The house-hara, however, did not question his words. They left at once.
“Bryony,” Cobweb said. “Find what is left of Terzian's ceremonial uniform. I believe it is in a chest in the first attic. Dress Ithiel in it when you are done preparing his body. I will conduct a Ceremony of Passing, but there is something I must attend to first. Do not disturb me. I will come to you when I am ready. Tyson, you and Cal must organise everyhar and human in town to be ready to leave, as soon as possible. They must take only essential supplies, for a journey of two weeks. Everything else must be left behind. We must suppose that one day we can return.”
“Cobweb...” Tyson said softly, extending a hand.
Cobweb took a step away from him. “Tyson, get to work. There is much to do.” He leaned down to kiss Ithiel's brow. “In blood,” he said hoarsely. “Beloved of Varrs.” He reached out and closed Ithiel's eyelids.
Everyhar was silent as Cobweb left the room. He didn't think, could barely breathe, but made for the stairs and climbed slowly toward Snake's room. Every step took great effort. When he opened the door to Snake's room, Snake was lying on the bed, wide awake. He looked gaunt.
“Ithiel is dead,” Cobweb said. His chest felt so tight, he was beginning to feel light-headed.
Snake struggled into a sitting position. “I'm sorry...”
Cobweb raised a hand to silence him. “We are lucky we lost nohar else from our family and close friends. Today, we must leave Galhea. I'll give you healing now. The journey might not be easy for you.”
Snake stared at Cobweb for some moments. “You can't do this. You must be in shock.”
“I must do this,” Cobweb said. “I'll not lose you too.” He brushed his fingers across his forehead. “I have a salve I can use. I'll fetch it. Undress yourself, Snake. I'll not be long.”
Cobweb went to his own room and pawed through the collection of bottles and jars he kept in a cupboard there. His thinking had become a tunnel with hard stone walls. He could focus only on what lay immediately ahead. The most useful of the salves and potions must be packed to take with him on the journey. At random, he began throwing them on his bed, until he found the one he needed. He would not look at himself in the mirror as he left the room.
Snake had stripped to the waist and lay, clearly seething with self-consciousness, on top of his bed. Cobweb took in the sight of Snake's withered left side, the arm so thin, the dreadful scarring that spread in a formation like ice crystals or fungus tendrils, across his chest.
“I didn't want you to see this,” Snake said.
“I have just seen one of my oldest friends lying like cold meat on the kitchen table,” Cobweb said harshly. “You might be scarred, but you are alive. That's all I care about.” He uncapped the jar in his hands and gestured with it toward Snake. “This will help. I've used it in conjunction with hands-on healing many times. An old Sulh recipe, from my homeland. It's very ancient, from long before Wraeththu times.”
He sat down on the side of the bed, astounded at how clearly he was able to think. His feelings were in hiding. He gouged out a dollop of the salve and rubbed it between his palms.
“You were Sulh?” Snake said.
“Yes,” Cobweb replied. “Lie back and relax. Be quiet.”
Snake's body was tense beneath his hands, every muscle bunched up. Cobweb focused on summoning healing energy. There were no other considerations. Heal yourself, he told Snake's body. Use what I pour into you to do it.
Snake uttered a soft grunt and flinched. If he'd been human, he'd have died years before. It must take every morsel of his strength to maintain this sputtering machine of flesh, because the scars were not just skin deep.
The rhythmic movements of Cobweb's hands helped lull him into trance. He imagined it as being like creating a cat's cradle of glittering strings, the mesh that would reinforce Snake's flesh and essence. After a while, he turned Snake over, crossed the other side of the bed, and began work on his back. The shoulder blade felt jagged and fragile beneath its meagre covering of skin. Cobweb realised Snake was weeping, silently, his face in the pillow. There was a deep hole between two of his ribs that Cobweb could push a thumb into.
“Let me do the leg,” he said softly.
With difficulty, Snake rolled onto his back. He lacked the strength to take off his trousers but allowed Cobweb to do it, lying with one hand pressed against his eyes. Cobweb knew then why Snake avoided intimacy with any har. His ouana-lim had been damaged; it was burned and shrivelled. He must have been in agony for a long time after the accident. Cobweb applied salve to Snake's thigh, working it into the skin, while channelling healing energy. He knew it would take far more than this to do much good. Perhaps Snake intuited that thought.
“You should leave me behind,” he said in a cracked voice. “I've served my purpose.”
“I won't leave you behind,” Cobweb said. “Whatever you say will not change that.”
“I can't be what I want to be,” Snake said, “not to you... not to anyhar.”
Cobweb knew he must be careful. He doubted Snake had ever spoken this way to anyhar before. “You are everything to us,” he said. “Your sight is the greatest gift.”
“I should be dead.” He gestured angrily with his good arm. “This is not a harish body. It is like a failed inception. It is cruel. Life is agony, yet I also love it.”
“Count your blessings. You could be Ithiel.”
Snake laughed softly. “That is one thing I could never be.”
Cobweb wondered if he interpreted correctly the message in those words. “You could be, if you mean what I think you mean.” He let his hands lie still just above Snake's knee.
Snake lowered his hand from his eyes, perhaps searching for mockery in Cobweb's gaze. “I can't endure pity, nor revulsion, and even in a har who loves me, neither would be far away.”
Cobweb began to move his hands again, gently. “That is probably true,” he said. “I understand.”
Snake uttered a choked laugh. He hadn't expected that kind of honesty.
“The scarring is ugly,” Cobweb said. “I can understand why you don't want anyhar to see it. I wouldn't either.” Yet still he continued to massage the flesh, pouring into it more than simple healing power.
“It doesn't feel ugly at the moment,” Snake said. “The salve burns cold. It feels good.”
“Then you should have let me get my hands on you before, shouldn't you?”
“I wasn't sure I could stand it.”
“Well, now you know you can.” Cobweb slid the fingers of one hand briefly between Snake's legs. Snake tensed again, holding his breath.
Cobweb stood up and went to the small washstand to clean his hands. He wasn't sure what he was doing or why. It was like being drunk.
“Have you given up?” Snake asked. “You haven't done the lower leg.”
Cobweb dried his hands, looking at Snake's reflection in the mirror before him. “No, I haven't given up, but as you said, the salve burns.”
“But it was good...”
“Hush,” Cobweb said. He lay down beside Snake and stroked his face.
Snake laughed uncertainly. “Is this what I think it is?”
“I don't know. What do you think it is?” He put his lips against Snake's own.
Cobweb realised Snake had always known the attraction had been mutual, which was why he'd avoided contact. He was ashamed of his body, embarrassed about having to explain things. Such feelings were no longer pertinent.
I do not pity you, Cobweb said in mind touch, deep in the sharing of breath. Nor do you revolt me. I simply want you. Open yourself to me.
For a moment, Snake's body tensed again. He couldn't believe this was happening because of simple desire. Is this because of Ithiel? he asked. Do you need aruna, Cobweb? Is this your wake for him?
No... Yes... I don't know. Cobweb slid his hand down Snake's belly, gently squeezed the ouana-lim, then moved his fingers further down, more invasively.
Snake pulled away f
rom his mouth, uttering a gasp.
“Are you hurt here also?” Cobweb murmured.
Snake shook his head. “No, it's just been so long. Don't stop.”
“Let me undress.”
“I don't care.”
Cobweb laughed. “Please! Let me go.”
Galhea was burning and Ithiel was dead. The future held no certainty, but it seemed to Cobweb as if a small pocket of tranquillity existed in that room. For a while, nothing else existed. He didn't care how little time they might have; he intended to take this slow, give Snake as much pleasure as he could. The whole town could come banging on the door and he would pay no heed. He sensed what they were doing was important, beyond mere surface bliss. This was healing on a deeper level, perhaps essential for the journey ahead. Aruna became trance, the rhythm of tides, or the moon across the sky. It held within it the essence of eternity and the stair of angels to the stars. Cobweb realised they had ventured beyond the boundaries of normal aruna. There was only one possible conclusion, which would not be right. Snake's body couldn't possibly stand it.
“We must stop,” he said softly. “You know that.”
“No,” Snake said. “Don't. It's not what you think. I can tell.” With these words he opened the cauldron of creation within him and Cobweb was powerless to end it then. But what happened was not the conception of a pearl. Something was conceived, and at a very deep level, it was painful. Snake's body went rigid. He could not draw breath. Cobweb was afraid Snake was dying, but he could not move. They were paralysed together, while something beyond their control took place. Cobweb felt as if his ouana-lim was being torn out by the roots. It was agonizing. Then it was as if he was spat out of Snake's body. He leapt up from the bed immediately, expecting blood, more ruin, but there was none. After a moment, he had to go into the bathroom and vomit. He'd never felt so strange.
When he re-emerged, Snake was sitting up on the bed. “What just happened... it isn't just for making harlings,” he said. Slowly, he raised his damaged arm, held it steady. “Look.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
They had come from Jaddayoth, sailing in boats driven by spirit winds, swift as the winds themselves. They had come from forest-covered Thaine, from the hot baked land of Huldah, from the ancient green island of Alba Sulh. Representatives from all of Wraeththudom converged on Immanion, with one purpose in mind: destroy the threat from across the ocean. Many tribes had resisted Thiede's aim to unite them all under the banner of Pellaz-har-Aralis, but as few hara had been unaffected by the trouble in the otherlanes, most were now prepared to overlook their doubts and misgivings. They realised they were ill equipped to deal with whatever faced them, and hoped that, in Pellaz, Thiede had created a leader who could help them.
Pellaz took time to meet each representative personally, even if this meant interviewing groups of them at a time. Already teams of the strongest Listeners were at work on repairing the otherlanes. It might only days before a sizeable force could travel through them to Megalithica. But then perhaps the threat was closer to home than that.
A week after Moon had gone to Galhea, Pell's assistant, Attica, came to the Tigron's office to deliver messages that had been received by Eyra's Listeners. Usually this job was dealt with by Vaysh, but the Tigron's aide was out of the city, in an advance meeting party for the representatives from Maudrah.
“The tribe of Freyhella has requested an urgent audience with you,” Attica said. The ethers were still unreliable. Sometimes, they were impenetrable for days.
Pellaz looked up from his work, unable to keep the surprise from his face. “Freyhella? Didn't they decline our invitation to the conclave?”
Attica smiled rather grimly. He was an unusual-looking har with piebald skin. “They did. There's been a development. A Freyhellan fleet is on its way to Immanion. It's estimated they'll arrive some time today.”
“Their leader: Tyr, wasn't it?”
“Was,” Attica amended. “The reason Freyhella are now prepared to be cordial is because they have suffered a loss. The details are indistinct. Their new leader will speak only to the Hegemony in person.”
“I see.” Pellaz frowned. For a moment, he felt extremely unsafe, a feeling he banished firmly. “Is there any other news this morning, Attica?” He could see, from the tight expression on Attica's face, that there was. “Well, spit it out. What else?”
“It is of a personal nature,” Attica said. “The Listeners have received communication from Galhea.”
A wave of cold washed through Pell's flesh. “What?” he snapped.
“Tiahaar Cobweb has evacuated the town,” Attica said. “It was attacked.”
Pellaz stood up, scattering papers as he did so. “Moon? Snake?”
“They are well,” Attica said. “Tiahaar Snake has been unable to communicate with you, for some reason, which is why the message came through Eyra's office.”
“Evacuated the town... Where are they going?”
“A safe place. Information was withheld, for obvious reasons, but there was one other piece of news.” Attica drew a breath. “Tigron Calanthe turned up in Galhea.”
Pellaz felt as if the ability to speak was taken from him. He stared at Attica for some moments.
“That was all that was said,” Attica said awkwardly. “I expect Tiahaar Cobweb wishes you to know that the Tigron is safe and well.”
There were further moments of uncomfortable silence, then Pellaz said in a soft voice, “What time is the Freyhellan fleet due? Will you inform me when it is sighted?”
Attica nodded. “Certainly.” He paused. “Would you like the Listeners to try and return a message to the Parsics?”
“Not at this stage,” Pellaz said, turning his attention to gathering up the scattered papers on his desk. “I will commune with my brother when he is able.” He glanced up and attempted a smile. “I expect Eyra has already attempted to relay this information to Imbrilim. Tell him he must report to me immediately if more news is received.”
“I'll go and tell him at once,” Attica said.
The moment his assistant had left the office, Pellaz went to a quiet room he reserved for meditation and communication and composed himself to contact Snake. His message was a scream upon the ethers, but it was like trying to peer through fog. His wordless cry broke up and dispersed into the murk. He tried also to establish contact with Cobweb, and for the briefest moment was sure he felt the familiar touch of Cobweb's essence, but nothing more than that. He couldn't bring himself to try and contact Cal.
Cal is in Galhea. Why not here?
In his gut he knew the answer to that was because Cal did not want to be there. And that single thought brought back in shining clarity the moment Pellaz first set eyes on Cal. It brought back memories of Saltrock and first love, like a fist slamming into his mind. He could taste Cal's body. He could smell it.
The news spread throughout Immanion like flames, but only Caeru was brave enough to visit Pellaz. He said nothing about Cal, for which Pellaz was grateful, but radiated a cautious aura of support. “I hear the Freyhellans are coming,” he said. “I visited Freygard once, a long time ago. My band played there, in fact.” He sighed. “Another life! I thought the Freyhellans were beautiful creatures: hair the colour of flax and sea-tanned skin. And very magical. A time in Freygard would inspire the least magically inclined har to take up their training again. You should go to watch the fleet arrive. It will be impressive, I'm sure.”
“I thought I'd do that,” Pellaz said. “They are an independent breed. I'm fascinated, to be honest.”
Caeru laughed. “Not surprised, so am I. They're so independent as to decline the support of Immanion, despite their relatively small numbers? I wonder what happened to make them change their minds.”
“Would you like to accompany me?” Pellaz asked.
“I'd like to, but I'm busy this afternoon. Still working on Velaxis. We are meeting with the Thaine delegation later today.”
“Any developments with Shiraz?�
�
“Not really. I have to be subtle.” Caeru paused. “Perhaps you could arrange a dinner with the Freyhellans, here in Phaonica. We could inspect them at leisure, then.”
“I'll see. It might be best to keep them at arm's length for a time. We don't want this minor upstart tribe to start making demands. They must know their place.”
“I'm sure they do,” Caeru said. “In their own world.”
Pellaz raised an eyebrow. “You think I'm wrong?”
Caeru reached out to touch Pellaz's face. “I think the Tigron disapproves of not being given the respect he thinks he deserves.”
The Shades of Time and Memory Page 35