Burying the Shadow (49 page)

‘I am not a
queen, but I realise that it is me who will have to make the
decisions. I think... I think now that Avirzah’e
was
right,
in some respects, but then I suppose I have always thought that.’ I
screwed up my face to consider, and laced my fingers with
Sammael’s. ‘I think you should show us how to become ourselves and,
if it is possible, how to sustain each other. If we can, we should
release humanity from the tithe of blood, as you called it.’

‘Mmm. You do
realise that should eloim revert to mutual sustenance, their forms
will also revert. Their substance will become more... flexible.
They would find it harder to pass for human.’

‘Then, it is
just something else we will have to learn to deal with. We should
be able to protect ourselves from intolerant humanity, shouldn’t
we? There will have to be a time of adjustment, of course, and some
people are going to fear us and perhaps be hostile... Couldn’t you
help us?’

Sammael did
not answer my question. ‘And how will you deal with the eloim who
refuse to do as you suggest?’

‘Sammael, stop
it! Support me! I am trying to look for answers in the dark! This
is all conjecture. I know how difficult it will be to initiate
change; for both humanity and eloimkind! There will be a thousand
problems I haven’t thought of yet! I am just sitting here, in your
arms, in my salon, thinking aloud of ways to create the best
possible future. I know how difficult it will be to achieve just a
fragment of that potential!’

Sammael
squeezed me gently. ‘Gimel, I
am
supporting you. Please
don’t think otherwise. I just wanted to make sure you were aware of
how arduous the days ahead will be, whatever decision you
make.’

‘But will you
be with me?’

He paused, and
rested his chin on the top of my head. ‘I am - for now. But it is
impossible for me to conjecture further than the day.’

Ultimately, he
expected I would have to be independent.

Soon, I would
have to approach Avirzah’e and Beth. Just the thought of that made
my heart beat faster. What would I say? I could adopt any attitude;
contrition, complicity, desire. Avirzah’e would have to be honest
with me about whatever his throng had been involved in, and I would
have to try and convince him that adjustments would have to be
made. Surely, when he heard what I had to say, he could only agree
with me. Perhaps I should take Sammael with me to speak with them.
I was on the point of going to my desk to inscribe a brief note for
Ramiz to deliver to Avirzah’e, imagining I would be able to confer
with he and Beth that night, when Tamaris knocked sharply on the
salon door. She is such a perceptive soul; normally, she knocks
once and walks right in. ‘Yes?’ I said. ‘Come in.’

‘Your father!’
Tamaris exclaimed, wide-eyed in the doorway.

‘Here?’ I put
down my pen, preparing to steel myself for unpleasantness.

Tamaris shook
her head. ‘No. He has sent word. He requests that you hurry to the
family stronghold. He says it is urgent, very urgent!’

I had not
expected Metatron to conclude his explorations in Khalt with the
Harkasites and return to Sacramante so soon, and was worried that
he’d somehow found out what I’d done. Had Sandalphon contacted him
by concentrated mindchime last evening? It was possible, but
somehow seemed unlikely.

Sammael
insisted on accompanying me to the Metatronim stronghold, although
I was reluctant to spring him on Metatron unannounced; I had
anticipated a careful and protracted speech, on my behalf, by way
of introduction. How Metatron was going to react to my actions, I
could not guess. Half of me hoped he would admire my courage, but
the other half was well aware how much he disliked his authority
being over-ridden. It could go two ways; I wished I might face it
out alone.

Sammael did
not share my apprehension. It seemed that, since we had conjoined,
his interest in eloim welfare had been rekindled. He burned with
vitality, and an energy that needed release in activity. Believing
Metatron’s anger to be a very real possibility, I could do nothing
but imagine a hundred frightful humiliating scenes. My pride balked
at the thought of Sammael witnessing me being chastised by my
father.

I instructed
Ramiz to prepare our best carriage, and to place hot bottles
beneath the cushions for Sammael’s comfort. While that was being
attended to, I dressed myself in a formal black gown and painted my
face into a mask of composure. My mood swayed between a desire to
weep and a cool, steely anger. I would never forgive Metatron if he
embarrassed me.

Sammael was
familiar with the Metatronim stronghold. As the carriage bowled
along the afternoon streets, with their mellow pall of low
sunlight, he told me stories about when the atelier courts had been
built. ‘Look,’ he said, pointing towards the House of Sarim. ‘The
stone is dark now, and not so stark in its lines. I can remember
the raw white blocks standing in the sun, waiting to be
assembled.’

I touched his
shoulder. ‘See there, between the poplars, the ocean.’

He smiled.
‘The ocean! One day perhaps...’

‘I will take
you to the harbour.’

‘Is it safe
for eloim to walk the streets in Sacramante now?’ I wondered
whether he was mocking me.

‘The situation
has cooled down, I believe... for a while, at least. But I wouldn’t
be surprised if other, similar incidents to the Mervantes crisis
don’t arise, unless something is done.’

He gripped my
hand. ‘We shall try,’ he said. ‘We shall certainly try.’

I did not
introduce Sammael to anyone when we entered the House of
Metatronim. A male servant let us in, casting suspicious glances at
my companion. I was told Metatron was expecting me; I would be
shown into his presence without delay. The servant looked at me
enquiringly, which I took to mean he wanted Sammael’s name in order
to announce him.

I peeled off
my gloves and said, ‘Well, we had better make haste, then!’

The servant
bowed and led the way.

Metatron was
in his library - a vast cavern of a room, lined with books he never
read. When his servant opened the door, he was standing in the
middle of the carpet, as if he had been interrupted in pacing up
and down. He looked a little wild, but that might have been the
effects of travelling abroad with the Harkasites. I stood in the
doorway, partially concealing my companion, although he towered
over my head.

‘Father,’ I
said. ‘I am gratified to find you well after your journey.’

Metatron
opened his mouth to speak to me and then realised I was not alone.
For a few moments, he stared hard at Sammael, who then edged past
me into the room.

‘Metatron,’ he
said carefully.

Just for a few
brief seconds, I saw an expression of outrage cross my father’s
face. He recognised Sammael instantly, and I realised his first
thought was not one of surprise or alarm, but simply that there
might be a challenge to his authority within the throngs. I had
never seen Metatron so transparent in his feelings. ‘Sammael?’ he
said.

‘In flesh and
blood.’ Sammael knew what he was thinking.

‘I am...’
Metatron shook his head, and then laughed delightedly. He held out
his arms and marched over to embrace Sammael warmly. It was a
performance of which I myself would have been very proud.

‘You!’ he
said. ‘I should have known!’ He looked at me rather dangerously
over Sammael’s shoulder.

Sammael returned
Metatron’s embrace patiently. ‘Before you ask, your daughter Gimel
is responsible for my presence here.’

‘Is she?’

I winced,
curling up my toes within my boots. ‘There was no alternative
Metatron,’ I said. ‘Many things have occurred since you left
Sacramante.’

‘Then perhaps
I should have returned sooner.’

‘You have
returned at exactly the right time,’ Sammael said. ‘I left my tower
only this morning.’

Metatron
released Sammael from his arms and stood back to examine him. He
sighed, shook his head and then smiled warmly. I was relieved to
realise it was a genuine smile. ‘Well, this is a shock, but, other
than that, I am very glad to see you, Sammael. Sometimes, I did
think about you when I was alone out there. I even considered
visiting you myself when all this trouble started.’

Sammael
shrugged awkwardly. ‘I have shirked my responsibilities perhaps,
but you seem to have managed well enough without me.’

‘I feel you
are being just a little too kind,’ Metatron replied smoothly. ‘You
must be able to see for yourself what a mess we are in. I doubt
whether you’d be here otherwise.’

‘The situation
was inevitable,’ Sammael said. ‘You can hardly blame yourself - or
anyone else.’

Metatron
nodded thoughtfully. Then, he asked us to sit down and summoned a
servant to furnish us with brandy. There was a distinct coolness
between my father and me. I suspected the heated recriminations
would come later, but at least it didn’t seem as if he intended to
upbraid me in front of Sammael. I could see now that he was really
unable to; any reprimand of my behaviour would be plainly
insulting. It would make it too obvious my father didn’t want
Sammael around again in any circumstance, no matter how dire.

‘So what
precipitated your return to Sacramante?’ I asked. ‘Had you learned
all that it was possible to learn?’

Metatron
grimaced. ‘I would not say that, but I have uncovered certain
information.’ He grinned at me in a feral manner. ‘At the time, I
felt it was vital to discuss this information with you, Gimel,
before I took action on it. I had no idea you were taking such
responsibilities upon yourself as braving the Tower of Bale.’ His
face softened, but it did not convince me that his feelings had. ‘I
am ashamed that you were forced to adopt these measures alone. I
should have been with you.’

‘I managed
perfectly well,’ I said.

‘So it would
appear,’ Metatron said, in a silky voice. ‘And how is Beth?’

I dropped my
eyes. ‘He is well...’

‘I did warn
you.’

I looked up.
‘He is
well
!’

Metatron
shrugged. ‘As you please. Now, I will tell you the story of my
travels.’

Without
further reference to my brother, he began to speak of how the
Harkasites had dispersed into Khalt to gather information. Metatron
had been disturbed by all the peculiar phenomena they had
discovered. ‘I thought at first it was some Tartaruchi conspiracy,’
he said, ‘but later, realised it was not. The Tartaruchis have
nothing to do with it. But there is undeniably an eloim influence
at work.’

‘Then who?’ I
asked. ‘Loners, or members of foreign throngs?’ I did not think
that was very likely. What I had seen of foreign eloim in the past
suggested they would be too paranoid to adopt threatening
behaviour.

Metatron shook
his head. ‘No, nothing like that. It took me a while to work out
who, and even now I am not wholly sure. It is too incredible.’ He
looked at Sammael in a challenging manner. ‘Have you any idea what
I’m getting at?’

Sammael narrowed his
eyes. ‘Where did your search lead you?’

‘Across Khalt.
There is no doubt that the phenomena originated in the west.
Ultimately, I concluded they originated in the Strangeling.’

‘How did you
draw this conclusion?’

‘It was
obvious, really. Too obvious to be considered at first. New belief
systems - not Bochanegran in origin - are spreading across the land
like a disease. We found wretched humans who had been inefficiently
supped, leaving them neither quite dead nor properly alive. We
found evidence of mutant births - meddlings with human souls.
Paranormal events. Spirits... plenty of spirits. Some of the nomads
had seen them; blades of light the size of a man, was how they
described them. Also, Harkasites travelling into the Strangeling
reported humans who offered them the sup. This is a relatively new
phenomenon, thankfully, but not one that has been engendered by
legends of our past alone. Now, Sammael, can you guess the
conclusion I have drawn?’

Sammael was
frowning. He nodded slowly. ‘I think so.’

‘Then let us
see if our suppositions concur.’

‘Well, if I’m
correct, it refers back to something I began to speak to your
daughter about earlier,’ Sammael said.

‘What?’ I
asked sharply, trying to remember what he might mean.

He looked at
me. ‘Remember, we talked a little about the ancients, the very old
eloim?’

‘What do you
mean? I don’t understand. You talked of death, or near death
transformation. Are you suggesting these dying eloim are now
stalking the plains of Khalt?’ I laughed, and was distressed to
recognise a note of hysteria in that laughter.

‘That is
rather too provocative a way to put it,’ Metatron said. ‘But, in
some respects, the evidence points that way.’

‘This is
preposterous!’ I cried. ‘How could these ancient eloim get out of
Sacramante? Someone would have noticed.’

‘They are not
in Sacramante,’ Sammael said bluntly.

‘Not in
Sacramante?’ I appealed to my father. ‘What is he talking about?
Those eloim live in the family strongholds. You told me that.’

‘I don’t think
I did,’ Metatron said gently. ‘However, the truth is something we
keep from the younger members of our families, since there is
little need for them to know. The truth is painful.’

‘I must hear
it,’ I said.

‘Gimel,’
Sammael said to me. ‘You know we are not native to this world, and
also that, in many ways, we have never changed enough to belong
here fully. In our old world, when the eloim reached a certain
stage of their spiritual development, they moved on to another
realm, another sphere of existence, another reality. However, the
path to that new state of being lies through the world we were
expelled from - we cannot reach it any other way - which means that
we are trapped here on Earth. The oldest eloim are caught in a
half-state between spirit and flesh. They become different in mind
and body and, as such, can no longer live among the rest of
us.’