Song of the Sulh: A Wraeththu Mythos Novel

Chapter One

Raven sat in a tree high on a wooded hillside. A young Mountain People tribesman just shy of his twentieth birthday, gawky adolescence had long given way to lean, powerful assurance. The Place of Blue Smoke was the ancient name his people had given these rugged, convoluted mountains. Water vapour and oily residues from the forests combined, draping the peaks and valleys with smoky tendrils of hazy-blue fog.

What light filtered down through the forest reflected from Raven’s burnished, red-gold skin only to be swallowed whole by the skein of long, dark hair that hung like a cloak about his shoulders. No glimmer or reflection betrayed him as he sat still and silent watching those below him. There had been no flicker of movement from him in over two hours. Nothing to suggest he was there. Inside he seethed and thrummed with barely contained hatred.

Wraeththu.

The Incomers.

The Interlopers.

Raven’s tribe, the Mountain People, had lived with the impact of such interlopers for generations. For years his people had lived peaceably within the natural laws of their homeland. They followed the rhythm of the seasons and lived as subjects – not conquerors – of the land that supported them.

Then the first interlopers had come. Humans like themselves. They brought with them new technologies, new attitudes and above all the desire for mastery – not of themselves, as was the Mountain People’s way, but of the land and her people.

Raven’s people had been driven off their lands, their beliefs and way of life pushed to the rawest edges of bare survival.

Then the world began to change. Society began to break down. Wars erupted all over the globe and, sensing her chance, the land began to fight back too; hurricanes, volcanoes, floods, fires and pestilence. The Interlopers and their ways looked doomed to ancient memory. The Mountain People rejoiced. Hope flared in their hearts. It would be their time again, time for them to reclaim their gentle relationship with the land.

But it was not to be. The hope was short lived. The creeping madness affecting the Interlopers did not discriminate. It took Mountain People along with their oppressors. Raven’s own father succumbed, as did many of the older male tribesmen. Only the women and the young men appeared to escape it. But then the women stopped being able to have babies and the number of tribe’s children dwindled.

Then along came the new Interlopers.

Wraeththu.

For years there had been rumours of gangs in the cities. Whispers on the breeze of wild boys involved in crazy cults; stealing male children away from their families, changing them somehow, making them inhuman, making them hate humans.

That they had sex among themselves was neither shocking nor unnatural to the Mountain People. They had long understood the androgynous nature of the soul and regarded homosexuals as two-spirited individuals to be revered. Raven himself had experienced sexual encounters with both males and females.

What did seem unnatural and shocking to Raven’s people was that there appeared no place for women as this brave new world was forged. To them men and women were part of the circle of life, no one part more important than the other and no one part able to exist without the other. As Wraeththu increased in number, the tribe mourned the loss of women as much as they mourned the loss of the Mountain People and their ways.

Raven had another reason to hate Wraeththu. His mother had been killed by marauding Uigenna intent on sport. Raven had been only twelve. He had gone out looking for her when she failed to return from foraging for healing herbs. From behind a tree he’d heard the Uigenna depart, laughing and boasting of their triumph. Fearing the worst, he’d ventured into the clearing. Not much remained, but what did left him in no doubt that it was his mother. He gathered what was left and returned to his people so that she could be honoured and given the burial rituals that were her due.

High in his tree the memories smouldered and flared inside him. Even through his mist of hatred, Raven had to admit this Wraeththu tribe were not like the Uigenna and Kheops raiders he had, so far, encountered.

For ten days he had watched them. Raven had seen that these Wraeththu, although clearly not of this land, had a great affinity for it and were closely in tune with the turn of the seasons. Their clothing, surprisingly practical and highly adaptable, reflected this closeness in the earthy greens, browns and dark oranges they favoured. Like the Mountain People they chose to wear their hair long and loose.

A few days previously they had celebrated the Summer Solstice with feasting and dances. And when a vicious thunderstorm had suddenly blown up, they had known of its coming and had secured their camp.

Hate them though he did, these Wraeththu intrigued Raven.

But time was passing and his people were expecting him. It was time to cut short his musing. He slipped silently out of the tree and melted into the forest. During the hour hike back to his home on the edge of the old reservation, he caught a couple of cottontail rabbits and gathered some yellow dock leaves.

At the edge of the former reservation stood an old log cabin, Raven’s home since his parents died. The cabin belonged to the Elder, Two Comet. Outside, a smoking fire pit was tended by Pale Fawn, another orphan adopted by Two Comet. Close to Raven in age, she was his dearest friend. She looked up as he approached, her dark hair falling back from her face as she smiled in greeting.

As was their custom, they began preparing the evening meal together, singing the ancient songs of their people as they worked. Raven skinned and gutted the rabbits, throwing the entrails to the half-wild dogs that hung about on the edge of the reservation. Pale Fawn put a pot of water on to simmer and cut the vegetables.

Later, once the meal was prepared, Two Comet joined them, responding to Pale Fawn’s call. A proud elderly man with gentle and wise eyes, his hair now grey and much of his physical strength gone, he retained an equal measure of dignity and humility.

They sat, cross-legged, on rugs surrounding the fire pit and shared stories of their day. Two Comet had officiated at a ceremony to bring good fortune to a couple trying desperately for a child, while Pale Fawn had spent much of her day gathering healing herbs and visiting the sick. At length Two Comet turned to Raven.

Well now, my son, and have you spent your day observing your new friends?

Raven gave a derisive snort. Friends! he spat.

Two Comet shook his head with amusement. Raven, my son, you seem to spend so much time watching them, I can only assume you wish to befriend them.

Wraeththu! Raven uttered the word as if it left a sour taste in his mouth. Killed my mother... stole my friends... stealing our world... robbing us of...

I am well aware of your feelings, my son. Two Comet’s gentle but firm tone cut right across Raven’s habitual rant. It was an old argument, often repeated. Pale Fawn rolled her eyes.

Tell me what you have seen, Two Comet continued. Be honest and leave out nothing.

Unwillingly, as if the details were wrung out of him, Raven spoke about how this group of Wraeththu was different. Not like the Uigenna or Kheops. They had their own ceremonies and celebrated their own sacred times. They had an affinity for the land, although clearly they were not from this land. Raven admitted, grudgingly, that these hara intrigued him.

Two Comet listened intently. At the end of Raven’s story he lowered his eyes, pursed his lips and inhaled deeply. Raising his eyes to look directly at Raven he said, My son, I think you should join these Wraeththu. I think you should willingly become one of them.

Raven was on his feet in an instant, screaming at Two Comet. He would never become Wraeththu, never. He was a Mountain People Tribesman – a member of the Wolf Clan – a warrior and protector of the people. He would die before betraying his heritage. Pale Fawn placed her hands over her ears and closed her eyes tightly.

Noble as that sentiment is, my son, said Two Comet to Raven’s departing back, there is little point being a warrior and protector of the people when soon there will be no people to protect.

As Raven’s angry footsteps disappeared into the forest, Pale Fawn removed her hands and opened her eyes. She regarded Two Comet gently.

Don’t worry. She smiled. His temper is hot but it’s always short lived.

Two Comet gave an exasperated snort. A fire cracker that one – always wasting his energies on the unimportant! He shifted his rug and made himself more comfortable. But now, my daughter, let’s take tea together. I have much to discuss with you.

Chapter Two

As dusk gave way to darkness, Raven marched unheeding through the forest. A red-mist shrouded his eyes and black thunderclouds boiled in his heart. As usual in these circumstances, his feet led him to the place where his mother’s bones were laid to rest. It was one place where he always found peace. He sat beneath the tree that honoured her and exhaled slowly. Gently her essence seeped into him, calming him and slowing his racing thoughts. She stayed with him throughout the night as a battle raged within him. She crooned and soothed and gave wisdom.

As dawn crept along the eastern horizon like a golden skein, Raven made his decision. The dawn brought clarity and his remaining doubts fled with the departing night.

Raven sat beneath his tree a while longer. He watched the sun erupt from the horizon and illuminate the forests he knew so well. A new life was unfolding before him, one he had never even allowed himself to dream of. But the desire had been there, he had to admit that to himself now. Sunlight shone through the mists in numerous gauzy hues, the occasional pointed crown of a pine tree standing stark against the illuminated cloudscape. The entire landscape crackled with energy and power; Raven drank it in greedily.

He returned to the reservation just as Pale Fawn was serving breakfast. A place had been set for him in his usual spot by the fire pit. Pale Fawn handed him a couple of boiled eggs and some freshly baked corn bread. Raven nodded his thanks and turned to Two Comet, who eyed him impassively through the smoke of his pipe.

I agree, said Raven, simply. He didn’t need to say anything else.

Two Comet’s face broke into a thousand wrinkles as he smiled. This is good, my son. For though you are Wolf Clan and warrior and protector of you people, you are also warrior and protector of tradition. We live in strange times – and we must find strange solutions to the problems that trouble us.

Two Comet closed his eyes. You know I have the gift of foresight – for I am Wild Cat Clan – seer and protector of the earth. There is no future for the Mountain People, save the one we create for ourselves. You must carry your tradition to a new tribe who will accept and value it. To the new tribe of Wraeththu who have come to our forests.

He inhaled deeply and looked directly at Raven. But before you do this – there is one more task you have to perform for the Mountain People. There will only be one more child born to this tribe. It will be carried by Pale Fawn and you will be its father. I will carry out the ceremony to ensure a successful conception.

But Two Comet, interrupted Raven, what chance of success do we have? Only yesterday you carried out the same ceremony for Red Bear and Nuna – and they’ve been trying for months.

And it is hopeless, sighed Two Comet. But who am I to rob them of their hope? They will come to acceptance in time. For you and Pale Fawn it is different – I know this.

How can you know? asked Raven.

Two Comet looked heavenwards in exasperation. Raven, my son, you set too much store in magic. Pale Fawn has lived with me since she was a young girl. I know her cycles. This is her time.

How do you feel about this? Raven asked Pale Fawn.

I have my own path to walk, Pale Fawn replied. For I am of the Clan of the Wind – like you a keeper of tradition but also a teacher. I should very much like to walk my path with your child.

Raven chewed on his corn bread. Seems it’s all decided, then. He shrugged.

You better believe it, Pale Fawn chuckled.

For the rest of the day Raven and Pale Fawn sat on a rug by the fire pit close but not touching. Two Comet burned herbs around them, sprinkled them with blessed water, hummed and chanted incantations. They joined in the chanting at times that seem appropriate. By the evening they were both light-headed and deep in a meditative state.

Two Comet kissed them both on the brow. I shall spend the night close to your mother’s bones, he said. We were good friends and I’ve neglected her company for far too long. Make good use of my cabin. With that he walked off into the gathering dusk.

The two young people both rose to their feet. Pale Fawn smiled uncertainly. Raven returned the smile, took her hand and led her into the log cabin. Inside they lit oil lamps, softening the light by draping coloured rags. They laid animal hides on the floor and surrounded them with cushions.

Raven removed his clothing and did a twirl. Well, you might as well see what you’re getting! He laughed.

Pale Fawn smiled and placed his hands on the lacings at the front of her dress. You do it, she said.

Raven became more serious. It wasn’t his first time but it was, he knew, hers. She deserved better than flippancy. Gently he undid the lacings and eased the dress to her shoulders. She shrugged and the dress fell to the floor. Underneath she was naked and she was beautiful. He had not noticed before.

Raven felt the breath catch in his throat. He ran his hand the length of her arm and interlaced his fingers with hers. He raised her hand and kissed her palm. She led him to the pile of animal hides and he lay down beside her.

For a while they caressed, stroked and became familiar with each other in a completely new way. When the time seemed right, Raven moved over her and found his way inside. She gasped slightly, her eyes widening, then she relaxed against him and they rocked gently together. Together they found a climax, and afterward together they lay spent on the floor.

Several times that night they made that journey. In the early hours of the morning they lay in each other’s arms, covered in a blanket to keep out the night’s chill. Pale Fawn slept with her head on Raven’s shoulder. Raven, wide-eyed and awake, stared into the darkness.

It was always like this.

The intensity of his encounter with Pale Fawn was made all the more poignant by the knowledge of their imminent separation. He loved her dearly. She was the closest thing to family he had; they had been friends longer than he could remember. But it wasn’t just their separation that bothered him; it was the feeling of incompleteness. Whether with men or with women he always felt deep down that sexual encounters could be so much more than they were. The union could be on so many more levels. So much magical energy was created only to dissipate unused. If only it could be harnessed, channelled. He knew all this instinctively but had no idea how to bring these things to fruition.

Pale Fawn stirred in her sleep. Raven stroked her hair, kissed the top of her head, soothing her to stillness once more. He revelled in being this close to her, the night scent of her hair, the bliss of her skin against his. He was going to miss her more than he dared think about. He closed his eyes and held her a little closer. Eventually sleep claimed him, too.

It was well after dawn when they woke. A few more kisses, a few more caresses, then by unspoken agreement they returned to a state of companionable friendship. The cushions and animal skins were cleared away, the coloured rags removed from the lamps. To all intents and purposes it was just another day.

Raven stoked the fire, Pale Fawn set about making the breakfast, and somewhat later than expected Two Comet returned from the forest.

I’d forgotten what a talker your mother was, was all he would say.

They shared their usual companionable breakfast and then Raven went away quietly to pack. A few things only, cast into a striped canvas haversack. He chose his best boots to wear, brushed leather trousers and the fringed shirt of russet and green that Pale Fawn had made him in the spring. He left his hair loose but plaited in the coloured feathers that signified his tribe and clan.

He rejoined his companions at the fire pit. Two Comet, sitting comfortably on his rug, looked up at him.

You look well, my son.

A fine Mountain People tribesman, agreed Pale Fawn. Any tribe would be proud to count you in their ranks.

Raven took her hands in his, kissed her fingers and pulled her into a fierce hug.

You take care of yourself, he said and slid a hand over her belly, gripping slightly, and of this one too.

Pale Fawn nodded. She did not speak. She was a warrior’s daughter and would not weep.

Two Comet stood up, placing his hands on Raven’s shoulders.

Go well, my son. You have much to teach these Wraeththu and much to be proud of. But remember, they also have much to teach you – so take to them an open mind and the ways of an apprentice.

The embrace was long. Raven finally pulled away, smiled his farewell to them both and walked away without looking back. He was the son of a warrior; he wasn’t going to weep either.

Chapter Three

A thousand thoughts raced through Raven’s mind as he left his home. How should he address these people? What form of greeting should he use? He strode purposefully through the forest trying not to think about what he’d left behind. He passed the tree in which he’s spent so many hours watching them, closer now than he’d ever been to these Wraeththu – this tribe he had, until a few hours before hated with a passion. Now that he had resolved to join them, he walked swiftly in case his courage failed him.

Raven reached the edge of the clearing and marched directly into the camp. He stopped by the central fireplace and cast down his bag by way of a challenge. All around him Wraeththu looked up from their work. Each tribe member was engaged in various crafts, some weaving with tiny beads, brightly coloured wool and feathers, some fashioning leather goods, others preserving meat in the smoke of the fire.

Raven stood in the clearing, momentarily at a loss for words as the Wraeththu continued to gaze at him. Their gazes held nothing but a gentle amusement; Raven could detect no flicker of hostility. Still struggling for words, he felt his resolve slither away.

The drapery at the mouth of a nearby tent was drawn back. A gentle-eyed har with waist-long dark blond hair emerged.

We wondered when you would come to talk with us, he began, his voice low and melodic. We sensed you the first time you climbed that tree – and we sensed the hostility you felt towards us. But now I sense that feeling has left you. Will you take tea with me?

Around him the gentle amusement had given way to smiles of welcome. Raven felt somewhat overwhelmed by the strength of this welcome, particularly given his recent animosity, and was glad to escape to the privacy of the tent. He sat down upon a richly decorated rug opposite his host.

Firstly, introductions, said the blond har, handing him a steaming bowl of tea. I am Curlew, the leader of this tribe. Our tribe are the Sulh, and this, he indicated, is Mist, our Shaman.

To his left sat another har, like Curlew dressed in natural shades of brown, green and orange, his hair a cloud of shimmering grey-blue, his eyes fathomless pools of inky black.

Mist bowed his greeting graciously and asked, And are we to know your name and tribe?

Raven felt on safer ground here. Story telling was an important skill among his people and his heritage a matter of pride.

My name is Raven, he began, I am a tribesman of the Mountain People who have lived in the Place of Blue Smoke for over a thousand years. I would like to tell you the story of my people.

Curlew and Mist listened intently and did not interrupt his flow, recognising the time for questions was later.

As Raven’s tale drew to an end, Curlew and Mist thanked him.

Mist replenished his tea. You and your people have much to be proud of, Raven. Yours is a great culture. I am curious, though. What has brought you to us now?

The killer question.

Raven steeled himself. My people are dying, our numbers dwindle, and as my people die our culture dies with them. The only chance is to join a tribe who will accept our culture into theirs. The only chance... he faltered. So far the only Wraeththu tribes I’ve seen are Uigenna and Kheops – and from what I’ve seen they have no concept of culture – none!

I understand your reservation regarding the Uigenna and Kheops, said Curlew, nodding. We too have had dealing with them – and difficulties. You chose wisely in coming to us for we are scholars and greatly prize the ancient knowledge. Am I to understand then that you wish to join us? To become Wraeththu?

Raven nodded. Mist and Curlew exchanged a glance.

The thing is, Raven, Mist began, before you become Wraeththu, there is much you need to understand about us. Why don’t you start by telling us what you already know, or think you know, and we’ll fill you in on the rest?

Discussions lasted all through the morning. Curlew and Mist quizzed Raven on his perceptions of Wraeththu, his attachment to his humanity, his fears of pain and change. They had a lengthy conversation regarding his sexual orientation and experience. Raven noticed that both Mist and Curlew became alert, fascinated when he openly admitted that he’d found his sexual encounters unsatisfying, incomplete somehow, as if there was more to be attained but he’d no idea how to reach it. For what reason Raven would never be able to say, he held back information about the child he believed he had so recently conceived with Pale Fawn.

Discussions were disturbed briefly by a har bringing lunch, a thick, spiced soup with hunks of corn bread. Pragmatically Curlew stated that conversation never went well on an empty stomach.

After lunch they were joined by Batalha. Unlike the rest of the Sulh, he was dressed in a simple white robe. Everything about Batalha was pale and insubstantial – his hair, his eyes, his skin – as if he were a wraith that could vanish in a heartbeat. Curlew introduced him as scribe and history keeper.

That’s a bit of a fancy name for it, Batalha quipped. Really I’m just a field researcher.

Through poetry and song Batalha held Raven fascinated telling the creation myths of Wraeththu and the Sulh tribe.

The freak spawned in a non-descript corner of a non-descript city, somewhere here in Megalithica. The freak that would grow to be an angel and the creator of our race, the High-Father of Wraeththu, Batalha crooned.

And of the Sulh, From the green islands that lie between Megalithica and Almagabra; our home and our people are shrouded in mystery, our wisdom and magical prowess both envied and feared by other harish tribes, as he sang he played complex rhythms on his small, many-stringed harp. By early evening Raven’s head was reeling.

Finally they joined the rest of the tribe for supper around the fire. The blissful evening air soothed his pounding head as he ate the simple meal.

Abruptly his attention was caught by a har on the far side of the fireplace. Not overly tall but built solidly, the har was dark-haired but pale-skinned, his hair shaved completely on one side of his skull and tumbling down in thick curls on the other. A complex blue woad tattoo curled and coiled over the shaven skull, intricately defining the eye socket and the climactic point of the cheekbone. The tattoo wound down around his throat and appeared to continue down the left hand side of his body.

Raven, surprised by the strength of his interest, had to ask Mist who the har was.

Fen, came the reply. From the Waterlands of Alba Sulh. One of our warrior phyle, fearsome and loyal. Looking around the camp Raven could see a few hara that were clearly also of warrior phyle – although none of them as physically arresting as Fen.

After supper Raven wandered a little way away from the camp. He sat down on a fallen branch with his head in his hands. There was so much to take in, so much that was new. Curlew had deeply shocked him when he’d told him that on inception changes would take place within his body that would render him both male and female. Batalha had shocked him further when he’d stated that although there was no record of it happening as yet, he believed that Wraeththu would one day go on to procreate. However, Raven’s reservations about the lack of place for women in this new world of Wraeththu were somewhat appeased. Batalha told him, sincerely, that he felt women too had a new path to walk – their time was not yet done. Raven found he believed him.

These thoughts chased each other around his head as he sat on the fallen branch. Familiar forest sounds echoed around him, soothing scents floated by on a cooling breeze – and then something else.

Raven sat bolt upright. I know when I’m being watched, he told the night.

A patch of darkness detached itself from the shadows and moved into view. Fen.

Scared I’d run off? asked Raven, hiding his surprise that it was the har he’d been staring at earlier.

Fen nodded. You know too much.

And you’d what? Kill me?

Fen nodded again, slipping a narrow-bladed knife from his boot. I’d have slid this gently down the side of your neck into your shoulder, severing the subclavian vein. You’d have died in seconds – silently.

For a moment Raven glared at him. Then it’s as well I’ve decided to stay, he hissed, pushing past Fen as he returned to camp.

The following morning Raven informed Mist and Curlew of his decision to join them. They greeted this news with evident relief and pleasure. He did not mention his encounter with Fen the night before.

Curlew took his arm. There’s one last thing Raven. When you become one of us, you are expected to leave behind your old human ties, cease to have any connection with family or old friends. Can you do this?

Raven felt as if he had been punched. He swallowed. I can’t say it’s something I am happy about, he said carefully, but I made a promise to protect my tribal heritage. If this is what it takes then I’ll do it.

Mist caught his eye. Raven could have sworn than