He shrugged. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. But I'm not self-indulgent, if that's what you mean. Anyway, as I said before, I don't think I'd really lost my memory. Cobweb just made me face things and it was for the best. I'm glad that he did now."
I had to smile at that. "Cobweb will be furious. None of that was supposed to help you, you know."
"But it did." He looked over his shoulder into the mirror and examined his back.
"You're incredible."
"Years of effort have gone into that effect," he said and winked at me.
He went back into the bathroom to dress and I sat at his desk. Soon I laughed out loud. Perhaps we were still at the lake; perhaps this was just an illusion and we were still melded mouth to mouth, living dreams. (If I think hard enough, can I make it true?) Cal walked up behind me, but he didn't touch me. I had the absurd feeling that he never would again, but at that moment, I felt too intoxicated to care.
"What are you laughing at?" he asked.
I shrugged helplessly; I couldn't explain.
"Pellaz is dead," he said.
I turned in the seat and looked at him. "Dead?" Cal saw what I was thinking and shook his head quickly, frowning.
"No, no, I didn't kill him. That's not the death the incomparable Cobweb saw around me. Let's sit down together, Swift. I want to talk to you.
"You are virgin in every conceivable way," he said. "Untouched, unmarked. Incredible really, when you think that you're a Varr and Terzian's son at that, but then, he's always looked after his own. Pell and I noticed that when we were here before. The Varrs are cattle and Terzian is the big, black bull!" Cal told me something of how he had met Pellaz, who had been unhar at the time, totally human. "He seemed about the
same age as you then, but of course probably eight or nine years older." I learned about the Nahir-Nuri whose blood had made Pellaz har, whose name was Thiede. My skin prickled. I remembered my father speaking of him. Cal's eyes seemed to go black when he talked of Thiede. "It was he who murdered Pell!"
"You saw?!"
Cal shook his head. "You don't understand. I saw Pell die, and the person who did it, but it wasn't Thiede who fired the bullet. He's too clever for that, but I do know."
"Why would he want to kill Pell?" I asked.
Cal laughed bitterly. "Why? Oh, who can understand Thiede's reasons for doing things? One day I shall know the reason. Unfortunately (and here it comes, Swift), I killed the one person who could have told me. That's the blood your charming hostling sees dripping from my hands all over the dinner table."
I looked at his hands, but I could not see death in them. They were the hands of love, if anything.
"Beautiful, aren't they?" he said, lifting them up. I knew that; I had felt them upon me.
"Were you in love with Pell?" I asked. Perhaps that was impertinent, but I had to know. Cal did not hesitate.
"When someone says they are madly in love, there is no more fitting description for it. Madness, yes. It is worse than dying to lose it. It's like having your brains unraveled and squashed back into your head the wrong way. I loved him, I still do, very much." He thumped the bed with the flat of his hand and smiled and sighed. "Of course, out there, in the wonderful real world, love is an outlawed concept. Pell had a teacher once upon a time. His name was Orien, he was my friend; I killed him. It took me a long time to get Pell to unlearn all the pious things Orien taught him about love."
"I don't understand," I said.
"No, of course you don't. Let me illustrate it. Your hostling is in love with Terzian and then I come along and Cobweb is so scared of losing Terzian that he wants to kill me, or at least drive me insane. Now Wraeththu don't like that kind of thing; it's messy. The real Wraeththu that is. We're supposed to exist sublimely together, scorning the passions of jealousy, seeking aruna as a spiritual exercise and beaming with tranquility over everyone. It's a horrendous idea! So dull."
"Are all Wraeththu like that except for us?"
"Mostly, I suppose they're scared of becoming too much like men, yet you are pure-born and born with the ability to love. That proves they're wrong, doesn't it? OK, so my heart isn't exactly overflowing with positive feelings, but I do know what I'm talking about."
"I don't think I do," I confessed.
He laughed at me. "It is gibberish, isn't it? How can I illustrate it?" He twisted his mouth in thought. "Ah yes. You'll have to pretend. Imagine we are Gelaming and this is Immanion, not Gahlea. Immanion is the first city of Almagabra; the Gelaming capital, if you like. For a start, Cobweb would have welcomed me with open arms, delighted to have someone to smother with concern, and by now, he would be very worried that I'm not taking aruna with Terzian yet. He would want me to. In fact, I'd probably be sleeping with both of them by now. That's the difference."
"And that's bad?!"
"You don't understand," he said. "I'm not saying it is; I'm just explaining the difference. The thing I hate about the Gelaming and their kind is their hypocrisy. They can't be perfect; it's not possible. All that fawning niceness turns my stomach."
"Does that mean you prefer evil?" I asked in a small voice.
"What?! Oh!" He sighed and closed his eyes. "What the fuck am I talking about? It's so complicated. Today, I remembered. My beloved and one of my best friends are dead. One murder I had to watch helplessly, the other was by my own hand. Do you know what I did? We argued, I hit him, he went away. Does a sane har cool down after an argument and go after the other person and apologize, seeking comfort, take aruna with them and then murder them in cold blood? Does a sane person do that? God knows! I don't. They are good people, they are knowledge-seekers and I'm just a dangerous crazy!"
"What did you argue about?" I asked.
He was looking around the room. He was remembering.
"Cal?"
"I think," he said slowly, "I think that Orien watched Pell drift into some kind of trap because he thought that as Thiede was Nahir-Nuri, everything he did must be right. If Pell was to die, then that was right as well. I think Orien could have warned us, a long time before Pell was in danger."
For that, Cal had sentenced him to death.
It was starting to get dark. We stretched out on the bed and were silent for a while. There was one more question to be asked. I waited until the room was at peace.
"Tell me about my father, Cal."
He did not open his eyes. "I can't, Swift." The tone of his voice chilled me.
"Why not?"
He shook his head. "I just can't. Decisions have been made. My decision is to stay here . . ."
"A lot of hara hate him, don't they, even here, like Swithe." I hoped to prompt him, but he would not respond.
"The Varrs are hated everywhere. Let me tell you about Varrs."
"Is there a difference?"
"In this case, yes."
I already knew it was us versus them; the timeless formula. Cal told me that the Gelaming are the peacemakers, who want only to restore harmony to the world (did the world ever have it, I wonder), while my own tribe, the Varrs, just want to own it. Varrs kill everything, and what makes it worse is that they enjoy doing it. Apparently, it wouldn't be such a bad thing if they killed with distaste. Cal hadn't been there, but he'd heard that northernmost Megalithica (the stronghold of Ponclast) had been reduced to a scorched wasteland, punctuated only by ruined cities and stark fortresses. Obviously, the Gelaming were concerned that once the Varrs had exhausted Megalithica, they would turn their attention upon the east, the countries across the ocean, Almagabra in particular. More than assuaging the oppressed minorities of our country, I suspected that the Gelaming were, in fact, worried by eventual invasion of their own territories. It explained a lot.
Cal was scatching about my tutor. "Swithe is an intellectual. He takes your father's money while privately deploring his obsessions. I despise him."
"Yet you talk to him, often."
"Yes," he admitted, "but it doesn't stop me thinking he should leave here and go to the Gelami
ng. He's living a lie if he doesn't."
"What about you, Cal?" I asked. "What are your beliefs?"
"I don't care," he answered. "I just hope I'm with the winning side when it's all over!"
I lay down again on the bed, in the creeping twilight, and let the silence form around us and thought, Out there . . . ? No more than that. Why couldn't I understand? Why couldn't it become real in my mind? I had no fear, yet I knew that the Gelaming were here already, only to the south of us, and they had come to take our lands away from us. So near, and they had magic. . . . The name of peace. Would it be soon? No, I couldn't imagine it. Tomorrow would dawn fragrant with the smells of yesterday, until tomorrow becomes yesterday and so on. Nothing changes in Forever, nothing. Something had happened to me. It seemed that Cobweb's storm magic had opened up my mind as much as Cal's, but in a different way. I stared into the darkness, I felt powerful, my body brimmed with a nameless joy that was sharpened by sadness. That night I had the first dream.
Before dinner, I went to see Cobweb. I left Cal asleep on the bed and walked slowly to my hostling's room. My mind was still buzzing. It was as if I was afraid of something I'd forgotten about, that could come back to me at any moment. Cobweb opened the door to me; we looked at each other. He reached out and touched me lightly on the face, the arm, the chest. I knew what he was thinking.
"I thought I'd lost you," he said. I shook my head and went past him into the room. He observed me carefully, alert for changes.
"Swift, don't be taken in." So, he was prepared to be magnanimous, perhaps recriminations would come later.
"Then tell me the truth!"
"About what?"
"I don't know!" He watched me sit down miserably on the end of his bed. Did he know about my father, the secrets? He must do. What were they?
"You shouldn't have seen that this afternoon," he said, incapable of controlling the cold that crept into his voice.
"I had to."
"Cal is stronger than I thought," he conceded reluctantly.
"Perhaps he is just different to how you thought."
"I'm not beaten yet," my hostling said.
The first dream:
I am drowning. There is water in my mouth, but I am calm. There is no pain. Through the water, I can see something shining, far away. Two lights. That is all. I woke up laughing.
CHAPTER FIVE
Shrinking out of touch
Belief in magic,
Of a power over zenith
Asphyxiation of the lesser legerdamain.
Two days later, Terzian returned from the north, with a face and a mood like thunder. His only welcome to me, as I lurked conspicuously in the hall, was a kind of surly growl. He stalked into the house, trailing bewildered hara in dusty uniforms, and bellowed for Cobweb, going directly to his room and slamming the door. Some moments after, my hostling ran through the hall and up the stairs, two at a time. We saw neither of them until the next morning.
It was from Ithiel that Gahrazel and I learned the reason for my father's ill humor. The talks with Ponclast had not gone well. Apparently, Ponclast had attacked the other Vanish leaders for their lack of foresight. He had ridiculed them for abandoning the powers inherent in our race. For some time, he had been grooming his own occult abilities and now was the time to fight fire with fire. The fire of the Gelaming was magic, the power of the mind, will pitted against will. Then he began to speak of a tribe that dwelled in the southern desert, the Kakkahaar. The tales of their art and cunning were widespread, and it was professed they had no love of Gelaming. Ponclast spoke carefully, each word chosen to instil fear into the hearts of his generals. As the Varrs stood now, the Gelaming would defeat them effortlessly, for the Varr's powers had been neglected, but with the Kakkahaar as Varrish allies, the invader would not find such an easy defeat. "I propose," Ponclast boomed, "that without delay, representatives are sent south to contact the Kakkahaar, with a view to combining our strength!" He delivered this final statement with gusto and sat down.
For some moments, the other Varrs had not moved to speak, only whispering among themselves. It had been Terzian who had eventually stood up and I could imagine vividly all eyes turning toward him. It was no secret how highly Ponclast valued Terzian and most hara would have expected Terzian's opinion to sway the vote. It must have been a hushed moment as he arranged his notes to speak. How would the Varrs' brightest star react to Ponclast's suggestion? From the moment he opened his mouth, Terzian lost no time in vehemently protesting against Ponclast's idea. Eloquent as ever, he said that he understood that different methods of warfare would have to be employed against the Gelaming, even to the extent of reassessing the worth of the effect of magic (the sarcasm would not have been missed there!), but he could only stress that in his opinion any alliance with such as the Kakkahaar would simply prove disastrous. The Kakkahaar had always been regarded with the highest suspicion by my father and his supporters. He reminded Ponclast that this was not the first time that an alliance with them had been suggested. As before, he could only urge that this proposition be abandoned. The Kakkahaar could not be trusted and it was not inconceivable that they might already have some arrangement with Thiede. "Both tribes are sorcerous," Terzian said. "How simple it would be for us to trust the Kakkahaar, have them privy to our plans, only to find ourselves in the midst of battle with our powers deserting us, with the Gelaming embracing the Kakkahaar triumphantly! I cannot support such a foolish intention!"
Ponclast must have been expecting Terzian's opposition. He had let the clamor die down before rising from his seat. My father had sat down again, staring at the table. Ponclast began by arguing reasonably that the Kakkahaar would never be allies of the Gelaming for the simple reason that Kakkahaar stood for everything that the Gelaming deplored. True, they were both masters of the occult, but their approach to it was entirely different. The Kakkahaar were not a large tribe. Ponclast thought that they would welcome an alliance with the Varrs. "Standing alone, both tribes are too weak to resist Thiede's advances, but together we can combine the physical might of the Varrs with the occult strength of the Kakkahaar. To an intelligent person it is obvious; this is our only chance!"
Ponclast had sat down again amid a burst of cheering. He had given the Varrs hope. Terzian could offer nothing better. No doubt my father's face had been black with fury. He would probably have stormed out of the hall. It was not often that his peers questioned his judgment. Ponclast had insulted his intelligence. Ponclast had won. Emissaries from the Varrs would ride south to contact the Kakkahaar. This in itself would be a hazardous venture. No-one was exactly sure how widespread the Gelaming were in the south. Many of the Varrish agents who had been sent to investigate had not yet returned. It was likely that the Gelaming had intercepted them.
Ithiel said that after the meeting, Ponclast had spent many hours arguing with Terzian alone. He must have been very persuasive. When the time came for my father to ride back to Galhea he had reluctantly conceded his support to Ponclast's action. Their farewells had been frosty, however.
"The Kakkahaar are dark creatures," Ithiel said ominously. "I, for one, would never trust them. They care for no-one's welfare but their own."
"A concept alien to the Varrs, no doubt," Gahrazel said acidly.
"For all we know, they might already be strong enough to protect
themselves from attack," Ithiel continued, oblivious of Gahrazel's remark. "Why should they want to assist us?"
It was shortly after this that Terzian informed Gahrazel that the time had come for Gahrazel's instruction in caste progression. Perhaps this was Knottier thing that he and Ponclast had discussed. Among other tribes, notably those farther south, this would involve rigorous and protracted spiritual training, but for a Varr it meant becoming acquainted with the regalia of warfare, the gun, the blade and the stomach required to perform the act of killing. I knew Gahrazel was far from happy about this and I sympathized deeply. To progress to the next level of his caste, he would not only ha
ve to learn how to fight, but how to survive in the wild, and, perhaps worst of all, how to endure pain. Further progressions would involve concentration of these activities and to reach a higher caste, that of Ulani, Gahrazel would have to kill. Now, for three days a week, Gahrazel was taken to the training yards of the warriors in Galhea and I continued my lessons alone. Swithe made one or two tight-lipped comments disparaging to the Varrs, while Moswell intoned that soon Gahrazel would be truly adult and that being able to take a turn at aruna was nothing to do with it.
Missing Gahrazel's company on those days when he was away, I took to spending more time with Bryony in the kitchen. I feared Terzian's disapproval of this, but he had much more pressing matters on his mind at that time. The humans had been warmly accepted by the other household staff, mainly, I suppose, because of their youth, together with the fact that they were willing workers. They were survivors, and somewhat manipulative in their charms, I think. It continually surprised me how alike our two races were (sometimes I forgot that Bryony wasn't har); our thought processes seemed entirely similar. Before, I had been taught to think very differently. As far as I could see, the main contrast between us was entirely biological, the division of male and female in the human. Bryony explained to me that it was more than that. "Wraeththu don't grow old like we do," she said and then explained it in more detail. I found this hard to believe. Looking at her tanned, healthy face, I found it impossible to imagine her shrivelling up until she died. "You are much stronger than we are," she said. "Not just physically, but in your resistance to disease and the control you have over your emotions. Less fear, more confidence. Mankind was always plagued by self-doubt."
The Wraeththu Chronicles Page 43