Paragenesis: Stories of the Dawn of Wraeththu

by Constantine, Storm

  Acorn and Aydenn escorted me up to the sleeping quarters as Inari and Maelduin headed off for more meetings.

  The sleeping quarters were on the second floor of the building. Up there, the open plan room had been divided into smaller, more private spaces using an eclectic array of materials and methods. A few tents had been set up, and blankets and old curtains had been strung up between pillars. Inari’s ‘room’ was at the far end of the room. The space was marked by the corner walls and an old office cubical wall; a curtain panel provided privacy. Most of the floor space was filled with a large mattress. A bed and privacy: to me that was luxury. I kicked off my boots and sat down on the edge of the mattress. For the first time in ages I felt like things were good; I dared to begin to hope.

  I don’t remember lying down, and I certainly don’t remember falling asleep, but I must have.

  Gentle shaking roused me. It was Inari.

  “Nolan! Wake up. There’s a welcoming ceremony this morning. Six new hara are being welcomed to the tribe. I want you to come. Maelduin and I are assisting the hienama this morning.”

  I sat up groggily as Inari rolled off the bed. He had slept naked. In the early morning darkness I could see his body, pale and ghost-like as he dressed. He was beautiful.

  “C’mon sleepy head.” Inari teased.

  I yawned as I began to grope around on the floor for my boots and yanked them on.

  “You’re still tired? Did my snoring keep you awake?”

  I shook my head and yawned again. “Do I snore?” I asked curiously as I pulled on my jacket.

  “No, but you’re really cuddly” he said and waggled his eyebrows up and down. “Come on. After the ceremony I want to introduce you to the hienama. You need to start your spiritual caste training - you know, learn how to throw garbage cans around and cloud human minds.” Inari flashed me a grin and headed out of the cubicle through the privacy curtain.

  I stared after him for a second or two before following. I was not too sure about the training, the tingly quiver that surged through my gut at being told that I was cuddly by the har who had slept next to me naked invoked feelings that felt more erotic and earthy than soulful and spiritual.

  I stumbled after Inari into the freshness of the pre-dawn air, still yawning. We went to stand before a raised dais, upon which was a semi-circle of lit torches. Acorn linked his arm through mine and we watched as the hienama, assisted by Maelduin and Inari, prepared for the ceremony.

  At a signal, a procession entered the space parading the new hara in to stand before the three officiates who stood waiting on the raised dais. I probably should have been watching the procession like everyone else, but I found my gaze drawn to Inari. He looked solemn and regal in his pale robe, his dark hair hanging loose about his shoulders. Beautiful.

  “They’re naked under those robes,” Acorn whispered in my ear.

  I felt my face flush and was thankful the sun was still below the horizon.

  The six new hara looked excited but at the same time terrified. The hienama, a rather forbidding looking creature with his head shaved save for the long braid that fell from the back of his skull, raised his arms and called us to silence.

  He offered words of thanks for the new hara’s safe transformation, then he spoke of the great potentials they now had. He also told them that while they must put the past aside, they were not to forget it: instead they should bring the new understanding that is Wraeththu to their new path. The great potential of Wraeththu, he said, was a gift of great privilege, and with it came a great responsibility. He spoke at length about transformation; hope, belief, and the future. His words were moving and profound. I wish I could have paid more attention and remembered them all, but some of the things he said resonated deep inside of me, kindling thoughts, stirring my soul. I felt more than I heard.

  After the hienama’s speech, a chosen har from the tribe would go and stand on the dais and a new har would be called forward. The chosen har would speak to the new har for a time. We were too far away to hear what was said but the words always seemed to make the new har beam; part of me envied them. The new har was given his “harish” name by his chosen har, and then those gathered around would repeat the name solemnly; sealing it to the individual. Then the two would walk to the side of the dais and wait, sometimes holding hands, sometimes linking arms. It was very moving.

  By the time all six new hara had been welcomed, the sky in the east had lightened considerably, and the gathering began to murmur restlessly, sensing that the ceremony was all but over. Breakfast smells were beginning to drift out.

  The hienama raised his arms again and silence fell once more. He turned his head towards me and beckoned me. “Nolan.”

  I froze. Acorn had to give me a gentle shove to get me moving towards the dais. When I got there the hienama looked down at me solemnly.

  “Nolan, your inception was marred by violence and brutality. It should not have been so, but becoming Wraeththu is not only a physical transformation. We are reborn by new thinking, new choices, and new beginnings. The past must be the past. Choose the future, begin again. It is time to rise like the phoenix, reborn.”

  He acknowledged me with a slight bow, stepped back and motioned Inari forward.

  Inari smiled gently. I imagine I looked as nervous now as some of the new hara had earlier.

  “I had spent quite a few months trying to rescue hara from the violence and chaos in the city,” Inari said, “but we only found those who embraced violence and revelled in their ignorance. They lived like the humans. I admit to being pretty discouraged, but finding you restored my faith, gave me hope again to trust that there are still those out there who believe in our future. I have a dream, Nolan… Finding you in the city rekindled my hope, that I,” he smiled, “or rather, we can achieve that dream.”

  He pointed to the eastern horizon where the sky was now a rapidly expanding band of pale blue light.

  “You are my dawn of hope,” he said solemnly. “Hope for my dream, hope for the future. Out of the ancient language of my ancestors I give you your new name, Amal Sahar, literally ‘hope dawns’.”

  Behind me, there was a murmur of many voices repeating the name. I felt tears well up. It was an emotional moment. I truly felt different, like I was no longer Nolan-the-outsider- from-the-city. I was now one of them: I belonged.

  Breakfast was delicious. Zekki had me in fits of giggles, inventing new nicknames and rhymes for me based on my new name. I was hugged and congratulated; my smile muscles hurt from grinning so much.

  Now as Inari ushered me into our sleeping quarters I started to feel slightly nervous and bashful.

  ‘Trust him.’ Hiko’s words echoed in my head.

  Inari pulled me gently into his arms and pressed his lips against my temple.

  “Look Amal, we don’t have to share aruna if you’d rather not – you’re not a new har. But I just thought that …”

  I didn’t let him finish; I pressed my lips against his. He looked surprised – pleasantly so.

  “I trust you,” I said. “I want this to be the first time.”

  The rest of the morning, and much of that afternoon passed, without Inari or I even noticing. We explored each other’s bodies. We shared aruna. He taught me how to let go and truly surrender. He also coached me through my first attempt as ouana. We lay together and dozed, revelling in the closeness and intimacy, and then we did it all over again.

  It was sometime in the mid-afternoon that I woke up alone on the bed. I looked around the tiny cubicle and observed Inari standing at the window staring out, one arm leaning on the sill and the other braced on the casing. I sat up.

  “We’re going to do it,” he said in a dreamy voice.

  “We’ve been doing it since we came up here,” I chuckled.

  Inari laughed. “I mean you and I are going to build a library. A Wraeththu library. The First Ones are already building a city. It’s going to be a real city! A great Wraeththu city! They’re organizing and
mobilizing. They’re putting together experts and a government. I’ve already mentioned that a capital city needs a library and the First Ones agreed. We will go and build the most beautiful library ever. It’ll rival the Library of Alexandria – we’ll archive everything! We’ll have stone tablets, old children’s books, government archives, technology books, poetry, reference books and … and … romance novels.” He laughed. “And we’ll document all of Wraeththu too, our poets and story-tellers, our philosophers and scientists, our thinkers and our dreamers – because we will have them!” He turned towards me. “Close your eyes! Can you see it?” he entreated.

  I closed my eyes and conjured up the only library I knew. In my mind the grey forbidding building became massive, the barbed wire and the security fences disappeared and the once empty planters were filled with flowers. I could also see the old fountain.

  “Yeah, I can see it,” I said. “Can our library have a fountain out front?”

  Inari laughed. “Absolutely! We’ll put a beautiful fountain outside our library. Believe it!”

  I closed my eyes again and in my mind’s eye the fountain, which had fascinated me for as long as I can remember, came to life as clear sparkling water bubbled from it.

  I sighed contentedly as I pulled my consciousness back into the room. The years had changed so much, and yet… not.

  Inari still stood by the window staring out of it, one arm leaning on the sill and the other braced on the casing, but he was not naked now. Pity. Nor were we in a cubicle in a repurposed human warehouse.

  The fine leather of a divan creaked beneath me as I rose and crossed to where Inari stood at the window. I slipped my arms around his waist and rested my chin on top of his shoulder.

  From here at the window of my well-appointed office in the administrative wing of Immanion’s great Central Library I had an impressive view of the city. The main library building looked nothing like I’d imagined it way back then. It was white and gleaming: it rose, tall and airy, from its surroundings, full of inviting spaces and light. Behind the library rose the rooftops of the Hegemony administrative buildings where the day-to-day running of most of Wraeththudom occurred.

  Beyond those governmental edifices rose the crowning jewel of Immanion, of all of Wraeththudom in fact – Phaonica, home to not one, but two Tigrons and their beautiful Tigrina. From here I could also see the rooftops of the rest of Immanion spread out below; some with terra cotta tiled roofs and some whose flat roofs had been converted into shady garden oases.

  “Did you ever think this was possible?” Inari asked softly.

  “Yes.”

  “You did?” He sounded sceptical.

  “Of course. You told me it was.”

  “And you believed me? I didn’t believe me!”

  “I trusted you, and look… the library! Exactly as you promised – I even got my fountain.”

  We stood together in comfortable silence. The view from my window was both inspiring and comforting; Immanion was an impressive achievement. We Wraeththu were no longer angry youths, fighting for survival and thinking that we held all the answers. We had ascended the throne of power and were aware of how little we actually knew; an age of wisdom had dawned. We had weathered political storms, war, and uncertainty and had come through more tempered and more mature. We had emerged from the season of darkness into one of light.

  Inari sighed contentedly. “Life has been good to us, hasn’t it? We’re both blessed.”

  “It has and we are.” I agreed.

  “I would feel even more blessed if you were to take my place as the moderator for a tedious afternoon of Maudrah poetry readings.” Inari looked at me imploringly. “Refreshments will be served” he added hopefully.

  “No dice,” I said flatly. “That sounds dreadful.”

  “No doubt it will be,” he agreed readily. “I will heap the blessings of all dehara from every corner of the universe at your feet if you’d go in my place.”

  “Are you offering to go plead the case for this year’s budget to the Hegemony committee in my place?” I inquired dryly.

  “Ouch!” Inari winced. “Is that today? I’d forgotten. You win! Your meeting outdoes mine on the ‘ghastly way to spend an afternoon’ scale.”

  He sighed stoically. “I suppose Maudrah poetry does have a certain charm. It must. Somewhere. Oh well. Although I shall suffer, I shall endure!”

  “No doubt.” I grunted.

  “And I have no doubt that you will positively shine in today’s budget session!” Inari said as he grinned and patted me on the back bracingly. “And afterwards, as compensation for all your suffering, I will buy you dinner at The Vivid Lily. Their seafood paella is beyond phenomenal!”

  “Sounds like an excellent plan” I said crossing to the door and holding it open for him.

  “... and then” Inari continued with a wicked grin “if you’re really lucky I might let you take me home with you “

  I laughed. “Seafood paella and you? I am definitely living in the best of times.”

  The Burned Boy

  Gwyn Harper

  When I first encountered the mutant, I thought only of revenge. They who called themselves Wraeththu had ruined my life and made me what I was – a freak, good only as a source of amusement for the crowds of fools who wanted to feel better about their own insect lives. Then, none of us realized that we were on the eve of something new and terrible, something that would change the world irrevocably. The mutant was the harbinger of that storm. Until I met him, I had no clue that our most fervent desires and deepest fears, our belief in the inherent goodness of the self, and the evil in others, can all be turned around in a moment of blinding self-enlightenment. Here, then, is my story.

  It was summer. The circus had just arrived in Wry, a nothing town of small souls plopped down on a flat, dusty plain with mountains rising stark and blue in the distance. We were madly setting up. Jake, the assistant manager, handed me a bucket of water and a rag and sent me to clean the grime off chairs in the newly-erected tent that served as the boss’s headquarters. I went in and started working when I overheard our owner, ringmaster, and scary-ass boss, Dr. Quintillus Sligo, say something that cut right to the place where I dwell in darkness.

  “This mutant freak is gonna save the circus,” Dr. Sligo said. I looked up and saw him waving dramatically at the big-screen monitor mounted on the scaffold behind him. He took a puff on his hookah. “I’m telling you, Tom, people will pay big time to see this monster.”

  “Even if true, we’re taking a big risk with this one,” said Tom Houston, the business manager, mopping a glistening brow with a tissue. A large man, he sat in his chair like a sack of flour. “I mean freaks is freaks, but they’s still people. This one isn’t, you know, human. It creeps me out to even be in the same room with ‘im. It’s like, I don’t know, like I can feel his charm buzzing around in my gut.”

  “It’s called sex appeal. What? Are you afraid you’ll succumb to his allure? Be tempted? Even though you know it’ll fry your innards?” Sligo leered at Tom.

  “Fuck you!” Tom spat in the cedar shavings at Sligo’s feet.

  It was hot under the canvas. The roustabouts hadn’t set up the air conditioning units yet. I pushed my long dark hair away from my sweating face, or at least the half that could sweat, and peered through the smoky haze created by Dr. Sligo’s hookah. I had an eerie feeling. Another premonition perhaps. I’m prone to those and have learned to pay attention, because often they signal something about to happen. I had one shortly before my foster parents kicked me out of the house; another when, after travelling for days in the back of a truck, I saw the striped tents of the circus in the distance.

  Dr. Sligo and Tom were playing our latest commercial meant for the local channels and I watched it over their heads. It was a lurid animé image of a nearly-naked creature with a mass of spiky, white hair that writhed like snakes. One half of its body was that of an overly-muscled man and the other half appeared as a curvaceous woman wi
th one large breast filling half of a bikini top. It wore an obscenely tight pair of spandex briefs, bulging with unknown horrors. Standing, it shook its chains and roared, the sound like that of a klaxon. The announcer intoned:

  You’ve heard the rumours – that mutants walk among us, coming at night, raping our young men, converting them into beasts like themselves. Many have scoffed. Now see the hideous truth for yourself: the Herm, a bizarre, mutant creature, half-man, half-woman. One week only in Wry, Fayettesburg, Lynly, and Red Rock.

  Words scrolled up in a dripping Halloween-style font:

  Dr. Sligo’s Phenomenal Phantasmagoria of Terrors and Delights

  Shows at 8, 10, and midnight. Go to Sligocircus.com

  My mouth dropped. Could it really be one of them? Right here? How had Sligo captured it? I could not remember what the mutants looked like and had imagined ugliness, but the artist had drawn a beautiful, androgynous face with huge dark eyes framed by perfectly arched brows, a stunning contrast to that mass of blond hair. Did the creature really look like that? Hard to think of that as the face of pure evil. My gut seized with the force of my desires, intrigued and enraged at the same time. I couldn’t stop staring.

  “You see that kid back there?” Sligo was saying. “That’s our audience. Look at him, just drooling over this freak. Remind me to send our promo department a bottle of wine. The artist did a good rendering. You, boy, come here.”

  “Me?”

  “No, your twin over there. Yeah you.”

  Reflexively, I pulled my hair over half my face and approached cautiously, as I always did when walking into a new situation. The way my face looks makes any encounter a source of emotional pain. Sligo took a drag from the hookah and blew a smoke ring that expanded before hitting me. Pwaft. I coughed and Sligo laughed. Slim and elegant, he was dressed in an old-fashioned tuxedo. His jet black hair was curled, and his face painted white, with eye shadow and rouge that exaggerated his elegant bone structure. He reminded me of a vampire in the old movies. Appropriate too, as Dr. Sligo was a bloodthirsty bastard.