Authors: Unknown
Galdra came over to him. “Are you ready? You look positively green.”
“As ready as I'll ever be.” Pellaz stared through the strange light at the silent ranks of Ashmael's guard. He could see the ghostly shimmer of
sedim
behind them. Were there less of them than there had been before?
Lianvis approached, his expression tight. “We will be with you, Pellaz, in whatever way we can.”
“I have no idea what will happen,” Pellaz said. “I can't even be prepared.”
“Perhaps that's the way it's supposed to be,” Lianvis said. “I shall be alert for you.”
Tharmifex joined the group. “Pellaz, we had better begin. The
sedim
are leaving. Strange influences are about.”
Pellaz nodded. He could hear the beat of his heart inside his head, yet his body was numb. As he approached the middle of the circle, he glanced up and saw Peridot standing with raised head beyond the guards. Pellaz sensed that Peridot was also about to leave, and a brief message came to him.
As you fight, so do we. The teraphim are upon us. It is our hour of testing.
Good luck,
Pellaz said. He did not know what else to say.
Peridot tossed his head. His outline shimmered for some moments, and then the otherlanes consumed him.
Pellaz took off the cloak he wore and Galdra removed his blanket. It seemed ironic that once their relationship had been comprised of hot guilt and frustrated desire. Now it was this, removed and distant. Could Cal do the things that Galdra did? It was impossible to determine. Galdra was there and Cal wasn't. Perhaps it was no more than that.
For a few moments, before he joined Galdra at the centre of the circle, Pellaz closed his eyes and called upon Snake and Moon. It was time for them too to begin work again.
Pellaz and Galdra sat down upon the grass cross-legged and for some moments before they began stared into each other's eyes. “If we don't see each other again,” Galdra said, “know that I love you.”
“We will see each other again,” Pellaz said.
At the edge of the circle, the Gelaming guards, warriors of Algoma level, raised their arms, shining swords held in each hand, into which they directed protective energy. Pellaz could almost see with his physical eyes the glowing symbols that the guards projected, ghostly glyphs that hung in the air above him. Galdra was bathed in their light, surrounded by a silver nimbus.
Come to me, Pellaz...
For the first few minutes, it was as it used to be: deeply erotic. The crowd around them faded away into indistinct shapes. Then reality began to disintegrate as Galdra's ouana-lim reached for the sixth energy centre. Pellaz sensed once more the great iris-like portal that ready to spin open and suck him through. Was it possible this was the last time he'd inhabit earthly reality? Etheric winds pulled at his body, the moment was so close. Moments before the seal opened, Pellaz heard a cry, followed by another, and another. In his hypersensitive state, he could perceive swift black shadows flitting around the camp, striking out. Ponclast's shadow assassins. Arcs of lifeblood spurted into the evening air. Pellaz tried to cry out, to warn somehar, but it was too late. The portal within him opened and he was taken into it.
The cauldron was in chaos. Pellaz could not recognise it nor was able to mould its appearance through his will. Rushing colours flew past his perception, the suggestion of entities, the rake of adamantine claws across his skin. Galdra's presence was strong. He was giving this procedure everything he could.
Take control, Pell. Remember the abyss. Whatever's happening isn't taking place in here. The cauldron is merely reflecting it.
Pellaz concentrated hard on ordering his perceptions, imagining clear straight lines. It seemed to help. It was as if the cauldron had become a transparent bubble of black glass hanging within a starless void. Beyond its walls, bizarre entities flickered back and forth, colliding with one another to create strange nebulae of sickly light. Sometimes, dark liquid would splash against the walls, like blood.
The sedim fight...
Galdra said.
I sense other entities approaching, from the ends of the universe, like the end of creation, the horror wind.
I'll connect with Moon and Snake,
Pellaz said.
It's time to invoke the dehara.
Pellaz extended a tendril of thought, which wormed its way through the skin of the cauldron. He could perceive both Moon and Snake as faint glows in his mind.
When did this become so easy?
Pellaz thought.
I take it for granted now.
Only weeks before, the idea of communicating so precisely with non-local minds was no more than a dream. Hara like Cobweb and Snake had been able to achieve it, but not with this degree of accuracy. It was like looking inside your own head, and realising that in inner space all hara are connected and unified. It was merely a matter of concentration to communicate with them.
Pellaz could sense Moon's hesitancy: he was afraid. Snake was simply raring to go, eager to test himself.
Moon, relax,
Pellaz told his sori.
Snake and I will take most of the burden. Simply be open, a channel through which the energy can pass. It will take nothing from you. You are merely a conduit.
In this state, the summoning required no words of invocation or a physical attempt to raise the energy of the dehara. Pellaz merely formed the images of them in his mind's eye, pulling universal life force from within and beyond the cauldron to shape them; it was as easy as building models from clay.
Aruhani came first, blacker than the void, stamping his elegant feet, his hair writhing around him. Then came Agave with his sword of flame, liquid fire running over his skin. He was followed by Lunil of the blue flame, as cold as Agave was hot, his eyes smoking blue light, and finally Miyacala, surrounded by a white hot cone of power. All were immense, thunder crackling between them. Beyond them, stretching out into infinity, beyond Pellaz's ability to imagine, were ranks of unnamed dehara, all the permutations of desire and will that had emanated from hara in the earthly realm to take on etheric flesh in the worlds beyond. This was the army Wraeththu had at their disposal to fight what came from the unknown places. It was an army of the imagination, of intention, of courage. It was the soul of harakind.
Pellaz, Snake and Moon formed a triangle, which was like a prism that would reflect and intensify the energy of the dehara. Pellaz could feel power building up between them. He could almost hear it, the hum of a machine the size of the universe. The dehara raised their voices in song, an ear-splitting celestial choir that was the sound of creation itself. But as it could create, so it could destroy.
Whatever entities controlled Ponclast became aware of the dehara's presence. Pellaz could sense it. In his heightened state, he could tell that they'd believed they'd only have the
sedim
to contend with. They were surprised by this new development. Pellaz could sense them drawing nearer to him, sniffing, analysing his power. He caught fleeting glimpses of them in his mind: hideous beyond imagination, yet also lovely. All that stood between him and them was the fragile bubble of the cauldron. If they chose to, they could reach out and pluck Pellaz from his sanctuary. They could snuff him out like pinching a candle flame. The dehara must manifest more quickly. Pellaz passed this imperative on to his companions. They must project their combined energy soon.
For a brief moment, Pellaz could see into earthly reality. He saw the black shadows of Ponclast's hara snaking throughout the Gelaming camp. He saw hara trying to defend themselves, fight them off. Ashmael had left the Grissecon circle, and although his elite guard still provided a protective shield there, he was now leading the allied forces towards Fulminir: troops of every tribe, their banners held high, their voices ululating the battle cries they'd perhaps not sung for decades, since the wars with humanity. They were beautiful and fearless, prepared to die if that meant they could prevent the darkness of Fulminir having power in this land once more. The sky above this scene was like a vision of hell. The clouds were red and black, and immense grotesque shapes rolled through them. There were mighty sounds, like planets splitting in two, the groan of space collapsing, the thunderclap of great forces colliding. Ponclast's hara were stationed on the makeshift battlements of Fulminir. Their position was not good, but there were others among them to whom the flimsy defences were of no concern. Huge figures, angelic warriors, wielding weapons of fire. Pellaz feared for his hara. Although Ashmael led them with courage, they would be burned like paper by these creatures.
Now!
Pellaz screamed into the void. He felt Snake release his energy and at the same time it joined with Pell's and streamed into Moon. The dehara were part of it, spiralling like a braid of fluid force into Moon's body.
Pellaz could see it. He looked down upon Fulminir, into the small courtyard. He saw Moon on Tyson's lap, his head thrown back. At that moment, Moon's eyes and mouth were forced open, and the energy of the dehara poured out of him. The image of his body was lost in preternatural radiance.
In the cauldron Pellaz felt the last of the deharan energy stream through him, disappearing like a wail into earthly reality. He became aware of stillness and then a figure walked towards him: Lileem.
Now,
she said.
It is time for us, Pellaz.
Pellaz looked down upon Fulminir once more and saw, as shadows, unearthly conflict. He saw Ashmael's hara engaged in more traditional combat. But in the heart of Fulminir was an indigo flame. Ponclast.
Chapter Forty
The moment that the
teraphim
locked in combat with the
sedim,
Ponclast had retreated with Abrimel, Diablo and Geburael to an area deep underground. He did this not so much to seek shelter, but to isolate himself from outside influences. He did not feel that his hour had come, but was filled simply with a sense of resignation. In order to proceed, certain experiences must be undergone, certain trials faced and overcome.
Abrimel was almost witless with panic and virtually useless, capable only of crouching in a corner with Geburael in his arms. Diablo prowled the perimeter of the underground vault, alert for hostile presences. Ponclast composed himself upon the floor, before a censer of incense. Into it, he threw grains of resin that released a pungent smoke, which burned the throat. He could sense all around him, in this realm and beyond, the strange forces that were attracted to this concentrated sphere of activity upon earth. His allies, the Hashmallim, had come, and other shadowy creatures in their wake, but there were more alien presences too, drawn with curiosity to investigate the tantalising flavours of conflict and terror. The
sedim
fought alone: their masters had sent no other entities to assist them. They had the advantage in numbers, but the
teraphim's
power was greater than their own. It seemed to Ponclast that it was only a matter of time before the Hashmallim and the
teraphim
concluded their battles. Hara of flesh and blood were no match for Hashmal weapons. Ponclast's shadow fighters were causing panic and mayhem in the Gelaming camp, obstructing their ability to organise their warriors. A cone of power at the centre of the camp protected some kind of magical activity, which was well shielded, but Ponclast sensed that whatever took place there was not a direct attack. He presumed the Tigron was attempting to call upon higher forces to aid him.