The Wraeththu Trilogy

by Storm Constantine

  Silence moved in to take their place. I was still sitting by the window, my "I forehead upon the glass. I could sense Panthera fidgeting. I felt like saying,'' "You still sure you should have come here?" but it would have sounded sour. Panthera couldn't speak. Oh, I was happy to indulge in my own agony; nevertheless, I was not unaware that he was suffering too. After several minutes, he had the courage to say, "We should talk now, Cal. Who knows when we'll get the chance ..."

  "No," I interrupted. "There's nothing to say. I'm sorry, but there isn't."

  "Are you going to throw your life away then?"

  "Thea, be quiet. We can't argue about this. You asked to come here and I believed you when you gave your reason why."

  "I love you."

  "Thea, don't! You'll only make it worse, for both of us."

  If we'd been in a familiar place, he'd have leapt up and stormed from the room. We weren't. He couldn't. So we both fought for breath in that room of thick, heavy air until Zack and Ashmael came back in. It must have been hours.

  It was likely Zack'd had some trouble convincing Ashmael he should help me. I wondered how much he'd had to reveal. Quite a lot, I would have thought, at least as much as Zack knew himself. Ashmael was tricksy; you see that at a glance, but he was not stupid. However small the amount of information Zack had been given, I was sure it would be enough for any sane har to realize what had to be done. Was Ashmael sane? Loyalty does strange things to people. I suspected Opalexian had decided the fewer people who knew everything the better. I was alone in this. I'd got to accept that.

  The conversation had clearly been heavy-going. Ashmael's face was inscrutably grim (the only possible way to describe it), while Zack looked worn out. Ashmael went directly to open a window because the room was full of cigarette smoke, and then came to stand before me.

  "So, you're the famous Cal, are you?" He stared, shook his head, stared again. I stared back. I wanted to say, "Yes, I know the feel of you" and perhaps he saw some of that in my eyes. He looked away eventually. He had reached a decision. "I have just heard the most incredible things about you. Things that are hard to believe. If it's true, then it's my duty to help you. If it's lies then I'm damned forever if I do ..." He picked absently at the leaves of a plant by the window. "Tomorrow, I'll take you to Phaonica," he said. "Thiede will be in his sanctum until nine. I will get you there for eight. By Aghama, I hope I'm making the right decision!" This last part was said fiercely. He looked at Zack.

  "I've told you the truth," Zack said, simply, shrugging. "You must know in your heart what is right."

  "I've worked for Thiede for many years," Ashmael answered. "This feels like betrayal. I have only your word that it isn't."

  "You've worked for your race for many years," I said. "You won't be betraying them, I promise you."

  He looked at me coldly. "Damn you for coming here," he said. "Damn you for existing."

  "It's not me," I answered, "just the Law. There'd be somebody else if not me."

  "Would there?" He shook his head once more. "I wish I could believe that."

  I made them uncomfortable in that room. The atmosphere was not exactly congenial, not even when the inevitable refreshments arrived, so more out of consideration for others than a desire for personal well-being, I intimated that I wanted to be alone. Now they could talk about me with abandon. Ashmael had me shown to a bedroom overlooking the avenue at the front of the house. I sat on the floor under the window, and the muted sounds of the city reached me in whispers. I stared at the ceiling, but there were no answers there. I was alone, alone, alone. Never had I felt so conscious of it. Not in Megalithica, not in Thaine; nowhere. The world felt vast beyond me, vast and incomprehensible. I was such a small part. A single particle and yet, within me, the whole. I am looking up at the ceiling and there is a point that I must reach. The sun went down beyond the glass and no-one came to disturb me. I drank the water that Ashmael had provided in a glass flask. It tasted like nectar, soothing my throat and the heat inside my head. The bed looked inviting in the gloom, all honey pine and striped rugs, so I went to lie down on it. Now my capricious mind had decided to go completely blank. Could I go downstairs again? A drink of something a little stronger than water would have been welcome, but I resisted trying to satisfy that craving. The end was merely hours away. I must wait here, find strength; I would need it.

  It must have been nearly midnight when Panthera knocked on the door. I suppose I'd been expecting something like that happening. He came right in and said, "I can't let you do this."

  This was the last thing I felt capable of dealing with. "Panthera, if I'd known you were going to be this way, I'd have left you in Roselane. There's nothing I can do. For God's sake don't take it so personally!" I didn't want to sound so heartless, but it was the truth. Truth often hurts. Perhaps that's why I used to lie so often. Panthera ignored what I said. "Cal, I've stuck by you through everything; doesn't that mean anything to you?"

  "Of course it does, Thea. You know that! But I have to go through with this. There's no way out. I'm not rejecting you, just moving on. We both knew this would happen."

  He seemed caged in a world of his own as, I suppose, I was in mine. I don't think any of my words reached him. "I know there's something you've got to do with Thiede," he said earnestly, "but, for your own good,

  can't you just walk away after that? Come back to Ferike. You can't live here, Cal. It's not you. It'll kill you!"

  "Kill me!" I jumped off the bed and he backed away instinctively. "What the hell do you know about it? It's me that's the expert on killing, Thea; that's why I'm here."

  "Yes." Panthera's voice was soft. I sensed an approaching cruelty and was not disappointed. "I know that. You've been obsessed with it; one killing in particular. He's dead, Cal. Why can't you accept it? The Pell you loved is dead. What lives up there in Phaonica is Tigron. It's power; nothing else. Don't you know that? Or have you just conveniently put off thinking about it?"

  I couldn't even bear to be angry with him. I drank some of the water. He knocked the flask out of my hand and it shattered on the floor, water spreading in a dark stain like blood over the pale, wooden boards.

  "Thea, you're hurting only yourself. You can't reach me. Not after Roselane. I know now. You can't reach me." The calmness of my voice did not sooth him.

  "What do you know, Cal? Tell me! If I know too, maybe it'll help . . ."

  "No! I can't Thea. I can't." He looked wild, but he was trembling. I wanted to hold him, tell him everything would be alright. I wanted to strike him senseless so he'd leave me alone. Tel-an-Kaa had told me to watch out for sneaky attacks by Thiede. Was this one of them? I couldn't be sure. "Panthera, please, you must go. I have to think. Tomorrow's a big day." I tried a tentative smile. For a moment, he stared at me, full of rage, then he walked to the door. As he turned the handle, it seemed as if someone came and stabbed him in the gut. He doubled up, slid down the door and crouched on the floor, leaning against the wall. I really thought he'd been attacked. Anything was possible here. "What is it, Thea? Where's it hurt?" I tried to pull him up. "Here!" he shouted, uncurling. "Here!" And he was thumping his chest with one hand, right over the heart. His face was wet with tears. Internal agony then; it had been me who'd thrown the knife.

  "Thea?"

  "I don't know why I'm doing this to myself," he said. "I don't know."

  "I'm sorry . . ." It was all I could say, all I could think of.

  "Cal, don't leave me."

  We looked at each other in the half-light. He was so beautiful; it seems almost lame to say it. Why? Why, why, why ...

  "Don't leave me . . . please!"

  My chest ached. My arms ached to hold him, but tomorrow would always be there. I could make no promises.

  A long time ago, I'd been chesna with a har named Zackala. That's very, very close by Wraeththu standards. Some might say an insoluble link that exists even after hearts and bodies have waved goodbye to each other. It was simple to reach out with my m
ind and call him. Easy to intimate everything, by projecting the very least. He came through my door within seconds. I looked up at him helplessly, crouched on the floor by Panthera, who seemed almost senseless with grief. Zack shook his head, but said nothing. Between us, we got Panthera on his feet. He made an enormous effort to appear normal, perhaps embarrassed that Zack was there. He did not guess I'd summoned help, perhaps thinking Zack had passed the door and heard something. Before he left he said, "Goodbye, Cal. I wish you luck." I pulled a wry face. "I mean it," he said.

  "Come on, Thea," Zack said, in a horribly cheerful voice. "Help me make a hole in Ashmael's liquor store! Cal can't afford to have a good time tonight!" He put his arm around Panthera's shoulder and dragged him away. When I closed the door, that white, stricken face was still looking back at me.

  Alone, I sat on the floor with my back to the door and stared at the dark place where the water had spilled. I'd have trusted Panthera with my life. He'd trusted me with his heart which had been frozen nearly to death in Piristil. Now, in pursuit of my crazy, half-realized dreams, I was casting him aside like a meatless chicken-bone. (And, oh yes, I'd enjoyed consuming the meat.) I even loved him; but not enough. There was still that bewitching phantom waiting for me, that stranger, that immortal memory. Oh God, am I doing the right thing? Am I? Phaonica. . . . Through the window, I could look out and see those glistering spires. Beautiful, but spiky cruel they are. I want to touch them. It's as simple as that. Beyond the glass, as the hours progressed toward that single point in time, the light gradually changed. I sat on the floor, staring, staring, oblivious of anything but the mystery of Phaonica, and remained like that till dawn.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Phaonica

  "The agony is past; behold how shape and light are born again;

  how emerald and starry gold burn in the midnight; how the pain

  of our incredible marriage-fold

  and bed of birthless travail wane;

  and how our molten limbs divide

  and self and self again abide. "

  —Aleister Crowley, Asmodel

  Zack was up to see me off. There was no sign of Panthera. Was he making it easier for me or for himself? Ashmael made me eat something but the bread tasted like ashes. I was afraid. "Remember, we are with you," Zack said, and I thought of Opalexian. I thought, "No, I am alone," but appreciated his concern.

  Ashmael and I went out into the brightness of a fair and dreaming morning, walking because we didn't have far to go. Tall trees with glossy, dark leaves hid the palace from general view at first. We passed beneath them and I looked up. Imagine then the tremendous bulk of that fair edifice Phaonica. Effulgence upon shine upon brilliant haze. Darkness without shadow; the crown. And me. Shambling behind Ashmael; a mote of dark within the sphere of light. Dread had made me feel black; from the core out. Oh, I had worked hard to pay for my sins, but that could not erase the fact they'd been committed. Had my shadows any place within this splendor? My heart was aching because it was beating so hard, so fast. I followed Ashmael through the quieter courtyards, where he knew it was unlikely anyone would be about. And then it was deep, deep into the heart of the palace of light; to the inner sanctum of the Aghama. We saw no-one. The spacious corridors meditated in silence, columns and spiraling stairs, galleries and vaulted halls. A place of hushed magnificence. The Tigron lived here. Who was he really? Could he sense my presence? The rooms felt bewitched, enchanted into sleep so I could pass through them unnoticed. I felt Phaonica sigh around me, but there was no sign of Pellaz. We went down a flight of white steps and the light became blue. Thiede's sanctum; the temple in the heart of Phaonica. Ashmael left me at the gateway, and I stepped inside.

  It was like being surrounded by floating veils; everything was indistinct. I could smell cinnamon, strong and earthy. Where did the light come from? How big was this place? A single room, a labyrinth? I was stopped, limping toward the center, shivering like a rat crossing an alley. In Phaonica, I could no longer be beautiful. Ahead of me, an eternity away, I could see a pulsing core of light, solid brightness at its center. Power radiated out toward me, a slumbering power. It was Thiede, wreathed in

  blue flame, suspended in the webs of his own thought, contemplating beyond this world. As I approached him (oh, so slowly) the brightness changed color. Threads of red light streaked its purity. Thiede could sense me. He felt me drawing nearer, a smoking, black-rot presence. At first there was only a dim outrage that something unclean had entered his sacred space, then I caught it; fear! One pure beam of naked fear. He knew. Then I was right up close to him and it was like looking through glass and his burning eyes were upon me, spitting flame. He could not believe it. How could such a worthless beast as I breach his privacy without detection? What power did that mean I owned, or was lent? His face contorted with revulsion. My clothes had become rags.

  I stretched a shaking hand toward him and it was caked with grime, so thin, almost mummified. "I know," I said, and my voice was the voice of the last doomed prophet. "I have seen." He raised his hand to banish me but I spoke first. "Is the one who would be Aghama afraid to hear what this foul creature might say?" And now it was Opalexian's voice that I spoke with. "Didn't you always want me to come here, Thiede? Didn't you once ask me to?"

  He considered for a moment before saying, "Speak then," and there was a certain curiosity in his tone. Thiede still thought he had the ability to get rid of me when he wished.

  "It began with a bullet," I said, "when the soul of a single har rose high, transfixed by your radiance, but unable to reach it. Prevented from reaching it. That suited you didn't it? Even the Aghama can know fear. Pellaz could not reach you because he had no complement. Now I know you wanted it to stay that way; always! 'Come to Immanion, Cal,' you said. 'Be the Tigron's plaything.' Clever of you I suppose. You knew I'd say no to that. You only had to twist the truth a little to keep us apart. Pellaz and I are Wraeththu, Thiede. Fate brought us together, but a very calculating Fate. Pell is Light and I am Dark, but without each other we cannot understand the real Light. Together, we can combine and reach for it. We become you, Thiede. We become the ultimate. You knew that, didn't you? That is why it was so necessary to keep me away from here. Oh, I thought you were being so understanding, so reasonable about it all, didn't I? It was Pell who was the villain of the piece, the spoilt child who wanted something, and stamped and screamed until he got it. I know better now. Thiede, youare holding Wraeththu back, stunting their development. There had to be a Tigron, but it wasn't your idea. No, your part of it was to keep the Tigron to being just one person. That way you could keep all your power. Phaonica is but an illusion, Immanion built of dreams. Your dreams. It shines, it is safe, but it is unbalanced. Pellaz lives in glass; you have made him so pure. But there is still the sleeping seed within him that reaches toward me; the seed that shuts the Tigrina from his heart, that keeps his belief in Us strong. You can cage it, Thiede, but you cannot destroy it." "No, but I can destroy you," Thiede answered, and he was calm and unsurprised. One day, all this would have had to come to light. Thiede was not that blind.

  "Of course you can, and you must," I answered. His face flickered with brief, unspecified shadows.

  "Have you come here then just to tell me what you know and let me dispose of you neatly?" He smiled. "I think not, Calanthe. You're a survivor. You won't give in that easily. Are you trying to fool me?"

  "Perhaps I'm just playing with words. The Aghama can't kill, can he? If he could, he would have got rid of me years ago. No, in destroying me, you destroy yourself. Life is precious isn't it?"

  "What do you want?" His patience was ebbing. He was in no mood for games, which showed he was worried.

  "What do I want? Oh, that's easy. I want you to kill me, as you killed Pellaz. You're going to have to do it, Thiede. You must."

  He smiled wanly. "And create something more powerful than this world has ever known? Destroy myself?"

  "Only in death can you truly become Aghama, Thie
de. Why are you afraid?"

  "You do not know what I feel. It is not fear as you can grasp it. I have always understood that I am mortal, as we all are. Because of this my weakness is my love of flesh, my love of this world; its people, its earth, its feel. I know that is weakness, but it is also my strength because I can admit it. I also know that I have been fighting against the inevitable. I knew you'd show up here one day, to claim what you think is yours. I didn't believe, for a moment, that I'd managed to get rid of you forever. Don't, in your arrogance, think that I'm unaware of that. If I want to, I can know every thought in every Harish head. I began this race, Cal."

  "Yes, you did, and you must let it go on, Thiede. Wraeththu must progress. The next stage must be initiated. Now."

  "And if I don't? What then?"

  "Then Opalexian will make you do it, I'm sure."

  "Opalexian." The name obviously disturbed him. Perhaps he'd heard it in dreams, banished it from his visions.

  "Kamagrian," I said.

  "And what is that?"

  I could not believe he did not already know. "I can show you. It is all inside me. All of it."