Burying the Shadow (39 page)

When
Sandalphon presented himself, I was sitting composed in my salon,
and Tamaris was in the process of blending a light breakfast. I had
never seen the Sarim so stern, but I was sure there was a galloping
frailty beneath his exterior. Sandalphon was not a person to deal
happily with issues of conflict. Sometimes, I questioned why
Metatron had chosen him to be his deputy.

‘I am
disappointed you did not want to talk to me last night,’ he
said.

I smiled. ‘Do
I take it, then, you are not here to discuss your opera?’

Sandalphon
made an exasperated noise and sat down without asking my permission
to. ‘You do realise what we witnessed last night, don’t you?’ he
said. ‘The Tartaruch and Beth... Gimel, they were beginning to
conjoin
. Such is the way that monsters were conceived, at
one time.’

He was, of
course, referring to the Harkasites who were all, but for Metatron,
composite beings, creatures composed of multiple eloim souls. They
had been that way so long, it was doubtful they could separate now.
The fact that Sandalphon referred only to the creation of monsters
was also evidence of the unnatural aversion to conjunction that had
been imprinted into eloim society. He seemed to have forgotten that
its essential purpose was the purest, most ethereal expression of
love.

‘Avirzah’e has
developed quite an insistent longing for my brother,’ I said. ‘He
means no harm. He is just unsure of how to satisfy himself.’

‘The longing,
if it can be called that, is not just for Beth,’ Sandalphon said,
eyeing me grimly. ‘What is going on between you three? I am sure
Metatron would disapprove strongly, whatever it is!’

I signalled
discreetly to Tamaris, who had been hiding behind a curtain
covering the entrance to an adjoining room. She brought in the
breakfast immediately, forcing Sandalphon to collect himself.

‘Have you
mentioned this matter to anyone?’ I asked.

He shook his
head emphatically. ‘Of course not! I would not speak of this to
anyone until after I’d seen you, but naturally, the Parzupheim will
have to be informed very soon.’

‘Mmm.’ I
tapped my lips and then leaned forward. ‘Might I speak to you in
utter confidence, Sandalphon?’

‘I would be
grateful if you would speak at all, Gimel!’

‘Let’s just
say that what you witnessed last night was simply a development of
a process that has been evolving for quite some time. Metatron is
quite aware of what is happening.’ I kept my voice low and steady,
anticipating his outburst.

‘Metatron has
made no mention of it to me!’

I nodded
slowly, letting my eyes glaze as if I was deep in thought. ‘Mmm.
Perhaps I should elucidate further. Beth and I conceived a strategy
with Metatron; Avirzah’e is a component of it. More than that, I am
not at liberty to disclose, without Metatron’s express permission,
because the proposal is bold and audacious. However, if it is
allowed to proceed as we have designed, it might be the answer to
all our problems.... Last night, the Tartaruch prince became a
little too... presumptive, I suppose. It was an accident.
Avirzah’e’s enthusiasms do tend to run away with him in their jaws,
you must admit!’ I smiled wryly, but Sandalphon would have none of
it.

‘Metatron
would devise no stratagems that involve the Tartaruchis!’ he
declared darkly.

I nodded in
agreement. ‘I know it seems hard to believe! However, think about
this: if Metatron
was
involving the Tartaruch in his plans,
he would be very reluctant to tell you of them, wouldn’t he? He
knows the Sarim view of Tartaruchi.’ I reclined against my sofa,
and delivered the final thrust of the needle to his heart.
‘Wouldn’t you agree?’

Sandalphon
considered my words. ‘Is this true?’ He shook his head. ‘Metatron
has never kept information from me before.’

‘I assure you;
it is quite true.’ As I spoke, I wondered myself why I was taking
this deception so far, why I was hurting this lovely, gentle soul,
whom Metatron trusted above all others. I was poisoning their
relationship with my words. Why was I doing this? Was it simply to
protect Beth and Avirzah’e? I could no longer be sure of my
motives.

Sandalphon
sighed. ‘Perhaps you’d better tell me more - if you can.’

I shook my
head. ‘No, I regret that I can’t - for now.’ I leaned towards him,
and spoke in a low, urgent voice. ‘But it is absolutely imperative
that the Parzupheim are not told of what occurred last night.
Nobody must know. Can you make sure of this? Would you prevent
Hadith from spreading the news?’

Sandalphon
hesitated.

‘My father
will be able to explain everything when he returns to Sacramante,’
I said. ‘I promise you. Please, give me your word. Give me the
silence of Sarim!’

He sighed
again. ‘Gimel, I don’t know if I can. The implications are awesome.
You know that the Tartaruchi throng is suspected of certain other
transgressions. This is vital evidence. Forgive me, but if
Avirzah’e has infiltrated the Metatronim throng, it is a matter
which should not, under any circumstances, be kept secret.’

‘Don’t you
believe what I’ve told you?’ I asked sharply.

‘Yes, I
believe you, because of who you are, but you said yourself that
Avirzah’e acted... presumptively. Metatron would not approve of
that, you know he wouldn’t.’

So, I would
have to cast my sharpest hook, along with the smaller. There was
little chance Sandalphon would wriggle free of this. ‘Very well, I
understand your dilemma. However, there is something else I have to
tell you. After hearing it, you might give me your assurances more
readily.’

He glanced at
me sharply. ‘Then speak,’ he said.

I drew myself
up straight in my chair. ‘Sandalphon, I need to gain access to the
Bale Tower.’

For a moment,
he looked at me blankly, clearly believing he had misheard me.
‘Access where?’ he said.

‘I think you
heard me, Sandalphon. The Bale Tower.’

A certain
incredulity dawned in his sad, tawny eyes. ‘You mean... you want to
try and communicate with
Sammael
?’ he said. ‘But...’

‘Not buts! It
is essential! Metatron left me with instructions to be followed
only if certain conditions arose. They have! The future of our race
is at stake, Sandalphon. You are, if I am not mistaken, the Keeper
of the Key, in Metatron’s absence. For the love of my father,
please help me.’

‘You know
Sammael has forbidden us to approach him, Gimel. No one has seen
him for centuries. I don’t think...’

‘Forgive me,
but I am not asking you to think, Sandalphon. I have to carry out
Metatron’s instructions and - if I may be rather direct - so do
you.’

He asked no further
questions.

The Bale Tower
stands alone, in a neglected corner of the atelier courts. It is
the most ancient building in our enclave, the first that was built
for us by the patrons. Its summit kisses the lower clouds, forever
sheathed in tears of mist. As far as anyone knows, no one ever goes
there, for its occupant has shut himself away from the world. Twice
a year, on the solstice nights, a newly matured human of comely
aspect is taken to the foot of Bale and the dark doors open to let
them inside. In the summer, a maiden is taken; in winter, a youth.
They never come out again.

Long ago, the
occupant of the tower had been a great prince of eloim; the most
beautiful, the most powerful. They had called him the Lord of
Light. What he was now, exactly, no one knew, for he never showed
himself. He, like his brother, the sad Mikha’il, had a wound above
the heart that never healed. Once, they had fought terribly; it had
been a war that neither side could win. We eloim upon the Earth
were Sammael’s minions, although he ignored us now. It was said
that, on windy nights, he stood upon the pinnacle of Bale and
called to his brother through the clouds, called him from the old
world that had cast us out. It was said Mikha’il obeyed this
summons, and that they scratched each other through the storm. It
was, of course, utter fantasy. There was no contact with the other
world. However, it was believed that Sammael knew everything -
every thought in the world, every deed, every question and
answer.

He knew all
about the conjunction of eloim; he would have banished nothing from
his heart and mind, no matter how many millennia had moved across
the sky above him. He remembered. And if anyone knew the cause of
all that was happening to us now, it was he.

Metatron, if
he’d been in the city, would have prevented my action. He observed
the law whereby Sammael had excommunicated himself from our
reality. We could not go to Sammael for advice, even if he was the
only creature who could counsel us, simply because he did not wish
us to. The law had been created millennia before, and was respected
with a stringency that was almost fearful. I had no regard for this
law. The previous night, I had experienced a profound revelation at
the feet of Mikha’il’s statue. Sammael’s solitude must be invaded;
he must be forced to speak to me. I had no idea what I would find
within the Tower, whether my mind could withstand it, or even how I
would be received by this powerful being, but I was prepared to
risk annihilation to attract Sammael’s attention. My little
Rayojini was no longer enough; I needed to secure unimaginable
support for her. It might be that, should I be able to interest
Lord Sammael in our problems, we would no longer even need a
soulscaper. I could still draw Rayojini to me, but perhaps without
having to put her in peril. That idea alone was attractive. Beth
had bitten through the rein of love that bound him to me; he
flirted with potentially catastrophic desires. Avirzah’e was
stronger than I had thought. I no longer knew what the real problem
was. Who else could I turn to, but Sammael?

My father,
under the jurisdiction of the Parzupheim, controlled the only key
to the Tower of Bale. In his absence, Sandalphon was responsible
for it. I knew I was abusing the power Metatron had invested in me,
and I was also abusing the trust of Sandalphon but, the previous
night, I had stood before the statue of Mikha’il, floundering in a
sea of dark and turbulent emotion, and I had made up my mind. No
one could change that conviction; I felt as if the direction had
come from Mikha’il himself.

Sandalphon
walked with me to the Tower. I could see that he was, even at that
last moment, struggling within himself. His instincts told him he
was doing something very wrong but Sandalphon felt he had to trust
me, because I was Metatron’s daughter and had learned how to speak
with my father’s voice and command with his eyes. I had dressed
myself in simple black and unbound my hair. I had removed all my
rings, including the family seal that Metatron had entrusted into
my care, and the locket around my throat that bore my father’s
likeness. I became an eloim essence, little more. As I walked, I
let all but my sense of purpose drift away from me, downhill,
towards the sea. I felt I could not take anything more with me into
the Tower; there was no other way to face Sammael.

As we mounted
the final stretch of hill, through an avenue of thick, dark cypress
trees, a bell began to toll down in the atelier courts. I turned
back and studied the tall buildings, the narrow streets, the high
walls. The brighter sprawl of Sacramante beyond them was perhaps
four times as large as our crowded enclave, where we clustered like
a vast colony of nervous bats. An image flashed through my mind:
blood-suckers with bright eyes hanging from crumbling towers,
pressed close together, trembling, stinking of blood. I swallowed
thickly. Beside me, Sandalphon shivered and pulled his cloak more
closely around his body. The wind whipped his pale, fine hair
around his face. ‘Gimel, we can still go back...’

I shook my
head, and turned into the wind, climbing, climbing, up through the
avenue of restless trees. Above me, at the end of this tunnel of
foliage, the Tower itself loomed solid and dark and silent. Soon,
we stood upon its lichened steps.

Still shaking
his head and sighing, Sandalphon put the great black key in its
lock, where it turned as smoothly as if it was used every day. At
the push of his hand, the door swung open without a sound. A slight
thread of panic wove a line across my heart. I put my hand on
Sandalphon’s arm and said, ‘Wait for me.’ Then the thread
unravelled and was blown away down the hill.

Sandalphon nodded. ‘If
it takes a century, I will wait for you.’

I smiled,
although it was hard to do so. ‘I might not come out again.’

‘I will wait,’
Sandalphon said, and sat down upon the steps, from where he looked
up at me like a sweet, trusting boy. I wanted to kiss him, but knew
I should not. I went inside the Tower.

It was very
plain; there were no carvings on the grey stone. It was also bigger
inside than I had imagined. Flights of steps ran everywhere,
garlanded with dusty webs, scattered with faded straw. At random, I
chose one and began to climb it. Many landings punctuated my
ascent, where I saw numerous closed doors, but I did not pause
because I knew that Sammael, if he were still there at all, would
be at the top of the Tower. It was utterly silent. Thick glass in
the narrow windows shut out the moan of the elements. The air
smelled of old books and musty incense, and there was a definite
mousiness to it, too. As I climbed in this atmosphere, all
trepidation fell away from me; this was the sanctuary of a
scholar-hermit. It did not feel in the least bit sad or
frightening.

I had not
estimated how long the climb would take. Even after several rests
to ease the muscles of my legs, when I looked up, the tower still
seemed to rear upwards forever. I wished I’d brought a flask of
water with me, for my throat was dry. Soon afterwards, I emerged
into a dark passageway, along which I would have to walk if I
wanted to climb further. I could not see any more steps in the
immediate vicinity. The floor appeared recently swept and there was
a faint smell of soap. Still no sign of life though. There were
doors set into the wall, a couple of which I felt brave enough to
try and open. All were locked, the handles rust beneath my fingers.
I quickly dismissed the idea of trying to open them. Perhaps
centuries of neglect had warped the wood and rotted the locks, so
that they were sealed by disuse rather than the turn of a key.
After a while, I came across a drinking fountain set into the wall,
where a simple metal cup was chained to the stone bowl. The water
looked cool and clear; irresistible. Would it poison me if I drank?
I looked around myself; the dark corridor extended to either side,
lit gloomily by narrow windows paned with green glass. Nothing
moved in the shadows, not even a mouse. I filled the cup and
lowered my head to drink.