is why he was chosen. Not for those cheek bones, that’s a common enough Sapphire feature. For his self-discipline. Rochant is a stickler for it.
Eventually, the needle went quiet, vanishing into the cavernous sleeves of the Bringer’s robes. More whispering followed, the Bringers reciting history and lineage, recounting a life that skipped across generations before surfacing to influence the Sapphire line, then vanishing again.
The whispers were just loud enough to sound enticing and, for the second time, Pari wished she could get closer. She also wished there was somewhere to sit down. Her feet were throbbing, and one of her knees was starting to tremble.
The Sapphires can have their self-discipline and suffering, she thought, right now I’d trade all of my dignity for a cushioned seat and a footrest.
Though she couldn’t hear the words, it became clear to her that the Bringers weren’t addressing Kareem, rather their masked faces were tilted towards a small box that had appeared on the upturned palm of the lead Bringer. Fine lines were brushed into the sides of the box, each movement making ghost-shapes along its surface. The lid was open. She could see the contents nestled snugly within: a platinum sphere, about the size of a human eye. From this distance it appeared flawless, but she knew in the right circumstances clever mechanisms within would rotate, cracking open to allow vapours to pass through the outer shell.
Nobody knew exactly where the soul went between rebirths but there was a good chance that it was there, right now, in the box, in the Godpiece, waiting to begin its next life.
For a rebirth to be attempted, a noble house would have to entreat the Bringers of Endless Order to attempt a ritual. This was normally a formality but one which had to be observed, and paid for.
Assuming this went well, the family would have to produce the relevant Godpiece: a relic of the immortals that once ruled the world, and the only thing capable of anchoring a soul once it had left the body.
Each Godpiece was attuned to a different member of the crystal dynasties; each one was unique, irreplaceable. Its allocation was a thing of incredible potency, and the singular right of the Crystal High Lords.
Most of the houses, her own included, had already allocated all of their Godpieces, meaning that any new immortals could only be made by removing one of the old, again a power held by the Crystal High Lords. It was also why Pari was always polite to High Lord Tanzanite, no matter how annoying she could be at times, and why Pari kept her affair with Rochant a secret.
It was one thing to break a taboo, quite another to get caught doing it.
The third requirement of the ritual was its location, ideally the correct family stronghold, though Pari and Rochant had debated whether any of the dynasties’ floating castles would suffice.
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