Peter Newman - The Deathless

The fourth was time, the Bringers scheduling the ceremony to take place at the same moment of the day, and with the same alignment of the suns, as the immortal’s original birthday. This was why everyone, even the least fortunate, took careful note of the sky when a child was born.

Finally, a suitable host was required. They had to come from the immortal’s line, with stronger blood ties preferable. Each house endeavoured to groom potential hosts to have skills and interests similar to the immortal, to make the rebirth easier, however this was not always possible, and some immortals had lived lives in the opposite gender, and in bodies of a variety of shapes and sizes.

For Rochant, the signs were good, better than good, and yet Pari could not help but worry as the ritual drew to a close. The thought of having to wait another generation to be with her love was painful, the thought that she might never see him again, unbearable.

Somewhere nearby, Rochant’s enemies were moving, preparing to act. Pari doubted they’d dare try anything while the Bringers were present, but as soon as they had gone, Rochant would be easy pickings for any that could get past his guard.

And if they do, they’ll find me waiting, thought Pari, but the bravado sounded hollow, even in her own mind. She was tired already, and scared. What if I’m not good enough? What then?

One of the Bringers produced a mesh of wires and solemnly approached Kareem. Another stepped up to the side of the young man and placed their hands either side of his head. Kareem did not resist, though she thought she saw him flinch as he caught sight of the device. The lump in Kareem’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and then the young man opened his mouth.

The mesh was placed inside, flattening down Kareem’s tongue and jacking open his jaws. There was a click, loud, and the device locked into place, whereupon the lead Bringer stepped forward, took the Godpiece from its box to place it carefully, ritualistically, into Kareem’s mouth, into the mesh.

The others closed in, making a loose circle around Kareem, wands pointing inward, much of their light blocked from Pari. Their murmurings became louder, not quite a song, but a series of harsh lyrical whispers, ends and beginnings brushing over one another. Planes of light could only escape in the gaps where the Bringers’ robes were not touching and in the space above their heads. A tableau of shadow danced on the ceiling, and to Pari, it looked at times as if the shapes were wrong, the Bringers seeming to have too many limbs, and extra protrusions defying the human form.

She looked away but the noise still reached her. The strange words, and beneath them, muffled by the mesh, Kareem, making a sound she could not name but was born of suffering.

Until now she had never really thought about the ones that gave up their lives so that she and those like her might live again. It was always spoken of as an honour, and of course, those that took that honour for her, Pari had never met. But she found herself thinking about it now, that curious part of her brain forced to consider that Kareem did not sound like a man experiencing a great honour, and to wonder what would happen to his soul once Rochant’s took up residence.

Gradually, the whispers faded, each of the Bringers falling quiet in order, like waves receding from the shore. When they were done, they took a step back, widening the circle.

She risked a glance, and saw that Kareem’s eyes were closed. Or were they Rochant’s now? She had to know if he had survived the ritual and edged out from behind her pillar, sliding rather than stepping, until she managed to align herself with a gap in the ring of Bringers.

His chest. Is it moving? Yes. It moved! She felt joy that he was alive, tempered with fear. The body lived, true, but it was not yet certain what dwelled inside it.

Together, the Bringers raised their golden wands, touching them one to the other, so that the seven diamonds clinked softly.

The man on the slab groaned, then opened his eyes.

‘One man is welcome here,’ the lead Bringer said. ‘Are you that man?’

Pari saw the muscles in his arm flex against the straps that held him fast. He worked his jaw slowly, as if testing it for damage. The motion was so considered, so calm, that her heart leapt. It was Rochant, it had to be! The Bringers may not know it yet, but she was already certain.

‘I am Lord Rochant Sapphire,’ he said. And again, Pari rejoiced, she knew that intonation better than her own.

‘Lord Rochant Sapphire is welcome,’ replied the Bringer, ‘if you are he.’

‘If,’ hissed the others.

‘If you are he,’ continued the lead Bringer, ‘you will prove your humanity. Examine yourself, and tell us what you find.’

This was to be the test then. Pari had undergone several herself. Each time was different, a means to be sure that the immortal had truly returned, rather than a demon.

‘I feel the marks on my skull. The scars of my first life.’

The Bringers said nothing, none of them moved, though each seemed poised to act.

‘I see the marks on my heart, and remember my second life.’

Again, the Bringers said nothing, and Rochant turned his attention to his hand. There was a long pause. She saw the flicker of concern on Rochant’s face.

Something’s wrong.

The silence was stretching too long. If Rochant didn’t answer correctly, and soon, the Bringers would become suspicious. He might even fail the test.

‘What is this on my hand?’ Rochant asked.

The lead Bringer matched the pause, and Pari felt her heart clench. Then said ominously, ‘You do not know?’

Rochant only frowned.

Perhaps this is it. What if the assassin is among the Bringers, or if the Bringers themselves want him dead. If they put a mark on him that should not be there, then he cannot identify it, and he cannot pass. They will kill him and there is nothing I can do to stop it.

Rochant licked his lips to moisten them. ‘I know nothing of it.’

‘It is a mark of shame.’ The other Bringers made a soft chorus of the word ‘shame’ as the lead Bringer continued. ‘When you were killed for raising your hand in disagreement with your High Lord.’

‘Then, this cannot be my hand,’ replied Rochant. ‘For it, like me, has always been loyal.’

There was another long pause before the lead Bringer stepped in close. Pari’s breath caught in her throat as she saw a sweep of the robed arm, too fast for her to intervene.

When the Bringer stepped back, the marks on Rochant’s hand were gone and the straps that had held him in place hung loose on the sides of the slab.

‘Lord Rochant Sapphire is welcome.’

‘Welcome,’ agreed the others.

Their work complete, the Bringers bowed, but before they could leave, Rochant spoke again. ‘Wait, there is another mark I do not know.’

The Bringers paused, and the sense of them being poised to act, to strike, returned.

Shut up! Pari urged silently. You’ve passed the test you idiot. Just let them leave.

‘The one in silver ink rather than gold –’ Rochant allowed a delicate pause ‘– below. Can you explain it to me?’

A look passed between the Bringers. If Pari did not know better she’d have said there was some gentle humour being shared.

‘It is a warning from your High Lord. Of an end for this life if you do not heed it.’

Rochant didn’t reply but she saw his jaw clench and his eyes close.

He’s being told to stay away from me! She consoled herself that High Lord Sapphire could only suspect. If he’d learned the truth about their relationship, Rochant’s rebirth would have ended much more abruptly. We’ll have to be even more careful from now on.