The Wraiths of Will and Pleasure - By Storm Constantine Page 0,16

we doom it to a life of pain.’

‘I won’t let you do this!’ Herien cried.

Chisbet nodded slowly, acknowledging Herien’s anguish, and his voice, when he spoke, was soft. ‘Herien, you must look upon this as a stillbirth, a terrible circumstance that human women had to deal with throughout history. Know that I will do all in my power to make this painless. I will dose the child with a soothing philtre, so that the moon may take it in peace, out in the wilderness. Its soul must be given this release. It is the only fair and compassionate thing to do. We are not humans, bound up in superstitious fear of physical death. We are Wraeththu. We are strong. We know the soul is eternal and the flesh but a temporary vehicle. If the vehicle is faulty, the soul deserves to find for itself a more suitable vessel.’

‘No,’ Herien said. ‘No.’

Rarn pointed a shaking finger at his harling. ‘How can you look upon this beautiful being and sentence him to death? Are you insane? We are less than human if we do this thing.’

‘Tiahaar,’ Chisbet said to Lianvis. ‘Emotions run high, which is understandable, but you alone are detached and you are our leader. You cannot present this harling to the tribe as a miracle, because it is not. You should not be swayed sentimentally by its appearance. You must be firm on this matter.’

‘Betrayer!’ Herien cried. ‘You are doomed too, Chisbet, doomed by my curse. By all the gods, I hex to you eternity!’ He appealed to Lianvis. ‘Do not listen to him, tiahaar. Allow us to leave the tribe. If all proceeds as Chisbet says, then we will deal with it in our own way, but give us a chance.’

Lianvis tapped his clasped hands against his mouth. He appeared to be deep in thought. ‘The bloodline of the Kakkahaar must be kept pure,’ he said at last. ‘We cannot afford to slip back.’

‘This is barbaric!’ Rarn cried. ‘I can’t believe you’re even giving it consideration!’

But he was appealing to a har who had done terrible things, far worse than exposing a freakish child in the desert. Lianvis did not want the slur of this event to affect his reputation among Wraeththukind. The Kakkahaar were feared and respected, and their livelihood mainly rested upon that. If other tribe leaders had been strong enough to do as their healers had suggested, then so was he. ‘Bring Ulaume to me,’ he said. ‘Let our seer look into this. Then, I will make a decision.’

Ulaume, however, was nowhere to be found, as he was out on one of his meditative excursions in the moonlight. How he would have dealt with the situation will never be known, because he never found out that Lianvis had summoned him. Instead, Persiki, one of the shamans of the high cabal came to Rarn’s pavilion. Like Lianvis, he was a creature who was intimate with the abyss and all its horrors. His morality was moulded wholly by the things that his tribe’s high-ranking hara did together in private rituals, away from the prying eyes of the rank and file. He had taken life many times. He had watched Lianvis murder human children to attain power. He was capable of finer feelings, as was Lianvis himself, but he was also merciless.

Herien did not know much about Persiki, but he did not believe he’d have an ally in him. As Persiki cast grains onto a burning charcoal, and breathed in its fumes in order to enter trance, Herien was planning his escape. He feared Lianvis enough to know that trying to make a run for it would be fruitless. Because Herien was only Aralid, the lowest of Wraeththu castes, he was not yet capable of communication by mind touch to formulate a strategy with Rarn.. But there would have to be an opportunity when he could run. Not here, not now, but soon. The harling breathed against him, as still and silent as a small animal who sensed it was in danger. Remaining motionless, and perhaps invisible, was its only defence.

Persiki had begun to rock upon his heels, his hands braced against his knees. He inhaled deeply and exhaled in a gasp. Then he opened his eyes and stared directly at Herien. ‘You will be blessed, doubly blessed,’ he said.

Herien could not take comfort in those words; he heard a threat behind them. ‘How?’

‘Two harlings, the seeds of a great dynasty among the Kakkahaar. Their names will be commemorated