The Ruthless

It was impossible. Better to sidestep the issue of the game entirely and go to his lesson.

He walked on a few paces, pretending reluctance, before stopping. It was too late. He wanted to feed. Needed to. He would play and win and make them sad. Then he would drink it in. The plan had already formed, any flaws hidden by an irresistible need. His back was to them now and he could not help but lick his lips in anticipation.

‘Could I play the demon?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ they replied, a little eagerness returning to their eyes.

He made a show of thinking it over. ‘I suppose I could stay for one game, but it would have to be quick.’

The apprentices rushed to their starting positions, spreading out across the courtyard, while Satyendra walked to the far wall.

‘Ready?’ they asked.

‘Yes,’ he replied, then, as they started to run towards him, added: ‘No. Which demon am I going to be?’

The apprentices stopped, confused. One of them said, ‘What?’

‘I need to know which demon I am.’

Though the game did not normally require the demon to be named, all of the apprentice hunters had grown up being taught about the inhabitants of the Wild. Suggestions came thick and fast:

‘Be one of the Red Brothers.’

‘Be a Watcher!’

‘Be a Kindly Father!’

‘Be the Stranger!’

‘Be Murderkind!’

Satyendra shook his head. ‘No, I’m going to be the Scuttling Corpseman.’

‘But, the Corpseman is dead,’ replied Nose. ‘Lord Vasin killed it.’

‘No he didn’t, he cut off its arm, and anyway, this is a game so I can be who I want. Be careful though,’ he warned, ‘the Corpseman kills any hunter it catches alone.’

While they were digesting that, he started running down the left side of the courtyard, and with a whoop, they came after him.

Most of the apprentices were full grown, with adult frames that hadn’t yet filled out, and faces that still contained an echo of childhood. At seventeen, Satyendra was not the fastest nor the strongest of them. He was small like his mother, but he had her steel, and one other advantage. For Satyendra was different. Not just because of his status but because of something deep inside him, something fundamental. He didn’t understand why or how, but he knew, in a way that he never articulated, that something inside of him was twisted.

As far as he could tell, the majority of people in the castle did not lie. It did not even occur to them. For Satyendra, deception was a part of everyday life. Every pleasantry was a lie. Every smile. Every kind word. It was a daily necessity to keep his secret. A lifetime of practice had made him the best deceiver in the castle.

And so, in the game, he lied. As he approached the first pair of apprentices, his body told them he was going left, and when he went right instead, they were wrong footed. He used the same trick on the second set. The third set were expecting a feint, they watched his eyes instead of his body.

They might as well scream their plans at me, so bright is it on their faces.

He told them with his body that he was going left, but hinted with his eyes that he was going right.

They believed his eyes, and he sailed past them.

Too easy!

He was halfway across the courtyard when he heard his mother’s voice from one of the upper windows. He was being called. Pretending not to hear, he put his head down and ran for the finish.

Chunk, one of the older apprentices came charging up behind him. Satyendra tried to weave to throw her off, but she was so much bigger and so much faster that it didn’t matter.

All he had to do was keep going a little further. The wall grew larger in his vision. Under the clouds, the sapphires set in the stones seemed dull and dark.

Just a few more steps!

The more it looked as if he was going to win, the more he could feel the frustration of the other apprentices, like a dam about to break. He wanted the sadness underneath, he needed it.

As his pumping arms swung out behind him, he felt a hand close on his wrist.

‘Got you!’

No!

Chunk pulled him backwards, away from the wall. His fingers had come tantalizingly close, another inch or two and he would have won. They skidded together, both working hard not to fall or get their legs tangled.

Satyendra could feel his momentum being stolen and it enraged him. He had to win!

‘I’ve got him!’ she called.

He twisted to get free but her grip stayed firm. When he tried to drag her towards the wall she simply leaned back and he was unable to shift her weight. The other apprentices were running over. If any two of them got their hands on him then he would lose the game. Their frustration had vanished, their sadness become like a memory of mist. His hunger clawed at him.

His mother’s voice called again, louder this time.

Neither of them paid the Honoured Mother any attention. Chunk grinned at him and he grinned back.

He was still smiling as he pressed his foot against the side of her knee and pushed. Braced as her leg was, it was easy for him to pop out the joint.

Her smile vanished into a scream.

The mix of surprise and pain was heady, and Satyendra drank it in. Their suffering like a physical thing, nourishing. Around him, everything came into sharper focus. He felt more alert, more alive. It was as if he’d been in a desert and forgotten how sweet water could taste. A part of him knew that this was going to make trouble down the road but when the rush was on him it was hard to care.

Her grip on his wrist was still strong, the shock making her squeeze even tighter. It didn’t matter. His strength grew as hers waned, and he broke free easily and took the last step to the wall.

While the apprentices were gathering around Chunk he touched his fingers to the cool stone. ‘I win!’ he declared.

When he turned back the others were staring at him. Most were dumbfounded but three were advancing with violent intent.

They look angry, he thought. Angry enough to forget the rules. Perhaps they were going to actually strike him this time. Let them try! He thought, I can do anything! Though bolstered by another’s pain, he knew that the odds were not in his favour. Behind his bold smile, a worm of sanity crept in, telling him he should apologize or beg, anything to stop the incoming beating. His fear smothered the rush, and the closer they got, the more he wished that he had not put himself in the corner of the courtyard.

His mother’s voice cut across the scene, half speaking Satyendra’s name, half singing it, stretching out the sound into several long notes. The apprentices froze in place immediately as the word seemed to bounce from the walls. Even the sapphires laced throughout the structure began to hum softly, setting Satyendra’s teeth on edge.

He hastily took his hand from the stone. ‘I am here.’

His mother seemed to glide towards them, her icy expression capped off with a delicate frown of displeasure. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

Satyendra assumed a respectful pose. ‘We were playing hunt the demon. The other apprentices didn’t like that I won.’

‘He only won because he cheated!’ exclaimed Nose, pointing at Chunk who was still groaning on the floor. ‘Honoured Mother Chandni, look what he did.’

‘Did you hurt her, Satyendra?’

‘Yes.’

Chandni shook her head. ‘The hunters will be most displeased to hear that.’

‘No they won’t.’

Her expression grew colder still. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said they won’t be displeased to hear what I did. If anything, they’ll be displeased with—’ Satyendra struggled to recall Chunk’s real name and resorted to gesturing instead, ‘the way the other apprentices behaved.’

She made a point of looking at all of the surprised and outraged faces before turning back to Satyendra and folding her arms. ‘Explain.’

‘Of course, mother.’ He looked at Nose. ‘What did I say before we started?’

‘That you were supposed to be having a lesson.’

Chandni nodded to herself. ‘You knew you were late and yet you still agreed to play. That makes it worse.’

Satyendra narrowed his eyes at Nose. The boy was such a dung head. ‘After that. After you’d begged me to play and I’d agreed to one,’ he glanced at his mother, ‘very quick game.’

‘Um, you asked which demon you should be.’

‘Yes, and after that?’

‘You …’ Nose looked up and stared hard at the clouds as if he could make out the suns twirling behind them. ‘You said you wanted to be the Scuttling Corpseman.’

‘And what does the Corpseman do?’

‘Oh! You said it kills any hunter it catches alone.’

‘Exactly. As Lord Rochant says, only a foolish hunter engages a demon alone. That’s why in the game it takes three of them together to tag the demon and win. If we had been in the Wild for true, she –’ he pointed at Chunk ‘– would be dead or taken. She failed once because she thought to take me alone. She failed twice when she let her guard down, and she failed a third time when she allowed me to look into her eyes.’

The other apprentices nodded at that, and some space opened between them and Chunk.

‘And the rest of you,’ continued Satyendra, ‘all failed for not keeping up with her. You should have anticipated her charge and supported it. You let the demon win. When Lord Rochant returns through me, he will expect better than this. We must be ready for that day, mustn’t we, Mother?’

‘Yes. We must strive to be worthy of our Deathless Lord.’ They all hung their heads, though a few still looked angry. ‘And you, Honoured Vessel Satyendra, need to get to your lesson at once, we’ve wasted enough time here.’

‘Might I help my friend first? She is in pain and you have often told me that I need to learn the line between perfection and cruelty.’ Chandni stared hard at him, and Satyendra kept his face innocent and dutiful. ‘I try only to be as firm and fair as Lord Rochant would be.’

‘Very well.’

‘Thank you.’

As his mother returned to the castle, Satyendra crouched next to Chunk. ‘I’m sorry about hurting you before and I hope you can understand it wasn’t personal.’ He looked into her eyes, watching the way his lie slipped into her ear and down to her heart as easily as sweetwine.

‘But you smiled at me,’ replied Chunk, sniffing up some of the teary snot threatening to spill over her top lip. ‘You tricked me!’

‘Yes, which is just what the demons of the Wild would do; trick you into letting down your guard. You know the rules: Don’t let the demon get close, don’t meet its eyes, don’t listen to its voice.’

‘But …’

‘But nothing. The Wild is unforgiving. Our people rely on the Deathless and their hunters to keep them safe. We have to be perfect or we fail. You have to be perfect.’

‘You’re right,’ she sniffed.

‘I am. And I forgive you.’

He felt her twinge of indignation, tasting the moment it fluttered into suppressed anger and shame, all of her feelings served to him on a platter of background pain. It was so good his mouth began to water.

What is wrong with me? Why am I like this?

He put his hands on either side of her knee. ‘This is going to hurt,’ and suns save me I am going to enjoy it, ‘Brace yourself.’

‘Okay,’ she replied.

‘One. Two. Three!’ He gripped harder, feeling her tense in discomfort, drawing out her anticipation for a shade longer than necessary, then popped the joint back into position. Chunk screamed, and Satyendra dropped his head forward, letting his long hair curtain off the rapturous smile.

His blood sang with her pain, his skin rippled with it, the hollow lethargy that usually dogged him replaced with energy and happiness, boundless.

So good!

Under pretence of checking it had gone in properly, he manipulated Chunk’s swollen knee with his fingers. Shivering with the pain elicited from each prod.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Nose was staring. As he looked up the boy jerked his head away too late, too abruptly, to seem casual. Did he see me? Really see me? Does he suspect?

‘That should be fine now,’ he said to Chunk.

‘Thank you, Satyendra.’

‘You’re welcome,’ he replied, standing up with reluctance. There was more to milk here but he dared not risk it. ‘Hopefully they’ll have your back next time.’

Aware that he was already late, he said his goodbyes quickly and jogged off to his lesson with the Story-singer. Running felt good. He needed to work off some of the rush before sitting with Ban. The old Story-singer wasn’t the strongest willed in the castle, but he was no fool either.

As soon as his back was turned to the apprentices, Nose had stared openly, not realizing that his suspicious reflection could be seen in the crystals around the archway.

You see me, Nose, thought Satyendra as he passed through the arch. But I see you. Maybe you’re not such a dung head after all. When I’m done with you, maybe you’ll wish you were.

CHAPTER THREE

A bath was waiting for Pari when she reached her chamber, as were servants. The former topped with petals, the latter armed with brushes. A swift and thorough cleaning followed, while Pari tried to collect her thoughts. Always after a rebirth came the horrible feeling of having forgotten something, and this one was no different.

As the servants towelled her dry, Pari considered her body anew. She had asked to be given her granddaughter, Rashana, as a vessel. A perfect match both physically and in temperament, Rashana would have led to an easy rebirth. However, as punishment for going to the Sapphire lands in secret and without permission, she had been given Priti instead, her great granddaughter. Shorter, sweeter, obedient to a fault. The type of girl that would not know an original thought if it struck her in the face.

If the vessel’s body was like a jug, then Pari’s soul was the water. And if the jug did not have room for certain of Pari’s qualities, then they would spill over the edge and be lost.

However, unlike a jug, a vessel could be reshaped, and Pari had seen to it that one of her people visited Priti in secret to complete her education. In the years while she was between lives, he had been working quietly to encourage rebellious thoughts. His name was Varg, and unlike most of the servants, he was not known to the High Lord or any of the main staff. At least, he should not be. She’d had him go in disguise under a false name just to be safe.

Given the ease of her rebirth, she could only assume that Varg had done well. The calluses on her hands suggested her great granddaughter had enjoyed some clandestine climbing, as well as knife work, and she could only guess at the other terrible things he had taught her.

It’s a start, she thought. Though my arms look like they could use some more work.

She would have liked to be a few inches taller too. Such things shouldn’t matter, but they did. She made a mental note to have the platforms on her shoes adjusted accordingly.

Silk was wrapped around her, tight on the arms and legs. Over this was draped a violet gown with loose sleeves and high shoulders that curled to points. A layer of gem-studded jewellery was added to that, and her face was painted; gold around the eyes and mouth, subtler tones elsewhere, smoothing the lines on her face and the youth of her skin, obscuring the age of the body to let the Deathless soul shine through.

A woman sang for permission to enter and Pari gave it. She was dressed in the uniform of a majordomo, tanzanite studs flashing at her throat. Her arrival automatically dismissed the other servants, who hurried away as she bowed deeply. ‘Welcome back, my lady.’

Pari looked at her full face blankly. ‘And you are?’

The woman laughed in delight, sounding briefly like a common child from the settlements below. Pari looked closer, noting that the woman’s skin was made up, that beneath it she was pale for a sky-born. She had clearly spent many years in the castle but had not started life there.

‘Wait,’ she added. ‘I know you … Don’t tell me.’ A number of names skipped through her mind. ‘It can’t be? Ami? Is it you?’

The woman clapped her hands. ‘Yes, my lady.’

They embraced, carefully so as not to upset Pari’s outfit. ‘My dear Ami, it is a delight to see you again. Look how you’ve grown! You were a slip of a girl the last I saw you.’

‘The cook and I are the best of friends,’ she replied with a smile.

‘It is always wise to be on the cook’s good side. I take it you’ve come to enjoy our food.’

‘Oh yes. So much better than what I had before. The Sapphire don’t know what they’re missing!’

‘Spoken like a true Tanzanite.’

Ami lifted her chin. ‘Thank you, my lady.’

‘Inform the High Lord that I will be with her shortly. And send Sho to me, I need to know what I’ve missed.’

‘I …’ Ami’s face folded in sadness. ‘Forgive me, my lady, but Sho is no longer with us. I have taken on his duties in accordance with your wishes.’

Pari looked again at Ami’s uniform, taking it in truly this time. So strange to see someone else in it. She had had many majordomos over her lifecycles, but for the last three, they had all been Sho or Sho’s mother. ‘Of course you have, I remember now. Tell me, did he die well?’

‘Oh yes. He was surrounded by family. They sang him on his way at the end, and we all took part. Even the crystals in the castle joined in.’

Pari closed her eyes, imagining what it must have been like. Tanzanite crystals grew throughout her castle, most of them clustered at its base but some wound through the upper floors and laced the walls. It was their power that kept her castle in the sky, and her people had long ago learned to sing and play music that resonated. It was seen as a good omen when the crystal sang back. ‘I wish I could have been here.’

‘Sho wished this too. He has left you some final words.’

‘Where did Sho get his hands on a message crystal?’

‘I don’t know, my lady.’

Pari smiled. ‘He always was a crafty one. Bring it to—no, it had better wait until after the meeting. Do I look ready to face High Lord Tanzanite? Be honest.’

‘Yes, my lady.’

Pari nodded, feeling the statement to be true. In the Unbroken Age, it was said that there were those that could read the soul inside the body and know another’s intent even before they did. Pari had spent lifetimes trying to master the art, with limited success. She had developed instincts, senses for what another person might feel or do, but they were vague, and often hard to interpret.

‘How long have I been between lives?’

‘Sixteen years, my lady.’

‘Sixteen! I was told it would be fifteen years at most.’

‘Lord Taraka said there were complications with your vessel that had to be smoothed out.’

‘Ah.’ I wonder if that was the fault of my meddling or something else. ‘Is Varg here?’

‘Yes, my lady. He is camped with the courtyard traders to keep out of Lord Taraka’s sight. I know he is eager to speak with you.’

‘I’m sure he is. But he will have to wait. Is there anything else I should know before I meet with the other lords?’

Ami frowned as she considered the question. Clearly there were a lot of things and Ami was struggling to filter them. She’s still too easy to read, thought Pari, adding it to her list of things to attend to.

‘Never mind, Ami. If it isn’t on fire then I will deal with it after the High Lord. Have the others arrived yet?’

‘They are all waiting for you.’

Pari pursed her lips. She was tired from the rebirth but the High Lord was forcing her to attend before she had fully recovered. It was a low tactic. ‘Was this gathering overseen by Lord Taraka, by any chance?’

‘Yes, my lady. How did you guess?’

‘Bitter experience.’

Ami wisely made no comment, instead summoning servants to collect the back of Pari’s gown. It was time to face her peers.

The gentle flow of conversation ended as Pari entered the room. Ordinarily, she would have greeted the other Deathless Lords as they arrived, and granted them permission to enter. Ordinarily, it would be she, the Lady Pari, sitting in the chair opposite the door rather than her High Lord. However, on the day of a rebirthing ceremony, the usual laws were put aside.

She tried not to be hurt that of the six other Deathless that made House Tanzanite only three had bothered to attend her.

‘Lady Pari, welcome back to the realm of life.’ High Lord Priyamvada had stood, and the other two immortals followed a beat after. As was her preference, the High Lord had taken a tall body with an ample frame, the bright gold-violet of her gown a broad block of colour. It made Pari feel as if she was looking at a fortress rather than a person. Priyamvada’s high hat became a turret, and her full-lipped mouth a spout for dropping acid on any foolish enough to get too close.

Armoured in paint, that face gave nothing away. A golden tattoo sat like a star on her forehead, commemorating an old death wound gained long before the rest of the house had their first birth.

‘Thank you for holding my walls and my lands while I was gone,’ Pari replied. ‘Thank you for watching my people and keeping the Wild from their doors.’

Priyamvada gave a slight nod, and sat, allowing everyone else to do the same.

Once Pari’s gown had been properly arranged, the servants bowed and slipped away. She tried to catch Arkav’s eye but he was staring at the floor, his mind elsewhere. Despite the skilled work of his tailors she could see he’d lost weight, sharpening his features in a way she did not like.

Why does he ignore me? It’s as if none of us were here.

Lord Taraka indicated a desire to speak. His body had thickened during her absence, and he too was doing his best to compensate for living in a shorter vessel than his previous lifecycles. The many crystals around his neck tinkled delicately as he moved, before settling again on his bare chest. He was sometimes known as The Holder of Whispers, a literal title as well as a metaphorical one, for each crystal captured any words spoken nearby, and Taraka could make them speak at a touch. It was his job to keep a permanent record of oaths, agreements and indiscretions, to be dug up at the worst possible time. He also did a good line in secrets, holding dirt on everyone in the house save Priyamvada herself.

After he had received a nod from the High Lord, he began. ‘Allow me to add my personal welcome to that of the High Lord, Lady Pari. Your new body suits you well.’

‘You are too kind, my dear Taraka.’ One day, I’m going to enjoy making you suffer. She gave him her best smile to better disguise her thoughts.

‘Though I have brought Lord Arkav here so that he could witness your auspicious return, I regret to inform you that he cannot stay.’

She glanced at Arkav but he remained oblivious. ‘May I ask why?’

‘We are sending him to the Sapphire lands to carry out an investigation.’

‘With what authority do we investigate another house?’

It was Taraka’s turn to smile. ‘Some laws are universal, superseding even a High Lord’s right to govern. When High Lord Yadavendra of the Sapphire destroyed his sister’s Godpiece, he broke a sacred rule and weakened his house, and all of us, forever.’

The major houses, Tanzanite, Sapphire, Jet and Spinel, each held seven Godpieces, while the minor ones, Ruby, Opal and Peridot, held three. Thirty-seven Deathless in all, spread out like a net to protect as much of the land as possible. Yadavendra’s action had reduced that number to thirty-six and left a gap that could never be filled.

‘Has there been a trial yet?’

‘The Council of High Lords has requested Yadavendra’s presence on several occasions, but he has not come. At first he sent representatives, then messengers, and now, silence.