The Deathless

by Peter Newman

  Satyendra shivered again, making her frown with concern. ‘Is there anything else?’

  ‘There’s two rooms that are good for sleeping in. Normally Pari would sleep in one and me in the other but that ain’t going to work with those four from Sorn living with us. So I’m putting them in one room, so that you, me,’ he pointed at Satyendra, ‘and little Kal can stay together in the other.’

  ‘I think that’s for the best.’

  His eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘Yeah … me too. Good. Reckon it’d be best if you stay in the room. Play up being ill and being shy. Let me do the talking.’

  ‘I’m not used to stepping back and letting others do all the work.’

  ‘It won’t be for long. Pari doesn’t hang about.’ He shuffled closer and began rooting around in the general mess at the back of the wagon. ‘Here we go.’ In his hand was a small jar of milk-white paste. ‘Put some on, then we can get you into the house and out of sight.’

  ‘I think you should do it.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘There’s no mirror here, and it needs to look natural.’ She glanced down at her right hand, to check it was still there, and flexed the fingers. ‘You do it.’

  ‘All right then. Come a bit closer where the light is.’

  She did. The smell of damp man and Dogkin was potent as ever, but she didn’t mind it as much as before. Am I getting used to it already? she wondered. And then a worse possibility occurred. Is this what I smell like now?

  Varg was delicate with his applications, the little chunk of sponge somehow ridiculous in his rough fingers. He was so focused that the tip of his tongue peeked out as he worked.

  ‘How did you come to work for Lady Pari?’

  ‘I was born into it. She won my great, great grandmother in a bet.’

  ‘Surely not!’

  ‘Yep. She was so good that a few Deathless fought over being the one to elevate her. In the end it came down to a private bet between Pari and,’ he caught himself, ‘well, what matters is that she won, and not just one woman either. See, my old gran was pregnant with twins at the time but hadn’t told anyone. So Pari takes the mum back to show off at home, and keeps the kids elsewhere.’

  ‘That’s horrible!’

  ‘Don’t crinkle your face like that.’

  ‘Sorry.’ She did her best to keep her face relaxed but couldn’t help adding: ‘It’s still horrible.’

  ‘Clever though. Means the other Deathless don’t know about me, and that means Pari can get about without being noticed when she has to.’

  ‘Do you like being Pari’s …’ she tried to think of what the correct term for Varg would be. ‘Servant?’

  He looked around the wagon and pulled a face. ‘Sometimes.’

  They both laughed.

  ‘Well,’ he said, dabbing one last time at her nose. ‘I think that’s as good as it’s going to get. Ready to go?’

  She looked down at herself. Ri, I’m Ri now. I’m sick and quiet. I must keep my head down and my mouth closed. And this is Kal. Not Satyendra, but Kal. Oh, I hate this already and we haven’t even begun.

  But when she turned back to Varg, she nodded, committed, and offered her hand.

  Vasin rushed through the main doors of his castle, aware that he was attracting strange looks from his staff. It had taken all of his self-control not to kill Dil right there in the courtyard. The man was a thug, guileless. Vasin understood that his family had been cast down by Lord Rochant generations ago, even sympathized a little, but Dil’s all-consuming hatred made him unreliable and arrogant. The man had forgotten his proper place.

  He’d even had the gall to ask if he could go and hunt down Rochant’s grandchild himself. As if he’d trust that job to the fool that let it escape in the first place.

  The entrance hall was an open space dominated by the main stairs. Trophies of previous hunts adorned the walls but other than that, they were bare. For the first time he wished there was more clutter, a grand statue or display case, something to hide behind. As it was, he was completely exposed when his cousin Yadva came down the stairs, flanked by her hunters.

  He could not muster a smile but managed to meet her gaze as he took her arm. ‘Hunt well and thorough.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘It’s not much of a hunt is it? Do you think Rochant’s captain is telling the truth?’

  ‘I see no reason for him to lie.’

  He was distracted by the sound of Dogkin barking outside. Yadva was not. ‘And why are you in such a hurry? I thought the meeting was still going on.’

  ‘The High Lord is sending me to the Ruby lands as an envoy.’

  ‘You? Now?’

  ‘You don’t agree with his decision?’

  She waved back her hunters and took him to one side. ‘Father is organizing a grand hunt and yet sends his two best hunters away. Does that make any sense to you?’ She did not pause long enough for him to answer, her nostrils flaring: ‘Why not let Umed or Gada chatter to the Rubies or go sniffing in Lady Pari’s rooms?’

  He paused. With all of his own troubles he had not had time to consider the oddity of the High Lord’s orders. ‘Uncle Umed’s body is not ageing well. I doubt a long voyage would suit him.’

  ‘And a vigorous hunt would?’

  Vasin spread his hands. ‘I’m sure he has his reasons.’

  ‘So am I. That’s what bothers me.’ She leaned in, dropping her voice. ‘We should talk, soon. Just the two of us.’

  He caught the look in her eyes, an understanding passing between them. ‘Yes. We should.’

  ‘Good.’ She gave his arm a final squeeze before striding away. He started up the stairs as she called back to him. ‘I haven’t forgotten about your story. When I return, I expect all the details!’

  He sighed but called back with false cheer, ‘You’ll get them. And the song too!’

  And then she was gone, and Vasin was rushing up the stairs. Though distant, the noise from the courtyard had got worse. What was going on out there? He paused at the top, considering whether to go and see for himself but didn’t dare waste the time. With Yadva leaving and the rest of his family in close conference, this was his best chance to speak to Yi without being observed.

  He made his way down a smaller staircase, passing servant after servant. All were purposeful, attending to the long list of additional jobs that had arrived along with their unexpected guests. How many eyes have seen me going this way? he wondered. And how many are truly loyal? His life had been so simple before, his worries straightforward. Now he moved in a different world, where suspicion dismantled trust, and inner peace was a faded memory at best.

  If Dil, who had grown up in Lord Rochant’s care, was capable of betrayal, why not his own staff? He had never paid particular attention to that side of his duties, leaving it to others to manage on his behalf. That would have to change.

  Yi met him outside the door that held Rochant. Her face was calm, expressionless, as she bowed. ‘You should not be here.’

  His stomach tightened. Had he made another mistake? ‘I had to come. The High Lord is sending me away. He knows something, I’m sure of it. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Do you think you can keep him hidden?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They may search the castle.’

  She looked at him but said nothing.

  He felt a growing pressure to be decisive, to give an order, but he wasn’t sure what to do. ‘How is the prisoner?’

  ‘The same. Do you wish to see?’

  Did he? He had no idea. ‘Yes.’

  Yi opened the door for him and he stepped into the room. Lord Rochant remained bound to the pole, a sack over his head. The sight made Vasin feel sick. He reminded himself that this man shared the blame for his mother’s fall, that he was scum, but the words fell flat in his mind, replaced by others, more resonant: It should not be this way.

  At some point during his reverie, the head within the sack had twitched to face him more directly. ‘Silence is a lazy word,
don’t you think?’

  Though the voice was new and youthful, the cadence and intonation were unmistakably Rochant’s. Vasin caught himself before he answered. To speak would be to identify himself.

  ‘There are silences of many kinds, and yet we have only one word to describe them all. The silence of a small space is not the same as a large one. Just as it sounds different if one is inside or out. And the silence of the floating castle is different again, though they cannot be considered truly silent. They breathe.’ He paused, and there was a glimpse of a smile within the sack, as if Vasin had just conceded a point. ‘I know who you are. I know where I am.’

  He paused again. ‘I am a student of silence, and the things that can be found on its edges. I know, from the way you have started to edge away, that you have lost. But there are many kinds of losing. You still have the power to choose the nature of yours. Come, let us talk. Let us negotiate terms.’

  Vasin stepped out of the room and slammed the door shut, pressing his palms against its rough surface. He could imagine Rochant on the other side. Did he truly know or was he bluffing? He did not say my name. Surely he would have said my name if he had known?

  ‘Yi, I need that baby found.’

  ‘We are searching.’

  ‘As is my family!’ His hands became fists on the door. ‘If the search comes here, if they find this place …’

  He trailed off, unable to say the words aloud, but Yi nodded as if he had. She would kill Lord Rochant to keep his secrets, and herself if she had to.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Chandni stared at the wall in front of her. The wood was warped, dusty, and blackened with age. After a while she could make out patterns in the grain, patterns that drew the eye and held it if studied for too long.

  And Chandni had been here for far too long.

  There were no windows, the only light in the room coming from the open trapdoor in the ceiling, and a slit cut into the block of stone that formed the heart of the building, where the fire burned, weak in the day, feeble at night.

  Chandni knew this for a fact because she had been nowhere else since they arrived, confined like a prisoner with Satyendra. Varg brought her food, and tepid water for cleaning. He also emptied her pot and took away Satyendra’s soiled clothes. Her dependence on Varg had soured her mood, leading to a number of comments, regretful, that she intended to apologize for when he returned.

  A grumbling drew her attention and she lifted Satyendra from his bed. ‘Hello,’ she said. She didn’t call him by name any more but she couldn’t bring herself to call him Kal. It just seemed wrong. ‘And how are we today?’ Please be in better spirits than yesterday.

  Sleepy eyes blinked and he stretched in her arms, taut and tiny, before giving her his full attention. Or at least, he gave his full attention to her breast.

  Chandni’s heart sank as his mouth opened, revealing the little nubs of teeth that were surprisingly sharp. ‘All right, but you must try to be gentler today.’

  Still open mouthed, he lifted his head, making a desperate little grunt. She knew that crying would soon follow if he wasn’t fed, and moved quickly to accommodate him. Her mind drifted as he sucked, wondering what was happening back at the castle. It already seemed like so long ago, as if it were months rather than days that had passed.

  We should have heard from Pari by now. Chandni hated waiting on others, especially members of other houses. They were so … unreliable. By the Thrice Blessed Suns, what if she’s died? It could be years before her next lifecycle. Years of sitting in this room. I don’t think I could bear it.

  Satyendra coughed, spluttering milk all over the two of them. She kept calm and set him upright, patting his back until the gurgle had gone from his breathing.

  ‘Better?’ she asked.

  Satyendra scowled at her, a study in fury.

  ‘Well, it isn’t my fault. You shouldn’t be so greedy.’

  He began to grizzle, then to demand more feeding. It had been like this since they arrived. Satyendra not taking his milk properly and as a consequence being hungry, and angry, mostly with her.

  When she fed him a second time she sang his favourite song. It was called One, and told the story of a Purebird carved in glass that comes to life one day and goes on an adventure to find its family. However, the song no longer seemed to please him. Even when she made the ‘swish, swish’ noises of the wings at each chorus he regarded her bleakly.

  ‘Is there not the smallest smile for me today?’ She stroked his forehead. ‘I know, I know. We are in a strange place. And there has been little sleep and little to smile about lately. I don’t much feel like smiling either when I look at this drab room. But when I look at you,’ she touched him gently on the end of the nose, ‘I find that I do have a smile after all. It was just hidden away all this time. Look!’ She mustered her best smile. ‘Here it is.’

  He stared at her, the dark of his eyes cold, and she shivered.

  More hours passed. Occasionally she heard the residents of the other room moving about, or talking in low tones. Their children were quiet but she could hear the high voice of the toddler chirping with questions.

  Otherwise there was little but the pop of wet wood burning on the fire, and Satyendra’s disgruntled murmuring. There was nothing urgent that she needed to do, no immediate demands on her. No excuses.

  I’ve put this off for too long.

  She shrugged her shoulder out of her robe and slipped her right arm free. Goosebumps rose on her upper arm only. She turned her wrist upwards and touched each of the cuts there in turn. When she got to the highest one, the one that had hurt to make, she felt nothing.

  Chandni pressed harder, being careful not to use her nail lest she accidentally draw blood. The skin paled under the pressure but it was a visual change only. A horrible certainty grew in her.

  The poison is still spreading. Roh only slowed it, she didn’t get it all out.

  Sliding her thumb up her inner arm, she found sensation again just before the elbow.

  Stay calm. Stay. Calm. She inhaled, long and deep, clenching her fists, then relaxed them as she exhaled. You are a Sapphire, said the inner voice of her mother, imperious. You know what must be done.

  There was a knife under the bed. Chandni picked it up and walked to the stone wall that housed the central fire. She slid the blade through the slit and held it there, waiting for the metal to get hot. She tried not to think about what she was going to do, tried to keep her breathing even. When her hand began to tremble, making the knife rattle against the stone, she tried to ignore that too.

  When the knife blade was as hot as it was likely to get, she took it out and knelt down, pressing her right arm against the wall and locking it straight. The knife felt awkward in her left hand. She brought it carefully into position so that its edge hovered just below her elbow.

  It’s the wrong kind of blade, she thought. But then, what other blade was there? It wasn’t as if she was in a Cutter-crafter’s hall. She had one knife. It was this or nothing.

  Questions flew in her mind, borne on anxious wings. Should I hack or cut? How will I tie off the … Her stomach clenched violently, … stump with one hand? What about the pain? Will I be able to take it? What if I pass out before I’m finished, what then?

  She made a light cut on her arm, an inch clear of the numbness, drawing a thin line of red, a marker for what was to follow. More than anything else, that brought her up short. They were so close to the Wild here that an abundance of fresh blood would be certain to draw something to them. She could face pain, could even, perhaps, face a life without her hand. But what if a Whispercage came again? A memory of its touch, vivid, and the fluttering of rags, of that face beneath the hood, of Satyendra being taken from her …

  For a moment she was there on the wagon, so sure that she had lost her child. But I didn’t lose him. Satyendra’s here. He’s right here on the bed.

  She had to turn and check though, force feed her mind evidence to dispel the fear.
Satyendra was on the bed where she had left him, watching her, his eyes drawn by the knife in her hand, shaking.

  As her gaze followed his, the reality, the stupidity, of what she had been about to do came crashing in, and she cried out, hurling the knife away. It clattered loudly on the floor.

  Next door, the voices stopped.

  She heard a single set of footsteps cross the room. For a long time they seemed to hover on the threshold. Chandni silently hoped they would not come in. To see another adult in her present state would be too much. The shame alone would destroy her.

  When the footsteps returned and the voices started again, she let out a great sigh of relief. When Varg gets back, she thought, pulling her robe over her shoulder, I’ll tell him about the assassin’s poison. She had the feeling he would know what to do.

  Chandni woke to see a familiar bulk in the darkness. ‘You know, for a man that smuggles people for a living, your feet are surprisingly clumpy.’

  Varg went over to the slit where the fire crackled and rubbed his hands together. ‘Did I wake you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘You were gone longer than usual. What happened?’

  ‘There’s been hunters seen on the Godroad. Apparently, High Lord Sapphire himself has taken wing.’

  A little hope sparked in her chest. ‘Then I can go home?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘We’re not going anywhere until I get the word from Pari.’

  ‘Oh don’t be ridiculous. You just said yourself that House Sapphire is taking action. We must go to the High Lord immediately. Where is he?’

  ‘Like I said, on the move.’

  ‘You need to be more specific.’

  ‘It’s not like they sent me a bloody report is it!’ She thought she saw him run a hand through his hair. ‘Ah shit. I’m sorry. Maybe we should talk when I’ve had some sleep.’

  ‘Which direction was he flying?’

  ‘This way, I think. But it’s hard to be sure. I hear talk of hunters all over this part of the Godroad.’

  ‘Then we’ll go out onto the Godroad and approach the hunters. They will escort us to High Lord Sapphire and all will be well.’