The Wraeththu Chronicles (72 page)

"No," he agreed. "What is culture, after all? It's like incest or inbreeding; everything gets too involved, too tight, too crazy. It bores me, actually."

After only a few minutes, the Braga's attendants conducted us to a separate building, where we were supplied with warm (not hot) water for bathing and clean clothes and food. The Froia do not eat meat, except for fish on religious occasions. The brown goo we were offered for consumption looked disgusting, but its taste was savory and pleasant enough. After we had eaten, Cal fastidiously inspected the robes we had been given. "No chance of giving offense in this, is there!" he said.

Leef explained. "The clothes we are wearing at the moment are looked upon as erotic. Among the Froia, the body is revealed only for aruna. While we are here, we shall have to abide by their customs. Imagine that you are walking naked among strangers. Now, put that robe on!"

The Braga requested the pleasure of our company for the evening. We were now clean, fed and rested, but I thought this would hardly be apparent because of the enveloping robes we were wearing. The atmosphere in his reedy house was thick with the smoke of incense, curtains of smoke almost indistinguishable from the curtains of muslin. Young

hara sat on the floor on cushions, playing music upon instruments of the strangest design. It sounded to me like the music of nature; the abrupt trill of a bird, the plash of raindrops or the echo of a storm that wakes you from sleep. Tame lizards stared out from the folds of the musicians' robes with eyes like jewels.

The Braga, seated on his cavern throne and surrounded by acolytes, beckoned us to his side with an imperious gesture. I could see that he had dark skin with very bright eyes and a mouth that was used to smiling. His forehead was tattoed with intricate black lines, thin gold chains fell from his headcloth around his face and the rings that reposed upon his outstretched hand were like a swarm of brightly colored insects. One of his teeth was gold.

"I understand that you are Varrs," he said, "and that one of you is the son of Terzian." He was waiting for me to introduce myself, not wishing to ask directly.

I stepped forward. "Terzian is my father."

"He passed this way ... a character of strength and courage."

I accepted this as a compliment and inclined my head. The Braga did not try to interrogate us about where we were going or why. He was used to strangers passing through his domain, perhaps his people's livelihood depended on it. He was wary, but he knew when to be discreet.

We were offered a drink distilled from honey, whose effects shot without hesitation straight to the brain. Gradually, it seemed that the noise around me became louder, the music more strident, the air thicker. Cal and Leef began to share breath, inexplicably, for normally they did not initiate anything between each other without including me. I turned away from them, and the Braga put his jewelled hand upon my face. "Of royal blood,"he said. I smiled uncertainly, wondering whether that was some kind of oblique proposal. "For your honor, there shall be dancing."

He clapped his hands once and the clamor around us ceased. Into the ensuing quiet, the Braga clicked his fingers once, and once again. Smoke rose lazily into the gently swaying gauze around us, sparkles like jewels or fireflies coruscating in the deepest shadows. One of the musicians stood up and walked to the middle of the floor. His instrument was curving, flutelike and made of wood. He raised it to his lips. Notes that rose from the dawn of the earth cut with purity through the curtains of smoke and incense. Every voice was hushed, while the young har swayed before us. His hood fell back. Beauty, I thought, and they keep this hidden! Beneath the haunting call of the flute a sibilant rattle rose and fell, rhythmic, beating, summoning. At first I did not see the figure emerging through the pall of smoke. Suddenly, it had solidified in front of me and the beating of drums vibrated the floor beneath us. Diaphanous veils concealed the body within them, but I could see a vague outline undulating and swaying below the folds. Even the face was hidden. Then two sinuous arms snaked out, glistening with heavy gold; bracelets and rings. When this happened, everyone in the room began to clap their hands softly in time with the music. The Braga leaned down and murmured in my ear. "Does this please you?" I nodded. Something was reaching out to me; unseen and insistent. It was the rhythm of the drums, the heat of the room, a swaying, inviting phantom. There was a flash and a sound like gunfire or sharp thunder and I saw the veils float up into the air as if sucked away by a powerful wind. For a moment, I looked only at that. . . spiraling, billowing, and then . . .

The Braga's hand gripped my shoulder. "For your blood, for your father, for what is to come; you shall be the first," he said and his voice was a gasp. I almost turned round to look at him, puzzled by his words, but the dancer was revealed. That describes it, but it was more than that. These people were used to concealment. To them it was something powerful and secret and forbidden to reveal themselves. There is a word for it: "veyeila," that is untranslatable to anyone who is not Froia. It means something like forbidden, taboo, desired, abandonment, frenzy; all these words and more. As I saw that har writhe barely clad upon the mats before me, I understood for just a while the eroticism they heightened within themselves by their austere code of dress. His skin was dark and oiled, his black hair curled to his shoulders, and he knew how to dance. All the invitation in the world reposed within his slender form. He danced

before me, he smiled, his body gyrating inches from my face. His smell was amber and myrrh.

I heard the Braga's voice behind me. "Swift, son of Terzian, this har is soume. His water must quench your fire. It must be now!"

I started to laugh, to protest, "But I have no fire . . ." but even as I thought it a flame was lit inside me, spontaneous as lightning, igniting desire; I had no choice. It is magic! I thought, and then the dancer was in my lap, straddling me, arranging my robes with experienced hands.

It was all so quick. One moment, I had been half-drunkenly watching a desirable har dancing in front of me, the next my back was pressed painfully into the carving on the Braga's chair and my ouana-lim was buried to the hilt within the dancer's body. My modesty was not forsaken, the robes saw to that. For several stultifying seconds he moved upon me, clenching muscles within himself, expertly bringing me to a quick and paralyzing climax. Then he was gone, jumping up, flicking back the folds of my robe, dancing once more. For a moment, I could not move, but I could sense strongly the surprise in Cal and Leef as they stared at me. Had it really happened or had it been some bizarre hallucination, brought on by the strong liquor we had been drinking? Then I saw the dancer pick someone else from the crowd and I knew it was no dream. I felt the Braga's hand once more, squeezing my shoulder.

"He has brought you luck, son of Terzian. Good fortune will follow you out of Astigi. Speak to Nepopis later and he will tell you your destiny. You have my permission."

I suppose it was a kind of Grissecon. The dancer was blessed and to embrace him worked a charm of good fortune. I learned that strangers were not often witness to the experience, let alone participants. Nepopis the dancer was "theruna," a holy person, practiced in the art of sex magic and held in the highest esteem among his people. He lived in seclusion, on the edge of Orense, coming forth only for the dance, but if he had a whim to, he would allow visitors to enter his home and speak their destinies for them. Cal and Leef amused themselves by trying to embarrass me. I realized the futility of trying to silence their remarks and turned my back on them. It was difficult not to get annoyed. At midnight, a Froia har came to take me to Nepopis, and I got up and walked out without a backward glance.

Nepopis lived in a single-roomed hut among a tall stand of reeds. It was surprisingly roomy inside. Now the dancer was thoroughly concealed by the customary robe, with only the hood thrown back. He bade me be seated and offered me coffee. It was as if the incident in the Braga's house had never happened. Nepopis was unselfconscious yet reserved. His smile was sincere, but guarded. As I drank, blinking into the steam, he stared at my face. "You carry a burden," he said, and I shrugged, wondering how much he could tell me. "It is not yours to carry," he continued. "You would be advised to cast it aside. The past cannot be undone. Your father is beyond salvation—" I made a noise of exclamation but he raised his hand to silence me. "You must seek the path. You have neglected your training. Ah ...!" He closed his eyes and rubbed them with one hand, throwing back his head, as if seeking a message only he could hear. "There is one ... I see blood and it is old, it is dry and there is a fire that is not the fire of desire; it is something else. There is a cloud that is ... that is ... yes, it is emotion and it is seething. It will have to be ... unmisted. Two of you follow a destiny that is cut so deep. The third ... he is ... he is a follower, he is your follower ... he can be trusted. The time will come . . . beyond Astigi... first, beware the forest of illusion. The illusions are truth, but you will need strength to face them. You will understand the nature of the beast. He is still there ... in the forest . . . echoes ... of... no! In the future, you will see a face that you have known in dreams, and it will be burned upon you; you won't escape it; there will be no escape. You must follow your destiny, you must train because that is the only way. . . . His face. He has almond-shaped eyes and he is wise. He is held in high esteem. He bears the Tigron's mark ..."

Nepopis sighed and bowed his head, silent for a moment before looking up at me. "I have held your seed within me," he said, "and I felt its destiny too. There will be a

child of royal blood . . ." He shook his head. "It is all so unclear, usually I find it easier, but the aether is disturbed ..."

"Can you give me a name?" I asked quickly, feeling the magic settling round me, back into the earth. Nepopis shook his head. "I don't think so. It is guarded. I think they sense me." "They? Is it the Gelaming? Will I meet this person among them?" Nepopis raised his hands. "Enough. Enough. I've told you what I can." He smiled. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be sharp, but times have changed. What is going on out there affects my vision; it disturbs me, it leaves too much unseen." He stood up and went to look out of the doorway. "Swift, come here."

I could not remember having told him my name. At his side, I looked out at a pink and cobalt sky, misting into the fronds of the reedbeds. Dark, winged shapes wheeled on the cooling air.

Nepopis reached for my hand and squeezed it gently. "I have seen your home," he said. "I have seen your hostling and the long, dark gardens. All goes well with them. He is lonely for you, but..." He turned to face me with a smile. "I feel so many hara walk this earth bent double with the direst of destinies! It is a time for it; we live in a time of legends. Man had that time too, you know. I hope ours does not fade ..."

"It won't," I said.

"You were born har."

"Yes. I thought that you too . . ."

He shook his head. "No ... it was a long time ago that I was human, but I am not pure-born. It feels different with you, you feel so different; everything is stronger. It's like a weapon, that strength. Your seed is the color of dawn, did you know that?"

"Yes, I know that."

"It shines with force; I would like to keep some for the sake of its power. I will never use it against you."

If that was a question, my reply was to take him in my arms, bending to taste his liquid breath of dark lagoons and deep waters.

At dawn, Leef came to the door of Nepopis's hut and requested entrance. He said that he and Cal wanted to leave Orense midmorning. I'd only had about an hour's sleep and traveling was the last thing I felt like doing. After several minutes' argument, Leef bad-temperedly agreed that our journey
 
resume the following day. I didn't think that so short a delay could possibly have a dreadful effect on our progress, so I stayed with the dancer of dreams. Cal and Leef could do what they liked for the day; I wanted this time for I knew it would be the last chance I'd get for relaxation for a while. "If only," Nepopis said, "if only this were another time and you did not have to leave. If only that mist wasn't waiting for you. The eyes in that mist have already claimed you as theirs, even though they have not yet seen you, even though they do not know . . ."

I told him he spoke like my hostling, in puzzles. "It is our way," he replied. "We must speak the way we think and we never think in straight lines." He held me in his arms, a dancing snake, supple and strong. "If you had not neglected your art, if you were Ulani as you should be, I would demand that you let me host your seed. But it is not to be. I know it would be pointless to ask you to return some day ..."

"I may do ... you never know."

Nepopis laughed and stroked my face. "Ah, but I do, Swift; I do!"

At dawn, the next day, we loaded our horses once more upon a raft and glided away from the floating pads of Orense. I looked back for as long as I could, until the reed buildings disappeared into a haze. Cal and Leef were surly with me. I think it was

because for so long, it had just been us three together and they were a little put out that I had taken aruna with someone else. Probably, I would have felt the same way if it had been one of them that had been chosen. Not only had I neglected them for two whole nights, but I had held up our journey for an entire day! I apologized for this in a very scathing tone which brought a ghost of a smile to Cal's lips.