are for outside, not in.’
‘Oh, but they know the rules, my good lord, it’s just that their hands are full.’ She put a hand to her back and groaned, though Satyendra was not convinced by the display of discomfort. ‘All this running about has worn these old bones hard. Might we be excused?’
He glanced to the guard at his side. ‘Make sure she doesn’t fall.’ The guard nodded and took the cook’s arm. He forced his attention to go to the other figure, wanting to save his mysterious twin till last. ‘Let me get that for you,’ he said, smiling as he threw back the young man’s hood. A pale face was revealed. It was worn and tired, unremarkable save for the scars where his earlobes should be. There was a delightful amount of worry there, even for a servant meeting his lord for the first time, and yet Satyendra found it hard to absorb. Something was wrong. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Tal, my lord.’
‘You have the look of a road-born, Tal.’
‘Y-yes, my lord. I was born and raised in Sagan.’
‘And then raised to my castle, it seems. Who brought you into the kitchens?’
‘I …’
Roh cleared her throat. ‘It was Honoured Mother Chandni, my good lord, she did it as a favour.’
Lies. I’ve never seen this boy before and my mother didn’t bring people in for favours. She brought in the best. But he kept his face civil. ‘I see. Welcome, Tal. What happened to your ears?’
Tal’s cheeks flushed scarlet and he looked at the floor. ‘The Wil—’
‘Fool tried to pierce them as a child,’ interrupted Roh. ‘Got infected.’
More lies. Not even good ones. He took a moment to take what he could of Tal’s mounting terror, but it was as if something was muting it, interfering with his ability to feast. In fact, he himself felt uncomfortable. His armpits had become sweaty and he resisted the urge to scratch them. Lord Rochant would never be seen to scratch in public.
‘Welcome to my castle, Tal of Sagan. Serve me truly and you shall have nothing to fear.’ The fear and guilt were so clear on Tal’s face it was embarrassing. I’ll keep this one in the cells when I’m done. Between him and Pik I’ll not want for food.
‘And you?’ he said, turning at last to the other one again. Their eyes met a second time and it was just as much a slap in the face as the first. Unlike Tal, he got no fear from this one. There was curiosity mixed with anger and determination. Nothing he could use. ‘What’s your name?’
Roh took a breath to answer for him but Satyendra’s hand came up, silencing her. ‘Let him speak for himself.’
‘My name is Sa-at.’
‘I’ve never heard a name like that before.’ He reached out and pushed back Sa-at’s hood. Beneath the cloak, he could see black feathers. Part of some garment that bore no resemblance to any of the castle fashions. And that face! His face. A perfect copy. ‘We could be brothers,’ he murmured. Then added: ‘In body. You could be related to this body.’
Sa-at regarded him with similar fascination. ‘You’re like me.’
Conflicting feelings rose within Satyendra. He wanted to touch Sa-at, to see if he were real. To see if I am real. He wanted to rake that face with his hands and destroy it. He wanted to flee the intense scrutiny.
He realized that Sa-at wanted to reach out to him too, but couldn’t as his hands were alread
y full. And that brought his attention to another oddity. ‘What are you carrying, exactly?’
Both Sa-at and Tal gave worried glances towards Roh. The old cook was leaning against the guard, her eyes half closed. ‘Don’t look at me. When your lord asks you what you are carrying, you show him.’
Sa-at was the first to move. He proffered one of the cloth parcels towards Satyendra, who took it. There was solidity beneath the fabric, along with an unpleasant feeling. A familiar, unpleasant feeling. The skin of his palms tingled unhappily.
I don’t want what’s in here. I want to give it back.
But at this point he had to open the parcel. To do anything else would appear strange. After all, he’d asked to see it. As the cloth fell away, he found himself looking into the empty eye holes of a helmet. Clearly it belonged to a Sapphire Deathless, but despite being of similar design it was not his helmet, that one was smaller. He’d just seen the other Sapphire Deathless arrayed in their armour before they’d left to hunt. None of their helmets matched what he held in his hands.
‘What is this?’ he murmured.
The burning sensation intensified, and he felt that strange shifting in his hands, as if the flesh were trying to get away from the crystal. He was just about to give the helmet back to Sa-at when he heard a gasp and a thud.
‘By the thrice blessed suns!’ he exclaimed, turning towards the guard. ‘I told you to stop her from falling.’
But Roh had not fallen.
She was standing, very much alert, with the guard unconscious at her feet. In her hand was a long, thin needle that glinted as she dipped it into a pocket of her cloak.
‘Guards!’ he yelled.
Roh moved towards him. He should have been able to avoid her. But he was distracted by Sa-at’s stare and the pain in his hands and the sluggish feeling brought on by contact with the crystal.
The needle went through two layers of fabric and into his shoulder. Immediately it started to tingle.
‘Might want to get that seen to, my good lord,’ said Roh.
He dropped the helmet and fell back against the wall, screaming for help. As more of his staff arrived, Roh and the other two fled down the corridor. ‘Sound the alarm!’ he shouted as he prepared to give chase. ‘Gather every able-bodied guard you can and bring in Roh. She’s a traitor!’
They stared at him, uncomprehending. A small voice in the back of his mind warned him that he was behaving in a most un-Rochant like manner. He ignored it. ‘Now!’
As the servants rushed off to fulfil his orders he realized there was only one way to save himself. One thing to do. He set off after Roh while clutching at his shoulder. The skin around the tiny wound tingled, the sensation slowly spreading. He wondered what foul poison was in his veins.
Am I already dead?
He continued on, faster, tears on his face, alone and in pain. And privately, he yearned for his mother.
Chandni followed Crowflies through the trees. It was quiet, almost tranquil, and she was reminded of the brief moments of joy she’d experienced here so long ago. It’s strange. For all the horror that time in my life brought, I had moments of true happiness too. Can I say that about any other time?
She thought of her life in the castle. There had been a background sense of satisfaction over her work and moments of quiet pride at her achievements, but it had always been weighed down with stress and fear. Even before her son had been replaced, her life had been one of duty, not pleasure. Before Varg, she’d never really wanted anything for herself. Never even considered it an option.
‘Cha-aan,’ said Crowflies. There was a note of warning in its voice. The Birdkin was not far ahead, it was looking into a small clearing where she could just make out Varg leaning against the white block of Glider’s back.
They’re alive!
She wanted to run to them but her courtly upbringing stopped her. She turned to the branch Crowflies was sitting on. ‘Thank you for helping me. I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer you in return for your kindness but you could have some of my hair for your nest if you’d like.’
Crowflies made a derisive noise.
‘A piece of colourful thread from my clothes, then?’ One look at the Birdkin’s face told her this was no good either. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve never had to deal with a creature as magnificent as you before. Is there anything you would like before I go?’
Crowflies looked up towards the sky. She looked up too but could see nothing unusual. She realized it had exposed the underside of its beak but there was nothing amiss as far as she could see. Then it dawned on her. ‘Ohh, you’d like me to deal with an itch?’
There was a flash of movement, a lightning fast nod, and then it was looking up again.
‘Of course.’
She gently scratched the space underneath its beak.
‘Aaark,’ it said. ‘Aaaarhhh.’
After a moment, she saw its wings lower as the tension left its body.
‘Well, I should be getting back to my friends now. Thank you again.’
But as she turned to go, Crowflies caught her sleeve in its beak.
‘What is it?’
The Birdkin offered her the top of its head. She sighed. ‘Very well, but then I really have to go.’ She quickly scratched the top of its head and then waved goodbye. She expected Crowflies to leave but it remained on its branch, watching her with intensity.
Varg didn’t notice her arrival. His head was buried in his knees. She could see the grey streaks in his hair and the tired slump of his shoulders. He seemed smaller than usual, like a shrivelled version of himself.
He was sitting against Glider, who most definitely had noticed her. She too, appeared tired. Both her blue human eye and the dark canine one were bloodshot. Though she remained curled around Varg, her head lifted slightly in Chandni’s direction, and her tail began to thump softly on the earth.
Chandni put a finger to her lips and crept over to them, kneeling down.
‘Hello, Varg.’
She heard a sniff, and then he very slowly looked up at her. ‘Chand?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought you … I thought I’d never see you again.’ His eyes began to well with tears, then narrowed. ‘Is it … really you?’
‘It’s really me, Varg.’
‘Prove it.’
‘Well, for one thing, Glider isn’t growling at me.’
‘Glider’s been wrong before. And you went into the Wild to die. You were bleeding and they took you in. I’ve heard a lot of tales of folk being stolen by the Wild but I ain’t never heard one where the Wild gives someone back.’
The reunion wasn’t quite going as Chandni had imagined it. ‘I’m right here, Varg.’ She went to take his hand to prove how real she was but he flinched away from her into Glider, making the Dogkin grumble in protest. Chandni held up her hands.
‘You need to prove you’re really her and not just something that looks like her.’
She pulled back her sleeve. ‘You see the three fresh cuts? I made them with your knife. You see the older ones? Made in the back of your wagon on the morning after we first met.’ She pulled off her glove. See the missing nails? Taken by the Hunger Tree when it saved me from the poison. Do you believe me now?’ He didn’t reply, just stared at her, slack jawed. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Varg, just kiss me!’
And then they were kissing, him pressing forward until the two of them tumbled together, him on top. They were fumbling kisses, desperate and messy, and punctuated with laughter. Varg’s tears splashed on her cheeks and his beard tickled her lip and she didn’t care.
She left her right arm encircling his body and used her left to explore beneath his clothes. Her fingers brushed through the hair on his chest and against the harder muscle beneath. Then down, to start loosening his belt. It was surprisingly difficult, one handed, especially as he was still intent on kissing her.
He paused when he realized what she was up to. ‘You want to do this here? Are you sure?’
‘Yes!’ she replied, her voice louder than she’d intended. ‘Help me.’
They undressed each other. In their rush, clothing got caught and tangled. Buttons were lost. Varg swore several times and Chandni laughed and joined in. Glider began barking and tried to get between them until they told her, loudly, to go away. No magic had changed the forest floor. It was just as rough and uncomfortable as it had ever been. But again, she didn’t care. Mohit, her past lover, had been diligent and followed her instructions to the letter. Varg didn’t need instructions, he just needed encouragement.
And she gave it in a voice her mother wouldn’t have recognized.
Afterwards, when they had settled against each other, their breathing falling into mutual rhythm, he brushed the hair from her cheek and looked at her.
‘What does this mean, Chand?’
‘It means we can be together.’
‘But how? The Wild don’t give up fresh blood.’
‘It didn’t.’ She put a finger on his lips to stop him from blurting more questions. ‘A demon took some of my blood, and I made a deal. That means I get to be with you and to live the way I want.’
He gently pulled her hand away from his mouth. ‘And what does it get?’
‘It gets me.’
‘Oh no. Oh shit.’
‘But not today. Not for a long time. It has to give me what I want first. It’s going to help me find my son, my real son. The Satyendra that sent me to my death isn’t the baby I brought here with you all those years ago. Murderkind, that’s the demon’s name, will help me find him. But that’s not all. I’ve bargained for a life with you, Varg. A good, long life. We can finally be together.’ She looked down, suddenly shy. ‘If you still want this.’
He lifted her hand to his lips. ‘You know I do.’
‘Are you sure? What about your duty to Lady Pari?’
‘I’ve paid my debts there. I want my own life now. I want a family. Do you want a family?’
‘You mean children?’
‘Yeah.’
‘If we can, then yes, and I want Satyendra to be part of this family too. And Glider.’ She paused and looked around. ‘Where is Glider?’