storm (86 page)

            “Hmm.”  Moon couldn't totally disagree.  “But who are we to decide?”  He didn't realise how thirsty he was until the water touched his lips.  He couldn't stop drinking until the cup was nearly drained, then he gave what was left to the harling.  It was so young, yet it gripped the cup and drank like an older har.  Moon half expected it to thank him in an adult voice.

            Tyson grimaced.  “If Aleeme lives, will he really want to see that thing again?”

            “I've no idea.  It's kin of yours though, Ty.  Try to find some compassion inside you.”

            “After what you told me, I find that difficult,” Tyson.  “An innocent wouldn't look like that!”

            Moon stood up.  “I should find it something to eat.”

            “There isn't anything.”

            Moon slumped.  “Ag, how long will we stay here?  Cal said he'd come for us.”

            “What's happening outside here?  Do you know?”

            “I think it's nearly over.  I saw Cal and he told me to return to my body.  He's all right, Ty.  He's injured but not seriously.”

            “Thank Ag for that!”

            At that moment, Moon heard the door inside their room open.  He touched Tyson briefly on the arm.  “Ssh, somehar's coming.”

            “I heard,” Tyson said softly.  “It could be Cal, or it could be a Teraghast coming to finish us off.”  He moved to one side of the outer doorway and motioned for Moon to do the same on the other side.  If an enemy came out, they'd pounce.

            But it was no enemy, only Cal, with a couple of Gelaming warriors.  His hair was plastered to his head and his clothes were wet: it appeared he'd taken a hasty bath somewhere.  His wounds had been washed of blood, but were still visible through his torn shirt.  Cal held up a key.  “Your captors are helpful,” he said.  “Left this in the door.  And I'd brought muscle with me to break it down too.”  He gestured at one of the Gelaming.  “Take the harling.  Take it to the healing pavilions.”

            “Yes, tiahaar.”  The warrior lifted the child.  “This is a harling?”  He appeared disgusted.

            “Of sorts,” Cal said.  “Deal with it, but do not harm it.”

            “As you wish.”

            Cal drew Tyson and Moon to him, then winced as they inadvertently pressed against the wounds on his chest.  He pushed them back a little.  “You were amazing.  I'm shocked.  Well done.”

            “Do you know about what we were doing?” Tyson asked.

            “More or less.  I had to fight off a particularly obstinate Hashmal, but managed to watch most of the show.”

            Tyson touched Cal's chest.  “You're hurt badly.”

            “Nothing a blast of healing energy won't cure,” Cal said.  “I just jumped in a water cistern and once the blood was off, the wounds didn't look too bad.”

            “Do you want us to give you healing?” Moon asked.

            “It can wait,” Cal replied.  “Now it's time to face the worst.  Will you be my support?  It's most unlike me, but I feel I need it.”

            “You want to go to the Gelaming camp?” Tyson enquired.

            “The nest of vipers, yes,” Cal said.  “I expect they will be delighted to see me.”

A great many Teraghasts had fled into the otherlanes, once it had become apparent the battle was going against them, although many others, predominantly injured hara, had been taken captive by the Gelaming.  The camp was in chaos, as healing personnel struggled to cope with many injured hara, of both sides.  Cal led Moon and Tyson to the middle of the camp.  It was clear that he intended to confront Pellaz immediately.

            At the entrance to the Grissecon site, Tharmifex Calvel was waiting for them, apparently having been warned of Cal's approach.  He blocked their path, arms folded.  “Cal, you manifest at the most surprising times.”

            “Let me past,” Cal said.  “I have no quarrel with you.  Don't make me change my mind.”

            “We
will
talk,” Tharmifex said, “but not here.  A great many hara are interested in where you've been and what you've been up to.”

            Cal drew in his breath.  “I will talk to you, tiahaar, but now here, as you suggested.  Now, let me through.”

            Tharmifex's expression became pinched.  “If you insist, although you might not like what you see.”

            Moon felt increasingly uneasy.  The Grissecon was over.  What was there left to see?  Presumably, Pellaz was unharmed, because Tharmifex did not appear distressed.  Moon and Tyson followed Cal beyond the entrance.

            There was a strange close atmosphere inside the wall of silk screens.  The dawn light made everything feel surreal.  The conflict was over, but something was still going on.  Moon felt sick again, the way he'd felt in Aleeme's tower prison.  A wide circle had been marked out with salt or chalk on the grass.  Around two dozen hara stood in the circle, surrounding whatever remained in the centre.

            Cal drew in his breath sharply, and a tall har with incredibly long tawny hair straightened up slowly and looked round, straight into Cal's eyes.

            “Kakkahaar!” Cal hissed.  “Now who would believe that?”

            The har glided towards them swiftly and bowed, somewhat insolently.  “Tiahaar Calanthe, we meet again.  I witnessed some of your activities earlier.  Most impressive.  Somehar has taught you well.  The technique and style seemed almost familiar.”

            “Tiahaar Lianvis,” Cal said, “what pickings are there here for you?  You are far from the desert.  Are the Gelaming paying you in captives?”

            Lianvis laughed.  “Now, there's a thought!  But no.  Somehow I think I'd find resistance to such a demand.”

            “You could try,” Cal said, “if Aldebaran has left any wounded alive after trampling over them on his
sedu. 
Where's Pell?”

            Lianvis indicated the centre of the circle.  “There's a slight problem.”

            “Problem?  What?  Is he hurt?”

            Moon noticed Cal didn't move his gaze from the Kakkahaar's face.

            Lianvis cleared his throat and stared at Cal for some moments.

            “Well?” Cal said.

            Lianvis glanced round quickly, then clearly came to a decision.  “We cannot separate them.”

            “What?”

            Lianvis shrugged gracefully.  “It is somewhat indelicate, but as far as I can tell there has been no retraction of the inner organs.  We cannot pull them apart without risking damage because the Freyhellan is too deep in Pell's body.  I cannot communicate with Pellaz.  He is unconscious on more than one level.”

            “How serious is this?”  Cal's colour had become ashen again.

            “We are hoping the condition will subside naturally.  Pellaz took on a lot.  He required great strength to face Ponclast, who no doubt now believes the Tigron has the power of a dehar.  He hasn't.  What he projected, coupled with that last attack you helped him with, has effectively closed him down.  Galdra har Freyhella is frozen in shock.”

            Cal nodded, but his expression was distant, as if his mind raced through many thoughts.

            “Perhaps,” Lianvis said, “you could attempt...”

            “Yes,” Cal said.  Without looking at his companions, he marched forward and pushed through the small crowd of hara in the centre of the circle.  Moon and Tyson exchanged a glance and followed.  Moon could feel the Kakkahaar's attention fixed upon him.  It was not a comfortable feeling.

            The centre of the circle was like the scene of a horrible accident, yet without blood.  A sour feeling hung in the air, a sense of desolation.  Somehar had put blankets over Pellaz and Galdra's naked bodies; they had not moved from the Grissecon posture.  Galdra's eyes were open, but unfocused.  His breathing was laboured and he appeared to be in pain.  A har stood behind him, hands on Galdra's shoulders.  Moon could hear softly whispered words, but could not catch their meaning.  Pellaz was slumped motionless against Galdra's chest, his head turned to the side, so that Moon could see his eyes were closed.  Moon could not imagine what Cal must feel to witness this sight.  This Galdra, who was only a name to Moon, had taken Cal's place.  The Tigrons of Immanion should have performed this Grissecon, but it had been Cal's choice not to be with the Gelaming.

            Hara stepped aside when they realised who had pushed among them.  Cal stared at Pellaz for some moments, then hunkered down beside him.  He brushed Pell's hair back with one hand.  “Pellaz,” he said, and let his hand rest against Pell's head.  “Hear me.  Let him go.”

            He did not have to speak those words aloud, and perhaps did so merely to inform or remind the hara present of who and what he was.  All was silent as Cal remained crouched at Pell's side.  Even the sounds from beyond the circle seemed hushed.  Then Pellaz uttered a sound that was half gasp, half cry, and his head jerked up.

            Cal withdrew his hand.  He stood up and turned to Lianvis.  “Lift him,” he said, and walked past Tyson and Moon back toward the site entrance.

            Lianvis gestured at two hara dressed in similar attire to himself, who must be fellow Kakkahaar.  Moon had to watch in ghoulish curiosity as they separated Pellaz and Galdra.  He knew he should really look away, but it was too fascinating.

            “That,” said Tyson, “is unreal!  No wonder Pellaz used that har for this Grissecon.  Did you see...”

            “Ty, shut up,” Moon interrupted.  “We should go after Cal.”

Chapter Forty-Two

They found Cal at the healing pavilions asking earnest questions of harried healers about Azriel and Aleeme.  Moon wasn't deceived.  Behind Cal's focused concern, panic was fluttering like a trapped bird.  He didn't feel good at all.  He didn't know what had happened to his world.  Reality and truth had just reared up and slapped his face.  The blow had obviously dislodged some scales from his eyes.

            Moon wandered into the crowded pavilions, leaving Tyson to stand by his hostling at the entrance and wonder why Cal was babbling.  Moon walked between long rows of beds in the dim light of the tents, where the smell of crushed grass mixed with the stench of blood.  Teraghasts and hara of other tribes lay side by side.  The Teraghasts in that place were in no condition to attack or try to escape.  Most lay motionless.  Moon knew he should offer to help, because it was clear everyhar there was worked off his feet, but Moon caught glimpses of the injuries and couldn't bring himself to look closer.  Walking through those long tents was like a sickening nightmare, being too scared to look anywhere but straight ahead.  Still, he made himself do it.