Burying the Shadow (8 page)

‘Are you
prepared, children, to give account?’ he asked us formally. There
was no greeting to be had from him, no sign of warmth, neither was
any mention made of the lack of contact since our return. I had
always suspected he still harboured a fury concerning our departure
from the family stronghold, although he would never admit to
it.

‘In all
manner,’ Beth replied.

‘Good. You may
both kiss me,’ Metatron ordered. Tatriel stepped back, with a
serpent gaze. She had always seemed sly to me. Metatron took Beth
first. He would nip the inside of the lower lip, and take a tiny
licking of ichor. Such was his due; we could do nothing but submit.
The nipping kiss was a pantomime of an ancient, forbidden custom, a
custom that was never discussed in polite company. I waited
patiently, dreading the promise of my father’s taste. ‘You have
matured,’ he said to Beth, pinching my brother’s throat. ‘Present
yourself at the Metatronim courts tomorrow eve. And you...’ He
released my brother and turned to me. He smiled. It was terrifying.
I delivered myself into his arms, awash with desire, sick with
helplessness; I felt his power over me. ‘Gimel, you are such a
fighter,’ he said gently, and touched my brow with his lips. I had
closed my eyes. Only a sudden coldness alerted me he had let me
go.

We walked
slowly to the inner hall, joined by two other Metatronim, far
cousins, whom our father had brought with him as entourage. Our
stewards remained in the foyer, where the Castile chatelaine would
feed them. I noticed that, on a cloth-covered table, a small,
votive lamp had been kindled near the back of the entrance hall.
Beyond its light, a tall, dark statue brooded in a web of shadows.
Warmed oil was provided in a dish by the lamp. Beth and I anointed
ourselves and bowed into the darkness. I shuddered and moved away
quickly; the statue discomforted me, even though I could hardly see
it. It was an image of one of the original eloim, who had not come
to this Earth. His name was Mikha’il, and he was brother to
Sammael, who had once been the eloim lord. Mikha’il was regarded as
a traitor, although eloim repugnance was obviously tempered by
grudging respect, otherwise there would have been no statue.
Discussion of our history was not encouraged among younger eloim.
Our elders wanted to forget the past, and relatively youthful
people, like myself, complied with their wishes; we had been
trained to fear our own history.

At the portico
to the hall, the Sangariah himself was seated to record the
proceedings, his staff present only to supply his utensils. The
Sangariah was effectively the governor of the Castile, and handled
day-to-day administration for the Parzupheim. Normally, one of his
lesser scribes would take notes during meetings; his presence
symbolised the importance of the gathering.

The current
Kaliph of Bochanegra, Izobella, must have been informed there was
to be a gathering of throngs, because she had courteously sent
gifts to us. Just outside the hall, a bevy of youths and maidens
sat waiting demurely for the serious business of the gathering to
be concluded. They were garlanded in rose-vines, the thorns of
which had provocatively pricked their faultless skins, conjuring
aromatic gems that beaded redly upon the surface. As we passed
them, Beth and I made a sacred genuflection, because we knew the
significance of their presence. The crowning with thorns and roses,
the piercing of flesh by thorns, was a traditional message to
signify that Izobella did not expect to have these morsels returned
to her. They were sacrifices. Because of this, the supping, the
draining of their flesh, would be of holy intention. But,
refreshment would not come until later. First, we must attend to
business.

The hall was
oblong in shape, with tiered seating around the edges. Most of
these seats were already occupied. I supposed that every eloim
throng in Sacramante was represented there that night. The
Parzupheim had taken their places upon the platform at one end of
the chamber and, as we entered, their amanuensis signalled that
Beth and I should place ourselves nearby. The Parzupheim are
antique beings of an almost ethereal appearance and, to those of us
in our first cycle, seem distinctly alien. History lives in their
eyes; it is said they can remember the birth of the world, when
they came through from the other place. Looking into their
translucent faces, I could believe that easily.

The Partsuf
Oriukh Kadishah, a Metatronim like ourselves, raised his hands for
silence, although there was very little noise within the hall.
Everyone sat down. There was a moment’s silence as the Oriukh
composed himself for speech.

‘I am
gratified to behold so many of our brethren beneath this roof,’ he
began, ‘and wish only that our gathering could be to discuss a
happier subject. However, I will address the business succinctly.
As you are all no doubt aware, we have lost thirteen souls to
self-extinction. It is unprecedented in our history. Death is a
trickster whose sleeves we thought we had shaken free of fatal
cards, and yet now he comes to trespass in our courts. Our
immortality has become a curse. Curiosity has become ennui;
anticipation - despair. Our kin throw themselves into the face of
Lilit’s cup-bearers, spurning life, desecrating our existence. We
were born immortal; to extinguish that light voluntarily is an
abomination, and one that affects us all. So, the madness takes us;
so, we die. The question is: why? As you know, humanity, who are
close friends of the Dark Brother, are plagued by a condition they
refer to as the Fear. Eloim have never been prey to such sickness,
but strong voices within our community have suggested that the
tragedies we have endured recently may be caused by this unseen
thing. This was a controversial suggestion, I know, and even I am
unconvinced of its veracity, but certain individuals took it upon
themselves to investigate the possibility, and concluded that we
should find for ourselves a person who could treat the sickness and
expunge it from our midst.’ He leaned forward, resting his chin on
a clenched fist, his sleeve falling back to reveal a sinuous, tawny
arm embraced by golden serpents.

‘There are,
among humanity, special people. They are known as soulscapers.
Doubtless all of you have heard this term before. Humanity, being a
younger race, compelled by hotter and more dangerous fires than we,
is often prey to madness, in all its forms. Soulscapers not only
know how to eradicate the condition known as the Fear, but can hunt
down all manner of defects in the mind and drive them out.’ Here,
he paused again and directed a glance at Beth and myself. I lowered
my eyes, although I could feel the attention of everyone present
riveted on our heads.

‘Two of the
Metatronim throng,’ the Oriukh continued, dryly, ‘took it upon
themselves, four years back, to seek out a soulscaper of
superlative prowess, a soulscaper who might be strong enough to
face our sickness and purge it from the soulscape of eloim. My
beloved siblings, I give you the Lady Gimel and the Lord Beth of
Metatronim. I feel we should now hear them speak.’ He extended his
hand to indicate the podium to the left of the platform. ‘If you
would grant us your knowledge, my children.’

It was not an
easy thing to stand and make our way to the podium. We were
conscious of the scepticism among the eloim concerning our actions.
I dared not stare into the seated crowd, afraid I would find the
eyes of Metatron looking back at me. Did he intend to humiliate us
now?

Both Beth and
I genuflected towards our audience - ever the performers - and took
our places, close together. We had previously decided that I would
be the one to begin our report so, in my clearest voice, I spoke of
the child we had found among the soulscapers and how we had been so
fortunate as to be able to commune with her at such a suggestible
time. I did not mention all the failures we had suffered prior to
that discovery. Warming to the subject, I spoke long of our
opinions of the Tappish child; her potential, her reservoir of
scaping strength. In order to provide an entertaining narrative
deserving of my people, I described the strange city of Taparak,
among the petrified limbs of that ancient forest, the exotic
insects that nudged through the hollow warrens, their nectars and
juices. Then I went on to recount the ritual we had observed. The
throngs were all entranced at this point; I was half-tempted to
turn it into a song.

Then someone
stood up and raised a hand to speak. I stopped my delivery
immediately; not out of politeness but out of apprehension, because
I thought that person was Metatron. But it was not. Avirzah’e
Tartaruchi had risen to his feet. He was almost directly opposite
to where we stood, quite near the podium, and I could see that
Metatron was only a few seats away from him. Most people had turned
to look at Avirzah’e in attitudes of enquiry, but Metatron looked
straight at us. I could not read his face. Beside me, Beth huffed
in affront.

‘You have
reason to interrupt this account?’ the Oriukh asked.

The Tartaruch
bowed. ‘Forgive me. I crave your permission to speak.’

The Oriukh
turned to me. ‘Well, Lady Gimel, would you object to
interruption?’

‘If the
Tartaruchi throng wish to make an observation, I have no
objection,’ I replied, graciously. In truth, I was furious.

Avirzah’e
bowed in my direction, perhaps a little too extravagantly to be
sincere. ‘I thank you,’ he said, touching his brow, and then
straightening up. ‘The Lady Gimel speaks beautifully of life beyond
Bochanegra. Perhaps we should all make this journey, for our
education.’ His voice was sweet; an appeasement. It was the
beginning of a tournament.

I responded, as was
expected, just as sweetly, with an inclination of the head. ‘I
would not presume to direct your education.’

The Tartaruch
sucked in his cheeks and manipulated his mobile brows into a
quizzical expression. ‘No? But that is not the issue, stimulating
though it might be to discuss. The issue, my kin, is this: the
Metatronim speak of children, pretty quick-wits, still budded on
the stem. Conversely, our affliction waxes swift. Brave though
their plan might be, and perhaps effective in time, I must
emphasise that our problems are immediate. We do not possess the
luxury of being able to wait patiently for the bud to flower.’
Here, he paused, spiked lizard that he is, and stood there showing
off his physical power. His argument was indeed relevant; damn him.
Such a persistent thorn is this Tartaruch princeling, I
thought.

Beth was not
so philosophical. He made a response, speaking bluntly, and
ignoring the protocol for formal construction. ‘Have you a better
idea then, Tartaruchi?’

The black
beast enjoyed impaling my brother with his scornful gaze, almost as
much, I’m sure, as he would have enjoyed a more tactile impaling.
‘There are thoughts I have in mind, as it happens,’ he said.

‘Such as?’
inquired the Oriukh.

‘Well, I, and
others too, believe it is an emanation from the distant past of our
race that is responsible for our current afflictions,’ Avirzah’e
replied, frowning earnestly. ‘I feel there has been a weakness
incubating in our consensual soul, which has grown over the
centuries and is now manifesting as a form of psychic malady. I
know there are certain taboos within our society that forbids
examination of the past, but I really feel I have to be quite
explicit in this instance and put to you my suggestion that, via
past events, the affliction we are suffering derives from humanity
itself.’ As he had no doubt anticipated, this caused a stir.

The Oriukh raised his
hand for quiet. ‘A radical suggestion, Tartaruchi. But your terms
are vague. Please be more lucid. I am unclear as to whether you are
implying that the sickness derives from us, or from humanity. Feel
free to expand upon your theory. At such a time as this, there are
no taboos concerning discussion.’

Avirzah’e
bowed again. ‘Thank you. Consider this, my revered brethren.
Humanity, without our presence in their midst, would be like the
world without sun or moon. We are their light; we bring them gifts
immeasurable. However, should we peruse the reverse condition, it
is another matter entirely. What light do we gain from them?’

‘Don’t be a
fool!’ Beth interrupted loudly, perhaps more to stem the heresy of
Avirzah’e’s words than to make so obvious a point. ‘Humanity is our
sustenance! Without them, we have no immortality. Without them, we
all die. Humanity and eloim need each other. You know this. We know
this. Only humans are unaware of the precise nature of
relationship, which makes us the wiser!’

There was a
moment’s silence, which the Oriukh broke, in a gentle voice.
‘Perhaps you should tell us exactly what you are suggesting,
Tartaruchi.’

Avirzah’e was
glacially cool in the face of my darling brother’s fiery upset.
‘You are a passionate individual, Metatronim, so I shall forgive
the insult,’ he said, piously. ‘What I suggest is this: we take
back the balance of power. In plain terms, I believe we should
subjugate humanity and reclaim what is ours by right of
superiority. Then, when we are once again all-powerful and not
subjugating any natural urges, I truly believe all manifestations
of the sickness will disappear.’

There was a
shocked murmur, which threaded through the hall from end to end.
How could the Tartaruch suggest such a thing? A sour taste came
into my mouth, the taste of soulscaper blood. Did Avirzah’e really
think we could comfortably become cold-blooded killers? If he did,
he was a fool - and had obviously never killed anyone himself. To
unleash the beast in every eloim would turn our people into
monsters. Our invisibility would disappear. We would be hunted down
and destroyed. In the past, some eloim had transgressed the code of
honour that forbad us taking unwilling victims for the sup. Because
of that, our race had nearly been exterminated by angry humans. We
could not chance such a thing happening again. Beth and I were
aware how serious a risk we had taken in Lansaal. I did not believe
the Tartaruch - pampered creature that he was - could even begin to
understand the implications of what he was suggesting. It was
fortunate Avirzah’e’s father was absent from the meeting, for I was
convinced Tartarus himself would have chastened his son most
severely for such heresy, had he heard it.