The Wraiths of Will and Pleasure - By Storm Constantine Page 0,42

to sleep in. The coyote would not come into the house but padded round the yard, making odd yelping sounds. A wind had started up, blowing in off the burned fields, carrying with it a faint acrid smell.

Ulaume lay awake, yet he knew he was dreaming. It was the kind of dream you can’t wake from, because you can’t convince yourself it isn’t real. A face hung before him in the dark. Despite the lack of light, he could see its eyes, and they were the eyes of an animal, empty of all but a mindless cunning. Then he was outside, walking down the road towards the settlement. Rain fell softly, barely more than a mist and every building was robed in steam. He heard the sound of grating metal again. Figures moved around him as blurred shadows. The buildings seemed more real than life. He came to a house with a wide wooden veranda, where a human boy sat sheltering from the rain. He ran the blade of a knife down a stone. The boy was Pellaz. Ulaume ran forward. He meant to seize this dream by its shoulders, shake it, make it speak. Pellaz looked up. He appeared so young, his features less set than when Ulaume had met him. ‘Hello Ulaume,’ he said. ‘You must go away. I don’t know you yet.’

‘Pell,’ Ulaume said, but he could no longer move. An invisible wall had sprung up before him, and what lay beyond it was now dimming out of existence. ‘What do you want of me?’ Ulaume yelled. ‘I am here. Tell me.’

There was no reply, yet he could hear the sound of hooves upon the road behind him. Was an older version of Pell approaching, one who would speak to him? Ulaume turned. He caught a brief glimpse of a horse, a rider, a feral grin, and then the apparition passed right through him. A black wave of terrifying emotion pulled at his flesh, his mind. He was in hell.

Then he was awake and panting in the dark attic room of the big house, his breath steaming on the air. Lileem slept soundly, curled against his side.

And there was a face above him: its long black hair hung down right onto Ulaume’s chest. Eyes wide, whites showing all around. Mad and vacant. Ulaume held his breath, afraid that the slightest movement would dispel the dream image. ‘Hubisag,’ he whispered beneath this breath, ‘let the ghost speak that is the essence of knowledge, knowledge brings wisdom, wisdom brings courage. Hubisag, let all be known that I should know.’

The face above him turned to the side quizzically. He saw a flash of white teeth and then it was gone. There was a sound like a rat scampering down the stairs, swift and light. Ulaume leapt from the nest of blankets, casting aside Lileem, who whimpered and rubbed at his face. Ulaume made a quick signal for silence and sped towards the door. Someone had been here. A real person of flesh and blood. His flesh tingled as he ran down the stairs, his feet barely touching the steps. It was as if he followed a column of smoke. There was only a faint sense of presence left behind.

Chapter Seven

If somehar had told Seel that Flick might walk out on him and that if he did Seel would feel as if a part of his life had been cut away, he wouldn’t have believed it, which just goes to show how a har who believes himself to be self-aware can be so wrong.

After Flick left the office on that last morning, Seel sat staring into space, unable to take in the fact that Flick had somehow found the courage and independence to leave Saltrock. Like many strong partners in relationships, he’d taken Flick for granted, and it’s only when the other partner walks out that the dominant half suddenly finds themselves bereft, hopeless and grief-stricken. It struck home most of all when Seel felt hungry. He’d sat in the office all day, doing nothing but chain-smoking. At sundown, his stomach complained and he went to the kitchen. He’d have to cook for himself and he didn’t know where half the things were kept. For dinner, he had bread and some dry strips of meat Flick had been keeping in the larder to give to Orien’s orphan cats. As he ate, he read the letter that Flick had left for him, propped up against the saltcellar. It was full of rambling