Burying the Shadow (32 page)

She patted her
belly. ‘I hope so! I found three men who were handsome enough to
father a child with me, so I had them all! Do you think I’m
pregnant? Rayo, you’re a soulscaper - won’t you be able to
tell?’

‘Not so soon,’
I replied.

‘Where did you
go after the rite?’ she asked me, favouring me with a particularly
lecherous grin. ‘What did you get up to?’

I certainly
did not want to discuss my experiences with her. I shrugged.
‘Nothing as adventurous as you, I’m sure.’

‘Oh, come on,
tell me! It’s not secret. Today, we will find the most interesting
gossip around the fires.’

I could
believe that, but had no desire whatsoever for the exploits of
Rayojini the soulscaper to be part of that gossip. ‘So who were
these three men?’ I asked her. ‘Were they Toors?’

She was happy
to talk about that. ‘Yes. Toors. It’s always more exciting with
strangers, don’t you think. You can do or say anything,
be
anything!’

I suppressed a
shudder. ‘And what were you?’

She sighed
languorously and brushed her fingers through her hair, head flung
back. ‘Oh, I was beautiful, beautiful!’ she exclaimed. ‘It was a
perfect night, no strangeness anywhere! I think it was the power of
our rites that drove it away. What do you think?’

I shrugged
again, noncommittally, although I had reached for my notebook.
Sah’ray’s observation might be worth recording.

In the
afternoon, after Sah’ray had fed me, I went alone to bathe, alert
for the presence of Aniti, because I still did not want her
company. Feeling refreshed and invigorated by the cold water, I
wandered into the woods. It was a truly magical spot. I fantasised
having a little shack there; somewhere I could retreat to when the
wideness of the world outside became oppressive. Perhaps, one day,
I could return when the Sink was empty of nomads. What bliss to
have all this to myself!

As if my feet
were led by unseen agencies, I found myself emerging into the
sacred glade. Even by day, it was an arcane place, and the face of
Helat, shadowed by trees, smiled down with ambivalent mystery.
Spreading out my arms, I turned a few circles in the centre of the
clearing. The sun was hot on my hair. I lifted it up in handfuls,
recapturing, for a moment, the spirit of the rite. And then, a
voice intruded on my solitude.

‘So, the
warrior-priest can dance!’

I staggered a little,
disorientated, dazzled by the bright sunlight. For a few moments, I
could see nothing in the shadows of the trees, and my heart
contracted. Was there a body attached to the voice? Was it familiar
to me? Shadows pulsed on the edge of my vision; I experienced a
great feeling of imminence. It was like wings over my head; wings I
knew too well.

Then someone
laughed; it was a spiteful sound. ‘Relax, Rayojini, your cavortings
have not been discovered by the barbarians!’

The voice came
from the edge of the clearing, the place where Helat sat and, when
I looked, I could see there was a shadowy figure crouched in the
statue’s lap. As I stared, it became more focussed, somehow, more
real. The concentration of my senses conjured me the image of Keea;
a shadow condensing into reality. Keea, damp in the lap of Helat,
perhaps spawned by the god itself. I blinked: no, there was nothing
unreal about him, I would not let myself think that. He jumped down
the steps, and I could see that his clothes were wet through. He
really had been sitting in the water, bizarre creature.

‘What do you
want?’ I asked sharply.

He walked
towards me, shaking his limbs like a wet animal, light on his feet
as an athlete. ‘Well, what I wanted was a little peace to commune
with the spirit of the god, and I find my meditations violated by a
prancing soulscaper!’

‘Forgive
me
!’ I answered, sweeping a sarcastic bow. I realised it
would be wise to leave immediately, before he tried to humiliate
and confuse me further.

‘Oh, it’s
quite alright,’ he said, disarming me with a frank smile. ‘This
place is for everyone, isn’t it? I’m sorry I disturbed your
dance.’

‘It wasn’t a
dance. I was just...’

He halted a few feet
away from me, flicking out the damp ends of his hair. ‘Don’t make
excuses. How did you like Q’orveh last night?’

I was almost
speechless. ‘You unspeakable little...!’

‘Alright,
alright,’ he interrupted. ‘I shall not speak. It is strange though;
Taps are eager enough to share in the rites, but loathe being
honest about it after the event! Perhaps you look upon it as
research. Anyway, whatever your reasons, you still made a pretty
tableau last night, you and that lovely girl.’

It occurred to
me, with terrific shame, that Keea might have spied on us after the
rite, an idea that I banished swiftly. Instinct told me that if
Keea had been near us, he would have been unable to resist making
his own contribution to our private ceremony, in one way or
another. I dismissed the illusion I’d seen of Keea’s face,
convinced I’d conjured that myself. Q’orveh had obviously told him
about what had happened; Keea was only trying to discomfort me now.
I did not want to imbue this impudent youth with any power.

‘Well, at
least I’ve proved you a liar!’ I said.

He shrugged.
‘And you have proved yourself to be a woman of passion. So, we have
both experienced revelations!’ He glanced round into the trees.
‘Now, are you ready for further surprises, or do you want to
scamper back to camp away from me? I have greater wonders than
burial platforms to show you here!’ He had immense impertinence for
one so young.

‘I doubt you
can surprise me,’ I said stiffly, intrigued in spite of myself.

‘We’ll see.’
He turned round and began to walk away from me, raising a summoning
arm above his head. ‘The adventure begins! Follow me, soulscaper,
follow me!’

Keea led me to
the great stone toes of the statue and then squeezed into the
undergrowth on Helat’s right side. I followed him, rather
nervously. It seemed somehow irreverent to be thrusting ourselves
into Helat’s territory; I wouldn’t have been surprised if the idol
had suddenly groaned and moved a limb at our effrontery. My
rational self scoffed at such primitive fantasies, but I still felt
uncomfortable having to lean against the ancient stone for support.
If there was a path, it hadn’t been used for a long time. Most of
the time, we had to claw our way forward through leaves and
branches that scattered a powder of insects, twigs and autumn
spores. I shuddered to think what might be making its way down the
back of my neck. Soulscape monsters I can handle; anything small
and with more than four legs reduces me to gibbering panic. I was
gratified when Keea screeched up ahead and started beating
frantically at his shirt. For a few moments, we paused to discuss
the monster spider he’d encountered, in the nauseated yet morbidly
fascinated manner of habitual arachnophobes. After that, Keea used
a stick to make a path, and there was a certain sense of
companionship between us.

As we
struggled onwards, I saw evidence that, at one time, this path must
have been regularly used. If I peered carefully into the foliage, I
could see that it concealed lichened stone pillars, bound in vines;
some half crumbled away. I did not ask Keea where we were going. In
fact, after the spider episode, we did not speak at all, but I felt
strangely at ease in his company, almost as if I’d known him for a
long time. Only a short while ago, I’d felt strongly that he was an
enemy. I could not believe this new intimacy had been prompted
simply by our discovery of a shared phobia. I cautioned myself to
be on guard. Keea was a complex creature; I must not let him
beguile me.

Suddenly, he
stopped moving forward; I had been lost in my own thoughts and
stumbled against him. ‘What is it?’ I asked.

He tapped his chin
with his fingers and squinted around himself. ‘Yes, this is the
place.’

‘What place?’
Shrubs and low growth pressed in from all sides. We were thigh deep
in greenery, our trousers thick with spurred seeds and down.

‘Help me, will
you.’ He started clawing at a bank of vines ahead of us, throwing
out webby debris behind him. I cautiously advanced.

‘Keea, what
are you doing?’

‘Help, and you
will see,’ he said. Reluctantly, I grabbed hold of a gnarly old ivy
stem and tugged. Something ripped among the leaves. I pulled hard
and an immense length of greenery peeled away. Beneath it, I was
amazed to see stone. My interest kindled, I forgot my nervousness
about what might live in the vines, and started tearing the leaves
away. The foliage concealed an ancient building. Keea squatted down
and started scrabbling round the base of the wall. ‘There must an
entrance round here...’

‘What is this
place?’ I asked him.

He paused and
wiped his damp forehead with a grimy hand. ‘This is the temple of
Helat.’

‘Of course it
is!’ I said, rather sarcastically. ‘How do you know that?’

He resumed his
excavations. ‘I’ve done my research more thoroughly than you.’

‘What do you
mean?’

‘Just listen.
You want to know, don’t you? At one time, the whole of this crater
was a religious community. Nearly all of the ruins have disappeared
now, of course. Caravans of stone merchants crossing the Flats
stole most of the masonry but, fortunately, this inner temple
remains virtually untouched.’

‘How do you
know these things? Who built this place?’

‘There is no
mystery, soulscaper. All this information is recorded, if you know
where to look for it. Also, I spent my time more productively last
night while you were gratifying your baser instincts with Q’orveh
and the girl.’

I refused to
respond to his latter remark, determined not to let him provoke me
again. ‘And just where are these records you speak of kept?’

He paused
again to conduct a swift inner debate, finally saying, ‘Oh, I
suppose there’s no harm in telling you. There are libraries in
Sacramante that detail the history of the older races of the
plains.’

‘Are the
nomads descended from them?’

‘In a way, I
believe.’

‘Then what
changed their society? Natural catastrophe, plague, conquest?’

‘I don’t
know.’

I had a
feeling he was lying, which meant perhaps that there
would
be harm in telling me too much. I wondered why. Just who was this
shadow-boy, and why was he with the Halmanes? He was clearly
educated and appeared to be Bochanegran. He seemed to be more
interested in my investigations than Q’orveh was. Was it possible
he could be following a similar line of inquiry? If so, who for,
and what had prompted him suddenly to include me in his plans? His
manner towards me until now could, without exaggeration, be termed
hostile.

‘Keea, just
what is your interest in Helat and the nomads?’ I asked, but a
timely discovery allowed him to sidetrack my question.

‘Here! Here!
Here!’ he said, excitedly. He had found the doorway.

I couldn’t
tell whether vines from outside were growing into the building or
its interior was filled with the stuff, which was bursting
outwards. I hoped it was the former, having little desire to spend
the rest of the day defoliating the interior. When we had made
enough of an opening to get inside, Keea wriggled through it. I
paused for a moment before following him into the temple, sucking
my scratched fingers and taking the time to examine the carvings on
the outer wall. They were so worn away; it was difficult to
decipher them, but what I could make out reminded me strongly of
the hieroglyphs that were used in the sacred texts of the Delta
Lands. I wondered whether they were, in fact, the same. It was
possible that the Kahra Flats (the name itself suggested Deltan
heritage) had once been colonised by the Deltans. Most places in
the known world bore evidence of their influence. In the past, the
empires of the black-skinned Delta Kings had risen and fallen along
with the centuries. Sometimes, they had owned nearly all the known
world while, at other times, they had retreated to their own
country, driven back by indignant races that objected to the Deltan
fondness for conquest. Now, the Deltans were fascinated more by
spirituality than war, and empire building had lost its attraction
for them. Still, at one time, their armies had covered half the
world. The Temple of Helat might be a remnant of such times.

‘Rayo! Come
here!’ Keea called from inside, his voice muffled.

I ducked down
and stepped cautiously into the gloom beyond. All the inner walls
were shrouded in dead vines; the floor was a riot of ground shrubs.
Birds had nested among the higher growth and were squawking madly
at our impertinent intrusion. Bats hung like clusters of furry
fruits from thick branches overhead, sleepily uttering inquiring
squeaks. There was not much to see, everything was hidden beneath a
blanket of bird and bat guano, rotten vegetable matter, and new,
paler growths. Slim rays of sunlight fell like spears from holes in
the roof, high above our heads. Keea was standing ankle deep in
rubbish, his hands on his hips, staring up at the roof. I joined
him and we stood in silence absorbing the atmosphere. There was,
without doubt, a hint of holiness about it. The air smelled of rich
loam, and I thought I could detect just the faintest whiff of old
incense; surely my imagination. Then Keea sighed and rubbed his
hands together, breaking the stillness.

‘Is this it,
then?’ I asked.

He smiled at
me thinly. ‘You are indeed hard to impress.’

‘What did you
expect?’

He didn’t
answer, but began to wade purposefully through the ground debris
towards the right hand wall, as if striding through water. I
watched as he started to scrape at the rustling garlands of dead
vines that lined the temple.