Caeru thought: We are the progenitors of the Aralis dynasty. We are powerful. We can do things that most hara cannot, but perhaps we are not wise to do so.
That afternoon, amid the social small-talk and ingratiating behaviour, Caeru knew that he had to talk to somehar about it, otherwise he might burst apart, and the only possible candidates were Pellaz and Cal. Pellaz had withdrawn again, not in cold hostility, but merely because his mind was occupied by other things. Caeru didn't think Cal had seen much of him since that night either. So Cal would have to be Caeru's confidant, whether he wanted to be or not.
The afternoon seemed endless. Caeru's face ached from smiling so insincerely for so long and his stomach convulsed regularly with vicious cramps. He sought to hide the pain and drank too much wine, which he knew was a bad idea, not least because it was inconsiderate to the pearl. Hara came up to him and said, “You look radiant” or “You look marvellous”, and Caeru had to grit his teeth and utter a polite and pleasant response. He felt far from either state.
"Will you come to me for dinner?" he asked Cal, during a merciful lull in the social maelstrom.
"I can't," Cal replied. "I have a prior arrangement. I'll come later. OK?"
Caeru nodded without speaking. He looked at Cal, and for a moment was assailed by a strong conviction that Cal was ready to flee Immanion. As to why this should be, Caeru could only guess. He wondered who Cal was having dinner with that evening.
Caeru ate alone on his terrace, all the time feeling nauseous. He would be glad that this experience was over and he could hand the pearl to members of the palace staff, who would care for it. If, when it hatched, it had a bright red hair, he thought he'd lose his mind. It wasn't that he didn't want Thiede back again, but not in this way. It was unnatural and horrified. He put a hand over his belly and pressed against the taut skin. It would not be an easy delivery either, he was sure.
The dinner dishes had been cleared away, and from the direction of the harbour, Caeru could hear the throb of distant music. He felt cold, yet his face was hot. He leaned back in his chair, trying to find a comfortable position. Perhaps Cal would not come.
Why did I agree to hosting this pearl? Caeru wondered. Was it just for love, for Pell? We should have talked. We should have proceeded slowly. Pell was afraid. He felt he had to do this thing.
Caeru rubbed his stomach. It would not be long now, maybe a week or two. Afterwards, perhaps he might feel something like normal again.
He heard a door open inside his apartment, just a brief creaking sound. That would be Cal at last. Caeru was feverish with the desire to unburden himself. Cal would reassure him. He was always so down to earth. But nohar came out onto the terrace.
After a few minutes, Caeru god carefully to his feet and went inside. The apartment was in darkness, which was odd, because his staff usually made sure every room was softly lit after sundown. Barefooted, Caeru padded through the empty rooms, which vibrated with the tense, breathless atmosphere. He called out, "Cal, are you here?"
Silence: too silent.
Caeru now felt unnerved. He turned on some lights, but that did nothing to improve the atmosphere. There was nohar around. He must go to his staff's quarters, just to assure himself he wasn't completely alone.
As he made his way along the corridor beyond his personal rooms, the lights went off again. Caeru tensed, held his breath. He had the feeling somehar was following him, soft-footedly trailing him from room to roam.
Get a grip! he hissed to himself in a low voice.
He ran to the door at the far end of the corridor. There was enough light coming in through the windows to his left, which looked out over the city. But when he got to the door, he couldn't open it. It felt as if something heavy lay against it on the other side, something that gave a little, but which he couldn't shift. It felt like a rolled up carpet. Caeru pushed with all his strength, and his stomach complained with a thousand needling hurts. A narrow of sharp pain shot through his soume-lam, up through his body and into his spine. He had to double over, gasping, hugging his own body. He shouldn't be doing this. He'd damage himself. He should go back to his rooms, turn on the lights, go to bed and stop being so ridiculously paranoid.
For but he couldn't dispel the impression of something unseen behind him, breathing in the darkness. Something watching him, preparing to strike. He made one last effort and mercifully the door opened enough for him to squeeze through it. He stumbled over what the beyond and arrested his fall with his hands. They made contact with something soft and wet.
Caeru backed away, stood up, closed the door and leaned on it. He stared for long seconds at what lay on the floor: the body of one of his house staff, a young har who had only been appointed a couple of months before. His eyes were open, as was his belly and chest. The blood was black in the moonlight: the har lay in an inky pool.
Caeru swallowed bile, yet felt strangely calm and detached. Only a door between me and whoever did that, he thought.
He ran across the room, which was the reception hall of the staff quarters. Beyond were living chambers, kitchens and a laundry. They were deserted. Caeru could no longer feel any pain in his body. He just kept running, swiftly, and as silently as he could, keeping to the shadows, away from the moonlight that came in through the windows. He intended to make for the rear entrance that lead to a series of courtyards and other areas of the palace. He intended to run through the back warrens of Phaonica to Pell's rooms, because now there was nohar else he could consider turning to. Part of him, he realized, suspected that Cal had come visiting after all. This was irrational and unfair, yet he could not dispel the impression. He would consider its implications once he was safe.
The main back door was locked. Caeru looked out of the windows in its upper half, down at the courtyard beyond. He paused only a moment, then went to one of the other doors, some corridors away. This was locked also. He would have to break a window, next to one of the stairways, and climb to the ground. Being in the latter stages of pearl-bearing was not the most convenient condition for such activity.
Caeru went into one of the kitchens, whose windows were close to the main door. He picked up a wooden chair and hurled it at the glass. He saw it shatter, as if in slow motion, saw the glass burst outwards. He lunged towards it. But then strong arms grabbed him from behind, pinned his limbs to his body. A hand went over his mouth, forced back his head. He could not see who held him, but his nostrils filled with a stench of rot. He struggled and kicked, writhed in his captor's hold, but they were too strong. They dragged him backwards into a small dark pantry and he felt then that he was about to die.
In the heat of the moment Caeru didn't think of who or why, he merely fought to survive. He couldn't see the face of who attacked him, because their head was completely covered with a scarf. They beat him about the head with something hard and heavy, until he could not move. They thought he was unconscious, perhaps, but a small part of his mind remained alert. He seemed to hover above himself and he could see the attacker's arm rising and falling. He could hear the dull thuds of a weapon in flesh and the muffled grunts his own body was making. He could smell a foul, terrible stink. He saw the attacker throw something away that landed with a metallic clatter on the stone floor. Then they plunged their hands into his body, and his consciousness shot back into his flesh. He felt fingers inside him, pulling and tearing. It was beyond pain. It was worse than that. He felt something give way, the most sickening thing he could imagine. It was the last conscious thought he had.
Pellaz stood in a shrine of the High Nayati, at the feet of a statue of Aruhani, dehar of aruna, life and death. He was about to utter the litany of the Sacred Offering. With him were several other members of the Hegemony, and some visitors from Maudrah in Jaddayoth. It was the first public engagement he'd conducted since the night he'd spent with Caeru and Cal. This ritual was for no purpose other than to entertain and perhaps impress the visitors from Maudrah.
Pellaz had only agreed to officiate because
Cal had claimed to be busy elsewhere. Caeru was in no state to be out, apparently, although Pellaz had avoided seeing him alone for weeks. He hadn't experienced the nauseating regret and self-disgust that usually followed being intimate with Caeru, but the circumstances, after all, had been very different. Still, he felt uneasy, as if he was waiting for the negative feelings to manifest. He shrank from visiting the Tigrina in case those dark passions were rekindled in force. He still didn't trust himself around Caeru.
Also, emotional issues aside, Pell's time had mainly been occupied with investigating the otherlanes. He and his brother Terez had been trying to replicate the event that had taken place on Pell's way home from Galhea. So far, they had been unsuccessful, but Pellaz knew of no other way to gather any information about what might be threatening him. It was all too vague and nebulous, yet it ate away at his mind. Something wasn't right. An intangible presence loomed over him, loomed over all of Immanion. He had told only Terez about it, because Terez had spent time in another world: he had a sense for these things.
Pellaz spoke the words of the ritual, in a clear ringing voice, and a priest of Aruhani handed to him a plate of ripe red fruit, which he laid on the dais in front of the statue. He bowed his head and began to back away: the ritual was finished.
The statue moaned.
Pell's head jerked up in surprise. The candlelight in the Nayati had gone red, and sinister shadows wriggled over the features of the dehar. It looked as if Aruhani was in pain. Before Pellaz could turn to any of his companions to find out whether they could perceive this phenomenon themselves, the statue exploded. Pellaz was hit by a storm of flying stone and hot liquid. The impact threw him backwards to the floor. He saw a jet of what looked like dark blood spewing out of Aruhani's ruined belly and it rained down upon him.
Pellaz cried out and rolled to the side, and then hands were upon him. He heard many voices, low with concern, but couldn't make out the words. His mind was filled with red. He fought off those who sought to assist him and leapt to his feet. The candlelight had returned to normal. The impassive countenance of Aruhani stared down at him, perfect and serene. The statue was intact.
“What is it?” somehar asked. “Tiahaar...?”
Pellaz stared about him wildly, disoriented. The vision had been so real. He glanced back at Aruhani, and then pushed his way through the anxious crowd about him, clawing his way to the exit. His personal guards called out to him, but he ignored them. When he reached the main doors, he heard the cry from Phaonica: a scream, high and keening. He saw a flock of black birds circling the highest towers. He saw red lightning in the distant sky, above the softly swelling Almagabran hills beyond the city. He didn't even pause to visit the stableyard and find Peridot. He ran home alone, through the empty streets, and all the time that terrible cry echoed in his ears.
By the time Pellaz reached Phaonica, the palace was a blaze of lights and even as he ran up the steep driveway to the main entrance, he could tell something had happened to incur a great deal of activity. Before he reached the door, a messenger on horseback, galloping out of the main yard, nearly knocked him over. He recognised Pellaz instantly, and said, “Tiahaar, the Tigrina has been attacked. I was coming to find you.”
Pellaz said nothing but ran into the palace, making directly for Caeru's apartments. He could not think, could barely draw breath. He could only remember the vision he'd had in the Nayati: the blood, the ruin.
Every lamp was now lit in Caeru's rooms, and the place was filled with security staff. Pellaz went into the main salon and recognised the har standing in the middle of the room, issuing orders to a collection of minions. This was Davitri Bilasso, a native Almagabran, and he was head of palace security. Pellaz went straight to him. “Report, Davitri. How bad?”
“Quite bad,” Davitri said, in his usual dour manner. “But he is alive. Just.”
“Who did this?”
“We have yet to ascertain that fact.”
“Well, do so. How could you let this happen? Our security is your domain. We will need to speak on this matter very soon.”
Davitri inclined his head respectfully, and Pellaz left him to ponder this chastisement. He went to the Tigrina's bed-chamber. It was empty but for one of Caeru's staff, whose bare arms were red to the elbow and who was carrying out a bowl of stained water and some towels.
“Where is he?” Pellaz demanded.
“They have taken him to the Infirmary, tiahaar.”
“His condition?”
The har ducked his head. “Poor, tiahaar.” He then spoke fiercely, somewhat beyond normal protocol. “Some monster came. Some monster did this.”
“What did they do?”
The har lowered his eyes. “His belly was cut, tiahaar.”
Pellaz went back to the main salon, where Davitri Bilasso was still engaged in briefing his hara. “Take me to the Infirmary,” Pellaz ordered. “Now.”
They rode in a carriage so that Pellaz could ask questions along the way. It appeared that – ironically – all of Caeru's staff had received a summons to a bogus emergency security meeting elsewhere in the palace. Only one har had missed the message and had paid for that with his life. Fortunately, the Tigrina's steward was not totally gullible and even before he and his hara reached the venue of the meeting, had felt compelled to return home. If he had not done so, then Caeru might already be dead. As it was, the physicians' primary diagnosis was not too optimistic. The pearl had been slashed from Caeru's body. It had not been found at the scene of the crime, although the weapon used to perpetrate the atrocity had been recovered. It was one of the cook's knives from the kitchen.
Listening to all this, Pellaz sensed his flesh freezing over, as if it were turning to ice. Through numb lips, he asked crisply, “Has Tigron Calanthe been informed of what's happened?”
Davitri Bilasso held Pell's gaze. “He is missing from his apartments, tiahaar. We presume he is out in the city somewhere. I have sent agents to look for him, both physically and through the ethers.”
Pellaz nodded. “Good.” He was in no state to attempt telepathic communication with Cal himself.
The Infirmary of Immanion was renowned throughout the Wraeththu world. It did not look like a hospital, nor did it feel like one. Its entire structure was designed to promote healing on all levels of being. Its ambience was calm and restful and the staff moved with serene purpose. Voices were soft in that place and the lighting subtle.
Pellaz was asked to wait because the Tigrina was in surgery. Bilasso offered to wait with him, but Pellaz dismissed him. The officer's task was to find whoever had committed the assault. The Tigron waited alone, his mind empty. When he did think, it was of trivial things, adjustments he should make to the Aruhani litany, a different mix of incense for the ritual. Where was Cal?
A har dressed in a white robe of soft silk brought him some water and murmured, “Tiahaar, if it's any help, you should know the Tigrina is in the best hands.”
No, it was not much help.
After a couple of hours, Pellaz was conducted to a room on the third floor, where a group of healers sat cross-legged in a ring around a low bed. Each chest emanated a low, soothing tone. A dark-skinned surgeon stood beyond their circle, dressed head to toe in theatre garb of deep blue that did not show the blood. His hair was wound tight upon his head and his expression was not encouraging. When Pellaz entered the room, he bowed and indicated they should speak in private.
“I want to see him first,” Pellaz said.
Taking care not to disturb the circle of healers, Pellaz peered over their heads. Caeru's body was covered in a flaking film of dried blood. His belly was obscured by a sheet, which was draped over a cage of some kind. Black snaking tubes emanated from beneath the sheet, their open ends disappearing into large black glass jars arranged upon the floor. Caeru's eyes were closed, his hair dark and matted and wet. He had been badly beaten about the head.
Pellaz stared for some moments, then turned to the surgeon.
“My
office, tiahaar,” murmured the surgeon in a strongly-accented, musical voice. He gestured towards the door.
The surgeon was named Sheeva, and he, like most citizens of Immanion, was not a native Almagabran. A member of his staff brought Pellaz hot coffee spiked with cinnamon, and Sheeva produced from a drawer in his desk a bottle of strong herbal liqueur, with which he suggested the Tigron fortify his drink.
Pellaz did this. He noticed that his left hand was shaking, while the right hand was still. He could taste blood in the back of his throat.
“I will tell you straight,” said Sheeva. “If the Tigrina makes it through tonight, he has a good chance of survival. The worst element, despite appearances, is shock. The head injuries look worse than they actually are. There is no fracture to the skull. However, I'm afraid the peal he was carrying was excised during the attack. Certain internal organs, and not just those associated with reproduction, have been badly damaged, but not beyond my skills of reconstruction. However, Caeru will have to face adjustments. Fortunately, the conception chamber – the cauldron of creation – is relatively intact, for which we should be thankful. I have never treated a har who has lost this organ, and the psychological effects of that could be – unpredictable.”