"Hmm ... a possible solution, I suppose!" He smiled at me, which I returned. "There is one place you have not thought of, Swift." He stood up and began to walk across the yard, beckoning me to follow. "Another place . . . ?"
"Yes." He put his arm around my shoulder. "Another place. My forest, the forest of
best-forgotten mirrors."
"But would people be safe from them there?"
"You should know that they would. You've been there."
"Then it should be properly named."
"Of course. I have been pondering upon it, waiting for you here. What do you think of this: Gebaddon? A marriage of the realms of hell. Not this world, not the next, but somewhere in between where the only things they can damage are each other. Of course, there is the possibility, however slight, that they might discover enlightenment there."
"A possibility, I suppose," I agreed, "but it would be unsporting to deny it to them."
Thiede laughed and squeezed my shoulder. "I chose well when I chose you, my dear."
"Chose me for what exactly, my lord? I still don't understand quite what you require of me."
The darkness of the palace had swallowed us again. We walked along a narrow corridor where there were open doors to either side. I did not want to look into the rooms beyond. There was no sound.
"Your purpose, Swift, is to govern for Pellaz and myself in Megalithica. Of course, you will need a full-size staff which will come together in time, and also I suspect
there will be quite a lot for you to learn. Seel will be a great help to you; he understands about these things."
"Will we have to live in Fulminir?" I asked, aghast. It was the Vanish capital of Megalithica, after all.
"No," Thiede reassured. "Galhea must be expanded. We envisage that it will become the major city of northern Megalithica. It is more central anyway. Fulminir is best forgotten. I think you will have to come to Immanion for a short while. You may talk with Pellaz there ..."
"Thiede," I said. "Who are you?"
He stopped walking, surprised. He inclined his head enquiringly. "What I mean is, Pell is supposed to be Tigron of Wraeththu. Where do you fit into things? He answers to you; that is obvious. What position is higher than the Tigron's?"
Thiede smiled. "Only one," he answered, and, putting his hand upon my back, propelled me forward once more.
"Few know my identity," he continued, after a while. "It is best that way."
"Greater than the Tigron?"
"Wraeththu is mine, are mine. I've been around a long time, Swift. Since the beginning."
"The very beginning?" I squeaked, enlightenment dawning slowly.
"But of course!" he answered.
"But—"
"No more!" he ordered. "In the presence of the Aghama, you must learn to hold, your tongue." He smiled again. "Don't take me seriously, I didn't give myself that title. Now, I have good news for you. I have decided to give Seel to you. If you like, I will perform the blood-bonding ceremony myself."
"My Lord Thiede!" I exclaimed. "What will Seel think of this?"
Thiede gave my shoulder a little pat. "Don't be ridiculous, Swift! That is a mere trifle. I thought we understood each other."
We came out into the throne room, where the Gelaming waited. We were on a balcony high above their heads. Seel looked up when he felt my presence, and waved. Thiede raised his hand. It dispelled the shadows. Dust fell from the torn banners around us. The light was with us.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Furnace of Hate
Pilgrim of love suffering repudiation
As though haying conspired with the beast.
Maneuvers in the vestibule of the heart
Crumble to dust in the palm of airs.
The journey back to Galhea through the other-lanes was a nightmare; I wanted to sleep for a week and trying to keep up the concentration required was horrendous. Most of
the Gelaming remained in Fulminir, allocated the none too pleasant task of cleaning up and sorting out. As well as the citadel, there were numerous pockets of Varrs dotted about the countryside in settlements and small towns. It was doubtful that they'd put up much resistance, but neither would they welcome the Gelaming with open arms. I questioned the wisdom of trying to conclude such an operation using only three hundred hara, but Thiede pointed out that to use more would make them seem like an army, which was an impression that the Gelaming wished to avoid. I was told that many more Gelaming personnel would soon be arriving from Immanion, but even then they would not travel around in large numbers.
"It is inevitable that some remnants of the Varrs will want to fight us," Ashmael said wearily. "There is also the problem of the Uigenna, who, we understand, have fled into the extreme north of the continent. It would be politic to weed them out now, while they are comparatively weak. News of Ponclast's defeat must have reached them by now."
Thiede wanted to come back to Galhea with us. When we entered the house through the great front doors, with all the house hara and Bryony waiting to greet us and cheer our success, Cobweb's acceleration down the stairs toward a welcoming embrace was stopped dead. It was a passable imitation of running smack into a wall. Thiede has that effect on people. He looks ten feet tall, while being nowhere near that height, and wears his awesome power like extra clothes.
I introduced him to Cobweb and he smiled graciously. Cobweb was speechless, watching this apparition wandering around the hall, picking up our ornaments, gazing up the great sweep of the dark, polished stairs. "You are back so quickly," my hostling said, "so much sooner than we imagined."
"Taking Fulminir was a mere itch on the Gelaming skin which your son obligingly scratched for us," Thiede announced.
Our bedraggled appearance must have informed Cobweb otherwise, but he made no comment.
Seel and I went directly to bed, without bathing, without eating, even without undressing properly. Before we slept, he insisted on apologizing to me. "I hurt you; I'm sorry."
"You never hurt me. I love you, Seel."
He thought about what I'd said and then smiled. I wanted to tell him about what Thiede had suggested, about the blood-bonding, but something held my tongue. It must have been my guardian angel. Seel stroked my face.
"When I look at you now," he said. "I see so many things. Not death, certainly, not bitterness or revenge or any of those bad things. When I look at you now, I experience a kind of pain, and I know it's happened before, but a long time ago ..."
"Pain?" I said sadly. "I cause you pain?"
"Yes," he replied. "It is a kind of disease that, as far as I know, is curable only by another dose of the same thing. It is a plague that's scoured this small, helpless planet since life first crawled up out of the slime. A phenomenon that cannot be explained."
"What are you talking about?"
I knew what it was and knew also that he was struggling to say it. To a Gelaming, because of his training and his beliefs, it was difficult.
"You have infected me," he said.
I laughed and pushed him back and grabbed his wrists. "Say it, Seel! Say it, or I'll break your arms!"
He howled and struggled and laughed and said it. "Alright, alright, don't! I love you, Swift."
We slept well into the following day and it was the smell of food that woke me. I spent a few, treasured moments gazing at Seel, who was still fast asleep and would not wake for some time. His face was dirty, his hair tangled and his clothes wrapped around him in knots. He was beautiful, and I knew I would never tire of gazing; never. Each time I looked at him, it was as if it were for the first time. With soaring spirit and singing heart, I took a bath and then ran down the stairs to the source of the delicious smells. Lunch was just over. Thiede had by this time thoroughly acquainted himself with my home and I found him sitting with his feet on the dinner table, indulging in leisurely conversation with Arahal and Ashmael. Moswell and Swithe were sitting there with dopey, sycophantic expressions on their faces, lapping up the pearls of Thiede's wit.
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Thiede smiled brightly when he saw me, exposing those gleaming feral teeth. "Recovered, Swift? I hope so. There's so much to be done. Unpleasantness to suffer, rapture to enjoy!"
I grimaced. "Is there any coffee?" I sifted through the remains of the meal on the sideboard.
"We thought tomorrow . . ." Ashmael began tentatively, raising his voice, leaning back in his chair to watch me.
I forked meat and cold vegetables onto a plate. They had not left me much to choose from. "You thought tomorrow what?" The coffee pot was still warm at least. I began to pour.
"Your father. He will be arriving here tomorrow morning."
I virtually dropped everything I was holding, lukewarm liquid splashed over my hands. I appealed to Thiede. "Is this really necessary?"
Thiede raised an elegant hand. "No, of course, it isn't, Swift. I can understand your feelings. If you would prefer it, I could arrange for your father to end his days in Phaonica, or even in Gebaddon with all his friends. It's all the same to me. Just give the word."
I turned irritably back to arranging my meal. "No .. . this is his home. The point has been made. Pity it had to turn out this way though, isn't it?"
Thiede smiled at me ruefully. "I hope you're not becoming hard, Swift."
"Hard? Is there any other possible way I can face what's left of my father?"
Even Thiede could not answer that.
Mid-morning the following day, the rafts came out of the mist. It was something I'd never seen before, straight from Almagabra, something I could never imagine. Powered by crystals, aruna-fired, they drifted, alien and graceful, over the lawns of Forever, casting great oblong shadows.Hazy sunlight was beginning to burn through the moist air. Rain had fallen; soon the grass would begin to steam. From an upstairs window, we could see the huddled shapes of many hundreds of hara crowded on the rafts. They made no sound. This was what remained of the Varrish army, scooped up from Gebaddon. War veterans who had seen no fighting or whose battles had been wholly illusory among the dense foliage of the forest. Minds irreparably damaged, bodies wasted, they had the eyes of those who had looked into the abyss, the image of which was burned forever into their minds. If they were glad to be home, they did not show it. Perhaps they did not realize their ordeal was over.
Cobweb, Seel and I were in Cobweb's room. Tyson was playing on the floor, oblivious. We spoke in hushed voices. Cobweb called gently to Tyson. "Your father is here." The
harling looked up briefly and flashed a Cal smile, presently absorbed once more in his game of make-believe. Cobweb had tied up his hair and dressed himself in dark, brushed doeskin. He was trying to make himself strong.
Bryony came into the room, holding my son in her arms. A worried frown creased her brows. She stood very close to Cobweb. None of us were happy that day, apart from Tyson, and he was half Cal's, so that wasn't really surprising.
I said, "Seel, he has to have a name."
Seel was in a world of his own, gazing out of the window. He looked blank. "What?"
"Our son," I said. "He has to have a name. Now. For my father."
Seel nodded slowly. "Yes. I have been thinking about it." He uncurled from his seat and stood up, taking the harling from Bryony's arms. "Do you know, of those names, all those wretched names that were buzzing through my head when I delivered the pearl, there was one I liked. When Ashmael said it... I think I knew then it had to be the one. It was Azriel."
"Azriel. ... A Gelaming name?"
Seel shook his head. "Not really. It's very old ..."
"Oh, I see; an angel," I said drily.
"Well, yes."
I looked at the harling happily pawing at Seel's face. So innocent. Perhaps he would need a strong name. I had no idea yet what his future would hold, but I suspected that he would have very little control over it. "Yes, I like it too," I said. "Hello, Azriel."
The rafts settled on the lawns, their unearthly mechanisms sighing to silence. "I suppose we must go down," Cobweb said dismally. I reached for his hand and it was cold and clammy. Seel handed the harling back to Bryony and we walked down the stairs together. It seemed to take ages. Lingering behind the others, I looked back, thinking of the past. I was remembering running up those stairs to my father's room on the day they found Cal in the snow, and then it was the day of my Feybraiha, and I was coming down again with flowers in my hair and the smell of autumn all around. I shook myself. Cobweb was waiting for me. "We are still together," he said.
"All those times, though!"
"Yes," he said with a sad smile. "All those times."
I wondered how the Gelaming had managed to round up all my father's hara. Had they really been wandering around Gebaddon all this time? I shuddered. The thing that struck me first was their utter silence. It was even more profound once we were outside. Beaten creatures, packed together like prisoners on those sleek, magical vehicles, shivering as if they were told. It was a hot day, close and humid. Ashmael came straight over to us when he saw us standing on the steps of Forever. He blinked at Cobweb. This was an unconscious appreciation of his beauty, which was at its most wondrous that day. My hostling was feeling tragic and it always gave him a special kind of bloom when he felt that way.
"We shall bring him into the house," Ashmael said in a confidential lone. Cobweb nodded shortly and went back inside. He would go directly to the sitting room and put his back to the window and not come out again until Terzian had been secreted away upstairs.
The Gelaming seemed edgy, which I took to be proof of their shame. Who else had allowed these bewildered hara to wander forgotten in Thiede's hell forest? It was hard
to imagine the broken creatures on the rafts ever having had a thirst for blood. They would never fight again. Hara had come up from Galhea, seeking lost, loved ones. Everyone milled uncomfortably, looking over the rafts as if they were open graves.
"Come with me," Ashmael said. Seel put his arm around me and we strolled toward the rafts. My heart was pounding and I found myself chanting words of power that I had not used for years. I was conscious of eyes upon me; conscious also of their weary hostility. Heads raised. I could imagine the thoughts. "There goes the one who sold us out to the Gelaming. Terzian's son, the traitor." If I had been alone, they might even have mustered the energy to spit at me. Hara from the town just stared at me with unashamed curiosity. To them I was a celebrity and my part in what was happening now was just that I had initiated the possibility of it occurring at all. The Varrs of Galhea are really quite sheeplike. They need to be led and now they were happy to follow me. Wars cause discomfort, after all. Wouldn't peace bring prosperity? It was also the first time that most of them had caught a glimpse of Seel. If circumstances had been different, I feel they would have cheered us.
Seel said, "Your warriors are home from the war that never happened. This should have been a day of celebration, but it feels more like a funeral."
Terzian was on the smallest raft. Small, but provided with the greater comforts. Few hara were with him. I thought to myself, In a few moments, I am going to have to look at my father, and found myself quailing, so I looked instead at the har who held Terzian in his arms. I saw straight blackhair and a white face; I did not recognize him. His clothes were torn and colorless, his shoulder scarred as if by claw marks. The expression on hi.s face was something like that of someone who has reached the end of his tether, someone whose strength is gone and who faces horror, someone who will protect to his dying breath the thing he loves. He convulsively tried to shelter Terzian with his body as we approached. He could not have known who we were, only that we were Gelaming, the enemy.
I had dreaded my father being totally unrecognizable, aged and toothless perhaps, or slightly decayed in some way. The reality, while nothing like that really, was just as shocking. He was so thin, lying on the cushions, his head in the strange har's lap. His once thick hair was lank and lusterless, his face gray, all the skin stretched over the bones. But he was still Terzian. He still looked like the father I
had known. That was perhaps the worst thing about it. I put my hands on the side of the raft and he stared past me. Seel was standing there. He looked at Seel. I said, "Terzian." His gaze flicked over me, surprisingly quickly. He blinked. "It is I ... Swift," I said.
He tried to rise then, stretching out a hand whose veins bulged blue through the white skin. His companion snarled at me. Terzian spoke, a small sound. "My son. It is my son," he said. There was no inflection to his voice. He just looked at me. I could not tell what he was thinking. Did he remember, as I did, that time he had spoken to me in his study, so long ago? The night of Gahrazel's arrest; something I will never forget. I remembered Terzian making me promise to look after his family, our home, as if he feared he would never come back. Now I thought that his homecoming was not part of the future as it was meant to be, or that he had ever wanted. Terzian painfully lay back among the cushions and closed his eyes. He shakily raised a hand to his face. There was silence; we all just looked at him. I could feel Seel's hand on the back of my neck. "Bring him into the house," Ashmael said.
The Wraeththu Trilogy Page 72
