Chapter 58
The Gate. The Lock. The Light. The Blood. The Bone. The Dead. The Dark.
—A Dictionary of Forms practiced by the wild folk of Thell, Pub: Errant, Glissworm & Co.
It’s chill in the belly of the Stump. As the day cools, Steelfinder sits in the debris of the last of the afternoon’s sparring matches.
Their victors have already slunk off into the depths of the mountain, cut slantwise with booze and adrenaline, their skin itching with fresh marks from their new victories.
All of them off to get drunk and loud somewhere else.
And for a moment, there’s quiet. Quiet enough for her to practice her trade, and to sneak a little wisdom before the brawlers return.
She’s not alone – Icecaller’s kicking the tar out of some new recruits on the far side of the hall, and closer still, Skinpainter’s finished hovering on the verge of the inking ring.
The old mountain warlock has lingered after the last match, obviously waiting for her.
Skinpainter was a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one of them.
Months now, they’d hung on the edges of the fights, and caught her afterwards, spinning tales about the ink, and the blood and the dark, thrilling her to goosebumps as she worked.
Today is going no differently, in the frozen depths, with the sweat drying on her skin.
Skinpainter’s thick fingers are heavy against her temples, her brow.
Their voice is soft in counterpoint as her needle dips and bites.
‘Here, a gate mark, to let all your natural energy pass out. Here, a barrier line to stop the unnatural getting in.’
Steelfinder shivers a little at their touch, tingles running up into her scalp. ‘The unnatural? Like the dead?’
Skinpainter nods. ‘The dead above all.’
Their face is serious in the flickering light. At their back, Icecaller spins and ducks, sparring with some of the unluckier trainees.
Steelfinder’s eyes briefly stray to the lines of her legs, her hips, before Skinpainter turns her face back to them.
The old sorcerer’s amber eyes are dark and steady within the depths of their hood.
‘You have to pay attention, Steel. There are things within you, within your blood and your bone that call to the dead in the air and the ground. That’s why you must be tattooed.
Why I taught the geometrics to your aunt and the others.
Why she passed them on to you. The tattoos keep you separate.
Quiet the voice in you that calls out to the dead. ’
There’s a distant thump, and a yelp as Icecaller strikes home.
Steelfinder ignores her, and catches Skinpainter’s wrist, holding it briefly against the gate mark that cuts rigidly across her cheekbone.
‘That voice, it’s something from the Empire, isn’t it?
My aunt used to tell me about it. Told me never to listen to the voices in the dark, the ones behind my eyes when I was falling asleep. It’s from the Empire.’
Skinpainter holds her gaze. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘Because I hear it the most when I’m in the depths.’
Her eyes flick to the side, running over the rows of needle and ink, laid out neatly for the work. ‘I got turned around once, down in the low dark. Tenth, eleventh level maybe. I was only down there chasing that bastard sister of Icecaller’s.’
She shivers again, less pleasantly. ‘There’s things down there, in the dark. Glowsticks. Those big ol’ bugs with a mouth that stretches out. Skittering across the stones. Swinging in the arches. Pale as bone.’
Skinpainter squeezes her fingers. ‘That wasn’t all though, was it?’
She shakes her head. ‘No. I think I got down by that big lake. I could smell the water, hear the drip from the stalactites.’ A nervous laugh. ‘Those damned bugs were quieter there at least.’
Skinpainter nods. ‘They don’t go that deep. You really got lost.’
Steelfinder leans in closer. ‘Understatement. And I was down there in the dark, inching forwards, because I didn’t know if my toes were going to hit water or rock, and that’s when I heard it.’
They watch her, the lines of their face unnaturally still. ‘Heard what?’
‘I don’t know if it was weeping, or singing, but it was coming from the darkness. Somewhere out in the black, above the water.’ She stops, draws a ragged breath.
‘And I swear, I felt it pulling on me. Like I was supposed to swim out into the lake. Or fly up into the black.’ She grins nervously. ‘Stupid, huh?’
Skinpainter shakes their head. ‘No.’ They adjust their robes, cross their legs and let out a long, weary sigh. ‘The deepest places. That was where the Emperor was strongest. Something about his magic thrives down in the black.’
They pause. Hesitant.
Steelfinder tugs at their hand, gently. ‘What, Skin?’
Skinpainter rolls their shoulders. ‘It’s where we took the Emperor. At the end. To finish it.’
Steelfinder purses her lips. ‘Oh.’ She shakes her head. ‘So, he’s haunting the place?’
Skinpainter chuckles. ‘Something like that. He lingers.’
Steelfinder frowns. ‘No offense, but why not tell everyone this? It’d make things a lot easier.’ She glances over her shoulder as Icecaller executes a textbook throw, hammering the wind out of some unlucky sod. ‘You know, stay away from the depths. Don’t listen to voices in the dark.’
She watches their fists fly for a moment, then laughs. ‘Oh wait, that’s what my aunt did with me. And it didn’t work.’
Skinpainter grins. ‘It might work on less stubborn souls, but there’s no need. Most people don’t feel the call that strongly. Or at all. If they do, maybe they take a drink, or pull someone into their bed.’
Steelfinder scratches at an armpit. ‘I do all that, Skin, doesn’t help.’
They smile sadly. ‘No, it wouldn’t. There’s a few families, a few bloodlines, I suppose, where the Empire’s roots were strongest. Three families, actually, but the way we are now, everything’s got so …’ they tilt a hand. ‘Mingled.’
Steelfinder rolls her eyes. ‘Because everyone’s fucking each other?’
They tip their head in acknowledgement. ‘Not everyone, but more than they used to. Understandable. The Empire used to hold us all so tightly. Our lives. Our relationships. Everything was watched. Rigid. Prescribed.’
Their hands disappear inside their hood, pull at their chin. ‘Hardly surprising that a lot of us eventually … cut loose, when the opportunity came.’
Steelfinder nods reluctantly. ‘It’s not just like that though, is it? We got all sorts now. Extended families, lovers on lovers. Support networks, Skin. You’re never alone if you don’t want to be.’
They pat her shoulder. ‘Of course, Steel. I’m as happy as you to see it, but there’s more of us now, and that means it gets harder to keep us all safe.’
‘From the voices,’ she finishes. A little lurch in her stomach, cold and wet.
‘From ourselves. That’s why we need you. All of you ink workers. To learn the forms, the shapes. To tattoo the geometrics that keep our breath and blood apart.’
Steelfinder looks down at her hands, at the scratches and scars. The ink stains. ‘That’s a lot, Skin.’
‘That’s why I don’t usually explain all this. The catechisms and litanies usually suffice.’ They wave a hand. ‘Let no man do you harm, blah blah blah.’ A sly grin.
She snorts. ‘Fuck me for being curious, right?’
The grin vanishes. ‘I’m sorry, Steel.’
She raises an eyebrow, her voice slow, unsure. ‘No, no, it’s OK. But I’m going to need to know more. I want to do my job well.’ She glances across at Icecaller, as she twists and darts in the ring. ‘I want to keep us safe.’
Skinpainter takes her hand, their grip strong and warm. ‘We have that in common. Now repeat after me. The simplest mark is the gate mark …’
Steelfinder’s voice gets lost in the litany, as she murmurs the words, and traces the shape of the words on the bone, while behind her in the light, tattooed bodies move and shift and spin.