The Ghosts of Blood and Innocence (43 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

On the first floor of the Drudehall was a large room where the ceiling was supported by thick wooden pillars covered in stylised carvings of wolves and the hara who ran with them. For Natalia, this room was decorated with boughs of evergreen; pine, holly and ivy. The air itself smelled of green. Ribbons of red and gold were hung from the boughs and long trestle tables were set up around the edge of the room. There was a dais at one end, where the phylarch would sit, and also his honored guests, as well as the highest-ranking members of the Elder Council. A feast was to be held on Natalia eve, which is a customary event for all tribes. There might be local variations to the actual procedure, but the winter solstice is significant to every har. It is the day when the year turns, and the days become longer from thereon. It is the feast to herald the return of the light. Solarisel, the dehar of the season, drops the pearl of the deharling Elisin two weeks before the solstice. On Natalia eve, the pearl gives up its treasure and the light comes back to the world in the form of a shining dehar.

Darq saw these symbols as particularly significant. Two weeks before Natalia, he too had been born as a pearl. Now, it was his time to come forth and shine.

He went to visit the Weavers again, to inform them of things that Tava-edzen had no doubt told them already. He did not mention anything about Zu’s people, because he sensed he had to get Natalia out of the way first. He hoped that during the festivities, which would last several days, he’d find time alone to try and communicate with Zu.  The Weavers were pleased for him, and wanted to meet Thiede. They removed the binding from his tongue.

‘I’ve offered Tava-edzen my help,’ Darq told them, ‘but I’m not sure he wants it.’

‘He wants it,’ said Slinque. ‘He just doesn’t know it yet.’

Stelph touched his brother on the shoulder. ‘Do you think we should tell Darq about what happens at Natalia here?’

Slinque pursed his lips. ‘What purpose would there be in that?’

‘Forewarning?’ said Shayd, smiling slyly.

‘What do you mean?’ Darq asked.

‘The rites of Natalia are different here,’ Slinque said. ‘It’s the festival of the hunt too and the hunters enjoy certain privileges. You have run with the hunt, Darquiel. I’d be surprised if you weren’t offered the same thing.’

‘What thing?’

The Weavers laughed together. ‘Don’t get too drunk,’ said Stelph.

At sundown, all the hara of the town gathered in the room that smelled green. Candles burned everywhere and the light was magical. There was enough room for everyhar to sit down, and presently Tava-edzen’s staff began to bring out the feast. Whole roasted pigs and birds, every conceivable variety of vegetable cooked in delicious sauces, mounds of freshly cooked bread, wines, ales and fiery liqueurs. The Nezreka set about the serious business of eating and drinking to excess.

That evening, Darq purposefully put all matters from his mind, other than the one that he felt was currently most important to him. It was as if he had only a few moments in which to accomplish his heart’s desire: the future was uncertain and nebulous. He intended to seduce Tava-edzen. There might be only this one chance.

Throughout the feast, he maintained a covert observation of Tava-edzen and noticed the phylarch didn’t drink or eat much, although he was in a convivial mood. He and Thiede had appeared to have renewed their friendship as if they’d never been parted, and Darq did wonder whether this might interfere with his plans. It was difficult to attract the phylarch’s attention for long, since so many others wanted to talk to him, although Darq was aware that Tava-edzen was watching him covertly too. The signs were there. He was sure of it. It hung in the atmosphere like perfume; hot and potent. It made his mouth dry and his loins tingle. His heart ached with a longing he’d never felt before. The air was charged with potential.

By around ten o’clock, nearly everyhar was very drunk. Musicians came into the room, having previously left the feast to fetch their instruments. They played drums, and stringed and wind instruments of a design unfamiliar to Darq. Ookami, sitting beside Darq, said the music sounded eastern, like something from Huldah. ‘I like it,’ Darq said. ‘It makes you want to dance.’

And inevitably, there were dancers. They came into the room, dressed as wolves, wearing very little other than the silvery pelts. Darq was entranced by them. The whole gathering began to sing, a strange lilting song, voices of different timbres melding seamlessly together into a plait of sound. Darq’s skin prickled. He glanced over to Tava-edzen, but then saw the phylarch’s seat was empty. Darq hadn’t seen him leave, but it must simply be that he’d had to obey a call of nature. He’d be back. Darq played over scenarios in his mind; what he’d say to the phylarch, how the moment would come. They would leave this place together, and afterwards Darq would discover something new. He could feel it in his bones. Their union was preordained and sacred.

Now, the music started to die down, and so did the voices, until eventually a single drum was being played, its rhythm slowing down. The dancers had slunk away. Tava-edzen’s staff moved quietly around the room, snuffing a lot of the candles, so that the light became much dimmer. A new mood sizzled through the gathering. Darq sat upright in his chair. He licked his lips, almost whined.

From the shadows, a shape emerged. It moved slowly to the centre of room and then crouched down, its arms stretched forward. It was a har wearing a magnificent wolf skin. The head was set with glass eyes, which Darq felt looked at him directly. Moving to the slow rhythm of the drum, the har got to his feet, swaying this way and that. Darq swallowed thickly. The dancer was Tava-edzen.

Apart from the wolf pelt down his back and over his head, he wore a long skirt of what looked like multiple strands of rope weighted with coins. There were gold bracelets around his ankles and up his arms. His chest was bare. Around his hips hung a huge golden disk that concealed his groin: it clearly represented the sun. But for this apparel, he was naked. As he turned, the strings of his skirt swung out in a circle. His arms coiled like smoke. Now the other instruments came back in, one by one, and voices began softly to sing once more. It was hypnotic, rhythmic, tribal. Tava-edzen was the epitome of a har, both gracefully feminine and fiercely masculine. As he rotated his hips, so the candlelight danced in the sun disk. It was as if he were weaving light, creating it, radiating it. His body seemed boneless, moving in complicated steps, swaying, undulating. Darq was consumed by desire. If he didn’t touch this har, he’d die.

The dance became faster, wilder, and Tava-edzen was simply a streak of movement in the room. He was both the king and queen of all wolves. He leapt up and it seemed as if his body hung in the air for several seconds. He landed in a crouch, leapt up again. The sound of howling filled the room, and then the hunters came back, leaping and yelling, circling their leader, who spun in their midst, the coins of his skirt throwing off sparks. One of the dancers caught hold of him, and he lashed out with clawed hands, leapt away. The hunters pursued him round the room, and yet the dance was still graceful. Then came the boom of an enormous gong. Its brazen sound echoed to the blackened rafters, and then there was silence.

Tava-edzen padded, almost limped, to the centre of the chamber, and the hunters formed a circle around him. The phylarch knelt down, his hands against the floor, his head lowered. He was a wolf then. All that could be seen was the shining pelt, the legs dangling down his sides, the tail between his legs. All that could be heard was panting breath. A different kind of charge came into the atmosphere. It had a smell to it.

Darquiel picked up his goblet and drained it of wine. He needed a refill. He knew what would happen. He wasn’t sure he could bear to witness it, and yet he must. Tava-edzen had granted him permission to attend. Perhaps the message being given was: see me for what I am, then decide.

Slinque appeared at Darquiel’s shoulder and handed him a full glass. Darq sipped it, and only the dehara knew what secret ingredients the Weaver had slipped into the potent liquor. Darq didn’t care. Slinque’s left hand was on his shoulder and he clasped it.

It will be fine,
Slinque told him.

Stelph or Shayd, it was difficult to tell which, had entered the circle of hunters. He raised his arms and spoke words in Anakhai, which were clearly part of a ritual. Those gathered around the edge of the room murmured responses.  

Then the first hunter went down on his knees behind the king/queen wolf. He put his hands on Tava-edzen’s hips, lifted aside the wolf pelt.

Darq turned his head away, but Slinque said:
No, this is sacred. It is his power and his time. Do not turn from it, Darquiel. You wish to know him? Then give him your eyes.

There were twenty hunters, and what they did seemed to take forever. Darq had a foul sour taste in his mouth; he was stripped of desire. This was the rite of the wolf, when the leader submitted to his pack, became soume for them all, gave himself willingly. It had nothing remotely to do with Darq’s plans for the evening. There would be no private, meaningful communion. He felt sick.

When the final hunter rose to his feet, he turned towards the dais and gestured.

‘They mean for you to take your turn,’ Slinque said.

Darq stood up. He couldn’t see properly, because he’d given his eyes, as Slinque had suggested. All other eyes were upon him, waiting. He moved away from the table, and perhaps in that moment, the briefest lightest mind touch reached him; a thread of longing. He couldn’t, wouldn’t respond to it. He was aware that Thiede was staring at him speculatively, but he wouldn’t meet the har’s eyes. Ookami also was watching Darq carefully. Somehow, without speaking to anyhar, Darq found his way outside.

In the snow, Darq vomited hot liquor. He sat on the steps of the house and threw up between his feet. He didn’t care. He’d drunk too much, and even a har can drink himself to the point of nausea.
Immanion, then,
he thought. He was incapable of thinking about Zu. He knew he should move because somehar would come to find him; maybe Thiede, or Ookami or one of the Weavers. He couldn’t face talk. He’d made a fool of himself. He should have smiled at the hunter and done what was expected of him. It was, after all, the only thing he could expect. He’d broken custom, the rules of the tribe. His dream of Tava-edzen had been only that: unreal. It was time to leave. Had Ookami taken a turn?

Darq groaned and staggered to his feet. He stumbled back into the Drudehall, his flesh shrinking against his bones, because he didn’t want to be seen. Bumping from wall to wall, falling upon the stairways, he made his way to his room, where he felt sick again. He needed to drink something other than alcohol. In the adjoining bathroom, he plunged his head entire into a sink full of cold water. He drank from it, tempted to breathe it in.
You are pathetic!
he told himself.
No, you are in love. Oh, for the love of Aru, get a grip!

He went back to his bed and sat on it, hands dangling between his knees. ‘Aruhani, I make a poor priest for you,’ he said. ‘Sleep, that’s what I need. It’ll make it all go away. Yes. Sleep.’

It took him some time to get his clothes off, because the fastenings for some reason seemed too complicated to deal with. Eventually, he crawled beneath the quilt and curled up in the dark. He closed his eyes and was assailed by images of what he’d witnessed. It would have been worse if Tava-edzen had been facing him, if they’d had to look at each other. Be thankful for small mercies.
Stop it and sleep!
Darq told himself.

Some hours later, he only realised he’d been dozing when he was shaken back to a wakeful state. He peered outside the quilt and saw Tava-edzen standing beside the bed. ‘I’m sorry,’ Tava-edzen said.

‘I know that word,’ Darq said. ‘I know how it works, and that it means nothing.’ He put his head back beneath the quilt. There was silence, so he re-emerged briefly and said. ‘Anyway, you have nothing to apologise for. I’m just a stupid harling. Good night.’

Tava-edzen laughed. ‘Darquiel, come out. We must talk. I’m sorry you weren’t warned, that’s all. What on earth possessed us to think a young outsider could join in our customs like that, I have no idea. Blame Slinque. He thought it was right.’

Darquiel squirmed into a sitting position, the quilt held tight around him. ‘I didn’t wreck your ceremony, did I?’

‘No. Your virtuous companion obeyed the summons, and everyhar assumed he was the one who’d been invited.’

‘Ookami?’

Tava-edzen nodded.

Darq groaned. ‘He wasn’t supposed to… oh, that’s bad. He was being celibate for a Grissecon.’

‘Well, you could say he performed his Grissecon. It was a sacrificial act, I could tell that much.’ Tava-edzen sat down on the bed. ‘Darq, what you must learn is that any leader, whether a lowly phylarch or a great Tigron, has responsibilities to his hara. In some ways, you are denied a private life. You have to make sacrifices, do what’s expected of you. If, for example, the phylarch of the Nezreka would have dearly loved to leave that feast tonight, alone with a wondrous young har, so that they could spend the night together, just the two of them, and nohar else in the whole world, he couldn’t do it.’

‘I understand,’ Darq said. ‘Thank you for saying that.’

‘Among the Uigenna, such practices were very common,’ Tava-edzen said. ‘Initiation into an inner cabal of any phyle usually involved some kind of group aruna. It was a mark of trust, of submission, but also reverence. Tonight, when those hara came to me, one by one, it was not violation. It was an act of honor. And it was my honor to receive them, these hara who hunt for our tribe. On this night, I give myself to them, and the light returns.’

‘Thanks for explaining. I’m young, Tava… can I call you, Tava?’

‘Of course.’

‘I’m young, and my lack of experience is sometimes inconvenient. Slinque should have told me. You should have told me.’