The Deathless

by Peter Newman

  How have I ended up here?

  Nothing seemed to make sense any more. They were the Deathless of House Sapphire, proud, noble. They did not belong in this broken hovel! Somehow he had gone from hunter of the Wild and protector of his people, to killer and thief.

  Will I have to add torture to my list of crimes before this is over?

  He desperately wanted some Tack to calm his nerves, or even some Voidwine, though the dryness of it didn’t usually appeal, he’d take anything to get him out of his own thoughts.

  His mother waved him over and he had a near overwhelming impulse to run in the other direction. But he didn’t run. Instead, he swallowed his misgivings, ducked down and stepped obediently into the room. Sky-legs were perfectly suited for fast pursuit and for maximizing height when jumping. Their potency was a disadvantage in the cramped space however, and he had to press his hands against the beams overhead to keep from bouncing through the roof.

  She was standing over Rochant, waiting. It didn’t take him long to see what had drawn her attention. In the meat of his shoulder was a red rise of skin, a spot the size of Vasin’s thumbnail capped with a tiny scab that was fresh enough to glisten.

  Something had recently drawn Rochant’s blood. It could only be the Scuttling Corpseman. No small creatures of the Wild would have dared approach him in his crystal armour. A memory of being on his back, Rochant held up as a shield, flashed through his mind. But what if the Corpseman had seen it differently? What if it had seen Rochant as an offering? His blood a trade for their lives.

  Rochant coughed, making Vasin bob on his Sky-legs.

  ‘There’s no need to creep on my account. I’m awake. I apologize for the quality of my voice, but you see, I haven’t had anything to drink. Perhaps one of you could help with that?’

  ‘There’ll be no help found here,’ said his mother.

  Rochant’s hood twitched in her direction. ‘Wait, I know you. Nidra?’

  ‘Haven’t forgotten me then?’

  ‘You know I’m incapable of that.’

  She nodded, a strange smile on her face. Vasin wondered if she were about to cry. ‘I know,’ she whispered, taking his little finger in her hand and bending it backwards.

  There was a soft popping sound as it left the joint, masked by Rochant’s gasp of pain.

  ‘I have some questions for you,’ she said.

  At first he thought Rochant was coughing but then he realized the man was giving a ragged laugh. ‘Shouldn’t you hurt me after I refuse to answer?’

  She took the middle finger of his injured hand and began to twist it.

  ‘Wait. Wait!’ said Rochant, and Vasin found himself nodding in agreement.

  With near infinite slowness she continued the motion until the finger left its socket. Rochant called out in pain while Vasin simply stood, shocked still.

  ‘My first question is this: where have you hidden the last of your line? The baby.’

  It took a while for Rochant to master himself enough to answer. ‘If you’ve dragged me all the way … wherever this stagnant hole is, just to ask me that, you’re going to be disappointed. I don’t know where they took my descendant, I was between lives when it happened.’

  ‘You expect me to believe you hadn’t planned for the possibility? I know you.’

  ‘I don’t deny it. Yes, I have many plans to protect my line and several of them take account of the possibility that my current body be captured. As such, I am useless to you.

  ‘Now, can we have a conversation without you hurting me?’

  His mother didn’t reply but neither did she act. Vasin sighed with relief.

  ‘I’m glad you survived, Nidra. I know I shouldn’t be but I am. It’s admirable. It won’t be added to your legend however, you must know that. Your story is over, nothing can change the High Lord’s decree. But it isn’t too late for your children. I heard Sky-legs a moment ago and I know they weren’t yours. Who was it, Gada or Vasin?’

  Vasin drew back involuntarily.

  His mother remained silent, though there was a rage in her, simmering just beneath the surface.

  Shut up! he wanted to shout, as Rochant continued. Don’t you realize you’re making it worse for yourself?

  ‘It has to be Vasin, he always did follow you around like a Dogkin pup.’ The hood turned towards him, uncanny, as if it posed no barrier to Rochant’s eyes. ‘You have broken rules for her, jeopardized your immortality for her, gone against what it means to be Sapphire. Help me now and I will keep this between us. Nidra’s destruction need not be yours.’

  ‘You sound very confident given you are in my power,’ said his mother.

  ‘These past days I’ve had little to do but consider my position. I know that you cannot kill me until you have bloodied your hands with all of my children’s children, and I know that one still lives. So what are you going to do? Break a few bones? Subject me to some clever agony? It does not matter. Whatever you do to my body, it is tempora-ry. Unlike you, Nidra, I am Deathless. The High Lord cares if I go missing. He will hunt for me, even as far as this. And if he does not find me, there will come a day when that baby has grown to a suitable age, allowing me to return in all my splendour.

  ‘You see, it is a matter of time before I am rescued or reborn.’ Despite the tightness of his bonds he managed a slight shrug. ‘Keep me here if you wish as you wither and die. It makes no difference. This body is young. It will outlast yours.’

  His mother’s voice was cold as the south wind. ‘Are you finished?’

  ‘Not quite. I have a question for you.’ He paused to moisten his dry lips with his tongue. ‘Do you really want this to be the way you’re remembered? By me? By your son? Isn’t this beneath you?’

  By way of answer she slapped his dislocated fingers several times, then went to the wall where the boards were being slowly widened by encroaching vegetation. After some consideration she plucked one of the firmer leaves and turned back to them, dark purpose in her eyes.

  Vasin could hear Rochant’s breath, fast and heavy. It was a match for his own. He’d never been scared of his mother before, not like this.

  She carefully straightened Rochant’s index finger, holding the tip firmly between finger and thumb, the leaf in her other hand. ‘I too have had little to do but consider my position.’ She inserted the edge of the leaf under his fingernail. Rochant bucked against his bonds, making the bell on the end of the rope ring out. ‘The plant has several names, my favourite is Lady of the Grass. The way the leaves hang reminds me of those long pointed sleeves I used to hate wearing. I’ve been harvesting it for its poison. A little will numb the skin, a lot will deaden an entire limb. Concentrated, it can stop your heart. Don’t worry, I know exactly how much to use. Your heart is safe in my hands. As with most things in the Wild, it isn’t personal, the plant just wants to live. As you can imagine, I feel quite an empathy with it.

  ‘I hurt you just now because I wanted you to suffer, but it isn’t my strategy for defeating you. This little leaf is. You see, it doesn’t just attack the body, it attacks the essence within. Your fingertip will soon stop feeling pain and, after a while, will stop feeling like a part of you at all. There will come a point where you’ll struggle to remember it even exists.’ She pushed the leaf in a little further but this time, Rochant didn’t react. ‘You can’t see anything because of the blindfold but believe me when I say there is a lot of this plant growing here. Enough to deaden these fine arms, these legs and the cock between them. After that, I will administer some to your lips, your nose, your tongue, your eyes and your ears. Then, in this old and decaying body, I will wait.’

  Vasin felt sick. It sounds as if she’s enjoying herself. Who is this woman?

  ‘You say that what I do here is only temporary but I believe otherwise. A few years with me and you’ll barely remember that you have sensory organs and limbs, let alone how to use them. While you fester inside yourself, that baby will be growing into a new vessel, proud and strong. Now imagine
trying to align your broken spirit with it.’

  Vasin wondered if what his mother was saying was true. He knew a vessel that differed from its intended Deathless limited how fully the soul could return to the world. Was it possible to attack the soul directly, misaligning it from the body to sabotage a rebirth?

  ‘For you, Rochant,’ Nidra continued, ‘I could hang on for forty years easily, probably more, shaping you like the Gardener-smiths shape our crystals. Yes, it may be that you survive rebirth in some form but it won’t be like this one. And don’t count on my brother for mercy, either. Yadavendra’s care for you will only last as long as your usefulness. Perhaps he’ll keep you alive for a lifecycle or two out of pity, if the Bringers of Endless Order don’t brand you an abomination, that is.’

  Vasin thought back to Dil striking Lord Rochant in his castle and how shocked he’d been. It was nothing compared to this. ‘Mother,’ he said quietly. ‘How is …’ he couldn’t think of the words to sum up the horror she’d just described. ‘How is,’ he said again, his voice rising, ‘doing any of this going to help in your restoration?’

  For a moment she looked angry at his interruption, but she put it aside. Somehow, that made him more frightened. ‘I will withhold the leaf, if Lord Rochant tells us where his last descendant is hidden.’

  ‘But he’s already told us he doesn’t know where the baby is.’

  ‘He may not know, but he’ll be able to guess. His ability to predict and outplan others is renowned.’

  Rochant lifted his head. ‘Why do you think I’ll help you to end my own line?’

  ‘Because if you tell me, I’ll see you die quickly. Don’t tell me, and I’ll turn you into a mockery of everything you aspired to be, the kind of thing the Story-singers use to frighten children.’

  This struck Vasin as ironic, for in that moment that was exactly how she appeared to him. A mockery. A monster. But he was no child, not any more. He did not have to sit and listen.

  As his mother strode past him out of the room, he looked from her to Rochant and back again, and made his decision.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Pari blinked. She was lying awkwardly on hard earth. Her instincts told her she hadn’t been elsewhere long, perhaps only seconds. They also told her she was in danger, the fight, the flight, and the fall all still fresh in her mind.

  Her intent was to spring up and face the Corpseman, as it would surely be moving to finish her off. Her body had other ideas, behaving like a sleepy Wormkin on a leisurely afternoon.

  Come on, Pari, shift yourself!

  A turn of her head brought the Corpseman into view, and with it a surge of adrenaline. It had tilted its skull to the sky, the thick antennae drifting back and forth as it felt the air. She wondered briefly if it could sense her at all. I’ve assumed it tracks by scent but what if it tracks by sound?

  She paused, half lifted off the ground, held her breath, and waited.

  Her theory was swiftly disproved as the Corpseman’s feelers curved round, drawing the skull after, like reins on a Dogkin, until it was facing Lan.

  The young man hadn’t moved from the spot where she’d left him, fear holding him rigid. He still had her staff, clinging to it as if it might save him.

  No, thought Pari. That will be up to me. She dragged herself to her feet, scooping up her whip as the Corpseman set off, loping towards Lan with casual ease.

  Pari went after it. Her right shoulder dipped as she bounded, sending her staggering at an angle. A desperate glance revealed a jagged stump of tanzanite jutting short and ugly from her left shoulder. The Corpseman had shattered one of her wings, leaving her unbalanced and grounded.

  She had not time to consider the ramifications of that, as the distraction had already allowed the Corpseman to close on Lan. With a single swipe of one of its arms it knocked the staff from Lan’s hands while the others lifted the young man off the ground, bringing his terrified eyes level with the Corpseman’s skull.

  ‘No!’ shouted Pari, tilting her body to the left as she charged. The barb on her whip flashed forward, embedding itself in one of the demon’s upper arms.

  She had a moment’s satisfaction when it whirled round, surprised, which quickly gave way to panic as the Corpseman came at her, dragging Lan behind.

  Pari was going too fast to stop. She tried to keep low and set her shoulder, hoping that she might get lucky when they collided, but the Corpseman’s free hand swept lower still, its palm striking her squarely in the chest. There was a crack, ominous, the armour threatening to break, as Pari came to an abrupt halt.

  She swayed, gasped, and fell.

  Lan still dangled from two of the Corpseman’s arms, staring at her, desperate. She willed him to fight, just as she willed her body to start moving again.

  Meanwhile the Corpseman returned its focus to Lan, the horn-like antennae ripping the young man’s attention away from her as they drifted in to make contact. He squealed, the first sound he’d made, as they probed his squeezed eyelids, and Pari realized that if she was going to do anything, it would have to be now.

  But what to do?

  She tried a few desperate kicks at the Corpseman’s legs, but the blows were weak, and soon she was breathing heavily, painfully, an ache in her chest growing so that it troubled her despite the crystal armour.

  It occurred to her that the barb on her whip was still in its upper arm. If she could get a thumb to it, she could press it in, perhaps get the Corpseman to let Lan go.

  Come on, Pari, she urged herself.

  Get. Up.

  Get up!

  Slowly, too slowly, she rolled to her left, hauling herself onto one knee. Lan’s eyes were open now, the pupils wide, vacant, mirroring each twitch of the antennae. His face had gone slack and peaceful, like a sleepwalker’s mask.

  Gritting her teeth, Pari dragged one of her Sky-legs underneath her to spring. She’d have been tempted to run while the Corpseman was distracted, save for the fact the idea of her running anywhere in her current state was laughable.

  And besides, I gave my word as a Tanzanite that I would look after him.

  Those words turned to ash in her mind as the Corpseman shifted its grip, squeezing Lan’s ribcage until it cracked, bending inwards. There was no scream, no death cry, just a little air forced out in a wheeze. His vacant eyes became glassy, and then he was dropped, like a toy fallen from favour.

  Guilt and sadness rose up in her. All that untapped potential gone. Such a waste. He had his whole life ahead of him, and I would have made it a good one.

  The Corpseman turned towards her.

  ‘Come on, then,’ she said, ‘do your worst.’ She barely had the strength to stand, let alone fight, but her crystal barb was still in its arm. That was her chance.

  She rose as it crossed the distance between them in a single step. There was a pause, as if it was waiting for her to move first. When she didn’t, it grabbed her by the throat and pulled her closer.

  That’s it, she thought, save me the bother of coming to you. She could see the antennae roving a few inches from her face. One stretched out towards her eye only to recoil when it tapped against her visor.

  Very slowly, she began to reach up towards its arm, the sliver of the barb still visible, glinting in the light of the gold sun.

  For a second time, the antennae tried to get through her visor, they were firmer, but the crystal repelled them just as easily, the demon flesh sizzling when it made contact.

  You don’t like it, do you? Well, you’re going to like what I’m about to do to you even less.

  She became aware of movement at her throat. The smaller feelers on the Corpseman’s knuckles were moving, working their way into the space between her chest plate and helmet. She could feel them probing at the silk around her neck, picking at it, trying to peel it away.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her own hand moving into position. Stay calm, Pari. Don’t rush. Let it think it has you.

  The silk went tight at the ba
ck of her neck as the feelers forced their way in.

  She locked her fingers. The angle of attack was awkward but nothing she hadn’t dealt with before.

  As something alien made contact with her skin, she made her move … And the Corpseman’s hand was waiting, snapping around her wrist to lock it tight. With a sinking heart, she realized it had read her again, predicting her attack before it came.

  She pit her strength against the demon’s, trying to force her hand down, but it was stronger and she was tired, frail, no contest at all.

  Only now did she realize how well her crystal skin had insulated her from the Corpseman’s aura. It was past her defences now, vile, pungent, seeping into her pores, her blood, her brain.

  Pari stopped thinking. It was as if her mind were laid open, exposed for the Corpseman’s pleasure.

  Then, a memory came, drawn up to the surface in perfect detail. It was night, she was in the floating castle of Lord Rochant Sapphire. They were sitting in his bedchamber together and the atmosphere was electric.

  This was one of her favourite memories.

  For several years she’d been flirting, testing him to see how far he would go, daring him to go further, and he had paid her back in kind. They both knew the penalty they would face, if discovered. To mix the lineages, over lifecycles, was to create a bloodline where vessels could serve for either immortal, potentially leading to conflict. Worse, if both souls were between lives at the same time, they could be drawn to the same body. The only thing considered more scandalous than two Deathless of the same house getting together, was a union of two Deathless from different houses.

  Pari assumed that for such rules to exist, some randy immortals must have experimented in the past, but if such a thing had ever happened, nobody talked about it.

  Of course all of this assumed that the immortals involved were too stupid to use contraception, and while Pari could be a slave to her impulses, she was also well prepared for them. There had been months of expectation, careful planning, and then the risk of sneaking inside, all bringing them to that moment.