The Wraeththu Chronicles (22 page)

Cal glanced at me sideways. "You worry me sometimes," he said. "What's going on in that busy little brain of yours?"

"Some things worry me," I replied. "As time goes on, I get more questions in my head and no-one knows the answers. They don't want to. No-one knows the questions either, come to that. What are we? How? Why? To what end? It is more than just a fun time, running wild and screaming, 'Hey, let's get the bastards that fucked the world up!' It has to be. Perhaps the Varrs are on the right track about some things. Let the female side out ... it is in us after all. Oh, I don't know!"

We came, at length, to an inn; old-world, gambrelled, and dark inside. Curious, we ventured through the door, and found ourselves in a large, low-ceilinged room which smelled of wine and food. The tables were highly polished and had lion's feet made of brass. Cal asked at the bar about currency. Could we use our money here? "You're staying at the Big House. Whatever you want is on Terzian," was the reply, given reluctantly, we sensed.

"Our fame precedes us!" Cal declared. We ordered food and drink at Terzian's expense. The menu was impressive. Long-haired, soft-footed hara, veiled and dressed like they should belong to an exotic harem, brought our meal to us. Slim, pale arms sliding from silk; their perfume eclipsing the aroma of herbs. They did not speak to us or even raise their eyes. Cal shook his head, his face grim

"Cal, the Kakkahaar had Aralids as attendants," I pointed out, "and they were every bit as perfumed and delicate as they were." I indicated the swaying bead curtains that led to the kitchen with a wave of my hand.

"Not like that!"

I could not lessen his disgust. "What do you think about the child?" I asked, cutting into the fragrant, roasted fowl on my plate.

Cal raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "It's weird, I'll say that. Didn't Cobweb say he came here about eight months ago? That means it took him roughly two months ... God! I wish I knew more about this. I didn't think it would be important until if and when I upgraded from Ulani. I suppose, deep down, I never really believed it was possible." He was showing no inclination to begin eating.

"Do you suppose," I began, trying to quell a rising discomfort, "that they bear their young . . . live?"

"What? As opposed to dead? Oh, I should think so!" Cal picked up his fork and started pushing food around his plate.

"Ha, ha! Come on, Cal, you know what I mean." I kept my voice low, paranoic about anyone overhearing our conversation, even though the place was nearly empty.

"Sorry." He reached over and touched my hand, lightly. "Don't look so scared, Pell. I know only this. It's something like an oyster and a grain of sand. You must have heard me mention pearls before."

I nodded. Cal twisted his mouth before speaking. "Well, it's like this. The har who is ouana, his seed is like the sand. The soft, passive, inhuman cavities of the soume; that is the oyster. Something happens that makes the pearl. It's not just ordinary aruna ... something happens. That's all I know. The pearl becomes a Wraeththu child; how, I really don't know."

"Why have you never told me this before?" I demanded.

Cal gave another of his expressive shrugs. "The same reason you never asked me! Let's face it, Pell. We still think of ourselves as male, totally male; with a few pleasing adjustments, of course. We look male, don't we. We come through inception; wake up and it's just us. Don't you see? You never have to face yourself as some kind of monster. Your head's still the head you were born with; the same thoughts, the same memories. All this, it's a bit scary. It's having to face just how inhuman you are; what inception really did to you. All those female bits lurking inside you, where you can't see them, where you can forget them; but they're there!" Cal always had a way of putting things that opened doors onto a nasty, cold unknown.

"You were the one who was scorning the Varrs for, how did you put it, 'splitting off.' Are you now trying to tell me you've been actively suppressing half of your nature?" I tried to scoff, but my words sounded empty.

"And you haven't, I suppose?" He poured himself a glass of the pale, lemon wine. His fingers were wet, restlessly rubbing the glass. "OK, now's the time, Pell. Let's be painfully honest, shall we. When you first met me, your first Wraeththu chum, what did you think? Oh, here's a boy that's into boys, and as I'm an effeminate, spoiled little brat, living a boring life, I'll go along with that..." He made a hissing noise through his teeth. "Oh, don't look like that! Alright, that was a bit strong. I know it was more than that—for you. It was an adventure, the promise of life beyond the fields. But it was like that for me, can't you see? That's what I am. If I wasn't har, I'd be ... you know what I'm saying don't you?" I nodded quickly, unnerved by his agitation. "But neither of us ever thought of this, Pell, did we? The responsibility of supplementing the race. Living things ... oh God!" He put his face in his hands.

"Cal, Cal!" I said, reaching for his arm. "I didn't know it had .. . upset you . . . this much.

He did not look up. "Someone gave me a mirror and I saw the future," he said.

We wandered slowly back to Terzian's house. My head whirled with a multitude of questions and feelings. Cal was silent, looking at the ground, kicking up leaves. I looked around me. How come the Varrs had so much. Did they trade with other towns, other Wraeththu settlements? What did they trade? Perhaps it was all stolen; appropriated during Terzian's foraging tours around the country. As much as I tried to concentrate on how the Varrs obtained their wealth, the words, "you do not have to face yourself as some kind of monster" kept pounding between my ears. My body felt strange; even hostile. Cal did not touch me as we walked along. Above us, tumescent clouds boiled across a confused sky, echoing my mood.

That evening, after another fine meal at Terzian's table, he asked us how long we planned to stay in Galhea. There was a moment's embarrassed silence and then Cal said, "Well, that is really up to you, Terzian."

Our host smiled in a careful, controlled way. "I hardly think so," he said. "As far as I am concerned, you can stay as long as you wish. You can see my house is not exactly overcrowded."

"I must admit, we don't relish the thought of having to travel further north with winter approaching," I said, "And we haven't any plans to do anything else just yet ..."

"Obviously we'll work for our keep," Cal put in. He was shredding a piece of bread onto his plate nervously.

Terzian laughed. "There's no need," he said pleasantly.

"We can't stay here for nothing," Cal insisted.

"I don't see why not! But if it will make you feel better, I'm sure one of my farms would welcome your help to gather the harvest. There is one just north of Galhea, not far." He stood up, neatly pushing his chair beneath the table. "Now, if you will excuse me . . ." Another gracious exit.

I told Cal that I did not trust Terzian. "He must have something to gain by having us here," I said.

"It was you that wanted to stay here," Cal pointed out, still fiddling with breadcrumbs.

"We must be vigilant."

"But I always am, my dear!" He reached forward to pat my cheek, making an effort to look unperturbed. I wish I had known then, that being vigilant is sometimes more than just having to look over your shoulder.

The following morning, we rode out to the nearest farm to offer our services. Terzian must have told them about us already. They treated us warily and with labored politeness. Most of the grain had been brought in, but there was still plenty of work to be done. All the Varrs are very hard workers, whatever else you might say about them. We were hard-pressed to keep up with them.

We did not see much of Terzian during the days that followed. Now that we ate most of our meals at the farm, there was very little opportunity to meet him. On our days off, and during the evenings, we kept to our room at first. Because we were unused to hard work, we were too tired to do anything else. But gradually, as we fell into a routine and began to befriend the cautious hara we worked with, we took to spending more time in the town at night. Several evenings a week, we would go out drinking with

Vanish companions, or visit them at their homes. Most of them were interested in our tales of Saltrock and the Kakkahaar; especially the Kakkahaar. My skin would prickle as Cal made Lianvis, in all his unholy glory, real again. When he finished speaking, we would all feel unseen eyes upon us and revel in the delicious fear

We discovered that the Varrs had appropriated the remaining human population of the town as slaves. They were rarely seen; but we guessed the bleak nature of their existence; their hopelessness and utter despair was mirrored in the dull and wretched grayness of their appearance.

One evening, whilst we were sitting in a warm inn, quaffing large measures of ale, one of our companions brought our attention to a commotion t hat was going on outside. One har stood up to look out of the window. "They've caught something!" he cried. We all went outside to see. A group of Varrish warriors on horseback were herding a ragged group of individuals up the street. It looked like something from the Apocalypse. There were no electric lights in that area and the scene was lit by torches. Red sparks Hashed off the horses' curbed bits and stirrup irons. Metal gleamed along their cheeks and their rolling eyes glowed red; their chewing mouths were laced with foam. The riders were like messengers of Death's angel; faceless and black. They ordered interested spectators to go back into the inns. We all shuffled back a few steps, but nobody went inside. At the end of the street was a small square, probably once used for open-air markets. We followed the procession and it stopped there. I saw Ithiel come riding across from the other side. His uniform was only half fastened, suggesting he had been summoned forth unexpectedly.

"What's going on?" I asked somebody standing near me.

"Intruders. Most likely caught thieving," he replied, craning his neck to see over the crowd.

"Are they men or hara?" I wanted to know, shaking his arm to make him listen to me.

"I can't tell from here," he said.

Cal had disappeared. I pushed through the crowd to get a better view. The prisoners were making pitiable noises; some on their knees. The great, black horses pranced about excitedly. I heard Ithiel say, "Let me see them." Horses blocked the spectacle, their hooves kicking sparks off the cobbles. I saw Ithiel frown and shake his head. "No good," he said, and turned his horse away. For a moment there was silence as the crowd held its breath. Then the horses back-stepped away and one of the Varr warriors raised his arm. I didn't realize what was going on until six evenly spaced gun-shots cracked the night air. Hara around me began to mumble, turning back to the inns, back to their half-finished drinks, and their half-finished conversations. Perhaps some of them looked over their shoulders at what lay in the square, but not many. I stood frozen by disbelief. Six twitching bodies were sprawled in an ungainly heap near the middle of the square; no, five. One had tried to run. He lay a short distance away. Blood pooled among the stones and the air smelled of sulfur. The warriors dismounted and began to talk amongst themselves. I saw the brief flame of a match. That, then, was the nature of Vanish justice. It was not messy, not zealous, nor even exultant in its savagery. It was merely brutal and to the point and without compassion.

Cal came and put his arm around my shoulder. "Not for them the fate worse than death," he said, with disgusting humor. I could not bring myself to speak.

Back in the inn, nobody seemed affected by what we had witnessed. One Har said to Cal, "This kind of thing often happens. Wraeththu stragglers or small groups of men stealing from the fields. Sometimes not even that. Sometimes they are merely passing through and run into Ithiel's watchdogs. If they are har and presentable, or human, young and male and presentable, they are bestowed the privilege of slavery. Most of them end up as progenitors for Terzian's elite guard. If they are not presentable enough . . . well, as you just saw . . ." He drew his finger across his neck expressively.

"You can see how lucky you were!" another exclaimed with a laugh, fondling Cal's shoulder.

"Luck?! You think it's luck?" the one who had spoken first began to cackle. "Luck? Huh! Look at them!

Because of Cobweb (just because of Cobweb?), we were Terzian's guests, and the respect that this situation afforded us made life even easier. Both Cal and I enjoyed working on the farm and liked the hara we worked with. Of course, none of them were in the least bit politically minded and accepted Terzian as their Autarch without question. He was admired, even deified by his followers. Terzian must know best, they thought. The average Varrish har was neither cruel nor ferocious; just stupid in that they never examined the way their leaders operated. But then, Terzian, to his people and his friends, was nothing other than sympathetic and just. Living inside all this, wallowing in the luxuries of Terzian's grand house, it was difficult to keep our situation in perspective. In a way, we had become Varrs and the Varrish way seemed right. We were protected from what Terzian's armies got up to outside of Galhea. Sometimes, Terzian's superiors would send representatives down from the north to keep an eye on what he was doing. When any of them were staying in the house, we were meticulously prevented from meeting them.

Sometimes, little Swift would escape from the vigilance of his attendants and creep into our room to chatter to us. He was a disarmingly attractive child and very precocious, but not annoyingly so. Cal studiously avoided contact with him, but I liked listening to his childish ramblings and would take him on my knee and tell him stories. It was almost disorientating to think that I held a creature who had not been born of woman or even heard of men. I had long since given up asking Terzian about Cobweb. He would never answer my questions and I did not like to try and ask Swift for fear of upsetting him. I often feared the worst. Perhaps Terzian was reluctant to admit that his celebrated physicians had failed in their ministrations for once.