by Peter Newman
It was all unfolding as Vasin had predicted. Yadavendra had gone, his daughter was making her bid to succeed him, and that meant it was time for Satyendra to step in. ‘Lady Yadva speaks true,’ he said. ‘There will be time to grieve later but first we must put ourselves in order.’ He looked at Yadva long enough to make her think he was on her side, just because he could. What is the use of having this power if I can’t enjoy it. ‘Therefore I propose we pick a new High Lord, here and now, and I say it should be … Lord Vasin.’
She’d been so convinced he was going to say her name that she was halfway through a nod when the meaning of his words got through. Immediately, her eyes went to the others to see how they had reacted. Lords Umed and Gada had not reacted, however, they remained on the sidelines, watching. They want to make sure they’re on the winning side and they don’t know which it is yet.
Satyendra was ready to push the issue. ‘What say you, Lady Yadva?’
‘Much as I am fond of my little cousin, I do not think he is suitable for High Lord. I’d say more, but I’m sure he doesn’t want me to elaborate, especially in company such as this.’ She gave a cold smile. ‘That is the case, isn’t it, Lord Vasin?’
What’s this? Satyendra was all ears. She has something on him. If I could learn what it is, I could control him. But it is of no use to me if Yadva takes power, or if she shares that information now.
‘It doesn’t matter what you think,’ he said.
Yadva snapped her head back to glare at him, and he added, ‘It doesn’t matter what any of us think. What matters is who is strongest here.’
‘I am,’ replied Yadva, ‘and you all know it.’
‘Prove it.’
She laughed. ‘Very well. I state my claim to be High Lord. Do any dare challenge it?’
Umed shook his head. ‘I have seen enough violence today.’
Gada was conspicuous by his silence.
I have never felt so powerful as I am in this moment, thought Satyendra. Could I face her down myself? It was tempting to try and take her alone, but such a gamble. He remembered how easily Vasin had humbled him and decided against it.
‘I challenge,’ said Vasin, though there was a resignation in his voice that did not inspire confidence.
‘Just you then,’ replied Yadva. She lifted a fist, weighing it before her as if it were a hammer.
Vasin did not take on a fighting stance. ‘There are many types of strength, cousin. Not everything is about being bigger or stronger.’
‘You only say that because you are smaller and weaker. Give up.’
‘I have Lord Rochant’s support. The others haven’t spoken yet. That places me in the position of strength.’
Her lips curled down as she considered his words, and then she hit him. Vasin bent double over her fist, then fell to his knees. ‘Do you see now, little cousin? I am the one in the position of strength, not you.’
Satyendra walked away from the empty throne and towards Yadva. However bad it would be serving Vasin, he knew serving her would be worse.
When Vasin was able to speak again, his words came out in a wheeze. ‘I do not see it.’
‘You need me to hit you again?’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t mind.’
If she attacked Vasin again, he would have to try and stop her. A part of him delighted in the thought. He wanted to test his strength, to enjoy it before it faded. He wanted them all to see.
Very slowly, Vasin pushed himself to his feet, and met Yadva’s gaze.
‘Alright then,’ she said, and swung for him.
Satyendra caught her fist before it reached Vasin. It made a meaty thwack against his palm. She snarled and pushed against him, but though his hand shook, it did not budge. An impulsive smile split his face. It was very un-Rochant of him but he couldn’t help it. I’m at least as strong as her!
‘Get off me!’ she snapped, but there was a hint of panic there, panic that tipped the odds even more in his favour.
Satyendra’s smile turned vicious, and he began to push back, forcing her arm down, one inch at a time. Perhaps he had been too hasty in his support of Vasin. A new road was revealing itself. I could take down Yadva in front of them all and become High Lord myself!
He pushed down on her and was rewarded with the sight of her knees buckling. Just a little more …
Suddenly, there was no resistance and she was falling backwards, pulling rather than pushing to take him with her. Her feet came up under his chest, lodged there, and kicked. The next thing he knew he was in the air, then spreadeagled on the floor, face down.
No! I am stronger! How is this happening?
Yadva was above him, one knee pressed hard into his back, and her hands clamped down either side of his head. ‘Withdraw your support.’
He flailed uselessly, unable to bring his strength to bear. The surging unnatural confidence evaporated, leaving him scared and in pain. He wanted to withdraw. In that moment, he wanted to very much. But Vasin knew the truth about him. If it came out, he was done for.
‘Wait,’ he gasped.
He felt the flex of her muscles, and his head hit the stone floor so hard he couldn’t see.
‘Withdraw your support,’ she repeated, raising his head again.
‘Hold!’ said Vasin. ‘Don’t kill him.’
Yadva paused. Satyendra lay insensate beneath her, his head a ripe piece of fruit between her hands, ready to be pulped.
‘Are you prepared to accept that I am stronger?’
It was a good question. Doing so would put Yadva in charge, no doubt doom his mother to final death, and lead to all kinds of personal misery. And for what? To save one life? The truth was he didn’t even like Satyendra. But to stand by and let him die like this was too much.
‘Will you promise to help House Ruby? And to never abandon our people?’
‘That depends. Do you agree to serve me as High Lord?’
He closed his eyes. I cannot win, but at least I can make House Sapphire do the right thing. He tried to speak but pride closed his throat. Why couldn’t he say the words? Was it because of his mother? Did he dare try and bargain for her life too?
‘I have reached a decision.’
It was Gada who spoke. He scooped up Yadavendra’s sapphire bladed staff and held it out to Yadva, who smiled and let go of Satyendra’s head with one hand to grasp it.
At the last second Gada pulled it back. Vasin wondered if he were just being petty but then he saw Gada had raised it to swing. The glaive connected with Yadva’s face with an almighty crack, breaking something, her nose at least, maybe her cheekbone, and she crashed to the floor. With a slight nod, Gada turned and held out the glaive. ‘I stand with Lord Rochant in support of my brother.’
‘You’d better not be about to do the same thing to me,’ said Vasin as he took it.
Gada gave him a weak smile and stepped well back as Yadva started to groan.
‘Then it is settled,’ said Umed. ‘I support you also, and recognize your authority above all others.’ He walked over to where Yadva lay. ‘That just leaves you. I implore you, end this ridiculous display and fall into line.’
‘But Uncle,’ she spluttered, sitting up to spit blood. ‘It should be me. You know it.’
‘Nonsense. You’d make a terrible High Lord. Strength has nothing to do with our current body’s condition, it has to do with the power to move others. Should Lord Gada rule because he knocked you down?’
‘No,’ she muttered, giving Gada a hate-filled look.
‘And should you rule because you knocked Lord Vasin down?’
‘Fine,’ she growled. ‘You’ve made your point. I give my support to Lord Vasin.’
Vasin held out a hand to her. ‘You mean it? We have to go forward together or not at all.’
She took it and hauled herself upright. ‘I swear it as child of the Sapphire Everlasting.’ Then, in a lower voice, she added: ‘At least you can hunt properly.’
‘Good. Now help me get Lord Rochant off the floor.’<
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‘Yes, my High Lord,’ she said.
She was talking to him. High Lord Sapphire. That was his title now. He felt dizzy with the truth of it.
Umed cleared his throat. ‘High Lord, your name must grow with your stature. What should we call you?’
The name came to his lips instantly: ‘Vasinidra.’
There was a pause. This was his first statement as High Lord, an honouring of his mother, an implicit criticism of what had been done to her.
Yadva looked shocked, Gada more so, and Umed, nodding, blinking hard to stop the tears from forming, said, ‘Then, from this day forth, Lord Vasin shall become High Lord Vasinidra. All hail Vasinidra!’
‘Vasinidra!’ shouted the others.
He took this in, noting that Satyendra, back on his feet, seemed dazed. Standing next to Yadva, it was incredible to think that one so small had been able to hold his own against her at all. Though, now he came to think of it, perhaps he wasn’t as short as all that.
‘I feared we’d have to get you a matching tattoo on the other side of your head.’ He put a hand on Satyendra’s shoulder. ‘Thank you. I won’t forget what you did here today.’
He guided Satyendra to Rochant’s throne. ‘Sit. Rest. You’ve earned it.’
‘What about the rest of us, High Lord?’ asked Umed. ‘Have we earned the right to rest too?’
Vasinidra favoured his uncle with a grim smile. ‘For today, yes. But not for long. We must prepare to hunt.’
‘Hunt where? I have heard of no sacrifices being made.’
‘That is because they were made long ago and ignored, much to our shame. We go to Sorn. It is time to clean out that old wound and let it heal.’
Despite her rapidly swelling face, Yadva perked up. ‘You mean to hunt the Scuttling Corpseman?’
‘I do.’
She laughed and wiped the blood from her cheek. ‘Maybe you won’t be such a bad High Lord after all.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Refreshed and free of the burden of the Red Brothers, Sa-at had made good time catching up the others. They carried Rochant between them, travelling in short bursts. Crowflies flew ahead, keeping out a compound eye for trouble. Now they were in the shadow of a huge mountain range, and beyond it, he could see a great block of grey in the sky. It was Rochant’s castle. The base of it looked like natural rock but on the top it had smooth walls and pointed towers, and Sa-at had never seen anything like it before and was so excited he immediately started to jump up and down. ‘You live up there? In the clouds?’
‘Yes,’ said Rochant. ‘I wasn’t exaggerating.’
Sa-at had lots of questions he wanted to ask Rochant, but it was hard to talk and carry him at the same time, so he focused on the important ones. ‘How does it fly when it doesn’t have wings?’
‘It doesn’t fly,’ replied Rochant. ‘It floats. There’s sapphire growing in the stone that is lifted by the essence currents.’
‘What’s an ess-ss-ense current?’
‘Imagine a wind that only blows certain things. If you dropped a leaf it would fall straight down, but the right kind of crystal would be carried by it.’
They walked on for a while as he digested this. ‘Who carried the rocks up there?’
‘A good question. The truth is we know far too little about how it was done. The castles were constructed at the end of the Unbroken Age, and predate all of the Deathless in House Sapphire. Only the very oldest of us know anything about that time, as the castles and the Godroads came before we did. The High Lord of House Spinel is said to have been born at the end of that era, but he lives a long way away from here and doesn’t travel, so I haven’t ever had the chance to ask him. Perhaps, when things are calmer, I’ll ask for permission to visit.’
‘If you go, can I come with you?’
‘We’ll see. One journey at a time.’
The morning moved into afternoon, the three suns pale discs behind a curtain of cloud. They were walking alongside the Godroad, keeping to the edge of the trees. Though Tal was nowhere near as fast as Sa-at, and clumsy, there was no doubting his tenacity. He bore the brunt of Rochant’s weight without complaint, his pace unchanging, steady.
Crowflies screeched in the distance.
‘Is someone coming?’ asked Tal.
‘Yes,’ Sa-at replied, frowning. ‘But …’
‘But what?’
‘I don’t know. Crowflies sounds odd. I can’t tell if its excited or worried.’
‘We shouldn’t take any chances,’ said Rochant. ‘My enemies won’t brave the Godroad, but they have agents who will.’
Tal started dragging him towards the trees, leaving Sa-at standing alone. He scratched at the scar on his knuckle, frowning at the shape materializing on the Godroad. It was an old wagon, drawn by a giant five-legged Dogkin, with fur as white as the snow on the mountaintops.
Crowflies came down to land at Sa-at’s side. It looked from him, to the wagon and back again. ‘Sa-aat.’
‘What is it?’
The Birdkin began to sing a lullaby, one of his favourites. A strange sensation began to rise in his chest, as if too many feelings were coming all at once, and had got stuck trying to get out.
As the wagon got closer, he could see people sitting on it. One of them was a man, pale and broad shouldered, his eyes intent on the road. The other was a woman, with long dark hair. She was looking at him.
He took a step towards her as if it was the most natural thing in the world, his foot sinking into the thick mulch of dead leaves and bark that formed the dead zone between Wild and Godroad.
Crowflies continued to sing.
He would run to her. If he were quick, he could reach the wagon before it went past.
The woman on the wagon raised a tentative hand.
Sa-at went to do the same, just as Tal returned and grabbed his shoulders.
‘Get down!’ he hissed.
Before Sa-at could reply, he was pushed face first into the thick muddy dirt.
It was the strangest sight. Her Satyendra was standing there. Right there! He was wrapped in black feathers like the one that grew from the back of her head, and his long hair was blowing in the wind.
‘Varg, we have to stop.’
‘What’s up?’
‘Look, it’s my Satyendra. Look!’ Varg turned to her, concern written into his lined face. ‘No, not at me, over there.’ She pointed, and Varg dutifully followed her finger.
‘There’s nothing there.’
‘Yes there is, there’s—’ She stopped talking. Varg was right, there was nothing but trees as far as the eye could see. ‘But he was right there.’
‘He can’t be, Chand. He’s dead.’
For a moment, she fought the truth of what he was saying, so strong was the feeling in her heart. The facts were relentless, however: Satyendra was dead, and that long hair that she loved so much had been cut away by her own hand. It could not be him. This is the Wild’s doing. It is playing tricks on me. The last time she had come here, it had been the Whispercage that lurked on the periphery of her vision. Now it seemed the ghost of her son had taken its place.
The Godroad was quiet and calm. She’d been bracing herself for the black feather to turn to ash or burst into flames, taking her hair with it, but nothing had happened. She didn’t understand how the taint had caused Satyendra so much pain and yet done nothing to her. Surely I am just as corrupted as he was?
They travelled on for a time. It occurred to her that she’d never specified exactly where she wanted to go, and Varg hadn’t asked. The truth was, she didn’t know, but hoped she would when she saw it.
One of Varg’s arms was over her shoulder, and one of hers around his waist, clamping them together by mutual assent. He was solid, something she could hold onto. During Lord Rochant’s absence, she had been the one to keep order, and she had done so alone.
It is so good to be held. I wish I could stay this way forever.
‘The suns’ll go down before we ge
t anywhere useful,’ said Varg. ‘Do you want to set up a camp or go on through the night?’
‘When the suns go down, I have to go too.’
‘Why not wait one night? We’ve only just found each other again.’
‘Because if I wait one night, I might never have the strength to go.’
‘I’m okay with that.’
She reached up to touch his face. ‘I … I can’t, Varg. Please don’t make this any harder for me.’
‘I don’t understand you Sapphire, an’ I don’t get why you’re following such a stupid order. If Pari told me to do something like this, I’d tell her to piss off.’
Chandni didn’t say anything about this being more to do with the nature of true authority, or that Lord Rochant Sapphire could hardly be compared to Lady Pari Tanzanite. ‘I made a deal with the Wild and now I have to pay the price. That’s just the way it is.’
He set his jaw in a way she didn’t like. ‘Then I’m going to pay it with you.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I made a deal too, with Fiya, so I could stay in that tree, remember? I’m just as bad as you.’
Chandni had made that same deal. With horror, she realized that she’d never mentioned it to Lord Rochant. How lost must I be that a deal with the Wild becomes trivial? Forgettable? But then, compared to the others, it was trivial. A little hair was nothing, compared to giving up her own blood and nails, or the blood of another …
‘I don’t think you’re as bad as me, Varg. Believe it or not, in some ways, I think you’re better.’ She sighed. ‘But you must make your own choices.’ He squeezed her closer to him and she added: ‘I wish you were somewhere else, with someone else, where you could be happy, but … I am glad you’re here.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yes.’
If she could have stopped time and stayed on the wagon, she would have. However, the suns continued to cross the sky, preparing to set in all their inexorable cruelty.
‘Here,’ she said.
Varg brought the wagon to a stop. ‘You wait on the Godroad,’ he said to Glider.