‘I don’t disagree with you,’ Seel said. ‘But neither can I wholly believe it.’
‘Thiede wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true,’ Ashmael said. ‘He never loses face, nor can bear to appear fallible. If he says he can do it, he can. We must accept that, however difficult it is. It’s up to you to stop it.’
Seel laughed uncertainly. ‘Me? How?’
‘Do you want to see a friend of yours, some reanimated corpse, come lurching back into your life? What do you suppose he will be like? Have you thought of that?’
‘I cannot stop it,’ Seel said. ‘I know nothing about these things. I’m a stranger here.’
‘Not for long,’ Ashmael said bitterly. ‘Build your nest well, tiahaar. You will live in it here for a long time. Think about what I said.’ He opened the door. ‘We had better rejoin the company.’
Seel did think about what Ashmael Aldebaran had said, but couldn’t see how he would have the power to halt Thiede’s plans. The more he saw of Immanion, the less he was inclined to think Thiede was the monster he’d once thought him to be. Seel had planned to remain in Almagabra for only a few days, but the days stretched into weeks, and neither he nor Colt felt a strong desire to return to Saltrock immediately. There was so much to explore and so many interesting hara to meet. It was hard to believe that students of science, engineering and medicine had survived the transition from human to Wraeththu, but some had, and Thiede had devoted himself to finding them. These were the jewels of harakind who would help to build a civilisation upon the earth that was superior to all that had gone before. Seel was shown the new hospital where hara were trained in healing of both traditional and original skills. Here, students learned how to focus and amplify the natural healing energy that hara could channel through their bodies. They experimented with the use of sound as a therapeutic medium. The building itself was more like a temple than a hospital. Nohar would ever fear having to go there.
Throughout the city, universities and training facilities encouraged Gelaming hara to learn new skills, to create and invent. Beyond Immanion’s walls, spreading farms grew an abundance of crops. Cattle, sheep and goats roamed free upon the hillsides, feasting upon sweet grass and flowers.
In the evenings, after long days exploring Immanion’s wonders, Seel and Colt would sit upon Thiede’s terrace drinking wine or else visit other hara they had met in the city. Seel knew this was only a holiday, and that if he ever agreed to move there permanently, he would no doubt be working eighteen hours a day, but for now he was happy to bask in Thiede’s dream. Pellaz had hardly been mentioned and as Thiede was rarely around to be questioned, Seel put the matter to the back of his mind. He could not imagine a day when he would stand looking over the city with Pell at his side.
Chapter Eight
The moment Flick could no longer see Saltrock behind him was the moment of his rebirth. He thought to himself: I do not know this world. I am new in it and it is new to me. Despite this revelation, he also felt numb. No strident harpies of emotion clawed at his heart or haunted the shadows of his dreams. He did not feel regret or loss or grief. He could not even feel ennui, travelling the bleak landscape towards the west. It was difficult to recall familiar faces, and past events seemed like stories somehar else had told him, a long time ago.
What he would actually do should he find Pell’s family, Flick did not know. The quest seemed like an excuse. He was not driven to fulfil a promise, but merely to escape. Other hara, who had worked hard on training themselves, might be able to use their psychic talents to quest the path. Flick had neglected that side of himself. He was blind inside. All he had to follow was the map of Cal’s romantic recollections, which he had listened to so many times.
The cruel cliffs around him did not fill him with dread. They were silent, tranquil, enclosing him in their eternal dreams. Flick could believe easily there was no world beyond this landscape, and that, should he wish it, it could extend for infinity. It was a hinterland, but one that he embraced wholeheartedly. He knew that it had taken Pell and Cal only about a week to reach Saltrock from Pell’s old home. A week was not enough time to be alone. So Flick tarried often among the crags. He sat on ledges, gazing out at the horizon. He watched the slow then sudden progressions of dawns and sunsets. He ate sparingly of the provisions he’d brought with him. And he thought about how he knew so little, and was less a creature of magic, than a creature of clay. But perhaps the time would come for change.
The universe hears all focused thoughts. It listens hard. And when the student is ready, if they are lucky, the universe sends them a teacher.
Flick delayed reaching his destination by two days, but it loomed before him all too quickly. And he was clearly too late.
Pell’s old home was a dead place. Flick’s own prophecy to Cal had come true. As he reined in his horse at the edge of the settlement, he looked upon a scene he might have devised in his imagination. Perhaps the moment he’d spoken the idea to Cal, he had made it happen. For some moments, he considered he might not be at the right place, but then the landmarks that Pell had given him all stood before him in evidence. The three windmills, the white house upon the hill to the north of the town. And the fields. Spread out, as far as they eye could see, they were supposed to be full of the cable crop. Now, they were only burned earth. Flick’s pony, Ghost, flexed his neck, pulling against the bit, yawning. He was not disturbed by the stink of death, because any evidence of it had blown away. All that remained was a sense of desolation, as if the settlement had lain untenanted for many years.
There was no point investigating the empty staring buildings, because their forlorn silence told Flick all he needed to know. Everything had died, past present and future. A scythe had fallen across the world. Flick knew that no one was left alive. There was no one to whom he could tell his news. He was absolved. What had happened to his warm heart? If he felt anything now, it was simply relief.
Flick turned Ghost towards the south and urged him trot away from the settlement. They could not go back to Saltrock. But where else could they go? Flick’s provisions would not last forever and he was ill used to travelling alone. The thought of introducing himself to a new Wraeththu tribe was daunting. He would have to abide by their rules, their way of looking at the world. He was, he realised, a tribe of one.
By sundown of the third day, he had ridden aimlessly for many miles, and had reached the foothills of an ancient cordillera. He had to make a decision and it seemed increasingly that he had no alternative but to return, abashed, to Seel. But he had made such a grand exit, the thought of that was humiliating. It would prove to Seel that Flick could not live without the comforts Saltrock provided. It would prove that what Cal had said to him about living in Seel’s shadow was right. Cal had offered a challenge: live life for yourself. Now, in taking up the challenge, was Flick living in Cal’s shadow as much as he had in Seel’s?
Flick rode among dark-leaved shrubs that clustered in groups like malevolent hags. Shadows gathered among them; dark familiars rustling through their skirts. But there was a pool of water nearby, fed by a hurrying stream, and the pony went directly to it and drank deeply. Flick dismounted and unpacked what remained of his provisions. The cured meat he’d brought was beginning to go green, and the cheese had sweated itself into an unappetising sticky lump. The bread was dry and spotted with mould. Even though he was hungry, the sight of this food did not stimulate the appetite. Instead, he drank water from the pool, which was brackish. A cloud of mosquitoes hung grimly over the water. If he stayed here, by morning he would be bitten raw. This landscape was probably full of things he could eat, but apart from hunting small animals, Flick was at a loss. He knew that the fruit of the prickly pear could be eaten, but was it in fruit just now? Perhaps he should return to the ruined settlement, and try to find food there. It seemed unlikely he had enough to sustain him for a return journey to Saltrock. He’d have to exist on water alone.
Nibbling on a piece of the cheese, Flick investigated his
immediate surroundings. Large rocks littered the landscape, and the stream ran over shingle between them. A group of old stones close by reminded him of an ancient monument, as if human hands had placed them there in the distant past. The stones were huge and smooth, with spindly trees growing from the cracks between them. Flick ran one hand over the stone. He sensed energy flowing from it, like a faint vibration coursing up from deep within the earth. There was power here.
For the first time since Orien’s death, Flick felt a jolt of interest reawaken within him. The evening was suddenly more alive around him, its scents and sounds more intense. His hand could feel the grain within the stone. It was as if a drugged torpor had fallen from his mind.
Leaving Ghost to graze, Flick ventured further into the shadow of the stones. They loomed over him, full of presence and sentience. Stars had begun to prick through the darkening sky above and the stones were solid black against them. The sandy ground underfoot was damp. Flick left deep footprints. The stones leaned closer together to form the entrance to a cave and Flick ventured within. Moonlight fell in a silver beam from a chimney above the centre of a high natural chamber. Around the edge of the cave, the ground was strewn with dried grasses, as if people went to sit there regularly. Evidence of a fire lay in a blackened ring of fist-sized stones, directly beneath the opening in the ceiling. When Flick went to investigate, it was clear that the last fire had been lit here a very long time ago. But he felt strongly that this was a sacred place. It was so tempting to lie down upon the prickly grasses that still smelled faintly of hay. The moonlight, through his half closed eyes, was a white goddess standing before him, who held in her hands the balm of sleep.
In Saltrock, Wraeththu met in the Nayati to acknowledge the divinity of the Aghama, their god. Seel did not like religion, and in fact thought it stunted personal growth, so he discouraged anyhar from trying to establish personal relationships with gods. He believed in magic, not prayer, in will and intention over supplication. But to Flick lying alone on the cusp of he knew not what, that seemed an arid and comfortless belief. He wanted a goddess in silver, with moon white skin and moonstone eyes, to stand over him and douse him in grains of sparkling dust that could erase all care. He wanted divine intervention, a higher power to rescue him from his life. Did he want to go back, further even than Saltrock, so that his life would rewind until he was a child again, and Wraeththu would not happen? How easy that life might have been, and yet how incomplete. He did not want to give up the part of himself that was akin to the goddesses of the world.
Come to me, Flick thought. Come down from the moon and scatter your silver incense over all that is female within me. He closed his eyes.
Sleep did not come easily. Even though he felt tired to his bones, Flick could not let go of consciousness. Thoughts gushed through his head in an unending stream: images of Cal, the smell of blood, Seel’s face at his desk on the morning Flick had left Saltrock. He tried to dispel these images, to think of mundane things. But his mind would not rest. He sat up and put his head in hands. He remembered Seel as he’d first known him: the touch of his hands and eyes. His laughter, and the long carefree days. A changeling had taken Seel’s place, soured the friendship. Where had it all gone? How could such a thing happen? Flick felt tired to the innermost core of his being, and his head ached.
Perhaps if he stood up and walked around for a while, peace might come to him. But the cave was so large, and there was a danger of falling into the abyss. The ledge he sat upon was very narrow, and he was sure there were creatures flying round him in the darkness. He could sense their claws. There was no moon in this place. It had crashed into the lightless sea millennia before. He did not realise he was in a different place. He felt he had been there for years.
I cannot invoke the moon, he thought, but I must try to invoke the other light. What is its name?
He couldn’t remember.
A human woman walked up to him along the ledge, carrying a basket of keys, which were rusty. He could see the woman clearly, even though he was surrounded by darkness. ‘Where are the locks?’ she asked him. ‘I need to find them before the keys are dust.’
‘I don’t know,’ Flick replied. ‘Where is the light?’
‘It is coming,’ the woman said. ‘I heard its scream.’
‘Must I wait here?’
The woman shrugged. ‘It is as good as any other place.’
‘Can I have one of your keys?’
‘You already have one,’ she said. ‘It is very small.’
‘What does it open?’
‘The gates.’ She looked behind her. ‘I must go. There isn’t much time.’
She vanished into the darkness.
Flick held his breath. He could sense something approaching him. There was no sound, no change in the temperature of the air, but he could still feel it.
Aghama, he said in his mind, be with me. Help me.
But the words meant nothing. Aghama was not his god. He did not have one. He was alone in a void.
Flick felt his way to the edge of ledge and leaned out over it. He could see nothing but knew a bottomless abyss fell away from him below. He was too high to call out to whatever might fly and tumble in it, but he could see specks of golden light, far away, winking like distant stars. As he stared upon them, one of them grew steadily larger. Flick dared not blink, sure that if he did the star would vanish. His eyes burned. The light grew brighter and brighter, fizzing up towards him. It was a sphere, then a spiral, now a spinning column with golden wings. It was an angel, a furious spirit, a heart of fire. Pellaz.
‘Tell me now that you are dead,’ Flick said, still not daring to blink.
The vision hung before him, the face compassionate. Pellaz was made of gold light. He had no wings. He was simply a blade of radiance hanging in the void. He held one finger to his lips and the other hand was raised beside his head, two of the fingers curled over the palm. ‘Seek me within,’ he said, although his lips did not move.
‘Are you a god now?’ Flick asked. ‘Is that it? Is that the answer Orien was seeking?’
‘I will not be your god,’ Pellaz replied. ‘You are your own. Open your eyes and take what is given to you in full sight. Seek me. I will not remember this meeting, but you will do so. I am to be reborn, and for these scant moments before it happens, I know all. I can see it all, Flick, so clearly.’
‘Orien is dead,’ Flick said. ‘He died, in a way, for you.’
‘He sought death,’ Pellaz said, ‘but not for any reason you yet know. We are so much more than we know. So much. Nothing is as it seems.’
‘How? In what way? What is our purpose?’
‘You are the guide. Your teaching will take the student to the place of all knowledge.’
‘What? Who? Pellaz, explain it to me!’
There was a mighty crash, as of mountains tumbling into the abyss, and a great flash of light. Flick jerked backwards, his hands across his eyes. When he lowered them, he found himself in the small cave, with a single beam of moonlight falling down in the centre. He was lying on his back on a bed of straw. He couldn’t stop the tears. He wasn’t psychic. He didn’t have visions. And he couldn’t trust his dreams.
Flick woke again some hours later before the dawn, feeling very cold. The moon had slipped away and the cave was in darkness, but for a strange impression of light that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves. Flick’s body ached with stiffness and his mouth was as dry as if he’d drunk himself into a stupor the night before. He remember he had left Ghost to wander about outside. The pony might have disappeared into the wilderness, leaving him stranded in this place. Flick jumped to his feet. How far would he get without a horse? How long would he survive? A bewitchment had taken him, stolen his mind.
He’d almost reached mouth of the cave when his senses became alert to another presence. Freezing, he saw a motionless figure standing in the shadows, staring at him intensely.
For some moments, Flick did not move. Perhaps here w
as the time when he had to face hara of a different tribe, explain himself, appease.
Then a voice hissed out of the darkness. ‘Get out of here, girl!’
Flick still thought that he was looking at another har, a har, who for some reason or another had made a gross mistake concerning his own identity. He had seen hara similar in appearance to the one before him, in that blurry time between the decision – or calling – to leave his humanity behind, and when Orien had plucked him from inception into a tribe whose name he’d never known. He’d seen copper-skinned hara before, with feathers in their hair and stark black patterns tattooed onto their faces and arms. Flick’s second impression was that now he might be in danger. If there was one har, then others might be around. But both impressions were brief. He realised he was looking only at solid rock, greyed by the predawn light that came down through the chimney of stone. There was no one there at all.
Spooked, Flick ran outside. The first thing he saw was Ghost standing by the pool. The pony’s head was turned towards him, ears pricked. The air seemed to shimmer with unseen power, and reverberate with an eerie humming just beyond Flick’s perceptions. The landscape looked odd, as if drenched in ultra violet, yet the light was dim. His first instinct was to mount the pony and gallop away from this place at speed. Ghost whinnied in apparent pleasure to see him and ambled towards him. He butted Flick with his head, as if to offer reassurance. Flick cupped Ghost’s ears in his hands, leaning his cheek against the broad forehead. The warm smell of horse was like a memory of a lost gilded time, and he remembered the stables in Saltrock, the lazy hours he’d spent there, working at his own pace as he replaced the straw and fed the animals, without a care in the world. ‘Damn you, Cal!’ he said aloud. He had no choice but to go back to Saltrock. It was all that he knew and he belonged there.
But as he swung up into the saddle, gathering up the trailing reins, he heard a voice call out. ‘Not yet, not yet!’ It was so clear, ringing through the air that was brightening with every moment.