The Deathless

by Peter Newman

  She couldn’t feel what was happening to her hand, but she did suddenly become aware that there was a force acting on it. A slow but inexorable pull.

  She braced her left arm and pulled back, but whatever had her was stronger, and she began to twist forward.

  ‘Varg?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Could you come here please?’ Somehow she was keeping her voice level. Mother would be proud.

  He was at her side instantly. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s pulling me in.’

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘It’s too strong.’

  ‘Suns!’

  While Varg put Satyendra down, the tugging on her arm continued and she slid forward until her cheek pressed against the bark. One of Varg’s arms looped under her shoulders and held her in place. Between them, they seemed to be able to match the pull but not overcome it.

  While they struggled she had the sense of being drained and tried not to think of what the tree was taking from her.

  There was pain in her shoulder joint, where the strain was focused, but it felt faraway, and she suddenly became dizzy, as if about to faint.

  She was dimly aware of Varg shouting for Glider and had the impression that it wasn’t working. ‘Glider!’ she shouted, aiming for imperious but actually achieving something closer to a shriek. ‘Glider, we need you!’

  She heard a final panicked whine, then the scrabble of paws. Teeth scraped her back as the Dogkin established a hold on her belt. Varg was swearing, Glider growling, the pain in her shoulder no longer distant, but blazing, immediate, and then she was moving backwards, the three of them sprawling in a heap together.

  For a while the sky spun above her, and she was happy to let it. Only when it had stopped and the shock started to fade, did she realize that Varg’s arm was still across her chest, and that her head was resting on a Glider-shaped pillow.

  ‘Sorry,’ she began, rolling off them.

  ‘It’s all right,’ mumbled Varg. ‘Not like you’re heavy.’

  ‘Thank you. Both of you.’

  She made a quick fuss of Glider before going to check on Satyendra. To her relief he was fine, too wrapped up in his own world of wriggling to have noticed her problems.

  ‘Did it work?’ asked Varg.

  She tapped her right hand with her left. There was no sensation there. ‘I don’t know. This might be my imagination but it feels better. Or lighter. I suppose we just have to wait and see.’

  ‘Has it cut you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Let me see.’

  She held out her hand and he examined it, scrutinizing one side before turning it over. They exchanged an awkward glance when they saw the missing nails on her middle finger and thumb, leaving the skin beneath smooth and unmarked. The Hunger Tree had taken its due.

  ‘Looks fine,’ he said but he didn’t let go of her hand. Their eye contact became awkward in a different way.

  ‘Varg,’ she began.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I—’

  Satyendra’s cry of hunger interrupted them, the surprise making her pull her hand free. The eye contact broke. ‘I need to tend to him.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He squinted up at the suns and frowned. ‘And we need to get back while we got the light.’

  She gathered Satyendra in her arms and they set off. As they reached the edge of the sunslight, she looked over her shoulder to find that the flowers on the Hunger Tree’s trunk were looking back. And perhaps it was her imagination, but she was sure that a new one stood with them, its petals vibrant, fresher than the rest.

  The Godroad shimmered red beneath Vasin as he flew, and the trees seemed to merge together either side of him in a blur of green. Rather than take a carriage and an entourage, he’d opted to fly the whole way, unsupported, without supplies. It was a reckless decision, committing him to hours and hours of flight.

  And it felt wonderful.

  At the end of it, he would meet with House Ruby on Yadavendra’s behalf. No doubt they would be insulted that his High Lord had not come in person, but he would worry about that when he got there. Such things were problems for the earth not the sky.

  The essence currents had been with him the whole way, as if the air itself was sympathetic to his desire to flee, hurling him forward like a bolt of blue lightning.

  Wrapped in his second skin of armour, he felt strong again, purposeful, and with each mile he put between himself and the rest of his family, there came a corresponding sense of relief.

  His troubles were behind him.

  All the intricacies of hiding Lord Rochant, whilst also hunting Chandni and his last descendant, were up to Yi, until his return. He hadn’t realized how suffocating it had been, living under his mother’s expectations. He wanted to see her restored, of course he did, but the constant lying and scheming, the pressure, it all weighed him down. Each new act took him one step further from the kind of Sapphire he aspired to be. He knew that, in the end, it would be worth it. At least, he hoped he knew. Thoughts of his mother and his honour and the state of the house gave him a headache, and he was glad for the reprieve.

  I’m free. If only for a little while.

  He intended to savour that freedom.

  The arm of the Scuttling Corpseman was strapped to his chest, its weight adding an extra level of challenge to his flight. But rather than struggle with the complication, he revelled in it. For these challenges – balancing weight in the sky, judging and riding currents, portioning out reserves of energy – were simple, honest, and he understood them.

  Politics, particularly the tangled ancient mess that passed for it across the Crystal Dynasties, was something else entirely. There were seven houses in all. Four major ones: Sapphire, Jet, Spinel and Tanzanite; and three minor: Ruby, Peridot and Opal. The major houses each had seven Godpieces, and so could empower seven Deathless at any one time, while the minor houses had only three Godpieces each, three Deathless, and much less sway at court. To counter this, they tended to band together in a block, making them more than equal to any single major house. It was not uncommon for a minor house to rely on one of the other houses for aid. As such, their Deathless tended to be more social, more forgiving, and in Vasin’s opinion, much easier company.

  Either side of the Godroad the ground had become a dark swamp speared through by trees. The settlements running alongside clung to little humps of land and were extended by stilts, and two- and three-storey buildings were common.

  People dashed out to the road to watch him as he went by, their forms too small to read. He saluted them anyway.

  Another settlement went by, so fast he couldn’t see details but something of its shape looked wrong, as if some monstrous mouth had taken a massive bite out of one side of it. This time, nobody came to greet him.

  He banked sharply to the left, circling, leaving the currents of the Godroad but with plenty of height and speed to get back. A second pass, lower, slower, gave him a better view. In several places, the wooden walkways had been smashed, the buildings they supported had been dragged into the swamp, a few roof arches still jutting from the surface. He saw people working, using rope and chain to secure their homes to what remained of the stilt platforms, several of which were starting to lean alarmingly. There were others there on watch armed with simple weapons, and among them a couple of Ruby hunters, their wings glinting in the sunslight.

  Satisfied that the matter was being attended to, he let his arc complete, his own wings lifting as they re-entered the Godroad’s essence flow.

  The rest of the flight passed without incident. Whatever the trouble had been, it appeared to be isolated, but Vasin could not shake the image of broken wood from his mind, nor stop his imagination from conjuring the kind of beast responsible.

  Beneath him, the trees thinned out, then stopped, leaving a vast swampy lake that spread as far as the eye could see. It was broken only by the Godroad that continued to run, straight and true, along a single ridge of stone, dividing the ar
ea in two. Up ahead he could see the floating castle of the Ruby High Lord. With no natural formations to follow, the Godroad simply stopped in the middle of the lake. Pulleys and chains ran from the end of it up to the battlements, ferrying people and goods from land to air in wire cages. From a distance it looked as if the chains formed an anchor, holding the castle in place.

  He knew that what he ought to do was glide down to land, present himself to the guards, and wait to be winched up to his Ruby hosts. However, an idea had caught him, a rash and foolish one. The kind that the Story-singers wove into tales.

  So instead of slowing and diving, he sped up, aiming not for the end of the Godroad but past it. He saluted the astonished winch operators as he flew overhead, their returning gestures coming long after he’d left them behind.

  The water moved faster here, the currents bending to the shape of a giant whirlpool that centred directly beneath the floating castle. If he followed the churning water down to the bottom, he would find a crack in the earth, just like the one under his own castle. And, just like his own, gouts of essence rose from it, constant, their energy holding the Ruby castle in the sky.

  There was some interaction between the water and the essence, meaning that instead of gusting straight up, they too swirled, echoing the shape below. Vasin aimed for the edge of the essence draughts, cutting in at an angle.

  After travelling along the Godroad, with its strong but constant pull, the sudden shock of the essence current was like iced water to the face. An elemental force grabbed him by the wings, tossing him upwards. He battled the current, riding it, harnessing that energy to fly high and fast. His instincts, honed over many hunts were good, and of all the Deathless he was arguably the best in the air.

  After this, there will be no doubt.

  Though he had not heard it, a cry had gone out on the battlements at his approach, and faces lined the walls, young, old and in-between, united in common amazement.

  Round and round he went, up and up, skirting the sharp edges of the rock and the red crystals that protruded further. The sapphire covering his body sang with energy and the rubies set into the castle sang back, deeper, encouraging.

  He was corkscrewing past the castle walls now, aiming for the battlements. The essence currents were weaker here, and he could feel the power ebbing from his wings, the momentum fading rapidly.

  Almost there.

  A few seconds ago he had felt invincible, unstoppable, but now a sliver of worry reached him, those same instincts that had got him this far telling him that he lacked the angle and the speed to clear the crenellations.

  Just a little further.

  He could see the inhabitants of the castle clearly now, could hear them cheering him on. A few were singing, though he did not recognize the tune. Those nearest were leaning over the edge, they could see he wasn’t going to make it. Hands reached out towards him and he reached up, the tips of his gauntleted fingers over a metre too far away.

  The fight between essence and gravity became perfectly balanced and for a second he paused there, one hand raised.

  And then he began to fall.

  In slow motion, the faces receded, just as a new one appeared. Dark with a stroke of gold across the right eye, she was undoubtedly a Ruby of high birth. She was also jumping off the battlements, diving towards him.

  She’s not wearing her crystal armour. She’s not wearing her wings!

  In her right hand she held a spear topped with a crystal barb. She thrust it towards him, and he caught it, his hand sliding down the shaft to catch on the head.

  The hands that moments ago had been reaching for him snapped around her ankles, arresting their fall. She grimaced at him, and held out her left hand, which he took, pulling himself towards her with his right.

  Above them came a chant, rhythmic, each call accompanied by a pull from the people on the battlements, lifting Vasin another inch. When they reached the top, they stood, and the woman raised her spear.

  The cheering was thunderous, a single name, repeated: ‘Anuja! Anuja! Anuja!’

  Of course, thought Vasin. This is Lady Anuja, the Ruby High Lord’s second daughter.

  She raised her hands, acknowledging their adulation whilst signalling for quiet. ‘We welcome Lord Vasin of the noble Sapphire to our domain. He is our honoured guest and friend. And what a flight! Never have I seen the like. It must be recorded. It must be sung of. Do you not agree?’

  The crowd roared its approval, and they began to chant his name.

  Still high on adrenaline, Vasin grinned wolfishly. It was not the same as being at home but he felt a kinship with these people, a similar thirst for spectacle. As he attended more closely to the crowd, he noted how thinly spread it was for a castle of this size. I count only two hunters here and very few guards. And where is the Ruby High Lord?

  Anuja held her hands up again, and the cries of ‘Vasin!’ faded. ‘But no matter how brave we are, how skilled or how strong, alone, we will fall. Yes?’ A sudden sombreness fell upon the assembled. The response this time was muted, mumbled, and Vasin had the sense Anuja was referring to some other incident. Unable to reach his shoulder, she took his hand and lifted it. ‘If Lord Vasin were to fall again, who would be there to catch him?’

  There was no hesitation. ‘Anuja! Anuja! Anuja!’

  ‘And if I were to fall again, who would catch me?’

  ‘We would! We would!’

  ‘Sapphire and Ruby, Lord and subject, family and friend, we are one! Alone, we are noble. Together, we are unstoppable!’

  The cheering was wild now, and Anuja basked in it. It was a strange experience for Vasin. Usually he lost himself in these moments but perhaps it was because of the slight differences between his own people and those of House Ruby, or because he was not leading the exchange, he found himself removed. Yes, these people were elated, ecstatic even, but there was a desperate edge to them.

  They need this, he thought. They need to believe in their own strength too much for it to be true.

  Anuja attended to the sling across his chest. ‘I see you bring a trophy with you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We have many questions.’ Some affirmative shouts were heard, scattered, which she waved away. ‘We would hear your answers.’ She paused, then added, ‘First though, you should rest.’

  The crowd made no effort to hide its disappointment.

  ‘Thank you, Lady Anuja. I accept your gifts of shelter, food and hospitality. And I thank you and your people for your quick and sure hands.’ He heard a ripple of laughter. ‘In return, I offer my word when it is asked for, my spear when it is needed, and my friendship, always.’

  Her hand appeared small in his crystal palm. ‘Then we are both rich indeed.’

  He was led through the crowd and into the castle. An hour later, he was in a small receiving room, fed, bathed, and changed out of his armour. He hated the feeling of having just taken it off, where everything looked too big and he felt vulnerable, weak, diminished.

  Anuja came to join him, falling heavily into the chair opposite. ‘Do you mind?’ she asked, holding up a stick of Nightweed.

  Vasin shook his head. ‘I could use some.’

  She placed the wizened twig in a bowl, lit it, and they both leaned forward to inhale the spiced smoke it produced. It didn’t remove the underlying exhaustion, but his eyelids were no longer heavy, his thoughts no longer sluggish.

  He looked at Anuja again. He was sure that she’d been taller the last time they’d met. In this lifecycle her body was small but strong looking, the gold on her right eye flashing when she turned her head, like an angry god’s. But she didn’t seem angry, just tired.

  ‘Why did you do it?’

  ‘The flight?’ She nodded. ‘I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘Don’t be. It’s given my people something good to talk about. I just wondered why?’

  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t really think it through. That was probably the point. Do you ever do things just because yo
u can? Even if they aren’t very sensible? Because they aren’t very sensible?’

  She smiled slightly, her gaze seeming faraway. ‘Once or twice. Those are the times I feel most alive.’

  ‘Exactly! Sometimes I … just want to feel alive. Is that why you threw yourself off the battlements without any wings?’

  ‘I didn’t really think about it. That was probably the point.’

  They both laughed and she called for drinks. The richness of the wine smoothed the edge of the Nightweed nicely and Vasin found himself relaxed but alert. Neither spoke for a while, giving themselves over to the sensations.

  ‘The arm you brought. Is it the Scuttling Corpseman’s?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is it dead?’

  He thought of his mother, of the fear on her face. ‘No, and I have no doubt that it will want revenge.’

  ‘I don’t envy you that. Still, the Corpseman’s name is known even here. It must have been quite the battle.’

  ‘It was.’

  She leaned forward. ‘Tell me.’

  Here we go. Vasin had told the lie enough times now that it came easily to his lips. He was no Story-singer, but he knew how to hold an audience. But unlike his usual audience, Anuja had questions. Lots of them. Specific, the kind that demanded detailed answers.

  ‘I’m sorry, can we talk about this another time? The journey must be catching up with me.’

  Her discontent was communicated in the way she leaned away. ‘Of course.’ She sipped her drink, making no effort to hide her scrutiny of him. ‘Please don’t be offended, Lord Vasin, but we were expecting the Sapphire High Lord. Where is he?’

  ‘I was going to ask a similar question about yours.’

  There was a flash of gold. ‘I asked first.’

  ‘High Lord Yadavendra has matters demanding his attention. He regrets that he cannot come but has sent me in his stead.’

  She chewed that over, then looked at him directly. ‘Can we be honest with each other?’

  ‘Please.’

  She seemed to slump in her chair, the older soul suddenly visible in the young body. ‘This is no small matter. It will sit poorly with my mother that he didn’t give us priority.’