The Boundless

by Peter Newman

  And laced on top of them was the hint of something more predatory, the Corpseman itself. It was hard for him to detect. Not so much a set of emotions as a presence. He had no idea how it felt nor where it was, only that it was here.

  For a moment, the fear overtook the hunger once more. He stopped.

  The hunger urged him on.

  The fear urged him to flee.

  And for a while, in the dark, he waited.

  Sa-at could not say how long he’d been lying on top of the hill. He watched as the clouds twirled above him in a slow, unconcerned manner. After a while, the sound of the swarm had become too much and he’d simply stopped thinking.

  In its own way, it was strangely peaceful.

  He knew that his ears hurt, and that in various places his body did as well, but these things were far away. He also knew that there was fighting going on all around him, and yet that felt far away too.

  A thought gradually came to him, though it was sluggish and took him a while to understand.

  Those aren’t clouds.

  He looked again and realized he was right. The grey shapes above were not clouds, they were wings. And the shapes they were making were not in his imagination, they were spiralling lines that seemed to twist and ripple, trapping his thoughts within.

  The clouds – the wings – moved together and the Scuttling Corpseman rose higher into the air. He remembered now that he’d been screaming when it emerged from the wrecked dome, and that it had opened its wings and the screaming had stopped. It wasn’t that he’d stopped suffering, more that it had ceased to be relevant.

  The antennae that sprouted from the eye sockets of the Corpseman’s skull tested the air for a moment, then it began to dive. Closer and closer it came, until it was all Sa-at could see. Until it was his world.

  Wind buffeted his face and made his eyes water.

  And then it was gone, diving past him down the side of the hill.

  He blinked, enjoying a moment of peace, before the sounds of the swarm and the fighting and the pain returned in full force.

  Here it comes, thought Pari.

  In destroying a few of the Corpseman’s unborn brood, they’d succeeded in drawing it out. Now came the hard part. She was fairly sure that it wouldn’t kill her but Arkav would enjoy no such protection. She hoped that Chandni would be quick, for all their sakes.

  She reached for her brother’s hand and then raised it with her own until it was at eye level. By glancing at the bracers she could see the reflection of the Corpseman’s shape growing larger. Muted by the tanzanite plates, the image lacked the power to mesmerize.

  She crouched, pressing down on her Sky-legs so that their blades curved and began to store energy. All the while, the Corpseman’s image grew on their bracers, becoming more distinct.

  The two of them waited, lifecycles of shared experience putting them in tune.

  A little closer.

  When its reflection covered the surface of the bracer completely, Pari sprung to the left, while Arkav leapt to the right. She felt hard-tipped fingers glance her shoulder, and just had time to feel relieved that it had gone for her and not her brother before she was sent corkscrewing through the air and into the hill. Sacrificing dignity for survival, Pari scrabbled against the earth, trying to right herself and avoid a tumble. On her second attempt she managed to get her legs under her and kick off from the hill, gliding in a tight circle back towards the Corpseman.

  She got a brief view of the other fight taking place beyond the hill. It was a crazy mess of dark spots fighting smaller dark spots, and impossible to tell who was winning. As she wheeled round she saw the Sapphire hunters engaged with the other half of the Corpseman’s spawn. The fighting was fierce, brutal, less a case of winners and losers, and more one of who survived and who did not.

  Then she came back to the hill and realized she’d been wrong. The Corpseman had not been going for her after all. It was flying upward, its thick wings moving in slow, powerful beats. Higher than her, higher than the hilltop and still climbing. Two of its hands gripped the stub of Arkav’s remaining wing. She could see the strain forming, the cracks rushing out across the surface of the dimmed crystal. Any second now, it would break, and her brother would fall.

  ‘No!’ shouted Pari.

  The Corpseman continued to ascend.

  There was a palpable shift when the Corpseman left. Satyendra felt it go, and with it, a lessening of pressure. He knew it was still close by but it was no longer in the hill and that was enough.

  Even better, Rochant is still here.

  He began to make his way through the tunnels. Though he didn’t know the layout, he could tell when he was getting closer to his prey, and it didn’t take long before he emerged into the chamber he sought. To his delight he found his enemy in a profound state of unhappiness and it only took a glance to understand why.

  Rochant was struggling to pull himself free from one of the walls but the amber that coated him stretched with his efforts, sticking to him like glue. One of his arms did not match the other, and what was visible of his body was the wrong shape: The flesh was drawn too tight around the spine and the shoulders had bulked out. A black exoskeleton covered his torso and one arm but it had not yet hardened, reminding Satyendra of the top of a newborn baby’s skull.

  There was a delicious moment when Rochant became aware he was being watched and froze in place.

  ‘Would you like me to help?’ asked Satyendra, but his voice came out as barely more that a whisper.

  Rochant simply stared at him and continued to work himself free.

  ‘Yes. You keep going,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll wait.’

  Though Rochant’s face gave nothing away, the pain and the rising fear rolled off him in waves. Satyendra let the emotions seep into him. Each one gave him a rush of strength and awareness. Despite this, he couldn’t help but give Rochant his grudging respect. The man was still going despite the lack of hope and the terrible odds.

  The membrane finally tore, spilling a thick amber liquid and Rochant onto the floor. He lay there, apparently too weak to move, and turned his head to look up. ‘Perhaps we could discuss a deal?’

  Satyendra laughed. ‘What could you possibly offer me that I couldn’t take for myself?’

  ‘Survival. If you do anything to me, the Corpseman will destroy you.’

  ‘Look at me.’ Satyendra crawled closer. ‘Do you think I fear death?’

  ‘Look at me,’ replied Rochant. ‘Death is the least of your worries.’

  ‘I can see why the Corpseman would have to restore your body, but why take your arm?’

  Rochant said nothing.

  It doesn’t matter, thought Satyendra. I know how best to hurt him now.

  ‘The Bringers of Endless Order might be stupid, but even they will know you for an abomination. You’re not coming back from this life.’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘Yes. We will. Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you.’

  Satyendra reached out with such speed that Rochant did not even register what was happening until he heard the sound of his own arm being broken. The scream was perfect, just the right mix of surprise and horror, that he was overcome by ecstatic bliss, his eyes rolling back into his head.

  Rochant’s other arm twitched at his side, but the new connections had not yet formed, leaving him powerless before Satyendra.

  ‘I imagine that when the Corpseman finds you, it will want to replace your other arm now, yes?’

  Rochant didn’t answer.

  This time, he grabbed Rochant’s leg, placing both hands either side of his knee, but he didn’t break anything, not yet. ‘Legs next, and then your jaw. Unless you have something better to offer me?’ He had no intention of making a deal, but the chance of it would allow him to milk an even sweeter bounty from Rochant’s misery.

  ‘Wait. Wait! There is much I can offer you. Tell me what you desire and it’s yours.’

  Satyendra smiled and nodded, for thi
s was what he’d been waiting to hear. He made a show of considering what he might say, then twisted his hands in opposite directions, grinding the leg bones in his grip as he did so. While Rochant writhed in agony, he very slowly, very deliberately reached for his other leg.

  ‘Uhhnhn … wuuhn … wait!’

  ‘What I want,’ said Satyendra, ‘is to make you suffer for what you did to me.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘You are just as bad as I am. Worse! I never had a choice, but you did.’

  ‘Tell yourself that if you want,’ gasped Rochant. ‘But there are always choices to be made. I don’t regret mine but it’s clear yours haunt you.’ He carried on quickly as Satyendra’s hands began to tighten. ‘You do have a choice. You don’t want to be a monster of the Wild any more than I do. What if I told you there was a way to change back?’

  Satyendra stared at him.

  ‘That’s right,’ continued Rochant. ‘You don’t have to be like this. You could have your normal body again and a happy life.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Ah well, that’s the real trick. I alone can make it happen, but only if you help me.’

  With effort he checked the urge to twist and break. Was this all he was now? A thing that caused pain? And if I do take revenge on Rochant, what then? What kind of life is waiting for me out there? Somewhere beneath all the surging power came a note of despair. As much as he’d hated being an Honoured Vessel in the castle, it was what he knew.

  Rochant was watching him. There was pain in his eyes, but no fear. Satyendra took the thoughts to their conclusion. If I agree to his terms, I will be beholden to him. If I give up on the hunger, I will also lose my strength, my speed, my new senses. But if I ignore his offer they will be all I have. I … am tempted by this offer.

  A voice spoke from the tunnel at his back, and the blood froze in his veins. It was both familiar and not familiar, and its authority spoke to both his heart and his hunger.

  ‘The Wild always demands a price for its power and there is no going back for any of us.’

  He turned to see his mother at the tunnel’s entrance. Often he’d found her frustrating, but on her good days, she was fierce. This was her at her best. The steel in her gaze shook him, and her presence filled the chamber almost as much as the Corpseman’s had. He could see it now, a swirling pattern of essence spilling in front of her, edged with feathers.

  She pointed a finger towards Rochant. ‘He lies to you, as he has lied to all of us.’

  He turned back to Rochant who remained unfazed.

  ‘Chandni was always a great follower because she lacked imagination. Just because she cannot conceive of a solution does not mean that there isn’t one. Destroy her, help me, and I will grant what you truly desire. I’m the only one who can.’

  Again, he was tempted.

  Had he not hated his mother as much as he’d hated Rochant? Wasn’t this what he’d have done anyway, regardless of Rochant’s offer? And yet … if he was going to kill Chandni, he felt it should be on his terms. And when he thought of her voice, of the aura around her, he wasn’t sure that killing her was even an option.

  ‘He’s using you,’ said Chandni.

  He didn’t look at her when he answered. ‘You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Mother?’

  ‘Judge me as you wish, but I did what I did to serve House Sapphire and our people. He serves only himself.’

  Rochant’s reply was swift. ‘She doesn’t understand us. Like you, I was born into a position where the only option was to fight or be discarded. Like you, I had to be clever against overwhelming odds. Like y—’

  With a quick twist, Satyendra broke his other leg.

  Why did he do it? He wasn’t sure. An impulse had moved to his fingers before he’d had a chance to consider further, and after that, nothing mattered but the sudden rush as the swell of Rochant’s pain made his smile spread wide, then wider, then wider still, opening in four directions. Horror and exultation gripped him in equal measure. He felt his strength growing, his bones growing, his senses changing again. But something was slipping from his face and a panicked voice told him he was losing a vital part of himself.

  It was hard to appreciate that, increasingly hard to think about anything other than the rush.

  Only one thing remained clear. The man before him needed to suffer. But as he reached for Rochant’s jaw he heard Chandni’s voice again, saying his name.

  ‘Satyendra.’

  Not now, Mother, he went to say, but only a hiss emerged from his throat; his mouth was no longer able to form the shape required for speech.

  ‘Satyendra, look at me.’

  Her words were like a hand gripping his skull, twisting him round with force. He tried to resist, but it was no use. She was still crouched down in the entrance, a small woman at her smallest. And yet she was not small. She was vast. A giant before a speck.

  He saw her in all her dark glory, and he knew that she saw him.

  And the feelings that bubbled up inside were too much to bear.

  With an inhuman screech of shame, of self-loathing, Satyendra spun away and fled for the other tunnel, the one that led upwards and away from his past.

  Pari watched as the Corpseman flew higher and higher, taking Arkav with it. Experience had taught her that the demon was hard to read but she had a nasty feeling she knew what it was planning.

  There were no such doubts with her brother. Though Arkav was caught, he was still conscious, and as he shifted his grip on his spear, she knew all too well what he was about to do.

  ‘Don’t be an idiot!’ she shouted helplessly.

  Arkav stabbed upwards, aiming for a spot where the Corpseman’s leg met its hips.

  Two of its four arms snapped down, catching the shaft and wrenching it from Arkav’s hands.

  It seems it can read my brother as easily as it does me.

  Then, without ceremony, it dropped Arkav, tilting in the air so that it could dive towards the Sapphire hunters.

  The essence currents above the Wild were weak and unpredictable. Even a Deathless would struggle to manage them for long. With only one damaged wing left, Arkav was doomed. He tumbled slowly as he fell but he did not fall slowly.

  Pari backed up across the top of the hill. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a small figure writhing amid the grass – Sa-at! – but she paid him no mind. All her attention was on the sky, the distances between her and her brother, the best angles to try for …

  She knew she only had one chance and she knew that was all she needed.

  Come on, Pari. She told herself. It’s time to be brilliant.

  A short run, three bounding strides and she was in the air, arcing up as her brother arced down. There was a chime of crystal as she tackled him midair – that rang out – giving a brief respite to the background buzzing of the swarm.

  Their arms automatically laced around each other, Arkav doing his best to make the movements of his body complement hers as she tried to bring them down safely.

  She’d been confident that she’d catch him, but was less confident about the landing. The base of the hill was coming at them too fast. Still holding each other tightly, they bent their knees, preparing to come down heavily on their Sky-legs. Ideally, they’d make several bounces, each one stealing a little more of their momentum until they came to a stop.

  The first bounce did little to slow them, sending them off at a wild angle. Arkav’s one wing was unbalancing them and neither of them had compensated enough for it.

  Oh, no.

  The second bounce was little better and the trees were suddenly close. Awfully close. One in particular seemed to have placed itself directly in their flightpath.

  Oh, dear.

  She let go of Arkav on the third bounce, so that they could glide parallel on either side of the tree, missing it by inches. A second later, with barely enough time to think about how close that was, something snagged her wing and the world became a blurring spin of greens and browns.

  The
next thing Pari knew she was on her back. It was suspiciously comfortable. I really have been pushing myself too hard lately. It would be so easy just to lie here, to let go.

  But she thought of Arkav and all those brave people fighting and dying nearby. She thought of the Corpseman and how she was the only one that could stop it, and she got up.

  By some miracle, her armour appeared mostly intact. The crystal had been chipped in places, and she was far from her best, but there were no major fractures or breaks.

  ‘Arkav?’ she called.

  ‘Here,’ replied her brother as he limped over.

  His fall had been worse than hers. The armour on his right leg barely glowed, and the blade of his Sky-leg wasn’t fully extending. ‘Honestly,’ she said, ‘this really won’t do.’

  ‘It’s just a scratch,’ he replied, holding out a hand, ‘shall we?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Together they leapt from the trees. Arkav had to favour one leg, and Pari lost some momentum in order to keep him with her, but they managed. As they returned to the battle, her thoughts raced.

  The Corpseman knows it can’t hurt me but it also knows how to manipulate me. I’ve shared its thoughts before, and while I’ve learned something of its nature it must have been learning about me at the same time. It’s already used Arkav against me once. I have to make sure it doesn’t again.

  While she had been rescuing Arkav, the Corpseman had not been idle. The battle of the hunters and the swarm looked very different to Pari as they emerged from the trees.

  The Corpseman hovered directly above a central block of hunters, its great wings spread wide. All the nearby hunters had stopped fighting; their collective gaze was being drawn upwards, unwilling, by the strange swirling designs, allowing the swarm to smash through their defensive line.

  Lord Gada Sapphire had become aware of this, and was bounding to that position to give support. Unlike the hunters, he would not be swayed immediately, but he would be facing the demon alone.