storm (85 page)

           
He could not fight you!
A voice screamed in his mind. 
But I can.  I will unmake you, Pellaz har Aralis!  Your body will be left without a soul!

           
Pellaz knew immediately that this was no idle threat.  Whatever invaded his being was strong, and comprised of matter that could affect his etheric form.  He fought back, trying to force the blackness away from him, but it was like trying to extricate himself from an immense web.  If he pushed parts of it away, it clung to him more firmly in other places.  He could feel it squeezing his soul, seeking to crush and dampen forever the flickering flame of it.  He could not even escape it by returning to his corporeal form.  The blackness anchored him to this place.  It was affecting Galdra also.  Pellaz became aware of Galdra's being, and knew that his assailant was completely aware of what was occurring.  It had reached inside him and taken that knowledge.  It would force Galdra to conclude the Grissecon which would mean that Pellaz would have no way to return to his body.  He would be snuffed out like a candle flame.  Pellaz screamed for Lileem, for Snake, even for Moon, anyhar who could help him now, but none of them could hear him.  He screamed for the dehara, but his enemy was a smothering blanket that obstructed his attempts to reach out.  He could feel Galdra's anxiety and terror, the way he was trying to hold on to their union with every shred of will and strength he possessed, but he was losing power.  At the climax of Grissecon, the most magical and intimate of moments, Pellaz would die.

            Pellaz was powerless to resist what was happening.  He was too weak.  Fighting was pointless.  He projected to Galdra a final surge of appreciation and love.  They had done what they could.

            But then, there was a voice in his mind. 
Pellaz, what are you doing?  This is an illusion.

            No illusion!
cried his enemy.

            Pellaz heard soft laughter, so familiar a sound.  He opened his eyes and peered through a film of oily blackness.  Cal stood over him, beautiful and radiant, an archetypal warrior covered in wounds. 
Run, Diablo!
Cal said.

            He extended an arm and touched the darkness covering Pellaz's etheric body.  At once it convulsed in pain, as a force Pellaz had never encountered before flowed through it.  A black shape leapt up from him, transforming as it did so into a weird kind of har with enormous burning eyes.  This har hissed at Cal and struck out, although it missed its target.  Cal laughed again, his eyes shining with a manic light.  He flicked a dart of radiance at Pell's assailant, which passed right through Diablo's shoulder.  Dark ichor spurted out.  Diablo yelped in pain and then leapt through the wall, presumably back into the chamber beyond.

            Cal did not follow.  He simply stood where he was, gazing down into Pell's eyes.  It took some moments for Pellaz to realise that he was free and not about to die.  He stared back at Cal, unable to communicate.  He didn't know what he felt.

           
You should never had doubted me,
Cal said.  He looked haggard, whether in physical form or not.  His clothes were ripped and bloody, his body scored by deep scratches. 
I can see,
he said. 
I can see what you're doing.  He is in you so deep, a hook in your heart.

            Cal...  Please...

           
Cal shook his head, smiling sadly.  As Pellaz watched, his form changed and it was Orien standing there, one finger to his lips. 
There are no endings...

           
At that moment, Galdra let go and Pellaz sucked back into his body with painful force.  He opened his eyes, for a moment unable to feel any physical sensation.  He saw the night sky, the stars wheeling like the sparkling motes in the barrel of a kaleidoscope.  It felt as if he and Galdra had become one, no division between them.  Locked together.  For ever.  Flesh and blood combined.

            Galdra shuddered and spoke aloud.  “Pellaz... please... don't...”

            It must hurt.  It should hurt. 
Come deeper,
Pell said in mind touch. 
Pierce muscle and bone.  Find my heart.  Then we shall see.

           
Galdra cried out, a hoarse and ragged scream of agony.  The sound spiralled up to the stars.  Hara came running.  Then there was nothing.

Chapter Forty-One

Moon had discovered a dehar who was all his own.  At the moment when Pellaz and Snake had projected the mighty force of the dehara into his body, Moon's consciousness had drifted off elsewhere.  For some moments, he had hung above the courtyard, looking down.  He had seen the veins standing out on Tyson's face and neck, his muscles corded with strain.  He had seen his own flesh, no more than a shuddering mass of greenish white radiance, with brighter spots where his eyes and mouth would be.  It occurred to him that his corporeal form might be destroyed by the force it channelled, but he could not care about it.  This is what it must feel like to be dead.

            He could see that nebulous outlines were forming from the energy, massive entities, an army of dehara.  They strode across the sky towards a boiling mass of black and red clouds, in which dark shapes tumbled and writhed.  As Moon watched his, a
sedu
surged past him and rocked the ball of light that comprised his essence.  It was like being a harling's plaything, floating upon a choppy sea, drifting far from land.

           
Heed me, Moon...

           
Moon's dreamy attention became focused.  He was in a dark place, where he could perceive no details of his surroundings, and before him stood a young har, whose hair and skin were green.  There was a strong scent of apples that reached right into Moon's being. 
Who are you?
he asked.

           
I am Pomonari, the dehar of your childhood memories.  I am all that you are, all that you have ever been.  I am your strength.  Take my hand.

           
Moon gripped the slim green fingers that Pomonari extended to him.  For a moment, he felt like weeping, because he could remember so clearly the way his hostling Silken's hands had felt.  Pomonari was partly of Silken too.  Moon's memories of his hostling had become vague over the years; now they were brought back in force.  He remembered what it had been like to be held, the feeling of utter security he'd experienced in Silken's arms.  He remembered his hostling's voice, his wry songs, the smell of his hair.

           
You are your history,
Pomonari said. 
You are the book of your life.  Come.

           
They stepped back into reality, hand in hand.  Moon found they had manifested beyond the wall of the courtyard.  He could also perceive what was happening in the earthly realm and also beyond it.  Two scenes of battle were superimposed over each other.  The Gelaming had been able to pass through Fulminir's defences and conventional combat now ensued in the streets and alleyways.  Ponclast's otherworld allies were fully occupied with the dehara, although the Teraghast shadow fighters were still intent on flashing in and out of the otherlanes, causing as much mayhem as possible.  Moon saw a
sedu
grab hold of a shadow fighter with its teeth and shake him like a dog would shake a rabbit.  The har crumpled to the ground, and then a flame-eyed
teraph
pounced upon the
sedu
from behind, its shining hooves digging deep into the flesh of its enemy.  The
sedu
roared in pain and anger, turned to confront its foe, and the two of them coiled upwards, striking out and biting.  Sparkling ichor spattered down.

            Moon and his dehar walked calmly through the chaos, invisible to all.  Moon was not aware of time passing particularly, but came to the realisation that activity was dying down around him.  He saw Ashmael Aldebaran striding over bodies in a wide plaza, lifting them by the hair to see if they were still alive.  The ground ran with blood, like rain after a heavy storm.  Moon saw Ashmael's
sedu,
Zephyr, leap out of the otherlanes nearby, shaking his mane.  Moon knew now that the
sedim
were not as gentle as they appeared.  Zephyr was alight with a sense of victory.  Ashmael went to him and vaulted onto the
sedu's
back.  He rode over the bodies and entered the citadel itself.

            Moon thought maybe he should follow and discover what was left inside.  He thought he should try and find out what happened to Cal, and it seemed merely the intention of this conjured Cal into being.  He walked out of an invisible doorway in the air. 
What are you doing here, Moon?  You're engaged in some kind of Grissecon, aren't you?”

            Yes.  We helped Pellaz summon the dehara.

            I know.  I saw it.  You shouldn't be here now.  You are wandering.  Go back.

            Are you all right? 
Cal did not appear all right: his clothing was almost ripped to shreds, and his skin beneath was similarly gored.  He was covered in blood, but his face was less grey and haggard than when Moon had last seen him.

           
I'll live.  Go back to your flesh, Moon.  I will be with you shortly.

            This is my dehar,
Moon said, lifting the hand that held Pomonari's fingers.

           
Very nice,
Cal said. 
Go back, Moon.  If you don't, and Tyson ends your union, you'll be lost.  Now!

            Moon opened his eyes with a start, as if he'd been jerked away from a dream.  He could feel Tyson's arms around his back, the sweat between them.  His whole body was pulsing in the last waves of an orgasm he hadn't been conscious of experiencing.  Most bizarre.  He was acutely aware of every atom of his body and found the seal within him.  For some moments, he entered partially into the cauldron of creation and scoured it of aren.  Then he closed the seal.  It was as simple as closing his eyes.  He felt as if his recent experiences had somehow hauled him up the ladder of caste progression at an alarming rate.  He must surely be Algomalid at least.

            The soft light of dawn was pushing back the darkness.  Birds sand loudly.  Tyson uttered a long sigh and gently disengaged himself.  “Tell me I'm alive,” he said.

            Moon got to his feet shakily and the world dipped around him.  He didn't feel nauseous, only slightly drunk.  “You're alive.  We both are.”

            Tyson stretched himself and staggered from the effort.  “That was
hours,
” he said.  “How did I do that?  Tell me how I did that!  I can't even remember it.”

            “You are the son of Calanthe har Aralis,” Moon said.  “What did you expect?  We met because we were supposed to, as Cal and Pell did.  I feel terrible, but also wonderful.”

            “Imagine I'm holding you full of love and doting glances,” Tyson said.  “I really can't bear the thought of contact in reality.”

            Moon laughed and this sound woke Aleeme's harling, who Moon had wrapped in a blanket and laid nearby before commencing his work with Tyson.  Now Moon went to crouch beside the harling.  It stared at him, silent, but breathing easily.  It must be hungry.  Moon had never seen such an ugly little creature, but perhaps that was because it was malnourished and emaciated.

            Tyson came to stand behind them.  “If I'd been Cal, I'd have left that thing where I found it,” he said.  “It's a freak.”  He handed Moon a cup of water.