The Wraeththu Trilogy

by Storm Constantine

  I barely heard him. I was still listening to what had been said before, wanting to shout, "Show me! Show me!", but lacking the nerve. What was hidden from my view? Repulsion filled my throat, but I swallowed and closed my mind: from this point there was no returning.

  A knock on the door signaled Mur's arrival bearing a flask of saffron-water for me to drink. I was shaking so much I could hardly manage it. There were no more questions inside me. Nothing seemed important now; my elation had dissipated. I needed to think. Sensing my inner turmoil, Orien and Seel exchanged a glance and stood up. Seel yawned, stretched and turned away from me, no doubt already thinking of his lunch. At that point I realized how much I envied him, simultaneously remembering his words: "You may be in my position one day." I could not imagine it.

  "We shall leave you now," Orien announced. "Think about what you have learned." It seemed they could not wait to get away. Left alone, I gave myself up to grief. Harhune. Wraeththu. Much more than I had imagined, so much more. It was impossible my sobs could not be heard outside. I was held fast in the jaws of the trap, awaiting only the heavy, inevitable tread of the hunter. What was beyond the darkness? I fantasized Cal bursting in. He would tell me we were leaving, now, and our flight would be speed-trails of dust to the south. But Cal was one of them. A freak. One of them. Human once. Was he? Was he? I had touched him. Arms around each other like creatures that are the same. (Male, female; which one? Both?) Bile scalded the back of my tongue. Cal. A monster who had brought me to this. At Seel's house, he had known. He had known and he had not told me. It was a wicked, evil trick. I would avenge myself, avenge the humanity within me so soon to die. Death. I even contemplated it, looking wildly round the room for some tool of self-destruction. But they had foreseen that, hadn't they? Did they trust me not to destroy myself? I curled tight on the floor. Tight. Into the darkness. Whimpering

  That was how they found me at night-fall. Mur and Garis. They lifted me up without warmth. "Drink this." I swallowed and tore myself away, wretching and coughing. Steel-strong hands clamped the back of my neck. "Drink it all, damn you." My throat worked. Liquid spilled over my chin. Almost immediately, the drug began to work. I was calm. Light-headed, but lucid. Scrambling, I made my way to the bed and sat there.

  Garis, hands on hips, shook his head as he looked at me. "You can hate us all you want, little animal," he said.

  "Shut up!" Mur snapped at him. "Get him in the other room."

  I would not wait for them to force me. I stood up and stalked through by myself, submitted myself to their attentions without a sound. As they would not look at me, so I did not look at them. They did not mock me again.

  Seel came in to see me later on. I had been half-dozing on the bed, lulled by the philter I had been given. There was no grief left inside me, only resignation. All I retained of myself was dignity. Whatever they took from me they could not destroy that. Pride that was the essence of me. "'We will come for you mid-morning," Seel said, pacing the room. He smelled of nicotine, wine and, faintly, of cooking.

  "I wanted to kill myself this afternoon," I remarked in a flat voice.

  Seel stopped pacing and looked at me. "You didn't though."

  Angrily, I turned over so I could not see him.

  "Pell, I know all this. Every little goddamn bit of it. It may only be a small comfort, but once I felt just as bad as you do now."

  "Small comfort," I agreed.

  "I was fourteen," he said. "Incepted in a filthy cellar, my arms cut with glass. You don't know how lucky you are!"

  I said nothing. I did not care.

  Seel decided to continue with his instructions. "The Harhune will take place in the Nayati. That's a kind of hall ..."

  "Yes. Yes. Thanks for the vocabulary," I butted in coldly. What did I care what the damn place was called. Abattoir was enough.

  "Look, you wanted this!" Seel erupted. I turned back to look at him. His face said: spoilt brat. He was tired of me.

  "Did I?" We stared at each other and it was me that relented. "Yes. Yes I did."

  Seel's shoulders slumped and he sighed through his nose. "Don't be bitter, Pell. You will regret nothing, I promise you."

  I could not tell whether he wanted to console me or justify himself. But, of course, one kind word and my control began to slip. I began too shake uncontrollably. Seel was beside me in an instant. I could imagine him wondering how he had come to be shouting at me. It was not part of the ritual.

  "Seel," I said, "if you mean that. . . about no regrets. . . you must tell me again and again and again. Make me believe it. But it has to be the truth."

  He held me in his arms and told me and told me and told me. I had led a sheltered, barricaded life, and was young for my years in so many ways. I cannot stress enough how ignorant and confused I was. One minute the Wraeththu seemed to me like sassy street kids, just dressed up and then the next minute they were creatures I was afraid of, inhuman monsters, speaking words that sounded old. The truth was they were actually both of these things. They did not know themselves exactly what they were or would become. All 1 needed at the time, though, was what Seel gave me. Comforting arms and proof that Wraeththu were warm with real flesh and real blood. He must have stayed with me until I fell asleep. I did not wake till morning, and when I did I was alone.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The gates stand open, enter into light

  The greatest virtue in Man is his undying sense of hope. A hidden reserve of optimism woke with me that day. I would not dishonor myself. My life was caught upon the Wheel of Fate, but I would face my future with dignity and strength. I was apprehensive, yes, but still almost light-hearted by the time Mur and Garis came to bathe me for the last time. Gone was the corroding salt, the rough towels. I was sluiced with hot, smoky perfume and patted dry with purified linen. Aromatic oils were kneaded into my skin, gold powder shaken onto my shoulders and my hair brushed and brushed until even the split ends shone like dull silk. A new robe, of somber black, was wrapped around me; eyes were dabbed with balm to take away the swelling my tears had left behind. Mur and Garis, almost pleasant with the sense of achievement, stood back to inspect their work. I was ready.

  When Seel and Orien arrived they were dressed splendidly for the occasion. They seemed taller than I remembered, proud and graceful, and treated me like a bride, which I supposed, in a sense, I was. Seel put white lilies in my hair, avoiding my eyes, and offered me a goblet of blue glass. The liquid inside it looked murky and tasted foul. I downed it as quickly as I could. They would take no chances with me; I would be drugged almost senseless.

  The white light outside stung my eyes and I winced, although the taint of soda no longer bothered me. I barely noticed it. Before I could take a single step forward, I wobbled. Seel and Orien swiftly took hold of my arms. They had brought me a chariot, strewn with flowers and ribbons; pale horses fidgeted, festooned with color, plaited with silk and tassels. Wraeththu had already gathered to line the streets we would take to the Nayati. An air of festival vibrated up the sky; they all shone, these supernatural, hypernatural folk, and strange, ululating cries fluted round our heads. Otherworld melodies, and the horses pranced forward, sand skirling in our wake. The hot breezes were intoxicating with the fresh, green smell of cut garlands, petals crushed beneath the capering hooves. I was wedged upright, but nobody could see that. My hair streamed back like a black flag, dappled with fragments of crushed blossoms, palest pink, white and lemon-colored. Exultation fountained through me. I felt like a king.

  Shallow white steps led to the main doors of the Nayati, Petals still danced in the hot air like confetti. The moment my feet hit the ground I felt like I was walking upsidedown. Only willpower kept nausea where it belonged, in my imagination. I had never been really drunk, but thought it must have been like that. Nothing mattered and responsibility had been taken from me. We walked into the solemn and sacred gloom of the Nayati. It took some moments for my eyes to adjust to the poor light, but soon the high, narrow hall materi
alized before me out of the gloom. Tiers of seats reared into the shadows on both sides; from flank entrances the hara of Saltrock filed into their places. All voices were muted, but the whispering quiet could not hide the mounting fever, the heights of expectation implied by half-seen movements above me. I stood between Seel and Orien at the threshold. Light streamed in behind us, dust-moted bars. Gilden metal flashed in the dimness beyond. Seel lifted a long, carven staff from a bracket by the door. He struck the ground three times and the congregation rose, rumbling, to its feet. "Harhune! Harhune!" It began as a soft crooning, and we advanced among them. And then it was a mighty clamor, my skin prickled, voices ringing like clarions as they bayed me forward. I? I was not there really. I was someone else's dream carried forward on the strength of their tuneless cry

  We came to a place where patterns had been chalked onto the floor, and they pushed me to my knees. White dust sprayed my robe, and Seel spoke; softly, it seemed, but his voice filled the hall.

  "Today we witness the inception of Pellaz Unhar. He is deemed fit by myself, Seel Griselming and my colleague Orien Farnell."

  He raised his arms above his head and the soft white cloth of his sleeves slipped back. Henna patterns were painted on his skin; designs similar to those beneath my knees. "Does the Harhune take place?!" he demanded and a mighty, "Aye!" shook the walls. They blessed me with fire, with water, earth and air, ripped my robe to below my shoulders and wrote on my skin. Henna again, aromatic and gritty. Seel's voice was gutteral; I could not understand what he said, but the crowd were mouthing silently along with him, howling the responses, half-rising from their seats in excitement. I hated to think of Cal being one of them, but he kept creeping into my mind. I kept thinking, "They want my blood, they want my blood," but, of course, the opposite was true. They wanted me to have theirs. This was their ceremony. Mine was yet to come.

  Hours later, moments later, two young hara, sparkling in white and gold, came out of the smoky dark at the back of the hall. Soft cloth falling to their feet made them glide like ghosts. One carried a shallow metal dish, his companion holding out the instruments of my hair's death. Seel was before me. He raised my head with a firm hand. "The Shicawm, Pellaz. Be still." I could not shudder but my teeth ached, I had clenched them so. Cold metal touched my brow and I shut my eyes. The sound was terrible, sickening. I could feel it all falling away and hear the silvery swish as it landed on the shallow dish. So quick. It was gone. "Open your eyes," Seel told me, barely audible. It was like looking at an execution. Under my nose, long black locks spilled over the plate, still adorned with waxen, wilted lilies. I half expected to see blood and a thread of hysteria cracked the numbness. It was an effort not to reach up and touch my head. I started to shiver then.

  Hands were upon my shoulders and I shook beneath their warmth. Light flared up ahead of me and the dark rafters of the Nayati loomed above, suddenly visible, encrusted with gargoyles who laughed and screamed forever in silence. Tall metal stands made an avenue, topped by filigreed bowls of incense; smoke so heavy it drifted downwards in matted shrouds. At the end a white table gleamed like marble; and beyond that?

  A slim reed of light opening out like a flower. Tall, A halo of fiery red-gold hair. An angel. A demon. The hienama. (I heard Seel gasp: "Him? Him?!," urgent with surprise, and Orien's sober answer: "I know.") The congregation crooned once more, upon their knees, and the hienama moved; arms peeling out from his sides, one stretched straight, the other slightly curved, his body half turned toward me. I should have known then who he was. But it took years and years, and even then somebody had to tell me. He never tried to deceive anyone, they were just blind, I think. Looking back, it was obvious. He was more than all of them, and he knew about me. He put his mark on me that day, made me his pawn, but, like I said, it took years for him to put me into play.

  I was lifted to my feet. Led forward. No, carried. My legs would not work and my feet dragged as if my ankles were broken. As we went toward him, he grew. Not in actual height, but in magnificence. Slanting, gold-flecked violet eyes lasered straight to my soul. Fire seemed to burn in his hair and flicker over his skin. Nahir-nuri. He had the compassion of a vivisectionist.

  They lifted me onto the stone table and all I could do was look at him. (Cold bit into me; the caress of a sepulcher.) His voice is almost impossible to describe. It was full of music but with darker tones, like the sound of gunfire or shatterable things that were breaking. "Welcome, Pellaz. I am Thiede." Like night falling, black draperies softly descended. There was a sound like falling snow, hardly a sound at all, more a feeling, and the crowd could no longer see us. Only Orien and Seel remained. He signaled to them, tying his own arm above the elbow with a knotted cord, always looking at me, inspecting me carefully. I had seen that expression before, a life-time before, on my father's face as he chose a mule for himself. The dealer had been untrustworthy and he had not been sure if the mule was sound

  I doubted that Thiede often made mistakes, though. His assessment of me was realized in one short glance.

  "Don't be afraid," he said indifferently. "Seel, prepare him. Hurry up."

  The veins on my arms stood out like cords. They took away my robe and Thiede looked me up and down with the same indifference, and then he smiled at Seel.

  "Yes. Very good."

  Seel moved half of his mouth in response. He did not look comfortable.

  Thiede's glance whipped back to my face, the movement of a snake. "You know what we're going to do?"

  I blinked in reply.

  "Are you here of your own free will?"

  I think an insignificant "yes" escaped the constriction of my throat.

  Thiede nodded, stroking his arm. "Give him the dope," he said, which I found incongruous. He turned away.

  Something sharp slid into my arm, an unexpected medical shard in this .mane setting, and the cold poured into me. I had not expected that and was grateful. I thought the last thing I heard was "Open his veins and drink from his heart," but common-sense tells me it was something else. There was no pain.

  By late afternoon of the third day, my fever had abated. I was still weak, my eyes hurt most at first, but I was alive. Mur and Garis, in attendance once again, sat me in a chair by the window while they stripped and changed my bedding. I mulled over what I could remember of the last three days.

  It had been early evening of my Harhune day when I regained consciousness, not knowing who, where or what I was. I had stared at the ceiling, breathing carefully, aware of pinpricks of pain, like flashes of light, darting round inside me. Red light streamed into the room and a dark shadow hovered at my side.

  "Pell, can you hear me?" Flick's voice.

  It was all over. I was back at Seel's house in my own room.

  "Pell?"

  I could not move, my throat felt sewn up and I could not rip the threads. Mick pressed a beaker against my lips. It tasted like sugared water, warm, and my shriveled mouth turned to slime.

  "How long?" I croaked.

  Flick dabbed at my face with a wet cloth smelling of lemons. "About six hours or so. Do you feel any pain?"

  "1 don't know." My body was still numbed by drugs. I might have imagined the pricklings. "I can't feel anything."

  Flick sat down on the bed and examined my face carefully, pulling down my eyelids. I did not like the expression on his face. It was worse than I felt.

  "I've seen quite a few through althaia," he told me. "Don't worry."

  I had not, till then. "Althaia . . .?

  Flick sponged my face again. "The changing. It will take about three days. The thing is, Pell, when the drugs wear off, you're going to feel quite ill.”

  "And I may die."

  Flick started to clean between my fingers, concentrating hard and not looking at me. "A small risk, but you're a fighter. I told you, don't worry."

  My eyes felt hot. I closed them and tried to swallow. Flick offered me a drink. "Where's Cal?" A sudden, irrational terror shot through me that he had left Salt
rock without me. I tried to sit up and my limbs shrieked with pain and displeasure.

  Flick pressed me back into the pillows. "Stop it! Don't move!"

  I struggled, oblivious of the discomfort. "He's gone!" I half moaned, half screamed, threshing against Flick's restraining arms.

  "No! No. It's alright. He's here. In the house. Downstairs. He's here. But you can't see him yet."

  Still fringed by hysteria I stopped moving, slumped beneath Flick's hands, which were hot and trembling. It was almost as painful to be still, but the struggle had tired me out. I had to close my eyes, and when I did, the darkness was shot with vague, pulsing colors.

  "There, that's better. Lie still, Pell and rest. I'll be back later."

  I heard Flick leave the room, slowly. I heard him close the door, oh, so quietly. He would have run down the stairs.