The Deathless

by Peter Newman

  Gada.

  Keeping me in the dark, ripening me for replacement.

  Gada.

  And when this body dies, will the High Lord bother to bring me back or will someone else take my place?

  Perhaps his castle was being prepared for a new Deathless. Someone more amenable to the new order. Well damn you, brother, and damn Yadavendra, and Rochant too for that matter. I’m not dead yet!

  When the suns had set, Vasin made his way down towards the bowels of his castle, moving slowly and cautiously, unwilling to risk being seen by his own people. The thought depressed him. He loved his people and he’d always assumed they loved him. Is this what my life is now, suspicion and shadow?

  He arrived in the old, twisted tunnel, and made his way to the door. Lord Rochant would be on the other side, no doubt still hooded and bound. Vasin steadied himself. It was not going to be easy, but if he was going to end this, he would have to face the man inside.

  Lord Rochant had boasted that he already knew where he was and who had captured him. He had not volunteered any names though, and Vasin clung to the hope that it was a bluff. Unfastening one of the strips of silk that bound his forearm, he turned it into a neckerchief. Between it, and the sackcloth around Rochant’s ears, his voice would be hard to identify.

  The door was old but sturdy. It was not locked. Steeling himself, Vasin walked through into the ill-lit space. The rusted pole was still there but nothing else. No Rochant. Not even a sign that he had been there.

  Vasin came to an abrupt stop, his mouth suddenly dry. He walked around the pole, checking the darker corners of the room even though they were far too small to conceal a body.

  Where is he?

  Where is Yi?

  He pressed his hands against his chest, trying to keep the panic from spreading. A hundred different scenarios, all bad, played through his mind. What am I going to do?

  Under the thick canopy of trees, each dawn was slow breaking, gloomy, the forest materializing out of the dark like an army of grey ghosts. What it lacked in beauty, it made up for in joy, for when Chandni could see the trees, she knew they had survived another night in the Wild.

  During the day they travelled with care, doing their best to avoid the other denizens of the forest. During the night, they hid in whatever shelter they could find, smearing dirt on their exposed skin to try and hide their scent.

  So far, it had worked.

  The other part of the plan, the part where they gathered food, had been less successful. Starvation is such a mundane way for this to end, she thought.

  The cured morsels tucked away in Roh’s cloak got them through the first day. After that they’d turned to Glider for help but she refused to leave their side. When Chandni asked her to hunt for them, the Dogkin simply stared, her human eye clouded, her canine one blank.

  Neither she nor Varg had much luck foraging either, the handful of nuts and berries they’d found vanishing into their hollow bellies. It was a day since they’d found the stream, and several hours since they’d shared the last drops from Varg’s flask.

  As a result Chandni was struggling. Her stomach hurt with hunger and her head felt light, as if all her thoughts had leaked away to leave empty space between her ears.

  Occasionally, a worry would surface. She knew that as they got weaker they became careless, their trail easier to follow and, if they didn’t find food soon, they would be easy prey for any hunter.

  And so when she saw the fruit, fresh and plump, each apple as big as Satyendra’s skull, she nearly cried out with relief. It was hanging in a cluster from the branch of a nearby tree, well clear of the ground and most predators.

  Chandni rushed over, leaning against the tree to reach up with her free hand. The fruit hung tantalizingly close but even on tiptoes she couldn’t reach.

  ‘Here,’ said Varg. ‘I’m taller. Let me have a go.’

  She watched as he grunted and strained, but again, he couldn’t quite get to them. ‘What if you lifted me up?’

  He nodded and she placed Satyendra gently on the forest floor. ‘Watch him for me, Glider?’

  The Dogkin barked agreement and curled herself round the sleeping baby. Chandni allowed herself one grateful stroke of her soft, white head before going back to Varg and the tree.

  He boosted her up onto one of the lower branches as if she were weightless.

  ‘Can you get it now?’ asked Varg.

  ‘From here I can,’ she replied, but when she turned to where she expected the fruit to be, she realized she was mistaken. It was above her still. Steadying herself against the trunk for balance, she stretched up.

  ‘You’re nearly there!’ called Varg.

  The tip of her finger brushed against the nearest apple.

  So close. If I can just …

  The tree moved. Small enough that it could have been caused by her shifting weight or the breeze. One foot slipped from the branch, the other following close behind. Chandni’s arms windmilled, wild, as she tried to fight the sudden pull of gravity.

  Below her she could hear Varg shouting some useless advice, Glider barking at her and perhaps, just underneath the other sounds, Satyendra, giggling.

  She made a frantic grab for the nearest branch, shrieking as it bent away, her numb fingers sliding over it, failing to take hold. Curled leaves, like ears of green, fluttered on their stalks, echoing her cry.

  The branch snapped back into place, catching on her hair as she pitched forward. She saw Varg staring up, mouth open, arms out to catch her.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, and fell.

  There was a thud, soft, then a second one that was accompanied by a single swearword and the sound of Glider’s excited barking. On the edge of it, she could just hear her shriek as it was passed from tree to tree, spiralling away.

  Somehow she had landed without breaking anything.

  ‘Oh, Varg. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.’

  His arms, already encircling her, squeezed a little tighter. She realized she was lying on top of him and that she must have knocked him off his feet.

  ‘You were bloody close,’ he said. ‘We could have another go.’

  ‘I’m not sure. This might sound strange, but I don’t trust that tree.’

  ‘Round here, that ain’t strange. I don’t trust the trees either but we gotta eat, so what can we do?’

  She rested her head against his chest. ‘Can’t we just stay here for a while? You’re surprisingly comfortable.’

  There was a pause, and when he replied, his voice was husky. ‘All right.’

  She’d just rest her eyes for a minute. She knew they had to be on their guard and that they needed food. She knew what was at stake, but at that moment, she couldn’t bring herself to move.

  Except that wasn’t quite true. Her left hand had found its way to Varg’s face and idled there, exploring the space between beard and cheekbone.

  At some point, he began to stroke her hair. Oddly, it did not make her sleepy, quite the opposite in fact. She liked the feel of his hands moving down her back. I like the feel of him altogether.

  ‘Varg?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  He froze. ‘I …’

  ‘Don’t stop.’ His hand began to move again, and her thumb brushed across his cheek to trace the outside of his lips. Somewhere at the back of her mind her mother’s voice was railing at her, but she found it much easier to ignore than usual.

  She could feel him stirring beneath her. Already? she thought. I’ve barely touched him. But Mohit, Satyendra’s father, had been the same. She could not help but laugh, the two men were so different in every other way. Sadness followed. She hadn’t thought of Mohit since she fled the castle. Poor Mohit. You weren’t the brightest jewel of the house but you didn’t deserve to die that way.

  ‘What?’ Varg had stopped stroking her, and he sounded a little hurt.

  She lifted her head and pulled herself up so that she could look
into his eyes. They were brown, gentle. Loyal. With her head tilted forward, her hair curtained off the space around them. ‘I was thinking too much.’

  He gave her a roguish grin. ‘Reckon I could help with that.’

  She returned it. ‘Yes. I believe you could.’

  As she leaned in towards him, she saw that he’d closed his eyes. Adorable!

  She closed hers too.

  Their lips came together.

  And then Satyendra began to cry.

  Chandni jumped up as if stung, guilt flooding her from head to toe. After everything that’s happened, said the voice of her mother, back with a vengeance, you leave Lord Rochant’s last surviving vessel on the ground like an unwanted shoe so that you can dally with some hairy Tanzanite rough. Unforgivable.

  She scooped her baby into her arms, kissing his head and murmuring apologies into his hair. Satyendra wasn’t interested in either, his hands grabbing for her top.

  The trees took up the crying, amplifying it, and Glider began barking nervously.

  ‘What’s happening?’ she asked.

  ‘Dunno,’ said Varg as he hauled himself upright, not quite making eye contact. ‘Nothing good.’

  ‘We should go.’

  ‘You gotta shut him up or he’ll bring suns’ knows what down on us.’

  She fed him quickly, wincing when he nipped her. Please don’t draw blood, not here. To her great relief, he hadn’t. When her baby had settled again, they set off, the hanging fruit quickly out of sight but not out of mind.

  ‘How long before we reach Sorn? I thought we’d be there by now.’

  Varg shrugged miserably. ‘We would be if we were on the Godroad or if we’d travelled close to it on one of the old paths. But we got no cart and we’re deeper in than I’ve been before.’

  ‘How long, Varg?’

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘Today?’

  ‘Yeah … I think so.’

  He stopped, looking around, looking suspiciously like a man who was lost. ‘We’ve been drifting off course.’

  Her heart sank. ‘How badly?’

  ‘We’re going in the right direction, just angling off, getting deeper in.’

  ‘That can’t be good.’

  He scratched at his beard. ‘Well, it means the assassins are less likely to follow us.’

  ‘Yes, because they don’t need to kill Satyendra if we do it for them.’ She saw him flinch and realized how tired they both were. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry, Varg. I know you’re doing your best. Which way do we need to go?’ He pointed. ‘Lead on then. Hopefully we’ll find something to eat at Sorn. A little food and a decent sleep and I’m sure we’ll feel much better.’

  They travelled on, the sunslight playing on the leaves directly above their heads. Satyendra slept throughout, or sat contentedly in Chandni’s arms, and neither she nor Varg felt up to talking, their fading energies going into the placing of one foot in front of the other.

  When Glider barked, Chandni’s eyes snapped open. She’d nearly fallen asleep on her feet. The Dogkin’s tail was wagging, her nose probing the air.

  ‘What is it, Glider?’

  Glider gave another bark and raced off into the trees, forcing them to run after her. Not long after she could smell it herself. I can’t believe it. It smells like meat. Cooked meat!

  She couldn’t keep up with the others but managed to keep them in sight. Seconds later they came into a clearing dominated by a single tree. A thick haunch of roasted meat hung from a rope slung over one of the branches.

  It looked suspiciously like a trap to Chandni. Varg had clearly thought something similar, and was trying to stop Glider going any closer. The Dogkin was not having any of it, however, dragging Varg alongside as easily as she carried Satyendra.

  Chandni took a breath. ‘Glider,’ she said in her most imperious tone, ‘stop.’

  The Dogkin had the grace to give her a guilty look before she wrapped her jaws around the meat.

  There was a twang, and the next moment both Varg and Glider were in the air, upside down, wrapped in a net of thick vines.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Chandni as she watched them swing back and forth. ‘Varg? Are you hurt?’

  ‘I’m going to kill this fucking animal.’

  She came closer and grabbed the edge of the net. The weight of it dragged her with it, but by digging in her heels, she was able to bring it to a stop. ‘Are you hurt?’

  He looked at her, the patches of face she could see squished against the net a bright scarlet. ‘A few bruises. Do you see any blood?’

  ‘No.’ Glider still had the meat in her jaws and was chewing with enthusiasm. ‘That was very naughty, Glider.’

  There was the brief sound of an apologetic whine, and then the chewing continued.

  ‘You shouldn’t eat that. It could be poisoned.’

  ‘I hope it is,’ muttered Varg. ‘Would serve her right, the idiot.’

  ‘You don’t mean that.’ She turned to Glider. ‘He doesn’t mean that.’

  ‘Can you get us down?’

  ‘I don’t have anything to cut the net but it must be tied to the tree somehow. This trap, it looks like it was made by a person.’

  ‘Or something like a person.’

  Chandni remembered that the Whispercage looked a little like a person and decided that she wanted to leave this place as fast as possible. The knot was tucked away further up the tree, and Chandni was just trying to work out how she could get up there without abandoning Satyendra, when she heard Varg hissing for her attention.

  ‘Something’s coming, hide!’

  She ran to the edge of the clearing only to find herself face to face with another woman. A collection of weather-dyed fabrics masked her true shape but the little bits of skin Chandni could see were wrinkled and worn by the elements. Long grey hair was coiled on top of her head like a hat. It was hard to tell how old she was exactly, but the lean staff of polished oak was held firmly in her hands.

  ‘Hello—’ Chandni began, and the woman’s staff flashed out, flicking her legs away. The air whooshed out of Chandni’s lungs as she went down on her back. In her effort to protect Satyendra, she fell badly, feeling her left elbow crack hard on the ground.

  The end of the staff came to rest against the side of Chandni’s head. ‘Well?’ said the woman, who sounded younger than Chandni expected. ‘Talk.’

  ‘Please, we don’t mean any trouble. We’re just hungry.’

  ‘Must be to trigger my trap.’ The old woman used her staff to hook the hair away from Chandni’s face. ‘You got the skin of one that lives in the sky.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And this baby’s a sky baby?’

  ‘Yes.’ She pulled Satyendra close. ‘He’s mine.’

  ‘What you doing down here, sky-born?’

  ‘That’s a long story. My name is Chandni, Honoured Mother of House Sapphire. What’s yours?’

  ‘Fiya. What’s the quick version of the story?’

  ‘We were betrayed, and to protect my son I fled here.’

  ‘Mmm. We know all about betrayal in this place.’ The staff moved back to rest at Fiya’s feet. ‘Come with me, it’s not safe to linger.’

  Chandni forced her weary body upright again while Fiya walked to the tree. A single prod of her staff released the net, which dumped its contents unceremoniously on the ground.

  As Varg and Glider fought to untangle themselves, Fiya began walking off into the trees. ‘Come on, sky-born,’ she said, impatient.

  ‘Can my friends come too?’

  ‘So long as they can keep up.’

  She helped Glider to free her back paws, and then they hurried after Fiya. Though not far away the old woman was already hard to see, blending against the greys and browns like a ghost.

  It was all Chandni could do to keep up.

  Eventually, Fiya stopped by a large tree with drooping branches. She stroked it as she passed, in the same way that Chandni would show affection to Glider, and stepped over to the trun
k. Now that she was closer, Chandni could see a diagonal gash leading inside it. Fiya paused, bending down to do something, she wasn’t sure what it was but it seemed important, ritualistic. Then the old woman was beckoning them to follow her.

  Inside, the space was cosy, fur lined. Warm! thought Chandni with delight. Some old jars were stacked on the far side, covered in a thick grime that made it impossible to discern their contents. Above, the trunk was hollow but little fingers of sunslight poked through, showing off pockets of purple flowers amid the yellow moss.

  ‘Sit,’ said Fiya.

  They did, even Glider.

  ‘Got some broth for you. It’s cold but it’s good.’

  ‘What’s in it?’ asked Chandni.

  ‘A bit of this and bit of that. It’s good, take it. I’ve only got the one bowl so’s you have to share. Got more broth in the pot though.’

  The broth had a grainy texture and the little chunks of meat inside were stringy but Chandni didn’t care. She and Varg sped through three bowls’ worth with such speed that Fiya’s stern expression broke to cackling.

  ‘Told you it was good,’ she said. ‘Now rest, I’m going to go and make sure nothing followed us back but you have to stay here. All of you,’ she added with a stern look at Glider. ‘Don’t make any loud noise, and don’t leave or you won’t be able to come back again. Understand?’

  They nodded, though Chandni had no idea what Fiya meant.

  With her belly full and her body snuggled against Varg and the furs, Chandni fell asleep to the sound of Glider lapping the bowl.

  It hadn’t taken Vasin long to find the storeroom. Gada had made no secret of putting things there, he’d just moved everything discreetly. Safe in the knowledge that I was too far gone to notice. Inside, Vasin found the cured head of a Roachkin, the trophy from his first successful hunt. Next to it were the remains of his original wings. There were flaws in the crystal, stress fractures that had forced him to retire them, but as he ran his fingers over their curving edge, the sapphire hummed softly, conjuring memories.

  In his mind he was flying again. He’d been afraid beforehand, he remembered, but the moment he was in the sky, that fear had vanished. He belonged there. More than that, Vasin had felt natural there, as if his soul had flown many times before. It was a surprise for him to learn that not all Deathless had this experience. For some it took many lifecycles of practice before they were able to manage the currents well enough to hunt.