Burying the Shadow (67 page)

Metatron was
so taken aback by Beth’s uncharacteristic outburst that he was
rendered momentarily mute.

I raised my
hands. ‘Please! We cannot stand here arguing like simple humans. I
accept I have acted rather too independently, Metatron, and I’m
sorry if I upset Sandalphon, but what is done is done. Now, I have
to talk to Sammael.’

Metatron took
a deep breath to calm himself and slipped his seal-ring back onto
his left hand. The gibe about being like humans must have
penetrated the fume of his anger. ‘Do not think I will not mention
this again, because I will,’ he said. ‘However, this is a time of
wider crisis; personal grievances must be stored until later. You
cannot speak to Sammael, Gimel.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because he is
transforming.’

‘Of course, I
am aware of that, but surely this information is of such importance
as to validate an interruption?’

Metatron shook his
head. ‘Alas, no. Transformation, of the kind that Sammael is
undergoing, is a process that
cannot
be interrupted. We have
no choice but to wait until he is ready.’

‘So what do we
do until then?’ I asked.

Metatron
stared at me for a few moments. His expression registered many
emotions; scorn, sadness, smothered fury and, yes, even a little
admiration. ‘We can do nothing. Tartaruchi told me about the
soulscaper, Gimel. I’m sorry, but I think you’ll have to resign
yourself to her loss.’

‘I cannot do
that! I will search for her. Metatron, we have every reason to
believe that whatever inhabited Amelakiveh’s body now has her in
its power.’ I turned to Beth. ‘I shouldn’t be standing here now! I
should be concentrating on contacting her, warning her...’

‘No, Gimel!’
Metatron interrupted. ‘You must not do that. If the soulscaper is
with... if she is under the influence of anything hostile to our
race, contacting her by mind might well back-fire on you. I’m
sorry, but I have to forbid that.’ He smiled grimly. ‘If, of
course, my instructions carry any weight with you at all now.’

‘If she’s not
found, she could well be used against us,’ Beth said. His tone of
voice was still plainly insulting.

‘It is a risk
we shall have to take,’ Metatron replied, refusing to look at Beth.
‘There will be a gathering of senior eloim. We shall attempt to
construct a barrier of protection around the atelier courts. For
the time being, no-one must leave this area, not even eloim
dependants.’ Issuing orders seemed to have restored his good
humour. ‘Now, I have work to do.’ He directed scornful eyes for a
brief, eloquent second towards Avirzah’e, who was trying to become
invisible in the corner of the room. ‘It is distasteful to me to
have to mention this,’ Metatron said, ‘but I really think it would
be advisable for the three of you to curb your perverse
inclinations while we are in this unpredictable situation. We do
not want to attract unwanted attention.’

He hoped to
make us all feel dirty and small, and yet, his opposition had
revived my spirit, and my optimism, in an unforeseen way. I
realised that, because of the very things Metatron viewed with
distaste, Avirzah’e, Beth and I were stronger than any of the
earthbound eloim. At that moment, I felt that even if they all fell
and were ground underfoot by Elenoen, we three would survive. I
smiled in Metatron’s face. ‘Your advice is noted, father,’ I said,
‘but as far as I am aware, there never has been, nor ever shall be,
anything perverse between us. We have our way of living, you have
yours. It is as simple as that.’

Metatron’s
face darkened, but he did not comment on my words. ‘Stay in this
house!’ he said, and swept out.

Beth,
Avirzah’e and I embraced in relief. We held onto each other for a
long time, not speaking. Then, we sat down together to wait for
Sammael’s summons. We all knew the days, till it came, would be
long.

He summoned me
to my black-veiled bed in the tower. I heard him call me. Up the
stairs I went, one at a time, very slowly. The room was full of
autumn; brown leaves had blown onto the bed and there was a smell
of fruity smoke. The veils blew all about him; I could see nothing
of what lay on the bed.

‘Sammael?’ I
said.

There was a
sound, a restless, waking sound.

‘I heard you,’
I said. ‘You called me, didn’t you?’

There was no
further noise from the bed, and I cautiously approached it. The
veils were sucked towards its centre, obscuring my sight. I leaned
against one of the carved bedposts and ran my fingers over the
wood. My heart was beating strongly, but peculiarly slowly. I could
feel its rhythm in every cell of my body. ‘Sammael, something has
taken Rayojini away. Something... I wanted to tell you as soon as
it happened, but Metatron said you weren’t to be disturbed. I’m
very worried, Sammael. I’ve thought about little else...’

I glanced at
the bed. Something shifted among the veils, and one of them tore
loose from its rings with a tinkling rattle, wafting down to cover
him like a shroud. I looked away. ‘Sammael, will you find her for
me? If she is with... the thing you are looking for, will you save
her, bring her back?’

There was no
reply, only a hissing kind of groan from the bed. I dared not look,
wondering whether whatever he was now even understood speech.

‘Gimel...’ If
a serpent could speak, its voice would sound like that: a flickery
sigh. ‘Where are you?’

‘I’m here.’ I
turned and peered round the bedpost. Abruptly, all the veils tore
loose and landed on the bed. Something writhed beneath them.

‘Gimel,
prepare yourself. See me as I am. As you truly should be.’

The bed
creaked. I wondered whether I would be able to stand whatever sight
was about to be revealed to me. ‘Sammael, don’t frighten me...’

He hissed
again, and I screwed up my eyes. My forehead was pressed painfully
against the wooden post. A storm was coming, down through the
skies, a rushing of wings, so fast, so powerful. I felt him rise up
before me. I felt the wind of his passage. I felt him all around
me. I opened my eyes.

My black room
was white. He filled it. He shone, his flesh was flesh no longer,
but translucent. He was naked, but not even clothed in flesh. His
hair was flames, was light. His wings were crammed into the corners
of the room. He was too big for the space. He filled it.

‘Be free,’ I
said, waving my arms, as if to protect myself. ‘Be free!’ Then I
fell to my knees, clutching the bedpost. I was not frightened, not
exactly, but I wanted him away from me. I could not bear the weight
of his presence. It was too alien, too immense. Had I really the
potential to be like that myself? I could not believe it.

The being that
was, is, and will be the Prince of Light - Sammael - threw back his
shining head and roared. The entire room exploded outwards and
upward: a powder of bricks and stone. I squinted through the
flying, gritty debris. His wings expanded above me until they
filled the sky, beating slowly, painfully, as if long unused. And
then, he began to rise up in a whirling cocoon of torn veils,
splintered wood and crushed stone. He rose up, up, claiming the air
as his natural element. I knelt in the ruins of my blasted tower
and shaded my eyes with my hands. For an instant, with the grace of
a bird, he curved his neck to look at me. His eyes...

‘Rayo...
Rayojini!’ I gasped. ‘Do not forget!’

He screamed
and flexed his sky-filling wings. The heat of his gaze filled my
eyes with water. I did not know whether he cared about, or even
understood, my request. One moment, he was there, my entire
reality, the next, he was gone, and the wind started scattering the
pulverised fragments of my black-veiled bed over the ragged edge of
the tower. All that remained was the broken stump I was clinging
to.

I crawled
backwards over the rubble, seeking the hole that would lead me to
the stairs. I could not find it, but I could hear someone calling
me from below. ‘Here! Here!’ I said, throwing rubble around, in an
attempt to find the way out.

‘Keep still,
keep still!’ said a voice.

I crouched on
the broken stone, holding back my flying hair, scanning the sky.
There was no sign of Sammael now, but I felt he was travelling
towards the east, towards the Strangeling. Of course. It was the
only place on this world where the final confrontation could take
place.

Ramiz’ head
appeared through the floor, his expression both surprised and
frightened. It looked so comical that I started to laugh. Beth
shouldered his way up beside him. He held out his hand. ‘Come to
me, Gimel. Slowly now. Slowly.’

I stood up,
but the wind plucked at me fiercely, causing me to stagger.

‘Gimel!’ Beth
cried. ‘Be careful.’

I stooped and
picked my way towards him. He virtually dragged me onto the
rubble-strewn stairs. ‘I’m alright!’ I said, struggling to get out
of his arms.

‘You are
bleeding, you are cut!’ he said.

‘Then lick me
clean!’

Beth made a
worried noise and shouted down the stairs. ‘Tamaris, a
tranquillising draught! Quickly!

‘Beth, I
really am alright,’ I said. ‘And there is no time for
tranquillisers. Have Ramiz fetch the carriage. We’re travelling
again.’

‘Where?’ he
asked.

‘East,’ I
replied. ‘The Strangeling. We will miss the battle, but I’m hoping
there will be spoils for the taking, anyway.’

‘Are you sure
you’re alright?’ Beth asked.

I nodded.
‘Completely. If you’d seen what I’ve just seen...’

‘What have you
just seen?’

‘It might have
been the future, or the past, I’m not sure. But it was... Let’s
just get ready to leave. In a while, I might think of the words to
describe it.’

Rayojini

‘…
and from the gash
a stream of nectarous humour issuing flowed sanguine, such as
celestial spirits may bleed. And all his armour stained ere while
so bright.’

Paradise Lost,
Book VI

I could have been
travelling for days, months, years, or a single eye-blink of time;
time meant only memories of these things. All that existed was the
direction in which I travelled; an invisible path in the mettle of
manifestation. I was the spirit of all soulscapers, past and
present.

The image of
my guardian-pursuer had led me northeast out of Sacramante. I was
afraid I would lose her in the city crowds, but she was always just
ahead of me. I followed her through the autumn festival hysteria.
Black-eyed girls in scarlet frills danced in the plazas, but none
of them were artisans. Torn, scarlet leaves scratched along the
cobbles that led to the
zukos
, and once there among the
barrows and stalls, the sweet perfume of ripe fruit filled the air.
Leaves lay on the rosy apples, and soft yellow pears, on the dull,
musky grapes - mistletoe white, citrine green, grapes the colour of
my dead mother’s skin. Dying leaves curled in the air, wept by the
sentinel trees. My tormentor was a purple flame among this colour;
she never paused.

Down to the
harbour then, and the rank sea-smell of weed and fish guts. It was
low tide and boats lolled in the shallows, brass rings set into
their masts catching the afternoon sun. Children ran along the
jetties; I heard them singing: “The pale lady dances, the pale lady
falls, up again, up again, smelling out souls!” Gulls cried around
my head. The image of my guardian-pursuer kept just in sight.
Sometimes, it seemed as if she was looking round to check whether I
was following, but I might have imagined that.

At the edge of
the harbour, where wide stone steps, gritty with sand, lead up to
the western suburbs of the city, I looked back. Sacramante rose
behind me - white and cream and soft terracotta. Beyond this gentle
stone I could see the dark, featureless walls of the atelier
courts, and the sharp black towers rising above them, embellished
with elaborate stone lace. The atelier courts were beyond me now. I
would never walk within those walls. Never. Bells were ringing.
Perhaps it was just inside my head.

Out through
the ever-open gates of the city, onto the northeastern road. I
thought nothing about buying provisions, nor about how I would
shelter at night, but simply walked in the direction my lady had
taken, keeping the royal colour of her cloak in sight. There was
much traffic on the road, owing to the harvest; carts laden with
produce heading for the Sacramantan
zukos
. I paid them no
attention, did not even glance at the busy workers in the fields to
either side of the road calling greetings to the travelling
farmers. I just kept walking.

The first
night I walked until the moon had set. My lady was just a vague
shadow further up the road, tireless. I was afraid of losing her,
believing that if I paused to rest, she would simply vanish
forever. Eventually, I could walk no more and had to lie down in a
dry ditch to sleep. The tall grass around me rustled constantly,
crickets chirruped round my head, and the full-blown aroma of the
season cushioned my aching body. I wondered what Keea had thought
when he’d found me gone.
Keea, who are you?
I wondered.
Did you tell me the truth?
It was all so confusing. The
eloim could be evil or benevolent, depending on how you looked at
the situation. They were victims or oppressors, perhaps both. There
were no simple answers. It was a question of individual belief, I
felt, nothing more.

Whose side are
you on?

Lying there,
within a bed of whispering grass, I was aware of my own
insignificance. The soulscape had seemed limitless to me. Now, I
wondered whether it was nothing but another small world, in a
multi-layered universe of many worlds - material and otherwise. My
powers, of which I was so proud, might be no greater than an ant’s,
in relation to the powers of those I might be opposing. But there
was comfort in the thought that, in its own nest, an ant is master
of its destiny. Only when it ventures outside, where the predators
stalk, and the world operates on a larger scale, is it helplessly
vulnerable to the careless boot of a man or woman. I should have
stayed in my nest, which was, of course, my ignorance. Now, I was
out among the giants, and I would have to be more vigilant. ‘Who
are you now?’ I asked myself, and could not answer. What was I
doing, and why?
This was senseless. You know the woman you are
tailing is not Gimel Metatronim
, my instincts whispered.
You
know it’s not. Why are you following her? And where is she leading
you?
Perhaps I would wake up in the morning and this senseless
compulsion to follow the woman would have left me. I might find it
was all an illusion, as transient as those I had suffered in Khalt
and the Strangeling. Yes, tomorrow I might be free.