Paragenesis: Stories of the Dawn of Wraeththu

by Constantine, Storm

  “We must! We have to go back. Moth is there!”

  Terzian looked at the har closely. He looked very young, probably only a year or so past inception, if that. He had been one of Terzian’s original band – a name, Lirren, attached itself to the face – and Terzian remembered vaguely that he seemed always to be in the company of another har, brown of hair and skin. Moth; as soft and silent as his namesake. The two were inseparable, and apparently did not take aruna with any other hara, if the rumours were to be believed. While Terzian did not actively discourage this behaviour, he considered it slightly abnormal nevertheless. Now, looking down at the distraught young har’s wet, tear-streaked face, he realised that he should have put a stop to it much earlier. Too late to do anything about it now.

  “If Moth is back there, then he is dead,” he said, surprising even himself with the blunt cruelty of that statement. This was not the time for softening blows.

  The har wailed piteously in denial, struggling furiously, but unable to free himself from Terzian’s iron grip.

  “Let me go!” he cried desperately, “I have to find him. Just let me go! Please!”

  Terzian hesitated. The har looked at him with pleading eyes, large and grey. Terzian made his decision, and with a snarl of disapproval released him. Without a backward glance Lirren ran off toward the flames and smoke and welcoming gunfire. Terzian shrugged and turned his back on the vanishing har, resuming his efforts to guide the other hara to safety. If that idiot wants to kill himself, then let him do it. There are others who want to live.

  Ponclast was eventually discovered back at the encampment, in his own tent. Terzian didn’t even try to conceal his anger.

  “There are at least a hundred dead hara back there!” he snapped, jabbing his forefinger furiously in the direction of the town, where a dull orange glow could still be seen illuminating the horizon.

  “I am aware of that.”

  “Are you now? And what do you intend to do about it? Wave your magic wand or your pretty lights and bring them back to life?”

  “Don’t be facetious, Terzian, it’s not your style at all. This is a setback, true, but the concept is sound. We simply need more power.”

  “I’m glad you think it’s that simple.”

  “But it is, Terzian! I admit, I am inexperienced in these matters, and at present lack the required abilities to defeat an entire town. However, in time I shall increase my strength, and then we will be unstoppable.”

  “We don’t have time,” Terzian said bleakly.

  Ponclast laced his gloved fingers together thoughtfully and frowned.

  “You’re right,” he said “The road to enlightenment and knowledge is a long and weary one. We do not have the luxury of setting our feet upon that trail, narrow and difficult as it is. But there is another path we might take, a different direction…”

  Terzian sighed heavily. He had little time for Ponclast’s more fanciful notions; he wanted straight answers and certainties.

  “We need more power, Terzian,” Ponclast insisted, “and if it is not available to us by legitimate means, then we shall have to acquire by… other means.”

  “Get to the point.”

  Ponclast beckoned with his finger. “Come, sit here beside me Terzian. Now, tell me, what do you know of gods?”

  Terzian laughed derisively. “There are no gods! Gods are the invention of humans – pathetic creatures too scared to face the world without their comforters.”

  “Is that so? And what of the Aghama?”

  “What of him?”

  “Does he exist? Or is he an invention too?”

  Terzian shrugged. “How should I know?”

  “If he does not exist, then where did we come from?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Come now, Terzian, you must have thought about it. It is quite evident that we did not spring from nowhere. There must have been a first.”

  “I suppose so,” Terzian agreed somewhat grudgingly

  “And this first Wraeththu has taken on a great significance among his diaspora; we have accorded him the status of deity, and named him Aghama. Some hara worship him.”

  Terzian grunted in disgust. “I don’t!”

  “It doesn’t matter whether you do or not, Terzian,” Ponclast continued calmly. “Neither does it matter if this first Wraeththu still lives and walks among us, as some believe, or whether, as is more likely, he died some ignominious death at the hands of humans. He is an ideal, an archetype, an external expression of a particular part of the Wraeththu psyche. A method by which hara might, with diligence, discover their own inner deity.”

  “And what does this have to do with capturing the town?”

  Ponclast smiled grimly. “There are other areas of the Wraeththu psyche, Terzian. Darker areas, areas with fewer rules or self-imposed restrictions. And there is power to be had by accessing these areas. More power, in fact, than is available by the…”

  “…legitimate..?”

  “…methods. Quite so. I see we understand each other, Terzian.”

  “Perhaps. Do you really think this is something we should be considering?”

  “And what else would you have me do?” Ponclast’s irritation manifested itself. “How else would you have me protect our kind? I am all too aware of the implications of what I am proposing, Terzian, never think otherwise, but we have little choice. Would you prefer that I just fold my arms, thank the Aghama for this bounteous lesson in life, and quietly allow us all to perish? I will not do that, Terzian – I will use whatever methods are necessary to ensure our survival, whatever tools are at our disposal.

  “And you, Terzian. Are you willing to sacrifice more Wraeththu lives on the altar of your principals?” Ponclast gave him a hard stare “You, who were so nobly incensed by the needless deaths of our comrades such a short while ago? If you want to save the rest of our tribe, you will have to sacrifice something in return. The energy of the universe must balance. Its momentum must be conserved. One does not get something for nothing.”

  Terzian found that he had no answer. Ponclast was right – they could not afford to be overly fastidious about how they chose to wage this war they were engaged in. What mattered was victory, not how it was achieved.

  He remembered the events of three nights ago, in this very tent. This felt like the same thing; a surrender, a giving-up of some part of himself. It was the price he had to pay for his own survival.

  Ponclast must have sensed his acquiescence, because he leaned over and laid his hand on Terzian’s arm, patting it reassuringly.

  “You know I’m right.” he said “You know this is the only way. We cannot shy away from the realities of life simply because we find some of them distasteful. When fate summons us, we must be ready to meet the challenge. We must be a match for it. We must not fail in our moment of truth. We must dare to do what must be done.” He rubbed his gloved hands together. “Now, come – button your coat, it’s cold out. And it’s time to get down to business.”

  Terzian paused for a moment, then stood up, carefully fastened his worn overcoat and followed Ponclast through the loose flap in the tent that served as a door.

  Outside, a blizzard had descended upon the camp. Hard, frozen pellets of snow were being driven almost sideways by the wind, which howled as if it were a cousin to the timber wolves. Terzian hunched his shoulders and lowered his head into the oncoming blast, feeling its harsh and gritty fury scouring his skin.

  A har could wish for more weatherproof clothing on such a night as this, he thought. In fact, a har could wish for many things – a warm bed, clean sheets, a full belly and a safe haven from both the storm and the naked aggression of the human race, none of which would come to him unless he were prepared to fight for them and take them – by whatever means necessary.

  Ponclast headed away from the main encampment, towards a small stand of trees some distance away, with Terzian following behind, clutching his inadequate coat as tightly around his body as he could. T
he moon must surely have risen by now, but its cold light was hidden behind the cloud; it was pitch black, so black even the snow underfoot was as dark as bare earth.

  Fortunately for them, the thicket of trees was quite dense and provided some shelter from both the wind and the driving snow. Ponclast fought his way through the tangle of bushes and long grass under and around the trees, tearing at the vegetation with his hands, until they came to a small clearing in the middle of the wooded area.

  It was an open area, roughly circular in shape, measuring approximately twelve of Terzian’s longest strides in diameter. The snowfall of the past few days lay undisturbed here, white and even.. Terzian and Ponclast stopped at the edge of the clearing, both breathing heavily from their exertions.

  “Why are we here?” asked Terzian. It seemed a little too convenient, this magic circle in the middle of nowhere, as if Ponclast had planned all this in advance.

  “You’ll see.” Ponclast rummaged in his endless pockets and produced a small leather pouch. He fastidiously removed a glove, pulling each leather finger in turn, then undid the cord holding the neck of the pouch closed and thrust his bare hand inside. When he pulled it out his clenched fist was full of some substance Terzian could not see.

  “Stay there,” he said.

  He walked halfway into the centre of the clearing and began carefully sprinkling a dark powdery substance into the snow in a thin line. He walked around the clearing, marking a circle in the snow. Outside the circle, his footprints left a trail all the way around, but inside the snow remained virgin and untouched. As Ponclast walked, Terzian could hear him chanting strange words, the shapes and sounds of which were like no language Terzian had ever encountered before. They seemed louder in his ears than they should have been, echoing metallically inside his head, driving out his own thoughts.

  Ponclast finished his circuit and rejoined Terzian. He took the last of the dark powder from his bag, and, dropping it in a thin stream, completed the circle. Immediately the sounds inside Terzian’s head stopped, as did all the external noise; the wind, the dry rattle of the snow, the thrashing branches of the trees. An unearthly silence descended, and with it came an oppressive sense of anticipation.

  Within the circle, the air appeared to glow slightly, flickering like a guttering candle flame. In its centre, Terzian thought he could make out some strange shapes twisting and writhing, forming and reforming. As he watched he thought he caught a glimpse of something familiar, but every time he tried to focus on the images, they dissolved and regenerated into something else.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded. “What’s happening?”

  Ponclast was staring into the writhing mass, a curious, wide-eyed look of horror upon his face that might almost have been comical under other circumstances.

  “We are summoning demons, Terzian. Or gods. It’s all the same thing.”

  It was quite apparent now to Terzian that Ponclast had planned this all some time in advance. He wondered if Ponclast had ever believed that his attempt to disable the townspeople’s guns would succeed. Obviously he was the type of har who liked to have a backup plan.

  “What’s happening?” Terzian repeated, somewhat resentful that Ponclast had not chosen to divulge his plans to him, and also, if he were to admit it to himself, rather curious about what would happen next.

  “We must enter the circle. We must confront our demons in order to become our own gods.”

  Terzian wondered if Ponclast had finally misplaced what remained of his sanity. The light within the circle was steadier now, losing its inchoate formlessness and becoming a steady beacon, drawing the onlookers inwards. It looked to Terzian like the moon had fallen from the heavens and now rested earthbound on the snow, glowing silver in the blackness.

  Within the clearing, the wind began to stir again, gently at first, then with increasing strength, blowing loose strands of Terzian’s hair across his face, blinding him momentarily, and setting up a dismal, grief-laden moan all around them. It seemed as if the air was rushing headlong into the circle of light, creating a vacuum into which everything else around might also be drawn.

  Terzian pushed the whipping tendrils of hair away from his eyes and mouth. The wind was pushing him –or perhaps pulling him– toward the circle. He had no idea what would happen if he were to step into that light. Nor, he suspected, did Ponclast.

  He turned to look at his companion. Ponclast’s eyes were closed, and he was making small, protective signs with his hands, tracing unknown symbols and sigils in the air, only to have them torn away by the buffeting blast of the wind.

  “Are you going in?” Terzian found that he had to shout to make his voice heard above the din of the howling gale; he could barely hear himself. He wondered if Ponclast had heard him at all. The other har showed no signs of acknowledging his query; his eyes remained shut and his hands continued their nervous flutterings.

  Suppressing his irritation, Terzian leaned over towards Ponclast and shouted in his ear.

  “ARE. YOU. GOING. IN?”

  Ponclast’s eyes fluttered open, and Terzian could see the fear in them.

  “I cannot,” he said, his voice cracked and barely audible above the roar of the wind. He winced, as if in pain. “I dare not.”

  Terzian could contain his annoyance no longer. He had not come out here on this filthy night with a har he considered to be half-mad merely to watch an entertaining light show.

  “This was your idea!” he bellowed. The wind tore the words from him, despite the force behind them. “You’re supposed to know what to do. You can’t just back out now.”

  It was plain from the look on Ponclast’s face that he could, and would.

  Terzian snorted in disgust, and without hesitation, walked forward and into the circle of light.

  He stepped over the carefully-drawn circumference of the circle and into an unexpected oasis of calm; the wind ceased to buffet his body and torment his ears, the cold retreated from his extremities, and the blackness of the night was replaced by a cool, ambient glow all around him. It took him a few moments to adjust to the sudden change; he felt disorientated by the jarring transition from storm to calm, from night to apparent day, and from forest glade to… somewhere else.

  He looked around for Ponclast, but could see no sign of the other har, which did not surprise him. There was no snow underfoot, no trees and no sky visible above. He had no idea if he was still in the clearing or not. He wondered if he should announce his presence, but that seemed foolish. He had no idea what he had let himself in for, or what his fate would be now that he had entered this strange place. Better simply to let whatever was to happen take its own course.

  He waited expectantly, alert for any sign of danger. Every nerve in his body was taut and stretched. At any moment, he expected to be consumed by fire, or cast down into a bottomless pit, or have any number of nameless horrors visited upon him. What he did not expect was the low, musical voice which spoke into his ear.

  “Why is it you are here, Terzian?”

  The voice came from behind him. He spun round, half expecting to see nothing at all, but was startled to find himself in the presence of a tall creature, more than twice his own height, whom he was sure had not been there when he entered the circle.

  Terzian tried to reply, but his mouth was dry with fear. The thing in front of him was neither har nor human, of that he was sure, yet Terzian felt reluctant to accord it the status of either demon or god that Ponclast had spoken of. For all its strangeness, there was a familiarity about it. It was like himself, he could see that – its hermaphrodite nature announced very clearly by the wet, pulsating orifice between its legs, petalled mouth pouting and dripping an iridescent fluid, surmounted by the enormous erect phallus which the creature gripped tightly with one hand, apparently to support its unusual length.

  Terzian did not know whether to be repulsed or aroused by this unusual sight. He tried to look away, but found he could not; his fascination was too great.

/>   “Who are you?” he asked, his heart sinking at the utter banality of the question.

  The creature laughed. It was a pleasant sound, the voice pitched neither high nor low.

  “You know the answer to that, Terzian,” it said. “Or at least you will. In time.”

  Terzian shook his head. “I don’t know who or what you are, or where you have come from, or what you want.”

  Again the creature laughed, or produced the sound which Terzian had taken to be a laugh before. On second hearing, he was not quite so sure. Like every other aspect of the creature, its laughter was at the same time both disturbingly familiar and utterly alien. Its face appeared harish in configuration, beautiful and alluring, with large dark eyes, but upon closer inspection Terzian could see that the eyes had no whites; they were simply black ovals set in the creature’s face, reflecting neither light from outside nor emotion from within.

  “It is not I who wants, Terzian. The wanting is yours. The desire. The unmet need. Tell me what it is that you want, Terzian.”

  “I don’t…” he began, but the lie died before it could even be spoken. He remembered the events of earlier that evening, the battle, the humans, the wish for them to be gone, and for all they possessed to be his. A warm bed, clean sheets, a full stomach. It seemed petty in its mundaneness now.

  “Not at all,“ the creature reassured him. “You want to live. To grow, to be strong; to continue your line. It is what all living things want; it is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “I am not ashamed of wanting these things.”

  “Good. Because I will give them to you.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Oh.”

  “You must give me something in return.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t want anything.”

  “I don’t, but you must still give me something in return. The equation must balance.”

  “I have nothing to give you.”

  “Of course you do, Terzian. You must give me what is of most value to you.”

  “I don’t think you have much use for a rusty knife.”