The Deathless. Peter Newman
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world in its place. Pari had little time for such notions, sure that the pain and confusion of a botched rebirth would be more than enough to explain away the rage of the poor wretches.
Whether due to madness or demonic possession, the results of a failed ritual were too dangerous to be allowed to live, and the third exit was a means of dealing with them: a beautifully designed portal covering a chute that was nothing more than a glorified hole in the underside of Rochant Sapphire’s floating castle. Anyone unfortunate enough to use it was ejected directly above the gaping chasm, far beneath.
Unguarded, and unknown to most of the castle’s inhabitants, it was arguably the ideal route for someone trying to sneak in without being seen. However, the only way to reach it was by scaling the outer walls, and even if she’d had time, such feats were beyond her in this lifecycle.
Pari studied the faces of the three guards stood to attention outside the first entrance. The Bringers of Endless Order must have already gone inside. She didn’t like what she saw. Nothing was obviously wrong but she didn’t recognize any of the guards, and as her eyes swept over them, a word screamed into her mind: killers.
Quickly, she moved to the second entrance. It was similarly guarded, but one of the men was familiar.
She tried to think where she had seen him before. A wispy beard covered his chin and cheeks, but beneath it was a face she knew. Older and harder but not entirely unfriendly. The picture of a young boy came to mind, shy, with watchful eyes, who blushed at the slightest praise.
She approached him, so bold that it took them all a moment to react.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded, one hand going to the Sliver Pistol at his side. The man and the woman flanking him followed suit, reaching for well-worn hilts.
She ignored the impulse to run and focused on the man she knew. ‘Shush now, Dil, I need you to listen.’ Then she noticed the extra bands of colour around his right arm. A captain now, she thought. And he was such a quiet boy.
The man spluttered in surprise at the use of his name but something in her tone and manner disarmed him and he came forward. ‘Do I know you?’ He frowned. ‘No! It can’t be! Lady Pari Tanzanite?’ Despite himself, Dil bowed.
She couldn’t help but smile at his naked amazement. ‘Your eyes are sharp as ever.’
And there it was, the sudden colouring of his cheeks. ‘But …’
‘There’s no time to explain, Dil. Lord Rochant is in danger. Assassins are in the castle dressed in House Sapphire uniform. You must find them. And you must let me inside the chamber. I’ll protect him.’
‘What? That’s … No.’
‘No? You don’t believe me?’
‘I believe you.’ A little sweat formed on his top lip. ‘Has anyone already been killed?’
‘Mohit and Dhruti.’ She let it sink in. ‘At least one of your people died defending them. One assassin tried for Satyendra but I managed to save him …’
She sighed inwardly as Dil’s hand slipped from the Sliver Pistol, his frown deepening. ‘Who else knows?’
‘Just you, me, and Chandni.’
‘Good. Where are Chandni and Satyendra now?’
‘Safe.’
‘Are they in their room?’
‘They’re safe, don’t worry.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Later. We don’t know who else might be listening.’
He turned away with a scowl. ‘Of course.’
She stepped past him to find the other two guards had drawn blades and were levelling them at her chest.
‘Stand down,’ commanded Dil and they reluctantly sheathed their weapons. ‘Open the doors.’ As they complied he turned to Pari and added. ‘If you do anything to disrupt the rebirthing …’
‘I’ll be quiet as a Flykin,’ she replied, ‘I promise.’
The Rebirthing Chamber was not much to look at, smooth stone walls that curved to make a circle, and a stone floor, equally smooth, grey, featureless. A spiral of pillars started by the first entrance and slowly wound their way towards the centre. Though the pillars were as dull to look at as the walls, each one was double her girth, giving Pari plenty of places to hide.
The soft light in the room came from the Bringers of Endless Order: stored sunslight released slow and muted through cloudy diamonds atop their wands of gold. As tradition dictated, seven Bringers were present, dressed in robes of black and white, their faces covered in plain masks divided down the middle, white on the left, black on the right.
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