The Wraeththu Chronicles by Storm Constantine, Paul Cashman Page B

lapping suction. He did not want to die. He knew he could not die.
     
    For three days the freak writhed, gibbered and screamed on the soiled floor. Passively the mutant watched him, faint interest painted across his bland face. On the third day, the filth peeled away and the mutant was given an angel. An angel like himself, brimming with mysteries that alone he had had no inclination to explore.
     
    The rest of it is now the legends of Wraeththu. Wraeththu, born in hate and bitterness, flexing their young, animal-strong muscles in the cities of the north. Always learning, always increasing their craft and cunning. Increasing. It was inevitable that eventually it touched someone who had the curiosity, the intelligence to probe within the mystery. Wraeththu lost its ungoverned, adolescent wildness; it became an occult society, hungry for knowledge. But what they found within the Temple appalled them; its vastness scared them.
     
    Some broke away from the search for truth and fell back into the old ways of fighting and living for the day. Those that remained faced the unavoidable truth: Mankind was on the wane, Wraeththu waxed to replace it. The first mutant faded into anonymity. Nobody was quite sure what had happened to him, but he had left strong leaders behind him. Now he had become a creature of legend, revered and feared as a god. Wraeththu did not believe he was dead, but that he'd elevated to a superior form of existence, monitoring or manipulating the development of his race. The Wraeththu grouped into tribes, each ascribing to varying beliefs, but all united in the Wraeththu spirit. They had the power to change the sons of men to be like themselves. As with the first, within three days of being infected with Wraeththu blood, the convert's body has completed the necessary changes. Many of them develop extra-sensory faculties. All are a supreme manifestation of the combined feminine and masculine spiritual constituents present in Mankind. Humanity has abused and abandoned its natural strengths: in Wraeththu it begins to bloom. Wraeththu are also known as hara, as Mankind are called men. Hara are ageless. Their allotted lifespan has not yet been assessed, but their bodies are immune to cellular destruction through time. As they are physically perfect, so must they strive toward spiritual perfection. If power is riches, then the treasure-chests of Wraeththu are depthless. Purity of spirit is the key; few ever attain it. But one day, when the ravages of man is just a memory, then the Few that have succeeded shall be the kings of the Earth.
     
    I learned later on that all of this was Wraeththu perfection as Orien saw it. At the time, I believed all that he told me of Wraeththu's potential greatness because he seemed infinitely wiser than me. Only bitter experience taught me that he was misled, if not misleading himself. Nothing can be perfect in this world. I was curious about the different Wraeththu tribes, although Orien's knowledge on this subject was far from comprehensive. Owing to varying degrees of civil strife across the country, it had been possible for determined groups of Wraeththu to seize towns from humans or else take over towns that had been deserted. Some had maintained a serious belief in occultism and were interested in furthering their powers, Whilst others (and these Orien mentioned only briefly) were not so concerned about this aspect of themselves. What they were interested in, he neglected to mention.
     
    The sun had traveled to its zenith; I was approaching mine. When Orien ceased speaking the hush still throbbed with his words. What I have told you is only the essence of it; there was much, much more. There was no question of my disbelieving him. To be there was to believe. My doubts were quenched.
     
    "Tomorrow, Pellaz, a Wraeththu of Nahir-Nuri caste, the highest caste, shall come to Saltrock. He is known as the Hienama and it is his task to initiate new converts. A Hienama comes to Saltrock