The Deathless

by Peter Newman

  Lady Yadva was not that kind of Deathless however, and it made Pari giggle to think about how angry the Sapphire would be and how awful it would be for Dil stuck in close quarters with her.

  By the fifth day she found she was not only thinking these things, but picturing them. Her imagined drama playing out before her eyes, colourful, too vivid. So too was her concern over Rochant, when she thought of him.

  By the sixth day, she had developed a fever.

  From the seventh day onwards, Ami did all the pushing, while Pari stayed bundled up in the cart, cold despite the layers, shivering, sleeping, her eyes unsure what was real and what was not.

  In her lucid moments, she knew she had only herself to blame. Her body had reached its limits long ago and she had ignored them, forcing tired bones to keep step with her immortal will until they failed entirely.

  The sky passed by overhead, dark, light, dark again, while threads of thought flapped in her skull, incomplete. Sometimes she was aware of water on her lips, or was it blood? There was coughing too, but by the time she had registered such things they had stopped, seemingly having happened hours ago. Had they occurred on a different day? Had they occurred at all?

  Her worries for the present summoned memories of the past. She recalled a meeting of the Crystal Dynasties from another lifecycle. It was a traditional get together at the Hall of Seven Doors, to share news and renew bonds, and in this case, make new ones.

  A man had come to find her shortly before the welcoming ceremony. In many ways the body he had chosen was unremarkable. It was lean, neat and tall, the hair cropped short to display a golden tattoo of cracks running across one side of the skull. There was a deliberation to his movements that caught her eye however, a sense that every step, and every gesture was made with forethought and planning.

  ‘You must be the new Sapphire,’ she said.

  ‘That is correct,’ he replied. ‘My name is Rochant. Might I have the honour of kissing your hand?’

  She had laughed at his boldness. ‘Only if I can kiss yours first.’

  He held out his hand, a picture of formality, and she kissed it, before holding out her own.

  ‘It is an honour to meet you, Lady Pari.’

  ‘And a most unexpected pleasure to meet you, Lord Rochant.’

  ‘Ah yes, I regret that High Lord Yadavendra could not attend today. He bids me tell you that his love for House Tanzanite remains strong, and that you are always welcome in his lands.’ He had placed a strong emphasis on the ‘you’, somehow making it seem as if the invitation were for her alone.

  ‘Well, such visits are normally the province of my brother, Lord Arkav, but I will be sure to pass on the good wishes.’ She leaned closer to him and lowered her voice in mock conspiracy. ‘We’re both stand-ins today.’

  ‘Then it is only right that we look out for each other.’

  She’d smiled, surprised to find herself actually warming to a Sapphire. ‘Yes, you watch my back and I’ll watch yours.’

  How those words have come to shape my life!

  The memory slipped away, blurring with others, times she had tried to find him and failed, snippets of their conversations over the years, all jumbled with fever dreams and moments of clarity.

  And then one morning, her mind cleared all of a sudden, like shrugging off a cloak when it is no longer needed. She felt cold, and the end of her nose was an icy lump. She was hungry too, and realized she could not remember the last time she’d eaten.

  The sky above was dominated by Fortune’s Eye, shining bright and gold. On her periphery, she could see tree branches going by, leafless. I’m moving.

  ‘Ami, are you there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ami!’ She sat up and everything spun for a moment, the simple act of changing position bringing with it a wave of fatigue. Go gently, Pari!

  ‘Is it you?’ asked the girl.

  The oddness of the question made Pari turn to get a better look at her. Ami had appeared tired before, but now it was written into the lines of her features, stress, worry, lack of sleep, as if someone had started inking an older face over the younger one.

  ‘Yes. It’s me, my dear Ami. I’m here and I’m hungry. Do we have anything to eat?’

  They sat on the cart together and shared out the last of the rations. It wasn’t enough to stop her stomach rumbling, but it did quieten, allowing her to think about other things, like where she was.

  Pari looked about, trying to get a bearing. It took her longer to get over her surprise than it did to recognize the landscape. ‘Ami, do you see how the Godroad shines differently here?’ The girl looked, nodding as she took in the violet hues that softened the blues from before. ‘Do you see that river running alongside it.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And do you see those houses built on the banks, with people fishing from their balconies?’

  ‘I can.’

  ‘That settlement is called Grace. It’s known for its dancers and the way they spice their fish eggs.’

  ‘How do you know every place?’

  ‘I don’t know all the settlements but I know this one very well.’ She smiled at Ami’s confusion, placing a hand on her chest. ‘It’s mine.’ Seeing that Ami remained confused, she added. ‘On my land. We’re nearly home.’

  Ami looked up, her eyes misty with hope. ‘We are?’

  ‘We are. However did you know how to get here?’

  There was a pause. ‘You told me.’

  Pari frowned. ‘I see. Did I say anything else while I was ill?’

  ‘You said a lot of stuff I didn’t get. You shouted sometimes like you was dreaming.’ A troubled look crossed her face. ‘And there’s this one time when you kept saying you was sorry.’

  ‘Did I say what I was sorry about?’

  ‘No but you kept saying “Arky”. What’s that mean?’

  Pari looked up at the sky. She hadn’t said Arky. She’d said Arkav, as in her brother. So much to regret where he is concerned, I’m spoilt for choice. She continued to watch the clouds as she said, ‘I’m sorry, Ami, I don’t know what that was about. Probably just a fever dream.’

  They’d not gone three paces past the outer edge of Grace when Pari heard the baying of Dogkin. Lady Yadva and Dil had finally caught them up, later than she could have hoped for but not quite late enough. While she was technically on Tanzanite lands, her appearance, coupled with the fact she was not in her castle, would lead to awkward questions. If only they had held off a few more hours.

  ‘What we gonna do?’ asked Ami.

  ‘Bring me one of the villagers, hurry.’

  A woman in her middle years came over, looking wary. As soon as she saw Pari’s face, there was a spark of recognition and she started to bow. ‘Do not abase yourself, pretend I am just a traveller.’ The woman straightened, attentive. She’s sharp. She senses the opportunity coming. Good. ‘If you help me now, I will make your fortune, by my house and my blood and my good name, I swear it so. But you must be quick. I need two strong people to push my cart to the castle, and I need you to delay the Sapphire carriage that is nearly upon us. Can you do it?’

  The woman rubbed her chin. ‘You want it to go in the river?’

  Oh I like her. I like her very much. ‘Yes, that would be perfect. When all this is over, and you see our visitors returning home, come to my castle.’

  Two youngsters were found in short order, broad backed and well muscled, and the cart wheels hummed, merry, as they set it skimming along the Godroad.

  Ami was sat on top, with Pari tucked under the blankets, out of sight.

  And then, as the Godroad began to slope upwards to point towards Pari’s castle, they heard an almighty roaring and snapping far behind them, of hungry Dogkin, drowning out the desperate cries of their handler, of a whip cracking uselessly, too little, too late.

  And moments later, a splash.

  After days of brooding, Chandni stood up. She’d had enough. Of the walls, of the lack of sky, of all of it
. House Sapphire was under attack, possibly from itself, its people were suffering, and she had to do something. Anything. Varg must have seen something in her eye for he stood up as well.

  ‘What?’

  She lifted her chin to look up at him. ‘I’m going to go next door and introduce myself.’

  ‘You’re bloody not.’

  ‘If I spend another minute in this room I’m going to kill someone, and as you know, my Satyendra is too important to kill.’ She looked to her left, then her right, before returning to him with a withering gaze. ‘Which doesn’t leave many other options.’

  He stood in front of the door. ‘Don’t make me …’

  She picked up Satyendra and took a step towards him.

  ‘Don’t.’ He pulled at his beard, clearly unhappy. ‘We can’t trust them.’

  ‘They are my people, Varg, not the enemy, and I intend to go and see them. So either you need to make good on your threat or you need to get out of my way.’

  She took another step so that her nose was nearly brushing his chest. He was bigger than her, yes. Definitely stronger too, but she was used to command, and he was used to following orders. And more than that, she thought, he is a good man.

  Varg made a strangled, frustrated sound, but he stood aside nonetheless, and Chandni walked through.

  The other room in the house was a similar size to the one she’d been trapped in but it was warmer, brighter, enjoying more of the fire’s attention. There were four others in the room. A baby, probably close to Satyendra’s age but nearly twice the size. A sparky looking toddler, and a worn looking man and woman.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, sitting down next to them, and arranging Satyendra on her lap. ‘My name is Chandni.’ Not Ri or some other nonsense. I will deal with truth or nothing at all. From the other room, Varg swore. She pretended not to hear. ‘I think it’s time you and I had a talk.’

  ‘Are we in trouble?’ asked the man. ‘Do we have to go?’

  ‘No. No, not at all. But if we’re sharing a house, we should get to know each other a little better.’ They nodded slowly but said nothing, so Chandni added, ‘Shall we start with names?’

  Before either of the adults could stop him, the toddler stepped forward with none of the wobble she normally associated with children of his age. ‘I’m Dev!’ he declared.

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Dev. What about you?’ she gestured to the man.

  ‘Daddy!’ piped Dev, tiny finger pointing.

  ‘Fen,’ said the man quietly. He looked thin, veins proud on his arms and neck, but his hands were large, and there was a physical ease to his movements that suggested strength.

  ‘And I’m—’

  ‘Mummy!’

  ‘—Sal,’ said the woman. She was bundled up in layers of fabric to keep warm, making her appear larger than she probably was. It looked like she could use a bath and several nights of good sleep. The baby in her arms appeared clean and content however. ‘This little one is Min,’ she added with a smile.

  The next few hours passed quickly, pleasurably, and she learned that the family were refugees from Sorn. While Sagan was able to use their labour, it had no rooms to spare, and so, in desperation, they had broken into Varg’s house, only intending to stay for one night.

  Most of the conversation was led by her; only Dev dared to ask questions back. Something has broken these people’s spirits, she thought. And because it was in her nature to cut to the heart of things, she asked them what it was.

  Their answer was simple: the Wild. When Sorn’s call for aid had been ignored, the denizens of the Wild had not been idle. Before Sorn’s elders had made the decision to leave, people had gone missing, and strange creatures had walked through the streets, unchallenged, with blood on their teeth and sacks in their hands, wriggling. The people of Sorn had been abandoned, scarred and broken long before they arrived in Sagan.

  They are lost, poor things. Like me. And with that thought, purpose bloomed in her. ‘We are all in a place we don’t belong,’ she said. ‘But we are all part of House Sapphire, and we will endure this, together.’

  Only Dev seemed uplifted by her words but Chandni wasn’t discouraged. She knew that the best way to build trust was through action and shared achievement. Slipping gratefully back into her role of authority, she asked them simple questions to ascertain their skills, and set them tasks accordingly. The same technique was applied to Varg, but his jobs were specifically chosen to get him out of the house. None of the adults went particularly willingly to work, nor in Varg’s case, particularly quietly, but they went all the same. The road to perfection is taken in small steps, she reminded herself.

  Over the following days a gentle transformation began. The fire was banked higher, pushing the cold back to the walls. Clothes were patched and cleaned. Dev was given the role of lookout, and a small drum he could beat if there was trouble. He spent his days standing on a stool in the room upstairs, watching both village and Wild for signs of intruders. He gave Chandni detailed reports of the comings and goings of Sagan’s workforce, along with vivid descriptions of anything that moved in the trees. And though he sounded the alarm several times a day, with a high pitched call of ‘Killers!’ or ‘Monsters!’ or ‘They coming! Aargh!’ it was always in earnest.

  Everyone slept better, the combination of weary limbs and sense of forward motion keeping the worst of the nightmares at bay. The exception to this was Satyendra, who seemed in a permanent state of disgruntlement. Chandni often watched the other baby, Dev’s little brother, Min, with envious eyes. He was so quiet, such a peaceful and undemanding little soul, that most of the time she forgot he was there.

  Varg and Fen ventured out each morning, Varg helping the rebuilding efforts, and Fen clearing trees. This was tense work as the trees did not fall quietly, screaming each time an axe bit home. In the evenings they would sit by the fire, sharing news, mainly for Chandni’s benefit, and mainly, if she was honest, because she made them.

  But often the only sound was the spitting of the fire and the liquid in the pot bubbling.

  ‘Any other news to share?’

  ‘Only bad,’ replied Varg. ‘The Wild’s getting stirred up. Makes it tough on the gatherers.’

  ‘Tough how?’ asked Chandni. Satyendra was leaning against her shoulder, restless. She was so used to this now, she barely noticed, stirring the broth that would be their dinner as she waited in vain for the others to elaborate.

  ‘Oh, there’s been another fight.’

  ‘What about?’

  He shrugged. ‘Nothing much.’

  ‘People don’t fight about nothing, Varg.’

  ‘This lot do.’

  ‘No, they fight because they’re frustrated or because they’re scared.’ She gave the pot another stir before turning back to him. ‘If only I could go and speak to them, I’m sure we could find a solution.’

  Varg gave her a warning look. ‘You can’t save everyone.’

  ‘Not while I’m trapped here, I can’t.’

  ‘Ah shit, not this again!’

  She was so busy trying to think of a reply and not lose her temper that she didn’t notice Satyendra lean over and grab the spoon sticking from the pot. ‘I was going to suggest that you spoke to them.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes. Then you could tell me what their grievances are.’

  Varg suddenly had one hand reaching towards her. ‘Careful.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Careful!’ he repeated, urgent, horror on his face.

  Too late, she realized that he wasn’t looking at her directly, his attention was slightly to her left.

  Satyendra!

  He had managed to take the spoon in both hands and was intent on pulling it to him. As he did so, the pot began to tilt, the boiling broth threatening to pour onto his head.

  ‘No!’ she cried, grabbing the edge of the pot and forcing it upright. Satyendra jerked in surprise, spoon slipping from his grip as Chandni swung him around on her hip, put
ting her body between him and the fire.

  Liquid sloshed back and forth in the pot, threatening to spill, but only a few drops were lost, fizzing as they met the flames. When she was sure it was secure, she moved herself and Satyendra away. ‘Thank you, Varg. I think,’ she added humbly, ‘that someone else should stir for a while.’

  It was only after she’d checked Satyendra to be absolutely sure he was unhurt that she realized the others were staring at her.

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  Varg’s face creased with worry. ‘That’s what I was going to ask you.’

  She nodded, thinking she understood. ‘I’m fine. A little shocked at how close we came. I really am glad you were paying attention.’

  ‘But, Chandni …’

  ‘Yes?’

  Varg didn’t hold her gaze. He looked so sad, she felt the urge to touch him.

  Dev wrinkled his nose. ‘What’s that smell?’

  Chandni inhaled and immediately detected the odour of something burning. ‘Our dinner!’ she said, torn between the urge to tend to it and to keep Satyendra well away, lest he try for the spoon again.

  ‘It’s not dinner,’ said Varg. ‘It’s skin stuck to the side of the pot. Show me your hand, Chandni.’

  She realized he was looking at it, and tucked it within the fold of her top. ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘No it isn’t. That’s your skin on the pot. Now show me.’

  Her shoulders slumped and she held out her arm. She saw rather than felt him take her wrist and turn it over. Three lines were seared white across her hand, one on the fingertips, one on the top of her palm, and a third on the heel. Around them, the flesh was livid, weeping.

  Varg, shaking his head in disbelief, said, ‘I know you Sapphire are stoic but … fuck.’

  ‘I’m not being stoic. I can’t feel it. I can’t feel anything from my hand to my elbow on my right side.’ She sighed. ‘When I was escaping the castle, I was attacked. They poisoned me. We tried to treat it but we only slowed it down. The cook, she told me I’d have to cut away the bits I couldn’t feel but … everything was so hectic and dangerous at the time. And then later …’ She closed her eyes. ‘I couldn’t.’

  ‘Is that why you were hacking at yourself in the wagon?’