The Deathless

Pari wasn’t convinced that any of them were required for the rebirthing to work but she was grateful for their sing-song murmurs as they masked the sound of her tiptoeing from one pillar to another.

She could see a young man, naked, strapped down on a slab set at the centre of the room: Kareem Sapphire, living the last moments of his life before his soul made way for Rochant’s to return. In typical Sapphire fashion, the young man was stoic about his fate, neither railing against it nor revelling in the honour his body was about to receive.

She took some time to appreciate the new form her lover was to assume. Lean but not too thin, with a pleasing firmness to biceps and buttocks that she looked forward to exploring further. She was also pleased to see Kareem had cut his hair short against the fashion. Not only was this good for Rochant, who had proven himself immune to the fashions of court, it was also good for her. Long hair was fine to look at, but it tended to get in the way. Pari was already imagining what those lips might feel like against hers.

One of the Bringers took out a needle, raising it theatrically in the seven directions: up, then down, to the left and right making a cross, then three times more, across the left shoulder, then the right, and finally down at a forty five degree angle from the right hip.

The sight of the needle made the breath catch in her throat. Could one of the assassins have hidden themselves within the Bringers? But no, this needle was different to the other two she’d seen, a more elaborate tool. She watched as the Bringer switched it on, and a concealed pouch began to beat within their robes, like a second heart jutting from the small of their back. Shimmering liquid was pumped from the pouch through a tiny corkscrew tube that ran within the Bringer’s sleeve, and into the back of the needle. The other six were humming but she could hear the needle humming too, like a living tongue, sharp, now tipped with golden spittle and ready for its task. The Bringer raised the needle to Kareem’s unblemished flesh, and set to work.

Kareem’s head was worked on first, a jagged line of gold drawn from forehead to cheek, narrowly missing the eye. At the bottom the line forked and forked again, forming a lattice that spread back towards the ear: this was to symbolize Rochant’s first death, when his head had been split open defending his lord during the Battle of Bloodied Backs.

Next, the Bringer worked on his chest, inscribing tiny rows of text across his heart. Rochant’s second death had come when his body was ancient, and was caused by heart failure, which in turn was caused by the arrival of an unexpected message, the contents of which remained a mystery to Pari, much to her irritation.

Not all of his deaths would be represented, only the ones of significance. With bated breath, she watched as they added marks to his right hand and his cock. Neither of these were familiar to her and there was little of Rochant’s body she had not seen. Another puzzle. If only she could examine them more closely, she might be able to discern clues as to why they’d been added but if the Bringers found her here, there would be consequences even she feared to face.

Pari took a moment to appreciate Kareem’s strength of character. Though the young man gripped the edges of the slab and his body was locked rigid, he did not cry out at any time, enduring the stab-stab of the needle with barely a grunt. Even from a distance, it made Pari’s eyes water.

This is why he was chosen. Not for those cheek bones, that’s a common enough Sapphire feature. For his self-discipline. Rochant is a stickler for it.

Eventually, the needle went quiet, vanishing into the cavernous sleeves of the Bringer’s robes. More whispering followed, the Bringers reciting history and lineage, recounting a life that skipped across generations before surfacing to influence the Sapphire line, then vanishing again.

The whispers were just loud enough to sound enticing and, for the second time, Pari wished she could get closer. She also wished there was somewhere to sit down. Her feet were throbbing, and one of her knees was starting to tremble.

The Sapphires can have their self-discipline and suffering, she thought, right now I’d trade all of my dignity for a cushioned seat and a footrest.

Though she couldn’t hear the words, it became clear to her that the Bringers weren’t addressing Kareem, rather their masked faces were tilted towards a small box that had appeared on the upturned palm of the lead Bringer. Fine lines were brushed into the sides of the box, each movement making ghost-shapes along its surface. The lid was open. She could see the contents nestled snugly within: a platinum sphere, about the size of a human eye. From this distance it appeared flawless, but she knew in the right circumstances clever mechanisms within would rotate, cracking open to allow vapours to pass through the outer shell.

Nobody knew exactly where the soul went between rebirths but there was a good chance that it was there, right now, in the box, in the Godpiece, waiting to begin its next life.

For a rebirth to be attempted, a noble house would have to entreat the Bringers of Endless Order to attempt a ritual. This was normally a formality but one which had to be observed, and paid for.

Assuming this went well, the family would have to produce the relevant Godpiece: a relic of the immortals that once ruled the world, and the only thing capable of anchoring a soul once it had left the body.

Each Godpiece was attuned to a different member of the crystal dynasties; each one was unique, irreplaceable. Its allocation was a thing of incredible potency, and the singular right of the Crystal High Lords.

Most of the houses, her own included, had already allocated all of their Godpieces, meaning that any new immortals could only be made by removing one of the old, again a power held by the Crystal High Lords. It was also why Pari was always polite to High Lord Tanzanite, no matter how annoying she could be at times, and why Pari kept her affair with Rochant a secret.

It was one thing to break a taboo, quite another to get caught doing it.

The third requirement of the ritual was its location, ideally the correct family stronghold, though Pari and Rochant had debated whether any of the dynasties’ floating castles would suffice.

The fourth was time, the Bringers scheduling the ceremony to take place at the same moment of the day, and with the same alignment of the suns, as the immortal’s original birthday. This was why everyone, even the least fortunate, took careful note of the sky when a child was born.

Finally, a suitable host was required. They had to come from the immortal’s line, with stronger blood ties preferable. Each house endeavoured to groom potential hosts to have skills and interests similar to the immortal, to make the rebirth easier, however this was not always possible, and some immortals had lived lives in the opposite gender, and in bodies of a variety of shapes and sizes.

For Rochant, the signs were good, better than good, and yet Pari could not help but worry as the ritual drew to a close. The thought of having to wait another generation to be with her love was painful, the thought that she might never see him again, unbearable.

Somewhere nearby, Rochant’s enemies were moving, preparing to act. Pari doubted they’d dare try anything while the Bringers were present, but as soon as they had gone, Rochant would be easy pickings for any that could get past his guard.

And if they do, they’ll find me waiting, thought Pari, but the bravado sounded hollow, even in her own mind. She was tired already, and scared. What if I’m not good enough? What then?

One of the Bringers produced a mesh of wires and solemnly approached Kareem. Another stepped up to the side of the young man and placed their hands either side of his head. Kareem did not resist, though she thought she saw him flinch as he caught sight of the device. The lump in Kareem’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and then the young man opened his mouth.

The mesh was placed inside, flattening down Kareem’s tongue and jacking open his jaws. There was a click, loud, and the device locked into place, whereupon the lead Bringer stepped forward, took the Godpiece from its box to place it carefully, ritualistically, into Kareem’s mouth, into the mesh.

The others closed in, making a loose circle around Kareem, wands pointing inward, much of their light blocked from Pari. Their murmurings became louder, not quite a song, but a series of harsh lyrical whispers, ends and beginnings brushing over one another. Planes of light could only escape in the gaps where the Bringers’ robes were not touching and in the space above their heads. A tableau of shadow danced on the ceiling, and to Pari, it looked at times as if the shapes were wrong, the Bringers seeming to have too many limbs, and extra protrusions defying the human form.

She looked away but the noise still reached her. The strange words, and beneath them, muffled by the mesh, Kareem, making a sound she could not name but was born of suffering.

Until now she had never really thought about the ones that gave up their lives so that she and those like her might live again. It was always spoken of as an honour, and of course, those that took that honour for her, Pari had never met. But she found herself thinking about it now, that curious part of her brain forced to consider that Kareem did not sound like a man experiencing a great honour, and to wonder what would happen to his soul once Rochant’s took up residence.

Gradually, the whispers faded, each of the Bringers falling quiet in order, like waves receding from the shore. When they were done, they took a step back, widening the circle.

She risked a glance, and saw that Kareem’s eyes were closed. Or were they Rochant’s now? She had to know if he had survived the ritual and edged out from behind her pillar, sliding rather than stepping, until she managed to align herself with a gap in the ring of Bringers.

His chest. Is it moving? Yes. It moved! She felt joy that he was alive, tempered with fear. The body lived, true, but it was not yet certain what dwelled inside it.

Together, the Bringers raised their golden wands, touching them one to the other, so that the seven diamonds clinked softly.

The man on the slab groaned, then opened his eyes.

‘One man is welcome here,’ the lead Bringer said. ‘Are you that man?’

Pari saw the muscles in his arm flex against the straps that held him fast. He worked his jaw slowly, as if testing it for damage. The motion was so considered, so calm, that her heart leapt. It was Rochant, it had to be! The Bringers may not know it yet, but she was already certain.

‘I am Lord Rochant Sapphire,’ he said. And again, Pari rejoiced, she knew that intonation better than her own.

‘Lord Rochant Sapphire is welcome,’ replied the Bringer, ‘if you are he.’

‘If,’ hissed the others.

‘If you are he,’ continued the lead Bringer, ‘you will prove your humanity. Examine yourself, and tell us what you find.’

This was to be the test then. Pari had undergone several herself. Each time was different, a means to be sure that the immortal had truly returned, rather than a demon.

‘I feel the marks on my skull. The scars of my first life.’

The Bringers said nothing, none of them moved, though each seemed poised to act.

‘I see the marks on my heart, and remember my second life.’

Again, the Bringers said nothing, and Rochant turned his attention to his hand. There was a long pause. She saw the flicker of concern on Rochant’s face.

Something’s wrong.

The silence was stretching too long. If Rochant didn’t answer correctly, and soon, the Bringers would become suspicious. He might even fail the test.

‘What is this on my hand?’ Rochant asked.

The lead Bringer matched the pause, and Pari felt her heart clench. Then said ominously, ‘You do not know?’

Rochant only frowned.

Perhaps this is it. What if the assassin is among the Bringers, or if the Bringers themselves want him dead. If they put a mark on him that should not be there, then he cannot identify it, and he cannot pass. They will kill him and there is nothing I can do to stop it.

Rochant licked his lips to moisten them. ‘I know nothing of it.’

‘It is a mark of shame.’ The other Bringers made a soft chorus of the word ‘shame’ as the lead Bringer continued. ‘When you were killed for raising your hand in disagreement with your High Lord.’

‘Then, this cannot be my hand,’ replied Rochant. ‘For it, like me, has always been loyal.’

There was another long pause before the lead Bringer stepped in close. Pari’s breath caught in her throat as she saw a sweep of the robed arm, too fast for her to intervene.

When the Bringer stepped back, the marks on Rochant’s hand were gone and the straps that had held him in place hung loose on the sides of the slab.

‘Lord Rochant Sapphire is welcome.’

‘Welcome,’ agreed the others.

Their work complete, the Bringers bowed, but before they could leave, Rochant spoke again. ‘Wait, there is another mark I do not know.’

The Bringers paused, and the sense of them being poised to act, to strike, returned.

Shut up! Pari urged silently. You’ve passed the test you idiot. Just let them leave.

‘The one in silver ink rather than gold –’ Rochant allowed a delicate pause ‘– below. Can you explain it to me?’

A look passed between the Bringers. If Pari did not know better she’d have said there was some gentle humour being shared.

‘It is a warning from your High Lord. Of an end for this life if you do not heed it.’

Rochant didn’t reply but she saw his jaw clench and his eyes close.

He’s being told to stay away from me! She consoled herself that High Lord Sapphire could only suspect. If he’d learned the truth about their relationship, Rochant’s rebirth would have ended much more abruptly. We’ll have to be even more careful from now on.

The Bringers turned from him, processing outward, single file, following the spiral of pillars towards the first doorway.

For a moment, she was sure one of them was looking at her, and she caught a glimpse of peridot eyes that seemed to glow with their own soft light.

Pari pressed herself back against the pillar and held her breath.

The tunnel was smaller than Chandni had expected it to be. Why go to all the trouble of making a secret passage that’s almost impossible to use? she thought to herself. What were the architects thinking?

She hated being in this undignified position, squeezing herself and Satyendra through the tiny space between floor and ceiling. It made her feel like a stubborn lump of food stuck in the throat.

But most of all she hated Lady Pari. Bad enough that the Tanzanite had broken into her chambers, she’d started giving orders in a Sapphire castle. Even worse, she knew more about the castle’s secrets than Chandni herself. It hinted at the true depths of the friendship between Pari and Lord Rochant.

She stopped.

If it is just a friendship.

No. Such a thing was unthinkable, impossible, against the rules that governed the Deathless.

She shook her head, forcing herself to carry on. It was not her place to question her lord. She was just in shock, that was all. Whatever was happening, there would be a true and proper explanation that would be given to her if it was deemed appropriate.

She still hated Pari though.

Most of the stress in Chandni’s life had been the kind one could prepare for. From difficult guests from other houses who needed to be handled with care, to complicated negotiations over rights, to pregnancy. All were managed with meticulous planning and Chandni was proud of how smoothly she’d navigated through.

To the outside eye, it appeared that she never broke sweat or struggled, and that was just how she liked it. Exactly as a true Sapphire should be.

Yet again, her head knocked against the top of the tunnel, and she bit her lip to stop from crying out. Satyendra jolted in her arms but did not cry. His tiny fingers splayed in surprise, then settled again, gathering the front of her nightgown in two tight bunches.

Pride for her son’s stoicism overwhelmed the throbbing on the back of her skull and she paused to kiss his forehead. He’d always been calm in spectacular circumstances, including those surrounding his birth. For Satyendra was born on the same day as the Sapphire High Lord, Yadavendra, and under the same alignment of the suns. Upon hearing this, the High Lord had come in person to inspect the baby, and was so taken with him, he decreed they should share a name of equal length, an honour normally reserved for the other heads of the Crystal Dynasties.

Beneath her, the castle was surprisingly quiet.

Surely Pari should have raised the alarm by now? But even as she thought that, Chandni knew there were many reasons for Pari to fail. Perhaps the assassins had caught her, or perhaps the real guards had arrested her. Perhaps she was still hobbling along in that ancient body. She’s probably fallen asleep!

The image made Chandni start to giggle until she realized she was being hysterical, at which point she started to cry.

It was cold and dark in the tunnel. Her knees were raw from crawling, and she had to shuffle one-handed so that she could hold Satyendra in the other. As babies went, hers was small and light, like her, but over time that little weight seemed to increase, until it was like hefting a sweet, huggable boulder.

A tear fell onto Satyendra’s head and she heard the tiniest intake of breath.

Then, summoning the inner voice of her mother, Chandni berated herself until the tears stopped falling. This is not how a child of the Sapphire behaves! It simply will not do! Your face should be inscrutable, a puzzle for your enemies to fret over and your allies to admire. It should be held still, a weapon, only moving when it serves your purpose. It should not wobble and blush like a spanked bottom!

Chandni nodded, shaking, but herself again. Thank you, Mother.

She forged on, gritting her teeth as the skin of her knees ground against the stone.

Just as she began to despair that the tunnel was endless, her head connected with the exit, causing her to curse Pari, the assassins, the castle’s architects, and her own stupidity.

A panel slid away, admitting her into the main entrance hall behind the feet of an ancient statue from a time long-forgotten. The crystal had been grown through several floors of the castle and carved in sections, so that the head emerged in the feast hall and the feet straddled the entrance. There was an old belief that the great sapphire giant held the castle together, and kept it in the sky. Chandni had always liked the statue and thought it sad they did not have a name for it. The man depicted had a kind face and was the only crystal-forged smile to be found in Lord Rochant’s home.

Mohit had said the hollows where the eyes should have been were creepy, but she disagreed. She felt the dark spaces gave the statue a sense of intelligence that the others lacked.

Mohit, my poor, poor, Mohit. He had been kind, respectful. And though not the best of lovers, he had endeavoured to follow her instructions to the best of his ability. What he had lacked in initiative, he’d made up for in determination. In fact, by the end of their time together, she’d hardly been bored by him at all.

The panel closed behind her, softly, bringing her back to the present. It was a short walk from here to the main doors of the castle. Unfortunately, they were closed and barred, and from her hiding place, she could see several alert looking guards in place.

Even from a distance, she could tell they weren’t her people. Chandni made it her business to know every member of staff at the castle. She didn’t tell them of course, saving the knowledge for when it could be employed to maximum advantage.

These are the assassins. Not just one more as Pari believed, but a group, possibly a whole unit.

The castle kept only a small team of defenders but they were highly trained, at least she had always considered them so. It troubled her that they had been dealt with so easily.

There was no way she could leave by the main entrance, but there was more than one path in and out of the castle. Using the statue as cover and keeping out of sight of the gates as best she could, she made her way towards the kitchens.

She had almost reached the stairwell off the main corridor when she heard a woman’s voice behind her. ‘Hold there!’ It was coming from the other end of the entrance hall. She was not surprised that the speaker was unfamiliar.

Pretending not to hear, she walked a little faster, giving Satyendra a calming smile, and making sure her body blocked him from sight.

‘Hold there, I say!’

She turned into the stairwell and, as soon as she was out of view, took the steps three at a time, her feet skidding off the end of one, straight onto the other, threatening to fly out in front, as her long hair flew out behind.

Satyendra’s eyes grew wide and his hold on her tightened, but the baby kept his peace, just as his mother did.

Like a thing tossed from a storm, she burst into the kitchens, her feet bruised, her nightdress filthy, her knees swollen.

‘Ooooh!’ crowed the old cook, who moments ago had been asleep but was now most definitely awake.

Chandni straightened, and raised an imperious finger, cutting off the questions forming on the cook’s lips. She’d served the Sapphires all her long life and was talented but slow, and liked the sound of her own voice far too much for Chandni’s liking. ‘Open the outer door. Tell no one that I’ve been here. You have not seen me or Satyendra, do you understand?’

‘Of course, Honoured Mother. But what—’

‘—Immediately, dear Roh.’

The cook beamed at the use of her name, then went the wrong way, snatching up a bag and stuffing it with food.

Chandni channelled her mother again as she admonished the cook. ‘Were you not listening? Or is this an act of deliberate insubordination?’

‘But you’ll be wanting something for the baby, and a cloak for your shoulders. Wouldn’t do for you to be seen out there in your nightwear, I’d never forgive myself. And what about your poor feet?’

Behind her, Chandni felt rather than heard someone enter the room. She went to step away but a hand caught her arm.

She turned to find a woman dressed in House Sapphire uniform – but most definitely not House Sapphire – looking at her. The absolute lack of respect in the assassin’s eyes was chilling. She was about to say something when the assassin pulled out, not a sword, but a long, thin needle coated in something that glistened in the gemlight.

Chandni made to pull away but the assassin simply stepped with her, keeping close, the needle arcing down towards Satyendra’s neck.

Instinct took over, and in the next moment she felt something bite into her palm, briefly painful, and then suddenly, worryingly numb.

The point of the needle protruded from the back of Chandni’s hand, quivering inches away from her baby’s skin. Blood rather than poison coated it now.

Chandni exchanged a helpless look with Satyendra, whose little eyebrows raised questioningly, as if asking if this was an appropriate time to cry.

Yes, she thought. This is the perfect time to cry.

If the Bringers saw Pari, they made no comment as they passed out of the chamber, keeping to their ritual path. She listened intently as their robes whispered their way to the door, paused, then came the measured sweep of the door opening and them passing through, one by one, taking the light with them. The door closed with a heavy thud, plunging them into darkness. She heard Rochant sigh.