storm (39 page)

            “Just say... hello,” Moon said, awkwardly.

            Aleeme raised his eyebrows.  “Can't you do better than that?  We're starved of gossip here.”

            “He's with Ferany,” Moon blurted.  “What else can I say?”

            “Ferany is a convenience,” Aleeme said, then rolled his eyes.  “Listen to me!  I shouldn't say these things.  Will you be back soon?”

            “Maybe,” Moon said.  “I'll come to visit Snake.”

            “I think it'll work one day,” Aleeme said.  “Between you can Ty.  I just have a feeling.”

            Moon smiled with difficulty.  He couldn't imagine such a day.  “Just tell him I said hello.”

Chapter Twenty

Ponclast did not reveal his feelings to Diablo, but he was extremely anxious about the reaction of their new allies once they discovered he had failed to take the pearl, never mind devour it.  He was prepared for a fight, and intended to speak out on Diablo's behalf, in case he should be given the blame.  It was wrong that they had been allowed to proceed without foreknowledge that there might be opposition to their plans.  Diablo could very easily have been killed, and as Ponclast had become fond of him, he was angry about that.  He had not been told how to communicate with his allies, but neither was he prepared to wait for them to contact him.

            Ponclast spent a lot of time with Diablo now, but sent him from the cave in order to work alone.  He took himself into trance and hit the ethers with a loud call. 
I don't summon you, fair enough.  But hear this!

           
It is very dangerous to shock a har out of trance, especially when his mind is extended far into the ethers.  But Ponclast was ripped from his meditation by a sharp slap across the face.  It felt as if his lungs filled with icy water and he fell into a fit coughing.  He opened his eyes, wondering what har had the effrontery and courage to strike him.  He saw only what appeared to be a small human girl child, who was clearly not really human because she had blue skin and hair.  Her eyes were white, with pinpricks of azure in their centres.

            “We do not obey a summons!” she said, in a petulant yet proud tone.  “You've been told that.”

            “I have information for you,” Ponclast answered, his head still reeling.  “Something has stolen the pearl.  My son was attacked in the spirit paths and nearly died.”

            “We know of that,” said the child.  “The matter is now out of your hands.  Think no more of it.”

            “Actually, I cannot accept that,” Ponclast said, realizing he felt brave because of the apparently fragile form of the entity before him.  He also realised this bravado might not be sensible.  “Who attacked Diablo?  Who else wants the pearl?”

            “We are not prepared to give you this information.  You cannot ask questions.  Be thankful our masters do not blame you for the episode.  Their retaliation is swift, if needed.”

            “You said you would help me.  Will this still occur?”

            “Yes.  Presently, you will leave this forsaken place.  We have a use for you in this realm.  You will be given a
teraph,
which is an entity that will carry you through the spirit paths.”

            “Like the Gelaming use the
sedim
?”

            “The
teraphim
are kin to the
sedim.
”

            “I wish to return to my fortress, Fulminir, to rebuild it.”

            “Where you go is your decision.  Attack your enemies as you see fit.  Our desire is only that you do what you do best, and most effectively.  You will receive further instructions at a later time.”

            “That is satisfactory.  One thing I must ask.  Is there any danger to me, or my hara, from what attacked Diablo?  If so, you must warn me of it, protect me.”

            “It will not come for you here.  It did what it wanted to do.”

            “I see.”  Ponclast paused for a few moments, while the child stood passively before him.  “Are you aware that the Tigron's son came to me?  He assisted Diablo after he fell from the spirit paths.”

            “We have no interest in that.  It is your affair.  Use him as you see fit.”

            “I would appreciate your opinion.  He carries the Tigron's blood, which presumably
is
of interest to you, seeing as you were keen to possess the pearl.  I have wondered whether it might be of use to create a pearl myself with this har.  It is, after all, one of the things I do most effectively, and Abrimel har Aralis is of far better stock than my poor ruined Varrs.”

            The child's strange blind-looking eyes widened.  He could see he had pricked her interest.  For some moments, she was silent, and Ponclast received the strong impression she was communicating with some other being.  Eventually, she said, “We are told it would be pointless for you to do such a thing without the higher energy.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Hara use this energy, but you do not.  You use something else.”

            “I don't understand you.  Speak in terms I know.”

            “Learn to love,” said the child.  “Do not attempt to call us again.”  She vanished.

            Learn to love?  Ponclast snorted at the idea.  He knew very well how to love.  He loved all his hara and believed it was this emotion that had helped keep them alive in Gebaddon.  He could not, however, love a Gelaming, not in that way, but perhaps the blue child hadn't meant that.  She had spoken of passion.

            I remember that, Ponclast thought wistfully.  But what am I now to inspire passion in a harish breast?

            He sat and pondered for a while, recalling how just for a moment he had looked upon Abrimel with desire, only to be rewarded with an expression of revulsion in the Gelaming's horrified stare.  How to change that?  Presently, Ponclast came to a decision.  He sent out a mindcall to Diablo who came running at once.

            “Diablo, my sweet, can you take me to the place where you found Abrimel har Aralis?”

            Diablo narrowed his enormous eyes.  “No.  I cannot transport our hara from Gebaddon.  I have tried to.  There are limitations place upon my abilities.”

            Ponclast was somewhat astounded his son had been conducting his own experiments in private.  “You should have told me this before,” he said.  “But I'll overlook this secrecy for now.  Bring Abrimel to me.”

            “At once.”

            Diablo did not exaggerate.  He vanished before Ponclast could even draw breath to speak further.

            The last time Ponclast had seen Abrimel, they had parted with the understanding that Abrimel would provide information as and when the Teraghasts needed it.  Ponclast had felt strangely soiled by his brief union with the Tigron's son.  Possibly, this was because when he'd lain against that perfect body, he'd been reminded too painfully of his own condition, and that of his hara.  He had decided not to see Abrimel again and that Diablo must deal with the Gelaming when necessary.  Now, that decision had to be revised.  He must proceed with caution.  Even though Fulminir was no doubt as much of a ruin as Ponclast thought himself to be, the disaffected son of the Tigron might well be tempted by the offer of becoming the consort of the har who would rebuild it.  He could help destroy the Gelaming, and his ignorant parents, who had no idea what danger their indifference might have put them in. 
That is the way,
Ponclast thought.  He would appeal to Abrimel's bitterness and resentment.  He would be sympathetic.  He would remember the art of  seduction.

Chapter Twenty-One

It began with a communication breakdown.  Cobweb was naturally suspicious of Gelaming technology and never used the psycaller device in
Forever
to contact Immanion.  If he needed to speak to Pellaz, he would walk the Tigron's dreams.  Swift was generally the only har who used the psycaller, and in truth it had gathered a layer of dust, somewhere beneath a pile of papers in Swift's office.

            But one particular evening, late in the spring of ai-cara 32, Cobweb asked his son to send a message to Phaonica.  His instincts urged him to do it, although at the time he voiced the request, it seemed merely mundane: invite the Tigron to Galhea for the summer solstice.  He could bring Moon and Raven, because Snake would no doubt like to see them.

            Swift went to do this at once, but his efforts to use the psycaller came to nothing.  He returned to the sitting room, where Cobweb was conversing with Azriel and Aleeme, and said, “It's strange.  I can't get through.”

            Cobweb experienced a brief but telling chill throughout his flesh.  “I will attend to it,” he said, his words imbued with the unspoken message that Gelaming devices were unreliable and suspect.  “We have the natural ability to communicate over distance, so we might as well use it.”

            “Not
that
much distance,” Aleeme said.

            Cobweb did not respond.  He went directly to his room, drew the drapes over the windows and lit three candles.  He composed himself cross-legged on the floor and closed his eyes.  Drawing in deep breaths, he was for a moment gripped by a bizarre thought: he would change.  He would have to become something different.

            Dismissing this to analyse later, Cobweb descended into trance.  For him, it was as simple as diving smoothly into a deep dark pool: he caused barely a ripple.  He swam through the ethers, as was his usual practice, to discern any nuances or messages that might float there for him to pick up.  But that night, he found not the familiar mindscape he knew, but an unknown and impassable territory.  The ethers were disturbed.  It was as if they had been ravaged by a mighty storm of energy so that all the usual channels were blocked or hidden.

            Shaken, Cobweb brought himself back to normal consciousness.  Instinctively, he went to the window and threw open the drapes.  He peered through the darkness, searching for he knew not what.  The night was calm, the air breathless.  Perhaps it was too still out there for comfort.  He could see himself reflected in the window: a slender har, shawled in dark hair, his loose trousers and shirt glowing pale in the dark.  He looked at himself and, for a stultifying moment, saw a human woman looking back.  That was what Terzian had made of him, this virtual 'she'.  He felt she might be about to die.

            Some of the curtain hooks ripped from their rings as Cobweb fiercely closed the drapes once more.  His entire being was filled with terrible foreboding. 
Too long have we hidden,
he thought. 
Too long have we gazed into painted mirrors.

           
Around him, the house felt uneasy and skittish, its timbers groaning, its pipes shuddering.  Outside, the night hounds began to bay all at once, an ululating cry rising and falling in alarm.  Cobweb ran down to where members of his family still sat together.  They looked up in surprise as he burst into the room, for Cobweb was a har who usually moved slowly and with grace.  “Summon the Watch, Swift,” Cobweb snapped.  “Have Ithiel check the gardens.”