Peter Newman - The Deathless

‘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 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.