storm (16 page)

            “Has it all gone?  I don't know.  Tell me.  What else won't I be able to do again?”

            “The surgeon has repaired most of the damage.  It will heal, in time.  You are still har, Rue.”

            “I lost our child.”

            “You didn't lose it.  Somehar took it from you.”

            Caeru pressed the fingers of one hand into his eye sockets.  There was a thin streak of dried blood on his arm too.  “I didn't want the pearl,” he said.  “Don't you understand?  I did it for you, but not for myself.  Have I made this happen?”

            “No,” Pellaz said.  He took Caeru's hand in his own, pulled it down from his face.  “Did you see you did this to you?”

            Caeru shook his head.  “No.  Who would want to do anything like this?”

            “Are you sure you didn't see?”

            “Yes.”

            “No suspicions?”

            “No!  Don't even think it.”

            “Has Cal been to see you?”

            Caeru looked away.  “I asked for him.  They told me he is not in Immanion any more.”

            Pellaz closed his eyes.  “Thiede,” he said, a prayer, a plea or a curse: he could not tell.

            “Cal didn't do this to me, Pell,” Caeru murmured.  “You don't have to worry about that.”

            Pellaz uttered a low growl.  “I will find who did, I promise you.  And when I do, I'll rip their guts from them.  I promise you that, as well.”

            “We weren't meant to create that pearl,” Caeru said.  “Somehar stopped us.”

            “I know,” Pellaz said, “which means it was more important then even I thought.”

            “Who, though?  Who would hate us that much?”

            “I'm not sure it's hate,” Pellaz said.  He let go of Caeru's hand and stood up.  “They should clean you up.  It's not right.  They should clean your hands and your hair.”

            “Show me the damage,” Caeru said.  “I have to see.  I had to wait for you to come before I could bear to look at it.”

            Pellaz paused for a few moments, then leaned down and drew back the sheet.  Caeru raised himself up on his elbows and looked down at his belly.  Through the narrow bars of the protective cage, the wounds looked much better than they had: a strange map of stitches and black crusts.  His stomach appeared sunken, as if a great part of him had been hacked away.

            Caeru lay down again.  “If you had not been here, I would have left this life,” he said.

            “I know,” Pellaz said.  “I wouldn't let you go.”

            “Why?  You don't love me.  We are not chesna.  You could have been free.”

            “I will go to Galhea,” Pellaz said, “and I'll take Terez with me.  There is work to do.  When I return, I will visit you.  Be home by then, Rue.  I hope to bring you news at that time.”

            “Why?” Caeru insisted, ignoring all that Pellaz had just said.

            “I didn't want you to die,” Pellaz said.  “Make of that what you will.  I can offer no more.”

            “Thank you,” Caeru said.  “I will help you, Pell, whatever happens.”

            Pellaz nodded thoughtfully.  “I'll have them clean you up,” he said.  “I'll send Vaysh to you.  He can sit with you.”

            “Vaysh,” Caeru said dully.  “Is that because I'm like him now?  Barren?  Is he going to talk to me about that, try and make me adjust?”  He laughed bitterly.

            “No,” Pellaz said.  “It's because Vaysh is trained to protect a har, which is more than can be said for our so-called security staff.  But that is not your concern.  Just get well again.”

Chapter Eight

Calanthe har Aralis came to his senses in darkness.  He sat up.  He could hear his own breath, and from the way it echoed sensed he was in an enormous building or cave.  He could see nothing.  Puzzling thoughts flashed through his mind. 
They will travel to the city of winds and ghosts.  There are jewels there, amid the rubbish.

            Before he'd woken, he'd seen his son Tyson, so like himself.  He had seen Pellaz, too bright to look upon, like a white hot flame.

           
Where am I?

            He almost laughed aloud at the clichéd question.  What could he remember?  A meal in a restaurant in Immanion.  Low tide, the reek of sea weed, the smell of fish simmering in spices, tart wine.  He could not see the face of the one who sat opposite him.  He could hear a voice, but not the words.  He could remember a feeling of relief, of unburdening himself, feeling like he'd been understood.  He remembered things making sense, like a door opening on a room he thought he'd never find.  After that, a blank.  He must have been drugged, knocked out, but there was no pain in his head, no sense of sluggishness.  He had no idea what had happened to him and yet felt emotionally numb.  He could not be afraid.  It was like a dream.

            And then, a pinprick of light in the immense darkness ahead of him.  It zoomed towards him, growing in size, until it bobbed in front of him, a sphere of radiance the size of his head.

            “Am I dreaming?” Cal said to this phenomenon.

            The sphere pulsed a little, as if it were breathing.  Cal heard a voice in his head. 
No more than any other har, Calanthe.

           
“What is this place?  Why am I here?”

           
It is a hidden place, at the end of a lonely back road of the otherlanes.  You are here to be of use to your kind, for there is none other like you.  You will remember soon the conversation that took place in Immanion, and the agent who persuaded you to come here.  The journey was made without sedim.  It has disoriented you, but this will fade.

           
“Who or what are you?”

           
I am Perdu.

            Cal thought this name should be familiar, but couldn't remember why.  “What are you?”

           
Living essence, as you are.

            “Then manifest.  I will not talk to a ball of light.”

            The sphere contracted until it was a blazing mote of brilliance, then exploded with a dazzling display of sparks.  Cal shielded his eyes for a moment, sure that sizzling particles had burned his face.  He could smell cordite.  Light had come into the space he occupied, light which illumined rather than concealed.  He saw an almost unimaginably huge chamber, like a temple, its domed roof veined with organic struts and beams.  He saw a floor of what looked like polished obsidian.  Standing upon it in rows were bowls of radiance on tripods seven feet tall.  Beyond them, ranks of tall pillars disappearing into the distance, like the reflections of in multiple mirrors.  At last, his reluctant consciousness focused on the tall figure before him.  He was wary now, knowing what he'd see: the slanting catlike eyes, the mane of blood red hair.  Thiede.

            “Am I dead?” Cal said.  “Is this your revenge?”

            Thiede concealed his hands in the wide sleeves of his indigo-coloured robe.  “We cannot die that easily.  You already know that, I believe.”

            Cal got to his feet.  “I have sensed you, Thiede.  Often.  What I mean is, now I'm here, can I ever go back?”

            Thiede smiled.  “Yes.  I do not seek revenge.  There is nothing to warrant it.”

            “Then why have you brought me here?  To get me away from Pell again?  I suppose that's it.”

            Thiede shook his head.  “Not at all.  You are here to finish what was started, what the Kamagrian started for you.”

            “Which is?”

            “To become Tigron, worthy of the title.”

            “Is Opalexian part of this?”

            “In some regard.  We were so wrong, Opalexian and I.  But we are learning, as you will.  I needed to bring you here, because I cannot manifest in your realm.  This is not just because you banished me, Cal.  It was expedient for others that I was removed.  Part of a greater plan, of which I was entirely ignorant.  If I return to Immanion, there is a strong chance that my presence would be sensed and I would be destroyed, utterly, my essence erased from space and time.  Opalexian knows this now too.  She hides, she fears.  They could come for her also, in the guise of an assassin or liberator.  Who knows?”

            “What are you talking about?  Be clear with me.”

            “Wraeththu is under threat,” Thiede said.  “Grave threat.”

            “From what?”

            “From the enemies of those who made us.”

            “Who made us?”

            Thiede smiled again.  “The gods,” he said.  “As everyhar believes.”

            “I don't.  I think the answer is more prosaic than that.”

            “We have much to discuss,” Thiede said.  “I will show you my realm, my humble home.  You are safe here, as your son will be.”

            “Tyson, I saw him.  Is he in danger?”

            “Not Tyson, Cal.  The one as yet in pearl.  I want you to go into the otherlanes and save him.  You must do this very soon, almost at once.”

            “What!”

            “An enemy has cut the child from Caeru's belly.  It intends to deliver the harling to a foul master, who will devour it.  You must intercept this agent very soon, and it will be difficult for you, because I cannot provide you with a
sedu
.”

            “That is impossible, not difficult.”

            “Not at all.  I can teach you how to do this, now.  But there are dangers.”

            “Why can't you do it?”

            “Because I cannot risk making my presence felt in the ethers.  I need you, Cal, we all need you.  You were sent to Immanion before you were ready.  We did not need to fight.  I never needed to fight you.”

            “It was torture, not fighting.”