by Peter Newman
One-handed, he plucked them from the earth. There was a moment of fierce resistance, then sudden movement. He half expected a monster to come with them, teeth locked around the tribute’s legs. He half expected only a torso to emerge, but no, with a wet kissing sound, the tribute came free, legs and all. Vasin raised them above his head, watching for signs of attack from below.
At his feet, the spines of something broke the surface, but not in aggression. The creature of the Wild that had captured the tribute was making for deeper water. Vasin kicked at it, but it was too fast, slipping away into the swamp.
‘Thank you!’ said the tribute breathlessly. ‘Oh thank you, I thought it was never going to let go.’
Vasin held him out at arms length, studying for injury. They were filthy, but aside from the long ritual cut on one cheek, he could see no red amid the filth, no broken skin. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘I …’ The tribute seemed to consider this as the first of Vasin’s Ruby hunters came in to land alongside them. ‘I don’t think so.’
Using his Sky-legs like stilts, Vasin made his ponderous way back towards solid ground, the hunter following behind, spear ready. He set the tribute down on a slimy piece of rock and looked around. The swamp appeared quiet but his instincts told him otherwise. ‘Did you see what it was that grabbed you?’
‘No, my lord. I felt it though, wrapped around my legs. Kept squeezing, it did, every time I stopped moving.’
Vasin jerked his attention back to the tribute. ‘What? Explain yourself.’
‘It held me there. I tried pulling free but I wasn’t strong enough. Wondered about using my torch to burn it off me but I was scared it’d go out. I got tired, but when I stopped fighting it squeezed me so hard I thought my knees were going to pop. I fought then, and that’s the truth. I never fought so hard in all my life!’
More and more of the Ruby hunters were joining him, forming a protective circle around their position.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Vasin. ‘It grabbed you and then forced you to struggle?’
The tribute nodded hurriedly.
‘And it didn’t cut you or bite you or try and drag you under?’
‘No, my lord.’
Was it holding the tribute in place for something else? He knew that things of the Wild sometimes made deals with each other as well as humans. Perhaps this creature ‘owed’ another and was simply trying to repay a debt. But Vasin didn’t believe that. With everything that he’d seen since arriving on House Ruby lands – Quiverhive’s experiment on the Godroad, the escalating number of attacks on Ruby settlements, the strange focus and grouping of the Murkers – he felt sure there was more to this.
And at that moment, there was a change in the air, confirming his fears.
The water began to thrum, softly at first, but he felt the dissonance run up his Sky-legs and across his armour. The sensation was as familiar as it was unpleasant. And it was directly below him.
‘Weeper!’ he shouted.
The hunters began scrambling in their pouches for earplugs but Vasin already knew from the way the water began to boil about them that it was too late.
The first thing to break the surface was the noise, a sharp wailing sound that knifed the ears of all that heard it. Vasin’s sapphire helm mitigated it somewhat, pulling the teeth of the sound such that it was merely unpleasant. His hunters had no such protection, however. They began to add their cries to the Weeper’s, making a chorus of misery, unrehearsed, yet horribly, organically in time.
The second thing to break the surface was the Weeper’s crest. A hexagonal web of skin that stood proud from its neck on long, thin lines of bone. On the tip of each line was the head of a human child, wrinkled, hairless, and each head was stretched open in a scream, and each wept blood. The Weeper’s true head was only just emerging from the protective folds of its neck, like that of a tortoise, only without eyes, and a moist tube where the mouth should be.
Third came the Murkers. Where the cry of a Weeper caused people pain, it seemed to stir the Murkers into an ecstatic frenzy, emboldening them.
Vasin had one moment to take in the scene – his hunters, helpless. The tribute under his care, helpless. Murkers, too many to count, rushing in from all sides – and then he was moving.
Shifting his grip to the bottom of his spear, he swatted the first Murker away from his people, sending it spinning back the way it came. He took a step, swung again, dispatching another, then grabbed one that was trying to climb the rock to get to the tribute. The touch of his gauntlet immediately set its flesh to hissing as he hurled it at the Weeper.
The great demon turned its back, protecting its delicate crest and the Murker bounced off, falling into the swamp, only to rise again moments later.
All the while, the Weeper continued its dirge, rooting his hunters to the spot. Blood was beginning to leak from their ears now, calling to anything of the Wild not already aware of their presence. Soon, they would begin to cry blood like the heads on the Weeper’s crest, and then he would have only moments before the pressure would build inside, and the blood would start to leak from their skin.
Vasin moved as fast as he could, but there were too many Murkers to handle alone, and too many targets to protect. He fought desperately as first one, then another hunter vanished from sight, dragged under by the Murkers.
Despite his efforts, he was losing. He could not fight them all at once. Out of the corner of his eye he saw red tears on the cheeks of a nearby hunter and knew he was almost out of time.
As he lifted another Murker over his head, it occurred to him that he alone was fighting, and if the demons pooled their strength he would be swiftly overcome. But they didn’t. They were so busy attacking the Ruby hunters that he was left free to do as he wished.
This makes no sense.
A cry from above made him look up. Lord Lakshin Opal had finally arrived, sending his hunters down to aid them.
‘No!’ shouted Vasin. ‘No, you fool! Call them back!’
But it was too late. None of them had taken proper preparations, and as soon as the Opal hunters came within range, the Weeper’s power took them, and they fell from the sky, one after another. More targets for him to protect.
Furious, Vasin smashed the Murker he was holding against a nearby rock, and started wading through the swamp towards the Weeper. It had partially raised itself from the water, revealing a thick serpentine body, encrusted with milky boils.
Unlike his hunters, Lakshin was cautious, hovering above the Weeper on huge pearlescent wings. With meticulous care, he took aim, but didn’t throw, adjusting several times as Vasin advanced.
He should have thrown already. He’s too hesitant.
By now the element of surprise was gone, the Weeper well aware of the Opal’s presence. Perhaps that’s his plan, get the Weeper to look up and expose its face.
As if reading his mind, Lakshin took that moment to throw. He and the Weeper watched the elegant weapon arc through the sky, the crystal tip singing with purpose. It came down fast but too low, sinking alongside Vasin’s hopes. A good shot would silence the Weeper, turning the tide of battle in their favour. Lakshin’s throw was only adequate however, striking the belly rather than the head.
In answer the Weeper directed its shout towards Lakshin. Though the Opal Deathless was protected from the malice in its cry, the sound disrupted the already weak essence currents, sending him tumbling from the sky. He hit the swamp face first, broad wings slapping the water with a loud splash.
Vasin grabbed the nearest Murker and jumped onto it, using its body as a platform to kick off from. It didn’t give him much height, but it was enough to glide the last twenty feet to where the Weeper was. He punched his spear through the first of the five heads, leaving it there as the Weeper tried to ram him with its thick skull.
Something made it hesitate, however, as if it had second thoughts at the last moment. Taking advantage, he kicked out sideways to avoid the attack, and twisted his body so
that the sharp edge of his wing sliced through another of the smaller heads, taking off the jaw completely. Suddenly afraid, the Weeper lurched away from him, but Vasin was faster, grabbing the edge of the crest and tearing, using the Weeper’s own momentum against it. Thin bones snapped and skin shredded, leaving him with a handful of crest and another head, now silent, and the Weeper rolling with pain at his feet.
Vasin didn’t dare take the time to finish it off, instead reaching into the water to wrap his fingers around Lakshin’s shoulder plate and heave him upright.
Behind the visor, Lakshin’s eyes were wild with fear.
‘You are Deathless!’ shouted Vasin, shaking him. ‘Your hunters need you. Now!’
Lakshin coughed up water several times, and managed to give a ragged nod.
‘Are you ready?’ Vasin didn’t wait for an answer.
To his credit, the Opal drew his curved dagger even as he spat the last of the filth from his mouth. Together, they began to fight back, knocking back the Murkers, and helping the stunned hunters regather their wits.
There came a moment, before the battle had fully turned, when Vasin paused amid the chaos, some instinct telling him that for once he should think instead of do.
He looked around and realized there were yet more demons tucked between two fallen trees. A thick cluster of them, at least as many again as they were fighting, and within them, a familiar many-eyed shape. Quiverhive.
It struck him that they were not engaging nor were they fleeing. They’re watching us. But why? What is it they’re looking for?
He turned his attention to the fight, trying to see it as the demons might. Lakshin and his hunters were making a real impact now, but at least in part because the Murkers were targeting the Ruby hunters, only engaging the Opal when they were forced to. It is just as Anuja said. They’re singling out the Rubies? Why do that? And why spare me? Nothing has even tried to attack me. And when I confronted the Weeper, it pulled away rather than take advantage.
A second look at the demons confirmed his suspicions. If they committed to the fight, they could inflict terrible damage upon us, but they’re holding back. It’s not that they’re afraid. It’s like … they’re observing. Studying us.
Lakshin was fighting with his hunters now, but still there was a lack of conviction that could be exploited. Quasim was the opposite, reckless to a fault. Quiverhive would know this now. What else would it have learned?
A small-winged Lizardkin, no longer than Vasin’s hand, alighted on Quiverhive’s back. Its long tongue shot out and adhered to one of the demon’s rippling eyes. After a few seconds the Lizardkin shivered and straightened, it’s red and green scales glimmering in the sunslight. Suddenly purposeful, it flew away, swiftly vanishing from sight.
Another movement caught Vasin’s attention, a glint of silver moving in the swamp that he recognized. My spear! It was still attached to the Weeper, which was trying to slink away. Three splashing bounds caught him up to it. Grasping the shaft in both hands he pulled it free before plunging it back into the Weeper’s body, letting the crystal spear head burn it from the inside. Four times he repeated this. Three to kill it and one more to be sure.
When it was truly, finally dead, he turned back towards Quiverhive, struck by a compulsion to impress it, to show that they weren’t all flailing amateurs. But it and its demonic entourage had already left.
Only when the last of the Murkers had been dispatched, and the three flights of hunters reunited to join the tributes on a slow trudge back to Fourboards, did realization strike. He’d heard about this strange behaviour from the Wild before. Once, a demon had spared his mother. The same demon had also spared Lady Pari Tanzanite, because of a deal made by the traitor, Lord Rochant Sapphire. And Quiverhive’s surveillance of them felt like the sort of thing Rochant would do. Wait, observe, then strike when it would have most impact.
He’d always assumed that Rochant had traded the people of Sorn in exchange for power, but what if the deal had been for more than that? What if he had given the Scuttling Corpseman wisdom as well? Tactical knowledge? What if the attacks on the Ruby were not an anomaly but rather the next step in the Wild’s evolution?
With a sudden, sickening certainty, he knew that he had to get back to his mother, and to the one man with the answers they needed.
CHAPTER TEN
The suns were at their zenith when Varg pulled the wagon to a stop. Pari swung herself out to land lightly on the ground. ‘Such a joy to be mobile again!’ she said aloud. Though it had been a much bumpier journey than the one from Tanzanite to Sapphire lands, she had rather enjoyed her time with Varg. It had been like putting on an old slipper, easy and comfortable.
‘Wait here,’ she said as she looked up at his frowning face. ‘I shan’t be long.’
He grunted acknowledgement. ‘You got your gloves on?’
She held up her hands to display the thick leather. ‘Yes. And my cloak and my boots. And I’ve tucked my trousers into them. I have done this before you know, many times.’
Many times more than you, she added silently.
‘Yeah, I know,’ Varg muttered. ‘It’s just that you’re normally in the back of the wagon or in your armour when you’re out here.’
‘Am I now? And what do you know about what I normally do?’
He waved her away. ‘Forget it. I’ll be here.’
She turned towards the Wild and walked into the trees with a final offended shake of her head. Varg was many things but he was rarely overprotective. This is because of my new body. He’s still thinking of me as the young girl he needs to teach and watch over. Clearly, he’d become attached to Priti. It was inevitable really, beneath his grizzled exterior, Varg was disgustingly soft. Too soft for this world.
A part of her mind was already considering that he’d need to be replaced by the end of this lifecycle, and it made her sad. That was one of the hardest parts of being Deathless, saying goodbye to so many good people. And, with lamentably few exceptions, having to endure eternity with so many irritating ones.
Ideally, she’d acquire a very young child and have Varg raise them in the right way to take over his duties when the time came, but to do that, he needed to travel and teach the routes, not be cooped up in some Sapphire castle, mooning after Honoured Mother Chandni. Perhaps once he’d had a year or two of the realities of living as a spy in a Sapphire castle, he’d be begging her for his old life back.
Yes, she thought to herself. Better always to be patient. Let Varg think it was all his decision. As much as he wants to be with Chandni, I know he wants to be a father too.
Things had changed sufficiently in the forest that she began to worry that she’d got lost. It seemed like nobody had used the paths to Sorn during her time between lives, the vegetation of the Wild having swiftly and completely erased all evidence of human footsteps. However, this was not her first jaunt in such places, and she kept her attention on the canopy above her and the position of the suns in the sky, using their light to guide her. Some of the more ancient of the trees were familiar too, their gnarled shapes like giants, miserable, with crooked spines and clawed hands. Of course she wouldn’t put it past them to have moved since she’d last been this way, the better to confuse travellers. Only a fool placed their trust in the Wild.
It took Pari longer than she’d expected to reach Sorn. Not a lot longer, but enough for it to feel significant. The effect was enhanced by the fact that the forest had started to encroach upon the ghost town, obscuring its borders, and providing an unasked-for camouflage for the outer buildings, blending them in with the greens and browns of the trees. But Pari couldn’t help feel it was more than that. As if the Wild itself had somehow reached out with its vines and branches and brambles, and dragged Sorn deeper into its embrace.
Despite her best efforts to dismiss it as nonsense, she couldn’t shake the notion. The distant glow of the Godroad seemed too far away, vanishing entirely by the time she arrived on Sorn’s streets.
T
hough for her, it had only been a year since her last visit, it was apparent that time had very much passed here. She thought of Nidra, exiled and alone in this forsaken place, and began to worry. Though the once Sapphire Deathless had lived many lives, and was one of the more competent of their kind, the settlement seemed awfully quiet.
Spongy moss has spilled out across the main street, covering it in asymmetrical patches, and numerous saplings had elbowed their way into the light. Another few years, thought Pari, and it will be as if Sorn never was.
She tried not to think about the last time she’d come here but it was impossible. The beating she’d received at the hands of the Scuttling Corpseman, the casual way it had killed Lan. Even in his last moments he had looked to her for protection, only to be let down. How many others have I let down over the years?
She paused to have another look at her surroundings, staring hard at the shadows for hidden predators.
There was no sign of the Corpseman now though, no sign of any trouble. Standing out in the sunslight, everything seemed bright and quiet and oddly beautiful. A few animal sounds could be heard but even they sounded small and far away.
It did not take her long to reach the ruined house. A door, not the original one, had been forced into the frame. Large parts of the house were covered in great tangles of ivy, but she noted the doorway and front step were clear. She also noted a thin wire had been stretched across the gap.
With a nod of approval, Pari stepped over it.
Her first impulse had been to walk in and make a quip about what Nidra had done with the place, but an instinct told her not to. Instead she stopped in front of the door and sang for entrance, as she might if Nidra were still a lady of the Sapphire, and this was her audience chamber. It was the first time Pari had really sung in this lifecycle, and the sound of her own voice made her jolt in surprise. A little too girlish for my liking. Ah well, at least there are things I can smoke for that.