‘But you had fought! He was responsible for our eviction! I don’t understand why...’
‘Oh, these things happen, you know,’ Sammael interrupted. ‘People fall out, and fall in; then they can’t make up their minds and just claw at each other. It was like that, but not like that. We had divided loyalties.’
I realised that more than anything, he wanted to talk about himself. But even now, with me an eager audience, I could tell he was reluctant to speak plainly. I was a little nervous of what I might hear. Even so, only someone open-minded like me could take his confession. Metatron’s ears would bleed, I was sure, if Sammael unburdened himself to him. Metatron would say things like, ‘You mustn’t think that way, ever!’ and that would be an end to it. Mikha’il, and his kind, could only be statues, icons, in this world. We could not admit they were actually real. Sammael seemed to pick up my thoughts. He smiled wistfully and shook his head.
‘Do not judge your brother,’ he said. ‘His way might be the right way. It is certainly one way. Why not let him proceed and see what happens?’
‘You mean I should tell him to stop taking sustenance from humans and feed solely off Avirzah’e?’ His advice, as I should have known it would be, was useless. ‘And I suppose also, that you think they should be allowed to conjoin.’
‘If that is what they want. You cannot criticise them Gimel Metatronim, because you have not tried it.’
‘I very nearly did - and against my will!’
‘The eloim are foolish if they think they can be happy living as humans, with only humanity’s shallow grubbing in the flesh to fulfil them!’
‘Alright,’ I said, to appease him, ‘but if we chose the eloim way, how could we coax humanity to accept us?’
‘That’s your problem. That’s your soulscaper’s problem. Don’t you see? That is the way she can really help you. Eloim are invisible in the human soulscape. She might be able to manipulate the soulscape, much as you have manipulated humans in Sacramante, but in this case to forge a positive image of eloim, not an invisible one.’
‘You are saying we could live among humanity as ourselves?’
He shrugged. ‘Just a suggestion. It needs discussion, of course. Anyway, I doubt whether you will choose that way.’
‘You are not being very helpful, Sammael.’
‘Don’t be so ungrateful. I could have let Lilian sweep you downstairs!’
‘I’m sorry. Just tell me one thing; where do I go from here?’
‘The Strangeling, I think. You could use the underground route, if you like, but parts of it are difficult to negotiate now, so other tunnels have been dug, not much wider than a fox run. They might be difficult for a lady such as yourself to negotiate in places.’
I shrugged. If that was a criticism, I could hardly deny it. ‘Why should I go to the Strangeling?’
‘There is a dead city there called Ykhey that is the seat of the eloim kings: the last ruin on this world of our once magnificent communities. If your soulscaper is to investigate our malady, there would be no better location than Ykhey for her to attempt it. The emanations of our past are so strong there; Rayojini will be able to pick up memories and feelings that should help her in her work. Ykhey is drenched in ancient blood. Once war was done, and we had come to Earth, we began to build in that place. Mikha’il came to me there to say ‘I told you so’, and gloat. He never believed I wanted anything but power. Our father had control of his mind, while I had only his heart. I needed both.’ He sighed. ‘Mikha’il came to me in Ykhey. It was the last time...’ His voice faltered and his face became introspective.
‘Do you really have a wound that doesn’t heal?’ I asked him.
He glanced up at me. ‘Hmm? Oh, that. I was wounded once, above the heart. Mikha’il struck me as I fled with my people from Elenoen. It healed quite naturally, but later, when Mikha’il and I fed upon each other, I made him open up the scar with his teeth. Perhaps I was trying to make a point... Anyway, if you feed from the same place regularly with earthly flesh around your soul, it gets a bit messy, that’s all. It’s healed again now, on the surface.’
‘Mikha’il too is wounded above the heart,’ I said. ‘There is a statue in the Castile...’
‘We are brothers,’ Sammael said quietly, ‘and more than that. Where I bleed, he bleeds. As he wounded me, he wounded himself. I have never seen that statue though.’ He smiled to himself, and his hand hovered to touch his chest. Then, he rubbed at his face vigorously.
‘Impulsively, I reached out and touched his wrist. ‘Come with me,’ I said. ‘If you cannot help us yourself, at least guide our soulscaper!’
He looked down at me, so full of sad hope, it was pathetic. ‘Well, I don’t think... No, it wouldn’t be a good idea. I might just blow away, out there.’
‘You can’t stay here forever!’ I said.
He laughed shakily. ‘I thought I already had!’
‘Sammael, don’t you want to know what is really causing this sickness? You are so powerful...’
‘Was...’ he corrected, but I shook my head.
‘Are! All we have is a human woman to help us. Do you really think she can succeed?’
‘Yes. Well, I think she has more chance than I of success. Do not underestimate the Taps, Gimel. Even before we were driven into hiding, they were a force to respect. I am not a soulscaper. In our old world, she would have been no match for me, but not here on Earth. My power - our power - has atrophied. Whatever abilities I still have, there are none that are equal to the skills of a Tap.’
‘I don’t believe that!’ I cried. ‘And if you do lack certain knowledge, then Rayojini could teach you!’
‘In that case, she could teach you,’ he said quickly.
I shook my head. ‘No eloim has your experience, Sammael, nor your strength.’
‘What strength? Look at me!’ There was a note of despair in his voice, but in his face, I thought I could see a yearning to leave the tower. In his pain, so long ago, he had wanted to hide away from others and indulge his grief and his sense of failure. Now, the grief and shame were dulled. My visit had plainly stimulated him, awoken his curiosity. I knew I would have to persuade him quickly, while the thought of escape was in him, before he remembered too much of the past and changed his mind. ‘Sammael, we need you!’ I said desperately. ‘You brought us to this world. You are eloim. Cast off your fear of the outside! I do believe that’s the only thing keeping you in here now - fear.’
He considered my words, took a few breaths as if he was about to speak, before frowning and shaking his head. Finally, he said, ‘Suppose I was ready to leave this place. Imagine my situation. It would be very embarrassing. How would I be received among my people now?’
‘No-one need know.’
‘You said Sandalphon sits on folded paws at the Tower’s door.’
‘I could send him away. Oh, Sammael... please!’
He sighed. ‘Damn, damn, damn, you’re like all the others, aren’t you? I tried to age a little, I tried to become something else, but I’m still me, ultimately. It’s a curse, sometimes.’
‘You can’t escape what you are.’
He held out a hand to me; a glowing, fiery hand. He really was the Lord of Light, the most beautiful. I took it in my own, let his energy pulse into me. He would come down out of the Tower now; I knew he would.
Section Three
Rayojini
‘…but pain is perfect misery, the worst of evils, and excessive, overturns all patience.’
Paradise Lost, Book VI
On the walk down from the Eastern Mountains, the plains of Khalt had seemed an open, innocent place; a seed-ground of primal thoughts, having the ambience of the Supernal Child. Whether travelling in the company of Keea changed my perception, I am unsure, but from the moment I left Helat’s Sink, the Kahra Flats became a secretive, threatening place. Its whispering grasses concealed unimaginable terrors; their constant hissing sounded like malevolent voices, muttering in a language I could n
ot translate. Something dark had hooked itself into my heart.
Many times, the dreadful suspicion that the Fear itself was slinking at my heels reoccurred, and I had to fight to push it out of my mind. Sometimes, when the mists came down, I thought I could hear it panting close behind me, I could feel its hot, steamy breath through my clothes. Each time, the banishing was harder. If Keea suspected the way I was feeling, he gave no sign. We conversed quite easily as we walked, although neither of us broached the subject that had thrown us together. Perhaps he had his own Fear to dread. Talking aloud kept my horrors at bay; night-times, for this reason, were the times I hated most.
Keea and I did not share sleeping space, although sometimes I would have welcomed the presence of another living soul nearby. My dreams were chaotic, full of potent symbols; time and again I relived the original dream I’d had in Sacramante, years before. I held Beth Metatronim in my arms. In these dreams, I was no passive victim, lacking knowledge. In these dreams, I embraced him with hunger. Sometimes, he had the face of Q’orveh, but the struggle always took place in Liviana Tricante’s house. I awoke with longing after these dreams; a thirsting for beauty, and intimacy beyond flesh, that could not be easily quenched in this world. I knew I could mix my fumes and enter the soulscape to obtain satisfaction, but I was afraid of doing so; I was afraid of what I might find there. Obsessions crowded my mind, pulsing in my blood to the rhythm of my footsteps. I was falling. I was falling.
In honest moments, I admitted I was helpless and terribly afraid, and walked swiftly on the road. I kept hoping that, in the next settlement we came across, there might be a soulscaper, to whom I could turn for comfort. I needed to be among my own kind, not just to arrange my thoughts into perspective, but to experience the reality of their healing touch. Even in the darkest moments, I still said nothing to Keea. As a travelling companion, he was surprisingly easy to get along with, and more than easy on the eye. He was certainly a lot older than he looked; how much so, it was impossible to tell. He seemed a completely different person to the one I had met among the Halmanes and I had begun to like him, to appreciate his quick mind. He was a sensitive creature and, from day to day, did many small things to increase the comfort of travelling for me.
‘Let me rub your feet for you,’ he might say if, when we rested for the night, I pulled a face and groaned as I sat down.
‘Look, Rayo, your favourite,’ he would say, having found some fruit or nut of which he’d learned I was particularly fond.
And yet, despite this thoughtful behaviour, I could not, and would not, trust him. I wanted to, desperately. I wanted to tell someone about the whispers I heard that seemed to say my name, the shadows on the edge of my vision suggestive of cloaked figures with pale, attentive faces. I could not speak, only walk faster, and he, without questioning, adjusted his pace to my own, talking carelessly of life in Sacramante. It helped, if only through the rhythm of the sound of speech, yet I realise now that he told me very little really.
Inevitably, because he was intelligent, Keea became aware that my self confidence was deteriorating, and that something more than the long hours of travelling was responsible for my obvious exhaustion. His attempts to overcome this manifested as lively sarcasm, with which he flogged my limping spirits. He mocked my occupation, my (what he termed) arrogance, even my clothes. I responded with similar cutting remarks, calling him a whore, a parasite, a precocious upstart. All of this sparring seemed good-natured at heart. I was unsure whether Keea was the cause of my condition, or not. If he was, I was a fool, and subjecting myself to needless danger by remaining close to him. If he was not, I was fortunate to have him with me. I was so confused, I could not decide; my powers of perception were weak and prone to inaccuracy. Nevertheless, saviour or tormentor, Keea’s presence helped me maintain my sanity, throughout some quite absurd experiences, in the land of Khalt and beyond.
Each evening, we would pause in our journey and erect our sleeping tents; in the shelter of trees, if they were available. We’d build a small fire and take it in turns to cook a meal. Game was plentiful and Keea seemed to know where to find succulent roots, which we cleaned and baked among the embers of our fire.
One night, we had just settled down to eat - and we ate well during those weeks - when Keea suddenly put down his plate and sat up straight, his nostrils quivering like an animal’s.
‘What is it?’ I asked. I’d had a bad day. It had been warm again, after a few days of cooler weather, and the heat haze had been full of moving shapes just beyond my sight. Keea never seemed to notice these things, although I kept hoping he would, just to confirm I was not losing my mind.
He shook his head at my question and took a cautious mouthful of food, still staring above the grass. ‘The night is quiet. Have you noticed?’
When he mentioned it, I could sense the stillness. There were no animal sounds, and even the grass itself was silent. Not so long ago, I would have noticed these conditions at the precise moment when sound had died away. It made me realise, yet again, how vulnerable I’d have been had I travelled alone at that time, preoccupied as I was.
‘Predators about? Maybe we should take it in turns to stand guard tonight.’
He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I think we should.’
We finished our meal with little enjoyment.
In the morning, we discovered a dew-soaked figure sitting beside the ashes of our fire. We had taken it in turns to remain awake throughout the dark hours, and neither of us had heard or seen anyone approach. Keea had been on last watch and we’d decided he should sleep for a couple of hours, before we began travelling again. I almost stumbled across the stranger as I went to replenish our water carriers from a nearby spring.
The figure was hunched low to the ground and dressed in dusty garments, the colour of the grass itself, and they did not move a muscle at my approach. I called for Keea and we both stood looking at this person, from a few feet away, for several moments.
‘A nomad?’ I asked. There was something unspecifically repellent about our uninvited visitor, even though we could only see them from the back.
‘Nomads don’t usually travel alone,’ Keea replied.
‘Looks sick,’ I said, and stepped forward. Just a few minutes’ appraisal at close quarters revealed that the creature was more than simply sick. I offered water, and the stranger did not respond. I squatted down in front of them, to see their face. I could not tell what sex this person was. The stench coming off the body was disgusting; it spoke of deep-seated disease. The face itself was distorted and discoloured. The eyes appeared blind; just a mass of milky discolouration in sticky sockets. Instinctively I drew back.
‘Plague!’ I hissed at Keea.
Instead of retreating swiftly, as any sensible person would, he came to squat beside me. Our visitor still had not moved.
‘No, not plague,’ Keea said quietly. ‘I have seen this before, Rayo.’
‘You have?’
‘Yes, look around you.’ He gestured upwards. We had camped in a copse of tall trees. Among the leaves, high above, dark wooden platforms could be seen. We had camped in the midst of a nomad funeral site.
‘Are you suggesting...’ I could not speak the words and opted for, after a pause, ‘Is this thing alive?’
‘Not in any sense we understand,’ Keea replied.
‘How can you be sure?’
‘Easily. If you examine this unfortunate semblance of humanity, you will discover there is no heartbeat, no physiological activity whatsoever. It is animated to a degree, yes, but I can’t tell you by what. It has no function. It is not part of the life-chain. It just is, decaying about itself.’
‘Then I must deal with it immediately!’ I said, wanting more information about this poor creature’s condition than Keea’s words, which sounded more than a little ignorant and superstitious to me.
‘No! We must just burn it!’ Keea said emphatically.
I could not believe what I was seeing. There had to be some kind
of explanation. I did not think that this creature was literally a dead thing brought back to some semblance of life. That was the kind of primitive conjecture I would only expect from nomads! Surely, Keea did not believe such a thing; he seemed so intelligent. Nothing in this world could persuade me to burn someone alive, and I was astounded Keea had suggested it. Yet perhaps our discovery of this creature was what I’d been waiting for; an ideal opportunity for investigation. Some of the answers I was looking for might exist within this wretched creature’s mind, or brain-cells; answers that Keea claimed he was seeking too.
I stood up and began to walk quickly to my tent. ‘What are you doing?’ Keea asked, irritably.
I pulled out my bag of scry mixtures and equipment. ‘I’m going to explore this person’s soulscape,’ I replied.
Keea stomped over angrily and knocked the bag from my hands. ‘Don’t be insane! You’re not capable.’
Indignation flared within me. I felt stronger than I had for days. ‘How dare you!’ I cried, snatching up my bag once more. ‘You have neither the right nor experience to question my ability. Also, this might be the only opportunity we get. I’m not going to let it pass by.’
‘Rayo, be sensible. There is no soulscape in that thing! If you breathe the scry-mix and enter nothingness, it may be impossible for you to return. It could suck away your life-force.’
‘Superstitious, old women’s fire prattle!’ I replied. ‘I may have been affected by strange influences recently, but I’m not afraid of doing my job. This is familiar territory to me, Keea. I understand it. There’s no danger.’
‘Yes there is! You’re so blinkered. You think that thing’s still alive, don’t you.’
‘Keea, it has to be, in one sense or another. Now, let me get on with what I have to do.’
I was sure we had another case of the non-death on our hands, a person whose spirit was barely in this world, but still recognisably alive. I’d not come across one who could walk around before, but evidence was scanty; it could be a fairly common phenomenon.