The Wraeththu Chronicles

by Storm Constantine

  By mid-day, the gently swelling hills had sharpened to younger, spikier ridges and valleys. Water ran swiftly, coming down from the mountains, where the thaw was not yet complete. Rocks had enclosed us; the land of Ferike seemed far behind. We had dismounted, leading our horses to give them a break.

  Predatory birds whirled lazily on the air over our heads, screaming fiercely.

  "Don't you feel it?" Panthera asked softly. He had stopped walking, tilting his head to the side as if listening.

  "Feel what?" I doubted that we could feel quite the same things.

  "Power," he answered.

  I looked at his face, his clear, luminous skin, the dreamy yet concentrating expression in his eyes. "Yes," I said, "there is certainly power here."

  Panthera glanced at me archly, alerted by my tone of voice and caught me staring at him. His neck bloomed with color. "I don't think you understand," he said drily. "Or you do and are merely being facetious, as usual!"

  "Sorry. What kind of power?"

  "Elhmen. They must be watching us now. I can sense it."

  "Friends or foes?"

  "It is never possible to tell with Elhmen!"

  We carried on walking and came into a deep canyon. Moss grew like alien flowers from the stones above our heads.

  "Where are the Elhmen hiding then?" I asked in a loud whisper. Panthera shot me another derisive glance.

  "Elhmen do not always tolerate strangers," he said, "not even from as near to home as Ferike. We are not known to them; we shall need their consent to pass through to Eulalee. It is unfortunate we have to pass through these territories; once we reach the city of Shappa it should be easier. My father is known there."

  "Panthera?"

  "What?"

  "Tell me what you think I'll find in Eulalee."

  He shook his head. "No-one can tell you that. You'll speak to the Lyris, leader of the Sahale, as my father suggested, but after that, who knows? I'm not even going to try to guess."

  "It would help if we knew, wouldn't it."

  "Naturally, that's probably why we don't."

  Naturally.

  By late afternoon, we had come to be riding alongside a cataracting stream between high, rugged walls of rock that sprouted acid green clumps of grass and was stained with dark red and gold lichens. Panthera was still edgy, alert for signs of Elhmen proximity, although I could sense nothing. Because we were out in the open, I hadn't been feeling safe since we'd left Jael. We made camp as the sun went down, planning to set off once more at dawn, and hobbled the horses. I made a small fire and Panthera went to fill our metal cups from the clear, cold water. "This is like old times," he said.

  "Very much," I replied and I was thinking back, way back. Panthera sensed this and I could almost feel his inner wince at what he thought was his tactless remark. He rarely spoke of Pell (neither did I), but I could always tell when he was thinking about him. I suppose the same was true in reverse. Perhaps that's why we never spoke about it. I had no doubt that, for my sake, Panthera hated Pell bitterly. I ought to have told him not to, but I remained silent. Perhaps I was afraid of what might come out of such a conversation.

  Once we had wrapped ourselves up in separate blankets, I heard Panthera say, "Are you afraid of the dark, Cal?" I could not think of a witty reply. I shivered.

  "Sometimes I'm afraid of everything," I said.

  He reached for me in the darkness and squeezed my shoulder. I could feel his claws graze my skin. When I touched his hand, he withdrew it quickly, as if scalded.

  In the dead of night, I woke up, opened my eyes. Silence. Too quiet. I raised my head, conscious of the humped form of the sleeping Panthera. Our horses stamped and snorted somewhere in the darkness behind us. And then there was a ghost before me. This ghost wore a shimmering veil made entirely from silver-white hair that covered its frail,

  luminous body. Its eyes were slanting, dark in the marmoreal pallor of its face. Its mouth was smiling. I tried to rise, spring up, reach for a weapon, but I could not move. I tried to call Panthera's name but could force no sound from my throat. The ghost raised its arms. "Travelers," it said and lowered its arms again, gracefully. My body shuddered, and then, with a jerk, lifted itself off the ground. The ghost drew me toward it with the power of its eyes, and such power! Nahir-Nuri, must be...! I could not turn my head, but became aware of Panthera suspended beside me. We bumped together; logs on a stream. His flesh felt rigid. In front of us, the white figure turned and began to climb up the rock face on the other side of the stream. As if on invisible tethers, Panthera and I floated eerily behind him. In pleasanter circumstances, I expect it would have been a wonderful feeling, like flying. Then it was merely imprisonment; frightening. Gathering my senses, I put out a mental call to Panthera. At least my mind was unaffected by whatever occult paralysis gripped our bodies.

  "What is this?" I asked, and Panther answered, "Elhmen."

  "Does he mean to harm us?"

  "Who can tell?"

  Ahead of us, the enchanter did not even look back, although he had probably overheard our thoughts. He was confident enough in his magic to know we would follow him helplessly. We drifted through a tangled forest that sloped downwards into a pine-ringed glade. The Elhmen flickered through the trees, pausing only when we came to the mouth of a cave, set in a huge, mossy wall of sandstone. We followed him inside, down a winding, natural passage, lit by torches, and at length into a rosy-lit chamber, where we could see several other Elhmen seated on the floor around a strange fire that did not smoke and whose light was blue-white. With a shiver of the Elhmen's hand, our enchantment was broken, and Panthera and myself tumbled to the floor in an ungainly sprawl.

  "These people are powerful," I said to Panthera, rubbing my bruised arms.

  He ignored this rhetorical remark. Psychokinesis itself is only a low-caste talent, but it is most unusual to find any har with an ability to sustain it, especially so over living beings.

  "AH Elhmen are the same," Panthera said. Five heads turned to look at us, all smiling gently, probably at Panthera's remark.

  "Not powerful, Ferike," the one who had found us said quietly, "but simply dedicated. Hara such as yourselves spend too much time examining the mundane. Here in Elhmen, we devote ourselves to cultivating our innate talents." His smile broadened. "We do not like to have our soil disturbed, our waters contaminated, by alien disruptive auras . . ." "Such as our own, I suppose," I said. The Elhmen spread his hands. "As you like," he said. "We are traveling to Eulalee," Panthera said. "We have business there. We cannot help passing through your territory, but if you wish us to pay a toll, we shall do so gladly."

  "A toll!" All the Elhmen laughed gleefully. "Money has little value in Elhmen. You'll find yourselves handicapped if you wish to buy your way into Eulalee."

  I had the distinct impression that we were being played with. Our chances of getting into Eulalee at that point seemed depressingly slim.

  "I am Arawn," our captor told us, "and these are my brothers. Enjoy, if you will, the hospitality of Elhmen!" They all laughed sweetly and in a flash, Panthera and I found ourselves smack against the carved, ragged ceiling of the chamber, along with rather gamey legs of meat and strings of vegetables.

  "They have devoted themselves to their talents, yes," Panthera said, in a strangled voice beside me, struggling, "but it is rumored that some of them have strayed far from the Path. Some Elhmen, if the mood takes them, have been known to be cannibal."

  "Why didn't you tell me!" I cried. "You are a fool, Thea! We should have made proper preparations for contacting them."

  "Waste of time," Panthera replied. "There is no proper way to meet the Elhmen. This is probably the only way." "Then how . . .?"

  "Shut up," Panthera said mildly. "I know what I'm doing." "Like mentioning money, I suppose."

  Panthera gave me a hard look. "Sometimes they will take it. It all depends on their mood. Now, be quiet; I need to concentrate."

  The Elhmen appeared to have forgotten abo
ut us. They were whispering to each other across the flameless fire. Like Arawn, they were all clothed only in their hair, which came to their ankles. Exquisite creatures, attenuated and elfin. Beside me, arms outstretched along the uneven roof, Panthera began to hum. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed in concentration. At first, he hummed one long, monotonous note, which gradually began to rise and fall in pitch. Now the sound was steady, and quite powerful. I would have liked to have put my hands over my ears. Shortly, one of Arawn's brothers looked up at us, touching those on either side of him quickly, lightly, on the arm. They watched us as if listening deeply. Whatever Panthera was communicating to them, I could not penetrate. My senses were too rusty from lack of use, the thought too deep. But Panthera obviously implied the correct message, for in a second we were plummeting floorwards again, landing awkwardly, missing the fire by inches.

  "So then," Arawn said cheerfully, "you are offering us something without the implication of insult?""You must forgive my earlier solecism," Panthera replied gravely. He delivered this obsequious remark with admirable dignity. "We need to get to Eulalee. We have to pass through your territories and, for this privilege, feel honor bound to offer something in return. I will present you with a tale. It is a story of magic, whose beginning was in the childhood of our race. This story has no end ... as yet."

  "Please, be seated," Arawn said generously, gesturing to a space by his side next to the fire. He raised his hand carelessly and a flagon of ale and two metal cups disappeared from a shelf in the corner of the room to materialize at our feet. We sat down and Panthera poured us each a cup of ale before settling to begin his tale. Different Wraeththu tribes never cease to amaze me. Imagine paying the Varrs, the Uigenna, or even the Gelaming for that matter, with nothing but a story.

  Panthera cleared his throat and leaned forward. "Many years ago," he said in a hushed voice, "and far, far away from this land, in a place of darkness and savagery, a city of gray ruins and blood flames, there lived a tribe feared above all others. This story begins with them, and with a young har stepping onto the Path for the very first time. He was beautiful, his hair was yellow, but his heart was gray. His name?" Panthera looked at me and smiled. "Ah, that I cannot tell you, but his eyes were the color of a stormy sky and indeed could flash with lightning sometimes ..." He paused, glanced once more at me, then closed his eyes to continue. "One day, I met this har upon the bank of a stream and he told me this ..."

  Heard from someone else's lips, I must admit that my history does sound rather unbelievable. In fact, it's surprising anyone ever does believe it! Perhaps that's one of the reasons why I rarely talk about it. Of course, in a story, all the exciting bits happen together, which is far removed from real life. For every escapade with Pell, there were weeks and weeks of tedious riding around, being uncomfortable and hungry. But Panthera had a way of telling it, that made even the most trivial events sound magical and startling. The Elhmen appeared entranced by it. I wonder if they guessed that, even though all the names were changed, the story was based on fact. By

  the time he'd finished telling it, Panthera's voice was hoarse and the flagon of ale at our feet was empty. My legs were numb. I shifted uneasily to another position.

  "Well!" Arawn said, putting his hands upon his crossed knees. "The mouth of Eulalee, Kar Tatang, lies just beyond Shappa, a city northeast of here. It is only a few days' traveling, not far. But now, it is nearly dawn and you must rest. There is a pallet over there which I suggest you make use of."

  I presumed we'd won our passage through his territory. The pallet was nearly invisible in the shadows beyond the fire. The white heat had dwindled to a sullen violet. All the Elhmen, except for Arawn and one other, stood up and filed from the room. Panthera and I exchanged an amused glance. The pallet was strewn with blankets of fur. We took off our boots and lay down, Panthera wrinkling his nose in distaste as he covered himself with a blanket. Personally, I found the heavy, musky smell quite comforting. With my back to Panthera, I lay there watching Arawn and his remaining brother. They had a certain, furtive air about them. For a moment, they both turned their heads toward me, staring, then away, faces close together; the echo of whispering. Arawn stood up. "Nanine . . ." he hissed softly.

  "It is I," his brother answered, and fluidly fell back beside the fire. It looked as if he lay upon a silk-tasselled rug; but this was his hair, transparent, catching the light of the fire, turning lilac. I could see the bones of his hips protruding sharply, the concave sweep of his belly, the down, curling mane of fur that grew up from his groin. Arawn sprinkled herbs on the prostrate body, kneeling beside it, staring up at the ceiling. He spoke several arcane words and I heard my name mentioned. Ah, I thought, probably some ritual to guarantee our protection. It wasn't that exactly, however. Arawn took up a curious knife, curved and barbed, which he drew lightly over his brother's chest. Beads of blood burst from the skin, gleaming like jewels, each one perfectly formed. Arawn drew his right forefinger along the line and the jewels became smeared liquid. He looked at me, and I shut my eyes guiltily. "Calanthe, approach the fire," he said. Up on my elbows, I glanced behind at Panthera. Whether that was for reassurance or advice, I can't be sure, but he was flat out anyway (so quickly?), snoring gently in an impenetrable sleep. "Come," Arawn encouraged quietly, one arm extended from the robe of his hair to beckon me. Curiosity alone had me slipping from under the furs and creeping across the floor. "Look," Arawn said softly, and I followed the line of his pointing finger. Nanine's head was turned to the side. I could see a single tear upon his exposed cheek. "In olden times," Arawn said, "It was almost a custom for heroes to be offered gifts from the gods. A sword, perhaps, or a shield, a magic helmet. The concept of the Quest is an old one indeed, Calanthe. True heroes have always been watched over by intelligences of higher form."

  "And what has that to do with me?" I asked suspiciously, sure I would not like the answer.

  Arawn smiled. "Oh, come now, you don't need me to tell you that you follow a quest of your own. In times to come, your adventures may well be related as the exploits of a harish paladin."

  "I've never thought of myself as a hero," I said drily, feeling that Arawn had drastically misconstrued my purpose in life. It was quite embarrassing. "I don't believe there's any such thing, except in fairy-tales."

  Arawn inclined his head slightly. "What is a word, a term? Nothing. It is the deeds behind the words that are important."

  "If you say so." I was impatient with what I considered to be his esoteric twaddle. Leave that to the Gelaming and other similar creatures, whose hedonistic, leisurely lives gave them the time to waffle on in such ways, to believe in heroes. To ordinary hara, this was out of the question. I have always found it exasperating.

  Arawn shook his head. "You are bitter," he said, "which is understandable, I suppose. Have you heard the legends concerning our tribe?"I shook my head. "Not really. I'm only just beginning to learn about Jaddayoth."

  Arawn nodded thoughtfully. "Well, some people say that to take aruna with an Elhmen will raise your caste automatically by one level. . ."

  I rolled my eyes and laughed. "Really! That good is it?" In recent times, my caste, which was Pyralissit (second level Acantha), had ceased to have meaning for me, coupled with the fact that my abilities had atrophied somewhat through neglect. Arawn was not offended by my laughter.

  "You are right to scoff," he said. "Such legends are a wild exaggeration of the actual truth. Only the har himself has the ability to raise his caste; no-one else can do it for him. I'm sure you're aware of this." "Yes. So?"

  In reply, Arawn once again gestured to the recumbent form of Nanine. "Drink," he said, and began to walk away.

  "Wait!" I cried, but he did not pause. A door at the back of the room closed quietly behind him. Panthera was still fast asleep. "Wait," I said again, uselessly, slumping. Now what was I supposed to do? I thought that Nanine was unconscious, but now Arawn had gone, he turned his head and opened his eyes. The scratch down his chest
had dried already to a crust. "You must open this up again," he said, running his fingers lightly over the scar.

  "What!" Visions of blood-drinking rose uncomfortably to mind. "Are you afraid?" He reared up like a snake, took my hand and pulled me forward. "Don't be." He put the knife in my hand. "Quickly!" I could tell this was not a part of the ritual he enjoyed. What ritual?

  I kneeled beside him. "Must I?" He did not answer. Sighing, I put the hooked end of the blade against the flesh, hardly aware of what I was doing. Experience had taught me that once adepts get it into their heads to assist you, it is always better to indulge their generosity and get on with it. I wasn't sure what the Elhmen thought they were doing for me, but it was less hassle to comply.

  Nanine arched his body. "Not... so deep," he said. "Sorry." Shortly, my irreverance would start to annoy him, but of course patience in another virtue that Hara of high caste always wave liked a goddamned flag. Blood began to flow.