The Ghosts of Blood and Innocence (49 page)

The prison house was surrounded by a high wall and there were iron gates across the entrance to the drive. Once, it had been a rich man’s house, a place where a family had lived, but now its rooms never echoed with voices or laughter. There were ten guards always on duty, and two hara who worked to keep the house clean and to cook. Then there was Abrimel, son of the Tigron. He was a har without a soul, or so the staff said to their friends. He had betrayed his family and his tribe, and felt no remorse. He painted pictures of a thin har with black hair and a red robe. He wrote a lot; all the things he had never written before, which he could remember.

When Pellaz arrived at the tall iron gates to the estate, the hour was still early, and the househara had only just risen from their beds. Pellaz had to ring the brass bell for several minutes, before the guards who lived in the gate lodge, and who slept longer than the househara, woke up. One of them came to answer the summons. ‘All right, all right!’ the guard snapped irritably, only half dressed. He went pale when he saw who stood on the other side of the iron bars. He bowed his head. ‘Forgive me, tiahaar.’

‘Just open the gate,’ Pellaz said.

He rode the bay horse up the driveway, which was an avenue of cherry trees, barely cared for now. The house was locked up, of course, so Pellaz had to hammer on the door for entrance. He no longer felt like himself. It was as if the realm he and Galdra had returned to was not quite the one they had left. Things were slightly askew. In this realm, Pellaz had been able to spend all night in the arms of a har he had to admit he really did love, and not feel guilty about it. In this realm, perhaps, Cal had never been mad, and certain hara hadn’t died, and there was a son who did not hate his father. Was it possible this was just a house in the country beyond the city, and a har who liked to write about Wraeththu history simply lived here, because he preferred solitude?

The cook came to answer the door. He bowed. ‘Tiahaar, you are here to see the prisoner?’

‘I’m here to see my son,’ Pellaz said. Suddenly, he felt old. He could smell the jasmine that had grown outside the window of the inn in Ferelithia where Abrimel had been conceived. ‘Take me to him at once.’

It was really pointless to lock all the doors in this house, since Abrimel had no intention of going anywhere. He had lost his love, his harling, his life. He had lost the ability to feel. He had told Caeru not to visit him, because his hostling’s concern only annoyed him. When Caeru sent gifts, they went to the guards, because Abrimel had no interest in luxuries. He didn’t speak to anyhar much, other than what was required. He wrote about all the tribes he had studied. He wrote about Wraeththu, which he viewed as being as pointless as the locks on the doors. He was not denied aruna, and different hara were often sent to him for this purpose. Some just did what they had to do, and weren’t interested in talking. Others wanted to help him. Abrimel treated them all the same. He slaked the need in his body and that was all. He needed a clear mind to write, to paint. All of his pictures were of Ponclast.

Abrimel always rose at dawn and went to the walled garden he had access to. He did this whatever the weather. There, he would sit for an hour, thinking about words, then he’d have his breakfast, if it was ready. He wondered how long he would have to wait to die, sure it would be a very long time. He wished he wanted to kill himself.

Pellaz stood at the door to the garden and observed this har who had come from him. He had not visited Abrimel before. This son had grown up, become har, without Pellaz even noticing. He was a living thing, full of opinions and pain.
I made him,
Pellaz thought, and for the first time in his life, sensed the connection. A ghost of Caeru lived in the fine features of Abrimel’s face, and the pale cast to his skin, but his hair was black Cevarro hair. For the first time in many years, Pellaz thought of his own father. He remembered himself, as he’d been, before the world changed. ‘Bree,’ he said.

Abrimel turned at the sound of this affectionate form of his name. His expression was blank. He showed neither surprise nor anger when he saw who stood at the threshold to his garden.

Pellaz walked across the grass. ‘I would like to talk to you.’

Abrimel shrugged.

Pellaz sat down in a chair opposite his son. There was a wrought iron table between them with some papers on it. Pellaz could not read the handwriting on them. It was spidery and sloping. ‘I’ve visited your consort,’ he said.

Abrimel’s eyes widened slightly at that. He shifted on his chair.

‘He asked me to tell you he thinks of you often and misses you. He is well. We talked for quite a while.’

Abrimel closed his eyes briefly. He nodded his head once.

‘I’m here mainly to talk about Geburael. You know that he was taken by Diablo after the fall of Fulminir?’

‘Yes,’ Abrimel said. ‘He at least got away.’

Pellaz clasped his hands together to the tabletop. ‘Are you in contact with him?’

Abrimel laughed harshly. ‘No.’

‘Would you try to contact him? Ponclast thinks you should do this.’

Abrimel glanced coldly at his father. ‘Why? Wherever he is, he’s safer there.’

Pellaz strove to keep his tone even and friendly. ‘His safety is assured in Immanion, I promise you.’

Abrimel appeared suspicious. ‘Why do you want him?’

‘OK, I’ll be honest with you. It’s about your brother, Loki.’

Abrimel sneered. ‘Half-brother,’ he corrected. ‘The golden child I’ve never met. What of him?’

Pellaz wished this interview could be easier. He found it difficult not to get annoyed with Abrimel. He always had. ‘Loki’s not long past feybraiha,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately, he’s been abducted, perhaps in a way similar to how your hostling’s pearl was taken all those years ago. We think Diablo is responsible. Ponclast has advised me to try and make contact with Geburael to see if he knows anything about this. I think perhaps that Ponclast would really like news of your son, too.’

Abrimel’s stare was narrow. ‘You’re lying to me. Ponclast would never advise you.’

‘He’s not the same, Bree,’ Pellaz said. ‘He’s no longer full of anger. He’s resigned to what is.’

Abrimel scowled. ‘Then he’s lost his mind!’

‘Far from it,’ Pellaz said. ‘Anyway, he pleaded on your behalf. He asked me to give you your freedom.’

Abrimel flicked another glance at his father. Some of the hostility had waned in his expression. ‘In return for the advice he gave you?’

Pellaz nodded. ‘Perhaps. Yes.’

Abrimel smoothed his trousers with both hands. ‘The question is; will you comply with this request?’

Pellaz leaned back in his chair. ‘If you help me locate Geburael, then yes.’

‘I don’t believe you. You can’t risk freeing me.’

Pellaz found himself saying something he’d only just thought of. ‘I could - if you went to the same place where Ponclast is.’

Abrimel’s expression became more animated. ‘You’d allow that?’

‘Yes. If that’s what you want.’ Pellaz was surprised to find that this was true.

‘It
is
what I want. I thought I’d never see him again. You know that, of course.’ Abrimel frowned and shook his head. ‘No. I can’t trust you. You’re deceiving me.’

Pellaz reached out and briefly stroked one of Abrimel’s arms. Abrimel flinched away, and Pell’s hand closed on empty air. ‘I’m your father, Bree,’ Pellaz said gently. He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath. ‘I know I failed you. I wish we could go back, but we can’t. I’m not here to make amends, because the past can’t be undone. I know that. You betrayed your tribe and went to our enemies. That’s a difficult thing to forgive and forget, as are all the things I did to you, or rather that I didn’t do. We can’t be family, and I doubt we can even be friends, but I ask you now, as an Aralisian, and as father to Geburael, to allow your son his place in this world. If he doesn’t want it, I’ll respect his decision, but I do think he should be given the choice.’

Abrimel rubbed one hand over his face. He wouldn’t look at Pellaz. ‘If he’s with Diablo, he won’t want anything to do with you.’

‘That is possible. We won’t know until we’ve spoken to him.’

‘He might be dead.’

‘No,’ Pellaz said. ‘He isn’t. You or Ponclast would feel it, if that were so.’ He leaned forward. ‘Bree, you know Diablo. Cal has told me of him and I experienced him firsthand in Fulminir. Is this really the har you want to be an influence over your son?’

Abrimel uttered a wordless, angry sound. ‘No! What I wanted for our son was a life with me, with his hostling.’ He thumped his own chest. ‘For a short time, I had happiness I’d never known. You took it from me, as you took everything else from me. I despise you and your world utterly. You live a lie.’

Pellaz had to lean away from the hostile energy streaming from his son’s body. He had to break through it somehow, keep his voice level, and his heart open to all that Abrimel needed to say. ‘Bree, I’m not perfect, but I don’t live a lie. Our differences as father and son aside, you must know that Ponclast, as he was, should never have been allowed to have power. You might hate what the Gelaming stand for, but I don’t believe you’d countenance the sort of abuses that the Varrs were famed for either. I know you’re a har of integrity. You weren’t drawn to Ponclast because your shared his ideals. You went to him because I let you down and because I treated your hostling badly. You went to him to punish Cal, Caeru and myself. And you went to him, because he was strong and he loved you. But in your heart, I believe you knew the truth, even in the midst of that happiness you speak of.’

Abrimel stared at Pellaz for several long moments, then he sighed. ‘I tried to change him,’ he said bleakly. ‘He was so bitter. You have no idea. If he’d ever come to power, it would have been different. I would have made it so.’

‘Perhaps you would have done,’ Pellaz said.

Abrimel rubbed his face hard with both hands. ‘You’ve brought life here with you,’ he said. ‘As ever, you are cruel. I don’t want to be grateful to you, but if I can be with the har I love, I’ll assist you. There’s one other condition. If I do as you ask and I’m successful, if Geburael comes here, I would like to see him.’

Pellaz nodded. ‘I understand that.’

Abrimel drew in his breath through his nose, smoothed his hair. ‘Did my chesnari give any indication as to how I should attempt this contact?’

‘No, but I can send Listeners to assist you.’

Abrimel sneered sarcastically. ‘What about the ones you have constantly scanning my thoughts? They know me pretty well.’

Pellaz shifted uncomfortably on his seat, cleared his throat. ‘Do you think you could work with them?’

Abrimel made a dismissive gesture. ‘It makes no difference. I have no friends in this land.’

Pellaz hesitated, considered. ‘Of course, you could work with Caeru and me.’

Abrimel adopted an expression of revulsion. ‘To touch your mind so intimately? You think I want that? And Rue is an imbecile. He loves you, despite the way you’ve kicked him relentlessly for years. He fawns over your insane Calanthe and lets you both into his bed. He’s a hopeless case. I have cast him off. You’re all sick.’

‘Is that a no, then?’

Abrimel pursed his lips. ‘You know as well as I do that three hara of Geburael’s blood would stand a better chance of reaching him.’ He paused for a moment, clearly thinking things over. ‘Oh, very well! Bring Rue here, but advise him to keep his mouth shut. I have nothing to say to him.’

Pellaz was flooded with relief. ‘Thank you. I’ll stand by my word. Whether we succeed or not, you can go to Ponclast.’ He stood up. ‘One thing I have to say to you: Rue loves you, Bree. All harlings should know that they can’t dictate the way their parents live. You might disagree with Rue’s choices, as he disagreed with yours, but he respected that you’re an adult who should make his own decisions. It hasn’t affected the way he feels for you. When Rue loves, he simply loves. In that, he is quite unshakeable. You should think about that.’ Pellaz leaned over and clasped his son’s shoulder. ‘I’ll leave you now and return later.’

This time Abrimel didn’t flinch away. He stared down at his hands, which were tightly clasped in his lap. ‘Ponclast was wrong about the pearl, very wrong,’ he said. ‘But it wasn’t his idea. It was what the Hashmallim wanted.’

‘You couldn’t have changed things, Bree.’

‘I know.’ Abrimel looked up at his father. ‘Unfortunately, as you know, we cannot choose the ones we love. It just happens.’

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Loki had learned how to fly. That was how he thought of otherlanes travel; a dream that was real. The Hashmal, Zikael, had come to him again and this time, it was to teach. ‘I’ve been granted permission by my Master to take you to a certain realm,’ he said. ‘I’ve created it for training purposes.’

‘You can create realms?’ Loki had not imagined the Hashmal possessed such powers.

Zikael smiled. ‘It’s not that difficult. One day, you might be able to do the same, to a certain extent. You should be able to build limited locations. It’s like making visualization real, or virtually real.’

Loki was sure the
sedim
would not approve of such advanced education. He was nervous at first, because he couldn’t imagine how anyhar could negotiate the otherlanes without an experienced
sedu
to help him. He had no idea how to open a portal, or how to walk into it, or then how to use the confusing pathways beyond to get somewhere else.

Zikael conducted the first lesson at the summit of Ninzini, at Loki’s request. They sat together on the floor while Zikael explained some of the basics of otherlanes travel. ‘The portal is a symbol you pull out of yourself and then make real,’ Zikael said; rather unhelpfully, Loki thought.

‘You’ll look between the spaces in a realm,’ Zikael continued, ‘and see the potential for others there. You’ll widen those spaces so you can step through. It’s as simple as that, for a creature with the capability to do it.’

‘What makes a creature that capable?’ Loki asked.

‘Desire and intention,’ Zikael answered. ‘Intelligence and awareness. If you can see ghosts in the sunset, if you believe that trees have thoughts, and that all the realms are full of things you cannot see, you can become an otherlanes traveler. In essence, it’s a willingness to accept there’s more to life than what the limited senses of the earthly realm perceive. It’s the capability to transcend your limits.’