Burying the Shadow (35 page)

I had rarely
encountered a creature with less of an air of lostness about it,
but I had to say something. There was no answer. I was close to the
animal now and, as animals do, it swung its nose around to sniff my
coat. I was thankfully reassured and cupped my palm around its
muzzle, tucking my knife back into my belt. I could see the grain
in the leather of the rider’s boots. I could see the stretch of the
thin, black kid gloves across the knuckles where they gripped the
reins. I could even see, I fancied, the glimmer of eyes beneath the
brim of the hat, and the suggestion of an unsmiling line of a
mouth. The rider’s demeanour was not exactly welcoming, but I
detected no immediate threat. If they were looking for information
themselves, perhaps we could conduct a trade. I realised how silly
it had been to let myself get frightened before;
that
was a
failing of the superstitious and ignorant. Being so intimate with
the nomads must have infected me with their thought patterns.

‘There is talk
of you, I think, among the nomad tribes...’ I said, as bait, using
the Khaltish tongue. The figure stiffened a little, I was sure. ‘My
name is Rayojini. I am a soulscaper of Taparak.’ Giving my identity
so freely was deliberate and designed to inspire trust.

‘I know who
you are,’ the rider replied. It was a young man’s voice, without
particular inflection in the tone, but possessed of a silky,
Bochanegran accent.

‘Really? Well,
perhaps you could return the privilege?’ I did not believe his
claim; it was a ploy to discomfort me, as was the fact he refused
to answer my question. He was as bad as Keea! I affected a laugh.
‘Well, if you will not converse with me, that is your own choice,’
I said. ‘Ride east, and you will find a pair of nomad tribes,
camping in a vast depression in the plains. Maybe you want to speak
with them. There is much they can tell you, I should think.’ Then I
raised my hand in a wave and began to walk past the horse.

‘Rayojini!’
The sound of my name stopped me dead. I looked around. Although I
had heard no movement, the horse had turned to face me; we were in
exactly the same positions as when I had first approached the
animal. They must be silent and quick movers, these Bochanegran
steeds, I thought, feeling slightly disorientated. Had I walked
past it?

‘You did not
see enough in Helat’s shrine,’ the rider said. ‘Or rather you saw,
but did not understand. The nomads have more intelligence than you,
Tappish clown!’

‘Now, wait a
minute!’ I marched towards him, frowning as grimly as possible. How
dare this dandy insult me! Who was he, and how had he known about
my visit to the temple? Could it be that he was one of Keea’s
mysterious employers? I reached out to grab the horse’s reins by
the bit-ring but, at that moment, its rider squeezed the animal
sharply with his legs and uttered a sibilant command. Obediently,
the horse rose into a splendid kicking rear, plunged forward into a
canter - virtually from a standstill - and thundered straight
towards me. It all happened so quickly. My first instinct was to
throw myself aside, which I did, landing in the tall grass beside
the road. I had a glimpse of dangling hooves. The guttural sound of
a low and terrible neigh was in my ears. Summoning every shred of
strength, and despite the heavy carryback on my shoulders, I rolled
madly further into the grass, waiting for the sickening and
agonising assault of iron-shod hooves on my body. I was convinced I
was going to be trampled, no matter how quickly I moved, and curled
tight into a ball, my arms over my head, awaiting the impact...

...which never
came.

After a few
moments, I relaxed enough to uncurl my arms, and looked up. The
horse had vanished. All was silent in the fog, but for the hiss of
the grass rubbing against itself, high above my head. I wriggled
out of my carryback harness and stood up, shakily, brushing myself
down. I peered towards the road, or where I thought the road should
be. Through the mist, I could see nothing; no rider, no horse, and
- most importantly of all - no road. Well, that was easily
remedied. I unbuckled one of the flaps of my carryback and searched
the pocket where I kept my compass and maps. Empty! ‘By all the
gods!’ I sat down again, heavily, pulling a shroud of grass about
my body. Had Sah’ray stolen some of my possessions? Surely not. It
was more likely that I hadn’t packed up properly and had left some
of my things behind, in Sah’ray’s tent. Still, whatever the reason,
in losing my compass, I had effectively lost the road. What should
I do now; blindly look for it, or stay put until the fog lifted?
Surely it would lift by mid-day? Hadn’t the weather been warm
recently? It certainly wasn’t warm now. I hadn’t really been aware
of how cold the air had become until my journey had been
interrupted; now, despite my heavy coat, I felt chilled to the
core. I wondered whether the mysterious rider’s intention had been
to harm me or merely frighten me. Was he still stalking me now,
silent in the mist, perhaps only a few feet away? Surely the road
was near; the mist was warping my perception. If I walked a few
feet to the left, I was bound to find it again. I had only rolled a
short way into the grass, after all. My back was in agony where the
carryback had dug into me as I rolled, and I noticed that one of
the straps, which connected the carryback to its frame, had torn
loose. It would be twice as difficult to shoulder now. Sighing at
this unexpected attack of misfortune, I stood up, strapped myself
in my harness as best I could, and began to push my way through the
tall grass, trusting that my sense of direction would lead me back
to the road. I was also alert for signs that might indicate that
the white horse and its rider were still in the vicinity.

Minutes
passed, and I was no closer to finding the road. Angrily, I began
to slash out at the grass around me. ‘Helat’s tits and cock!’ I
cursed, an evocative little phrase I’d picked up from Sah’ray. I
was lost, and to go blundering about like this only increased my
chances of not being able to find my way once the fog lifted. I was
beginning to curse my decision to leave the Halmanes. I knew, deep
inside, that the reasons for my flight were more abstruse than a
simple desire to travel alone. In truth, I was running from an
aspect of myself. Now, I was lost. Trying to control a rising sense
of panic, I made a quick, impassioned plea to Helat. If I were
allowed to find my way back to the road, I would return instantly
to the Sink. Once there, I would stay by Q’orveh’s side, whatever
the consequences for my equilibrium, and do all that I could to
comfort his people, until we reached the Strangeling. Someone must
have heard me, but I don’t believe it was Helat.

I was standing
there, helpless, wondering quite what to do, when I thought I saw a
movement ahead of me. It was just a dark blotch, but in no way
suggested a horse and rider. My attacker could have dismounted, of
course, yet I did not feel that it was him I’d seen. I began to
push through the grass, hoping I wasn’t just following some animal
that would lead me further into obscurity. Then - oh bliss, thank
Helat - I stumbled out onto a hard, flat surface; the road! Before
I finished congratulating myself, I realised I was not alone.
Someone else stood upon the packed dirt, but this time, it was not
a horse and rider.

This figure
was alone, and I knew instinctively that it was female. She was
standing quite some distance away from me; a slim body clad in a
dark, hooded cloak. A nomad woman? I began to run towards her, my
broken carryback banging painfully against my body. Then, I heard a
voice.

‘Don’t be too
hasty, Rayo!’ It was my mother’s voice.

I stumbled,
and glanced quickly over my shoulder. The voice had sounded so
close, but behind me I could see nothing except closing fog. It
wasn’t easy to run with the damaged carryback but, at that moment,
I needed human company more than anything. Such was the state of my
panic, I did not, for one moment, consider that what stood upon the
road was anything but human. As I drew close, I could see that the
woman was quite tall; one white hand was holding her cloak together
at the neck. I must have called out, some nonsense or another, but
she made no sign of having heard me. She, like the rider had been
when I’d first seen him, was neither welcoming nor threatening; she
simply
was
. Then, I realised that, in a strange way that did
not relate directly to physical appearance, I recognised her. At
the precise moment of my recognition, she opened her arms wide. Her
great cloak became feathers, became wings. They flapped slowly,
arching with living muscle, framing a naked body as white as death.
I fell to my knees on the road; my silently gaping mouth open so
wide it hurt. I filled it with my fingers and bit down; to conjure
pain, to conjure feeling.

Slowly, like a
flickering picture cast by the shadow of flames, the monstrous
shape of the bird-woman came to hover over me. I could see her
face, her slitted yellow eyes. She opened her mouth to reveal
pointed, dog-like teeth, and out came a raw croak.

‘Don’t you
know me, sweet Rayo?’ she asked, and laughed. It was the sound a
dozen ravens screaming.

And then I
knew her, oh yes. Led me from the grass she had; guardian. Now
hanging over me like a nightmare; pursuer. As real to me as my own
pain. ‘Help me!’ I said.

‘How can I? Am
I real to you, real enough to count?’ She laughed again, and then,
bunching her wings up behind her, she swooped down towards me, her
pale face the colour of bleached decay, her red mouth wide like a
cavern of the fire pit. She knocked me backwards, and her claws
grazed my face. I smelled her hot breath that stank of old meat; a
sweet and infinitely corrupt perfume. My head hit the road, my back
arched painfully over the carryback, so that my heels dangled in
mid-air. Wet, stinking, black feathers flapped in my face and I was
surrounded by laughter, an evil stench and the feeling of imminent
destruction. Helplessly, I held up my arms, calling out for my
mother; my only true goddess. Hard claws dug into my flesh,
dragging my hands away from my face. I struck out, again and again,
one hand groping for my knife, which I could not find. I screamed,
eyes screwed up tight, and flailed my arms. I hit something soft
and there was a sound of surprise. Yet above this sound was the
cacophony of scraping feathers, and distant shrieking. Behind my
closed eyelids, the world was red and black, shot with flames and
blood. Then something sinuous curled around my wrists, and I could
not move. I flexed my fingers helplessly, sobbing like a child. I
kept my eyes closed tight; for all my bravado in the soulscape I
dared not look upon what held me.

‘Rayojini!’

The voice
seemed to come from very far away, and then swooped up close as it
spoke my name again.

‘Rayojini!’

I was being
shaken. Gulping, I opened my eyes.

Keea’s face
was hanging over me, his hair touching my face. He was smiling, but
the smile was not convincing. I saw fear there, too. ‘Had a fright,
soulscaper?’ he asked shakily. ‘What is this scrabbling with the
fingernails like a girl?’ His hands were firmly holding onto my
wrists, as if he was afraid I might attack him. ‘You have scratched
yourself,’ he said. ‘What is the matter with you?’

And I am
ashamed to admit that, despite my pride, my principles and any
resolution of spirit I had made, I threw myself against him and
wept like a frightened kidling.

Q’orveh had
sent him after me of course, although he denied this vigorously. I
had resigned myself to returning to the Halmanes, yet, once I had
recovered my wits enough to regain composure, Keea made no
suggestion we should do so. He sat me down in a nest of grass, next
to a neatly furled pile of luggage, bound about the dismantled
twig-plait frame of a tepee. Keea, it seemed, was travelling too.
Had he anticipated a long journey before he caught up with me? He
gave me water to drink - warm, but minted - and the herb brought a
little coolness to my brain. I was in a state of shock, and
answered Keea’s questions honestly as to what I thought I’d seen.
‘The rider knew about our visit to the temple,’ I said. ‘Is he a
friend of yours?’

Keea shook his
head.

‘Then he is
associated with your employers?’

He was
reluctant to answer. ‘That is always a possibility. How can I say?
I did not see him.’

‘Surely you
would know!’ I said angrily. ‘Keea, the man was insane. He attacked
me! He appeared to know my movements! If you know who he was, tell
me!’

‘I don’t know
who he was, really I don’t. And how can I answer whether the people
I work for have other agents in Khalt or not?’

‘So, you are
an agent,’ I said. ‘That sounds sinister.’

‘Why? It
simply means I am an information gatherer, that’s all.’

‘For who?’

‘It is
confidential.’

I made an
angry noise and rubbed my face vigorously with my hands. Stupid
boy! Did he want to play games at a time like this?

As if sensing
how much he was infuriating me, Keea tentatively touched my arm.
‘Rayo, don’t get angry. Tell me what you saw.’ His voice was
gentle; his concern even sounded genuine.

‘I think I saw
a ghost,’ I said.

He smiled, but
did not laugh outright. ‘A ghost? Do soulscapers believe in
ghosts?’

‘This
soulscaper might believe anything, at the moment,’ I answered.

Keea listened
to my description of the guardian-pursuer and, instead of asking
what I meant by that, as most people do, said only, ‘If it
was
one of your guardian-pursuers, why were you afraid?
Aren’t they supposed to be looking after you all the time?’ The
question appeared innocent: I was dazed but not enough to be easily
fooled.