storm

by Unknown

  Pellaz took off the cloak he wore and Galdra removed his blanket. It seemed ironic that once their relationship had been comprised of hot guilt and frustrated desire. Now it was this, removed and distant. Could Cal do the things that Galdra did? It was impossible to determine. Galdra was there and Cal wasn't. Perhaps it was no more than that.

  For a few moments, before he joined Galdra at the centre of the circle, Pellaz closed his eyes and called upon Snake and Moon. It was time for them too to begin work again.

  Pellaz and Galdra sat down upon the grass cross-legged and for some moments before they began stared into each other's eyes. “If we don't see each other again,” Galdra said, “know that I love you.”

  “We will see each other again,” Pellaz said.

  At the edge of the circle, the Gelaming guards, warriors of Algoma level, raised their arms, shining swords held in each hand, into which they directed protective energy. Pellaz could almost see with his physical eyes the glowing symbols that the guards projected, ghostly glyphs that hung in the air above him. Galdra was bathed in their light, surrounded by a silver nimbus.

  Come to me, Pellaz...

  For the first few minutes, it was as it used to be: deeply erotic. The crowd around them faded away into indistinct shapes. Then reality began to disintegrate as Galdra's ouana-lim reached for the sixth energy centre. Pellaz sensed once more the great iris-like portal that ready to spin open and suck him through. Was it possible this was the last time he'd inhabit earthly reality? Etheric winds pulled at his body, the moment was so close. Moments before the seal opened, Pellaz heard a cry, followed by another, and another. In his hypersensitive state, he could perceive swift black shadows flitting around the camp, striking out. Ponclast's shadow assassins. Arcs of lifeblood spurted into the evening air. Pellaz tried to cry out, to warn somehar, but it was too late. The portal within him opened and he was taken into it.

  The cauldron was in chaos. Pellaz could not recognise it nor was able to mould its appearance through his will. Rushing colours flew past his perception, the suggestion of entities, the rake of adamantine claws across his skin. Galdra's presence was strong. He was giving this procedure everything he could. Take control, Pell. Remember the abyss. Whatever's happening isn't taking place in here. The cauldron is merely reflecting it.

  Pellaz concentrated hard on ordering his perceptions, imagining clear straight lines. It seemed to help. It was as if the cauldron had become a transparent bubble of black glass hanging within a starless void. Beyond its walls, bizarre entities flickered back and forth, colliding with one another to create strange nebulae of sickly light. Sometimes, dark liquid would splash against the walls, like blood.

  The sedim fight... Galdra said. I sense other entities approaching, from the ends of the universe, like the end of creation, the horror wind.

  I'll connect with Moon and Snake, Pellaz said. It's time to invoke the dehara.

  Pellaz extended a tendril of thought, which wormed its way through the skin of the cauldron. He could perceive both Moon and Snake as faint glows in his mind. When did this become so easy? Pellaz thought. I take it for granted now. Only weeks before, the idea of communicating so precisely with non-local minds was no more than a dream. Hara like Cobweb and Snake had been able to achieve it, but not with this degree of accuracy. It was like looking inside your own head, and realising that in inner space all hara are connected and unified. It was merely a matter of concentration to communicate with them.

  Pellaz could sense Moon's hesitancy: he was afraid. Snake was simply raring to go, eager to test himself.

  Moon, relax, Pellaz told his sori. Snake and I will take most of the burden. Simply be open, a channel through which the energy can pass. It will take nothing from you. You are merely a conduit.

  In this state, the summoning required no words of invocation or a physical attempt to raise the energy of the dehara. Pellaz merely formed the images of them in his mind's eye, pulling universal life force from within and beyond the cauldron to shape them; it was as easy as building models from clay.

  Aruhani came first, blacker than the void, stamping his elegant feet, his hair writhing around him. Then came Agave with his sword of flame, liquid fire running over his skin. He was followed by Lunil of the blue flame, as cold as Agave was hot, his eyes smoking blue light, and finally Miyacala, surrounded by a white hot cone of power. All were immense, thunder crackling between them. Beyond them, stretching out into infinity, beyond Pellaz's ability to imagine, were ranks of unnamed dehara, all the permutations of desire and will that had emanated from hara in the earthly realm to take on etheric flesh in the worlds beyond. This was the army Wraeththu had at their disposal to fight what came from the unknown places. It was an army of the imagination, of intention, of courage. It was the soul of harakind.

  Pellaz, Snake and Moon formed a triangle, which was like a prism that would reflect and intensify the energy of the dehara. Pellaz could feel power building up between them. He could almost hear it, the hum of a machine the size of the universe. The dehara raised their voices in song, an ear-splitting celestial choir that was the sound of creation itself. But as it could create, so it could destroy.

  Whatever entities controlled Ponclast became aware of the dehara's presence. Pellaz could sense it. In his heightened state, he could tell that they'd believed they'd only have the sedim to contend with. They were surprised by this new development. Pellaz could sense them drawing nearer to him, sniffing, analysing his power. He caught fleeting glimpses of them in his mind: hideous beyond imagination, yet also lovely. All that stood between him and them was the fragile bubble of the cauldron. If they chose to, they could reach out and pluck Pellaz from his sanctuary. They could snuff him out like pinching a candle flame. The dehara must manifest more quickly. Pellaz passed this imperative on to his companions. They must project their combined energy soon.

  For a brief moment, Pellaz could see into earthly reality. He saw the black shadows of Ponclast's hara snaking throughout the Gelaming camp. He saw hara trying to defend themselves, fight them off. Ashmael had left the Grissecon circle, and although his elite guard still provided a protective shield there, he was now leading the allied forces towards Fulminir: troops of every tribe, their banners held high, their voices ululating the battle cries they'd perhaps not sung for decades, since the wars with humanity. They were beautiful and fearless, prepared to die if that meant they could prevent the darkness of Fulminir having power in this land once more. The sky above this scene was like a vision of hell. The clouds were red and black, and immense grotesque shapes rolled through them. There were mighty sounds, like planets splitting in two, the groan of space collapsing, the thunderclap of great forces colliding. Ponclast's hara were stationed on the makeshift battlements of Fulminir. Their position was not good, but there were others among them to whom the flimsy defences were of no concern. Huge figures, angelic warriors, wielding weapons of fire. Pellaz feared for his hara. Although Ashmael led them with courage, they would be burned like paper by these creatures.

  Now! Pellaz screamed into the void. He felt Snake release his energy and at the same time it joined with Pell's and streamed into Moon. The dehara were part of it, spiralling like a braid of fluid force into Moon's body.

  Pellaz could see it. He looked down upon Fulminir, into the small courtyard. He saw Moon on Tyson's lap, his head thrown back. At that moment, Moon's eyes and mouth were forced open, and the energy of the dehara poured out of him. The image of his body was lost in preternatural radiance.

  In the cauldron Pellaz felt the last of the deharan energy stream through him, disappearing like a wail into earthly reality. He became aware of stillness and then a figure walked towards him: Lileem.

  Now, she said. It is time for us, Pellaz.

  Pellaz looked down upon Fulminir once more and saw, as shadows, unearthly conflict. He saw Ashmael's hara engaged in more traditional combat. But in the heart of Fulminir was an indigo flame. Ponclast.

  Chapter Forty
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  The moment that the teraphim locked in combat with the sedim, Ponclast had retreated with Abrimel, Diablo and Geburael to an area deep underground. He did this not so much to seek shelter, but to isolate himself from outside influences. He did not feel that his hour had come, but was filled simply with a sense of resignation. In order to proceed, certain experiences must be undergone, certain trials faced and overcome.

  Abrimel was almost witless with panic and virtually useless, capable only of crouching in a corner with Geburael in his arms. Diablo prowled the perimeter of the underground vault, alert for hostile presences. Ponclast composed himself upon the floor, before a censer of incense. Into it, he threw grains of resin that released a pungent smoke, which burned the throat. He could sense all around him, in this realm and beyond, the strange forces that were attracted to this concentrated sphere of activity upon earth. His allies, the Hashmallim, had come, and other shadowy creatures in their wake, but there were more alien presences too, drawn with curiosity to investigate the tantalising flavours of conflict and terror. The sedim fought alone: their masters had sent no other entities to assist them. They had the advantage in numbers, but the teraphim's power was greater than their own. It seemed to Ponclast that it was only a matter of time before the Hashmallim and the teraphim concluded their battles. Hara of flesh and blood were no match for Hashmal weapons. Ponclast's shadow fighters were causing panic and mayhem in the Gelaming camp, obstructing their ability to organise their warriors. A cone of power at the centre of the camp protected some kind of magical activity, which was well shielded, but Ponclast sensed that whatever took place there was not a direct attack. He presumed the Tigron was attempting to call upon higher forces to aid him.

  “Diablo,” he said. “Have our fighters concentrate their efforts on the Tigron.”

  “The protective shield around Pellaz har Aralis is great,” Diablo said. “Many will burn upon it like moths against an open flame.”

  “Nevertheless, deliver this order. If lives are lost, it will be for the greater good. We must prevent Pellaz from summoning reinforcements.”

  “I understand,” Diablo said. “This will be done.” He vanished into the otherlanes.

  “Send the Hashmallim!” Abrimel said desperately. “Ponclast, do it. Make them attack the Tigron. No other will reach him.”

  “The Hashmallim do not obey orders,” Ponclast said. “You know this. We cannot expect them to do everything. Our allies will appreciate us having at least some sense of initiative in this conflict.”

  Abrimel's gaze darted wildly, almost insanely, around the chamber. “You do not know him. He is strong. I can feel it. I can feel him close. Ponclast, you don't know what you're up against.”

  “Be quiet!” Ponclast said. “Your fear does nothing to help me. Guard that harling and keep your gutless terror to yourself.”

  “You should have sent our son away from here. This is madness!”

  Ponclast did not want to hear any more. He directed an arrow of intention at Abrimel that fuddled his brain, so that he sat motionless and silent, his eyes staring blankly.

  In the stillness that followed, Ponclast became aware of gathering hostile energy. It was more than sedim. He didn't recognise it, but he could tell it possessed great power. Quickly, he sent out a mind call to Diablo to summon him back. It occurred to him that the order he'd sent to his shadow fighters had been issued too late. He could wait no longer. He must confront Pellaz har Aralis now, perhaps while the Tigron was still weakened from whatever magical task he'd been involved in. But how could he be drawn to this place? The protections around him were great.

  “Pellaz, you coward,” Ponclast said under his breath, his eyes closed. “Will you not have the courage to confront me, har to har?”

  For a moment, there was only silence, but for the sound of breathing, then a clear voice spoke.

  “Ponclast, you may call me many things, but coward I am not.”

  Ponclast opened his eyes and saw a shining figure standing before him. He resisted the urge to scrabble backward. Pellaz had come, unarmed and naked. Was he mad, or simply too confident? Ponclast got to his feet. Now he was confronted with the reality of the Tigron, he felt disorientated. Pellaz must have great power indeed to pass through the wards and cantrips that guarded this place. He must be able to access the otherlanes as Diablo did. But he did not appear about to launch an attack. Ponclast noticed the Tigron glance at Abrimel, although his expression did not change in the slightest. Ponclast raised his arm, his first gripping a ball of swiftly conjured black flame. He meant to throw it, catch Pellaz off his guard.

  “Don't bother with that,” Pellaz said.

  Ponclast ignored this advice and threw the flame. It burst some inches from the Tigron's body and fell down like flakes of sooty snow.

  “You see,” Pellaz said. “You can't fight me that way.”

  “One of us must emerge victorious,” Ponclast said. “We are not here to engage in idle conversation.” He summoned a different form of energy, which manifested as a forked trident of white radiance. Ponclast released it, but it merely bounced off the Tigron's aura and skidded across the floor like a spear of glass. It shattered against the wall.

  Ponclast lowered his arm, unsure of what to do next. The Tigron's proximity affected him greatly, dispersing his concentration. Whatever preparations he'd made, and no matter for how long, he could never have been ready for this. He could see it clearly now. “I will not surrender to you,” he said. “There will be no more Gebaddon for me or my hara.”

  “No,” Pellaz agreed. “If you are to survive, your exile must be far from this realm, with no chance of return.” Pellaz put his head to one side. “Do you hear the fighting? The dehara, our gods, crush the living essence from your allies, Ponclast. Ironically, they are as much your gods as mine, and perhaps some creations of your own imagination fight alongside them.”

  Ponclast realised that Abrimel's fears had been justified. The Hashmallim had lied to him or perhaps they too had underestimated Thiede's protégé. Ponclast could tell in every fibre of his being that he could never be equal to Pellaz har Aralis. He was like a living expression of every har's secret dream, radiant and eternal. But, if etheric and magical weapons could have no effect, perhaps a more conventional attack was called for. With a furious cry, Ponclast picked up the burning incense and charged at Pellaz, even though the metal bowl burned his hands greatly. He threw the smouldering charcoal in the Tigron's face. The coals, however, simply passed through Pellaz's body.

  “Did you really think this was my physical body?” Pellaz said. “You can't harm me, Ponclast. What did your allies tell you? That they had made you strong, my equal? Maybe they have, but you do not have any knowledge. Your hara love you, and now they die for you, but they are only shadows, weak and hopeless.”

  “What you did to my hara was unspeakable,” Ponclast said. The pain in his hands was almost too much to bear; he was afraid he'd lose consciousness, yet lacked the focus to direct healing energy into them.

  Pellaz smiled grimly. “You and they should have been prepared for that. You did unspeakable things to others. Every action has a consequence, and you set the rules. Did you expect our mercy? Why should we have given it, when you gave none? That was an unrealistic hope, Ponclast. It still is.”

  “The Gelaming are liars, warmongers who ride behind a banner of peace!” Ponclast cried. “I know the truth of it. You have no moral high ground, Pellaz. The essence of this conflict is one will to power against another.”

  “I don't disagree,” Pellaz said. “Whatever propaganda Thiede used to put about means little to me. But I like to think our way is more acceptable to the majority than yours. Your indulgences in this citadel all those years ago did not make you greatly popular among the common hara. You despised your own kind, too caught up in the bitterness of the early years, when Wraeththu fought amongst themselves and with humanity. You didn't move on. We did. There is no place for your ideology in this world now.”<
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  Ponclast knew that all he possessed to defend himself was his conviction, his belief in himself and his hara. It had to be enough. “I have no wish to debate this,” he said. “Do what you think you can, Tigron, and let us see once and for all whose way is best.”

  Pellaz laughed. “That is brave talk. Look at your hands. You cannot fight me, in any sense.”

  “I am prepared to die trying.”

  Pellaz said nothing to those words. Instead, he threw back his head, closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. He looked so vulnerable, yet Ponclast knew now that he was far from that. Pellaz exhaled slowly, and opened his eyes once more. “I would like you to meet a friend of mine,” he said.

  There was a shimmer of emerald light in the corner of the room, which presently expanded into a luminous oval. It was clearly some kind of otherlane portal, because a figure emerged from it. This was a young har, who to Ponclast's eyes seemed greatly biased towards soume in his being. The har was dressed simply, in clothes of close-fitting brushed leather. His honey-coloured hair hung loose over his breast. He did not resemble a fighter, nor did he emanate any great sense of magical power, but there was something not quite right about him.