The voices were not as one. Some feared her, some hungered for her, and others made senseless noise that buffeted, making her rock from side to side, like a pendulum of glowing wires, or a hunk of meat on a rope.
But it was not meat that the shadows hungered for. They wanted memories, the very pieces that made up her soul. If they could tear one away, it would leave a space. Tear a second and the space would grow, becoming a burrow in her heart for them to hide inside.
There was a change above her, a tightening of the blue-violet strands, and she knew from experience that she would soon leave this place and become herself again, whoever that was.
The shadows sensed it too, redoubling their efforts, pressing so close that she was able to make out features, teeth and torn edges, ragged holes that allowed glimpses of muscle bunching naked inside.
She could feel a tension now, a pull at her back accompanied by the desire to rise. But a new noise made her resist and hold where she was.
Tucked within the writhing mass of shapes was a smaller, more human one, crushed, crying out, over and over: ‘Pari!’
She knew that name. For it was her own. She knew the voice of the one crying out too. Someone dear, someone she loved. Peering closer, she saw his face bubble up from the darkness, set like a pimple on the back of some great beast.
The features belonged to Arkav, her brother. But that was impossible! Arkav was in a young body, very much alive. He could not be here. Could not be here and there at the same time. Unless some part of him had been lost between lives, bitten from him when he had last hung in this place.
Their gazes met, and he called out again, begging for her help.
She fought to go to him but the strands held her tight, making her feel like a prisoner. This too, was truth. I am a prisoner, she thought, and knew this had long been the case.
Then Arkav’s face was blocked out by the rush of shadows, of hungry mouths and the screeching of something tearing, of the distance between her and the angry dark shrinking in the blink of an eye.
The strands of light grew tight about her, like a fist, and she was rising, as fast as the chasing shadows, then faster, leaving them and her brother behind.
This time, she told herself, I will remember.
Pari came back to the world slowly. Everything was black, muted, unreal, and her mind felt fuzzy. There were things she needed to remember. Something about her brother? Yes, that was it. The details skipped around the edge of her consciousness, still close enough for her to grasp, but other things were fast taking her attention.
There were straps around her arms, legs, body and head, holding her tightly in place.
There was something in her mouth that held it open, and a textured shape was pressing down on her tongue. Somehow she knew it was a mesh, and that it held a Godpiece, the anchor that kept her soul from drifting free between lives.
At first she’d thought she was in darkness, but someone stood over her blocking the light, close enough that the fabric of their clothes fell across her like a veil, tickling her nose as their hands worked at the strap behind her head. After a few moments it was removed and the obstruction in her mouth slipped free.
The other straps remained in place.
When the figure stepped away from her, a room of stone was revealed, windowless and grey, with pillars, well spaced, that spiralled slowly from the outer wall into the centre where she lay. Cool air brushed her naked skin, and she saw there were seven strangers moving around her, their robes whispering as they walked. The sound tickled a memory in her mind of something important. She had recently heard whispers that carried a hidden meaning. What was it?
Each figure carried a crystal-tipped wand that glowed, providing the only light in the room. Odd bulges moved within their robes, as if stunted limbs grew from their middles. Masked faces watched her, each one divided down the middle, black on the right, white on the left. One of them, she could not be sure which, spoke: ‘One woman is welcome here. Are you that woman?’
Pari worked her mouth as her brain snapped fully awake and put all of the pieces together. It isn’t just a question, no, it’s a test. This is a rebirthing ceremony. My rebirthing ceremony. And not my first – I’ve been here before. Many times. She could feel certainty rising within her and with it, knowledge.
I am Deathless.
The thought rang in her mind, powerful and true. She had died many times but had always come back. So long as her blood remained in the world, be it a son, daughter, grandchild or someone who sprouted from that line; her soul would have a new home to go to.
I am Deathless.
An image came to her of a castle – her castle – floating high above the forests and rivers of the Wild. And within the castle, faces; of her hunters and servants, guards and Story-singers, Cutter-crafters and attendants. Not just one set but legions of them, getting older, being replaced.
She had ruled over them for generations. The sky-born who shared her castle, and the road-born below, scattered in scores of settlements, all hugging the Godroad, all facing the Wild.
I am a Deathless of House Tanzanite. And she knew that there were others in the house, all with their own castles and peoples and sprawling bloodlines. And she knew that House Tanzanite was one of seven, and that they were all united in a duty to hunt the demons of the Wild and stand guard over humanity. But that did not mean they got on, nor agreed on all things. Pari grimaced as she recalled just how true that was.
The robed people surrounding her were the Bringers of Endless Order. They had pulled her soul from wherever it had gone between lives and put it into a new body. Now they were testing to see if they had been successful. Whether they had truly hooked a human soul or had brought something else into the world.
She flexed her fingers and toes to see if she had a full complement, and that they would move to her will. To her relief, the digits obeyed. Sometimes a vessel sustained injuries, and sometimes the rebirth was not a complete success. Pari had heard stories of Deathless that only had partial control of their bodies, where the soul was misaligned, allowing a demon to slip into the cracks, gaining power over a hand, an elbow, or worse, the jaw.
The Bringers watched her closely. It occurred to her that she still hadn’t answered their question.
‘I am Lady,’ she began, then stopped. The voice that issued from her throat was unfamiliar. High, girlish.
Seven masked faces leaned closer at her hesitation, no doubt searching for signs of possession. If she made a mistake, innocent or otherwise, they would assume the worst, declare her abomination, and end her.
She cleared her throat. ‘I am Lady Pari Tanzanite.’
‘Lady Pari Tanzanite is welcome,’ replied one of the Bringers. ‘If you are she.’
‘If,’ hissed the others.
‘If you are she,’ continued the first Bringer, ‘you will prove your humanity. Look at yourself and tell us what you are.’
Her body was more petite than her usual preferences, however there was some tone to the muscles, suggesting a reasonable level of fitness. Golden tattoos glittered against her sky-born skin, one for each significant death she had experienced. The nature of the tattoos and their frequency were decided by the High Lord of House Tanzanite at the end of Pari’s lifecycles. This was unfortunate as Pari’s relationship with High Lord Tanzanite was cordial at best.
She did not need to look to know that there was gold ink on her shoulder, just as she knew there were gold spots on the pads of her fingers and a single mark on her lower lip. She looked anyway. It was not above the Bringers