The Shades Of Time And Memory Part 47

For some moments, Pellaz stood motionless in the underground vault. The harling held in Abrimel's arms was whimpering. Abrimel himself looked mindless. Am I so heartless, Pellaz thought, that I can feel nothing for my own flesh and blood?

He prepared himself to leave, and it took enormous effort to focus on that simple act. Despite appearances, his confrontation with Ponclast had depleted him greatly. He gazed for some moments at his son, who clearly could not see him. In the aftermath of the conflict, hara could come down here to take Abrimel into custody. There was nothing else to be done here. Above ground, the dehara fought with the Hashmallim. Pellaz could perceive now what a strange battle it was, because neither side could actually destroy the other. The dehara were made of thought and emotion, so they could not be unmade, and the Hashmallim were etheric projections whose physical selves resided far from this realm. All the two sides could do was fight for dominance, so that the weaker could slink away. Pellaz perceived that both sides were enjoying the combat. It posed no real risk to them, after all. It was the play of tiger cubs, yet somewhere else the tigers crouched unseen. That was a different matter.

It had all been satisfactorily easy. Lileem had taken Ponclast with her to the realm of the Black Library, which was extremely difficult to escape. Pellaz had no desire to kill his enemy, mainly because ultimately he was not a foe to be feared. If he should somehow rise up, with greater force, and pose a threat in the future, it was because it was meant to be: a further test. If I am not worthy of facing that, Pellaz thought, then I am not worthy of being Tigron. He knew that beyond this world there were far worse threats than Ponclast. Now, it was simply a case of clearing up. It was time to return to his body and begin that work.

But even as he formed this thought, a ball of black energy manifested in the room. Pellaz observed it, puzzled, for only an instant before it threw itself against him. He was hurled backwards. His etheric body slammed through the thick stone wall and landed in a dank corridor outside. He was smothered in a crawling sticky essence that forced its way inside him.

He could not fight you! A voice screamed in his mind. But I can. I will unmake you, Pellaz har Aralis! Your body will be left without a soul.

Pellaz knew immediately that this was no idle threat. Whatever invaded his being was strong, and comprised of matter that could affect his etheric form. He fought back, trying to force the blackness away from him, but it was like trying to extricate himself from an immense web. If he pushed parts of it away, it clung to him more firmly in other places. He could feel it squeezing his soul, seeking to crush and dampen forever the flickering flame of it. He could not even escape it by returning to his corporeal form. The blackness anch.o.r.ed him to this place. It was affecting Galdra also. Pellaz became aware of Galdra's being, and knew that his a.s.sailant was completely aware of what was occurring. It had reached inside him and taken that knowledge. It would force Galdra to conclude the Grissecon which would mean that Pellaz would have no way to return to his body. He would be snuffed out like a candle flame. Pellaz screamed for Lileem, for Snake, even for Moon, anyhar who could help him now, but none of them could hear him. He screamed for the dehara, but his enemy was a smothering blanket that obstructed his attempts to reach out. He could feel Galdra's anxiety and terror, the way he was trying to hold on to their union with every shred of will and strength he possessed, but he was losing power. At the climax of Grissecon, the most magical and intimate of moments, Pellaz would die.

Pellaz was powerless to resist what was happening. He was too weak. Fighting was pointless. He projected to Galdra a final surge of appreciation and love. They had done what they could.

But then, there was a voice in his mind. Pellaz, what are you doing? This is an illusion.

No illusion! cried his enemy.

Pellaz heard soft laughter, so familiar a sound. He opened his eyes and peered through a film of oily blackness. Cal stood over him, beautiful and radiant, an archetypal warrior covered in wounds. Run, Diablo! Cal said.

He extended an arm and touched the darkness covering Pellaz's etheric body. At once it convulsed in pain, as a force Pellaz had never encountered before flowed through it. A black shape leapt up from him, transforming as it did so into a weird kind of har with enormous burning eyes. This har hissed at Cal and struck out, although it missed its target. Cal laughed again, his eyes s.h.i.+ning with a manic light. He flicked a dart of radiance at Pell's a.s.sailant, which pa.s.sed right through Diablo's shoulder. Dark ichor spurted out. Diablo yelped in pain and then leapt through the wall, presumably back into the chamber beyond.

Cal did not follow. He simply stood where he was, gazing down into Pell's eyes. It took some moments for Pellaz to realise that he was free and not about to die. He stared back at Cal, unable to communicate. He didn't know what he felt.

You should never have doubted me, Cal said. He looked haggard, whether in physical form or not. His clothes were ripped and b.l.o.o.d.y, his body scored by deep scratches. I can see, he said. I can see what you're doing. He is in you so deep, a hook in your heart.

Cal... please....

Cal shook his head, smiling sadly. As Pellaz watched, his form changed and it was Orien standing there, one finger to his lips. There are no endings...

At that moment, Galdra let go and Pellaz was sucked back into his body with painful force. He opened his eyes, for a moment unable to feel any physical sensation. He saw the night sky, the stars wheeling like the sparkling motes in the barrel of a kaleidoscope. It felt as if he and Galdra had become one, no division between them. Locked together. For ever. Flesh and blood combined.

Galdra shuddered and spoke aloud. 'Pellaz... please... don't...'

It must hurt. It should hurt. Come deeper, Pell said in mind touch. Pierce muscle and bone. Find my heart. Then we shall see.

Galdra cried out, a hoa.r.s.e and ragged scream of agony. The sound spiralled up to the stars. Hara came running. Then there was nothing.

Chapter Forty-One.

Moon had discovered a dehar who was all his own. At the moment when Pellaz and Snake had projected the mighty force of the dehara into his body, Moon's consciousness had drifted off elsewhere. For some moments, he had hung above the courtyard, looking down. He had seen the veins standing out on Tyson's face and neck, his muscles corded with strain. He had seen his own flesh, no more than a shuddering ma.s.s of greenish white radiance, with brighter spots where his eyes and mouth would be. It occurred to him that his corporeal form might be destroyed by the force it channelled, but he could not care about it. This is what it must feel like to be dead.

He could see that nebulous outlines were forming from the energy, ma.s.sive ent.i.ties, an army of dehara. They strode across the sky towards a boiling ma.s.s of black and red clouds, in which dark shapes tumbled and writhed. As Moon watched this, a sedu surged past him and rocked the ball of light that comprised his essence. It was like being a harling's plaything, floating upon a choppy sea, drifting far from land.

Heed me, Moon...

Moon's dreamy attention became focused. He was in a dark place, where he could perceive no details of his surroundings, and before him stood a young har, whose hair and skin were green. There was a strong scent of apples that reached right into Moon's being. Who are you? he asked.

I am Pomonari, the dehar of your childhood memories. I am all that you are, all that you have ever been. I am your strength. Take my hand.

Moon gripped the slim green fingers that Pomonari extended to him. For a moment, he felt like weeping, because he could remember so clearly the way his hostling Silken's hands had felt. Pomonari was partly of Silken too. Moon's memories of his hostling had become vague over the years; now they were brought back in force. He remembered what it had been like to be held, the feeling of utter security he'd experienced in Silken's arms. He remembered his hostling's voice, his wry songs, the smell of his hair.

You are your history, Pomonari said. You are the book of your life. Come.

They stepped back into reality, hand in hand. Moon found they had manifested beyond the wall of the courtyard. He could perceive what was happening in the earthly realm and also beyond it. Two scenes of battle were superimposed over each other. The Gelaming had been able to pa.s.s through Fulminir's defences and conventional combat now ensued in the streets and alleyways. Ponclast's otherworld allies were fully occupied with the dehara, although the Teraghast shadow fighters were still intent on flas.h.i.+ng in and out of the otherlanes, causing as much mayhem as possible. Moon saw a sedu grab hold of a shadow fighter with its teeth and shake him like a dog would shake a rabbit. The har crumpled to the ground, and then a flame-eyed teraph pounced upon the sedu from behind, its s.h.i.+ning hooves digging deep into the flesh of its enemy. The sedu roared in pain and anger, turned to confront its foe, and the two of them coiled upwards, striking out and biting. Sparkling ichor spattered down.

Moon and his dehar walked calmly through the chaos, invisible to all. Moon was not aware of time pa.s.sing particularly, but came to the realization that activity was dying down around him. He saw Ashmael Aldebaran striding over bodies in a wide plaza, lifting them by the hair to see if they were still alive. The ground ran with blood, like rain after a heavy storm. Moon saw Ashmael's sedu, Zephyr, leap out of the otherlanes nearby, shaking his mane. Moon knew now that the sedim were not as gentle as they appeared. Zephyr was alight with a sense of victory. Ashmael went to him and vaulted onto the sedu's back. He rode over the bodies and entered the citadel itself.

Moon thought maybe he should follow and discover what was left inside. He thought he should try and find out what had happened to Cal, and it seemed merely the intention of this conjured Cal into being. He walked out of an invisible doorway in the air. What are you doing here, Moon? You're engaged in some kind of Grissecon aren't you?

Yes. We helped Pellaz summon the dehara.

I know. I saw it. You shouldn't be here now. You are wandering. Go back.

Are you all right? Cal did not appear all right: his clothing was almost ripped to shreds, and his skin beneath was similarly gored. He was covered in blood, but his face was less grey and haggard than when Moon had last seen him.

I'll live. Go back to your flesh, Moon. I will be with you shortly.

This is my dehar, Moon said, lifting the hand that held Pomonari's fingers.

Very nice, Cal said. Go back, Moon. If you don't, and Tyson ends your union, you'll be lost. Now!

Moon opened his eyes with a start, as if he'd been jerked awake from a dream. He could feel Tyson's arms around his back, the sweat between them. His whole body was pulsing in the last waves of an o.r.g.a.s.m he hadn't been conscious of experiencing. Most bizarre. He was acutely aware of every atom of his body and found the seal within him. For some moments, he entered partially into the cauldron of creation and scoured it of aren. Then he closed the seal. It was as simple as closing his eyes. He felt as if his recent experiences had somehow hauled him up the ladder of caste progression at an alarming rate. He must surely be Algomalid at least.

The soft light of dawn was pus.h.i.+ng back the darkness. Birds sang loudly. Tyson uttered a long sigh and gently disengaged himself. 'Tell me I'm alive,' he said.

Moon got to his feet shakily and the world dipped around him. He didn't feel nauseous, only slightly drunk. 'You're alive. We both are.'

Tyson stretched himself and staggered from the effort. 'That was hours,' he said. 'How did I do that? Tell me how I did that! I can't even remember it.'

'You are the son of Calanthe har Aralis,' Moon said. 'What did you expect? We met because we were supposed to, as Cal and Pell did. I feel terrible, but also wonderful.'

'Imagine I'm holding you full of love and doting glances,' Tyson said. 'I really can't bear the thought of contact in reality.'

Moon laughed and this sound woke Aleeme's harling, who Moon had wrapped in a blanket and laid nearby before commencing his work with Tyson. Now Moon went to crouch beside the harling. It stared at him, silent, but breathing easily. It must be hungry. Moon had never seen such an ugly little creature, but perhaps that was because it was malnourished and emaciated.

Tyson came to stand behind them. 'If I'd been Cal, I'd have left that thing where I found it,' he said. 'It's a freak.' He handed Moon a cup of water.

'Hmm.' Moon couldn't totally disagree. 'But who are we to decide?' He didn't realise how thirsty he was until the water touched his lips. He couldn't stop drinking until the cup was nearly drained, then he gave what was left to the harling. It was so young, yet it gripped the cup and drank like an older har. Moon half expected it to thank him in an adult voice.

Tyson grimaced. 'If Aleeme lives, will he really want to see that thing again?'

'I've no idea. It's kin of yours though, Ty. Try to find some compa.s.sion inside you.'

'After what you told me, I find that difficult,' Tyson said. 'An innocent wouldn't look like that!'

Moon stood up. 'I should find it something to eat.'

'There isn't anything.'

Moon slumped. 'Ag, how long will we stay here? Cal said he'd come for us.'

'What's happening outside here? Do you know?'

'I think it's nearly over. I saw Cal and he told me to return to my body. He's all right, Ty. He's injured but not seriously.'

'Thank Ag for that!'

At that moment, Moon heard the door inside their room open. He touched Tyson briefly on the arm. 'Ssh, somehar's coming.'

'I heard,' Tyson said softly. 'It could be Cal, or it could be a Teraghast coming to finish us off.' He moved to one side of the outer doorway and motioned for Moon to do the same on the other side. If an enemy came out, they'd pounce.

But it was no enemy, only Cal, with a couple of Gelaming warriors. His hair was plastered to his head and his clothes were wet: it appeared he'd taken a hasty bath somewhere. His wounds had been washed of blood, but were still visible through his torn s.h.i.+rt. Cal held up a key. 'Your captors are helpful,' he said. 'Left this in the door. And I'd brought muscle with me to break it down too.' He gestured at one of the Gelaming. 'Take the harling. Take it to the healing pavilions.'

'Yes, tiahaar.' The warrior lifted the child. 'This is a harling?' He appeared disgusted.

'Of sorts,' Cal said. 'Deal with it, but do not harm it.'

'As you wish.'

Cal drew Tyson and Moon to him, then winced as they inadvertently pressed against the wounds on his chest. He pushed them back a little. 'You were amazing. I'm shocked. Well done.'

'Do you know about what we were doing?' Tyson asked.

'More or less. I had to fight off a particularly obstinate Hashmal, but managed to watch most of the show.'

Tyson touched Cal's chest. 'You're hurt badly.'

'Nothing a blast of healing energy won't cure,' Cal said. 'I just jumped in a water cistern and once the blood was off, the wounds didn't look too bad.'

'Do you want us to give you healing?' Moon asked.

'It can wait,' Cal replied. 'Now it's time to face the worst. Will you be my support? It's most unlike me, but I feel I need it.'

'You want to go to the Gelaming camp?' Tyson enquired.

'The nest of vipers, yes,' Cal said. 'I expect they will be delighted to see me.'

A great many Teraghasts had fled into the otherlanes, once it had become apparent the battle was going against them, although many others, predominantly injured hara, had been taken captive by the Gelaming. The camp was in chaos, as healing personnel struggled to cope with many injured hara, of both sides. Cal led Moon and Tyson to the middle of the camp. It was clear that he intended to confront Pellaz immediately.

At the entrance to the Grissecon site, Tharmifex Calvel was waiting for them, apparently having been warned of Cal's approach. He blocked their path, arms folded. 'Cal, you manifest at the most surprising times.'

'Let me past,' Cal said. 'I have no quarrel with you. Don't make me change my mind.'

'We will talk,' Tharmifex said, 'but not here. A great many hara are interested in where you've been and what you've been up to.'

Cal drew in his breath. 'I will talk to you, tiahaar, but not here, as you suggested. Now, let me through.'

Tharmifex's expression became pinched. 'If you insist, although you might not like what you see.'

Moon felt increasingly uneasy. The Grissecon was over. What was there left to see? Presumably, Pellaz was unharmed, because Tharmifex did not appear distressed. Moon and Tyson followed Cal beyond the entrance.

There was a strange close atmosphere inside the wall of silk screens. The dawn light made everything feel surreal. The conflict was over, but something was still going on. Moon felt sick again, the way he'd felt in Aleeme's tower prison. A wide circle had been marked out with salt or chalk on the gra.s.s. Around two dozen hara stood in the circle, surrounding whatever remained in the centre.

Cal drew in his breath sharply, and a tall har with incredibly long tawny hair straightened up slowly and looked round, straight into Cal's eyes.

'Kakkahaar!' Cal hissed. 'Now who would believe that?'

The har glided towards them swiftly and bowed, somewhat insolently. 'Tiahaar Calanthe, we meet again. I witnessed some of your activities earlier. Most impressive. Somehar has taught you well. The technique and style seemed almost familiar.'

'Tiahaar Lianvis,' Cal said, 'what pickings are there here for you? You are far from the desert. Are the Gelaming paying you in captives?'

Lianvis laughed. 'Now, there's a thought! But no. Somehow I think I'd find resistance to such a demand.'

'You could try,' Cal said, 'if Aldebaran has left any wounded alive after trampling over them on his sedu. Where's Pell?'

Lianvis indicated the centre of the circle. 'There's a slight problem.'

'Problem? What? Is he hurt?'

Moon noticed Cal didn't move his gaze from the Kakkahaar's face.

Lianvis cleared his throat and stared at Cal for some moments.

'Well?' Cal said.

Lianvis glanced round quickly, then clearly came to a decision. 'We cannot separate them.'

'What?'

Lianvis shrugged gracefully. 'It is somewhat indelicate, but as far as I can tell there has been no retraction of the inner organs. We cannot pull them apart without risking damage because the Freyh.e.l.lan is too deep in Pell's body. I cannot communicate with Pellaz. He is unconscious on more than one level.'

'How serious is this?' Cal's colour had become ashen again.

'We are hoping the condition will subside naturally. Pellaz took on a lot. He required great strength to face Ponclast, who no doubt now believes the Tigron has the power of a dehar. He hasn't. What he projected, coupled with that last attack you helped him with, has effectively closed him down. Galdra har Freyh.e.l.la is frozen in shock.'

Cal nodded, but his expression was distant, as if his mind raced through many thoughts.

'Perhaps,' Lianvis said, 'you could attempt...'

'Yes,' Cal said. Without looking at his companions, he marched forward and pushed through the small crowd of hara in the centre of the circle. Moon and Tyson exchanged a glance and followed. Moon could feel the Kakkahaar's attention fixed upon him. It was not a comfortable feeling.

The centre of the circle was like the scene of a horrible accident, yet without blood. A sour feeling hung in the air, a sense of desolation. Somehar had put blankets over Pellaz and Galdra's naked bodies; they had not moved from the Grissecon posture. Galdra's eyes were open, but unfocused. His breathing was laboured and he appeared to be in pain. A har stood behind him, hands on Galdra's shoulders. Moon could hear softly whispered words, but could not catch their meaning. Pellaz was slumped motionless against Galdra's chest, his head turned to the side, so that Moon could see his eyes were closed. Moon could not imagine what Cal must feel to witness this sight. This Galdra, who was only a name to Moon, had taken Cal's place. The Tigrons of Immanion should have performed this Grissecon, but it had been Cal's choice not to be with the Gelaming.