The Wraeththu Chronicles

by Storm Constantine

  "What, because of that Orien?" I asked.

  "That Orien!" Cal mocked. "He was a respected shaman, Swift. I have a feeling that Seel. . . that Seel won't rest until I pay for what I've done."

  "Who's Seel?" I felt I'd heard of him before.

  "He founded Saltrock," Cal explained. "We were good friends once but I doubt if our friendship could weather my murder of Orien." "You were sick, though, weren't you?"

  "That is not an excuse, though I wish it was." He pulled me closer against him. "You feel so warm ... I have a feeling, I don't know, I feel as if Seel is ... is coming closer somehow. Sometimes it's as if he's here in this house. I've woken up and smelled him in the room, smelled his perfume, his body. I've seen his eyes.... Oh God, why am I going on like this! It's your Feybraiha."

  "It doesn't matter. I like you telling me things, I want you to," I said andOrien. ... He was perhaps the kindest, wisest person I ever met. He was Saltrock's shaman, high priest, whatever . . ."

  "If he was that wonderful," I butted in, "why did you kill him?"

  "Why indeed!" Cal sighed and pressed his face into my neck. "Why . . . I'll have to go back, Swift, to when Pell and I were in Galhea before. It's not easy. When we left here, all those years ago, we were planning to travel back toward the south. I wanted to find a way to Immanion, the first city of the Gelaming. I knew that was where it was all really happening, where Wraeththu had organized themselves, found order. ... It seemed the logical place to head for. I had no idea where it was. Now I know it's farther than I realized, across the sea, a long way away. Anyway, we had only traveled for a short time, a few weeks maybe, when . . ." For a moment he could not speak. His silence made my chest ache. After a while he swallowed. "I watched him die, Swift, all his life running out of him. I couldn't do anything, just watch. Afterwards, I must have wandered around half crazy. I can't remember.... Somewhere along the way I lost the horses. It was like, like, how can I explain? My body was moving, feeding itself, sleeping, looking after itself in a way, but I was buried deep inside my own head, unaware of what was going on around me. One day I woke up and I was back at Saltrock. I don't know how I got there. They didn't know how to cope with me. I was out of my

  head, and when I wasn't I wanted to be. Anything I could get my hands on to escape reality, I shovelled it into myself. Seel must have been at the end of his tether trying to sort me out. It was all because of Zack too, you see. I thought I was being punished for what happened to him. I thought that losing Pell was the divine retribution for my sins. I couldn't face myself. My life was a series of lies, conceit and pride. I was unfit to live, a blight on Wraeththukind. It seemed that everyone I got close to was destroyed in some way. The fruit of my self-hate was the murder of Orien. Perhaps it was the worst thing I could do, and to do it would prove to myself how utterly loathsome I was. I don't know. At the time, I blamed him for Pell's death. Now I can see that was . . . not stupid . . . just wrong."

  "Oh, Cal," I said. He looked at my face and his fingers touched my cheek.

  "Oh, don't weep for me, Swift," he said. "You see, the worst thing is, I haven't changed. I learned nothing from all that. I'm still selfish. My path is uphill. I don't struggle to climb it, I don't even slip back or seek the easy path. I just sit down where I am and think, 'Oh, to hell with it!' I'm too human; I shouldn't be har. Look at what I've done here. Don't think I'm not aware of it and don't think I don't enjoy it."

  "But do you still hate yourself?" I asked.

  "Inside myself . . . perhaps." He pulled away from me and lay on his back, with his arms behind his head.

  "Swift, I've never spoken to anyone like this, not even Pell. I don't think I ever will again . . ."

  "Maybe you had to," I suggested.

  "Maybe." He smiled. "This is depressing. Here I am again bringing up reeking stomachfuls of confessions all over you! I am here for a purpose . . ."

  He leaned over me and I closed my eyes. Already my body quickened for the feel of him, desire of him.

  "No," he said softly, and stroked my stomach with the gentlest possible touch. He pulled me against him and lay back. I looked into his lazy, violet eyes. This is too incredible, I thought. This is too much; it is a dream. So close. His beauty almost withers me. Perhaps I shall be turned to stone . . .

  "Swift," he said, "I want you to—" "Hush!" I answered. "I know."

  It was frightening, like going into a dark place full of unknown things. I could feel his strength, the great, beating pinions of his spirit. It was so different. Before, when he took me, I had lived the ultimate of visions, now I was part of his vision. He was an abyss and I was falling, a never-ending fall. When I reached the end, I would fall again. His head was thrown back, one arm pressed across his eyes. He murmured as if in pain, fretfully, then his arm lashed back and hit the pillow. His eyes were blazing, I reared up to escape them, but he caught hold of me, so strong, lifting himself. His mouth found my neck; he wanted blood. I remembered for a fleeting moment what my father had said: "He may swamp you." Of course, Terzian was speaking of this, not Cal as ouana, but the devouring, lashing female side of him, like a python, crushing me. For a moment, we were still, staring at each other. Then it happened. That secret part of me snaked out to ignite his pulsing nerve. He did not cry out, just hissed like a cat, threshing around me. His hands, like claws, tore at my shoulders. He lunged to bite me, snarling and crazed. Almost panicking, I hit his face and he flopped back among the pillows. There was blood around his mouth. "Cal?" I said, tentatively, feeling all my muscles shaking. I felt him laugh around me; he opened his eyes.

  "Pure-born, it is different!" he said.

  In the morning I felt as if I'd been fighting for my life all night. My shoulders had actually stuck to the sheet with blood. Cal fetched a cloth from my bathroom and bathed my back. "Oh, hell, I'm sorry," he said. "I must have got a bit carried away but it was pretty amazing, wasn't it? So much stronger. God!" He laughed and stood up, throwing the cloth into the air.

  "I've decided to become Varr hostling stock," I said. "If being ouana means being torn to bits, I'll opt for submission any day."

  "Oh, come on," Cal coaxed. "It's just me! You know how weird I am! Terzian isn't exactly unscarred either."

  "You enjoy being weird," I grumbled, wincing as I tried to get out of bed.

  "Yes, I have to agree with you there," he said cheerfully. "They'll have finished breakfast, won't they? I'm starving!"

  He was gorged on my vitality. I could hardly move.

  I walked through the day in a daze. Everyone gave me very strange looks, except for my father, who probably understood. "Takes it out of you, doesn't it?" he said, and I felt he was glad to have someone he could say that to.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A Deception

  Swell upon sham

  The autonomy of mosquito wings

  Embarks on the spoor of a celestial bandit

  Erudite killer, more stupid Than peevish, human, monster freaks.

  I had not really expected Gahrazel to come and see me before he left, and was therefore very surprised when he shook me awake the following morning. "I thought you were dead!" he said. "You used to be such a light sleeper."

  I pushed my hair out of my eyes, still half asleep. "You're here early, Gahrazel."

  He walked up and down at the end of my bed and the constant movement, made me feel sick. "Sit down, for God's sake!"

  "It's not that early," he said. "Remember, I lead a soldier's life now. Gone is the luxury of lying in bed in the morning." His voice was bitter.

  "Is everyone else up?"

  "Yes . . . Swift?"

  "What? Pass me my clothes, will you?"

  He sifted through the pile on the floor and tossed bits of it over to me. "Swift, I've neglected our friendship," he said, not looking at me.

  "What's happened to remind you of that?" I asked, pulling on my trousers.

  "Oh, nothing . . . Good God, what's happened to your back?"

  I wasn't s
ure whether to feel proud or ashamed. I said nothing.

  "Oh, I see," continued Gahrazel, suddenly much more like the har I remembered. "If Ithiel had done that to me, I'd have blacked his eye."

  "Oh, would you!" I retorted. "Just think about the fact that Ithiel didn't feel the need to illustrate his passion so emphatically."

  "My little Swift!" he cried. "It seems you follow in your father's footsteps as a wielder of power."

  "So it does," I agreed.

  "I think I shall miss Swift the child," Gahrazel said wistfully.

  "I get the feeling you're here for a reason," I said. "You're upset."

  "No, no," Gahrazel denied quickly. "Not upset. . . perhaps I am here for a reason, though. I need to talk to you."

  "After breakfast," I decided.

  "If you like."

  We went down the stairs together, laughing, joking, pushing each other around, as we had done so many times before.

  "I've just realized how much I've missed you," I said.

  "Blame Terzian," Gahrazel said caustically.

  He was offered breakfast, but refused, just drinking coffee and messing nervously with the cutlery, always glancing at the door. Terzian had already left the table, and in a strange way I was relieved. There was only Swithe left in the room, pouring over a report my father had given him to read. I could see Terzian's mark of black humor in this, but Swithe just held the papers with distaste, totally ignorant of any intent.

  "The Gelaming will annihilate them!" Swithe declared, throwing down the papers.

  "That does seem likely," Gahrazel agreed. "But who can know for sure?"

  "What do you think?" Swithe asked intently.

  Gahrazel would not commit himself. He spread out his hands and shook his head. "I'm not paid to think, just to skin the hides off any Gelaming we might meet."

  "You never used to keep your opinions to yourself," I said drily.

  Gahrazel shrugged.

  After breakfast, I took him up to the long gallery. I knew we would not be disturbed there.

  Gahrazel took a slim packet out of a top pocket. "Cigarettes," he said.

  "Do you want one?"

  "What are they?" I asked, eyeing with interest the slim, white stick he put between his lips.

  "Smoke to combat nerves," he said, inhaling deeply.

  "Oh, like hemp," I said knowledgeably. It was something I knew about, but I'd never tried it.

  "Not really," Gahrazel said. "Do you want one or not?"

  I shook my head. "No. You always know more than me, don't you, Gahrazel?" He made me feel young again, too young.

  He pulled a face. "Do I? I don't mean to." He smiled at me, and it wasn't totally

  without condescension.

  "Well then, Gahrazel, what's the matter?"

  He sat on the floor, his back to the window, and once again inhaled deeply off his cigarette. "I trust you," he said, blowing smoke rings at the ceiling.

  "Should you?"

  "I think so." He looked at me intently. "Swift, I hate what your father's done to me."

  "What's he done?"

  Gahrazel stared at his hands. There was a moment's pause before he spoke. "What he's tried to do. Among other things, make me like him, like my own father. I'm not at all like them, you know." His eyes bored into me, full of words he could not speak.

  "I've always known that," I said and squatted down beside him. "But I did think you'd adapted quite well. As we'd seen nothing of you . . ."

  Gahrazel made an irritated sound. "Don't be stupid!"

  "Don't speak to me like that!" I snapped, stung.

  He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. "Sorry Swift." His voice was mocking.

  "What is it then?" I asked, standing up.

  He looked up at me and squinted. "I can't stay here."

  "I didn't think you would. You're going south again, aren't you?"

  "I can't do that either."

  "What do you mean?" I asked apprehensively. I suppose I knew already.

  "If I tell you . . . you might have to lie to your father later."

  I nodded. "Alright, alright, what is it, Gahrazel?"

  He took a deep breath. "I'm not going south with Terzian again. I can't! There are so many reasons, Swift... I'm going to the Gelaming. I'm taking Purah with me."

  I shut my eyes and turned away from him with a sigh. "God!"

  "You'll wish I hadn't told you."

  "Your father!"

  "I know. I had to tell you, Swift."

  "Why?" I demanded. "Why didn't you just go?"

  "I think you know the answer. Someone had to know. The chances are ... well, perhaps we'd better not dwell on the possible consequences. I had to tell you, Swift. There was no-one else I could trust."

  "When?"

  "Ah, well, that's something I think it's better you don't know about, don't you?"

  "Yes, I suppose so," I agreed. "Gahrazel, do you know what this means ... if you're caught?"

  "Oh yes," he said softly. "More than anyone, I know that."

  I thought of Leef. Were there many of them, feeling as Gahrazel did now? True Wraeththu perhaps?

  "Gahrazel," I said. "You're not alone, are you?"

  He looked around quickly, furtively, as if suddenly chilled. "What do you mean?"

  "That you're not alone. There are others, aren't there . . . others that perhaps lack the guts at present to . . ."

  "If I succeed Swift, it may give others the courage to follow me, yes."

  "Oh God!" I pressed my forehead against the long window. Surely my father couldn't be so ignorant of the dissension among his hara. Now I, Terzian's son, had been told. Terzian's son. Forever, my home. I looked down the long gallery, at its beloved, warm, worn, familiar length. "You shouldn't have told me," I said. "I wish you hadn't!"

  "Swift!" Gahrazel stood up behind me and put his arms around me. "Remember, I once told you that we'd both know all of this house some day. Maybe I meant more than just the bricks and stone ..."

  "Let go of me," I said. He didn't for a moment, but I did not warm to him. He sighed and his arms dropped away from me. I felt cold.

  "There's so much you don't know, Swift," he said.

  "I don't want to know! Just go, Gahrazel!" I could not look at him.

  "Not even 'goodbye,'_Swift?"

  "Goodbye, Gahrazel."

  "Will you wish me luck?"

  "I can't!"

  I heard him sigh. "Farewell, my friend," he said.

  I listened to him walking away from me, numb to my innermost heart. "Gahrazel," I whispered to the window, watching it mist. "Gahrazel."

  It was a turning point in my life. I had to decide where my loyalties lay. If Gahrazel had told me everything, as he should have done, my decision might have been different, but, as he said, I knew so little. One thing I was sure of, if Ponclast's son successfully defected to the Gelaming, there would be many willing, if not eager, to follow him. At that time, I thought the reason was mainly fear of the Gelaming, rather than sympathy with Gelaming ideals. After Gahrazel had left me in the long gallery, I stood for a while thinking about what he had said. I wanted advice from someone I too could trust. I couldn't keep my mouth shut, could I?

  I found Cal in the drawing room, lazing like a cat. He was idly tormenting Limba with a rolled-up piece of paper (Limba is trusting, but stupid). I imparted my news with a suitable note of dread in my voice. "Oh, Terzian will kill them," was all he'd say. I made an exasperated noise, annoyed that he was taking this revelation so lightly.

  "And if he doesn't find out until it's too late?"

  "Do you care?" Cal asked me in a tired voice.

  "Care? Oh, of course I don't! Let all my father's hara desert him and run squeaking to the Gelaming! Let them destroy us all. Let them destroy this house!"

  Cal smiled indulgently at my outburst. "Oh dear," he said, stretching. "And how many of Terzian's hara are you expecting to make a run for it?"

  "Enough," I answered stiffly.
r />   "If you really think it's such a threat, there is nothing to worry about," Cal continued, spreading his arms. "What?"

  "Terzian will kill Gahrazel before he gets away."