"The keepers of the stables at least must be confident that travelers will re-emerge from Eulalee," I said.
Kar Tatang was merely an hour's ride from Shappa. The gate itself was an awesome sight; a gigantic, gaping face carved into the rock, whose heavy-lipped mouth formed the entrance to the land below. The blind, stone eyes were turned skywards, as if each mouthful of travelers was exceedingly difficult to swallow. The village of Kar Tatang itself, clustered around the chin of the gate, comprised inns and stables and very little else. I had imagined that the doorway to this eerie, underground kingdom would be silent and lonely, but was surprised to find it a bustling, crowded place. There was much to-ing and fro-ing; that was clear. We found lodgings for our horses and paused to take a meal in one of the inns before venturing through the gate. I was beginning to feel a little nervous; anything could be waiting for me down there, but I was comforted by the thought that many other travelers would be following the same route as ourselves.
Elhmen guards, hooded and dressed in black, questioned all travelers as they passed through the gate. We were asked our business, whereupon Panthera produced our letter of introduction from Ferminfex. It was studied with insulting thoroughness before one of the guards thrust it back growling "Pass!" and waving us through. Beyond the gate, we came upon a vast cave. Stalls selling provisions (and, oh dear, talismans of protection) were set up precariously on galleries around the walls.
"From now on, it's downwards all the way," Kachina said. At first, the road was wide and gently sloping. We had time to admire the surroundings, which were impressive to say the least. In some places water ran down the walls, into clear pools where travelers could pause and drink. Great, white, gnarled stalactites depended ponderously from the roof. After an hour or so, Kachina pointed to a dark opening to our left.
"This is a short cut," he said. "Not as comfortable as the main ways, but it will save a lot of time." He looked at us hopefully. Panthera shrugged.
"Lead on," I said. "Whatever's down there, I might as well get it over with as quickly as possible."
The new path was so steep in places that it made me dizzy, as if I could pitch forward at any moment and fall and fall. We walked sideways. Sometimes, the passage would level out, and the ceiling would be lower so that we couldn't stand upright. I wondered whether the main routes became half as treacherous as this one. Presumably not, for how could the Sahale transport goods below if they did? Kachina informed us that the journey would take about a day and a half. This was a blow to me, who had estimated a figure of several hours at the most. Oppressed by the heavy weight of the mountain above us, I was already twitchy with claustrophobia, something I'd not experienced before. The air was stale, smelling oily and sour. Dim illumination was provided by strangely glowing bulbs of orangey-red light. I could not work out how they were powered, but there didn't appear to be any wires. It couldn't have been electricity. Kachina led us onwards effortlessly, knowing instinctively which branch of the road to take when it forked. I was curious as to where the other passages led. Kachina told us about other Sahale settlements; temples and havens of retreat. There were no signs to mark the way.
Inconvenience struck. Half-way along a twisting, narrow passage, the lights went out. Kachina swore mildly.
"What now?" Panthera asked nervously. "Can we continue?" He had reached for me in the dark; now we clung to each other's arms. I'm quite sure that, if it hadn't been for Kachina's calm, we would have panicked like animals.
"Yes, we can continue," Kachina answered. "We won't be in utter darkness. I have this." It was a kind of emergency light-cell, similar in many respects to Nanine's glowing staff, powered by psychokinesis alone. It only gave off a dull glow, but this was enough to stave off hysteria.
When we were tired, we lay down in resting places cut into the rock. Our water tasted sour and neither Panthera or myself felt like eating anything. Panthera confided that he too did not enjoy being so far underground.
"I don't like feeling trapped," he said. "We'd be helpless if anything should attack us, or if the roof fell in. I hate not being able to get myself out. Let's face it, we'd wander about until we starved to death or went mad if we got lost down here. My sense of direction has gone completely."
So had mine. Even Kachina's spirits had dampened since the lights went out. As we lay in the darkness, resting our protesting muscles, I thought, "Why am I doing this? Someone is going to pay, I swear it!" Then I slept . . .
. . . And dreamed. I am in Phaonica, the palace of the Tigron in Immanion. The rooms are all of dark, Etruscan colors; red and brown and gold. Bizarrely patterned curtains fold to the floor, pooling on the lustrous tiles. Amongst the drapes, I see the glint of metal, the luster of jet. The floor is black and red, black and red. I walk across it. Here is the doorway to the Tigron's bedchamber. It is empty and I pass right through, past the canopied bed, whose hangings are waving in a gentle breeze from the open window. The room is dark. Beyond this room, I can see light, hear the sound of water. I follow it. This is a white and green place. The bath is really a pool set into the floor, approached by marble steps, the water gently spuming. Lilies ride the wavelets, cut petals and scattered ferns. There is a sharp, herby scent in the air. Oh, there he is: Pellaz, rising from the water like a young god; a goddess. His body looks harder than I remember it, but of course, he is much older now and this is a different body. He has bound up his hair for the bath, and now he is pulling out the pins. Hair tumbles down to stick to his wet flesh. He shakes his head. He is still beautiful. He is still dreaming. There is a small, private smile on his face. He senses movement and calls to the other room, "Who's there?" Does he sense me? No.
"Only I, your humble servant!" a voice replies, and then a tall, scruffy-looking har is leaning on the door-frame between the rooms. His hair is gray from road-dust. He has a dried wound above his left eye and his face is still stained by old blood. This is a warrior; I have encountered many of his kind. His clothes are gray. He looks
weary. Pellaz calls him Ashmael and, of course, I have heard of him. Who hasn't? Another of Immanion's immortal stars. Pellaz has wrapped himself in a towel. These two are close friends, lean tell, but not that close.
"You look a little unkempt," Pellaz mocks him.
Ashmael shrugs. "I just got back."
"Ah, you've completed the task of single-handedly subduing Megalithica then, have you?"
Ashamel raises an eyebrow. He says nothing. Pellaz flicks a towel fringe over his shoulder, pulls his hair from under it. He gestures at the water. "Take a bath, Ash; be my guest." He begins to call for servants, but Ashmael takes the Tigron's wrist, shakes his head.
"No, just let me soak alone, " he says, and Pellaz pulls away fastidiously, somewhat affronted. I watch him wander through to his bedroom, but I do not follow. Maybe I can't. I watch Ashmael pull off his clothes instead. There is a dark, sulky bruise all along one side of him. His shoulder has been stitched together. I sympathize with his deadened weariness. He stretches and winces, testing the water with a grimed, tentative toe. He shudders, glancing around him, as if sensing unseen eyes. Mine? I don't suppose he has ever been watched before. He is one of the privileged. It is he, and his kind, who usually do the watching, the spying. He eases himself carefully into the water; grimacing. Bubbles swirl around him. He sighs and smiles, leaning his head back, against the side of the bath. After a while, Pellaz comes back, carrying two goblets of wine. Ashmael is dozing, and the Tigron watches him for a moment. Then he kneels down on the marble tiles. He puts the cups down beside him and reaches to touch the stitched wound on Ashmael's shoulder. Ashmael yelps in surprise and sinks, floundering, beneath the water. Pellaz is laughing.
''Jumpy!"he says.
"Well, I expect to be safe in these rooms," Ashmael replies, shaking his hair from his eyes. Of course, he is safe, and so at home there; I hate him. Pellaz offers him a goblet and they drink together."Only the best," Ashmael says.
"Naturally."
I ge
t the impression they are mocking their positions. Pellaz takes up a slim decanter and pours fragrant, liquid soap onto Ashmael's head.
"You shouldn't do this," Ashmael says, enjoying it immensely. He lies back and revels in the attention. I am familiar with that touch. I can only envy him. That should be me there, surely. This is my dream. Pell rubs the grime, the blood, the weariness away. His touch is magic. I know that look upon his' face; he is considering, thinking. Just a whim. Rinsing the soap from his hands, he stands up and throws off the towel. He dives into the water and, for a moment, the stunned expression on Ashmael's face is unmistakable.
"Pell?" he says.
"Here!" And Pellaz explodes from the water, rising up, shimmering jewels of water flying everywhere. Now they look at each other and I am trapped. This is where I should wake up. It is a dream, isn 't it? Why can't I make it end? I am in the water, dizzy, and I can feel Ashmael's arms around me, his mouth on my mouth, his breath in my chest. I want to devour him. I have wanted to do this for a long time. Come with me. Follow me. I lead him from the water. Dripping, we go into the next room. I lock the door. There is no-one else there. I draw the drapes across the long, open windows that lead to the balcony beyond. The room is now in sun-stained, afternoon dimness. I have not submitted to soume for a long, long time. This is because of. . . someone, someone who seems so part of me, I can hardly . . . feel myself anymore. We dispense with preliminaries because we are both so hungry, Ashmael and I. He spears me swiftly,
mercilessly, and I cry out in pain, shuddering beneath his strength, which I cannot throw off. There is no way I could get out of this now; no way. Who am I? The visions come and I am deep beneath the dark earth. Against my lips, the taste of Ashmael's wound. I pull one of the stitches with my teeth and he laughs fiercely. A bead of blood seeps into my mouth. Who am I? Is this some kind of betrayal? But against whom?
I woke up twitching and snarling. Panthera shook me to my senses. The dark body of the earth was pressing against us, bringing dreams. I forced my eyes hard into Panthera's shoulder and he held me tightly.
As soon as Kachina was awake, we continued downwards. Still no lights. How could it
have happened?
"Oh, it does sometimes," Kachina said. "You see, the Sahale do not need the lights to
know the way and very few travelers follow this route. It might be days before they're
fixed."
"All the other hara at Kar Tatang," I said, "where were they going? To Sahen?"
"Some of them, but a lot more head east to Pir Lagadre. That's a temple settlement, not so far underground. It is where the Sahale conduct most of their trade with the outside world."
We continued to walk. This was a fairly level stretch and we could stand upright. Sometimes, though, I was convinced I could hear noises ahead of us, rather chilling ones at that. Scrabbling, muttering.
"Kachina, is this journey dangerous?" I asked: "By that, I don't mean because of the dark, but . . . other things?"
Our guide didn't answer for a moment. "I've made this trip fifteen times," he said at last. "I've never come across anything dangerous, but I have sensed it at times. I believe the lights act as a deterrent to anything unpleasant."
Perhaps it was the morbid humor of Fate that made me bring it up, but it seemed best not to continue that conversation. Maybe half an hour later, Kachina stiffened and hissed us to silence. We all stood still, tense and listening. I could hear nothing.
"Sense life," Kachina whispered, and that slight sound echoed around us. Nothing happened. "Keep moving," Kachina said, "it's not far now .
And then his words were cut off as something large rumbled swiftly from a side passage just ahead of us. I was dimly aware of teeth, eyes and hair and a miasmal stench. Kachina, in the lead, cried out and raised his staff, but it was too late. Before he could throw whatever power he possessed at the attacking beast, it clipped him with some gigantic, furred appendage and the staff fell to the ground, followed quickly by a stunned Kachina. For a second, the beast, whatever it was—and surely not sprung from this earth—hung between spidery legs, staring malevolently yet without expression at Panthera and myself. I could hear a whistling sound that may have been its breath or its voice.
"What is it?" I squeaked.
Panthera did not care about such details. "Quick, Cal," he hissed, "combine force. Acantha level. We must. Pyro—killing strength!"
"What!" I had entertained no doubts that Panthera's occult training had been more refined than my own, but this was something completely out of my field. Pyrokinesis is the ability to make heat, intense heat, even fire, by the power of the mind alone. Panthera groped for my hand to strengthen the bond.
"Open up!" he ordered and I automatically slipped into mind touch.
"Panthera, I'm not really sure whether I ..."
"Shut up! We have no time! Follow my signal!" It happened swiftly. A fireball was igniting, swelling, between us. I didn't have much to do with its construction other than lending Panthera my strength. It was he who pointed the commanding finger, he who released a bolt of white-hot radiance from his taut body. With a thin screech, the beast scuttled backwards, but not in time. Within seconds, it was ablaze, moaning and screaming terribly. Fortunately for us, it decided to back blindly into the tunnel from whence it had come, instead of charging forwards. We could hear it squealing and creaking until it died away into the distance. Panthera leaned forward, hands braced on knees. He wiped sweat from his face. He wasshaking and so was I. "Oh God; Kachina!" Panthera went to kneel beside the motionless form. "Oh God," he repeated and his disgust and horror could not be contained. Whether the beast had killed him or not, we shall never know. Unfortunately, Kachina had been in the line of fire of our heat blast. Very little remained that was recognizable as Elhmen. "Oh Cal!" In the light of Kachina's rapidly dimming light-cell, I could see Panthera's chalk-white face looking anxiously up at me. He wanted me to reassure him that we had not just committed murder. I would not comment, but picked up the light cell.
"Can you operate this?" I waved it under his nose. Panthera took it and examined it carefully, too carefully. Clearly, his mind was in a whirl. "Yes," he said at length. "Yes, I can." Sparing Panthera any further unpleasantness, I dragged the body of Kachina into the beast's tunnel, going back for the bits that dropped off as I dragged it. Panthera and I then walked on into the darkness, grimly.
"You are more accomplished than I realized, Thea," I said. "How come you didn't use these talents to break out of Piristil, or to confound Outher and his cohorts? It would have saved us a lot of time and bother!" "You don't understand," Panthera replied, in a bitter tone. "Try me."
"Alright. It is something to do with aruna." He spoke as if his mouth was full of something noxious. "When I was captured and taken to Fall-send, I was only third level Kaimana and incapable of mustering my powers alone. As I aged, I did try to improve myself in secret, but as you probably know, hara are such sexual creatures; we need aruna to progress. All that happened to me only served to hold me back. My powers were minimal and unreliable ..."
"And what has happened since you returned to Jael then?" I asked sharply. "I wasn't aware that the situation had changed!"
"It hasn't! Not exactly. I've been purified, of course. My father raised my level to Acantha to purge the contamination of pelcia and chaitra away . . ."
"That still doesn't explain how you managed it without aruna ... or didn't you?"
"No, I didn't. If you must know, I've been taught some exercise in auto-eroticism. It's intended that such practices will rid me of my distaste for physical contact. But now I've learned a way to get on without it, I don't see why I should ever seek it, if you know what I mean. I don't want anyone to touch me again. It revolts me."
"Thank you for being so frank," I said, rather taken aback.
"You're welcome." He sighed deeply. "Oh come on, Cal, you're my friend. Let's get the hell out of here. One wrong turning and neither of us will have the chance to
worry about such things again anyway!"
We hoped the road would not branch again, but since our encounter with the beast, Panthera felt that his powers were completely trustworthy.
"If necessary, I shall smell which is the right way to go," he said. "I'm not afraid."
"Are you ever?" I enquired drily.
"Not really, no."
We kept walking. Sometimes, we could hear strange groanings from tunnels, that led off the main passage, causing us to increase our pace, but nothing else actually attacked us. I'm not sure what kind of beings stalk the tunnels of Eulalee, whether they have always lurked there unseen or whether they are the children of powerful and malefic thoughtforms, but it appeared they had been discouraged from molesting us by the fate of their fellow.
The Wraeththu Chronicles Page 100