“No, I promise.” Hroth’s teeth were chattering so much he could barely get the words out.
“Here. Have some sheh.” Ottar held a flask to his lips, and Hroth gratefully drank some of the liquor. “And then let’s get you back to your house. Hold on to me, okay?”
“I don’t think I could do anything else,” Hroth admitted as a chill wracked his body.
“This has certainly been a memorable day,” Ottar said ruefully, situating Hroth behind him. “And this has never happened to you before?”
“Never. I’ve been deep into meditations before, but not like that.”
All at once he had a flash of memory, a fireworks display of images, dazzling half-remembrances of a spirit thundering with arunic power. And a young har— or had it been a vision of what Ottar might have looked like when he was young?
“A little bit is coming back to me,” Hroth said once they were at his house. Hansggedir met him outside the door, where he told them he’d heated water for a bath.
“That must have been some kind of aruna,” Hansggedir said as he took the reins from Ottar, tying up his horse before they went inside. His tone was light, but his expression was anxious. “Nothing against you, Ottar, but I’d recommend not doing anything along those lines the rest of the night.”
“That’s really the last thing on my mind,” he said, shaking his head.
“There’s something about you,” Hroth said wonderingly to Ottar. “Nothing frightening, although waking up out by the ocean, naked, is bizarre. I think you have a message for me.”
“I think you’re full of shit,” Hansggedir grumbled. “Take your bath and get some sleep. Maybe I should stay with you.”
“No, I want Ottar to stay.” He turned to the new har. “You didn’t cause whatever this was, but I think it’s significant that I had such a vivid dream when you were here.”
Ottar looked rather dubious, but then Hroth said, “Please stay. I don’t know why it’s important, but even Roc said that you will be important to my life.”
“I don’t know who died and made you hienama, but—”
“Let it go!” Hroth exclaimed, interrupting Hansggedir. “I’m a bit different, and you know it. I’m sorry I scared you. Both of you. Not to mention that I find it pretty unsettling. Now I’m going to get that bath.”
“Good idea,” Ottar said hurriedly. It was obvious he’d been quite shaken by the events of the evening, and Hroth was glad he’d agreed to stay. Hansggedir took his leave, muttering about tying Hroth to his bed.
“Please don’t worry about me,” Hroth said once he’d soaked and felt like himself again. Ottar was wrapped around him, holding him tightly.
“I just don’t want to be known as the har that might have caused you to sleepwalk or sleepswim to your death!”
“Well, I can’t promise that, but I do hope that I’ve not scared you so much that you’ll never want to visit me again.”
Ottar shook his head. “I still have a lot to learn about being har, and you seem like an excellent teacher. Just don’t go sleepwalking again if you can help it! Maybe the spirit was a harmful one and Trygve should have an exorcism.”
“That might be a bit extreme!” Hroth laughed. “But now that you mention it…”
“Do you think you can sleep? Is there anything I can do to relax you?”
“Well, I do love having my hair played with, and it’s rather a mess. And tell me about your hopes and expectations of being har. You’re definitely no longer human!”
Eventually Ottar teased out the tangles, and with a healthy quantity of wine, they both fell asleep once more. Hroth dreamed, but wasn’t called away from his bed. He saw the impossible, a young har child, with Ottar’s large eyes. When or how he could arrive, the dream gave no hint. But when Hroth awoke, all he could remember was the name the portend must have:
Tyr.
Something’s Coming
Wendy Darling
Like a Hot Glowing Coal
Heart
It seems so long ago, that first time I laid eyes on Sphinx – before he got his name.
The world was so different then. Myself as well. And, oh, was he different!
Yet it was only a few years ago. Lately, it seems time does not fly. It races at the speed of light.
That afternoon I was not aware of time at all. I had spent most of the daylight hours on round-up duty, rushing about town collecting new recruits. There were plenty to be had in that town. It was mainly residential, with lots of plump families with frustrated teenage boys just dying to break away. And what could have been more seductive, more sinful, than breaking away with us? The Wraeththu. The destroyers. The defilers. The debased. Even those who struggled wanted it. I think so, anyway.
But back to that afternoon. I’d taken twenty boys that day. I hadn’t delivered them back to headquarters myself, but had captured them all personally – by various means – before handing them to those further down the line, who piled them into the Jeeps like frightened cows to the slaughter. They wanted us, yes, but they were also afraid.
Sphinx was special that way. Very. Let me recall the moment.
I was coming down a side street towards a row of houses all on fire. I smelled burning flesh, and from the bodies cooling on the lawns, I knew some of our tribe had been at work. They had obviously left the area, however, and it was just the burning houses and myself, alone.
Except for Sphinx.
He stood near the corner of the block, at the end of a driveway. Next to him was a white mailbox, perfectly white, no marks, no soot, and on it a street number, printed silver on black: 21. Which was, I judged later, a sign I had to take him; he was, after all, the twenty-first boy of the day.
He was sixteen or thereabouts, I judged, not quite fully grown, with dark brown hair in loose curls that rested on his head like a crown. His face, dark with large deep brown eyes, would have been handsome had not his expression been so… blank.
It wasn’t only his expression either. It was him. There was a row of houses on fire. He appeared neither frightened nor shocked. He didn’t seem angry either. Not a flicker of emotion on his face or in the psychic ambient. Normally I could feel fear. He had none.
This didn’t change even when I approached him. He didn’t even look at me!
He was staring at the fire. I would have said he was bewitched or filled with wonder, but as far as I could tell, he wasn’t filled with anything. He was just looking.
Maybe it’s shock, I thought to myself.
When I was right up beside him and he still hadn’t looked at me, I adopted his posture: arms crossed, eyes up to the blaze. Maybe I’d see something amidst the flames and understand what had the boy so transfixed.
I don’t think Sphinx and I saw or felt the same things. I saw the peeling vinyl siding – smelled it too. When part of a nearby house crumpled, I saw the grim remains of a girl’s bedroom, soot pouring out while the walls still stood out pink with painted white clouds. Was that a body I saw on the remains of the bed, or did I only imagine it?
I watched these things without a sense of guilt but instead, a sense of inevitability. I was like most of us, to a large extent happy that change had come at last. The old ways had come to an end. We were the new thing, and so even if there were old things we liked, we had to destroy them. Most of them anyway. Destroying a suburb and taking the boys? It was only just.
Sphinx didn’t budge a bit in a whole five minutes, I don’t think. I’m not even sure he blinked in those days. He wasn’t normal.
I stopped looking at the fire and studied him. Not normal. But… what?
Some, I suppose, would think it peculiar I spent any time at all studying this lone boy. “Either you grab ‘em or you kill ‘em – you don’t just stare at ‘em!” Well, I say, these people weren’t there, facing a boy they just couldn’t decide about. Should I take him or…?
Finally, to break the deadlock, I reached out and took hold of his hand.
The shock of it ra
n up my arm. I didn’t see feeling in his face and I hadn’t, before touching him, been able to sense anything from him either. But holding his hand, I felt a power in him, a kind of strength made potent because it was so self-contained, like a hot glowing coal on a sheet of ice in the dark.
He finally looked at me. And he was still not afraid. I tugged him away from the mailbox, into the street. I ran. Holding my hand, he ran with me.
Running, Running, Real Hand
Sphinx
Burning. Running. Legs burning. Muscles though, not like houses. Lungs burning. More houses burning. Black dirty air. Everything burning and hot.
My legs were going. Going! Everything was rushing up to me. Burning house far away, then burning house closer, then burning house gone. The blur of the road went on and on, endless. Look at the road, look at the road!
With the houses on both sides, and the road going on and on, it was like a tube and we were inside it. Running down the tube. Tube full of smoke. Left, right, up a hill. Sometimes we stopped.
We? Oh, yes. We…
His hand around my hand was a real thing. A real thing. Real hand. Real boy. I was running, but he was there with me and didn’t go away. Real as my own breathing. Hot sweaty hand. Running, running, real hand.
Running was that moment. Hand was that moment. But earlier, other moments. I remember now. Brain makes loops around moments like yarn and I pull them back. Moments…
Wasn’t running that morning. Opposite. Lying in bed. Nobody there, just me.
The sun was there though. Shining white, didn’t look hot, although it was hot on the bed. The glass on the window was hot. Burning sparkles in the glass and white glowing hot sheets. White walls. White sun, burning against the clouds. Burning… smell?
The nurse ran in. Something, something, something, she said. She shook me. Something, something, something, she screamed. I heard her. Go? Run? Wraeththu?
She left and I saw. Sun not so white. Gray smoke. Noises in the hall. Sun still there. Still hot. No nurse. Sun lower. Something, something, something…
Oh. Now I knew: Run away, I’m setting you free, run from the Wraeththu!
Just What We Need
Heart
I had fun running with Sphinx. It reminded me of when I’d been younger, out with my dog, running through the streets together in another city, what seemed like years ago. With all the other boys, I’d got them into a Jeep and had them taken off, but with him, we ran until we were gasping, stopping to breathe, then starting up again.
It was during these breaks that I began to get an inkling of just what was going on with Sphinx. He hadn’t said a word to me since I’d seen him, although I’d spoken to him. I didn’t think he was deaf, though. He wasn’t shocked or scared either. He just didn’t react to things, at least not the normal way. When we’d stop to rest, he would usually just stare at stuff. Sometimes I’d follow the path of his eyes and find it’d be a fence or a stray dog. But sometimes I just couldn’t figure out what he was seeing; he was looking out into open space or an empty field or just the road, even though it was empty.
Maybe he’s just crazy, I decided. Great, just what we need, more crazies. Manifest will be so thrilled. By the time I was thinking these thoughts, however, we were almost back at headquarters. I didn’t have it in me to turn back. Or abandon my new find, even if he was a crazy.
Our headquarters was a beauty, an old high school. The thing was built like a fortress, with only small narrow windows and what was really funny, you had to cross a kind of concrete drawbridge to get in the main doors. Inside the walls were all painted cinderblock, the floors gray linoleum. Very institutional. Very prison-like. Very much the refuse of Humanity. Revelling in the juxtaposition, we found it perfect for our needs.
I walked in with Sphinx beside me, pretty much like a trusting dog. It was kind of dim in the lobby because it was afternoon and too soon to turn on the emergency power we’d rigged up. Not that I needed the light; I knew my way around.
I nodded to the three guards on duty. “Last one for today?” asked one of them, Mica.
I nodded.
“Good. Manifest wants to see you.”
I studied the har’s face, to see if I could read anything from it, but he simply looked to be conveying an order. “I’ll see him after I take care of this one,” I said, indicating Sphinx.
As I started down the stairs, Mica took off to relay the message up to the “principal’s office.”
To get Sphinx where he needed to go, we had to go through the cafeteria. This had been left pretty much as is, since it was just as accommodating to us as it had been to high school kids (which a lot of us had recently been, come to think of it). There were lots of hara in there as we passed through. Most of them were done eating and were basically just kicking back, playing cards, some playing music. A few came up to me and said stuff, just heys and whatnot, a couple asking about Sphinx, trying to talk to him. He didn’t act like he heard any of it though; he was just blank-facedly looking at stuff. I think that’s when I first started getting an idea of his name.
Anyway, once we passed through there, it was up some stairs and through this sort of bridge over to the gym. This was the area we took care of two of the harshest aspects of our life as Wraeththu: all the inceptions and a lot of battle training. It was the ideal place really, with a couple of weight rooms, big storage rooms formerly used for equipment, some offices, a big gym area and of course, locker rooms that were just as a good as a jail.
Originally the locker rooms had been divided into girls and boys, both underneath the gym, on opposite sites. We’d made some modifications to this; now there was one set of rooms for human boys (the “waiting room”) and another for boys actually getting incepted (the “changing room”). Sphinx followed me down to the waiting room, docile as a lamb.
Down there, the electric lights had been given some power, and in the dim light I saw a good fifty boys piled into the changing area, sitting on benches and on the concrete floor. All of them were naked. There were only about ten hara guarding them because all but the passive ones had been drugged up a bit, or mesmerized, into staying quiet. It is true, however, that if any of the boys were to step out of line, those hara would’ve taught them a quick lesson, probably fatal.
After I’d located the boys I found that day and determined they were all OK and apparently no worse off than when I’d found them, I had a word with one of the guards. “This is my last one for today,” I said, indicating Sphinx. “He won’t give you any trouble, I promise.”
The guard nodded and stepped away.
I have no idea what exactly I said to Sphinx, but when I went to go, he suddenly reached out and grabbed my hand.
Again, there was the connection. He was a hot glowing coal, he really was. And up my arm I felt his message, without words but still clear: You are real, real, real…
Pulled Me, Pushed Me
Sphinx
I had his hand but then I didn’t have it anymore and I was alone. Alone with lots of people. They were everywhere, spread out on the floor, sitting up, leaning against the wall. Too many people. I had been alone so long. I liked to be alone!
Something touched me on the shoulder. Person touching me. Something, something, something, he said, jerking his head. Pulling on me. Over there, down, down…
I didn’t want to go. It was a pile of people almost. I didn’t want to go down there. But he pulled me, pushed me, pulled me, pushed me. I didn’t fight, but I didn’t want to be moved. Something, something, something, he shouted. More pushing. People moved away on the floor, I felt it.
Finally I crashed down. Pain. My head hit something hard. Bleeding. Pain around my eyes, somebody turned me over. Somebody grabbing my shoulders, hard, shaking me. Angry at me, I realized. The power of touch. I wiped the blood away from my eyes and closed them. If I closed my eyes, he wouldn’t see me, and couldn’t be angry with me.
The Principal’s Office
Heart
A
fter that I went up to the principal’s office. Ha ha, what a joke we had going on there. Actually being called up there was similar to actual high school because it either meant you were in trouble or that you had done something really good and were going to get commended. I had been doing pretty well lately in my meetings with Manifest – he seemed to have taken an interest in me – and walking back through the labyrinth of hallways towards the school’s administrative offices, I felt confident the meeting would be quick and to the point. That is, unless Manifest had something up his sleeve.
Manifest was an interesting character, which of course he’d have to be, to keep control over our lot. We were certainly a lot worse behaved than any high schoolers. To him, however, we weren’t any trouble. At first glance you might not have thought it, because of his pretty hair and refined manners – product of the privileged class, I always surmised – but Manifest was a tough customer, who could go pretty much from shaking your hand to hacking it off, if you pissed him off. We all tried not to piss him off, but my efforts had actually been working, and as I just said, we’d been getting on lately, my position moving up in the tribal hierarchy.
As I approached the main door to the office suite, one of Manifest’s guards, Thorn, spotted me and cocked his head meaningfully towards the interior.
“What’s up?” I whispered, once I’d reached the door.
“I don’t know, but he’s impatient about something,” Thorn told me. “All day long he’s been nervous. I can feel it and it’s like ants crawling all over me.”
“You don’t know what it is?” I asked.
“No, and when Luster had to nerve to ask,” he said, referring to Manifest’s second-in-command, “all he said was that something important was going to happen today. So far as I know, though, nothing has.”
Paragenesis: Stories of the Dawn of Wraeththu Page 32
