The Wraiths of Will and Pleasure

by Storm Constantine

  Outside, Ulaume was thrown to the ground, where he crouched gasping.

  ‘Kakkahaar,’ confirmed the fanged har, wiping his mouth.

  ‘Intriguing,’ said the troupe leader. ‘Was it cast out?’

  ‘No. He has secrets, but it was his choice to leave his tribe. He is concerned for the other one inside, who is not Kakkahaar. He couldn’t hide that.’

  ‘Bring it out,’ said the troupe leader. ‘I wish to view it.’

  ‘Aruhani, be my strength,’ Flick murmured. ‘Aruhani, creature of magic, be with me now.’

  He knew he had to summon courage and perhaps there was the suggestion of a dark shadowy form hovering in the shadows of the kitchen. He must not let these savages into the house so they could drag him out. He must remember dignity.

  Flick took a deep breath, clenched his fists at his sides and went to the doorway. At once, two hara took hold of him roughly and dragged him before the black horse, which was dancing nervily among the trampled flowers.

  ‘And where are you from, little white ghost?’ asked the troupe leader.

  ‘Saltrock,’ Flick said, chin high.

  The troupe leader laughed. ‘This is an amusing alliance! Kakkahaar and Sarock. What is your reason for being here?’

  ‘I came to fulfil a promise,’ Flick said, ‘for a friend who is dead. I met Ulaume here. You don’t need to steal my breath to know that this is true. Sarocks do not lie.’

  Again the troupe leader laughed, and Flick was surprised and relieved that his surly demeanour seemed to have found more favour than Ulaume’s attempts at seductiveness. This was important. ‘What promise was it, little one?’

  ‘A promise to Terez’s brother, who was incepted at Saltrock. I came back for Terez and I found him. Ulaume and I healed him and now he has left. There is nothing else to tell.’

  ‘I think there is probably a great deal more to tell,’ said the leader. ‘And I think that you will reveal it to me. I shall enjoy the experience.’

  ‘Who are you to infringe my freedom?’ Flick snapped.

  ‘I am Wraxilan,’ said the har on the horse. ‘I am the Lion of Oomar, lord of the Uigenna, and this is my territory now. All those within it are mine.’

  The Uigenna took Flick and Ulaume to their camp, which they had established in the cable fields. They scorned human dwellings and clearly had no desire to set foot in the white house. They separated their captives and confined them in tepees with guards at the entrances. Flick sat in brown gloom, surrounded by the stink of untanned leather. He sat with his forehead pressed against his knees, his arms curled around his head. Think, think, and call upon the dehara. How much time would he have?

  The one called Wraxilan will come to me, he thought, and I must take aruna with him. I must win my freedom through winning his trust. I can do this. I must do this. We are both har. His first instinct cannot be to slaughter other hara. He just craves power over them and I will let him think he has it over me. But not easily. Remember Ulaume. Remember the Uigenna seemed to respect you more.

  But Wraxilan did not come to the tepee. Some hours later, another har brought Flick food and water. He did not appear to be hostile and Flick said, ‘What will he do to me?’

  The har set down the food and shrugged. ‘What do you think? Comply, if you have any sense. You have no tribe. You could have one. Think yourself lucky. He likes you.’

  ‘What of my friend, Ulaume?’

  ‘He’s Kakkahaar. He’ll survive. They always do, through deceit and cunning. He might exhaust himself in the process, but that’s not your worry. Think about yourself and just do what the Lion wants. It will please him to have a Sarock in his troupe. You will be a novelty.’

  From this har, whose name was Morail, Flick learned that the Uigenna group who had found them was Wraxilan’s select guard. The tribe as a whole had established themselves throughout the land, and further north the bulk of them remained to build their own town on ground that had never been settled by humankind. Wraxilan had left trusted commanders in charge, while his personal troupe engaged in the process of flushing out remaining pockets of humanity, looting for provisions and tools, and subjugating weaker Wraeththu tribes. It seemed they had no intention of attacking Saltrock, or even the Kakkahaar. Saltrock offered little to them, situated as it was in such isolated hostile country, while the Kakkahaar were secretly feared. Morail did not say this in so many words, but Flick could tell that was the truth of the matter. For this reason, he thought, Ulaume would receive rough treatment from them.

  ‘You think we are just barbarians,’ Morail said, apparently without resentment. ‘But we’re not. Wraxilan has made strategic alliances with the Varrs and the Unneah. All other tribes will be absorbed. We will create unity. You are lucky we found you, because now you have an easy way in. We are respected among Uigenna, so you’ve come right to the top.’

  Flick had heard about the Varrs from Cal – and therefore knew them to be another belligerent tribe like the Uigenna – and he knew of the Unneah, because of Seel. The Unneah appeared to ally with the strongest tribes around them. Flick imagined that this suspect and certainly unstable coalition would be strongly opposed to the Gelaming. There would inevitably be conflict and suffering. History repeating itself.

  Before Morail left him, Flick asked if he had heard of a har named Dorado. ‘He was the brother of Terez, who you came looking for.’

  Morail shrugged. ‘We incept many hara. I do not know of him. He is not with this troupe, but if you intend to seek him out when we return north, remember that many hara change their names after inception.’

  ‘And the one who incepted Terez, is he still with you? Who is he?’

  ‘His name is Agroth. He was close to the Lion, but he was taken, some months back.’

  ‘Taken? Who by?’

  ‘The Gelaming have spies in this land. They were probably responsible. Agroth will die before he tells them anything, but because of him, the Lion took heed of the call when it came. It was why he went back for Terez.’

  Once Morail had gone, Flick considered the irony of having to become Uigenna and what Seel would think about it. Cal would no doubt find it extremely amusing. He hoped that Mima had the sense to keep herself and Lileem in hiding. They might have to fend for themselves now, but would be safe in the white house until the Uigenna moved on. Damn Terez, and damn the moment when the stupid idea of trying to help him sprang to mind.

  All day, Flick pondered how he would behave with Wraxilan and what he should say. Before sundown he must have played a hundred scenarios over in his head. It would happen tonight. It must do.

  As darkness descended, Flick heard the hollow rhythm of drums start up outside, soft at first, like distant thunder, but becoming louder and more intense. He heard a strange chant begin to rise and fall, like the song of coyotes. The Uigenna were preparing for a ceremony.

  The tepee entrance lifted and a Uigenna guard stood at the threshold. He gestured to Flick. ‘Come.’

  He would be taken to Wraxilan, then. That made sense. Wraxilan, who believed himself to be a king, would not stoop to go to anyhar.

  The har took hold of Flick’s arm, which was totally unnecessary, and led him roughly through the camp. In the centre, a large fire had been built and here the drummers were playing. A group of hara enacted a tribal dance around the flames, and some of them were chanting. Eyes shone in the darkness, like the eyes of cougars. Feet stamped and hair and feathers flew.

  Flick’s guard held him before the fire, but nohar paid them any attention. Flick looked around for Ulaume but could not see him.

  Then Wraxilan stepped from the largest tepee and all fell silent but for the hungry crackle of the flames. The Uigenna leader stared across the fire directly into Flick’s eyes and for a moment Flick understood the point of it all. This was so different to anything he’d experienced since inception. He’d never met hara like this. Their raw, savage power skittered like electricity over his skin. They were reputed to be cruel and were
clearly barbaric, yet he could not deny that in their pride they possessed a certain primitive nobility. These were the kind of hara who had changed the world. They did not hide in the wilderness, they overran it.

  Wraxilan made a gesture and Flick’s guard inclined his head. ‘Lie down for him,’ he said to Flick.

  ‘What?’

  The guard did not repeat the instruction but knocked Flick from his feet by kicking him in the back of the knees. Instinct took over and Flick immediately tried to rise, to run, but other hara, uttering fearsome cries, ran over and knelt on his limbs.

  It is only pelki if you see it that way, Flick thought. He closed his eyes. There was no point in fighting. It would be over sooner if he did not resist.

  He could feel Wraxilan’s approach and knew when the Uigenna leader stood over him, because his hot power burned into Flick’s skin.

  ‘You will be initiated into our ways,’ said Wraxilan. ‘Know this is a privilege and be grateful.’

  Flick would not open his eyes. He tried to distance himself, concentrate on his breathing, think of other things. He would not be a victim. He would be remote. He would not acknowledge the pain in his arms and legs where bony knees dug into him.

  ‘Prepare him,’ said Wraxilan.

  The hara who held Flick down got up and virtually tore off his clothes. Flick kept his eyes closed tight. He wouldn’t utter a sound. Hands pulled his legs apart. He thought of the north star, its brilliance and Wraeththu spirits dancing in its light.

  He heard Wraxilan’s voice, closer now. ‘Look at me, white ghost.’

  He wouldn’t. Wraxilan could do as he wished with his body, but his mind and his eyes were his own.

  ‘Look at me!’

  Flick swallowed with difficulty. He anticipated the blow before it came. He felt his lip split, tasted blood. I have a choice, he thought. I can open my eyes or get beaten up, and the outcome will be the same. He opened his eyes.

  Wraxilan knelt between his legs. ‘That is better, white ghost. Be here, not somewhere else.’

  I want to spit on him, Flick thought, but knew it would only make matters worse. He would look into Wraxilan’s eyes, and he wouldn’t show contempt. He’d show nothing, which would be more insulting.

  The Uigenna’s song had changed to a soft haunting mantra. Wraxilan reached out and lightly touched Flick’s broken lip. ‘You were wrong to make me do that. It is not my wish to hurt you.’ He leaned down and kissed the cut, licked the blood away. Flick could feel the rhythm of the drums in the ground beneath him. ‘The Aghama has made me your lord,’ Wraxilan murmured, close to Flick’s ear. ‘With me, you are sacred and what we do is sacred.’

  This was not what Flick had expected. Wraxilan’s breath curled into him like smoke. Flick was powerless to prevent it and could not ignore its influence. In the sharing of breath, hara become one, and it is an act of surrender to each other, when innermost thoughts mingle and collide. Performed in this spirit, it can never be an act of violation. Flick saw a high mountain top and eagles soaring. Then he was an eagle himself, riding the currents of air, and another eagle swooped beside him and the tips of their wings were touching.

  Don’t let him take me to this place, Flick prayed. Aruhani, don’t let this happen. I call upon you now. Don’t.

  But Aruhani was the dehar of aruna and Flick had dreamed him into being. He was dancing now to the throb of the drums, his dark braids flying, his skin as black as oil from a hidden kingdom. He had been invoked. Wraxilan would not be violent. He was gentle and that was the greatest cruelty. Betrayed by his body, his own being, Flick lost himself to aruna, and was only partially aware that it was no longer Wraxilan upon him, but another har, then another and another. Each of them were different flavours, different colours, that he could weave together. A shining plait of souls. Flick became like Aruhani, chaotic desire with a necklace of bones, with soume-lam that bled fire.

  Ultimately, in a moment of clarity, he found himself looking into Wraxilan’s eyes once more and he thought: it is in all of us. I am no different from him.

  For a few brief seconds, Flick felt he had become Cal. He was wrapped in the familiar sensations of being with Cal, his smell, the subtle emanations of his being. He was Cal, young and naïve, and Wraxilan was inside him.

  The world fractured and reality exploded into splinters of light. Flick’s consciousness shot up into the air and he looked down upon himself, heard himself scream. Then he smashed back into his own body and he was gasping for breath, hair across his face.

  Wraxilan stood up, staggered backwards. He looked disorientated, as if he’d been beaten. His voice was a raw, ragged gasp. ‘He trained you,’ he said.

  From the moment that Pellaz Cevarro had set foot in Saltrock, the magic of coincidence had begun to pile up. Flick realised it should come as no surprise that Wraxilan was the har who’d incepted Cal. It would have perhaps been more unusual, given the mounting synchronicities of the past few years, if he hadn’t.

  Flick was taken to Wraxilan’s tepee, because of course they now had to talk. Flick realised he had reached a major fork in the path of his life. He could easily become Uigenna now. He could almost predict every forthcoming moment if he made that choice and it would not be a difficult life. Because of Cal, he could have influence with Wraxilan, and probably status too. But then, there was Lileem and Mima, waiting tense and frightened in the cellar of the white house. Flick could sense their thoughts and feelings. He could taste the sour fear in their breath. He knew Mima had felt something happen to him and that she didn’t know what it was and was afraid it might be death. And apart from his concern for his friends, he was sure that his fate did not lie with the Uigenna. He was destined to be more than a concubine of the Lion of Oomar. All of his senses were heightened. He dared not stare in any one place for too long, because otherwise the fabric of reality would break down and he would see what lay beyond the illusion.

  Wraxilan reclined on cushions, wrapped in a loose robe of black cloth. Hara waited upon him. One poured wine into goblets from a metal flagon, while another combed out the Lion’s mane. Wraxilan indicated that Flick should sit down before him. Flick realised he too was dressed in a robe and couldn’t remember putting it on. Everything had gone strange.

  ‘You must tell me,’ Wraxilan said.

  ‘About Cal,’ Flick said. ‘You knew him, didn’t you.’

  ‘You could say that. Did he speak of me to you?’

  ‘No, I just saw it. I saw you incepted him.’

  Wraxilan nodded distractedly. ‘From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I must have sensed his presence around you. I didn’t realise it and it was stupid of me. You could have killed me.’

  ‘I couldn’t.’

  ‘Sarocks do not lie, but neither do they realise the truth, it seems. You could. You had my heart in your hand, believe me. You could have torn it out.’

  ‘That was not me exactly. It was…’ Flick paused. He thought this would be a legendary moment, when he revealed the existence of his gods to somehar new. ‘It was Aruhani. He is a god of aruna, a dehar. I channelled him, accidentally.’

  Wraxilan sat up a little straighter. ‘Explain. Is this something Cal taught you?’

  ‘No. It is what I have learned away from my tribe. And I could give this knowledge to your hara too. If I do, you must let Ulaume and I go free.’

  ‘What is the knowledge?’

  ‘That we can create gods, which I call dehara. You could create your own and I can show you how.’

  Wraxilan was silent for some time. ‘There is no reason why you cannot stay with us. You have nothing else.’

  ‘I do not want to be part of a tribe.’

  Wraxilan narrowed his eyes. ‘No, there is something else. You have another reason. Tell me.’

  Flick lowered his eyes, building barriers around his thoughts. He must not betray Lileem and Mima to this har, let no light of their being seep through the cracks in his defences.

  ‘You know where he is,
don’t you,’ Wraxilan said in a low voice. ‘You are waiting to go to him.’

  ‘No!’ Flick said. ‘It isn’t that!’

  ‘You will take me to him.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Flick said. ‘I don’t know where Cal is now. Part of the reason I left my kind is because of him. I need to be alone, to finish my work. That is all.’

  ‘I am not interested in your work,’ Wraxilan said. ‘You will tell me all you know of Cal. I want to hear your history with him.’

  Flick found there was power in revealing just as much or as little as he wanted to. He didn’t tell the whole story, for he owed Wraxilan nothing. He sensed Wraxilan would not let him go free, whatever he said or did. The Lion was a collector, who liked to own unusual hara. Flick realised his only hope was to lull his captor into believing he wanted to be Uigenna and then plan an escape. For a moment, it had seemed he could bargain his way to freedom, and that he might have been able to introduce the Uigenna to the dehara, but it had quickly become clear the only god Wraxilan believed in was Cal. Once, some years ago, Cal had had his habitual devastating effect on this har and changed his life forever. Wraxilan had never forgotten and never would. He believed that Aruhani was Cal, created by Flick in Cal’s image. If the dehar’s skin was black where Cal’s was white, it was because it represented Cal’s great power, that of the hidden places where no light penetrated and the colour white could not exist. Flick knew this was not so. Aruhani had nothing to do with Cal, who was a damaged and ultimately pathetic creature, no matter how much charisma and beauty he might have. If Flick was ever to share his dehara with others, it was not to be among the Uigenna.

  Sometime, in the hours before dawn, Wraxilan said, ‘I made a mistake in teaching you how powerful you are. Now, I will risk my life when I take aruna with you. You are of Saltrock, but you are also of Cal. You can never be light again, no matter what you think.’

  This was not a pleasing thought and Flick hoped it was wrong, but then, only hours before, he had become something else. He had writhed in the dirt and had turned a violation into a sensual feast. Maybe he did have it in him to kill, as Cal did. Maybe he wasn’t who he thought himself to be at all. Ulaume would be proud. So Flick said nothing and merely smiled.