THE BOUNDLESS
Peter Newman

Copyright

HarperVoyager

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Copyright © Peter Newman 2020

Cover illustration © Chris Tulloch McCabe

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Peter Newman asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008229085

Ebook Edition © May 2020 ISBN: 9780008229108

Version: 2019-05-21

Dedication

To Phil

For not letting go

Contents

Cover

Title page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Also by Peter Newman

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

Beneath Lord Rochant’s floating castle was a great chasm in the earth. It was said that it had no end. From it, tendrils of misty essence rose, sometimes in thick belches, sometimes in finger-thin strands, but constant. Every castle of the Deathless was built above a crack in the earth such as this one, for only in these places was the updraught of essence strong enough to hold them in place in the sky.

In the past, a few people had tried exploring them, along with a couple of unfortunates who had fallen in by accident. None returned. And so, for a thousand years, all sensible souls gave the chasm a wide berth.

Lady Pari Tanzanite could be said to be many things, but sensible was not one of them.

She and her brother, Lord Arkav Tanzanite, dived down together, like twin stars in their glowing armour. Though it protected them and provided light to see, it also presented a problem: The tanzanite plates had been fitted to their bodies and given fine, curving wings designed to catch the currents and ride them. The armour wanted to fly, not fall. In fact, it was a common trick of the Deathless to use the strong currents around their castles to gain height for a hunt.

To compensate for this, both Pari and Arkav each held onto a length of chain that had been wrapped several times around a heavy chunk of stone. Unlike the tanzanite, the stone did not interact with the otherworldly currents, it fell as surely as if they weren’t there, dragged down by gravity.

The stone had been provided by the Bringers of Endless Order, who had their own reasons for supporting the venture. Their theory had been sound, the stone more than heavy enough to pull Pari and Arkav along with it.

What they hadn’t considered was how it might feel to inhabit the fragile flesh being acted upon by two opposing forces.

Pari had a good mind to educate the Bringers if they got back.

When, thought Pari. When we get back. Oh yes, then I’ll tell those masked fools a thing or two.

Luckily her armour mitigated the worst of the aches in her arm. It was not so much that she didn’t feel it, more that she was above the petty demands of her current body, able to note them but not be enslaved by them. Of more concern was the strain being placed on her wings. She turned her head to look at them, then at Arkav’s. Though both sets trembled in a way she hadn’t seen before, they seemed to be holding. She made a mental note to buy something extravagant for their Gardener-smiths if they made it back.

When we make it back. Stay optimistic, Pari!

The bravado had been easy when she’d been standing on the chasm’s edge. Exalted in her armour, emboldened by it, she had decided that she would be strong for her brother. A petty part of her had enjoyed showing off to the Bringers as well. It was rare to see the mysterious figures outside of the context of rebirth, and informative too. When not united by the rules of ritual, they were as divided and flawed as everyone else.

Now though, reality was sinking in.

At some point, several lifecycles ago, Arkav’s soul had journeyed where they were heading, as all their souls did when between lives. Somewhere down there, in that unknown oblivion, a demon had snared him and bitten off a piece of his soul, leaving a hole behind. And though most of Arkav continued to be reborn, life after life, there had been something missing since then. An absence that had become a kind of abscess, festering and damaging him from within.

They were going to get that piece of his soul back, to restore her brother to the brilliant, smiling man he’d once been. Either that, or die in the attempt.

And they could die here. Not just these bodies either. If their souls fell too far from the world, it was even possible that their Godpieces would not be able to bring them back. It was also possible that the demons waiting down below could steal their souls or tear them to shreds or …

Pari rolled her eyes. She was damned if she was going to let any of those things happen.

The walls of the chasm were smooth, pale grey and mostly featureless. It disguised how fast they were moving, and created the lie that, perhaps, they weren’t really moving at all. She was grateful for the odd crack as it flashed past, as it provided evidence of their progress.

With effort, she looked back over her shoulder, and was shocked to find she could no longer see the sky. There was only a distant blackness above, pinpricked by tiny points of golden light.

‘Watch for our lights,’ the lead Bringer had said. ‘There will be seven, no more, no less. Only they will guide you home.’

She’d been mustering her courage at the time and had taken their words at face value. But now she thought about it, there was some subtext here she wished she’d explored. Were the Bringers suggesting there might be other lights down in the depths? Tricks to lure the unwary? And if so, how did they know? Supposedly nobody had ever come back.

No, thought Pari. The Bringers didn’t say that. They said the last attempt to retrieve a piece of soul from the demons and rejoin it had failed. That isn’t the same thing. I’ll bet somebody did come back, and I’d also bet that the Bringers know more than they’ve told us.

On they went, faster and faster, deeper and deeper, with no end to the chasm in sight. There were changes though. The colours of the essence strands were richer here, and she fancied that she could see the remains of shapes, as if, below them, someone were making fine pieces of essence art that slowly distorted as they rose.

Another realization: The chasm walls were getting further apart. She’d been worried about the opposite, of getting stuck or crushed or smashed to pieces if the chasm narrowed. But this was alarming in its own way. As the walls receded, so too did her sense of scale, of space.

They were falling through the mists now. It reminded her of flying through low clouds, except the ones here were more vividly coloured – purples and greens and yellows, rather than greys and whites – and that they seemed to slide round each other rather than mix together.

She looked across to Arkav, worried about how he would be faring, but her brother’s face was turned away from her, his expression hidden behind the crystal helmet. He’d noticed something she hadn’t: A silvery thread of essence, bright but small, travelling in the same direction as them.

What is that? she thought and as if in answer heard her brother say in wonder:

‘It’s a soul.’

It too was getting easier to see with the naked eye.

A soul? A human soul? A shiver went through her. Is it aware of us? When did it die? Has it been falling alongside us since the start, invisible?

The walls had gone from sight, and she didn’t risk looking up again, for fear that even the dark above would be gone, and the Bringer’s lights with them.

And things felt … different. Her instincts told her this, but she couldn’t rationalize them at first. They were still moving just as fast, the rock punching a hole through the essence clouds as they plunged after it. But there, just visible through the mists, was a …

Pari had no idea what it was.

She wanted to say it was a wall but it was too thin to be a wall, and shadowy things were visible through it, thrashing about. She wanted to say it was a window, but its surface was in motion. She wanted it to be something fixed, solid, but she knew, deep down, that it wasn’t.

It’s like the surface of a lake. It’s like the outer skin of a bubble. It’s … And some old part of her soul knew exactly what it was because she’d been here before, many times, between lives.

It’s a gateway.

And we’re coming towards it awfully fast …

Pari wondered what would happen if they hit it. Would it catch them? Would they break on its surface or go through? She had no way of knowing what the right thing to do was. They were in uncharted territory. However, there were really only two options: Keep hold of the chain or let it go.

The Bringers had said that Arkav’s presence would draw out the demon with the stolen piece of his soul, and so far, they had seen no demons. Given that neither of them was about to go back empty handed, that meant there was little to do but grip the chain tightly, and hope.

In the last seconds before impact, she thought she could hear something, hard to make out over the rushing of the wind in her ears, but definitely there: Voices speaking from the other side. Their whisperings were muffled by the gateway but not entirely blocked. Pari had just enough time to feel curious and then she was bracing herself.

The stone passed through the surface of the gateway without even a ripple. The chain just as smoothly. A second later Pari’s gauntlet made contact. It felt as if she’d struck a flag being held at each corner by a group of servants. It formed around her fist like a second skin, then her arm, her shoulder, the surface of the gateway continuing to give, bending around her and Arkav, smothering, stretching, thinning. Tight.

There was a flash of light, followed by a tearing that she felt as much as heard, and then they were through.

Much of their momentum had been stolen by the gateway, leaving them to drift on the other side. The stone no longer pulled at her arm, rather, it hung horizontally from the end of the chain, aimless. No currents of essence moved them here, no gravity. There were no colourful clouds. Nothing at all. She was neither flying nor falling, but floating, in a place without up or down, without rules.

Though her arm was a little stiff, she was otherwise unharmed. Arkav was still next to her, a blue-violet glow in the shape of a man. She raised her hand to him and gave a little wave.

There was the slightest bit of resistance in the air and, when she squinted, she could make out some weak essence vapours. Not enough to fly with, but perhaps enough to navigate in some way. They boiled away at her touch, giving her a shimmering aura.

She saw the same thing around Arkav when he waved back but his attention wasn’t on her, it was on the gateway. Following his gaze, she realized that after they’d come through, the gateway had snapped back to its original shape, wobbling back and forth as it slowly shrugged off the violence of their arrival, settling. She couldn’t see any cracks or tears. Whatever hole they’d made to come through had been sealed tight.

The silvery soul slipped through to join them. Though the gateway did not react visibly, she heard a noise, like the ringing of a large, dolorous bell.

On their side of the gateway, dark shapes clustered around the point of entry. She found them hard to classify. Like clouds crossed with Snakekin, crossed with Spiderkin, crossed with shadows. They varied in size. The smallest no larger than her leg, the biggest several times her size. As she looked around, she saw more of them, more than she could count. They fell upon the little piece of silver, snaring it, ripping it, fighting over the scraps.

Slivers of light slipped down many throats, each one squirming, alive with anguish. There was a last moment of fractured agony. Then it was gone.

Pari’s heart wrenched at the sight.

The poor bastard didn’t have a chance.

As soon as the creatures had finished devouring every last wisp, they began to gather around the edges of the light cast by her and her brother’s armour. Their close proximity both repulsed and intrigued her.

And I know I’ve seen them before. Many times. And they’ve seen me …

They were the source of the whispers she used to hear between lives. On this side of the gateway they were louder but remained hard to make out. The creatures all spoke at once, muddying each other’s words.

Nevertheless, they were using words. Normal, recognizable words. And after a while she could see that on their dark hides, there were many slits. Some like flapping gills, others like embryonic lips, struggling to open. For now, none of the creatures were coming closer. Most simply hung there, watching, while others circled the perimeter of her aura, as if looking for a way in.

She motioned for Arkav to let go of the chain. There was no need to say anything, her brother had always been able to read her intent. When he’d done so, she gently wound her chain around her arm, making a loop from hand to elbow as she winched in the stone. It came back easily, lighter than a kite.

Meanwhile, more of the creatures gathered, their whispering growing in intensity.

‘Arkav, do you feel anything? Do you think your soul is being held by one of these …’ she gestured to the dark shapes all around them. ‘Demons?’

He shook his head. ‘Not close by, but I do feel a tugging in my chest.’

‘Which way is it tugging you?’

‘I don’t know.’

She experimentally opened her hand and waved it from left to right in front of her, like a paddle. There was resistance again, less than if she’d run it through a pool of water, but enough to make her body turn a little.

‘Having fun?’ asked Arkav.

‘Of course. I always love going to new places.’ She pulled her hand back again, and was gratified to find herself rotating to her original position. ‘It would be slow-going, but I think we could swim through this place if we had to.’

He held up a hand for quiet. She soon realized why. The whisperings had ceased, and the creatures had stopped circling. The only movement, a rippling of fissures on their skin. They hadn’t been prowling around her as she’d first thought, they had been filling in the gaps, arranging themselves around them to form an imperfect bubble of flesh, with her and Arkav in the middle. She had the horrible sense that something bad was about to happen.

Arkav must have felt the same because he’d shifted into a battle-ready stance. He wasn’t armed. Priyamvada, High Lord of the Tanzanite, had forbidden him weapons until his condition had improved. Admittedly, when she’d given the order, she’d been sending Arkav on a diplomatic mission, rather than a dangerous foray into the unknown.

Pari readied the great chunk of stone, unsure whether to use it as a shield or to throw it at any creatures that got too close.

‘It’s coming,’ said Arkav.

He didn’t need to elaborate. She was very good at reading him too. He means the missing piece of his soul is coming. And that means that whatever has it is coming too.

Surrounded as they were by a writhing sphere of shadow-skinned monstrosities, they couldn’t see anything approaching. Pari opted for cautious readiness, she and Arkav gathered for action, but neither of them moved. The creatures seemed to be taking the same approach.

Unified in tension, they all waited.

She felt it in her stomach first. As if she’d ingested some great and heavy meal that was sitting uncomfortably within. Then she noted the thin vapours around her shifting. It was slow, very slow, but she was moving. Not just her either, but Arkav too, and the living sphere of monsters, all of them were travelling at exactly the same speed, drawn along by some invisible force.

‘Pari, I feel like we’re in a trap.’

She adopted her sweetest, most sarcastic voice. ‘Really? Such insight, brother. Whatever revelations will you come up with next?’

‘We need to take control of the situation.’

‘Can you be any more specific?’

‘… No. I just … I need to get out of here! Now!’

And by that he means I need to do something brilliant.

She decided to experiment with the stone first. She threw it towards the demons directly in front of her, keeping hold of one end of the chain so that she could pull it back if need be. Just as it had with the gateway, the stone passed through them without resistance. The demons neither moved nor reacted to the stone.

She let go of the chain, and that too passed through them and out of sight.

Fine. Let’s try something else.

With a single stroke of her arms, she swam forwards, closing the gap between her and the demons. She’d noticed that they’d left a uniform space around her and Arkav, and wanted to see what would happen if she changed it. As the light of her aura intensified, she saw the bodies of the nearest demons begin to smoke. They writhed and wriggled, like a Purefish that had been pulled from a river, but they did not break formation.

Interesting. Our armour is poison to these demons just as it is to the ones in the Wild above.

She uncoiled the whip at her side and flicked it out so that the barb of sharpened tanzanite on the end would make contact. After many lifecycles’ practice, her aim was perfect and the barb embedded in the demon’s hide.

This time there was a reaction.

At the point of contact, she saw a section of the demon simply evaporate. Lines of light scorched outward from the initial wound, searing across its body, dividing it into separate chunks that burned and burned until there was nothing left. Beyond it she saw another piece of living dark, another demon, settling in to fill the gap.

She also heard whispers, quieter than before, but she was very close now and able to pick up the odd word.

‘… Fixed …’

‘… Pain …’

‘… Prisoners …’

‘Arkav,’ she said. ‘Come closer.’

He paddled awkwardly to her side. ‘What is it?’

‘Listen. Can you hear them?’

He edged still closer, and she saw the demons squirm even more. Time passed and Arkav said nothing. She knew he was attending to the demons and she dearly wished for his insight. However, she also knew they were still moving.

‘Arkav?’

‘I think something else is holding them here against their will.’

‘I heard them say prisoners before. Do you think they’re talking about themselves?’

‘No. That’s not right … I think that’s how they refer to us.’

She looked at the nearest demon. ‘I am Lady Pari, child of the Tanzanite Everlasting. If you can understand me, say something.’

‘… Burning …’

‘Sorry about that. If you let us out, we’ll stop burning you.’

‘… Fixed …’

Arkav shook his head. ‘They can’t let us out. They don’t have a choice.’

‘Don’t make me feel sorry for these demons, Arkav. Things are bad enough as it is.’

His head jerked down and to the left. ‘We’re too late. It’s here.’

Vasinidra had ordered the hunt but the castle was eerily quiet. No drums played. The castle did not sing. It was a liminal time, caught between mourning the death of the old High Lord and celebrating the rise of the new one: Him. Yesterday he had been Vasin, a lord of the Sapphire Deathless. Now he was head of the house, with a new name to go with his new title: High Lord Vasinidra Sapphire. Nobody knew quite how to behave, nor how to act on a hunting day without the ancient traditions to guide them. For all that, Vasinidra felt oddly calm. Usually, he was a bundle of nerves on the morning of a hunt, the anticipation growing until the release of flight and action. Today was different. He was different.

Long ago, the village of Sorn had made a sacrifice and it had gone unanswered. Because of that, many had died or been dragged into the Wild, and the Scuttling Corpseman roamed their land unchecked.

So many things to set right: Mother. The threat of the Scuttling Corpseman. Aiding House Ruby before it crumbles. Clearing up the mess Yadavendra left behind. What to do about the false Lord Rochant? For that matter, what to do about the real one when he emerges again? And do I truly trust Gada or Yadva to support me?

He paused for a moment. Without the drums, it was hard to know when he should leave. Then, his face split into a grin and he laughed aloud.

Whatever time I choose will be the right one. They will all keep pace with me now.

He was just about to go when he heard a familiar voice singing for entrance; his brother, Gada. Vasinidra waved him inside, and noted Gada was dressed as he was, in tight silks that would fit under their armour. His hair was pulled into a topknot, making the long face seem even longer.

‘I won’t keep you, High Lord. I merely wished to offer my congratulations again, and speak privately on a matter close to both our hearts.’

It was odd seeing Gada be so deferent but Vasinidra could not bring himself to direct his brother to do otherwise. This was one perk he would happily get used to. ‘Thank you for your support, though in future, if you could act before Yadva hits me, I’d appreciate it.’

Gada’s eyebrow twitched but his face remained solemn. ‘Does it hurt badly?’

He nodded, remembering the violence that had preceded his promotion. His stomach ached where she’d struck, his neck felt tender, and with the pain came a memory, of being lifted off the floor by Yadavendra, his predecessor. His uncle.

‘I suspect the bruises will follow me to my next lifecycle.’

‘Ah.’

‘What was this other matter?’

‘Mother, of course. How is she?’

‘The years have been hard on her, but she endures. She’s in Sorn. After we’ve dealt with the Corpseman, I’m going to bring her home.’

‘Might I counsel you to wait. Her return will be even more controversial than your new name, and you have only just taken power.’

‘She’s suffered long enough, brother.’

‘Oh, I don’t mean that she should linger in the Wild. I’m just counselling that we bring her in quietly. That way we can choose the best time to break the news to the others.’

‘That would be a different kind of torture. She is innocent, and I will make that clear to the house.’

In times past, he knew Gada would argue, but he simply nodded. ‘You know that I stand with you.’

‘I know and am grateful. Now, are you ready?’

‘Yes.’ He turned to go, then stopped by the door. ‘I am proud of you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘In the past I may not have treated you with the proper respect. That is, I have not always done right by you. I may even have given up on you for a while. For once, I’m happy to be proven wrong.’

Vasinidra crossed the room and embraced Gada. ‘I’m going to need cautious heads to advise me in the years ahead. And sometimes I’ll need someone to hit Yadva with a giant stick.’ He patted Gada on the back. ‘I’m glad I have you, brother.’

The weak smile came back, but it didn’t irritate Vasinidra as much as normal.

‘Is it time to hunt, my High Lord?’

‘Yes, Lord Gada, it is time to hunt.’

Satyendra scowled as he wound his way into the depths of Lord Rochant’s floating castle. He’d woken that day with a headache. Or the equivalent of a hangover. Or perhaps both combined. The headache part had come from having his skull smashed against the hard floor of the throne room by that monstrous beast, Yadva. The hangover part was more of a come-down, the low that inevitably followed a great high.

When Yadavendra, the High Lord of the Sapphire and great thorn in Satyendra’s side, had been disgraced in front of the house, he had felt the man’s shame and fear. Literally felt it. Felt it and tasted it and drunk it down until it had filled him up. For a brief ecstatic time, he had been strong, powerful, quick. The best that he could be. That power had enabled him to stand toe to toe with the strongest of the Sapphire Deathless and hold his own. Nevertheless, raw strength was not enough when faced with multiple lifetimes of experience, as Lady Yadva had taught him most painfully.

The worst of his injury had already healed. But, as his fractured skull had slowly popped back into shape, it had weakened him. Whatever power he had stolen from Yadavendra had been used up to save his own life.

He was hungry now, and grumpy. And he knew just what to do to feel better again.

Down he went, below the level of the castle’s walls, into the areas excavated from the great slab of rock it sat upon. No sunslight could reach down here, and for that he was grateful. Where everyone else drew comfort from the three suns, he found them unpleasant. Much better to be in the shade somewhere, preferably without the endless chatter and babble of others.

Veins of the purest sapphire cut through the rock in places, shedding a soft blue light. It was said that the crystals on the outside absorbed the energy of the suns over the day and then fed it throughout the structure, providing heat and light within. Perhaps that was why Satyendra didn’t like them much either.

It wasn’t just the sight of the glowing crystal, it was the sound as well. The castle talked. Constantly. Oh, everyone knew that on hunting days or times of great celebration, the castle would sing in response to the music of its people. But what most people did not know was that it was always making some noise or another. Sighing to itself, humming, communing in some way with the essence below and the suns above.

Satyendra knew.

And he hated it. The sound grated in his ears and set his teeth on edge. Though the light was lesser here, there was nothing to distract him from the castle’s whisperings. He wondered if the castle was aware in some way. Sometimes it felt like it was watching him, and that it disapproved.

On he went, to a little pocket of rocky chambers that sat in a space between the veins; dull, grey, and lifeless. Perfect.

Some of the chambers were used to store food that needed to be kept cool. Others were used as cells, dark places to hold those who had fallen out of favour. Satyendra made his way towards one of these.

He saw a guard in House Sapphire livery coming the opposite way. She had a lantern in one hand. A pitiful little shard of blue on the end of a chain. When she came to a stop, it swung towards him, making him grimace as the light washed over his face.

‘My lord,’ she said, saluting. ‘Have you come to see the prisoner?’

He nodded. Lord Rochant was known to be a man of few words, though he was also known to be possessed of surpassing eloquence when the need arose. Satyendra found it much easier to fake the former.

‘I’ve just brought him some food,’ added the guard. ‘If I may, my lord, he’s very sorry about what he did.’

Satyendra kept his face a passive mask. ‘How do you know this?’

‘He told me so. Begged for a chance to make it up to you.’

‘I thought he was gagged.’

‘Well, he is, my lord. I have to take it off to feed him.’

He paused for a moment. The guard was getting nervous, just enough to make his blood stir and take the edge off his headache. He knew it was wrong to treat her this way, and he knew his hunger could take him to dark places, but he was too weak to resist. I’ll draw it out just a little, he told himself. An appetiser to keep me going. ‘Do you recall my orders?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Recite them to me.’

She swallowed hard. ‘You said … to bring Pik here and … bind his mouth.’ When he didn’t say anything, she continued, ‘And that you’d deal with him after the celebration of your rebirth had ended.’

He nodded again, sharp. ‘And what else did I say?’

‘My lord?’

‘It’s a simple question: What else did I say?’

He watched her frantically try to recall. Her embarrassment was like the first smells of a cooked dinner, the shred of fear bubbling beneath a sneaky taste of the sauce before the food was served. After a few painfully delicious moments she shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, my lord. I don’t remember.’

‘I said that we were to forget that he existed.’ She nodded hurriedly as if to say: Of course! That was it! It was on the tip of my tongue! ‘If he tries to talk when you feed him, we must withhold his food. He has betrayed us. I do not want to hear what he feels or what he thinks. I do not even want to hear his name. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, my lord. I’m sorry, my lord. It won’t happen again.’

‘Go to the entrance to this corridor and wait there until I return. See to it that I am not disturbed for any reason. Dismissed.’

She moved past him, then hesitated. ‘You have no lantern, my lord. Would you care for mine?’

‘Keep it. I have lived in this castle for many lifecycles and know it as I know myself.’

The awe in her eyes was pleasant in a very different way, and he savoured it as she marched out of sight. The truth was he knew the castle well because he had worked hard in his short life to do so.

It’s better like this, he thought. Fitting. To meet him in the dark where we both belong.

Satyendra waited for the guard’s footsteps to become distant echoes, and went inside. The cell was really a stunted hole with a door attached to one end. There was just enough room for one person and a bowl for their waste.

The prisoner, Pik, a teenager three years his junior, was still wearing yesterday’s clothes and the stink of sweat was pungent. His wrists were bound and fixed to the wall, and his mouth was gagged. Satyendra could well imagine Pik’s stupid face. Often worried. Sometimes smug. Always dominated by that ridiculous nose.

He had seen that face many times in the courtyard when they had trained together. Like him, Pik had been an apprentice hunter. He had also been a spy for his mother and had betrayed his secrets to her. He owed Pik a horrible revenge, but first he would get some sustenance from him.

‘Now,’ he began. ‘What are we going to do with you?’

There was muffled sound as Pik tried to respond through the gag. Satyendra ignored it. ‘Usually, a traitor would be cast out. Either sent back to the road-born in disgrace or into the Wild to die.’

The mere mention of the Wild was enough to set Pik’s heart racing. His chains clanked in time with the trembling of his limbs. As the sweet fear rose into the air, Satyendra inhaled deeply.

Ah, yes, that’s more like it.

‘I cannot send you back to the road-born. They are my people and I love them too much to insert a nasty little Wormkin like you into their lives.’

His headache from earlier was completely gone now. The lethargy with it. He could feel his mood lifting, his body filling with energy, his bones starting to wake.

It was tempting to do something truly horrible, like stab Pik or pull out some of his hair. The emotions he could stir! But he held off. Such crude methods would provide a hearty meal but he wanted something more nuanced, something closer to what he’d enjoyed from Yadavendra. He also held off to make sure he still could. The desire to hurt, physically hurt, pulled at him like a master tugging on a leash. Deep down, he was as scared by it as he was thrilled.

‘I have, however, decided to be merciful and spare you the Wild.’

A sudden spurt of hope mixed in with the boy’s fear. The new emotion did not dampen the old one, it heightened it, like a hint of sweetness in a sharp drink, enhancing both flavours.

Better. I’m getting closer to it. Now to build him up just a little more before the twist.

Pik was holding his breath.

‘Even you don’t deserve that.’

The breath was let go in an explosive mumble of gratitude. Probably some kind of thanks or obeisance.

‘No,’ he continued, ‘you lack the spine for it. The Wild would finish someone like you too quickly for it to be a true punishment.’

He felt a fresh surge of panic smother the hope, mixing with it and the older despair, making layers, giving texture. His mouth began to water.

‘Tonight, when the suns have set—’

A song outside the door interrupted him. Immediately, the mood shifted, the perfect tension becoming something not quite so perfect. He ground his teeth in frustration, and also fear. What if he’d been overheard by one of the older staff, or worse, one of the many Deathless currently in residence? They would find his behaviour suspicious, out of keeping with the real Deathless he was impersonating.

‘My lord?’

It was the guard’s voice. As soon as he recognized it, his fear flipped into frustration. Can she not follow one simple instruction!

He opened the door and stepped out so abruptly that she nearly dropped her lantern. ‘What did I say? What did I say just moments ago?’ He was aware he was doing a poor job of imitating Lord Rochant’s legendary patience but couldn’t stop himself. ‘Was I not clear enough? Should I have the Cutter-crafters carve it into your forehead?’

‘I—No, my lord, you were most clear. But Win came down to see me himself. You’ve been summoned by High Lord Vasinidra.’

‘And it couldn’t wait for a few minutes?’

She looked appalled, then said in a voice high with tension, ‘He said you were to go now, my lord. It’s not my place to say but … it sounded urgent.’

The rushing in his blood calmed, allowing sanity to return. Even Lord Rochant cannot be seen to disrespect his High Lord. Especially him. Why was I cursed to be descended from the loyal, clever one?

He shut the door behind him.

‘Very well. I will go to him directly. Keep the prisoner gagged until my return.’

He turned away before she could respond.

As he made his way back towards the light, he decided that the day had still got off to a good start. He felt strong, energized. Even the brief encounter with Pik had done much to rejuvenate him. Yes, his moment had been spoiled but, perhaps, it was for the best. How far would I have gone if she hadn’t interrupted? Better that I keep away from Pik, for my own sake. Yes. It’s better this way, for both of us.

But even as he thought this he knew that, sooner or later, he would return.

CHAPTER TWO

The Wild closed in around Chandni. Silhouettes of trees and Birdkin blurred together to become a single creature: A darkness formed of compound eyes and feathers, leaves and branches, all focused on her. And somewhere ahead, a figure waited. Taller than a person should be, as tall as a Deathless exalted in armour. She couldn’t see them any more, not truly, but their outline remained etched in her mind, a black line on a black canvas. It too was made of many things, of wings and hearts that beat together, pulsing in time with each drop of blood that ran from her forearm to fall from her deadened fingertips.

She had cut her arm on purpose. Three cuts for the three times she’d dealt with the Wild. One would have been enough to see her exiled but, for her child and her lord and the future of House Sapphire, Chandni had sold her honour again and again. Now her duty had been fulfilled. Lord Rochant’s soul had taken residence in her son’s body – My poor, sweet, Satyendra! – taken control of his castle once more. She was no longer an Honoured Mother, no longer required to run the castle, no longer needed. All that was left was for her to account for her sins.

Though she was afraid, she held her head up high, like a true Sapphire. That was how she had lived and it was how she intended to die. With dignity.

It felt as if she had been walking forever. Surely she should have reached the demon by now? Was it toying with her? Perhaps it wanted to crush her spirit before consuming it. Well, if that was the case, Chandni would happily disappoint.

For I will neither bend nor break.

She could no longer hear Glider’s barking. The Dogkin had been left behind some time ago, along with Varg, and she prayed they were both safe. Her loyal friends had opted to come with her, even knowing she sought death. Even knowing it could mean their own.

I do not deserve their love, she thought, but it warmed her all the same.

Drip, went her blood, as it splashed on the earth and the roots. Drip, went her blood, into the gullet of something hopping alongside, invisible. Drip, went her blood.

Thud, answered the heart of the thing before her. Right before her now.

Too close!

She walked smack into it, was caught by long rustling limbs, wrapped in a cocoon of feathers. Darkness within darkness.

Thud-thud-thud-thud, went her heart, beating crazily against her chest. She was afraid. Terrified! But she would not show it. Not to this thing. It would have her life and nothing more.

Thud, went its heart, its chest warm against hers.

The Birdkin above and around them opened their beaks wide, and a voice, richer than she’d expected, issued from them: ‘Be hushed, Iron Purebird. Be hushed and be welcome once more.’

Though she had been in the Wild before and met many terrible things, she was certain this had not been one of them. And yet, it did seem … familiar in some way. ‘I think you may have mistaken me for someone else. I … My name is Hon-Chandni. I was once—’ she shook her head and felt feather tips brush her cheek. ‘It doesn’t matter what I was.’ She dug deep and summoned all her courage. The words she had to say were hard enough without being in the embrace of some kind of bird demon. Nevertheless, she managed them: ‘I have come here to die. Will you help me?’

There was a pause, then a chorus of squawks, then:

‘No.’

She blinked in surprise. ‘What?’

‘I may take your life as my own, but I will not end it.’

A thought occurred to her then. I am here because I have traded with the Wild before. This is not some mindless beast here to kill me. It is a power of the Wild come to make a pact. She suddenly realized there was much more than death to fear. ‘If we are to negotiate for my life, what will you give me in return?’

‘Whatever you desire.’

A chill ran down her spine. If it were just her alone, she would refute the demon. Thoughts of Varg and Glider ran through her mind. They had given so much to her, and she wouldn’t allow them to suffer. So easily do I consider a fourth deal.

‘Firstly,’ she said, somehow keeping her voice even, ‘and this is not part of the deal, I would have your name.’

‘Yes,’ it replied. ‘You bear my mark, you have my favour, why not my name as well?’ It was strange having this conversation. Though its words sounded all around her, like a chorus, she felt that the demon was right in front of her, that whatever it had for eyes were only inches away from hers. ‘I am Murderkind, a Prince of this place, and we have dealt before, you and I. It was I who listened when you called out to the Wild. I who accepted your gift of blood and bone. And it was I who saw your child safe and strong. From babe to man.’

‘That cannot be true,’ she retorted, irritation suppressing her fear. ‘I took my Satyendra with me when I left here and raised him myself, in a place beyond your power.’

‘You speak true.’ The Birdkin all paused to laugh. She wasn’t sure if they were laughing or Murderkind was, but the laughter was unpleasant and aimed at her. ‘Though your heart is deceived.’ She felt it shift slightly, as if puffing out its chest. ‘I raised your child. Here. In my domain. Raised and re-named, guided and armed, held and healed. All as promised.’

It was lying. It had to be lying. Then why do I believe it?

‘You believe because your blood is in my beak and our hearts press too close for lies to slip between them.’

How does it know what I’m thinking?

The Birdkin all laughed again.

‘You believe because you know the thing you took from the Wild was not truly yours.’

A memory came to her then, of the day Lord Vasin had brought her home in his carriage. As soon as they’d got onto the Godroad, Satyendra had started to scream. His skin had lost its colour, had bubbled, and his face … by the Thrice Blessed Suns, his other face! All these years, I’d thought he’d been cursed by the Wild. But no. I gave my love to a … a thing?

‘A demon. A Whisper’s echo.’

‘But Lord Rochant has been reborn into it! What will become of him?’

‘Again, your heart is deceived. The one you call Rochant, who is known to me as Bane-friend, is already in a man’s body.’

‘Wait, you’re telling me that Lord Rochant does not dwell in the body of my son? That he has not just undergone a rebirthing in his castle?’ The ramifications of this whirled through her mind. ‘So the man who sent me to my death is not my Deathless Lord. And the boy I’ve given the best years of my life to is not my son.’ She shook her head. ‘He’s not even human!’

It was her turn to laugh. She laughed and laughed, the sound bursting from her indecorously, which only caused her to laugh more. After a while, the Birdkin joined in. They get it, she thought.

Suddenly, the Birdkin stopped laughing, and her skin felt cold.

‘This matters not,’ said Murderkind, ‘it is not the question that must be answered. Tell me, Iron Purebird, what is your desire?’

‘I barely know any more. To … to make something good out of this mess and for my life to mean something. I want to keep my son, my real son, safe. And I want to help Varg find happiness. I want to redeem my soul.’

She felt herself being pulled deeper into an embrace. The scent of Murderkind was in her nose, musky and earthy, its feathers pressing on her lips. ‘Be hushed, be hushed. Listen. How is it you cannot hear your own heart? Its tune clashes with your words, painfully.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You want your son. You want to see him and hold him. You want to know what he has become.’

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘You want Varg, as your mate and companion.’

Her cheeks blazed, but she did not deny it.

‘You do not think of your house. You think of yourself.’

She nodded into its chest.

‘You are angry.’

She nodded again.

‘And you desire revenge.’

There were tears on her cheeks now. She rubbed them away on the demon’s feathers.

Around her, wings rustled and Birdkin shrieked. Though she couldn’t feel it, she was aware that her arm was still bleeding, the blood leeching slowly from her.

Murderkind rested its head against hers. ‘Yes,’ it said. ‘We have an accord. Be angry. Be passionate. Be vengeful. And then, in return, your blood will be mine. Your body, mine. Your soul and all else within your flesh, mine.’

Chandni didn’t say anything. She wanted to refuse, but she knew there was no point. Her heart had already said yes.

I am in a room, thought Sa-at.

In a castle.

In the sky.

Since his arrival in the dead of night, Sa-at had been through several rooms of different sizes and shapes. There was the kitchen where they’d arrived. Which was a lovely hot room full of wonderful smells. A stairwell, or as he thought of it, a twisting pile of rocks stacked most strangely upon each other. Several corridors, which were very long rooms that did not seem to be for anything at all, and lastly, the old cook’s quarters.

This was smaller and colder than the kitchen. There was no food here and it smelled musty. In fact, the room was worse than the kitchen in every conceivable way Sa-at could think of. Despite this, it kept the wind out and them hidden from their enemies.

The cook, Roh, had left them here some hours ago to prepare breakfast for the inhabitants of the castle. There were many people here to celebrate the fake Lord Rochant’s arrival. More than Sa-at could count. More than he could even imagine counting. Hunters, traders, servants, guests – including other Sapphire Deathless. It made his toes wriggle with excitement. All his life, he’d wished to know more people, and now it seemed that he would get that wish. Rochant had promised that, after they had got his castle back for him, he would introduce Sa-at to them all.

But there was much to do before that could happen. Sa-at didn’t fully understand what, but he knew enough to know that it would be dangerous. He also knew that there would be bloodshed. Normally this would upset him but he was still too angry to be upset. The people who he would have to fight had killed his father and his cousins, robbed him of the chance even to get to know them. They had stolen Rochant’s name and castle, and done terrible things to the man’s body. Sa-at remembered finding Rochant, half-starved, half-dead, and shuddered.

Despite Sa-at’s best efforts, Rochant was still too thin, his frail body swaddled in thick layers of clothing and buried under several blankets. As if sensing his thoughts, the man turned his head towards Sa-at. The second of the suns, Vexation, was rising outside the window, giving Rochant a red tinged smile.

‘Good morning.’

‘Hello,’ replied Sa-at.

‘Have you been awake long?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s hard to sleep when your mind is full.’ Rochant glanced at Tal, who was curled up next to Sa-at, snoring peacefully. He gave another smile.

Sa-at returned it. ‘How does he sleep so much?’

‘Rest will be a precious commodity for us. In his own way, Tal is wise.’

‘What’s going to happen now?’

‘I’m going to think, Tal is going to sleep, and you’re going to be quiet and enjoy the sunsrise.’

At first, Sa-at was frustrated. He didn’t want to be quiet. He wanted to ask questions. So many questions! But when he went to the window and looked out, they blew away like petals in a breeze. He’d never been so close to the sky before. Instead of being above him, it was all around him. And the three suns were huge. Even Wrath’s Tear, which was just coming up after Vexation, seemed to have grown. The walls of the castle glimmered wherever the sapphire veins peeked through, and when he rested his hands on the windowsill, he felt the stone thrum softly against his fingers.

He watched as the three suns rose together, the two red ones chasing the golden one higher and higher. Gradually he became aware that the castle was becoming noisy with the sound of people. Morning greetings, the bustle of many feet, it was all just out of view. Sa-at pressed his face against the glass but was unable to see anything below the tent tops that packed the main courtyard. These too were interesting.

It is called a tent.

It is made of hide.

A tent is a room made of hide.

Time passed. The initial buzz of people waking settled into a quiet hum of industry. Sa-at marvelled at all the different voices and wished he could make out what they were saying. More questions began to bubble in the back of his brain.

The snoring behind him became a snuffle, and then a yawn, and he turned back to see Tal stretching. The boy was taller than him, with pale skin and a noticeable lack of earlobes. Every time he saw them he was reminded of the day he’d saved Tal’s life and Crowflies had eaten them.

Crowflies! He thought with a pang of panic. I will come back for you. I will. But that did not shake the memory of the Birdkin’s distress nor the feeling of guilt.

Tal came over to stand next to him. ‘You all right?’

‘I’m sad.’

The boy put a finger to his lips. ‘Ssh. Lord Rochant is still asleep.’

Sa-at glanced over. Though his eyes were closed, Rochant was most definitely not asleep. He could tell. He didn’t contradict Tal though. Somehow it would feel like a betrayal of his secret understanding with Rochant. Instead he said, ‘I’m thinking about Crowflies.’

‘Ah.’ Tal pulled a face. He’d never really liked Crowflies very much. ‘How’s your hand?’

‘Okay.’

‘Can I see?’

‘Okay.’ He held out his right hand and turned it over. In the centre of his palm there was a circle of raised white skin, completely smooth. Yesterday, a piece of a demon had been there, but when he’d stepped foot onto the Godroad, it had burned all traces of it from him.

It was already hard to remember how much it had hurt. The pain had been so intense it had become unreal in his mind, like a dream.

Tal frowned at the injury. ‘Well … it doesn’t look any worse.’

‘You do.’

‘What?’

‘Look worse.’

‘Oh, I’m tired. And my shoulders ache. And my arms. Well, all of me aches.’

‘But you slept for aaages.’

‘Doesn’t feel like it.’

Rochant spoke quietly, but they both heard him clearly. ‘Tal. Make sure my hood is covering my tattoo, then both of you hide.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ replied Tal, rushing forward. Each Deathless bore golden tattoos bearing their legend, and each set were unique, relating to their previous lives and deaths of note.

‘Why hide?’ asked Sa-at.

‘Because Roh will be back soon, and she may not be alone.’

They had barely carried out his commands when the door opened and Roh stepped inside. She was brawny and old and slow, her brown skin full of wrinkles, her remaining teeth yellowed by time. But there was something about her that was not slow. Like Rochant, she often seemed to be one thing while really being another.

She carried a fragrant sack in one hand, and a heavy bottle in the other, knocking the door closed with her bottom. ‘And how are we this morning, my good lord?’

‘I’m well, thank you, Roh. What news?’

‘Oh, lots of news. Lots of comings and goings. Everyone’s always busy. Busy, busy.’ She came over to his bedside, setting the bottle down. ‘I’ll tell you all about it as soon as you’ve had something to eat.’ He looked as if he might protest but she kept talking, the pause so brief Sa-at wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. ‘We need to get some flesh on those bones and some muscle under that skin.’

‘Is that supposed to be some sort of joke, Roh?’ He glanced down at himself. ‘What use are muscles to me now?’

The old woman chuckled. ‘Ah, well, that’s one of me bits of news.’ She took a steaming bowl from the sack and spooned out a portion. ‘I’ll tell you just as soon as you’ve had some of my Kinmix stew.’

Rochant’s expression gave nothing away, but he opened his mouth and allowed himself to be fed.

Sa-at was confused. When he’d found Rochant, his torturers had taken away the use of his arms and legs. Poor Tal had carried him from down in the Wild, all the way up the mountainside, and up, through a secret gap in the walls to get here.

It seemed to take an age for Rochant to finish the stew. Roh attended him patiently as he chewed, always ready with the next spoonful. When they were done, she handed the half-full bowl to him and Tal, who set to emptying it with gusto.

‘Bad news first,’ said Roh. ‘Honoured Mother Chandni’s gone. I thought it was odd when she didn’t come to see me yesterday. She always comes, same time every morning. As reliable as death, that one. Always comes when I ask, too. And be sure that I asked for her, made one of my lads send the message. Wanted to warn her about the imposter, I did.’ Roh shook her head. ‘But she’d already gone. Just walked out, so I’m told. No carriage, no bags. Like she was taking a stroll. Didn’t tell a soul she was going neither.’ Roh shook her head again. ‘Not one soul. That’s not like her. Normally she does it all proper,’ she waggled a finger at Rochant, ‘just like you. Oh, that imposter’s behind it. I know it in my bones. He’s weeding out the loyal ones. And old Roh will be next.’

‘That’s a shame,’ said Rochant, and both he and Roh looked at Sa-at.

‘What? Why are you staring like that?’

‘I was hoping to be able to introduce you,’ Rochant replied. ‘To keep my promise.’

When Sa-at continued to look confused, Roh came over and put a gnarled hand on his shoulder. ‘She’s your mother, boy. One of the good ones.’

‘My … mother?’

‘I can see her in you, clear as day.’ She glanced back to Rochant and tapped the side of her head. ‘Takes after his father though.’

A look passed between them and Sa-at realized that they too, had some kind of secret understanding. This made him feel odd inside.

Chandni.

My mother’s name is Chandni.

He’d never had a mother before. Never thought too much about it. But now he knew that he’d lost her, he suddenly wanted to see her. Does she want to see me? Does she even know about me? The absence felt keener because it had been hidden so long.

Rochant closed his eyes again. ‘You said you had other news?’

‘Oh yes, there’s good as well as bad. Ever since the night of the attack, when Honoured Mother Chandni was poisoned, I been thinking about it. I kept some of that poison and tested it. Nasty stuff, it is. Severs the connection between body and soul. Might be a rebirth would see you right as rain.’

‘I wondered this myself. Nidra told me that it wouldn’t and I believe her. My soul no longer remembers its connection to my limbs. That will still be true even if I return a thousand times.’

‘What if you could be made to remember? I helped Chandni where I could. Slowed the poison, stopped it. Couldn’t cure it though. But she’s just a woman with one life. Not like you. Her only memories are in her head.’

‘Did you give some of your memories to the Corpseman?’ asked Sa-at. ‘Do we need to go and get them back?’

The mention of the demon’s name had an immediate impact on the room. Tal looked nervous, as usual, and Roh’s face folded in a most unhappy way.

Rochant’s remained calm. ‘I did not.’

‘The poison comes from the Wild,’ snapped Roh. ‘Last thing we need is to get involved with them. Where did you grow up, boy? In a bush?’

‘No, in a tree.’

‘A tree!’ She turned back to her master. ‘I can’t make head nor tail of this one.’

‘Not now, Roh,’ said Rochant softly. ‘Tell me what you have in mind.’

For a moment, the unhappiness remained on her face along with a healthy dose of suspicion, but then it fell away to be replaced with a look of cunning. ‘Your armour, my lord. It will remember you as you were. I’ll bet my last teeth on it.’

‘I feared that was your answer. It’s no longer an option. They’ll have remade it to fit the imposter.’

‘So they did, my ever-quick lord. So they did. But I kept your old set in secret. Tucked it away for safekeeping the very night they stole you from us. Everyone was so busy trying to protect your line, they didn’t even think about your armour. And by the time they did, it was too late.

‘I’ll need help to get it, mind. A couple of pairs of strong hands and quiet feet to sneak it back here.’

Sa-at and Tal suddenly found themselves the centre of attention.

‘Go with Roh, both of you,’ said Rochant. ‘Do exactly as she says.’

Tal bowed and moved to the door.

‘But,’ said Sa-at. ‘What about my mother?’

‘I’ll answer your questions about her when you come back,’ replied Rochant.

‘But, what if she’s in danger? Roh said the imposter monster had got her.’

‘No, an imposter isn’t a monster. It’s a way to describe a person when he pretends to be someone they’re not. And she didn’t say he’d got her. She said the imposter sent Chandni away.’

‘But where? We need to go there.’

‘We don’t know where. Sa-at, listen: The best way to help her is to help me. When I’m in power again, it will be a simple matter to send people to find her.’

‘But what if she’s in trouble?’

‘All the more reason to go with Roh now.’

Sa-at’s shoulders slumped. ‘Okay.’

It made sense. Rochant always made sense. He’d made sense when he’d told Sa-at to leave Crowflies behind. He’d made sense when he’d got Sa-at to stay on the Godroad, even though it hurt and burned. Sa-at just wished that things making sense didn’t always have to be so hard. And now that he knew about his mother, he couldn’t keep her out of his mind, nor could he shake the conviction that she was in trouble.

Satyendra paused outside the door. Technically, as the lord of the castle, he did not have to sing for entrance. But the person inside knew he was not really the lord of anything and he didn’t want to annoy them. Before he could make up his mind a servant appeared and ushered him inside.

After announcing him, they left. He listened as their footsteps retreated down the corridor, then turned to his host.

High Lord Vasinidra had been expertly dressed and made up so that the marks of yesterday’s fight could not be seen. However, Satyendra could sense the man’s discomfort, and that sense drew his attention to where the injuries were: A bruised neck, an injured stomach, minor scrapes on the knees and hands.

He bowed. ‘You summoned me, High Lord.’

Vasinidra beckoned him closer. ‘I haven’t had a chance to thank you for yesterday. You showed great courage.’

Despite himself, he smiled. He hadn’t thought of it that way, but yes, he had been fearless.

‘Few people would dare to face Lady Yadva alone,’ Vasinidra continued. ‘And you …’ he shook his head in wonder. ‘She’s twice your size, for suns’ sake!’

‘I had to act for the good of the house,’ lied Satyendra. In truth he’d been drunk on power and desperate to enjoy its use.

Vasinidra’s eyes softened. ‘I know how it feels to be on the receiving end of my cousin’s anger. How are you? You look … much better than I expected.’

The brief feeling of pride evaporated. With Vasinidra, he didn’t have to pretend to be Rochant, but he still had secrets. I should be dead after what that monster did to me and the High Lord knows it. Fool! I must hide my nature, now more than ever. He gave a tired smile. ‘It is just an illusion, my High Lord.’

‘I would advise you to drop it then. I hunt for the Corpseman today with my family. They will see you for an imposter the moment you take to the air.’

Satyendra nodded, secretly pleased. He’d been looking for an excuse to get out of the hunt and Vasinidra had just provided it. Being unable to fly wasn’t the true problem; the sapphire plates actually burned his skin. To wear a whole suit of crystal armour would surely kill him. ‘I will let my injuries show. Between that and my being recently reborn,’ he noted Vasinidra’s frown at the lie, ‘nobody will think ill of me remaining here to recover.’

‘That will have to serve us for now. When I return, we will discuss a more permanent solution.’

The offhand mention of his fate scared him and made him angry. ‘Have I not proven my worth, High Lord?’

‘You have. But no matter how useful you are, you are no Deathless. You cannot lead a hunt. You cannot protect our people. While you occupy Lord Rochant’s place, we are all weakened.’

‘You said that if I did as you asked, I need not fear.’

‘I’m not going to kill you, Satyendra. But did you honestly think I’d let this mockery continue? The needs of the house,’ a pained look crossed his face, along with a flash of worry, ‘of all the houses, must come before yours.’

Bile rose up in Satyendra’s throat. He’d been used. Betrayed. And now he was going to be cast aside. ‘That’s easy to say now you’re in power.’

‘It’s easy to say because it’s the truth.’

‘I deserve better than this! Without me, you’d be serving under High Lord Yadva!’

Vasinidra sighed. ‘I will find the best life I can for you but it will not be Rochant’s. The sooner you make peace with that, the better. Now, the hunt must be set into motion. Have your people do what is necessary and be sure to keep things in good order here for our return.’

Vasinidra has no need of me. No one does. I am a misfit. Despite everything I’ve done, that hasn’t changed. For a moment loneliness and desperation threatened to overwhelm him and he bowed low, as much to hide the expression on his face as to show respect. ‘At once, my High Lord.’

Vasinidra stood in the Chrysalis Chamber, resplendent in his armour. He took his helmet from the Gardener-smiths, pressed a bloody thumb against the crystal to wake it, and pulled it on. He waited patiently as they threaded his long hair through the back. When they were finished, he straightened, towering over them on his Sky-legs.

As he twisted the other gauntlet into place, he felt the familiar rush of exaltation. He was more than a man now. Stronger. Faster. Superior.

‘My compliments to you,’ he said, ‘it is no easy thing to dress so many Deathless in such a short time.’

The Gardener-smiths bowed low and smiled.

‘Are my family prepared?’

The smiles vanished. ‘All save Lord Rochant. Some of his plates have more growing to do. We did our best but the crystals cannot be rushed.’

She’s afraid I’ll be angry. He spread his hands to show he was not. ‘Of course. As he is restored, so will his armour be. All things must happen in their proper time. Now, do you have my spear?’

The Gardener-smith handed it over. The silver shaft sat snugly in his hand and the sapphire tip glinted beautifully in the sunslight. He tested the weight. ‘Perfect.’

‘Hunt well and thorough, High Lord.’

The great glass walls slid aside to allow him onto the balcony. Three other Deathless were waiting there: Umed, Yadva, and Gada. Umed stood tall in his armour. Though his current body was old, it was held upright by the sapphire encasing it. Lord Umed was the oldest remaining member of House Sapphire, known for his quiet dignity, a good temper, and his sprightly dancing. Vasinidra’s eyes automatically went to Umed’s neck. Hidden beneath the gorget was a golden tattoo, marking the premature end of an old lifecycle, and the end of Umed’s confidence in battle.

Yet still he is here to support me. I should honour that.

Even out of armour, Lady Yadva was impressive, with a thick neck and broad frame packed with muscle. In it, she was monstrous. To accommodate the bulk, her crystal wings stretched wide to either side of her before scything up towards the sky. She carried a spear in either hand, one made for throwing and the other heavier and more suited for stabbing, though she could throw that too if the mood took her.

She was without doubt the most powerful warrior in the house, and it had pained her to bend the knee to him. He wondered how long he could count on her loyalty.

By contrast his brother, Gada, appeared long and delicate in his armour, like a stretched-out Flykin. He was stoic, methodical, brittle. A solid hunter but nothing more. They hadn’t flown together in years, mostly because Gada couldn’t stand to be outshone by his younger sibling.

Each had their problems but, for all their flaws, they were Sapphire and he knew each would give their best for the glory of the house.

The courtyard was packed with solemn faces. Four blocks of hunters stood in the centre surrounded by a crowd of staff, family, guests, and traders, all shuffling nervously. Without the noise of the drums and the song of the castle, there was nothing to guide them or focus their anxiety.

Again, Vasinidra was surprised by his own sense of calm. He moved to the edge of the balcony and did not have to wait for the attention of the assembled to rest on him. As always, the words came easily. It was just a matter of saying what was in his heart.

‘Many years ago, the village of Sorn called out to its Deathless for aid. We failed to answer and because of that, the village of Sorn was lost. It became a wound that House Sapphire has carried ever since.’ He let his gaze sweep the crowd. ‘It is time for us to cleanse that wound. As a mark of respect for the dead, we will go not in glory but in silence. We did not carry our people when they needed us, and so this hunt will go into the Wild without your voices behind our wings, alone, as they were.’

They watched Vasinidra make his way down from the balcony, followed by the other Deathless. And they watched as he and the hunters began to march towards the open drawbridge. He felt their eyes on his back as he accelerated into a bounding run. Sky-legs rasped on stone, stark in the silence, propelling them all out of the castle and into the waiting sky.

CHAPTER THREE

So, thought Pari. The demon is here.

‘Good,’ she said to Arkav. ‘From what the Bringers said, we need to pull your soul free and then everything else should resolve itself.’

The demons making the living sphere around them continued to whisper. ‘… Crushing …’

‘Yes. Pari, is it me or are the demons moving?’

She looked around. They were constantly moving. Shifting next to each other uncomfortably, especially the ones nearest to them.

‘… Burning …’

But that wasn’t what Arkav meant. More and more of the demons seemed to be reacting to the light of their armour. One or two of them caught light, causing the others to make hushed moans of pain. Even the ones furthest from them were suffering in a way they weren’t before. It took her a few moments to realize the obvious.

Oh no.

The sphere was shrinking, like a giant living fist closing around them.

‘But,’ she said, ‘this doesn’t make any sense. They’ll all be destroyed. Why do that?’

‘I don’t know,’ replied Arkav. ‘But I think whatever is behind them is here for me.’

He swam closer to Pari to put more space between himself and the demons. The sphere was already half the size it had been, and on fire in more than one place. More demons were flooding in behind.

‘… Cracking …’

‘Did you hear that?’ Pari yelled. ‘They said cracking. These things don’t crack, they burn or boil.’

Arkav nodded. ‘The demons aren’t talking about themselves.’

‘No, they’re warning us. It means to crack our armour. Then there’ll be nothing to stop it taking the rest of your soul.’

‘… Out …’

‘There!’ she said. ‘The demons are agreeing. If they crack our armour, the lights will go out. Or maybe they’re saying we need to get out. I don’t know. They’re agreeing either way!’

‘But to get free of here, we’ll have to destroy them.’

He sounded far too sad about this for Pari’s liking. ‘If we don’t fight now our auras will destroy all of them, and then they’ll destroy us. Is that what you want?’

He paused for a moment.

‘You have to think about that? Honestly!’

‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘I just don’t feel right about the—’

‘We can talk about it later for as many lifecycles as you like. For now though, dear brother, shut up and follow my lead.’

She flicked out her whip again, lodging it deep in a hapless demon, then held out her free hand to Arkav. He took it, and they clasped wrists. Then, she pulled on the whip.

In normal circumstances, that would yank the barb free, or pull her opponent close. Here, though, they weighed nothing, so they were propelled forward. As they moved closer, she swung Arkav towards the demons and he thrust out his legs in a two footed kick.

There was a bright flare of light as the demons were blown, flaming, away from them. She caught a glimpse of a way out. ‘There! Before they close it again.’

He grabbed the nearest demons with his free hand, the touch of his gauntlet making them hiss in agony, and swung Pari towards the gap. Her head fit through cleanly, her shoulders less so, though this wasn’t a problem for her as her wings sliced easily through everything in her way, and she was rewarded with a view of the space outside.

It was vast and shifting. Not empty like the sky but full of starless nebulae, parting and closing, giving glimpses of golden lights beyond. Lights that were arranged in circular formations, seven for each hoop. Hoops lined up at regular intervals to make tunnels. Tunnels stretching from one unknown to another, crisscrossing the sky like the veins of some unfathomable beast. And within them, not blood but darts of silver, too many to count, moving swiftly and safely.

Souls.

Pari gasped at the size and wonder of it.

There were many demons too, streams of them, swimming with purpose. Not towards the distant tunnels of light and their silver bounty. Towards her. They were looking to reinforce the sphere. And behind them was another demon, bigger, like a great swollen cloud of nightmare.

This one was different from the others she’d seen. This one she knew. It was like some great fat Snakekin covered in bits of bloodless people. Mouths, ears, toes, all moving independently of the thing itself. Her eyes roamed across it until they saw a familiar face, faded and flush against the demon’s skin.

Arkav’s face.

‘Pari!’ it cried.

‘I’m coming!’

She fought and kicked her way free of the sphere, dragging Arkav with her. The sphere smoked and burnt and then broke apart, the creatures that had made it up floating lifelessly away.

‘Pari!’ cried the face again.

Now free of the sphere, it was Arkav’s turn to look at the demon.

A great many eyes studded its hide, of different shapes and colours. They all looked back at Arkav.

Arkav began to snarl, which Pari thought was most unlike him.

After that, things got messy.

Arkav started swim-dragging himself towards the big demon, which Pari dubbed Facestealer in her mind.

The smaller demons swam towards them at speed, whispering miserably as they did so.

Facestealer also came towards them but it moved slowly, content to let the others engage first.

If she did nothing, Arkav would be overwhelmed by the lesser demons before he’d even get to Facestealer. But in this place, it was hard to move. There was nothing to push against. Normally, there were essence currents that could be played with, or physical things to launch from, even the voices of their people could sustain flight if they were in sufficient number.

That’s it! At least, I hope it is.

She kicked out a couple of times to put herself directly behind Arkav. By the time she’d got into position, the lesser demons were starting to swarm around them both.

‘… Prisoners …’

‘… Burning …’

‘Listen!’ she said. ‘That thing may control your bodies, but it does not control your voices.’

‘… Crushing …’ They replied, joining tail to head to tail again, forming a hoop that rapidly drew tight around her legs.

‘Join with me.’ She turned her head towards Arkav and called out, half speaking, half singing. ‘You can do this, brother! Go! Take back what is yours!’

‘… Take …’ whispered one of the demons.

‘… Fight …’ added another.

And then a third. ‘… Free …’

Suddenly all the demons were whispering. The words were different, but she saw a shift in Arkav’s momentum. Meanwhile, the demons continued to attack them both, several starting to burn, their whispers reduced to senseless hissing. Pari swung her arms back and forth to stop any getting to her face. ‘It’s working. It’s working! Hear us, Arkav: Take! Fight! Free! Take! Fight! Free!’

It seemed that as the bodies of the lesser demons joined to constrict them, so too did their voices.

‘… TAKE … FIGHT … FREE …’

Now Arkav was moving. The demons attached to his arms weighed nothing, and their pained voices whispered directly to his wings.

Facestealer twitched and started to move backwards.

Too late, thought Pari. He’s got you.

Arkav plunged into Facestealer like a diver into a midnight lake. The surface of the demon rippled and tore, and the many mouths on its surface opened in a silent chorus of screams.

Instantly, the lesser demons around Pari’s legs broke formation, as did the ones that had been around Arkav’s arms. As soon as they’d put a safe distance between themselves and the damaging aura of the tanzanite armour, they stopped, drifting slowly in the void. They kept whispering their support though. Pari swam forward until she was in the current and allowed it to carry her towards Facestealer.

She could see it writhing in pain, her brother a furious glow within it, thrashing his arms and legs. Pari lashed Facestealer’s side with her whip, using it to swing past the demon so that her wing cut a gash along its flank. She allowed her momentum to carry her in a tight spiralling orbit, slicing a corkscrew wound around its body.

It lashed out at her, but she was too quick. It lashed out again, reacting rather than predicting, each time catching the space Pari had already left.

The tenebrous matter that made up its skin began to bubble, the gills opening too wide as Facestealer began to tear itself apart in an effort to disgorge Arkav.

There was no more slack in Pari’s whip as she slammed into it. The impact of her armoured body was the last straw and Facestealer moaned from a score of mouths. She saw Arkav’s hand reach up from inside it to claim the image of his face. Then she saw nothing but movement as the lesser demons descended, biting and snapping at Facestealer with shocking fury.

In seconds they had ripped Facestealer from her brother as if it were no more than a set of paper clothes. Then they began to fight over the other pieces.

Arkav floated amongst the carnage as if in a daydream. The perfect glow of his aura was marred by two cracks, one across his chest plate, the other on his right wing.

Pari’s heart sank as she grabbed Arkav’s arm. ‘It’s time to go.’

He looked at her, dazed, then joined in as she swam them awkwardly towards the gateway. It was slow going, especially as Arkav had one arm close to his chest, his fist loosely clenched. ‘Stay with me,’ she said.

He nodded, then looked over his shoulder. Following his gaze she saw they’d attracted followers. A shoal of demons were keeping pace behind them, whispering quietly. She had no idea what they were saying, nor if they were the same ones that had fought Facestealer.

She was too tired to care either way.

When they’d come through the gateway the first time, it had been at great speed. This time, they lacked the momentum to punch through and Pari had to tear a way open with her gauntleted hands. It was hard, awkward work. When it finally gave, she felt the powerful currents just in front of her. All she had to do was go forward a little and it would carry her all the way home. She gave Arkav a smile of triumph.

He wasn’t smiling back.

But it seemed to her as if the demons were.

They dived for the hole, slamming into Arkav and Pari, heedless of the harm it caused them. A few started to burn, but the majority surged out, taking Pari along for the ride.

This far down the essence currents were pure and ferociously strong. They took hold of Pari’s wings and threw her towards the distant sky.

She flipped and tumbled, tumbled and flipped, using her lifecycles of training to gradually right herself. Things continued to spin in her vision for a few moments as she desperately tried to locate the lights.

It was the demons that guided her. They were ascending even faster than she and Arkav were, their dark wriggling bodies stark against the paler clouds of essence.

Her instincts said to follow them, and she did, fighting the currents that wanted only to send her up, and up and up.

And then a circle of golden lights. Seven. No more, no less.

They reminded her of the other lights she’d seen below. Thousands of them, beyond her ability to count, but all arranged in circles of seven. All familiar. Pari had glimpsed a mystery and she knew it would haunt her until she’d solved it.

The space shrunk down around them, smooth walls replacing open air.

We are back in the chasm under Rochant’s castle.

It occurred to her that the shoal of demons would escape into the world. Perhaps the Bringers would stop them. Perhaps the demons would feast on the Bringers.

Arkav continued alongside her. The crack in his wing seemed longer, the gap in the light there, wider. She reached down to take his hand but missed, grasping at empty air.

She tried again but this time their stretching fingers weren’t even close.

I’m going faster than him. I’m leaving him behind.

‘Arkav!’ she shouted.

He looked up at her and nodded. There was peace in his eyes. And sadness. And farewell.

‘Don’t give up now, you idiot! We’re almost home.’

He continued to look at her, until her vision blurred with tears. His lips moved but she couldn’t hear him. She didn’t need to. He loved her. He thanked her. He’d see her on the other side.

As his hand moved in a final wave, hers moved too, flicking her whip out. It snared his wrist, the barb looping around three times before catching tight. ‘You’re not getting away from me that easily!’ she cried.

It was hard to tell, but she thought her brother laughed.

The demons surged ahead of her, blasting out from the chasm and into the sky. She could make out the Bringers of Endless Order standing around the lip, diamond-tipped wands held aloft to guide her home. They watched the demons too, but did nothing to intervene.

Why am I not surprised?

Onwards and upwards went the demons, towards Lord Rochant’s floating castle. And suddenly they were rolling and twisting, contorting their bodies in a doomed attempt to change direction. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought she heard them screaming. Caught in the currents they were helpless to resist as their journey was taken to an abrupt and speedy end. Sharp jags of sapphire protruded from the great hunk of rock the castle was built on. They hummed with stored sunslight, like teeth, like rows of spears set before a charge.

One after another the demons were thrown onto those sharp points. One after another they burned.

Pari turned her attention to her own ascent. Angling her wings, she drifted towards the edge of the current and, as she and Arkav emerged from the chasm, they flew out into normal air, and began to glide down. Arkav landed first.

Safe! He is safe at last.

And she dropped lightly next to him.

‘Well?’ she asked. ‘Did it work?’

‘Yes,’ he replied.

‘Truly?’

‘Yes! Truly. I …’ He put a hand across his chest. ‘The hole, the … absence. It’s gone.’

She thought she’d be jubilant but she wasn’t. Mostly, it just felt like relief coupled with a hint of wariness. ‘Good. Because charming as you are, I don’t think I can go through that again.’

He opened his arms. ‘Let me hold you for a change.’

As they embraced, she shot a glare over his shoulder in the direction of the Bringers. Don’t get too comfortable. You’re next.

Chandni sat, cocooned in the dark, communing with Murderkind. It knew her questions as she did, and answered them without guile. Indeed, it had treated with her most fairly, but she could not fully relax.

There will be a catch or a trick. It is only a matter of time.

‘You will find no trickery here, Iron Purebird,’ replied the chorus of Birdkin. ‘We need no deception for you are ours. On the second point you speak true. It is a matter of time, and you must be swift in your service. In times past your son was my eyes in places we could not go. He spied for me and mine, and what he saw was troubling. Many demons flocked to the Corpseman’s banner, out of order, out of shape, upsetting the balance and flow that was. Such action demands response: You. You must be my voice in places I cannot speak, to ears that will not listen.’

‘How can I speak to someone that will not listen?’

‘Not to me, but only to me. For you, my Iron Purebird, they will make time, they will attend your every breath, and you will make them attend me.’

‘Who are they?’

‘Another Prince of the Wild, a peer, an adversary, a fellow victim of the Corpseman’s plans. Bring them to me with warm eyes so we might bury our grievances in the Corpseman’s flesh.’

‘You wish to make an alliance with this other prince?’

The Birdkin cawed derisively, then spoke in one voice. ‘We desire it not, and yet it must be done. Prince Kennelgrove is a trickster, a curse mother, a false-jointed thief. But even that is preferable to the strange destroyer, that is the Corpseman, this walking death that spreads itself among us like a sickness, unseen and unstoppable. Do this for me, Iron Purebird.’

Chandni could not see its face, but she felt for it in the dark, so she could look directly at Murderkind and reply. ‘I dealt for the life I wanted first. A family. A home. The return of my son, time with my lover.’

‘Do this first or there will be none of these things. The Corpseman cares little for your pacts or mine.’

‘Very well. I will do this for you, but that does not mean I will run your errands every time you ask.’

‘So be it.’

‘Where can I find Prince Kennelgrove?’

‘Those that hate you know the way. Your white-faced friend can take you to them.’

Before she could reply, cracks of light broke through the darkness, bright and brighter red, and gold that was brighter still. Chandni squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden intrusion. As Murderkind pulled away, she shivered, suddenly aware of the cold air rushing in.

In moments, it was gone, leaving the forest unusually quiet. The Birdkin had gone too, scattering, shrieking and, it seemed to Chandni, laughing. She now sat between the trees aware that above her, night was retreating, pulling back as the three suns rose.

A single Birdkin remained, black feathered, with a white beak and a thoughtful demeanour. It stood ten feet from her, regarding her with a compound eye.

‘Hello,’ she said.

The Birdkin circled her, walking slowly, one eye on her at all times. She sat up straighter and lifted her chin. ‘Is there something you want?’

It came to a stop on her right side, twitching its head at an angle, and hopped forward.

Of course, thought Chandni. The blood.

Three times she’d cut herself, once for each of her crimes. The blood was still fresh on her right arm. Even in the day blood could draw out the demons of the Wild, and the suns were barely in the sky. The Birdkin looked at the wounds, then up at her in a quick gesture, then to the wounds, then back to her.

Chandni shivered. This creature was probably only the first of many.

‘My blood is not yours to take,’ she said as imperiously as she could. ‘It belongs to Murderkind.’

The Birdkin gave her a knowing look.

‘Did Murderkind send you to me?’

The Birdkin nodded and hopped forward again. She forced herself to appear calm as it examined the three cuts close up, each in turn. Then a second time, its beak hovering over each one for less than a heartbeat. On the third pass the beak flashed down, nipping the highest wound closed.

Chandni marvelled as she saw the torn flesh rejoined, the cut replaced by a clean white scar. ‘Thank you,’ she said as the Birdkin considered the second cut. ‘My name is Chandni.’

It looked up at her sharply and she felt as she had as a girl when interrupting her mother’s work. ‘Cha-aan,’ it replied in a tone that was equal parts greeting and admonishment.

The second wound was closed as swiftly as the first. The blood around the cut had vanished too and she wondered if that was the price of the healing or if the creature simply took pride in its work. I hope it’s the latter.

She didn’t mean to interrupt it again but the words slipped out. ‘Do you have a name?’

The Birdkin gave her a glare and then dipped its head towards the last cut, opening its beak wide. A proboscis levered out from deep in its throat, plunging into her arm.

It should have hurt, but that part of Chandni’s body no longer felt pain. No longer felt anything. And yet, for the first time in years, she had a tingle of sensation deep within her forearm. Another shiver took her body and as it did so a thought bloomed in her mind:

Crowflies.

When she looked at the Birdkin again, the third wound was closed and clean.

‘Your name is Crowflies?’

It nodded its head.

‘Thank you, Crowflies. Please pass on my thanks to your master.’ She stood up carefully, swaying as a brief wave of dizziness passed through her. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I ought to find my friends. They’ll be worried.’ This was easier said than done, though, given how lost she was.

Crowflies rose into the air with a flap of its wings and landed on a nearby branch.

‘Cha-aan!’

‘Yes?’

‘Cha-aan!’ it said again, holding her gaze. When she walked towards it, it flew away, further into the forest.

With no better options, Chandni did her best to keep up.

Sa-at found the castle bewildering. They seemed to be underground but he knew they were in the sky. How could you be under the earth and in the air at the same time? The tunnels under the castle twisted and turned constantly, and there were no stars, no suns, nothing to navigate against.

The uniformity of the walls also puzzled him. In the Wild every tree was different, every bush characterful. They stuck in the mind. He knew them even if they moved. But here, the personality had been smoothed off the stone. How was he to tell one from another?

He knew that somewhere above the suns shone brightly, but not a shred of their light penetrated this far down. The only illumination came from sapphires set into the walls at regular intervals. He touched each one as they passed. They were cool under his fingers, but not cold like the stone. In places natural veins of sapphire could be seen making glittering patterns. They weren’t as bright as the crafted gemslights but he thought they looked nicer.

More than once he’d been distracted by his surroundings and almost lost sight of Roh. The old woman wasn’t stopping for anything, forcing him and Tal to match her pace. She was making a strange noise as she walked, reminding Sa-at of much bigger beasts from the Wild. A sort of huffing, angry exhalation.

Like a big grumpy Bearkin.

The thought made Sa-at snort and the other two shot him a glare.

‘Ssh!’ said Tal.

They continued in silence, past several small doors set into the wall.

‘What are they?’ asked Sa-at.

‘Cells,’ replied Tal in hushed voice.

‘What’s a cell?’

‘Ssh!’

Sa-at resolved to ask Rochant when they got back.

Eventually the tunnels became less uniform, the kind carved naturally rather than by hand. Sa-at preferred this, though Tal bumped his head on the irregular ceiling several times. There were no lights down here but Roh didn’t slow.

‘I don’t like this,’ he whispered to Tal.

‘Me neither,’ replied his friend.

Without either of them saying anything, they found each other’s hands in the dark. Things felt a little better after that. They followed Roh’s breathing through the darkness. The air became chill and Sa-at’s other hand brushed against something that was not stone. It was hard, cold, and damp. It swung away from his touch, then swung back, nudging him, hard.

‘It smells of death down here.’

‘And so it should,’ chuckled Roh. ‘Have to store the meat somewhere.’

Sa-at stopped to think about that. He reached out again. Yes. It was dead flesh. A great carcass suspended from the ceiling. He soon found more of them, setting each in motion with a gentle push.

A growl sounded nearby. Tal squeezed Sa-at’s hand. Sa-at squeezed back.

‘W-what’s that?’ asked Tal.

‘That’s my boy,’ replied Roh. ‘Always tell the staff to take meat from the front, never from the back. But people are stupid. Oh yes, they are. Especially the young ones. Old age doesn’t make you clever, but youth makes idiots of us all. So when one of my young idiots comes down here to get supplies, my lovely boy keeps them near the front.’

Sa-at wasn’t sure if Roh was referring to her child or something else but he didn’t ask. The old cook scared him.

Chains rattled in the dark and then there was the sound of padded feet on stone and a soft whump of impact.

‘There you are!’ said Roh, and Sa-at heard scratching, slurping, and a happy whine. ‘Missed old Roh, didn’t you, you soppy thing. You love old Roh, don’t you? Yes, you do. You love her.’ There were more slurping noises. ‘I brought you something. Here you are. Not much mind; have to keep you hungry or you’ll get soft. Can’t have you being too friendly, can we?’

A wet mouth chomped industriously in the dark.

After a few satisfied grunts, they heard Roh’s voice again. ‘This way. Not far now.’

Another stumble in the dark, another turn, and they arrived.

Roh pulled on some fabric, the rustle echoing in the cold space, and suddenly there was light, soft and blue and beautiful. Sa-at gasped. He had never seen anything like it before. To his eyes it looked like a sleeping crystal giant. Its skin glowed like the gems on the castle walls, from fingertips to toes. But the thing that struck him most were the wings. Large and curling, like Crowflies’ at full extension but shaped differently. There was no sign of the bone beneath or an ability to flex or flap or close. They just looked permanently, perfectly open.

Roh reached out and pinched Sa-at’s arm, then she pinched Tal’s.

‘Ow!’ said Sa-at.

‘Ow!’ said Tal.

‘Shut your mouths and open your ears,’ said Roh. Sa-at had thought his ears already open but decided he couldn’t ask about it without making Roh angry. ‘This armour is sacred. You handle it like you would the good Lord Rochant himself, gentle as a babe. I’ll wrap each piece and give it to you to carry. You carry it by the cloth. Your grubby little hands never touch a single bit of crystal, do you hear?’

‘Yes,’ said Tal.

‘Yes,’ added Sa-at.

‘Mmhn, I’ll be checking every piece when we get there and I’d better not find any smeary fingerprints if you know what’s good for you,’ muttered Roh.

The armour weighed less than Sa-at expected, each piece sitting lightly in his hands. The problem was bulk. The wings were attached to the back plate and there was no way to reduce their size. Tal and Sa-at had to carry it between them.

They moved through the castle quietly, back through the cold room with the meat and Roh’s ‘boy’. Back through the rough tunnels. Back to where the walls became carved and adorned with lights. Roh went ahead to make sure nobody saw their cargo. When they did encounter someone, she chattered irritably with them before sending the unfortunate on their way, often with a sore ear or a new errand.

The last bit of the journey was the worst. In the more populated parts of the castle it was impossible to move completely unseen. And even though they kept their heads down, and even though nothing overt was said, Sa-at felt questioning eyes fall on him.

It’s like being in the wrong part of the Wild as the suns go down. Trouble is already waiting for us.

They were nearly back to Roh’s room when the old cook stopped and bowed her head. Tal and Sa-at copied her, letting their hoods fall forward.

‘Shouldn’t you be in the kitchens?’ said a voice, young but imperious.

‘Ah,’ puffed Roh, ‘the good Lord Rochant misses nothing … I’ve been looking for Honoured Mother Chandni … Been all over the castle and I can’t find her anywhere. Most unlike her.’

Good Lord Rochant? Thought Sa-at. This must be the imposter. My enemy. He wanted to look very badly but he knew he should keep his head down. He bit his lip. Surely a little look wouldn’t hurt?

‘I have given her leave to travel and see her family, a reward for her long years of service.’

‘Very kind of you, my lord. People don’t forget that sort of kindness.’

Sa-at had the feeling that Roh was saying one thing and meaning another.

‘If you have need of my seneschal, Win has taken the post. Take your concerns to him unless you feel the need to come to me directly.’

‘No need to bother you, my lord. It’s nothing.’

‘You have run yourself half to death for nothing?’

‘I mean it’s nothing for a Deathless Lord to concern himself with. The little things are all the world to the likes of old Roh.’

Sa-at couldn’t bear it any longer. He lifted his head a fraction so that he could see the man Roh was speaking to. He saw black and blue silks, an inner layer that was tied tight on the arms and legs, and then an outer layer that flowed around him to pool at his feet. The man was not tall and the silks made him seem bigger than he probably was. Sa-at was not fooled though.

Many animals in the Wild do that trick, and they do it much better.

But a glance at a pair of legs and a body was not enough. Sa-at tilted his head a little more and saw a brown face with short black hair. His own face, but with a golden tattoo across one temple, the lines like cracks in the surface of his skull, or lightning, forking down to the cheek. It was identical to the one on Rochant’s cheek. He saw the man’s eyes – they are my eyes! – half-lidded by a frown, and he gasped. They were staring right at him.

CHAPTER FOUR

Satyendra’s eyes bored into the stranger’s. They were wearing a servant’s hood which was odd in itself as they were indoors. He noticed a long strand of hair spill from the hood. He had possessed hair like that once, as long and dark as his mother’s. Until, that is, she had cut it away. Not long ago, his face had been clear of gold paint just like this one. He looked into those wide eyes and it was like looking into a mirror of the past.

From the moment he’d found Roh in the corridor, he’d known something was going on. A liar always knew another liar and he was a creature made of lies.

‘I assume these staff are new,’ he said to Roh, though his gaze did not leave the too familiar face.

‘That’s right, my good lord. Two of my kitchen lads.’

‘I would have their names, and see them observe proper manners within my castle. Hoods are for outside, not in.’

‘Oh, but they know the rules, my good lord, it’s just that their hands are full.’ She put a hand to her back and groaned, though Satyendra was not convinced by the display of discomfort. ‘All this running about has worn these old bones hard. Might we be excused?’

He glanced to the guard at his side. ‘Make sure she doesn’t fall.’ The guard nodded and took the cook’s arm. He forced his attention to go to the other figure, wanting to save his mysterious twin till last. ‘Let me get that for you,’ he said, smiling as he threw back the young man’s hood. A pale face was revealed. It was worn and tired, unremarkable save for the scars where his earlobes should be. There was a delightful amount of worry there, even for a servant meeting his lord for the first time, and yet Satyendra found it hard to absorb. Something was wrong. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Tal, my lord.’

‘You have the look of a road-born, Tal.’

‘Y-yes, my lord. I was born and raised in Sagan.’

‘And then raised to my castle, it seems. Who brought you into the kitchens?’

‘I …’

Roh cleared her throat. ‘It was Honoured Mother Chandni, my good lord, she did it as a favour.’

Lies. I’ve never seen this boy before and my mother didn’t bring people in for favours. She brought in the best. But he kept his face civil. ‘I see. Welcome, Tal. What happened to your ears?’

Tal’s cheeks flushed scarlet and he looked at the floor. ‘The Wil—’

‘Fool tried to pierce them as a child,’ interrupted Roh. ‘Got infected.’

More lies. Not even good ones. He took a moment to take what he could of Tal’s mounting terror, but it was as if something was muting it, interfering with his ability to feast. In fact, he himself felt uncomfortable. His armpits had become sweaty and he resisted the urge to scratch them. Lord Rochant would never be seen to scratch in public.

‘Welcome to my castle, Tal of Sagan. Serve me truly and you shall have nothing to fear.’ The fear and guilt were so clear on Tal’s face it was embarrassing. I’ll keep this one in the cells when I’m done. Between him and Pik I’ll not want for food.

‘And you?’ he said, turning at last to the other one again. Their eyes met a second time and it was just as much a slap in the face as the first. Unlike Tal, he got no fear from this one. There was curiosity mixed with anger and determination. Nothing he could use. ‘What’s your name?’

Roh took a breath to answer for him but Satyendra’s hand came up, silencing her. ‘Let him speak for himself.’

‘My name is Sa-at.’

‘I’ve never heard a name like that before.’ He reached out and pushed back Sa-at’s hood. Beneath the cloak, he could see black feathers. Part of some garment that bore no resemblance to any of the castle fashions. And that face! His face. A perfect copy. ‘We could be brothers,’ he murmured. Then added: ‘In body. You could be related to this body.’

Sa-at regarded him with similar fascination. ‘You’re like me.’

Conflicting feelings rose within Satyendra. He wanted to touch Sa-at, to see if he were real. To see if I am real. He wanted to rake that face with his hands and destroy it. He wanted to flee the intense scrutiny.

He realized that Sa-at wanted to reach out to him too, but couldn’t as his hands were already full. And that brought his attention to another oddity. ‘What are you carrying, exactly?’

Both Sa-at and Tal gave worried glances towards Roh. The old cook was leaning against the guard, her eyes half closed. ‘Don’t look at me. When your lord asks you what you are carrying, you show him.’

Sa-at was the first to move. He proffered one of the cloth parcels towards Satyendra, who took it. There was solidity beneath the fabric, along with an unpleasant feeling. A familiar, unpleasant feeling. The skin of his palms tingled unhappily.

I don’t want what’s in here. I want to give it back.

But at this point he had to open the parcel. To do anything else would appear strange. After all, he’d asked to see it. As the cloth fell away, he found himself looking into the empty eye holes of a helmet. Clearly it belonged to a Sapphire Deathless, but despite being of similar design it was not his helmet, that one was smaller. He’d just seen the other Sapphire Deathless arrayed in their armour before they’d left to hunt. None of their helmets matched what he held in his hands.

‘What is this?’ he murmured.

The burning sensation intensified, and he felt that strange shifting in his hands, as if the flesh were trying to get away from the crystal. He was just about to give the helmet back to Sa-at when he heard a gasp and a thud.

‘By the thrice blessed suns!’ he exclaimed, turning towards the guard. ‘I told you to stop her from falling.’

But Roh had not fallen.

She was standing, very much alert, with the guard unconscious at her feet. In her hand was a long, thin needle that glinted as she dipped it into a pocket of her cloak.

‘Guards!’ he yelled.

Roh moved towards him. He should have been able to avoid her. But he was distracted by Sa-at’s stare and the pain in his hands and the sluggish feeling brought on by contact with the crystal.

The needle went through two layers of fabric and into his shoulder. Immediately it started to tingle.

‘Might want to get that seen to, my good lord,’ said Roh.

He dropped the helmet and fell back against the wall, screaming for help. As more of his staff arrived, Roh and the other two fled down the corridor. ‘Sound the alarm!’ he shouted as he prepared to give chase. ‘Gather every able-bodied guard you can and bring in Roh. She’s a traitor!’

They stared at him, uncomprehending. A small voice in the back of his mind warned him that he was behaving in a most un-Rochant like manner. He ignored it. ‘Now!’

As the servants rushed off to fulfil his orders he realized there was only one way to save himself. One thing to do. He set off after Roh while clutching at his shoulder. The skin around the tiny wound tingled, the sensation slowly spreading. He wondered what foul poison was in his veins.

Am I already dead?

He continued on, faster, tears on his face, alone and in pain. And privately, he yearned for his mother.

Chandni followed Crowflies through the trees. It was quiet, almost tranquil, and she was reminded of the brief moments of joy she’d experienced here so long ago. It’s strange. For all the horror that time in my life brought, I had moments of true happiness too. Can I say that about any other time?

She thought of her life in the castle. There had been a background sense of satisfaction over her work and moments of quiet pride at her achievements, but it had always been weighed down with stress and fear. Even before her son had been replaced, her life had been one of duty, not pleasure. Before Varg, she’d never really wanted anything for herself. Never even considered it an option.

‘Cha-aan,’ said Crowflies. There was a note of warning in its voice. The Birdkin was not far ahead, it was looking into a small clearing where she could just make out Varg leaning against the white block of Glider’s back.

They’re alive!

She wanted to run to them but her courtly upbringing stopped her. She turned to the branch Crowflies was sitting on. ‘Thank you for helping me. I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer you in return for your kindness but you could have some of my hair for your nest if you’d like.’

Crowflies made a derisive noise.

‘A piece of colourful thread from my clothes, then?’ One look at the Birdkin’s face told her this was no good either. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve never had to deal with a creature as magnificent as you before. Is there anything you would like before I go?’

Crowflies looked up towards the sky. She looked up too but could see nothing unusual. She realized it had exposed the underside of its beak but there was nothing amiss as far as she could see. Then it dawned on her. ‘Ohh, you’d like me to deal with an itch?’

There was a flash of movement, a lightning fast nod, and then it was looking up again.

‘Of course.’

She gently scratched the space underneath its beak.

‘Aaark,’ it said. ‘Aaaarhhh.’

After a moment, she saw its wings lower as the tension left its body.

‘Well, I should be getting back to my friends now. Thank you again.’

But as she turned to go, Crowflies caught her sleeve in its beak.

‘What is it?’

The Birdkin offered her the top of its head. She sighed. ‘Very well, but then I really have to go.’ She quickly scratched the top of its head and then waved goodbye. She expected Crowflies to leave but it remained on its branch, watching her with intensity.

Varg didn’t notice her arrival. His head was buried in his knees. She could see the grey streaks in his hair and the tired slump of his shoulders. He seemed smaller than usual, like a shrivelled version of himself.

He was sitting against Glider, who most definitely had noticed her. She too, appeared tired. Both her blue human eye and the dark canine one were bloodshot. Though she remained curled around Varg, her head lifted slightly in Chandni’s direction, and her tail began to thump softly on the earth.

Chandni put a finger to her lips and crept over to them, kneeling down.

‘Hello, Varg.’

She heard a sniff, and then he very slowly looked up at her. ‘Chand?’

‘Yes.’

‘I thought you … I thought I’d never see you again.’ His eyes began to well with tears, then narrowed. ‘Is it … really you?’

‘It’s really me, Varg.’

‘Prove it.’

‘Well, for one thing, Glider isn’t growling at me.’

‘Glider’s been wrong before. And you went into the Wild to die. You were bleeding and they took you in. I’ve heard a lot of tales of folk being stolen by the Wild but I ain’t never heard one where the Wild gives someone back.’

The reunion wasn’t quite going as Chandni had imagined it. ‘I’m right here, Varg.’ She went to take his hand to prove how real she was but he flinched away from her into Glider, making the Dogkin grumble in protest. Chandni held up her hands.

‘You need to prove you’re really her and not just something that looks like her.’

She pulled back her sleeve. ‘You see the three fresh cuts? I made them with your knife. You see the older ones? Made in the back of your wagon on the morning after we first met.’ She pulled off her glove. See the missing nails? Taken by the Hunger Tree when it saved me from the poison. Do you believe me now?’ He didn’t reply, just stared at her, slack jawed. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Varg, just kiss me!’

And then they were kissing, him pressing forward until the two of them tumbled together, him on top. They were fumbling kisses, desperate and messy, and punctuated with laughter. Varg’s tears splashed on her cheeks and his beard tickled her lip and she didn’t care.

She left her right arm encircling his body and used her left to explore beneath his clothes. Her fingers brushed through the hair on his chest and against the harder muscle beneath. Then down, to start loosening his belt. It was surprisingly difficult, one handed, especially as he was still intent on kissing her.

He paused when he realized what she was up to. ‘You want to do this here? Are you sure?’

‘Yes!’ she replied, her voice louder than she’d intended. ‘Help me.’

They undressed each other. In their rush, clothing got caught and tangled. Buttons were lost. Varg swore several times and Chandni laughed and joined in. Glider began barking and tried to get between them until they told her, loudly, to go away. No magic had changed the forest floor. It was just as rough and uncomfortable as it had ever been. But again, she didn’t care. Mohit, her past lover, had been diligent and followed her instructions to the letter. Varg didn’t need instructions, he just needed encouragement.

And she gave it in a voice her mother wouldn’t have recognized.

Afterwards, when they had settled against each other, their breathing falling into mutual rhythm, he brushed the hair from her cheek and looked at her.

‘What does this mean, Chand?’

‘It means we can be together.’

‘But how? The Wild don’t give up fresh blood.’

‘It didn’t.’ She put a finger on his lips to stop him from blurting more questions. ‘A demon took some of my blood, and I made a deal. That means I get to be with you and to live the way I want.’

He gently pulled her hand away from his mouth. ‘And what does it get?’

‘It gets me.’

‘Oh no. Oh shit.’

‘But not today. Not for a long time. It has to give me what I want first. It’s going to help me find my son, my real son. The Satyendra that sent me to my death isn’t the baby I brought here with you all those years ago. Murderkind, that’s the demon’s name, will help me find him. But that’s not all. I’ve bargained for a life with you, Varg. A good, long life. We can finally be together.’ She looked down, suddenly shy. ‘If you still want this.’

He lifted her hand to his lips. ‘You know I do.’

‘Are you sure? What about your duty to Lady Pari?’

‘I’ve paid my debts there. I want my own life now. I want a family. Do you want a family?’

‘You mean children?’

‘Yeah.’

‘If we can, then yes, and I want Satyendra to be part of this family too. And Glider.’ She paused and looked around. ‘Where is Glider?’

She saw the Dogkin had taken herself to the other side of the trees and had her back to them, though one floppy ear had pricked up at the mention of her name. ‘Glider, come here!’

In seconds she had bounded over to eagerly accept a hug. Chandni gave herself a moment to enjoy being in such loving company, then looked up at the sunslit leaves. ‘Before we can start building a life here, there’s something I need to do for Prince Murderkind.’

Glider and Varg both raised their eyebrows. One barked and the other protested: ‘I thought you said we’d get our time first before you were his. A good long time.’

‘I did. And we will, but Murderkind is just asking for this one thing now. I think it’s something only I can do.’ When she’d been with Murderkind, heart to heart, she had felt no deception, and yet she felt odd defending the demon.

Varg shook his head. ‘Well, what is it?’

‘I need to find another Prince of the Wild called Kennelgrove and persuade him to ally with Murderkind against the Corpseman.’

‘Sounds dangerous to me. And how are we supposed to find this Kennelgrove?’ Glider barked so loudly that Varg had to raise his voice. ‘I’ve never heard of him.’

‘No,’ she agreed, and then pointed at the Dogkin. ‘But she has.’

Glider barked again, and as soon as they looked at her, she bounded off into the trees, pausing occasionally to howl, long and loud.

‘Where are you going?’ Varg shouted.

‘Get dressed, we need to go after her.’ Chandni started collecting her clothes and putting them on. She became aware of Varg’s admiring gaze. ‘Hurry up. I don’t want to lose her.’

With a muttered curse, Varg tucked his enthusiasm back into his trousers.

It wasn’t hard to know which way Glider had gone. They heard her howling not too far away. And then, they heard other howls, other Dogkin, at least half a dozen. The trees too, were murmuring uneasily. That feeling transferred itself to Chandni’s stomach.

‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ said Varg. ‘We should get out of here while we can.’

‘No,’ said Chandni. ‘Glider wouldn’t abandon us.’

‘That’s exactly what she just bloody did!’

‘I mean that she wouldn’t abandon us if we needed her.’

‘Think about it, Chand. If something’s big enough to threaten old Glider, what use are we gonna be?’

She took his hand and started walking. ‘Argue if you want, but we’re going.’

‘Fuck,’ said Varg, but that was all he said, and they made their way towards the howling together.

The idea for Satyendra’s salvation had come to him in a flash: his hunger. When he’d gorged himself on Yadavendra’s shame he had become immeasurably stronger and that strength had allowed him to heal from terrible injuries overnight. If his body could reassemble a crumpled skull, then surely it could handle a little poison? All he had to do was feed before the effects kicked in.

It didn’t take long to catch up. Sa-at and Tal were already slipping into Roh’s room, but the old woman herself had lagged behind. As he crept closer, she stopped to lean against the wall. This was his chance. He blinked away tears and tried to soften his steps, keen to catch her unawares.

Meanwhile, the tingling numbness was spreading from the wound, not fast, but continuously, bringing with it a rising sense of panic. Perhaps that was why he rushed the approach, or perhaps Roh was more alert than she appeared to be. In either case, as he closed in on her, she turned to face him, that long needle in one hand, held between them. Poison glistened on its tip.

To a normal person, it would be a powerful deterrent, but Satyendra was not normal. He did not stop nor even slow, surging forward with hands outstretched. He barely felt the needle as Roh slipped it deep into his gut. What was more poison after all?

He grabbed her and tried to slam her against the wall, but she was surprisingly strong, and bigger than him. For a few seconds, they wrestled, equally determined, as the poison continued to spread. She gave him no fear, no pain, nothing he could feed on. In fact he felt nothing from the old cook save contempt.

In desperation he bit her cheek, sinking his teeth into the flesh, and pulling. This got a reaction, and he bit harder. In return, she let go of one of his hands and punched the needle where it protruded from his side.

That was her mistake.

For now he had her blood on his teeth, and her pain in his body, and he had a hand free. His hand grasped her face so fast that her skull was rebounding against the wall before she even registered contact.

Shock.

Pain.

Fear.

At last, he felt these things from her. He took her hand from the needle and crushed it in his own, powdering the bone. Then he removed the needle, and then, as the power and the hunger surged within, he got to work.

By the time the guards arrived, Roh was dead. Sensation had returned to his shoulder and stomach, and the tiny pinprick wounds had vanished. ‘The traitors are hiding in there,’ he said, pointing towards Roh’s room. ‘Bring them to me.’

The guards’ salute was slow in coming. Most of them had grown up with the cook, as had their parents. She was almost as much a part of the castle as the walls.

‘Now,’ he added, through gritted teeth. The guards’ attention drifted to his face. To the blood around his mouth.

He stood up, and to them, he seemed taller somehow. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘No, my lord,’ they replied, though it was clearly a lie.

Satyendra followed them as they approached the door.

The high still sang in his veins but he was troubled despite it. I have killed an old woman. And I … enjoyed it. And it was easy. He tried to tell himself that it was necessary for his own survival, and that he had never liked Roh anyway. It did nothing to assuage the guilt. In fact, as he thought about what he’d done the hunger within him stirred and a muscle he wasn’t normally aware of flexed within his face, as if it wanted to open in a different way.

Pausing in horror, he brought his fingers up to either side of his nose. The skin there felt normal. He let them roam across his cheekbones and forehead but found nothing amiss.

Yes. This has been a warning. The hunger must be resisted before it becomes too much of me. He told himself that he wouldn’t feed it again.

But as he got to the door he felt it stir again, tempting.

They flew along the Godroad in twos, the sunslight playing across their wings. Vasinidra was alongside Mia, his finest hunter and mother to his children. He already feared the day she’d be gone. She’d been a rock to him in this lifecycle and had become the yardstick against which others would be measured.

Behind them were his hunters, then the other Sapphire Deathless; Umed, Yadva, and Gada, each one backed by their own flight. He felt both joy and sadness considering them. Joy because the sight of his family flying together in the same direction gave him hope. Sadness because they were a wounded house, reduced forever from seven Deathless to six. Nothing he could do would ever change that.

When they reached the village of Sorn he banked to the right, knowing that the others would follow. Somewhere below, in that overgrown ghost place, was his mother, Nidra. It was a childish thing, but he stared at the buildings below as he passed over them, longing to see her. And longing for her to see him in his new station.

But if Nidra were down there, she gave no sign. Only a foolish exile would stand in the open, and Nidra was no fool.

Not long now, Mother.

Away from the Godroad, the essence currents were weaker, inconstant, and harder to navigate. Alone, he might be able to glide all the way to the hill Lady Pari Tanzanite had told him about. However, the others would never get that far.

He glanced back, waiting for the tell-tale wing dip of one of his family losing altitude. It wouldn’t do to get separated in the Wild. As he suspected, Gada was the first to go. Before his brother began to drop noticeably, Vasin signalled for his flight to descend. There were no perfect landing spots, but he could see a long thin gap in the trees.

Good enough.

He and Mia flew down together, Sky-legs bringing them to a bouncing stop at the furthest edge of the opening. He turned to see how the rest of the house would fare. With so many landing at the same time in such a narrow space, everyone would be focused entirely on themselves. Such unguarded moments were rare and gave him useful insight into the state of his hunters.

Each flight kept formation, the hunters landing in an orderly fashion. No other house can match our discipline, he thought proudly. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Uncle Umed were still in a younger body, and even Gada, our worst flyer, managed admirably. There are no weak links for the Wild to exploit.

He raised his spear and every other spear came up together in reply. Pride for his people filled him. Without another word, he turned and bounded into the trees. Deathless and hunters fell in behind him, Sky-legs hitting the ground in time, making them sound like a single creature, a giant come to destroy its enemies.

The trees picked up the sound of their progress and sent it out in all directions, a warning for others. Not long after, he heard the howls of Dogkin and the shrieks of Birdkin. No doubt the whole of the Wild knows we’re here. Let us hope the Scuttling Corpseman still sleeps deeply.

One moment they were running through the forest – and it seemed as if the trees leaned away from them to avoid being gored by their razor-edged wings – the next, he was in the open looking at a tall hill with near vertical sides.

Vasinidra didn’t stop. He used his momentum to leap forward. His Sky-legs bent with the force of the landing, as did his knees, then both straightened together, propelling him into the sky.

He landed on the top of the hill. As Mia and the other hunters tried to catch up, he took in his surroundings. A lonely silver birch sprouted to one side, and there were various spiky bushes dotting the hilltop, but the dominant feature was a dome of amber. The peak of it rose a couple of feet above ground level, visible from here but not from below. The rest of the structure was tucked away beneath the surface.

Just as Lady Pari described it.

But as he moved closer, he saw that wasn’t true for every detail. She had told him of an amber cocoon with the Corpseman just visible within. But there were no shadows lurking inside the structure. She’d not mentioned there being cracks in the surface either, dividing it into sections, nor the slight misalignment of those pieces.

As if someone had pushed it open from the inside and then put the pieces back … we’re too late, he thought.

Lady Pari had told him that there were other things buried within the hill too. That bodies stolen from Sorn had been subjected to the whims of the Corpseman. Like the dome, their amber coffins had been cracked open and the earth had then been packed back into place.

He called his family to him while the hunters waited at the bottom of the hill.

‘Where’s our fight?’ asked Yadva.

‘Out there somewhere,’ Vasinidra replied.

Umed sighed. ‘The Wild looks after its own. It must have warned the Corpseman that we were coming.’

Vasinidra sighed as well. The Wild had done more than warn its own, it had hidden them. His hunters had found no tracks, no clues. It was as if the Corpseman and all its victims had vanished.

He heard Gada clear his throat. ‘What would you have us do, High Lord?’

‘I would hear your counsel before I make my decision.’

Yadva was the first to speak. ‘Spread out in five of the seven directions. We still have hours of sunslight and the Corpseman can’t be far away. Once one of us finds it, they signal the others.’

‘While our Story-singers will lament if we return empty handed,’ said Umed. ‘We risk losing more than just time if we linger too long.’

Gada pursed his lips. ‘Even the Corpseman could not carry half a settlement’s worth of people. Either it has allies to move them or they moved themselves.’

Typical Gada. He’d rather offer facts than risk conflict with the others.

Vasinidra was aware that his family were watching him. Aware that the flights of hunters were waiting for his decision. This was it. His first real test as High Lord.

Should he push on as Yadva wanted and risk weakening the house further? Follow Umed’s advice and have his tenure as High Lord begin in failure? And what about his mother? How much longer could she last alone?

Vasinidra did not panic. He was in his armour, exalted and strong, and the answer was already there, obvious, just waiting to be seen.

He looked at them. ‘I know where the Corpseman is.’ Yadva punched her spears into the air with delight. ‘It’s gone to join the attack on House Ruby. Quiverhive has been sending demons at them for some time now, and I know it has been communicating with the Corpseman throughout, no doubt planning for this moment.’

Umed frowned. ‘Forgive me, High Lord, but the Wild reacts, it doesn’t plan.’

‘It didn’t react. It didn’t plan. Now it does. The Corpseman has changed the way the Wild is and we have to change too.’

‘Even if that is true, how can you be sure it has gone to the Ruby lands?’

‘The attacks there have been building to something. This is it. Besides, our lands have been quiet for years, while others have suffered. We can no longer afford to do nothing.’ He clapped his uncle on the shoulder. ‘Take our people to the Ruby High Lord’s castle. Be ready to fight. I’ll meet you there.’

‘But,’ Umed stammered, ‘where are you going?’

He prepared to launch himself from the hill. With a combination of height and his peerless skill in the air, he was confident he could take flight from a single jump. ‘To put right a very old wrong.’

CHAPTER FIVE

Sa-at and Tal stumbled into Roh’s room. Roh herself had fallen behind. The last time Sa-at had seen her, she’d been leaning against the wall, the sweat gleaming on her face.

It reminded him of a Dogkin he’d seen in the Wild once. It had been in the throes of birthing a difficult pup and it had panted just like that. The Dogkin had died in the end. He wondered if Roh were about to die too.

‘You have it?’ asked Rochant. He was still propped against the wall where they’d left him, mostly obscured by a sheet.

‘Yes, my lord,’ said Tal.

‘But?’

‘But the imposter saw us. I don’t think we’ve got long.’

‘He looked like me,’ said Sa-at. ‘Why does he look like me?’

Rochant ignored him. ‘You need to dress me in my armour immediately. Where’s Roh?’

‘Outside,’ said Sa-at. ‘She looks sick.’

There was no expression of concern on Rochant’s face, no flicker. He merely nodded. ‘Then it’s up to you two.’

‘But, my lord!’ Tal protested. ‘What about the sacred rites? Shouldn’t I get a Gardener-smith?’

‘Consider this your apprenticeship,’ answered Rochant coolly. ‘Traditions are there to serve us, not the other way around. Now, unwrap the pieces and lay them out on the cloth. Try not to touch them with your bare hands.’

They did as instructed. It was hard not to handle the plates. The sapphire looked so smooth it demanded to be touched. Sa-at had enjoyed how smooth the crystal lights on the walls were and he suspected the armour would be similar.

As they attached the greaves to his shins, Rochant said, ‘I need one of you to cut me and dab my blood on the armour.’

Sa-at looked up at him in surprise. ‘Like making a pact in the Wild?’

Tal gasped.

‘No,’ replied Rochant and Tal visibly relaxed. ‘It’s very different.’

But Sa-at suspected Rochant was saying one thing and meaning another again. He took Tal’s gathering knife and pricked Rochant’s palm, catching the blood on the side of the blade before applying it to the greave.

They quickly fell into a rhythm with Tal attaching the plates and Sa-at daubing them with Rochant’s blood. As Sa-at watched, the drops were absorbed into the crystal, leaving no stain behind.

It is like making a pact in the Wild!

‘Listen,’ said Rochant. And they did. People were coming, and quickly. ‘Sa-at, bar the door. Use anything you can find. Use your body if you have to.’

‘But—’

As the shouts and running footsteps grew louder. Sa-at moved some of the heavier jars and boxes in front of the door and went back to Rochant. They attached his winged back plate, his chest plate, and the vambraces. Tal’s hands shook constantly and he apologized every time he slipped or touched the armour or made some mistake that Sa-at did not understand.

‘Open this door,’ commanded a voice outside.

They ignored it and tried to put on Rochant’s gauntlets. This was harder than the other pieces because his fingers kept catching rather than slotting inside.

A hammering fist accompanied the voice this time. ‘In the name of Lord Rochant, open this door.’

Despite the situation, Sa-at saw Rochant’s lips curl into a smile.

At last, Tal managed to put the helmet on and Sa-at dabbed some blood on it. There was a sudden change in the armour, as if it had been sleeping before but was now awake.

‘Did it work, my lord?’

Rochant just stared at his feet, almost as if he were trying to peer through them.

It hasn’t worked yet. Maybe we haven’t done it properly. If Roh were here she’d know.

The hammering resumed, getting angrier.

‘Come on,’ he said to Tal, and ran to the door.

They arrived to see it shake in its frame, breaking the catch and scattering the boxes he’d placed there. Sa-at braced himself against the door and Tal did the same. It jolted against his back, hard enough to send him forward a pace. He threw himself back against it.

Three times they held the door, but on the fourth the guards managed to wedge something into the frame and then the door began to open very slowly, pushing Sa-at and Tal as it went.

‘I’m sorry, my lord!’ said Tal.

‘It’s all right,’ said Rochant. He nodded to himself. ‘Yes. All is well now.’ He stood up. And it seemed to Sa-at that in that motion he grew, becoming not just taller, but bigger. The room was suddenly full of Rochant’s presence, tinting the walls a dazzling blue.

With a final push from the outside, the door swung open, knocking both Tal and Sa-at to the floor.

Guards poured in but they drew to a halt beneath Rochant’s gaze.

‘M-my lord?’ asked one, dropping his spear in surprise.

The others were already on their knees.

Rochant took a single step over them, seeming to fly rather than walk, twisting his wings to dive through the doorway.

Nobody else moved. The guards were so still, Sa-at wasn’t even sure they were breathing. With some surprise, he realized he’d been holding his breath too. As if his body had been stunned by the proximity of the man and only now could he breathe again. Curiosity and excitement came back to him in a rush and he scrambled to his feet, leaped over the kneeling guards, and ran out of the room.

Rochant was in the corridor, crouching down by a crumpled Roh. One of her hands was twisted and tucked against her belly. The blood between her fingers glistened in the light of his armour.

A few whispered words were given, a secret goodbye, and then Rochant stood up. He summoned the guards from the room and looked at each one in turn. ‘You have hurt one dear to me. Believe that her suffering will be visited upon you ten-fold.’

The man bowed his head.

Then another guard spoke up. ‘Please, my lord. I don’t understand. It was you that attacked her. You were out here, with us. I …’

‘This was not done by my hand,’ corrected Rochant. ‘Come with me and I will show you exactly what you have been serving. Tal, help them tend to Roh. See that her remains are treated with the utmost dignity. Sa-at, come with me. You’ll want to see this.’

Satyendra was running. He’d watched the guards opening the door and then he’d felt the light on the other side, flaring into life. Some part of him recognized the danger, even before he’d seen the blue tinge in the air. That part of him had taken hold of his body and used his stolen strength to move. Now he was halfway back to his chamber.

Gradually, his heart slowed and his thoughts became intelligible again. Whatever that light was, he hoped very much that his guards had dealt with it.

He returned to his room and cleaned the blood from his face, changing into fresh silks.

Now that he had calmed down, he realized that his last orders to the guards had been out of character. It was understandable, given the fact he’d been dying at the time, but it was not acceptable. His charade would have to be perfect if he was to keep his position.

And how am I going to deal with Vasinidra? As soon as he gets back, he’ll be looking for a way to get rid of me. I’m not going to live out my days in some village somewhere, struggling for scraps. Not after everything I’ve gone through. But what choice do I have? The High Lord is too strong to face directly.

He is new to the role though and his hold on power is tenuous. Perhaps Yadva could be turned …

By now his guards should have reported back. He thought of the blue light in Roh’s room and shuddered. She’d been up to something. It occurred to him that it was too quiet outside his room, and he stepped out to investigate.

The corridor was empty. He walked a little further and was alarmed to find the whole floor deserted. Given that they were hosting huge numbers of guests, this was especially odd.

It didn’t take him long to work out that there was a gathering in the courtyard.

A bad feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. It seemed too soon for Vasinidra to have returned. Unless something has gone wrong with the hunt. Please let it have gone wrong.

He made sure his posture was straight, his step measured and his manner as much like Lord Rochant’s as he could manage. Then, he stepped out into the mid-afternoon sunslight.

The courtyard was full. People lined the walls three rows deep. They made way for him though, parting so that he could see through to the large circle kept clear in the middle. Win, his seneschal was there and beckoned for Satyendra to join him.

As he moved into the space, he felt that something was wrong. ‘What is all this?’ he asked Win.

Win mumbled something. He made out the words ‘my lord’ at the end but that was it. The man wasn’t meeting his eye. The man was afraid.

He’s afraid of me.

Even as the hunger stirred, even as a part of him could not help but revel, another part began to panic. He moved closer to Win so that he could pitch his voice low. ‘Look at me. Speak clearly, and answer my question: What is going on?’

‘I …’ Win began. His eyes flicked to Satyendra’s for the barest moment but they flicked away again immediately. Satyendra felt the fear spike in that moment. It was as if Win was facing an executioner rather than his lord.

‘I said look at me!’

Another flick to him and away. But not just away. Away and up.

A shadow passed over them. Normally, Satyendra liked shadows. They gave him a little respite from the burning light of the three suns. But this shadow brought no respite, stabbing at the skin on the back of his neck just as hatefully.

He looked round to see a Deathless landing barely five feet from where he stood. He’d not seen the man before but he recognized the armour. It looked like the set being grown for him. The set that Pik had modelled for him in secret. Except this set was larger. As he looked closer, he could see the man’s face. Could see a golden tattoo that matched his own.

‘You’re …’ He wanted to say the real Lord Rochant but didn’t dare in such a public space.

The crystal helmet nodded.

‘But … that’s impossible.’

‘I might say the same of you, Lord Rochant.’ There was no malice there, the words delivered with only the slightest hint of irony.

Satyendra tried to think of a suitable reply. There had to be a way out of this. There had to be! Even if he drew from Win’s fear he could not hope to stand up to a fully exalted Deathless. But Rochant hadn’t attacked. That said something. Perhaps there was still time to salvage the situation.

For once, his quick mind failed him.

Rochant beckoned him to step forward.

Satyendra took one look at the armoured figure and shook his head. Close proximity to any sapphire was painful. Rochant’s glowed with the strength of the suns and he knew it would burn.

There was no indication that Rochant was about to attack. One moment he was standing there like some great sapphire statue. The next he was flowing forward, a tidal wave of crystal crashing down on Satyendra, who turned and tried to run.

Fingers bored into the meat of his back as Rochant lifted him into the air one handed. Satyendra bucked like a Purefish on a hook but could not get free.

‘How can it be that I return to my castle to find another with my name?’ asked Rochant. ‘How can it be that this creature bears the face of my Honoured Vessel?’

The pain was indescribable. Satyendra could feel the flesh puckering where Rochant’s gauntlets touched it. He could feel that strange rippling sensation as if it wanted to peel itself off the bone to escape the searing crystal. It made him into an animal, a thing of pain alone. He screamed and wailed. He cried and wept. He changed.

‘Behold,’ said Rochant, ripping the silks away from his body. ‘The Wild is cunning. It can wear our shapes, speak with the voices of our loved ones. But it will always reveal itself to be false.’

Satyendra saw the faces of the crowd. The way they leaned back. The horror. Several turned away, unable to look upon him. Through the pain, he managed a simple panicked thought:

What am I?

A bare arm swept across his vision. It was his arm, though he didn’t recognize it. The brown skin had leeched to grey and then to nothing, showing bone and vein beneath. It was moving too, rippling like disturbed water.

What am I!

The pain was too much to bear. His mind fled from it, his vision tunnelling to a narrow point. The last thing he saw was his strange double, staring at him with an anger he recognized all too well.

What … am … I …?

But there was no answer to his question. Just hurt, hate and then, oblivion.

The immediate danger had passed but Pari didn’t feel ready to come out of her armour just yet. She and Arkav were still with the Bringers of Endless Order. They had led the two of them away from the chasm beneath Lord Rochant’s castle to a small cave tucked away from sight of the Godroad.

She had to duck and twist to fit her winged bulk through the entrance, but once inside there was plenty of room. One by one, the Bringers approached the shadows at the back of the cave and vanished. The last of the robed figures, the one that had been most eager to help Arkav, gestured for them to follow. She too was swallowed up by the darkness.

‘I’ll go first,’ said Pari, her curiosity piqued. As she stepped forward, the light from her armour pushed back the shadows, revealing a moss-covered wall of natural rock. It seemed as if the Bringers had vanished.

She reached out to the wall and her fingers passed through, the surface no more substantial than a cloud.

‘More tricks,’ said Arkav. ‘More lies.’ He sounded angry. For the last few lifecycles his anger had been unpredictable and violent, and she readied herself for trouble.

But Arkav seemed to be in control.

Furious. But in control.

‘I think it’s rather fun, myself,’ she said, and began to feel for a physical edge to the illusion. The actual entrance was wide enough for two people, or one Deathless, to walk comfortably side by side. She was pleasantly surprised to find it was higher than it looked too. ‘Come on, time to get some answers.’

The path sloped downwards leading them through a circular tunnel. The walls were perfectly smooth. It reminded Pari of the chasm walls, except that these were flawless. Not a single crack or scratch marred their surface. She resisted the urge to make one herself.

They hadn’t gone far when the tunnel brought them into a larger room. The Bringers blocked her view of most of it, but Pari saw curving walls behind them. These appeared equally perfect, but made of brass rather than stone. Some kind of slab dominated the middle of the space, not unlike the ones in the Rebirthing Chamber, save that this one did not sit above a pit, and it had a series of multi-jointed arms sprouting from the base. It was as if a brassy Spiderkin were on it’s back underneath the slab, and the slab were its prey.

The Bringer that had talked with them before stepped forward. Pari could tell them apart now. This one was shorter than most of the others, and a little heavier on her feet.

‘We will not be observed here.’

Pari wasn’t convinced they’d have been observed beneath the castle either, but she kept that to herself. ‘You seem awfully keen on hiding.’

The Bringer ignored her comment. ‘We have many questions.’

‘You have questions! Oh, my dear, I suspect I have at least as many as you, and mine are going to be much harder to answer, believe me.’

‘No, Lady Pari,’ the Bringer replied firmly. ‘Our assistance was offered and taken. Lord Arkav Tanzanite has been restored. Now you will answer our questions.’

Pari could feel Arkav’s anger rising next to her. She was fairly sure he wouldn’t do anything rash. But not so sure that she wanted to take any risks. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘We wish to know what you saw.’

‘We saw lots of things.’ She started to tell them about their descent, and the strange living gateway they encountered. ‘There was something else travelling down with us. I didn’t see it at first but the deeper we went, the brighter it became.’

‘It was a soul, wasn’t it,’ said Arkav. He had not phrased it as a question.

The Bringer paused then nodded. Some of the other Bringers shared a look at this. One shook their head, clearly frustrated.

Interesting.

‘I’m sorry to say,’ Pari continued, ‘that when we passed beyond, the soul came with us. There were demons on the other side. They ripped that poor thing to shreds.’

‘Continue,’ said the Bringer. ‘What else did you see?’

Before Pari could speak, Arkav put a hand on her arm. ‘Look, Pari. Look at them!’

‘I’m already looking at them.’

‘Don’t you see it?’

Pari frowned. She saw seven robed figures in black and white. All of them were masked and hard to read. She had the sense they were uneasy with the situation but other than that they seemed as inscrutable as ever. ‘What exactly am I supposed to be seeing?’

‘They’re not surprised. They know what happens to souls that pass through.’ He pointed an accusing finger at them. ‘And they don’t care.’

The Bringers did not acknowledge Arkav. Rather, they looked at Pari expectantly, waiting for her to continue. They’re not confirming or denying it but I suspect they care more than they let on. Silence is their tool. If I’m to learn more, I need to find a way to get them talking.

‘The thing that surprised me about the demons,’ she said, ‘was that they talked to us. They kept saying the word “prisoners”. What do you think they meant by that?’

The Bringer looked away. ‘We’re all prisoners here.’

The other Bringers suddenly broke formation. One shouted for the lead Bringer to stop. Several looked openly worried, while several more just seemed to slump, as if they could no longer be bothered to mask their despair.

Pari could feel it now. She suspected Arkav had noticed some time ago. They’re desperate. They need us!

She laughed, startling everyone in the room, which only made her laugh some more. Despite their air of misery, a part of Pari was excited. She felt she had several pieces of a puzzle that looked tantalizingly close to connecting to each other.

‘I saw other souls down there,’ she continued, ‘travelling through tunnels that reminded me very much of the circles you make with your wands during the rebirthing ceremony. Are they coming from other castles?’

‘No.’ There was a pause. ‘They are coming from other worlds.’

Pari sat with that for a moment. ‘I see. Well, that’s exciting. And these … tunnels the souls were travelling through, they keep them safe from the demons?’

‘Yes.’

Arkav stepped forward. ‘Why are there no tunnels here? Why are the souls of this place not protected?’

The Bringer sighed. ‘A long time ago, before you or I were born, our people discovered essence, an element that is made of the things that essentially make us what we are. Our soul if you will. We also discovered ways to interact with essence, to move it, or in the case of your wings or the castles, to enable it to move us.

‘Ultimately, we found a way to capture the soul, intact, from the body and implant it in another. From that day on we ceased to be bound by a single lifespan just as we ceased to be bound by the shapes that nature had given us.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Pari.

‘By combining special surgical techniques and essence manipulation we could alter the human form to suit our needs. But more than that, we found ways to cheat death in all but the most unfortunate cases.’

‘This is fascinating, my dear, but I do hope you haven’t forgotten my question.’

‘I haven’t. We believe that it used to be the case that when a person died, their soul would be broken up much like a body is after death. In the case of a body, it decays down into its component parts, feeding the soil and scavengers that are nearby. A consequence of our evolution was that we had cut off a source of nourishment for those that required essence to survive.’

‘The demons,’ added Pari.

‘Yes. After a while, they sought us out in the places where we managed the soul transfer. Some even found a way through …’ The Bringer closed her eyes. ‘It was a dark time. We developed those tunnels you saw as a way to protect our people. We’d learned that while some types of essence were food to the demons, other kinds, those charged by the power of our three suns for example, was poison to them.

‘This worked at first. But the light of the tunnels brought demons in such numbers that we knew it was only a matter of time before they would overwhelm our defences. To survive, we needed a better solution.

‘It was clear that whatever deterrent we created, it would only stir the demons to new levels of desperation. The longer we starved them, the more dangerous they became. So, it was decided that in order for the many to enjoy immortality, a few would have to be,’ she paused, glanced at Arkav and Pari and then down at the floor, ‘sacrificed. In order to satiate the demons.’

Pari held up a hand. ‘Are you saying that the people under my care are being farmed as soul food?’

‘Yes.’

‘And how were we chosen for this great honour? Was there a competition? A vote? Did we lose a war?’

‘No. No, it wasn’t like that. Your world had already been corrupted. It was the obvious choice.’

‘My world?’ Pari raised her eyebrows. ‘Not your world?’

‘No. None of us were born here.’

‘So … my people are the food. Arkav and I are the prisoners?’ Her lips curled in distaste. ‘Or the farmers? Which must make you and yours the jailers.’

‘Pari,’ said Arkav. ‘She’s hiding something, even now.’

‘I’m sure she is. And none of this explains why they seem so worried.’

The Bringer seemed to brighten. ‘This is actually very exciting.’ When Pari blinked at her, she continued: ‘What Lord Arkav is doing is reading my essence. Our eyes are adapted to do the same, but you seem to have developed the talent naturally.’

‘Stop that,’ said Pari. ‘No flattery, just answers. What aren’t you telling us?’

‘When you were down there, did you see any other crystals? They would have been at least as big as you, long and sharp at one end, with light shining through their cores, like a ribbon through a bead.’

Pari shook her head and the Bringer sagged. ‘Why are they so important?’

‘They’re our way home. We should have been replaced, but no one has come.’

‘How late are your replacements?’

‘Over two thousand years.’ The Bringer sighed again, long and deep. ‘Lady Pari, we are sick of this world.’ The others nodded. ‘Sick of this sky and its pale suns. Sick of the hungry Wild and the same rituals being played out over and over again. We cannot endure another millennia of this with only the faint hope that at some point we will be remembered.

‘It is time for us to go home. Will you help us?’

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