The Deathless. Peter Newman
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be rebirthing in a Tanzanite stronghold, in a younger body. Several had been prepared, raised elsewhere in preparation for her next life. From what she had heard, the primary match, Rashana, her granddaughter was perfect.
However, her family would want to wait for an auspicious day for the rebirthing ceremony, and the required alignment of the suns was months away. That would be months for Rochant’s enemies to act freely. Chandni was a spirited girl, and Varg, despite his coarse edges, would be an able protector for baby Satyendra, but neither of them were Deathless, and a single life only got you so far. Pari could feel the hand of another immortal behind all of this and did not dare a long absence.
She took a long hard look at the crack in the earth below. Its dark was thick, fathomless: the combined light of the three suns did not penetrate its depths. All floating castles of the Deathless were built above similar fissures and were kept aloft by the ethereal energies they exhaled. Nobody knew how deep they went, or if they even had an end. There was a chance that if she let go, she would not die. She would simply fall, endlessly. Perhaps her soul would travel too far, beyond even the reach of the Bringers to call back. Or perhaps she would travel beyond this world, into the realm where the demons lived. Pari normally had little patience with such superstitious nonsense, but dangling there, gazing into the hole far below, her usual bravado faltered.
Taking death out of the equation, there were few roads open to her. Her recent adventures were fast catching up, and she could feel a great wave of fatigue building, heralding a sleep that even the winds and the cold would not disturb.
It was tempting to simply hang there and sleep. Scaling the underside of the castle might be possible if she were more rested.
Pari laughed at herself, knowing that such thoughts were folly. The truth was that the next time she woke would be agony, her body already preparing to punish her for all she’d put it through in this ill-considered venture. Besides, she would never wake from such a sleep. Either the cold would finish her off, or the constant swaying of the silk rope would work the Spiderkin gland loose from the chute.
Come on, she exhorted herself. Putting this off isn’t going to make it any easier.
Gritting her teeth, Pari hauled herself upwards. Three times, she heaved, placing one hand above the other, before she had enough slack to wind the rope around her right foot, taking some, but not nearly enough, of the strain from her shoulders.
It was dizzying, the way the wind spun her, but she blocked it from her mind, narrowing her focus down to the silk, her hands, her feet, and the next stage of the climb.
Soon, she had a rhythm, and her left foot was looped too, allowing her to progress swiftly back to the mouth of the chute.
She leaned against the back of the chute, letting it and the silk share her weight. The fatigue threatening to overwhelm her, and again she pushed it away.
I can’t climb any more. I can’t. I daren’t fall. If only I had my wings!
In her mind she could picture her armour mounted on its stand. How she longed for its embrace, the feel of the crystal against her skin, protective, supporting. If she were wearing it now, it would be a simple matter to ride the essence currents to safety.
How strange, she thought, that the great mass of Rochant’s castle could defy gravity, while she would fall as swiftly as a common stone.
Her eyes were drawn to a cluster of sapphire poking from the rock. Over the years the crystals had grown, giving the castle greater stability and, to her mind, beauty. As the essence currents met the base of the castle, it made the crystals vibrate and sing, soft, like the murmurings of a sleeping giant.
The crystal …
By leaning out and trusting her weight to the silk she could just reach a long slender lance of sapphire that cut a diagonal slash across her view of the horizon.
The crystal …
She tapped along its length with her nails, attending to the way it chimed, until one of the notes sounded off. She tapped that place a second time to be sure. Again, the note was dull, flat. The crystal here was flawed.
Pari pushed against it, so that she swung backwards on the silk rope. When the momentum drew her forward again, she leant with it, striking the crystal with the heel of her hand. There was a sharp crack and then a chunk broke away. Pari tried to snatch it from the sky but the crystal tumbled from her tired grasp, splintering into fragments, leaving her to watch, powerless, as it fell.
But the fall was only momentary, the next updraught catching each splinter and making them tinkle, like rain on a rooftop, as they rose once more into her waiting arms.
Once she was wedged into the chute again, Pari bound the sapphire pieces into her cloak, bundling them tight, binding the ends together, and tying each to her wrists.
She worked the gland free of the wall, paused, and sighed.
This is it.
Too tired to jump, Pari simply released the tension in her legs, flopping out through the hole.
As soon as the bundled crystals entered the current, they began to push upwards, taking the cloak with them and snapping Pari’s arms vertical. Not enough to hold her there, but enough to allow her a measured descent.
Perfect.
It was not the same as hunting. She had little control beyond being able to nudge slowly to the left or right. But she had spent many lifetimes in the air, and made the most of that skill to keep to the stronger currents, dropping in gasps and stutters.
To the east she could make out the Bridge of Friends or Fools and, despite the early hour, a cart rumbling along it. Though it was flying no house flags, she was certain it was of Sapphire design, and moreover, that Rochant was tucked away inside it.
They are taking you from me, my love. But where?
She stared after it, straining her eyes until it was swept from view and she was forced to consider her own predicament again.
Gradually, the crack in the earth below grew larger and darker, and she could make out individual wisps as they first emerged, a pluming flurry of purples, yellows and greens. Rather than be repulsed, she found herself drawn, a part of her wanting to give herself over to that place and be swallowed up. But it was a false part of her, and she repressed it with a shudder, forcing her eyes away from the hole and towards the rocky ridge that surrounded it.
The further she moved away, the weaker the currents became, turning her landing into a barely controlled fall. She hit the ground at speed, falling naturally into what would have been a graceful roll had she not become tangled in her own cloak.
Several tumbles and groans later, she came to a stop amid moss and stone. Pari allowed herself a victorious grimace before taking a tally of her injuries. No bones were broken but she had sprained muscles in her shoulders, thighs, and ankles. And the bruises! She managed to count three on her cheek and was just about to start on her arm when sleep embraced her.
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