The Wraiths of Will and Pleasure - By Storm Constantine Page 0,66

veiled hermaphrodite. Perhaps he was the first har to do it. If he climbed the tree he would pass to the Land of Youth where the blessed spirits dwelled. If he went through the roots and tunnelled down their labyrinth, he would come to the underworld, where a dark river roiled and lost souls mourned their plight in the lightless reaches of the Asphodel Fields.

‘Where do I find my friend?’ Flick asked aloud. ‘He is named Pellaz, and his death caused terrible things.’

The wife held his gaze with silver eyes. ‘The one you seek has passed beyond these realms. You are not here to climb the tree, nor to burrow its roots. You came here merely to drink of the waters. Return now to your world. You will undertake a period of learning, which shall last exactly a year and one day. On the eve of the last day, slaughter a creature of the wilderness, and prepare it as for a feast. Pour out its blood upon the earth. This act will raise a spirit of the dead to speak with you. You may give to the dead the animal you prepared, as the dead are very hungry in your world. Ask of the dead the questions you wish.’

Flick bowed his head. ‘Thank you, Wife of Bones.’

The Wife of Bones smiled, and suddenly she became nothing more frightening than a beautiful young har sitting among the roots of an ancient tree. The har held a finger to his lips for a moment, then beckoned Flick to lean forward and whispered, ‘Remember the North Star Road, and the destination you will find at its end. You will walk this path many times, as you seek the bed of history. Dream new dreams, love new loves. Know that my blessings go with you.’

Flick was impelled kiss the Wife’s cheek, but found his lips pressed instead against the smooth bark of the tree. The Wife had vanished.

‘Come,’ said Itzama, ‘now we return.’

The next thing Flick knew he was opening his eyes in the cave, gazing upon the last smouldering embers of the fire. It was not yet dawn. He raised his head from Itzama’s chest and realised he had drooled over the man’s shirt. His mouth was filled with a rancid taste and he craved water. Itzama was still unconscious, so Flick eased away from him slowly and crept out of the cave. Never, in his life, had he experienced anything so magical as a vivid visionary journey. It was the result of drinking Itzama’s narcotic brew, of course, but even so, it had felt so real. Other hara did things like that all the time.

Flick looked towards the North Star, hanging brilliantly in the sky. He could hear small creatures scuttling through the bushes around him. He could hear the creak of trees and soft shushing of the night wind. The pool was a dark mirror and Flick lay down beside it. He plunged his head beneath its icy surface and sucked water into his mouth. He exhaled bubbles and thought he could remain there for hours, without needing to take a breath, but then there was a soft touch upon his shoulder and he raised his head, gasping.

Itzama stood over him, his hair hanging down over his chest. ‘You all right?’ he asked.

Flick sat up, scraped back his sodden hair. ‘Yeah. Needed a drink. That was wild tonight. Thanks. You must have given me some pretty strong stuff.’

Itzama made a noise in his chest that was part laughter, part disgruntlement.

Flick realised he had said the wrong thing and probably should have prolonged the moments of otherworldliness by saying something profound, deep or mystical. ‘Where did all that come from?’ he said.

‘All what?’ Itzama hunkered down beside him. ‘I did not share your visions.’

‘I saw a goddess sitting at the base of a big tree. Then she was har, and she said things. I drank from the Waters of Memory. Those things I saw, they’re the same for everyone though, aren’t they? The symbols. I got a strong sense of that, even though no one’s ever told me about it. Is it the drink you gave me that makes it happen?’

‘It opens doors,’ Itzama said. ‘It allows us to step from our limitations for a while.’

‘It was amazing. It told me so much. But is there really a goddess who spoke to me, or did it come from myself?’

‘Both,’ Itzama said. ‘You must learn to walk the fine line between belief and