The Wraeththu Chronicles (114 page)

"Oh, yes," another voice answered softly. "We meet again, Calanthe. Please, look at me." It would have been petty and futile to resist, even ungrateful; I presumed I'd just been rescued. I opened my eyes and looked at him.

"In the nick o' time, Arahal," I mumbled. "S'pose I shou' thank . . ."

He inclined his head, an outlandish vision of silver and waving black feathers. Tall as a Mojag, twice as handsome, three times as intelligent. I knew him as the Gelaming Arahal, a commanding officer in one of Pell's armies, and one of the most highly respected members of Immanion society. Through fate or chance or purpose, he had materialized here, in order to save my miserable skin. Gelaming do that sort of thing. It is not unusual. It is the kind of display of power that appeals to their naturally— aggressively—peaceful natures. Had they been watching me again? How long? Arahal took a dainty, ornate knife from his belt and cut my bonds. I fell into his arms and he breathed healing, anesthetic Gelaming breath all over my face. I could not help but welcome it, no matter how much I wanted to deny it. Effortlessly, almost without thinking, he drew the pain from my body, and fed me with his limitless strength. "Made a mess of your face, haven't they," he said conversationally.

"Why are you here?" I asked. He sat me on the floor, with my back to the tree and continued to explore my injuries with the light from his slender fingers.

"Hmm? Oh, we had a message." He threw this remark out lightly, hardly concerned with what he was saying. "Cal, you'll have to rest."

"Watching me. . . ? Have you. . . ?"

He smiled and stroked my cheek. "Now then, don't worry yourself about such things." He wrapped me in the fallen blanket. "Now, I'd better see about sorting out your friends, hadn't I?" He stood up and gestured toward the edge of the clearing. About half a dozen Gelaming were shimmering there, all mounted on the fabulous, white horses of their tribe, that do not just gallop over land, but through space and time and dreams. At Arahal's beckoning, the Gelaming dismounted and spread out through the clearing. Arahal twisted his fingers high in the air, cried out, and there were the Mojags, who had been immobilized, lurching to life again, just as I had. I smiled inside at their bewilderment. They staggered a little. Then Outher saw Arahal and pulled himself up

straight, clenching his fists at his sides. Gelaming are unmistakable. Anyone recognizes a Gelaming when they see one, even a Mojag.

"Before you say anything," Arahal said to him mildly, "I must point out that under the ruling of the Confederation of Tribes, the coldblooded taking of life is a gross offense."

Outher spluttered for a moment, before crying indignantly, "They are the murderers!" pointing a rigid finger at me. I could not turn my head to look at Kruin, but I could hear him gasping heavily, obviously still disorientated.

Arahal made an irritated gesture. "It is not for you to take justice into your own hands, tiahaar, no matter how aggrieved you might feel."

"But ... I ... we ..." Outher was lost for words.

"Be quiet. Now, you have a fire; bring hot water. Learn humility. See to these hara's wounds." Arahal shivered. "By the Aghama, it's cold out here! Zaniel, free the other two."

Once unbound, Kruin huddled up against me. "What's happening?" he asked. "What's happening? God, I ache!"

I shook my head. Presently, Panthera joined us, bringing a blanket for Kruin. Neither of them seemed to have been knocked about too badly; I felt crippled.

"They're Gelaming, aren't they," Panthera said to me, staring curiously at my battered, multi-hued face. "Why did they come? How did they know? They did know, didn't they?"

"No questions," I said. "Not yet."

"I'm sorry," Panthera said, lightly touching my blanketed arm. "Here, I'll help you to one of the tents. Come on, lean on me." Clutching eachother, Panthera, Kruin and I shuffled past the dumbfounded group of Fallsend trackers and Mojags. They eyed us stonily. I could hear Arahal lightly issuing orders.

Arahal let me sleep for nearly a day. Early the next morning, he came into our tent and politely asked Panthera and Kruin if he could speak with me alone. He had brought me some hot coffee liberally spiced with fragrant shrake, a Gelaming liqueur. Gelaming always carry such luxuries with them.

He watched me drink, shaking his head. "You are a puzzle to me, Cal," he said. "When are you going to learn?"

"Learn what?"

He stood up, sighed. "Do you really need me to tell you? Are your senses that dull? I remember that, at one time, Calanthe would have had no trouble outwitting Jafit and his kind."

"I've been through hell, Arahal," I said. "When you're living from day to day like a sewer rat, it's hard to remember you were anything but a low form of life."

"Rats have instincts, surely!"

I lay down and put my arms over my face. "I don't want to argue about this, Arahal. You know as well as I do that I can either live like this or as the Tigron's little pet. I can't say either of those choices are good ones, but what else can I do?"

"Are you going to keep on running forever then? Let me remind you, Cal, that no-one has estimated a harish life-span; you might be running for a lot longer than you'd like."

"Did he send you?" I asked bitterly. Arahal didn't answer. "How do you think I feel, knowing he watches me all the time?"

"You don't know that."

I laughed without mirth. "Don't I? How come you arrived so quickly then? Why wasn't I left to die? If Pell hasn't enough guts to face me, he should let me die! He won't come himself; he sends you! The Pell I loved is dead. Maybe I should be too!" I didn't mean that.

"Lord Tigron, to you," Arahal said, out of habit.

"When we thought we were about to die, Kruin said, 'Better luck next time.' He's right, Arahal. Maybe it would have been the best thing. This life of mine is a mess. I'm involved in things I don't want to be involved in. I have a conscience that watches me do the wrong things just so it can make my life a misery afterwards. Why are you smiling? I'm desperately unhappy!"

"I don't think so!" he said, offering me another measure of shrake from a silver bottle he untucked from his belt. "Enjoy Jaddayoth, Cal. It is a colorful country."

"You mean I'm free to go?"

"Of course! We are not jailers. I, as much as anyone in Immanion, want to see you well again."

Meaning what precisely? I wondered. "This is a blood sport. You'll hunt me again!"

"We've never hunted you. Don't be absurd!"

"After Megalithica . . ."

"After Megalithica what?" he snapped brusquely. "You were given a choice, Cal, but we bear no malice against your decision, just regret."

"You've always hunted me," I continued self-pityingly. "I've always been followed."

"You're deceiving yourself, Cal. We never have."

I turned my face away from him. I did not believe it. "You're lying."

Arahal sighed and rubbed his face. "There is a limit to what I can say to you."

"Oh, run out of the lines he fed you, have you?"

He smiled sadly. "I will not comment on that, because I can understand your pain. As soon as you're strong enough, we shall escort you and your companions to the next Hadassah town. The Mojags too. You can all take penance there for your crimes. You would do well to remember a certain unfortunate har who now lies poisoned in the mud of the Fallsend canal, I think."

I snorted. "Oh, you know me, Arahal. Life means nothing to me!"

"Certainly not your own, it seems!" He ducked out of the tent and left me alone with a sour taste in my mouth.

Kruin and Panthera respected my desire to remain silent over the subject of the Gelaming, although I know that they discussed it thoroughly together when they weren't with me. Perhaps they even asked the Gelaming questions, but I doubt that they were answered. Only a privileged few know of the peculiar set of circumstances that link me to the Tigron and Immanion, and it's not something that the Gelaming would want to

make public. They buried Jafit in the forest and brought our horses back to us. In two days, I felt well enough to leave.

The Huyana and the Vision

"My body was the house,

And everything he'd touched an exposed nerve"

—Stephen Spender, An Empty House

J asminia is a much larger town than Caraway, and only a few miles away from where we were camped in the forest. So close to safety, yet so far! The Gelaming escorted us so that, as they tactfully put it, the Mojags would not be tempted to explore further transgressions along the way. It was evening by the time we rode through the carved, wooden gates of Jasminia, but the town appeared to be as busy and full of hara as it would have been at mid-day. Snow had been cleared from the narrow streets, crackling torches threw sulphurous light across the rooftops. Most of the buildings in Jasminia are single-storied, but sprawling.

Arahal had already mentioned that we would all have to pay a penance here and, along the road, Kruin had enlightened me as to what he meant. The Hadassah have a strict custom concerning the penalty for violence and murder. If anyone should commit either offense, it is required by law that he present himself at the nearest temple of the Aghama, to confess to the priests (or huyana as they are known in Hadassah), and be given absolution. The soul is cleansed of negative impulses by partaking in ritual aruna with the huyana. All Hadassah abhor the taking of life, but they are a boisterous tribe, fond of their alcohol and not unknown to be consumed by fits of temper when drunk. The huyana must always receive gifts for their services, whether money, food or other goods. A good impression of the nature of Hadassah may be gained by examining the fact that the temples (and their huyana) are incredibly rich. I thought that the temples must be rather like musendas, but whose kanene have divine administrative powers and higher status.

The temple of Jasminia was concealed behind a high, wooden fence in the middle of the town. Arahal handed me a fat purse of money. "Now, don't think about sloping off to the nearest inn until you come out of the temple," he said, with a grin. As if I would! The Mojags had been firmly instructed to return to Fallsend without us. Outher could do nothing but agree to this. He was sensibly wary of the Gelaming and had realized we fell under their protection. This did not stop him hating us though; we would all feel more comfortable once Outher and his party were far away from us.

"So, it's goodbye again is it?" I said.

Arahal would not be coming inside the temple with us. He smiled down at me from his horse. "For now, Calanthe, although I feel sure we shall meet again, don't you? Perhaps when you finally come to us in Immanion."

"You think I want a home there?"

Arahal shrugged. "Only you can answer that, of course. Do you ever tell yourself the

truth, I wonder?"

"It's my life," I said. "Tell the Tigron that!"

"Any other message?" he inquired bleakly.

"No, no other message."

"Until next time then . . ."

"Sorry, but I don't want there to be a next time."

Arahal merely smiled. He raised his arm and the Gelaming trotted behind him, down the road away from us, increasing their speed as they went, until, in a blinding yet invisible flash, they were gone from this earth, and the road was empty. Everyone stared at the place where they had vanished. I pushed past them and knocked on the temple gate.

"Who seeks ingress?" The voice was polite and business-like, anonymous behind the thick, wooden panels of the door. I was tempted to answer, "Miserable sinners, of course. Open up!" but before I could speak, Kruin had shouldered up to me and said, "Travelers, tiahaar, seeking penance."

There was no further word from beyond the door, only the sound of wood sliding back as bars were removed. The door opened easily, without creaking, to reveal a veiled figure standing just inside. I was instantly reminded of the holy dancers of the Froia, the marsh people of Megalithica. The dancers (or theruna) always appear veiled, and they too are adept in the art of aruna magic. The Har before us wore a thick, fur cloak around his shoulders and the veil over his face was so diaphanous and sheer, we could see the kohl around his eyes. He bid us all enter and stood aside. Before us stretched a wide yard, snow-covered except for a pathway through the middle which had been swept clear to reveal colored tiles beneath. Two Hara muffled in woolen cloaks came to lead our horses away. Kruin made plaintive noises about the baggage to which the huyana raised his hand.

"No need to worry," he said. "Thievery is unknown within the temple walls. Come, I will escort you all to the fane."

I kept my bag of notes well tucked under my arm. I had come to hate being parted from them. The huyana glided ahead of us up the cleared path. In spite of what Arahal had impressed upon Outher, I was still not happy about being so close to the Mojags. They wanted our blood and here in Jasminia would only have to pay a further penance if they spilt it. Now that the Gelaming had left us, I had no doubt that Outher would soon forget his fear of their word. Moonlight cast long shadows across the yard. It was getting colder as the dusk became deeper; another cloudless night. Behind me, I could feel Outher's eyes boring into my back, causing the flesh between my shoulder-blades to itch. Two immense statues of stone guardedthe door to the fane itself. One held out the silken cloth of forgiveness, the other a broken sword. I was not sure of the symbolism implied in that; it could be taken many ways. The emblems of the Aghama were scored into the door-lintel; the double-headed axe, the winged beetle, the prescient eye of our god. Beyond the doorway, all was in smoky darkness. None of us made a sound. Intoxicating perfumes—chypre, mimosa, green sandal-wood—floated and merged in the icy air; twisted gray fumes that writhed like spirits. After passing along a high-ceilinged, columned passage, we were shown into a small chamber, where several other hara were clustered around a cheerful fire, murmuring softly together.