The Boundless

Gada’s eyebrow twitched but his face remained solemn. ‘Does it hurt badly?’

He nodded, remembering the violence that had preceded his promotion. His stomach ached where she’d struck, his neck felt tender, and with the pain came a memory, of being lifted off the floor by Yadavendra, his predecessor. His uncle.

‘I suspect the bruises will follow me to my next lifecycle.’

‘Ah.’

‘What was this other matter?’

‘Mother, of course. How is she?’

‘The years have been hard on her, but she endures. She’s in Sorn. After we’ve dealt with the Corpseman, I’m going to bring her home.’

‘Might I counsel you to wait. Her return will be even more controversial than your new name, and you have only just taken power.’

‘She’s suffered long enough, brother.’

‘Oh, I don’t mean that she should linger in the Wild. I’m just counselling that we bring her in quietly. That way we can choose the best time to break the news to the others.’

‘That would be a different kind of torture. She is innocent, and I will make that clear to the house.’

In times past, he knew Gada would argue, but he simply nodded. ‘You know that I stand with you.’

‘I know and am grateful. Now, are you ready?’

‘Yes.’ He turned to go, then stopped by the door. ‘I am proud of you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘In the past I may not have treated you with the proper respect. That is, I have not always done right by you. I may even have given up on you for a while. For once, I’m happy to be proven wrong.’

Vasinidra crossed the room and embraced Gada. ‘I’m going to need cautious heads to advise me in the years ahead. And sometimes I’ll need someone to hit Yadva with a giant stick.’ He patted Gada on the back. ‘I’m glad I have you, brother.’

The weak smile came back, but it didn’t irritate Vasinidra as much as normal.

‘Is it time to hunt, my High Lord?’

‘Yes, Lord Gada, it is time to hunt.’

Satyendra scowled as he wound his way into the depths of Lord Rochant’s floating castle. He’d woken that day with a headache. Or the equivalent of a hangover. Or perhaps both combined. The headache part had come from having his skull smashed against the hard floor of the throne room by that monstrous beast, Yadva. The hangover part was more of a come-down, the low that inevitably followed a great high.

When Yadavendra, the High Lord of the Sapphire and great thorn in Satyendra’s side, had been disgraced in front of the house, he had felt the man’s shame and fear. Literally felt it. Felt it and tasted it and drunk it down until it had filled him up. For a brief ecstatic time, he had been strong, powerful, quick. The best that he could be. That power had enabled him to stand toe to toe with the strongest of the Sapphire Deathless and hold his own. Nevertheless, raw strength was not enough when faced with multiple lifetimes of experience, as Lady Yadva had taught him most painfully.

The worst of his injury had already healed. But, as his fractured skull had slowly popped back into shape, it had weakened him. Whatever power he had stolen from Yadavendra had been used up to save his own life.

He was hungry now, and grumpy. And he knew just what to do to feel better again.

Down he went, below the level of the castle’s walls, into the areas excavated from the great slab of rock it sat upon. No sunslight could reach down here, and for that he was grateful. Where everyone else drew comfort from the three suns, he found them unpleasant. Much better to be in the shade somewhere, preferably without the endless chatter and babble of others.

Veins of the purest sapphire cut through the rock in places, shedding a soft blue light. It was said that the crystals on the outside absorbed the energy of the suns over the day and then fed it throughout the structure, providing heat and light within. Perhaps that was why Satyendra didn’t like them much either.

It wasn’t just the sight of the glowing crystal, it was the sound as well. The castle talked. Constantly. Oh, everyone knew that on hunting days or times of great celebration, the castle would sing in response to the music of its people. But what most people did not know was that it was always making some noise or another. Sighing to itself, humming, communing in some way with the essence below and the suns above.

Satyendra knew.

And he hated it. The sound grated in his ears and set his teeth on edge. Though the light was lesser here, there was nothing to distract him from the castle’s whisperings. He wondered if the castle was aware in some way. Sometimes it felt like it was watching him, and that it disapproved.

On he went, to a little pocket of rocky chambers that sat in a space between the veins; dull, grey, and lifeless. Perfect.

Some of the chambers were used to store food that needed to be kept cool. Others were used as cells, dark places to hold those who had fallen out of favour. Satyendra made his way towards one of these.

He saw a guard in House Sapphire livery coming the opposite way. She had a lantern in one hand. A pitiful little shard of blue on the end of a chain. When she came to a stop, it swung towards him, making him grimace as the light washed over his face.

‘My lord,’ she said, saluting. ‘Have you come to see the prisoner?’

He nodded. Lord Rochant was known to be a man of few words, though he was also known to be possessed of surpassing eloquence when the need arose. Satyendra found it much easier to fake the former.

‘I’ve just brought him some food,’ added the guard. ‘If I may, my lord, he’s very sorry about what he did.’

Satyendra kept his face a passive mask. ‘How do you know this?’

‘He told me so. Begged for a chance to make it up to you.’

‘I thought he was gagged.’

‘Well, he is, my lord. I have to take it off to feed him.’

He paused for a moment. The guard was getting nervous, just enough to make his blood stir and take the edge off his headache. He knew it was wrong to treat her this way, and he knew his hunger could take him to dark places, but he was too weak to resist. I’ll draw it out just a little, he told himself. An appetiser to keep me going. ‘Do you recall my orders?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Recite them to me.’

She swallowed hard. ‘You said … to bring Pik here and … bind his mouth.’ When he didn’t say anything, she continued, ‘And that you’d deal with him after the celebration of your rebirth had ended.’

He nodded again, sharp. ‘And what else did I say?’

‘My lord?’

‘It’s a simple question: What else did I say?’

He watched her frantically try to recall. Her embarrassment was like the first smells of a cooked dinner, the shred of fear bubbling beneath a sneaky taste of the sauce before the food was served. After a few painfully delicious moments she shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, my lord. I don’t remember.’

‘I said that we were to forget that he existed.’ She nodded hurriedly as if to say: Of course! That was it! It was on the tip of my tongue! ‘If he tries to talk when you feed him, we must withhold his food. He has betrayed us. I do not want to hear what he feels or what he thinks. I do not even want to hear his name. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, my lord. I’m sorry, my lord. It won’t happen again.’

‘Go to the entrance to this corridor and wait there until I return. See to it that I am not disturbed for any reason. Dismissed.’

She moved past him, then hesitated. ‘You have no lantern, my lord. Would you care for mine?’

‘Keep it. I have lived in this castle for many lifecycles and know it as I know myself.’

The awe in her eyes was pleasant in a very different way, and he savoured it as she marched out of sight. The truth was he knew the castle well because he had worked hard in his short life to do so.

It’s better like this, he thought. Fitting. To meet him in the dark where we both belong.

Satyendra waited for the guard’s footsteps to become distant echoes, and went inside. The cell was really a stunted hole with a door attached to one end. There was just enough room for one person and a bowl for their waste.

The prisoner, Pik, a teenager three years his junior, was still wearing yesterday’s clothes and the stink of sweat was pungent. His wrists were bound and fixed to the wall, and his mouth was gagged. Satyendra could well imagine Pik’s stupid face. Often worried. Sometimes smug. Always dominated by that ridiculous nose.

He had seen that face many times in the courtyard when they had trained together. Like him, Pik had been an apprentice hunter. He had also been a spy for his mother and had betrayed his secrets to her. He owed Pik a horrible revenge, but first he would get some sustenance from him.

‘Now,’ he began. ‘What are we going to do with you?’

There was muffled sound as Pik tried to respond through the gag. Satyendra ignored it. ‘Usually, a traitor would be cast out. Either sent back to the road-born in disgrace or into the Wild to die.’

The mere mention of the Wild was enough to set Pik’s heart racing. His chains clanked in time with the trembling of his limbs. As the sweet fear rose into the air, Satyendra inhaled deeply.

Ah, yes, that’s more like it.

‘I cannot send you back to the road-born. They are my people and I love them too much to insert a nasty little Wormkin like you into their lives.’

His headache from earlier was completely gone now. The lethargy with it. He could feel his mood lifting, his body filling with energy, his bones starting to wake.

It was tempting to do something truly horrible, like stab Pik or pull out some of his hair. The emotions he could stir! But he held off. Such crude methods would provide a hearty meal but he wanted something more nuanced, something closer to what he’d enjoyed from Yadavendra. He also held off to make sure he still could. The desire to hurt, physically hurt, pulled at him like a master tugging on a leash. Deep down, he was as scared by it as he was thrilled.

‘I have, however, decided to be merciful and spare you the Wild.’

A sudden spurt of hope mixed in with the boy’s fear. The new emotion did not dampen the old one, it heightened it, like a hint of sweetness in a sharp drink, enhancing both flavours.

Better. I’m getting closer to it. Now to build him up just a little more before the twist.

Pik was holding his breath.

‘Even you don’t deserve that.’

The breath was let go in an explosive mumble of gratitude. Probably some kind of thanks or obeisance.

‘No,’ he continued, ‘you lack the spine for it. The Wild would finish someone like you too quickly for it to be a true punishment.’

He felt a fresh surge of panic smother the hope, mixing with it and the older despair, making layers, giving texture. His mouth began to water.

‘Tonight, when the suns have set—’

A song outside the door interrupted him. Immediately, the mood shifted, the perfect tension becoming something not quite so perfect. He ground his teeth in frustration, and also fear. What if he’d been overheard by one of the older staff, or worse, one of the many Deathless currently in residence? They would find his behaviour suspicious, out of keeping with the real Deathless he was impersonating.

‘My lord?’

It was the guard’s voice. As soon as he recognized it, his fear flipped into frustration. Can she not follow one simple instruction!

He opened the door and stepped out so abruptly that she nearly dropped her lantern. ‘What did I say? What did I say just moments ago?’ He was aware he was doing a poor job of imitating Lord Rochant’s legendary patience but couldn’t stop himself. ‘Was I not clear enough? Should I have the Cutter-crafters carve it into your forehead?’

‘I—No, my lord, you were most clear. But Win came down to see me himself. You’ve been summoned by High Lord Vasinidra.’

‘And it couldn’t wait for a few minutes?’

She looked appalled, then said in a voice high with tension, ‘He said you were to go now, my lord. It’s not my place to say but … it sounded urgent.’

The rushing in his blood calmed, allowing sanity to return. Even Lord Rochant cannot be seen to disrespect his High Lord. Especially him. Why was I cursed to be descended from the loyal, clever one?

He shut the door behind him.

‘Very well. I will go to him directly. Keep the prisoner gagged until my return.’

He turned away before she could respond.

As he made his way back towards the light, he decided that the day had still got off to a good start. He felt strong, energized. Even the brief encounter with Pik had done much to rejuvenate him. Yes, his moment had been spoiled but, perhaps, it was for the best. How far would I have gone if she hadn’t interrupted? Better that I keep away from Pik, for my own sake. Yes. It’s better this way, for both of us.

But even as he thought this he knew that, sooner or later, he would return.

CHAPTER TWO

The Wild closed in around Chandni. Silhouettes of trees and Birdkin blurred together to become a single creature: A darkness formed of compound eyes and feathers, leaves and branches, all focused on her. And somewhere ahead, a figure waited. Taller than a person should be, as tall as a Deathless exalted in armour. She couldn’t see them any more, not truly, but their outline remained etched in her mind, a black line on a black canvas. It too was made of many things, of wings and hearts that beat together, pulsing in time with each drop of blood that ran from her forearm to fall from her deadened fingertips.

She had cut her arm on purpose. Three cuts for the three times she’d dealt with the Wild. One would have been enough to see her exiled but, for her child and her lord and the future of House Sapphire, Chandni had sold her honour again and again. Now her duty had been fulfilled. Lord Rochant’s soul had taken residence in her son’s body – My poor, sweet, Satyendra! – taken control of his castle once more. She was no longer an Honoured Mother, no longer required to run the castle, no longer needed. All that was left was for her to account for her sins.

Though she was afraid, she held her head up high, like a true Sapphire. That was how she had lived and it was how she intended to die. With dignity.

It felt as if she had been walking forever. Surely she should have reached the demon by now? Was it toying with her? Perhaps it wanted to crush her spirit before consuming it. Well, if that was the case, Chandni would happily disappoint.

For I will neither bend nor break.

She could no longer hear Glider’s barking. The Dogkin had been left behind some time ago, along with Varg, and she prayed they were both safe. Her loyal friends had opted to come with her, even knowing she sought death. Even knowing it could mean their own.

I do not deserve their love, she thought, but it warmed her all the same.

Drip, went her blood, as it splashed on the earth and the roots. Drip, went her blood, into the gullet of something hopping alongside, invisible. Drip, went her blood.

Thud, answered the heart of the thing before her. Right before her now.

Too close!

She walked smack into it, was caught by long rustling limbs, wrapped in a cocoon of feathers. Darkness within darkness.

Thud-thud-thud-thud, went her heart, beating crazily against her chest. She was afraid. Terrified! But she would not show it. Not to this thing. It would have her life and nothing more.

Thud, went its heart, its chest warm against hers.

The Birdkin above and around them opened their beaks wide, and a voice, richer than she’d expected, issued from them: ‘Be hushed, Iron Purebird. Be hushed and be welcome once more.’

Though she had been in the Wild before and met many terrible things, she was certain this had not been one of them. And yet, it did seem … familiar in some way. ‘I think you may have mistaken me for someone else. I … My name is Hon-Chandni. I was once—’ she shook her head and felt feather tips brush her cheek. ‘It doesn’t matter what I was.’ She dug deep and summoned all her courage. The words she had to say were hard enough without being in the embrace of some kind of bird demon. Nevertheless, she managed them: ‘I have come here to die. Will you help me?’

There was a pause, then a chorus of squawks, then:

‘No.’

She blinked in surprise. ‘What?’

‘I may take your life as my own, but I will not end it.’

A thought occurred to her then. I am here because I have traded with the Wild before. This is not some mindless beast here to kill me. It is a power of the Wild come to make a pact. She suddenly realized there was much more than death to fear. ‘If we are to negotiate for my life, what will you give me in return?’

‘Whatever you desire.’

A chill ran down her spine. If it were just her alone, she would refute the demon. Thoughts of Varg and Glider ran through her mind. They had given so much to her, and she wouldn’t allow them to suffer. So easily do I consider a fourth deal.

‘Firstly,’ she said, somehow keeping her voice even, ‘and this is not part of the deal, I would have your name.’

‘Yes,’ it replied. ‘You bear my mark, you have my favour, why not my name as well?’ It was strange having this conversation. Though its words sounded all around her, like a chorus, she felt that the demon was right in front of her, that whatever it had for eyes were only inches away from hers. ‘I am Murderkind, a Prince of this place, and we have dealt before, you and I. It was I who listened when you called out to the Wild. I who accepted your gift of blood and bone. And it was I who saw your child safe and strong. From babe to man.’

‘That cannot be true,’ she retorted, irritation suppressing her fear. ‘I took my Satyendra with me when I left here and raised him myself, in a place beyond your power.’

‘You speak true.’ The Birdkin all paused to laugh. She wasn’t sure if they were laughing or Murderkind was, but the laughter was unpleasant and aimed at her. ‘Though your heart is deceived.’ She felt it shift slightly, as if puffing out its chest. ‘I raised your child. Here. In my domain. Raised and re-named, guided and armed, held and healed. All as promised.’

It was lying. It had to be lying. Then why do I believe it?

‘You believe because your blood is in my beak and our hearts press too close for lies to slip between them.’

How does it know what I’m thinking?

The Birdkin all laughed again.

‘You believe because you know the thing you took from the Wild was not truly yours.’

A memory came to her then, of the day Lord Vasin had brought her home in his carriage. As soon as they’d got onto the Godroad, Satyendra had started to scream. His skin had lost its colour, had bubbled, and his face … by the Thrice Blessed Suns, his other face! All these years, I’d thought he’d been cursed by the Wild. But no. I gave my love to a … a thing?

‘A demon. A Whisper’s echo.’

‘But Lord Rochant has been reborn into it! What will become of him?’

‘Again, your heart is deceived. The one you call Rochant, who is known to me as Bane-friend, is already in a man’s body.’

‘Wait, you’re telling me that Lord Rochant does not dwell in the body of my son? That he has not just undergone a rebirthing in his castle?’ The ramifications of this whirled through her mind. ‘So the man who sent me to my death is not my Deathless Lord. And the boy I’ve given the best years of my life to is not my son.’ She shook her head. ‘He’s not even human!’

It was her turn to laugh. She laughed and laughed, the sound bursting from her indecorously, which only caused her to laugh more. After a while, the Birdkin joined in. They get it, she thought.

Suddenly, the Birdkin stopped laughing, and her skin felt cold.

‘This matters not,’ said Murderkind, ‘it is not the question that must be answered. Tell me, Iron Purebird, what is your desire?’

‘I barely know any more. To … to make something good out of this mess and for my life to mean something. I want to keep my son, my real son, safe. And I want to help Varg find happiness. I want to redeem my soul.’

She felt herself being pulled deeper into an embrace. The scent of Murderkind was in her nose, musky and earthy, its feathers pressing on her lips. ‘Be hushed, be hushed. Listen. How is it you cannot hear your own heart? Its tune clashes with your words, painfully.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You want your son. You want to see him and hold him. You want to know what he has become.’

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘You want Varg, as your mate and companion.’

Her cheeks blazed, but she did not deny it.

‘You do not think of your house. You think of yourself.’

She nodded into its chest.

‘You are angry.’

She nodded again.

‘And you desire revenge.’

There were tears on her cheeks now. She rubbed them away on the demon’s feathers.

Around her, wings rustled and Birdkin shrieked. Though she couldn’t feel it, she was aware that her arm was still bleeding, the blood leeching slowly from her.

Murderkind rested its head against hers. ‘Yes,’ it said. ‘We have an accord. Be angry. Be passionate. Be vengeful. And then, in return, your blood will be mine. Your body, mine. Your soul and all else within your flesh, mine.’

Chandni didn’t say anything. She wanted to refuse, but she knew there was no point. Her heart had already said yes.

I am in a room, thought Sa-at.

In a castle.

In the sky.

Since his arrival in the dead of night, Sa-at had been through several rooms of different sizes and shapes. There was the kitchen where they’d arrived. Which was a lovely hot room full of wonderful smells. A stairwell, or as he thought of it, a twisting pile of rocks stacked most strangely upon each other. Several corridors, which were very long rooms that did not seem to be for anything at all, and lastly, the old cook’s quarters.

This was smaller and colder than the kitchen. There was no food here and it smelled musty. In fact, the room was worse than the kitchen in every conceivable way Sa-at could think of. Despite this, it kept the wind out and them hidden from their enemies.

The cook, Roh, had left them here some hours ago to prepare breakfast for the inhabitants of the castle. There were many people here to celebrate the fake Lord Rochant’s arrival. More than Sa-at could count. More than he could even imagine counting. Hunters, traders, servants, guests – including other Sapphire Deathless. It made his toes wriggle with excitement. All his life, he’d wished to know more people, and now it seemed that he would get that wish. Rochant had promised that, after they had got his castle back for him, he would introduce Sa-at to them all.

But there was much to do before that could happen. Sa-at didn’t fully understand what, but he knew enough to know that it would be dangerous. He also knew that there would be bloodshed. Normally this would upset him but he was still too angry to be upset. The people who he would have to fight had killed his father and his cousins, robbed him of the chance even to get to know them. They had stolen Rochant’s name and castle, and done terrible things to the man’s body. Sa-at remembered finding Rochant, half-starved, half-dead, and shuddered.

Despite Sa-at’s best efforts, Rochant was still too thin, his frail body swaddled in thick layers of clothing and buried under several blankets. As if sensing his thoughts, the man turned his head towards Sa-at. The second of the suns, Vexation, was rising outside the window, giving Rochant a red tinged smile.

‘Good morning.’

‘Hello,’ replied Sa-at.

‘Have you been awake long?’