Burying the Shadow (23 page)

Metatron
rubbed his face wearily. ‘I will do all that is necessary. If I
find Avirzah’e, or any of his kin, in Khalt, they shall be dealt
with summarily, believe me!’

I shuddered,
trying not to think about what being dealt with by the Harkasites
might be like.

‘Bring your
soul scaper to Sacramante, Gimel,’ Metatron said. ’As soon as you
can.’

I hurried home
and began to make preparations. The plan had long been perfected in
theory. It was time for my beloved brother to face reality; he
could no longer hide within his brush court.

Much to my
annoyance, Beth was out when I returned to the house. I immediately
summoned Amelakiveh, Ramiz and Tamaris and asked them if they were
aware of Beth’s whereabouts. Ramiz said he thought my brother had
gone to an opening night of an art exhibition in the outer courts
of the Kaliph’s palace. He was not expected home until late. I
could do nothing until he returned, so I would have to issue a
mind-chime to recall him. After a few minutes of concentration on
the summons, which I knew reached its target, I resentfully went to
my bed-chamber, taking Amelakiveh with me.

‘Are you
ready, lovely boy, for the work I have for you?’ I asked him,
stroking his face. His flesh bloomed with the vigour of life. I
knew Beth and I had transgressed eloim code by what we had done to
Amelakiveh. We had introduced him to the sup, made him like Tamaris
and Ramiz through giving him thimbles of our blood, without asking
permission of the Parzupheim. Any humans who were candidates for
becoming special retainers had to be examined thoroughly for taints
and weaknesses. We excused our evasion of this procedure because we
knew the boy would be instrumental in our plans concerning
Rayojini, but I was unconvinced that would stand up as a defence
should our action be exposed.

‘I am ready,’
Amelakiveh said, and flexed his fingers. ‘I am tired of your house.
I am looking forward to freedom.’

There was a
darkness about him, a faint aroma of bitterness. I realised he was
more potent a force, in his own way, than any smouldering
Harkasite. ‘You are my heresy,’ I told him. ‘You!’

Beth did not
respond to my summons. Even though I had strengthened the call with
my desperate need for his presence, he did not come home at all
that night, but returned to the house early in the morning. Tamaris
informed me of this when she came to wake me. After a spare
breakfast of bloodied milk, I requested Beth to join me in my
salon, a request which he ignored. After he had kept me waiting for
over an hour, I flew down to his rooms in person, intent on
scolding him. I was met by a stranger.

Beth was in
his sitting-room. Ramiz was in attendance, half dressed, which
indicated Beth had recently supped. I directed a meaningful glance
at Ramiz, which prompted his swift departure. Beth, for some
reason, would not look at me. ‘You seem agitated,’ he said,
adjusting his clothes in a mirror. In the glass, his eyes were
evasive and dark.

‘If I am
agitated, you are distinctly strange. What has happened?’ I asked
stiffly.

He
shrugged.

‘Beth, I
needed
you last night. Why did you ignore me? The time has
come! We have to pool our strengths now.’ I had to admit he really
didn’t look fit enough to accomplish what we had to do. His hands
were shaking, his face ashen. ‘Tell me!’ I demanded, in
desperation.

‘I have
nothing to tell you.’ The chill in his voice was terrifying. I
realised that, for the first time in our lives, we were not in
accord. I ran up behind him and gripped his bony shoulders with my
fingers, digging my nails into his flesh. He did not feel like he
was mine any more.

‘Beth, there
is nothing you cannot tell me, nothing. I love you. Please,
speak to me!
’

‘I can’t
Gimel,’ he said, bowing his head. ‘I really can’t. But I can show
you, if you like.’

‘Then please
do so.’ I stepped backwards.

Wordlessly, he
turned around to face me and began to unlace his shirt. There was a
challenge in his eyes, as if he expected me to scream or lunge at
him. The white skin of his chest was marked above the heart. I saw
a large bruise there, the flower of the sup and, in its centre,
there was a tiny wound. Someone had fed there.

I closed my
eyes and turned away. Not even I had ever supped upon my brother’s
ichor; it was an act so rare among eloim, and so potent, I had
never imagined I would encounter it. It signified subjection, total
surrender; it signified possession. In darker times, the Harkasites
had fed upon each other to hone their powers; we had been told it
had made them beasts, ultimately, too. It was barbaric to feed upon
each other; unclean. It encouraged morbid humours and hysteria. It
prompted obsession. I could not believe Beth had let such a thing
happen to him.

‘Who?’ I
demanded. He did not answer. ‘Did you taste them too?’

He nodded.

‘Why?’ I
asked. It was such a small sound. There was no answer that he could
give that would relieve my shock.

There was a
short silence, and then Beth said, ‘You went to Metatron yesterday,
didn’t you. You told him everything Avirzah’e said.’

The sound of
that name cut me like a whip. I felt as if Beth had punched the
breath out of my body. His words told me all I needed to know. I
turned slowly to face him, and he was smiling at me. It was not my
brother’s smile.

‘I answered
your question,’ he said, ‘satisfied your curiosity. Come, sister,
embrace me now. Give me your love.’ He held out his arms and,
simply because I knew I was not supposed to, I threw myself against
him and hugged him fiercely. He was as unyielding as iron, and kept
his arms outstretched.

‘You must tell
me, Beth,’ I said. ‘I have to know what happened.’

He gently
pushed me away from him. ‘I suppose you do,’ he said. ‘But your
knowing will change nothing.’

‘This is a
spiteful act of revenge. You do realise that, don’t you?’

‘It will
comfort you to think that, no doubt.’ He sat down casually in a
chair and crossed his legs, leaving his shirt unlaced so that the
wound glared at me like a baleful eye. His tawny hair hung about
his shoulders like combed silk. ‘I went to the opening last night.
An astounding display! You really must see it. Raphael has
incredible talent, and will certainly go far.’

‘Beth, I don’t
care a spilled drop about the paintings,’ I said, in a low
voice.

He shrugged.
‘Avirzah’e was there...’

I nodded.
‘That much is obvious.’

‘He invited me
back to his apartment. He wanted to talk to me. I must confess, the
things he said were unbelievably controversial. Still, he speaks
from the heart, and you have to respect that. He also talks
sense.’

‘You are
wrong. It is your heart speaking now, not your mind!’

Beth shook his
head. ‘Oh no. Don’t deceive yourself, sister. The heart did not
become involved until later. We sat upon the floor, in candlelight,
and talked deep into the night; we ventured into the darkest
territories of conversation. We untombed the past. It was
fascinating. Then, it was the strangest thing, we both went quiet,
as if everything that had to be said had been said.’ Beth frowned.
‘I looked at the Tartaruch. He seemed... somehow vulnerable, but
also, he seemed to be a... potent warrior. A doomed and tragic
figure. I did the only thing possible. I pledged him my allegiance.
I gave him my strength. I opened up my shirt and said nothing.’

‘What did he
do?’ I asked, more for interruption of the ghastly narrative than
because the question was required.

‘Why, he
opened his own shirt too, of course. What did you think? It was a
very... holy... time. We just stared at each other; we were staring
at the potential more than anything, I think. Maybe, in another
reality, we would have done no more than that. But it must have
been preordained. I can’t remember how, but suddenly we were lying
next to each other and...’ He paused and put his head on one side
with a quizzical smile. ‘Are you sure you want me to continue?’

I shook my
head. ‘No, I’ve heard enough.’

‘I thought
so.’

‘You realise I
can no longer allow you to have contact with the soulscaper, don’t
you?’

Beth laughed.
‘And how do you propose to do that?’

His laughter
enraged me. In an instant, I had leapt the distance between us and
hit him hard on the face. His mouth dropped open in shock. ‘Don’t
presume to try and compete with me, Beth!’ I said. ‘I am ready for
you; both of you! If you try to interfere with Rayojini, I will
take whatever action is necessary, however drastic. You can tell
Avirzah’e I have accepted his challenge, and also that he has made
a great mistake.’

My
determination, and the reality of what he had done, became clear in
Beth’s mind; I could see it in his eyes. His mouth opened and
closed, but issued no sound.

I turned to
leave the room, but delivered a final remark, which I knew would
hit him sorely. ‘I do not blame you, Beth,’ I said. ‘I blame
myself. Metatron warned me long ago of your weakness, and I never
really believed him. Obviously, I was a fool.’ Then, I closed the
door behind me.

For once, I
worked alone, leaving Beth behind me, far behind me. The Tartaruch
would pay for what he’d done; I would make sure of that. Before I
initiated the procedure that would bring Rayojini to us, I saw, in
Beth’s eyes, a seed of sickness that filled me with fear. Of
course, he came to my rooms begging for forgiveness and
understanding. Of course, he pleaded for me to help him undo what
he had done. But it was irreversible. I had to harden my heart and
concentrate on the future. For the time being, Beth was lost to me,
at least until Avirzah’e was dead. I felt so tired as I climbed the
spiralling stairs to the highest tower of our house, so tired. I
entered the small room, where the windows are open to the winds,
and lay down upon the black-veiled couch. Amid the lamentations of
the elements, no more pitiful than those of my own heart, I willed
myself to trance. I projected my personality into another body, one
that even now mounted a swift Bochanegran steed in the yard below,
and it took me travelling.

Gimel

‘…
and winds with
ease through the pure marble air his oblique way…’

Paradise Lost,
Book III

The plains are lovely
in the autumn; a sea of grass, moving like quicksilver. I rode the
horse many leagues into the Kahra Flats, tassels of seeds around my
thighs. It was like cleaving an ocean. For a while I could enjoy
the physical sensations of the journey; sun on my hair, the smell
of ripe grass, the chewing of the horse, the scream of wheeling
birds. My body felt fit and supple; I enjoyed the sensation of
wearing it.

The nomad
trails are very easy to see from a height. Sometimes, I would leave
the flesh and let my soul soar into the body of a bird. Then, I
would look down, sick with vertigo, afraid, yet knowing I could not
fall. The bird did not even feel me there, gliding on the waves of
air, dipping and curling. I could not decide which tribe to
concentrate upon, and realised that fate would have to take me in
her hands.

It was a
relief to be away from Sacramante. Metatron had left the city
before me, leading the stuff of legends out into the world. I
recognised the spoor of their passing. Now, for a time, my father
had become Harkasite himself; I might not even know him if I saw
him. The Harkasites had slept for centuries, perhaps dreaming of
the time when Lord Sammael had led them against Mikha’il’s legions,
and the humans who had sought to oppress our race. Sammael himself
slept on. As I rode in the sunlight, my hair warm around my
shoulders, I thought of him, our estranged Lord. Was he aware of
what was happening to us? Did he care? Was it heresy to wonder if
someone should have tried to attract his attention, wake him up,
make him help us? I could not believe he was dead, but if he still
lived wouldn’t the Parzupheim have approached him in his sanctuary?
Perhaps they had, and had found him to be unwakeable, or perhaps he
had refused to get involved. Now, his warriors, the Harkasites,
followed a new general, whom I hoped was capable of controlling
them. Metatron wanted them to gather information and, if necessary,
deal with any situations they came across in the most expedient
manner. It didn’t sound beyond his powers - he was the strongest
person I knew - and yet I still felt uneasy about it. The
Harkasites were not like us; they were driven by a fanatical urge
to protect eloimkind, but they lacked compassion, and respect for
all human life. Their eyes missed nothing; they could not be lied
to.

I released the
horse to freedom and walked on, without food or belongings, until
my path crossed that of a roaming tribe. The spoor was recent. I
followed it.

For a day or
two, I merely observed their routines, a shadow in the grass and,
as luck would have it, a night came when the men and women
separated to conduct their personal mysteries. I observed the women
at their rites.

It must be
true that they are half-breeds, these people, because I recognised
many corrupted eloim gestures in their ceremony. They were groping
towards a light they would never uncover, but the passage of it was
pretty. The women swayed and moaned, graceful as deer. I watched
entranced for a while, although it was not with them that my
objective lay.

The men had
taken over a shallow cave for their rituals. At its threshold, a
still pool, which was swarming with frogs and cuffed with scum,
reflected the impassive countenance of the lady moon. When I came
upon them, they were stamping in a circle outside the cave, a fire
having been built in their midst. Their shaman was sitting on a
rock beyond the circle, painted in ritual finery and naked, but for
a skirt of crow feathers. His face was fearsome, black and white, a
skull. The outline of female breasts had been drawn upon his chest,
to signify he was a receptacle for the spirit of Helat, their
androgynous deity. To me, he looked like a sacrifice. The men would
hurt him, I could tell. He was expecting that and was drugged with
torpine essence to still the pain. Presently, certain of the
stamping men assumed the personae of warrior knights, Harkasites,
and picked up beautiful long knives, whose hilts were inscribed
with symbols that were simple approximations of more powerful
glyphs used among the eloim. One by one, they danced by the shaman
and lightly cut his flesh. The wounds were minor, but enough to
make the blood flow. He began to chant, his voice shaking to the
rhythm of the flashing knives. After a few minutes, he raised his
hands. The men placed their knives on the ground and, between them,
carried their shaman into the cave. I followed, unseen among them.
I watched them cover him with a diaphanous shroud; they bowed and
moaned before his body. Then, they left him alone to commune with
the host of Helat. They hoped to invoke these immortal beings with
the gift of blood; so wet and fresh upon the skin of their holy
man. What could I do but approach him? Had I not been invoked?