The Deathless

The grasses caught her words, scattering them across the fields in a flurry of frightened echoes. ‘What is that, what is that, what is that …’

As the ripples reached the shape in the distance it began to move, unfolding long appendages. Fabric hung down from them like a pair of wings, tattered. And then it began to glide, and Chandni could not be sure if the grasses simply parted for it or if they were passing it along, one row to the other.

‘That,’ said Varg, ‘is a Whispercage.’

Glider started to whine and Varg responded by shouting and applying a boot to the Dogkin’s backside. ‘Go faster you stupid lump or you’ll really have something to complain about!’

‘Faster, faster, faster,’ said the grasses, ‘you’ll really have something, you’ll really have something, you’ll really have something.’

She had thought it big before, but as the Whispercage got closer Chandni realized she had not done the creature justice. It was nearly three times her height and twice as wide, with a long stretched skeleton, wrapped in rippling cloth.

Or is that loose skin? Chandni’s gorge began to rise. Is it wearing someone else’s skin?

‘It’s going to overtake us!’ she cried.

‘Take us,’ echoed the grasses, ‘take us, take us.’

‘We’re nearly past the fields,’ shouted Varg, ‘it won’t touch us unless we look at it or talk to it, understand?’

‘I understand,’ she replied, as the grasses whispered: ‘Touch us, touch us, touch us.’

‘That means keep your fucking eyes down and your mouth shut.’

Chandni bit back a retort and did as she was told.

With Glider’s five legs pumping for all they were worth, the wagon seemed to fly along the path, but the Whispercage was waiting for them up ahead. It leant out from the edge of the grasses, its arms – long poles of dirty bone – held high.

As they went past, the wagon rocked sideways as the Whispercage latched onto it, and Chandni felt something brush her cheek. It was surprisingly gentle, and soft as peach skin.

Don’t look up, she told herself.

From the corner of her eye, she could see the edge of the fields in sight, the grasses thinning out and giving way to a wall of twisted trees.

She forced herself not to react to the movement by her ear. The Whispercage was right next to her. In her periphery, she was aware of it watching, waiting for her to turn and make eye contact. It wore a hood of sorts, and within it something moved where she’d expect to find a mouth, a tongue-petalled flower, opening.

Don’t look up.

Satyendra’s urgent suckling had settled into a steady guzzle, now it stopped completely. She heard his happy sigh, then felt his head turn away. Too late, she tried to turn it back.

Everything went dark as the Whispercage lunged, covering her. She flailed against it and it struck back, and all became a flurry of movement, as if she sat within a flight of furious birds.

For a terrible moment she was convinced that Satyendra had been taken, his weight had gone from her arms and she screamed in despair, but when the Whispercage was ripped away, like a sail torn from a storm-tossed ship, her baby was still there, staring up at her. The blanket that he had been wrapped in was gone, but he appeared unharmed. And yet, despite the evidence of her eyes, she could not escape the feeling that she’d lost her baby.

Varg looked across and nodded. ‘Thank fuck for that.’ But he didn’t slow down and Glider seemed all too happy to keep running, until the last of the light faded away and only stars could be made out through the sparse canopy above.

By the time the wagon did come to a stop, they had left the grasses far behind. They were safe. Chandni breathed a long sigh and held Satyendra close.

To her surprise, he opened his mouth and began to scream.

Waking was as unpleasant as Pari expected. Muscles ached, joints locked up, stubborn, and bruises protested all over.

It was dark around her, the three suns having set some time ago. She wondered how long she had slept. Not long enough, replied her body.

The luminous Godroad cast a pale glow onto the night’s clouds. Pari allowed it to guide her, grunting and groaning, towards it. Soon, a choice would have to be made. Much as she would like to examine the bodies of the assassins more carefully for clues, and question Lord Rochant’s staff about Dil’s movements, she knew she couldn’t. Dil had named a Tanzanite as the one behind the attack effectively preventing her from approaching any of Rochant’s loyal staff for help.

Besides, both Rochant and his last living descendant were outside the castle now, and they both needed her help.