The Wraiths of Will and Pleasure (50 page)

A breeze started up and it smelled sour. It came from the north and it felt unnaturally warm and clammy against the skin. Soon, Lileem thought, it would happen. Her fingers reached inside her coat pocket for the carving of the Tigron. It was cold as ice.
It isn’t him,
she thought.
It isn’t Pellaz coming for us.

Lightning threaded its spiky way through the clouds, illuminating a dense pulsing core to the bubbling clouds. They resembled the fruit of dry rot, which Lileem had discovered in certain parts of the white house: a sticky spherical gauze of livid yellow and sickly white that looked as if it would explode in a smoke of a million poisonous spores if you poked it. When the Gelaming came, would she and her friends have to fight them? They had come so far. They couldn’t just surrender themselves now surely. ‘Will you hide us again?’ she said to Tel-an-Kaa.

‘I will do what I can,’ she replied, ‘although the sea is not my natural element. If I can hide just one, it will be you.’

This did not sound encouraging.

It was almost as if the Gelaming were teasing them, because for over an hour, the impending portal merely hung above them in the sky, emitting weird pulses of light and occasionally grumbling with thunder. The Roselane shamans uttered mournful cries to the winds and to the creatures of the sea, but it did not appear they were heard.

They are trying to break our spirits,
Lileem thought.
It is so strange. Why are we that important to them?

Then, the clouds opened. The sky filled with a heavenly white light, a radiance so brilliant that everything – the sea, the ship, its passenger and crew – were bleached of colour. Everything appeared spectral, as if made of light itself.

Tel-an-Kaa began to mutter beneath her breath, but she didn’t suggest that any of them join her in her magic. She put a hand upon Lileem’s shoulder and the centre of her palm radiated an energy that was neither hot nor cold, but something of both. Lileem squirmed away and the Zigane looked at her sharply. In the strange light, her eyes were pinky red, like an albino’s.
I won’t let you just protect me,
Lileem thought clearly, trusting the Zigane would pick it up.
We are all in this together.

‘Where are the horses?’ Mima asked, squinting up at the sky. ‘Is anything coming out of there?’

‘Not yet,’ Tel-an-Kaa said. Her gaze was still on Lileem.

The shamans of the ship had gathered on the main deck in a circle, and now uttered bizarre cries that shattered around them. Shards of sound caught in Lileem’s hair. She could taste the words. It wouldn’t work. Nothing they could produce would combat this power.

Ghostly shapes began to spiral out of the sky, circling the ship. They could have been horses, but it was difficult to tell. They brought with them a strong wind that smelled of flowers, of trampled greenery with a strange metallic undertaste. The ship began to roll upon the newly agitated waters. Its timbers groaned as if in pain.

Lileem was thrown against the side of the ship and Flick pulled her back. ‘What can we do?’ she said to him. ‘What?’

‘Nothing. We can do nothing.’

The ship was surrounded by what looked like a white twister. It had no form, and was sensed rather than seen with the physical eyes, but Lileem caught the impression of flying manes, of sharp hooves slicing the air. There were no riders though.

The Roselane shamans were now shrieking out their invocations, to no avail. The ship began to turn, slowly at first, but with increasing speed. The waters around it were becoming a whirlpool.

‘They mean to take us!’ Tel-an-Kaa cried. ‘They will carry the entire ship up to the portal.’

‘Can we jump overboard?’ Ulaume demanded, and his voice now sounded thin and distant. Space had become distorted.

‘Into that?’ Flick said, indicating the turbulent waters. ‘There is a vortex around us. How can we escape that?’

‘We must do something!’ Mima snapped. ‘We can’t just stand here and wait for them to take us.’

‘This is your brother’s doing,’ Tel-an-Kaa said to her coldly. ‘You might as well prepare yourself for a reunion, though I doubt it will be happy.’

Lileem was having trouble with thinking clearly. Her mind felt muzzy, as congested as the clouds had been. Her fingers curled around the carving in her pocket. It was still cold. Maybe the Tigron had sent hara out in pursuit of them again, and was sitting at home on his throne in Immanion, fully aware of what was happening. But maybe he wasn’t responsible at all. If he’d wanted to capture them, he could have done so at Atagatisel. Hadn’t the Zigane mentioned at the time that she’d detected
two
groups of Gelaming near them? The thought occurred to Lileem then that Pellaz might have been trying to help them escape. Was this just wishful thinking? If it was, then it would be a big mistake to try and use the little carving to contact him. It would be very stupid to consider that, because a portal to Immanion was open, it might be possible to send out a strong message and ask for his help again.

Don’t do it,
she told herself. But already, she had closed her eyes. Her fingers gripped the carving firmly. Even in the midst of this chaos, she found it was possible to focus her thoughts. She imagined them as a pure beam of light shooting up through the centre of the vortex, going beyond space and time, and somehow finding its way to Immanion. She imagined Pellaz sitting upon a great throne in a huge empty chamber. He was like a statue.

‘Pellaz, hear me,’ she cried in her mind. ‘I call to you, Tigron, you who are lord of all Wraeththu. Hear me and come to my aid. We are your children and we in danger. Extend your powerful arm and smite our enemies.’

She realised she was addressing him as if he was a dehar, but if the stories were true, and he was a har who’d risen from the dead, perhaps this was entirely appropriate.

The maddened waters were rising, and the entire world was held in the grip of chaotic elements. All around Lileem, hara were being thrown around the ship. She could hear their cries, distantly. Some crouched low, clinging on to whatever could keep them steady. Others had gone below deck. The shamans were screaming, in rage and helplessness.

‘Pellaz!’ Lileem cried aloud. ‘Hear me and approach! I command you!’

She knew the others couldn’t hear her. She had stepped out of time into a different place, an otherworld realm. She was in a building that looked like a temple, standing before a throne. In it, sat the Tigron and he
was
a statue, made of golden stone. He was hundreds of feet high and Lileem was so small, like an ant, before him. ‘Help us, Pellaz,’ she said. ‘Help us.’

There was a sound like mountains grinding together and the mighty statue raised one hand. Lileem heard his voice, inside her head. ‘Bring forth darkness to combat the endless light. Call upon the force that is strong in your heart and mind. I see this thing. You have wrenched it from the cauldron of creation.’

Lileem heard an almighty thud, then another. The ground in this strange unearthly temple was shaking. Bits of stone fell down from the ceiling, which was invisible high above. Lileem turned. Something approached. Something huge. She glanced at the statue of the Tigron, but it was motionless. She heard a monstrous hiss and turned again at once.

A monstrous image of Aruhani filled a high doorway behind her. The dehar radiated dark power. He was the most beautiful and terrible thing she had ever imagined. He stamped a foot and the ground shook. He lunged forward and hissed again, and a great red tongue lashed out.

‘Aruhani,’ Lileem said and her voice sounded tiny, like the whirr of an insect’s wing. ‘Help us…’

The dehar paused. When he breathed, plumes of smoke poured from his nostrils. His eyes burned and his braids writhed like Colurastes hair. The sound of his breathing was like the rumbling of a volcano.

‘Please…’ Lileem said inadequately.

Aruhani stamped again and roared. Lileem had to cover her head because chunks of stone rained down from above. She cried out in terror and was thrown back into her own reality.

For some moments, she was confused. The rain of stone had become a rain of icy seawater, equally as bruising. In the brief time she’d been absent in her mind, the situation had worsened. She knew Flick and the others were standing by her, but could not see them. She closed her eyes and let her instincts guide her. Blindly, she groped for Flick’s hand, drawn by the essence of his spirit. Her fingers curled around his and she spoke to him in mind touch.
Call upon Aruhani, Flick.

She heard his shocked response.
No!

Yes! Bring Mima and Ulaume to us. We must do it together. I know this. Don’t question. Just do it. Trust me!

The moment the four of them joined hands Lileem could see them again. Everything else around them was a frenzied mass of moving light.
Call Aruhani,
she said in mind touch.
All of us. Now!

Their combined effort was enough to conjure up the energy of the dehar. He was their focused intention, their desires, their need. He came as a giant, striding through the whirlpool. With one black talon, he tore a rent in the spiralling power, a fissure through which the ship fell with a cascade of water. It was like riding a tidal wave.

Lileem would afterwards remember hardly anything of those moments. There were brief flickering images. Thrown into the water, her head colliding with something sharp. Limbs floundering around her. Cries. Screams. The sound of breaking timber. Down, down into the boiling black depths.

Chapter Twenty Eight

There are tales in the north of those who come out from the sea. Some say that survivors of shipwrecks are not really hara at all, but sea creatures clothed in borrowed flesh. It is said that these creatures walk the shore at night, singing in wailing voices to call forth their brothers from the depths. They are never happy on land.

Living in close proximity to the ocean, and attuned to its moods, the hara of the tribe of Freyhella have a host of superstitions associated with what they see as the most powerful element on earth. On that strange day, when the winds died, and the sky turned into a boiling soup of cloud, they took their fishing boats to dock. They stood upon the harbour of their town and watched fearfully all that occurred. They saw what at first they took to be a waterspout on the horizon, but the most sensitive among them spoke of winged creatures in the whirling phenomenon. They spoke of voices crying out in fear, the inner voices that only the inner ear can perceive. They spoke of magic bled of power, words that had lost all meaning.

When sky and sea appeared simultaneously to burst into one chaotic element and rush towards the land as a devouring tidal wave, the Freyhellans fled to the hills behind the town. The great wave broke upon the fierce black rocks around the shore and flung itself over the dwellings, shops and workshops of the town, but nothing was destroyed. The Freyhellans descended the hills, and they found a strange sight. Fishes flopped in silvery heaps upon the eaves of the houses and seaweed draped the doors and windows. The main road was paved with shells and sand and the splintered spars of a dead ship. And on the roof of the Great Hall an octopus lay splayed out like a star.

The Freyhellans went down to the shore, knowing that they would find the dead in that place. Their shamans shook their staffs, which were hung with tassels of horse-hair and dried weed and carved with powerful runes, to ward off any malevolent spirits. Rangy dogs with long tails ran among the wreckage, sniffing for survivors. As hara turned over the hanks of weed and sodden planks, they found many limp bodies. But the strangest thing of all, given the ferocity of what had happened, was that none of them were dead.

Lileem came to her senses in a small, dark room that smelled of tar. She was lying in a bed beneath a thick quilt and was wearing some kind of long shirt. For a moment she couldn’t remember a single thing, like who she was and what her life had been. The light in the room was brownish, and she saw a porcelain bowl standing on a table, the only bright thing to be seen. A cloth hung over the edge of the bowl, and a slim figure emerged from the gloom and picked it up. As this individual approached her, Lileem recognised him as har. His hair was almost white, and hung over his chest in two thick braids, but his skin was dark.

‘Lie still,’ he said in a strongly accented voice. Lileem could tell her language was not his native tongue. He placed the cloth over her forehead. It was damp and warm and smelled of lavender.

‘My friends!’ Lileem said. Her mouth and throat were dry and sore, and filled with the taste of salt.

‘All of you survived,’ said the har, ‘which is a miracle. Be at rest. You will see them soon.’

Lileem remembered then: the awful power of the elements, and she like a scrap of cloth hurled around in them. She should be dead. She knew she should be dead. ‘Tell me where I am,’ she said.

‘This is Freygard, domain of the tribe of Freyhella,’ said the har. ‘And I am Galdra, chesnari of our leader, Tyr.’

Lileem closed her eyes because her head was aching. Would they be safe here? Would the Gelaming assume they’d all been killed? She remembered calling upon Pellaz and how he had inspired her to summon Aruhani. Pellaz must know she was alive. But perhaps all that she had done was use her own energy to help them escape. The Tigron she had met might only have been a dehar, another Pellaz, created solely in her own mind.

Galdra wiped her face gently with the scented cloth and then offered her water to drink. Lileem told him her name. He clearly did not realise she was anything other than har.

The Freyhella are by nature superstitious, and therefore their leader, Tyr, interviewed the bewildered crew and passengers of Night’s Arrow as soon as they were able to rise from their beds. He was anxious to know exactly what his hara had witnessed on the day the winds had died and whether there would be any repercussions for his tribe, whether practically or magically.

The day following Lileem’s awakening, Galdra took her to a council chamber in the Great Hall, in the centre of the town. Its ceiling was supported by vast wooden columns, covered in carvings. Tyr sat upon a throne of carved wood, on a raised dais, with a company of warriors arranged to either side of him. He was a tall har with frightening pale blue eyes. His hair was like unravelled silk, which had somehow got into a tangle. It fell over his breast, where an armoury of metal amulets clanked on chains. Around his shoulders was a cloak of wolfskin.

Before the dais, stood Flick, Ulaume and Mima. Tyr was not paying any attention to them: he conferred with his hara. Lileem’s companions appeared well, if exhausted. They were dressed, as she was, in Freyhellan garb of tunic and trousers, decorated with embroidered designs of sea creatures. Lileem went to them and embraced each in turn. The same words were on all their lips: ‘We should be dead’. Lileem said nothing to this. She needed to speak to Flick in private about it first.

When Tel-an-Kaa strode into the chamber, only minutes after Lileem’s arrival, Lileem did not recognise her. For a few moments, she thought this was a high-ranking har she had never met before, but then realised it was actually the Zigane, shorn of all her glamours and disguises. Tel-an-Kaa would speak for them, for she radiated authority.

Flick said to Lileem, in an undertone, ‘We have died after all. We are in Valhalla among the Norse gods.’ He had told her about the Norse legends long ago, in the lost days of curiosity and play at the white house.

Lileem smiled. ‘Then Tel-an-Kaa is the trickster Loki come to fox them.’

‘Let’s see,’ said Flick.

One of Tyr’s advisors addressed the Zigane. ‘Where is the captain of your ship? Archon Tyr wishes to speak with him.’

‘I am sanctioned to speak on his behalf,’ Tel-an-Kaa replied. ‘It is with me and my companions you should talk. We were passengers on the ship, and what happened was because of us. This is why I have requested this audience with you and why our captain has given me authority to speak.’

‘Then speak,’ Tyr said, gesturing with one hand.

Tel-an-Kaa inclined her head. ‘Thank you, tiahaar.’

Surprisingly, Tel-an-Kaa mostly told the truth. She said – perhaps guessing the independent Freyhella would not hold a high opinion of the Gelaming – that she and her companions had been pursued by Gelaming, who wished to take them to Immanion. She said that some of them were former friends of the Tigron, and held sensitive information about his past. For this reason, the Gelaming were keen to capture them. She spoke of the efforts of the Roselane shamans to combat the magical attack, and how they had managed at the last moment to create a fissure in the vortex, thus enabling an escape. It was Roselane magic that had protected them during their tumultuous journey towards the land. Such was the power of the shamans.

Tyr seemed to accept this explanation, although he was clearly not happy about fugitives from the Gelaming being in his domain. ‘You will travel to Roselane now?’ he asked.

‘As soon as we are able,’ Tel-an-Kaa said. ‘Any help you could give us regarding transport would be much appreciated. I don’t know what remains of our possessions, but we did begin our journey with a substantial amount of Parsic currency. You are welcome to that if you find it.’

‘Any ship that founders upon our shores is our property,’ said Tyr. ‘Therefore, your currency is ours anyway.’

‘Then I hope that in the spirit of kinship, and a mutual respect for freedom, you will lend us your aid regardless,’ said Tel-an-Kaa.

Lileem was greatly impressed by her courage.

Tyr appeared slightly stunned by the Zigane’s forthright approach and perhaps found himself agreeing to help without realising it. ‘We can provide a boat to take you upriver,’ he said. ‘Will that suffice?’

‘We would also appreciate supplies,’ said Tel-an-Kaa.

Tyr nodded. ‘Galdra will see to it.’ He stood up. ‘You may leave.’

Once outside the council chamber, Lileem and her companions praised Tel-an-Kaa for her handling of the situation.

‘We need to be straight forward now,’ she said. ‘We cannot waste time. The Gelaming could reappear at any moment. I trust you are all ready to resume our journey?’

Lileem was disappointed they must move on so quickly, because she’d have liked to explore Freygard and learn about the Freyhella, but she could see the sense in Tel-an-Kaa’s words.

Galdra, as Tyr’s chesnari, was second in command of the Freyhella, even though he was quite young. He was as interested in their temporary guests as they were in his tribe, as he was second generation har, and liked to hear about harish life in other countries. He knew the language well because many hara had joined the Freyhellans fleeing from Varrs, Uigenna or Gelaming. While some of his hara prepared a boat for the travellers, Galdra took them all to a feasting chamber in the Great Hall. Here, he offered them a meal and for a few short hours they could enjoy good company in comfortable surroundings.

While Galdra was still supervising the dispersal of food, at a distance from his guests, Mima cocked her head towards him and said, ‘Well, is anyhar here going to state the obvious?’

‘What do you mean?’ Tel-an-Kaa asked coolly. ‘And do I take it Lileem and I are included in that request, seeing as you put it to “anyhar”?’

Mima gave the Zigane a narrow glance. ‘Just a word,’ she said, then turned back to her companions. ‘Who does Galdra remind you of?’

Flick shrugged. ‘Nohar. Although he’s quite a stunner.’

‘He looks like Cal,’ Mima said.

Flick glanced over to where Galdra was issuing orders to the serving staff. ‘No… You’re wrong.’

‘I’m not. I’m talking physically, nothing else.’

‘She’s right,’ Ulaume said. ‘He does.’

‘Another Tyson?’ Flick mused. ‘Did Cal pass this way once?’

‘Who knows?’ Mima said, ‘but the similarity is uncanny.’

‘When you look for it,’ Tel-an-Kaa said. ‘Personally, I find Galdra a far more attractive har, in every sense. Cal is diseased.’

Mima laughed at this remark, and even Flick was moved to smile.

‘I’m the only one who’s never met him,’ Lileem said. ‘Now I feel like I’m missing out!’

‘At least we can laugh about him now,’ Ulaume said. ‘A welcome change.’

Tel-an-Kaa grimaced, and when she spoke her tone was enigmatic. ‘Don’t laugh too long.’ She stood up. ‘I want to speak to our charming host. Please excuse me.’

‘Now what did she mean by that?’ Mima asked.

Flick and Ulaume seemed eager to discuss it, revelling in the chance to indulge in idle gossip, but Lileem had other matters on her mind.

Tel-an-Kaa monopolised Galdra for the entire meal, which gave Lileem the opportunity to speak to Flick away from the Zigane’s ears. She beckoned to Flick and led him to the hearth, which was some distance away from the table where all the others were sitting. ‘There’s something I have to tell you,’ she said, ‘but I don’t want Mima to hear it.’

Flick glanced to where Mima sat talking with Ulaume. ‘That means Ulaume can’t hear it either,’ he said. ‘He won’t like that. He already thinks you confide in me too much. It’s not really fair, Lee. He cares for you deeply.’

‘Oh, do shut up!’ Lileem said. ‘This isn’t about my relationship with Lormy. This is important. You can tell him everything later.’

‘Well, what is it?’

Lileem took a deep breath. She anticipated an unfavourable response. ‘I think Pell helped us escape the Gelaming.’

Flick’s eyes seemed to glaze over with a film of ice. ‘Now what makes you think that?’

‘I called upon him. And he came. He told me we should invoke Aruhani.’

Flick exhaled long and slow. ‘Lee, Pellaz knows nothing of the dehara, and knows nothing of you. This is not a time for games or fantasies.’

‘And I am no longer a child,’ Lileem said, ‘so don’t speak to me as if I am. This isn’t an idle fancy, Flick. I
feel
it.’

‘But why would Pellaz help us escape? It doesn’t make sense. We’ve been led to believe he wants us – or at least me – in Immanion.’

‘We saw him at Atagatisel,’ Lileem said. ‘He let us go then. He helped us escape. I’m sure of it. And now he has done so again.’

‘We have no proof of that. It stretches belief, to say the least.’

‘We don’t know everything,’ Lileem said, ‘and as Cobweb told Ulaume, we don’t really know what’s going on in Pell’s head. Maybe he’s more constrained as Tigron than he ever was as a normal har.’

Flick cocked his head to one side and regarded Lileem through narrow eyes. ‘You know what?’ he said. ‘You have a thing about the Cevarros. You have a secret liking for Terez and now you want to have a spiritual connection with Pellaz. You already have Mima as a roon friend: can’t you be content with that or is it your aim to collect the entire family?’