The Wraeththu Chronicles

by Storm Constantine

  Back to that first day, strolling in the sunlight with Arahal, his hand upon my shoulder. The air around us was full of insects with wide, gossamer wings. They got in our hair and sparked there like gems as they fluttered to death. I felt disorientated, unsure of whether I was dreaming. None of this seemed real.

  Arahal smiled benevolently at me. "Ours is the only way, Swift, You will come to know us. You will see this for yourself."

  "Why me?" I asked him. "What do you want of me? I'm not ready for it, whatever it is. My soul is too young. It does not crave this." I did not even understand myself what I was trying to convey.

  Arahal laughed. "You are still in the forest, Swift. You must let go and come out of the trees." Gelaming seem to hate answering questions. It's not that they prefer secrecy, they just expect people to find out the answers for themselves.

  "I want Cobweb," I said, helplessly. "I want my hostling."

  "He is always with you."

  "No, not here." I could barely remember Cobweb's face.

  We passed a large pavilion, whose awnings were of palest pink and gold. Later, I found out it was a meeting place for those of high rank; the Hegemony and their closest

  staff. At its entrance, a group of hara stood in conversation, their hands gliding to complement their speech. Pain brought a bitter taste to my mouth. One of them was Seel.

  Arahal called a greeting. Seel turned and looked and shook out his hair and smiled. I had not imagined him like this. Cal had described him differently to me. This was the har who had built a town from bare, corroded rock and blistered his hands tearing at the soda valleys in the south. Now he was just Gelaming, sanitized and unsoiled. He should have had snakes for hair. He did not look at me once.

  I was not taken to the Hegemony for three days. During this time, Cal, Leef and I remained in our canopied home, emerging only to eat, when we would sit together in the quietest corner we could find in the nearest pavilion that served food. Once or twice, strangers came to talk with us, refugees from the north, as they supposed us to be. We were afraid of revealing too much about ourselves (all conversation seemed to turn to the Varrs and their atrocities), so shrank from responding to any friendly overtures. We amused ourselves by playing with the pack of cards Arahal had brought us and drinking vast amounts of wine.

  Far from recovering from my weakness brought on by our journey through the forest, I seemed to be getting worse. It was an effort to do anything. I couldn't eat, but I was still the only one who ever went for a walk outside the pavilion. I liked the way nobody bothered me. I could wander half drunk for hours in total peace with people all around me. That was the best thing about Imbrilim, I think. Cal was on edge all the time, dreading further contact with Seel, while Leef was sullen and silent. It was a relief to get away from them occasionally.

  "Why doesn't he come?!" Cal shouted out, unexpectedly, one evening.

  "He will never come!" I answered, knowing that to be unbearably true.

  Cal sat down on the floor. "He's changed," he murmured, to himself more than to Leef or me. "Once he would have come storming in here, yelling at me ... now it's like, it's like he's been gelded or something."

  "Different fire, different fire ..." I rambled.

  Cal put his head in his hands. "I must see him!" he insisted.

  Seel never came.

  In the evenings, I liked to stand at the entrance to our pavilion, taking in deep lungfuls of scented air that always smelled of nostalgia to me. Often, laughing groups of humans and hara would stroll past, lost in conversation, lost in friendship, perhaps on their way for an evening drink in one of the ale tents. Once Cal joined me. "It's disgusting! I hate them!" he said. Sometimes I could bear it no longer and would have to go looking around Imbrilim, looking for him. I usually found him. I seemed to have an uncanny instinct for sniffing him out. The best time was when I found him alone, in a field, beyond the camp. I don't think he was dancing, just exercising his body, but it was incredible to watch. There was no music, but I could tell he was hearing it. He was so slim, it seemed impossible that he contained all the right bits inside him. The thought of it was inconceivable. Such a perfect being could not be blood and bile and gut. Inside, he would be made of glass or crystal or cloud. Maybe all three. I watched him entranced, full of pain. Once he looked right at me and seemed to stretch just that little bit further. I hated him knowing I was watching, but he did not seem to mind. He was used to an audience.

  Afterwards, I told Cal about it. He did not laugh, as I had expected. "What is waiting for us?" he asked me. "I can feel something breathing down the back of my neck, just outside, just above us, perhaps. Why do they make us wait?"

  Miserably, I took him in my arms and we sat on the floor, among the silken cushions, in silence, tasting each other's thoughts without the contact of lips or flesh. After

  a while, Cal said, "I get the feeling ... I don't think I'll be around here for much longer."

  I could not answer him, for I knew that it was true.

  In the morning, Arahal came for me. The sunlight beyond the canopies was hard and glittering, like Arahal's silver hair. He was dressed in skin-tight black trousers, with a confection of straps and silver chains adorning his chest and back. There were black feathers woven into his hair. He looked magnificent, a prince of legend. I was feeling horribly light-headed because of the skimpy meals I'd had over the past few days, but Arahal did not seem to notice or concern himself with my condition. I was sure that if I fell, he would just sling me over his shoulder and carry on walking, chatting amiably about things I would never remember or even hear properly.

  He took me directly to the purple and gold pavilion and told me cheerfully that I was to be given an audience by members of the Hegemony. I was miserably conscious of my bedraggled and feeble appearance and knew I was in no state to present myself well. "Does it have to be today?" I asked.

  "I thought you wanted your questions answered," Arahal replied.

  An intensely beautiful har, dressed in floating gray gauze, with thigh-length platinum-colored hair, conducted us into an antechamber. "I am Velaxis," he told me. I got the impression that was supposed to mean something. "If you would wait here a few moments, Tiahaara . . ." He swayed off into the curtains.

  "Velaxis is a creature of renown," Arahal said drily.

  "Is he one of the Hegemony?" I asked.

  Arahal shook his head and smiled. "Oh no, but he is very close to them. Thiede gave him to them."

  This struck me as absurd, if not a trifle hypocritical. For a race who professed to believe so passionately in freedom, how could they countenance something that had more than a whiff of slavery about it?

  Arahal noticed my expression. "Velaxis is paid for his services," he said. I must have looked even more surprised. "He was once in Thiede's employ as a personal assistant," he continued. "No doubt Thiede realized the Hegemony would need efficient personnel here in Megalithica."

  Velaxis conducted us into the main chamber of the pavilion. We hadn't waited long. Our presence was announced. I was nervous, expecting formality of the severest kind.

  In the middle of the room was a large table. A tall, half-dressed har was sitting on it, peeling a piece of fruit with a knife, his boots were scuffed, and long, fair hair escaped from a black ribbon at the back of his neck. He had a face that was used to smiling and very white teeth. Another, standing next to him, sharing a joke (they were both laughing), was combing out his hair, which was wet.

  "Ah, the rogue Arahal," said the one sitting on the table. That anyone should even think of Arahal being a rogue, let alone actually say it, was a revelation.

  "Ashmael," Arahal responded, bowing sarcastically. The fair-haired har put his knife down carefully on the table. He looked directly at me and I had to lower my eyes. "And this must be the spawn of the mighty Terzian," he said.

  They offered me wine, which went straight to my head, and we sat on warm, wooden chairs around the table.

  "Arahal, what have
you been doing to him?" Ashmael asked, lifting my chin in his hand. His fingers were sticky with fruit juice. Arahal did not answer.

  "Are you struck dumb or something?" Ashmael asked me. "Can Varrs speak?"

  "I am dying," I answered.

  Ashmael looked at Arahal and they grinned at each other. "I think I should talk with him alone," Ashmael said.

  "As you think best," Arahal answered and stood up. He and the other har (who had not yet spoken) went through the curtains to another part of the pavilion. From this, I gathered that Ashmael must be of higher rank than the others.

  "Are you hungry?" he asked me. I shook my head, then nodded it, unsure, sick and starving. The Gelaming called for food and then sat on the table again, where he was obviously more comfortable. He looked at me in silence. His charisma was almost stifling. I could sense his power and his fame, yet he was effortlessly informal. I felt so small beside him, yet even in my helplessness, I wanted him to respect me a little.

  "I want to know ..." I began, and then trailed off, confused as to what to ask.

  "You want to know why you are here," Ashmael prompted helpfully, still staring right into me.

  I nodded and my head swam. "I feel so weak," I said.

  "Then you must eat!" He reached for my face again. "You're all bone! If it helps, I will tell you that this is only the effect of the forest; our little Purgatory. Your psyche has been wounded. I fear you will have suffered terrible revelations. Perhaps we should not have let you stew for so long, but we wanted to let you rest for a few days before interviewing you. It must be intimidating ..." He smiled and then made a noise of annoyance, standing up and striding to the entrance of the room. "Velaxis!" he called. "I believe I ordered food some time ago!" Even his sarcasm was charming.

  "Are you their leader?" I asked, once he had sat down again. He laughed.

  "No; their leader, as you call it, is a grand personage known as the Tigron. He is a phenomenon of phenomena . . . oh, but of course, you've already met him, haven't you!"

  "Have I?" I asked, thinking of Seel.

  "Yes. To most he is only known as the mighty Tigron, but to his friends and those fortunate enough to share his bed, he is merely Pellaz."

  I should have known, I suppose, but even so, it took some moments for this fact to sink in. "Pellaz! Then he isn't dead!"

  Ashmael pulled a wry face and sighed. "Just the opposite, I would say. Searingly alive! Even if he is Thiede's. .." He paused and shook his head. "No, I must not speak out of turn. Such things are not for your ears, son of Terzian!"

  All I could think of was getting back to our pavilion and being able to tell Cal about this. I wanted to go now. Suddenly, my head had cleared and I no longer seemed to be among strangers.

  I must have tried to stand. Ashmael carelessly pushed me back into my chair with his foot. "Where are you going? You haven't eaten yet and I haven't talked to you."

  "I must ... Cal .. ."

  Again, Ashmael shook his head. "No, you mustn't. Cal has his own path to follow and I dare say it's a long one. There's no fiery reunion for him yet. Your paths must diverge for a while."

  "You're going to try and change him, aren't you?" I couldn't help saying it, but Ashmael didn't seem offended.

  "We don't want to change anyone . . . well, perhaps . . . not Cal, certainly. He is a pawn in a mighty battle that concerns neither of us. Put him out of your mind."

  Velaxis brought in the food. There was cold, roasted chicken, a salad of crisp greens and nuts, and strong, aromatic cheese with blue veins. Once I could smell it, food was all I could think of. Ashmael ate off my plate, not really hungry, but too greedy to watch me eat it alone. He poured me more wine.

  "Now then, the first thing we're going to do with you is begin your caste training, of which you've had none, I take it." I shook my head. He smiled. "After that, when you've settled down a little, perhaps the real purpose for your being here shall be revealed. For now, you'll just have to be content with learning how to be Gelaming."

  "Why is it all so secret? Why am I important? Until recently, my only claim to importance was the fact that I was Terzian's son. Is that still the reason?"

  Ashmael shrugged. "In a way. You must understand that the plans of the Gelaming are vast, and that you are only a small part of them, but an important one nonetheless. We all have our part to play. Soon, you shall understand yours."

  "You're not like Arahal and the others," I said, suddenly. It was a thought spoken aloud.

  "Not like them? What do you mean?"

  "You're ... I don't know . . . real. I can understand you."

  "Oh, don't let them deceive you," he said, grinning. "That's just their way. You'll soon learn. Terrific posers, all of them. Just remember; they all have to shit, they all sweat, they're all flesh and blood and bone. The rest of it they learned from Thiede, who is the archetypal cool person."

  "I think it's more than that," I said dubiously. He shrugged.

  "Perhaps, but I helped shape Thiede's little kingdom for dim and he values me, so I'm allowed to think as I like."

  I laughed with him. Whatever he said, Ashmael was not like the others. He had no time for trivia and was impatient with formality, but he could be a bitter enemy if you upset him.

  He told me about the Hegemony, that there were three of them here in Megalithica; Cedony, who was here before with the wet hair, Ashmael and another, whose name was Chrysrn. He told me that Thiede had kept them inactive for quite some time. All they had done since reaching Megalithica was provide sanctuary for refugees from the north and "worry Terzian and Ponclast a little." That was when I asked about my father.

  "Where are my people?"

  Ashmael looked me straight in the eye. "I don't know," he said, spreading his hands, "truly I don't. I had nothing to do with that. It was a morsel that Thiede and Pell kept to themselves. We get so little news here. All we do is wait for orders that never seem to come. One day, we are told, 'Terzian's son is coming to you and he has to be trained.' It wasn't quite the earth-shattering event we'd been anticipating. I don't know why Thiede wanted you to come to us. It would have been much quicker for us to come to you at Galhea and bring you back, but that was the way he wanted it, so we

  couldn't argue. Thiede's fond of upgrading unsuspecting hara to greatness, as he did with Pellaz. I should imagine he has some grand scheme in mind for yourself. Better lie back and take it and make the most of it. There's little point in putting up a fight, believe me!"

  "Perhaps my father is still in the forest," I said, not wanting to be sidetracked from my original question, although what Ashmael had told me prompted a hundred more.

  "I doubt it," he replied. "As I told you, dealing with the Varrish army was something that Thiede and Pell handled alone. It would have been tied up long ago."

  "Then where . . . ?"

  "Leave it, Swift!" Ashmael warned and the tone of his voice silenced me utterly.

  After a while, the other members of the Hegemony, whom I had not met, came to join us. At first, I thought it was Seel and my skin crawled. He had similar slanty, cat's eyes, but his hair was darker and he was taller.

  "I can't stand it! The shower spits rust down my back and there's a dead bird in our water cistern!" he cried, raising his arms, rolling his eyes upwards. "Ah, Immanion, I grieve for you!"

  "Chrysm, this is Swift," Ashmael announced.

  Chrysm put his hands in his hair. "Ah, at last, the Varr! Can we go home now?" he asked.

  From the way I was treated by the Hegemony, I could tell that my status must be close to that of Arahal's. They spoke to me in the way that people of high rank do to those whose position is beneath theirs, but higher than most; the way that tries to convey equality, while still making it apparent that they are making a conscious effort to do so. I had always imagined the Gelaming to lack humor, to be utterly serious all the time, but as in most of my preconceptions about them, I was proved wrong. Apart from their stunning appearance, they were nothing like the
way I'd imagined. I found I was rather drunk and told Chrysm of my earlier opinions of his kind.

  "It is a strain being perfect, I suppose," he said, grinning. "For myself, I am not above the occasional orgy of bitching, which no doubt offends my guardian spirit to the point of apoplexy, but still . . . talking of which, is this rumor of the Tigrina's impendence rooted in truth or supposition or what?"

  Ashmael shrugged. "I don't know for sure. You know how these things get around. Pell won't come himself, I'm sure of that. Everyone's sure of that! Perhaps the Tigrina is bored, alone in his ivory tower in Phaonica. Pell might send him to us to keep him quiet."

  "Or to gratify his curiosity over certain people," Chrysm remarked cynically.

  "Mmm, that too, of course. However, I'm sure Thiede would have assured our gracious Tigrina that Cal is no threat to his position . . ." He noticed me trying to follow their conversation. "I'd better explain to you, Swift, who the Tigrina is. His name is Caeru and he is the Tigron's consort. You will no doubt hear rumors that their relationship is not all it might be. It was Thiede's idea, of course. Pell never lets slip anything about his feelings, but it's no secret in Immanion about his relationship with Cal. Neither is it a secret that Thiede would do anything to prevent them resuming it. I think it's sort of inevitable that Cal should come back into Pell's life. He could so easily have vanished forever. Just because he's here with us in Imbrilim must be bringing the Tigrina out in a cold sweat . . . Something's going on, but no-one knows what it is."