The Wraeththu Chronicles

by Storm Constantine

  "Oh!" I shouted in exasperation, turning away from him. Cal came to stand behind me. He put his hands upon my shoulders.

  "He will know," he said.

  "How?" I demanded angrily.

  "How? Well, that is obvious. You will tell him."

  "Cal!" I cried, turning round, striking away his hands. He looked surprised for a moment. "How can I do that? I am not even convinced that what Gahrazel is doing is wrong!"

  "Wrong for yourself, for us . . ."

  "I can't!"

  Cal threw back his head and laughed. "Ah, the gray specter of betrayal!" he mocked. I would not speak. "There is only one thing you should think of in a time like this," he continued blandly, "and that is yourself. In the end, there is only you; nothing else matters."

  "Cal . . ."

  "Master of Galhea one day, perhaps?" He took my face in his hands and I did not resist. I looked into his violet eyes and thought of all the things they must have seen. Was it caught within them forever somewhere? Could I see those things if I looked hard enough? "Learn well the lessons of self-preservation," he said. "Be subtle, my lovely. Be so subtle that you do not even realize yourself what you are doing. Gahrazel. . ." He sucked in his breath and shook his head.

  "But it may be for nothing!" I protested. "I may only be delaying the inevitable!"

  "Nothing is inevitable!" Cal replied, smiling gently. I could not be sure that we were not speaking about completely different things. "Your Kakkahaar friends should have told you that," he continued. "The path of our lives divides endlessly before us. We only have the power to choose which road to take, but even that road may be forked . . ." He led me out into the garden, through the long windows, to let me see it, to let me look back at the house. "This is where you belong," he said and blew a fleeting vision of his breath across my face.

  "Gahrazel is a fool!" I said bitterly, still torn, gazing up at Forever's glistening face.

  "He is more than a fool. . .. He should never have told you his secrets. So stupid! He is weak. I think his downfall can be blamed on that!"

  "Are you saying that he deserves to die?" I asked chilled.

  "We all deserve to die," he answered.

  It is not enough! I thought. All morning I agonized over what to do, avoiding everyone, sitting among the trees, where it was cold and the sun could not reach. I had so little time. Gahrazel would not have told me if he wasn't planning to leave very soon.

  My father was not present at lunch, and later I saw that his study was empty. In the peaceful, sunny afternoon, I went in there and sat down in his worn leather seat. Master of Galhea one day, perhaps? A consort of my own, all these halls mine? I closed my eyes, shook my head. Which is the right way? Would it be my father's blood in my mouth that would make me betray a friend? Subtlety, subtlety, that was the key. Cal knew all about that, and he knew all about betrayal. If the Gelaming should win . .. ? We dwell in Forever ... I smiled. My father had been young once. Hard to imagine, but true. Had he ever doubted himself? "I do not want to lose you," I said aloud to the empty room.

  It is a terrible thing to make your heart go cold; terrible because it is so easy. Every day, a couple of hours before the evening meal, a messenger comes up to the house from Galhea, bringing papers and notes for my father that may have collected in his town office during the day. It is the messenger's custom to stop by the kitchen for half an hour or so for refreshment and to exchange idle gossip with the house-hara. During this time, he generally leaves his leather bag of papers on the table in the hall. Then either Terzian or Ithiel take the day's mail out and put back anything to be taken down to Galhea. A plan formed in my head.

  In the privacy of my room, I wrote a note in block capitals using my left hand. It said, PONCLAST'S SON IS A TRAITOR. HE GOES TO THE GELAMING. THIS I OVERHEARD. My fingers were damp as I wrote it and it was with shaking hands that I stuffed it into an envelope. At any moment, as I stealthily scuttled across the hall, I expected the kitchen doors to swing open and someone to catch me fiddling with the messenger's bag, but luck was with me and I completed the task without detection. As I ran back to my room, I was thinking. Now I am truly a Varr. Now I have learned how to kill. It had not been an easy decision.

  In the night, voices woke me from a nightmare of accusing eyes. Lights downstairs had thrown a spectral glow over the garden. Between my half-open curtains, I could see the waving shapes of the trees and hear the gusting lash of the wind. Someone ran up the corridor toward my room and threw open the door. A voice called my name and that voice was deeply troubled.

  I shivered, still half asleep. "Ithiel, is that you?"

  "Get dressed!" he snapped. "Quickly! Now! Come on! Terzian wants you!"

  My blood seemed to cataract to my feet. Could he know I'd written that note? I didn't want him to know it was me. I didn't want anyone else to know that Gahrazel had spoken to me about his plans.

  My father was in the hall, looking up, still wearing his wolfskin coat. His anger was contained, but I could sense it clearly. He said nothing, but pointed at the floor by his feet. I ran down the stairs, robe flapping, hardly daring to say, "What is it?" He blinked at my question, turning his back on me, beckoning me to follow him. In his study he shut the door firmly behind me. There were just the two of us.

  "My son," he said softly. I was quaking, grinning fatuously, and went to sit down. "Stand up!" he bawled. I nearly shot back to the door.

  "What's wrong?" I asked him, innocence itself. Now, I realized, it was vital for me to be innocent.

  "Don't you know?" he sneered. I shook my head. He stared at me until I dropped my eyes. "Well then, Swift, I shall tell you." He paced around the room a few times. I

  could tell he was longing to go absolutely mad, but that was not his way. "I've just returned from Galhea," he said. "Tonight, I find our enemies are nearer to us than I thought. Much nearer. Not in the south, not even beyond the fields of Galhea. No, it is closer than that!" His fist slammed down on the desk top. "Here!" he cried. "In Galhea, perhaps even in my own house!" I thought, If he shouts any louder my eyes will roll out onto the floor.

  "I don't understand," I said, striving to inject a certain amount of indignation into my voice.

  "Don't you? Don't you!" my father raged, lunging toward me. I toppled backwards into the chair behind me. His face was inches from my own.

  I thought, My God, he will kill me too! and at that moment I could have confessed that it had been me who'd sent the note, but all I did was splutter, "I don't know! I don't! Whatever it is . . ."

  His hand gripped my throat. I tried to writhe, swallow. With a wordless exclamation, he let me go and went to sit in his usual seat, putting his feet up on the desk, tearing and scattering the papers that lay on it. He rubbed his eyes with one hand. I felt as if I was swallowing acid. "Gahrazel," he said, and that one word froze my flesh.

  "What . . . ?" My voice was barely a squeak.

  "Gahrazel," Terzian said again. His hands clasped on the desk. He looked at me, directly. "Surely you remember Gahrazel, Swift. Ponclast's son, in my care? Surely you know the one!"

  I stared at my hands. "Yes," I said.

  "Well, apparently, he wants to leave us," my father continued.

  "Leave us?" I peeped. "I don't understand. . . . What do you mean?"

  "What I said. Perhaps I should add that his intended destination after departing Galhea was the south and the Gelaming!" His use of the past tense did not escape me. I managed a pathetic laugh.

  "Gahrazel? Never!"

  My father looked at me with an expression that was nearly dislike. "Never, Swift?" My mind was racing. All I could think was, I shall have to be clever... Terzian sighed deeply. "Let's not waste time, Swift. I know you were Gahrazel's closest friend. He must have talked to you. I can only assume you knew something of what he was planning. Look, I hardly ever spoke to him and / could see how dangerous he was becoming, his strange fancies! Don't tell me you knew nothing! Are you such a fool?"

  I lower
ed my eyes. "I . . ."

  Terzian snorted angrily and stood up. Papers flew everywhere. One fell at my feet and I bent to pick it up. My vision was blurring; I stared at the paper blindly. Terzian snatched it from my hands and I almost cried out. Did he relish the terror in my eyes? "Swift, nothing that happens in this house escapes my notice; nothing! You can be sure of that! I know Forever inside out. I know its deepest secrets, but..." He squatted down before me and took my shoulders in his hands. I was shaking uncontrollably. His voice was quieter. "But. . . there are two things, Swift, two things that I shall never know, never understand, completely. And those two things are Cobweb and yourself.... You're closed doors, both of you. Too much Sulh blood in you, too much magic. I am . . . wary of that, my son, very wary. If either of you should ever want to betray me ..."

  "Terzian! No!" I cried and his name felt unfamiliar to me. "Never, I swear, never!"

  It was the truth, in a way; I think it was the truth. "Swift," he said and there was pain in his eyes. "I have seen Gahrazel. This afternoon someone, I don't know who yet, gave me a message that implied something of what Gahrazel was up to. When confronted, he tried to deny it at first, but then his quarters were searched and all the supplies he'd been hoarding were found. He was taken into custody and . . . after a while admitted the accusation was true. I asked him one thing only and that was 'Why?' All he did was laugh and the one thing he said to me was, 'Ask your son, Terzian!' "

  I tried to look away, but his hand caught hold of my chin. "What did he mean by that, Swift?"

  "I... I don't know!" I stammered, squirming in his hold, feeling my face fold and twist. At that moment, I hated Gahrazel more than I would have believed possible.

  "What do you know?!" Terzian demanded. "Alright!" I said, still trying to free myself. "Let me go. Please!" He stood up and leaned against the desk, arms folded. "I've never wanted to know about what Gahrazel believes in, father," I babbled helplessly. "We've drifted apart. We're no longer close friends. 1 don't know him. Not any more. Not since Purah came. . . . Once, once he did try to tell me something, but I didn't want to know. I told him that. I wouldn't listen ..." "When?" I shrugged, resisting the urge to wring my hands in my lap, but only just.

  "I ... I can't remember exactly."

  "Swithe tells me that Gahrazel was here at the house yesterday," my father prompted. I could feel a laugh, uncontrollable and stupid, building up inside me. Swithe! All his high and righteous beliefs. The only truth is his own hide, I thought.

  "Yes," I said, biting the inside of my cheek until the laughter went away. "Gahrazel was here." I looked at my father with Cobweb's eyes, huge and shadowed, hoping to melt him. "He came to say goodbye to me. By that I assumed he meant because he was going to go south again, with you ..."

  My father sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

  "And why did you take him to the long gallery?" Why? I started to panic. Did he know everything already? Was he only tormenting me to hear my confession? "You needed privacy, Swift, that's obvious. What did you talk about?"

  "Nothing, nothing important!" I insisted. I was so scared, reality started to shift. There was a buzzing in my ears.

  "Why there? Why?"

  "Because . . ."

  "Why? Because why, Swift?" The whole house must have been able to hear him. I could imagine Yarrow and Bryony quaking in the kitchen, all the pots rattling around them, but of course, they were curled up in their beds asleep.

  "Because, because . . ." My mind suddenly cleared with inspiration. "Because we ..." I lowered my eyes modestly and made my voice quiet. "He didn't want anyone to know ..." I looked up again beseechingly.

  "What?"

  "That..." I touched my brow with one hand trembling. "He wanted to take aruna with me. He said I might never see him again... but he didn't want anyone to know. Because of Purah, because of Bryony ... oh, I don't know!"

  "Because of me ..." Terzian whispered softly to himself.

  "I just went along with it. It was like a game ..." I sighed deeply. My father must have been holding his breath. Now he let it out in one long, shuddering gasp. He rubbed his face with his hands. "So Swift, Gahrazel really didn't tell you he was thinking of running away ... or anything else? You knew nothing. Can you swear to this?" From his voice, I could tell how important it was to him. What was it he feared Gahrazel might have told me?

  "I knew nothing," I said softly. "His mind was closed to me of all but memories of our friendship. Nothing else ... at all."

  Terzian went to the cabinet where he kept his liquor and poured us both a glass of sheh. His hands were still shaking slightly. So were mine.

  "I'm sorry," he said, clearing his throat and handing me a glass. His ringers, where they touched me, were cold. "I had to ask you, Swift. I hope you understand."

  "Of course," I replied. "I should have told you at once, but. . . . What will happen to him?"

  Terzian sucked in his cheeks, staring at the floor. He sighed. "I'm afraid I can't say. I don't know. Ponclast went to a settlement farther north two days ago. He's not expected back until the end of the week. Of course, I've sent messengers. Obviously, I can't make any decisions about this. It's his problem, I would say, wouldn't you?" He refilled his glass.

  "Who do you think sent you the message?" I asked.

  He did not even glance at me. "I don't know. Someone who's well known to Gahrazel, I'd have thought. Someone loyal to his tribe, who would prefer to stay anonymous because he had to be disloyal to a friend. I think it's best to leave it at that, don't you?"

  I nodded vigorously.

  "Swift, there is one thing I'd like you to do for me. You're friendly with the girl, aren't you?"

  "Who, Bryony?" (Bryony was always "the girl" to Terzian.)

  "Yes. Well, I had to have Gahrazel's accomplice shot. I don't need Ponclast's permission for that. I believe he was related to the girl."

  "Brother," I said.

  "I thought so. She's a good worker, I've no complaint about her work.

  She's good for the house. Cobweb likes her."

  "You want me to tell her Purah is dead?"

  "Yes. It would be better coming from you." I stood up and put down my empty glass. Terzian touched my arm.

  "Swift, come here."

  I found myself in the totally unexpected embrace of my father's arms. "I'm very proud of you," he said and kissed my hair. "Don't ever—"

  "Terzian!" I interrupted gently. Was there strength in me he did not have?

  "You must. . . you must take care of your hostling and little Ty when I'm gone," he said, with difficulty.

  "I will, but of course Cal will be here too." My father's arms tightened around me.

  "Yes, I know, but. . . Cal is not of our blood, Swift. It's different for him. I leave Forever in your hands. Soon, in a few days ... I shall be gone. You must progress, Swift. Ithiel will help you. He knows. Realize what is important. I have to trust you! You will have to be wise beyond your years."

  I understood then just how afraid he was, that he doubted whether he would ever return to us, yet he had to go on. "I hate them!" I cried. "The Gelaming; I hate them!"

  "Yes, yes," he murmured. "Hate them, Swift, hate them with all your strength. That is something they have no control over ... perhaps the only thing."

  That day I'd learned two important lessons. The first, as I said before, was how to kill. The second, perhaps even more insidious, was how to lie. It didn't matter to Gahrazel which way I chose to betray him, but it did to me. I had not told my father what he'd said, not in words. Gahrazel had been right. I did have to lie to my father, but not in the way he'd thought.

  In the morning, Bryony came to the drawing room in response to my summons, smiling and carefree, chattering until I wanted to scream. Obviously, gossip concerning events of the previous day had not yet filtered through to the kitchens. I looked upon this as my first act of responsibilityas Terzian's son. I leaned against the mantelpiece as my father would have done. I began to speak and
watched her as all the color and gaiety gradually drained from her face and a look of bewildered anguish came to take its place.

  "We can only assume that he knew what he was doing, Bryony," I said. "He must have known the risk . . ." She shook her head and would not speak. Her eyes were dry, but I could see the muscles moving in her jaw. "It was Gahrazel!" I exclaimed. "He did this! It was his idea!" There she sat, small and hunched on the edge of a chair, while I tried to convince her that a terrible act was not terrible. All I wanted to do was shift the blame in her eyes, absolve my people, heap Gahrazel with culpability because he would never be able to speak for himself.

  "Is Gahrazel dead too?" she asked at last.

  "No. . . . His fate has not been decided yet," I answered.

  "No, of course not," she said bitterly.