The Deathless

by Peter Newman

  The cold woke Satyendra up. He was always cold, his small body shivering even while asleep. The only time he wasn’t freezing was when the wings came and wrapped him up, then he felt safe and warm.

  But often, the wings would go, leaving him alone, leaving him scared. He didn’t cry though. Every time the urge came, it was accompanied with a memory of the Whispercage and all noise died in his throat.

  Twigs and feathers had been banked around him to form a nest, obscuring him from low-level eyes. He was still vulnerable however, easy prey for any predator that happened to pass by.

  He wriggled, restless, his budding teeth chattering together. Some of the nest collapsed.

  Time passed.

  Eventually, he dozed.

  When the Birdkin returned, it brought something dangling in its beak. The Birdkin always returned with something, usually water carried from afar, but this time was different. Instead of drink, a long strip of bloody meat hung down.

  Satyendra opened his mouth as wide as it would go, expectant.

  With slow care, the Birdkin manoeuvred the offering directly above Satyendra’s open mouth. When it was aligned perfectly, the Birdkin lowered it down just enough for Satyendra to suck on the end.

  A gulp of blood went down, and seconds later, knowledge exploded in Satyendra’s mind. A single piece of information came first, perfectly formed, like a heavy stone thrown into a lake, rippling.

  Crowflies!

  It is Crowflies!

  Its name is Crowflies!

  The taste on his tongue was bitter, alien, and yet he wanted more. He lifted his head slightly, his hands trying to grip the slippery flesh.

  Another gulp, and then the meat was torn away, Crowflies hopping back. Something had alarmed it.

  Satyendra could hear leaves whispering to one another, passing on the sound of feet crunching quietly on the forest floor. He could see the shape of a person coming through the trees, not a safe shape, not familiar, but not the Red Brothers or the Whispercage either.

  Crowflies dropped the meat and jumped into the space between them.

  The person shape resolved itself into an old man, his clothes patched and faded to a twilight grey, dark eyes peering out from beneath long, snowy hair. ‘What have you got there?’ he asked.

  Crowflies spread its wings and drew itself up tall, blocking the man from Satyendra’s view.

  He heard the man come closer but only because the leaves continued to amplify every step. ‘What are you up to, demon? Move aside.’

  With a screech, Crowflies launched itself forward. There was a flutter of wings, a sharp crack, and then Crowflies was on the ground again, this time on its side.

  Then the man’s head appeared, blocking out all else.

  ‘Hello there,’ he said. ‘You don’t look like you belong in a nest.’ He wiped the blood from around Satyendra’s mouth with a rough finger. ‘How about you come with me instead, eh?’

  When the man scooped up the baby, Crowflies twitched weakly. When he began to stride away, Crowflies cried out: ‘Sa-at! Sa-at!’

  Another chunk of knowledge landed in the baby’s brain, a second piece of certainty that hit with the same force as the first.

  Sa-at!

  I am Sa-at!

  My name is Sa-at!

  Sa-at reached out toward the Birdkin but the man was already striding away, plunging them into the tangled trees. Distantly he could hear Crowflies crying, the leaves carrying the faltering noise. ‘Sa-at! Sa-at!’

  There were a few more screeches, bitter, pathetic, and then nothing, the other sounds of the forest rising to take their place. The man moved hurriedly, always on alert for trouble. His grip on Sa-at was firm, uncomfortable, and each time he turned sharply, or dropped into a crouch, it hurt.

  Tears budded at the corners of his eyes but he did not call out, fear of the Whispercage, fear of the brothers, fear of this man, fear, pure and deep, keeping him silent.

  While they travelled, the two new thoughts bounced loudly in his mind. Its name is Crowflies! My name is Sa-at! Its name is Crowflies! My name is Sa-at!

  Eventually they came to a stop at a large, dead tree. The ground beneath them was blackened and free of roots, the tree itself, hollowed and scorched by some great force. The man made a quick inspection, plucking a lone shoot of green from the black dust and crushing it in his fist, before ducking through a low hole at the base of the trunk.

  Sa-at was placed on something soft, and a flame sparked into life nearby, dancing on top of a fat candle that sat on an old human skull. Thick furs decorated the inside of the tree, hundreds of little pelts all stitched together to make a continuous wrap.

  The man settled himself with a heavy sigh. ‘There. We should be safe now. As safe as anyone can be in this hateful place, anyway.’ He gave a little wave, and Sa-at’s eyes followed the movement. ‘My name is Devdan.’ He tapped his chest and said the word again, slowly. ‘Dev-dan. I don’t know how you got here but I’m going to do my best to keep you alive. Now, let’s have a look at you.’

  When he reached out to touch Sa-at, the baby flinched, prompting Devdan’s white brows to draw down sadly. ‘I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.’ The candle was moved closer and Sa-at scrunched up his face, turning away. ‘Hmm. Well I can see you have all of your ribs. Not all your fingers though. Damn it. Nothing to be done about that.’ He spat onto a piece of cloth and began cleaning the blood from Sa-at’s hands and face. ‘I dread to think what you’ve been eating. But don’t worry, it’s all going to get better now. You’ll be the third baby I raised here, did you know that? It’s true. I’m a survivor. And it looks to me like you are too. Truth be told, it’ll be good to have some company.’ He tapped the skull, making the candle wobble. ‘I talk to old Hollow, but she isn’t much for conversation these days.’

  Devdan continued to chatter, while Sa-at watched the shadows play on the trunk, flinching whenever they made the wrong shapes. He missed his mother. He missed Crowflies. He missed their touch and their singing.

  Fur was wrapped around him, and he was fed something warm, like water but sweeter. His tongue didn’t want sweet, it wanted that strange bitter taste again. He drank it anyway, the shivering calming as the cold fled from his fingers, nose and toes.

  ‘Yes,’ Devdan murmured, ‘you’re the third child I’ve raised here. I’ll get it right this time, I’m sure of it.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  They left at first light, everyone agreeing that to enter the Wild at night was suicide. Varg had managed to find Chandni a pair of boots. They were too big and rubbed at the heels, but she was grateful for them. The route to the Hunger Tree would take them deep into the woods, to places the wagon wouldn’t be able to go. Bare feet and ankles would inevitably get cut, and any blood, even a small amount, would be sure to bring trouble.

  Though they were leaving the wagon behind, Glider was coming with them, and for that, she was glad. Both she and Varg had been subdued by the knowledge of where they were going and what would happen when they got there, and Glider’s enthusiasm was sorely needed. Chandni ran a hand through the Dogkin’s snowy fur. ‘You’ll keep us safe, won’t you?’

  Glider barked affirmatively, and then proceeded to march alongside her, five paws strutting like a soldier on parade.

  ‘She’s showing off,’ said Varg.

  ‘She is not!’ replied Chandni as Glider turned her snout to the air, offended. ‘She’s taking pride in her duty. I think you’d do well to follow her example.’

  Glider snorted agreement and Varg shrugged his shoulders in mock defeat, before doing an exaggerated march in step with Glider.

  The Dogkin seemed to think this was marvellous, barking encouragement and wagging her tail, forcing laughter from them both. Chandni could not help but note the hysterical edge to it.

  By the suns, I’m scared! I don’t want to do this.

  They walked on, any sense of play fading as the trees grew thick around them. Varg pulled out a velvet pouch, and from i
t, a chunk of tanzanite. He activated it and the stored sunslight was released, glowing, blue and violet, pushing back the shadows. Though not as strong as the suns themselves, she hoped it would ward off the lesser perils of the Wild.

  At the sight of it, Satyendra burrowed deeper into her arms, as if disturbed by the glow, and buried his face in her shoulder. They had talked about the insanity of bringing him into the Wild with them but the alternatives were poor. She couldn’t leave him with Fen’s family, nor could she expect them to protect him from assassins. Bad as it was, in the end, there was only one choice. My brave little Sapphire, she thought. I will not fail you.

  She soon began to doubt her decision though, and could not help but wonder what horrors were lurking just out of sight. The memory of the Whispercage was never far away, its countenance conjured by the twitch of trees on the breeze, and the play of leaf and shadow.

  As the morning drew on, the quiet was broken by singing Birdkin and the scurry of small creatures. Shards of sunslight, gold from Fortune’s Eye, red and paler red from Vexation and Wrath’s Tear, poked through in places. At each one, Varg stopped and held the tanzanite shard underneath until it began to glow again. Chandni doubted the few seconds of exposure would do much to replenish the gem’s stores, but said nothing. After a while, her fear subsided into the rhythm of walking, leaving behind only a vague sense of foreboding.

  ‘Over here,’ said Varg, pointing towards one of the trees, tall and gnarly. A necklace of skulls hung from its lower branches, all without jaws or upper teeth.

  ‘It looks like the one Fen told us about.’

  ‘Has to be. Means we’re going the right way.’

  ‘Do you think we’ll be able to get back to Sagan before sunsdown?’

  ‘I reckon. We’re making good time. Over halfway there already.’

  ‘And there’s the trident,’ she said.

  Varg nodded, turning his gaze to it. Midway up the tree was a bare branch that splayed into three. No leaves grew on it but Chandni was filled with a certainty that the wood was not dead. ‘Follow the third spoke, he said.’

  ‘That way, then,’ she added unnecessarily.

  ‘Yep. How’s your feet?’

  ‘Blistered but fine.’

  He looked down at her boots as if he could see through them, and frowned, worried. ‘Should’ve found a better fit,’ he muttered.

  ‘You did the best you could.’ She worked the fingers of her left hand down the back of one heel and probed the sore skin there. ‘It’s not bleeding.’

  ‘We need to pad them out better.’

  ‘We don’t have the time.’

  ‘Sit down. I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘I said no, Varg.’ She went to move past but saw that his scowling face was mirrored by Glider’s. The Dogkin had turned round, blocking the way on, her unclouded canine eye filled with concern. ‘Oh not you as well!’

  Glider raised a paw and waved it towards the floor.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ she said, but her irritation was half forced, their sympathy touching. ‘Really, I’m fine.’

  ‘And we’ve got to keep it that way, so sit down and let me take care of you.’

  Glider waved her paw again and Chandni gave up. She knew they were right and so she put her pride to one side and sat down. The ground was rough but it felt good to stop.

  Varg eased off her boots and, after a swift examination of her feet, and some mutterings about how small they were, began strapping some cloth to them. The air was chill on her toes but his hands were warm, and not at all unpleasant against her skin. She studied his face. It wasn’t particularly remarkable but there was something about it that was pleasing. Perhaps it was how easily the blushes showed on his cheeks, or shape of his lips …

  ‘Something in my beard?’ he said as he worked her left boot back into place.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You were staring at me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yeah, you were.’

  ‘You’re mistaken.’

  ‘I bloody wasn’t.’

  ‘Actually, I was not staring at you … I was thinking.’

  ‘What about?’

  She looked away, her cheeks hot. ‘Never you mind.’ He raised his eyebrows as if she were being unreasonable. She vaguely thought she might be but that didn’t make his reaction any less annoying. ‘Give me the other boot,’ she snapped.

  He did so, retreating from her as she hauled it on. Shortly afterwards they were on their way again, maintaining their good pace at the cost of conversation.

  Though no roads ran this deep within the Wild, there were pathways. Narrow and winding, made by creatures unknown. According to Fen, the one they were following would lead them directly to the Hunger Tree. In places it was overgrown by fleshy creepers, in others, it had vanished completely, forcing them to search for the rest of the path. This slowed them, and even when they did find the path again, Chandni could not be sure it was the same one.

  It was something of a surprise, therefore, when they arrived at the Hunger Tree. The trunk was vast, big enough to carve a tower inside, the bark crinkled like plates of armour. Each of its branches could easily have been a tree in its own right. And yet something, some tremendous force, had toppled it. Chandni didn’t like to think about what that had been.

  It had not fallen completely, leaning at a severe angle from the ground, its upper half supported by a number of other trees, the great weight spread between their interlinked branches.

  Like it was caught by its friends.

  Other trees had not been so lucky. Alone, they had fallen, the remains rotting and seething with crawling lifeforms. Sunslight poured through the hole in the canopy and she moved towards it automatically, lifting her face to the sky.

  ‘You ready?’ asked Varg.

  Chandni thought about the question. She was scared, but she was also determined. When she said yes, she meant it.

  ‘You want me to take Satyendra?’

  ‘Please. And Varg? Stay close.’

  He gave a gruff nod as she passed over Satyendra. The baby made no complaints, staring at his surroundings with wonder-wide eyes. He seems so calm. How can he be so calm when I’m so afraid? She knew she should be grateful, a crying baby would draw all kinds of trouble on their heads, but it troubled her. After giving him a kiss on the forehead, she turned towards the tree.

  Don’t stop to think about this, she told herself. Gather your courage and do it.

  She took three steps towards the Hunger Tree and was about to take another when Glider began to whine. Looking over her shoulder she saw that the Dogkin had held back, afraid.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, but when she set off again, Glider’s whining continued.

  Don’t worry about Glider. Do it.

  A tangle of roots was visible as she got closer, half ripped from the earth. Above them, where they joined the trunk, was a skirt of red petalled flowers. They drew her eye, each one distinct, characterful. Little white crescents grew hard on the stems. Fen had told her that there was one for every person that had fed the Hunger Tree. She wondered which was made by his grandmother. Was it her blood giving colour and shape to a set of those leathery petals?

  And what will mine look like, after this is done?

  She knelt down, resting her left hand on the trunk, and took a deep breath.

  Just put your hand in and keep it there. Simple.

  What she was about to do was against the law of her house and she would have to report it when she returned home. There would be consequences. Back at Varg’s cottage, it had been easy to accept but now she was here, she could feel her conviction fading. All her life she had strived to be perfect, a role model to her staff and a cherished servant to her lord. After this, she would be remembered as a traitor, weak-willed, self-serving. Worse, a part of her would be given to the Wild, she would be bound to it. It was said that such connections lasted forever. The shame and suffering that would follow would endure long beyon
d the death of her body.

  But what are the alternatives? Should I allow myself to die? Who would look after Satyendra then? Should I trust Varg to cut off my arm and then to hold off whatever is drawn by the blood? No. I will forego happiness and glory, I will sacrifice myself for my house and my child, and I will do so proudly. For I am Sapphire.

  She looked down at the fingers of her right hand and straightened them. It was an odd sensation, watching the digits move without feeling any feedback. As if it were not hers but someone else’s under her control. Guiding it by sight, she worked her hand between the tangled roots, and into the moist, dark soil beneath.

  There was little resistance, and her hand and wrist disappeared from sight, her elbow brushing against the roots. Apparently, Fen’s grandmother had spoken to the tree when she’d gone to it. Chandni considered what she was going to say, fluctuating between feeling nervous and silly. How do I talk to a tree? To be informal seemed wrong, it was not as if the tree would answer her. So she fell back on formality. ‘Hunger Tree, I am Chandni of House Sapphire, Honoured Mother to a vessel for my deathless lord. There is poison in me, I ask that you take it.’ She hesitated on the last words, even though Fen had been insistent. ‘And take of me, that what you need.’

  Eight words, simple words, and it was done.

  She had expected there to be a response of some kind. Not speech, but perhaps an answering rustle or movement. It was only when she turned her gaze to the trunk when she realized there had been one.

  All of the red flowers had turned towards her.

  She fought down the urge to run away and held her arm in place.

  ‘All right?’ asked Varg. He was doing a very poor job of hiding his concern.

  ‘So far,’ she replied.

  Further off, Glider’s whining had graduated to a long, low howl.