by Peter Newman
The second was shorter, and unlike anyone Sa-at had ever seen. It took a while for him to identify what it was, at least in part because when he caught a glimpse of her dark face he found it hard to think anything at all. But as they continued on, heading deeper into the Wild, he realized what it was: she seemed at ease. He’d never seen another human look like that before and it was mesmerizing.
He was just starting to follow when Tal’s hand landed on one shoulder, and Crowflies landed on the other. The Birdkin made itself uncharacteristically small and buried itself into the crook of his neck.
‘What are you doing?’ Hissed Tal.
‘I …’ he crouched back down again. ‘Did you see her?’
‘Which one?’
‘The one that had lips like Fortune’s Eye.’
‘Yeah.’
‘She was …’
Tal nodded, blushing. ‘Yeah.’
‘We could talk to them.’
Tal gripped his shoulder more tightly. ‘No!’
‘Sa-aat!’ croaked Crowflies in agreement.
‘But I … why not?’
‘Gold faces? Sapphire weapons? At least one of them is Deathless. It don’t do to get in their way.’
‘Deathless? I thought they were bigger and made of sunslight?’
‘Not always. Sometimes they go small like us. Thing is, this is House Sapphire land and I don’t know any Sapphire Deathless that have golden lips. And that other one might be a Hunter but she didn’t have no wings. We should keep hidden, there’s probably more of them about.’
‘They seemed nice,’ he murmured.
‘Not to us they wouldn’t. One look at my ears and your hand and we’d be goners. Don’t think they’d take too kindly to your demon either.’
Sa-at flopped down, cradling Crowflies in his arms. He’d never seen the Birdkin behave that way before. It was scared, and that scared him.
They waited until the women were long gone before leaving the kennel. Crowflies seemed to have recovered itself, and took up a perch high up in the trees, scanning the streets with its compound eyes before announcing it was safe. Sa-at moved to the place where he’d seen the women and crouched down. The ground was hard here so there wasn’t much in the way of tracks, but he was able to discern which way they’d gone and from that which direction they’d come from.
He looked longingly for them but there was no sign of either woman now, their shapes already lost to the dark beneath the trees.
‘We should go before they come back,’ said Tal.
He sighed, hearing the wisdom in his head but nowhere else as he turned back towards Sorn. ‘Come on then.’
They kept to the buildings, ever-watchful, but saw no sign of other hunters or Deathless. Sa-at was relieved and disappointed in equal measure.
‘Where are we going?’ Asked Tal.
‘To see where they came from.’
‘I didn’t see any travel bags. Might be they’ve got a carriage or something nearby.’
Sa-at’s eyes widened in delight. ‘What kind of things will they have?’
‘Don’t know but— No! You can’t go taking a Deathless’s things.’
‘Why?’
‘You just can’t!’
Sa-at nodded. ‘We won’t just steal. I know the ways.’
‘No. You give to Deathless, you don’t take. That’s the way it works.’
He nodded but didn’t say any more, because he was determined to have a look and suspected Tal would be against that too.
One of the houses caught his eye. Like the others, it was run down and under siege from the Wild, but the door was clear of vegetation. He stopped and told Tal to wait while he had a closer look.
Tal put a hand on his arm. ‘Be careful, yeah?’
The gesture set a little tremble in Sa-at’s heart. He cares for me. He is my friend. ‘I will.’
He approached the house from the side. Someone had set a trap there but Sa-at had grown up in the Wild, and so he always attended to where he placed his feet. The door was not locked and it was easy for him to slip though. There wasn’t much to see inside, but there were some interesting smells in the air. Despite some slight misgivings, he opened his right hand.
The air was musty, and smelled of damp wood mixed with unwashed clothes. Under all of this was a subtle aroma of fruit-laced drink, that he was able to connect to an empty bottle that had been set in a corner. People had eaten here, but the food smelled odd, almost fiery in a way that made his palm tingle and his mouth water. Most exciting of all was a subtle fragrance of apples and spices that he knew, just knew, had to belong to the mysterious young women with the golden lips.
Sa-at crept across the room to another door. He could hear very soft breathing from the other side and when he placed his palm by the gap beneath, he detected another person smell, different to the ones in the room: male, sickly.
Very slowly, he inched the door open, waiting after each one for a change in the breathing. It was so regular, he became convinced the occupant was asleep, and risked putting his head through.
A man was inside. He too had dark skin – like my own! – and he could see an elaborate gold tattoo, a spiderwebbing zigzag of lines on the right side of the man’s face. For reasons Sa-at could not understand, the man’s head was strapped to the wall. And something was wrong with him, deeply wrong, like an animal that had something broken inside and was waiting for death.
He was so still that it took a while for Sa-at to realize that his eyes were open just a crack, and staring right at him. He froze, then began to slide back out of the room.
The man tried to speak but his mouth was stuffed with fabric. On a sudden impulse, Sa-at dashed forward and pulled it out before dashing back to the door again.
‘Please,’ said the man, ‘don’t go.’
Generally, in the Wild, one either kept away from dying creatures or fed on them. He suspected he should run. The man’s apparent helplessness did little to put him at ease, and there was something about him that seemed dangerous. Keeping a hold of the door should he need to close it in a hurry, Sa-at tried to find his words.
‘It isn’t often I get visitors.’ The man’s voice was so raw, it sounded like it hurt him to talk. ‘Come a little closer so I might see you properly.’
Sa-at shook his head.
‘Fair enough.’ He closed his eyes.
Now that Sa-at had been here for a little longer, his palm was telling him other things too. Something terrible had happened in this place, it reeked of pain. Sa-at couldn’t follow the translation from scent to emotion clearly, but he knew that someone, most likely the man, had suffered here. He was still afraid to enter the room properly, but he found he didn’t want to leave either. Caught between pity and wariness, he remained where he was until his heart, unable to maintain its tension indefinitely, began to settle.
‘Hello,’ he said softly.
The man’s right eye cracked open. ‘He speaks!’
‘Yes.’
‘Does he have a name?’
‘Yes.’ Sa-at pointed a finger. ‘You first.’
‘Ah, interesting. So you are not with my captors then?’
‘Is that a demon?’
The man made a barking sound and Sa-at wondered if he was getting ready to die. ‘Of a kind, I suppose. But no, not a demon as you would think of one. A captor is one that holds another prisoner. Did you know I was a prisoner?’
Sa-at shook his head.
‘Now you do.’
He ducked out of the room back into the main part of the house and picked through the things there until he found some bottles of water. Then he went back to the man and offered one to him. When it became apparent the man couldn’t take it, Sa-at put it to his lips.
‘Thank you. I still don’t know your name.’
He was just about to answer, then frowned. ‘You first.’
‘Very good! I think you and I are going to get on. My name is Lord Rochant, child of the Sapphire Everlasting.’
‘Does that mean you’re a Deathless?’
‘It does.’
‘Why are you here?’
‘That is a long story. The simple answer is that my enemies caught me and brought me here.’
Sa-at thought for a moment. ‘I could help you.’
‘I hope so. I could certainly use some help though between us, I wish you’d come here fifteen years earlier.’
‘Sorry.’
‘No need to apologize.’ His other eye opened and he peered at Sa-at. ‘I doubt you were much more than a babe then.’
‘Do you know about the Scuttling Corpseman?’
There was a pause, then: ‘Yes. Oh yes, I know more about the Corpseman than any living thing.’
Sa-at smiled. ‘Good. Tell me.’
‘And what will I get in return?’
‘What do you want?’
‘I was going to say death but you can’t very well kill me and then expect me to answer your questions, can you?’
Sa-at frowned. It sounded like Rochant was asking a question and yet at the same time like he wasn’t.
‘How about this,’ he continued. ‘You get me away from here and then I will answer your questions about the Corpseman.’
‘Swear.’
‘And do you swear to get me to safety and keep me safe from my enemies?’
This seemed oddly familiar to him, like making deals in the Wild. ‘If you swear to answer my questions truthfully.’
‘On my blood, I swear it.’
‘What about your bones?’
Rochant’s eyebrows raised slightly. ‘What are you?’ he said softly, then, louder: ‘I swear it, on my blood, bones and Deathless soul.’
‘I hear it and swear it on my blood and bones.’
Outside, the trees rustled, and he knew the oath had been heard.
‘Good,’ said Rochant. ‘Now you best help me up, we need to be gone before my enemies return.’
‘Is the Corpseman here?’
‘There isn’t time to get into that now.’
‘You swore!’
Rochant sighed. ‘Not here in Sorn, no, but close by. Can we go now?’
‘Yes.’
He undid the straps around Rochant’s head and waist, and was alarmed when his head flopped forward, too heavy for his weak neck to support. ‘I’m afraid I can’t move my arms or legs,’ said Rochant. ‘You’re going to have to carry me.’
‘Okay.’
Though Rochant was much taller, there was little weight to him, the man seeming to be made more of rags and bone than flesh. Sa-at slung one of his limp arms over his shoulder and dragged him towards the door.
They were met there by Tal, who was running over, stick at the ready. ‘You’re back! Thank the thrice blessed suns!’
‘Who is that?’ asked Rochant by his ear.
‘Who is that?’ asked Tal, clumping to a stop in front of them.
Before Sa-at had time to answer either of them, he heard a sharp twang from Tal’s feet, and then a bell began to ring inside the house. The noise was high and resonant, making all three of them jump.
A beat later, the nearby leaves rippled as if disturbed by the wind, and the chimes of the bell echoed in their rustling, passed from one tree to another like a wave.
‘Oh no!’ said Tal.
‘Run!’ said Rochant.
‘Sa-aat!’ called Crowflies three times, and Sa-at knew what it meant: Run. Run. Run.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Vasin forced a hard march along the Godroad back to the Ruby High Lord’s castle, desperate to discharge his duty and return to his mother. As soon as they’d dropped off the tributes at Fourboards, he’d moved them on again, allowing only the briefest time for the elders to offer thanks. Quasim made his disappointment about this clear, but Vasin ignored him, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to indulge egos.
We’ve been plotting all this time focusing on Rochant and never once thought that the Corpseman might be acting outside of Sapphire lands. It’s had sixteen years to prepare! Perhaps longer. Perhaps it’s been working on this for generations. I have to get back to mother and face Rochant again. Together, we can get the truth out of him.
‘Lord Vasin!’ called Quasim. ‘Slow down, my courageous friend.’
‘No, we keep this pace.’
The Peridot Deathless gestured to the bedraggled line behind them. ‘I’m not sure all of us can.’
One look at the hunters showed Quasim was right. Many of them were caked in mud from head to toe, moving awkwardly from injuries sustained during the fight in the swamp. Lord Lakshin trailed at the back, though Vasin suspected that was partly to avoid his gaze. The Opal Deathless had said little since the battle but there had been a marked change in attitude. Gone was his sneer and air of superiority, replaced with a frosty politeness which did little to hide his shame.
I’ve seen him now and he knows it.
With a sigh, Vasin stopped. ‘I’m going on ahead and ask that you take my flight of hunters under your care.’
‘But why? Why the rush? We should walk together, sing together, enjoy the shared glow of our victory.’
‘You call this victory?’
Quasim laughed. ‘Of course! Have you ever seen so many Murkers in one place? I haven’t.’ He slapped Vasin on the arm, the peridot gauntlet chiming merrily against the sapphire bracer. ‘Yet we dispatched them, in style, saved both of the tributes, and took down a Weeper. A great day indeed. And here was me worried that a late morning hunt would scare off the prey!’
‘It’s true, but we were careless in our duty. We outnumbered them but lost four Ruby hunters.’ Hunters Anuja entrusted to me, he added silently. ‘And how many of your own are fit to fly again tomorrow? How many of Lord Lakshin’s? I look down that line and see tired faces, bruised bodies and chipped wings. What if another hunt is called for? What numbers could we field then?’
‘You underestimate the Peridot spirit, Lord Vasin. My hunters will fly whenever they are needed.’
‘And Lord Lakshin’s? They fell from the sky with the grace of hailstones. It’s a wonder they’re alive.’
‘Hmm, well, I can’t speak for them,’ he added hastily.
‘I say again: today, we outnumbered them. But look around you, think of your time in the sky. The Wild is vast. Our people live in tiny stretches along the Godroad. All of them together, even if you include every road-born and sky-born across the seven houses, are nothing compared to what lurks out there.’
‘Hah, one of us is worth ten of them.’
‘What if a hundred came for every one of us? Or a thousand?’
‘Yes, if the whole Wild was to rise up together, that might be a problem.’ He paused, then grinned. ‘A glorious problem we would crush!’ Vasin shook his head in anger and Quasim held up a hand. ‘I see this troubles you but fear not, my noble friend. The demons of the Wild are terrifying, but most are little better than animals, and the clever ones stay well away in the deep places.’
‘And if that changed?’
Quasim scowled for a moment, then said, in an unnecessarily loud voice: ‘Then we would hunt them as we have ever done. There aren’t enough demons in the world to blunt my sword.’
Vasin sighed. ‘I have to go.’
‘Stay, please. Even with your determined stride, you won’t get back much faster than us. I haven’t had a chance to hear how you stopped the Weeper yet.’
‘I’m not planning to walk.’
‘What? Even you can’t fly back from a standing start.’
For the first time that day, Vasin found himself smiling, a bit of his old self resurfacing. ‘Watch me.’
He started to run, every step made longer and higher by his Sky-legs. The energies of the Godroad pulsed beneath him, giving each bound even more lift than usual. Behind him he could hear Quasim laughing, but it sounded good natured, even excited.
Unlike in the Wild, the essence currents around the Godroad were strong and constant. If one knew the right wa
y to cut into them, it was possible to generate tremendous power quickly, enough to turn fall into flight. The problem was that if the approach wasn’t perfect, he would plant his face into the Godroad in front of his peers, and a new song of Vasin would be sung, one he’d never live down. But he wasn’t worried. Wrapped in his armour, working in his element, Vasin feared nothing.
When he had as much height as he could manage, he dived hard, catching the essence beneath his wings and compressing it under them so that it was trapped between him and the Godroad. In the space between them, the essence became so concentrated it began to fizz.
Skimming only inches from the surface of the Godroad, Vasin’s vision was a blur of dancing sparks, red and blue. Then there was a flash, and Vasin was driven into the air, accompanied by roars of delight from Quasim and the hunters. He gave them a quick salute and set his course for the castle, floating high above.
An hour later, he was striding through the corridors of the castle, wishing they were wider. Even twisting his body, he worried that his wings would chip on the stone. It was bad form not to go direct to the Gardener-smiths to have them removed, even worse form to barge in on another Deathless armoured, armed and caked in swamp muck. But he told himself there was no time to lose.
Despite his haste, he could not help but think of his own High Lord, and the uncomfortable feeling that from the outside his behaviour would seem like a mirror to Yadavendra’s. But by then he was committed.
Anuja received him without comment in the main throne room, though her expression made it clear he’d better have something important to say.
‘The hunt was a success,’ he began, and though she nodded, none of the tension left her. ‘Both tributes survived. We faced unprecedented numbers of Murkers and a Weeper.’
‘How many did we lose?’
‘Four hunters were lost, my lady.’ He forced himself to hold her gaze. ‘All from my flight.’
The gold around her eye flashed as she nodded. ‘And the other flights?’
‘Alive, though the Opals have a lot of injuries. Can we speak freely here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why didn’t you warn me about the others? I’ve never hunted with such a …’ he forced himself to think, to try and remember the close ties between the three minor houses and be polite. He failed. ‘Lord Quasim has skill but all the restraint of a hungry Dogkin at dinnertime, and Lord Lakshin is possibly even worse in the sky than my brother!’