storm (44 page)

            “I have always been aware of the injustice,” Snake said.  “I lived in the eye of its devastation.”

            “I know,” Cobweb said softly.  “Is this the face of our enemy, Snake?  Is it Ponclast, or one of his hara?”

            “The evidence points that way.”

            Cobweb frowned.  “Then how have they broken out of Gebaddon?  Is it because Thiede is no longer here?  Was it his power alone that kept them contained?”

            “These are all interesting possibilities,” Snake said.

            “Gebaddon was a place of strange forces,” Cobweb said.  “Who knows what the Varrs might have uncovered there.”

            “The only force I feel is hatred,” Snake said.  “Loathing for their enemies.  If Ponclast lives, it is safe to assume he is far from chastised.”

            Cobweb stood up.  “We must tell Swift of our findings at once.  Gebaddon must be checked.”

            “I feel it is too late for that,” Snake said.  “It is Fulminir that should be checked.”

            “It was razed.”

            “I lived in ruins,” Snake said.  “Remember that.”

            Cobweb nodded.  “Come.  We will tell Swift this.”

            “You go,” Snake said.  “I want to try and relay this information to Pellaz.”

            “Of course.  Do you want me to stay and help you?”

            “No, I do this best alone.  In the ethers, I perceived chinks in the dank fog that occludes them.  I think I can get a message through, if I pick my way carefully.”

            “I wish you luck,” Cobweb said.  Impulsively, he leaned down and kissed the top of Snake's head.

            Snake's body went rigid.  “You must go,” he said.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Although nohar else knew it, the devastation in the otherlanes was not a deliberate ploy.  It was merely a side effect.  Ponclast's unseen allies ripped the barrier to shreds and their violent presence in this reality shook the fibres of the otherlanes into chaos.  At the moment when the barrier around Gebaddon finally crumpled and fell, and Ponclast's Teraghasts burst out like black blood from an infected wound, the whole of creation screamed.  The ethers went into convulsions and entities on every strand of the web of wyrd were made aware that a cataclysmic event had occurred.  For some, it was of no more import than of hearing an explosion in a distant place, while for others it meant the end of everything.

            Ponclast rode a golden horse, which was kin to the
sedim,
though of darker substance, despite its radiant appearance.  The beast was son of the
teraphim,
and before him all
sedim
would tremble.  Ponclast's mount carried him overland to the ruins of Fulminir, where once the worst of Varr atrocities had taken place.  It was no longer a blasted patch of scorched earth, spiked by shattered towers.  The green had poured over it, slowly and inexorably, and now flowers bloomed among the tumbled masonry.  To Ponclast, this seemed both fitting and just.  It represented just how much the Gelaming could not contain living essence.  The monument to their enemies, which they'd intended to let stand as a warning to all those who might oppose them in the future, was now a garden, its harsh lines softened.  Ponclast too had changed.

            He rode alone to his old home, leaving his hara in the outer courts, and found that much of it still stood, although several of its halls stood open to the air and young trees grew upon the stairways.  As he rode the
teraph
through this place, Ponclast heard no ghosts of screams and combat.  He heard only the song of birds.  It was, in fact, quite peaceful.

            He found for himself an intact room, which would be his headquarters.  It had to be fairly comfortable because here he could continue to deliver pearls – or at least the one he still carried.  It might be that procreation must be stalled for a time, while other matters pressed upon his attention, but the pearl he held within him now was special.  He realised he cared about it, something he'd never felt before.  It was also Abrimel's child.

            The seduction of Abrimel har Aralis had not been as difficult as Ponclast had feared.  Over time, the Gelaming had got used to Ponclast's appearance; Diablo had carried him to Gebaddon at least once a week, sometimes more.  For some time, Ponclast had merely talked to Abrimel, flattered him discretely, encouraged him to speak his heart.  One night, as they'd consumed wine that Abrimel had brought with him from Imbrilim, they had ventured into the scarred territory of Abrimel's childhood.  He could remember in distressing detail the Tigron's cruelty to Caeru.  He remembered his terror when Pellaz had shouted and his even greater fear of the violent energy that had poured from his father's body.  Ponclast gently nudged him to deeper revelations, and eventually Abrimel put his face in his hands.  At that moment, Ponclast furled an arm about his shoulders.  “Pellaz har Aralis will regret what he did to you, this I promise.”

            Abrimel had looked up at him then.  “Whatever has been done to you, you are more beautiful than my father.”

            “I know what I am,” Ponclast said, “but that will change also.  Before I met you, I rarely considered my appearance, but now it is important to me.”

            “You have shown me more kindness than any other har,” Abrimel said.  “I know what you are, through and through, and it does not matter.”  With these words, he took Ponclast's face between his hands and shared breath with him.

            Ponclast pulled Abrimel back until they lay on the cold floor.  He almost swooned as Abrimel carefully opened the crimson robe and covered his starved body with kisses.  Each kiss was a gift of life.  Ponclast felt as if he was filling out, regaining himself, with every caress.

            “There is no part of you I will not taste,” Abrimel said, somewhat drunk.

            “There is not,” Ponclast agreed.  “The deepest secrets of my being are yours.”

            It was a pleasure to guide Abrimel to the moment of creation, so different from all other occasions when Ponclast had kindled new life within him.  Abrimel was no ravaged being, like the sorry Teraghasts, but a vital healthy har in prime condition, mentally alert and emotionally susceptible.  For the first time, Ponclast understood some of what he had once despised in other hara.  For the first time, the father of the pearl was important, wanted and needed.  The pearl would be very different to any that Ponclast had borne before.  The harling within it would not hatch to be twisted and warped.  It would be pure and perfect, with a heart as fierce as an angel.  It warmed Ponclast greatly to know that the Tigron's own blood went against him, but there were also other benefits.  Abrimel truly saw beauty in Ponclast.  Because of this, the Tigron's son was more prized by Ponclast than he'd every guess.

            Now Ponclast called for another of his sons, who he also treasured, but for different reasons.  He called psychically to Diablo.

            Diablo came quickly to his hostling's private room, even though he had not set foot in Fulminir before.  He knelt at Ponclast's side to be caressed, for this was one of the few pleasures in Diablo's life.

            “Was your mission in Galhea successful?” Ponclast asked, knowing he did not really have to ask.  The episode with the Aralisian pearl had been a glitch, because other forces had been involved.

            “Yes,” Diablo said.

            “Was our merchandise damaged?”

            “Hardly at all.  A little.  I did as you said.”

            “Who have you brought for me?”

            “Two.  One is a son of Parasiel, of Swift the Betrayer.”

            “You have excelled yourself.  Who is the other?”

            “His consort, who is from afar.  I smelled his blood and it is strange.  It carries the taint of the serpent.”

            “That's interesting,” said Ponclast.  “There's a tribe of serpent hara, my sweet, and they are called the Colurastes.  They are rarely seen by others.  The Kakkahaar leader, Lianvis, owned one once.  I wonder if I'm to be equally fortunate.”

            “I do not know these names,” said Diablo.

            “You will,” Ponclast said.  “I see I must educate you.”  He lifted Diablo's sharp chin in his hand, gazed into his son's dark eyes.  “You must relearn yourselves, all of you, my children.  You must not be grovelling imps but proud warriors.  You must learn to stand tall.  I have neglected you.”

            “I will do as you ask,” said Diablo.

            “Good,” said Ponclast.  “Bathe yourself.  I have another job for you.”

            Diablo appeared somewhat confused.

            “Immerse yourself naked in water,” Ponclast said, “for some time.”

            “I will,” said Diablo.

            “Return to me just before sundown.  I have something to attend to.  After that, I will view the prisoners.”

            Once Diablo had left, Ponclast composed himself in a meditative state to deliver the pearl he carried.  It was slightly before term, but he had a need to rid himself of it now, because he had to be at his most agile.  It fought him a little, because it was not ready to leave its nest of warmth and safety, but he knew these last few days were merely a luxury to it.  If it learned early the harsh reality of existence, it could only be of benefit to its development.  Ponclast squatted on the dirty floor and focused his entire being on expelling the pearl.  When it fell, eventually, into his hands, some fresh blood came with it, but not enough to worry about.  Ponclast held the pearl close to his breast while he concentrated upon healing himself.  He closed ripped blood vessels, soothed torn flesh, gazing inside himself as a surgeon might do, but using only his mind.

            For nearly an hour he sat gazing into space, the pearl still held close in bloodied hands, thinking about how much work he had to do.  Fulminir must be rebuilt, but not as it had been before.  If he was to take on the Gelaming and their fawning allies, then he must meet them on equal terms.  He would create for himself forces like theirs, but seen through a dark mirror.  His own allies would help him.

            The
teraph
had remained with him throughout the birth, an immense yet immobile presence in the shadows of the room.  It had come to Ponclast only minutes before Gebaddon had been breached.  Ponclast realised he must forge a relationship with this creature.  “You are Golab,” Ponclast said to the
teraph.
  “I name you so.”

            The
teraph
stamped and came forward, head hanging low, its hooves thudding heavily aaginst the old wood floor.  It nosed at the pearl, its lips tickling Ponclast's hands.  Its breath was warm.  Ponclast remembered the instruction that the blue child had given to him: do not attempt to contact us again.  He could not heed it.  They had sent the
teraph
and breached the magical barrier around Gebaddon, but this was not nearly enough.

            “I have little time,” Ponclast said to the
teraph.
  “The hara from the old days are crippled by memory, and those of the new are ignorant creatures.  Help me shape them, Golab.  You have seen with your own eyes the state of things here.  If my request is justified, go to your masters and bring me aid.”