His black hair was very short, cropped close to his head. It looked brutal, authoritarian and intimidating, which Terzian suspected was the intention, but there was also a suggestion of military efficiency, a quality noticeably absent from the other hara.
Terzian watched those long legs flex around the horse’s body again, driving the spurs into its side. Not for the first time, he let his imagination stray, conjuring images of those legs wrapped around his own body – unclothed. The marble-hard thigh muscles taut and defined, a product of all those hours in the saddle, the hardness between those legs which owed nothing to the riding of animals…
Against the saddle of his mount, between his own legs, Terzian felt a slow, rhythmic pulse accompanied by a flush of warmth. The horse danced a little under him, its movement only serving to increase his arousal. At that moment, Ponclast turned his head to stare long and hard at Terzian, as if he had been able to feel the other har’s gaze upon him. Terzian suspected that he could do so; there was a mystery to Ponclast that Terzian did not fully understand. He silently hoped that the other har had not been able to sense any of his private fantasies. Their eyes locked for a moment, and Terzian knew with certainty that he had.
Ponclast spurred his mount and rode over, a black silhouette in stark relief against the white snow; a carrion crow of a har. He sat upright in the saddle, back straight, no sign of fatigue, although the group had been travelling for several days non-stop.
Terzian found himself offering up a brief salute as Ponclast arrived; it seemed the natural thing to do. Ponclast acknowledged the gesture with a curt nod of his head.
“They’re too slow,” he remarked, almost accusingly, as if he expected Terzian to personally increase the speed of each and every lagging har.
“They’re tired. Exhausted. What do you expect?”
“I expect they will perish.”
Terzian’s face registered his dismay at this gloomy prognosis. Ponclast eyed him carefully, hawk-like in his intensity, and Terzian realized this was some sort of test. Of what, he wasn’t entirely sure, but it sent a small stab of irritation through him.
“Well then we’ll have to do something to prevent that, won’t we?” he snapped.
Ponclast maintained his scrutiny for a few more seconds, as if coming to a decision, then his expression changed into what Terzian eventually realised – with shock – was a smile. It was not a reassuring look.
“Yes,” he said, “Yes, we will. You and I.” The smile-that-was-not-a-smile widened, displaying white, even teeth which in other circumstances might have been considered attractive, but in Terzian’s mind only conjured images of sharks and tigers and other nameless nightmare beasts.
Ponclast edged his horse up against Terzian’s, positioning himself close enough so that he could stretch out a comradely hand and lay it on Terzian’s shoulder. The hand was sheathed in a black leather glove. In spite of himself, Terzian felt a small flicker of electricity run through his flesh at that touch.
“Look at them,” Ponclast said, indicating with a desultory nod of his head the mass of hara milling and stamping on the frozen ground. “They’re sheep. Every one of them. Lost without someone to guide them. To lead them.”
Terzian gritted his teeth. “And that would be you, I suppose?”
Ponclast slapped his shoulder with his gloved hand. “You and me. Together. I can’t do this alone – I need someone to share the responsibility. To share the burden”
“Don’t patronize me,” Terzian growled. “I don’t think you’re the sort of har who needs anyone to hold your hand.”
Ponclast roared with laughter.
“You’re quite right, Terzian. I don’t need any forelock-tugging, awe-struck acolytes. I need a har with the ability to lead and to take decisions and to think for himself, and that, as you have just so ably demonstrated, is you, Terzian.”
Terzian was somewhat mollified, although he still considered that Ponclast was attempting to manipulate him through flattery.
“We don’t have the luxury of being fragile little flowers who need reassurance about their own importance,” Ponclast continued, making Terzian wonder if the other har really could overhear his thoughts. He resolved to be more circumspect in his internal opinions around this har, if such a thing were even possible.
“You and me, Terzian. We’re going to have to lead this tribe. We’re going to have to run things. Because there is no one else.”
Terzian knew that Ponclast was right. In this world, there were leaders, and there were followers, and Terzian had an innate sense of which category he belonged to.
“We can’t stay here,” Ponclast went on, obviously assuming Terzian’s complete agreement on the matter just discussed. “There’s little in the way of shelter, and the weather is only going to get worse. We’re running out of food, too.”
“What do you suggest?” Terzian asked
Ponclast displayed his white teeth again.
“There’s a town about an hour’s ride from here.”
“I know that,” said Terzian. “It’s occupied. By humans.”
“I think we should make it… unoccupied.”
“Really?” Terzian scrutinized Ponclast’s face, trying to determine if he was serious. “And how do you intend to do that? Are you just going to ask them to leave?”
Ponclast affected sincerity. “Do you think that would work?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You’re quite right. “I think we’re going to have to go down the traditional route of mindless violence and the excessive use of force.”
“That’s your plan? I can’t say it fills me with confidence.”
“Oh, Terzian, have a little faith. They’re only humans, after all.”
“I think you’ll find they’re armed humans. With an irrational dislike of Wraeththu-kind. They can be pretty dangerous, as I recall.”
Ponclast made a cutting gesture with the side of his hand. “And we are armed hara, but that is of little consequence one way or another.”
“Try telling that to all the dead hara we’ve left behind.”
“Too many, I agree. It is time for us to fight back, Terzian. Time to bring the fight to the enemy. On our terms, not his.”
“What do you mean?”
Ponclast gave Terzian’s mount a slap on the rear with his hand. The beast snorted, laid back its ears and edged forward a few paces nervously. Terzian snatched at the reins to control the animal.
“Come on,” Ponclast urged. “It’ll be dark in an hour. We need to get camp set up. Come to my tent and we will dine together. We can talk more then. In the meantime, let’s get these useless, lazy hara moving.”
With a kick of his spurs, Ponclast set off into the gathering gloom, shouting a mixture of curses and encouragement at the assembled hara. Terzian watched him go, his face an unreadable mask. Then he set off at a brisk canter to join the sudden flurry of activity.
Ponclast’s tent was luxurious compared with the accommodation afforded to most of the rest of the tribe, but that was scant comfort. The reality was a mouldering collection of rugs, fabric, and ancient, rank animal skins stretched over an unsteady frame. The icy wind found its way easily through the many gaps in the structure, and the smell was something that Terzian found did not easily dissipate from a har’s hair or body even once he had left the source behind.
Nevertheless, as the snow started to fall again, and the last of the daylight died, it was still a better place to be than outside.
The interior was lit – dimly – by a couple of small and improvised oil lamps. Their greasy flames added a smoky undertone to the complex perfume of damp and decay enveloping the place.
Terzian’s nose wrinkled involuntarily, but he did not complain. His own dwelling, if it could be dignified with such a term, was no more than a few sheets of some tough, synthetic material he had salvaged from a rubbish pile. In comparison, Ponclast’s lair was positively magnificent in its opulence.
“P
lease, do come in.” Ponclast said, holding the tent flap open for him in a welcoming manner. As Terzian entered, Ponclast grasped his hand and shook it firmly, a gesture that Terzian found slightly bizarre both in its unexpectedness and its conventionality. Harish tribes had been quick to cast off human customs and invent their own rituals and greetings. He felt Ponclast’s other hand, still gloved, investigate further up his arm, and realized that the gesture had been reclaimed for its original, more practical purpose. Ponclast was checking if he was armed.
Naturally the knife was removed from him.
“I hope you don’t mind,” said Ponclast smoothly, in a tone which informed him that it made no difference whether he did or not, “But I’ve learned to be cautious.”
“Of course, “Terzian said, “As have we all.”
“Please, do take a seat.” Ponclast indicated a lumpy pile of fabric set some distance above the ground.
“Thank you.” Terzian settled himself carefully on the rags. Ponclast’s polite, mannered formality unnerved him a little. In times of apocalyptic upheaval and the general breakdown of society, etiquette tended to be one of the first things abandoned. The scattered, half-feral Wraeththu tribes who wandered these desolate plains were not known for their social graces. Terzian found that he appreciated Ponclast’s attempt to maintain certain standards of civilized behaviour, even in the most uncivilized of circumstances.
Ponclast slid his gloved hand into one of the large pockets inside his long, black coat. He produced a metal implement with a wicked looking pointed claw at one end. Terzian felt his muscles tense involuntarily, but Ponclast merely reached down and removed a round metal container from a pile of similar objects sitting on the floor. He plunged the pointed claw into the cylinder and ripped a jagged hole in the top. With a polite smile, he handed it to Terzian.
In the dim light, Terzian had no idea what was actually in the can, but he hadn’t eaten all day, and the intriguing smell of its contents overcame even the sour background miasma, so he thrust his fingers into it, taking care to avoid the jagged metal edges, and began to excavate the contents.
Ponclast repeated the performance with another can, then once again delved in his pocket and produced a tiny spoon with which he delicately scooped small morsels of food from the can and ate them as fastidiously as a cat. For no reason he could think of, Terzian felt vaguely embarrassed by his own method.
“Have a drink.” Ponclast pointed to a bottle of clear liquid sitting next to the pile of cans. Terzian picked it up, sniffed and slugged a mouthful. The raw alcohol burned his mouth and traced its warm fingers down into the pit of his empty stomach.
“This is… very nice,” he said, with all the sincerity he could muster.
Ponclast put down his spoon and gave him a piercing stare with his hawk-eyes
“No,” he said carefully “No, it is not. It is quite vile. As is this abominable tent, the execrable weather, and all the tedious indignities of our pathetic circumstances. This is not living; this is merely a squalid, meaningless existence which not even animals should be forced to suffer.”
Terzian did not even bother to disagree.
“We cannot survive like this,” Ponclast continued. “Which is why we must take action to improve our lot – and sooner rather than later.”
“They will have supplies at the town,” Terzian mused, finishing off the contents of his can. “We could wait till after moon-down and mount a raid.”
Ponclast sighed. “My dear Terzian, a few stolen scraps will not keep us for long, nor do anything to mitigate our wretchedness in the long term. We need more than that. We need the entire town.”
“Are you seriously intending to mount an all-out attack?”
“I am.”
“That’s crazy!” Terzian set down the can, which he found he’d been clenching tightly in his hand “The population of that town must be – what, approaching five or six thousand? Maybe more. And the majority will be adult men and women equipped with firearms and ready and willing to use them.”
“You forget one thing, Terzian. They are merely humans. We, on the other hand, are Wraeththu.”
Terzian laughed out loud. “Very nice propaganda speech, Ponclast, but ideology is no match for guns.”
“Actually,” said Ponclast smoothly, “that is where you are wrong, Terzian.” He reached yet again into his voluminous pockets, whose depths appeared home to an almost endless supply of artefacts, and to the other har’s alarm produced a pistol, which he raised and pointed steadily at Terzian’s head.
“What are you doing? Put that away, put it down, there’s no need… No!”
Terzian watched in horror as Ponclast’s leather-encased finger squeezed firmly on the trigger, pulling it back to its furthest reach. There was a faint click, and nothing happened.
“What the…? Fuck!”
“Now, Terzian, we don’t use that word anymore.”
“I’ll use any fucking word I want! What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?”
Ponclast regarded the gun lovingly and ran his hand down its barrel seductively.
“Technology, Terzian. Human technology. Have you ever thought about it? How it works? What has to happen to make it work? This gun, for example… Do you know how much effort went into making it? Metal was mined and smelted, machines were constructed to manufacture the parts, the parts were assembled, in the correct way. It’s a simple machine in many ways, a gun, yet complex enough that just one failing part can render it useless.”
“We are not humans, Terzian,” There was a tiny light of something resembling fanaticism in his eyes which Terzian found vaguely disturbing. “We do not need the crutch of crude technology, because we have a different way of addressing the universe. We can see beyond the mundane façade of what humans think of as the real world. We can touch the divine – be one with the energy that binds everything together.”
“You’re completely mad, aren’t you?”
It was Ponclast’s turn to laugh.
“Perhaps a little, but there is truth in what I say, Terzian. A speck of gold buried in the mud and grit that threatens to obscure it, waiting to be washed free by the careful prospector. Let me be a little more prosaic, since I can see that you are not a har given to fancy. Wraeththu are different from humans in more than just the obvious way which we all know and enjoy to its fullest. We have psychic abilities, too. Telepathy, telekinesis, the ability to use and manipulate energies inherent in the very fabric of matter and space.
“Oh, most of the lumpen herd of common hara will never develop these abilities to any noticeable extent, but a few of us are gifted beyond the average, and with dedication and study, we can expand these latent talents beyond our wildest imaginations.
“Look at me, Terzian, and tell me that you do not believe. You cannot, because you know it is true. Deep within yourself, you know.”
Terzian was on the verge of dismissing Ponclast’s assertions as the rantings of a lunatic, and yet some part of him wanted – needed – to believe that it could be true. If it were not, he could see no future for himself and his kind but more of this grim, meaningless journey through a life of hardship and danger. Ponclast offered something more – not a better life in itself, perhaps, but the hope that such a thing could be possible, and hope was always better than despair.
“And if it is true,” he said cautiously, “exactly how does that help us in our current situation.”
“It helps us, Terzian, because that which can be done to one gun can be done to many. The humans will defend their town with their idiot, fallible technology in which they have so much faith, and I will cause it to fail, as I caused this gun to fail. An atom can alter an entire universe, if moved in a particular way. Without their guns, the humans are nothing.”
“And once they are disarmed, you intend to kill them?”
Ponclast rolled his eyes melodramatically. “No, I thought we would simply give them a good talking-to!”
Terzian flushed sli
ghtly, in spite of himself.
“There is no room for sentimentality and squeamishness.” Ponclast continued, with some agitation. “This is war, Terzian. A war to the death, them or us, and it’s going to be us, make no mistake about that. If you do not believe that with every fibre of your being, then you may as well pull the trigger on that gun right now, and I will not intervene in any way this time.”
“I have killed humans when the need arose, and I can do so again,” Terzian stated flatly. “However, the adolescent boys can be incepted, and the women make good servants. No point in wasting resources.”
Ponclast appeared delighted. “I underestimated you, Terzian. You have a strategist’s brain. That will prove useful to us in time. Do you have any other suggestions?”
“Wait another three days. The moon is full at the moment, and rises early. In three days time, it will be behind the hills after midnight, giving us the cover of darkness when the townspeople are at their most vulnerable.”
“The element of surprise,” Ponclast agreed. “It has much to recommend it. We have sufficient supplies to last us three days, and it will give us time to prepare before we strike, swiftly, from out of the dark. I shall use the time to build up my energies. You can assist me with that, Terzian. If you are willing.” He paused meaningfully. “Are you willing, Terzian?”
Terzian stared at Ponclast. In the dim light, the other har seemed different. A change had come upon him, like a lizard which slowly alters its colouration to suit its background. His skin had taken on a soft radiance. The close-cropped hair no longer seemed so harsh and masculine, but looked like plush velvet, inviting touch. The sharp angles of his face now revealed a refined and sculpted bone structure beneath, and the dark eyes were large and liquid.
Terzian felt a dizzying rush of lust. He realized, with something like surprise, that it had been many weeks since he had taken aruna. Circumstances had been difficult, and his energy had been focused elsewhere. Besides, if he were to be honest, there were few – if any – hara within his group whom he considered attractive. Certainly none who had been able to ignite such a rush of desire quite so effortlessly as Ponclast had done.
Paragenesis: Stories of the Dawn of Wraeththu Page 23
