The Wraiths of Will and Pleasure - By Storm Constantine Page 0,14

restless. He took to walking out into the desert at night, willing for whatever entity had tried to communicate with him at the festival to manifest once more. If he had a job to do, he must know about it. He should be given a sign. It was strange, but he no longer felt the anger and need for revenge he had before. If Pellaz had died, then he had taken all of Ulaume’s rage with him. All that was left was a burning curiosity and a sense of yearning.

Lianvis barely noticed Ulaume’s protracted absences from the camp, spending most of his time in Rarn’s pavilion instructing Herien on how he should bring up his harling, once it hatched.

Herien, privately, often wondered exactly who would be the parents of the child when it finally emerged into the light, given Lianvis’ overwhelming interest in the proceedings. He began to harbour fantasies of running away, but by then he had become very attached to the pearl and the life that writhed within it. He resented the fact that everyhar else was intent on sharing what he wanted to be a private personal experience. His desires were not to be catered for, however, because on the night when the surface of the pearl convulsed and began to fracture, every high-ranking har of the tribe was in Rarn’s pavilion. The pearl lay on a cushion in their midst and at the moment when a small groping hand emerged from the rubbery coating, every throat uttered a gasp of wonder.

Herien himself could not breathe. He held onto Chisbet’s hand, so full of emotion he thought he might explode. Chisbet pulled away from him to help the harling emerge from its external womb. Carefully, he stripped away the withered shell and lifted the child out. He held it up before the others, who were silenced. A creature perfectly formed. A miracle. It stared around itself with knowing eyes, so unlike a human child, it made everyhar feel totally freakish for some moments.

Herien clasped his own throat with both hands, as if to hold onto consciousness. He could not believe what he beheld, but felt in his heart he had given birth to a god. The harling did not look like a baby, but a miniature human child of two years or so. Its fair hair was soft and silky, its expression weirdly benign. It uttered a sound, surely a laugh, and waved its small fists at its audience. And perhaps because they regarded it through a film of tears, none of them noticed the obvious at first.

Rarn fought his way through the goggling throng and put his arms around Herien’s shoulders. ‘Thank you,’ he murmured.

It was the most complete and wondrous moment of Herien’s life, but sadly short-lived.

Chisbet had put the harling down on the cushion in order to inspect it thoroughly and now his expression had become grave and distressed. He knelt up, hands braced on his thighs, and stared down at the harling; his eye held the intense gaze of an oracle.

‘What is it?’ Lianvis demanded.

Chisbet shook his head and sighed deeply. ‘Send these hara away, tiahaar,’ he said. ‘I must talk to you and the parents in private.’

At once a murmuring started up, but Lianvis got to his feet immediately and asked the company to leave. Reluctantly, they did so.

Herien used this opportunity to seize his harling and hold it close to his breast. He sensed trouble and a lioness instinct took over. If anyhar had bothered to glance at him, they would have seen he was prepared to die to protect his young.

‘Is something wrong?’ Lianvis asked, once the last har had left the pavilion.

Rarn had wrapped both Herien and the harling in a fierce embrace. ‘There is nothing wrong,’ he said in a low voice. ‘What is this, Chisbet?’

The harling chuckled to itself and gazed in wonder around the pavilion. It made small noises of interest and pointed at various objects. Then it would nuzzle into its hostling’s hair.

Herien had closed his eyes.

Chisbet composed himself on the cushions. ‘What I have to say is not easy,’ he said. ‘I have heard of this happening, but have never witnessed it.’

‘What?’ Lianvis barked.

Chisbet scratched his empty eye socket. ‘Herien,’ he said, ‘please put the harling down on the cushion again. It will be easier for me to show you than to explain.’

‘No!’ Herien snarled. ‘There’s nothing wrong with him. Get out!’

Chisbet looked up at Lianvis. ‘Tiahaar?’

‘Do as he says,’ Lianvis said. ‘We need