Burying the Shadow (27 page)

Rayojini

‘
Of forests and
enchantments drear, where more is meant than meets the
ear…’

From ‘Il
Penseroso, Milton

Q’orveh had said I
could not help him, and yet his people came to me steadily,
relentlessly, from the moment we trod the same path, asking about
my art, and often begging me to exercise it. Because they were
travelling westwards and I was intrigued, both by the rumours
flying in the air and the people themselves, I elected to join them
for a while, perhaps even until we reached the Strangeling. There
was much to record, which I wrote down in my notebook, visualising
myself, even as I wrote, reading these words aloud to the scryers
back in Taparak when I returned. Sah’ray was glad to share her
company and her tepee, although she was a restless person who
disturbed my nights. Very soon, however, I became adept at avoiding
her flailing limbs, even while half asleep.

I would not
have said the nomad Khalts were a people often prey to the Fear.
They had their own rituals and customs for dealing with it, which
seemed effective. Their shamans were powerful. Strangely, I learned
that none of these holy people were female - wise-women were
another caste entirely - and yet all nomadic shamans were expected
to take on a female role, even going so far, as I had suspected, to
emasculating themselves. Perhaps because of this, they possessed a
unique mystery, a finely tuned polarity of gender. Khaltish shamans
were, on a spiritual level, both sexes. One thing I learned later
was that the dark-shadowed boy had lied; Q’orveh did know how to
please a woman.

The tribe is
an extended family in Khalt. I had joined the Halmanes, who claimed
their blood was mixed with ground-sylph stock, because sometimes
children would vanish, drink blood or turn into animals. I saw no
immediate proof of this, but still, being in their company made me
feel as if I had stepped into another world - the soulscape itself,
perhaps. The nomads had the unpredictable, surreal ambience of
soulscape creatures. Halmanes was destined for a meeting with
another tribe - the Toors - in order for their shamans to commune,
a marriage or two to be arranged, and religious celebrations to be
shared. Sah’ray told me that everyone would wear knives in their
hair during this meeting. Relations were delicate among the tribes
and could often dissolve into conflict. The nomadic Khalts are a
deeply religious breed, although their beliefs do have a flavour of
defiance. Often, I felt they mocked their god. Rituals generally
involved some kind of pantomime, usually of divine beings making
fools of themselves. Grinning, moronic masks, pendulous false
breasts and phalluses abounded in such rites. The men and women had
their own mysteries, which were exclusive to gender, but any woman
walking the path with them was automatically admitted to the
women’s rites. It was taken for granted I would participate.

After my
encounter with the Shadow, which had amused and stimulated me
rather than caused the discomfort I’d expected, I ate with Sah’ray,
and then joined the tribal line for the day’s travelling. Sah’ray
kept me by her side, linking her hard, skinny arm through mine. She
was eager to talk about herself and was anticipating finding a man
at the coming celebration.

‘I have no
desire to marry outside the tribe,’ she told me, ’but it is time
for a kidling, and Q’orveh rewards those of us who bring new blood
to the family.’

‘Rewards in
what way?’ I couldn’t help asking.

‘He elected my
friend, Madlin, to his inner circle for a moon or two. She took a
prominent part in the women’s rites because of that. It is said he
gives red liquor to the favoured.’

‘Red
liquor?’

She tapped her
wrist. ‘The life fluid. Blood.’

I tried not to
grimace. ‘Blood-drinking seems to play a prominent part in both
your rites and your legends.’

She nodded.
‘It is the sylph in us. We are an old race. If you know the
magicks, you can be immortal. Some of us achieve that, but most of
us have forgotten how. It’s said we are under a curse that makes us
forget this important thing.’

‘Have you seen
an immortal nomad, Sah’ray?’

She gave me a
sneaky look. ‘How would I know if I had? They would disguise
themselves, wouldn’t they?’

I shrugged.
She had a point, I suppose.

What
interested me more than the old legends, were the new rumours and
stories that were springing up; blood places, mutant births, angry
spirits. As I got to know the Khalts, I began to wonder whether it
was simply part of their racial behaviour to surround themselves
with these stories. Perhaps it was not a new phenomenon after
all.

Sah’ray,
naturally, was not loath to talk to me about it. ‘The shamans say
things have been building up for years, like an energy. Now, it
cannot be contained. We have seen many strange things.’

‘Such as?’ I
prompted, probably needlessly.

Sah’ray
wrinkled her nose to think. ‘There have been deaths that are not
deaths among us for several seasons.’

‘Non-deaths?’
I asked excitedly.

Sah’ray
nodded. ‘You could call them that. They are like the Sacred Paling,
but not so. It is like a holy death that begins but does not end.
Do you understand?’

It astounded
me that these primitive people had been drawing virtually the same
conclusions about the non-deaths as myself. Q’orveh had deceived
me; he knew more than he had suggested. ’Yes, I think I
understand,’ I said, grimly. ‘How many have there been among your
people?’

‘Maybe five
since the last Farless - that’s what you call winter. Three of them
were children, which is unusual.’

‘Indeed. What
else have you encountered?’

‘Blood places.
The grass is flattened and there are the marks of great carnage,
but no flesh. The blood is always wet, as if whatever happened only
just
happened. A couple of times we’ve heard other tribes
approaching us at night. We hear the road-singing. Nobody sings the
road at night. Nobody travels after dark unless in fear and then
they wouldn’t sing, they’d be silent. When you go out of your tepee
to take a look, there is nothing at all to see. Then the sounds
just stop. We crossed the path of the Sho’wl tribe, two moons back,
and they were jumpy as deer. Maybe too much like deer. Their shaman
told Q’orveh one of their girls had gotten pregnant and her child
had four legs and hooves.’

‘Ah, the
mutant virgin birth.’

‘He told you
that, then.’

‘Yes. He told
me that. Now, tell me something else. Tell me about the
black-haired boy in Q’orveh’s tent.’

‘Keea?’

‘I don’t know
his name. He is not one of you.’

‘It is Keea;
there is only one boy in Q’orveh’s tent now. He came to us a short
while back. It is to do with the men’s mysteries. I don’t know
about that and couldn’t tell you if I did.’

‘He spoke of
the dead coming down from the trees.’

Sah’ray
visibly shivered. ‘Q’orveh tells us it is part of the non-death.
Perhaps people have sent their dead to the trees when they haven’t
really been dead, and they come down again. Keea knows something
about this, which is why Q’orveh keeps him close.’

‘What does he
know?’

Sah’ray gave
me a keen glance. The urgency in my voice must have alarmed her.
‘You ask a lot of questions, Rayo. Why do you want to know so much
about us?’

I could see no
point in lying. ‘Let us just say I too have encountered those who
have suffered the non-death. In eastern Khalt. It is horrible and I
want to know why it’s happening.’

‘You must
speak some more with Q’orveh, then.’

I nodded. Paused.
‘Another question, Sah’ray. Is it possible to speak with Q’orveh
when Keea isn’t there?’

An unspoken
knowledge passed between us. She pulled a rueful face. ‘Not easy,
but I have friends in the inner circle. No promises, but I’ll see
what I can do.’

That evening,
we paused again in a habitual nomad resting-place. After we’d
erected the tepee and Sah’ray was preparing us something to eat, I
sat down, with my notebook on my knees, and reviewed what I had
learned. It seemed my instincts about Keea were right (or was I
deceiving myself about him?). I would have to observe him more
closely. It was possible he wasn’t human at all, but if that was
so,
what
was he? I certainly didn’t believe he was a
soulscape emanation who’d taken on flesh. Still, it was not unheard
of for great concentrations of thought to produce manifestations in
the physical world, and the widespread panic, caused by the strange
events occurring all over the place, would certainly be capable of
producing the required power. Greater implications seemed to loom
within my head; approaching swiftly, but under a cloud.

Sah’ray
brought me a broadleaf full of minced goat. She sat down beside me,
licking her greasy fingers. I ate carefully. Khaltish cuisine
tended to be rather gritty; they were not too fussy about what they
threw into their cooking pots. ‘You must go to Q’orveh’s tepee
again tonight,’ Sah’ray told me.

I was
surprised. ‘You have gained me private access so quickly?’

She shook her
head. ‘No, but I have talked to someone. You must become part of
Q’orveh’s talking wheel. Keea will be there. Keea is always there,
but you must become so regular a visitor to the talking that you
will be invisible to him.’

‘I see. What
do your people think of Keea?’

She shrugged.
‘Nothing. He just is. It’s you that wants him out of the way, not
us.’

There were questions I
wanted to ask the shaman and they referred back to a subject I was
already keenly interested in.

I already knew
that the majority of religious people, whatever their particular
creed, reacted violently against the bodies of their Holy dead
being inspected. It was very unfortunate that the only people
objective and rational enough to study the condition - the guild
leaders in Taparak - never had local corpses at their disposal.
Recently, I had been mulling over the idea that the Holy Deaths and
the non-deaths were connected. Now, it seemed, Q’orveh might have
reached the same conclusion. I felt it was time to establish
exactly what the Holy Death was, in order to understand what the
non-death might be. Perhaps Q’orveh would be receptive to my ideas,
and would even let me examine one of these corpses should the
opportunity arise, but instinct cautioned me to keep my thoughts to
myself and him alone. I needed privacy in which to speak with him
about it.

As Sah’ray
instructed, I presented myself at the shaman’s canopy that night
and was again admitted. The tent was full of people, tribe elders,
both men and women; acolytes of the shaman clustered together,
heeding the wisdom being spoken. Keea was a vibrant, dark presence
by the tent curtain. The discussions involved only tribal gossip;
speculations about what other tribes were doing, arrangements for
the coming celebration. I was not called upon to speak, although
Q’orveh did acknowledge my presence as I entered the tent. I would
have to be patient.

The meeting
with the Toors nomads was destined to take place at an especially
sacred nomad site, known as Helat’s Sink. Helat was a deity
worshipped by all the nomad tribes. It took us only three days to
reach the location, during which time members of the tribe,
requesting my services, frequently approached me. Sah’ray was
delighted by this and decided to manage my appointments. Each
evening, a few people would queue outside her tent, and she would
usher them inside, one at a time, where I sat burning a minor fume.
Generally, these people wanted no more than simple mind-purifying
rituals from me; they were unnerved and jumpy. I was happy to
comply and, while burning assuaging fumes that calmed the mind,
would murmur some gentle, reassuring words and massage the face and
scalp of my clients. I was rather concerned that, by my undertaking
this work, Q’orveh and his healers might think I was undermining
their role within the tribe. I remained alert for signs that I was
causing upset within the shamanic circle, but picked up no whisper
of reproach.

One night, as
I attended the talking-wheel, after having worked on a couple of
people, Q’orveh commented that the fume-smell I carried into his
tent on my clothes helped him relax. I took that, warily, as
guarded approval of what I was doing.

Helat’s Sink
was an enormous crater in the plains as if, in ages past, some
heavenly body had crashed to earth there. Its creased sides
descended steeply to a wide, flat expanse that, but for a cleared
area where nomads can pitch their camps, was mostly covered by
forest and scrub. A large lake dominated the centre of the crater,
which Sah’ray claimed was bottomless. Many shrines had been built
around the sides of the Sink, next to the lake, and even within the
forest itself, some of which were now falling into decay. All bore
the signs of recent offerings on their altars.

A road had
been hacked into the side of the Sink and spiralled down at a
gentle curve; it took considerable time for us to reach the bottom.
I noticed a palpable change in the atmosphere as we descended; the
chanting of my companions took on a lower note.

There was
plenty of space for several tribes to make camp in the Sink without
feeling too close to each other. The Toors had already arrived and
erected their tents. The usual riot of children and animals milled
beside the lake, and I noticed that the Toors used wheeled
transport, for there were about a dozen hide-covered wagons
standing around. To me, the Toors were indistinguishable in
appearance from the Halmanes, which surprised me, seeing as Sah’ray
made such a fuss about tribal identity. Both tribes made a great
show of ignoring each other as the Halmanes made their way around
the lake to an unoccupied spot. I wondered whether this presaged
some kind of conflict, but Sah’ray reassured me by explaining
mutual ignorance was polite behaviour until the point at which the
shamans had greeted each other. Among the Toors, I noticed several
people who were clearly foreign travellers like myself, although
they were too far away for me to ascertain what race they were. I
wondered whether any of them were soulscapers.