The Boundless

by Peter Newman

  She saw the Dogkin had taken herself to the other side of the trees and had her back to them, though one floppy ear had pricked up at the mention of her name. ‘Glider, come here!’

  In seconds she had bounded over to eagerly accept a hug. Chandni gave herself a moment to enjoy being in such loving company, then looked up at the sunslit leaves. ‘Before we can start building a life here, there’s something I need to do for Prince Murderkind.’

  Glider and Varg both raised their eyebrows. One barked and the other protested: ‘I thought you said we’d get our time first before you were his. A good long time.’

  ‘I did. And we will, but Murderkind is just asking for this one thing now. I think it’s something only I can do.’ When she’d been with Murderkind, heart to heart, she had felt no deception, and yet she felt odd defending the demon.

  Varg shook his head. ‘Well, what is it?’

  ‘I need to find another Prince of the Wild called Kennelgrove and persuade him to ally with Murderkind against the Corpseman.’

  ‘Sounds dangerous to me. And how are we supposed to find this Kennelgrove?’ Glider barked so loudly that Varg had to raise his voice. ‘I’ve never heard of him.’

  ‘No,’ she agreed, and then pointed at the Dogkin. ‘But she has.’

  Glider barked again, and as soon as they looked at her, she bounded off into the trees, pausing occasionally to howl, long and loud.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Varg shouted.

  ‘Get dressed, we need to go after her.’ Chandni started collecting her clothes and putting them on. She became aware of Varg’s admiring gaze. ‘Hurry up. I don’t want to lose her.’

  With a muttered curse, Varg tucked his enthusiasm back into his trousers.

  It wasn’t hard to know which way Glider had gone. They heard her howling not too far away. And then, they heard other howls, other Dogkin, at least half a dozen. The trees too, were murmuring uneasily. That feeling transferred itself to Chandni’s stomach.

  ‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ said Varg. ‘We should get out of here while we can.’

  ‘No,’ said Chandni. ‘Glider wouldn’t abandon us.’

  ‘That’s exactly what she just bloody did!’

  ‘I mean that she wouldn’t abandon us if we needed her.’

  ‘Think about it, Chand. If something’s big enough to threaten old Glider, what use are we gonna be?’

  She took his hand and started walking. ‘Argue if you want, but we’re going.’

  ‘Fuck,’ said Varg, but that was all he said, and they made their way towards the howling together.

  The idea for Satyendra’s salvation had come to him in a flash: his hunger. When he’d gorged himself on Yadavendra’s shame he had become immeasurably stronger and that strength had allowed him to heal from terrible injuries overnight. If his body could reassemble a crumpled skull, then surely it could handle a little poison? All he had to do was feed before the effects kicked in.

  It didn’t take long to catch up. Sa-at and Tal were already slipping into Roh’s room, but the old woman herself had lagged behind. As he crept closer, she stopped to lean against the wall. This was his chance. He blinked away tears and tried to soften his steps, keen to catch her unawares.

  Meanwhile, the tingling numbness was spreading from the wound, not fast, but continuously, bringing with it a rising sense of panic. Perhaps that was why he rushed the approach, or perhaps Roh was more alert than she appeared to be. In either case, as he closed in on her, she turned to face him, that long needle in one hand, held between them. Poison glistened on its tip.

  To a normal person, it would be a powerful deterrent, but Satyendra was not normal. He did not stop nor even slow, surging forward with hands outstretched. He barely felt the needle as Roh slipped it deep into his gut. What was more poison after all?

  He grabbed her and tried to slam her against the wall, but she was surprisingly strong, and bigger than him. For a few seconds, they wrestled, equally determined, as the poison continued to spread. She gave him no fear, no pain, nothing he could feed on. In fact he felt nothing from the old cook save contempt.

  In desperation he bit her cheek, sinking his teeth into the flesh, and pulling. This got a reaction, and he bit harder. In return, she let go of one of his hands and punched the needle where it protruded from his side.

  That was her mistake.

  For now he had her blood on his teeth, and her pain in his body, and he had a hand free. His hand grasped her face so fast that her skull was rebounding against the wall before she even registered contact.

  Shock.

  Pain.

  Fear.

  At last, he felt these things from her. He took her hand from the needle and crushed it in his own, powdering the bone. Then he removed the needle, and then, as the power and the hunger surged within, he got to work.

  By the time the guards arrived, Roh was dead. Sensation had returned to his shoulder and stomach, and the tiny pinprick wounds had vanished. ‘The traitors are hiding in there,’ he said, pointing towards Roh’s room. ‘Bring them to me.’

  The guards’ salute was slow in coming. Most of them had grown up with the cook, as had their parents. She was almost as much a part of the castle as the walls.

  ‘Now,’ he added, through gritted teeth. The guards’ attention drifted to his face. To the blood around his mouth.

  He stood up, and to them, he seemed taller somehow. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘No, my lord,’ they replied, though it was clearly a lie.

  Satyendra followed them as they approached the door.

  The high still sang in his veins but he was troubled despite it. I have killed an old woman. And I … enjoyed it. And it was easy. He tried to tell himself that it was necessary for his own survival, and that he had never liked Roh anyway. It did nothing to assuage the guilt. In fact, as he thought about what he’d done the hunger within him stirred and a muscle he wasn’t normally aware of flexed within his face, as if it wanted to open in a different way.

  Pausing in horror, he brought his fingers up to either side of his nose. The skin there felt normal. He let them roam across his cheekbones and forehead but found nothing amiss.

  Yes. This has been a warning. The hunger must be resisted before it becomes too much of me. He told himself that he wouldn’t feed it again.

  But as he got to the door he felt it stir again, tempting.

  They flew along the Godroad in twos, the sunslight playing across their wings. Vasinidra was alongside Mia, his finest hunter and mother to his children. He already feared the day she’d be gone. She’d been a rock to him in this lifecycle and had become the yardstick against which others would be measured.

  Behind them were his hunters, then the other Sapphire Deathless; Umed, Yadva, and Gada, each one backed by their own flight. He felt both joy and sadness considering them. Joy because the sight of his family flying together in the same direction gave him hope. Sadness because they were a wounded house, reduced forever from seven Deathless to six. Nothing he could do would ever change that.

  When they reached the village of Sorn he banked to the right, knowing that the others would follow. Somewhere below, in that overgrown ghost place, was his mother, Nidra. It was a childish thing, but he stared at the buildings below as he passed over them, longing to see her. And longing for her to see him in his new station.

  But if Nidra were down there, she gave no sign. Only a foolish exile would stand in the open, and Nidra was no fool.

  Not long now, Mother.

  Away from the Godroad, the essence currents were weaker, inconstant, and harder to navigate. Alone, he might be able to glide all the way to the hill Lady Pari Tanzanite had told him about. However, the others would never get that far.

  He glanced back, waiting for the tell-tale wing dip of one of his family losing altitude. It wouldn’t do to get separated in the Wild. As he suspected, Gada was the first to go. Before his brother began to drop noticeably, Vasin signalled for his f
light to descend. There were no perfect landing spots, but he could see a long thin gap in the trees.

  Good enough.

  He and Mia flew down together, Sky-legs bringing them to a bouncing stop at the furthest edge of the opening. He turned to see how the rest of the house would fare. With so many landing at the same time in such a narrow space, everyone would be focused entirely on themselves. Such unguarded moments were rare and gave him useful insight into the state of his hunters.

  Each flight kept formation, the hunters landing in an orderly fashion. No other house can match our discipline, he thought proudly. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Uncle Umed were still in a younger body, and even Gada, our worst flyer, managed admirably. There are no weak links for the Wild to exploit.

  He raised his spear and every other spear came up together in reply. Pride for his people filled him. Without another word, he turned and bounded into the trees. Deathless and hunters fell in behind him, Sky-legs hitting the ground in time, making them sound like a single creature, a giant come to destroy its enemies.

  The trees picked up the sound of their progress and sent it out in all directions, a warning for others. Not long after, he heard the howls of Dogkin and the shrieks of Birdkin. No doubt the whole of the Wild knows we’re here. Let us hope the Scuttling Corpseman still sleeps deeply.

  One moment they were running through the forest – and it seemed as if the trees leaned away from them to avoid being gored by their razor-edged wings – the next, he was in the open looking at a tall hill with near vertical sides.

  Vasinidra didn’t stop. He used his momentum to leap forward. His Sky-legs bent with the force of the landing, as did his knees, then both straightened together, propelling him into the sky.

  He landed on the top of the hill. As Mia and the other hunters tried to catch up, he took in his surroundings. A lonely silver birch sprouted to one side, and there were various spiky bushes dotting the hilltop, but the dominant feature was a dome of amber. The peak of it rose a couple of feet above ground level, visible from here but not from below. The rest of the structure was tucked away beneath the surface.

  Just as Lady Pari described it.

  But as he moved closer, he saw that wasn’t true for every detail. She had told him of an amber cocoon with the Corpseman just visible within. But there were no shadows lurking inside the structure. She’d not mentioned there being cracks in the surface either, dividing it into sections, nor the slight misalignment of those pieces.

  As if someone had pushed it open from the inside and then put the pieces back … we’re too late, he thought.

  Lady Pari had told him that there were other things buried within the hill too. That bodies stolen from Sorn had been subjected to the whims of the Corpseman. Like the dome, their amber coffins had been cracked open and the earth had then been packed back into place.

  He called his family to him while the hunters waited at the bottom of the hill.

  ‘Where’s our fight?’ asked Yadva.

  ‘Out there somewhere,’ Vasinidra replied.

  Umed sighed. ‘The Wild looks after its own. It must have warned the Corpseman that we were coming.’

  Vasinidra sighed as well. The Wild had done more than warn its own, it had hidden them. His hunters had found no tracks, no clues. It was as if the Corpseman and all its victims had vanished.

  He heard Gada clear his throat. ‘What would you have us do, High Lord?’

  ‘I would hear your counsel before I make my decision.’

  Yadva was the first to speak. ‘Spread out in five of the seven directions. We still have hours of sunslight and the Corpseman can’t be far away. Once one of us finds it, they signal the others.’

  ‘While our Story-singers will lament if we return empty handed,’ said Umed. ‘We risk losing more than just time if we linger too long.’

  Gada pursed his lips. ‘Even the Corpseman could not carry half a settlement’s worth of people. Either it has allies to move them or they moved themselves.’

  Typical Gada. He’d rather offer facts than risk conflict with the others.

  Vasinidra was aware that his family were watching him. Aware that the flights of hunters were waiting for his decision. This was it. His first real test as High Lord.

  Should he push on as Yadva wanted and risk weakening the house further? Follow Umed’s advice and have his tenure as High Lord begin in failure? And what about his mother? How much longer could she last alone?

  Vasinidra did not panic. He was in his armour, exalted and strong, and the answer was already there, obvious, just waiting to be seen.

  He looked at them. ‘I know where the Corpseman is.’ Yadva punched her spears into the air with delight. ‘It’s gone to join the attack on House Ruby. Quiverhive has been sending demons at them for some time now, and I know it has been communicating with the Corpseman throughout, no doubt planning for this moment.’

  Umed frowned. ‘Forgive me, High Lord, but the Wild reacts, it doesn’t plan.’

  ‘It didn’t react. It didn’t plan. Now it does. The Corpseman has changed the way the Wild is and we have to change too.’

  ‘Even if that is true, how can you be sure it has gone to the Ruby lands?’

  ‘The attacks there have been building to something. This is it. Besides, our lands have been quiet for years, while others have suffered. We can no longer afford to do nothing.’ He clapped his uncle on the shoulder. ‘Take our people to the Ruby High Lord’s castle. Be ready to fight. I’ll meet you there.’

  ‘But,’ Umed stammered, ‘where are you going?’

  He prepared to launch himself from the hill. With a combination of height and his peerless skill in the air, he was confident he could take flight from a single jump. ‘To put right a very old wrong.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Sa-at and Tal stumbled into Roh’s room. Roh herself had fallen behind. The last time Sa-at had seen her, she’d been leaning against the wall, the sweat gleaming on her face.

  It reminded him of a Dogkin he’d seen in the Wild once. It had been in the throes of birthing a difficult pup and it had panted just like that. The Dogkin had died in the end. He wondered if Roh were about to die too.

  ‘You have it?’ asked Rochant. He was still propped against the wall where they’d left him, mostly obscured by a sheet.

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ said Tal.

  ‘But?’

  ‘But the imposter saw us. I don’t think we’ve got long.’

  ‘He looked like me,’ said Sa-at. ‘Why does he look like me?’

  Rochant ignored him. ‘You need to dress me in my armour immediately. Where’s Roh?’

  ‘Outside,’ said Sa-at. ‘She looks sick.’

  There was no expression of concern on Rochant’s face, no flicker. He merely nodded. ‘Then it’s up to you two.’

  ‘But, my lord!’ Tal protested. ‘What about the sacred rites? Shouldn’t I get a Gardener-smith?’

  ‘Consider this your apprenticeship,’ answered Rochant coolly. ‘Traditions are there to serve us, not the other way around. Now, unwrap the pieces and lay them out on the cloth. Try not to touch them with your bare hands.’

  They did as instructed. It was hard not to handle the plates. The sapphire looked so smooth it demanded to be touched. Sa-at had enjoyed how smooth the crystal lights on the walls were and he suspected the armour would be similar.

  As they attached the greaves to his shins, Rochant said, ‘I need one of you to cut me and dab my blood on the armour.’

  Sa-at looked up at him in surprise. ‘Like making a pact in the Wild?’

  Tal gasped.

  ‘No,’ replied Rochant and Tal visibly relaxed. ‘It’s very different.’

  But Sa-at suspected Rochant was saying one thing and meaning another again. He took Tal’s gathering knife and pricked Rochant’s palm, catching the blood on the side of the blade before applying it to the greave.

  They quickly fell into a rhythm with Tal attaching the plates and Sa-at daub
ing them with Rochant’s blood. As Sa-at watched, the drops were absorbed into the crystal, leaving no stain behind.

  It is like making a pact in the Wild!

  ‘Listen,’ said Rochant. And they did. People were coming, and quickly. ‘Sa-at, bar the door. Use anything you can find. Use your body if you have to.’

  ‘But—’

  As the shouts and running footsteps grew louder. Sa-at moved some of the heavier jars and boxes in front of the door and went back to Rochant. They attached his winged back plate, his chest plate, and the vambraces. Tal’s hands shook constantly and he apologized every time he slipped or touched the armour or made some mistake that Sa-at did not understand.

  ‘Open this door,’ commanded a voice outside.

  They ignored it and tried to put on Rochant’s gauntlets. This was harder than the other pieces because his fingers kept catching rather than slotting inside.

  A hammering fist accompanied the voice this time. ‘In the name of Lord Rochant, open this door.’

  Despite the situation, Sa-at saw Rochant’s lips curl into a smile.

  At last, Tal managed to put the helmet on and Sa-at dabbed some blood on it. There was a sudden change in the armour, as if it had been sleeping before but was now awake.

  ‘Did it work, my lord?’

  Rochant just stared at his feet, almost as if he were trying to peer through them.

  It hasn’t worked yet. Maybe we haven’t done it properly. If Roh were here she’d know.

  The hammering resumed, getting angrier.

  ‘Come on,’ he said to Tal, and ran to the door.

  They arrived to see it shake in its frame, breaking the catch and scattering the boxes he’d placed there. Sa-at braced himself against the door and Tal did the same. It jolted against his back, hard enough to send him forward a pace. He threw himself back against it.

  Three times they held the door, but on the fourth the guards managed to wedge something into the frame and then the door began to open very slowly, pushing Sa-at and Tal as it went.

  ‘I’m sorry, my lord!’ said Tal.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Rochant. He nodded to himself. ‘Yes. All is well now.’ He stood up. And it seemed to Sa-at that in that motion he grew, becoming not just taller, but bigger. The room was suddenly full of Rochant’s presence, tinting the walls a dazzling blue.