Burying the Shadow (50 page)

‘Why not?’ I
demanded. ‘How
different
do they become?’

Sammael
glanced at Metatron, who reached out to touch my shoulder. ‘Quite
often, there is mental disturbance, very similar in some respects
to the senility found in humans. Also, they become less corporeal,
eventually shedding their desiccating flesh altogether. The ancient
eloim are risks to our security. Because their minds are addled,
they might wander out into Sacramante itself. You don’t need me to
tell you how humans would react to that!’

‘So what
does
happen to these ancients, then?’ I asked. ’Where do
they go?’ I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know.

‘A place was
found where they could rest peacefully,’ Sammael said, ‘in the hope
that one day our circumstances would change, and they might then
pass on to their next phase. At present, all of them are confined
within the land known as the Strangeling.’

‘The
Strangeling!’ I was amazed. It was only a ruin. What comfort could
there be in such a place for these suffering spirits. I could not
believe it.

‘Yes,’ Sammael
said. ‘It is quite true. There is a fallen city there called Ykhey,
which has strong connections with, or lingering fragrances of, our
lost world. The old ones are taken there for their own comfort
until...’ He looked at Metatron. ‘Well, I was going to say until a
way can be found to facilitate their passing from this world, but I
suspect that has not been a pressing issue with eloimkind in
general. I suspect the old ones are simply packed off to the
Strangeling and forgotten.’

‘The ancients
become listless,’ Metatron said, ‘and it was thought they had no
desire - or energy - to move around in the world.’

‘Now, it would
seem, the consequences of that blithe oversight will have to be
attended to,’ Sammael said.

Metatron
looked abashed. ‘Your criticism is well-founded, Sammael.’

‘I am not
criticising anyone, Metatron. Our position always has been
insupportable. What else could we have done? Still, if prowling old
eloim are causing the anomalies in Khalt, I am relieved it is only
them. There could have been other, far more dangerous, reasons for
the phenomena we’ve observed. All you have to decide now is what
you’re going to do about it.’

‘The phenomena
in Khalt hardly explain the eloim suicides here, or the fact that
humanity is beginning to view us with suspicion,’ I said.

Metatron
nodded. ‘I would agree - to a point. However, we cannot tell how
the activities of the ancient eloim might affect the fabric of our
reality. There might be a connection, or there might not. Sadly,
there is only one way to find out. I shall have to confront the
ancients themselves. At least I have some ideas to act upon
now.’

Sammael
nodded. ‘That would seem sensible.’

Metatron
rubbed his face and nodded. ‘I wanted to return the Harkasites to
Sacramante before I confronted the ancients. The Khalts have had
enough scares from my sinister riders to last them a lifetime!’ He
smiled uneasily.

‘Wise of you,’
Sammael said. ‘I take it you don’t intend to have Harkasites in the
party you’re leading to the Strangeling, then?’

Metatron
frowned. ‘There’ll be no party. I shall go alone.’

Sammael pulled
a quizzical face. ‘Oh? Don’t you think that would be rather
dangerous? We have no way of anticipating into what the ancients
might have evolved. You must not face them alone, Metatron. You are
too valuable to our people. I, at least, shall travel with
you.’

‘You? Are you
up to the journey?’ Metatron asked sharply. ’I did not intend to
travel by carriage.’

‘If I have
forgotten how to ride a horse,’ Sammael said, looking rather
pointedly at me, ‘I am sure it is a skill that I will remember
after a little practice. As for being out in the open, that is
something I will have to conquer my fear of.’

‘Well, if you
are sure...’ Metatron sounded far from sure.

‘Quite sure,’
Sammael said lightly. ‘And I also think we should take at least one
Harkasite with us for protection. If I may be so bold, I suggest
you choose Pahadron, who is undoubtedly the strongest and the most
terrifying. We might need his especial talent in Ykhey.’

‘Pahadron,’
Metatron repeated, his dry tone suggesting he disagreed with the
choice. ‘If you insist.’

Sammael
smiled. ‘I created the Harkasites, Metatron, and am perfectly
capable of controlling them.’

Metatron’s
face twitched at the rebuke. ‘I would not presume to suggest
otherwise! It’s just that you have been... away... for so long. I
hope you won’t overstretch your strength by travelling.’

‘So do I!’
Sammael said, grinning widely. I realised I was witnessing the
unprecedented sight of my father being teased. Metatron grunted and
stood up to replenish the brandy glasses.

Sammael
glanced at me. ‘Queen of Eloim,’ he mouthed silently. It was a
cue.

I knew that,
at this point, he expected me to offer to accompany them to the
Strangeling. In my heart, I knew I would end up doing so anyway,
but the
idea
of the ancient eloim made me feel physically
sick. I did not want to admit those decayed beings, exiled to a
wasteland, existed. The implication of the necessity for their
removal from Sacramante was enough to turn my stomach. It was
wonderful news that Metatron might have found the source of our
problems, but I could not feel relieved about that. All I could
think of were the images this information had conjured within my
mind. Suddenly, I had been presented with an unimaginably ugly
possibility for my own future, never mind anyone else’s.

‘Sammael’ I
said. ‘I need to know more about the ancient eloim. At what age can
an individual expect to begin this... transformation? How long does
it take to happen?’

‘Let us just
say that all my original followers - all those who came through to
this world with me - are undoubtedly in the Strangeling by now,’
Sammael said. ‘Metatron here probably has a good while left to him
before the dissolution - a couple of centuries - the Parzupheim
perhaps less. I would expect for them to begin transforming within
the next fifty or sixty years. As for you…’ He touched my knee
reassuringly with bunched knuckles. ‘Gimel, you are just a child.
It is too far away for you to worry about.’

My skin was
crawling as if with a fever; I felt hot and cold by turn. ‘And
there are really no Metatronim ancients in this house at all?’ I
asked Metatron, across the room. ‘Not even your own father?’

Metatron shook
his head as he replaced the stopper in the brandy flask, watching
me gravely. I had never met my grandfather; I had been told he’d
become ascetic before my birth.

‘The original
Metatron was with me from the first,’ Sammael said, as an
interesting snippet of historical trivia. I was appalled how the
pair of them just seemed to accept the situation. Even Metatron
who, within a couple of short centuries, could expect to meet the
same grisly fate!

‘This is
disgusting!’ I cried. ‘What happens to the old ones? How does it
begin? Does their flesh begin to decay in some way? What is it like
when they lose their minds?’ It seemed obvious to me that merely
the awareness of the change would drive an eloim insane. Just the
idea of it had pushed me close to becoming hysterical. We have no
place for the Dark Brother in our society; no. We have a place for
something even more dreadful, and what would his name be: the Dust
Brother, the Brother of Powdery Shrouds?

‘As to how
badly their sanity is impaired, it is difficult to determine,’
Metatron said, sitting down again, and handing me a glass. ‘Because
it becomes very hard to communicate with them. As for their
corporeal forms, they simply change; they become more like spirits.
Until now, we believed that there was very little in this world
they could relate to.’

‘Then
why
do you think they are responsible for the phenomena in
Khalt?’ I asked. ‘From the description you have given me, I find it
hard to believe they would even
want
to prey on humans! Why
would pure spirits need sustenance?’

‘Gimel, it is
because we need answers to these questions that I - that we - are
going to the Strangeling,’ Metatron said impatiently.

‘Has nobody
visited them at all before now?’ I asked.

‘They are left
in peace,’ Metatron said.

‘They are
abandoned!’ I corrected.

Metatron
raised an eyebrow at the tone of my voice. ‘I have told you all I
know,’ he said. ‘Now, I think that it is time, beloved daughter,
for you to do a little explaining of your own, don’t you?’

I nodded. ‘Of
course.’

‘And you can
begin with what Beth has been getting up to with Avirzah’e
Tartaruchi,’ he said.

Gimel

‘…
what can be worse
than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, condemned in this
abhorred deep to utter woe…’

Paradise Lost,
Book II

Passage can be taken
on the Saranan Canal, northeast out of Sacramante. Long before the
boundary with the Strangeling is reached, the waterway slopes
towards the west. It is used mainly by traders, transporting heavy
goods from southern Bochanegran ports. For travellers like
ourselves, it provided a means of travelling eastwards swiftly; the
passenger wheel-boats were renowned for their speed as much as
their eccentric design.

I questioned
the wisdom of Sammael travelling abroad so soon after his emergence
from the tower. He trembled in the open air, something he sought to
conceal. Metatron, at Sammael’s suggestion, had reawoken the
Harkasite, Pahadron. I think my father was less than happy to be
travelling with one of these creatures again so soon; both Metatron
and I envisaged Pahadron’s dour, silent presence would make the
journey oppressive. As for myself, I had no desire whatsoever to
visit the ruin in the Strangeling, but as I was so inextricably
entwined in this convoluted web of dilemmas, I could only abandon
any resistance; struggling would merely bind me more tightly within
the sticky threads.

Metatron had
commissioned a wheel-boat for us, which would leave at dawn the
next day. Metatron claimed he did not want to squander time, but I
wondered whether he trusted his own ability (never mind Sammael’s
or my own) to face up to what we might discover in the
Strangeling.

The previous
day, Sammael and I had remained in Metatron’s company until a late
hour, although I had been little more than a weary listener to the
others’ conversation. I was preoccupied by the terrible images my
mind was continually conjuring up, concerning the ancient eloim and
my own, distant fate. I tried to imagine my father as withered and
demented, unable to stem the obscene idea. Surely, death would be
preferable. If I saw Metatron like that, or Beth, or any of my dear
friends, I would want to end their misery and kill them. Certainly,
I would prefer someone to perform that duty for me. Did the madness
creep up on you insidiously, so you did not notice, or were there
periods of lunacy interspersed with saner moments, when the mind
lamented its slow destruction? As an ancient, would I still possess
the wit to destroy myself before it was too late?

Noticing my
preoccupation, and perhaps guessing its cause, Metatron sometimes
made a point of asking for my opinion, to which I responded as best
I could, but all I could think about at the time was the wretched
future awaiting me, the death that is not death. When I was not
tormenting myself with thoughts about senility, grotesque fantasies
of dissolution and decay clung to my inner eye; I could not banish
them. This is retribution, I thought, we have deserved this. We are
falling...

I wanted to
contact Beth, I needed him, but Metatron, without actually saying
anything, made it abundantly clear I was not to leave his company
that evening. Perhaps he had intuited my intentions. I had told him
the simple truth about Avirzah’e and Beth; his reaction, as had
come to be a common feature with my father, was tinged with
unsuspected nuances. I detected jealousy, I was sure of it, as well
as outrage and concern.

‘My lovely
Beth,’ he said. ‘Weak as a motherless cub, so easily tamed.’

He held me
responsible for Beth’s defection, I’m sure, although the rebuke
never spread further than the cold heart of his gaze.

Eventually,
while Sammael and my father examined some old maps of the
Strangeling, I managed to scribble a note for Beth, which I
requested one of the Metatronim servitors to deliver to the
Tartaruchi court. I supposed that Beth would still be there. Wary
of who might intercept the missive, and read it, I kept my
sentiments brief and vague, trusting Beth might be able to read the
message between the lines.

I let the
past out of the Tower
, I wrote,
and it is taking me to the
Strangeling.
Did I betray you, Beth?
I should be with
you, but I was afraid.
I understand your actions, now; I
have been in your place.
Await my return from the east; if
you are still with Tartaruchi, I will call on you.
Extend
your will for me.
I love you, Gimel
.

He might not
understand the message.

That night,
even though I was physically and emotionally exhausted, I spent a
short time trying to contact Rayojini. If I could not be with Beth,
perhaps I could find some comfort in being close to her, however
subjectively. She had already reached the Strangeling; I found her
wandering about at night in an empty street, in a ruined city.
Perhaps the intensity of the feelings I had withstood that day had
honed my perceptions, but never had I experienced such intimacy
with my soulscaper. It really felt as if I was with her, in the
flesh, walking along an empty street, conversing. And the
conversation came so easily. It felt like when you desire another
person, and are unsure whether they return your feelings and then,
finally, confessions are made, the secrets are aired, and
communication takes place. You feel light-headed because your
trembling hopes have been realised. Still, I was perplexed to
discover she believed I’d physically attacked her in Khalt. Why
would she think that? At that point, the link seemed to weaken and
eventually, I lost her completely, but not before I was able to
reassure her I would never harm her. I hope she believed me.