Читать книгу The Deathless - Peter Newman, Peter Newman - Страница 10

‘Tell us the story!’ said a voice from one of the far tables.

‘Yes,’ chorused several others. ‘Tell us!’

Vasin smiled easily, casting his gaze across the feast hall. ‘Again? Most of you have heard it already, several times.’ He sipped at his drink, then added, ‘I’d rather hear about how Mia led the other successful hunt.’

All eyes went to Mia, and she was nudged swiftly off her cushions to the applause of the assembled. Before she started her story, she bowed low to Vasin, and he saw the admiration in her eyes, and the desire.

To his surprise, he felt a flicker of lust. It had been a long time since he’d taken anyone to his bed. But then, it had been a long time since he had felt up to it. His victory over the Scuttling Corpseman had given pride back to House Sapphire, just as it had restored his own.

Even though it was not his victory.

Even though it was a lie. His mother had battled the Corpseman, the first person ever to wound it as far as anyone knew, and the second Sapphire Deathless to betray her house. What did that make him? The third?

Mia began her own story of the day, starting with a generous account of how Vasin had stirred them all, and as she told it her eyes met his, sparkling, and his smile grew that little bit wider.

He had allowed himself some Tack before the evening’s festivities. Not a full dose, he needed his wits about him still, but enough to ease the tension in his jaw and shoulders. He had to appear relaxed, the very image of the champion they considered him to be. When news of Rochant’s death reached the High Lord, there would be an investigation, and it was important he only draw the right kind of attention.

And so, despite the stress, he sat back and listened to Mia’s voice, his thoughts made pleasantly fuzzy by the Tack.

Then he saw a figure drift by the entrance to the room, pausing just long enough to catch his attention, and the smile fell from his face faster than a wingless hunter from the sky.

To a casual observer she appeared like just another Sapphire servant but he knew better. Her loyalties were more discerning than that. There was no signal given, no communication needed to get his attention. The very fact that she had come was all the summons he needed.

It’s all gone wrong! he thought, even as he forced himself to smile again and set his drink down, so that others would not see the way the liquid trembled in his cup.

Her name was Yi, and she had first come to him after his mother’s judgement at the hands of the High Lord. It had been night, the castle had slept. She had presented herself to him at the zenith of his grief. She had talked and the words had meant nothing. Yi was an agent of his mother, raised and trained in secret, ready to serve in all things. To advise, to take revenge, to act where others could not.

At the time he’d had no interest in taking action, had screamed at her to leave him, and she had gone without protest. The whole incident was soon forgotten, buried under a tide of emotions and drug-fuelled emptiness. Now he remembered, however, and now he understood, and now, he would listen.

To leave in the middle of Mia’s story would be an insult to her. And though any possibility of enjoying her company later had vanished, she deserved better than that. Besides, if he survived whatever Yi had come to warn him about, he would need many allies within his house.

So he waited, trying to be calm like his brother would be, while nodding and laughing at all the right places.

When he did stand to go there was a pleasing sound of disappointment from the assembled. ‘Please,’ he told them, ‘enjoy the bounty that grateful Sagan has provided. Eat, drink, whatever else brings you pleasure.’ There was a chuckle that he turned into a laugh by adding, ‘Except you, Zir. You stick to the food and drink.’

They made another attempt to get him to stay. He very nearly sat back down again. Another dose of Tack and he’d be able to escape his worries until tomorrow. A single thought of his mother, exiled, alone, mortal, was enough to banish that idea. ‘My friends,’ he began, ‘to be with you again has been the greatest of honours. I must go now, but I promise you this: keep the lights shining, keep your voices warm, and I will find you again.’

And with that, he left, the sounds of their banging on the table and singing his name, honouring him, carrying him from the hall.

He moved swiftly, worried he would attract more servants or dignitaries hoping for a private word, working his way to the lower, less frequented sections of the castle.

A door opened on his left and he could see Yi’s outline within. He turned quickly, went through and she shut the door behind him. Without a word she led him on. The light of the gemstones was waning, their stored energy almost spent, casting the walls in pale twilight. Even though it was late, the corridors were clear, and they made their way swiftly, without seeing another soul.

Vasin did not think too hard about how this was possible, there were plenty of other things to worry about. Though Yi appeared calm, the fact that she had sought him out anywhere other than his private chambers conveyed urgency, and disaster.

They descended deep into the bowels of the castle, into a tunnel that appeared on no maps, a short, angled, bumpy thing, like a piece of anatomy evolution no longer needed, forgotten, useless. Here, Yi stopped. ‘You met with my lady?’

‘I did, and I swore to do whatever it takes to bring her back.’

‘Then you should know that we have already begun and there have been complications.’

‘Well?’ he demanded.

‘All of Lord Rochant’s descendants are dead, save two.’

A partial success or a total failure? ‘Which two?’

‘A baby, Satyendra. His mother managed to remove him from the castle. She had outside help.’

‘Outside help?’ He pressed a hand to his forehead. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Lady Pari Tanzanite. She knew we were coming.’

‘How?’

Yi bowed deeply, apologetic.

If Pari knew then who else did? And did they know about his involvement? The deal he’d made with his mother? What she was trying to accomplish? A wave of panic rose up inside, enough to make him lean on the wall for support. From the tumult of worry a thought managed to swim free. ‘Two. You said two had survived. Who was the other?’

‘Lord Rochant. He survived the rebirthing ceremony but we have him.’

‘Where?’

There was the slightest pause, Yi’s thin lips pinching in displeasure. She pointed to the door behind her.

It was everything Vasin could do not to shout. ‘Here? You brought him here?’

‘On Captain Dil’s order.’

And clearly that order had left a bad taste in her mouth. ‘Where is Dil?’

‘With the prisoner.’

Vasin levered himself upright and strode through the door. The top of a crystal had poked itself through the back wall, its gemslight weak, silhouetting the two people in the room. They had stopped mid-motion at his arrival, giving them an unreal appearance, like a painting, presented for his approval.

And he did not approve. Not in the slightest.

A pole had been driven into the ground, old enough to have held many other prisoners before this one. Now, Lord Rochant Sapphire was tied to it, his wrists bound above his head, his legs tucked underneath so that his feet could be tied to the pole also. A rough sack with a breathing hole was strapped to his head. Through it, Vasin could see bruising, fresh. He looked from that to the swelling on Dil’s knuckles, and the heat in his face.

Enough, he thought.

And though his reflexes were dulled by the Tack, they were more than enough to intercept Dil’s wrist. He could feel the fine bones under his fingers and, in his anger, it was tempting to break them. How dare this man, this underling, sully the face of a Sapphire! But Vasin could not stoop to his level, so instead, with a single shove, he ejected Dil from the room.

Rochant had been responsible for his mother’s fall. He deserved to be punished, but that punishment would be just, and it would come from his or his mother’s hand. Anything else demeaned their cause.

He became aware that the bag had twitched in his direction. He turned and felt Rochant’s regard. It was as if the man could see through the bag, as if Vasin stood exposed before him.

And whether this was true or not, he could not bear to stay in the room a moment longer.

Once the door was closed behind him, he converted his fear to anger and turned it on Dil. This man had forgotten his place in the order of things and Vasin would ensure that he never forgot it again. ‘You failed us.’

‘It was that devil, Pari—’

Vasin’s fingertips came to rest on the soft flesh of Dil’s neck, cutting him off.

‘And how did you deal with Lady Pari Tanzanite?’

‘I trapped her in the Rebirthing Chamber. I think she’s still there.’

His fingers pressed ever so gently deeper. ‘You think?’

‘I mean she is. She’s there. She’s definitely there. We sealed her in. There’s no way out and … and her body is old. It might even be dead by now.’

Vasin glanced at Yi, who nodded.

At some point, he’d pushed hard enough that Dil had gone on tiptoes to escape the pressure. Vasin took a breath. To navigate these waters he would need to master his emotions, be more like Gada.

‘And if she isn’t dead?’

‘I-I could denounce her!’ exclaimed Dil.

Yi gave a slight shake of her head, mirroring Vasin’s own. ‘Your word is wind against a member of the Crystal Dynasties.’ She turned to Vasin. ‘For it to hold, his accusation would have to be unchallenged. We would need proof of her betrayal.’

‘Her presence in our lands was secret, yes?’

‘Yes,’ Yi replied. ‘The official word is that she has withdrawn to her castle to recuperate after a mysterious illness.’

Vasin nodded, a plan forming in his mind. ‘Who else can access the Rebirthing Chamber?’

‘Only the Bringers of Endless Order and High Lord Sapphire himself,’ replied Dil, tilting his head up in order to speak. ‘I have the only other key, my lord.’

‘Then we go there, now, before the High Lord does. We must find out what she knows. And how she knew!’

‘I will make her talk, my lord,’ said Dil.

Vasin did not like the look in the man’s eye, he turned his hand ever so slightly, snuffing out Dil’s disgusting enthusiasm. ‘You will do as I command, nothing more.’ His lip curled as Dil capitulated.

‘Trespasser or not, Lady Pari deserves our respect. I will speak with her and learn the truth behind her involvement. When I am satisfied, we will pay a visit to her home, in order to prove she is not in residence. At that point, Dil will denounce her in the name of his murdered lord. The Tanzanite will protest, naturally, and there will be an investigation, but when they find her body in the Rebirthing Chamber at Lord Rochant’s castle, all further doubt will be erased. With luck she will be tried and condemned before her rebirth, privately and without disgrace.’ He leaned close to Dil’s face and gestured towards where Rochant was being held. ‘Do not cross the threshold of that room ever again, do you understand?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

He withdrew his hand. ‘Prepare yourself for travel, we leave within the hour.’

Dil’s eyes lingered briefly on the door, but then he straightened, saluted and left. Vasin and Yi shared a look, neither needing to express their misgivings with words.

‘Look after our prisoner while I’m gone,’ he instructed. ‘Keep him secure, but if you can, make him …’ he struggled for the right word. ‘Comfortable.’

Did Yi’s eyebrows twitch as she bowed? No matter, unlike Dil, she could be trusted to follow his orders to the letter.

He returned to his room, so busy lamenting the fact that he could not return to the feast, that he didn’t spot Gada pacing by the window until he spoke.

‘Where have you been?’

His brother was in his finery, tightly bound silk on his limbs, and a river of the same fabric flowing from his shoulders. A scent like air on a cold morning wafted from his face. His cheeks were darker than usual and the formal make-up was exaggerating his scowl.

‘Well? I have been searching high and low for you.’

‘What’s wrong, brother?’

‘The High Lord is on his way here, now. And he is most displeased.’ He paused to peer at Vasin more closely. ‘Are you yourself? Tell me you haven’t been smoking that filth again.’

Vasin did not meet his stare. ‘I’m fine.’

‘You’d better be. We must be ready to weather the storm of the High Lord’s anger.’ Gada turned his attention to the rest of him. ‘You must refresh yourself, change, and help me with the preparations. There is to be a gathering of the Sapphire.’

‘Here?’ replied Vasin weakly. ‘With so little warning? There can’t be.’

Gada’s smile was weaker still. ‘There can. The whole family. Here. Tomorrow.’

A rough jolt of the wagon woke Chandni up. It took her a few moments to work out where she was and how she’d come to be buried under several layers of heavy cloth.

When it all came back, what little relaxation she’d gained from sleep flowed out of her.

But we’re still moving, she told herself. So they haven’t caught us. We’re safe, at least for now.

She began to consider her next move. The best thing to do would be to go to another family stronghold. There was an aunt in the north she could trust. If Chandni could find refuge with her she could request an audience with the Sapphire High Lord. An attack of this nature was surely an act of war. What if Lord Rochant’s line was only the first targeted? Or worse, what if it wasn’t? What if other Sapphire lines have already fallen?

Her lips were dry and her throat was worse. She needed a drink and something to eat. The best plans were made with a cool head and a quiet stomach.

She lifted Satyendra, still fast asleep, and saw a line of drool linking his lips to the clasp of her cloak. Chandni smiled and rested his head on her shoulder, before shuffling to the front of the wagon on her knees.

‘Is it safe?’ she whispered.

‘We’re well away,’ Varg replied. ‘You can come out here if you like.’

It was getting dark, the red suns Vexation and Wrath’s Tear already below the horizon, with Fortune’s Eye not far behind. She’d expected to find them on the Godroad, part of a network of crystal pathways that linked the Sapphire strongholds to those of the other great houses. Given a choice, everyone used the Godroads. Not only were they untarnished by the passage of time and quick to travel on, they kept the denizens of the Wild at bay.

But instead of pulsing crystal running smoothly beneath their wheels, she saw a path of broken stones, rough and overgrown.

‘What kind of excuse for a road is this?’

‘A quiet one,’ replied Varg. ‘I’m hoping they don’t have eyes on it.’

‘And where is it taking us?’

‘Somewhere safe. Now how about you tell me what kind of shi—’ he saw her hand raise and corrected himself, ‘trouble I’ve got myself into.’

He offered her a flask of fruit-touched water, and Chandni had a long drink before recounting events as best she could remember them. She was just coming to the part where she had to flee the castle when the words fell away.

‘Something wrong?’

‘How is it the suns are going down already?’

He gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘That’s what they do.’

‘But it was only just morning when we left!’

‘That was a long while ago, believe me. I’ve been driving Glider as fast as I can, only taking short breaks. And we’ve made bloody good time if I do say so myself.’

‘And I’ve been asleep all day?’

‘Yep, you slept like the dead. Reckon the baby did too. Never heard a peep from either of you.’

Fresh sweat broke out on her forehead. ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘Oh no, no, no.’

‘Something up?’ he asked.

Chandni ignored him and retreated back into the wagon. She laid Satyendra down on a nest of folded cloth and sat down heavily, staring at her bandaged hand. Seconds after she’d let go, Satyendra’s eyes opened and his face split in a yawn which became a stretch, whole bodied.

She ignored that too, and began to pull away the knots holding the bandage in place. Sweat stained the armpits of her nightdress and the back of her neck was slick with it. Is this nerves? Or is it fever?

Straps were removed and the wad of padding peeled away. A puffy red dot sat in the middle of her palm, the skin around it raised and angry. After rifling through the bag the cook had given her she found a small but very sharp knife. Slipping it from its sheath she pressed the point to her palm.

There was nothing.

She pressed harder, making sure that the point pierced the skin. The wound was sufficiently deep enough she could make blood seep out by squeezing the sides of her hand together.

Why can’t I feel anything? I’ve left it too late. By the Thrice Blessed Suns, I’ve left it too late.

She moved the point of the knife further down until it sat at the thick edge where palm meets wrist. It felt clumsy using her left hand but she pressed the knife in and, when she saw rather than felt the blade, made several more cuts around the area.

Each time, her horror deepened.

How can I protect Satyendra out here with just one hand? It’s not even my good one!

All of a sudden she missed the castle, and all the staff there. Several of them were her friends. She felt sure that she could manage if they were here. But she was alone, and her baby needed her to be strong.

I am more than strong, she reminded herself. I am Sapphire. She looked at her arm. Little streams of blood ran down it to start dripping from her elbow but she ignored them.

She directed the point of the knife above her forearm.

Please let this next one hurt. Please.

Just as she raised the blade, the flap at the front of the wagon was pulled open.

‘What’s going on in here?’ shouted Varg.

She brought the knife down and cried out, delighted. Never before had the sensation of pain brought such relief.

She heard Varg say ‘fuck’ several times, then felt the wagon come to an abrupt halt as he ducked in to join her. His face grew pale behind his beard. ‘What are you doing? Are you possessed?’

‘No,’ she gasped.

‘There’s blood everywhere!’ He grabbed the hand that was holding the knife. ‘Do you want to get us killed?’

A little indignation stirred within her. ‘I am not trying to kill anyone, quite the opposite.’

‘Shit and suns and fuck! They’re going to smell us a mile away.’ He picked up a piece of cloth, looked at her arm and then handed it to her with a look of disgust. ‘Clean yourself up.’

‘Aren’t you going to help me?’

‘I’ve been too close to you as it is,’ he muttered, releasing her arm and backing away. ‘You’re going to bring half the fucking Wild on our heads!’

Chandni replaced the bandage but it took her several tries to retie the straps. Though she couldn’t feel her right hand, she found she could flex the fingers. It was strange, as if the digits belonged to someone else. She forced herself to hope. Surely it was a good sign that her fingers still responded to her commands? If the poison had worked, wouldn’t the hand be useless?

Satyendra made an unhappy noise, one that would be followed by a proper cry if she did not feed him.

‘Ssh,’ she said as she opened the cook’s cloak and pulled down one side of her dress. ‘I’m coming. Ssh.’

When she picked him up, Satyendra’s mouth was flapping, fishlike, so eager that he missed, head-butting her shoulder before latching on.

She stroked his head as he grunted, content.

The wagon was moving again, faster this time, with Varg’s deep voice a constant companion to the creaking wheels. She found both the tone and the content objectionable.

Being careful not to disturb her son’s feeding, Chandni edged to the front of the wagon. No suns were visible now but a little gold still inflamed the sky. Long grasses swept to either side of the road. Not the short, leafy clumps she was used to at the castle but thick stalks over half her height, each one covered in buds the size of her thumbnail, each bud shaped like a human ear.

As Varg muttered, the grasses rippled, the nearest stalks bent by the sound, touching their neighbour, whispering and passing it on. Like a breeze, Varg’s voice was carried away across the fields.

Chandni’s eyes followed the trail until they came to rest on a distant shape, an anomaly in the gloom; she couldn’t tell if it were a person or animal, but whatever it was towered above the grass.

She cleared her throat and pointed. ‘What is that?’

The grasses caught her words, scattering them across the fields in a flurry of frightened echoes. ‘What is that, what is that, what is that …’

As the ripples reached the shape in the distance it began to move, unfolding long appendages. Fabric hung down from them like a pair of wings, tattered. And then it began to glide, and Chandni could not be sure if the grasses simply parted for it or if they were passing it along, one row to the other.

‘That,’ said Varg, ‘is a Whispercage.’

Glider started to whine and Varg responded by shouting and applying a boot to the Dogkin’s backside. ‘Go faster you stupid lump or you’ll really have something to complain about!’

‘Faster, faster, faster,’ said the grasses, ‘you’ll really have something, you’ll really have something, you’ll really have something.’

She had thought it big before, but as the Whispercage got closer Chandni realized she had not done the creature justice. It was nearly three times her height and twice as wide, with a long stretched skeleton, wrapped in rippling cloth.

Or is that loose skin? Chandni’s gorge began to rise. Is it wearing someone else’s skin?

‘It’s going to overtake us!’ she cried.

‘Take us,’ echoed the grasses, ‘take us, take us.’

‘We’re nearly past the fields,’ shouted Varg, ‘it won’t touch us unless we look at it or talk to it, understand?’

‘I understand,’ she replied, as the grasses whispered: ‘Touch us, touch us, touch us.’

‘That means keep your fucking eyes down and your mouth shut.’

Chandni bit back a retort and did as she was told.

With Glider’s five legs pumping for all they were worth, the wagon seemed to fly along the path, but the Whispercage was waiting for them up ahead. It leant out from the edge of the grasses, its arms – long poles of dirty bone – held high.

As they went past, the wagon rocked sideways as the Whispercage latched onto it, and Chandni felt something brush her cheek. It was surprisingly gentle, and soft as peach skin.

Don’t look up, she told herself.

From the corner of her eye, she could see the edge of the fields in sight, the grasses thinning out and giving way to a wall of twisted trees.

She forced herself not to react to the movement by her ear. The Whispercage was right next to her. In her periphery, she was aware of it watching, waiting for her to turn and make eye contact. It wore a hood of sorts, and within it something moved where she’d expect to find a mouth, a tongue-petalled flower, opening.

Don’t look up.

Satyendra’s urgent suckling had settled into a steady guzzle, now it stopped completely. She heard his happy sigh, then felt his head turn away. Too late, she tried to turn it back.

Everything went dark as the Whispercage lunged, covering her. She flailed against it and it struck back, and all became a flurry of movement, as if she sat within a flight of furious birds.

For a terrible moment she was convinced that Satyendra had been taken, his weight had gone from her arms and she screamed in despair, but when the Whispercage was ripped away, like a sail torn from a storm-tossed ship, her baby was still there, staring up at her. The blanket that he had been wrapped in was gone, but he appeared unharmed. And yet, despite the evidence of her eyes, she could not escape the feeling that she’d lost her baby.

Varg looked across and nodded. ‘Thank fuck for that.’ But he didn’t slow down and Glider seemed all too happy to keep running, until the last of the light faded away and only stars could be made out through the sparse canopy above.

By the time the wagon did come to a stop, they had left the grasses far behind. They were safe. Chandni breathed a long sigh and held Satyendra close.

To her surprise, he opened his mouth and began to scream.

Waking was as unpleasant as Pari expected. Muscles ached, joints locked up, stubborn, and bruises protested all over.

It was dark around her, the three suns having set some time ago. She wondered how long she had slept. Not long enough, replied her body.

The luminous Godroad cast a pale glow onto the night’s clouds. Pari allowed it to guide her, grunting and groaning, towards it. Soon, a choice would have to be made. Much as she would like to examine the bodies of the assassins more carefully for clues, and question Lord Rochant’s staff about Dil’s movements, she knew she couldn’t. Dil had named a Tanzanite as the one behind the attack effectively preventing her from approaching any of Rochant’s loyal staff for help.

Besides, both Rochant and his last living descendant were outside the castle now, and they both needed her help.