Paragenesis: Stories of the Dawn of Wraeththu (42 page)

“No har told me it would be
like
that
,” Ottar murmured once his breathing slowed.

“It isn’t like that all the
time,” Hroth said gently, kissing his eyelids. “But there’s
something truly magical the first time your harish body is brought
to life.”

After a while Hroth got up and
gave Ottar a glass of water, which he drank gratefully.

“Will you tell me about your
injury?” he asked afterward. “I hate to keep asking, especially
after what we just experienced but… I really want to know.”

“Of course,” soothed Hroth. “I
understand. It’s been a couple of years since I’ve told someone
new. Let’s get comfortable.”

Hroth took Ottar’s lead, which
meant that Ottar suggested that they sit in front of the fire on
one of Hroth’s woven rugs.

“I’d like it if you’d let me
lay my head in your lap,” Ottar said as he sat up, pulling Hroth’s
hand to splay on his chest. “Maybe it’s this aruna thing, or just
you, but I don’t mind being a bit, well, needy.”

“Now that we Wraeththu are a
bit more civilized, one’s first aruna should be a ceremony of joy
and rapture,” Hroth said, opening his arms. “Be as needy as you
wish. Back in the very first days, it was a bit more brutal. Are
you certain you want to hear my story now?”

“Yes, unless it makes you
uncomfortable.”

“No. It doesn’t.”

They situated themselves in
front of the blazing fire, Hroth able to play with Ottar’s hair,
the chestnut colour taking on a coppery glow from the fire.

“There weren’t many of us back
then,” he began, “and the human population was seized by terror,
certain that the world was ending. Theirs was, but not in the way
they expected. We first Wraeththu were choosy, selecting those who
could seek and find us out, who wanted to reach beyond their human
selves. I prowled the cities, sending out a siren call to those who
could hear it. But it became too much with all of the disease and
despair. I left my fledgling tribe for a time to go to the
countryside, now nearly abandoned, to meditate and draw energy I
knew I would find out in nature. I had to get away from the
decaying centres of human civilization.”

Hroth’s fingers slid through
silky hair to even softer skin, and smiled as Ottar made a
contented, purring sound. Despite the violence Ottar must know was
coming in his tale, Hroth knew the new har’s blood throbbed hot in
his veins. Once he’d finished his story and maybe after a bit of
wine, it would be time for Ottar to experience the role of
ouana.

“I went to an abandoned farm in
one of the valleys, beautiful in its disrepair. I retreated far
within myself, and was in such a deep state that I was able to be
ambushed. It was a group of three humans, one ill and two
distressingly strong. I’d been caught so unawares that they were
able to restrain me. They thought if they made a sacrifice of me to
one of the old gods, he would take pity on them, and make the
plague go away. Probably they were hoping both for health and also
for creatures like me to vanish as well.”

Ottar had moved to lie on his
side and was staring intently at him. Seeing the anguish that
filled his expression, Hroth gave him a soft smile.

“This happened a few years ago,
dear Ottar. I’ll get through the story, but please don’t be
troubled on my behalf. This night should be one of memorable joy,
not melancholy.”

“I won’t obsess about it, I
promise,” Ottar said, placing a hand on Hroth’s knee. “Already it
doesn’t startle me like it did at first. Thank you for trusting me
enough to tell me.”

“It’s not exactly a secret I
can hide!” Hroth said ruefully, shaking his head. “Here. Let me
share breath with you and show you that way.”

Ottar seemed a bit perplexed,
but gamely he climbed into Hroth’s lap, straddling him and wrapping
his arms around Hroth’s strong shoulders. The older har let his
hand and arm smooth down to the swell above Ottar’s buttocks, hot
skin warmed by its proximity to the fire. Hroth didn’t want to
overwhelm him since it had been a gruesome experience.

“If it’s too much, break the
connection,” he said.

“I will. I’ve seen a lot of
terrible things myself,” Ottar noted, his fingers rubbing Hroth’s
neck under his braids.

“Of course.”

Ottar leaned in to press their
lips together. Hroth let the kiss remain just that for a time,
enjoying the warm sensuality of the purely physical connection of
lips and searching tongues. He guided it to a sharing of breath,
bringing a smattering of images to send on the current of their
breathing.

There were his terrified
tormentors who’d bound him to a table as he snarled, struggling
against the ropes that burned against his chafing flesh. They’d
prayed to the ancient god, offering Hroth to be like him, the dirty
cleaver held high as Hroth roared in comprehension. Roc had
appeared, cawing and attacking the humans, but there were too many
of them.

After that came the sickening
sound and then pain exploded up his arm as though his veins carried
burning acid. Hroth had gone berserk. Wild energy erupted all
around him as he screamed and screamed, both aloud and in his mind.
The world went redblack, a pulsing, wild agony at the wrist where
his hand had been. Everything in him focused on that, miraculously
knitting together gashed arteries so he didn’t bleed to death.

Some time later he was rescued
by hara from his tribe; Roc had flown to them and led them to the
house, now silent except for Hroth’s sobs and groans. His maelstrom
of chaotic power had stopped the hearts of his human captors.

Back in the here and now, Hroth
sensed Ottar’s distress and changed what images he sent to soothing
things. Ottar drew away, gasping for air and looking at Hroth with
both pity and awe.

“I… I…” he fumbled.

Hroth was about to reassure him
once again when there was a cawing sound and flapping of wings.
Ottar blinked in surprise at the raven that perched on a wooden
chair, eyeing them with its beady gaze.

“That’s my familiar,” Hroth
explained. “He came to me during my own althaia. I thought it was
part of my hallucinations at first, but he’s remained with me ever
since, appearing from time to time.”

“This is the one,” Roc croaked.
“You shall train and guide him. He is destined to bring tremendous
change.”

Hroth bowed his head in
acknowledgment, deciding to keep that information to himself until
more time had passed.

“You can—” Ottar began before
chewing on his bottom lip. “Can you understand it?”

“Yes, seal-eyes. For reasons I
still don’t fully understand, the spirits chose me to be able to
communicate with Roc after that day.”

“Tend to him,” Roc cawed. “I
will visit again at the solstice festival. Be careful in the mind
realms you visit. I cannot follow you there.”

The raven tilted its head,
glancing at them and then to the bed before cawing again, a
messageless cry. It hopped and half-flew back out of the room.

“Let’s go back to the bed,”
Hroth suggested, and Ottar eased off of his lap to stand, holding
out his hands to help him up from the floor. Once standing, he
pulled Hroth into an embrace.

“I’m so glad were picked for
me,” he said fiercely.

“So am I. I’m glad you’re glad.
I had more than my share of doubts. Not of my ability, but it’s
wearing on me, knowing I make hara uncomfortable.”

“Well,” said Ottar, some shame
reaching his eyes, “if I’d known you were missing a hand and that
you can talk to birds—”

“Only Roc,” Hroth
interrupted.

“One bird. Still, it would have
been a lot that’s so different.”

“Speaking of different, you
should have a go at being ouana,” Hroth murmured before sucking
hard on Ottar’s neck to distract him.

“What’s that?
Oh.
”

With a low chuckle, Hroth led
Ottar down another path of harish arunic delights.

Later in the night, shivering
violently, Hroth came to himself. He thought somehar had been
calling him. He looked around, dazed, his arms wrapped tightly
around his chest. His skin felt like slick marble, and his jaw was
clenched against the cold. Startled, he stopped walking, uncertain
whether or not he was in an exceptionally vivid dream. If not, all
evidence seemed to indicate that he’d walked to the sea and gone
in— all while asleep.

Hansggedir?
he called
via mindtouch. The evening’s events poured back to him, gushing
like a geyser.
Ottar?!

Hroth! Thank the gods! Where
are you?
Ottar’s frantic voice sounded in his head, warming his
frigid body if only for a moment.

I’m just outside of Freygard.
I’m… naked. And freezing. I seem to have gone swimming while
sleepwalking.

I’ll get a horse. I’m coming to
get you.

Yes, please!

Hroth began to jog toward the
town, grateful when he saw Ottar approach him. He was on
Hansggedir’s horse, his face a mask of worry and relief. He pulled
up and jumped down, enfolding Hroth in his arms.

“You scared the shit out of
me!” he said, bathing Hroth’s face with kisses before wrapping a
blanket around him. “I was so worn out I didn’t hear you leave.
Tell me this didn’t have anything to do with our taking aruna.”

“No, I promise.” Hroth’s teeth
were chattering so much he could barely get the words out.

“Here. Have some sheh.” Ottar
held a flask to his lips, and Hroth gratefully drank some of the
liquor. “And then let’s get you back to your house. Hold on to me,
okay?”

“I don’t think I could do
anything else,” Hroth admitted as a chill wracked his body.

“This has certainly been a
memorable day,” Ottar said ruefully, situating Hroth behind him.
“And this has never happened to you before?”

“Never. I’ve been deep into
meditations before, but not like that.”

All at once he had a flash of
memory, a fireworks display of images, dazzling half-remembrances
of a spirit thundering with arunic power. And a young har— or had
it been a vision of what Ottar might have looked like when he was
young?

“A little bit is coming back to
me,” Hroth said once they were at his house. Hansggedir met him
outside the door, where he told them he’d heated water for a
bath.

“That must have been some kind
of aruna,” Hansggedir said as he took the reins from Ottar, tying
up his horse before they went inside. His tone was light, but his
expression was anxious. “Nothing against you, Ottar, but I’d
recommend not doing anything along those lines the rest of the
night.”

“That’s really the last thing
on my mind,” he said, shaking his head.

“There’s something about you,”
Hroth said wonderingly to Ottar. “Nothing frightening, although
waking up out by the ocean, naked, is bizarre. I think you have a
message for me.”

“I think you’re full of shit,”
Hansggedir grumbled. “Take your bath and get some sleep. Maybe I
should stay with you.”

“No, I want Ottar to stay.” He
turned to the new har. “You didn’t cause whatever this was, but I
think it’s significant that I had such a vivid dream when you were
here.”

Ottar looked rather dubious,
but then Hroth said, “Please stay. I don’t know why it’s important,
but even Roc said that you will be important to my life.”

“I don’t know who died and made
you hienama, but—”

“Let it go!” Hroth exclaimed,
interrupting Hansggedir. “I’m a bit different, and you know it. I’m
sorry I scared you. Both of you. Not to mention that I find it
pretty unsettling. Now I’m going to get that bath.”

“Good idea,” Ottar said
hurriedly. It was obvious he’d been quite shaken by the events of
the evening, and Hroth was glad he’d agreed to stay. Hansggedir
took his leave, muttering about tying Hroth to his bed.

“Please don’t worry about me,”
Hroth said once he’d soaked and felt like himself again. Ottar was
wrapped around him, holding him tightly.

“I just don’t want to be known
as the har that might have caused you to sleepwalk or sleepswim to
your death!”

“Well, I can’t promise that,
but I do hope that I’ve not scared you so much that you’ll never
want to visit me again.”

Ottar shook his head. “I still
have a lot to learn about being har, and you seem like an excellent
teacher. Just don’t go sleepwalking again if you can help it! Maybe
the spirit was a harmful one and Trygve should have an
exorcism.”

“That might be a bit extreme!”
Hroth laughed. “But now that you mention it…”

“Do you think you can sleep? Is
there anything I can do to relax you?”

“Well, I do love having my hair
played with, and it’s rather a mess. And tell me about your hopes
and expectations of being har. You’re definitely no longer
human!”

Eventually Ottar teased out the
tangles, and with a healthy quantity of wine, they both fell asleep
once more. Hroth dreamed, but wasn’t called away from his bed. He
saw the impossible, a young har child, with Ottar’s large eyes.
When or how he could arrive, the dream gave no hint. But when Hroth
awoke, all he could remember was the name the portend must
have:

Tyr.

Something’s
Coming

Wendy Darling

Like a Hot Glowing Coal

Heart

It seems so long ago, that
first time I laid eyes on Sphinx – before he got his name.

The world was so different
then. Myself as well. And, oh, was
he
different!

Yet it was only a few years
ago. Lately, it seems time does not fly. It races at the speed of
light.

That afternoon I was not aware
of time at all. I had spent most of the daylight hours on round-up
duty, rushing about town collecting new recruits. There were plenty
to be had in that town. It was mainly residential, with lots of
plump families with frustrated teenage boys just dying to break
away. And what could have been more seductive, more sinful, than
breaking away with us? The Wraeththu. The destroyers. The defilers.
The debased. Even those who struggled wanted it. I think so,
anyway.