‘She will ask questions. Do you intend to obliterate her memory?’
‘I don’t know. I really don’t. Not yet.’ In truth, I did not think that would be an easy thing to do to a Tap, especially a woman like Rayojini. ‘The only thing I am sure of is that Rayojini must be removed from Sacramante. She must not stay in the vicinity of the eloim.’
He nodded. ‘Then, of course, I will do everything I can to accomplish that.’
‘You have enjoyed your excursion out into the world,’ I said, ‘haven’t you?’
He looked a little sheepish. ‘If I have been disrespectful, I apologise. The journey has been... stressful.’
I put my hands upon his shoulders. Away from the stifled atmosphere of the atelier courts, he had really bloomed. He seemed taller, bolder, stronger - and eminently attractive. ‘Return to The Temple Gate in the morning,’ I said. ‘Tonight, I would like you to stay with me.’
He lowered his eyes, bashful as a virgin. I put my hand beneath his hair to draw him to me for a kiss, but he caught my fingers in his own, apparently to examine my father’s seal ring, which I still wore. ‘You are still leading the Metatronim throng in this time of crisis, then?’ he said, kissing the ring.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘Metatron has returned to Sacramante. I simply forgot to surrender the ring. I have been busy.’
Kiveh slipped it from my finger and put it down on the table beside us. Then, he kissed me.
Avirzah’e arrived at my house early the next morning. He had spoken to Rayojini. I was so excited about what he had to tell me, I almost forgot to embrace him. He seemed distracted, anxious. Had the interview not gone as well as he’d hoped? Was Rayojini all right?
‘I do not think I persuaded your soulscaper to leave the city,’ he said. ‘She has learned too much, perhaps. She is curious.’ He fixed me with a steely stare. ‘She is also adamant about seeing you, I’m afraid.’
I clutched my throat with reflexive fingers. ‘I thought we had decided that would be unwise.’ Even as I said that, my spirit surged with pathetic hope.
‘I know, but now that I have met her... Gimel, I feel we owe her at least a partial explanation.’
‘You mean she is no longer “just a human” to you either.’
‘I confess I found her interesting. She is very attached to you, even though I think she only realised while I was with her that you were a real person, and not a phantom of her mind.’
‘So, what do you suggest we do?’
‘I think I should bring her here to meet you, Gimel. Don’t say it’s something you don’t want, because I know you do. I will bring her here this afternoon, if that’s alright with you.’
I clutched his hands. ‘Avirzah’e, I don’t know what to say. I feel... this is going to be so exciting! I’m so glad!’
He kissed me warmly. ‘Enjoy this meeting as much as you like, beloved. There might be dark days ahead.’
Section Six
Rayojini
‘Among the faithless, faithful only he; among innumerable false, unmoved, unshaken, unseduced, unterrified his loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal…
Paradise Lost, Book V
On the morning following Avirzah’e Tartaruchi’s visit to my room, Keea appeared at breakfast as before. I was relieved to see him, but intended to be very selective about what I told him concerning my discoveries. After all, I still had not defined his position in this drama. By keeping information back I would be, for once, in the position of control. Still, if I really was going to have to meet Gimel Metatronim in the flesh, I wanted to be armed with as much information as possible. Last night, I had been given intriguing hints. Perhaps the Sacramantan libraries would be able to expand upon them. At the very least, I had to discover why the Taps had perceived no inkling of these strange currents in the world. It was unprecedented.
‘So how was your day yesterday?’ Keea asked me, pouring syrup over a bowl of fruit. ‘Did you visit your friends?’
‘Yes. I had a wonderful day. I feel much better.’
‘You look it too, Rayo, if I may say so.’
‘Thank you. So, what did you get up to yesterday? Did you report to your employers?’
He smiled and sniggered. ‘That is something I thought you no longer had an interest in.’
I waggled my head a little. It was time to play a card. ‘Well, I’m interested in you, Keea. Do you know, I have a sneaking suspicion you are connected, or even related in blood, to the artisans of Sacramante. Am I right?’
He looked at me blandly. ‘And what prompted this idea?’
‘Your sense of the dramatic, I think. Well?’
‘I’m flattered! But, no, I am not kin to the artisans.’
I shook my head. ‘Oh dear, I was quite convinced. Never mind, my other supposition is that you are apprenticed to an alchemist who, in turn, is in league with the artisans.’
‘My, you have been thinking hard! Why this sudden interest in the artisans?’ I could tell he was enjoying himself immensely.
‘Keea, it is obvious there is a link between the Sacramantan artisans and the Host of Helat.’
‘There is? I find that hard to believe. The artisans are creatures of artifice; very shallow individuals.’
‘I suspect you underestimate them! I assure you, the link is there.’
He shrugged. ‘Very well, let us suppose you are right for the moment. Now explain why you think I should be connected with either the artisans or alchemists.’
‘Well, this may sound a little insulting, but please take it in the most objective of spirits: I believe you used alchemical substances to warp my perception during the journey across Khalt, leading me to believe all kinds of strange business were going on. For some reason, I think the artisans have included me in a dramatic production of theirs. The scale is rather grand - the stage being the entire countries of Khalt and Bochanegra and perhaps even further afield. It seems logical to me that you are involved in this. Why else would you have been so insistent about accompanying me?’
‘Maybe I just like you.’
‘Don’t insult my intelligence, Keea!’
He sighed. ‘As you wish. May I ask what evidence you have to support your theory?’
I shrugged and took a big spoonful of fruit. ‘Simple. Since you stopped feeding me, I’ve stopped hallucinating. I no longer feel as if I’m in an alien world. I prefer to attribute my feelings of disorientation in Khalt and the Strangeling to being drugged than to having experienced a warped reality.’
Keea shook his head and laughed. ‘I’m mortified! You have uncloaked me utterly! Ah well, Rayo, it was fun while it lasted.’
I stared at him narrowly for a few seconds. ‘Damn you, I’m nowhere near the truth, am I?’
He shrugged. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re not.’
I decided not, at this juncture, to tell him about Tartaruchi. I had no idea what Keea’s real intentions were towards me. At best, I felt he was trying to occlude the precision of my thoughts. It was he who had instilled ideas into my head about how I would discover important information in the city, he who had tantalised my curiosity by showing me the ruined temple. Was he involved with the Metatronims or not? I should have asked Avirzah’e about him, but then I had not been thinking clearly the previous evening. Seeing him sit there, an extremely attractive youth gulping down his breakfast, Keea seemed without artifice of any kind. I knew that to be an illusion, but it was still hard to see malice in him, particularly. Impulsively, I reached out to touch his arm. ‘This morning,’ I said, ‘you must take me to the libraries.’
His eyes were lambent, catching the morning light, but was the radiance one of victory or gratitude? It was impossible to tell. He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it; I felt his teeth smooth against my skin. ‘You are wise, soulscaper,’ he said.
He took me to a cluster of dark old buildings that hunched in the long shadows of the atelier courts. We climbed a steep hill, the morning full of the dolorous clang of bells. The scent
of the sea filled my head, blended with the ripe aroma of autumn fruit. The strangeness of the journey west had distanced itself from my mindscape again; it would be easy to imagine all I had experienced were the wild fancies of a mind estranged from the bustle of society. I was still chasing shadows, but now I thought I understood what cast them.
We approached a gate, which was thickly encrusted with locks and chains. ‘Not exactly welcoming,’ I said. ‘Are you sure these libraries are open to the public, Keea?’
He smiled at me. ‘I can gain us entrance. Follow me.’ He went around the side of the building and into an alley, which wooden boxes of rubbish and discarded bales of pulpy old newssheets made difficult to negotiate. I picked my way through the obstacles behind Keea, and he eventually stopped before a small, iron-barred door.
‘Back entrance?’ I asked. ‘Are the caretakers friends of yours?’
He grinned, tapped his nose, and tugged on a bell-rope. It must have rung somewhere deep within the building; nothing could be heard from outside. There was no immediate response.
‘Keea, there must be a main entrance somewhere,’ I said. ‘This is probably just some forgotten rear door at the end of a walled-off corridor, or something. Shouldn’t we take a look around the front?’
‘Have patience,’ he said to me, and pulled the bell-rope again.
After another short wait, we were rewarded by the sound of locks being wrestled with, and the door opened a fraction. I could not see who was inside. Keea pulled back his coat sleeve and extended his hand beyond the doorway. ‘You know this seal?’ he demanded in an authoritative voice. There was a mumble behind the door. ‘Let us in,’ Keea said. ‘It is urgent we consult the archives.’ The door creaked open a little wider and Keea beckoned to me. ‘Be quick, Rayojini,’ he said.
I entered a musty, gloomy corridor, where a stooped, robed ancient glared at me beadily. I smiled at him hopefully.
‘She is not eloim!’ the ancient snapped at Keea, and then peered at him suspiciously. ‘And you... What are you?’
‘The woman is Tappish,’ Keea replied in a smooth voice, ‘but in the employ of the Metatronims, as am I. We both have license to be here.’
I listened to these words with amazement, but kept my silence.
‘I have received no warning that the Metatronims wish to consult the archives!’ the ancient said. ‘This is most irregular. Neither is it normal practice for dependants to be sent here!’
‘Would I carry Metatron’s seal if this was not official business?’ Keea enquired silkily. ‘Please, do not delay us. It might cause affront.’
The old man sighed and shook his head. ‘Very well.’
‘Show us the catalogue,’ Keea said.
‘This way, this way.’ The old man shuffled off up the corridor and Keea gestured for me to follow.
‘Since when have I been in the employ of the Metatronims?’ I whispered, in awe of Keea’s nerve at suggesting such a thing.
‘Since you were eight years old,’ he replied bluntly.
I cried out and clutched his arm, unable to move other than that. ‘What? What did you say?’
‘You heard. Let go of me, Rayo.’ He eased my fingers from his sleeve. ‘Very soon, everything will become clear to you. All the answers are here in this building.’
‘Keea you knew... you’ve always known everything about me, haven’t you,’ I said. I felt strangely relieved; he was connected with Gimel, then.
‘And so will this old goat if you don’t keep your voice down,’ he replied. ‘Yes, I knew. I knew of your special affinity with the Metatronims.’
‘And in Khalt, in the Strangeling, you let me carry on thinking I was suffering from delusions.’
‘That’s because you were. There is more to this than you could ever imagine, Rayo.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why wait till now?’
‘Planning,’ he replied. ‘You’ll see.’
The old man showed us into a dim, cluttered room, where light struggled for entrance through a dusty, flyblown window high above our heads. Ancient ledgers filled shelves from floor to ceiling. ‘How familiar are you with the contents of this building?’ Keea asked.
The old man chewed thoughtfully. ‘More than anyone else,’ he replied. ‘What are you seeking?’
‘Ancient history. Before the wars. The beginning.’
The old man nodded and began to peer at the shelves, pulling the ledgers out, seemingly at random, flicking through them, shaking his head and shoving them back. Then he uttered a delighted cry, as if he’d doubted his ability to locate what we needed, and handed the ledger he had found to Keea. ‘Do these documents cover the period you’re interested in?’
Keea squinted at the faded text. I looked over his shoulder. ‘Do they?’ I asked. All the pages were crumbling badly and, to me, the list of documents was illegible. It was also inscribed in a language unfamiliar to me.
‘The account by Veraniel Eshim,’ Keea said, pointing to a few crabbed characters. ‘May we see that?’
The old man made a disgruntled sound. ‘It is restricted.’
‘I know. Where is it?’
‘It is restricted,’ the old man repeated.
Keea sighed and extended his left hand again. I saw the ring on his third finger. I had not seen it before. ‘By this authority, I demand you give me the text,’ he said. ‘Be quick! We don’t have time to waste!’
‘You must sign for it.’
‘I’ll sign in blood, if necessary,’ Keea said. ‘Now, where is it?’
‘This way.’
We were taken up numerous shadowed corridors, through many book-lined rooms. I had never seen so much knowledge gathered together in one place; it was phenomenal. As far as I was aware, not even the Guild in Taparak knew of this library.
The revered account lay in a locked cabinet high in the building. The layout of the library amused me as much as I found it perplexing; so many small rooms packed with manuscripts, books and ledgers. The place we were taken to was uncommonly tidy; just the cabinet, a table and a few uncomfortable chairs.
Shaking his head and sighing heavily, the old man reluctantly sifted through a collection of keys hanging from his belt and opened the cabinet. He extracted the book Keea had asked for, as if it was a holy relic, and brushed its cover with his sleeve. ‘This text cannot be taken from the building,’ he said. ‘It is very valuable, very ancient.’
‘We will read it here,’ Keea replied. ‘Thank you. Leave us now.’
‘I cannot...’
‘Leave us!’ Keea’s voice thundered through the room. It even raised the hairs on the back of my neck. The old man backed from the room.
‘I will have to lock you in,’ he said.
‘Do it then. Return in two hours.’ Keea sat down at the table without paying the archivist any more attention, and carefully opened the ancient book. I watched with misgiving as the door closed and a key turned in the lock.
‘Look, Rayo,’ Keea said, in a hushed voice.
I dragged a chair to his side and sat down. ‘I can’t read that! It’s gibberish!’
Deltan hieroglyphs would have been easier to translate. The text was inscribed in flaking rusty-coloured ink on disintegrating yellow parchment. It seemed more like an astrological chart than a narrative. The glyphs appeared mathematical, and some looked to me as if they might be illustrations or diagrams. ‘What language is this?’ I asked. As a Tap, I was familiar with all the languages of the known world. This was like nothing I’d ever seen before.
‘It is a very ancient text, Rayo,’ Keea said, turning the thick, brittle pages, and examining them closely, ‘and of course you cannot read it, but I can. I shall read it aloud to you.’
‘How can you read it?’ I was bemused - and yes even a little jealous - of Keea’s apparent knowledge of this strange tongue. ‘Who taught you?’
He shrugged, still staring at the book. ‘Let us just say, it was one of the privileges of being an artisan... employee.’
br /> ‘Then tell me what it says.’
He looked up from the page and I had to repress an urge to flinch away from the intensity in his eyes. It was as if I’d never seen him before, as if he were a complete stranger. ‘This will alter your perception of the world,’ he said.
‘How?’
‘Because it is the true history.’ He reached out and touched my face, causing me to stiffen instinctively.
‘True history of what?’ I found his sudden passion for whatever the book concealed strangely repellent.
‘Rayo, listen...’
“This is the testament of I, Veraniel Eshim, transcribed in the wake of the Fall of the Lord Sammael and his Followers, to Earth. I plead that my readers will exercise tolerance of this history, whatever their creed or culture. These words are written for the future, to keep the flame of truth burning in the world.
There are many worlds, not all of which are planets.
And yet, whatever their shape, form or reality, each world is but a layer in the thick fabric of the multiverse.
All the worlds are inter-related; some have more intimate relationships than others.
Some derive sustenance from each other in the form of energy or strength.
Such was the relationship between the worlds that have been named by their inhabitants as Elenoen and Earth.
Elenoen is very close to Earth; in the very next sliver of reality.
They are naturally attracted to each other and, in the natural course of things, sustain each other in subtle ways. Elenoen is the fount of spirit, whereas Earth is the cauldron of the generation of flesh. The two worlds have existed in harmony, sharing their essential properties.
But calamities have occurred to sever this relationship. This is the history of it.
Elenoen, my former estate, is the home of the eloim, my people. We, a race of beings more spiritual in nature than the inhabitants of Earth, are now exiled from our natural home. As I write this, I am a creature of Earth. I am flesh.
My people are legion, but the few, of whom I am one, are now estranged. Our parent has cast us out, and all eloim share a single parent: El-oh-at. Eloat, the Lord of Elenoen, Master of the Spheres; father, mother, king, beloved, has disowned us. Have we transgressed in the manner of which we are accused? Only you, the reader, can pass judgment on us now.