The Deathless

by Peter Newman

  She’d wanted to have him, there and then, but he’d made her wait, drawing out the transition between loaded conversation and lusty action. They’d talked in soft tones, not needing to whisper but feeling it appropriate.

  When he’d undressed her, it was with the utmost care, as if she were made of glass. She’d laughed at the time. ‘I can get this off much faster, you know.’

  ‘No,’ he’d replied, slowly unwinding the silk from her shoulder. ‘I want time to see you as you really are, to take you in.’

  She’d been thinking about how much she wanted to take him in, when he’d stopped and said, ‘There’s gold on your shoulder. I thought it odd that you always kept it covered.’

  ‘It’s not a death I’m particularly proud of.’

  He ran his hand along the length of her tattoo, the chill of his fingertips making her squirm, then kissed it. ‘Will you tell me about it?’

  To her surprise, she had. A dull lifecycle ending in a stupid accident where some unsecured crates had fallen on her. The Tanzanite High Lord clearly thought there was some great life lesson in it all, and so had made a point of adding it to Pari’s legend.

  By the time her tale was done, very little silk remained, and she’d managed to free Rochant from his trousers as well. At least a part of him is as impatient to get started as I am.

  He’d been making some observation about how mundanity became harder to avoid across lifecycles when she’d lost patience entirely and thrown him on the bed, pinning his lips with her own to stop him talking while she wiggled her hips into position.

  They were just getting started when the memory froze, and faded.

  She sensed the Corpseman’s puzzlement, as if she were a problem to be picked over.

  It is studying me. But why? What does it want?

  Another memory came, from a much earlier lifecycle. She was in the Hall of Seven Doors, the meeting place of the Crystal Dynasties. The building was rarely used, most Deathless preferring to visit each other in their castles. However, when there were delicate matters to discuss, where guest and host status could interfere with the outcome, or where trust had broken down, the Hall of Seven Doors offered a neutral space under the eye of the Bringers of Endless Order.

  Pari had been sent at the last minute, a replacement for her brother, Arkav. It had been the first time one of his black moods had stopped him doing his duty, and her offering to go in his place had mitigated her High Lord’s anger somewhat.

  Most representatives had already arrived, aside from Houses Spinel and Opal. Both late arrivals were anticipated, the Opal having the longest distance to cover and the Spinel known for keeping others waiting.

  To pass the time she’d been looking at the architecture, wondering how the great arches of marble had been moved into place. Her settlements were made of wood and earth, using small bricks and planks, her castle, of crystals shaped and grown that formed a sort of glue for the stone around them. But these were single pieces, massive. Perhaps the whole thing was cut from one great block, but if that were true, why was there not more marble in the area?

  Somewhere nearby, no doubt watching their every move, were the Bringers themselves. Pari was glad they stayed hidden, she found the robed figures sinister. There was something distinctly wrong about them. Nothing she could put her finger on, but an instinct, and Pari had already learned to trust those.

  Her attention had been drawn by Lady Nidra of House Sapphire. She’d recently sat down and was clearly unhappy about something. A servant was fussing about her sleeves, but whatever they were doing seemed to be making it worse.

  A second servant stepped up, taking over. His movements were more assured, and after a few moments Lady Nidra was settled and smiling. As the servant turned to go, Nidra touched his arm, and the two had shared a look.

  It was a trivial recollection, she’d not thought about since it happened, but as it froze, she noticed the way the servant walked, the measured steps, the utter control.

  It was Rochant! Rochant before he became Deathless!

  A third memory. Her brother’s first incident. Thankfully, not the incident itself, after he’d calmed: he’d cried while she cleaned him and bandaged him. When others tried to help getting him back to his chambers, she’d insisted no one else touch him. She’d carried him most of the way, Arkav was so weak, she remembered, so unlike himself, she’d not known what to say. She’d tried to communicate her love, her sympathy, through gesture, putting him to bed and tucking him in tight.

  The memory froze and she became aware of her surroundings again. The Corpseman no longer held her throat, its arms were under her back, hips and legs. Gently, it was lowering her to the ground.

  When its hands moved over her chest, she remembered the way Lan had died, and yet she felt no fear, there was no malice emanating from the demon now, quite the opposite. It pulled at a cracked segment of crystal and the pressure on her chest eased.

  She took a few experimental breaths and the Corpseman’s hands seemed to rise and fall in time, like coral in the water, bobbing with the waves.

  After the third breath, it straightened and began moving back towards the trees. When it reached Lan’s body, the Corpseman paused to establish a grip on his ankle, before dragging him away.

  Pari turned herself over, noting all the places that hurt badly, aware they’d hurt much worse once the armour came off. She picked up the staff, trying not to think of Lan or the ‘good luck’ she’d promised him, and used it to lever herself upright. With her Sky-legs on, it seemed more like a walking stick than a staff.

  She was about to go into Sorn, wanting nothing more than to find a safe place to sleep for several days, when an instinct stopped her. She found her mind was full of questions.

  Why did the Corpseman kill Lan and yet spare me? It seemed almost … gentle at the end. And why take his body? What is it going to do with his body?

  If she didn’t find out, it would plague her for the rest of her lives. She was fairly sure the Corpseman wasn’t going to attack her now, something in their relationship had changed.

  Something he read in my thoughts.

  That led her to more questions. It seemed as if the Corpseman had done the exact thing she aspired to do, to know the mind of an opponent. It had drawn her memories up like pearls from the depths, so clear it was like living them a second time. But why those memories? Rochant and Arkav had been on her mind, so perhaps that was not such a surprise. But why Nidra? Was it simply the fact that Rochant had been in that memory?

  There was more to this, she was sure of it, and so, in half bounds, using her staff for balance, she put her back to Sorn, and followed the Corpseman into the trees.

  The tracks led Pari to a steep hill with a trio of scrawny trees jutting from the top, their roots clawing at the sides. Here the tracks ended. She hadn’t been able to keep pace with the Corpseman, but was sure it wasn’t far away. She stopped and looked for signs, then placed her staff into the last two gouges left by the Corpseman’s long toe-less feet. They were deeper than the ones before.

  It jumped.

  She looked up, judging the distance. If her chest didn’t hurt so much, if her wings were intact, she might be able to make it herself.

  Ifs aren’t worth anything, Pari, she admonished herself. Now get climbing.

  The hillside was soft, her staff and Sky-legs sliding in a foot and a half before finding purchase. Halfway up she was forced to rest, giving her body over to a tangle of tree roots while she waited for her muscles to stop trembling.

  Her ascent so far had left a messy trail, telling the story of her struggle in a succession of overlapping lines and gouges.

  No wonder I’m tired. I’m carrying half the hill with me.

  As Pari scraped some of the mud from her knees a yellowish glimmer caught her eye. It was buried deep in the hillside, safe from prying eyes. At first she thought it was a square of amber as big as her fist but as she began to excavate, it revealed itself to be far bigger. A dar
ker shape was held inside, trapped and preserved. She kept working, revealing first an arm in the amber, then a shoulder and hints of neck and body. The arm was sleeved, a patched garment of the type favoured in House Sapphire settlements.

  I’d wager this poor soul comes from Sorn.

  Pari pressed her cheek against the hill so that she could look at its profile. Sure enough, she saw a number of bulges where other bodies could have been packed in. Using her staff, she prodded the nearest one and was rewarded with the thud of something solid. A quick investigation revealed another piece of amber and another body, this time of an old man with only half a head.

  She paused to swallow down some bile and blocked in the hole.

  The last bit of the climb was less sheer and the roots were thicker and more able to take her weight. At the top she paused to look for tracks and catch her breath. She could see many signs of the Corpseman’s passing, old and new, all over the hilltop, like shallow cuts on a well-used chopping board. Of the demon itself however, there was no sign.

  Finally her attention came to the tree. From below it looked like a set of silver birches growing close together but was in fact three thick branches splitting off from the same trunk. Curious as that was, it was not the most striking thing about it.

  A man appeared to be trapped within the bark. His face and the curve of his belly poked free of the central trunk, the flesh tanned and coarsened by the elements. His arms sprouted from the two side trunks, one on the left and one on the right at mismatched heights, the left roughly in line with the man’s shoulder, the right far too high. She saw leaves where fingernails should be, and in places, like the man’s right cheek and chin, the skin had flaked away to reveal fresh bark. It was as if the man were growing out of the tree while a second, younger tree grew within him.

  The last detail to strike Pari was a faded white line on the one piece of his neck she could see, an old burn with flecks of gold around its edge. A tattoo! This man had a legend. That means he was Deathless once.

  Only the nose and the lower half of his face were visible, the eyes and brow still trapped under a visor of bark, but the set of his features changed as she moved, suggesting that on some level he knew of her approach.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Do you hear me?’

  The man licked his lips, revealing patches of fungus on his tongue. ‘Are those sweet words I hear on the wind?’

  ‘They are.’

  ‘Human words from a human mouth?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The man sniffed sadly. ‘It has been so long. I hear the people as they scurry and chatter but always so far away. Never do they come to talk to me.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Nobody knows you’re here.’

  ‘I am forgotten. Fallen and forgotten.’

  ‘My name is Lady Pari Tanzanite and I feel that I know you. Is that true?’

  ‘Ah. Yes. I think I do remember that name. Weren’t you the one that was killed by a box?’

  Pari sighed. ‘Yes that was me.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m looking for someone.’

  ‘Were you looking for me?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t even know you were here. I’m still not sure who you are.’

  ‘My name is Samarku.’

  She knew that name. ‘I thought you were killed in the Battle of Bloodied Backs, Lord Samarku.’

  His lips twisted with anger and the branches trembled as if disturbed by a breeze. ‘A lie! One of many lies told about me.’

  She could hear the edge of madness on his voice, the same rise of temper that took her brother sometimes. ‘The Sapphire are known to keep their business private. Little of your news reaches the Tanzanite lands, and we are always wary of the bits that do.’

  ‘Wise. Very wise.’

  ‘I take it then, that you did not make compact with the things of the Wild?’

  ‘Look at me!’ he screeched. ‘Would I have asked for this?’

  ‘I ask only out of ignorance. Perhaps the noble Samarku would be kind enough to tell me the truth.’

  He sighed then, and the leaves seemed to sigh with him. ‘It matters little now. I am undone, my throne taken by that fool, Yadavendra. My castle given to his lackey, Rochant. And my legend smeared forever.

  ‘You want the truth? The truth is that Yadavendra wanted to be High Lord. I was ready to step down and let another take my place.’

  ‘Forgive my interruption, you were ready to die a final time?’

  ‘No, no, I did not seek death, just a rest from the burdens of being High Lord. House Spinel change their High Lord every three lifecycles. It is not such a big thing.’

  Pari made no comment. Everyone knew the Spinel were a strange lot.

  ‘He was aware of my plans,’ Samarku continued, ‘and he also knew that I favoured his sister to be my successor. So he organized a hunt, insisting that all the Lords and Ladies of House Sapphire attended. He said that it would be good for us to fly together one last time under my leadership, when in truth he just wanted to get me out here so he could spring his trap.

  ‘He’d been whispering, you see, spreading rumours that I’d betrayed the honour of the house, that I’d been seduced by the Wild, all to sow the soil for his lies.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘The hunt began normally enough. We found the tributes quickly and flew down, forming a protective circle. They had been cut as they are always cut, and they bled well enough, yet nothing of the Wild had come to claim them.

  ‘I had just declared that we would wait when, to my surprise Yadavendra accused me of treachery in front of my hunters, my tributes, and the other Deathless. Naturally, I was outraged and demanded that he take back his words or be prepared to face my wrath.

  ‘He said he would fight me in order to cleanse the house and challenged me to a duel. Can you imagine? I was so furious I could hardly speak. When he raised his weapon in defiance, I was quick to raise mine in response. Little did I realize I had already lost.’

  ‘Lost, lost, lost,’ echoed the leaves.

  Pari glanced about, restless. She was exposed on the hilltop and in no shape to fight if something came.

  ‘At first, the house stood with me, leaving Yadavendra and his entourage isolated. I was about to give him a chance to surrender when one of his hunters, the one I would later know to be Rochant, shouted in alarm. He was pointing over my shoulder. One by one they turned to see what had struck him so. I did not turn at first, unwilling to put my back on the treacherous Yadavendra, but when I saw the expressions on my hunters’ faces, I could not help but turn myself.

  ‘Behind me the trees were alive with creatures, gathered at my back, facing my enemies, as if to defend me. It seemed the Wild had come after all, but in the guise of my allies. I did not understand. I could not understand. Neither could my family. When I looked to them for support, none of them met my eye.

  ‘Yadavendra’s attack appeared heroic, while I seemed like everything he had accused me of. I had little option then but to fight. They didn’t expect me to come on so fast.’ A nasty smile came to his lips. ‘I swear Yadavendra soiled his crystals that day. I would have had him but for Rochant throwing himself in the way. He put a spear in my gut and I cracked his skull.’ The smile faded. ‘I don’t remember much after that, save for the realization that the wound I’d taken must have started bleeding. I’d been so intent on killing Yadavendra that I’d put my back to the Wild, a foolish mistake.

  ‘The next thing I knew, there were hands all over me, clawing to get at the blood they knew was trapped inside my armour. I passed out, but I wasn’t destined to be devoured. When I woke, I had a new master, the Scuttling Corpseman. It bound me here, and here I have been ever since.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘It comes to me sometimes, asks me questions.’

  ‘It talks to you?’

  ‘Not with words, how I wish it used only words. No, it comes for my mind, to sample my many lives. Sometimes I
relive things I had quite forgotten. It wants to know how I think, Lady Pari. And sometimes, I get an inkling of how it thinks. There is no hatred there, it is too cold for that. I feel a reserve, a detached curiosity. It is learning from me, learning our ways, but for what purpose I do not know.’

  Pari reached out to touch Samarku’s cheek. ‘Do you want me to end this?’

  ‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘But first, I want revenge.’

  ‘I understand. How can I help you?’

  ‘Yadavendra and Rochant, destroy them for me!’

  Tread carefully here, Pari. His hatred of Rochant could be used. ‘Lord Rochant’s line has been attacked and he’s gone missing. Were you involved in that?’

  ‘No, but I know where Rochant is. He’s in Sorn. I can’t reach him there because of the Scuttling Corpseman. But you, you could.’

  ‘Yes, I could. Is his baby there too?’

  ‘I have heard whispers of a baby in the Wild, is it his?’

  ‘Yes, it is last of his line. If you could help me find it, it would give me great power over him. Do you know where it is?’

  Glee split the old face wide. ‘Don’t worry about the baby. I’ll deal with that myself.’ A horrible feeling stole over Pari as Samarku raised his voice to a shriek, ‘My children!’

  ‘Children, children, children,’ said the leaves.

  ‘The last child of Rochant is here, a mere baby!’ The branches of the tree shook violently.

  ‘Stop!’ said Pari.

  ‘Kill it! Wring its neck! Bring the body to me!’

  She struck Samarku in the face with her gauntlet, splitting his lip and cracking several teeth. A dark red sap leaked from the cut. As he spluttered, she scooped up a thick slab of mud and stuffed it into his mouth, gagging him.

  ‘Here,’ said the leaves, ‘a baby.’

  ‘No!’ shouted Pari, though her words were whipped away by the very wind that was empowering and repeating Samarku’s words.

  ‘Kill it, kill it, kill it.’

  ‘See that?’ asked Fiya.

  Chandni nodded. There were nets strung horizontally between a circle of trees standing proud of the others. As she squinted, she could see furs hung there too, brown, grey, and black between the greens of the canopy. A giant quilt of them had been patched together and stretched across another structure to make curving walls. It looked to Chandni as if a giant animal were squatting in the branches. ‘Is that a tree house?’