The Wraeththu Chronicles (77 page)

"Ah, the rogue Arahal," said the one sitting on the table. That anyone should even think of Arahal being a rogue, let alone actually say it, was a revelation.

"Ashmael," Arahal responded, bowing sarcastically. The fair-haired har put his knife down carefully on the table. He looked directly at me and I had to lower my eyes. "And this must be the spawn of the mighty Terzian," he said.

They offered me wine, which went straight to my head, and we sat on warm, wooden chairs around the table.

"Arahal, what have you been doing to him?" Ashmael asked, lifting my chin in his hand. His fingers were sticky with fruit juice. Arahal did not answer.

"Are you struck dumb or something?" Ashmael asked me. "Can Varrs speak?"

"I am dying," I answered.

Ashmael looked at Arahal and they grinned at each other. "I think I should talk with him alone," Ashmael said.

"As you think best," Arahal answered and stood up. He and the other har (who had not yet spoken) went through the curtains to another part of the pavilion. From this, I gathered that Ashmael must be of higher rank than the others.

"Are you hungry?" he asked me. I shook my head, then nodded it, unsure, sick and starving. The Gelaming called for food and then sat on the table again, where he was obviously more comfortable. He looked at me in silence. His charisma was almost stifling. I could sense his power and his fame, yet he was effortlessly informal. I felt so small beside him, yet even in my helplessness, I wanted him to respect me a little.

"I want to know ..." I began, and then trailed off, confused as to what to ask.

"You want to know why you are here," Ashmael prompted helpfully, still staring right into me.

I nodded and my head swam. "I feel so weak," I said.

"Then you must eat!" He reached for my face again. "You're all bone! If it helps, I will tell you that this is only the effect of the forest; our little Purgatory. Your psyche has been wounded. I fear you will have suffered terrible revelations. Perhaps we should not have let you stew for so long, but we wanted to let you rest for a few days before interviewing you. It must be intimidating ..." He smiled and then made a noise of annoyance, standing up and striding to the entrance of the room. "Velaxis!" he called. "I believe I ordered food some time ago!" Even his sarcasm was charming.

"Are you their leader?" I asked, once he had sat down again. He laughed.

"No; their leader, as you call it, is a grand personage known as the Tigron. He is a phenomenon of phenomena . . . oh, but of course, you've already met him, haven't you!"

"Have I?" I asked, thinking of Seel.

"Yes. To most he is only known as the mighty Tigron, but to his friends and those fortunate enough to share his bed, he is merely Pellaz."

I should have known, I suppose, but even so, it took some moments for this fact to sink in.
 
"Pellaz! Then he isn't dead!"

Ashmael pulled a wry face and sighed. "Just the opposite, I would say. Searingly alive! Even if he is Thiede's. .." He paused and shook his head. "No, I must not speak out of turn. Such things are not for your ears, son of Terzian!"

All I could think of was getting back to our pavilion and being able to tell Cal about this. I wanted to go now. Suddenly, my head had cleared and I no longer seemed to be among strangers.

I must have tried to stand. Ashmael carelessly pushed me back into my chair with his foot. "Where are you going? You haven't eaten yet and I haven't talked to you."

"I must ... Cal .. ."

Again, Ashmael shook his head. "No, you mustn't. Cal has his own path to follow and I dare say it's a long one. There's no fiery reunion for him yet. Your paths must diverge for a while."

"You're going to try and change him, aren't you?" I couldn't help saying it, but Ashmael didn't seem offended.

"We don't want to change anyone . . . well, perhaps . . . not Cal, certainly. He is a pawn in a mighty battle that concerns neither of us. Put him out of your mind."

Velaxis brought in the food. There was cold, roasted chicken, a salad of crisp greens and nuts, and strong, aromatic cheese with blue veins. Once I could smell it, food was all I could think of. Ashmael ate off my plate, not really hungry, but too greedy to watch me eat it alone. He poured me more wine.

"Now then, the first thing we're going to do with you is begin your caste training, of which you've had none, I take it." I shook my head. He smiled. "After that, when you've settled down a little, perhaps the real purpose for your being here shall be revealed. For now, you'll just have to be content with learning how to be Gelaming."

"Why is it all so secret? Why am I important? Until recently, my only claim to importance was the fact that I was Terzian's son. Is that still the reason?"

Ashmael shrugged. "In a way. You must understand that the plans of the Gelaming are vast, and that you are only a small part of them, but an important one nonetheless. We all have our part to play. Soon, you shall understand yours."

"You're not like Arahal and the others," I said, suddenly. It was a thought spoken aloud.

"Not like them? What do you mean?"

"You're ... I don't know . . . real. I can understand you."

"Oh, don't let them deceive you," he said, grinning. "That's just their way. You'll soon learn. Terrific posers, all of them. Just remember; they all have to shit, they all sweat, they're all flesh and blood and bone. The rest of it they learned from Thiede, who is the archetypal cool person."

"I think it's more than that," I said dubiously. He shrugged.

"Perhaps, but I helped shape Thiede's little kingdom for dim and he values me, so I'm allowed to think as I like."

I laughed with him. Whatever he said, Ashmael was not like the others. He had no time for trivia and was impatient with formality, but he could be a bitter enemy if you upset him.

He told me about the Hegemony, that there were three of them here in Megalithica; Cedony, who was here before with the wet hair, Ashmael and another, whose name was Chrysrn. He told me that Thiede had kept them inactive for quite some time. All they had done since reaching Megalithica was provide sanctuary for refugees from the north and "worry Terzian and Ponclast a little." That was when I asked about my father.

"Where are my people?"

Ashmael looked me straight in the eye. "I don't know," he said, spreading his hands, "truly I don't. I had nothing to do with that. It was a morsel that Thiede and Pell kept to themselves. We get so little news here. All we do is wait for orders that never seem to come. One day, we are told, 'Terzian's son is coming to you and he has to be trained.' It wasn't quite the earth-shattering event we'd been anticipating. I don't know why Thiede wanted you to come to us. It would have been much quicker for us to come to you at Galhea and bring you back, but that was the way he wanted it, so we

couldn't argue. Thiede's fond of upgrading unsuspecting hara to greatness, as he did with Pellaz. I should imagine he has some grand scheme in mind for yourself. Better lie back and take it and make the most of it. There's little point in putting up a fight, believe me!"

"Perhaps my father is still in the forest," I said, not wanting to be sidetracked from my original question, although what Ashmael had told me prompted a hundred more.

"I doubt it," he replied. "As I told you, dealing with the Varrish army was something that Thiede and Pell handled alone. It would have been tied up long ago."

"Then where . . . ?"

"Leave it, Swift!" Ashmael warned and the tone of his voice silenced me utterly.

After a while, the other members of the Hegemony, whom I had not met, came to join us. At first, I thought it was Seel and my skin crawled. He had similar slanty, cat's eyes, but his hair was darker and he was taller.

"I can't stand it! The shower spits rust down my back and there's a dead bird in our water cistern!" he cried, raising his arms, rolling his eyes upwards. "Ah, Immanion, I grieve for you!"

"Chrysm, this is Swift," Ashmael announced.

Chrysm put his hands in his hair. "Ah, at last, the Varr! Can we go home now?" he asked.

From the way I was treated by the Hegemony, I could tell that my status must be close to that of Arahal's. They spoke to me in the way that people of high rank do to those whose position is beneath theirs, but higher than most; the way that tries to convey equality, while still making it apparent that they are making a conscious effort to do so. I had always imagined the Gelaming to lack humor, to be utterly serious all the time, but as in most of my preconceptions about them, I was proved wrong. Apart from their stunning appearance, they were nothing like the way I'd imagined. I found I was rather drunk and told Chrysm of my earlier opinions of his kind.

"It is a strain being perfect, I suppose," he said, grinning. "For myself, I am not above the occasional orgy of bitching, which no doubt offends my guardian spirit to the point of apoplexy, but still . . . talking of which, is this rumor of the Tigrina's impendence rooted in truth or supposition or what?"

Ashmael shrugged. "I don't know for sure. You know how these things get around. Pell won't come himself, I'm sure of that. Everyone's sure of that! Perhaps the Tigrina is bored, alone in his ivory tower in Phaonica. Pell might send him to us to keep him quiet."

"Or to gratify his curiosity over certain people," Chrysm remarked cynically.

"Mmm, that too, of course. However, I'm sure Thiede would have assured our gracious Tigrina that Cal is no threat to his position . . ." He noticed me trying to follow their conversation. "I'd better explain to you, Swift, who the Tigrina is. His name is Caeru and he is the Tigron's consort. You will no doubt hear rumors that their relationship is not all it might be. It was Thiede's idea, of course. Pell never lets slip anything about his feelings, but it's no secret in Immanion about his relationship with Cal. Neither is it a secret that Thiede would do anything to prevent them resuming it. I think it's sort of inevitable that Cal should come back into Pell's life. He could so easily have vanished forever. Just because he's here with us in Imbrilim must be bringing the Tigrina
 
out in a cold sweat . . . Something's going on, but no-one knows what it is."

"Least of all Cal," I said. "He doesn't even know Pell is still alive."

"I pity him, in spite of his sins," Chrysm said, and for a while, we all fell silent.

Eventually, I had to ask some questions about Seel. I noticed my companions pause and grin at each other before Ashmael answered me.

"What about Seel? He's a born organizer, I suppose. He enjoys bringing order out of chaos. He's a close friend of the Tigron's and through that, the closest link to home. It is said they communicate frequently."

"He's beautiful," I blurted, inadequately.

"We are all beautiful," Chrysm laughed, throwing back his head and gazing haughtily down his nose in a typically Seelish manner.

"Of course Seel has inner light," Ashmael said caustically.

"Don't you like him?" I asked, appalled.

"Of course we do," Ashmael answered quickly, patting my head. "It's just that he's full of Pell's essence and finds it difficult to keep his feet on the ground nowadays. Few can aspire to embrace him. His nights are spent in solitary meditation, enjoying our Tigron's touch on the astral plane, no doubt."

"No doubt at all!" Chrysm agreed, raising his glass.

At dusk I wandered back to the pavilion that had become my home, thinking about the afternoon's events. The visit to the Hegemony had been purely social, I could see that. They had wanted to put me at my ease and had succeeded effortlessly. I was no longer so anxious about my purpose for being in Imbrilim, for the Hegemony seemed as vague about it as I was, and that was comforting in a strange sort of way. Some of the elated mood that had accompanied my arrival in Imbrilim had come back to me. I had walked away from my pavilion that morning, afraid of what to expect and of no worth. Now I walked back a friend of august persons who had a definite place in the scheme of things, even if no-one was sure of what it was. I was full of Gelaming wine and felt like dancing. For the first time in ages, I felt once more like a son of a Wraeththu tribe leader. My shoulders drooped no longer and the effect was magical. Hara bid me good evening and waved. A woman carrying a child in her arms stopped to speak and told me she was glad I was feeling better. "I am Shara," she said. "My people came down from the north some months ago, and after my father died, it fell to me to take charge of them. We were driven from our homes by the Varrs."

I must have gone white. Shara immediately reached for my arm, flustered by embarrassment. "I'm sorry. Please don't think I meant anything by that. We heard you were coming here. We know who you are. Did you suffer terribly at the hands of your father?"

How could I answer that? To say yes would be a lie and to say no might go against me. "Many have suffered at the hands of my father," I said and she nodded in sympathy.

"Our tents are in the eastern quarter of Imbrilim. My people are known as the Tyrells. Please come visit us sometime. You would be most welcome."

I thanked her and she walked away from me. So humans too were forming into tribes, it seemed. As the Hegemony had treated me like an equal, so too had the human woman. There were many things I'd have to get used to. I also realized that everyone in Imbrilim seemed to know everyone else's business. I'd never seen Shara before, yet she'd known who I was and that I'd been feeling unwell. Isolated in Forever, I'd never known that communities can seem surprisingly smaller than they really are and that gossip travels faster than fire.