The Wraeththu Chronicles (25 page)

He waited for me to ask, "Which is?"

"You," he answered. "Simply you. That's what made me think."

I smiled at him, although strangely, it was hard. "You know I would have been lost without you, Cal," I said, which was true in the literal and emotional sense. "Most probably dead within a week.

"Most probably. Anyway, it's over now. How easy it is to say that. It was nothing, really; so quick. Now, I just feel one hell of a lot wiser. Some tilings I'm not ready for. Spawning brats is one of them; you know about that. But one day, when all this (and he flung his arm toward the sky), when all of this belongs to Wraeththu; Wraeththu building new cities here, sane people, not the crazy man-killers, there will come a time . . . God knows I want us still to be together then. If we are, we can begin new life with each other; I don't want to discover that without you."

"That's quite a speech, Cal," I said, embarrassed, but not for him. Seel had once said to me (and it seemed so long ago); "Cal's so emotional, I sometimes think he's still half-human," and he was right. What he had not thought of, however, was that we were all still half-human. Perhaps our sons would be for ever. Not all of mankind had been bad. I think humanity's main downfall had been that they had just over-civilized themselves, and as a result, surrendered themselves to isolation. Lonely, solitary creatures trapped in the darkness of their own frightened minds, and cruel because they feared the dark. They forgot how to trust, be trustworthy and how to see beyond the mundane. Because of that, as they slipped further and further away from the Truth, some great thing, the thing they had simplified to God, had made Wraeththu happen. Mankind, you had your chance with the world and you failed. Now it is our turn. And to succeed where Man did not meant there could be no Varrs, no Uigenna, no cruelty. Since Saltrock, the Wraeththu tribes we had encountered did not inspire hope, but this was a big country and we had seen so little of it. One country in a big world.

As we reached the shelter of the trees I asked, "Why are we going south again? Is there a reason?"

"Oh yes," Cal replied. "Terzian told me that beyond the desert, much farther south than we've been, there may be a way to Immanion."

"You still follow your dream then?" I pointed out, rather acidly.

He laughed. "We have to go somewhere."

"How can Terzian know of this?"

"How indeed! Who cares? It'll be a hell of a lot warmer down there."

I said, "You mentioned Zack back there. You never have done before."

"Before…Don't try to draw me out on that subject, Pell. Let me forget that."

The forest was a big one. Matted, heavily scented with evergreen resins; dark and haunted. But we were not afraid. Light folded down into the Earth; the forest vibrated with the sibilances of night. Absorbed as we were in a new process of discovery within our hearts, the darkness, creeping and rustling, could hold no terrors for us. We found a clearing and lit a fire. When Cal reached for me, he drew me toward him in spirit and mind as well as body. We were truly one creature, and fierce and terrible in the strength of that knowledge. His mind was a shining city for me to explore; even the shuttered doors seemed to whisper to me, "one day, one day." A lonely voice called at the end of the darkest avenue. If only it did not have to end. If only. The end. Cal. I was soaring like a bird, my nerves bursting with a sizzling, gunpowder radiance. Totally unafraid, elemental, letting go; experiencing the unspoken word, loving him. There blinked the half-closed eye of God. Ouana pressing against the seal to another cosmos. I could have opened up to that strange, new universe, could have. But he ended it there. In a sigh, in the night-time, in the dark, glowing together, by the dying light of the fire.

I should have known. Perhaps I did. It was the last time.

The thunderstruck tower

I n the morning, we packed away our belongings, ready for the next day's ride in our journey south. A low breeze, tinged with the promise of ice, fretted the damp ashes of our fire. Daylight stripped the magic from the place where we had lain. The air was moist around us and we both felt sad. Cal held me in his arms beside the snorting horses. It was as if he knew our love was ephemeral. We had given it a name, a substance, and somehow, by doing that, we had condemned ourselves. We did not know the truth, not then, not for a long time, that we had never been alone. Forever at our heels, unseen eyes, all-seeing eyes. The gift of my inception. Cal had become too important to me. To the mind behind the eyes, I was no longer safe, no longer theirs alone.

By mid-afternoon, the trees began to thin around us. Where the horses had once pushed breast-deep in thick foliage, they now trod a sandy soil. Leaves above us tapped to the rhythm of a fine rain. Between the leaves, the swaying black branches, we could see it: a village.

Now is the difficult part. Now. I have thrown down my pen and picked it up again a hundred times. Even now it makes me feel sick and cold to think about it. I can remember the feelings, the smells, the sounds, everything. Just by closing my eyes I can bring it all back.

There were no people there. No hara. Everything was still, under the whispering mist of the rain. It was an enchanted place, asleep, dreaming, red brick and lush greenness. A place waiting to fulfill its destiny; its one true purpose. Something made me say, "Cal, let me

go first." My voice sounded slow and deep.

He replied, sleepily, "There might be danger."

I looked straight at him. "Might be . . ."

Pain shadowed his eyes. It was impossible that we could not have known. We knew. Inevitability. It could not be fought. Our mood had become silent and somber as we had pushed through the trees, because we had felt it closing in around us. Fate. The great invisible hand. I made a clicking noise in my mouth and urged Red forward. My legs were frozen. His neck was up, ears flat. I did not look back, but I could feel Cal's eyes burning into my back.

The woman was crouched in a doorway. I saw her first, but could not stop, my legs still frozen to Red's damp sides. I could not take cover. How her eyes hated me; black, almost blind with hate. She held the gun, really too large for her to use, against her belly, rag covered, twisted with poverty and tongueless rage. She saw me, wretched, weak as she was. Wraeththu, shining Wraeththu. Sleek with health, she saw the blood of her kind light my flesh from within. She struggled with the gun, raised it ...

The shock came before the sound, the single, rolling, echoing sound. Something cracked against my head. At the front. At the back. There was no pain, no further sound. My body started to fall, but the essence of me still stared out between Red's ears in surprise. Vaguely, like a phantom, Cal flashed past me, red over white, like a scarf on the wind, and the woman died in silence. No resistance. Nothing. Just a weary confusion in her eyes as she looked at the knife. As it rose. As it fell. Slowly. I could see all around, colors bright enough to ache, the sky a white, white light. I saw Cal, his cheek cut by flying bone, stand over the shell that had been Pellaz. Red and white. He could not take it in. Then he kneeled. Warm lips against the cooling flesh. I could not feel it. In his confusion he could not feel me. I did not want to leave him; I could smell his tears. He gently pressed his fingers against the red star above and between my eyes. The ground, Cal's knees, were dark red. So much blood in one small body. One body containing all that red. The horses were shaking, foam along their sides. Cal threw back his head and screamed, howled; an animal cry. All feeling was leaving him; I could sense his numbness, his rage; all of this. For a while, I ignored the insistance, the calling. I wanted to watch Cal. I still needed him. We belonged to each other. If I left, I was afraid he might forget me. Already the scene had become unreal, like watching a moving picture, dusty with age.

The Call. Above the houses, the light had condensed into a star. Not really me, half me, I went up to meet it, I could not resist, and the eyes in the light were familiar, knowing. That was when I wanted to scream, but it was too late. I had no throat.

It was . . . rushing. Rushing past me, over me, through me. Moving black air, threads of light; spiraling curls of ether. I felt my murderer wailing at my heels. The soul, no longer she, a nebulous, tumbling light; afraid and screaming the voiceless fear of the newly dead. Our journey; a squealing, aching descent, ascent, through black gulfs and summitless cliffs. We were the only light between obsidian crags that were frozen forever beneath a black sky. No time; the limitless yawning of aeons. And then faster; something zooming in. Gold and shining. I wanted to throw up my arms before my face, but I had neither; nothing to shield me from the brightness. Reality shift. Upsidedown, inside-out. Impossible shapes scored my substance; sickening impossible, zigzag agonies. I was drawn, sucked, inside the golden columns. Inside a temple of light, its glory turned toward the starless dark of infinity. The soul, my companion, denied access, fled shrieking upwards and away. That was all. I can remember only that I remembered. It is no longer real. Like I only heard it somewhere, read it in a book. Do you understand? It was a split-second, a micro-unit, of time that my memory has retained. I can get it to replay, sometimes, on the blank screen between my eyes. I just have done. Do you understand?

It was sound that first came back to me; a voice. I could not understand the words, yet at the same time knew their meaning. It said, "He is perfect," and another voice answered, "Yes, he is." After sound, I became aware of solidity, my soul again encumbered by flesh. I accepted this without question. Then the flesh gave vent to its pain and poured its torment into my brain; stretching, searing, burning. Tears formed in my hot eyes, my hot, blind eyes. I could sense movement, life, around me, but could not see it.

Everything was blank; not dark, just blank. Color was a concept I could no longer grasp. Voices came at me again, fluctuating in volume and pitch. "Pellaz! Pellaz!"

No! I tried to move the awkward flesh.

"Pellaz, you are with me. Don't fight it!"

Drenched with recollection, I knew, I knew that voice. I wanted to scream and die.

"Open your eyes!"

I can't, can't.

"Open your eyes!"

No, no, no, no.

Something hard like glass was pushed between my teeth. Sour liquid scalded my sealed throat, but I had to swallow. Coughing, spluttering; liquid in my lungs. Rough, wet cloth scored across my closed eyelids, dabbing, then pulling.

"Open them, Pellaz; you can."

Fingers prised at my skin; it felt like tearing, the edges of my lids were sealed and gummy. Lashes tore loose and tears poured down my face. Light pushed into me like hot pokers and I cried out. I heard myself cry out. The agony was insufferable. A hot thread pricked the inside of my arm, followed by a cool wave creeping up toward my neck. When it reached my head, I stopped screaming

"There. Pellaz?"

My mouth felt thick and numb. I could barely move my lips, and my voice, when it came, was like a breeze through tissue, but I said, "Thiede ..." I could see him. Tall, shining, flames for hair; his eyes were black with curiosity. He wore a white robe that showed his chest hung with pentacled chains; behind him the room was white. I could see his hand, resting against his cheek, long pointed fingernails tapping thoughtfully.

"Thiede, why?" I croaked. He did not answer, but covered me with a line sheet up to the neck. I could not feel it.

"Rest now," he said, smiling gently his dragon's smile. "You must rest."

"How can I?" I hurt so much; the deepest hurt in my heart. I knew nothing, was incapable of knowing anything; too tired to care, yet my mind churned backwards from a fear of sleep.

"Take this," he said and his hand arched over me, the nails glistening with the luster of pearl. "A temporary oblivion."

Dust was falling, falling, falling; the dust of centuries. I would fall back into a lighter slumber where dreams would walk once more. Up from the eternal pitch, the senseless peace. I slept.

For days, perhaps weeks, Thiede kept me in a semi-stupor, bringing me back to reality only at mealtimes. Even then, my limbs were too feeble to guide the food to my mouth; others fed me. Half-seen attendants saw to my bodily needs; cleaned me, turned me to prevent sores. My mind was switched off. I thought of nothing; watching only colors behind my closed eyes. My dreams were just of colors. Even so, I was fairly comfortable; just a little stiff. Hara came to massage my limbs three times a day. I could smell the light fragrance of the hot oil they kneaded into my skin. Sometimes, propped up on the pillows, I would stare at the room. It was sparsely furnished, but functional and tasteful. There were no mirrors and the windows were shrouded by gauze; I could not see what lay outside. Concealed lamps comforted me in the dark hours, so that I was never left alone in blackness. Sometimes, I thought I could hear music, wistful music or the tinkling of wind-chimes. It was so quiet there, no voices in the other rooms; the only sound, the only regular sound, was of footsteps outside my door, quick and light. The food they gave me was necessarily easily digested yet tinged with perfume I had never smelled before. Its fragrance would linger in my throat and nose long after the food had gone. After some time, I became alert enough to see properly the hara that fed me. Every evening, during my massage, a stern-faced, red-haired Har came to look at me. I guessed he was inspecting my progress. Thiede never came; not then. Reduced to the status of a child, I trusted completely my silent attendants. Not once, that I can remember, did I think of Cal.