Paragenesis: Stories of the Dawn of Wraeththu (33 page)

Terzian wondered if he should
stay with Ponclast or join the attack on the town. The harish
forces had reached the barricades now, and were tearing furiously
at the piles of timber and rubble and barbed wire. The shouts from
the human defenders had taken on a note of panic. Terzian
recognized the sound of fear; he knew it all too well. Obviously
their armaments were malfunctioning in some way, because the only
sounds to be heard were the smashing and splintering of the
inadequate defences, the noises of alarm from within the town, and
the triumphant battle cries from the invaders.

Fire flared suddenly, an orange
gout of flame lighting up the dark. Faced with the impossible
uselessness of their weapons, the humans had resorted to less
technological tactics: a bottle of petrol, a lit rag, and the crude
new weapon hurled at the seething mass of night-creatures swarming
towards them. The bottle smashed and vomited its fiery contents all
over the crumbling barricade, spreading its flames like a
contagious disease, infecting everything combustible, but the wave
of hara parted like the sea around it and continued their
inexorable progress towards the buildings beyond.

At that moment, a single,
shocking report rang out, as loud as thunder to Terzian’s ears.
Sound and movement ceased abruptly, just for a brief moment. The
barricades burned in silence. The human defenders looked on
nervously. The onrushing hara froze, their momentum dissipated.
Then another shot, and a scream, and murmur that became a roar, and
the riotous cacophony began again, but this time chaotic and
directionless. More shots peppered the night, and hara began to run
for cover, lithe bodies illuminated by the flickering orange light,
half-concealed by the smoke; some running, some falling.

Terzian spun round to look at
Ponclast. The strange light around him had dimmed considerably, and
his extended hands were empty. His face was now damp with sheen of
perspiration, his mouth open and gasping, and his eyes wide and
staring, although as Terzian grabbed his arm roughly he realised
that whatever Ponclast was seeing, it was not the scene in front of
him. Spitting a curse, he dropped the arm as if the flesh was
poison, and ran off in the direction of the burning barricade.

It was a rout. Hara were
fleeing in all directions, any form of discipline or teamwork they
might have had now lost in the mad scramble to save themselves.
Terzian started shouting and waving vigorously with his arms,
indicating the direction of safety. He realised that he was making
a very visible target of himself by doing so, but tried to put any
possible consequences of his actions out of his mind.

Hara began running towards him,
the relief in their eyes visible even in the smoky, flickering
darkness. They needed someone to take charge, to tell them what to
do, and they were drawn to Terzian like moths to the moon.

Emboldened by the sudden
reversal in their fortunes, the human defenders now went on to the
attack, small groups making sorties from the buildings, zigzagging
in the shadows, trying to outflank the retreating hara and cut off
their escape routes. Terzian realised with a sick feeling in his
stomach that they were far more disciplined and practiced in the
art of guerrilla warfare than his own tribe.

That will have to
change
, he thought grimly, seizing hold of a young har who was
blindly running in the wrong direction, back towards the flaming
remains of the barricade.

The har struggled furiously in
his grasp.

“We have to go back!” he cried
desperately.

“No, we have to retreat,”
Terzian spoke in an even tone, trying not to panic the har even
more, but he held onto him firmly.

The har refused to accept this
and struggled harder.

“We must! We have to go back.
Moth is there!”

Terzian looked at the har
closely. He looked very young, probably only a year or so past
inception, if that. He had been one of Terzian’s original band – a
name, Lirren, attached itself to the face – and Terzian
remembered vaguely that he seemed always to be in the company of
another har, brown of hair and skin. Moth; as soft and silent as
his namesake. The two were inseparable, and apparently did not take
aruna with any other hara, if the rumours were to be believed.
While Terzian did not actively discourage this behaviour, he
considered it slightly abnormal nevertheless. Now, looking down at
the distraught young har’s wet, tear-streaked face, he realised
that he should have put a stop to it much earlier. Too late to do
anything about it now.

“If Moth is back there, then he
is dead,” he said, surprising even himself with the blunt cruelty
of that statement. This was not the time for softening blows.

The har wailed piteously in
denial, struggling furiously, but unable to free himself from
Terzian’s iron grip.

“Let me go!” he cried
desperately, “I have to find him. Just let me go! Please!”

Terzian hesitated. The har
looked at him with pleading eyes, large and grey. Terzian made his
decision, and with a snarl of disapproval released him. Without a
backward glance Lirren ran off toward the flames and smoke and
welcoming gunfire. Terzian shrugged and turned his back on the
vanishing har, resuming his efforts to guide the other hara to
safety.
If that idiot wants to kill himself, then let him do it.
There are others who want to live.

Ponclast was eventually
discovered back at the encampment, in his own tent. Terzian didn’t
even try to conceal his anger.

“There are at least a hundred
dead hara back there!” he snapped, jabbing his forefinger furiously
in the direction of the town, where a dull orange glow could still
be seen illuminating the horizon.

“I am aware of that.”

“Are you now? And what do you
intend to do about it? Wave your magic wand or your pretty lights
and bring them back to life?”

“Don’t be facetious, Terzian,
it’s not your style at all. This is a setback, true, but the
concept is sound. We simply need more power.”

“I’m glad you think it’s that
simple.”

“But it is, Terzian! I admit, I
am inexperienced in these matters, and at present lack the required
abilities to defeat an entire town. However, in time I shall
increase my strength, and then we will be unstoppable.”

“We don’t have time,” Terzian
said bleakly.

Ponclast laced his gloved
fingers together thoughtfully and frowned.

“You’re right,” he said “The
road to enlightenment and knowledge is a long and weary one. We do
not have the luxury of setting our feet upon that trail, narrow and
difficult as it is. But there is another path we might take, a
different direction…”

Terzian sighed heavily. He had
little time for Ponclast’s more fanciful notions; he wanted
straight answers and certainties.

“We need more power, Terzian,”
Ponclast insisted, “and if it is not available to us by legitimate
means, then we shall have to acquire by… other means.”

“Get to the point.”

Ponclast beckoned with his
finger. “Come, sit here beside me Terzian. Now, tell me, what do
you know of gods?”

Terzian laughed derisively.
“There are no gods! Gods are the invention of humans – pathetic
creatures too scared to face the world without their
comforters.”

“Is that so? And what of the
Aghama?”

“What of him?”

“Does he exist? Or is he an
invention too?”

Terzian shrugged. “How should I
know?”

“If he does not exist, then
where did we come from?”

“I have no idea.”

“Come now, Terzian, you must
have thought about it. It is quite evident that we did not spring
from nowhere. There must have been a first.”

“I suppose so,” Terzian agreed
somewhat grudgingly

“And this first Wraeththu has
taken on a great significance among his diaspora; we have accorded
him the status of deity, and named him Aghama. Some hara worship
him.”

Terzian grunted in disgust. “I
don’t!”

“It doesn’t matter whether you
do or not, Terzian,” Ponclast continued calmly. “Neither does it
matter if this first Wraeththu still lives and walks among us, as
some believe, or whether, as is more likely, he died some
ignominious death at the hands of humans. He is an ideal, an
archetype, an external expression of a particular part of the
Wraeththu psyche. A method by which hara might, with diligence,
discover their own inner deity.”

“And what does this have to do
with capturing the town?”

Ponclast smiled grimly. “There
are other areas of the Wraeththu psyche, Terzian. Darker areas,
areas with fewer rules or self-imposed restrictions. And there is
power to be had by accessing these areas. More power, in fact, than
is available by the…”

“…legitimate..?”

“…methods. Quite so. I see we
understand each other, Terzian.”

“Perhaps. Do you really think
this is something we should be considering?”

“And what else would you have
me do?” Ponclast’s irritation manifested itself. “How else would
you have me protect our kind? I am all too aware of the
implications of what I am proposing, Terzian, never think
otherwise, but we have little choice. Would you prefer that I just
fold my arms, thank the Aghama for this bounteous lesson in life,
and quietly allow us all to perish? I will not do that, Terzian – I
will use whatever methods are necessary to ensure our survival,
whatever tools are at our disposal.

“And you, Terzian. Are you
willing to sacrifice more Wraeththu lives on the altar of your
principals?” Ponclast gave him a hard stare “You, who were so nobly
incensed by the needless deaths of our comrades such a short while
ago? If you want to save the rest of our tribe, you will have to
sacrifice something in return. The energy of the universe must
balance. Its momentum must be conserved. One does not get something
for nothing.”

Terzian found that he had no
answer. Ponclast was right – they could not afford to be overly
fastidious about how they chose to wage this war they were engaged
in. What mattered was victory, not how it was achieved.

He remembered the events of
three nights ago, in this very tent. This felt like the same thing;
a surrender, a giving-up of some part of himself. It was the price
he had to pay for his own survival.

Ponclast must have sensed his
acquiescence, because he leaned over and laid his hand on Terzian’s
arm, patting it reassuringly.

“You know I’m right.” he said
“You know this is the only way. We cannot shy away from the
realities of life simply because we find some of them distasteful.
When fate summons us, we must be ready to meet the challenge. We
must be a match for it. We must not fail in our moment of truth. We
must dare to do what must be done.” He rubbed his gloved hands
together. “Now, come – button your coat, it’s cold out. And it’s
time to get down to business.”

Terzian paused for a moment,
then stood up, carefully fastened his worn overcoat and followed
Ponclast through the loose flap in the tent that served as a
door.

Outside, a blizzard had
descended upon the camp. Hard, frozen pellets of snow were being
driven almost sideways by the wind, which howled as if it were a
cousin to the timber wolves. Terzian hunched his shoulders and
lowered his head into the oncoming blast, feeling its harsh and
gritty fury scouring his skin.

A har could wish for more
weatherproof clothing on such a night as this, he thought. In fact,
a har could wish for many things – a warm bed, clean sheets, a full
belly and a safe haven from both the storm and the naked aggression
of the human race, none of which would come to him unless he were
prepared to fight for them and take them – by whatever means
necessary.

Ponclast headed away from the
main encampment, towards a small stand of trees some distance away,
with Terzian following behind, clutching his inadequate coat as
tightly around his body as he could. The moon must surely have
risen by now, but its cold light was hidden behind the cloud; it
was pitch black, so black even the snow underfoot was as dark as
bare earth.

Fortunately for them, the
thicket of trees was quite dense and provided some shelter from
both the wind and the driving snow. Ponclast fought his way through
the tangle of bushes and long grass under and around the trees,
tearing at the vegetation with his hands, until they came to a
small clearing in the middle of the wooded area.

It was an open area, roughly
circular in shape, measuring approximately twelve of Terzian’s
longest strides in diameter. The snowfall of the past few days lay
undisturbed here, white and even.. Terzian and Ponclast stopped at
the edge of the clearing, both breathing heavily from their
exertions.

“Why are we here?” asked
Terzian. It seemed a little too convenient, this magic circle in
the middle of nowhere, as if Ponclast had planned all this in
advance.

“You’ll see.” Ponclast rummaged
in his endless pockets and produced a small leather pouch. He
fastidiously removed a glove, pulling each leather finger in turn,
then undid the cord holding the neck of the pouch closed and thrust
his bare hand inside. When he pulled it out his clenched fist was
full of some substance Terzian could not see.

“Stay there,” he said.

He walked halfway into the
centre of the clearing and began carefully sprinkling a dark
powdery substance into the snow in a thin line. He walked around
the clearing, marking a circle in the snow. Outside the circle, his
footprints left a trail all the way around, but inside the snow
remained virgin and untouched. As Ponclast walked, Terzian could
hear him chanting strange words, the shapes and sounds of which
were like no language Terzian had ever encountered before. They
seemed louder in his ears than they should have been, echoing
metallically inside his head, driving out his own thoughts.