Read Online The Wraiths of Will and Pleasure by Storm Constantine - Free Book Online

approached Flick, because he was the most approachable and close to Seel, but he couldn’t tell them anything. They thought he lied to them, and perhaps he did, but there were no words to express what he felt. It was as if the whole of Wraeththu history, such as it was, had only been a preamble to what was going to happen next. How could he tell hara that, when the obvious question to follow it would be ‘And what is going to happen?’ Flick didn’t know the answer. Orien might, but he had become reclusive. Many times, Flick had knocked upon his door and been ignored. He had shouted, pleaded, but had received no response. Time and again, the thought ‘He’s preparing to die’ flashed through Flick’s mind, but he pushed it away. Thinking those words made them real; it was the worst magic. Flick realised how special Orien was to him. This was the har, after all, who had led him from the ruins of his human life to a new existence in Saltrock. This was the har who had incepted him, and had always been there for him. Flick wished he could help now, but it was clear that Orien had decided to shut the world out.
    So on this day of doom, Flick rode his grey pony, Ghost, out alone beside the soda lake. Leaving the creature to nibble furtively at dry scrub, Flick clambered up one of the spiky crags to gaze out at the eastern horizon, which was invisible in a milky haze. He had come to this place many times with Pell, when Pell had been silent and tense, staring without blinking into the future, which of course had lain to the east.
    Flick said aloud, ‘Is this to do with you, Pell? Are you trying to tell us something?’
    And a ghost Pell beside him, who existed only in his mind, said, ‘You know that I am.’
    ‘Then speak plainly.’
    ‘You have to imagine it, invent it. You know that.’
    Flick sighed and rubbed at his eyes, feeling the weight of the eerie sky pressing down upon him. The back of his neck felt hot, as if somehar breathed upon it. He could imagine hands hovering above his shoulders and almost reached up to find them, pull whoever they belonged to through into this reality, but then he thought he heard a gasp behind him and opened his eyes quickly. The sensation of presence vanished and the world seemed stark and raw and without spirit.
    A horse was stumbling towards Saltrock along the dusty eastern road. Its head hung low in exhaustion and a shapeless figure was slumped upon its back. The clop of the horse’s hooves echoed in the wide cup of the mountains. Birds rose from the caustic bath of the lake in a shimmering throng. Flick got to his feet and put his hands around his eyes to focus on whoever, or whatever, approached. He heard Ghost whinny softly below – a sound of alarm – and jumped down from the rock. He was aware of a sense of relief. This was it. At last.
    He mounted the pony and urged it towards the approaching horse, which lifted its head and found the energy to prick up its ears. Its rider seemed asleep in the saddle.
    ‘Hoi!’ Flick called.
    At the sound of his voice, the horse came to a halt. Flick could see the rider wore a wide-brimmed hat. His body was wrapped in a dusty, colourless cloak. Flick jumped down from his pony. The rider was motionless; there were flies around him. Could he be dead? Flick remembered instances of disease being brought unwittingly into Saltrock. Perhaps he should be cautious. Scanning the ground, he found a thin black stick and used this to poke the rider in the leg from a short distance. The body twitched and slowly the rider raised his head. Flick saw smouldering violet eyes gazing down at him from a filthy face. He felt paralysed, even though at first he did not recognise who he was looking at.
    ‘Flick.’ The voice itself was dusty, like that of a revenant, full of earth. It was dead, without inflection.
    Flick didn’t say anything. He was thinking of hauntings and curses, and wondered whether he should just leap back onto his pony and gallop hell