Eventually, we wandered back to the campsite. Surprisingly, there was little activity; only children hurried between the tents, carrying water or preparing food. I supposed the adults to be wrapped in blankets, recovering from their excesses. It was also possible most of them were still asleep in the forest. Aniti wanted to stay with me and suggested we should go and bathe together, but I needed time alone and also wanted to discourage any attachment with the girl. Last night, was last night. Rayojini was a loner; she did not thirst for a satellite.
Rather crestfallen, Aniti went away to find her brother, and I strolled back to where Sah’ray had erected her tent. As I had expected, it was empty. Inside, I sat on the rolled bed mats and took a drink from the pitcher of water Sah’ray had drawn the night before.
Some time, perhaps on the way back from the sacred glade, a decision had formed within me, which now surfaced in my mind. It was time for me to part company with the nomads. Perhaps, all along, I had only wanted to have sex with Q’orveh. Now this had been achieved, I felt restless. Clues to the mysteries I had encountered must litter the grass-lanes of the Kahra Flats, crowd the minds of its natives; I was eager to discover them, and knew I could travel faster alone. There was little more to be learned among the Halmanes, I was sure. I had catalogued all the information I’d acquired in their company, clearly marking in my notes all the accounts that I considered had been exaggerated by hysteria - such as the idea of walking dead. As for the virgin births, this was bizarre and, biologically, inexplicable, but it seemed unequivocal to me that the girls concerned had somehow impregnated themselves, through the power of unconscious thought. At least, they had mimicked the formation of life. I strongly doubted whether these self-generated offspring could survive beyond their mothers’ bodies. It was Helat’s privilege to create life by itself; perhaps a symbol that the nomads, panicked by fear of what (they thought) they’d seen and heard, had interpreted too literally.
I also considered the possibility that recent events presaged only the imminence of yet another new faith; one characterised by miracles and bizarre occurrences. New religions, Host of Helat, Holy Deaths, non-deaths, walking dead; what was the connection? It was a puzzle, which I was frantic to solve. The nomads, while being peripatetic in their lifestyles, were static in their beliefs; the religion of Helat had been theirs for centuries. There was evidence too that Helat was a deity that predated the nomads themselves. It had great power and had carved for itself an exclusive territory, where other god-forms held no sway. This was rare. I was juggling these ideas in my mind, scribbling as I thought. There had to be a connection, surely? All questions. No answers.
I decided I would stay with the nomads for the festivities that night, and then move on in the morning. If the Halmanes felt they had a claim over me, they could think again, but for convenience’s sake, I would slip away without advertising my departure.
Just as I was tidying away my notes, Sah’ray came rampaging through the tent flap, destroying my contemplations. ‘Oh, Rayo!’ she cried, ‘I’m so glad you’re here! I have to talk to someone!’
She smelled strongly of earth and sex; her flesh muddied, her clothes in disarray. I fastidiously drew away. ‘It seems you’ve been enjoying yourself,’ I said diplomatically.
She patted her belly. ‘I hope so! I found three men who were handsome enough to father a child with me, so I had them all! Do you think I’m pregnant? Rayo, you’re a soulscaper - won’t you be able to tell?’
‘Not so soon,’ I replied.
‘Where did you go after the rite?’ she asked me, favouring me with a particularly lecherous grin. ‘What did you get up to?’
I certainly did not want to discuss my experiences with her. I shrugged. ‘Nothing as adventurous as you, I’m sure.’
‘Oh, come on, tell me! It’s not secret. Today, we will find the most interesting gossip around the fires.’
I could believe that, but had no desire whatsoever for the exploits of Rayojini the soulscaper to be part of that gossip. ‘So who were these three men?’ I asked her. ‘Were they Toors?’
She was happy to talk about that. ‘Yes. Toors. It’s always more exciting with strangers, don’t you think. You can do or say anything, be anything!’
I suppressed a shudder. ‘And what were you?’
She sighed languorously and brushed her fingers through her hair, head flung back. ‘Oh, I was beautiful, beautiful!’ she exclaimed. ‘It was a perfect night, no strangeness anywhere! I think it was the power of our rites that drove it away. What do you think?’
I shrugged again, noncommittally, although I had reached for my notebook. Sah’ray’s observation might be worth recording.
In the afternoon, after Sah’ray had fed me, I went alone to bathe, alert for the presence of Aniti, because I still did not want her company. Feeling refreshed and invigorated by the cold water, I wandered into the woods. It was a truly magical spot. I fantasised having a little shack there; somewhere I could retreat to when the wideness of the world outside became oppressive. Perhaps, one day, I could return when the Sink was empty of nomads. What bliss to have all this to myself!
As if my feet were led by unseen agencies, I found myself emerging into the sacred glade. Even by day, it was an arcane place, and the face of Helat, shadowed by trees, smiled down with ambivalent mystery. Spreading out my arms, I turned a few circles in the centre of the clearing. The sun was hot on my hair. I lifted it up in handfuls, recapturing, for a moment, the spirit of the rite. And then, a voice intruded on my solitude.
‘So, the warrior-priest can dance!’
I staggered a little, disorientated, dazzled by the bright sunlight. For a few moments, I could see nothing in the shadows of the trees, and my heart contracted. Was there a body attached to the voice? Was it familiar to me? Shadows pulsed on the edge of my vision; I experienced a great feeling of imminence. It was like wings over my head; wings I knew too well.
Then someone laughed; it was a spiteful sound. ‘Relax, Rayojini, your cavortings have not been discovered by the barbarians!’
The voice came from the edge of the clearing, the place where Helat sat and, when I looked, I could see there was a shadowy figure crouched in the statue’s lap. As I stared, it became more focussed, somehow, more real. The concentration of my senses conjured me the image of Keea; a shadow condensing into reality. Keea, damp in the lap of Helat, perhaps spawned by the god itself. I blinked: no, there was nothing unreal about him, I would not let myself think that. He jumped down the steps, and I could see that his clothes were wet through. He really had been sitting in the water, bizarre creature.
‘What do you want?’ I asked sharply.
He walked towards me, shaking his limbs like a wet animal, light on his feet as an athlete. ‘Well, what I wanted was a little peace to commune with the spirit of the god, and I find my meditations violated by a prancing soulscaper!’
‘Forgive me!’ I answered, sweeping a sarcastic bow. I realised it would be wise to leave immediately, before he tried to humiliate and confuse me further.
‘Oh, it’s quite alright,’ he said, disarming me with a frank smile. ‘This place is for everyone, isn’t it? I’m sorry I disturbed your dance.’
‘It wasn’t a dance. I was just...’
He halted a few feet away from me, flicking out the damp ends of his hair. ‘Don’t make excuses. How did you like Q’orveh last night?’
I was almost speechless. ‘You unspeakable little...!’
‘Alright, alright,’ he interrupted. ‘I shall not speak. It is strange though; Taps are eager enough to share in the rites, but loathe being honest about it after the event! Perhaps you look upon it as research. Anyway, whatever your reasons, you still made a pretty tableau last night, you and that lovely girl.’
It occurred to me, with terrific shame, that Keea might have spied on us after the rite, an idea that I banished swiftly. Instinct told me that if Keea had been near us, he would have been unable to resist making his own contribution
to our private ceremony, in one way or another. I dismissed the illusion I’d seen of Keea’s face, convinced I’d conjured that myself. Q’orveh had obviously told him about what had happened; Keea was only trying to discomfort me now. I did not want to imbue this impudent youth with any power.
‘Well, at least I’ve proved you a liar!’ I said.
He shrugged. ‘And you have proved yourself to be a woman of passion. So, we have both experienced revelations!’ He glanced round into the trees. ‘Now, are you ready for further surprises, or do you want to scamper back to camp away from me? I have greater wonders than burial platforms to show you here!’ He had immense impertinence for one so young.
‘I doubt you can surprise me,’ I said stiffly, intrigued in spite of myself.
‘We’ll see.’ He turned round and began to walk away from me, raising a summoning arm above his head. ‘The adventure begins! Follow me, soulscaper, follow me!’
Keea led me to the great stone toes of the statue and then squeezed into the undergrowth on Helat’s right side. I followed him, rather nervously. It seemed somehow irreverent to be thrusting ourselves into Helat’s territory; I wouldn’t have been surprised if the idol had suddenly groaned and moved a limb at our effrontery. My rational self scoffed at such primitive fantasies, but I still felt uncomfortable having to lean against the ancient stone for support. If there was a path, it hadn’t been used for a long time. Most of the time, we had to claw our way forward through leaves and branches that scattered a powder of insects, twigs and autumn spores. I shuddered to think what might be making its way down the back of my neck. Soulscape monsters I can handle; anything small and with more than four legs reduces me to gibbering panic. I was gratified when Keea screeched up ahead and started beating frantically at his shirt. For a few moments, we paused to discuss the monster spider he’d encountered, in the nauseated yet morbidly fascinated manner of habitual arachnophobes. After that, Keea used a stick to make a path, and there was a certain sense of companionship between us.
As we struggled onwards, I saw evidence that, at one time, this path must have been regularly used. If I peered carefully into the foliage, I could see that it concealed lichened stone pillars, bound in vines; some half crumbled away. I did not ask Keea where we were going. In fact, after the spider episode, we did not speak at all, but I felt strangely at ease in his company, almost as if I’d known him for a long time. Only a short while ago, I’d felt strongly that he was an enemy. I could not believe this new intimacy had been prompted simply by our discovery of a shared phobia. I cautioned myself to be on guard. Keea was a complex creature; I must not let him beguile me.
Suddenly, he stopped moving forward; I had been lost in my own thoughts and stumbled against him. ‘What is it?’ I asked.
He tapped his chin with his fingers and squinted around himself. ‘Yes, this is the place.’
‘What place?’ Shrubs and low growth pressed in from all sides. We were thigh deep in greenery, our trousers thick with spurred seeds and down.
‘Help me, will you.’ He started clawing at a bank of vines ahead of us, throwing out webby debris behind him. I cautiously advanced.
‘Keea, what are you doing?’
‘Help, and you will see,’ he said. Reluctantly, I grabbed hold of a gnarly old ivy stem and tugged. Something ripped among the leaves. I pulled hard and an immense length of greenery peeled away. Beneath it, I was amazed to see stone. My interest kindled, I forgot my nervousness about what might live in the vines, and started tearing the leaves away. The foliage concealed an ancient building. Keea squatted down and started scrabbling round the base of the wall. ‘There must an entrance round here...’
‘What is this place?’ I asked him.
He paused and wiped his damp forehead with a grimy hand. ‘This is the temple of Helat.’
‘Of course it is!’ I said, rather sarcastically. ‘How do you know that?’
He resumed his excavations. ‘I’ve done my research more thoroughly than you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just listen. You want to know, don’t you? At one time, the whole of this crater was a religious community. Nearly all of the ruins have disappeared now, of course. Caravans of stone merchants crossing the Flats stole most of the masonry but, fortunately, this inner temple remains virtually untouched.’
‘How do you know these things? Who built this place?’
‘There is no mystery, soulscaper. All this information is recorded, if you know where to look for it. Also, I spent my time more productively last night while you were gratifying your baser instincts with Q’orveh and the girl.’
I refused to respond to his latter remark, determined not to let him provoke me again. ‘And just where are these records you speak of kept?’
He paused again to conduct a swift inner debate, finally saying, ‘Oh, I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. There are libraries in Sacramante that detail the history of the older races of the plains.’
‘Are the nomads descended from them?’
‘In a way, I believe.’
‘Then what changed their society? Natural catastrophe, plague, conquest?’
‘I don’t know.’
I had a feeling he was lying, which meant perhaps that there would be harm in telling me too much. I wondered why. Just who was this shadow-boy, and why was he with the Halmanes? He was clearly educated and appeared to be Bochanegran. He seemed to be more interested in my investigations than Q’orveh was. Was it possible he could be following a similar line of inquiry? If so, who for, and what had prompted him suddenly to include me in his plans? His manner towards me until now could, without exaggeration, be termed hostile.
‘Keea, just what is your interest in Helat and the nomads?’ I asked, but a timely discovery allowed him to sidetrack my question.
‘Here! Here! Here!’ he said, excitedly. He had found the doorway.
I couldn’t tell whether vines from outside were growing into the building or its interior was filled with the stuff, which was bursting outwards. I hoped it was the former, having little desire to spend the rest of the day defoliating the interior. When we had made enough of an opening to get inside, Keea wriggled through it. I paused for a moment before following him into the temple, sucking my scratched fingers and taking the time to examine the carvings on the outer wall. They were so worn away; it was difficult to decipher them, but what I could make out reminded me strongly of the hieroglyphs that were used in the sacred texts of the Delta Lands. I wondered whether they were, in fact, the same. It was possible that the Kahra Flats (the name itself suggested Deltan heritage) had once been colonised by the Deltans. Most places in the known world bore evidence of their influence. In the past, the empires of the black-skinned Delta Kings had risen and fallen along with the centuries. Sometimes, they had owned nearly all the known world while, at other times, they had retreated to their own country, driven back by indignant races that objected to the Deltan fondness for conquest. Now, the Deltans were fascinated more by spirituality than war, and empire building had lost its attraction for them. Still, at one time, their armies had covered half the world. The Temple of Helat might be a remnant of such times.
‘Rayo! Come here!’ Keea called from inside, his voice muffled.
I ducked down and stepped cautiously into the gloom beyond. All the inner walls were shrouded in dead vines; the floor was a riot of ground shrubs. Birds had nested among the higher growth and were squawking madly at our impertinent intrusion. Bats hung like clusters of furry fruits from thick branches overhead, sleepily uttering inquiring squeaks. There was not much to see, everything was hidden beneath a blanket of bird and bat guano, rotten vegetable matter, and new, paler growths. Slim rays of sunlight fell like spears from holes in the roof, high above our heads. Keea was standing ankle deep in rubbish, his hands on his hips, staring up at the roof. I joined him and we stood in silence absorbing the atmosphere. There was, without doubt, a hint of holiness about it. The air smelled of rich
loam, and I thought I could detect just the faintest whiff of old incense; surely my imagination. Then Keea sighed and rubbed his hands together, breaking the stillness.
‘Is this it, then?’ I asked.
He smiled at me thinly. ‘You are indeed hard to impress.’
‘What did you expect?’
He didn’t answer, but began to wade purposefully through the ground debris towards the right hand wall, as if striding through water. I watched as he started to scrape at the rustling garlands of dead vines that lined the temple.
I struggled to Keea’s side. ‘I’m not putting my hands in that!’
‘Did I ask you to help?’ He threw a handful of leaves at me and smiled.
Sighing, I began to pull at the dead vines. ‘What do you want to show me?’
‘Wait and see.’
The tough woody stems inflicted further damage on my fingers and tore my nails. ‘This had better be worth the effort!’ I said.
‘You will really have to learn to trust me,’ Keea replied.
I pulled a particularly stubborn vine-rope from the wall and threw it over his shoulders. ‘You are a real showman, Keea. I commend your performance.’
‘This is not for your entertainment, Mistress Rayojini, but your enlightenment.’
‘Then why not just tell me what this is all about?’
Predictably, he did not answer.
‘There,’ he said at last, standing back and folding his arms, which were scratched to the elbows. I glanced at him, wordlessly, and then went to examine the wall. We had uncovered a series of pictorial carvings, a picture story, which related some mythological or historical event. At one time, they would have been brightly painted because, in places where the vine-roots had not been too destructive, flecks of colour remained. I leaned forward to peer at the pictures, but Keea, standing behind me, put his hands on my arms and pushed me to the left. ‘No, they start here. Read it.’
I let him guide me.