by Peter Newman
Because of the interaction between essence mist and whirlpool, the currents spiralled rather than floating straight up. Were it not for the chains that held it in place, the Ruby High Lord’s Castle would be forever spinning. As it was, the castle made a slight twist to the left until the chains tightened, pulling it right again, making it seem to Vasin as if the whole structure were a huge head, subtly shaking in disapproval.
Servants met him at the top, escorting him to the Chrysalis Chamber, where he could remove his armour. It was always odd to enter the chamber of another Deathless. They were sacred places, where the crystals that made their weapons were grown and shaped. Each chamber had a bond with the Deathless that used it, deepened by time and blood. The Ruby High Lord’s Gardener-smiths muttered to themselves when he arrived, clearly unhappy. It wasn’t ideal for him either, but as he had come alone, without entourage, he had no choice but to endure their moaning.
Half of the outer walls were made of glass, capturing and focusing the sunslight into the chamber, the other half was studded with rubies that the Gardener-smiths would harvest when ready. A section of the chamber had been hastily curtained off, no doubt to stop him from seeing the new armour they would be growing for the High Lord’s next lifecycle.
They fear that a glance from a Sapphire might taint the crystals somehow. Gardener-smiths are all the same, so fussy and superstitious. He knew that his own would be most unhappy that his armour was going to be touched by foreign hands.
For all that, when he stood in the ritual position, they moved quickly enough, and in a way that he recognized, taking each piece of his armour in turn, checking it for damage, before cleaning it and placing it carefully on a stand. Vasin never liked coming out of his armour, or, as he thought of it, coming down. The crystals had his blood in them, and were grown and regrown over the years just as his bodies were. When he wore it, he felt connected to his deeper self, and drew confidence and strength from it. He was elevated literally and spiritually.
Out of the armour, he felt a lesser being, like he was half-asleep. And when they unstrapped his Sky-legs, he immediately missed the sense of potency in his stride.
A bath followed, then food, drink and a sleep on scented cushions. Long flights were as exhilarating as they were exhausting. He awoke to a servant singing for permission to bring biscuits and water, and he stayed conscious just long enough to consume them before drifting back to sleep. By the time the message reached him that Lady Anuja had returned and awaited his company, the suns had set, and he felt refreshed.
He touched the ruby embedded in the nearby wall. It was warm under his fingertips, having bathed in the suns through the day. At his command it began to release the stored sunslight, illuminating the room and giving it a vermillion tint.
A servant sang for entry and was waved inside, Vasin taking an instant dislike to the way the man’s eyes darted over his things. A slightly irreverent tone of voice, too, no outright rudeness, but unmistakably souring, like a tiny piece of grit buried in a hunk of bread. The servant helped him dress, wrapping the silk tight on his arms, legs and body, before covering him with the long gown of deep blue that he’d brought. He hated that he did not know the servant. It made him feel vulnerable. What if this one is spying? They may just be displaying a fashionable dislike of the Sapphire, but what if they wish me ill? The thought was impossible to shake, particularly when the servant was touching his face with paint, and highlighting his eyes and lips in gold. It would be so simple to kill me. Poison on the face paint. A thrust of their brush into my eyesocket. I wonder if High Lord Yadavendra would be cruel enough to add such a death to my legend? I wonder if he would deign to bring me back at all?
Sixteen years ago he had been shocked to realize his own staff had been subverted and swapped for those loyal to his brother. The problem was sorted out, now, but it had left him suspicious of anyone he didn’t know. Unconsciously, the index and middle fingers of his right hand curled into a hook, ready to strike the servant at the first sign of anything threatening.
‘Does Lord Vasin wish me to do his cheeks?’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘We have many visitors to the castle at present, all with different needs. Our Tanzanite guests have been dusting the cheeks, while the Opal favour bold dots. One of the Peridot Lords likes several small dots that give an angular rather than circular impression. It’s a new thing, so I’m told. I have not had the honour of serving any of the Sapphire. Would Lord Vasin be kind enough to direct me as to his fashions?’
‘The Peridot may have fashions, but Sapphire ways do not change.’ It was all he could do not to roll his eyes. The minor houses could be so strange, sometimes.
‘I see. Our own lords and ladies are the same. They only ever ask for the lightest brush upon their cheeks. What might the Sapphire way be, Lord Vasin?’
Having never been asked the question before it took him a moment to formulate an answer. ‘You know, accentuate the cheekbones, in a way that’s striking but elegant.’
‘The cheekbones. Yes, my lord. Anything else?’
‘Yes, of course there is.’ Though in that moment he couldn’t remember what it was. He was a Deathless, he shouldn’t have to think about things like this. ‘But that will do for now.’
‘Very good, Lord Vasin. Are we to be expecting any more of your noble house? Or any of your esteemed servants?’
He wants to know if it’s just me or if we’re sending more aid. Either the Ruby have become even more informal than I remember or this one is asking for a beating. ‘If any more of my kin are coming, you will be informed.’
Vasin put just enough disapproval into his tone that the servant carried out the rest of his preparations in silence. In another lifecycle I’d have struck him for his insolence. He took a moment to appreciate how his self-control had developed and ordered the servant to escort him to Lady Anuja. Not only did I not raise my hand, I didn’t even raise my voice. Mother would be proud.
CHAPTER FIVE
Honoured Mother Chandni brushed her long hair, slowly, almost fearfully. The shutters on her window were closed, as they always were when she prepared herself, holding the room in a permanent state of grey.
Here, alone, she dared to consider how bad things were.
On the surface, all was well. Lord Rochant’s castle ran smoothly under her leadership, arguably better than it ever had. Many saw her as a hero, including High Lord Yadavendra. Thanks to her, Satyendra had been saved from assassination, and Lord Rochant’s line preserved.
Since then, under her guidance, Satyendra had grown into a fine young man, intelligent, quick, sharp eyed, a perfect vessel for the best of the Sapphire Deathless.
Except, Satyendra wasn’t perfect.
And she was no hero.
As if to prove the point, the brush caught in her hair, making her wince and curse her clumsiness. Will I never get used to using my left hand? She shot a glare at her right, sitting dead and useless in her lap. She could work the fingers, of course, even get them to hold the brush, but without feeling it was impossible to sense resistance or the shifting of the brush in her grip.
A tiny scar still remained from the assassin’s needle, a single white dot, innocent, in the centre of her palm. The poison from it had stolen all sensation, from the tips of her fingers to just below her bicep, and would have taken more had it not been for the quick thinking of Rochant’s cook, Roh, and Chandni’s own sacrifice to the Hunger Tree. On her right hand, the nails of her middle finger and thumb had never grown back.
Proof of my betrayal.
It was forbidden to deal with the Wild, but Chandni had done so twice.
The first time to stop the spread of the poison, an act of desperation. The second was even worse, an offer of another’s life in exchange for Satyendra’s.
And I bear the proof of that too.
She put the brush down on the table and ran her hand behind her head until she found it, a different kind of softness nestling within he
r hair. Sprouting from the base of her skull was a feather, long and black. Over the years she’d tried trimming it back, cutting it off, once in a desperate rage, she’d pulled it out by the shaft. But whatever she did, however extreme she’d been in her self-surgery, she’d find it sprouting there again, good as new, the next day.
Two dealings with the Wild.
Two marks of shame.
She should have told Lord Vasin when he found her. She should have told High Lord Yadavendra. But she didn’t because Satyendra needed someone to hide his imperfections until such time as he’d grown out of them.
At least, that was how she justified her crime to herself.
The truth was she couldn’t bear the thought of being judged any more than she could bear Satyendra being cast out. And beneath that was another truth: she wanted to be there when Varg came back.
Tucked away out of sight in her chambers was an old piece of cloth, and wrapped within it were pieces of a mosaic. Each fragment had arrived quietly, discreetly, pushed into her hand by a travelling merchant who visited the castle the same time each year. Together, the pieces made a picture of two people kissing: a bearded man and a long-haired woman, their lips pressed together in a smile, with a large white Dogkin sleeping nearby.
Fifteen pieces sat within the cloth. Fifteen units of time. Only one gap in the mosaic remained, and it had not escaped her notice that both the merchant and Pari’s rebirth were due any day.
The last piece was coming, already on its way, and Varg with it.
She still wasn’t sure what she’d do when he arrived, but the thought of him, the fantasy of him, had given her a much-needed escape.
And though the wait had been agonizing the years had passed with a strange swiftness. Normal life had muted the reality of her time in the Wild. She’d taken to wearing gloves in public and plaiting her hair so as to tuck the feather from sight. The precautions had soon become habit, almost natural. From a lesser servant, such behaviour might have raised suspicion, but she was above reproach, a model Sapphire. Rather than garner criticism, she’d generated new fashions among the sky-born.
A footstep, close, too close, broke her from her reverie, and she span round in her seat, putting her back and the feather to the wall.
‘No need to be afraid,’ said Satyendra, clearly delighted to have caught her out. ‘It’s only me.’
‘It’s not becoming for an Honoured Vessel to creep about like that. Suns! How many times have I told you to sing for entry like everyone else?’
Satyendra smiled at her, but she did not feel reassured. In the half light his expression was ghoulish, and memories of his face – his other face – rose up from the depths. She had only seen it once, when he was a baby and they were on the Godroad returning home from the Wild. It had been enough: the image was seared into her mind forever. ‘And how many times have I told you I’m not like everyone else. I don’t like singing.’
‘That’s not the point and you know it. You should announce yourself, not sneak into other people’s chambers like a thief.’
The comment seemed to bounce off him without impact. ‘It’s very dark in here, Mother. What are you trying to hide?’
She took a moment to compose herself. Satyendra had a way of being able to get under her skin like nobody else. ‘I’m assuming you came here for something other than to torment me.’
He fell silent then, his dark eyes glittering with hurt, and into that silence poured guilt. She was letting her temper get the better of her and it was most unbecoming. None of this was Satyendra’s fault. It wasn’t right to take out her frustrations on him. He’d come to her for help and she was pushing him away. She forced down her other worries to give him her full attention. ‘I’m sorry. Let’s try this again. You wanted to talk. Is it about the rebirthing ceremony?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I think we need to postpone.’ She took a breath to dispute this but he was already pressing on with his argument. ‘I don’t know the legends well enough yet, and I need to get better at hunting and strategy and understanding the flow of trade. There’s so much still to learn and I have to be perfect, Mother, you know that. Nothing else will do. I’m Lord Rochant’s only chance to return so I have to get it right. So you have to send a message to High Lord Yadavendra and tell him to call off the Bringers. It’s too soon for the ceremony.’
‘This is really worrying you, isn’t it?’
He nodded quickly and she could see his eyes welling up. The sight of it choked her heart. ‘Come here,’ she said, opening her arms, and he flew into them. ‘Oh my poor, sweet Satyendra.’
‘I’m not good enough. I’m not ready. Don’t let them take me away.’
She stroked his hair as he sobbed, so long, so like her own, and it struck her that this might be one of the last times she would be able to comfort him. There was a pain in that thought that she wasn’t sure she could endure. Would postponing the ceremony be such a terrible thing? It would give her more time with her son, and it might make the rebirth smoother. How can I advocate sending him to his death? I know it is a great honour. I know it serves Lord Rochant and the house. But now the moment is here I … How have the other Honoured Mothers and Fathers done this in the past?
She soothed him with gentle sounds and cuddling, as she had when he was a baby.
Eventually, he lifted his head to look at her. ‘Will you tell him?’
‘You mean Yadavendra?’
He sniffed and nodded.
‘He’s the Sapphire High Lord, it’s not my place to tell him anything.’ As Satyendra’s face began to crumple again, she added, ‘But we can ask him, together.’
‘When?’
‘As soon as he arrives. He’s already on his way.’
Pari felt the change in territory before they reached the official border. The Tanzanite lands had a lot in common with their Sapphire neighbours, both contained their share of woodland, threaded through with rivers and lakes. In their own way, both were beautiful. However, her home landscape was more varied, with open plains and hillsides breaking up the relentless forest, whereas here she saw densely packed trees in every direction, like some vast green flood that was only thwarted by the upper reaches of the mountains. Though her own forests were certainly dangerous – the Wild was the Wild no matter where you were born – it was less aggressive somehow.
Once, this view had been tinted by her love for Lord Rochant Sapphire. Now that had been ripped away she saw it in all its menacing glory.
They travelled with only two carriages, one for herself and Arkav, the other for their staff, all competent, but none dear to her heart. It was too risky to take someone who might get hurt or used against them. I wonder if our High Lord was thinking the same when she chose us for this venture.
‘I think High Lord Priyamvada is worried about me,’ said Arkav. ‘She tries to hide her feelings but I see them. I frustrate her.’
‘No you don’t.’
‘I do, and that’s okay. She’s only frustrated because she cares.’
‘About you, maybe,’ muttered Pari.
Arkav didn’t argue, just quirked his lips in such a way that, for a moment, it was like truly being with him again. Pari sighed and turned back to the window. The Godroad had been slowly shifting in colour as they travelled, going from bluey-violet, to dark, then lighting up again, pure-blue, dazzling.
‘You’re worried about me too,’ said Arkav.
‘I was worried. But now we’re together again, I know things are going to get better.’ She took his hand and squeezed it.
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘Because I’m not going to rest until they are.’ When he didn’t respond, she squeezed his hand more firmly. ‘Do you understand? We will get through this.’
There was no reaction. It was as if a vital part of her brother had withdrawn to places she could not follow.
They were truly entering Sapphire lands now. Pari could see a simple wooden tower had been
constructed next to the Godroad, allowing those stationed there plenty of warning when visitors approached. However, no structures survived long in close proximity to the Godroad’s energies and the nearest legs showed signs of repeated repair.
How typically Sapphire to stubbornly endure rather than build somewhere more sensible.
Despite her sneer it dismayed her how easy it was for the Sapphire to police their lands. Everyone but the brave and foolish used the Godroads. Traders and Story-singers would have to come this way. Those that needed to deal with the Sapphire for survival, and those that needed to travel through on the way to other houses would first need to gain permission from the tower.
That’s a lot of power to have, I hope it hasn’t gone to their heads.
It had been some time since a Deathless from another house had paid the Sapphire a visit and she wasn’t entirely sure what kind of reception they were going to get. A guard stepped up onto the Godroad in front of their carriage and ordered them to stop. She was sure that at least two more were in the tower.
As the carriage slowed she looked at Arkav. He remained locked in his thoughts. It would be up to her to lead things.
She opened the door of the carriage as the guard marched over. They looked young and inexperienced, but to Pari everyone looked that way. ‘You may approach,’ she said.
‘I don’t need your permission,’ came the blustered reply. ‘Who are you and what is your business here?’
Pari turned her head so that the young woman could admire her profile. ‘See for yourself.’
The guard took in her fine clothes, her dark sky-born skin, the golden marks on her lips, and paled. ‘I … we weren’t told to expect you.’