Burying the Shadow

by Storm Constantine

  ‘Beth!’

  ‘I see it!’

  Together, we streaked towards the brightness.

  There is an old man, and it seems he summons us. He invokes beings that he calls the guardian-pursuers. Surely, he can only mean ourselves. What are we, Beth and I, if not that? We guard. We pursue... There: the child, her lovely gleam, her bright innocence, so trusting. And she too reaches out to us. ‘Be with her in life,’ says the old man, ‘drive her to excellence.’ Lead her. Guide her. Oh, it will be our privilege, sweet child. I am breathless before the beauty of her naked soul. We touch, and the link is forged. Clawing the residue of Beth’s failing strength into my grasp, I align our souls with the child’s. I can even see her name, as if it marks every cell of her body. Rayojini. Rayo. Daughter. She has been waiting for us. She is the one, the only, possible one.

  Back in the taverna, I blinked into the morning light, my body filmed with sweat, my chest heaving, as if I had been running hard. Beth coughed beside me. I sensed him shiver.

  ‘It is done,’ I said, in barely more than a whisper.

  Beth rolled painfully towards me, and put his damp brow on my shoulder. ‘I should never have doubted you,’ he said. ‘Forgive me.’

  ‘Beth, there is nothing to forgive. The journey brought us here... Everything that has happened... inevitable... ‘

  He nodded weakly, and presently, fell asleep. I was drained beyond the point where I could comfortably sleep myself, and lay quietly, in deep relaxation, listening to the morning sounds of Taparak outside. A great burden had been lifted from my soul. I had divested its weight onto the child Rayojini, and I knew she would not feel it there. It could not harm her. Not yet. Not for a long time. The child was my little seed. As had been promised in the ritual, I would haunt her to womanhood. I would nurture and strengthen her powers from afar. She would flourish within the caul of my benevolence.

  Leaving the island, I was quite happy to let Beth lead us further east. We ended up in Atruriey; a marvellous land. The people there reminded me strongly of our patrons, and we were welcomed as artists most warmly. I even think one or two of them suspected there was something different about us - beyond what might be excused as an artistic temperament and aristocratic feyness - but nothing was said.

  Bloated with our actions in Lansaal, we had little need to feed for several months, and took only wine and water. I got involved with a travelling eloim theatre company, for whom Beth was happy to paint scenery and, accompanied by Tamaris and Ramiz, we stayed with this group for several years.

  During this time, I maintained a subtle contact with Rayojini, watched her grow from afar. Sometimes, when she had girlish problems, which she found difficult to solve, I prodded her a little with an idea or a feeling, although I shrank from making my presence too obvious. I thought it unlikely that guardian-pursuers were, under normal circumstances, real beings. After having spoken to so many soulscapers in Lansaal, I thought these creatures were probably metaphorical images for the child’s own conscience. Therefore, it was vital that Rayojini didn’t seem to be more in tune with the idea of her guardian-pursuers than other children. If her mother or her tutors got suspicious, they might undertake a deep soulscaping on the child, and destroy my link with her. Still, it was pleasurable when I could help her. I liked to feel her earnest little mind praying to Beth and myself, thanking us, as her guardian-pursuers, for our guidance. The fact that she addressed both of us did needle me a little though, because Beth had scant interest in the child, leaving it to me to keep an eye on her progress. He never communicated with her at all and yet, in her prayers, I could see him through her eyes; beautiful, shining, powerful. When she grew up, would she start desiring this handsome image in her head? What then?

  Then, one evening as we were sitting round a campfire in deepest Atruriey, a twitching started up in my fibres. Beth caught my eye and a feeling passed between us. We knew it was time to return home. Absurdly, I felt I would be leaving Rayojini behind, but I did not speak of this to Beth. I kept it secret, how fond I’d become of the child.

  The city was in a hectic mood when we returned. Invitations to the Di Corborans, the Vielkorekhs, the Mougadis, littered the welcome-table in the hall of our house, some of them quite eaten away by mice. Our especial patron, Leone Di Corboran, dispatched two of his daughters, Leda and Vicretia, to our domain once the servants had gossiped in the zuko, and news of our homecoming had spread about.

  Beth, feigning tiredness, although we had been back for two days, shut himself in his rooms, so I had to entertain the creatures alone. I had intended to visit the Metatronim family stronghold that afternoon, for news had come to us from a friend of dreadful occurrences during our absence; the sickness had not abated. In all honesty, I needed to see my family, just to make a head count and reassure myself that they were all in good health. Therefore, I felt extremely indignant when Tamaris informed me Leone’s daughters had arrived. Still, without our patrons, our lives would be very difficult indeed, so I pasted a welcoming smile across my face, and bid Tamaris show them up to my solar.

  Vicretia was the sweeter of the two Di Corboran girls, although Leda possessed the greater wit. The last time I had seen them, Leda had just been married to her second cousin, whereas Vicretia had been a silent and delicate girl of thirteen. Vicretia had blossomed into a very attractive young woman; Leda, on the other hand, had just blossomed. I assumed she now had a brood of her own.

  ‘Fashaw, Gimel,’ Leda told me, breezing into my solar, trailing limp gloves like filleted limbs, ‘but you haven’t changed a bit! Four years you’ve been away too! Wild air suits you, truly. Look at me!’ She twirled before my dark mirror. ‘A pound for each year of your absence!’ I suspected it was slightly more than that. She bustled towards where I lounged, in artistic composure, on the divan. Her lips pursed in anticipation. ‘Oh, but you’ve been missed.’ I deflected the kiss by turning my head. She caught me on the ear.

  ‘Don’t lick me, Lee!’ I laughed sweetly, to sugar the sting. ‘You lie to me, anyhow. What of your other favourites, hmm?’

  ‘None as lush as you!’ she quipped, admitting to nothing.

  I peered over her white, plump shoulder. ‘Hello Vee, how lovely you look! It’s been so long. Come, sit by me.’ I patted the divan, protecting the place with my hand, so that Leda could not stuff herself into it.

  She fitted herself into a chair opposite instead. ‘So, are you ready for news?’

  Silent Vicretia, dear little thing, eased down beside me like a floating feather. I curled my fingers over her own, but addressed her sister. ‘Always, Lee, always. So, tell me.’

  ‘There has been a riot of suicides among the artisans.’

  Yara Sarim, whose family was in some ways connected with ours, had communicated with us, directly on our return, and had told us everything. This was not news, but I feigned interest. ‘Indeed?’

  Leda nodded eagerly. ‘Quite so.’ She counted off on her fingers. ‘Camiel, Murek, Sasleel - it’s like a disease. And that’s not the worst. Two years ago - oh, it seems like history now - Lilthia Emim took a knife to both her parents, her brother and - finally - herself. You have been wise to keep your distance. Father says it must be an evil taint from the Strangeling, blowing over the city in the wind that affects the sensitively composed. Personally, I think it’s a result of hedonistic excesses and you, dear Gimel, are not prone to such; neither you nor your brother.’ She frowned. ‘Where is Beth, incidentally?’

  I considered it politic, under the circumstances, to reinvent his excuse. ‘Oh, he’s working. Feels guilty being away from the courts for so long, I expect. He sends his regrets, but may join us for refreshment later. You will stay for refreshment, of course.’

  ‘Persuade me otherwise!’ Leda rolled her eyes. ‘Now, you must tell me of your travels. It must have been so exciting.’

  I pulled a rueful face. ‘Hardly such. Beth was researching and spent most of his time sketching. I simply mooched around waiting for him.’<
br />
  ‘But all those exotic people!’

  ‘They are not that exotic beyond civilisation, dear Leda. I found very little to attract me, I must confess.’

  ‘You are a connoisseuse,’ Leda declared, patting herself in congratulation. ‘Nothing but the best for Lady Gimel!’

  I could not help but flinch at that.

  After half an hour or so of further pointless exchanges, I summoned Beth with the mind-chime, and ordered him to join us. He remonstrated, but I kept up the chord until he gave in. He could have plump Leda; she would enjoy it. Beth had been too picky recently, refreshing himself far too meagrely. I wondered whether he’d damaged himself by all the gorging he’d indulged in when we’d first arrived in Lansaal, four years ago. However, sustenance from Leda should restore him utterly. Me, a sensible refresher, and able to pace my supping, would lick an aperitif from the sweet flesh of little Vicretia. Being sensitive, she knew this already, and trembled beneath the light, cool touch of my hand.

  Beth was magnificent when he came to the solar; his tawny hair polished as sun-burnished fur, his dark yellow eyes full of shadow-promise.

  Leda gurgled in greed. ‘You are so thin!’ she exclaimed to him.

  He flexed his darling paws in her direction, lacing the fingers. ‘While you, Mistress Di Corboran, are fat as a festival chicken!’

  Cooing, Leda began to unlace her bodice. Slightly nauseated, I turned to Vicretia and leaned towards her ear. ‘Your first?’ I whispered.

  She nodded, fearfully, eyes like a doe with one foot bound in a twine-trap.

  ‘Would you prefer to retire?’

  Again, after a brief hesitation, during which her eyes flicked to the pouting Leda and back again, she nodded.

  I rose and held out my hand. Leda was spread out in her chair, her large, blue-veined breasts exposed, into which my beloved brother had buried his head. She had her hand in his hair, mewing ecstatically as his teeth broke the skin above one nipple, as his tongue licked her, his lips began to suck. I felt a twinge of jealousy and hoped he would not give in to her demands for copulation, which were sure to follow. Perhaps leaving them alone gave her an advantage concerning that, but I had a mind for Vicretia’s comfort, and the sight of her sister writhing beneath my brother was not pleasant.

  ‘Come,’ I said, and led the bewildered girl from the room.

  We sat down in the conservatory of eager vines that greened the sunlight from above. Poor Vicretia was pale as a forest flower, trembling uncontrollably. Yet even in her fear, there was anticipation, excitement. Not wanting to scare her unduly, I supped delicately at her wrist - no more than a gnat bite. She lay back against the trellis, her eyes turned up in her head, moaning softly. I took my time, but supped little. It was important she should find it pleasurable, this first time.

  Afterwards, I brought her a cordial of summer fruits, lightly laced with brandy, for which she was grateful. The intimacy had unlocked her tongue. ‘So strange it felt,’ she said, ‘like floating away.’

  ‘Is that all?’ I smiled at her.

  ‘Beautiful,’ she said. ‘I’m flattered you chose me.’

  In truth, it was not me who had chosen her, but her father. He had sent her to us after all, but I did not mention this. A homecoming gift, a new flavour. Leone always kept his children long from the sup in order to make them more intriguing, - sometimes until they were sixteen - but I was surprised he had kept Vicretia untasted this long. She must have been all of seventeen years old, and a year is a long time when your relatives are all satisfied participants of the sup.

  ‘I prefer a finer vintage, more delicately flavoured, than Beth,’ I said, to please her.

  ‘You did not hurt me.’

  ‘No, we never do. None of us. I’d have thought you knew this.’

  She shrugged. ‘The tasted keep their secrets.’

  Unable to face Leda’s flushed bloatedness, I requested her sister to make my excuses and sent her back to the solar alone. For a while, I relaxed among the greenery, digesting my refreshment, rolling my tongue around my mouth to catch the last sweet nuances of Vee’s flavour. Although at peace, I was full of the awareness that our lives were changing. The atmosphere in Sacramante, on our return, had been reminiscent of the paranoia haunting the eloim in Lansaal. The Sacramantan artisans were scared, and no doubt would expect us to produce an instant solution.

  On the journey home, I had kept up the contact with our little soulscaper. Distance did not seem to lessen our link. She interested me acutely; I was in awe of her active, inventive mind. She had certainly come to regard Beth and myself in different ways. Beth was a pleasurable fantasy, but I liked to think she looked upon me as an imaginary friend. Often, when I looked into her life, I could hear her speaking to me. She liked to talk about her thoughts and feelings aloud. I still had not interfered overtly with her development - there was no need; I just observed. She must be all of twelve years old by now, but it would still be some time before she was ready to fulfil the destiny I had planned for her. Some part of me was resigned to the fact that our designs might yet fail; some part of me did not care. I was content; the sickness could not touch me, for contentment was its bane, I’m sure. Beth though, I worried for. He, like dead Rephaim, was one of those bright blooms that grow quickly flaccid on the vine, eaten by decay in an evening’s rain. I thought about the diminished throng of Favariel Eshahim; it seemed incomprehensible to me that such a decline could be allowed to occur. Perhaps it signalled that the time of the eloim was drawing to a close; we had lived upon the world too long. Perhaps the sickness of despair was an inevitable symptom of this wasting, and no soulscaper, however well suited to our needs, could ever save us. I knew this was an attitude I would have to shed quickly, because it was not one that could be presented to the eloim elders.

  Notice had come to us - or more accurately had been waiting for us - that a gathering of the throngs had been called for by the Parzupheim, the most ancient and exalted of our kind. They were anxious to discover what Beth and I had achieved in Lansaal and Taparak. Our father, Metatron, had been ominously silent since our return. I had expected us to be summoned to the family stronghold in the eastern atelier court even before we shed our travelling cloaks, but no word had come from him. His ignorance could only mean he disapproved of our journey; we had not, after all, consulted with him about it before we left Sacramante. I knew he would be present at the gathering, and wondered whether we could expect public criticism from him.

  I sighed into the vines. It was time I stopped worrying about greater issues, and applied myself to my personal well being. I needed to organise myself, emerge from the seclusion of the atelier courts and seek employment; I needed to perform. What I needed more precisely, of course, was the adulation I commanded as my fee. As soon as the throng gathering was over, I would see about securing a part in a theatrical production. The house of Zamzummim might be a good place to start looking. Indolence was ejected from my body by a wild spear of energy; I wanted to leap up immediately and hurry to Oriel Zamzummim’s court. The feeling was to be savoured, but not indulged just yet. First, I would wait here for my brother in the conservatory. Then I would lead him upstairs to bathe away the stains of florid Leda, and make him pure again. After that, we would sleep in each other’s arms. Tomorrow I would resume the normal pattern of my life.

  Section Four

  Gimel

  ‘Subtle he needs must be, who could seduce angels…’

  Paradise Lost, Book IX

  Beth and I walked lazily through the cool, evening air, on our way to the gathering of throngs; two of our house stewards following discretely behind. Sacramante was in a summer flush, the night thick with heavy perfume squeezed from the tight flesh of the rose-vines along the walls. We paused to listen to a travelling trovadero, keening in one of the piazzas. I was recognised there and presented with a corymbus bloom. In truth, I was glad to be back.

  The Castile Edificia had been built centuries back, on the apex of a gent
le hill, whose toes gripped the slow-moving river to the east. It was a pale, many-towered building that dominated the skyline of the atelier courts, constructed of pale stone and hugged by flowering creepers. Like ourselves, others had chosen to take the walk that evening and, on the approach way, we came upon a silken clutch of Hyperachii, strolling arm in arm ahead of us. I was friendly with one of the males, Jevanael, and released my grip on Beth - who was trembling with nerves - to go and walk beside him.

  ‘Avirzah’e Tartaruchi just drove past,’ he told me, eyes aglow. The Tartaruchis were, perhaps, the most infamous of eloim throngs, and undeniably the most compelling. They had a reputation for wildness, indiscreet supping, and general over-indulgence. They were also incredibly talented; all their projects were maverick successes. Consequently, the Tartaruchi throng was one of the most affluent. Avirzah’e was the favoured scion of this House, a playwright, who courted heresy between the lines of his works. It was said he kept twenty lovers satisfied at any one time, but I believed this to be propaganda he’d put about himself. He was, undeniably, supremely attractive, with all the irresistible allure of a dangerous animal. I also had no doubt he had been keenly interested in Beth and myself for a long time, which we had purposefully not pursued. Naturally, such selfish reticence angered Avirzah’e, who was used to all his whims being gratified. The extent of this anger was beautifully illustrated by the fact that he ignored both Beth and myself with a chill that verged on offensive. Everyone else in our community - eloim and human alike - adored Avirzah’e. Beth and I liked to be different, though I suppose, in some ways, we were jealous of the Tartaruch prince. As we approached the main entrance to the Castile, I felt my blood quicken at the thought I would see Avirzah’e soon. This galled me immensely, and I attempted to banish my excitement. Comfort was to be found only in thinking he must feel the same way about us, and resent it as much.

  In the courtyard of the Castile, we passed the sleek carriage of the Tartaruchis; horses steaming and stamping in their traces. The air was still full of Avirzah’e’s perfume; an eastern, exotic scent. I noticed Beth sniff and grimace.