The Deathless

by Peter Newman

  Just go faster! she urged herself. But by the time she was halfway across, there was no speed left in her legs and she had to content herself with a meaningful shuffle.

  She imagined what Rochant would make of it all if he could see her. No doubt he would make some quip about the importance of dignity, softened by a twinkling eye and a half-suppressed smile. Her own smile quickly turned back into a grimace, her breathing, laboured. But she kept going.

  ‘And I said nobody is allowed in. Now go home!’ said one of the guards, his words carried to her on the wind.

  ‘But we’re from Sorn,’ replied Lan. ‘Ain’t got no home. An’ my sister is proper sick. Have mercy.’

  ‘There’s nothing I can do. We have strict orders.’

  There was a coughing sound and then the second guard, alarmed: ‘Was that blood?’

  It wasn’t blood. Just coloured water that Ami had been holding in her mouth. The girl put a hand to her lips and doubled over, as if trying to hold back the flood.

  ‘What we gonna do?’ Lan screamed.

  Pari thought she made out a sigh.

  ‘Stay here with them. I’d better speak to the captain about this.’

  ‘Captain’ll have your head if you bother her now.’

  ‘I’ll worry about her, you worry about them.’

  Pari took a deep breath and gathered herself at the end of the bridge. One guard was making his way inside, while the other stood with Lan, his back to her.

  She waved to catch Ami’s eye and the girl pretended to cough something into her hand, prompting Lan to make a fuss and the guard to mutter nervously to them both.

  Pausing only to give an approving nod, Pari crept onwards.

  The great doors to the castle were already open, and a carriage was being prepared in the courtyard just inside, a shaggy pack of Dogkin tethered to the front. Though they were too small to pull the carriage individually, this particular breed were tireless in both legs and lungs – their high-pitched barks stabbed at the ear.

  Pari would have happily pushed them all off a cliff.

  The rest of the courtyard was remarkably empty. She presumed the usual guard had been pulled inside the castle to protect the High Lord and the other Sapphires.

  Somewhere within the castle was Lord Rochant. He was close, she could feel it. But, unlike those of her lover’s home, the secret ways of this place were a mystery. With the inner castle on alert, and her own name being thrown around as a suspect, she had little hope of getting any further.

  I need help. But who to approach? One of the Sapphire here is behind this … Vasin? Gada? Umed? Yadva? The High Lord himself? Though Rochant and the High Lord had always been close, she could not help but remember the ‘message’ tattooed in silver on her lover’s body, and wonder. But why bother to leave a warning if he was going to kidnap him? No. I can’t believe the High Lord is behind this.

  But if she approached the High Lord for aid, she would have to admit to breaking his laws, and that would damn both of them. Whilst in the middle of this dilemma she saw a familiar figure hurrying towards the other carriage.

  Dil. I’d recognize that poor excuse for facial hair anywhere.

  She crouched down by the corner of the wall, wincing as her knees cracked, and pulled her hood further forward. There was only one handler by the carriage, and the Dogkin were keeping her fully occupied. This was her chance!

  As Dil reached the door of the carriage, she broke cover. The short space of land between her and Dil seemed to stretch forever.

  The handler was wrestling a Dogkin into a harness, cursing under her breath and Pari felt a moment of empathy for the poor woman. There was no empathy for Dil however.

  He had opened the door and was throwing some bags inside. Her angle wasn’t ideal, but she was fairly sure there was nobody else within.

  Nobody to see what I’m about to do to you.

  She flexed her fingers against the cold, preparing to strike. Dil was prodding at one of the bags inside, tucking tassels neatly away.

  Only ten feet separated them now.

  ‘Get in!’ muttered Dil, pushing at a bag that had wedged itself in the doorway.

  Eight feet. She used the carriage to block the handler’s view, and approached from Dil’s right.

  The bag succumbed to Dil’s efforts with a thud. ‘That’s better.’

  Six feet. She raised a hand, two fingers extended. A blow to the throat to stop any unwanted calls for help.

  Four. It would be difficult to move him anywhere without being seen by the handler. Perhaps she would have to incapacitate her as well. At least it would give the woman a brief respite from all the noise.

  Suddenly she became aware of running footsteps from the inner gates. ‘Captain Dil!’ shouted a voice she knew. Lord Vasin. Dil jerked upright as if stung, then turned to his left. She moved with him, a shadow of his shadows, using the man’s bulk to block her from Vasin’s sightline.

  ‘There’s been a change of plan,’ Vasin said, breathless. He was moving quickly, and would be upon them in seconds.

  ‘My lord?’

  Vasin looked over his shoulder towards the inner gates. By the time he looked back, Pari had side-stepped behind the open door, dropped to the ground, and rolled underneath the carriage.

  ‘You will be travelling direct to Tanzanite lands. You will be accompanying Lady Yadva.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Your understanding isn’t necessary, just your competence. And mind your tongue on the journey. Lady Yadva might seem aloof but she misses nothing.’

  So Vasin and Dil have some kind of history. Interesting. She placed him at the top of her suspects list.

  ‘I will do my best, my lord.’

  ‘Your best?’

  She heard Dil’s strangled gasp as Vasin grabbed him. ‘I have seen your best and found it wanting. You will be perfection itself.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  She lost the next thing Vasin said to the low growl of a Dogkin. Pressing her chin to her chest, so that she could look towards the front of the carriage, she found the upside down face of a Dogkin looking back at her. It was an ugly thing even by the standards of its kind, most of the head taken up with a great muzzle, filled with teeth, the nose a small, snub thing perched on the end. Its faded eye was a mere glint of grey, its canine eye a vacant black, no emotional range, just hunger and anger. Pari wasn’t sure which she was being subjected to.

  Despite this, she put a finger to her lips in silent appeal and was rewarded by the growling being replaced with a surprised whine.

  Able to think again, she began to put together the facts. A Dogkin pack like this one was hard to manage but excellent for long-distance travel. The carriage seemed appropriate for noble passengers, but to travel alone was low key for a lady of House Sapphire, suggesting they wanted to draw minimal attention. Where are you going, Dil? What are you up to?

  ‘Remember,’ said Vasin, sounding further away, ‘your mission is to prove guilt, not start a war.’

  Ahh, she thought. It becomes clear. They’re coming for me.

  Vasin’s boots had splashed some further distance before Dil muttered an answer, something disrespectful, too low to make out but involving sharp objects and rear ends. Then he sighed and began pulling out the bags so recently packed with care.

  Pari knew she should do something, but fatigue stole her usual inspiration from her. This is a task for a younger body. Despite the danger, her eyes began to feel heavy. Perhaps, if I rest for a moment, something will come.

  Unfortunately for her, the Dogkin had recovered from its surprise, and was trying to twist round. The harness held it firmly in place, but it barked out an alarm. A second Dogkin head popped into view, and then it started barking along with its pack mate.

  ‘Suns!’ shouted Dil. ‘What’s wrong with them?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied the handler, working her way to the back of the pack. ‘But it’s coming from here.’

 
Pari tried a pleading look but it made no difference. They kept on barking until the rest of the Dogkin got the message and joined in. The carriage started to rock back and forth, axles creaking as the excited creatures fought to break out of their shackles and get to her.

  As she watched the flex and play of the suspension, Pari’s quick eyes identified several key bolts, and she set about loosening them. May they fall out at a most inconvenient moment.

  Job done, she turned her attention to the Dogkin as they hopped about, stubby tails like raised fingers. Pari narrowed her eyes, pulled out her earring, and waited. Not yet.

  The handler’s attempts to soothe the rear animals seemed to be having the opposite effect.

  Not yet.

  Pari could see her hand resting on one of their heads. ‘I think there’s something back here,’ she said, leaning down, the tip of her ponytail falling into view.

  Now! thought Pari and, with no small amount of venom, jabbed the pin of her earring into the testicles of the nearest Dogkin. It snapped and howled with pain, sinking its teeth into the nearest available target: the handler.

  The woman screamed and then everything erupted into chaos, the Dogkin going berserk at all the noise and the smell of blood. For good measure, Pari stabbed the other nearby Dogkin in the testicles too. Dil had arrived on the scene now and was shouting for help while trying to pull the handler free.

  Time to go, thought Pari, and forced her weary bones into motion.

  More staff were rushing over to help but Dogkin chaos covered her movements as she crawled out from under the carriage. She gave the castle one last look. It pained her to abandon Rochant but it was no good saving him if she wasn’t around to enjoy it. She reminded herself that they wouldn’t dare kill him so long as baby Satyendra remained safe.

  As she made her way back outside, the shouts and barks followed, and she saw the guard from the bridge rushing towards her as if towards his own death.

  ‘Are –’ his voice cracked ‘– we under attack?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘they need you!’

  He ran on, weapon drawn and held high, as if charging into battle. Pari turned her face away, barely able to control the laughter.

  Beyond the gates, two pale faces were waiting for her.

  ‘Come on, Ami, Lan. We’re leaving.’

  ‘We are?’

  ‘Yes,’ Pari replied. ‘Now walk behind me, and keep close together. You must do your best to block me from sight, leave as little gap as possible. They’ll be back long before we cross the bridge.’

  Lan opened his cloak, putting an arm round Ami’s shoulder to make a curtain at Pari’s back. ‘Where we going?’

  ‘Ami and I are going home. It looks like you’re going to sample Tanzanite food sooner than I thought.’

  ‘But,’ asked Lan, fearful, ‘what about me?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lan, but you can’t come with us.’

  He looked like he was going to cry. ‘What’ve I done wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. You’ve been brave and loyal and that is just what is needed here. You see, I have a job for you. One that I cannot do myself that is of the utmost importance.’ She wiped her earring on her sleeve and held it out to him. ‘You’re going to deliver a message.’

  The rain began as the village of Sagan came into sight. It thrummed musically on the Godroad, and pattered on the forest canopy. The raindrops bounced, falling faster than the ground could absorb, forming new waterways, tiny and transient.

  Chandni retreated into the back of the wagon, cowering with Satyendra under several layers of fabric. Varg and Glider were less fortunate, hair and fur alike plastered down, thick drips collecting on the ends of their noses.

  They came to some half-built structures clustering on Sagan’s edge, things of mud brick and hay, thrown up hurriedly, haphazardly. Though they had no roofs, scrawny figures gathered inside, some covering their heads, others just standing, frozen, heedless of the needling rain.

  Like most settlements, Sagan was built along the Godroad, sturdy houses of old wood gathering as close as they could, forming long, thin rows. Though close proximity to a Godroad did not actually protect the inhabitants from the creatures of the Wild, it did make encounters less likely.

  However, crops always failed in the soil near the Godroad, and so a large patch of trees had been cleared to make way for farmland, bravely crossing over the Wild’s boundary. Several established fields were visible, each jutting out from the back of a house to use all of the available space, and she could see new ones being cleared, high fences marking out Sagan’s new perimeter. Though the forest was held back, Chandni could almost feel the pressure of the Wild trying to return. In fact, several fences were bent inwards by trees, branches curled over the top like fingers, grasping.

  Despite the lash of the rain, many people remained outside. They huddled together, a mass of misery, as close to the walls as they could get.

  At first, she couldn’t understand why they weren’t sheltering inside the buildings, but then she got a glimpse of faces peering at her from behind windows, packed in tight, and realized there simply wasn’t enough room for everyone.

  ‘There are so many people!’ she exclaimed, drawing nearer to the front of the wagon.

  ‘It’s got bad,’ Varg admitted. ‘Sagan’s fit to burst. I don’t recognize any of the ones outside. Poor bastards must have walked here from Sorn.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll have taken your house.’

  He shook his head. ‘They wouldn’t dare.’

  Varg’s house was set apart from the others, on the border where Sagan met the Wild. It was a small cube of wood, windowless, sitting awkwardly on a slab of rock, supported by stilts on one corner. The front faced the village, while the back looked directly out into the trees. Already, parts of the forest grew stealthily around one side, as if preparing to steal it back into the Wild’s embrace.

  Another smaller cube sat on top of the main building with a chimney poking from it. This had wooden shutters that were half open. Chandni couldn’t help smiling to herself when she saw the smoke coming from the chimney top and the warm light dancing under the door. Clearly someone had dared.

  ‘By the thrice shitted suns!’ said Varg, pulling the wagon to a stop. ‘Stay here. This won’t take long.’

  She watched in dismay as he leapt from the wagon and splashed up towards the stout door at the front of the house. He wrenched it open, violence in the movement, and she flinched as he slammed it behind him.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ she murmured and heard an answering grunt.

  With a start, she realized that Satyendra had woken up. His dark eyes stared up at her, utterly attentive.

  It was hard to be sure over the rain but it sounded as if there was shouting coming from the house.

  This isn’t right.

  Scooping Satyendra up, she slipped from the wagon, to come face to face with Glider.

  ‘Stay here,’ she ordered, and started towards the house.

  The Dogkin whined but did as she was told.

  In the short walk between the wagon and the house, Chandni was soaked to the skin. She pulled back the door and plunged inside, instantly struck by a wash of warm air on her face.

  Varg was standing in front of her, hands on hips. On the other side of him, she counted two people hurriedly packing, one of whom was clutching a baby, and there, between the adult’s knees, a toddler watched them.

  ‘You can’t do this,’ she said quietly.

  He turned round, expressions of horror and anger warring on his face. ‘Stay in the wagon,’ he hissed.

  ‘No, listen to me.’

  His big hands moved as if to propel her back outside but stopped, impotent, a few inches from her.

  ‘You can’t do this. They’ll suffer out there. They could die.’

  ‘Lots of people are suffering, but my job is to protect you. No one else.’

  ‘I understand. But these are my people and I have a duty to them.’<
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  ‘But the risk? They could betray us. What about the risk to your baby and your house?’

  ‘To live without honour is the worst death, one even Lord Rochant couldn’t return from. I must do whatever I can, however small, for that is the Sapphire way.’

  He looked into her eyes, his horror giving way to dismay, his anger to admiration. ‘Fuck.’

  She smiled at him. ‘I knew you’d understand. Tell them they can stay. Reassure them. No shouting. Say you were shocked at first but now you’ve had time to think, you’ve had a change of heart. I’ll wait for you in the wagon. We can talk more freely there.’

  It was cramped and damp in the back of the wagon, and when Satyendra started to shiver in Chandni’s arms, it almost broke her heart.

  Varg climbed in to join them, his bulk blocking out most of the weak light. ‘It’s done,’ he muttered.

  ‘Good. We’ll have to make our plans quickly. I need to get Satyendra somewhere warm.’

  ‘That’s the first thing,’ said Varg, wringing water out of his beard. ‘Can’t call him Satyendra any more. That’s no Sagan name, and those assassins’ll be asking after it.’

  She’d never considered that, but it made sense. The idea of calling her baby by another name appalled, but she swallowed it down. ‘Yes. Do you have a name in mind?’

  ‘Something common would be best. How about Kal?’

  Awful! she thought. But said yes. This wasn’t about whether she liked or disliked a name, it was about what would keep them safe. ‘What else?’

  ‘That castle living of yours shows. Nobody down here sees that much sunslight. We’ll have to paint you whenever you go outside. And I think you better not go outside unless you have to. I’ve told them you’re sick, that should keep people away for a bit.’

  ‘And what are you going to call me?’

  He grimaced. ‘Ri.’

  ‘Ri? As in Lady Pari? It’s not very subtle!’

  ‘No, but it’s easy to remember.’

  ‘Can’t we use a different name?’

  ‘Has to be Ri. I’ve used it in the past.’

  She took a deep breath and reminded herself that she was a Sapphire and that, unlike many she could name, a Sapphire was always in control of themselves. ‘Very well.’