Student of Kyme (19 page)

After one
such night, he left in such a cold and taciturn mood I seriously
thought it presaged the end of our meetings. I was so shocked and
frightened by this, I couldn’t even weep. But as I walked home,
numb in mind and body, a faint voice came to my inner ear through
the ethers. I love you. I stopped walking and held my breath, my
inner senses straining to breaking point. Had I heard that really?
Had I? Even the sound of my own blood in my ears was too loud. No
other message came. I knew I shouldn’t send one back. It would be
too much for him. I would accept the crumb I’d been given. It was
poor nourishment.

Needless
to say, the next day, it was not mentioned. Ysobi was in high
spirits and kept touching my arm as we talked, but he avoided
personal subjects. When we parted on the steps of the café, I
jokingly complained he was too tall to hug and that I always had to
stand on tiptoe, or else feel like a child.

He
laughed. ‘Stand on the top step.’

I did so
and he stood beneath me at the bottom. Then we embraced, face to
face.

‘
You see?’ he said. ‘That is the way.’

‘
Is this allowed?’ I asked him, holding him so tightly, yet at
the same time feeling it should be me who pulled away.

He
laughed. ‘Of course it’s allowed. Don’t be silly.’

We said
nothing more, just held each other for long moments. And it was me
who pulled away. Had he discovered that trick with Jassenah? I
hated to think so.

This
toxic situation affected all areas of my life. I couldn’t eat, and
the only way I could sleep was to get drunk or to take one of the
valerian potions Rayzie kept in the larder. He noticed the stocks
declined more rapidly than usual, but said nothing. The supply was
always there for me when I needed it. I was listless, interested in
nothing. My friends bored me. All I lived for were the hours I
spent in Ysobi’s company, hoping for a good night, more warmth than
distance. Sometimes, he obliged me.

‘
We will always be friends,’ he said once. ‘No more, no
less.’

‘
I will always love you,’ I replied.

He smiled
at me, such tenderness. ‘I love you as a friend.’

Then when
he left me, he would kiss me on the lips, two seconds too long. He
would hold me for two seconds too long. And leave me aching,
trembling, sick with longing.

Inevitably, Iscane got wind of these meetings and asked me to
meet him for a drink one evening. I agreed reluctantly, hoping I
could escape his company in time to meet Ysobi. We met in an inn
close to where Iscane lived. He bought me a drink and sat with
folded arms, observing me speculatively. ‘So,’ he said. ‘Are you
going to tell who the mysterious har is with whom you’re spending
all your time?’

I barely
flinched. ‘My old teacher,’ I told him.

‘
Ysobi har Jesith,’ Iscane said.

I nodded.
‘Yes.’

‘
And he is the reason you hardly socialise
anymore?’

I gave
Iscane a stare. ‘I do socialise. What do you mean?’

He held
my stare. ‘Well, hara have noticed that you leave any gatherings at
the same time every night and that a certain hour is off limits.
It’s the same for breakfast. You never join our gatherings for that
now. You’re only ever half with us, as if you’re just waiting for
the time when you can leave. You’re withdrawing from us, Ges. And I
have to ask: is it worth it?’

Naturally, these remarks kindled anger within me, but I
fought to contain it. ‘I enjoy talking with him. Sometimes, it’s
good to share interesting conversation rather than gossip and
trivia.’

Iscane’s
eyes narrowed. ‘Ges, be careful. I sense something… dark. This har
is weak. No good will come of it.’

‘
You haven’t even met him,’ I snapped. ‘You can’t make such
assumptions.’

Iscane
reached out to touch me. ‘I think I can…’ He sighed. ‘You won’t
want my opinion, I know, but you’re going to get it. Stop seeing
him. It’s doing something bad to you.’

From
these remarks, I could only deduce that my private life had been
the topic of conversation at many of the gatherings I’d left early.
‘Thank you for your concern,’ I said icily.

Iscane
put his head to one side. ‘You’re going to ignore what I said,
aren’t you?’

‘
You don’t know him. You’re in no position to call him weak or
to make prognostications about my future.’

Iscane
would not be deterred. ‘Think what you like. I only know that a har
who can colour your aura that way, affect you so strongly, yet
create such confusion and pain, cannot be a har of strength. You’re
not even rooning him, are you? I can tell, so don’t even bother
answering that!’

I
shrugged. ‘We are friends.’

Iscane
uttered a wordless cry of exasperation. ‘Friends! Hah! The energy
whirling round you in that black vortex is not some cosy feeling of
friendship. It’s frustrated desire and a mournful heart. He must
see this too, given his occupation. He’s feeding on you, and that’s
a coward’s way. He’s doing nothing to help this situation, like,
for example getting the hell out of Kyme. He’s drawn to you,
Gesaril, it’s obvious, but I think he’s afraid of his feelings. He
won’t ever give you what you want so badly.’

‘
Clearly, somehar has been talking,’ I said, ‘or probably a
great many hara.’ I was furious but unfortunately not so stupid as
to disagree with Iscane’s words. He was in fact very accurate in
his assessment, and I knew that. But even so, I was addicted and
helpless. I didn’t want to hear it. I wanted only to
hope.

‘
I don’t need to hear talk,’ Iscane said firmly. ‘I see the
evidence before me. Try looking into a mirror, really
looking…’

I knew
that if this conversation continued, Iscane and I would end up
arguing really badly. I was aware that his decision to talk to me
like this was because he was genuinely concerned. I was also aware
that he had good reason to be, but... like I said… love makes you
wilful. I stood up, my drink half finished. ‘I do appreciate your
concern,’ I said, in what I hoped sounded like a genuine tone, ‘but
I have to work this through myself. Please respect that, Iscane.
I’m sorry it’s discomforting for you to see, but it’s my life, and
I have to do what I think is best.’

Iscane
shook his head. ‘You don’t know how discomforting it is.’ He pursed
his lips as if to stem something further he was going to say. After
a moment, he said, ‘Go to him, then. I’ll be here if ever you need
me. I just hope you survive this path you’ve set yourself. I don’t
think Ysobi cares what happens to you. He cares only about
himself.’

I
probably shouldn’t have told Ysobi what had happened, but I did.
When I arrived at our meeting place, he was waiting outside. He
could see I was upset, and I confided in him at once. I didn’t
reveal everything, obviously, but just that a friend had criticised
me for seeing him and that they distrusted his motives. If I’d
expected sympathy, all I got was anger. ‘This har does not know
me,’ he said coldly. ‘If you believe what he says, then I’ll leave
now. He’s just jealous, it’s obvious.’

‘
Jealous?’

‘
Of course. He knows how you feel about me, the special place
I have in your heart, and resents it. How can I defend myself
against hara who’ve never even spoken to me? You clearly set great
store by what they say.’

‘
I don’t,’ I said. ‘I have my own opinions. There isn’t a har
in the world who can sway them.’

He
softened then. ‘Come here,’ he said, and opened his arms to
me.

I fell
into them as if into a hostling’s arms, my head against his chest.
No reason to climb the steps. He enveloped me. A great feeling of
security and warmth filled my being. It felt so right to be there.
How could he be like this at one time and so distant at
another?

As usual,
it was me who pulled away first. ‘Are you hungry?’ I asked
him.

‘
Starving,’ he replied. We went into the café.

Our
conversation was warm and intimate. I felt sure that soon the dam
would break and Ysobi would come to me fully. I could taste it, so
close.

The next
day, predictably, he was withdrawn and cold. He sent me a note to
say he could not make our meetings because he was busy. We had come
close, all right. Now came the inevitable reaction and I had to be
punished for something he felt.

This was
the way of things from that moment onward. Warmth followed by
coldness and disdain. Then, when Ysobi felt he’d been distant
enough to justify to himself the situation was wholly one-sided –
mine – he’d turn up the heat again. It is hardly any wonder I
virtually lost my mind. Not only was my heart involved but also my
body, and my harish need for aruna. Playing with that was truly
playing with fire. Eventually, something was bound to go up in
flames.

Rayzie
was the scholarly one from the three younger members of our
household. He was interested in history and also fascinated by the
growth of harish spirituality. Over the weeks following Ysobi’s
arrival in Kyme, Rayzie was keen to get Ystayne and myself to
experiment magically with the various dehara that were being
dreamed into being around the world. My Gelaming artist friend,
Sabarah, had sent me a book he’d illustrated, which catalogued many
of the new dehara, and gave examples of how to work with them. I’d
left this book lying around after I’d simply looked at the pictures
but Rayzie had picked it up and had devoured the contents greedily.
While he became inspired by spiritual images and desires to make
magic, I slowly turned into what can only be described as an
embittered black ball of dark purposes.

It began
one night, as I sat in Huriel’s drawing room, moodily drinking wine
before the fire before going to my appointment with Ysobi. I
noticed that the dehara book was lying on the small table next to
my chair. For some moments, I stared at it, drawn to pick it up,
yet reluctant to do so. A beautiful face on the cover stared out at
me; I didn’t even know who it was meant to represent. But I saw a
challenge in its gaze. That was the moment I picked up the book
again.

I had
once fancied myself adept in the arts of influencing reality. I had
once tried to cast magic on my rival, Jassenah. Not that it had
done much good. We had thrown curses at each other, quite comical
really, but what I could see now was that all the energy I’d tried
to put into making things right in Jesith – right for myself that
is – had been desperate and unfocused, a hot maelstrom of painful
feeling cast out into the ethers. It was hardly surprising it
hadn’t worked. Now, I read what a more experienced and measured har
had written about magic. He spoke of balance within the self, of
the desire for evolution, of growth. I knew that if I was speaking
to this har face to face, he would tell me to cut all ties to
Ysobi, because those ties were strangling vines growing tighter
with every moment, cutting into my flesh, stifling my breath. He
would tell me to cut loose and then forgive. I could see the logic
in this, so clearly, but it was as if I gazed upon a white shining
path through a locked gate. My nose was pressed to the bars, and I
could see the ultimate horizon at the end of the path where it
disappeared over a hill, but I was still locked in. Being able to
see the path does not necessarily mean you may walk upon it. As
clarity settled over me, I became more acutely aware of my pain. I
set it before me upon the pages of the book; a diseased and damaged
heart. Why was it one har could have so much effect on me? What
moment in the universe, what convergence of planets, determined
that Ysobi har Jesith could nest like a parasite within me,
infecting all aspects of my being? Time should have healed me, but
it had not. I was truly cursed, thoroughly haunted.
Possessed.

I turned
a page. My blackened heart turned to dust and scattered in the air
of the room. I saw a word: Mahallatu.

The
illustration at once drew my attention. Most of Sabarah’s work for
the book was executed in flowing lines and subtle colours, but this
one was stark and brutal. The Mahallatu were the Twelve and echoed
entities in earlier belief systems, as many of the dehara did. They
were the archetypal dark riders, who travelled the storm winds and
restless clouds to mete out justice and retribution. Their leader
was Merim and his eyes were red, his hair the colour of dried
blood, almost black but with a hint of meat in its depths. The
Mahallatu met in the back room of an inn in a far corner of the
etheric realms. In this place, a petitioner could approach them and
ask for help.

Within a
strange bubble of clarity, I considered my predicament. I was held
to Ysobi as surely as if bound to him with chains. If he did not
love me, he should let me go, leave Kyme, never speak to me again,
but he wouldn’t. I was too weak to break away, slowly dying of
longing. As others could see my decline, so must he. But even
seeing that, he kept me close. He spoke of his contentment with his
chesnari and harling, yet here he was in Kyme, meeting me twice
every day, as surely addicted as I was. Yet for whatever reason, he
would not admit this, nor discuss it. He gorged on my energy, my
regard and my passion. He reeled me in, like a fish gasping and
convulsing upon the shore, desperate for my element. And
occasionally he would give me water, let me breathe, only to drag
me to suffocating denial once more.