Paragenesis: Stories of the Dawn of Wraeththu (34 page)

Ponclast finished his circuit
and rejoined Terzian. He took the last of the dark powder from his
bag, and, dropping it in a thin stream, completed the circle.
Immediately the sounds inside Terzian’s head stopped, as did all
the external noise; the wind, the dry rattle of the snow, the
thrashing branches of the trees. An unearthly silence descended,
and with it came an oppressive sense of anticipation.

Within the circle, the air
appeared to glow slightly, flickering like a guttering candle
flame. In its centre, Terzian thought he could make out some
strange shapes twisting and writhing, forming and reforming. As he
watched he thought he caught a glimpse of something familiar, but
every time he tried to focus on the images, they dissolved and
regenerated into something else.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.
“What’s happening?”

Ponclast was staring into the
writhing mass, a curious, wide-eyed look of horror upon his face
that might almost have been comical under other circumstances.

“We are summoning demons,
Terzian. Or gods. It’s all the same thing.”

It was quite apparent now to
Terzian that Ponclast had planned this all some time in advance. He
wondered if Ponclast had ever believed that his attempt to disable
the townspeople’s guns would succeed. Obviously he was the type of
har who liked to have a backup plan.

“What’s happening?” Terzian
repeated, somewhat resentful that Ponclast had not chosen to
divulge his plans to him, and also, if he were to admit it to
himself, rather curious about what would happen next.

“We must enter the circle. We
must confront our demons in order to become our own gods.”

Terzian wondered if Ponclast
had finally misplaced what remained of his sanity. The light within
the circle was steadier now, losing its inchoate formlessness and
becoming a steady beacon, drawing the onlookers inwards. It looked
to Terzian like the moon had fallen from the heavens and now rested
earthbound on the snow, glowing silver in the blackness.

Within the clearing, the wind
began to stir again, gently at first, then with increasing
strength, blowing loose strands of Terzian’s hair across his face,
blinding him momentarily, and setting up a dismal, grief-laden moan
all around them. It seemed as if the air was rushing headlong into
the circle of light, creating a vacuum into which everything else
around might also be drawn.

Terzian pushed the whipping
tendrils of hair away from his eyes and mouth. The wind was pushing
him –or perhaps pulling him– toward the circle. He had no idea what
would happen if he were to step into that light. Nor, he suspected,
did Ponclast.

He turned to look at his
companion. Ponclast’s eyes were closed, and he was making small,
protective signs with his hands, tracing unknown symbols and sigils
in the air, only to have them torn away by the buffeting blast of
the wind.

“Are you going in?” Terzian
found that he had to shout to make his voice heard above the din of
the howling gale; he could barely hear himself. He wondered if
Ponclast had heard him at all. The other har showed no signs of
acknowledging his query; his eyes remained shut and his hands
continued their nervous flutterings.

Suppressing his irritation,
Terzian leaned over towards Ponclast and shouted in his ear.

“ARE. YOU. GOING. IN?”

Ponclast’s eyes fluttered open,
and Terzian could see the fear in them.

“I cannot,” he said, his voice
cracked and barely audible above the roar of the wind. He winced,
as if in pain. “I dare not.”

Terzian could contain his
annoyance no longer. He had not come out here on this filthy night
with a har he considered to be half-mad merely to watch an
entertaining light show.

“This was your idea!” he
bellowed. The wind tore the words from him, despite the force
behind them. “You’re supposed to know what to do. You can’t just
back out now.”

It was plain from the look on
Ponclast’s face that he could, and would.

Terzian snorted in disgust, and
without hesitation, walked forward and into the circle of
light.

He stepped over the
carefully-drawn circumference of the circle and into an unexpected
oasis of calm; the wind ceased to buffet his body and torment his
ears, the cold retreated from his extremities, and the blackness of
the night was replaced by a cool, ambient glow all around him. It
took him a few moments to adjust to the sudden change; he felt
disorientated by the jarring transition from storm to calm, from
night to apparent day, and from forest glade to…
somewhere
else.

He looked around for Ponclast,
but could see no sign of the other har, which did not surprise him.
There was no snow underfoot, no trees and no sky visible above. He
had no idea if he was still in the clearing or not. He wondered if
he should announce his presence, but that seemed foolish. He had no
idea what he had let himself in for, or what his fate would be now
that he had entered this strange place. Better simply to let
whatever was to happen take its own course.

He waited expectantly, alert
for any sign of danger. Every nerve in his body was taut and
stretched. At any moment, he expected to be consumed by fire, or
cast down into a bottomless pit, or have any number of nameless
horrors visited upon him. What he did not expect was the low,
musical voice which spoke into his ear.

“Why is it you are here,
Terzian?”

The voice came from behind him.
He spun round, half expecting to see nothing at all, but was
startled to find himself in the presence of a tall creature, more
than twice his own height, whom he was sure had not been there when
he entered the circle.

Terzian tried to reply, but his
mouth was dry with fear. The thing in front of him was neither har
nor human, of that he was sure, yet Terzian felt reluctant to
accord it the status of either demon or god that Ponclast had
spoken of. For all its strangeness, there was a familiarity about
it. It was like himself, he could see that – its hermaphrodite
nature announced very clearly by the wet, pulsating orifice between
its legs, petalled mouth pouting and dripping an iridescent fluid,
surmounted by the enormous erect phallus which the creature gripped
tightly with one hand, apparently to support its unusual
length.

Terzian did not know whether to
be repulsed or aroused by this unusual sight. He tried to look
away, but found he could not; his fascination was too great.

“Who are you?” he asked, his
heart sinking at the utter banality of the question.

The creature laughed. It was a
pleasant sound, the voice pitched neither high nor low.

“You know the answer to that,
Terzian,” it said. “Or at least you will. In time.”

Terzian shook his head. “I
don’t know who or what you are, or where you have come from, or
what you want.”

Again the creature laughed, or
produced the sound which Terzian had taken to be a laugh before. On
second hearing, he was not quite so sure. Like every other aspect
of the creature, its laughter was at the same time both
disturbingly familiar and utterly alien. Its face appeared harish
in configuration, beautiful and alluring, with large dark eyes, but
upon closer inspection Terzian could see that the eyes had no
whites; they were simply black ovals set in the creature’s face,
reflecting neither light from outside nor emotion from within.

“It is not
I
who wants,
Terzian. The wanting is
yours
. The desire. The unmet need.
Tell me what it is that you want, Terzian.”

“I don’t…” he began, but the
lie died before it could even be spoken. He remembered the events
of earlier that evening, the battle, the humans, the wish for them
to be gone, and for all they possessed to be his. A warm bed, clean
sheets, a full stomach. It seemed petty in its mundaneness now.

“Not at all,“ the creature
reassured him. “You want to live. To grow, to be strong; to
continue your line. It is what all living things want; it is
nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I am not ashamed of wanting
these things.”

“Good. Because I will give them
to you.”

“Just like that?”

“Of course not.”

“Oh.”

“You must give me something in
return.”

“I thought you said you didn’t
want anything.”

“I don’t, but you must still
give me something in return. The equation must balance.”

“I have nothing to give
you.”

“Of course you do, Terzian. You
must give me what is of most value to you.”

“I don’t think you have much
use for a rusty knife.”

The creature produced its noise
again, and this time Terzian was convinced it had nothing in common
with laughter.

“Quite right. I want your soul,
Terzian.”

“Fine, take it.”

The look of perplexity on the
creature’s face gave Terzian a moment’s gratification.

“You’re not supposed to give in
so easily, Terzian. You’re supposed to argue, and convince me of
how much you value your soul.”

“I don’t.”

“Yes, I can see that. Well it’s
no use to me then.”

“In that case, I don’t have
anything else to offer.”

The creature studied him
carefully, pursing its pseudo-lips, and running its hand along its
erect phallus. Terzian recalled Ponclast in his tent, three nights
ago, in a similar pose.

“I see it.” The creature
said.

“See what?”

“The thing you value. The thing
you must give to me.”

“Which is?”

“Your love.”

“My what?”

“Your love. Your softness, your
compassion, your tenderness, your surrender. You want to give it to
someone, Terzian, but there is no one worthy, and perhaps there
never will be. Give it to me. You’re not using it, after all.”

Terzian decided that this
conversation had taken a very surreal turn. He had no idea what
this creature wanted from him, or how he was supposed to give it.
Give me your love.
What did it mean by that?

He had no experience of love,
either of giving it or receiving it. He thought about Lirren and
Moth; the soft, secret looks he had seen them exchange; the brief
contact that excluded everyone else in the world. He thought about
how Lirren had struggled in his grasp, like an animal caught in a
trap, and run back into the fire and the bullets, into his own
certain death, because he could not bear to live in a world that
did not have Moth in it. Was that love? If it was, it was a
weakness, a sickness and something that Terzian had no use for.

Perhaps in another time and
another place, there would be a space for such things, but not here
and now, at the edge of existence and the edge of extinction. Only
strength could help them survive; all else would merely drag them
down. He would give up his weakness gladly; cut it away from
himself like a gangrenous limb, leaving only the stronger part of
him. And in return he would gain power and control. It was a good
bargain.

“Take it,” he said, “I have no
use for it.”

“Are you sure?” The creature
looked at him slyly.

“Quite sure.”

“You promise that you will give
it to me, and to me only?”

“I do.”

“Then know this, Terzian. This
promise is a vow. It may not be broken without consequences. What
is given can be taken away again, what is gained may be lost. You
must be faithful to this vow, Terzian. You must be faithful to me
and only me. No other may have your love once you have surrendered
it to me. Are you sure that you can keep this promise?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

The creature reached out one
long arm and touched Terzian gently on the cheek. Its fingers felt
cool and soft.

“My beautiful Terzian,” it
sighed. “So strong, so confident, so sure of your own heart. One
day it may betray you.”

“I’ll deal with that when it
happens.”

“Of course you will. I offer
you one last chance, Terzian. You may withdraw from this agreement
now if you so wish, and all will remain as before.”

“I do not wish. What I wish is
for you to give me victory over the humans. Give me the town. Give
me a life.”

The creature nodded gravely.
“Very well. We have an agreement then. I will take your offering.
Give me your knife.”

Terzian hesitated for a second,
then withdrew his knife from its sheath and handed it to the
creature, who took it, smiled politely and sidled around the back
of him. Terzian felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

“Don’t look round.” The
creature warned, and it was all Terzian could do to comply with its
instructions.

He felt a tug on his hair,
which was bound with a leather cord behind his head in a long tail
reaching to his waist. Then another tug, sharper and more painful,
and another, and then the tugging ceased and his head felt
strangely lighter.

The creature reappeared in
front of him holding something rope-like in its hands,
corn-coloured and gleaming. Terzian recognized it. It was his own
hair.

“This represents your
sacrifice,” the creature told him. It took the length of hair and
dropped it into a flat silver dish in the centre of the circle. It
lay there like a dead thing. Lifeless. It seemed impossible to
Terzian that it had ever been a part of him.

The creature cast a handful of
powder into the dish. There was a sudden bright flash of vermilion
flame and the hair burned fiercely for a few seconds. When the
flames died, there was no trace of it remaining, no sign that it
had ever existed.

“Is that it?” asked Terzian
cautiously.

“No, of course not. Lie down
now.”

Unaccountably, Terzian found
that he was naked and soume. He could not remember removing his
clothing, and he could not remember experiencing any feelings of
desire for this creature, but now he felt the unmistakeable
butterfly flexions between his legs, and the beginnings of wetness,
an ocean tide, a river awaiting release.