The Wraiths of Will and Pleasure - By Storm Constantine Page 0,54

radiance hanging in the void. He held one finger to his lips and the other hand was raised beside his head, two of the fingers curled over the palm. ‘Seek me within,’ he said, although his lips did not move.

‘Are you a god now?’ Flick asked. ‘Is that it? Is that the answer Orien was seeking?’

‘I will not be your god,’ Pellaz replied. ‘You are your own. Open your eyes and take what is given to you in full sight. Seek me. I will not remember this meeting, but you will do so. I am to be reborn, and for these scant moments before it happens, I know all. I can see it all, Flick, so clearly.’

‘Orien is dead,’ Flick said. ‘He died, in a way, for you.’

‘He sought death,’ Pellaz said, ‘but not for any reason you yet know. We are so much more than we know. So much. Nothing is as it seems.’

‘How? In what way? What is our purpose?’

‘You are the guide. Your teaching will take the student to the place of all knowledge.’

‘What? Who? Pellaz, explain it to me!’

There was a mighty crash, as of mountains tumbling into the abyss, and a great flash of light. Flick jerked backwards, his hands across his eyes. When he lowered them, he found himself in the small cave, with a single beam of moonlight falling down in the centre. He was lying on his back on a bed of straw. He couldn’t stop the tears. He wasn’t psychic. He didn’t have visions. And he couldn’t trust his dreams.

Flick woke again some hours later before the dawn, feeling very cold. The moon had slipped away and the cave was in darkness, but for a strange impression of light that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves. Flick’s body ached with stiffness and his mouth was as dry as if he’d drunk himself into a stupor the night before. He remember he had left Ghost to wander about outside. The pony might have disappeared into the wilderness, leaving him stranded in this place. Flick jumped to his feet. How far would he get without a horse? How long would he survive? A bewitchment had taken him, stolen his mind.

He’d almost reached mouth of the cave when his senses became alert to another presence. Freezing, he saw a motionless figure standing in the shadows, staring at him intensely.

For some moments, Flick did not move. Perhaps here was the time when he had to face hara of a different tribe, explain himself, appease.

Then a voice hissed out of the darkness. ‘Get out of here, girl!’

Flick still thought that he was looking at another har, a har, who for some reason or another had made a gross mistake concerning his own identity. He had seen hara similar in appearance to the one before him, in that blurry time between the decision – or calling – to leave his humanity behind, and when Orien had plucked him from inception into a tribe whose name he’d never known. He’d seen copper-skinned hara before, with feathers in their hair and stark black patterns tattooed onto their faces and arms. Flick’s second impression was that now he might be in danger. If there was one har, then others might be around. But both impressions were brief. He realised he was looking only at solid rock, greyed by the predawn light that came down through the chimney of stone. There was no one there at all.

Spooked, Flick ran outside. The first thing he saw was Ghost standing by the pool. The pony’s head was turned towards him, ears pricked. The air seemed to shimmer with unseen power, and reverberate with an eerie humming just beyond Flick’s perceptions. The landscape looked odd, as if drenched in ultra violet, yet the light was dim. His first instinct was to mount the pony and gallop away from this place at speed. Ghost whinnied in apparent pleasure to see him and ambled towards him. He butted Flick with his head, as if to offer reassurance. Flick cupped Ghost’s ears in his hands, leaning his cheek against the broad forehead. The warm smell of horse was like a memory of a lost gilded time, and he remembered the stables in Saltrock, the lazy hours he’d spent there, working at his own pace as he replaced the straw and fed the animals, without a care in the world. ‘Damn you, Cal!’ he said aloud. He had no choice but to go back to Saltrock. It