Burying the Shadow

by Storm Constantine

  When Beth and I returned to our domain, Metatron was waiting in my salon, brooding in the middle of the room like an impending storm. Avirzah’e was perched on the edge of chair, and looked up at us with wild relief when we walked in. He resembled a miserable hound that had just been severely whipped by strangers and was grieving the lack of a common language to explain its humiliation to its beloved master.

  ‘I cannot strike you!’ Metatron thundered, pointing a rigid, steady finger at Beth and myself. ‘Though I would very much like to! I have spoken at length to Sandalphon today, and he told me many disturbing things. Now I am told some human dreg has been found wandering around Sacramante wearing the Metatronim seal - which was entrusted into your care, Gimel! I hope you can explain yourself.’

  I handed him the ring without speaking, which he sneered at in distaste. ‘Well? Do I get an explanation from you willingly or do I have to order you to give it to me?’

  ‘The boy wearing your seal was a dependant of ours, a human,’ I said. I would be honest with Metatron to a point, but had no intention of divulging exactly how Amelakiveh had come into our possession. ‘We have discovered that his body has been inhabited by an invader’s personality for the last twenty years. We have reason to believe this personality might have come from Elenoen.’ I turned away from my father, unable to face any further questions.

  ‘Tamaris and Ramiz are your only dependants,’ he said, inevitably. ‘And Ramiz has just divested me of my coat and hat in the hall. Who is this other, that I do not know of.’

  There was a moment’s silence. I looked at Beth who was staring at me in terror. I made a small signal to comfort him. I would handle this. I turned around, drawing myself up to my full height. ‘An illicit transmutation, if you must know,’ I said. ‘Don’t tell me this sort of thing doesn’t happen, Metatron. We both know it does!’

  Metatron’s habitually pale face had gone decidedly pink along the cheekbones. ‘Children! Fools!’ he cried. ‘Are you intent on shaming me in every way? I cannot believe this!’

  ‘Believe it,’ I said. ‘It’s quite true.’

  Metatron pulled a face at me that was little more than a snarl and then turned on my brother. ‘Beth, you are a hedonistic whore and a mindless dolt! Sandalphon has informed me of your perversity in the Aurelium Chamber. I should knock you senseless!’ Then, he whipped back towards me. ‘And you, Gimel, how could you, whom I trusted implicitly, behave so recklessly, so senselessly?’ He pointed at Avirzah’e without looking at him. ‘And is this impudent puppy who, I am assured, has irretrievably debauched my son, anything to do with your misguided behaviour?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, the impudence, foolishness and stupidity are all mine!’

  ‘Curb your audacity, daughter! You have behaved abominably to Sandalphon! I could not believe the things he said to me about how you forced him to open the Bale Tower. You have galloped like a mare in heat through the composure of your race! You have lied and wheedled and acted with unprecedented egocentric crassness! Despite explicit orders to send the soulscaper away, I find letters from her lying around your salon which indicate she is still in Sacramante and that you are freely communicating with her. I am outraged and... speechless!’

  ‘Hardly that, father,’ I said. I realised he was really quite delighted to be able to speak to me this way at last. All his discontent was coming out. Soon, he would start shouting at me about Sammael.

  ‘I should order both you and your lackwit brother into retreat!’ Metatron said, with relish.

  ‘Over my lifeless remains!’ Beth snapped, unexpectedly. ‘Whatever you think of me, how dare you speak to Gimel like that? We admit our culpability over Amelakiveh, and for that we shall punish ourselves more than you ever could. But Gimel has put her own life at risk for the sake of our people. She has more bravery, guts and strength than you could ever imagine possessing. I despise you!’

  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.’

  Section Nine

  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 fa
rmers. 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.

  I fell into a restless sleep and dreamed of Avirzah’e Tartaruchi. I dreamed of his face, frowning at me. ‘You were advised to leave the city,’ he said, ‘but not this way.’