The Wraeththu Trilogy

by Storm Constantine

  "Are you joking?" I asked, with pretended horror. "Do you know what those cards are?"

  Panthera riffled impatiently through the pack. "Of course. They are divining cards. Nobody has used them for ages. Shall we gamble?"

  "You lack respect for the unseen, my pantherine," I said gravely, still joking.

  Panthera threw down the cards angrily. "You've changed so much!" he accused me bitterly. "You never used to be such a prig! What's happened to you? I almost prefer the seedy drunkard of our journey from Thaine!"

  "You will never be satisfied, obviously. Here is a lesson from life, little cat. You can never alter people's characters to suit yourself."

  "Oh, shut up!" He sank moodily to the floor, his back against the sofa arm, staring sulkily into the fire. Spellbound by his loveliness, I experienced those familiar feelings of longing to touch his untidy, black hair, coax desire from his sensual yet passionless mouth, and ease the frown from his autocratic brow. I watched him. He knew it. I picked up the deck of cards and shuffled them. Laying them down on the floor, I cut the pack. "Oh look! How appropriate!"

  Panthera could not resist a look, bristling visibly when he saw what lay there. "Ace of Cups, of course. This clearly indicates the next drinking binge you'll embark upon once your shallow mind becomes bored of hidden knowledge," he said, pleased with himself.

  "Cut them," I suggested.

  He shook his head. "No need. Obviously, I will draw a reversed king and possibly the Devil."

  "Is that how you see yourself?"

  Panthera raised a sardonic brow. He said nothing. I cut the cards again. "What a coincidence! Two of cups," I said.

  "Very clever! The cards have not been used for years. Possibly, the last owner died and left a binding of untruth over the pack. What are you implying anyway?"

  I shrugged. "Nothing. It was you that wanted to play a game."

  "You're insufferable!" he cried angrily. "No wonder Thiede let you out of the tower! There was a moment's hideous, electric silence during which, I should imagine, Panthera dearly wished he'd kept his mouth shut. Then he felt he had to go on. "You look down on everybody, don't you!"

  "Well, I am quite tall."

  "Oh, you make me sick! You know what I mean."

  "In that case, so do you. I'm surprised you're not cross-eyed!"

  Panthera ignored that. "Everyone tries to make you seem so special, don't they! It must have gone to your head over the years. The truth is, you're a selfish and deceitful charlatan. I've always been able to see right through you."

  "Oh, I'm flattered! Panthera has spoken and the words of the mighty ones are leveled to dust!"

  "Mighty ones!" he spat. "And who do you mean by that? No, don't tell me, it's the Gelaming, isn't it! Those honorable, smarmy trendsetters of our wondrous, blossoming culture. Don't make me laugh!"

  "Why ever not? That was the intention of my last few remarks, after all!" I smiled at him engagingly.

  Panthera ruminated on this, unsure of whether to laugh with me or not. He was afraid of looking foolish.

  "I'm not wrong, Cal," he said.

  "Why did you come to Sahen with me then?"

  "I told you; honor."

  "Ah, so at least I'm worthy of that then."

  He sniffed and stared at the fire. "This is getting us nowhere, Cal. I have work to do. What was it you wanted to say to me?"

  Not the best of cues, but clearly the only one I'd get that evening. "Just that I'm sorry we've grown so apart."

  "Why? We've never been close."

  "No, not really, but I don't want things to get any worse. At one time, I thought we got on quite well. Can't we go back to that? What have I done? Have I really changed that much?"

  He turned and looked at me thoughtfully. "I wish I could tell you the truth," he said. "I thought you'd guess, but you haven't. Too wrapped up in your own affairs, I suppose. We're really not that much alike, are we?"

  "No. I don't suppose we are," I agreed, "but I've learned not to avoid the truth, so tell me."He bowed his head. "I can't. It's no use. You must go from here and complete whatever quest it is you've involved yourself in. I know where it'll end, we both do. I've accepted that ..."

  "Panthera . . ." It was obvious what he meant. How could I have been so stupid? But what could I have done about it anyway?

  "No," he said. "Don't say anything. I've told you; you've got your reason. Don't say anythng; it's best that way. I'm sorry. If you hadn't asked, I'd never have told you." He scrambled up and struggled from the room. I didn't stop him. I was dazed. Panthera had frozen me out because, dare I say it, he wanted me?

  After a while, I went along to my room and lay down fully clothed on the bed. All the curtains were open and I could see a pale, round moon beyond the windows. I was lying there thinking of bodies, all the ones I'd touched, some of them now faceless to me. I'd always relished challenges, the slow, sinuous winding toward seduction of the glacial, beautiful creature who denied me. And there'd been more than a few. With Panthera I had made the decision not to bother, primarily because I respected him. Other reasons would include my obsession with the Tigron and, let's be honest, myself, my apathy, the certainty that seduction of Panthera would inevitably harm him in some way. He was right, wise beyond his years, not to pursue it. Most young hara would have done. It's what they grow up with after all. But Panthera knew I would leave soon; it wasn't just aruna he wanted. I must leave him alone so he could forget me without pain. And yet, much as I tried to dismiss the thought, I wanted to be close to him because nobody ever had been, and he stirred my soul. Between us lurked the specter of Pellaz and, perhaps eventually, the reality. I tried to sleep, but my body ached. I wanted to give my pantherine some of what Nanine and the Lyris had given to me; magic. Real magic, the kind that when it's over you know the world is just the wonderful place your dreams were always telling you. All the shit doesn't matter because your head has just exploded into somebody else with a thousand stars, and they felt so good; like fur, like ice, like flames, like silk, like feathers and, by Aghama, you want to experience that again. That's magic. I couldn't stop thinking about it; so maudlin and most unlike me really. After about an hour of this useless longing, I threw off my clothes and lay in bed, smoking a cigarette. Perhaps I should leave here sooner than Ferminfex suggested. Stubbing out my cigarette in the saucer I'd used that morning, I pulled the covers over my head and furiously tried to get to sleep again.

  And eventually I slept. I know this because, when I sensed somebody come into the room, I thought I was dreaming. Then I realized I wasn't and I was reaching for a knife or a gun beneath my pillow which could not possibly be there. I held my breath, waiting. Someone crept toward me, my back was turned to the door. In a moment, I would turn and have somebody's throat between my hands. But first I wait. Weight on my bed, the covers lifted. I almost laughed. This was not threatening, oh no. I let my saved breath out in one, long hiss. He slithered into my bed, cold and shivering. He curled his arms around me and pressed himself hesitantly against my back.

  "Cal, Cal, don't be asleep. Talk to me."

  I recognized his smell, his slenderness and took one of his hands in my own. He gripped it hard. We didn't say anything at all. For a while, we lay like that, and it wasn't calculated when I turned to face him. I just did it. In the moonlight, I could see he was weeping silently, his face all wet, like he didn't really want to be there, but couldn't help himself. I understood that. Our first kiss was fumbling, like children, breath visions fleeting and undecipherable. He had never been touched before except in violation. He had never given love. His skin, perfumed with the earth smell of cinnamon, was like cat-skin, furred yet smooth. I wanted to pounce, plunder that lithe pliancy; only some vestige of good sense held me back. I had to speak, because they were necessary words; even though he knew I was thinking them anyway.

  "Thea, I understand what you're giving me. I really do. Don't get hurt because of this, will you. Promise me that, you won't get all churned-up and
grieving. In the future ..."

  "Hush," he said. "I'm not a child. I know what I'm doing; all of it." Nearly all of it. He smiled. "I don't want you to show me anything. It must be done my way."

  No, he was not a child, but he was afraid. I knew that because the caressing went on for far too long. I was starting to think he wouldn't dare and I'd have to indulge in my original desire of conquest. I held him close, burying my nose in his wonderful

  hair, trying so desperately to feel passive to him, not frightening, not engulfing, just receptive, yearning. He stroked my skin, fascinated by it, because it was not a skin covering cruel desires to break and tear.

  "You are scarred," he said. "Your flesh is soft yet you are hard beneath, I know it, like iron under moss in the forest. I thought you used bleach on your hair because your eyes and brows are so dark. You have cynical eyebrows, Cal. They always look so disdainful; they know everything and they love it when all the other poor fools don't."

  "Just my eyebrows, Thea?"

  He laughed. "Started off that way. I got side-tracked into the rest of you. I've wanted to touch you for a long time, you know. And so many people were doing it, all so experienced. I couldn't get near you. So many people have touched you, haven't they."

  "My body, yes, but not often my mind."

  He nestled against me, his head on my chest. "If we could just hold each other forever, the bad things will go away," he said. "I think I must love you, Cal, even though it's senseless and sort of self-destructive too. You belong to him, you always will." He sighed.

  "We don't know what's going to happen," I said, rather untruthfully.

  "No, we don't." There was strength in those words.

  We shared breath again; I let him move against me. Clearly, his re-sponses weren't damaged at all. I wriggled us around until I was under him, wondering what else I could do to help without being obvious. There was no need. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he just found his way inside me and let nature do the rest. The time was right. Everything was fine. He was nothing like I'd anticipated, not timorous, but powerful, vigorous, dominant. I'd have to sort that out later. At the moment of orgasm, he screeched like a wild beast in pain right in my ear, drowning any responding cry I might have made myself. I thought he'd hurt himself, but he only laughed at my concern. Could I have met my match? Calanthe is renowned across Megali-thica and beyond for his savage, skillful aruna. Usually, it was me doing the gouging and chewing. I was quite alarmed.

  Panthera said to me "Cal, I want to see Roselane," and lying there in his arms, feeling battered but lazy, it seemed like the only course of action.

  That night it was decided. We may have been wrong, but if we were, it was because our hearts were taking control of our minds. Panthera would accompany me to Roselane, and beyond. We would take responsibility for the consequences, whatever they were.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Morla

  "If I think of a King at nightfall."

  —T. S. Eliot, Little Gliding

  In spring, the steppelands of Maudrah are a glistening, undulating ocean of waving, feathered grasses. This can even be seen from the sea, as a faint and distant glimmering, like sheets of silk hung across the horizon. We'd had to choose the quickest route to Roselane, which was over water from the Ferike port of Saphrax, east across the Sea of Shadows, grazing the southernmost tip of the Thwean region of Jaddayoth. From there it was north into the Sea of Arel, passing the summer ports of

  Gaspard and Oriole, to Chane. After that, the journey would be continued over land, through Garridan to Roselane. At no point would our travels take us even within spitting distance of Oomadrah. I could not bear to leave my notes behind me in Jael, perhaps because I feared I would never go back there. Many times, I've sat upon the deck of this Ferike vessel, with my back to the coast of Maudrah and read through them. So many pages, and yet so little said really. I have spoken of my first client in Piristil, but to read what I wrote of it does not convey the disgust I felt or—no matter how hard I fought it—the shame. Neither can Elhmen and Sahen live as brilliantly, as vibrantly on paper as I experienced them in reality, nor does the time I first held Panthera in my arms convey the actuality of that moment. I suppose it is impossible. It happened. I lived it. Here the grass is glowing with light across a shard of sparkling sea. Can you picture it? Panthera and I are not blind to the possible consequences of our relationship. It may be doomed to ephemerality; it may not. We have no way of knowing. Because he does not read this, I can say that I do not love him—not in the same way as I did (do?) Pell. It is different, but no less genuine a feeling because of that. What we have we shall enjoy.

  Ferminfex has no contacts in the land of Roselane, but has given us another letter of introduction all the same. This ship is named the Auric Wing, a merchant vessel, heading for the Emunah ports now that the ice has melted. The sea of Arel is impassable in winter. Yesterday, we stopped at the Maudrah port of Pelagrie on the tip of Thwean and I had my first glimpse of Maudrah society. Glimpse it was as well. Our Captain, Asvak, advised us not to go ashore, although the other two passengers ignored this. We are not sure whether they are Maudrah themselves or not, as they are surly and don't seem willing to make conversation with us. Panthera and I take our meals with Asvak, while they dine in their cabin alone. We were carrying several paintings which were to be picked up by some Maudrah family in Pelagrie, so the pause in our journey was only short. Panthera and I stood leaning upon the rails of the ship, gazing at the town. On the docks, black-haired hara, stripped to the waist, were heaving barrels and crates on board other vessels, taciturn as our fellow passengers. Asvak came to join us, smoking a long, curiously curled pipe. He gestured at the Maudrah with it. "Happy souls, aren't they!"

  I looked beyond the docks toward the gaunt, gray buildings of the town itself. "Is the paw of the Lion that heavy then?" I asked lightly.

  Our Captain made a disparaging noise. "Not heavy, perhaps, but it has an eye on the end of each pad! See them?" He pointed toward a group of Hara dressed in black, watching the workers. They were standing back from the proceedings, but clearly had a supervisory role. "They are the Aditi," Asvak continued. "The eyes and hands of the Niz."

  "Niz?" I queried, "is that another name for the Lion?"

  Asvak laughed drily, taking another draw on his pipe. Panthera squinted in distaste through a cloud of acrid smoke.

  "No, far from it, or perhaps... well, judge for yourself. The Niz are the priest figures in Maudrah and to be honest no-one can say whether Lord Ariaric controls them, or vice versa. If you take my advice, you'll take great pains to keep out of their way."

  "We don't intend to spend much time in Maudrah," Panthera said, looking hard at me.

  "Is Oomadrah far from here?" I asked casually.

  Asvak narrowed his eyes so that he could think better. "Quite some way, although once we reach the Sea of Arel, we'll be closer."

  "Have you ever been there?"Here, Asvak pulled a forlorn face. "Yes. Can't say I enjoyed that visit too much either. Luckily, I was with a har of Maudrah origin who prevented me from making any noticeable mistakes."

  "What do you mean, mistakes?"

  Asvak laughed and patted me on the shoulder. "Don't ask! Believe me, even drawing breath in the wrong way is a mistake in Maudrah. Now, if you'll excuse me, tiahaara . . ."

  Asvak's footsteps hadn't even died away before Panthera launched into the attack. "We can't go there, Cal!"

  "Go where?" I asked lightly. Panthera is sometimes annoyingly perceptive. I'd told him about Wraxilan some time ago, and had wondered then whether I'd regret it later.

  "To Oomadrah, of course! Do you think I'm stupid? I think you are! Not only is it dangerous, but a waste of time! Are you trying to delay reaching Roselane on purpose?" (That was snide.)

  "Oh, be quiet!" I said impatiently. "I've got my own voice of conscience, thank you! Just remember, I was told in Sahen to tie up all loose ends."

  "I can't see how Ariaric or Wraxilan or whateve
r he calls himself can be one of them, Cal," Panthera said with dogged determination. "It's just your curiosity. You should let well alone. Haven't you enough on your plate already?"

  "Oh," I replied drily, ignoring most of what he'd said, "and don't I get a say in what I consider to be my own loose ends?" Panthera pulled an. exasperated face. "Look Thea," I continued bravely, "Wraxilan was my beginning; he's never let me forget that." Have I ever let myself forget it? "Perhaps I want to see where his destiny led him. It may be that I can learn from it." (How I'd come to dread those times when Panthera looked at me as if I was stupid.)

  "OK, let's just imagine we do go there," he said, as if seriously considering such a suggestion. "Would you care to explain to me how we'd get to actually see him. He is Archon, remember; not just anyone can walk in and demand an audience."

  "Don't be silly, Thea! We carry a letter of introduction from your father headed 'To whom it may concern' ..."