storm (13 page)

            So Diablo came to the lair of his hostling, whom he had never met.  He followed a call that was almost like a scent.  He paused often to smell the air as he followed it.  He came slinking along the damp noisome passageways, his body stooped close to the ground with wariness.  His eyes glowed yellow in the darkness and his hot breath created clouds around his head.  Very soon, he crouched before Ponclast in the central chamber.

            Ponclast observed this feral imp with interest.  He considered that Diablo was a living expression of his own desires.  He beckoned with a clean white finger, "Come to me, my son."

            He could tell that Diablo's first instinct was to attack, but that he was clever enough to realize such action would be pointless.  He could also tell that Diablo was not afraid.  Cautiously, Diablo came forward until Ponclast could rest a hand on his son's head.  "I have a job for you," he said.  "You were born of my body.  You are part of me."

            Diablo stared at Ponclast with what appeared to be suspicion or disbelief.

            "I am your hostling, and we must take aruna together, because I have a gift for you, and that is the only way for me to pass it to you."

            Diablo cocked his head to one side and grinned.

            To Ponclast, the kindling of arunic energy had nothing to do with desire for feeling.  He willed it to manifest and it did.  Diablo became soume in the same spirit.  It meant nothing greater than if Ponclast had offered him some food or water.

            Ponclast could feel an alien energy deep inside him.  It flickered like a black flame in his belly, in the place where normally his personal life force glowed white.  At the climax of aruna, it poured from him into Diablo, and Diablo growled and shuddered beneath them.

            "You have learned something," Ponclast said.  "And now you must work to master it."

            Diablo whimpered and curled up his body.  Black sweat ran over his damp skin.  Ponclast gazed upon him, and for a moment remembered Gahrazel, so beautiful and whole.  Diablo was hardly of the same calibre, but he would have to suffice.  Ponclast extended a hand and laid it on Diablo's shoulder.  "Rest," he said.  "Tomorrow we shall explore wondrous new territory."

Chapter Seven

Banners of gold were hung in the streets, an air of festival filled the city.  The new era had dawned.  The Aralisians had put aside all rancour and had conceived an extraordinary and magical pearl.  The harling who must eventually come from it would be superior to all others, even to his parents.  Surely this meant that all that had happened had been for the greater good.  Cal had brought harmony to Phaonica.

            Caeru was not so easily convinced.  Over the ensuing weeks, he allowed himself to be seen regularly in public as evidence of his condition became noticeable to others.  He knew that Pellaz had suggested the idea, then manipulated and coerced his consorts, not because he sought harmony in his domestic sphere, but because he felt threatened.  He would reveal to his consorts nothing of his fears, but it was Caeru's belief that Pellaz thought Thiede would come back to them in the child.

            The conception itself had not been an easy process for Caeru.  He remembered how he'd felt that night in Ferelithia when Pellaz -- for rather their mutual desire -- had opened up a part of himself that was normally sealed shut.  It was the cauldron of creation, the secret organ where seed and egg combined, and because -- for the Gelaming -- harish the conception could be achieved only by spiritually elevated aruna, it did not take place entirely in the earthly realm.  Caeru had allowed two hara into that secret place; it had torn him apart, and not just in a physical sense.  The organ itself had felt as if it had been beaten in submission and it did not close up again as quickly as it should have done.  Caeru had felt this inside, and it had been a hideous feeling: not pain exactly, but as if a black hole into another universe had been spiralling inside him and he could have been sucked inside out, right into it.  Now, his body had more or less found its balance again, and the pearl was developing as normal, but Caeru felt very different to how he'd felt carrying Abrimel's pearl.  This harling seemed to gnaw at his being, to suck out his life: he felt tired and drained.  The bizarre aruna that had created the pearl had hurt him greatly and the dull, deep ache never went away.  He carried it with him always, along with a sense of heaviness, of being dragged down.  He felt no connection with what grew inside him, which was the complete opposite of how he'd felt before.  As the weeks passed, he became more anxious, afraid that, between them, they had created some kind of abomination.  He could confide nothing of this to Pellaz because, not really to his surprise, the Tigron had not returned to the Tigrina's apartments.  Caeru had not seen him alone since that night.  Pellaz was occupied with secret plans and had spent too many hours in private discussion with his brother, Terez.  Cal visited Caeru regularly, as had become usual, but he too seemed distracted and uneasy.  Something was approaching and it seemed that none of them dared speak of it, as if the words alone would conjure up a storm.

            Caeru could not even open up to Velaxis, whose only reaction to the conception had been to praise Caeru for his enterprise.  Caeru did not enlighten him.  He was isolated from everyhar, both emotionally and physically.  Cal appeared afraid to touch him again.

            The situation had not been helped by the cool reaction to the news by Abrimel.  Perhaps it was only to be expected.  A formal message of congratulations had come from Imbrilim, which sounded as if it had been put together by a clerical assistant.  Abrimel made no mention of visiting home.  Caeru missed him badly, perhaps as much as Pellaz missed Thiede.  He sent a message himself, asking his son to visit, hoping Abrimel would read between the lines and understand how much his hostling needed his support, but so far Abrimel had not even replied.  He was angry because he felt he was being pushed out.  Abrimel was a grown har, and the Tigron's son, but the difficulties of his childhood meant he could never feel close to Pellaz.  Now, a new son had been conceived, this time in different circumstances.  Pellaz, if not the whole of Gelamingkind, would embrace this new harling far more readily than the forgotten embarrassment, who'd turned up on the doorstep of Phaonica with his hostling, and who had not been welcome.

            One afternoon, as yet another party of dignitaries from a far country was entertained in Phaonica's court, Caeru said quietly to Cal, "What have we done?  I need to talk to you.  I feel strange.”

            It was a totally inappropriate moment to say such a thing, as they were surrounded by visitors.  Pellaz was not present, a situation that had offended some of the dignitaries who felt the Tigron ought to be giving them his attention.

            Cal cast Caeru a quick, startled glance and murmured, “I will speak to you later.”

            Caeru could tell it was the last thing that Cal wanted to do.  Perhaps it was so difficult because what they'd shared that night had been a mutual invasion of mind, body and spirit, far deeper than any har had a right to explore.  Caeru now knew things about Cal and Pellaz that he really wished he didn't: the gibbering terrors and insecurities that lurked in the farthest reaches of the mind, the hidden corners where demons were buried.  Had Cal really wanted to discover how deeply Pellaz had loved Thiede, and how much he missed him and how he resented Cal for his banishing?  Had Pellaz wanted to know the minutiae of Cal's exploits over the past thirty years?  Cal had claimed that Terzian the Varr, for example, had meant little to him.  Well, that wasn't true for a start.  Many times that night, Caeru had received images of Cal's thoughts of Terzian, as he remembered their time together, when Tyson had been conceived.  Cal had felt sad that Terzian was dead.  These recollections must have washed over Pellaz like a caustic bath.  Of course, the intensity of the experience had dredged old feelings from their graves, but they were like words spoken in anger.  They could never be taken back.

            Caeru thought: 
We are the progenitors of the Aralis dynasty.  We are powerful.  We can do things that most hara cannot, but perhaps we are not wise to do so.

            That afternoon, amid the social small-talk and ingratiating behaviour, Caeru knew that he had to talk to somehar about it, otherwise he might burst apart, and the only possible candidates were Pellaz and Cal.  Pellaz had withdrawn again, not in cold hostility, but merely because his mind was occupied by other things.  Caeru didn't think Cal had seen much of him since that night either.  So Cal would have to be Caeru's confidant, whether he wanted to be or not.

            The afternoon seemed endless.  Caeru's face ached from smiling so insincerely for so long and his stomach convulsed regularly with vicious cramps.  He sought to hide the pain and drank too much wine, which he knew was a bad idea, not least because it was inconsiderate to the pearl.  Hara came up to him and said, “You look radiant” or “You look marvellous”, and Caeru had to grit his teeth and utter a polite and pleasant response.  He felt far from either state.

            "Will you come to me for dinner?" he asked Cal, during a merciful lull in the social maelstrom.

            "I can't," Cal replied.  "I have a prior arrangement.  I'll come later.  OK?"

            Caeru nodded without speaking.  He looked at Cal, and for a moment was assailed by a strong conviction that Cal was ready to flee Immanion.  As to why this should be, Caeru could only guess.  He wondered who Cal was having dinner with that evening.

Caeru ate alone on his terrace, all the time feeling nauseous.  He would be glad that this experience was over and he could hand the pearl to members of the palace staff, who would care for it.  If, when it hatched, it had a bright red hair, he thought he'd lose his mind.  It wasn't that he didn't want Thiede back again, but not in this way.  It was unnatural and horrified.  He put a hand over his belly and pressed against the taut skin.  It would not be an easy delivery either, he was sure.

            The dinner dishes had been cleared away, and from the direction of the harbour, Caeru could hear the throb of distant music.  He felt cold, yet his face was hot.  He leaned back in his chair, trying to find a comfortable position.  Perhaps Cal would not come.

            Why did I agree to hosting this pearl?  Caeru wondered.  Was it just for love, for Pell?  We should have talked.  We should have proceeded slowly.  Pell was afraid.  He felt he had to do this thing.

            Caeru rubbed his stomach.  It would not be long now, maybe a week or two.  Afterwards, perhaps he might feel something like normal again.

            He heard a door open inside his apartment, just a brief creaking sound.  That would be Cal at last.  Caeru was feverish with the desire to unburden himself.  Cal would reassure him.  He was always so down to earth.  But nohar came out onto the terrace.

            After a few minutes, Caeru god carefully to his feet and went inside.  The apartment was in darkness, which was odd, because his staff usually made sure every room was softly lit after sundown.  Barefooted, Caeru padded through the empty rooms, which vibrated with the tense, breathless atmosphere.  He called out, "Cal, are you here?"

            Silence: too silent.

            Caeru now felt unnerved.  He turned on some lights, but that did nothing to improve the atmosphere.  There was nohar around.  He must go to his staff's quarters, just to assure himself he wasn't completely alone.

            As he made his way along the corridor beyond his personal rooms, the lights went off again.  Caeru tensed, held his breath.  He had the feeling somehar was following him, soft-footedly trailing him from room to roam.

            Get a grip! he hissed to himself in a low voice.