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‘I see the mark on my shoulder and remember my fourth life –’ she frowned ‘– and the poor fortune that ended it.’
Again, the Bringers remained quiet, though she suspected they had shared some look at her expense.
‘I feel the mark on my lip and remember my fifth life, and the power of an expressive face.’ Which was a polite way of saying that when she needed to, she could pout people to death. It was still up for debate whether High Lord Tanzanite thought this was a good thing.
‘What is the name of your high lord?’ asked one of the Bringers.
‘What is the name of your Deathless brother?’ asked another.
‘Priyamvada is the name of my High Lord. My Deathless brother is Arkav.’
In her first life she’d had another brother who had lived a normal, single life. To her horror she found his name evaded her.
‘What is wrong with him?’ asked the Bringers together.
Pari’s full body shiver was constrained by the straps. ‘Pardon?’
Only a single Bringer repeated the question: ‘What is wrong with him?’
She sighed to herself. Here is the test.
Arkav had not been himself for several lifecycles now. Her once flamboyant, confident sibling had become prone to dark moods and bouts of misery. More than once, he had cut himself. She had done her best to hide the full extent of this, as had her house, but the Bringers had secret ways. They knew things. It was more than possible they had discovered her secrets.
It was also possible that this was a trick question, designed to get her to bluff. There was no way to know for sure.
A third possibility occurred to her. At a rebirth ceremony, the only ones allowed inside were the vessel, the Bringers of Endless Order, and the Crystal High Lord of the Deathless being reborn; in this case Priyamvada Tanzanite. The last she had heard, her brother had been taken into the High Lord’s care. Perhaps the question about Arkav was being asked for the High Lord’s benefit. Perhaps Priyamvada was lurking behind one of the many pillars, observing.
It did not matter. If Pari failed the test, her brother was doomed. And besides, Pari had grown rather fond of herself over her lives. ‘Nothing is wrong with Arkav,’ she replied, enjoying the way the Bringers leant back in surprise before adding: ‘that I cannot fix.’
There was a pause and then the Bringers stepped forward as one, the gemslight from their wands dazzling. She tensed in preparation, even though there was nothing she could do to defend herself. When they stepped away, the straps had gone from her chest and limbs.
‘Lady Pari Tanzanite is welcome,’ said a Bringer.
‘Welcome,’ echoed the others.
One by one, they left, pausing to nod to her as they did so. She caught a glimpse of peridot eyes within one of the masks, too bright, and was sure she knew them. It was assumed that the Bringers never left their sanctum, save to perform rituals, but masked as they were, no one knew their identities, they could walk freely across the land and never be recognized. They could have lived among the Deathless in secret all these years and no one would know.
Pari had never liked the Bringers. They held too much power for her liking. Their incredibly sinister appearance doesn’t help either. Just what are they hiding under those robes? She suspected the answer would be unpleasant, but that only piqued her curiosity.
When the last of them departed the chamber was plunged into darkness. She sat up on the slab and stretched, relishing the ease of movement. Her last body had lived to a ripe old age, and she had not been kind to it. To sit up, simply to think something and do it was such a joy! She swung down from the slab and, seized by the urge, jumped up and down several times.
Navigating from memory, she felt her way around the circular chamber, past the inner pillars, to the outer ones, until she found the wall. From there it was a simple matter to follow its gentle curve. As she walked, the stone was cold underfoot, but the chill did not reach her joints.
A voice from nearby sapped the happiness from her. Female, deep, cold: ‘Lady Pari.’
Pari dropped to her knees. ‘High Lord Priyamvada, you honour me.’
There was a pause, and Pari felt the rebuttal before she heard it. ‘No.’
Well, she thought, at least I won’t harbour any illusions of false affection.
‘Your boast to the Bringers. You stand by it?’
‘Of course,’ replied Pari. To lie to the Bringers of Endless Order was a crime. They both knew it. My High Lord just wants to make it clear that I’m in her trap.
‘Good. House Tanzanite needs its Deathless in good order, and it has missed Lord Arkav’s full attention.’
‘I would see him.’
‘He waits for you with Lord Taraka.’
‘Lord Taraka? Is there business?’
‘Yes. Prepare for it.’
‘At once.’
Priyamvada had been ancient when Pari first became Deathless and was by far the oldest of their house. She used her words sparingly, and never went anywhere on a whim. Pari’s instincts told her that something else was going on. Her nature led her to ask what it was.
‘While we are alone,’ answered Priyamvada, ‘know that this is Arkav’s last chance. He must add to his legacy or lose it entirely.’
Pari nodded, the gesture lost in the dark. ‘I understand.’ There would be many others vying for the chance to become Deathless. If Arkav was cast out, his Godpiece would soon find a new home.
‘Know too, that if he goes, you will follow.’
‘Forgive me, High Lord, but that I do not understand.’
‘Really? You have left me no choice. Either you will see that Lord Arkav is fit to serve the house, or you have defiled this sacred chamber with your lies.’ She heard the sound of the High Lord moving away. ‘I am fond of your brother. It would be a great sadness to lose him.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Pari.
The great stone door groaned as it opened, spilling light into the chamber. She caught a glimpse of Priyamvada’s silhouette shaking its head, and then she was alone.
There were three exits from all Rebirthing Chambers. One for the Bringers, a second for the Deathless, and a third for abominations. This last one was set into the floor at the far end of the chamber, and led to a sudden drop from the bottom of her floating castle all the way down to the chasm below.
She had used the third once before, in the castle of Lord Rochant Sapphire, and sworn never to again. Even so, it was with great reluctance that she stepped through the second door. She had a feeling that whatever was coming would be far from pleasant.
Sa-at hunched down within the branches, making himself as small as possible. He did not want the people below to see him because he knew they would be scared and run away.
It was rare to see Gatherers from Sagan this far off the path. There were eight of them, doing their best to fill their heavy bags with berries, nuts and yellow funghi. They always travelled in groups and they always moved quickly, nervous faces darting, jumping to every sound. Unlike Sa-at they wore thick clothing and heavy gloves to protect themselves from scrapes and cuts. Even in the daytime it only took the slightest scent of blood to wake the things of the Wild.
The dense canopy hid the suns from sight but by the glow of the leaves, he could tell it was moving from afternoon to evening, and that Vexation, the stronger of the red suns, was dominant.
‘Come on,’ said one. ‘We should be getting back.’
‘Just a bit further,’ said another.
‘We got a good haul,’ said the first. ‘Why risk it?’
‘See this?’ One of the hooded figures pointed to something on the floor and Sa-at leaned out from his hiding place for a better view. Branches shifted under his stomach to support his weight, the leaves stretching to form a veil between him and the group below. Sa-at had made many pacts with the nearby trees. He fed them whispers and little pieces of his kills, and in return they sheltered him.
Not every part of the forest was his ally, in fact many of the trees hated him, but even they tended to leave him alone.
Sa-at did not know why.
From his new position, he could see a little better but the thing the group were looking at still eluded him.
‘It’s a creeper,’ continued the speaker. ‘If we follow it, it’ll take us right to the mother plant and we can bleed it for Tack.’
There was a brief debate which Sa-at observed with interest. Because of its rarity, Tack was extremely valuable. Usually, the hunters were the only ones that dared go deep enough to find it.
‘Think of it!’ said the one leading the argument. ‘One haul would keep us all for a year. We could repair the fences, or we could buy a tame Dogkin to pull our barrow. Or …’
The opposition’s point was simple. They could get lost if they went deeper. They could die, or worse.
One of the group had a habit of waving a hand as she talked, making little circular motions like a whirling leaf when it fell to the ground. Another clasped their hands in front of them, as if they had just caught a baby Flykin and wanted to shake it to death. They spoke too fast for him to follow all of the words, but he could see that some were worried and some were greedy, and that the majority wanted to press on. He also enjoyed copying their gestures.
When the Gatherers had moved away, Sa-at sprung from the branches, flinging out his arms so that his coat of feathers flew out behind him. For the few seconds it took to land, his face was split by a joyous grin, then he rolled across the floor to come to a stop where the group had chewed up the ground with their heavy boots.
The creeper vine sat there like a bulbous tongue stretching from the dark of the trees. He stayed in a crouch, folding his arms behind his back as he inspected it. The skin of the creeper was pale, suggesting it had not yet fed. It had not inflated either, laying flat and lumpy where it should be firm and round.
As he pondered this, a Birdkin flew down to join him. At least, it looked like a Birdkin. Its body was only slightly smaller than his head, and covered in feathers of the same black as those that made Sa-at’s coat. He knew it was also a demon, and that this made people afraid.
Sa-at did not know why.
‘Crowflies!’ he said.
‘Sa-aat!’ it screeched back.
He pointed at the creeper with his nose. ‘Wrong?’ he asked.
The Birdkin hopped closer and turned its head, regarding the creeper with one of its glistening compound eyes. It twitched one way, then the other, then opened its ivory beak.
Sa-at reached out a hand. His little finger was missing, and sometimes the old wound became itchy. When that happened, or when he wanted to be close to Crowflies, he pressed the scarred knuckle into the Birdkin’s beak.
Crowflies’ neck jerked, as if it were about to vomit, and then he felt the proboscis stir from inside, peeking out to prick his skin.
A flurry of images brushed Sa-at’s mind – a vision of the world as Crowflies saw it, a fractured mosaic. The colours he saw were strange, the reds brighter, the greens darker, and shadows no longer matched the things that made them.
The Gatherers’ footprints stood stark amid the dirt, and among the human ones Sa-at was now shown others that had been there recently, a succession of small round holes, as if someone had poked their fingertips into the dirt again and again.
Spiderkin? wondered Sa-at.
Crowflies gave a twitchy nod. They had dragged the creeper here as a lure. No doubt there was more than just the plant waiting for the Gatherers.
Sa-at made a cage with his fingers. A trap?
Another nod from the Birdkin.
The people with the funny hands will be eaten?
And another.
Sa-at pulled a face. He didn’t like the idea of the people being eaten. He saw Spiderkin all the time but he rarely got to see people. He wanted to see more of them. Maybe there was a way to stop the Spiderkin’s trap …
As soon as he’d had the thought, Crowflies stiffened, unhappy.
‘But,’ protested Sa-at, ‘they’ll die.’
Crowflies gave a shrug of its wings.
He pulled his hand free, sucking the end of it as he stood up.
‘Sa-aat!’
He was being warned not to go.
‘I’m going.’
‘Sa-aat!’
He paused for a moment. Crowflies was his friend, his only real friend in the Wild. The Birdkin had brought him food and drink until he was old enough to hunt. It nursed his injuries, watched his back, taught him. Everywhere Sa-at went, Crowflies was there like a winged shadow. Deep down, he knew it was trying to protect him.
But then he thought of the Spiderkin wrapping the Gatherers in bladesilk. In a week or so he would come by this part of the forest again, and find eight skeletons stripped of everything save the hands and feet.
If he waited another week, the hands and feet would be gone.
The maimed skeletons would hang for a few more after that, and then vanish. Sometimes, much later, he’d see a fragment of bone attached to one of the trees like a trophy, and be certain that he’d seen it before.
His stomach turned a few times and then he started running.
Behind him he heard several squawks and felt the feelings behind them.
‘Sa-aat!’ (Annoyed.)
‘Sa-aat!’ (Go if you want, I’m staying here.)
‘Sa-aat!’ (Exasperated.)
A little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he skipped between a tangly mass of bushes. Despite it all, Crowflies would come. It always comes.
The trees gathered closer in this part of the Wild, shutting out the day. Great strands of web ran taught between them. Where it rubbed against the branches, deep grooves were made, red fungus sprouting from it like raw skin. Fat shapes sat within the canopy, their legs bunched together to conceal their true size. Sa-at knew the signs and quickly guessed at their number.
The Gatherers did not.
A couple of them made a token effort to keep watch, though they had no light to penetrate the gloom, and were of little use. The others were clustered around a green trunk, as wide as a broad-shouldered man, with pale yellow veins running like marble across its surface. Several creeper vines were coiled at its base.
As he got closer, a nervousness began to grow within Sa-at. He felt something he did not have a name for – a desire to impress. He skidded to a stop and paused. He had very rarely seen people and had never spoken to one before.
