The Boundless

by Peter Newman

  ‘Sa-aat,’ it said.

  ‘Crowflies?’ He reached out to touch it and was delighted to find it was really there. ‘Oh, Crowflies! You came back for me.’

  The Birdkin gave a quick nod, tapped his cheek with the side of its beak, and then pointed to his right. When Sa-at looked that way, he saw figures emerging from the shattered amber dome. A woman dressed in dark feathers with hair like his. A bearded man with a hard face and soft eyes followed her, heaving Rochant after him.

  Both of them looked tired and out of breath.

  ‘Cha-aan!’ said Crowflies, and the woman’s head snapped round in their direction. As soon as she saw Sa-at, she smiled, and despite everything that had just happened to him, he smiled back.

  The woman stepped through the gap in the dome and started in their direction. ‘You found him. Well done, my friend. Well done!’

  Crowflies tilted its head in a coy manner.

  ‘You must be Sa-at,’ she continued.

  Sa-at just stared at her, still smiling.

  ‘My name is Chandni. I’m your mother. There is so much to say and …’ she shook her head. ‘Right now, we need to go. Will you come with me?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sa-at.

  She held out a hand to him and he reached up to take it, but before he could, she was stepping back, her attention now on something else. Something above them.

  Chandni was turning away from him. He heard her shout ‘Varg!’ and then her voice was drowned out by the arrival of the swarm. They came like a swirling storm to surround the hill, and ahead of them, bigger, faster, was the Scuttling Corpseman.

  Sa-at turned his head towards the grass. He knew that one glance at those wings would steal this consciousness again. Crowflies nipped at his hand, connecting through his old scar, and he heard singing, in his mind this time, soothing and protecting.

  Thank you, Crowflies.

  He felt rather than saw the Corpseman land. Long feet dug into the grasses, making the earth tremble. The tips of those feet brushed against his back. Had it come to get him? Had it even noticed him? Sa-at wasn’t sure, and so he kept very still, hoping dearly that it would leave them all alone.

  The man, Varg, was holding Rochant against the side of the dome. He held a spear to Rochant’s neck. He could see that his mother was talking but couldn’t hear her words.

  But her message was easy enough to understand. Take any action against us and Rochant will die.

  There was a rustling as the Corpseman’s wings wrapped around it like a robe, hiding the sigils. The swarm started to land. Some around the edges of the hill, but most went below, out of sight. Their noise diminished to a low hum, allowing him to hear the end of Chandni’s sentence.

  ‘… utterly. Do not test me on this.’

  He felt the pressure of the Corpseman’s presence, like a headache before a storm, as it knelt down beside him. One of its four arms came to rest on the top of his head.

  ‘Let him go,’ said Chandni.

  The Corpseman gestured towards Rochant.

  ‘I am willing to discuss an exchange,’ she said.

  There was silence.

  No, that isn’t what it wants. He thought about what Rochant had taught him. To understand the needs of the other person so that you don’t have to give up so much. He dared to look up at the Corpseman. It was vaguely man-shaped but much larger, its upper body plated and broad enough to support those huge wings and four arms. It wore a large jawless skull on its head riddled with cracks, its antennae poking through the eye sockets. In places, its carapace had holes that had been plugged with bone. A few of these plugs had fallen away in the fighting.

  If I had a very thin knife, I could hurt it.

  The fingers resting on his head flexed, establishing a firm grip.

  ‘The moment you do anything to him is the moment Rochant dies,’ said Chandni. Her voice was icy calm.

  Sa-at continued to study the Corpseman. A section of the skull had been broken off in the fighting, revealing a patch of old greying skin stretched tight.

  That must be Rochant’s skin from his story, when he fixed its missing face. And it has replaced its missing arm with Rochant’s arm. But why wait for that arm? It had lots and lots of arms to choose from.

  An idea began to form in his mind.

  Rochant fixed the Corpseman with bits of himself. What if it needs him to heal?

  He remembered that they’d made a pact. The Corpseman could not harm Rochant nor the ones he loved. What if the only way it can get new body parts for itself is if Rochant gives them?

  Oh.

  I know what to do.

  ‘Sa-aat!’ Crowflies warned.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he replied, carefully removing his hand from the Birdkin’s beak and putting it on top of his head so that he could feel the Corpseman’s fingers next to his own. He ran his thumb over the small antennae sprouting from its knuckles.

  There was connection, similar to when he shared his thoughts with Crowflies but instead of there being a link, it was like throwing himself into a river. He couldn’t stop himself going under, but he could make sure he didn’t swallow the water.

  The Corpseman didn’t speak but it was there, all around him. Watching. Studying. In its own way, it was surprised. Sa-at realized that aside from Rochant, no one had ever sought contact with it before.

  Hello, he thought. I’m Sa-at. I’d like to hear your story.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Sa-at was in darkness. It wasn’t like being outside at night. It was a closer, smothering dark. And he was alone.

  Utterly alone.

  And then, he sensed another. A quivering in the air announced their presence, along with a scent, very different from the larvae he knew, or the hated Dogkin and Birdkin.

  Though it would change its shell many times in their relationship, he could always smell and taste the soul beneath. His friend, his saviour, his creator: Rochant.

  He remembered Rochant carrying him from a place of death. Of them making a pact together, sealed with blood and skin and bone. As he grew, Rochant tended to him, helped him grow strong. In return, he did as Rochant asked.

  And Rochant asked for many things.

  The death of other humans to bring down the hunters. The death of small creatures of the Wild that Rochant could claim as his own. Always, Rochant would ask that others die.

  He complied. Of course he did. Rochant had bound him via a pact, had taught him everything. Did he not want to restore his people to power? (I do not know my people. Who were they?) Did he not want to rule the Wild in Rochant’s name? (I do not want this.) Surely, after all Rochant had done for him, the least he could do was grant the man’s desire?

  To make Rochant Deathless, he captured another Deathless named Samarku. Samarku’s thoughts were strange. They did not match the truth he knew. No matter how many times he sampled them and prodded them, he could not match them to the shapes already in his mind. But he learned much. Rochant was always keen that he learn.

  But what do I want? Sa-at wondered.

  The answer was simple: To please Rochant (to be one with Rochant).

  To restore his people (to restore myself).

  To have revenge on those that cast him down (yes, this is true).

  To finish the joining (to finish the joining).

  Rochant had promised that they would build a new world together, one that combined the sky and the earth and the creatures of suns and shadows just as they were to be combined. For Rochant’s blood was in his veins. Rochant’s skin was joined to his. But as time went on, that process stopped. Rochant would fix foreign bones to his body instead of his own, ones that sat there, not bonding, inert.

  He did not understand why.

  Rochant told him that as he grew, the cost of giving parts of himself was becoming too great, but even if Rochant gave up a whole shell, he would soon return with another.

  Every time he tried to raise this, Rochant would shower him with words and ideas, leaving him c
onfused.

  And soon he was distracted with plans of conquest. Through Rochant and Samarku he learned first of House Sapphire and then of the other houses. Rochant taught him how they worked and what made them powerful. One day they would take that power for themselves.

  After Rochant became Deathless, he went away a lot, leaving Sa-at alone. In those times, he would work hard, learning and planning, and testing his strength against others in the Wild. They were strange at first, but soon became predictable. In that way, they were no different from the humans living on the forest’s edge. He found ways to catch and crush them all.

  The pact allowed him to kill any human he pleased, so long as they were not the ones called Nidra and Pari. Over the years he would meet both and touch their minds. In their ways they both loved Rochant but their pictures of him were wrong and contradictory, and their love for him flawed.

  He did not understand what made them special nor why Rochant singled them out.

  And Nidra had cut off one of his arms.

  He did not like Nidra at all.

  But it had meant that when he found Rochant again this last time, he had been able to take one of the man’s arms and join it to himself. That was fair. The pact had forced him to lose an arm and the pact demanded it was restored. There was a little essence in the arm just as there had been with Rochant’s blood and it had been good to finally mix more with his own.

  Rochant did not seem to understand this, which made no sense as he understood everything, had already promised everything. Sa-at wanted more but the pact forbade him from taking it. Oh, they had come so far together and yet still he was left incomplete and alone.

  Why is this? Have I done something wrong?

  Though Rochant assured him that he was doing well, it rankled. Yes, he had his children, but they were crafted to be simple-minded and violent, poor substitutes for what he wanted. Yes, he had evolved and become more powerful than ever, but what use was power if it did not grant your desires? Yes, it was a joy to fly, but the sky was even more desolate than the land.

  I have been so very patient. Perhaps when the last enemies are defeated and Rochant’s power is absolute, we will be together again, and I will be whole.

  Despite it all, I am so very lonely.

  The fighting around Pari was intensifying. While she tended to her brother’s injury, a desperate struggle was unfolding around her as the swarm tried to get to them through the hunters that had formed a human fence.

  Kneeling beside Arkav, she’d managed to staunch the worst of the bleeding but worried it was too little, too late. He’d lost a lot of blood in a very short time and was at least as tired as she was.

  We need to be in a place he can rest. In our lands, at home, surrounded by comfort and good food. Not languishing in the mud on the borders between House Sapphire and the Wild.

  Arkav wasn’t saying anything, but his eyes were open, watching with a mix of sadness and love.

  ‘No need for that,’ she said firmly. ‘You’re going to be fine.’

  His eyes flicked away suddenly, making her turn. Nidra was running towards them. There was a wild look in her eye and a determined set to her jaw. She took in Arkav’s situation at a glance, seemed to dismiss it, and crouched heavily beside Pari, pulling the plugs from her ears. ‘Good,’ she gasped, catching her breath. ‘You’re both together.’

  Pari tucked away the pain in her heart. ‘I’m not sure what’s good about this situation, my dear. After all—’

  ‘Not now,’ snapped Nidra. ‘You talk too much. We’re losing. They have the numbers and they’re using sound to coordinate. And they’ve weaponized it. When our hunters plugged their ears for protection, they put themselves at a disadvantage.’

  ‘But if they unplug their ears, they won’t be able to fight. The swarm’s infernal noise will overwhelm them.’

  ‘Not if we make our own. When I give the signal, strike your brother’s armour, make it sing.’

  Before Pari could reply, Nidra signalled the ring of hunters and they stepped aside to allow a single Flykin to pass through. It immediately dived towards Arkav, no doubt attracted by his wound. There was no time to intercept it, no time to get clear without abandoning him, so she lunged forward – knees one side of him, her hands on the other – to make her body a protective barrier between her brother and the demon.

  ‘Now!’ shouted Nidra.

  Arkav raised his other arm across his face, and she struck his bracer with her own, the crystal plates trilling unpleasantly together.

  Pari braced for the demon’s attack.

  It didn’t come.

  She looked up to find it standing over them, swaying, stunned.

  ‘Again!’ said Nidra.

  Pari looked at Arkav.

  Arkav looked at Pari.

  She nodded to him and he reached up and slapped her wing with the crystal knuckles of his gauntlet. Again, there was a ringing, and the demon flinched away.

  Before it could recover, Pari jumped up and tore off its head.

  She looked back towards Nidra and smiled. ‘I think you’ve just found something brilliant.’

  Nidra gave her a tired smile.

  One bound took Pari next to the nearest hunters, fighting for their life against a group of the Corpseman’s children. ‘Attack on my command,’ she said and clapped her gauntlets together.

  As if struck by invisible hands, the demons all flinched, their delicate antennae recoiling from the sound.

  ‘Now!’

  The hunters made short work of their defenceless enemy.

  ‘Protect Lord Arkav with your lives,’ she ordered, and set off to find Lord Gada. Between them, they could turn the tide of battle. At least until the Corpseman returned. She still had no answer for it.

  Every time we meet it is two steps ahead. It reads my intentions, knows my weaknesses. Arkav’s suffering is a tactic to keep me busy while it pursues its goals. None of my tactics work for more than a few moments. It won’t kill me and I can’t kill it, but everyone around us is dying! I have to do something. But what? She sighed. One thing at a time, Pari. One thing at a time.

  Another leap and a glide took her to the nearest skirmish, and again her hands came together, resonant, cutting through the drone, turning the tide.

  It took Sa-at a few moments to reconnect with his body. I am so small! And so … vulnerable.

  Very little had changed. The Corpseman remained crouched behind him, Crowflies was in front, feathers bristling. Chandni – my Mother! – had moved over to Rochant, who was still being threatened by Varg’s spear.

  Further out, the fighting had stopped between Birdkin and the swarm, though it continued to rage on the other side of the hill.

  But around him, everything was incredibly still and quiet.

  Chandni raised her head to look directly at the Corpseman and spoke without fear. ‘You have what belongs to me. I will take back my son and then we will leave you in peace. In return for his life, I will spare Rochant’s life, but he will not be returned to you. Rochant will live with me as insurance. If you or your servants trespass in my domain, if they harm those under my protection, if they plot against me, then Rochant will suffer. You will cease your conquest of my peoples, human and Wild, and you will leave this place.’

  She took a step forward and extended her hand. ‘Now, release my son and return him to me.’

  The Corpseman’s grip remained firm on Sa-at’s head, and he could see the antennae shifting back and forth between Chandni and Rochant. It reminded Sa-at of a predator studying prey before an attack.

  ‘No,’ said Sa-at, and then louder, ‘No!’ Everyone, every demon, every human, eyes and feelers, they all turned towards him.

  His throat went tight.

  He knew Chandni’s proposal wasn’t going to work and that he needed to say something but it was so hard to find the words at times like these.

  ‘I …’

  Chandni knelt down so that she was closer to his level. She moved slo
wly, non-threateningly. ‘What is it, Sa-at? Are you in pain?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I ask you a second time, is the Corpseman hurting you?’

  ‘No, it isn’t that.’ He turned as best he could in the Corpseman’s grip so he could look directly at it. ‘I know what you want. If you agree to Chandni’s terms, I’ll give it to you.’

  He felt the Corpseman’s scrutiny like a finger through the skull. A hundred of his own memories flashed before his eyes, of loneliness, of wanting to be held, of wanting friends, family, and the anger of being denied it for so long.

  The Corpseman let go of his head.

  Very slowly, he got up and moved towards his mother.

  She too, got up, and opened her arms.

  They embraced, and he sank into the soft feathers of her cloak. It was both familiar and wonderfully new all at the same time. ‘I’m here,’ he whispered.

  Where their cheeks touched, tears mingled.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh Sa-at, too many things. Be patient a while longer and then we will make up for lost time. Tell me, what does the Scuttling Corpseman want?’

  ‘What we want. To be loved.’ He paused, then glanced over at Rochant. ‘And it wants his face.’

  The flock covered the Scuttling Corpseman and Rochant like some great wriggling shroud. Varg couldn’t bring himself to look but Chandni kept her eyes on what transpired. Though Rochant’s pleas and screams were drowned out by the feathers now, his writhing body was still recognizable beneath the smothering wings.

  For better or worse I have allowed this to happen. I will not flinch from it.

  Sa-at stood alongside, holding her hand. Ever since their embrace, he’d kept in contact with her. It was almost too much. It was just right.

  I should be happy, she told herself, and yet it was hard not to lament the years lost. Her time raising Satyendra had been so tortuous and so … meaningless. What had all that sacrifice been for? What had it achieved? If she had run away with Varg as a young woman, she could have had such a different life. Perhaps this reunion with Sa-at would have happened much earlier.