The Wraeththu Chronicles

by Storm Constantine

  When Outher threw me away from him like a used rag, I was weeping uncontrollably, blood and snot and tears hanging from my face in strings. It was the absolute depths of the abyss. He threw a cupful of water over my head, which brought me to my senses a little. It was too painful to wipe my face. I sat up, knees to chest, dazed, yet aware that something terrible was over. Outher was fastidiously rearranging his clothing. "Where are the uvvers?" I croaked. He did not answer. "Outher?"

  He turned and looked at me, perhaps surprised to see that I was not as beautiful as he'd once thought. He had no words for me though.

  "C'n you really blame me for what I did?" I said. "If you'd 'ad any sense you'd 've done the same thing, years ago. Panthera's fam'ly'll pay 'ighly for'is return."

  Outher stared at me stonily. "Panthera will be returned to Piristil now," he said.

  I made an exasperated noise, which had me wincing in agony. It was becoming more and more difficult to speak as my face swelled with every second. "What for?" I asked, in a muffled voice. " 'Afit 's dead. Surely, 'n mos' people's eyes Piristil 's no more."

  "In most people's eyes, Piristil is now Astarth's," Outher said, "and I have no doubt that he will continue to pay my wages just as Jafit did. Panthera earns a damn sight more for Piristil than his family will ever pay for his return, I can assure you."

  " 'Ot abow moral obligation?" I managed to gobble out. It was surprising Outher understood me, but he did.

  "Oh, and what can you tell me about that, Calanthe?" he asked meaningfully. The silence was tense.

  " 'Ot're goin" t'do wi" me?" I mumbled at last. " 'Ot abow Kruin?"

  Outher finished lacing his shirt. He paused to consider before answering. "You will be bled to death. Both of you."

  "What!" Despite the pain, I couldn't help bubbling out an uncontrollable laugh. "Bled t'death? You serious?" I couldn't believe it.

  "You want reasons, Calanthe? Shall I jog your memory? First," he held up one finger, "you have abducted a slave. Two," another finger, "you have murdered your employer ..."

  "No, Thea 'id dat," I interrupted.

  "Two, conspired to murder your employer."

  "Bullshit Outher!" I exclaimed, with remarkable clarity, but still emitting a spray of red-mottled saliva. "You're goin' t'kill me 'n yer own c'lorful way 'cause I ... I ... you . . . hurt!" My garbled speech, (which was probably even less coherent than I have related) dissolved completely. Before I could utter further painful truths (in both senses), Outher knocked me backwards with his foot.

  "Quiet, Calanthe. If you annoy me again, I'll just have you tied to a tree and leave you to starve to death, if the cold doesn't finish you off first, of course."

  "Kruin ..." I said. "Why? 'Ot's 'e . . .?"

  "I just don't like him," Outher said, as if that was a grand and flamboyant thing to say. He put his booted foot on my chest.

  "The Aghama has given you a fine body, Calanthe," he said. "It is almost a pity to take its life, but then it will serve as a splendid sacrifice!" He snarled and walked out of the tent.

  I longed to throw some smart remark out behind him like, "You're lousy in bed, Outher!" but it was too much effort. I heard him laughing as he ducked beneath the door-flap. Obviously, his friends were waiting outside. I lay on the floor for a long time, until I started to feel really cold. All the adrenaline had gone. I tried to sit up and my head protested with a furious swipe of pain. Squinting, I looked for my clothes. They were nowhere to be seen. The tent was virtually empty. I wrapped myself in the rough blanket of Outher's bed and staggered, nearly bent double, to the door-flap. All I did was lift the leather curtain a little before some over-conscientious guard outside slammed a gun butt down on my wrist. Cursing unintelligibly, I retreated like a beaten animal to the bed and eased myself down. Where were the others? Had they suffered similar abuses to my own? I desperately needed a drink and there was no more water. Outher had made sure of that. I needed to rest but my mind was too hectic. When was our execution scheduled to take place? How much time had we got? What, in God's name, could I do about it?

  I fretted alone for what seemed hours, but which was probably just minutes, before the door-flap was lifted again and Outher's statuesque frame was silhouetted against the light.

  "Right you; outside!" he ordered.

  "Don't you mean 'outside please'?" I managed to inquire with quite a steady voice, whilst lurching to a swaying stand. "Where are your manners, Outher?"

  In reply, he grabbed hold of my arm and hauled me out of the tent behind him, blanket trailing. He took me a short way to a small clearing in the trees, where the snow beneath our feet was muddied. My legs could not work; I let him drag me. In the clearing, looking embarrassed, and blue with cold, a defiant Kruin stood naked facing the Mojags and the trackers. One of the Mojags was restraining a bound Panthera by holding onto his luxuriant hair. Outher threw me into the clearing and Kruin broke my fall, he bent to help me up. "My God, Cal, you're . . ." He waved a fist at Outher. "Bastard!" he screamed, following that with a colorful string of profanity. The Mojags laughed. Outher sauntered over to Panthera and grabbed his gagged chin in his huge hand.

  "Now, little cat," he said, "we're going to have an entertainment. Hope you're not squeamish; it's especially for you. In your honor. Now make sure you watch it."

  Panthera moaned and writhed, helpless. A tracker and a Mojag hauled Kruin and myself over to a large tree. Our hands were tied and the rope nailed to the trunk, so our arms were above our heads. As they secured the nails, Kruin said, "I've heard of this; it's a popular method of execution in Mojag."

  "Does knowin' that help us?" I burbled weakly.

  "No." Kruin's voice was tight. I think he was afraid, although, strange as it sounds, I was not. Perhaps I was numbed by pain and wanted only to bo released from it, or perhaps it was because I have never been afraid of Death. There are far worse things in this world to fear. I was prepared for unpleasantness, the sensation of slipping away, even more pain, and wishedwe were being dispatched by a quicker method, but my mind was uncommonly calm. My life did not flash before my mind's eye, but I did think of Pell. I wondered if he was still watching me, whether he was writhing in anxiety because we were so far apart. Could he have done anything to help us? Perhaps these thoughts were what saved us; I don't know. A shining thought of Pell. But of course,

  I'd had intimations of Gelaming proximity in the forest the day before, which I'd ignored.

  Outher came toward us, showing us the razor-sharp knife with which he hoped to take our lives. It was all very solemn. No more laughter. I could see Panthera, dimly, struggling against his bonds. From far away, I could hear his muffled cries.

  "Well, here we go then," Kruin said in a shaking voice. "See you on the other side, Cal. Better luck next time."

  "Not till I've haunted these fuckers to death," I murmured. The blade touched my throat, forcing my head up. I closed my eyes. "Now," I thought. "This is it. Now. Everything for nothing. I've been such a fool. ... Oh God ..."

  But the incisive kiss never got deeper. It was as if everything around me seemed suddenly to stop; no, not suddenly, it was more like a winding down, a film slowing down. I couldn't open my eyes. I couldn't even breathe. I couldn't move anything, but it did not matter. There was no discomfort. It was not like being frozen, but like being utterly incorporeal and numb. My soul should be roaming free but it was trapped within my flesh. Astral traveling within my own body? An odd sensation. Is this death, I wondered. Was it that quick? And then I became aware of people around me; movement and voices. I became aware of the cold blade still pressed against my skin and then it was taken away. Breath shuddered painfully through my lungs, sucked in powerfully as if into a vacuum. A few seconds later and I could move again. I opened my eyes and then shut them again quickly. There was a raw shout that cried, "No!" Mine.

  "Oh, yes," another voice answered softly. "We meet again, Calanthe. Please, look at me." It would have been petty and futile to resist, even ungrateful; I pre
sumed I'd just been rescued. I opened my eyes and looked at him.

  "In the nick o' time, Arahal," I mumbled. "S'pose I shou' thank . . ."

  He inclined his head, an outlandish vision of silver and waving black feathers. Tall as a Mojag, twice as handsome, three times as intelligent. I knew him as the Gelaming Arahal, a commanding officer in one of Pell's armies, and one of the most highly respected members of Immanion society. Through fate or chance or purpose, he had materialized here, in order to save my miserable skin. Gelaming do that sort of thing. It is not unusual. It is the kind of display of power that appeals to their naturally— aggressively—peaceful natures. Had they been watching me again? How long? Arahal took a dainty, ornate knife from his belt and cut my bonds. I fell into his arms and he breathed healing, anesthetic Gelaming breath all over my face. I could not help but welcome it, no matter how much I wanted to deny it. Effortlessly, almost without thinking, he drew the pain from my body, and fed me with his limitless strength. "Made a mess of your face, haven't they," he said conversationally.

  "Why are you here?" I asked. He sat me on the floor, with my back to the tree and continued to explore my injuries with the light from his slender fingers.

  "Hmm? Oh, we had a message." He threw this remark out lightly, hardly concerned with what he was saying. "Cal, you'll have to rest."

  "Watching me. . . ? Have you. . . ?"

  He smiled and stroked my cheek. "Now then, don't worry yourself about such things." He wrapped me in the fallen blanket. "Now, I'd better see about sorting out your friends, hadn't I?" He stood up and gestured toward the edge of the clearing. About half a dozen Gelaming were shimmering there, all mounted on the fabulous, white horses of their tribe, that do not just gallop over land, but through space and time and dreams. At Arahal's beckoning, the Gelaming dismounted and spread out through the clearing. Arahal twisted his fingers high in the air, cried out, and there were the Mojags, who had been immobilized, lurching to life again, just as I had. I smiled inside at their bewilderment. They staggered a little. Then Outher saw Arahal and pulled himself up

  straight, clenching his fists at his sides. Gelaming are unmistakable. Anyone recognizes a Gelaming when they see one, even a Mojag.

  "Before you say anything," Arahal said to him mildly, "I must point out that under the ruling of the Confederation of Tribes, the coldblooded taking of life is a gross offense."

  Outher spluttered for a moment, before crying indignantly, "They are the murderers!" pointing a rigid finger at me. I could not turn my head to look at Kruin, but I could hear him gasping heavily, obviously still disorientated.

  Arahal made an irritated gesture. "It is not for you to take justice into your own hands, tiahaar, no matter how aggrieved you might feel."

  "But ... I ... we ..." Outher was lost for words.

  "Be quiet. Now, you have a fire; bring hot water. Learn humility. See to these hara's wounds." Arahal shivered. "By the Aghama, it's cold out here! Zaniel, free the other two."

  Once unbound, Kruin huddled up against me. "What's happening?" he asked. "What's happening? God, I ache!"

  I shook my head. Presently, Panthera joined us, bringing a blanket for Kruin. Neither of them seemed to have been knocked about too badly; I felt crippled.

  "They're Gelaming, aren't they," Panthera said to me, staring curiously at my battered, multi-hued face. "Why did they come? How did they know? They did know, didn't they?"

  "No questions," I said. "Not yet."

  "I'm sorry," Panthera said, lightly touching my blanketed arm. "Here, I'll help you to one of the tents. Come on, lean on me." Clutching eachother, Panthera, Kruin and I shuffled past the dumbfounded group of Fallsend trackers and Mojags. They eyed us stonily. I could hear Arahal lightly issuing orders.

  Arahal let me sleep for nearly a day. Early the next morning, he came into our tent and politely asked Panthera and Kruin if he could speak with me alone. He had brought me some hot coffee liberally spiced with fragrant shrake, a Gelaming liqueur. Gelaming always carry such luxuries with them.

  He watched me drink, shaking his head. "You are a puzzle to me, Cal," he said. "When are you going to learn?"

  "Learn what?"

  He stood up, sighed. "Do you really need me to tell you? Are your senses that dull? I remember that, at one time, Calanthe would have had no trouble outwitting Jafit and his kind."

  "I've been through hell, Arahal," I said. "When you're living from day to day like a sewer rat, it's hard to remember you were anything but a low form of life."

  "Rats have instincts, surely!"

  I lay down and put my arms over my face. "I don't want to argue about this, Arahal. You know as well as I do that I can either live like this or as the Tigron's little pet. I can't say either of those choices are good ones, but what else can I do?"

  "Are you going to keep on running forever then? Let me remind you, Cal, that no-one has estimated a harish life-span; you might be running for a lot longer than you'd like."

  "Did he send you?" I asked bitterly. Arahal didn't answer. "How do you think I feel, knowing he watches me all the time?"

  "You don't know that."

  I laughed without mirth. "Don't I? How come you arrived so quickly then? Why wasn't I left to die? If Pell hasn't enough guts to face me, he should let me die! He won't come himself; he sends you! The Pell I loved is dead. Maybe I should be too!" I didn't mean that.

  "Lord Tigron, to you," Arahal said, out of habit.

  "When we thought we were about to die, Kruin said, 'Better luck next time.' He's right, Arahal. Maybe it would have been the best thing. This life of mine is a mess. I'm involved in things I don't want to be involved in. I have a conscience that watches me do the wrong things just so it can make my life a misery afterwards. Why are you smiling? I'm desperately unhappy!"

  "I don't think so!" he said, offering me another measure of shrake from a silver bottle he untucked from his belt. "Enjoy Jaddayoth, Cal. It is a colorful country."

  "You mean I'm free to go?"

  "Of course! We are not jailers. I, as much as anyone in Immanion, want to see you well again."

  Meaning what precisely? I wondered. "This is a blood sport. You'll hunt me again!"

  "We've never hunted you. Don't be absurd!"

  "After Megalithica . . ."

  "After Megalithica what?" he snapped brusquely. "You were given a choice, Cal, but we bear no malice against your decision, just regret."

  "You've always hunted me," I continued self-pityingly. "I've always been followed."

  "You're deceiving yourself, Cal. We never have."

  I turned my face away from him. I did not believe it. "You're lying."

  Arahal sighed and rubbed his face. "There is a limit to what I can say to you."

  "Oh, run out of the lines he fed you, have you?"

  He smiled sadly. "I will not comment on that, because I can understand your pain. As soon as you're strong enough, we shall escort you and your companions to the next Hadassah town. The Mojags too. You can all take penance there for your crimes. You would do well to remember a certain unfortunate har who now lies poisoned in the mud of the Fallsend canal, I think."

  I snorted. "Oh, you know me, Arahal. Life means nothing to me!"

  "Certainly not your own, it seems!" He ducked out of the tent and left me alone with a sour taste in my mouth.

  Kruin and Panthera respected my desire to remain silent over the subject of the Gelaming, although I know that they discussed it thoroughly together when they weren't with me. Perhaps they even asked the Gelaming questions, but I doubt that they were answered. Only a privileged few know of the peculiar set of circumstances that link me to the Tigron and Immanion, and it's not something that the Gelaming would want to

  make public. They buried Jafit in the forest and brought our horses back to us. In two days, I felt well enough to leave.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Huyana and the Vision

  "My body was the house,

  And everything he'd t
ouched an exposed nerve"

  —Stephen Spender, An Empty House

  J asminia is a much larger town than Caraway, and only a few miles away from where we were camped in the forest. So close to safety, yet so far! The Gelaming escorted us so that, as they tactfully put it, the Mojags would not be tempted to explore further transgressions along the way. It was evening by the time we rode through the carved, wooden gates of Jasminia, but the town appeared to be as busy and full of hara as it would have been at mid-day. Snow had been cleared from the narrow streets, crackling torches threw sulphurous light across the rooftops. Most of the buildings in Jasminia are single-storied, but sprawling.