The Wraiths of Will and Pleasure - By Storm Constantine Page 0,5

hara were supposed to be capable of inseminating a host, and Rarn was indeed a Nahir Nuri of the tribe, but even he had been aghast at what had happened, one night after too much wine and a desire to take aruna beyond its normal boundaries.

Herien was clearly terrified, perhaps because his memories of being utterly male were too close for comfort. Even in his exhaustion, he writhed and moaned, asking to die, asking for someone to kill him, asking for release. Rarn felt helpless and numb, and willingly surrendered all control of the proceedings to Chisbet, who claimed to have helped deliver a pearl before. Rarn was not convinced of this – the occurrence being so rare among Wraeththukind – but he was prepared to overlook his misgivings. He couldn’t have coped with this on his own. It was dreadful. Hideous. The mess. The stink. Was this truly necessary?

Chisbet told Herien to push, and Rarn’s gorge rose. He was remembering his childhood and his youth, films and documentaries on TV, whispered conversations of female relatives. He was remembering being human and the life and culture he had chosen to forget. He didn’t need this to remind him. At that moment, he would cheerfully have taken a blade to Herien’s throat, even though he was immensely fond of him. Anything to stop the noise, to stop this dreadful process.

‘Do something,’ he said to Chisbet. ‘You do know what to do, don’t you?’ His tone, by this time, was desperate, and not at all haughty as it usually was.

Chisbet had lost an eye in battle, fighting for the Unneah tribe. The Kakkahaar regarded him as somewhat unsavoury, but he was a good healer, so his eccentric and uncivilised ways were tolerated. ‘It’s more up to him,’ he said. ‘This is nature. He’s resisting it. Talk to him.’

Rarn uttered a sound of despair, anguish and revulsion. He wanted to say, ‘This is not nature,’ but of course it was. He swallowed sour saliva, trying to keep a hold on the writhing har lying against him. ‘Herien, you must… you must do… you must expel it.’ He couldn’t say ‘push’, he just couldn’t.

‘Cut it out! Just cut the thing out of me!’ Herien screamed. ‘It’s killing me!’

At once, Rarn drew the knife from his belt, but Chisbet’s right hand shot out and clasped his wrist. ‘No. We cannot risk damaging the sac. There are fluids inside it.’

Herien’s screams had reached a diabolical pitch. His face was unrecognisable, screwed up into a tortured monkey mask.

‘Do something!’ Rarn cried. ‘He’s dying!’

Chisbet appeared calm. ‘Come on now,’ he said. ‘You can do this. Push, Herien.’

Herien uttered a final roar and his body lunged backwards.

Rarn was almost knocked over, and was sure he felt the muscles in his thighs rip. Something shining and slippery shot out of Herien’s body and landed in Chisbet’s hands, which were held waiting. It was the size of a har’s head. Unspeakable!

Chisbet’s shoulders slumped, apparently in relief.

‘What now?’ Rarn demanded, a tremor in his voice.

Herien had gone worryingly quiet and still. His body was as limp as a corpse as Rarn wriggled out from beneath it.

Chisbet laid the pearl carefully on a cloth and then examined Herien’s body. ‘Looks in order,’ he said, ‘but I’ll need to stitch and pack him to stop the bleeding. Fetch me the hot water. I’ll clean him up.’

Rarn stood shaking beside the bed and couldn’t bring himself to look at anything but the rugs underfoot.

‘Do it, har!’ Chisbet snarled. ‘You made this happen. You help now. You hear me?’

Rarn somehow made his limbs obey Chisbet’s command. He couldn’t think, couldn’t absorb what he’d just witnessed.

Chisbet appeared to read his mind. ‘Get used to it, Rarn. This is the way of things. How else do you think our race will continue?’ He laughed rather cruelly. ‘Be glad. You have a son – or soon will do, at any rate.’

Rarn handed the materials to Chisbet: lengths of linen wadding, suture equipment and the waiting hot water. He glanced at Herien, whose lower parts looked as if a frenzied maniac had attacked them with a dozen weapons. Herien’s eyes were closed and he did not move. Swallowing with difficulty, Rarn looked away. He had touched those precious parts, tasted them. Now they looked like ruined meat.

Humming to himself, Chisbet carefully bathed Herien’s soume-lam, his female organs, and stitched up the tearing. His male parts, the ouana-lim, had withdrawn into the body to prevent damage.

Rarn glanced at the pearl. ‘How