The Wraiths of Will and Pleasure - By Storm Constantine Page 0,200

she had employed hara to speak on behalf of her people when the leaders of surrounding tribes had suggested a coalition, which had given birth to Jaddayoth, a union of twelve countries. Many of its hara were refugees from Megalithica, escaping Gelaming control. In the days when Flick and Ulaume first went to Roselane, the coalition of tribes was still very new and shaky. Some leaders within it were keen to establish strong links with Immanion, while others, still smarting from Gelaming interference in their affairs in Megalithica, were radically opposed to the idea. Indigenous hara, spawned from an ancient strand of humanity, were often resentful of newcomers, and many union meetings regularly collapsed into battles as competing leaders fought for dominance. Opalexian’s hand, albeit an invisible one, did much to steer these nascent tribes towards some kind of harmony. The main problem was that each tribe developed swiftly very clear and well-defined religious and political beliefs, most of which were incompatible with one another. Ancient customs still prevailed in many areas, because the now ousted human population had adhered to shamanistic roots more than most. Empires had risen and fallen over the centuries, but the spirit of the land was very strong in that place, and had shrugged off human depredation. With the advent of Wraeththu, it had come into its own.

Spring came softly over the mountains, stealing up the slopes where a galaxy of white flower stars appeared overnight. When the sun shone in the afternoon, it conjured drowsy insects from their sleep. The air became dreamy, as the season flowed towards the intoxication of summer.

Flick rode Astral slowly on his patrols, shunning the company of others. He had the life he’d always craved: a normal safe life. After they’d arrived in the city, Tel-an-Kaa had taken them to an unoccupied house and told them it was theirs. It was a two storey dwelling with sprawling low-ceilinged rooms and a good-sized yard at the back, planted with mature trees and plants. The Zigane had found jobs for them and had helped them settle in. Ulaume, being good with his hands, now worked at the Shilalama pottery: their home was full of utensils they’d never need. Even though the Roselane were a peaceful tribe, they were not foolish, and understood the importance of guarding their territory from hostile intruders. Flick was now such a guard. He had the best horse in Shilalama, which could climb with the nimbleness of a mountain goat.

Despite the Zigane’s earlier words to Lileem and Mima about how Opalexian might want to talk to them, no summons came from her palace, Kalalim. The newcomers quickly found out that Opalexian was rarely seen by any of her citizens. She obviously was not intrigued enough about the Tigron to question those who had met him. Or perhaps there was nothing they could tell her that she didn’t already know.

Flick and his friends were absorbed into Roselane society, seamlessly and without effort. They were not regarded as more special than any other inhabitants, and this suited them completely. In Shilalama, Flick was just another har, and was expected to work for the community. He could enjoy simple pleasures and did not have to hide behind a disguise of dirt and rough clothes. There was nohar in Shilalama who would try to control or own him.

In this land, he could walk once more the path to the dehara’s altars. He had made peace with Aruhani. The Roselane were very interested in all he had to say about the gods. During the first winter Flick and the others spent in Roselane, a rather gaunt har named Exalan had come several nights a week to their home and wrote down every story that Flick could think of, Lileem adding her own details as they talked. The Roselane were keen to keep a record of every tribe’s belief system, and Exalan worked for Opalexian, and therefore the high temple of the city. Ulaume had to tell Exalan all about Hubisag, but Flick knew there were a lot of less savoury details left out of the account.

One night, lying in Flick’s arms, Ulaume said, ‘Isn’t it strange, how far we’ve come.’ And he meant in all senses.

‘Do you ever think of Lianvis?’ Flick asked.

‘Not for a long time. Do you ever think of Seel?’

‘Hardly,’ Flick replied. ‘It all seems so remote now.’

There was a silence, then Ulaume said, ‘What about Pell?’

‘I like to think he respects our decision. He’s left us alone.’

‘I didn’t