"What is your business?" he asked in a low, rasping voice.
I could see little of his face; a moving mouth, a strong, well-shaped chin. "We are from Saltrock," I began. "The shaman, Orien Farnell has bidden me seek out the Kakkahaar."
"For what purpose? Why tempt danger in the desert?" He spoke as the wind speaks, whistling over the shifting sands in the dead time before the dawn. A dreadful cold that changes the desert to a different kind of wilderness.
"I am Neomalid," I answered. "I have to pass to Brynie. There are not enough hara of Algoma level at Saltrock . . ."
Red was sniffing the stranger's robes, inquisitive. The whites of his eyes were showing.
"Give me your hand." I leaned over and reached down. His fingers were dry and hard, and from that position I could see his eyes sparking beneath the folds of his hood.
"There is more." His voice was little more than a whisper now; his followers still as sand-stone behind him.
"The one named Thiede incepted me." There was no choice. I had to tell him, even though there was a risk that that information might go against me. I had no way of knowing what the Kakkahaar thought of Thiede.
The stranger drew his breath in sharply and stared at me intently for a moment. "We are a nomad people." He stepped back a pace or two and with careful grace, lifted both hands to his head to throw back his hood. "Our camp is not far from here. Welcome. I am Lianvis."
The Kakkahaar are steeped in mysticism; there are few amongst them less than Ulani, although they keep a choice selection of Aralids as servants. I expected them to lead an austere life, but in fact found them to be a luxury-loving tribe. They loved to be waited on, hungered for comfort and trinkets; their Ara attendants were dressed in diaphanous silks and heavily hung with gold adornments. I could tell Cal disapproved. He thought the Kakkahaar treated their Aralids like women, and although I could not disagree entirely, at no time did I meet anyone in the camp dissatisfied with the arrangement.
Lianvis, asking us polite questions about ourselves, but not too prying, led us to a tasselled pavilion; his home. Inside, it reminded me of Seel's living-room, though Seel would have been sick with envy had he seen it. The color scheme was dark bronze, dark gold and black. Tall, decorated urns spouted fountains of peacock feathers, canopies hung down from a central pole sparkling with sequins. The tent was so large it had several different rooms. A near-naked har with hair to his thighs bound with black pearls, rose from the couch. A book lay open there beside a half-eaten apple. He bowed before Lianvis. "Ulaume, barley-tea for my guests. They need refreshment." The Aralid looked at me from beneath long, thick lashes. His dark eyes looked bruised, his lips full as if aruna was never far from his thoughts. Never had I seen such a breathtaking, sulky beauty. Lianvis caught me staring. "Magnificent, isn't it," and then ushered us to be seated, I would not help but remember, with amusement, Seel's introduction of Flick. Enormous cushions, slippery silk and satin, littered the floor. We sank down into them and Lianvis sat down in front of us
"I know of your Orien," he said. "A well-respected har among Wraeththu-kind, though it is some time since we met. How are things at Saltrock?" All the Kakkahaar wear their hair incredibly long. Lianvis's pooled about him, the color of honey.
"It progresses in leaps and bounds," Cal told him. "The terrain is difficult, but at least they can grow things." Lianvis leaned back sighing.
"Ah yes. They work hard at Saltrock. Not the life for me, I fear. Not a day passes that I do not give thanks for how we earn our living."
"How's that?" I asked, hoping it would not sound impertinent. Lianvis smiled, tapping his head.
"This. We are seers by reputation and people pay highly for glimpses, hints of their future.
Men and hara alike."
Cal shook his head. "You amaze me and I respect your genius."
"Oh no, not genius, my dear Cal, oh no. Shrewdness, sharpness, cunning and a good sense of the dramatic."
"You don't fool me," Cal said with a smile. "The Kakkahaar are full of genius. Cunning, maybe, but extremely clever cunning."
Lianvis was enjoying himself immensely, lapping up the compliments. Ulaume brought in the barley-tea and a silver plate of thin-cut aromatic bread spread neatly with butter. Cal and I were so famished we fell upon the food like wolves.
Lianvis was apologetic. "How foolish of me, you must be ravenous. Ulaume, something a little more substantial, if you please." Cal slid an embarrassed smirk at me but we made no comment. "The desert is an unpleasant road to suffer if you are improperly equipped. You have no pack-horse, I see?"
We both had our mouths full and there was a strained silence broken only by the sound of chewing. Cal wiped his hands on his knees.
"No. We wanted to travel swiftly," he said.
"Oh, but we have brought you something," I put in quickly.
"Cal, where are they, those things . . .?"
"Later, later, please," Lianvis urged, but looked interested.
Later, while he watched contentedly as we feasted ourselves on the meal Ulaume had prepared, I asked him how long it would take for me to be ready for the ascension to Brynie. He told me that they would assess me in the morning.
"Business tomorrow," he said. "You are tired and need to relax. Ulaume shall make ready a bath for you both." He immediately made us conscious of our travel-stained, unwashed appearance.
Ulaume led us to another room, Cal's trousers were ripped across the backside. I thought it looked very becoming, but Ulaume snatched them out of his hands with a quick murmur about laundering and sewing. We splashed into a huge, dark-wood tub together while Ulaume hovered eyeing the rest of our clothes with aversion.
"I'll find you something else to wear," he said finally, scooping them up distastefully and marching out, holding them at arms length. I laughed, hoping Ulaume would not hear. I did not want to be cruel. "Pell, you're so beautiful," Cal chanted, feeling sensual in the scented water. There was hardly enough room and most of the water fell out onto ...I. soaking the scattered goat-skins. We were half-drowned, high on aruna, when I noticed Ulaume watching, half concealed by the door curtains. Inscrutable, he caught my eye, twitched his mouth and walked out.
What the hell. The Kakkahaar thought we were barbarians. Now Ulaume would tell Lianvis we coupled like animals, when the mood took us. I spent several minutes mopping the rugs with the towels afterwards.
It took some time for me to discover what true barbarism was.
We spent a couple of hours with Lianvis after our bath, conversing freely on a superficial level. Our host amused us with tales of people who had sought out his talents.
"Of course, all that men want from us is our secrets. They think we drink from the fountain of eternal life and that is what they crave more than anything. As their women are drying up, so too must the well-spring of their race; they know this . . ." Lianvis told us airily. On his fingers, rings set with huge tiger's eye gems shone dully in the lamplight. He asked me where I came from and I told him hurriedly; it was not a subject I cared to dwell upon.
He eyed me shrewdly. "Peasant stock, eh? Strange, Pellaz, I could have sworn you had an educated air."
"My father taught me some things . . . and he had the priest to teach us the rest. You know, reading, writing and of course, God's message. He had a lot of books ..." I could not understand why he should think I was lying, and tried to make light of it. Cal was abnormally quiet beside me, never hiking his eyes off Lianvis. He had a brooding, thoughtful look on his face.
"For a tribe that makes its living out of other people, you have an unusual reputation for solitude," Cal said after a while. Lianvis shifted his attention from me, smothering a sharp alertness that flashed across his features.
"It's all part of the allure," he said. "It makes our prophecies seem that much more real.. ." That made Cal laugh. It was not a pleasant sound and it embarrassed me. The tone was not lost on Lianvis.
Later, once we had retired to the chamber Lianvis had prepared fo
r us, I tackled Cal about his behavior.
"I'm not stupid enough to trust anyone as soon as I meet them!" he snapped. "And our charming host is far from trustworthy. Can't you see that?! He lives on deceit."
1 did not argue, but dismissed his suspicions in silence.
Some moments afterwards, the curtains twitched and Ulaume insinuated himself into our presence, carrying two steaming tankards. "Lianvis sends you spiced wine," he murmured, holding them out to us and glancing at me with those unnatural smoldering, smoky eyes.
"Put it on the table," Cal said. He was sitting on the low, furstrewn couch and did not look round. Ulaume put one cup down, and with fluid grace, held the other up to my lips. I sipped, spell-bound.
"I can stay," he said, his voice soft and husky. Oh, the promise! I half reached for him.
"No," said Cal, "that won't be necessary." His smile, as he turned, had the hard clarity of diamond. Ulaume slowly raised one dark, curving eyebrow, still transfixing me with his eyes.
"Another time, perhaps," he said.
By the time I realized he had gone, I had finished my wine. Cal was smirking at my awed stupefaction
"God help you, Pell," he chuckled, "you are easy game—too easy!"
"But he's incredible," I protested.
"Perhaps, but he's a lamia all the same. Share breath with that and you'll be so much dried gristle hanging from the nearest tree." He had pulled off his Kakkahaar garments with some distaste.
"What do you mean?" I asked, still staring at the midnight blue curtains where Ulaume had vanished.
"I mean Wraeththu have many interesting variations. I suspect Ulaume is one of them. It's obvious. Aruna is only food and drink to him. He's Lianvis's pet and should be kept chained up!"
But I was not convinced. "You're so suspicious," I grumbled, as he pawed at the fur blankets, grimacing.
"That's why I'm still alive!" he retorted. "It's a bad old world out there. God, these furs
stink!" He reached for his wine, wrinkling his nose. "This is foul as well."
Now I know better. Now I keep things such as Ulaume in pretty cages to amuse my guests. Then I still saw good in everyone.
We slept late into the next day and then both woke with headaches. I groaned and burrowed back into the blankets. Our journey must have exhausted us more than we thought.
"Do you realize,"' Cal announced, "that we used to wake up from a bed of stones with a bellyful of dehydration feeling better than this?" We looked at each other, both thinking the same thing.
"Of course, how stupid!" I cried, sitting up in the bed and slapping my head; it was too late to knock sense into it though. "The wine! It was the wine, wasn't it? But why . . .?"
Cal curled his lip. "Perhaps Lianvis prefers to have any visitors dead to the world at night. Knock them unconscious; keep them neatly in bed. Other reasons, though?" He made a noise of disgust. "Watch me shudder!"
"If we get wine offered to us again tonight . . .?"
"Oh, it goes without saying, doesn't it. God, Pell, I know you need these snaky types for now, but tread carefully. Accuse me of paranoia, even hysteria, if you like, but there's more to this cozy little set-up than meets the eye."
1 dropped back down onto the pillows, screwing up my eyes to ease the pain, "It would help, Cal, if I knew what ascension to Brynie involved. God, it could be so easy for them to ... take control ... let something in . . you know."
'' M mmm, that's not impossible, of course. Look Pell, I've been through Brynie; I can tell you some things. That's highly irregular, but at least if there's any drastic deviation in the procedures, you'll know. Only ignorance makes you vulnerable."
All power lies within the mind. If it is said: "there is no magic," to a degree this is true. Magic is will. Will power. Ara and Neoma are concerned with the search for self-knowledge that is necessary before progression. (Try exercising your will without it! You can't.) I had learned how to discipline my mind, how to believe in myself. Brynie is the expression of this knowledge. Cal's memory of the actual rituals involved was sketchy but I gathered enough for what I hoped was safety. Perhaps we were being too cautious. I could not see what Lianvis would have to gain that was worth taking the risk of perverting my ascension.
Although I had been told my assessment would begin in the morning, it was not until the afternoon that Lianvis asked to speak to me. After lunch, Cal and I went to attend to our horses. They were looking tatty in comparison with the polished steeds of the Kakkahaar
At the back of Lianvis's tent was a cooking pit and a canvas-draped pit that served as a toilet. We tethered the horses there. I counted ten other large pavilions and several smaller, shoddier dwellings. From the outside, all were of a neutral-colored material that blended effectively with the surroundings. There was not much noise, not enough for a camp of that size. A sense of vague, unseen activity around us, but done silently. Sometimes, the warm breezes carried scents unidentifiable and unpleasant. Both Cal and I started to get paranoid, especially when Red or Splice threw their heads up in alarm and nothing was there.
I was squatting at Red's heels smoothing his legs, when something made my skin crawl. I glanced up quickly, and fell into the unwavering gaze of slumbering menace. Ulaume. He stood, half-wrapped in the door curtains at the rear of Lianvis's tent. All I could see of his face was his eyes and I did not like what I saw. It was a look to inspire fear and dread, even to one hardened by skepticism, and yet, there was an undeniable fascination. Ulaume wanted something of me, and because half of me wanted him back, I was powerless. "Lianvis has sent for you," he whispered and from ten feet away his voice was as clear as a bell, I stood up, dizzy in the hot light.
"Yes. I'm coming."
"Pell." Cal's voice reminded me of the warning. I raised my hand in a gesture of complicity and followed Ulaume into the tent. Inside, it was dark and hot, endless corridors of drapery. I could not see very well. The odor of heavy perfume masked other, earthier smells.
"Your friend does not like me," Ulaume murmured, somewhere ahead of me, his body luminous through a veil of hair.
"He thinks you are dangerous," I said, wishing I hadn't as soon as it came out.
Ulaume only laughed; a tinkling, restrained parody of amusement. "He is jealous."
"And what's that?" I sounded sharp. Jealousy, in that sense, was a word erased from the Wraeththu catalog of emotion. He must have realized his mistake. There was a slight rustle and then his warm, mobile arms were around my neck, his breath disguised with the perfume of mint, close to my face,
"I shouldn't have said that. He's right; I am dangerous. I can be. But you are safe; you know you are. I can smell the power in you. It smells like fire!"
"Ulaume ..." I half-heartedly tried to break away, attempting to resist I the onslaught of musky, sinuous allure. The heat and the gloom were I claustrophobic; sweat began to creep from my skin.
"Are you really afraid to share breath with me?" His face was so close, I we were nearly touching, I could see small, neat teeth shining like nacre between lips that were as well-shaped and smooth as swollen petals. A muscle twitched uncontrollably along his jaw. Part of me was still repulsed (the hint of the tomb . . . something), but I could not stop myself: the pull was too strong. He was a well and I was thirsty, it was as simple as that. His taste and his power poured into me. First the darker tones of earth, then hissing sand; sand harvested by the hot, desert winds; the metallic wings of the element of air prevailing. Ulaume: a dark vortex. But whilst I floundered on the edge of the maelstrom, afraid of slipping, of losing myself, exhilaration spumed through my blood. He tried to drag me down, take my soul, but I could match him. We embraced; we fought. He did not want to kill me, not that; it was a little violation he wanted. To rape my soul, perhaps; feel him there lapping at my strength. He had said he could smell my power but he was confident his own was greater. Now I could feel him scared, his heart pounding, his hands claws upon my chest. I could feel the weight of that waist-length hair shifting, l
ifting with a life of its own, lashing with reptile spite. There it was, tight as ropes around my wrists and whipping around my back. I tore myself away from his mouth, barely able to lift my head. Horror fizzed in my throat. Trapped, I was Ulaume's prey. We were so close; locked together in an embrace of tangles. There was only one way out for me. I looked once at his face; a pale and challenging oval suppressing its fear. One look, and then, with that supernatural strength I hardly knew, I directed one blasting surge of will at the strands around my left arm. Be free! Be free! With a screech and a smell of burning hair, Ulaume stumbled backwards. On my wrist, red weals began to rise where the hair had bitten into me. I could hear him swearing at me, low and guttural, but not quite a curse. He had that much sense, at least.