"Poor Cal," Gahrazel remarked cynically, "whichever way he turns the path is wrong!"
"We shall really have to wait," I said. "When he has regained his strength, then we may see him as he really is. Then he may try to bring about all the terrible things Cobweb is afraid of."
"But Swift," Gahrazel said, "Does anyone know for sure that Cal was trying to get back to Forever?"
I shrugged. "It does seem rather a coincidence . . . and the talismans, Ithiel did break the circle ..."
That night, Gahrazel went to bed early with a violent headache and I was more or less compelled to spend the evening with Cobweb in the drawing room. By now, his martyred silence was beginning to get on my nerves. Had we been cast out into the wilderness?
No. It seemed to me that my hostling was only driving Terzian farther away from him. His tactics were all wrong; it bored my father, which was perhaps the gravest error. Cobweb was displeased with me because Terzian talked to me at mealtimes, but that was only because he could not talk to Cobweb. Secretly, I thought that Terzian might need Cobweb more now than he had ever done.
On my way up the stairs that night, I heard Terzian and Ithiel talking in the study; low murmuring, the chink of glass. All the lights in the house appeared to have been left on; there were no shadows, anywhere. The corridors upstairs were tense and still, burning brightly. I could always sense the house holding its breath. Now I would go to the enchanted room; there are secrets there, an oracle. . . . Outside the door, I was alert for changes in atmosphere (would it be cold there? A spirit breath?). He lay as I before, inert and splendid, carved from ice, asleep for a hundred years.
Now I was the prince of valour come to wake the sleeping beauty with a kiss. I found myself chanting, "Here is the room, the room of death!" At that time, I am quite sure, I was not wholly rational. I went to his side and said, "And what are you, white beast?"
His eyes opened, his hand shot to my wrist; not the grip of illness. Fathomless power, a sense of timelessness, burned right through me, but he could not have known it. His voice was husky, as if long unused. He said, "Pell, come closer, I have to ... I have to tell you something ..." and fell back on the pillows with a sigh, his eyes rolling upwards.
I ran back to my room, I sat down on the bed, I stood up again and walked to the window. "Must you always sit in darkness, Swift?" I said to myself, but I did not turn on the light. I flopped down, on my back, on the bed; strangely thrilled. In a month's time, it would be my birthday, I realized, wondering where the thought came from. I remembered Moswell telling me that at the growing stage, one of our years was equal to two of man's. I am a twelve-year-old human, I am a six-year-old har, I thought. When the time comes I shall be be fourteen, I shall be seven . . .
That week Gahrazel was confined to his room, afflicted by strange pains. I once heard him whimpering in the night; his room was not far from mine. Swithe told me that Gahrazel's coming of age was upon him, which sounded most unpleasant. "Men grow hair upon their faces, upon their bodies; we are not quite the same," he said. "Your flesh shall become furred with down as you mature," he went on, "beneath your arms, a thicker growth and between your legs, the silky mane that marks you as adult. Don't blush and writhe so, Swift! I am not your father after all."
I wondered what it was that caused Gahrazel pain. Swithe explained that certain internal organs (known as soume-lam) were coming alive, Hexing, preparing themselves for the accommodation of aruna and pearl-hosting. "The phallus, the ouana-lim of Wraeththu, is a complex and wonderful thing, Swift," Swithe said, thankfully with his back to me. "Treat it with respect." (God forbid that I should do otherwise! I thought.) "Of course, some time from now you will be given thorough instruction concerning aruna and procreation," Swithe continued airily, "but if you are ever curious about anything, you can ask me. Of course, by that time, your friend Gahrazel will doubtless be answering all your questions!"
I went to visit Gahrazel in his room and his behavior was manic, more restless than ever. He said he itched unbearably all over and I charitably nibbed his back for him. The skin was taut and hot.
"How does it feel, this change?" I asked.
Gahrazel rubbed his arms, shivering, sweating. "Horrible!" he cried. "Horrible!"
He mentioned terrifying dreams that had been ruining his sleep, dreams about my father. At the time I thought nothing of it. We all have strange dreams occasionally; not all of them are prophetic.
Cobweb, nudged out of his self-indulgent moping, prepared steaming elixirs for Gahrazel to drink, which made him sleep. "I wonder how long this will last?" I wondered.
"Oh, not long," Cobweb answered vaguely, and by that, I guessed he had no idea.
Soon Gahrazel began to feel much better and told me that Terzian had been to see him to arrange for his coming-of-age celebration. "I suppose you're going to spoil my birthday," I complained. "Coming of age and having the lissome Ithiel to court you."
His face changed a little when I said that. I realized he was not quite as confident about his Feybraiha as he liked me to think.
"Will it be alright, do you suppose?" he asked. "I think about it often. It's an invasion and I'm afraid of conquest ..."
"I hope it kills you!" I said and for a moment we stared at each other in silence.
"Is there a fate worse than death?" Gahrazel asked, and we both laughed.
All the snow had melted, the ground outside was dark and rich, green shoots sprouting beneath the trees. But no crows came back to their ragged nests in the high branches. Cal was brought downstairs in the afternoons to sit in the conservatory, which outraged Cobweb and put me off going in there. Terzian would spend an hour with him every day. Once, I crept to the door and eavesdropped on them. Cal said, "What am I doing here?" in a voice that was barely even a whisper, and my father answered, "Must you ask that every day?"
I peeked around the door, hidden in the curtains, and saw my father reach for Cal's hand, but it was snatched away instantly.
"Don't! Cal cried hoarsely. "Not ever!"
"It's alright," Terzian soothed. I was amazed by this reaction.
The idea of Cal fascinated me. He was a creature of mystery. We all presumed that only Terzian knew where Cal had been going, where he came from, when the Varrish patrol had found him. And what Terzian knew he told no-one. Not even Ithiel. Gahrazel was now allowed to spend some hours several times a week in Ithiel's company, under Moswell's watchful eye. I pressed him to drill Ithiel for information, which must have been difficult with Moswell there, but although Ithiel was not loath to divulge what he knew, it wasn't anything we weren't aware of already. One evening, afire with the spirit of rebellion, Gahrazel and I appropriated a decanter of sheh from the dining room and consumed it lustily in the privacy of Gahrazel's bedroom.
"I wish I knew what was going on!" I exclaimed. "He won't let Terzian touch him; I saw!"
Gahrazel was already rather drunk. "Why bother squeezing useless information out of everyone else?" he said. "Why not go straight to the source, the one person who will know. Ask Cal, ask him outright. It's your home too."
"Yes, you're right. Tomorrow then ..."
"What?" Gahrazel snorted. "Tomorrow we have no sheh, tomorrow we are sensible and shy. Do it now!"
Spurred on by a tide of drunken bravery, I cried, "Alright, I will!" and rolled onto the floor.
Leaving Gahrazel giggling helplessly on the bed, I went to look for Cal. Of course, he was penned in his room. That was where they kept him at night. They had even locked him in. I turned the key and went right through the open doorway.
He was lying on the bed, dressed in a heavy, woollen robe. The curtains were drawn, the light dim. Books were scattered around him. We stared at each other for quite some time before I spoke. "What are you doing here?"
He smiled faintly; my voice was slurred. "And what are you doing here?" he replied
"It's my house," I said. "It's my father's house."
"Ah, you are Swift," he said. "I remember you." A
dry remark which made me uneasy.
"You did not like me," I accused.
His smile is constant, words move around it. "I was afraid of you."
"Afraid!" I laughed and went to sit next to him. "What are you reading?"
"Tales of the night," he said.
"Why did you come back?"
"I didn't. They brought me back."
"I don't believe you," I said. Until I looked at his eyes, close up, I still felt strong. Now I was a child again. He smelled of smoke and flowers.
"Where's Pellaz?" I asked and he shrugged, bland as a cat!
"I don't remember."
"Where have you been? Why are you ill?"
"Who knows? Who cares? Give me the strongest light and I shall carve an axe for you."
"What?"
"It was in the book."
"Oh." One thing that is remarkable about Cal was that he was so easy to talk to. He appeared to have no side to him, communicating as easily as water running over stones. People did not perplex him and he cared about nothing then.
He said, "I have sobered you!" and laughed.
"My father's sheh," I explained. "My friend Gahrazel has come of age and we were celebrating together."
"I see." He sat up and rubbed his face. "Be a friend to me, little monster, little reptile child, and bring me some of your stolen sheh."
"Alright," I said, and swung my legs over the edge of the bed.
"They lock me in," Cal said. "Lock the door behind you. The stairs are very steep and oblivion is heaven to me at the moment."
Strange he should say that when we both knew he would never kill himself. I smiled uncertainly, pausing at the door. "Cal," I said, and his name felt strange in my mouth. "Why were you afraid of me?"
"I told you," he answered. "You're a monster; you shouldn't exist. Men can't bear children, it's not possible."
"But we're not men!" I protested.
"Aren't we? Sometimes I wonder," Cal said.
I went to fetch the sheh and Gahrazel, reassured that Cal wasn't about to attack us, insisted on coming back with me. I was afraid Terzian would find out, convinced he would be angry. Gahrazel and I sat on Cal's bed and watched him gulp down the sheh, holding the glass with shaking hands.
"Aren't you bored?" Gahrazel asked.
Cal screwed up his face. "Bored? I can't feel anything. Only the evidence of my eyes persuades me that, in fact, I possess arms and legs." He held out his glass and I filled it dutifully. "This will make me sleep," he said. "The little death."
"Cal thinks we are monsters," I remarked to Gahrazel.
"My father thinks that too," he replied. "He often called me a little monster."
"Varrish brats," Cal said good-naturedly.
When Cal got sleepy, Gahrazel and I went back to Gahrazel's room. "He doesn't seem evil," my friend said thoughtfully. "Only rather pathetic, rather hopeless." I could say nothing. I was no longer sure of what I thought about Cal.
Gahrazel's coming of age was now just a week away, my birthday but two days. Terzian told Gahrazel to cut his hair, but Gahrazel told me he had no intention of doing any such thing. Among Varrs, only those hara whose life-work has been designated as hostlings wear their hair very long. Later, I learned that this was seen as a sign of femininity. Like men, Wraeththu want the bodies that carry their children to be lovely. What I did not know then was that among other tribes, all hara are considered equally masculine and feminine; anyone can host a pearl and it does not matter how you dress or how long your hair is or whether you're a soldier or a clothmaker. To a man, someone like Cobweb might appear superficially female, because that side of his nature has been unnaturally encouraged. Terzian was obviously worried that Ponclast's son might be too feminine. Ponclast wanted to breed warriors, not hostlings. Gahrazel and I discussed this and, of course, his disregard for authority meant that his hair stayed long.
Messengers came frequently from the north now and sometimes they would bring a letter for Gahrazel from his father. I began to sense something huge, an uprising, great activity, in the world beyond Galhea's fields. Terzian would sit at mealtimes with a frown on his face, ploughing his food with his fork. I think Cobweb was almost disappointed that the arrival of Cal had prompted no dramatic change in our lives. Now he had nothing to complain about. Naturally, I had told him what I had witnessed in the conservatory and this had made him smile.
One day, I said to my father, "What is happening in the world?" We were in the stables. One of Terzian's horses had gone lame and he was supervising the application of poultices.
"Rumors, rumors," Terzian replied vaguely and I knew he could not be bothered to tell me.
"What rumors?" I insisted.
"Rumors that Thiede is becoming active," he said.
"What's Thiede?"
"Not a what, a who," he said. "And a very dangerous who at that. Of another tribe; Gelaming."
"Oh, Gelaming," I said, remembering the incident with Moswell and Cobweb the year before. "Will they come to fight you?"
My father laughed. "It is suspected that they covet this land. There is a possibility we may have to fight to keep it."
"Oh," I said. I was used to my father disappearing and I had a vague idea what he got up to on those occasions, so I was not unduly alarmed. To me, he was omnipotent. I could not imagine him ever being beaten.
"I understand you've been to see Cal," Terzian said carelessly, but I could sense the slight tension in his voice.
"Sometimes," I admitted. "He's strange." Terzian did not comment on this.
"I think perhaps he is well enough to eat with the rest of us now," he said carefully. "Perhaps it would be better if you informed Cobweb of this."
As I grew older, I discovered I had a new role in life; that of intermediary between my parents. I realized that, although Terzian considered Cobweb to be alive solely for his personal use, he was also slightly afraid of him. Cobweb lived in a strange, magical world, but because he believed in it, the strangeness became power. When Cobweb became angry, he was a thing to be feared, because his power was invisible. I told him what Terzian had said and he smiled fiercely and said, "I see." That was all. I dared not tell him that I sometimes went to visit Cal in his room, but it was more than likely that Cobweb knew about that already. Because of his art, it was virtually impossible to keep secrets from him. I was torn two ways. Curiosity, and loyalty to Terzian pulled me one way, devotion to my hostling the other. Whomever I sided with, there would be unpleasantness. Cobweb and I had always been close, now he was reserved with me. I had a suspicion that the friendship with Swithe had been resumed as well, but I could not be sure.
Our first meal with Cal was a nightmare. If I thought the atmosphere had ever been bad before, I was now horribly enlightened. Cal, with a definite air of self-preservation, treated Cobweb's hostility with light amusement. I cringed when he had the nerve to say, "Well Cobweb, you've certainly changed since we last met. You're quite stunning now, aren't you! How lucky that injury to your leg didn't leave you with a limp. Did it scar? I seem to remember that the last words you said to me were something like, 'You'll be back some day.' I never thought you'd be right. Here's to your gift of intuition!" And he raised his glass, sipped daintily. If Cobweb had been a cat, he would have fluffed up his fur to twice his normal size, but he was har and therefore only simmered silently with rage. Gahrazel and I dared not look at each other, for fear of giggling. My father had a tight, uncomfortable expression on his face as he stared at his plate.
That was perhaps the only reference Cal had made to his past. I noticed that his hands still shook, although he tried to hide it, and his eyes were still shadowed, but he was no longer locked in his room at night. I wondered what had transpired between Cal and Terzian that my father should no longer worry about Cal trying to leave. It was hard to imagine them actually talking to each other.
I had got into the habit of seeking Cal's company virtually every day. He fascinated me so much, I couldn't keep away. I never
got the impression that he didn't want me around, but at the same time he never said anything , important to me. He asked me questions about myself and my family and his mordant sense of humor always made me laugh, but he never talked about himself. It wasn't that he was being secretive, it was more as if his life had only really begun once he had woken up in Forever. It didn't seem as if he was interested in what had happened to him before. He would never stare out of the window with a faraway look on his face, or stop talking as if a memory had walked across his eyes. His whole existence was simply "now." This irked me because my curiosity about his past was overwhelming. I wanted to know why he had left Terzian before, what had happened to Pellaz and, more than either of those things, why he had come back. He had evaded that question once, and I didn't believe the answer he had given me then. Was he evil? Sometimes I was troubled by my fascination for him. Alone, at night, I was often afraid of him, but I was always drawn back, for I had met no-one like him before. Each time we met it was as if I learned something new about