The Wraeththu Chronicles (59 page)

"Zack? Who's Zack?"

"You know . . . have you forgotten? Years . . . years . . ." He lay back on the pillows, his eyes searching the ceiling frantically. "I told you he was dead, didn't I? I did say that, didn't I? Well, it's not exactly... true. I don't know. Not when I went back for him ... he was alive then . . ."

"What are you talking about?" I asked to humor him. "Who's not dead? Pellaz?"

"No!" he said, as if angry with my stupidity. "Zack, before I met you. I ran away. I left him ... I told you he was dead. It was a lie." He closed his eyes.

Thinking he'd be quiet for a while, I fetched a damp cloth and bathed his face. His eyes flickered, half open.

"There is no-one on this earth more lovely than you," he said, his hot hand seeking to curl itself around my wrist.

"Who, Pellaz . . . ?" I dabbed at his temples.

"No, no, Pell's dead. I mean you, now that he's gone . . . it's you, even though you hate me . . ." He sighed. His voice sank. "Unbind your hair, all over me. Fill me with your perfume, let me taste you . . ."

My hair grew only to my shoulders; I never braided it. Incensed, I threw the cloth back into the bowl of water and stood up, wrenching my wrist out of his hold.

"Why can't you see me?" I complained. "I'm Swift and I'm alive and I don't hate you, at least, not at the moment."

He looked confused. "Oh Swift," he said. "Yes . . . Swift. I was just thinking of a time, oh, it was along while ago, before I met Pell. I was with someone else. We were in trouble and I left him for dead. I could have helped him, but then, maybe we both would have died. I had to save myself, don't you see? I told Pell I'd hurt my arm in a fall. Look . . ." He took my hand and ran my fingers over the long, white scar. "That was a lie as well. there was no fall, no. It was Zack's knife that did it. His curse and his knife thrown at me, while I saved my skin ... ah well."

At dawn he was wholly lucid, the fever had gone, but his breath came quickly. "Fetch Phlaar!" he cried. "Quickly!" When I reached the door, I heard his voice behind me. "Don't come back in here, Swift."

They took the pearl from him and it was black and gleaming with the essence of his body. I saw them carry it down the hall like a holy relic. It was tested for life and washed. I wanted to look but they made it clear I was in the way, so I wandered back to Cal's bedroom to find him lying drained and relieved among the pillows.

"So, it's over," I said.

"Yes, it is." After a moment, he laughed quietly to himself.

I wanted to know how much it hurt him.

"Quite a lot, I suppose," he said, "But the memory of pain fades so quickly. It wasn't as bad as I thought . . ."

"You are pleased," I observed, conscious of a vague kind of prickly, edgy feeling within me.

"I'm pleased that it's over, certainly," he replied, but I knew it was more than that. His eyes were alight.

Not long afterwards, they brought the pearl back to him. It appeared to have nearly doubled in size already and its surface seemed to have toughened over. Now Cal would have to incubate it with the warmth of his body. He will hate this, I thought, he hates having to lie around. But he curled himself around it like a great, contented cat and closed his eyes. I once came from a thing like that, I thought. It was disorientating to think about it, so I chanted three words of terrible power to empty the mind and went down into the garden to think of other things.

We had had no news of my father. Rumors reached us, of course, but we guessed that most of them were untrue. From one source we heard that the Varrs had successfully exterminated the Gelaming with little effort, the Kakkahaar allies wreaking havoc with their elemental force. From elsewhere, we heard that Terzian had been defeated and been taken prisoner, that Thiede now held him in Phaonica, subjecting him to torture, and that the Gelaming were marching on Galhea. It was said that they also possessed vehicles that ran without fuel and vomited demonic flames capable of incinerating whole cities. The Varrs had no fuel for vehicles. We knew that in the north, Ponclast had some kind of wide, black car that growled like a tiger, but his fuel conserves were precious and the car was only used on ceremonial occasions or to ferry Ponclast to executions of particular interest. Swithe told me that not all of the Earth's natural resources had been depleted, but that it would be a waste of time for us to try and go back to the old ways. "Now is the time for Wraeththu to seek a new way, a new source of power," he said excitedly. "Maybe the Gelaming have already found it.

The less time spent fighting and squabbling over land, the more time we have for research, for rebuilding!"

I studied hard, using books from Terzian's library, marvelling at the sparkling metal cities that men had left behind them, touching the photographs. Had it all gone forever, this world of metal and glass? Gahrazel had once told me that the land was growing back over the cities of men, that vines had dragged down the buildings that once reached toward the sky. Often, he had said, only the creepers still stood, with stems as thick as oak trunks. Inside the cage of leaves, the buildings had crumbled away already.

"Things changed rapidly during the last forty or fifty years of man's rule," Moswell explained loftily.

"Perhaps they advanced too quickly for their own good; their minds could not keep up with their technology. They lost control so that they craved extinction and sought depravity. In truth, men became demented by ennui, unnerved by so much leisure time, driven feral by lack of money. Their brains had been neglected for centuries, their spiritual lives were barren; they could no longer create through thought. Is it any wonder they turned on each other and their environment?"

I could not accept this explanation without question. It was too easy for Moswell to stand there and say all that, but I knew he had missed so much out. I wanted to know how Wraeththu had begun and what had made us happen. Was it a Grand Design or just a grand and cynical joke, or even merely an accident? Were we fooling ourselves that we were created to inherit the Earth?

Bryony was not so confused and she talked more sense than Moswell. As she was human herself, I valued her opinions and wanted to know how she felt about what had happened to her people. Had she looked for reasons? Her father, a devoutly religious man, had thought that most men were disgusting and selfish and godless, and that Wraeththu had been sent by God to punish them for their sins. Bryony said that she shared this belief to a degree, but she was not so sure about the wholly religious aspect. Perhaps humankind had just worn itself out. Her people had been seeking the Gelaming because everyone considered them to be the Great Saviors who had come to make everything better. Gelaming were thought of as the true Wraeththu, the pure strain. The Varrs and their like were considered deviants from this. Perhaps this was true. I lacked objectivity, I know, because I had never met any Gelaming, but one thing I was sure of: I felt very strongly about anyone coming to take our lands away from us, whatever their reasons.

"But it is not your land!" Bryony protested. "It belongs to everyone! Can't you see how wrong it is for your tribe to kill anyone they feel is weaker than themselves? They are in the position to be charitable, but no! They enjoy killing and making people suffer. They want slaves and sport . . . and worse!"

I couldn't be bothered to argue. I still thought the Gelaming were interfering and hypocritical.

"You wouldn't believe some of the things I've seen," Bryony said in a low, dark voice, "and yet now, I work for a leader of Varrs looking after his house, feeding his family. I should be ashamed of myself!"

"Run away then!" I snapped. "Go back to the wilderness. Take your chances there with a clear conscience!"

Bryony looked at me helplessly. "Don't think I haven't considered that," she said bitterly, "But the truth is, I like it here. I've found a home. I like you all. I'm treated well and I'm trusted with a position of responsibility. What's worse is that I've earned that trust. Me, a woman! Many would see me as a traitor to my race."

"You are like us then," I said, "Like Swithe, Like Gahrazel was before, like me, even. We philosophize about the state of the outside world and we argue and rant, but

Forever is still our home and it keeps us safe. We don't want to go out there into the cold and do anything!"

"Forever is an enchanted place," Bryony observed wryly.

Just over a week after Cal had suffered delivery of the pearl, its shell became brittle, almost transparent, and a young, mewling har burst it asunder from within and crawled out into the world. So, Terzian had missed the hatching of his new son. He could have delayed riding south to be with Cal at this time, but to a Varr war always comes before life.

I had been out with Ithiel when the great event occurred. Ithiel always look me with him when he went about his duties, for he understood how I would have to learn about the administration of Galhea. We could talk together freely now and I came to realize why my father placed so much trust in him. Ithiel was thorough and economic and diplomatic in his dealings with other hara. He always introduced me as Tiahaar Swift, never Terzian's son. That day, when we got back to Forever, in the haze of a beautiful evening, everything stained red and gold, Bryony was waiting for us on the steps of the house, peering down the drive, still wearing the long apron she was rarely seen in outside the kitchen. She had matured recently, I thought.

"Where have you been?" she asked crossly. (We had paused in an inn on the way home for refreshment.) "You have a brother now, Swift."

A brother. I hadn't thought of it that way before. Cal was in the drawing room waiting for me. He didn't have the harling with him. The room was cold: it did not seem the place I had grown up in. "Ah, Swift," Cal said when he saw me.

"Congratulations!"

He smiled at my sarcasm. "Would you tell Cobweb that I'd like to speak to him?"

"Do you give the orders here now, then?"

"Would you ask him then?"

"You're wasting your time!"

"Maybe, maybe. Just ask him."

We looked at each other for a moment. Cal's face was inscrutable.

"Alright," I said. "But I'm warning you. Direct contact like this might provoke him into further unpleasantness."

"His unpleasantness is exhilarating!" Cal replied.

Cobweb was still punishing me in subtle ways for restoring my friendship with Cal. I was not sure how he would receive my news. On hearing Cal's request, he rose from his window seat and went to the mirror. "What for?" he asked, and it was impossible to tell whether anger or suspicion colored his voice.

I shrugged. "He didn't tell me, but I said it was a waste of time asking you anyway."

Cobweb slunk over to his table and aimlessly shuffled piles of paper in his hands. He was silent, but his silence lacked character.

"What shall I tell him?" I asked. "How shall I tell him to go to hell?"

"He asked for me?"

"Yes. I was surprised at his nerve. Obviously, you can't see him."

"Ah, Swift," my hostling chided gently. "Never presume to anticipate my actions."

He was out of the door before I realized. I called, "Cobweb, wait!" hearing his laughter ahead of me. He was already down the stairs by the time I looked over the bannister.

They had not really confronted each other since the incident in the summe.rhouse because there had always been other hara around. Now, they were nearly alone. I was unconvinced whether I was worthy of refereeing this encounter and wondered whether I had time to look for Ithiel, but I was scared to leave them. Cal was soaking up the sunset by the long windows; his hair looked red. I heard him say, "Cobweb," very softly.

I paused at the door. My hostling said nothing. He kept a distance between them and folded his arms, his eyes like flints.

"Thank you for coming."

Cobweb still said nothing but I could sense his excitement.

"I want you to do something for me," Cal said in a careful, reasonable voice.

Cobweb made a noise like an explosive snort. "So, the thief who stole my house requires something of me, does he!" he said, which was not quite the sort of thing I would have expected him to say. Cal turned away from him, as if he could not bear the sight of all that cold dislike.

"Yes, the thief who stole your house requires a favor," he said. There was a silence. I held my breath. Cal sat down on the edge of a chair. "Cobweb, I'm not a fit person to bring up a child, as I'm sure you'll agree . . ."

My hostling sighed through his nose. "Somebody thinks you're entirely fit, that's obvious!"

"Yes," Cal agreed bitterly. "Cobweb, I want someone to care for my son, someone who'll bring him up to think in the right way. I want it to be you."

Cobweb laughed, coldly. "Me?"

"You've done such a good job with Swift," Cal pointed out, somewhat ironically.

"You're mad! Can you really trust me with such a precious thing?"

"Yes," Cal replied simply. "There is no reason for you to hate the harling; he has never harmed you."

"But he's half yours!"

"Half Terzian's . . ."

"Half yours! I hate you!"

"I know, but I still want you to do this."