The Wraiths of Will and Pleasure Page 4

  When an abnormal event occurs, it tends to occupy hara’s attention, consume them with the emotions it might have inspired. But it is impossible to live in the moment of an abnormal event forever. In the morning, meals still need preparing, a lame horse has to be shod, fires have to be built.

  And so it was in the Kakkahaar camp. Ulaume’s unexpected fit the previous night had brought a nervous edge to the festival, even though Lianvis had done his best to reassure his hara that it was nothing out of the ordinary. Strange influences might be floating on the aethers and sensitive hara could pick up on them. Visionaries and seers were subject to that kind of episode all the time. It was a risk they took and nothing to worry about.

  Ulaume knew this was a lie but appreciated why it had to be said. He wasn’t sure himself what last night’s events really meant, only that they had affected him greatly. He hadn’t been able to curse Pellaz either, and the two things must be connected. Had he incurred Hubisag’s displeasure? Surely not. Pellaz represented all that Hubisag did not stand for. Some Wraeththu strove to be pure, enlightened and compassionate. Some strove to be decadent, enlightened and dispassionate. The Kakkahaar fell heavily into the latter camp, while Pellaz, who’d been incepted at Saltrock, was influenced by the former.

  After his trance, Ulaume had been unable to join in with the festivities, but for the sake of appearances had concluded his dance, a torment for which Lianvis had thanked him warmly afterwards. The Kakkahaar leader knew it had been a dreadful trial and that Ulaume had only done it to allay the fears of his tribe. As soon as he was able, Ulaume had slunk off into the desert. He couldn’t talk to Lianvis yet, even though he’d felt his leader’s eyes upon him as he left the gathering.

  Ulaume walked around till dawn, trying to work out the meaning of what had happened. He knew he’d witnessed Pellaz’s death, and also that he had not been an instrumental factor in it, but he was overwhelmed by the fact that this knowledge heralded a beginning, rather than an end. In the cold twilight of the predawn Ulaume sat down with his back to a tall rock and faced an unpleasant truth – something to which he was not normally given. He hated Pellaz because Pellaz had spurned him. Pellaz despised him and thought he was evil. Ulaume believed that eventually he’d have been able to turn this pious creature, but unfortunately his companion, Cal, had been a Uigenna, who’d had Ulaume’s measure all too accurately and had influenced Pellaz’s opinions. Perhaps, then, Ulaume should hate Cal more than Pell and direct the curse at him. But that was pointless, because anyone could see that Cal was already cursed. He was more kin to Ulaume than he was to Pellaz, and also unreachable. Ulaume now felt annoyed with himself that he’d allowed these hara to affect him. Weakness, weakness, and he’d believed it to be strength. He felt as if he’d had his wrist spiritually slapped and that was a humiliating sensation. The universe had told him emphatically that, in some way, his destiny was linked with Pell’s, but how could that be? How could he be linked to a dead har? How could so shining a har, in fact, be dead? He was too vital, too alive, too… special. Ulaume ground his teeth. He didn’t like having to admit that. He didn’t like having to admit that the curse would have involved asking Hubisag to send Pellaz back to the Kakkahaar, so Ulaume could exact his own revenge, the result of which, in Ulaume’s dreams, was Pell’s submission. It would never happen now.

  Ulaume punched the hard cold ground and said aloud, ‘Show yourself to me, shining spirit. Tell what it is you tried to convey. I am open to your manifestation. Speak to me.’

  Nothing answered, but in the distance a coyote yipped up at the last stars in the sky. Ulaume sighed heavily. There were no answers out here. Perhaps there would never be answers.

  He returned to the camp, where the last stragglers from the festival were slouching back to their pavilions, yawning and belching and supporting each other. A few lewd songs could still be heard inside the tents. Ulaume felt depressed by it all. These stupid creatures hadn’t realised something of importance had happened. They had abandoned themselves to wild excess and today they’d readjust their masks into those of restrained shamanic adepts, believing they knew all the mysteries of life and death, when in fact they knew nothing.

  Lianvis was still awake, drinking coffee in the main salon of his pavilion. Ulaume was annoyed to see he had company, a high-ranking har of the tribe named Rarn. Ulaume really needed to talk to Lianvis alone, and thought that Lianvis would have known this.

  ‘Good news,’ Lianvis said, when he noticed Ulaume skulking among the draperies. ‘Last night, Rarn’s consort delivered a pearl.’

  Ulaume grunted. To him, that was of no importance. There were more pressing matters to discuss.

  ‘Perhaps this was what your trance indicated,’ Lianvis said.

  ‘I hardly think so,’ Ulaume snapped. ‘I saw death, not birth.’

  Rarn shifted uncomfortably on the cushions.

  ‘Yes,’ Lianvis said. ‘We must speak of this. You told me somehar was dead. Who?’

  Ulaume struggled with the anger that rose within him. Lianvis sounded as if he was enquiring about a ridiculous piece of gossip. He was clearly so pleased about the pearl, he had forgotten the enormity of last night’s events, the pressure in the air, the feeling of power all around them. He didn’t even seem concerned about where Ulaume had been all night. ‘No har in particular,’ Ulaume said. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Today, we must celebrate,’ Lianvis said. ‘Our tribe has taken a great step forward.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ Ulaume said spitefully to Rarn.

  ‘We know now that this is something we can all achieve,’ Lianvis said carefully, appraising Ulaume with a steady eye. ‘We can create our own pearl.’

  Ulaume nearly choked. Lianvis thought his waspishness was because he felt jealous of Rarn’s consort. ‘It isn’t something I’ve thought about,’ he said. ‘It’s not my role in life.’

  ‘Surely, it is everyhar’s,’ Lianvis said, and now he sounded stern.

  Ulaume slumped wearily inside. So, Lianvis wanted sons. This was the last thing Ulaume could think about. ‘Whatever you want,’ he said. ‘I need to sleep now.’

  He left the room and once the drapes fell behind him, he could hear Lianvis speaking quietly to Rarn. Ulaume realised he’d received another message from the universe. Whatever had happened, or was happening, to him, he must deal with it alone.

  Unfortunately, the universe was not very forthcoming about what Ulaume should actually do. Most nights, he awoke from disturbing dreams, of which he could not remember the details. He woke with a taste of metal in his mouth and a strong desire to leap up and run somewhere. But where? The rest of the tribe, including Lianvis, appeared to forget there had been anything unusual about the night of the festival: Herien’s pearl wholly consumed their attention. It was as if they believed that no other Wraeththu had ever succeeded at procreation, although Ulaume knew this was not the truth. The tribe would not move on until the pearl had delivered up its treasure and Ulaume felt so restless. He took to walking out into the desert at night, willing for whatever entity had tried to communicate with him at the festival to manifest once more. If he had a job to do, he must know about it. He should be given a sign. It was strange, but he no longer felt the anger and need for revenge he had before. If Pellaz had died, then he had taken all of Ulaume’s rage with him. All that was left was a burning curiosity and a sense of yearning.

  Lianvis barely noticed Ulaume’s protracted absences from the camp, spending most of his time in Rarn’s pavilion instructing Herien on how he should bring up his harling, once it hatched.

  Herien, privately, often wondered exactly who would be the parents of the child when it finally emerged into the light, given Lianvis’ overwhelming interest in the proceedings. He began to harbour fantasies of running away, but by then he had become very attached to the pearl and the life that writhed within it. He resented the fact that everyhar else was intent on sharing what he wanted to be a private personal experience. His desires were
not to be catered for, however, because on the night when the surface of the pearl convulsed and began to fracture, every high-ranking har of the tribe was in Rarn’s pavilion. The pearl lay on a cushion in their midst and at the moment when a small groping hand emerged from the rubbery coating, every throat uttered a gasp of wonder.

  Herien himself could not breathe. He held onto Chisbet’s hand, so full of emotion he thought he might explode. Chisbet pulled away from him to help the harling emerge from its external womb. Carefully, he stripped away the withered shell and lifted the child out. He held it up before the others, who were silenced. A creature perfectly formed. A miracle. It stared around itself with knowing eyes, so unlike a human child, it made everyhar feel totally freakish for some moments.

  Herien clasped his own throat with both hands, as if to hold onto consciousness. He could not believe what he beheld, but felt in his heart he had given birth to a god. The harling did not look like a baby, but a miniature human child of two years or so. Its fair hair was soft and silky, its expression weirdly benign. It uttered a sound, surely a laugh, and waved its small fists at its audience. And perhaps because they regarded it through a film of tears, none of them noticed the obvious at first.

  Rarn fought his way through the goggling throng and put his arms around Herien’s shoulders. ‘Thank you,’ he murmured.

  It was the most complete and wondrous moment of Herien’s life, but sadly short-lived.

  Chisbet had put the harling down on the cushion in order to inspect it thoroughly and now his expression had become grave and distressed. He knelt up, hands braced on his thighs, and stared down at the harling; his eye held the intense gaze of an oracle.

  ‘What is it?’ Lianvis demanded.

  Chisbet shook his head and sighed deeply. ‘Send these hara away, tiahaar,’ he said. ‘I must talk to you and the parents in private.’

  At once a murmuring started up, but Lianvis got to his feet immediately and asked the company to leave. Reluctantly, they did so.

  Herien used this opportunity to seize his harling and hold it close to his breast. He sensed trouble and a lioness instinct took over. If anyhar had bothered to glance at him, they would have seen he was prepared to die to protect his young.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ Lianvis asked, once the last har had left the pavilion.

  Rarn had wrapped both Herien and the harling in a fierce embrace. ‘There is nothing wrong,’ he said in a low voice. ‘What is this, Chisbet?’

  The harling chuckled to itself and gazed in wonder around the pavilion. It made small noises of interest and pointed at various objects. Then it would nuzzle into its hostling’s hair.

  Herien had closed his eyes.

  Chisbet composed himself on the cushions. ‘What I have to say is not easy,’ he said. ‘I have heard of this happening, but have never witnessed it.’

  ‘What?’ Lianvis barked.

  Chisbet scratched his empty eye socket. ‘Herien,’ he said, ‘please put the harling down on the cushion again. It will be easier for me to show you than to explain.’

  ‘No!’ Herien snarled. ‘There’s nothing wrong with him. Get out!’

  Chisbet looked up at Lianvis. ‘Tiahaar?’

  ‘Do as he says,’ Lianvis said. ‘We need to know.’

  ‘This is my harling!’ Herien snapped. ‘Mine. Not yours.’ He held the child tight, and now its small features had become slightly troubled. So the concept of fear came into its life.

  ‘It is not exactly a harling,’ Chisbet said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Rarn asked. ‘How can that possibly be so?’

  Chisbet held out a hand to Herien. ‘Please, trust me. Put down the child. Let me show you.’

  Herien looked into Chisbet’s eye, this har he trusted so implicitly and who over the last few months had become one of his closest friends. He saw compassion in Chisbet’s gaze and reluctantly laid down his child, keeping one hand upon it.

  ‘Look,’ Chisbet said, straightening the harling’s limbs. ‘This is not a Wraeththu child, as such. It is not androgynous. It is a half-sex, in this case, female.’

  For a few moments, everyhar stared at the child in silence. Herien felt totally numb. He remembered having a dog as a young boy, and how that dog had been his constant companion, his beloved friend. All his memories of the dog were gilded, but one day the animal had contracted a disease, which had made him no longer a faithful companion. Herien, as a human, had tried to ignore this. He’d been too full of love to care. He would love the dog and that would sustain the pair of them. But one day, the dog had gone, because it was dangerous and Herien’s parents had been afraid for him. Old feelings of grief now flooded his body. He picked up the harling and enfolded it in his arms. It didn’t matter, surely? It didn’t matter. The child had come from his body. They were linked.

  ‘I don’t understand this,’ Lianvis was saying. ‘What are you trying to tell us, Chisbet?’

  ‘Occasionally, I have heard, harlings of this type appear among Wraeththukind. They are throwbacks, freaks.’

  ‘But you have never seen one,’ Rarn said. ‘How do you know he won’t develop the necessary characteristics later on? You’ve only seen one birth, you said so. You know only a little more than the rest of us.’

  ‘I know about this,’ Chisbet said, ‘because the har who trained me told me of it. He told me to be aware of it and how to deal with it, should it occur. It is very rare, among births which in themselves are rare, but my mentor impressed upon me its importance.’

  ‘Again, what are you trying to tell us?’ Lianvis said in an even tone that normally sent hara into palpitations of terror.

  Chisbet appeared most reluctant to speak. Eventually, he swallowed, and said, ‘We cannot allow creatures of this nature to live.’

  Herien uttered a moan of dread.

  ‘What?’ Rarn cried. ‘Are you telling me to kill my own son?’

  ‘It is not a son,’ Chisbet said calmly. ‘You must face this. We don’t know exactly how spiritually elevated aruna creates harlings. We don’t know if we always do it right. This is a new and experimental time for us, and as such we must remain objective.’

  ‘This is a harsh judgement,’ Lianvis said.

  ‘I will not do it,’ Herien said. ‘I’ll leave the tribe, live in exile. I will not do it.’

  ‘And I will be with you,’ Rarn said.

  ‘You cannot,’ Chisbet insisted. ‘Believe me, I am as grieved and sorrowful as you are. I feel as much a part of this young one’s birth as its own hostling. But the truth cannot be ignored, and as healer of this tribe, given shelter by the Kakkahaar when I most needed it, I must be honest with you. These creatures are dangerous. My mentor told me of it. He told me how one tribe allowed such a child to grow up among them and that it was mad. It was an abomination of a creature, full of bitterness and vengeance. In the end, they had to kill it before it killed somehar else.’

  ‘That is only one child,’ Herien said, surprisingly calm. ‘You don’t know that my harling will be the same. As Rarn said, he might change as he grows. You don’t know. None of us do.’

  ‘Could it be the host who is responsible?’ Lianvis enquired. ‘Will Herien be able to have normal harlings after this?’

  Herien had never heard such a sinister question voiced about himself.

  ‘Yes,’ Chisbet said. ‘My mentor told me that the har who created the other half-sex had another harling very quickly, who was completely normal. We don’t know what causes this condition, as I said. But for its own sake, the child must be exposed, otherwise we doom it to a life of pain.’

  ‘I won’t let you do this!’ Herien cried.

  Chisbet nodded slowly, acknowledging Herien’s anguish, and his voice, when he spoke, was soft. ‘Herien, you must look upon this as a stillbirth, a terrible circumstance that human women had to deal with throughout history. Know that I will do all in my power to make this painless. I will dose the child with a soothing philtre, so that the moon may take it in peac
e, out in the wilderness. Its soul must be given this release. It is the only fair and compassionate thing to do. We are not humans, bound up in superstitious fear of physical death. We are Wraeththu. We are strong. We know the soul is eternal and the flesh but a temporary vehicle. If the vehicle is faulty, the soul deserves to find for itself a more suitable vessel.’

  ‘No,’ Herien said. ‘No.’

  Rarn pointed a shaking finger at his harling. ‘How can you look upon this beautiful being and sentence him to death? Are you insane? We are less than human if we do this thing.’

  ‘Tiahaar,’ Chisbet said to Lianvis. ‘Emotions run high, which is understandable, but you alone are detached and you are our leader. You cannot present this harling to the tribe as a miracle, because it is not. You should not be swayed sentimentally by its appearance. You must be firm on this matter.’

  ‘Betrayer!’ Herien cried. ‘You are doomed too, Chisbet, doomed by my curse. By all the gods, I hex to you eternity!’ He appealed to Lianvis. ‘Do not listen to him, tiahaar. Allow us to leave the tribe. If all proceeds as Chisbet says, then we will deal with it in our own way, but give us a chance.’

  Lianvis tapped his clasped hands against his mouth. He appeared to be deep in thought. ‘The bloodline of the Kakkahaar must be kept pure,’ he said at last. ‘We cannot afford to slip back.’

  ‘This is barbaric!’ Rarn cried. ‘I can’t believe you’re even giving it consideration!’

  But he was appealing to a har who had done terrible things, far worse than exposing a freakish child in the desert. Lianvis did not want the slur of this event to affect his reputation among Wraeththukind. The Kakkahaar were feared and respected, and their livelihood mainly rested upon that. If other tribe leaders had been strong enough to do as their healers had suggested, then so was he. ‘Bring Ulaume to me,’ he said. ‘Let our seer look into this. Then, I will make a decision.’

  Ulaume, however, was nowhere to be found, as he was out on one of his meditative excursions in the moonlight. How he would have dealt with the situation will never be known, because he never found out that Lianvis had summoned him. Instead, Persiki, one of the shamans of the high cabal came to Rarn’s pavilion. Like Lianvis, he was a creature who was intimate with the abyss and all its horrors. His morality was moulded wholly by the things that his tribe’s high-ranking hara did together in private rituals, away from the prying eyes of the rank and file. He had taken life many times. He had watched Lianvis murder human children to attain power. He was capable of finer feelings, as was Lianvis himself, but he was also merciless.