The Ruthless

by Peter Newman

  Quasim signalled that he had seen the tribute, then began to turn over, preparing to dive.

  ‘Wait!’ shouted Vasin, displaying his palm to emphasize the point, but Quasim ignored him, plunging down at a steep angle. His hunters took longer to follow, unable to match their lord’s agility in the sky. Even when they arrived, there would be few places to land, and many for demons to rise from the water …

  Vasin looked back again. His own hunters were still catching up to his position, Lakshin’s were even further back. Unable to join the rash charge of the Peridot Deathless without abandoning Anuja’s people, he watched, frustrated, as the swamp began to stir.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Satyendra was frustrated. He’d been ready to face the High Lord, and then, at the last minute, Yadavendra had changed his mind and postponed their lunch. He and his mother had spent a fretful day preparing themselves for a summons at any moment.

  None had come.

  They’d all slept badly and felt worse as a result.

  As for Yadavendra himself, he hadn’t left his rooms. According to the servants’ gossip, he’d neither eaten nor slept, but they’d heard constant movement.

  Satyendra wondered if the waiting was one of Yadavendra’s constant tests or whether the High Lord was as mad as he sometimes appeared.

  And then, out of nowhere, a summons had arrived, brought by a hunter, still in her wings despite being grounded.

  Come on then, High Lord, I’m ready for you and your tests.

  It was a delicate balance he had to strike – to seem able enough a match for Lord Rochant to keep Yadavendra happy, yet not be too perfect. To have made enough progress since the last visit to avoid reprimand, but to leave room for more work to be done. The chaotic subjectivity of his judge made this almost impossible, but Satyendra was a living, walking impossibility.

  I should not be here, but I am. Every day is a scramble that I manage to survive. Today will be no different.

  Yadavendra’s hunters marched behind them. They too were afraid, his mother had seen to that. Most of the time she irritated him. She worked too much, and when she wasn’t doing her duty she was prattling on about its importance. But sometimes, when she showed her steel, he saw a kindred spirit. And though he rarely admitted it to himself, he knew deep down that without her, he would not have survived his first year, let alone his seventeenth.

  Most of the castle’s staff had made themselves scarce, so it was mainly guards and a few unfortunates that he encountered on his way to the feast hall. More rigid salutes, more unease to soak up as he passed by.

  It annoyed him that his mother sang for entry when she clearly didn’t need to. Doesn’t she see that it makes her appear weak? It also annoyed him when she was cut off partway through by the High Lord waving them in with an irritated hand.

  Inside, the tables were empty, their food conspicuous by its absence. Yadavendra stood by the window, massive on his Sky-legs, sunslight flaming on the edges of his wings. How small we must seem to him. How puny.

  ‘Ah, the young Satyendra arrives at last. Come forward so that I can greet you properly.’

  A ripple of revulsion passed through him but he made sure it did not get near his face. Though he wanted to glance at his mother for one last bit of support, he did not.

  There is nothing she can do anyway.

  He crossed the space with faux eagerness, as if his love for the High Lord made him forget the proper decorum. Most thought the best way to please was to be perfect in all things but Satyendra knew that was too simplistic. People wanted perfection, but they also wanted to be the one to break that perfection. It was a subtle art, and one that he’d spent a lifetime honing.

  A smile burst onto his face, all teeth and joy, and he bowed low.

  Yadavendra put a hand on Satyendra’s shoulder. ‘I am pleased to see you have recovered yourself.’

  Recovered myself? What is he talking about? What has Pik done?

  The weight of the gauntlet on his shoulder was heavier than it should be, and through the fabric of his cloak, he could feel the skin that was being pressed down on beginning to prickle.

  ‘Forgive me, my High Lord, I knew you were coming yesterday, and Mother had told me to prepare myself but when I saw you in the Chrysalis Chamber I …’ He trailed off to try and show that he was struggling to put his joy of seeing the High Lord into words but instead of pleasing Yadavendra, it had the opposite effect, and he felt the grip on his shoulder tighten.

  ‘Don’t falter, Rochant is always clear in his intent.’

  ‘I meant to say that my memories were a poor substitute for seeing you in person. Forgive me.’

  ‘Of course.’ Satyendra was pulled into an embrace, his right cheek crushed into the armour of Yadavendra’s belly. ‘None who love the house as you do need ever fear. It is not my forgiveness you should seek, but to do better. To be better.’

  ‘I will.’

  Now well inside Yadavendra’s aura, he was paralysed by it, and where his bare flesh was touching the glowing crystal, it quickly began to burn. And with it came the terror of discovery. It wasn’t the first time he’d endured being close to the High Lord but this was worse than normal for some reason. Perhaps it was the sunslight charging the armour, or perhaps it was the High Lord’s sterner than usual demeanour, or perhaps it was because Satyendra was changing, getting older. In that moment he didn’t really care for the why. He could feel his facial muscles moving strangely, contracting, drawing back into his skull. It’s as if they’re trying to get away. Though it sounded absurd, he knew it was true, his body was literally trying to turn itself inside out in an effort to break contact.

  Terror coursed through him, however he dared not pull away, to do so would be to reject his High Lord, all he could do was endure, gritting his teeth and holding his breath. Whatever strength he had so recently gathered into himself was quickly burned through, so that when he was finally released, he was left gasping.

  ‘Sit,’ said Yadavendra. ‘Let us eat.’

  Satyendra turned carefully to keep the right side of his face pointing towards the wall. The area around his cheek felt wrong somehow, and he was worried it would show. Though his mother’s lectures about his allergic reaction were well known to him, to the rest of the castle they were a well-kept secret.

  A couple of the hunters filed in, taking up posts around the room while the others sat down on the cushions around the table. It was strange watching them all delicately try to get in position without bumping into each other, for they too still wore their wings, breaking tradition to show solidarity with their master. It was wildly impractical and in other circumstances, highly amusing.

  While that was going on, Satyendra risked bringing a hand to his cheek. It was hot, and he could feel the flesh settling under his palm, strange ridges smoothing out, like the spines of a fish slipping beneath the waves.

  ‘Come and join us,’ said his mother.

  Their eyes met and he saw such pity there it made the hate boil up inside. What did she see? What is happening to me? But he took the hint and went to sit at the right side of Rochant’s throne.

  ‘No,’ said Yadavendra, who had remained by the window. ‘Take Rochant’s place.’ At Chandni’s obvious surprise, he added. ‘Not for the whole meal of course. I wish to see how he sits.’

  Like his mother, Satyendra was not the tallest of people, but he had inherited her posture as well as her height. He tried to sit as he imagined Rochant would. Straight, but not rigid, open but not aggressive, thoughtful but not passive. The scrutiny was unpleasant, but nothing he wasn’t used to. Though his cheek was starting to feel better, he tilted his head down and to the right, just in case.

  ‘He has his manner, does he not, Honoured Mother?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, and she looked as if she believed it too, the pride evident in her face.

  ‘Yes,’ said Yadavendra, holding up a hand in front of his eye as if to frame the image between thumb and index finger. ‘Hi
s aspect is just so. Uncanny. It is as if he were among us again already. You may return to your seat now, Satyendra.’

  A group of servants began setting down a variety of dishes. Most of it was finger food, save for a small bowl of soup set at the head of the table. Satyendra made a play of waiting for them to finish their work to give the right side of his face as long as possible to settle before taking his usual place.

  The High Lord perched uncomfortably on the edge of Rochant’s throne and signalled for everyone to begin, though he himself made no move to pick up his spoon, nor even remove his sapphire helm. With evident relief, the hunters started to eat, making short work of what was put out. His mother seemed prepared for this however, new dishes appearing as quickly as the empty bowls were whisked away.

  For Satyendra, it was a tortuous affair. He knew that everything he did was being scrutinized and evaluated, measured against a figure he had never met. Yadavendra made no secret of his fascination, watching with birdlike intensity. ‘What do you think of the lizard wings, young Satyendra?’

  ‘Soft in all the right places, my High Lord.’

  ‘Are you going to have more?’

  He reached towards the bowl but then noticed his mother’s slight frown and changed direction, instead picking up a small cube of cheese. ‘Perhaps later, I want to enjoy the other dishes first.’

  Yadavendra nodded. ‘And why is that?’

  ‘Because I want to know what my guests are experiencing.’

  A look, meaningful, passed between Chandni and the High Lord. ‘Does that mean you will try the soup?’

  There was something in the manner of the question that gave him pause. A quick glance down the table confirmed that there were no other bowls like it. He looked back to Yadavendra, the man was clearly enjoying the exchange, the part of his mouth visible through the helmet twitching towards a smile.

  ‘I am curious … but no. It is a gift, prepared especially for you.’

  ‘And if I insisted?’

  ‘Then I would obey.’

  He was rewarded with a full smile. Up close, he could see how gaunt Yadavendra’s face had become. Even thinner than I remember, and yet he seems as strong as ever.

  The meal continued, the hunters talking amongst themselves in low voices while Chandni and the High Lord exchanged polite conversation about the state of the castle, the weather, mixed in with shared reminiscence about Satyendra’s early years, and veiled references to the time before that, which, if they were to be believed was much better than this one. It’s as if all three suns shine from Rochant’s arse, the way they go on.

  After a third course had been devoured by the hunters, Yadavendra signalled that he was finished, asking that the soup (which was now cold) be left for him to enjoy at his convenience. ‘Thank you, Honoured Mother. You may leave us now.’ He gestured to his hunters. ‘You also.’

  Chandni stood and bowed, catching Satyendra’s eye as she did so. It was hard to read her look, not least because she gave so little away, but Satyendra knew her well enough to guess: she desired to show concern, that she was thinking of him, and remind him to stay wary. All obvious and unnecessary. Besides, he thought bitterly, her encouragement only urges me faster towards my death.

  Two by two, the hunters stood, saluted and left the chamber, following Chandni out until they were alone.

  ‘You have his manner, yes, that is beyond doubt, but I wonder, do you have his mind?’

  Satyendra hoped this was a rhetorical question.

  ‘As you know,’ Yadavendra continued, ‘Lord Rochant is known for his wisdom, and I have come to trust his advice above all others.’ He pointed his jewel-bladed staff at Satyendra. ‘Let us pretend that he stands before me now, ready to offer guidance.

  ‘As you know, my sister, Nidra Un-Sapphire, betrayed us to the Wild, the second Deathless to do so in our history. It is our shame to be the only house to have failed so, and it is my duty to ensure it never happens again. So my question to you is this: how can I test the loyalty of my Deathless? How can I truly know that they will not follow my sister’s path?’

  He blinked. This was an impossible question! Rochant would at least know all of the other Deathless personally. Satyendra had met Lord Vasin a handful of times and the others once or twice that he could remember. It seemed like he’d impressed Yadavendra on the visit so far, perhaps it would be okay to fail on this one task – if he was to put off the rebirth ceremony, it may even be advisable.

  ‘You can’t.’

  Yadavendra’s eyes narrowed. ‘That is your answer?’

  ‘You won’t ever know for sure if they are tempted or not, and any test can be cheated.’ He could feel Yadavendra’s regard cooling with every word and it struck him that perhaps this was more than just a test. The High Lord really did want advice on how to manage the other Deathless. ‘I’m sorry but that’s the truth.’

  The staff made a contemptuous flick towards the door. ‘Leave me.’

  He gave a deep bow and turned to go. A part of him was pleased to have failed, but another was worried, and yet another annoyed not to have a better answer. How pathetic am I to want to please my executioner?

  And yet he did want that. Some part of his mother’s hated need to be right had seeped into him over the years, and it tugged at him until he stopped and turned round. ‘The answer, my High Lord is not to test them at all.’

  Yadavendra’s gaze snapped up to meet his own. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said that you should not test them.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘You should motivate them.’

  ‘What kind of motivation did you have in mind?’

  The truth was he didn’t, but Satyendra was used to making things up, his quick mind weighing his words in the breath he took to speak them. ‘You have the power to make and unmake Deathless. Find another traitor, make an example of them.’

  ‘I have already done this with the punishment of Nidra Un-Sapphire.’

  ‘Do it again, my High Lord, and there will be no doubt.’

  ‘And if there is no obvious traitor?’

  ‘Unmake the one that pleases you least and put another in their place that you have chosen. Find someone that you trust as well as Lord Rochant and raise them.’

  There was a long pause, but he knew his answer had pleased Yadavendra. ‘Are you suggesting I act without proper cause?’

  ‘No, my High Lord. I am saying that there is no cause more proper than yours. Fear will keep your Deathless in line. Make them fear you more than they fear the Wild and they’ll never be tempted.’

  ‘Very well.’ Yadavendra surged to his feet, forcing Satyendra to crane his neck to look up at him. ‘Which Deathless should I make an example of?’

  He wasn’t sure if they were pretending any more. How could the High Lord even voice such a question? How could he possibly answer it? It certainly wasn’t his place. Was Yadavendra leading him into some kind of verbal trap or was he serious? He certainly seemed serious.

  And another thought, a darker one, was emerging in Satyendra’s mind. How can I turn this to my advantage?

  He began to talk, paying close attention to Yadavendra’s reactions as he spoke. The crystal armour made his face harder to see, and its aura made him harder to read, in fact it was mildly unpleasant for Satyendra to look at directly. ‘Lord Rochant and Lady Yadva were both elevated by you, so they are beyond question.’ He nods in agreement, but with less enthusiasm for his daughter than I expected. Interesting. ‘Lord Umed,’ he paused for just a moment, seeing a flicker of concern cross the High Lord’s features, ‘has served the house well for a long time and always supported you, leaving Lord Gada and Lord Vasin.’

  ‘This is all well and good but you have not made a decision. If you were advising me as Lord Rochant does, which would you choose?’

  He’d been unable to glean much by the mention of their names. Assuming that this wasn’t all a terrible mistake, he’d narrowed it down to the two likeliest candidat
es. ‘I assume both of your nephews are coming here for the rebirth?’

  ‘They are.’

  ‘Then they can work to keep your favour. Let them learn quietly that you suspect a traitor. Test them, one against the other, and see which one shines the most.’

  Yadavendra banged his staff upon the ground in appreciation. ‘Yes! Yes. This could work. You are a devious one, young Satyendra. We could not hope for a finer Honoured Vessel.’

  ‘You have always honoured me, my High Lord. Might I ask for one more honour?’

  ‘Honour is given, not asked for.’

  ‘Then, might I give one more piece of advice, in Lord Rochant’s voice?’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘When you make your example, there will be space for a new Deathless. I ask that you consider me.’

  Yadavendra laughed. ‘If things had been different, perhaps I would have. I have no doubt that Rochant’s grandchild would serve me well. But you are the last of his line, and there is no other.’

  ‘But if another could be found?’

  ‘Enough. There is no other. There is only you. Another reason why you are so dear to me.’

  Satyendra bowed deep, a picture of humility, but his thoughts were anything but.

  Here is my chance to cheat death. I have to find another of Rochant’s blood to take my place. And if they really don’t exist, I’ll fake one.

  Sa-at’s hand was curled into his chest, which was curled into his body, which was curled tight into a ball. It still hurt, but pressing it tight eased the pain slightly. The best thing to do was to have his thumb touching the knuckle of his missing finger, to keep his palm squeezed shut. He did not want to open his hand as he was sure that if he did so, something else would open inside it: the little nothing he had stolen from Pits.

  Just the thought of that was enough to make him feel ill.

  He’d stumbled through the trees for as long as he could, letting Crowflies guide him through the dark until they’d come to a hollow tucked within a hill. There, he’d collapsed, falling straight into restless sleep.