Burying the Shadow

by Storm Constantine

  Yara pulled a face. ‘Seeing the effect their crude mouthings had upon my dear sister, I must admit I am tempted to take matters into my own hands! The insufferable arrogance of that man!’

  I laid a restraining hand on her arm. ‘His ichor, undoubtedly, would be sour. You must trust that Izobella will deal with situation.’

  Yara nodded, sighing.

  ‘So,’ I said, brightening and linking my arm through hers. ‘Tell me what is in store for us tonight! We will be going to the Aurelium Chamber? The Castile looks so beautiful! The torches are like jewels!’

  As I walked with my friend into the Aurelium, she told me of the entertainment, which had been arranged for our pleasure. I had left Beth in the company of Metatronims, but now he had disappeared. Horribly anxious, I felt for him with my nerve-ends; it had been senseless of me to let him drift away. Members of the Tartaruchi throng, if not Avirzah’e himself, would be present at this gathering.

  As an almost hysterical reaction to adversity, the eloim had outdone themselves in their finery that evening. Walking into the Aurelium was like immersing myself in a coruscating hoard of remarkable treasures. Shimmering, sultry velvets hugged bodies that were encrusted with jewels and precious metals; feathers and beads were wound into fabulously coiffured hair, and stitched across bodices. I felt somehow warmed by this brave effort. Some eloim had been paired for centuries, and had always sought retreat at the same time as their lovers; I noticed that at least two of these people were there without their partners that night; their grief-ridden attempt at conviviality showed plainly.

  Yara, smaller and slighter than her sister Hadith, had sheathed her impossibly slim body in a soft gown of darkest blue. Her silvery white hair was dressed with ropes of pearls, and she looked utterly enchanting. In black and gold, I felt rather morbid and looming beside her. She tapped my arm with her fan and whispered, ‘Oh look, Gimel, the Tartaruchis are here.’

  I had not expected otherwise, but my flesh still condensed in chill. I scanned the group and saw Avirzah’e’s arrogant beauty flaunting itself beneath a lamp of ruby glass, but mercifully, there was no sign of Beth among them.

  ‘Avirzah’e is in love. Did you know?’ Yara said, with a small laugh, which indicated she didn’t really believe such an impossible thing.

  Her words cast a stone into the pool of my soul; the ripples they caused were fierce and shallow, but the knowledge itself sank deep into my spirit and lodged there in the dark, deep currents; immutable. ‘No,’ I said, lightly. ‘I must admit this is news to me. And who is the lucky recipient of the Tartaruch emotion?’

  ‘Well, nobody knows.’ Yara said, with relish. ‘Two nights ago, Avirzah’e attended a soiree at the Sarim court. He was being most theatrical, and read out a remarkably sentimental poem. Between you and I, dear Gimel, the effort the Mervantes morsel wrote to my sister was more profound! Anyway, my cousin Haniel later remarked to Avirzah’e that he looked distracted. She was flirting, of course! Avirzah’e merely smirked and told her, if he was distracted, it was because he was in love. Personally, I think he was just bored! Haniel questioned him immediately, but the Tartaruch was vague. “Some loves,” he said, “are for experiencing not gossiping about.” He made it sound so sinister, but then, of course he would! The rumour got around, after that. There is naturally great interest in this unprecedented phenomenon!’

  I felt as if Avirzah’e had spoken those words solely to me. I could see his face, his laughing eyes! My instinctual reaction was to go and cause a scene among the Tartaruchis immediately; a course of action which would be both unproductive and regretted keenly at a later, calmer hour. I tried to tell myself I was being too subjective; there was every possibility the Tartaruch had been referring to some other dalliance (in truth, he was supposed to indulge in many at a time), but I dreaded he had been speaking of Beth. Yara’s innocent remark concerning the sinister tone of Avirzah’e’s declaration conjured other, darker ideas.

  These ideas were to do with the concept of love itself. To humanity this simple, familiar word kindles images of sexual desire, family security, harmony among friends. These are all images shared by eloimkind, expressions of emotion that we have adopted from humanity, and which provide a satisfying yet ultimately trivial reward. There is also another expression of love, peculiar to our kind. It is a remnant of ancient times and, because in the distant past eloim had attempted to minimise the differences between humanity and themselves, has been discouraged by eloim elders. The concept had been bound up in chains of taboo and fear. According to our legends - and it must be remembered that some legends still resided as fact in the memories of our oldest kin - it was this love that had caused our fall, our desolation, while at the same time being the very thing that elevated us. A paradox. An unwritten law forbids us to speak of it, and even the thought conjures dark names, dark times. But I must say this; the expression of love among eloim can transcend sexuality and flesh; it can transcend reality itself. Eloim can, when impelled by intensity of feeling, combine their separate corporeal forms into one entity, which inspires exceptional sensations, both physical and emotional, unimagined by any human creature. Not having experienced it myself, I was ignorant of how this might actually feel, but I was assured that on this world at least, it was an uncontrollable and dangerous practice. Physical conjunction of this nature was one of the things my people had surrendered because they wanted to live on Earth. Eloim never indulged in it now. Never. For this reason, I had a feeling it would be a highly attractive concept to Avirzah’e Tartaruchi. I was sure, as if he’d told me himself, it was this forbidden thing he had referred to in the House of Sarim.

  Comfortable chairs had been arranged in the Aurelium in front of a small stage. I sat down among Yara’s relatives, mouthing pleasantries, while nervously scanning the crowd for Beth. Eventually, I spotted his bright head nearby, and stood up rather abruptly to call him. Sarim looked at me quizzically as I struggled with my skirts. I was unconcerned for my dignity; not for one minute did I intend to let Beth leave my side again. He waved and smiled when he saw me and sauntered over, bringing me a crystal tumbler of fortified fruit cordial, which was both salt and sweet to the taste.

  ‘Sit down,’ I told him. He did so, meekly. My heart was fluttering madly as if I was in the presence of a new lover, of whom I was uncertain. Later, Beth and I would have to reforge our intimacy; we had been strangers for too long in that respect. Perhaps my neglect had been the cause of his transgression with the Tartaruch. Had I been too wrapped up in my own thoughts and the problems of others recently? Had I unwittingly estranged my brother through lack of attention? I put my hand over his own. ‘Do you feel alright?’ I asked him, in a low voice.

  I could tell he considered making a cutting remark and then thought better of it. ‘You mustn’t worry,’ he said.

  Usually, when eloim perform for their own kind, they stage pieces of a complex or ambitious nature. But tonight, the entertainment was whimsical and unchallenging; a balm to frayed nerves. Hadith sang amusing little songs, and acted out a small play with a few friends; a silly romance, full of double meanings and misunderstandings. Though it was supposed to be humorous, I could not help but notice parallels in the play with events in my own life. Perhaps I was over-dramatising the situation. Avirzah’e and Beth had got drunk one night and, in high spirits, had engaged in a little amusement of their own. Their act of mutual supping had been stupid and perhaps impetuous but, if everyone concerned remained objective, it could be forgotten. The symbolism of what they had done meant nothing in this world, this life, unless we ourselves empowered it with meaning. Later, I would tell Beth that we should both pretend it had never happened. I knew I had the power to draw him back to me and, in view of Avirzah’e’s careless words to Haniel Sarim, it was perhaps vital that I did so.

  After the entertainment drew to a close, and the performers had taken their bows, everyone left their seats and began to mingle once more for conversation. The Sangariah and his staff moved among
the crowds, speaking briefly with everyone. I wondered whether this was the true reason for the gathering; a discreet inspection of eloim morale.

  Hadith swept gloriously through the crowd to embrace me and thank me again for my compassion during the Mervantes crisis. I was gratified to see how well she looked. Sandalphon, her father, noticed us together and came to talk to us. He kissed Hadith’s brow and smiled at me, murmuring further grateful words. I felt rather embarrassed; there was no need to thank me. I had only done what anyone would have done, in my position. Sandalphon is such a gentle soul; I had often envied Hadith having him as a father. Though his power is as formidable as Metatron’s, he has a tempering streak of tender serenity. He and my father had connections that went back a long way, and he was instrumental in much of Metatron’s business even now; a quiet yet vigilant presence. Before leaving Sacramante, my father had urged me that, if I needed help in any way while he was absent, I should approach Sandalphon for assistance.

  While I talked socially with the Sarim, Beth hovered restlessly at my shoulder; I could sense he was not completely at ease. As soon as propriety would allow, I intended to suggest we take our leave of the gathering and return home. I was anxious to talk with Beth, to drive the phantoms from our relationship. Then, we could talk about all I had seen and done in Khalt. We would lie in bed together and make further plans. Sandalphon, however, showed no sign of wanting to end our conversation and, because of his rank, I could not excuse myself until he was ready. People were talking excitedly all around us; it was difficult to imagine the eloim were suffering any difficulties at all. Sandalphon was enthusing about a new opera he was working on. He said he needed Metatron’s advice and looked at me keenly. I took it to mean that in the absence of my father, I would do equally well as an advisor.

  ‘Perhaps I could call on you soon,’ I said, far from eager to enmesh myself in operatic details at that moment.

  Sandalphon nodded thoughtfully, sucking his lower lip. It is difficult to imagine his true age; sometimes he appears to be no more than a boy. ‘I would appreciate that - as soon as you can,’ he said.

  ‘I will look forward to seeing your manuscript.’ I smiled at Hadith who had been listening to our conversation, adding the occasional affectionate observation of her own. But she did not smile back. Her eyes focussed somewhere behind my shoulder, her expression strangely bleak; it was enough to make me turn round.

  My eyes slid straight into the attentive gaze of Avirzah’e Tartaruchi. He had obviously sidled up while my back had been turned. His proximity made me flinch away; it was as if a flame had passed too close to my skin. I took a quick internal reading of the situation: Beth was calm, but somehow bemused, while my own mind fizzed in anticipation and anguished excitement. Why did the Tartaruch have this effect on me? I reached for Beth’s right hand and said, in my coolest voice, ‘Good evening, Avirzah’e. I hope you are well.’

  He blinked slowly and smiled, inclining his head the merest fraction. ‘I am in the best of health, Lady Gimel.’

  I could not stop looking at his mouth; the finely sculpted lips, the hint of his perfect teeth. I kept imagining that mouth against my brother’s skin; more than that, I could feel it on my own, above the heart. ‘Good,’ I said. ‘I am immeasurably glad.... Beth, perhaps we should leave now. I feel a little tired.’

  ‘Leaving so soon?’ Avirzah’e said, his voice full of mockery. ‘I won’t hear of it! Let me summon an attendant to refresh your glasses!’

  ‘No, thank you, Avirzah’e,’ I said.

  He smiled at me in an intimate fashion. ‘Aah! You have been travelling, Lady Gimel, haven’t you! Hence the feeling of enervation. I had not thought it would be so soon, but then events have taken a turn for the dramatic haven’t they?’

  I was aghast he could talk so plainly in company. Hadith had half-veiled her eyes; she looked interested in our conversation and deeply aware of my discomfort. Sandalphon’s boyish face was curiously blank, as if he was waiting for someone, or something, to imprint an expression on it. Beth was utterly still and silent beside me. I did not look, but I knew his eyes were fixed on the Tartaruch. I felt as if we were enacting a poignant scene from a tragic play - deaths, deceptions and pierced hearts were sure to follow.

  Avirzah’e shrugged abruptly. ‘Well, you are clearly too exhausted to string a sentence together, so don’t let me detain you!’ His eyes, damn them, looked right into my heart, my mind, my soul. We hadn’t spoken since the day he had called on me; since then, I had betrayed him to Metatron, and he had tried to steal Beth away from me. It was absurd we were standing here talking politely, however superficial that politeness was. I inclined my head to him and addressed the Sarim.

  ‘Your performance was excellent tonight, Hadith, a welcome relief.’ I smiled at her father. ‘I will call on you soon, Sandalphon, over the next day or two.’

  Everyone made noises of farewell, and I linked my arm through Beth’s and made to leave the Chamber. My heart had begun to beat erratically; I should have realised the confrontation was not over. As I passed him, Avirzah’e caught hold of my arm.

  ‘Everyone is friends tonight, Gimel’ he said. ‘We need to close ranks, don’t we? Whatever ill feeling has passed between us, forgive me now, as I have forgiven you. Kiss me farewell.’

  I could not believe his audacity. His voice had been loud enough for the Sarim to hear, but I did not care if they thought me ill-mannered.

  ‘I would as soon kiss a heap of ordure!’ I said.

  Silence fell in our immediate vicinity.

  ‘Gimel!’ Beth hissed. Up until then, he had not spoken a word.

  Avirzah’e had narrowed his eyes. I realised, too late, that I had played into his hands. ‘You are a wilful creature, Gimel,’ he said. ‘I admire your spirit, if not your social graces. So, there is to be no reconciliation between us. I am disappointed. However, if you won’t make amends, at least allow me to kiss your brother in proxy.’

  ‘That is a ridiculous request!’ I said, although the words were difficult. My mouth had gone utterly numb. ‘I cannot speak for my brother; he has his own mind.’

  ‘Do you?’ Avirzah’e asked Beth.

  ‘I resent the implications of this conversation,’ Beth said weakly. My heart contracted at his predicament.

  ‘She is a strong, strong creature!’ Avirzah’e said with a laugh and then, with serpent speed, he grabbed hold of Beth’s left hand. Beth tried to pull away, but the resistance was feeble. Avirzah’e raised both their arms to shoulder height, his eyes full of fear and challenge. A nauseous presentiment bleached the whole room to mist in my eyes. I could see Beth’s knuckles straining through the flesh; yet his face had gone curiously impassive.

  ‘Let me go,’ he said.

  Beside us, Sandalphon made a small, anguished noise, as if he was about to intervene.

  ‘You let me go,’ Avirzah’e said, and then Beth’s face went completely ashen.

  I squeezed his other hand hard; his whole body was shaking. The Aurelium dipped and swayed; conversation receded like a twittering tide. I could no longer see Beth’s knuckles stretching his skin, for the simple reason they were no longer visible. His hand, and Avirzah’e’s, had become light, become another substance, become one substance. I felt the thrill of it course up my arm; I was part of it. Through the medium of Beth, Avirzah’e plunged straight into my soul. It happened so quickly, nobody but ourselves and the Sarim were aware of it. The conjunction seemed to last an eternity, but then, I became aware of noise around me again. Avirzah’e laughed, released Beth’s hand, and kissed him briefly on the cheek.

  ‘Good night, Metatronim. Hurry home and sleep well!’ He bowed to Sandalphon, without looking once at me, turned smartly on his heel and swept off into the crowd. I could not believe my ominous presentiments had been so accurate.

  Sandalphon’s face was stern, to say the least. ‘I think we should talk in private,’ he said. ‘Now!’

  Hadith looked simply stunned, her mouth hanging op
en.

  ‘I... It was...’ I groped for words. I felt soiled, responsible, defeated.

  ‘Gimel,’ Sandalphon said, ‘I think it would be best if you and your brother accompanied me to one of the private chambers annexing this room. This should not be discussed in public.’

  ‘Yes... yes.’ I nodded helplessly. Hadith extended her arms to embrace me, but Sandalphon, in an uncharacteristic moment of aggressiveness, slapped her hands away.

  Beth began walking swiftly towards the door. Making further confused gestures at the Sarim, I hurried after him. He had no intention of seeking a private room, I could tell. At the gilded doorway to the Chamber, I took hold of my brother’s arm. By the time we came to the outer hall, he had shaken me off. Around us, jewelled lamps burned dimly, throwing out long, gloomy shadows. Beth was unsteady on his feet, and his eyes were full of rage. He stood for a moment and pressed his fingers against his eyes. I wanted to soothe him, but my mouth was dry of words. It was as if I had forgotten what language was; I was simply a maelstrom of feeling.

  Beth lowered his hands and sighed. He blinked rapidly as if to dispel an illusion. He turned his head and stared into the darkness, beyond the dim colours of the lamps. Then, he began to walk towards it.

  At the end of the hall, in a place where there are no doors, is a dark statue. It is of an eloim in armour, twice life-size, and carved from unpolished black marble. One hand of the statue wields a sword, the other hand claws at its beautiful face, which is contorted by pain. The reason this carving stands in the Hall of the Castile is very complex; it is both a reminder and a regret. It symbolises desolation, loss, betrayal, unavoidable sacrifice, the conflict of beloved brothers. The name of that statue is rarely uttered. Its name is Mikha’il.

  Beth stood there, staring up through the darkness into the anguished stone face. There were no lamps around it; Mikha’il is ever in shadow in this world. I padded to my brother’s side and took his hand; this time, he did not pull away from me. Together, we stared into the face of Mikha’il.