The Wraiths of Will and Pleasure (4 page)

‘Help me lift him,’ Seel said, and two hara went to assist.

Orien lolled between them, a caricature of his normally elegant graceful self. ‘It’s done,’ he croaked. ‘It’s done.’

Seel and his assistants lowered Orien onto a chair. ‘What’s done?’ Seel asked. ‘What has happened?’

In response, Orien surrendered to a fit of weeping so heartfelt it instilled horror in the breast of everyhar present. Flick had never heard sobs come from so deep within a harish frame before. It was a lament for the world. Something terrible had happened. Orien held onto Seel tightly, as if Seel could somehow make the terror go away.

‘What’s happened?’ Seel asked again, but it was clear that Orien couldn’t answer.

After everyhar had gone, Flick left Seel to help Orien upstairs to a guest room and went out into the night. He knew Seel and Orien needed time alone, bound together in an uncomfortable cocoon where there was no room for him. He walked around the yard behind the house, restlessly pacing. Horses watched him nervously from the corral, unable to sleep so close to his fizzing energy. Flick looked up at the sky, so many stars there. Some of them were already dead, of course. Still beautiful to behold, but already dead. Flick hugged himself. The air was hot, but he felt so cold. He was eighteen years old, but felt ninety.
What are we doing?
he thought.
What are we?

He glanced back at the house, solid against the sky, a house built by harish hands, but no different from a house that humans might once have lived in. Aeons ago, a flicker in time, Flick had lived in a very similar house, where there was a magnolia tree near the porch and children’s toys strewn over the lawn. Now he was here and someone else, but there were too many holes in the story, as if he was dreaming and couldn’t wake up.

Have we any right to mimic the past?
He thought.
Isn’t it a travesty? We should live beneath the stars, howling like coyotes; we should live in tepees or tall towers of stone with no stairs. We should not eat dinner together in candlelight, or drink wine, or talk about inconsequential things. We are not allowed to, and look what happens when we do. The otherness comes creeping in to remind us of what we are. It’s done: he said so. But what?

It was something big, Flick was sure of that. And it wasn’t merely going to touch them – it was going to reach down and grab them and squeeze them of breath.

Without realising he had done so, Flick found he’d gone back into the house and up the stairs to the room he didn’t share with Seel, but was regularly invited to. Seel lay on the bed, smoking a cigarette in semi-darkness. His multi-coloured hair was spread over the pillows. He looked fierce.

‘We can’t hide here,’ Flick said. ‘You do know that, don’t you?’

Seel exhaled; the smoke looked like his own breath. ‘Go away,’ he said.

‘Sometimes, I really want to.’

Seel said nothing to this, as Flick had expected, although he couldn’t have been ignorant of the implications.

Flick went to sit on the bed. ‘Did Orien say anything else?’

‘Nothing that made sense,’ Seel said. ‘I’ve never seen him like that.’

‘He’s afraid.’

‘Yes. He’s a fool. We’re our own hara here.’

‘You – we – invited Thiede in. He’s seen us now. He knows us.’

‘We have no proof that what happened tonight has any connection with that,’ Seel said. ‘It would be a mistake to spook ourselves. Orien is a seer. He just had a moment, that’s all. It could mean anything.’

‘Except that it didn’t.’

‘I told you to get out, didn’t I? What’s keeping you?’

‘You were never like this, Seel, not before…’

‘Get out, Flick. I mean it.’

Anger flared up in Flick’s heart. ‘No!’ he cried, ‘I won’t. I’m not your servant. I’m not even your whore, although you treat me like one.’

‘What the fuck are you talking…’

Flick sliced the air with one hand. ‘No! Listen to me. Tonight was all about Cal. You know it was. Something’s happened and you’re scared he’s dead. Isn’t that right? You and Orien invited something in to Saltrock and you can’t undo it. You know it. I know it. Everyhar knows it. What did Orien see? Tell me! I know you know.’

‘He thinks he’s doomed, OK? Does that satisfy you? He thinks he’s dead.’

‘It’s not just that.’

‘Oh, what the fuck do you want it to be, then? Isn’t that bad enough for a har to see, to experience?’

‘Seel, calm down. This anger is just a defence. What else did Orien see? Why does he feel threatened?’

‘His own death. Can’t you get it? You want a message for yourself? Is that it?’ Seel growled and took a long furious draw off his cigarette. ‘Are you that important, Flick?’

Flick’s heart was beating fast now. He felt dizzy with the hostility that screamed silently round the room. He swallowed slowly and with difficulty, as if past a tumour that had formed in his throat. ‘You were never hostile. You’re becoming like him – you’re becoming Cal. Don’t do it, Seel. You’re better than that.’

Seel’s lips curled into a snarl. ‘You have no right to speak to me like that. I won’t accept it. Get out, before I do or say something I can’t take back.’

‘You never ran from the truth before. You were in balance, with yourself and with others. Can’t you see what’s happening? Is this what you want to be?’ Flick knew he was heading into very dangerous territory, but he had to speak.

Seel sat up abruptly and it took all of Flick’s will not to flinch away. He thought he knew Seel, but perhaps all he did know was what Seel wanted to be. Seel had been incepted to the Uigenna. There was wildness in him, even if it was buried deep. Somehow, pushing the fear back down inside him, Flick managed to hold Seel’s furious gaze. He had to try and reach him: the real Seel, the har he knew and wanted to love.

Eventually, Seel sighed and leaned over to stub out his cigarette in an ash tray on the bedside table. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. Now will you please go?’

‘You should talk about it.’

Seel uttered a caustic laugh. ‘About how I probably changed the course of Pell’s life, and through doing that changed all of our lives? We think we know so much. We don’t know anything. I lost sight of that. I was too adept at forgetting. Now it’s too late, and I know something’s happening and I’m partly to blame. I could feel it in that room down there. I could smell it. I smelled Cal, the way he was a long time ago.’

‘Shutting yourself away won’t help,’ Flick said. ‘We should all face this together, whatever it is. We mustn’t fight amongst ourselves.’

‘I don’t want to go back,’ Seel said. ‘That’s what it’s about. I want to stay here, live the life I’ve chosen, but I know I can’t. That’s the worst of it. You’re right, Flick, Thiede has seen us all. And we’re just puppets to him.’

‘Is that what Orien saw?’

‘I think so, yes.’

‘What is Pell’s destiny? Will you tell me?’

‘I don’t know and that’s the truth. But it’s not just him. It’s all of us.’ Seel grimaced. ‘My guts ache. They ache so much.’

Chapter Three

When an abnormal event occurs, it tends to occupy hara’s attention, consume them with the emotions it might have inspired. But it is impossible to live in the moment of an abnormal event forever. In the morning, meals still need preparing, a lame horse has to be shod, fires have to be built.

And so it was in the Kakkahaar camp. Ulaume’s unexpected fit the previous night had brought a nervous edge to the festival, even though Lianvis had done his best to reassure his hara that it was nothing out of the ordinary. Strange influences might be floating on the aethers and sensitive hara could pick up on them. Visionaries and seers were subject to that kind of episode all the time. It was a risk they took and nothing to worry about.

Ulaume knew this was a lie but appreciated why it had to be said. He wasn’t sure himself what last night’s events really meant, only that they had affected him greatly. He hadn’t been able to curse Pellaz either, and the two things must be connected. Had he incurred Hubisag’s displeasure? Surely not. Pellaz represented all that Hubisag did not stand for. Some Wraeththu strove to be pure, enlightened and compassionate. Some strove to be decadent, enlightened and dispassionate. The Kakkahaar fell heavily into the latter camp, while Pellaz, who’d been incepted at Saltrock, was influenced by the former.

After his trance, Ulaume had been unable to join in with the festivities, but for the sake of appearances had concluded his dance, a torment for which Lianvis had thanked him warmly afterwards. The Kakkahaar leader knew it had been a dreadful trial and that Ulaume had only done it to allay the fears of his tribe. As soon as he was able, Ulaume had slunk off into the desert. He couldn’t talk to Lianvis yet, even though he’d felt his leader’s eyes upon him as he left the gathering.

Ulaume walked around till dawn, trying to work out the meaning of what had happened. He knew he’d witnessed Pellaz’s death, and also that he had not been an instrumental factor in it, but he was overwhelmed by the fact that this knowledge heralded a beginning, rather than an end. In the cold twilight of the predawn Ulaume sat down with his back to a tall rock and faced an unpleasant truth – something to which he was not normally given. He hated Pellaz because Pellaz had spurned him. Pellaz despised him and thought he was evil. Ulaume believed that eventually he’d have been able to turn this pious creature, but unfortunately his companion, Cal, had been a Uigenna, who’d had Ulaume’s measure all too accurately and had influenced Pellaz’s opinions. Perhaps, then, Ulaume should hate Cal more than Pell and direct the curse at him. But that was pointless, because anyone could see that Cal was already cursed. He was more kin to Ulaume than he was to Pellaz, and also unreachable. Ulaume now felt annoyed with himself that he’d allowed these hara to affect him. Weakness, weakness, and he’d believed it to be strength. He felt as if he’d had his wrist spiritually slapped and that was a humiliating sensation. The universe had told him emphatically that, in some way, his destiny was linked with Pell’s, but how could that be? How could he be linked to a dead har? How could so shining a har, in fact, be dead? He was too vital, too alive, too… special. Ulaume ground his teeth. He didn’t like having to admit that. He didn’t like having to admit that the curse would have involved asking Hubisag to send Pellaz back to the Kakkahaar, so Ulaume could exact his own revenge, the result of which, in Ulaume’s dreams, was Pell’s submission. It would never happen now.

Ulaume punched the hard cold ground and said aloud, ‘Show yourself to me, shining spirit. Tell what it is you tried to convey. I am open to your manifestation. Speak to me.’

Nothing answered, but in the distance a coyote yipped up at the last stars in the sky. Ulaume sighed heavily. There were no answers out here. Perhaps there would never be answers.

He returned to the camp, where the last stragglers from the festival were slouching back to their pavilions, yawning and belching and supporting each other. A few lewd songs could still be heard inside the tents. Ulaume felt depressed by it all. These stupid creatures hadn’t realised something of importance had happened. They had abandoned themselves to wild excess and today they’d readjust their masks into those of restrained shamanic adepts, believing they knew all the mysteries of life and death, when in fact they knew nothing.

Lianvis was still awake, drinking coffee in the main salon of his pavilion. Ulaume was annoyed to see he had company, a high-ranking har of the tribe named Rarn. Ulaume really needed to talk to Lianvis alone, and thought that Lianvis would have known this.

‘Good news,’ Lianvis said, when he noticed Ulaume skulking among the draperies. ‘Last night, Rarn’s consort delivered a pearl.’

Ulaume grunted. To him, that was of no importance. There were more pressing matters to discuss.

‘Perhaps this was what your trance indicated,’ Lianvis said.

‘I hardly think so,’ Ulaume snapped. ‘I saw death, not birth.’

Rarn shifted uncomfortably on the cushions.

‘Yes,’ Lianvis said. ‘We must speak of this. You told me somehar was dead. Who?’

Ulaume struggled with the anger that rose within him. Lianvis sounded as if he was enquiring about a ridiculous piece of gossip. He was clearly so pleased about the pearl, he had forgotten the enormity of last night’s events, the pressure in the air, the feeling of power all around them. He didn’t even seem concerned about where Ulaume had been all night. ‘No har in particular,’ Ulaume said. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Today, we must celebrate,’ Lianvis said. ‘Our tribe has taken a great step forward.’

‘Congratulations,’ Ulaume said spitefully to Rarn.

‘We know now that this is something we can all achieve,’ Lianvis said carefully, appraising Ulaume with a steady eye. ‘We can create our own pearl.’

Ulaume nearly choked. Lianvis thought his waspishness was because he felt jealous of Rarn’s consort. ‘It isn’t something I’ve thought about,’ he said. ‘It’s not my role in life.’

‘Surely, it is everyhar’s,’ Lianvis said, and now he sounded stern.

Ulaume slumped wearily inside. So, Lianvis wanted sons. This was the last thing Ulaume could think about. ‘Whatever you want,’ he said. ‘I need to sleep now.’

He left the room and once the drapes fell behind him, he could hear Lianvis speaking quietly to Rarn. Ulaume realised he’d received another message from the universe. Whatever had happened, or was happening, to him, he must deal with it alone.

Unfortunately, the universe was not very forthcoming about what Ulaume should actually do. Most nights, he awoke from disturbing dreams, of which he could not remember the details. He woke with a taste of metal in his mouth and a strong desire to leap up and run somewhere. But where? The rest of the tribe, including Lianvis, appeared to forget there had been anything unusual about the night of the festival: Herien’s pearl wholly consumed their attention. It was as if they believed that no other Wraeththu had ever succeeded at procreation, although Ulaume knew this was not the truth. The tribe would not move on until the pearl had delivered up its treasure and Ulaume felt so restless. He took to walking out into the desert at night, willing for whatever entity had tried to communicate with him at the festival to manifest once more. If he had a job to do, he must know about it. He should be given a sign. It was strange, but he no longer felt the anger and need for revenge he had before. If Pellaz had died, then he had taken all of Ulaume’s rage with him. All that was left was a burning curiosity and a sense of yearning.

Lianvis barely noticed Ulaume’s protracted absences from the camp, spending most of his time in Rarn’s pavilion instructing Herien on how he should bring up his harling, once it hatched.

Herien, privately, often wondered exactly who would be the parents of the child when it finally emerged into the light, given Lianvis’ overwhelming interest in the proceedings. He began to harbour fantasies of running away, but by then he had become very attached to the pearl and the life that writhed within it. He resented the fact that everyhar else was intent on sharing what he wanted to be a private personal experience. His desires were not to be catered for, however, because on the night when the surface of the pearl convulsed and began to fracture, every high-ranking har of the tribe was in Rarn’s pavilion. The pearl lay on a cushion in their midst and at the moment when a small groping hand emerged from the rubbery coating, every throat uttered a gasp of wonder.

Herien himself could not breathe. He held onto Chisbet’s hand, so full of emotion he thought he might explode. Chisbet pulled away from him to help the harling emerge from its external womb. Carefully, he stripped away the withered shell and lifted the child out. He held it up before the others, who were silenced. A creature perfectly formed. A miracle. It stared around itself with knowing eyes, so unlike a human child, it made everyhar feel totally freakish for some moments.

Herien clasped his own throat with both hands, as if to hold onto consciousness. He could not believe what he beheld, but felt in his heart he had given birth to a god. The harling did not look like a baby, but a miniature human child of two years or so. Its fair hair was soft and silky, its expression weirdly benign. It uttered a sound, surely a laugh, and waved its small fists at its audience. And perhaps because they regarded it through a film of tears, none of them noticed the obvious at first.

Rarn fought his way through the goggling throng and put his arms around Herien’s shoulders. ‘Thank you,’ he murmured.

It was the most complete and wondrous moment of Herien’s life, but sadly short-lived.

Chisbet had put the harling down on the cushion in order to inspect it thoroughly and now his expression had become grave and distressed. He knelt up, hands braced on his thighs, and stared down at the harling; his eye held the intense gaze of an oracle.

‘What is it?’ Lianvis demanded.

Chisbet shook his head and sighed deeply. ‘Send these hara away, tiahaar,’ he said. ‘I must talk to you and the parents in private.’

At once a murmuring started up, but Lianvis got to his feet immediately and asked the company to leave. Reluctantly, they did so.

Herien used this opportunity to seize his harling and hold it close to his breast. He sensed trouble and a lioness instinct took over. If anyhar had bothered to glance at him, they would have seen he was prepared to die to protect his young.

‘Is something wrong?’ Lianvis asked, once the last har had left the pavilion.

Rarn had wrapped both Herien and the harling in a fierce embrace. ‘There is nothing wrong,’ he said in a low voice. ‘What is this, Chisbet?’

The harling chuckled to itself and gazed in wonder around the pavilion. It made small noises of interest and pointed at various objects. Then it would nuzzle into its hostling’s hair.

Herien had closed his eyes.

Chisbet composed himself on the cushions. ‘What I have to say is not easy,’ he said. ‘I have heard of this happening, but have never witnessed it.’

‘What?’ Lianvis barked.

Chisbet scratched his empty eye socket. ‘Herien,’ he said, ‘please put the harling down on the cushion again. It will be easier for me to show you than to explain.’

‘No!’ Herien snarled. ‘There’s nothing wrong with him. Get out!’

Chisbet looked up at Lianvis. ‘Tiahaar?’

‘Do as he says,’ Lianvis said. ‘We need to know.’

‘This is my harling!’ Herien snapped. ‘Mine. Not yours.’ He held the child tight, and now its small features had become slightly troubled. So the concept of fear came into its life.

‘It is not exactly a harling,’ Chisbet said.

‘What do you mean?’ Rarn asked. ‘How can that possibly be so?’

Chisbet held out a hand to Herien. ‘Please, trust me. Put down the child. Let me show you.’

Herien looked into Chisbet’s eye, this har he trusted so implicitly and who over the last few months had become one of his closest friends. He saw compassion in Chisbet’s gaze and reluctantly laid down his child, keeping one hand upon it.

‘Look,’ Chisbet said, straightening the harling’s limbs. ‘This is not a Wraeththu child, as such. It is not androgynous. It is a half-sex, in this case, female.’

For a few moments, everyhar stared at the child in silence. Herien felt totally numb. He remembered having a dog as a young boy, and how that dog had been his constant companion, his beloved friend. All his memories of the dog were gilded, but one day the animal had contracted a disease, which had made him no longer a faithful companion. Herien, as a human, had tried to ignore this. He’d been too full of love to care. He would love the dog and that would sustain the pair of them. But one day, the dog had gone, because it was dangerous and Herien’s parents had been afraid for him. Old feelings of grief now flooded his body. He picked up the harling and enfolded it in his arms. It didn’t matter, surely? It didn’t matter. The child had come from his body. They were linked.

‘I don’t understand this,’ Lianvis was saying. ‘What are you trying to tell us, Chisbet?’

‘Occasionally, I have heard, harlings of this type appear among Wraeththukind. They are throwbacks, freaks.’

‘But you have never seen one,’ Rarn said. ‘How do you know he won’t develop the necessary characteristics later on? You’ve only seen one birth, you said so. You know only a little more than the rest of us.’

‘I know about this,’ Chisbet said, ‘because the har who trained me told me of it. He told me to be aware of it and how to deal with it, should it occur. It is very rare, among births which in themselves are rare, but my mentor impressed upon me its importance.’