The Wraeththu Chronicles

by Storm Constantine

  "I wouldn't like to have to explain to the Elhmen what happened to Kachina," Panthera said, meaning he was having trouble explaining it to himself.

  "He was killed by the beast," I replied. "Believe it, Thea! Don't think anything else; there's no point."

  Eventually, a red haze became stronger in the passage before us, which was widening considerably. Statues of naked hara wreathed in flaming hair stood in alcoves along the way, where offerings of fruit and bread had been left at their feet. Ahead, we could see the glow of an intense radiance, and within minutes, reached the end of the path, emerging onto a lip of stone. Below us stretched a vast, underground valley, lit by a thousand, thousand points of fire. Gases and multicolored bursts of flame jetted from cavities in the rocks and valley floor. The air was richly perfumed; very sweet and smoky. Sahen; uncomfortably like a vision of hell

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Encounter with the Lyris

  "All shall be well... When the tongues of flame are in-folded

  Into the crowned knot of fire

  And the fire and the rose are one. "

  —T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets

  "So, how do we get down?" I asked, peering over the edge. There was no apparent way from where we were standing.

  "Look above you," Panthera said smugly, pointing.

  "What is it?"

  "Cables. My father talked to me of this. It's a kind of public transport here in Sahen. We'll have to wait." He reached up and pulled a white flaglet out from the wall, which would be clearly visible below. Shortly, a cable-car shaped like a vast, wing-furled bird swept gracefully up to us, and paused at the brink of the ledge. "Passage to Sahen?" Panthera said politely and the pilot answered, "That'll be three fillarets."

  We didn't have anything smaller than a spinner, so Panthera was magnaminous and told him to keep the change.

  "And where is your intended destination, tiahaara?"

  "The residence of the Lyris," I replied, grandly, and without a remark, the pilot released the brakes and we were sweeping, as if in flight, down to the city of Sahen. The buildings were incredible; a forest of stalagmites, precarious walkways linking the gnarled towers, spider strands of cable sweeping between them. All the Sahale have ferociously scarlet or crimson hair (variation in hue depending upon cast). As we swooped along, the pilot's hair (far from all-enveloping as an Elhmen's, but still impressive) billowed out behind him like flames. Panthera and I huddled together on the floor, both of us rather concerned about our safety, for the car rocked dangerously at times, and we were given terrifying visions of the city beneath us. Tall spires seemed to graze the car's wooden floor, often rising right above it, as it

  weaved and skimmed its way between them. It was a rollercoaster ride to end all rollercoaster rides. Panthera, of course, had never heard of such things, and looked at me blankly when I mentioned it.

  The car glided to a halt upon a large plaza in the center of the city. In front of us rose a magnificent confection; the palace of the Lyris. It resembled a crown of stone, spiked and starred, bridges swaying from spire to spire, where small figures could be seen mincing along them. Our pilot lowered the side of the car and we stepped out, none too sure of our feet. "Over there," he said, unnecessarily, pointing. "Go to the outer gate. If the guards consider your business worthwhile, you may be granted entrance. If not, allow me the liberty of recommending the inn on Ash Row. It is owned by my uncle, true, but good and cheap fare are to be found within, nonetheless. Good-day to you, tiahaara."

  Panthera and I glanced at each other quizzically and advanced toward the palace.

  "A strangely hospitable and amenable race considering their habitat," I commented.

  "Well, I doubt that they ever encounter unwelcome visitors," Panthera replied. "No-one who was unwelcome would ever get this close, I'm sure!"

  Thinking back on the oppressive darkness, snaking tunnels and unspecified, mannerless monsters, I was inclined to agree.

  The guardians of the Lyris rival the palace itself in magnificence. Two of them stood to attention at the outer gate, their spears crossed. Helmets of spectacular design adorned their heads. From beneath, braids of flaming hair fell to their waists. Their armor was moulded to their bodies as if sprayed there. Long skirts of pleated silk hung from waist to ankle. They gazed at us mildly as we stood before them, but did not smile. Panthera produced the letter of introduction from Ferminfex, which he offered for their scrutiny. One of them took it, alternately peering at the page and glancing at us. Panthera shifted the weight of his bag on his shoulder and sighed.

  "You seek an audience with Lyris," the guard said smoothly. We nodded mutely, wary of saying the wrong thing. "Well," he continued, "I cannot guarantee you satisfaction, but you are welcome to wait in the Hall of Hearkening with all the others who desire the same. Here, you better take this with you." He returned the letter to Panthera.

  We thanked him profusely and passed through the gate. Within, the palace was like a town within a town. We came out into a vast, tiled courtyard, plunged into a bustle of activity. Hara milled around noisily, shouting to each other, pausing to examine merchandise for sale on the gaily colored stalls set up around the edge of the square. Nobody spared us a glance as we wandered wide-eyed and rather aimlessly toward the other side. Eventually, I stopped a passing har and asked him the way to the Hall of Hearkening. He rolled his eyes. "Ah, simple! Through the Red Gate over there, down the left corridor, take the third right, across the Fountain Plaza, then second right. The Hall's down that passage; you can't miss it!" He smiled at us and passed on.

  "Can't miss it," I said, bleakly. Panthera sighed and took my arm. We walked on.

  After several abortive attempts and further questioning of passersby, we finally found ourselves at the grand, open doors of the Hall of Hearkening. A Registrar sat in a booth outside playing chess across the counter with a soldier. "What's your business?" he asked us in a bored voice, not lookingup from the checkered board. We explained, Panthera waving the letter, which the Registrar did not bother to examine. He wrote our names disinterestedly in a ledger and gave us a numbered ticket. It was stamped with a date (presumably) which neither Panthera or myself understood: "23 Blue Foresummer—12:05". It was also numbered 217.

  "Are these issued from nought daily?" I enquired. The Registrar looked at me properly for the first time; answering that question was obviously one of the few pleasures of the job.

  "Yes, tiahaar. Don't look so glum. This is a fair society.Therefore anyone may speak to the Lyris. But, needless to say, all the fairness in the world won't make more hours in the day."

  "Does the Lyris spend all his time speaking to his people?" Panthera asked coldly.

  "No. Two hours in the morning, two early evenings. Some matters are cleared quickly or passed to his clerks. You may have a chance . . . sometime this week." He went back to his study of the chess board. I had noticed the soldier moving men furtively around whilst we'd been speaking.

  "Come on, let's go in," I said.

  "Seems a waste of time. Perhaps we should come back tomorrow," Panthera replied. The Hall beyond was packed full of hara, all talking loudly. Panthera groaned. "You see? We could be waiting here for days!" He dropped his bag grumpily onto the floor. I couldn't disagree. Several hara were sitting huddled in blankets around the edge of the room among rows of black pillars. I had the sick impression that they'd been there for several days themselves. I threw my bag down as well. Perhaps I'd been wrong to complain about the Gelaming (or whoever it was) announcing our arrival in the right ears before we got anywhere. We could certainly do with that kind of help in Sahen.

  After a while, a har selling provisions came over and offered to show us his wares. I enquired about the queueing arrangements to see the Lyris. He answered the query easily. "Keep your ticket," he said. "Let me see it. Ah, 217. The Lyris has enough time to see maybe fifty hara a day, if their business is quick.

  Tomorrow you may move up the queue, cash in your ticket for
another one. It's all done fairly, no-one can steal your place, but don't lose the ticket, otherwise you'll be at the back again."

  "In my estimation, that means we'll be here at least four days," Panthera said, none

  too cheerfully.

  The vendor shrugged. "My brother is a coffee-vendor," he said. "I could send him over

  if you like. You look as if you need refreshment." To get rid of him, we agreed to

  this.

  "Family ties are important to the Sahale, it would seem," I said.

  "Mmm," Panthera assented, still sour.

  "Now, I wonder if a brother, cousin or uncle of the Lyris is selling anything around here—like a few minutes of the Lyris's time, for example?"

  "Don't be stupid," my charming companion replied.

  "Actually, I'm not. Neither am I joking. Think about it! How much money have we got

  left?"

  Panthera moodily examined our joint purse. "Not that much really. Just fifty spinners.

  Is the Lyris's time that cheap, do you think?"

  I let this sarcasm wash over me. "No, I expect his time is priceless or at least beyond our bargaining power, but perhaps someone who can help us could be bought for less."

  "Fifty spinners won't buy much," Panthera argued. "A floor scrubber in the royal apartment, maybe ..."

  "I was thinking more along the lines of one of the more upwardly mobile household staff, if you don't mind! They could show the Lyris your father's letter."

  Panthera considered this. "Hmm," he admitted grudgingly. "If the Lyris has been given advance warning of our arrival, it may work. If he's never heard of you, he may use the letter to light his next cigarette. But you never know."

  "If the Lyris has never heard of me, then I suspect we've come to the wrong place anyway," I said. Panthera gave me a hard look. "That's not conceit talking," I continued, "just logic." He shrugged. We sat down against the wall, and presently, as had been promised, the coffee-vendor weaved his way through the crowd toward us. We bought two coffees and he gave us a handful of change. I put this back on his tray meaningfully.

  "Could you point out to us a member of the Lyris's staff?" I asked. "Maybe someone fairly high up in the royal household?"

  The coffee-vendor laughed. No doubt our plan was a common one, he'd heard many times before. "Nobody that high-ranking ever shows their face around here," he said, "this is the pleb's Hall, but I am acquainted with Zhatsin, who's an under-valet of the Lyris. For a price . . ." He smiled.

  "Would two spinners induce you to bring him here?" I asked sweetly.

  "As it happens, it would, tiahaara," the coffee-vendor replied, "but I feel honor-bound to point out to you that just about everyone who comes here tries to buy their way into the Lyris's presence. Quite often, it's suspected that those who are hired to facilitate this need simply throw away whatever notes or letters they've been given and pocket their money with a smile . . ."

  "Thank you—we'll take that risk," I said.

  "Very well. Wait here. I'll be back as soon as I can." He held out his hand hopefully.

  "You'll be paid when you return," I said, and he shrugged, disappearing back into the crowd.

  "That's the last we'll see of him!" Panthera complained. "I doubt he knows anyone in the Lyris's household."

  Thankfully, Panthera was wrong. Presently, the coffee-vendor returned accompanied by a startling, blood-haired har who smelled strongly of patchouli and looked down an aristocratic nose at us. He would not speak to us directly at first. His friend, the coffee-vendor, told us that Zhatsinwould be happy to accept thirty spinners to deliver our letter of introduction to the Lyris. Like the coffee-vendor, he silently held out his hand for the money. Panthera was going to hand it over straightaway (he had learned nothing), but I stopped him in time.

  "No," I said, "you get the money when we get to see the Lyris." The Sahale looked indignant. He spoke for the first time. "That seems a little unfair. My delivering this letter does not automatically guarantee that he will see you, does it! What if I complete my side of the bargain and he throws your letter away? How do I get my money then?"

  "Let's just say that I'm confident the Lyris will not disregard the letter," I said. "How about if we up the price to thirty-five spinners?" "Forty." "Thirty-seven?"

  "Tell them I'll do it," Zhatsin said to the coffee-vendor, who duly told us and took the letter from Panthera's outstretched hand. Zhatsin snatched it away and whisked off in a boiling cloud of crimson hair and muslin. "Beautiful, but haughty," the coffee-vendor said, as if in apology. "As is often the case," I said, smiling benignly at Panthera, who snorted angrily, folded his arms and stared into the crowd.

  After about an hour, I noticed two splendid palace guards asking questions of the crowd. Eventually, they sauntered over to us. "You from Jael in Ferike?" one of them asked. His arms were sheathed in beaten silver to the elbow and a fern-like silver

  chain hung from his left ear to join a sparkling stud in his nose. We introduced ourselves. The guard nodded. "Come with us. The Lyris wishes to convey that he is impressed by your letter of introduction and will grant you a few minutes of his time, even though the evening Audience is some hours away yet."

  Just a few minutes of his time? I knew better but I still said, "We are grateful" and ducked a slight bow, to show we understood this honor.

  We were taken through a side-door of the Hall of Hearkening and through a number of low-lit corridors, where the air became smokier and more pungent. A double row of fat, polished pillars led to an enormous pair of doors framed by snarling dragons painted crimson and gold with black tongues and white tusks. Here, our hireling Zhatsin was waiting smugly with outstretched palm. The guards waited patiently as Panthera completed the rather sordid task of counting out the thirty-seven spinners. I thanked Zhatsin for his help and he smiled at me narrowly before stalking away from us, jangling his bounty in his hand.

  "Are you ready?" one of the guards asked. Were we? I nodded, and he rapped upon the impressive doors three times. After a moment, both swung silently inward and we were ushered inside. "Good God!" I exclaimed, under my breath.

  "By the Aghama!" Panthera echoed, illustrating for a moment our difference in age. We were both surprised by the opulence. The room within seemed to be have been constructed entirely from gaudy, flashing gold, the brightness only softened by diaphanous curtains that swathed the walls and tented the ceiling. Censers swung on chains, exuding thick drifts of sweet smoke and globes of light hung in clusters shedding ruby, violet and lemon vapors. In the center of the room lay a wide, round hearth, where a smokeless fire bloomed with heatless light. Around this, an oiled and naked hara danced to the racing pound of hand-drums, held by shaved and painted hara dangling from the roof in jeweled cages. At the end of the room, directly opposite where we stood gawping, the Lyris reclined in a magnificent throne on a raised dais, his favorites draped sinuously across the steps. He watched the dancer with unflinching concentration. His hair was many different shades of red and gold, his chest and feet bare, his body glistering with jewels and precious metals. But more than this, he had the aura of power that proclaimed him king; a radiance that jewels and finery had no part in. Panthera and I were obliged to wait until the dance had finished. Then one of the guards indicated that we must follow him across the room.

  "This is how royal households are supposed to conduct themselves," I said to Panthera. "Remember this when we return to Jael."

  Panthera smiled thinly. Every eye in that room was turned upon us; not a comfortable feeling. Neither was the curious silence. I'd expected the Sahale to be very similar in their habits to the Elhmen. Not so. The Lyris looked up at us lazily as we approached, waited until we were within ear shot, and raised his hand. The guard halted our progress by slamming the butt of his spear across our chests.

  "Which of you is Calanthe?" This came from a pinched-faced har, robed in blue, standing next to the throne. I pushed aside the spear and took a step forward.


  "I am." It seemed best to bow. The Lyris bent his head to speak to his aide, who then addressed me once more. He beckoned me closer until I stood with my toes nearly touching the bottom step of the dais. The Lyris's favorites fixed me with eyes that were not hostile, but not without contempt either. I could feel them taking in my appearance, my shabby clothes and unwashed hair, my lack of jewels and perfume. Perhaps they thought nothing of it, but I certainly felt horribly conscious of my appearance.

  "You are quite famous, it would appear," the pinch-faced har remarked, to which it was impossible to reply. I shrugged. "We have had notice of your visit," he continued. (Surprise, surprise.) Thanks for the welcoming committee, people of Sahen. "If you would be so good as to come with me, the Lyris has asked me to inform you he will speak with you later." Ignoring whatever my reaction to this might be, he looked over my head at Panthera. "Take this son of Jael to one of our guest-suites, see to his

  comforts!" I could hear Panthera's vague protests as he was efficiently whisked away. Pinch-face flicked his hard eyes back to me. "Come," he said, extending a clawed hand. I looked at the face of the Lyris. He looked back, but did not smile or even register that he could see me at all. His aide descended the dais and took hold of my arm. "This way," he said, pulling me.