The Wraeththu Trilogy

by Storm Constantine

  "What is it?" I asked.

  "His eyes," was all he said, but I knew. To someone, what lived in Vaysh's body was not Vaysh. "What am I, Pell? Why am I still alive?"

  "Oh, Vaysh, Vaysh," I murmured and put my mouth upon his brow. His skin was hot and dry.

  "I am a monster!" he said and tried to pull away from me. "You try to make me feel better, but I know, I know there is no hope for me. What hope is there for someone who can only repel, who makes Hara back away in revulsion?"

  "That's not true," I told him lamely. I put my hand in his luxurious hair and touched his neck.

  "Isn't it? Isn't it?"

  For the second time that night I looked into eyes that offered me a challenge, but this was a hesitant, fluctuating challenge. At any moment, it might be withdrawn.

  "You're beautiful, Vaysh," I said. "And because you're shamefully drunk, I intend to take advantage of you."

  Outside the music had died away and the horizon was gray with the promise of dawn. Vaysh lay in my arms; we had pulled a sheet over our nakedness for the air was cool with dew. I thought he was asleep, but he put his hand upon my face.

  "Pell," he said, "I'm going to tell you something that no-one else knows; or hardly anyone. It may mean nothing to you or it may explain everything. It's about Thiede.

  I propped myself up on one elbow and leaned over him. "What?" He smiled wistfully, seeming anxious about continuing, perhaps wishing he had not spoken. "We've had no time for gods really, have we?" It did not require an answer. Vaysh touched me quickly again and turned his head away. "Perhaps I should not speak," he said softly. I took his hand. "It can't be that bad, Vaysh." He shook his head. "No . . . not bad, but I may be betraying his trust. Then again, he may want me to tell you, I don't know. Do you remember me once asking you if you knew who Thiede was?" I didn't, then. "Vaguely," I said.

  "There is one Wraeththu har whom everybody knows . . ." That disclosure implied nothing to me. "Thiede is known to everybody?"

  "Yes!"

  "What do you mean? How is this important? He is notorious, I know. I've always known that."

  Vaysh snatched his hand from my own. "It's more than that!" he hissed. "He is ... he is

  the Aghama, Pell!"

  "Aghama? What?!" I even began to laugh.

  "Pell!" Vaysh's nails dug into my shoulders. "Don't laugh! Can't you see? He is the most powerful, the first, the last, the eternal. He began it all, Pell, everything. Wraeththu is Thiede! We are all his; like cells, like atoms of his own body! Aghama, Pell, think about it..."

  I was silent for a while. I thought about it. Only the creaking of the palace walls and the call of early sea-birds broke the calm. I could not even hear Vaysh breathing, though I could see his chest rising and falling quite quickly. I did think about it. I thought of a wooden shack back in Saltrock that they call the Forale-house and sunlight coming in through a high window, falling onto Orien, where he sat cross-legged on the floor. Orien's hair shining around the edges, full of light, his mouth moving. I envisaged once again, after so long, a steaming, gray city, half rubble, dark and soulless and a mutant child-man scrabbling through the ruins, looking behind him, frightened and alone. Homeless, powerless; nothing. Thiede? Could the urbane, sophisticated, potent creature I knew ever have been so helpless? The first Wraeththu. On reflection, who else could he be? Through suffering we rise ... I had been stupid not to guess. Had Orien known? In the beginning, once the Aghama had established his new, feral race, he had slipped into anonymity (changed his name? His appearance? Some people must know him, surely?). Perhaps he had been tired, needed time to recuperate, to plan. Perhaps he had simply become bored. Thiede divulges his inner feelings to no-one, except himself.

  Wraeththu speak of the Aghama sometimes, not as often as they should, bearing in mind what he should mean to them, but when they do, it is in veiled terms of his still being involved in manipulating our race. A misty figure; part god, part monster. They are not wrong. The Aghama vanished from the chaos of Megalithica and built his stronghold here in Immanion. He had made the city the nerve-center of his operations, the heart of Wraeththu, and the communication lines he sought to install would become the veins and arteries, our thoughts the lifeblood. Had Thiede once needed peace? Was that why he had come here? Could he ever be allowed in experience it? He had never been human.

  I lay back on the pillows and held Vaysh against me. Now I could hear him breathing; the sky beyond the window was faintest pink and gold.

  Today, I would tell him; tell him that I knew. I could not anticipate his reaction, but I could imagine relief in his eyes. Together, we would walk outside and look toward the far horizon, where the sleek ships prance upon the skirling waves, and we would see the sky and we would see the future. It lay that way, didn't it? So much, so much; I wanted to know it all. I wanted to live the past through his eyes to understand what was to come. His is blood, the primal blood, ran in my veins. His essence was my essence. He could see everything in the world and I would look through his eyes and see it too. I knew what to look for.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Ending

  It has taken me many months to complete this statement, and of course, other things have happened to me since the time where I wanted it to end. Parts of it I decided to rewrite; Vaysh pointed out to me the places where I'd been too vague or too hurried. Essentially, the writing of these pages has been an exorcism for me and surprisingly, a relaxation; one thing to look forward to every evening, even if I never actually get the time to write anything, which does happen. A year has passed since Vaysh told me the truth about Thiede, and already the Pellaz who lived then (and who began to write his story), seems such a callow, ingenuous person. I have been educated well. I am Tigron, and even if it suits some Hara to continue calling me Thiede's puppet, I have proved my worth, both in the Hegalion and among our people. I have pursued the desire to be thoroughly Gelam-ing with single-minded zeal. My ears are always alert; there are few things in Phaonica kept secret from me. Vaysh says I look taller, and it is true that I do feel taller. If the ghosts of my past have not yet laid to rest, at least I have learned how to silence them.

  Thiede appears to have been right about the amount of time we shall have to prepare ourselves for the war against the Varrs (because no matter how euphemistically our invasion of Megalithica is referred to—that in what it boils down to), but we have learned that the self-styled supremo commander of the Varrs, known to us as Ponclast, has begun to turn back to the Path. The Varrs' weakness has always been their lack of self-development; now there are rumors that Ponclast seeks to rectify that. This news was not well received by the Hegemony. We shall have to move more carefully now. Ashmael has proposed that we should transport three divisions of the Gelaming forces to Megalithica and establish a garrison in the south.

  Around this base would be constructed a barrier that no enemy could penetrate; a shield of natural force. It is essential now that Gelaming personnel obtain a hold in Megalithica. We have supporters there who will need our help. I often hear Terzian's name mentioned nowadays; he is almost respected in Immanion. Every time I hear it, some part of me goes cold. It is because some instinct tells me, no matter how hard I try to ignore it, that Cal is in Galhea. He is with Terzian. I can sense it, and even now, if I dwell on it too deeply, I am filled with rage. Thiede knows for sure about this, of course, and in time will probably tell me. I suppose I am as close to Thiede as anyone can get, but he enjoys keeping secrets and I know he is still concerned about my feelings for Cal. I have hidden them very well. It angers me to say that I still love him, for I know it is a weakness and I can't afford that kind of weakness, but after all that you have read, surely you can understand. I feel that Cal and I will meet again, but I'm not sure about what will happen between us when that time comes. I've changed so much and I fear that living with the Varrs will have changed him greatly too. When Thiede reads this, as he will, he will be furious and we will probably argue.

  Occasionally,
he makes some casual reference to finding me a consort, but because we are all so preoccupied with more important issues at the moment, I can generally avoid that one. Somehow I feel that the subject will be brought up again fairly soon.

  Yesterday, Thiede and I traveled through the other-lanes to a small Wraeththu town, north of Immanion. I can't remember its name. Thiede thought we deserved a peaceful afternoon after a hectic morning of arguing with Ashmael in the Hegalion. (He thinks we are dragging our feet over when to move our people to Megalithica. He is too impatient.) I was in no mood to let Ashmael rant on and the debate got quite vigorous. Once I cracked a joke at his expense and everyone laughed. The atmosphere in the Hegalion had been sour when we left.

  We found a quiet cafe and sat outside in the sunshine, drinking tart, sparkling wine. Thiede was amused by a fanciful statue that had been erected in the town square, supposedly in the image of the Aghama. It looked nothing like him. The har who served us our wine thought we were just high-ranking hara from the city. He spoke to us about the Tigron, whom he'd heard had more spirit than Thiede had bargained for and that they quarrelled incessantly. Thiede caught my eye and smiled. We confirmed or denied nothing. The Har went back inside the cafe

  "Well," I said, "Is that true?" Thiede shrugged. "Sometimes you do say too much, but not enough that I regret my decision in bringing you here."

  “Will we move to Megalithica soon?"

  He looked away. "Not you, Pell."

  "Why?"

  “There’s no need." Thiede has a knack of bringing down a cloud of silence that no-one dares break. He did it then. I watched him stare across the sleepy square, absently rubbing his glass with his fingers, frowning at the statue. Eventually, he said, "That isn't me, Pell," meaning so much. "Yes it is," I replied, meaning even more.

  He laughed, drank, laughed, drank some more. "I suppose you're going to put this in your book are you?" he said. Everything of import, Thiede, everything.

  Extract from "Immanion Enquirer," a weekly news journal, five weeks after the completion of Pellaz's manuscript

  A press release from Phaonica today confirmed rumors that have been circulating within the city for over a week. It appears that yet another total stranger will ascend to the throne of Immanion, as Tigrina, consort to Tigron Pellaz. Without doubt, this is the decision of Lord Thiede, but it is stressed that the proposal has been given the full approval of the Hegemony.

  It has been reported that a Ferelithian har, whose name has been given as Caeru Meveny, accompanied by a harling of indeterminate age and a human female, applied for an interview with the Tigron ten days ago, after traveling by sea from Ferelit hia. Palace sources now reveal that the Ferelithian shall be crowned Tigrina in one month's time, and take the bond of blood with the Tigron. No comment has been forthcoming from either Pellaz or Thiede, but we are given to understand that up till now, the Tigron has refused to grant an audience with his proposed Tigrina or even acknowledge his presence through a third party. An employee at the palace has disclosed that the strangers have been allocated a suite within Phaonica itself and have described the child as having "weirding eyes." No confirmation has been Forthcoming, but it is the widely held belief that the Tigron has been cited as the father of the child and that its hostling has come to Immanion in order to demand recognition and status for his son.

  As the voice of the people of Immanion, this publication requests that the Tigron should make a public statement to clarify this matter as soon as possible

  The Bewitchments of Love and Hate

  BOOK ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  BOOK TWO

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  Energy is ectasy. When we drop the barriers and let power pour through, it floods the body, pulsing through every nerve, arousing every artery, coursing like a river that cleanses as it moves. In the eye of the storm, we rise on the winds that roar through mind and body, throbbing a liquid note as the voice pours out shimmering honey in waves of golden light, that as they pass, leave peace. No drug can take us so high; no thrill pierce us so deep because we have felt the essence of all delight, the heart of joy, the end of desire. Energy is love, and love is magic.

  ---STARHAWK The Spiral Dance, Harper and Row, 1979

  BOOK ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Made into Har

  A lie from the lips of a hostling

  Swimming in the irony

  Gasping for breath of perfect wisdom

  Whilst disgorging the relics.

  Our house did not have a name until I was nearly five years old. Then, my hostling Cobweb (he that had brought me into the world), ordered that a board be nailed above the outer courtyard. It read, "We dwell in Forever."

  Cobweb is afraid of dreams and sees omens everywhere. His life is governed by a chain of complex charms, cantrips and runic precautions, leading from one day to the next. Perhaps, he feared transience; to me the house became simply "Forever." Many things changed in my life at that time. I was now old enough to receive tuition, although Cobweb had been imparting his own particular brand of education for some time, so that now I habitually crossed my fingers and said a little rhyme whenever black birds flew from right to left across my path, and I never wished evil out loud upon anyone, in case the spirits heard and punished me.

  "Each day has its own special character," Cobweb told me. "Today, for example, is a day of sharpness and crystal; you must learn to recognize the smell, the ambience." It was true that the sky did look particularly brittle that day (could it really break?), and everything looked hard and shiny. On a metal day, my whole body would ache and the taste in my mouth would set my teeth on edge. By the time I was ready for schooling, other matters had taken precedence in my imagination, although I never confessed it to Cobweb, and the taste of the days would only come back to me on extremely summery days or extremely wintery ones.

  Forever was enthroned upon a hill in the north of the town Galhea, my father's stronghold. We had farms to the west and in the valleys, hidden behind Forever's hill. In the summer, I could look from my bedroom window and see herds of cattle grazing the lush grass and the rippling seas of grain, green and silver, that were never still. In the autumn my father's house was filled with the smell of mown hay and wagons would come from the east, bearing produce from tribes who needed our grain and meat and leather. I once attended an autumn market in Galhea, shrinking against my hostling's legs, frightened by the noise and bustle. Cobweb gave me a newly minted coin that had come down from the north and I bought myself some sugar sweets with it that had come

  from a village on the other side of the great forest. Tribe leaders from miles around brought my father gifts, seeking favor in his eyes. It was usually in this way that our wine cellar became stocked for celebrations later in the season. Similarly, the larder shelves would become so full with preserves, delicacies, sweetmeats and cheeses, that jars would have to be stacked on the floor beneath. After the markets, it was customary for the people of Galhea to join together in the dusk to dance the harvest away from the town. It was a cheery lamplit procession of wagons and oxen and skipping feet. Blood-red flowers shed petals beneath the wheels and the air was full of music. Back in Galhea, the great doors to the grain stores would be closed, now half empty, but still holding more than enough for our needs.

  Although my hostling could teach me to read and write (along with other more secret knowledge that Terzian would certainly not have approved of), it was not enough of an education for the son of a high-caste har. I was not allowed to attend the college i
n Galhea with other harlings my own age. Terzian, my father, preferred to find tutors whom he could trust, whose intelligence he respected, and who were happy to imbue my supposedly eager little mind with knowledge at home. I was not as intelligent as my father thought. It did not take my teachers long to realize this, but they were shrewd enough to continue entertaining my father's fancies by praising my progress. I suppose I was a late developer. Terzian lived by logic and strategy; I lived happily in a world of totally illogical imagination, inherited, no doubt, from Cobweb. I'm sure it always grieved my noble sire that Cobweb had ever had to have anything to do with my procreation and if he could have found a way to cope with reproduction all by himself, he most certainly would have done. He suspected every other har but himself of foolishness and fought constantly to discipline Cobweb's superstitious nature. Conversations at mealtimes were habitually punctuated by Terzian's impatient outbursts. "Clouds are clouds, Cobweb! That is not an avenging spirit, neither does it seek to recruit souls from my house! For God's sake!" and other such denials.