The Ghosts of Blood and Innocence

by Storm Constantine

  ‘Mmm.’ Spontaneously, Lileem put her arms about him, and after a moment he returned the embrace. Lileem wept. It was as if her heart had been sealed and now it had opened; a flood of feeling surged out. She knew this wouldn’t be happening if Ponclast hadn’t come to this realm.

  They stood holding each other for a long time, knowing that once the embrace ended, they must face the fact that reality had changed. They would have to act on it.

  Eventually, Lileem pulled away. She rubbed her face, scratched her scalp vigorously. ‘Hashmallim,’ she said. ‘It seems some of your questions at least will be answered, Ponclast.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Now, I’m afraid of what I might learn.’

  ‘We have to face it.’ Lileem touched the wall again. ‘Tezarae? What can they be?’ She turned around and scanned the chamber. The answer of course was obvious. They would lie upon the cubic plinth at the center.

  The tezarae stood upon a surface of glossy obsidian. They were three crystal stones; each was just the right size to fit into one of Lileem’s hands. One was dull black and felt warm to the touch; its facets were blunted. Another was cold like frozen ice; transparent, with hints of white and blue fire flashing within it. Its facets were sharp and had to be handled with care. The last was red with threads of living fire in its center. When Lileem touched it, a strange shock coursed up her arm, similar to electricity, if not exactly that.

  She passed the stones to Ponclast, one at a time. He examined them in silence for some minutes.

  ‘Have you seen anything like this before?’ Lileem asked at last.

  Ponclast put down the last of the stones on the plinth. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Lileem… you know what the message implies.’

  ‘Yes. Behind that portal we found… lies someone or something… The Exile.’

  Ponclast fixed her with a stare. He looked shaken, somehow younger. Lileem saw in his face the har he had once been, perhaps in the first days following his inception, before rage, before fear, before bitterness had taken his youth and his soul. He swallowed with apparent difficulty. ‘It might be we’ve found the Librarian,’ he said.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Lileem and Ponclast reached the portal in the cliffs for a second time, the violet sun ruled the heavens. Its strange fire picked out details in the carvings around the stone door, including more words, although none of them were readable. Lileem had carried the tezarae in the pockets of her skirt; the same ripped skirt she had worn on the day she’d left the gardens of We Dwell in Forever, the home of the Parasilians, in Galhea. She had shared breath with Tyson, the son of Cal, in the gardens of that house. They had slipped away from a feybraiha party, into the night. She had used Tyson, his essence, simply to return to this realm. Now, she could taste him again, and it seemed as if the air around her smelled of a summer garden.

  Lileem arranged the stones in a line before the portal and squatted before them. ‘Well, here we are. What in Aru’s name do we do with them?’

  ‘Strike them,’ Ponclast suggested. ‘The message said we have to sing a song. I think that means we have to make the tezarae sing.’

  Lileem tapped one of them with the ends of her fingers, but it made no sound. She picked up a stone from the ground and used that. Still nothing. ‘How?’ she asked, thinking aloud.

  Ponclast hunkered down beside her. He picked up the black stone and held it in both hands. After some moments, he began to hum beneath his breath.

  ‘Yes,’ Lileem murmured. ‘Maybe…’

  It reminded her of the humming bowls that they used in the temples of Shilalama, the capital city of the Kamagrian in Roselane. At first you don’t think the sound is there, but then it builds up so much it begins to shake the teeth in your head. Ponclast sang to the stone without drawing breath, until he had to stop, but when he lowered the stone, it continued to hum on its own in a low warm tone. Ponclast sent a message to Lileem in mind touch, presumably concerned that the sound of their voices might interfere with the tezar tone: We must make each of them sing. You take the white stone, I’ll take the red.

  Lileem picked up the white stone and sang to it. It responded more swiftly than the black tezar, and vibrated at a higher rate, like the cry of a songbird. A tingle went through her flesh. She grinned at Ponclast and he inclined his head to her. He picked up the red stone.

  The song of the red tezar was piercing and raw. As Ponclast sang to it, the fire in the center of the stone grew brighter. The three tones combined into one ringing note, all the time growing stronger and louder. Lileem was concerned it would bring down the cliff face. The sound reverberated before her eyes and it was like looking at a heat haze. She could see the song with her physical sense. It filled her with a strong feeling of elation. Ponclast took her hand and pointed towards the portal. A shape had formed upon it, wavering through the shimmering air. As she stared at it, it became more definite: the shape of two hands indented in the stone.

  Gradually, the tone died away, leaving a silence that now sounded unnatural, even though there was normally no sound in this realm — no birds singing, no music, only silent stillness. Lileem stood up and approached the portal. The prints were odd, because the thumbs were on the outer sides. She crossed her arms and placed her hands upon the indentations. Deep within the stone, she could feel a resonance still humming. But the portal remained closed. ‘Ponclast,’ she murmured.

  He came to her side and she moved one of her hands, so he could place one of his in the empty space. At once, stronger vibrations coursed up her arm and it felt as if the very atoms of the stone were moving. She could no longer move her fingers.

  After only a short time, Ponclast whipped his hand away and grabbed Lileem’s wrist to prise her away also. It was fortunate that he did. Within seconds, the structure of the portal broke up and disappeared. Nothing was left of it, not even a single particle of dust.

  Lileem nursed her numb hand with the other, which now felt hypersensitive. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I didn’t.’ Ponclast peered into the opening that had appeared before them, not that anything beyond the threshold was visible from the outside. ‘Well, are you ready?’

  Lileem nodded silently. They went into the dark.

  They felt their way along a narrow, low stone corridor. The walls were smooth and felt undecorated beneath Lileem’s fingers, but the air had a definite scent to it; sweet and dusty. As they progressed, dim light bloomed ahead of them, emanating from the fabric of the ceiling itself. After a few minutes, they came to the end of the corridor, which opened out into a small domed chamber. In the center of this stood a huge open sarcophagus.

  Lileem went to its side, hardly conscious of Ponclast beside her. She put her hands on the lip of the stone and stood on tiptoe to look within. Oh sweet dehara, a body. It’s a body, Ponclast.

  Not human, Ponclast responded. And not harish either.

  Lileem had to agree with his assessment. The body was covered in a grey shawl of shimmering material. It was extremely tall, maybe eight feet. Lileem knew she or Ponclast must remove the shroud, but now she was reluctant to see what lay beneath. She had accepted many strange and unbelievable things in her life, but the thought of gazing upon some being completely alien, even if it was dead, unnerved her greatly. Also, because the sarcophagus was so deep, one of them would have to climb inside to accomplish the task. Ponclast intuited Lileem’s feelings even though she didn’t even touch his mind. He patted her shoulder, hitched up his robe and climbed onto the wide lip of the stone.

  Be careful, Lileem advised him.

  He smiled down at her and then dropped lightly to the floor below. There was enough room for him to stand there without touching what lay within. Lileem put her fingers against her mouth. She held her breath. Do it!

  With one final glance at her, perhaps for reassurance, Ponclast leaned down and took the shroud in his hands.

  Lileem closed her eyes, then forced herself to open them again. Ponclast had already d
rawn the shroud down to the body’s neck, no further. He was frozen in position, staring at what lay there. Hashmal!

  Is it? The sight wasn’t too dreadful, yet even so, Lileem felt slightly faint. The body appeared to be perfectly preserved. Its face was abnormally long with a high smooth brow. Its nose was straight, its mouth pale and sensual. The eyes were closed. Perhaps it was just a carving. But no statue would have hair like that, long and white. The whole thing was covered in a silvery patina of dust.

  Ponclast removed the rest of the shroud. The body was clad in dark robes, its arms positioned crossed over the breast. The hands looked huge, with weirdly long fingers.

  ‘I think it’s all right to speak aloud,’ Ponclast said, looking up at Lileem.

  ‘Do you think he was walled up here alive?’ Lileem asked.

  ‘Could have been, but in that case he was either a willing sacrifice or was drugged.’

  ‘He looks peaceful… Is he a Hashmal?’

  ‘I can’t say for certain. It was just a first impression. He has a look of the Hashmallim, the long face, the height. He looks similar to a human or a har, but there’s something not quite right, something that marks him as ‘other’.’

  ‘What now?’ Lileem said. ‘We opened this place, but all we’ve found is a corpse.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  Lileem laughed. ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t think this is a corpse.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Why not?’

  ‘Because it’s breathing.’

  Lileem took a step back. ‘Get out of there!’ She was filled with an irrational fear, similar, she supposed, to how phobics feel when faced with the cause of their phobia. She had a gut instinct to flee. If that thing was alive…

  ‘Lileem, it’s all right. Really.’

  Lileem forced her breathing to slow down, steeled herself. For whatever reason, Ponclast wasn’t frightened, so neither was she. Taking a deep breath, she clambered up onto the top of the sarcophagus, then joined Ponclast inside. Close to, it was easier to discern the slight rise and fall of the body’s breast.

  ‘I suppose we should touch him,’ she said, ‘try to wake him.’ She squatted down, holding herself together with the greatest of effort. The body gave off a strange scent, a more concentrated aroma of the sweet dusty smell that filled the air.

  ‘It might be too much of a shock,’ Ponclast said. ‘Who knows how long he’s been like this?’

  Lileem extended her hand, intending to touch the body gently, simply to see if it was warm, but found she couldn’t make herself do it. It was as if her physical self screamed in rebellion at what her mind demanded. ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘It’s too alien, too strange.’ She was on the verge of hysteria, and couldn’t help imagining those weird eyes snapping open to fix her with a gaze that would drive her insane. She had to get out.

  ‘Fetch the tezarae,’ Ponclast said. ‘Perhaps we should activate them again, put them on or near to him.’

  ‘Yes, good idea.’ She stood up.

  Ponclast gripped one of her shoulders. ‘I thought I’d lose my mind the first time I met a Hashmal. It’s something we’re not meant to see, I think. But because of my experiences, this is easier for me than for you.’

  Lileem nodded and went to fetch the stones. Once she had them in her hands, they seemed to soothe her. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. This is why you’ve been here. It’s the answer. Don’t be afraid. By the time she returned to the domed chamber, she felt better, less disorientated.

  Ponclast arranged the tezarae alongside the body, and then activated them in the same order as before: black, white, red. Lileem was content to remain outside the sarcophagus and observe, grateful for Ponclast’s presence. She wasn’t sure she could have done this alone, but then it was doubtful she’d have found the chamber if Ponclast hadn’t been there.

  Once the stones were singing, Ponclast climbed out and stood beside Lileem. He put an arm around her and she did likewise to him. They waited.

  Later, Lileem could not remember what she expected to happen. Perhaps a shuddering sigh, the eyelids flickering open. Perhaps even a collapse to dust. What she did not expect was the scream.

  It was the most terrible cry she had ever heard or could imagine. It was an expression of the ultimate torment and pain. Lileem and Ponclast hugged each other tightly, both aware the other was powerless to move or act, even when the most merciful thing to do seemed to be to break the neck of the creature emitting the sound.

  Eventually, Ponclast released Lileem and jumped into the sarcophagus. Lileem cried, ‘No!’ and then hurled herself against the stone. ‘Ponclast!’ She saw that he had gathered the screaming creature to him, one arm about its shoulders, his free hand pressed against its face, which he held to his breast. The face looked huge, repulsive in its unnatural size, even though the features were handsome. The mouth was a yawning dark cave. Ponclast put his mouth against it, breathed into it. It was a horrible sight, and Lileem was afraid that huge maw would somehow suck Ponclast into it.

  ‘Ponclast…’ Lileem could speak normally now, because the screaming had stopped. The creature lay trembling and panting in Ponclast’s arms, its eyes wide, its mouth now hanging only slightly open.

  Ponclast glanced up at Lileem. ‘It’s all right.’

  The pitiful state of the creature made it no longer an object of terror. Lileem climbed into the sarcophagus and knelt on the other side of the creature’s body. She lifted one of its enormous hands in both her own, and the fingers clasped her, like bony serpents. She felt fear, but it didn’t belong to her. ‘You’re safe,’ she said. ‘Can you understand us?’

  The creature turned its head, looked directly at her. She shuddered. It was so ancient a gaze. ‘Speak more,’ it croaked. ‘Need hear words. Learn.’

  Lileem glanced at Ponclast, who shrugged. ‘Tell him your story.’

  ‘I am Lileem of the Kamagrian,’ Lileem began. ‘A creature of Earth.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  For some while after his initial meeting with the Thanax, Loki avoided them. He hoped that his presence, his living warmth, his sympathy, would somehow impel them to help him — plus the fact he had made an offer to some day help them in return. How he would do that exactly he had no idea, but he presumed, if he was reunited with his family, Pellaz and Cal would know what to do. Sometimes, he noticed the three Thanax trailing him as he ventured around the empty city of towers. He did not come across any of the hostile individuals that they had warned him of.

  One time, Loki went over to Apanage for dinner and found that Diablo wished to communicate. ‘Remain here,’ he said. ‘Someone wishes to speak with you.’

  Diablo’s choice of words did not escape Loki: ‘someone’ not ‘somehar’.

  ‘Who and what is this individual?’ Loki asked.

  ‘He will tell you himself, no doubt,’ Diablo replied gruffly. ‘Don’t wander off.’

  Loki didn’t like spending time in Apanage. It was full of noxious emanations, which he supposed seeped from Diablo’s bitter soul. ‘Where is Geburael?’ he asked.

  Diablo shrugged. ‘Around.’

  Loki sighed deeply. He went to the top of the tower, where to him the air felt cleaner. He didn’t know who or what to expect, although he thought that if Ponclast himself appeared in a puff of smoke, he wouldn’t be surprised.

  He became aware he was not alone only when his skin prickled with the sensation of being watched. Loki jumped, and then noticed that a figure was sitting upon a stone seat set into the wall, regarding him intently. This individual appeared superficially harish, but also emanated ‘other’. Loki had no doubt at all that this was the person Diablo wished him to meet. The stranger’s long blue-black hair hung in two braids over his shoulders. His clothes, a plain robe with silver embroidery at the hem, covered by a wide sleeved open coat, were nearly the same color as his hair. His skin was dead white, the face long and narrow, and his eyes… they weren’t like eyes at al
l, but rather smoking holes of azure radiance.

  ‘Loki,’ said the stranger. ‘Approach me.’

  Loki remained where he was, some yards away. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I am Zikael, amanuensis of the Hashmallim. Do not be afraid. I wish only to speak with you.’

  Loki eyed the creature with trepidation. If a snarling, starving lion had said a similar thing to him, he would have been less afraid. Zikael was an embodiment of terror, albeit in a beautiful form. I can trust nothing he says, Loki thought, but forced his limbs to propel him forward.

  Zikael inclined his head. ‘You know of my people?’ he asked.

  Loki nodded. ‘I have been told of the Hashmallim’s involvement in the last war between the Wraeththu tribes.’

  ‘You know you were conceived during that final battle?’

  ‘Yes, I know that too.’

  ‘Because of that circumstance, there is more of us in you than you realise. We look upon you as our son as much as your harish parents do.’

  ‘I already have too many parents,’ Loki said dryly.

  Zikael laughed, and it was a free ringing sound; the laugh of a creature who knows neither fear nor pain in his life. ‘Sometimes, individuals are created who are more than the sum of their parts. They are the beings of legends, remembered as the sons of gods for their exploits. You are such a har, Loki. It is your destiny to become a historical figure.’

  ‘What is it you want of me?’ Loki asked. Did this Hashmal think him so naïve and gullible as to be swayed by flattery?

  ‘Those whom I serve wish you to be given all the information that has been kept from you. It is not our wish to fight against you and your kind, Loki har Aralis. Far from it. We are opposed to waste.’

  ‘Who do you serve?’

  ‘Among my people, there are many divisions, as there are among harakind. You mirror us in many ways. For example, as in the earthly realm, there are two main factions, with many smaller ones who affiliate themselves to their best advantage. The smaller ones are troops, essentially. It is like the Gelaming and the Varrs.’