The Deathless

by Peter Newman

  Each of the brothers wanted to win, and so they kept going, even after their hands began to swell with pain. But it didn’t take long for the injuries to overwhelm the hunger, nor their pride. Eyesore’s trio of orbs were squeezed against the pain, Pit’s nostril flared, and Crunch’s mouth twisted, unhappy.

  When it became too much, Eyesore stepped back, followed, miserably, by Crunch. Pits punched at the space where they’d been a few times before realizing his victory.

  As he clapped in delight, Eyesore guided Crunch to where Satyendra lay, a curl of goosebumps that did not move, save to shiver. He did not cry out when Crunch took his wrist, nor did he make a sound when his arm was pulled towards the widening mouth.

  But when Crunch’s tongue looped around his little finger, he gasped. And when his mouth closed, snipping the digit away, he could not help but scream.

  Unnoticed by the brothers, the trees around them shivered, and for a moment, the vines tightened on the branches, gripping them tightly, shocked.

  The Whispercage noticed though, and it leaned down until the shadow of its hood fell across Satyendra’s writhing body.

  Abruptly, the baby’s scream stopped, withering in his throat.

  Crunch chewed slowly, working the tiny morsel in his mouth. ‘Hmmmm,’ he said, nodding, and, ‘Mmmmmhhh,’ and, ‘Ooooohhhmmmm.’

  Pits prodded him, impatient.

  Reluctantly, Crunch spat a browny pink something into Pits’ waiting palm. The mashed lump looked nothing like a finger.

  Pits parted the sinewy hair that flowed over his body, revealing an expanse of red stomach. Black lines crisscrossed the skin and he picked at one of them with his free hand until he was able to slide his nails inside and peel a section open.

  Through tear blurred eyes, Satyendra watched as Pits carefully inserted what remained of his finger into the hole before pressing the flap closed again.

  Pits put his head to one side, thoughtful, before rubbing his stomach in delight.

  ‘Gift good, Whisper. We like,’ said Crunch.

  The Whispercage made a noise somewhere between a wheeze and a sigh, and the three brothers leaned in to listen, each tilting an ear toward it. Satyendra squirmed and wriggled but could not escape the iron grip of his captor.

  The three brothers nodded eagerly, as if agreeing to something, and then Crunch reached for Satyendra’s leg. ‘My turn.’

  The Whispercage maintained its grip on his body and so, when Crunch pulled at his ankle, he was stretched painfully between the two of them. As Crunch’s lips parted, Satyendra began to whimper; when the tip of his tongue darted against Satyendra’s heel, he screamed.

  Though the other two brothers were still waiting their turn to eat, they could not help but get involved. Pits ran his vast nostril over Satyendra’s exposed back in a single extended inhalation, while Eyesore gazed longingly at the frantic kicking of his chubby leg, and flexing of the little toes.

  No matter how hard he tried, Satyendra could not get his ankle free. This time, Crunch’s tongue selected the big toe of his right foot, wrapping around to hold it still.

  A line of drool ran across the ball of Satyendra’s foot, tickling, making panic instead of laughter.

  And then, all around them, the leaves rustled as one. But it was not the sound of wind playing through the woods, rather the sound of wings flapping, a beat that matched the pulse of life through the vines, a beat that sounded as if it were directly overhead.

  The three brothers froze, Crunch’s teeth pausing, pressing, but not breaking the skin.

  Then everything was moving too fast for Satyendra to follow.

  He heard a screech, angry, like that of a bird, and this too was taken up by the trees and amplified so that it came from every direction.

  He heard the sound of the three brothers slapping their hands together and moving, fleeing.

  He heard rags flapping and a hiss.

  And then he was dropped, landing hard on the uneven ground, dead roots prodding him all over.

  Directly overhead, a shape was descending, black wings an outline against the shadows, with glittering eyes and an angry demeanour.

  The Birdkin screeched a second time and Satyendra screwed his eyes shut, as if that might somehow lessen the sound. When he opened them again the Whispercage had vanished, as had the brothers. There was no sign of their leaving, no tell-tale marks of their passage, they had simply gone.

  Satyendra blinked in surprise, ignoring the Birdkin as it settled nearby. He looked to his left, to his right, but could not see them. The fear that had gripped him so tightly faded a little, allowing the pain in his maimed hand to fully dominate his attention.

  He took a deep breath, his tiny body visibly filling with air, and began to cry in earnest. The leaves moved more softly this time, a sympathetic chorus for his suffering.

  At first, the Birdkin hopped away, raising a wing as if to fend off attack, but it soon recovered enough to strut over to where he lay.

  Satyendra was dimly aware of the Birdkin making a slow circuit around him. With its wings folded in, it had the appearance of a thoughtful creature, pondering a problem. It came to a stop on Satyendra’s right, where the blood from his hand stained the earth.

  Satyendra turned to look up at it. The Birdkin was as big as he was, its ivory beak nearly as long as his arm. Its eyes were compound, like a fly’s, and Satyendra saw himself reflected in them many, many times, tiny and pathetic.

  For a few moments they regarded each other, and then the Birdkin’s beak flashed down, parting, widening, so that a long proboscis could lever out from deep within its throat. It brushed quickly over the spilled blood, sucking and skimming, taking off the top layer of the puddle before it could be stolen by the soil. Then the Birdkin threw back its head and swallowed.

  A shiver ran through its feathered body, and when it settled again, the creature held itself differently. ‘Sa-aat!’ it shrieked. ‘Sa-aat!’

  Its beak came down a second time, swift and precise, and Satyendra felt it pinch his wounded skin closed. There was a moment of incredible pain coupled with a burning sensation, and then he felt nothing, as if the Birdkin had nipped off the agony.

  He glared at it, but with the pain gone, it was hard to keep his eyes open.

  The Birdkin settled down next to him, spreading its wings so that one covered him from leg to toe, while the other curled behind his head to drape across his chest.

  Gradually, warmth transmitted itself from one body to another.

  Satyendra’s glare softened. His eyelids drooped, then sprang open again.

  The Birdkin watched him with one eye, the other turned out to the trees. It began to sing, and though its voice was that of a bird, he knew it, just as he knew the tune. It was his mother’s.

  The wings holding him were warm, like her arms.

  He was safe.

  And there, encircled by feathers and song, and a ring of whispering trees, he slept.

  Satyendra would not stop crying. Chandni had tried everything she could think of, hugging him, feeding him, soothing him, singing, rocking, she had even considered begging, though pride had so far saved her from that.

  The night was coming to an end, and all of them were tired. So far none of them had enjoyed any sleep.

  ‘For suns’ sake, shut him up!’ bellowed Varg.

  ‘Don’t shout,’ she retorted. ‘You’ll only distress him.’

  ‘He’s already distressed and so am I. And so is Glider.’

  The Dogkin howled in agreement.

  ‘Don’t you start,’ she warned, and then, as Glider began to howl again: ‘No, you will stay quiet.’

  They locked eyes for a moment before Glider looked away, putting her head beneath her paws.

  Chandni could hear Glider’s miserable whimper quite clearly in the sudden peace. Satyendra had finally stopped crying! The elation easily overrode any guilt over giving the Dogkin a hard time.

  She laid Satyendra down and settled next to him. There
were only a few hours left till dawn and she intended to sleep through them.

  Just as her eyes began to close, Satyendra started crying again.

  A moment later, Glider joined in.

  Chandni squeezed her eyes shut. Perhaps, if she was patient, Satyendra would tire himself out and go to sleep.

  ‘Right,’ said Varg, sounding anything but patient. ‘That’s it! I’m going to kill the little sod!’

  ‘You will not lay so much as a finger on my son.’

  Undaunted, Varg clambered into the back of the wagon. ‘Oh yeah?’

  Chandni sat up, putting herself between the man and Satyendra. ‘You threaten a baby when it has been exposed to the horror of the Wild? A baby that you have been ordered to protect. I wonder what Lady Pari would say, if she could see how quickly you forget yourself.’

  Varg paused, adding in a more polite tone. ‘I wasn’t going to literally kill him, just—’

  ‘Just what?’

  ‘Well, you know …’

  ‘I most certainly do not know. Please, enlighten me.’

  Varg began to retreat from the wagon. ‘Nothing. I wasn’t going to do nothing. I’m just tired is all.’

  ‘Then I suggest you save your energy and your voice for the foreseeable future. And to be clear, I am speaking literally.’ Varg’s sudden smile flared the embers of her temper. ‘What? Something about this amuses you?’

  ‘I’ll be damned. He’s gone quiet again.’

  It was true, though Satyendra was still very much awake, his dark eyes moving expectantly from Chandni to Varg and back again. When whatever he was hoping for did not come to pass, his face began to crumple and Chandni felt her own copying it.

  Please, no more!

  She risked a look at Varg, worried that frustration and sleep deprivation would drive him to something stupid. After all, she hardly knew the man. He was clearly a servant of Pari’s, though what kind of servant was something of a mystery.

  One who is accustomed to danger and being where he should not. One I am sure that is no stranger to violence.

  But instead of getting angry, Varg was pulling at his beard. ‘Say something horrible.’

  ‘What?’ she replied.

  ‘To me. Say something horrible to me.’

  ‘I –’ she paused, her mind suddenly blank ‘– I can’t think of anything.’

  ‘You haven’t had any trouble before.’

  Satyendra opened his mouth and made a little whimper, a miserable singer warming up before the performance.

  ‘Just do it, quick, before he sets Glider off again.’

  She had no idea what Varg was babbling about but she decided she didn’t care. If he wanted her to list his faults, then she was only too happy to oblige. ‘You reek.’

  He turned to her, an expression of genuine hurt on his face. ‘I do?’

  ‘Yes. I smell you before I see you. It’s horrible! As if man-sweat and Dogkin fur had got together and made a baby and rolled it around in the dirt. Your language is disgusting and your manner insulting. You …’

  ‘Go on,’ he urged, giving a slight nod in Satyendra’s direction.

  She glanced at her son, just in time to see him smiling. The crying lines had faded from his face, and his eyelids were starting to droop.

  ‘You’re not fit to look at us, let alone be near us. It’s no wonder Glider doesn’t respect you. I doubt anyone does. How could they when you don’t respect yourself. You’re a walking shambles!’

  Satyendra giggled dozily.

  Varg winked at her. ‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that!’

  ‘I’ll dare what I want, you disgusting sack of hair!’

  ‘Right, that’s it!’

  ‘That is not it, I’ve only just started. Lady Pari may find it acceptable for you to behave like this but I most certainly do not. Firstly, I expect you to address me properly at all times and to behave with the proper deference. I am a child of the Sapphire and my child or grandchild will be a vessel for the immortal Lord Rochant and as such—’

  ‘It’s okay, you can stop now.’

  Chandni found herself slightly disappointed. It had been liberating simply to speak her mind without fear of consequence. When she turned back to Satyendra, he was fast asleep, his face a tiny picture of contentment.

  ‘How did you know?’ she asked Varg.

  ‘I noticed he quietened down each time you got cross. Seems he likes it when you’re angry.’

  She frowned at the idea. ‘He’s never reacted that way before, but then I’ve never had cause to be angry around him before. I’m not sure I like it. Do you think it’s natural for him to behave like that?’

  Varg shrugged. ‘I don’t know and I don’t give a Dogkin’s shit either, so long as it shuts him up.’

  His tone irritated her but Chandni didn’t have the stomach for another argument. And anyway, sleep was calling. She settled down, telling herself that a little bit of strange behaviour was nothing to fear given the difficulties of the day. After the Whispercage, it was probably reassuring for him to see his mother being strong. Yes, she thought, forcing her fears into something more palatable, that must be it. He needs to know I can keep him safe.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Pari could hear the youngsters muttering to themselves, discussing plans. They sounded worried and close to arguing. They also sounded distracted. She was aware that she should probably take advantage and try to escape.

  But she was so comfortable! Whatever fabrics the cart was laden with had accommodated her body’s shape perfectly, and she knew that the moment she moved, all of the aches and pains would come flooding back.

  Oh Rochant, the things I endure for you.

  She tested the cords. The knots were secure but the man who tied them had been in awe of her, unwilling to stay too close for long. As a result there was slack. If she didn’t mind a little chafing, she had limited movement of her wrists. And after all of this, what’s a little chafing to add to the list?

  They were keeping their voices low deliberately, but they were young and scared, and she was able to pluck nuggets of information from them as they travelled.

  There were only two of them.

  They were alone, without support.

  They were brother and sister.

  The brother, Lan, was the oldest, and he was behind the decision to take her captive. Ami, the sister, was unhappy about it.

  Dawn was brightening the horizon, Fortune’s Eye bronzing the black clouds.

  There’s going to be a storm. A bad one.

  Pari sighed. There was no point putting it off any longer. ‘Lan, can you be a dear and help me to sit up.’

  The cart stopped. ‘Wot?’ he said.

  ‘We need to talk and I’d much rather be able to see your face when we do.’

  She heard a few words, hushed, between brother and sister, then Lan spoke again. ‘Keep quiet!’ Another hiss, from Ami this time, and he added, ‘My lady.’

  As she did with most instructions, Pari ignored it. ‘How did you know who I am?’

  ‘Saw them marks on your shoulder, where your clothes got burnt.’

  Before setting out, Pari had taken the precaution of covering the tattoos of her previous lives. Such things identified her far too easily. But whatever the thing of the Wild had spat at her had burned through the body paint she’d used to conceal the marks as surely as it had the clothing on her back.

  It would be the shoulder mark that gave me away, she thought bitterly. A lifecycle I’d much rather forget.

  ‘Lan? Ami? Are you going to help me up or not?’

  The cart stopped and Lan was halfway to climbing up when he remembered that she was his captive. ‘Stop talking,’ he demanded.

  ‘My lady,’ added Ami in a whisper.

  Now they had stopped, it was impossible to ignore the way their stomachs grumbled. Food was shared out, Ami settling next to Pari to feed her some berries and little chunks of sweetdough.

  Finally sat up, Pari could
enjoy a better view of her surroundings. The Godroad was still empty in both directions, and that was unlikely to change if the weather continued to worsen. ‘Where are you from, Ami?’

  ‘Sorn.’

  Lan glared up at both of them, but it was too late, a number of things fell into place for Pari all at once. With Lord Rochant between lives, it had been the Sapphire High Lord’s responsibility to protect Sorn when the elders called for a hunt but, for reasons unknown to her, Sorn had been abandoned. These two were refugees, either split from their family or, more likely, the sole survivors. ‘You came to Lord Rochant’s home hoping for sanctuary.’

  Ami nodded, and Lan, his shoulders slumping, did the same.

  ‘What happened? Tell me.’

  When it was clear that Lan wasn’t going to answer, Ami spoke, her eyes on the clouds. ‘It had got bad for a while. People had always gone walking, y’know, to the Wild places, but nothing like this. Some even went in the day, just got up from their chores and walked off. Ain’t none of them coming back, not ever.

  ‘Elder Jamal asked for tributes, and got them real easy, bloods them, lights the fires and sends them out like always.’ Ami swallowed, memories darkening her eyes. ‘The blood and fire brings ’em out, the Wild ones, like it should … But …’

  Lan finished for her. ‘But no hunters come! When the Wild ones get done with the tributes, they came for us, bolder than ever.’

  Pari waited for a while but neither sibling said anything. ‘So you had to flee, I understand. Why come all the way out here? Surely there are other settlements that could have taken you?’

  Ami still wasn’t looking at her. ‘We went to Sagan, along with most of the folk. They took Mama in. She knows some of the safeways in the woods. She was useful. But Lan an’ me are carpenters. They got plenty carpenters.’

  Pari nodded. ‘And so you went to petition Lord Rochant, in his new lifecycle.’

  ‘Mama always said he was fair. ’Cept, he didn’t come back like he was supposed to. And everything was wrong at the castle, with people saying stuff about a Tanzanite attack, and some of the guard running off, and nobody knowing what was what.’