storm (2 page)

            Raven had already been to Snake's room to deliver breakfast, which the shaman was now eating in a slow and dignified manner.  Snake Jaguar's name derived mainly from the appearance of his eyes.  One was very dark, almost black, while the other, on his damaged side, was bright gold.  This was his snake eye, his seeing eye, so he was required to keep it covered, out of politeness, for most of the time.  His face was very beautiful, unmarked, and so was the right side of his body, but the left side was maimed.  A chemical fire, so strong that not even a harish frame could recover from its cruel breath, had ruined him, created his golden eye, and had consumed entirely the har named Silken whom Snake had loved and who had been Moon's hostling.  It had been an accident: no rogue hara or humans had done it.  Evil had come out of the ground, evil that had waited so long for release, it had become impatient with anticipating human or harish detonation.  It had erupted from the ground on its own, to burn out in a moment of glory, which had unfortunately incinerated seven hara of the clans and injured a further three.  Two of those had later died, but Snake had survived.  To a normal har, to be less than perfect was anathema.  Snake, however, appeared barely to care about such things.  He lived, for the most part, inside his own head.

            Now, Moon went to his father and knelt before him.  He said, “Tiahaar, am I to die?”

            Snake raised his head.  Ropes of black hair hung over his face, down to the floor, and from between these ophidian coils the golden eye glowed, while the black eye contemplated the darkest reaches of the universe.  “What is this?” Snaked asked.

            Moon explained, as best he could.

            Snake continued to eat his breakfast, listening intently.  Then, when his son finished speaking, he said, “Moon, you are becoming adult, that is all.  Go to Raven.  He will instruct you in these matters.”  His expression was distant.  He did not look Moon in the eye.

            Moon had expected something more dramatic than this.  “A ship came,” he said. “A black ship.”

            “Unneah from the south,” Snake said.  “They bring little of value, but later you might go over to the docks and barter for tobacco for me.”

            “How far south?”

            “Not far enough,” Snake said.  He reached for his staff and began to struggle to his feet.  Moon jumped up to help him.

            “Will we ever go home?” he asked

            “I doubt it,” Snake said, for a moment allowing himself to lean upon the shoulder of his son.  “Why do you ask now?”

            “I don't know.  I wonder what it was like.”

            “Go to Raven now,” Snake said, pulling away.  “Tell him that I have sent you.”

            Moon rarely communicated with Raven, even though Raven was supposed to have raised him after his hostling's death.  Raven was always so taciturn and preoccupied with his dedication to guarding Snake that Moon had raised himself without realising he had done so.  Why Snake should send him to Raven now, Moon was unsure.  He doubted that Raven could teach him anything, because he was as wrapped up in his private world as Snake was.

            Raven's eyes were discomfortingly entirely black, so you could never be sure what he was thinking, if indeed he thought at all.  His skin was very dark, like that of a panther and his face looked like the sculpture of a mythical king.  He, more than any other har of the clan, was most like the big cat from which they'd taken their name.  He could sit motionless for hours, staring at a single thing.  Then he could strike, and take a bird from the air so quickly, nohar could really see it.  Moon didn't like him very much, although he wasn't consciously aware of that.  He interacted with too few hara to understand the concepts of like and dislike.

            Moon found Raven on the Reliquary grounds, tending their vegetable patch.  He moved with precise gracefulness, in what to Moon that day seemed an annoying manner.  His thick black braids, which hung to his thighs, were bound at his neck by a single braid, to keep them from dangling over his work.

            “Snake says you are to instruct me,” Moon said.

            Raven fixed his attention upon Moon and said, “In what regard?”

            “He says I am becoming adult and that I should come to you.  He said to tell you he'd sent me.”

            Raven stared at him in his usual impenetrable manner for some seconds, then snapped, “He said this?”

            “Yes.  What must I learn?”

            Raven turned away.  He seemed troubled.  “I am not a good teacher,” he said.  “There is too much I have forgotten.”

            “Perhaps we should go to the docks instead.  A ship has come. Snake wants tobacco.”

            Raven said nothing.  He stood with his back to Moon for what seemed like an hour, but was probably less than a minute.  Then he began carefully to put away his tools and tidy up his work area.  Moon waited impatiently.  He was thinking of the docks and the aroma of cooking sugar-dough from the food stalled that lined its perimeter.  He had not yet eaten.

            Raven had finished his work.  “Come,” he said, and beckoned Moon to follow him.

            “I'm hungry,” Moon said, trailing behind.

            They went into the small orchard, near to the run where the hens scampered about. When they saw Raven approaching, they all rushed to the netting, squawking and flattening their wings against the ground in devotion.

            “I felt ill,” Moon said.  “This morning I was sick.”  They were in a circle of trees and the air felt very different here, still and close.

            “It is feybraiha that you are going through,” Raven said.

            “What's that?”

            “The advent of sexual maturity.  You will be able to create harlings of your own now.”

            “Why would I want to do that?”  Years ago, when Snake had been somewhat more communicative, he had taught his son about his own kind.  He had told him about aruna and how it could be used for spiritual growth, for creating harlings or simply for pleasure.  Moon hadn't thought about it much since, mainly because it was not something that figured in their routine domestic life.  Snake and Raven were not like normal hara in that respect.  Now, feeling as if iced water was filling up his veins, Moon began to remember what he'd been told, that one day his body would be ready for aruna and when that time came he must see to its desires.  He faced this har he did not even particularly like and asked, “What must I do?”

             “Nothing,” said Raven. “You must be aware of what this will do to you.  It will wake you up.  You will never be able to sleep again.”

            “I don't believe you,” Moon said.

            Raven almost smiled.  “I'm trying to tell you about a new responsibility you will have.  Your body will wake up, and you must look after its needs.”

            “What about
your
body?”

            Raven didn't answer.  He simply began to take off his clothes, so that Moon could see the pale scars against his dark brown skin, scores of them, down his back and along his right flank.  It looked like he'd been whipped or attacked by a savage beast, but other than that he was perfect.  The scars, in some ways, only emphasised this perfection.  “You are like one of the statues,” Moon said, “the ones in the Reliquary.”

            “Get undressed,” Raven said.

            Moon had no preconceptions whatsoever, and did not feel shy about what must happen.  He was nervous, because it might hurt, but other than that was quite content to do as he was asked.  He lay down on the damp grass, which was still cold because the sun had not touched it.  Overhead, the tree branches swayed and rustled and birds hopped from limb to limb.  Moon could see clouds racing across the sky.

            Raven lay down beside him and the warmth of skin against skin was pleasant.  Raven stroked his back in a way Moon thought somehar had done to him before, presumably his hostling, many years ago.  Sometimes, Raven's breath drifted across Moon's face and when it did so, he received impressions of vague fleeting pictures, as if they'd been painted in faint watercolours.  Moon had a strong impulse to put his mouth against Raven's own and really taste those images, but Raven carefully avoided such contact.  Moon guessed he didn't want to share what was inside him.  The stroking and tantalising breath kindled desire in Moon's body.  He had never felt such a thing before and was startled by its power and the control it had over him.  What was the purpose of it?  Raven's caresses became more invasive and Moon saw a picture in his mind of a great door.  He knew that behind it was some kind of treasury and that the treasure would not be what he expected.  He gasped and arched his body a little and Raven slid on top of him.  He put one hand on Moon's face and murmured, “Relax.”

            “I can't.”  Moon kept his legs clamped close together, knowing he shouldn't, but feeling that once he allowed Raven to do what had to be done, it would change everything forever.  He wasn't ready for that change.  He hadn't thought about it.  This was all too quick.  He couldn't stop the tears.  Should it be like this?

            Raven put his mouth against Moon's lips and gently exhaled.  He gave to Moon images of Silken, images of Moon himself as a harling, laughing and playing in sunlight: the two of them together.  He gave to Moon images that must have come from Snake, long ago, of dusty red lands and soaring mountains.  Moon saw his father as he'd once been: whole and vigorous.  These images were not painful, nor did they make Moon sad.  He felt a wistful longing for things he'd never had, but it was a sweet longing.  He understood, for a brief moment, what living truly was, and how magical it was that hara could come together this way, mingling their beings, sharing all that is deep and passionate.  He was sinking into an ocean of soft feathers, the most comfortable place in the world, where pain and sorrow could not exist.  This was like entering the otherworld, walking the spirit paths in a place far better than cold reality.  He curled his legs against Raven's lean back and Raven pushed inside him.

            “This is so strange,” Moon said.

            “Hush.”

            “But it is.  It's so weird that a piece of you is inside me.  It's such a strange thing to do.  Whoever thought of it?”

            “Stop thinking,” Raven said.

            But Moon couldn't stop.  His body responded fully to physical sensation, but the more it did so, the more his mind raced.  He was chattering to himself like a maniac, full of questions.  What had made Snake cut himself off from other hara?  What had happened to Raven to make him so dour?  Where had they come from?  Where was the red dusty land?  Who had they left behind?  He saw a shining web stretching across infinity, and it was studded with points of light.  He knew that each of these points represented others who were connected to him and surely now, at this moment, they must be aware of him too.  Who were these hara?  Where were they?

            Raven's movements had become more urgent and deep, his breathing fast and ragged.  It was like a storm hurtling across the Sea of Ghosts in a boil of dark cloud to break over the shore.  The ground was shaking.  The trees were shaking.

            Moon opened his eyes, which had been shut tight and saw the branches overhead vibrating wildly.  Leaves and twigs were raining down and the hens were screeching in terror.  This wasn't aruna: this was real.  Moon cried out and tried to pull away from Raven, but the climax of aruna crashed over them and snatched Moon's senses in its flow.  Wave after wave of indescribably delicious sensation coursed through his body while around them the world shattered.  They would be buried in the  debris.  They would be killed, and they were so helpless, imprisoned by animal instinct that didn't care if everything around them was exploding.  Moon screamed in ecstasy and terror.  Clear thoughts came to him in the eye of the storm: aruna is selfish, it doesn't give a damn what happens to us.  It has a mind of its own.