Ashmael did not look convinced. "Such words slip uneasily from your tongue, Cal," he said.
"Not my usual style no," I agreed. "We will have to talk later. I'm sure many hara are as anxious to know as you are. Now, I've got business of another kind to attend to. Is Panthera still here?"
Ashmael nodded thoughtfully. "Around the back. Are you taking him back to Phaonica?"
"Nobody takes Panthera anywhere! I expect he'll return to Ferike soon."
"What a shame."
I smiled carefully and started to walk away.
"Just a moment!" Ashmael called me back. "I shall be going to Megalithica next month, to Galhea. You'll have to start getting used to being a celebrity and Megalithica is a good place to start. Perhaps you should come with me . . ."
"An inflammatory suggestion, tiahaar! Let me sort out my traumas in Immanion first please."
"Of course!" He smiled sweetly and ducked a bow. "Just a suggestion, that's all, but
please think about it."
"I'll think about it certainly. Now, if you'll excuse me . . ."
He waved me away, still smiling. I was not blind. Ashmael had talked about Pell having had a rough ride when he first came to Immanion, and I could guess where most of the trouble had come from. I wondered how long Lord Ashmael would consider it necessary to test me.
I found Panthera and Zack together, pausing for a break from the cleaning up, sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree, sharing a bottle of wine and looking very cozy. I sensed a certain closing of ranks as they saw me approaching. A sudden flare of crazy hope kindled in Panthera's eyes, but only for a moment. I went right up to them and took the wine bottle from Panthera's hand, taking a careless swig in an effort to conceal the fact that this was not easy for me. Panthera could not bring himself to stand up and embrace me. It made me realize in an instant that I was now a stranger to him. He hadn't been part of what had happened in Phaonica the day before; all he had experienced was the result. We were both held in an embarrassing kind of silence which Zack had the presence of mind to excuse himself from. We both watched his retreating form in an agony ofblank minds. Eventually I thought of, "Are you returning to Ferike now?"
Panthera didn't look at me. "I haven't really decided yet. Zackala is traveling to Oomadrah soon. I had thought of going back there with him first. Somehow I think the peace and quiet of Jael would get on my nerves at the moment."
"Ah, so the 'party party' of the Sykernesse court attracts you, does it?"
He looked me in the eye then. "It would be more healing for me than sitting brooding in Jael, yes."
I looked away, nervously kicked a fallen branch with my foot.
"You look well," Panthera said.
"Do you want to know what happened?"
"No, not really."
"Will you ever come back here?"
He sat there on a tortured, torn tree-trunk, knees apart, strong and young. He'd changed so much since Thaine. Grown, and in so many ways. I considered for a brief moment the ideas I'd once had of shutting myself away with him in Ferike. I still wasn't convinced it wouldn't have been the best thing for me to do. Now it was an impossibility and I had to watch this dear friend walk away from me into the world. He would meet so many new people and inevitably forget the intensity of his feelings for me. It was not conceit to think that. I could see it in his eyes, honest and unashamed.
"Come back here?" he said at last, taking a cigarette from a squashed packet, lighting it and savagely throwing the packet onto the ground.
"Are you serious?"
"Is our friendship over too then?"
"Don't play with me, Cal. Not now. OK, you want to hear it? Yes, I may come back here, but it won't be to see you. I don't mean to sound harsh, or petty or jealous, or whatever. It just is. Face it. You gave me up the minute you walked out of here yesterday. Maybe you still had the choice then, I don't know. I never will. Just let me get on with my life now." "You're bitter."
"Am I?" He took angry, deep draws off the cigarette. "This is distressing me Cal, much as I hate to admit it. Would you just leave please?"
"OK, if that's what you want." I sighed and turned away. He didn't stop me.
Half-way down the drive, I said, "Dammit!" out loud and ran back to him. He looked up at me, hostile and uncertain, but I still dragged him up off the log and wrapped him in an embrace it would have been difficult to pull out of.
"I never said thank you, you arrogant little shit!" I said, which seemed easier than murmuring something maudlin. He wouldn't relax for a moment, arms stiff at his sides. "I'm grateful for everything," I said, "everything."
"Then thank me," he said, and smiled. "After all, you'll never have anyone as beautiful as me again. Gratitude is hardly enough!" He squeezed me hard.
"Still friends then?"
"I'll think about it. Probably in Oomadrah. Then I might come back and see if you mean it."
"Yes," I said. "Do that. Maybe I'll need a little of your abrasive company after all these high and mighty Gelaming."
"Just make sure you never truly become one of them." Wisdom there from my pantherine, which I must never forget. "Right up until last night I still wanted to fight for you," he said.
"What made you change your mind?"
He rolled his eyes mischeivously. "I don't think I'll tell you, or maybe I will. It was Zack."
"He's always had a way with words," I said bleakly, rather disappointed.
"Words had little to do with it," Panthera replied, a brave effort at masking his feelings, which didn't fool me for a moment. If something had changed Panthera's mind it had been nothing to do with mere physical acts (whatever they'd been), but the vast, unimaginable glory of the Aghama's transmutation. It must have touched everybody. Panthera and I shared breath for the last time and sounds around us, which had seemed to fade away, came back as if someone had lifted a veil. I saw Zack wandering over in our direction again and let Panthera go. This strand of the past was now truly over and its frayed ends had been sealed to the best of my ability.
"I'd better get back to Phaonica now," I said and this time I meant it. Panthera waved and turned back to his work. I did not look back at him, mainly because Zack decided to walk down the drive with me.
"Don't damage Panthera in any way," I said.
"And now you have the power to know if I do, eh?" He kicked a stone. "Don't worry about him. You're not the only one to change, Cal. Perhaps we should have spoken of the past together during the journey here on Opalexian's ship, but it hardly seemed worth it. That sordid history of ours was so worthless, after all. But perhaps we should mention it. Didn't we think we were so good then? Such a game."
"And you lost. We both did. At the time."
Zack shook his head. "I disagree. What we didn't realize was, that none of it really mattered. I hated you for ages, but then one day realized that I would probably have done the same as you if it had been me up there on the wall with my gun in the next alley. Who knows? We were both foul bastards who got what we deserved."
"So you don't think I was to blame then? That's great. I'd always been proud to take the responsibility for that as well!"
"Oh, come on, no-one was to blame. It was just the way we were living. Taking risks, scampering along the edge of the abyss with one eye closed. It's conceit to nurture that guilt for so long; it's unimportant. Sorry to ruin your self-indulgent shame, but it's true!"
"Perhaps I should be glad that you think that. I don't know. At the moment it all seems so dim; I can't really care about it."Zack laughed. "No. Why should you? I wouldn't! Enjoy being Tigron, Cal. The title suits you."
He left me at the gate and I returned to Phaonica alone, scuffing through the streets, somehow tired, somehow sad, somehow relieved. No-one knew me in Immanion; yet. I saw Gelaming sweeping away the past, some with tired, grief-torn faces, some with a smile and determination. They'll learn. And there was black-haired Pellaz waiting for me, as he had always waited for me and always would. To be able to
walk into those luxurious (if currently war-torn) apartments and just take him in my arms as mine was a wonder I was sure I'd never take for granted. He was new to me, yet familiar. Like a shining phantom of the Pell I'd once known. A succubus/ incubus, waiting in darkness. But this
was daylight and he had a dripping sandwich of spiced ham and savage mustard in his hand, which he thoughtfully pushed into my mouth.
"There is a problem," he said, wiping mustard from his chin. "A problem? Surely not!" I gasped, with watering eyes, gingerly putting the sandwich, half-chewed, on a plaster-strewn table. The only available chair was lumpy with clothes so I sat on the floor. "You will have to deal with it."
"What is it? And why me?"
"The problem is my consort Caeru, and you will deal with it, because now you are my partner, my twin, and therefore I feel guiltless burdening you with it."
"Ah, yes. Caeru. We have met."
"Yes, I know. I heard all about it in extravagant detail. Several times."
"Did it worry you?"
"Of course. I had no idea what was going on. My Tigrina, being self-obsessed at the best of times, could only rant on about how you must be planning to come to Immanion to roust him from his throne. He had totally ignored the implications of what it could all mean to me, but that's Caeru! You will have to get used to it, I'm afraid."
"What do you mean?" I asked suspiciously. I had come to see quite quickly in my beloved, a certain deviousness that I'm sure hadn't been there before.
"Quite simply, Cal, I mean this: I am Tigron, Caeru is my consort. Now you are Tigron too, and he is yours."
"He is mine! Have you told him yet?" Horror didn't come into it. It had already been impressed upon me how popular the Tigrina was in Almaga-bra. As he had said, his position was unassailable. However, this was a circumstance that I was sure he hadn't thought of. Neither had I.
"No, of course I haven't told him! Sometimes we don't speak for weeks! I haven't seen him since the day he got back from Maudrah." "That was ages ago."
"Caeru's moods can last longer than that." "Caeru's moods?" Pell sniffed impatiently. "Alright, our moods. You can tell him. I'm sure he'll be delighted. After all, he was under the impression that you'd arrive here with a gang of mercenaries and run him through with a sword. Run him through, by all means, but simply to show him his position."
"Pellaz, you can be foul."
"I thought I was supposed to be sometimes. You did that."
"I did not bond you in blood with Caeru, did I. That was your decision."
"You think so? I had little choice. One day I'll, we'll need heirs. Thiede chose Caeru
for that function."
"How callous. Can't we make our own now?"
"Caeru is Tigrina, Cal. That's not something that can be taken back. Unless you really want to ran him through with a sword. Think we'd get away with it?"
I sighed. "Where is he?"
Pellaz smiled triumphantly. "I'll have Vaysh take you to him. Vaysh!"
I must admit, I found it quite amusing how far Caeru's apartments were from Pell's. Clearly they didn't need the convenience of proximity. I was finding it quite difficult equating the Pell who could treat someone so dismissively with the
compassionate young creature I had known in Megalithica. I told myself, "Of course he had to change. Nobody could be in his position and remain so ingenuous," but it still made me feel a little uneasy. Selfish of me really. Had I really expected the young Pellaz to have been preserved in entirety just so that I could happily relive fond moments of the past?
Gazing in wonder at the tarnished splendor of Phaonica, I followed Vaysh through halls and corridors, stepping over tumbled furniture and tapestries that had fallen from their hangings. Vaysh told me, "Caeru will be at his wits end. Probably demented." He smiled. "Maybe even dangerous. May I stay and watch this?"
"It is my opinion that you and Pell encourage each other in a rather harsh treatment of the Tigrina," I said, which was meant to sound serious, but came out rather mocking.
Vaysh shrugged. "You're probably right. But you haven't had to put up with him."
"Isn't it rather sad? I can't help feeling sorry for him."
"Oh, Cal, you disappoint me! Pell always admired your clever sarcasm. Don't feel sorry for Caeru, just let your talents rip!"
If Pell had learned to be hard, I at least had learned to be somewhat more understanding. "Tell him I've come for dinner," I said.
Vaysh grimaced, pushing aside an obscuring torn curtain, and knocked upon a high, studded door.
The nervous face of a servant appeared round the door. "Tell the Tigrina the Tigron is here to see him," Vaysh ordered imperiously. He looked at me and repeated with jarring sincerity, "Tell him the Tigron has come for dinner." We walked inside. The place was a mess, dark with an air of desperate desolation."Vaysh," I said. He raised an eyebrow in anticipation.
"OK, I know. I can go now. You don't have to say it, although I must point out that I don't often take orders from the Tigron."
"I didn't say a word."
He smiled. "No, you don't have to. Have fun."
I wandered alone further into the room, a small, once-elegant antechamber with many doors leading off. One was open and I could see a lean, black-haired har in the room beyond picking stuff up off the floor. His face seemed somehow familiar, so I went and stood in the doorway.
"Need any help?" He looked up at me. I was a stranger, but disaster brings people closer, so he said, "No, it's OK, I'll manage. I've been away. They called me back today. Is Thiede really dead? What's happened exactly?"
"A coming of age," I answered. "Destruction, rebirth, you know, that kind of thing." The har smiled, wiped his hands.
"You've lost me! I can't get any sense out of my hostling either. Did you want to see him?"
"That depends on who your hostling is!"
"Sorry." He held out his hand. "I'm Abrimel, the Tigron's son." I took the hand and clasped it warily. Stupid of me. I hadn't anticipated that Caeru may have already produced an heir, neither had Pell seen fit to mention it. Probably because, bearing in mind the Wraeththu life-span, by the time Pell was ready to hand over his throne, Abrimel would be too old to take it on. However, the young har's existence did bring
home to me that once upon a time Caeru and Pell must have been locked together in something other than hostilities. I could see the resemblance to Pell in Abrimel's face; that was the familiarity I'd sensed. "Caeru is your hostling then."
He nodded. "Yes. He's around somewhere. Sorry, I don't know you. Should I? Do you want me to fetch him?"
"No, I should already have been announced. My name is Cal. You may have heard of me." I decided it would be better not to mention my new titles as yet.
Abrimel's face clouded instantly, though he was polite enough to try and conceal it. "You could say your name is familiar," he said. "Is my father alright?"
"Yes. Whatever you may have heard, don't judge me until you've spoken to him."
"My father won't speak of you to me."
"I think he will now."
Abrimel pursed his lips and threw down the bundle of clothes he'd been gathering up. Caere's clothes; elegant and destroyed. "I hadn't planned to visit the Tigron until tomorrow," Abrimel said. "Caeru needs me more at the moment. As I said, I can't get any sense out of him. What do you want him for?"
"I think you should speak to Pellaz about it," I said, thinking this was something I was definitely not going to deal with myself. This was family business, and although I suppose I should look upon myself as a member of the family, I was just a new member, and therefore exempt from the bulk of internal quarrels. Abrimel was uncertain.
"I'm not going to harm Caeru in any way, I promise you. Please, go and speak with your father."
"Has he sent you here?"
"Yes."
"Right!" Abrimel stalked out, his face dark with a hundred bursting questions. I smiled to myself, bent down, picked up the fallen clothes and draped them
over a chair. When I stood up, Caeru was standing in the doorway staring at me. From the look on his face, I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd produced an axe from behind his back and run screaming right at me. He didn't. He just said, "Get the hell out of here. Now!"
"You're not pleased to see me, are you," I said lightly. Imminent attack was still not unlikely. His fists were clenched by his sides, his hair in disarray, his clothes torn and dusty, his face scratched and marked with dry blood. He looked as if he hadn't slept or washed for several days, yet he was still undeniably lovely, possessing the sort of attractiveness that would let him look well-dressed in the proverbial sack.
The Wraeththu Chronicles Page 117