by Peter Newman
The last echoes of her song were picked up by the nearby trees, setting their ear-shaped leaves trembling. Pari did her best to ignore that and stared at the door. She was just beginning to wonder if Nidra was out, or worse, in no state to answer, when she felt something sharp press itself into her back.
‘Who are you?’ said a stern and scratchy voice.
‘Ah, my dear Nidra,’ replied Pari. ‘No need to draw blood, especially not here. It’s me. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner but circumstances with my house—’ a prod to her back cut her short.
‘Prove it.’
‘Do you mind if I take off a glove?’
‘So long as you do it slowly.’
Pari did so, then lifted her hand so that her palm faced over her shoulder. She wiggled her fingertips, drawing attention to the golden tattoos.
The sharp object withdrew from her back. ‘Turn around. Slowly.’
Pari did this too, smiling so as to make the gold on her lips sparkle in the sunslight.
‘Pari?’ asked Nidra, disbelieving. The years had not been kind to her, as if this space in the Wild operated at different speeds to the rest of the world. Sixteen summers seemed to weigh double on Nidra’s frame. Her skin was prematurely creased with toil and hardship, her spine taking on the curve of one beyond her six decades. Pari was uncomfortably reminded of the trees she’d just passed. For all of that, Nidra still seemed quick, her eyes as hard as the crystal blade in her hand. Once, that blade had sat atop a spear but now it was held more like a knife, as diminished as its bearer. Somewhere within the bundle of fabric that Nidra wore would be the remnants of her legend, white where they had been gold, burnt where they had been inked, turning marks of pride into brands of shame.
‘None other,’ replied Pari.
The two clasped wrists, Nidra gripping Pari so tightly it hurt, a woman clinging to life. A story of suffering was communicated in that gesture, in the catch of her breath and the haunted look in her eye.
‘It’s not much by way of apology but I’ve brought some food with me,’ said Pari, pausing before adding with a smile, ‘and some wine.’
For a moment, she thought the other woman was going to cry but that moment swiftly passed, replaced by steel and quiet anger. Nidra gave a curt nod. ‘Let’s go inside.’
The inside of the house hadn’t changed since Pari had last visited. A spartan space, the hangings were faded and functional, used to cover the broken windows rather than to decorate. There was a small fire pit in the centre of the room, a token gesture towards comfort, and that was it. Nidra had left no mark of herself on the place. This is no home for her, merely a place to wait out the storm.
Without ceremony, they opened the bottle and began passing it between them.
‘I expected you before now. What happened?’ asked Nidra.
‘A delay with my rebirth. Beyond my control.’
‘High Lords!’ From Nidra’s lips, the title sound like an insult.
‘High Lords!’ agreed Pari.
‘To Yadavendra, temporary High Lord of the Sapphire.’ Nidra raised the bottle. ‘May his end be slow and miserable!’
They both took long swigs of the bottle.
‘To Priyamvada, temporary High Lord of the Tanzanite,’ said Pari. ‘May all her vessels be afflicted with piles!’
The bottle was shared once more, along with a smile, wicked in Pari’s case, slight in Nidra’s.
‘Well,’ said Pari, ‘I’m afraid to say that not much has happened in my absence. House Tanzanite are sending my brother, Arkav, to investigate House Sapphire. They say it is to bring Yadavendra in for trial, but I think it is to provoke him into killing Arkav. If Tanzanite blood is spilt, then the other houses will be forced to act.’
‘Good.’
‘No, not good. If Arkav fails in his mission, the High Lord will not sanction his rebirth. I imagine she’ll blame it on Yadavendra, but the result will be the same. And she’s made it abundantly clear that my fate is tied to my brother’s.’
Nidra offered the bottle again. ‘There isn’t much I can do from here. You must help Vasin move against Yadavendra, that way we’ll all live to see another lifecycle.’
‘May they be many and glorious,’ replied Pari, accepting the bottle and drinking from it. ‘How is your son doing?’
‘Too slowly, I’m still here.’
‘No progress at all?’
‘Oh, he’s doing a fine job at ingratiating himself with others, I don’t doubt that most of the houses would be delighted if he took over, but few of them will stand with him until it’s clear he’ll win. And he can’t move until Lord Rochant’s rebirth fails. But for some reason it keeps being put off.’
‘Odd. I’d have thought Yadavendra would be desperate to have Rochant back.’
‘He is, but he’s also terrified of the rebirth failing and so he’s taking pains to make sure Satyendra is the perfect vessel before authorizing the ceremony.’
Pari smirked. ‘If he only knew.’
‘It’s not funny,’ Nidra snapped. ‘His caution could undo our plans. Time is no longer on our side.’
‘Is something wrong with your body?’
‘Not mine. Rochant’s.’ Nidra’s gaze went to the door of the room where the man they once both loved was kept. There was little love in her eyes now.
‘Please tell me you haven’t been overzealous in your care.’
‘I’ve barely touched him since …’ The slight pause spoke volumes. ‘Since you were last here. Vasin saw to that. Once we’d found out the nature of Rochant’s deal with the Corpseman, I let him be. Not because he deserved mercy, but because Vasin needed me to stop. My son is still young in his soul. He doesn’t understand like we do.’
Pari decided this wasn’t the time to question what it was she was supposed to understand. ‘What did you learn?’
‘What we expected. Rochant sold out to the Scuttling Corpseman, gaining Yadavendra the position of High Lord, and himself elevation to the ranks of the Sapphire Deathless. In return, he gave the Corpseman the old High Lord, Samarku, and the people of Sorn.’
An image of Samarku, his body merged with that of a slender tree, rooted and suffering, came to mind. She shuddered. ‘Did you find him? Was he still …’
Nidra nodded. ‘I’ve done what you should have. The Corpseman can’t hurt him any more.’
‘That’s a very quaint way of putting it.’
‘I know how you Tanzanite prefer the truth to be dressed up a little.’
Pari sighed. ‘What about the people of Sorn? Are they still buried in the hill?’
‘Yes. But they’re not as they were.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Better that you see for yourself. I’ll take you there after we’ve eaten.’
‘Alright. You still haven’t told me what’s wrong with Rochant.’
It was Nidra’s turn to sigh. ‘He soon realized that the best way to stop us was for him to end his current lifecycle. If he dies, then Yadavendra really can bring him back. First, he tried to cut himself to summon something of the Wild. Then he tried battering himself to death on the wall. After these attempts failed, he simply refused to eat. I’ve managed to force a certain amount of sustenance on him, but his body is weak now. Vulnerable. It’s been all I can do to keep him alive. I’m not sure he’ll last much longer.’
‘I want to see him.’
Nidra looked away. ‘Better that you don’t.’
‘Now I have to see him.’
Pari expected there to be a fight but the other woman seemed to sag within her clothes. ‘It’s your choice. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
Pari closed the door behind her and waited for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. One corner of the room had been invaded by a grey-stemmed plant with leaves that tapered to elegant points, and where it had forced the beams apart, a few of Vexation’s slender rays managed to creep through.
Though Rochant’s current body was younger than Nidra’s, it too had a
ged badly. When she compared the wasted thing in front of her to the fine specimen she had left behind, it was enough to make her weep. But she didn’t. No more tears will be shed over you, my love. That is an oath I intend to keep.
He was propped up in a corner, a thick wad of fabric jammed between his teeth, presumably to stop him calling out or biting himself. His hair had been left to grow into a neglected tangle reaching halfway down his back, dirty and dark. Most of his face was covered by a thick growth of beard but what she could see of it appeared sunken, and the little of his limbs that were exposed were painfully thin. A strap of leather secured his head to the wall but she noted that his arms were no longer bound and wondered if he simply lacked the strength to use them, or whether Nidra had seen through her threat, and numbed sections of the man’s soul with her poison.
Pari wasn’t sure how long she stood there – trying to decide if she was still angry with this man, trying not to feel such crushing sorrow at the sight of him – but at some point he become aware of her attention.
Their eyes met.
‘Hello Rochant.’
She saw nothing of his usual spark, that subtle and sometimes mischievous intelligence. He’s broken, she thought sadly. It would have been much easier if he had been angry or defiant or smug. Pari shook her head. What a waste.
‘Would you like to talk?’
He raised his eyebrows, which Pari took for agreement and pulled the fabric from his mouth. She waited as he worked his jaw, running his tongue over cracked lips. ‘Pari,’ he rasped. Not a question, a statement.
He knows me. Of course he does. He knows me better than anyone.
‘Yes. I thought I’d come and see you. For old times’ sake.’
‘Do you have any … drink?’
‘Not to share with you, my dear. Those days are behind us. I’m not here to play, I’m here to talk.’ He didn’t say anything and she continued. ‘When I was last here, you said you could explain it all if I gave you the chance. You made it sound as if there might be some reasoning behind your madness. I don’t believe it for a second, but I’m nothing if not open minded, as you well know.’
‘You don’t sound open minded.’
‘If anyone could persuade me, it’s you.’
He looked disbelieving, but a little spark had returned, his features slightly more animated. Is that why I’m doing this? She wondered. Some desperate need to see that the man I admired is still in there, buried within the husk.
‘Will it make a difference?’ he asked.
‘If you’re asking me if I’ll release you or change my plans, the answer is no. You made this bed, my dear, thorns and all.’
‘Then why bother?’
Yes, what are you doing, Pari? ‘Oh you know me,’ she said, keeping her voice light, ‘I hate not knowing something.’
‘Perhaps that will be my revenge.’ Was that a little of the old sparkle in his eye?
‘You monster!’
‘Yes. But I was your monster, Pari, and I could be again.’
Suns scorch me, but I still want this man.
‘Though to be honest, your body is a bit young for my tastes. Maybe come back in a few years?’
She laughed.
‘Best be careful Nidra doesn’t hear you. She hates joy, especially in other people.’
The laugh died on her lips, his mention of Nidra’s name bringing back all of his misdeeds in brutal clarity. ‘If you want to explain, this is your last chance. I’m not coming back.’
‘I’m not sure you’ll understand.’
She folded her arms. ‘Now I know you’re trying to bait me.’
‘I’m not doubting your intelligence, I’m doubting your life experience.’
‘I have several lifecycles over you, Rochant.’
‘Yes, but all of them the same. You were sky-born from the start, bred to enjoy eternity. It is what you are. I was road-born. I’ve seen what life is like down there. Not from the air, nor looking down from a pair of Sky-legs. In the dirt, in the cold, a stone’s throw from death. When you come down here, you come as a visitor, protected by title or armour. It’s not like that for the rest of us. We have to live with the threat of the Wild every single day. Can you imagine what it’s like?’
‘Not really, no.’
His neck flexed as if he was trying to nod, but the strap across his forehead prohibited the movement. ‘Exactly. I did what I did to escape that.’
She looked into his eyes and nodded to herself. ‘Thank you, Rochant. A bit of me has always wondered if I had made the right decision. Despite your betrayal, I couldn’t help but cling to the memories of our time together. And now you’ve shown that beneath your bravado and brilliance, you are actually quite a shallow, desperate little creature. Had I not such a weakness for wit and perfectly shaped bottoms, I suspect I would have seen through you long ago.
‘You see, while I may find it hard to see life as a Road-born does, and while I have always been Deathless, I still hold life sacred. A true Deathless sacrifices their vessel again and again for road-born and sky-born alike, because unlike them, we can return. My immortality is given gladly in service to my people, precisely because their one life is so precious. Whereas you, for all your supposed empathy, were quite happy to sacrifice this entire settlement for personal gain.
‘The thing that really cuts deep, my dear, is not that you are capable of such horror, but that you display no remorse, nor even guilt for your actions. You make out that I don’t understand you or the road-born. But the problem, your problem, is that I see all too clearly.’
He opened his mouth to reply and she stuffed it full of fabric. ‘Actually, I think that’s enough from you. Goodbye, Rochant.’
And with that, she turned, leaving the room, and her past behind.
It was late afternoon as Sa-at peered around a tree and caught sight of Sorn. After a glance about its silent streets, he waved for Tal to join him, wincing at the sound of the Gatherer’s heavy boots crunching, crunching, crunching.
The more Sa-at looked, the more confused he became. Very little of the outer fence remained, allowing him a clear view into what remained of the settlement. The buildings were so buried by greenery that it was hard to guess their true shapes. ‘Is this Sorn?’
‘I think so. Looks weird though.’
‘Where are all the people?’
‘With the Corpse—’ Tal slapped a hand over his mouth, then added, ‘—with that demon. Must be it’s eaten them all by now. If they’re lucky.’
Both boys shivered.
‘But where is it?’ asked Sa-at. The place looked deserted, aside from a few animals that had made nests in rooftops or within the abandoned houses. More than that, it felt … unclaimed. As if Sorn didn’t really belong to the Corpseman after all, like it didn’t really belong to anyone.
‘I dunno,’ mused Tal. ‘Hiding maybe? Demons have to sleep in the day.’
Crowflies took this moment to land in the tree above them, throwing back its feathered head to give a screeching laugh. Tal jumped.
‘Crowflies,’ said Sa-at quietly, smiling. He always felt a little safer when Crowflies was around.
‘Sa-aat!’
Tal glared at it. ‘Horrible thing! Get away!’
‘Don’t be like that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Crowflies is my friend.’
‘Really?’ When Sa-at nodded, he muttered, ‘It looks funny to me, even for a Birdkin.’
‘It’s a demon but it’s a nice one.’
‘There are no nice demons!’
‘Well, it saved your life once.’
‘When?’
‘When the spiders tried to put a baby inside you. Crowflies sucked it out so you wouldn’t die.’ He nodded towards the branches. ‘You should be grateful.’
Tal’s face paled but he faced the Birdkin. ‘Uh, thank you, Crowflies.’ He lowered his voice and turned back to Sa-at. ‘I still don’t see why it had to scream like that.’
&nbs
p; ‘It wasn’t screaming. It was laughing.’
‘What’s funny?’
You talking about demons like you know them, when you don’t, Sa-at thought but didn’t say. ‘Nothing.’
Crowflies laughed again, which made him feel conflicted, because now he wasn’t sure if the Birdkin was laughing with him or at him.
‘Come on,’ he said to Tal. ‘Let’s go and see if we can find any signs of the Scut—,’ he paused at the look of horror on his friends face, ‘—of the demon.’
‘Okay.’
They’d not gone far when Crowflies gave a warning screech, the kind Sa-at knew all too well. Danger.
He glanced up at the Birdkin to see which way its beak was pointing and then pushed Tal in the opposite way.
‘Wha?’
‘Sssh!’
Sa-at could see an empty kennel in front of them. Its lower door was shut but the upper one was open. He started to push faster, until Tal stumbled backwards, his legs smacking against the wood and flipping up, over, and out of sight on the other side. Sa-at dived in after him, coming to a rolling stop by the far wall. The action had forced him to open his hands. The bruises on his palm complained, and then a flurry of scents sailed from his right palm to his brain, intoxicating in their intensity. The rags here bore the barest scent of Dogkin overlaid with a tang of Mousekin droppings. There were a family of them here, he suddenly knew, two adults and at least as many children. Tal’s breath was a strong presence in the air, as was his sweat. He clenched his fist, muting but not entirely blocking the new sensory input. As he processed all of this, he heard tiny legs scurrying away, most likely the Mousekin. Sa-at didn’t bother to check, crawling low past Tal to peer through a crack in the kennel’s lower door.
His friend had the presence of mind to stay quiet, and though they couldn’t see anything at first, they soon became aware of voices. Two women, one older, one younger, engaged in lively conversation. It was hard to make out the words and a flame of curiosity lit within him. That flame only intensified as they came into view.
The first was wrapped in layers of thick fabric, appearing in many ways like a Gatherer, save for the fact that she moved differently. She wasn’t clumsy like the ones he’d seen before. She was purposeful, and something sharp glittered in her hand, like a slice of the sky.