The Deathless Read online

  PETER NEWMAN

  The Deathless

  Copyright

  HarperVoyager

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

  Copyright © Peter Newman 2018

  Cover illustration © Jaime Jones

  Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

  Peter Newman asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Source ISBN: 9780008228989

  Ebook Edition © March 2018 ISBN: 9780008229009

  Version: 2018-05-10

  Dedication

  For my friends,

  who I really should see more often!

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Acknowledgements

  Also by Peter Newman

  Keep Reading …

  About the Publisher

  CHAPTER ONE

  Vasin Sapphire had risen long before the three suns, unable to sleep nor act, waiting, like the rest of the castle, for the drums of the hunt to begin.

  He wished it were otherwise, that experience had taught him how to be calm, allowed him to conserve his strength, but it was always the same, his nerves as much a part of the ritual as everything else. How many times had he participated in the hunt? How many lifetimes? To his surprise, he was hazy on the exact number.

  But his body knew. An instinct made him tense, the muscles bunching as he held his breath. And sure enough, on the next beat of his heart, the first drum was played, a single, thunderous strike. Housed at the very centre of the sprawling castle, its reverberations were felt at every corner, through the stone and in the guts, echoing throughout as the note faded to make way for the next. This was the deepest drum of the set, and its beat would steadily quicken as time passed, signalling all to prepare for the hunt.

  Vasin exhaled. Some of the tension he had been holding in his limbs released. He kept looking out of the window. The darkness remained, starless and black, a greater emptiness that echoed the one inside.

  Clearly he should be getting ready now, but the motivation simply wasn’t there. It was all he could do to resist lighting some Tack and inhaling its aroma of sweet oblivion. He’d been eking out his dwindling supply over the last year, taking just enough to bury his troubles.

  But for all of his lack of motivation he didn’t dare. The honour of House Sapphire was in his hands, and no matter his misery, no matter how far he had fallen, he was a Sapphire, blood, bones, and soul.

  The deep drum sounded a second time. Servants would be flowing down corridors, their measured steps at odds with their excited faces.

  Hunting was at the heart of everything. The road-born supplied the castles of the Deathless, and the Deathless kept them safe from the demons of the Wild. If the hunt failed, then all Vasin’s people would suffer, the road-born from attack and the sky-born from starvation.

  Though only he and his hunters would take flight, the whole castle would be present: the quality of the send off, it was believed, affected the hunt’s chances of success. Everyone had their part to play, especially Vasin.

  But am I ready? It was a question he asked each time he led a hunt, but rarely with such uncertainty. A memory of his first life arose, him in another body, younger, nervous, his mother coming to his rooms to—

  He dismissed it with a growl. He would not think of his mother. Not now and especially not today.

  One set of feet stopped outside his open door and a man’s voice began singing for permission to enter. Without turning from the window, Vasin waved him in.

  ‘May I, my lord?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Vasin.

  A moment later, he felt the teeth of a brush in his hair. It started low, at the small of his back, banishing tangles from the tips, and worked up, each pull of the brush growing longer. There was a symmetry between the brush strokes and the drum beats that pleased Vasin.

  ‘I didn’t send for you,’ he mused aloud, and the brush hesitated halfway down his back. ‘Continue. I’m not displeased. Who sent you?’ he asked, curious. Who would know he had not requested assistance, and come to the conclusion that he needed some?

  ‘Your brother, my lord. Lord Gada bade me aid your preparations and tell you that he is on his way.’

  It was unusual to meet before a hunt. Whatever was bringing him here it was unlikely to be good. They’d barely spoken in the last year, but clearly his brother was still keeping an eye on him, enough to know that he wasn’t grooming himself as he used to anyway. Vasin wondered what else Gada had seen and felt a twinge of shame as he regarded his room. The knowledge that a member of his family was arriving shortly threw the state of his quarters, and himself, into stark relief.

  Vasin groaned, his brother always thought he knew best. ‘How long do I have?’

  The servant, who looked familiar in a way that suggested Vasin had seen him before, and if not him, some ancestor who looked similar, chose his words carefully.

  ‘Lord Gada did not share that information with me, my lord.’ The servant made an apologetic face. ‘But if I were to guess, I would say he has already left his quarters.’

  ‘In that case we had best get to work. There is no time to bathe, but I must be scented and dressed before Gada arrives, and all of this clutter must be gone.’

  The servant looked about the room, dismayed. ‘My lord.’

  In the end it took the two of them to get everything straight, and Vasin had to spray the scented water over himself, then bind silk around his own chest, arms, and thighs, which was difficult, but by the time Gada entered, the illusion of serenity and cleanliness was established, betrayed only by the glistening sweat on the servant’s brow.

  The body his brother had taken in this incarnation was classic Gada. Tall, thin, lightly muscled, as if exercise was something to be sampled but not indulged in. The thick eyebrows and beard, both neatly trimmed, suited, adding weight to an otherwise ephemeral appearance.

  Like all Deathless, Lord Gada Sapphire held his own castle and looked after his own settlements. Despite this, he had become a regular fixture of Vasin’s life since their mother’s exile. Gada was still playing the game, fighting
to keep them both in High Lord Sapphire’s favour. It was a fight he seemed destined to lose.

  A slight flick of Gada’s finger dismissed the servant. They were alone.

  Gada’s smile of greeting lacked sincerity, but then, it always had. It was why few trusted him and fewer warmed to him. If blood didn’t tie them, Vasin doubted he’d be very fond of the other man either. It wasn’t fair, because Gada had always looked after him, had taken his duties as elder brother seriously. Perhaps that was the problem. He’d always felt more like a duty to Gada than a loved one.

  Vasin stood there, his habitual social ease failing him after years of disuse. Gada seemed afflicted by the same problem and so the brothers simply stared at one another, Gada’s smile looking like it could flee the scene at any moment.

  Meanwhile, adding to the tension, the space between each beat of the great drum grew steadily shorter. Soon, the second drummer would begin, and Vasin would have to leave.

  ‘You look well,’ said Gada.

  ‘No I don’t.’

  Gada’s smile faded away. ‘No.’

  ‘If you have something to say …’

  ‘Yes.’ He contradicted himself by pausing and Vasin felt frustration well up. His brother’s surprise visit was stirring up feelings he’d worked hard to bury. Grief stirred within him like a beast coming out of hibernation. He’d isolated himself on purpose, hiding behind his walls, refusing to see people. And when that hadn’t been enough, he’d used Tack, smoking himself into oblivion. Bad enough that he had to face the outside world today, but must he face the past as well? Why couldn’t his brother just say whatever it was and leave?

  Gada closed the space between them, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder as he did so. ‘I was surprised to hear you had volunteered to lead the hunt.’

  ‘And you weren’t sure I was up to it?’

  ‘This has to go well, Vasin.’ His words were hushed, conspiratorial. ‘It’s bigger than you or me. All eyes are on us now, from below and without, and across the other houses … After the last hunt failed, we—’

  He’d heard about the failed hunt, the hunt that failed even to happen. Sorn, one of the Sapphire holdings belonging to Lord Rochant, had called for help against the Wild. Lord Rochant had been between lives at the time, and so it had fallen to Yadavendra, High Lord of the Sapphire, to oversee Sorn’s protection. They’d made the proper sacrifice, followed tradition, but, for the first time in House Sapphire’s history, the call had gone unanswered. Not only had the High Lord turned his back on them, he had forbidden the other Sapphire Deathless to get involved. Since then, nothing had been heard from Sorn, and a feeling of unrest had settled over the rest of the Sapphire provinces. Sagan had been the first settlement to call for aid since, and though Yadavendra hadn’t responded personally, his silence allowed the others to take action.

  ‘If it’s so important,’ said Vasin acidly, ‘why doesn’t High Lord Sapphire lead the hunt himself?’

  Gada’s expression was pained. ‘He’s still too disturbed by grief.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Please don’t, Vasin.’

  ‘He’s disturbed by grief? He is! What about us? What about our grief? She was our mother—’

  The sound of the second drum cut off Vasin mid shout. Two beats, close together, following on the heels of the first drum. Gada spoke into the quiet that followed.

  ‘Hunt well and thorough, brother.’

  Vasin forced his fists to unclench. It wouldn’t do to part like this. He pulled Gada close, feeling the man stiffen before settling into an awkward embrace. ‘I’m sorry,’ he began, but his voice cracked and his throat tightened, swallowing the rest of the sentence.

  ‘Sssh,’ Gada said. ‘Deal with the hunt today. I can wait till tomorrow, the court for a while after that. One thing at a time.’ He peeled himself out of Vasin’s grip as another beat of the drums reverberated through the castle. ‘Hunt well and thorough.’

  Unable to speak, Vasin nodded and left the room. His eyes were blurry with tears but it didn’t matter, he knew the way well enough, the hallways and rooms mapped over many lives.

  With effort, he could push aside thoughts of the Sapphire High Lord and his brother, but the rage sat there, burning, like a hot coal in his chest.

  It had been a glimpse, nothing more. The bottom half of a tunic and a pair of boots ascending a stairwell. One of the night guards doing the rounds.

  Honoured Mother Chandni wandered to the bottom of the stairs, a frown spoiling her features. She knew all of the guards by sight and yet this one had seemed like a stranger. She also knew the routines of the castle as well as she knew the habits of the babe in her arms, and there were no changeovers due for at least an hour.

  Still frowning, she continued up the stairs and stepped out onto the ramparts. It was still dark, the three suns some hours from rising, but Satyendra showed no signs of sleepiness. She felt the same. There was simply too much going on for her mind to rest.

  A guard saluted her as she came into view. His name was Ji, one of the older ones. Ji was not the one she’d seen on the steps, they had moved too quickly, their stride that of a much younger man.

  ‘Did another guard come this way?’ she asked.

  ‘No, Honoured Mother. It’s just me and the cold out tonight.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  He nodded. ‘Even the castle is quiet.’

  ‘It’s holding its breath. We all are.’ It was Lord Rochant Sapphire’s rebirth ceremony in the morning and they all wanted him back dearly. The halls had seemed empty since he’d gone between lives.

  ‘When do you think he’ll come back to us?’ asked Ji.

  ‘When he’s ready. It’s not for you to question the time or place.’

  ‘Sorry, I just miss him.’

  Chandni allowed herself a polite smile. ‘We all do.’

  It’s time to replace Ji, she thought. The man’s losing his focus. I’ll keep him on long enough for Lord Rochant to see him in uniform one more time, and then retire him.

  She made a slow circuit of the walls. Had she really seen that guard? It was dark and she was tired, perhaps she had imagined it? Chandni didn’t believe that though. There was something in the air, a tension that she hoped was connected to Lord Rochant’s return. But it wasn’t hope she felt in her stomach. Satyendra stirred in her arms, uncharacte‌ristically restless.

  ‘You feel it too don’t you?’ she said softly. ‘You’re not alone. I doubt any of us will sleep easily tonight.’

  Satyendra regarded her with dark eyes. He had always been a quiet baby but there was something alert in his manner, a watchfulness that suggested a wise head rather than a vacant one.

  ‘Somewhere over there,’ she continued, pointing into the night, ‘is another castle just like this, floating high in the sky. It belongs to Lord Vasin Sapphire. At dawn, he’ll be hunting for demons in a place called Sagan. Normally your grandfather, Lord Rochant, would do it, but his soul is somewhere else, somewhere far, far away.’

  All along the battlements were sapphire lanterns that took the sunslight of the day and turned it into a series of little blue halos. Chandni loved the constancy of their light almost as much as she loved the order of their placement, each painstakingly positioned the exact same distance from its neighbours, a visible testament to the perfection of House Sapphire. She found it much more impressive than the stars, strewn messily across the sky.

  Only the greatest minds can create such order.

  And Lord Rochant’s castle was a beacon of order. Strong walls, symmetrical, smooth, polished so that the stone and sapphires shone. She had lived here her whole adult life and never felt safer or happier.

  Her imagination re-conjured those feet on the stairs, unfamiliar, moving quickly, and she looked down into the courtyard, then across to the opposite wall, then either side of the ramparts.

  Nothing.

  The castle was as it always was. A fortress hanging impossibly in the sky, held aloft
by ethereal currents and forgotten arts.

  Safe and dependable and beyond the reach of demons.

  The thought made her look in the other direction, out, over the edge of the battlements, away from safety.

  Below, she could see miles and miles of unconquered woodland spreading in every direction: the Wild. Strange. Threatening. The very sight of it chilled her, and in the dark it was all too easy to imagine it growing, reaching out to engulf the road-born who dwelled on its perimeter.

  She couldn’t imagine living so close to death. How do they sleep down there? she wondered. How do they bear it?

  Her eyes moved to the silver-blue ribbon sparkling in defiance of the dark: the Godroad. There were many paths through the Wild but the only safe ones were the Godroads. Relics from the Unbroken Age, each was built straight and true, cutting clean lines of glittering crystal through the trees, dividing the great forest into sections.

  Chaos and order. The Wild and the Godroad. The demons and the Deathless.

  She let the thoughts roll around in her mind, seeing the way one connected to the other. Like a set of dance steps repeated over and over, endless.

  The road-born scavenged the forest, in part to provide for themselves, and in part to provide for people like Chandni.

  Inevitably, their activities would catch the attention of the demons and a stalking would begin. After a while, a farm animal would vanish, or a child that had not listened to the warnings of their elders. When this happened, a village would call to their crystal lords for aid and the hunters would come, sending whatever it was back into darkness one way or another.

  So it is with the people of Sagan. A cycle. Demons, sacrifice and then the hunt. Soon there will be order again.

  But then, should it not also have been that way for the people of Sorn? Chandni shook her head sadly. High Lord Yadavendra had left Sorn to the mercy of the Wild. It was Lord Vasin, not Yadavendra, that was coming to Sagan’s aid.