Student of Kyme

by Storm Constantine

  Iscane’s eyes narrowed. ‘Ges, be careful. I sense something… dark. This har is weak. No good will come of it.’

  ‘You haven’t even met him,’ I snapped. ‘You can’t make such assumptions.’

  Iscane reached out to touch me. ‘I think I can…’ He sighed. ‘You won’t want my opinion, I know, but you’re going to get it. Stop seeing him. It’s doing something bad to you.’

  From these remarks, I could only deduce that my private life had been the topic of conversation at many of the gatherings I’d left early. ‘Thank you for your concern,’ I said icily.

  Iscane put his head to one side. ‘You’re going to ignore what I said, aren’t you?’

  ‘You don’t know him. You’re in no position to call him weak or to make prognostications about my future.’

  Iscane would not be deterred. ‘Think what you like. I only know that a har who can colour your aura that way, affect you so strongly, yet create such confusion and pain, cannot be a har of strength. You’re not even rooning him, are you? I can tell, so don’t even bother answering that!’

  I shrugged. ‘We are friends.’

  Iscane uttered a wordless cry of exasperation. ‘Friends! Hah! The energy whirling round you in that black vortex is not some cosy feeling of friendship. It’s frustrated desire and a mournful heart. He must see this too, given his occupation. He’s feeding on you, and that’s a coward’s way. He’s doing nothing to help this situation, like, for example getting the hell out of Kyme. He’s drawn to you, Gesaril, it’s obvious, but I think he’s afraid of his feelings. He won’t ever give you what you want so badly.’

  ‘Clearly, somehar has been talking,’ I said, ‘or probably a great many hara.’ I was furious but unfortunately not so stupid as to disagree with Iscane’s words. He was in fact very accurate in his assessment, and I knew that. But even so, I was addicted and helpless. I didn’t want to hear it. I wanted only to hope.

  ‘I don’t need to hear talk,’ Iscane said firmly. ‘I see the evidence before me. Try looking into a mirror, really looking…’

  I knew that if this conversation continued, Iscane and I would end up arguing really badly. I was aware that his decision to talk to me like this was because he was genuinely concerned. I was also aware that he had good reason to be, but... like I said… love makes you wilful. I stood up, my drink half finished. ‘I do appreciate your concern,’ I said, in what I hoped sounded like a genuine tone, ‘but I have to work this through myself. Please respect that, Iscane. I’m sorry it’s discomforting for you to see, but it’s my life, and I have to do what I think is best.’

  Iscane shook his head. ‘You don’t know how discomforting it is.’ He pursed his lips as if to stem something further he was going to say. After a moment, he said, ‘Go to him, then. I’ll be here if ever you need me. I just hope you survive this path you’ve set yourself. I don’t think Ysobi cares what happens to you. He cares only about himself.’

  I probably shouldn’t have told Ysobi what had happened, but I did. When I arrived at our meeting place, he was waiting outside. He could see I was upset, and I confided in him at once. I didn’t reveal everything, obviously, but just that a friend had criticised me for seeing him and that they distrusted his motives. If I’d expected sympathy, all I got was anger. ‘This har does not know me,’ he said coldly. ‘If you believe what he says, then I’ll leave now. He’s just jealous, it’s obvious.’

  ‘Jealous?’

  ‘Of course. He knows how you feel about me, the special place I have in your heart, and resents it. How can I defend myself against hara who’ve never even spoken to me? You clearly set great store by what they say.’

  ‘I don’t,’ I said. ‘I have my own opinions. There isn’t a har in the world who can sway them.’

  He softened then. ‘Come here,’ he said, and opened his arms to me.

  I fell into them as if into a hostling’s arms, my head against his chest. No reason to climb the steps. He enveloped me. A great feeling of security and warmth filled my being. It felt so right to be there. How could he be like this at one time and so distant at another?

  As usual, it was me who pulled away first. ‘Are you hungry?’ I asked him.

  ‘Starving,’ he replied. We went into the café.

  Our conversation was warm and intimate. I felt sure that soon the dam would break and Ysobi would come to me fully. I could taste it, so close.

  The next day, predictably, he was withdrawn and cold. He sent me a note to say he could not make our meetings because he was busy. We had come close, all right. Now came the inevitable reaction and I had to be punished for something he felt.

  This was the way of things from that moment onward. Warmth followed by coldness and disdain. Then, when Ysobi felt he’d been distant enough to justify to himself the situation was wholly one-sided – mine – he’d turn up the heat again. It is hardly any wonder I virtually lost my mind. Not only was my heart involved but also my body, and my harish need for aruna. Playing with that was truly playing with fire. Eventually, something was bound to go up in flames.

  Rayzie was the scholarly one from the three younger members of our household. He was interested in history and also fascinated by the growth of harish spirituality. Over the weeks following Ysobi’s arrival in Kyme, Rayzie was keen to get Ystayne and myself to experiment magically with the various dehara that were being dreamed into being around the world. My Gelaming artist friend, Sabarah, had sent me a book he’d illustrated, which catalogued many of the new dehara, and gave examples of how to work with them. I’d left this book lying around after I’d simply looked at the pictures but Rayzie had picked it up and had devoured the contents greedily. While he became inspired by spiritual images and desires to make magic, I slowly turned into what can only be described as an embittered black ball of dark purposes.

  It began one night, as I sat in Huriel’s drawing room, moodily drinking wine before the fire before going to my appointment with Ysobi. I noticed that the dehara book was lying on the small table next to my chair. For some moments, I stared at it, drawn to pick it up, yet reluctant to do so. A beautiful face on the cover stared out at me; I didn’t even know who it was meant to represent. But I saw a challenge in its gaze. That was the moment I picked up the book again.

  I had once fancied myself adept in the arts of influencing reality. I had once tried to cast magic on my rival, Jassenah. Not that it had done much good. We had thrown curses at each other, quite comical really, but what I could see now was that all the energy I’d tried to put into making things right in Jesith – right for myself that is – had been desperate and unfocused, a hot maelstrom of painful feeling cast out into the ethers. It was hardly surprising it hadn’t worked. Now, I read what a more experienced and measured har had written about magic. He spoke of balance within the self, of the desire for evolution, of growth. I knew that if I was speaking to this har face to face, he would tell me to cut all ties to Ysobi, because those ties were strangling vines growing tighter with every moment, cutting into my flesh, stifling my breath. He would tell me to cut loose and then forgive. I could see the logic in this, so clearly, but it was as if I gazed upon a white shining path through a locked gate. My nose was pressed to the bars, and I could see the ultimate horizon at the end of the path where it disappeared over a hill, but I was still locked in. Being able to see the path does not necessarily mean you may walk upon it. As clarity settled over me, I became more acutely aware of my pain. I set it before me upon the pages of the book; a diseased and damaged heart. Why was it one har could have so much effect on me? What moment in the universe, what convergence of planets, determined that Ysobi har Jesith could nest like a parasite within me, infecting all aspects of my being? Time should have healed me, but it had not. I was truly cursed, thoroughly haunted. Possessed.

  I turned a page. My blackened heart turned to dust and scattered in the air of the room. I saw a word: Mahallatu.

  The illustration at once drew my attention. Most of Sabarah
’s work for the book was executed in flowing lines and subtle colours, but this one was stark and brutal. The Mahallatu were the Twelve and echoed entities in earlier belief systems, as many of the dehara did. They were the archetypal dark riders, who travelled the storm winds and restless clouds to mete out justice and retribution. Their leader was Merim and his eyes were red, his hair the colour of dried blood, almost black but with a hint of meat in its depths. The Mahallatu met in the back room of an inn in a far corner of the etheric realms. In this place, a petitioner could approach them and ask for help.

  Within a strange bubble of clarity, I considered my predicament. I was held to Ysobi as surely as if bound to him with chains. If he did not love me, he should let me go, leave Kyme, never speak to me again, but he wouldn’t. I was too weak to break away, slowly dying of longing. As others could see my decline, so must he. But even seeing that, he kept me close. He spoke of his contentment with his chesnari and harling, yet here he was in Kyme, meeting me twice every day, as surely addicted as I was. Yet for whatever reason, he would not admit this, nor discuss it. He gorged on my energy, my regard and my passion. He reeled me in, like a fish gasping and convulsing upon the shore, desperate for my element. And occasionally he would give me water, let me breathe, only to drag me to suffocating denial once more.

  As I read the text, my gaze flicking constantly to the illustration beside it, I knew that I was about to act. I was about to take back control. Whether this would be a good or bad thing, I did not yet know; all that was important was that I would do it.

  I didn’t call upon Rayzie or Ystane to help me; this I must do alone. Once I had made the decision, I waited to see whether my Nagini spirit would appear to me again, to offer either encouragement or dissuasion. He had appeared to me at nexus points before, and I opened myself up to his manifestation, but he did not come. That perhaps was a message. This was my time to do with as I willed. The days passed like a dream, unreal. I met with Ysobi as usual, but it was as if I looked upon him through cloudy glass. I ached to touch him yet I hated him. I hated the power he had over me, and the knowledge he had of that power, because I made it so obvious. I was at his beck and call. I never missed a meeting, but then neither did he. What did he get from this? I had no doubt that Jassenah knew nothing about our daily assignations and would be furious if he did. Surely, this constant contact, albeit chaste, was just as much a breach of Jassenah’s trust as any aruna we could have taken? Not that I could talk about any of this with Ysobi. The times when I tried to do so were met with cold hostility and withdrawal. So, there was an unspoken pact between us; if I tried to address anything about our friendship directly, it would end. Everything was on his terms. And as the days passed, I drew further away from my friends, until even the invitations began to dry up. I felt that Iscane had given up on me. His concern had been met only with defensive resentment.

  Huriel watched me constantly but knew better than to speak. I felt he had betrayed me utterly. I could not trust him. Our relationship had literally cracked down the middle. Huriel did what he could to repair it, and a part of me watched him from the inside, wishing he could be successful. But the fact was that no matter how fond of me this har was, his loyalties did not lie wholly with me. He did not disbelieve me; he just thought what I thought and believed was wrong. Because of this, I tried to hide my inner turmoil from him. I wanted him to think all was well. On a day to day basis, I was pleasant at home. Huriel knew better now than to comment on my social life. He knew Ysobi and I met every day, and how often. Only once did I confront him, when I awoke one morning with a headache that almost blinded me. It interfered with my judgement. At breakfast, Huriel made some innocent remark and suddenly words were coming from my mouth, as if another har controlled my body. ‘Are you so blind?’ I snapped. ‘Why do you think Ysobi meets with me so often?’

  Huriel held my gaze, clearly intent on projecting every ounce of serenity he possessed towards me. ‘Because he enjoys your company and wants to be friends.’

  ‘You once thought we should stay away from one another.’

  Huriel shrugged. ‘Kyme is not a big town. You are bound to run into each other here. It’s best things are kept civil. I think…’

  ‘Kept civil?’ I stood up, so full of anger I felt dizzy. I closed my eyes, swallowed hard, took a breath. The silence was rigid between us. Both of us held our breath.

  I opened my eyes. ‘You are right,’ I said. ‘It’s best things are kept civil.’

  Huriel smiled uncertainly. ‘Gesaril…?’

  ‘I’ll be late,’ I said. ‘See you later.’

  As I made my way to the library, I was thinking: you are doing this to yourself. Why are you letting it happen? Stay away from Ysobi. Nothing good can come from this. Stay away…

  How many times had I said that to myself? Uncountable. But perhaps it was in those moments that I finally made the decision to act.

  On a chill night of the dark of the moon, I went to Withermoon Copse near town. Of the many woods in the area, this one is not frequented as much as others; its energies are somewhat jarring. Most hara think something terrible must once have happened within its dense hawthorn thickets. I made this visit directly after a meeting with Ysobi so that I rode with his face before me, his scent all around me. I took him with me to this lonely spot. He had spoken that night of how he might soon be leaving Kyme. There was no mention of what would happen to us thereafter. There was no us. There would only be another void. If he’d intended to provoke me into speaking frankly, I hope I disappointed him. I’d mouthed pleasantries that meant nothing: He must be missing home. It had been a long time. So many hienamas for so long must drive a har crazy. We’d laughed about it. He’d looked at me speculatively, that sidelong sapphire gaze. He’d said, ‘I’ll miss you.’ But not enough.

  I found a clearing deep within the wood, where a stream ran, hidden by ferns. You could hear its voice but not see it easily. If you drew the ferns aside, the pure water looked black. I took some of this water in a brass bowl and placed it in the centre of the clearing where it could gather starlight. I laid a ring of salt about it. Then I knelt before the bowl. I cut myself with the sharpest blade I’d been able to find in the kitchen, and let my blood fall into the starlit black water. With my blood fell my intentions. I closed my eyes.

  I called upon the Mahallatu in my mind. The night was clear, yet I imagined strange, purple clouds, veined with harsh yellow light, drawing in from every quarter. Within the clouds, the malediction of merciless hooves, striking sparks from the air. My heartbeat increased. I could feel them drawing closer, their savage joy. I gave birth to them in the darkness, in that serene glade, beneath an imagined storm.

  I knelt with my head bowed, hands plunged between my knees. Then I felt my hair begin to lift in a spirit wind that did not exist in reality. I could feel the Mahallatu circling me, the hooves of their ferocious beasts so close to my fragile flesh. I could feel the rank heat of their breath, hear the jangle of their harness. They created a vortex about me.

  ‘Honoured Mahallatu,’ I said aloud. ‘I give you my blood. Hear me.’

  It was difficult to speak, for the otherworldly wind took the words from my throat; it consumed them. I was afraid because the power and presence of the Mahallatu was so palpable I was sure that if I opened my eyes, I would see them before me. I dared not do that. Other hara had fed these entities with their will and intention; they lived. And even in the state I was in, I knew I must be careful. I would make conditions upon what I would ask.

  ‘If I have been wronged,’ I said, ‘then may the might of your retribution, and the full might of the cosmos, fall upon the soul of Ysobi har Jesith. Let him be exposed to all for what he is. Make him face the truth of what has befallen us. Let him face the raw reflection of himself.’

  I could feel the keen attention of the Mahallatu. This was like food and drink to them. Although the vortex still spun around me, I could feel their stillness within it. They listened. Now I must impose
the conditions.

  ‘But if it is I who am wrong,’ I said, ‘then let no harm befall him. If I am truly held in delusion, I ask that the power of your swords, the weapons of justice, cut this lie from my heart and mind. I ask that I be cleansed to start anew. You have my blood. These are my terms. Ride now and accomplish my bidding!’

  In my mind, I saw their leader, Merim, approach me. I could not see the whole of his face, only his burning eyes. ‘We hear you,’ he said softly. He held out his hand to me, white as bone. ‘Ride with me, Gesaril har Kyme.’

  I reached out and took his hand. And then in a mind-numbing rush, Merim hauled me onto the saddle before him. The Mahallutu wheeled once more in a circle and then their beasts took off, galloping upon air.

  In reality, I swooned upon the forest lawn, but in my mind, in the ethers, I plunged through rushing winds. Merim held me close to him and as we rode, faster and faster, I felt his power spiral within my body, up my spine, exploding in my head. Come with me, Ysobi, I pleaded silently. Ride with me. Let all that is poisoned between us drain away. There is a future, together or not. But let there be truth.

  The Mahallatu uttered unearthly cries. We were riding towards the future, a new reality. Anything was possible.

  I think I expected some sudden calamity to fall upon Ysobi, because in my innermost heart I knew I had been wronged. Whatever Ysobi said to Huriel, or to himself for that matter, my instincts and their inner voice would not be silenced. But the days continued as before. I was waiting for a blast of true clarity, the ability to break free. I thought that maybe I would wake one day and be free of the love that ate me from the inside out. Then Ysobi would realise what he’d lost. I was waiting for Ysobi to open up to me, or perhaps to Huriel. Then Huriel would come to me and tell me. But none of these things happened. Perhaps I was too impatient.