by Unknown
“This is Lileem,” Pellaz said. “She wishes to share breath with you.”
“She?” Ponclast asked. Since when had hara, even the ones Varrs had conditioned to be predominantly soume, refer to themselves as she?
“Lileem is Kamagrian,” Pellaz said. “You do not know of them, of course. Share breath with her. You will be surprised at the results of combining her essence with yours.”
Lileem approached Ponclast, her gaze fixed on his. Ponclast wasn't sure what he saw in her eyes, but for the first time a sense of true fear passed through him. This creature was not Wraeththu, but something else. She was a weapon of the Tigron's.
Ponclast tried to back away from the approaching figure, but somehow he had moved so far across the chamber, his back was pressed against the wall. Lileem opened her mouth and a sparkling vapour curled from her lips. She leapt forward and gripped Ponclast's face between her hands. Her breath was a vortex. Losing consciousness, Ponclast could feel himself being torn from earthly reality, his soul ripped from his flesh.
As if from a long distance away, he heard the Tigron's voice. “Lileem will take you to a place of great interest. You might learn something there. Thiede believed Gebaddon would educate you and indeed it did, but this will be something different.”
Ponclast was like nothing more than a scrap of cloth dangling from the strange har's essence. He was helpless. The flight from Gebaddon, the brief time in Fulminir, the attempt to resurrect it, all meant nothing. His allies did nothing to save him. They let him go into darkness. He was an experiment that had failed.
For some moments, Pellaz stood motionless in the underground vault. The harling held in Abrimel's arms was whimpering. Abrimel himself looked mindless. Am I so heartless, Pellaz thought, that I can feel nothing for my own flesh and blood?
He prepared himself to leave, and it took enormous effort to focus on that simple act. Despite appearances, his confrontation with Ponclast had depleted him greatly. He gazed for some moments at his son, who clearly could not see him. In the aftermath of the conflict, hara could come down here to take Abrimel into custody. There was nothing else to be done here. Above ground, the dehara fought with the Hashmallim. Pellaz could perceive now what a strange battle it was, because neither side could actually destroy the other. The dehara were made of thought and emotion, so they could not be unmade, and the Hashmallim were etheric projections whose physical selves resided far from this realm. All the two sides could do was fight for dominance, so that the weaker could slink away. Pellaz perceived that both sides were enjoying the combat. It posed no real risk to them, after all. It was the play of tiger cubs, yet somewhere else the tigers crouched unseen. That was a different matter.
It had all been satisfactorily easy. Lileem had take Ponclast with her to the realm of the Black Library, which was extremely difficult to escape. Pellaz had no desire to kill his enemy, mainly because ultimately he was not a foe to be feared. If he should somehow rise up, with greater force, and pose a threat in the future, it was because it was meant to be: a further test. If I am not worthy of facing that, Pellaz thought, then I am not worthy of being Tigron. He knew that beyond this world there were far worse threats than Ponclast. Now, it was simply a case of clearing up. It was time to return to his body and begin that work.
But even as he formed this thought, a ball of black energy manifested in the room. Pellaz observed it, puzzled, for only an instant before it threw itself against him. He was hurled backwards. His etheric body slammed through the thick stone wall and landed in a dank corridor outside. He was smothered in a crawling sticky essence that forced its way inside him.
He could not fight you! A voice screamed in his mind. But I can. I will unmake you, Pellaz har Aralis! Your body will be left without a soul!
Pellaz knew immediately that this was no idle threat. Whatever invaded his being was strong, and comprised of matter that could affect his etheric form. He fought back, trying to force the blackness away from him, but it was like trying to extricate himself from an immense web. If he pushed parts of it away, it clung to him more firmly in other places. He could feel it squeezing his soul, seeking to crush and dampen forever the flickering flame of it. He could not even escape it by returning to his corporeal form. The blackness anchored him to this place. It was affecting Galdra also. Pellaz became aware of Galdra's being, and knew that his assailant was completely aware of what was occurring. It had reached inside him and taken that knowledge. It would force Galdra to conclude the Grissecon which would mean that Pellaz would have no way to return to his body. He would be snuffed out like a candle flame. Pellaz screamed for Lileem, for Snake, even for Moon, anyhar who could help him now, but none of them could hear him. He screamed for the dehara, but his enemy was a smothering blanket that obstructed his attempts to reach out. He could feel Galdra's anxiety and terror, the way he was trying to hold on to their union with every shred of will and strength he possessed, but he was losing power. At the climax of Grissecon, the most magical and intimate of moments, Pellaz would die.
Pellaz was powerless to resist what was happening. He was too weak. Fighting was pointless. He projected to Galdra a final surge of appreciation and love. They had done what they could.
But then, there was a voice in his mind. Pellaz, what are you doing? This is an illusion.
No illusion! cried his enemy.
Pellaz heard soft laughter, so familiar a sound. He opened his eyes and peered through a film of oily blackness. Cal stood over him, beautiful and radiant, an archetypal warrior covered in wounds. Run, Diablo! Cal said.
He extended an arm and touched the darkness covering Pellaz's etheric body. At once it convulsed in pain, as a force Pellaz had never encountered before flowed through it. A black shape leapt up from him, transforming as it did so into a weird kind of har with enormous burning eyes. This har hissed at Cal and struck out, although it missed its target. Cal laughed again, his eyes shining with a manic light. He flicked a dart of radiance at Pell's assailant, which passed right through Diablo's shoulder. Dark ichor spurted out. Diablo yelped in pain and then leapt through the wall, presumably back into the chamber beyond.
Cal did not follow. He simply stood where he was, gazing down into Pell's eyes. It took some moments for Pellaz to realise that he was free and not about to die. He stared back at Cal, unable to communicate. He didn't know what he felt.
You should never had doubted me, Cal said. He looked haggard, whether in physical form or not. His clothes were ripped and bloody, his body scored by deep scratches. I can see, he said. I can see what you're doing. He is in you so deep, a hook in your heart.
Cal... Please...
Cal shook his head, smiling sadly. As Pellaz watched, his form changed and it was Orien standing there, one finger to his lips. There are no endings...
At that moment, Galdra let go and Pellaz sucked back into his body with painful force. He opened his eyes, for a moment unable to feel any physical sensation. He saw the night sky, the stars wheeling like the sparkling motes in the barrel of a kaleidoscope. It felt as if he and Galdra had become one, no division between them. Locked together. For ever. Flesh and blood combined.
Galdra shuddered and spoke aloud. “Pellaz... please... don't...”
It must hurt. It should hurt. Come deeper, Pell said in mind touch. Pierce muscle and bone. Find my heart. Then we shall see.
Galdra cried out, a hoarse and ragged scream of agony. The sound spiralled up to the stars. Hara came running. Then there was nothing.
Chapter Forty-One
Moon had discovered a dehar who was all his own. At the moment when Pellaz and Snake had projected the mighty force of the dehara into his body, Moon's consciousness had drifted off elsewhere. For some moments, he had hung above the courtyard, looking down. He had seen the veins standing out on Tyson's face and neck, his muscles corded with strain. He had seen his own flesh, no more than a shuddering mass of greenish white radiance, with brighter spots where his eyes and mouth would be. It occurred
to him that his corporeal form might be destroyed by the force it channelled, but he could not care about it. This is what it must feel like to be dead.
He could see that nebulous outlines were forming from the energy, massive entities, an army of dehara. They strode across the sky towards a boiling mass of black and red clouds, in which dark shapes tumbled and writhed. As Moon watched his, a sedu surged past him and rocked the ball of light that comprised his essence. It was like being a harling's plaything, floating upon a choppy sea, drifting far from land.
Heed me, Moon...
Moon's dreamy attention became focused. He was in a dark place, where he could perceive no details of his surroundings, and before him stood a young har, whose hair and skin were green. There was a strong scent of apples that reached right into Moon's being. Who are you? he asked.
I am Pomonari, the dehar of your childhood memories. I am all that you are, all that you have ever been. I am your strength. Take my hand.
Moon gripped the slim green fingers that Pomonari extended to him. For a moment, he felt like weeping, because he could remember so clearly the way his hostling Silken's hands had felt. Pomonari was partly of Silken too. Moon's memories of his hostling had become vague over the years; now they were brought back in force. He remembered what it had been like to be held, the feeling of utter security he'd experienced in Silken's arms. He remembered his hostling's voice, his wry songs, the smell of his hair.
You are your history, Pomonari said. You are the book of your life. Come.
They stepped back into reality, hand in hand. Moon found they had manifested beyond the wall of the courtyard. He could also perceive what was happening in the earthly realm and also beyond it. Two scenes of battle were superimposed over each other. The Gelaming had been able to pass through Fulminir's defences and conventional combat now ensued in the streets and alleyways. Ponclast's otherworld allies were fully occupied with the dehara, although the Teraghast shadow fighters were still intent on flashing in and out of the otherlanes, causing as much mayhem as possible. Moon saw a sedu grab hold of a shadow fighter with its teeth and shake him like a dog would shake a rabbit. The har crumpled to the ground, and then a flame-eyed teraph pounced upon the sedu from behind, its shining hooves digging deep into the flesh of its enemy. The sedu roared in pain and anger, turned to confront its foe, and the two of them coiled upwards, striking out and biting. Sparkling ichor spattered down.
Moon and his dehar walked calmly through the chaos, invisible to all. Moon was not aware of time passing particularly, but came to the realisation that activity was dying down around him. He saw Ashmael Aldebaran striding over bodies in a wide plaza, lifting them by the hair to see if they were still alive. The ground ran with blood, like rain after a heavy storm. Moon saw Ashmael's sedu, Zephyr, leap out of the otherlanes nearby, shaking his mane. Moon knew now that the sedim were not as gentle as they appeared. Zephyr was alight with a sense of victory. Ashmael went to him and vaulted onto the sedu's back. He rode over the bodies and entered the citadel itself.
Moon thought maybe he should follow and discover what was left inside. He thought he should try and find out what happened to Cal, and it seemed merely the intention of this conjured Cal into being. He walked out of an invisible doorway in the air. What are you doing here, Moon? You're engaged in some kind of Grissecon, aren't you?”
Yes. We helped Pellaz summon the dehara.
I know. I saw it. You shouldn't be here now. You are wandering. Go back.
Are you all right? Cal did not appear all right: his clothing was almost ripped to shreds, and his skin beneath was similarly gored. He was covered in blood, but his face was less grey and haggard than when Moon had last seen him.
I'll live. Go back to your flesh, Moon. I will be with you shortly.
This is my dehar, Moon said, lifting the hand that held Pomonari's fingers.
Very nice, Cal said. Go back, Moon. If you don't, and Tyson ends your union, you'll be lost. Now!
Moon opened his eyes with a start, as if he'd been jerked away from a dream. He could feel Tyson's arms around his back, the sweat between them. His whole body was pulsing in the last waves of an orgasm he hadn't been conscious of experiencing. Most bizarre. He was acutely aware of every atom of his body and found the seal within him. For some moments, he entered partially into the cauldron of creation and scoured it of aren. Then he closed the seal. It was as simple as closing his eyes. He felt as if his recent experiences had somehow hauled him up the ladder of caste progression at an alarming rate. He must surely be Algomalid at least.
The soft light of dawn was pushing back the darkness. Birds sand loudly. Tyson uttered a long sigh and gently disengaged himself. “Tell me I'm alive,” he said.
Moon got to his feet shakily and the world dipped around him. He didn't feel nauseous, only slightly drunk. “You're alive. We both are.”
Tyson stretched himself and staggered from the effort. “That was hours,” he said. “How did I do that? Tell me how I did that! I can't even remember it.”
“You are the son of Calanthe har Aralis,” Moon said. “What did you expect? We met because we were supposed to, as Cal and Pell did. I feel terrible, but also wonderful.”
“Imagine I'm holding you full of love and doting glances,” Tyson said. “I really can't bear the thought of contact in reality.”
Moon laughed and this sound woke Aleeme's harling, who Moon had wrapped in a blanket and laid nearby before commencing his work with Tyson. Now Moon went to crouch beside the harling. It stared at him, silent, but breathing easily. It must be hungry. Moon had never seen such an ugly little creature, but perhaps that was because it was malnourished and emaciated.
Tyson came to stand behind them. “If I'd been Cal, I'd have left that thing where I found it,” he said. “It's a freak.” He handed Moon a cup of water.
“Hmm.” Moon couldn't totally disagree. “But who are we to decide?” He didn't realise how thirsty he was until the water touched his lips. He couldn't stop drinking until the cup was nearly drained, then he gave what was left to the harling. It was so young, yet it gripped the cup and drank like an older har. Moon half expected it to thank him in an adult voice.
Tyson grimaced. “If Aleeme lives, will he really want to see that thing again?”
“I've no idea. It's kin of yours though, Ty. Try to find some compassion inside you.”
“After what you told me, I find that difficult,” Tyson. “An innocent wouldn't look like that!”
Moon stood up. “I should find it something to eat.”
“There isn't anything.”
Moon slumped. “Ag, how long will we stay here? Cal said he'd come for us.”
“What's happening outside here? Do you know?”
“I think it's nearly over. I saw Cal and he told me to return to my body. He's all right, Ty. He's injured but not seriously.”
“Thank Ag for that!”
At that moment, Moon heard the door inside their room open. He touched Tyson briefly on the arm. “Ssh, somehar's coming.”
“I heard,” Tyson said softly. “It could be Cal, or it could be a Teraghast coming to finish us off.” He moved to one side of the outer doorway and motioned for Moon to do the same on the other side. If an enemy came out, they'd pounce.
But it was no enemy, only Cal, with a couple of Gelaming warriors. His hair was plastered to his head and his clothes were wet: it appeared he'd taken a hasty bath somewhere. His wounds had been washed of blood, but were still visible through his torn shirt. Cal held up a key. “Your captors are helpful,” he said. “Left this in the door. And I'd brought muscle with me to break it down too.” He gestured at one of the Gelaming. “Take the harling. Take it to the healing pavilions.”
“Yes, tiahaar.” The warrior lifted the child. “This is a harling?” He appeared disgusted.
“Of sorts,” Cal said. “Deal with it, but do not harm it.”
“As you wish.”
Cal drew Tyson and Moon to him, then
winced as they inadvertently pressed against the wounds on his chest. He pushed them back a little. “You were amazing. I'm shocked. Well done.”
“Do you know about what we were doing?” Tyson asked.
“More or less. I had to fight off a particularly obstinate Hashmal, but managed to watch most of the show.”
Tyson touched Cal's chest. “You're hurt badly.”
“Nothing a blast of healing energy won't cure,” Cal said. “I just jumped in a water cistern and once the blood was off, the wounds didn't look too bad.”
“Do you want us to give you healing?” Moon asked.
“It can wait,” Cal replied. “Now it's time to face the worst. Will you be my support? It's most unlike me, but I feel I need it.”
“You want to go to the Gelaming camp?” Tyson enquired.