Burying the Shadow (46 page)

The child
nodded gravely and took my hand, tossing the empty goblet onto the
floor behind it. I allowed myself to be led further into the city.
All around us, the ruins were seething with people, all of whom
seemed to celebrating madly. It was as if they’d all been told they
only had a day to live, a single day in which to enjoy all the
things they had forbidden themselves in life.

The child took
me into the garden of a half-fallen villa. The ground was littered
with an abundance of rags; musty taffeta, mildewed satin and worn,
soft linen. It seemed someone had pitched it all out of one of the
upper storeys. Brazen leaves swirled in the air around my head. I
knew that, if I didn’t lie down soon, I would fall down. The child
indicated a place where the rags were densely heaped, against the
villa wall. ‘Lie there,’ it said.

I sank
gratefully to my knees and unbuckled my carryback. ‘Will you watch
over me and my belongings while I sleep?’ I asked the child. ‘I
will give you a coin...’

‘You are
perfectly safe,’ said the child, and skipped away.

I lay back among the
rank tatters and sighed deeply. This was the true madness of the
Strangeling. I realised there was no risk of attack; none at all.
Danger here was a radically different concept to any that I was
familiar with. It would be very easy to give oneself up to the
unreality of this place. I could imagine that should a weak-willed
traveller end up in Ykhey, they would quickly become so
disorientated, they might forget where they were going and where
they had come from. They might just become part of the madness;
singing and dancing until they died. The air held a taint of chill;
I pulled the damp rags firmly round my body and curled myself
around my carryback.

Nobody
bothered me. For a while, I slept, my dreams coloured by the hectic
voices beyond the garden; the crazy songs of the gift of the
vine.

When I awoke,
everything was silent. Night had fallen. I clambered to my feet and
was relieved to find I felt quite refreshed and clear-headed.
However, my stomach was demanding food, and I needed water. It was
unfortunate that Keea and I had packed all our provisions into
Keea’s carryback that morning. I had two options; search for my
erstwhile companion, which seemed pointless given the size of the
place, or look for sustenance elsewhere. The latter choice was
clearly the only practical one.

As I bent to
pick up my carryback, I realised I still had the Bochanegran coin
clutched firmly in my fist. For a few moments, I opened my palm and
stared at it. What was its significance? Did it suggest I would
find answers in Sacramante, or was it a payment to stop me poking
my nose in further? Who
was
the person who had given it to
me? Would I see them again? I flung the coin up in the air, caught
it, and stowed it in the leather pocket on my belt.

Out on the
street, everybody seemed to have disappeared; perhaps they were all
unconscious somewhere, hidden away in vaults beneath the city
streets. Now why should I think that? I stepped out into clear
moonlight; a brilliant radiance that cast impenetrable, sharply-cut
shadows across the wide, littered street. Now, this really was a
city of the dead. I wondered whether I should find it eerie,
although I felt utterly at ease. Which way should I go? There was
only one thing to do; enter the spirit of the place. I closed my
eyes and spun around for a few moments. When I came to a
standstill, I headed in the direction I was facing.

My
guardian-pursuer came to me then, as I walked alone in the black
and white city of ruins. She was at my side, sensed before I could
actually see her. ‘Are you what you seem?’ I asked, strangely calm.
‘Or are you a threat to me?’

‘Ah, Rayo,’
she said, in a lovely voice, but that was all.

‘You are more
real to me than you should be,’ I said. ‘Other soulscapers don’t
have these experiences.’

‘This might be
because you are different from them,’ she replied.

I smiled. ‘You
are a product of my mind, my ego. I know I would
like
to be
different, but who doesn’t?’

‘For a person
who walks in people’s dreams, who has conversed with gods and
ghosts, you are an insufferable sceptic, Rayojini!’ she said, with
a laugh. ‘Will you ever accept me for what I am?’

I looked at
her. ‘Was it you who attacked me on the road in Khalt?’

‘Attacked you?
No! Why should I do such a thing?’ Her response was without
artifice, human in its spontaneity.

‘You
are
real!’ I said. ‘Who are you?’

She smiled. I
narrowed my eyes at her.

Gimel? Was it
possible...? No, it wasn’t. I was being a fool. This was a member
of the Host. It was
not
my guardian-pursuer, and
not
Gimel Metatronim. Did she think I was so easily fooled? Still, she
did not appear to be threatening or malevolent. Again, I would
simply observe.

I did not speak again,
and neither did she, but we walked together in easy silence, as
friends might, along the road.

Presently, we
came to a place that had once been a church or a temple, half gone
now, but beautiful in its decay. My companion placed a gentle, icy
hand beneath my elbow - it felt indisputably real - and guided me
inside the building, through what was hardly more than a crack in
the stone. I emerged into a courtyard, once colonnaded, but now
surrounded only by rubble. The centre of the court was dominated by
a pool in the shape of a trefoil, which was still full of water,
its surface thick with overgrown lilies. In the centre of this pool
were the remains of a fountain; a great stone shell which, at one
time, had probably contained a statue. Now, it contained only a
tableau of living sculpture.

I knew him
instantly. Dressed in black, he reclined in the shell like a huge
cat; his burnished hair a pale glory in the lady-light of the moon.
The man was, or at least strongly resembled, my dream phantom, Beth
Metatronim. He was holding Keea in his arms. I turned to speak to
the woman, ask questions, but she had not followed me through the
space in the wall. Impulsively, drawn forward by an uncontrollable
tide in my belly, I approached the pool. The image of Beth looked
at me, smiled, and then directed his attention to the body he held
in his arms. Keea’s head was lolling backwards over his arm, his
eyes open and staring. His arms trailed into the choked water. He
looked irretrievably dead. Was this another warning? Leave us be or
we will kill you as we have him? Was it beyond them to do this? I
thought not.

I stood rooted
to the spot, as if tendrils of bone had poked down through the
soles of my feet and delved deep into the friable stone beneath.
Time seemed to accelerate around me, and the moon sailed swiftly
across the sky above. Yet I myself was caught in non-time. As I
stared, bound in this stasis of eternity, the man in black smiled
at me, ran a caressing hand down Keea’s pale chest and then leaned
forward to bite him, high on the breast.
They are cannibal in
the ruins
, I thought, quite coherently. A dark, moving line
seeped from beneath the man’s lips. He was kneading the flesh with
his mouth, sucking, nibbling. I could not look away. I did not want
to. At the core of my horror was fascination, and something else,
more primal. The man in black sucked my friend Keea as if he was a
ripe fruit, and I watched, salivating, as if the juice was filling
my mouth, not his.

It was a
dream; of course it was. An illusion, a delusion. I had been dazed
by the vision of my guardian-pursuer at the city gates, and later
drugged by the child. I inhabit my own reality - no one else’s.
Each of these excuses was a plaintive, feeble cry in my head.

One moment, I
was watching the pool turn red, the next, time had ceased to gallop
around me. I was alone, as perhaps I’d always been. There was no
churchyard, no pond, no lilies, nothing. I was standing in a wide
street, lined by high walls, completely alone.

There was
nothing else to do but skulk into a nest of shadows, curl up, wind
around myself like a chastened bitch with her nose buried in her
tail and, with eyes glinting fearfully into the dark, wait for the
morning.

Keea found me
lying in the rubble not long after dawn. I stared at him, confused,
as he shook me awake, and yet I realised I had not really thought
him dead.

‘Rayo,
Rayojini! Come back to the land of the living!’ he said, smiling at
me. ‘Drunk! How shameful!’

‘Where have
you been?’ I demanded, brushing away his hands and sitting up.
Miraculously, I was still in possession of my carryback and
hat.

‘Exploring,’
he said.

‘Alone?’

He smiled his
closed smile. ‘Are you hungry?’

I shook my head,
although my stomach was still shrieking to be fed. The question had
seemed loaded with obscure meaning, but perhaps I was imagining
that.

Keea ignored
my response and began to unwrap a package he had with him.

‘Where did you
get that?’ I snapped. It was fresh bread, glossy fruit, and cured
peppered meat. It had not come from this place, I was sure. It
looked too wholesome.

‘Someone has
to look after you and, to this end, I am resourceful,’ he replied
and then pulled a face. ‘You must get to Sacramante quickly. You
need pampering, Rayojini.’

In that
instant, he made me conscious of my appearance. I felt gaunt and
old and hideous; all this without a mirror before me, other than
his eyes. ‘Too late for that,’ I said bitterly.

He laughed.
‘Bathe in self-pity if you must, soulscaper. But I want you healthy
and preened.’

‘Why?’ I
snatched at the food he had laid out neatly on a flat rock.

He shrugged
and smiled innocently. ‘Why? It requires great fortitude to plough
through the Sacramantan archives!’

‘I believe
you!’ I didn’t. ‘Have you anything to drink?’

‘Fresh,’ he
said, offering me a water skin.

I drank long
and deep, and then, wiping my mouth, said carelessly, ‘I saw you
last night, Keea. In the pool. I saw.’ I didn’t anticipate what
response I’d get, but watched him carefully, just in case.

‘Pool? What
pool? You must have been dreaming,’ he replied smoothly.

I dug in my
pocket and showed him the coin. ‘You must have seen that
person
at the gate, Keea. I am convinced it was a member of
the Host. He gave me this.’

Keea grinned. ‘Don’t
be absurd! Anyone you saw at the gates was simply one of the crazy
natives! This place is full of old coins!’

‘This is a new
Sacramantan coin, Keea.’

He shrugged.
‘Well, it could have been taken from any passing traveller.’

‘That is
possible, of course,’ I said, ‘but the strangest thing is that you
vanished after I’d been given the coin. Did you go with that man,
Keea?’

I was hoping
for nervousness on Keea’s part, a quick downward glance from the
eyes, a shaky laugh. He merely smiled at me and shook his head
slowly. ‘No, Rayo, I didn’t. I didn’t go with anyone. Perhaps I
shouldn’t have left you like that. It wasn’t intentional. I thought
you were following me. All those prancing lunatics got in the way
and when I looked back, you were gone.’

‘Where did you
go?’ I persisted, refusing to mirror his smile.

He shrugged.
‘I went off to explore, I told you. These people are crazy but
harmless enough. I thought you’d be safe on your own for a while.
You’re always telling me how well you can look after yourself! The
last thing I expected was that you’d end up taking swigs of noxious
substances and start having hallucinations!’

‘I didn’t
hallucinate!’

He folded his
arms. ‘So what was it you saw?’

I described
the man at the city gates in more detail and then - rather
reluctantly - told him all that had happened after I’d woken up in
the middle of the night. ‘Keea, I saw someone drink your
blood!’

‘The same
person who gave you the coin?’

I squeezed my
eyes shut and shook my head. ‘No! No! I told you, it was someone
else.’ I could
not
mention the name Metatronim.

Keea sighed
and sat down beside me. He took hold of my hand. ‘Look Rayo,’ he
said. ‘Feel.’ Before I could pull away he guided my hand inside his
shirt to his chest. ‘Any wound there?’ he asked. I felt around,
weirdly embarrassed. His skin was beautifully warm and smooth.

‘No,’ I said
and pulled my hand away.

‘Well, there
you are!’ He raised his arms and smiled. ‘A dream, Rayo, a
muddle-headed vision.’ He shook his head. ‘This place is getting to
you!’

He made it
sound so plausible. I didn’t want to believe him, and yet, there
was no reason not to. He was right; I
had
drunk the child’s
wine. The walk with my guardian-pursuer, and my consequent
encounter with the image of Beth Metatronim, had also seemed
weirdly unreal. But the man at the gate couldn’t possibly have been
a hallucination; I hadn’t been drunk, or drugged, when I’d seen
him.

‘I can only
agree with you up to a point, Keea,’ I said. ‘My mind was addled
before I drank the wine. Someone is playing with me. Remember the
temple painting in the Sink. The feeding. Last night, I saw you -
or an image of you - give yourself to a member of the Host. They
drank your blood! That has to be significant.’

He laughed,
but not as harshly as usual. ‘You
thought
you saw that!
Legends, Rayo. You dream legends!’

His laughter
angered me so much, I turned on him and threw him back against the
rubble. He cried out and I was gratified by the seed of fear in his
eyes.

‘Just another
quick look,’ I said, and pulled his shirt down over his shoulders.
He tried to beat at me with his hands, push me away, but I was
stronger than he was. The skin of his chest was rippled with
goose-flesh pimples, his nipples hard and erect, dark against his
skin, but there was no sign of injury. The sight entranced me: I
could see his ribs straining against his smooth pelt. Such beauty.
An image of Beth feeding from Keea flashed across my mind,
intensely vivid and detailed. My mouth filled up with sweet fluid
and I was overtaken by a wild desire to mimic Metatronim’s actions.
A terrible, irresistible compulsion made me lean down and bite Keea
hard. He uttered a low, deep moan and arched against me. I had a
whole mouthful of his flesh between my teeth, including his nipple
I think. It must have hurt him horribly. I don’t know why I did
it.