Forever Wraeththu

Down the Whispering Well
by Thevina

Story Notes

Author’s Notes: This is a sequel to Maelstrom and Mage, Desire Thine Darkling. Several of the original characters from that are prominent in this, as well as my concept of how Vaysh died the first time. Toward the end there are a few direct quotes from Enchantments; it would have seemed quite odd to ignore those pivotal scenes but I didn’t wish for it to be a retelling, word for word, of familiar scenes but from Vaysh’s POV. Storm wrote them eloquently already; this is only a different lens through which to see those scenes.

Novella summary: Being brought back from the dead doesn’t mean happily ever after, especially if you’re Vaysh. Life has its costs, and he pays dearly. An exploration of Vaysh’s character in the years before and through Pellaz’s transformation, and the burdens he endures, because he must.

Author website: http://www.thrihyrne.net

Author email: thevina33@gmail.com

Disclaimer: Ashmael, Vaysh, and the harish world all belong to Storm Constantine; I’m merely playing with great abandon in her sandbox.

Pairings: Vaysh/Ashmael (historic); Vaysh/Velaxis, Vaysh/OC

Rating: NC-17 (rooning, drug use, angst, off-screen character death)

Spoilers: Enchantments of Flesh and Spirit

Down the Whispering Well

Succor my skin, beloved,
in sizzling drops of musky happenstance.
Lick gauzy flames, sear my bones,
Bathe me in fecund tears of myrrh and exaultation—
gnaw, ravenous, on my transmogrified soul.

I’ll dance with you, my firebrand,
Down the whispering well.

There, enrapt, we libertines
Will sing the stars indivisible, you and I,
suckling on voracious delight.

My heart, my drum—
Immortal, beat in me the tattoo of forever.

The air was different that day. Unseen wings beat a thrill of anticipation into the usual stillness; the wind-chimes tintinnabulated in silvery agitation. I was lifted from my cocoon, held up for the duration of the short walk to the bath. I couldn’t stand unaided, my legs had transformed from slender but muscled to white spindles. I grimaced as I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, though my heart seized with anguished joy each time I was able to do so. I had died. I knew it. My brain hadn’t surrendered the memory of the excruciating pain of the branch as it had crushed me, my sight and feeling seeping away, of Ashmael’s voice, so wild and full of hurt…

I let the warm tears spill over, as they always did, now that I’d recovered enough for these new eyes to work. I was here, and not-here; the silent, efficient hara kept me drugged after my initial screams of agony had been too much for them and my other keeper to bear. Thiede would bring order to this impossibility. He would come in with a serving-tray of coral, he would drape an amulet around my neck, a chambered nautilus like my hollowed soul and he would breathe life into this husk, this miraculous aberration, my somatic re-creation.

“Why?” I asked the unspeaking hara through my tears, but they didn’t pause. They bathed my weak body, rubbing my near-useless limbs with oil before artfully arranging my hair with ribbons of white, and tiny opalescent beads. I begged for more drugs, for anything to slow the panicked tattoo which threatened to overwhelm my re-made heart. Pity me, for God’s sake, the Aghama’s sake, pity…?

A quicksilver slide of the needle and my breath no longer thundered in my lungs like a thoroughbred racing across a field. Perhaps Tassia could bear me away…

I was an abomination, and yet, as I drifted into the languid haze of disembodied thought, I couldn’t help but love myself and the demiurge who had made me again. Head lolling, I peered dazedly at my arm— tears meandered down my face at the sight of flawless, pale skin. No inception scar marred my forearm; no vibrant braid of ink to boldly proclaim my love for my chesnari remained. Apparently the voice of all physical flaws was to have been silenced. This body, this mute skin, this was Thiede’s doing.

Did I captivate him only when voiceless?

Soft footsteps padded through the open doorway. He stood at the end of the bed, his palms pressed together, his long, steepled fingers pressed against his cheek. With his head tilted as it was, he looked for an instant like a child about to say his prayers. His eyes— a thousand sunlit mornings glowed there; I flinched under the shimmering, proud lanterns that shone in his face.

“You shall be above all others,” he promised, approaching me with the lethal, captivating grace of a lynx. There was no softness in his tone; the words rang in the air, a regal pronouncement. I was brushed with the scent of saffron dawn as attendants removed his clothes and I was laid bare for him.

“Thank you,” I croaked, my voice an elegy in dust. I was un-dead. I was moulded clay. I lifted my eyes as his lips hovered above mine, the faint scent of his breath enough to kindle an explosion of sparks in my groin.

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Tales of the Far East
by Keyral

Story Notes

Author web site: http://www.crystalkey.fr.st/

Editor’s Note: This 11-part story was originally posted to the Pinkboard in 2005. It’s set in Japan and, as a help, the author included a lexicon of names and references, included below.

Lexicon

Names

Japanese names have a pronunciation in Japanese “letters” and a writing in Chinese characters; with one pronunciation, you can have several meaning depending on the Chinese characters you use)

• Suzu = bell
• Kurozuki = black moon
• Akio = white prince (should be ‘Akiou’)
• Tsukisa = path of the moon
• Honokami = god of fire
• Tenme = eye of heaven
• Yuugami = god of hot water
• Takayama = high mountain
• Sora = sky
• Shinseimon = gate of new life
• Shinonome = dawn
• Tenki = instrument of heaven

References

• The Old Ones = refers to the people of the island of Okinawa where there’s the highest percentage of century-old people.
• The Ancient Ones = refers to the Ainu people who lived in Japan before the Chinese immigrations; they’re said to have come from Caucasian territories during pre-historical times (there are different opinions about their origins) and were trapped on the island when the glaciers that let it reach this land melted. They were confined in the northern island and their culture has almost completely been assimilated by the Japanese culture.
• The Banished Ones = refers to the “eta” or “burakumin” (there are other names for these people), descendants of families who worked in certain jobs who were considered impure (jobs in contact with blood, like butchers or executioners).
• The lullaby that Suzu sings to Kel at the beginning refers to the fairy tale at the origin of the Tanabata festival.

Tales of the Far East

Part 1: The Angel

Everything was yellow and orange, a strange day… no, it had been an ordinary day in fact, silent, empty. But it was yellow now… and orange.

He stopped. A small pebble had rolled into his wooden slipper. He removed it, threw it to the side of the cracked road. It rolled and bounced down the slope of old concrete towards the bed of the river. Its movement filled his mind for a few minutes until it disappeared into the wild grasses: movement, almost life. He tightened his grip on the canvas bag he was carrying and resumed his walk on the deserted road.

It was still yellow and orange but now there were some hints of red too. And wind blew. Dust flew into his eyes, stinging. He blinked a few times, his vision blurred by tears. He wiped them with the back of my sleeve. Dust had settled back. And now there was someone on the road, some distance ahead of him. At least it looked like there was someone; a tall immobile figure, facing the side of the road, the head inclined as if staring at something in the riverbed or at the ground. It could have been the statue of a forgotten deity, the ghost of the dead city that had been alive here. But it could be…

He walked more quickly, his heart beating faster and faster as he neared my goal. A man.

Who’ll stop me and talk to me.

He drew closer. He could see the lines of his profile against the yellow light, the elegant nose and the high forehead; familiar and yet… a foreigner? What was he doing here? There was no more foreigner here, no more foreigner… nobody at all in fact… except a few ghosts like himself, haunting this place that should have been… His mind froze.

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You Don’t Get Something For Nothing
by Az

Story Notes

Author email: Email; az.ombie(at)gmail.com

Website: http://www.forgottenjuliet.net

Disclaimer; all these characters belong to Storm Constantine. This is solely a fragment of my twisted mind, all in the name of fun. No copyright infringement intended.

Summary: Rue feels his defences are crumbling, all because of one har, who manages to crawl behind the facade of the Tigrina.

Warnings; language.

Spoilers; book 1 & 2.

Pairing; Vaysh/Caeru

Editor’s Note:

This story was originally posted to the “Pinkboard” works-in-progress in Mar. 2006. These were the only chapter posted but I thought it was worth rescuing and posting here. If you’re the author and have the rest of this, or other stories, do get in touch with me!

You Don’t Get Something For Nothing

Refuse to surrender,
Strung out until ripped apart,
Who dares, who dares to condemn
All for nothing

This window, this view, I thought it grand upon my arrival, yet now it makes me feel as a prisoner, tied with silk behind golden bars, as a songbird who is refused its voice. I remember how I was thrilled seeing this large city under my feet, I felt as a god. That was then, this is now. I no longer feel divine, I feel trapped. It would be the understatement of the millennia to say that Pellaz was thrilled to see me, never have I seen anybody radiate that much surprise, discomfort and rage mingled in one. I should have been an idiot had I not understood what was beneath his civil words. I still remember the humiliation standing there with Wolf, who had a death grip on my clammy hand. Listening to the har I had once shared such intimacy with that we had had the power to create new life, all the arguments I had rehearsed over and over again on our journey here, died on my lips. Clearly he did not think that he had done wrong leaving me behind to birth and care for our pearl. But I had overstepped my boundaries when I had come to Immanion to seek him out. No matter how many times I tried to explain to him that I had done this for Wolf, nor for me, and if he wanted me to, I should leave right this instant. That was not completely the truth, I would never be able to leave Wolf behind, leaving him in this place, this haunted wretched palace. Thiede persuaded me to stay, promising that I would have a secure home for my harling, and that Pellaz surely would come around.

Chapter 1: Of loneliness and broken dreams

Caeru sighed as he took off the pearl necklace and tossed it on the stone floor. Standing up, he gracefully stepped over the treacherous pieces of the jewellery on the floor. “Cheap crap,” he muttered under his breath. Slumping down on a large mount of fluffy pillows he sighed, “The poor, poor Tigrina, stuck in his golden prison of lies and contempt.” Melodramatically he raised a hand to his forehead, and sighed even deeper, to then giggle at himself. If he had known what he would have gotten into back then, he would never have come, given he had all that he wanted, everything his heart desired. Almost everything.

Leaning out of the window his vision blurred as he looked down, how easy it would be to just slip and fall. Rue smiled bitterly and turned his gaze to the east wing of the palace, he could not even see his Tigron’s chambers from here, and Pellaz had on more than one occasion made him aware that it was not far enough; he would prefer to be farther away, but the palace would not allow it, its walls did not stretch that far. Every time he heard those words it felt like a slap, but after years of this treatment he had gotten used to it. He pulled himself inside the room again, how he had wept bitter tears at night, by himself, but at day he would always be designated to his fate. He was the Tigrina; no one on this god-forsaken planet could take that away from him. And he would live his role, do what was expected of him. He had brought this upon himself, and to complain would be a little too self indulgent, even for Caeru.

A knock on the door shook the Tigrina from his musings. “Enter,” he called as he stifled a yawn. He was tired and had not slept well that night, plagued by nightmares, as always. And no one to soothe him when he woke soaked in sweat. Hearing soft footsteps across the stone floor, he turned with a smile until he saw it was but a messenger, and his smile faded.

“The Tigron wishes to inform that he shall dine alone tonight,” the messenger said, looking skittish and absolutely uncomfortable.

“I see,” Rue said, “dining alone you say?”

“Yes” the messenger said, looking from Caeru to the space between his feet, studying the cracks in the tiles.

“Does he really find me that naive?” Rue hissed, but when the other har still did not move or answer he just sighed deeply and said with a voice that dripped with venom, “Fine! Tell the Tigron that I made other arrangements.” The messenger didn’t look up, afraid the Tigrina would throw one of his notorious fits; he just nodded and hurried out.

“Bastard,” Rue sneered to himself, alone indeed! The Tigrina felt tears welling up in his eyes, not because he was sad, but angry and hurt. Why had Thiede sweet-talked him into this? This humiliation, every day. Every single day he would be dismissed, pushed aside and ignored. Years ago he would have give anything for Pellaz to believe his words, but now it just didn’t seem to matter anymore. He had stopped praying for understanding and redemption; he knew it would never come. He might have power, he might be the Tigrina, but he was not Cal. He hated this har with a vengeance, never having met this mythical creature, which Rue was not even sure existed anywhere else than in Pellaz’ mind. And still it never stopped haunting him; how could he best something he couldn’t touch? No, Pellaz and his marriage was made of blood and loathing.

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Hara Malevery
by Gilda Mock

Story Notes

This is my first piece of Wraeththu fanfiction, the first part in a planned novel. I hope those who read enjoy it, and I also hope you’ll share your thoughts and suggestions.

Editor’s Note:

This story was originally posted to the “Pinkboard” works-in-progress in Feb. 2006. This was the only chapter posted but I thought it was worth rescuing and posting here.

Hara Malevery

The dehar reached out to him with his hand. In his hand was a scroll of yellow vellum, tied with red ribbons. His feet stood on air. Rushing, ripping, whistling air as cold as the beginning of the earth. The breath at the top of the world. The dehara’s smile was serene as the sun’s and more warm. His voice laughed like a thousand streams as he beckoned; the wind buffeted his hair back and forth like a writhing mass of golden-scaled snakes. The har, his tremelous feet perching atop the pinnacle of the tallest rock he’d ever seen, smelled the sickly salty smell of the sea wafting up from the base, too far away for him to see. The dehara before him was silent, but his eyes spilled words like water. Esoteric messages and furtive whispers whipped around the planes of his body like something he could reach out and grab.

“I can’t.” The har screamed. “I can’t, I’ll fall!”

The dehara’s smile opened to the gleam of pearly teeth. He cocked his head and pressed the scroll towards him.

Rock sanded away under the har’s toehold. Panic scrabbled in his heart.

“I’ll fall!”

The dehara spoke: “Sometimes you must fall.”

The har whimpered deep in his throat and tightened the thin sheet to his body. Tears stung his eyes and made him blind. Panic closed a choking fist over him and he fell to his knees, scraped them to the bone.

“If I take it from you…” He blubbered, “If I take it, will you keep me from falling?”

The dehara’s eyes melted from dark to light, then back, like watching the scales of a brilliant fish from above the water.

“Sometimes you must fall. When you land you will be a god.”

The har, heart hammering, swayed to a stand. He could feel the electric rush of blood through every vein in his body. His pulse throbbed in his ankles and wrists like stars. His feet were bloody. He dropped the sheet. It flapped once with a great boom like a dragon’s wing and disappeared in a shooting wind. The har was naked, and reaching. The dehara had a divinely victorious expression on his face. His eyes were closed, brown eyelashes casting dripping shadows; his eyebrows swept back like sparrow wings. The ribbons on the scroll made a tiny, silky, gasp; slipped out of their knot and flew away. The parchment fell towards the har in a cream-yellow trail. The polished wooden handle bumped his hand. He gripped it with clammy fingers. The dehar let go of the other end. The har felt his stomach flutter to his throat. His toes left the rock and he leapt into the sky. Banshees of air screamed past him. Icy fingers reached to touch him as he passed by. He heard birds. He glimped the dehar above him, a steadfast beacon of energy, burning like a phoenix. Somehow he knew he was laughing, joyfully.

The har smelled frying meat and eggs.

He broke away from sleep like a nearly-drowned from water.

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Sweet Desperation
by Em

Story Notes
Pairing: Cal / Pellaz

Summary: The Tigron craves the one har he cannot have.

Spoilers Anything up to Wraiths

Rating: NC17

Disclaimer: Characters and the world they inhabit belong to Storm Constantine.

Sweet Desperation

The Tigron of Immanion had at his disposal anything a har could possibly ask for. He was surrounded by luxury and comfort and no request was too much to ask. Pellaz har Aralis was never short of company – should he desire it a banquet could be called at a few hours notice and one of the many function rooms of Phaonica would be filled with hara to socalise with. Or, should he prefer, he had many close friends to spend intimate time with. He could travel halfway across the world in mere minutes with the help of his sedu if he missed hara in Megalithica and the apartment next door housed his closest confidant in Immanion, Vaysh – who would put down whatever he was doing at Pellaz’s request.

Despite all this, Pellaz was not satisfied. He was not an overly demanding har. Aristocratic, yes – but Pellaz did not exploit his position. It was unfortunate perhaps that the one thing he desired most in the world was the one thing that even the Tigron could not have. The one thing the Tigron was specifically not allowed to have.

Calanthe.

Though Cal was never far from Pellaz’s thoughts, there were nights like tonight when the Tigron’s memories made things almost unbearable. When he could almost swear Cal was in the room with him, so strong was his presence. He haunted Pellaz like an unrelenting ghost and lingered like a cherished memory.

Many years ago the Hienama Orien had warned Pellaz to hide his tears from others and Pell had heeded that lesson well. He told nohar, not even Vaysh or Seel, how deep his grief ran. He buried it deep inside and locked it away in his heart, focusing his attention on the here and now so he would not be swamped by his past. Nohar knew of how Calanthe constantly flittered through Pellaz’s dreams or how difficult it was to get up on the mornings that waking up alone filled Pellaz with deep pain. Nohar knew that on the nights that Pellaz’s shunned company and went to his apartments alone it was because he could not stand to look at the face of anyhar who was not Cal.

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