‘It is very simple,’ Samikha’il says, patiently. ‘To you, Elenoen is the place beyond death, beyond the soulscape. Use your art, soulscaper. Make the portal with your art.’
Beyond death. To visualise that and make it real, I have to die. I know that. Death. I don’t want to die. And yet, my purpose in life has always been to help others, to alleviate sickness and distress, wherever, or however, I uncover it.
‘Do what is necessary, then!’ I say. ‘I will do all I can to make this portal you need.’
‘Of your own free will?’
‘Yes, of my own free will.’ At this final moment, it seems as if this is the task for which I have been born.
Samikha’il seizes the essence I have become in his wings. I know instinctively the right thoughtforms to create the portal. It is just like opening an unlocked door. Through the portal, I can see another world, thronged by creatures that are but dim reflections of the being in whose aura I ride. This world is not like the one I know in any way. It is not like any soulscape I have ever seen. It is beyond words utterly.
We streak through it, to its heart. The sword is raised; the crest of infinite probability about to break into a thousand waves. I hear a sound that is like no other, but I know it is the sound of a frightened god. Around me, the echo is taken up by a million million other gods, in other realities, other worlds, who feel the wave breaking, who feel the tide, who feel the new day. Unleashed, the sword flies, and its name is Potential. In that place, I know. I am Knowledge. And the swords strikes home.
Section Ten
Rayojini
‘Then with transition sweet new speech resumes. Thus thou hast seen one world begin and end… must thou hast yet to see…’
Paradise Lost, Book XII
I came to my senses in a room of glass. I was lying on a hard, glossy surface. It was neither warm nor cold. Light filled my eyes; it was so bright I dared not open them. For a few moments, I could not recall who I was or where I might be, knowing only that to find myself conscious at all was surprising. I could not remember why.
‘Rayo... Rayojini.’
Strange sounds. What could they mean? In a way, they were familiar but...
‘Soulscaper! Awake! Look at me!’
Slowly, I opened my eyes, but I could not discern the details of my surroundings. Who calls...? Who calls...? And to whom?
‘It is I, Samikha’il, who is now Eloat.’
The words were like pictures in my mind. I saw a dusty room, a table, an ancient book. Suddenly, a wave of sensation coursed through my body. It was like being woken from a deep sleep by a harsh blow. I threw myself upright, scrabbling on the shiny surface. If this was death, I needed to face it on my feet. I was in an enormous room of ice or crystal, all of which was glowing with its own light. Tall, shimmering figures stood around its edge that appeared, to me, like flames with eyes. Before me, stood a god: Samikha’il. He looked similar to the man I had seen at the gates of Ykhey, while at the same time very different. It was hard to describe. His skin glowed like soft yellow flame and his hair was black and red, like the smouldering colours of a low fire. I had never seen, nor could have imagined, such raw beauty.
‘Gently now, Rayo.’ His arms were ready to enfold me, and it was beyond me to refuse their embrace. As he touched me, all tiredness fled my mind. I felt strong, and alert and full of energy, but there were peculiar squeaky sounds around me, which I quickly realised was my own voice trying to speak.
‘The cold,’ I gasped. ‘The bite, the sword... Oh Helat!’ I put my hands over my eyes. ‘I’m dead! I’m dead!’
I could hear Samikha’il laughing. ‘Dead where exactly?’ he said.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘You tell me!’
‘I have brought you to Elenoen,’ he said.
‘Then, it is over... the problem... all over?’
He nodded, smiling. ‘Almost. However, there is one final task for which I must call upon your service. I do not ask you to do this for myself alone, but for others who I feel you care about.’
‘What task?’
‘Something to do with veils,’ he answered.
In the forest, there are veils between the trees. Some of them are like dew-beaded spiders’ webs, some like spun silk of fabulous colours, but others are torn and stained. This is a soulscape and I am a soulscaper. The Fear has many forms. Sometimes, it will come blindly to flap around your head. Sometimes, it is a wave of darkness, or a shambling monster, or corrosive fog. Sometimes, it is less threatening than that.
I conjure my elemental weapons. Are these a sword, a fierce and cleansing wave, or a spiritual fire? No, it is this: a wooden tub of warm water, a bar of soap, a pack of needles and a basket of cotton reels. I walk to the trees and take down the veils, one by one. Some can be folded neatly, while others have to be washed and repaired by careful sewing. It takes me a long time, perhaps years, but the work is hardly strenuous. I work steadily, without sleep or food, never tiring, never hungry. Sometimes, there are vague, shimmering shapes among the trees, which sing to me in lovely voices. Music is my sustenance. There are so many veils! I had no idea the eloim were so prolific on earth.
Eventually, I have an enormous yet tidy stack of folded veils, and the forest is somehow brighter, sunlight coming down through the trees. I stand upon a narrow, twisting path, which is ribbed by ancient roots and dotted with tiny, pale flowers. Even though the pathway disappears from sight between the trees, I can see a doorway at the end of it, a doorway in the air. I recognise it immediately, for it has the marks of my own people upon it. It is the portal to the soulscape of humanity.
I look at the towering bale of silk and direct a simple command. The soulscape is malleable. It is no problem for me to change the shape of these veils so that I can carry them all in my arms.
I walk down the path, in the filtered sunlight, and come to the door at the end of it. I put down the veils and open it. Then, I pick them up again and step through the portal. Beyond it, a landscape stretches out to a limitless horizon. I see cities, forests, oceans, mountains. The veils fly out of my arms, high on the wind like flags, or kites, or butterflies. I watch them go. They fold and twist upon the air, forming into the shapes of tumbling bodies that fall to the ground. These forms looked dazed. They pat insubstantial faces with misty hands, but even as I observe, they are solidifying. Soulscape creatures emerge from hiding to examine what has come among them. There are men, women, children, animals, monsters, sylphs, dragons, gods, goddesses, heroes and tricksters, and many more than that. Some make angry noises to warn they will not let strangers take liberties in their territory, while others are simply curious, stretching forward to sniff and touch. I smile. It is a beginning, at least. There are new wonders in the soulscape of my people now.
Without looking round, I knew that Samikha’il was standing behind me. For some reason, I did not think I should look at him, although I was grateful for the pressure of his hand upon my shoulder. I realised that the rags of my clothes, my skin, were still stained with Mikha’il’s blood. ‘Your work is done,’ Samikha’il said.
I sighed. ‘It would seem so. What now?’ I had not imagined that death would have to be planned, like life.
Samikha’il squeezed me gently with his fingers. ‘That is up to you. Elenoen is indebted to you, Rayo, myself especially. And I dislike being in debt. Therefore I have to offer you a choice.’
‘Choice? Another one?’ I had had enough of decision-making. Now that my work was done, I felt very tired. All I wanted to do was lie down upon the grass of the soulscape and sleep. ‘I am Rayojini,’ I said wearily. ‘Daughter of Ushas, daughter of a skilled line, and I have already made my choice. Remember?’
Samikha’il rested his cheek against my hair, so that his voice whispered close to my ear. ‘A choice that was made unselfishly, and of your own free will. And that is why the eloim will repay you. The choice is simply this: you can return with me to Elenoen and become eloim yourself or, if you
wish, you may return to Earth to finish your own cycle there. You surrendered your most precious possession - life - in order to assist me. I want to reward you. Rayojini, please don’t deny me that. Make your choice!’
I thought about it in silence, and he did not push me for an answer immediately. My thinking was augmented by the blissful attention he paid to my neck and shoulders, nipping kisses that did not draw blood. He was excited, I think, by the dried blood of Mikha’il’s that had gummed up my hair and coated my flesh and clothes. He licked a small patch of my skin clean, tasting himself there. It suggested that should I elect to stay with him, more intimate pleasures might be shared. Who could resist such an offer? Then, I thought of Earth, of my people and my work. I thought of striding across the plains of Khalt in the autumn sunshine, the colourful, riotous zukos of Sacramante, and the high dreys of Taparak, my home. I thought of Gimel Metatronim, whom I was yet to meet in person. I would have so much to tell her now, and surely the eloim would need the help of an accomplished soulscaper to come to terms with their new position in the world?
Once, Mikha’il had left me a Khaltish ka, on a taverna table in Sacramante. It had paid for the passage of the dead, and more. It paid, apparently, for their return to life.
‘Send me home,’ I said.
Section Eleven
Gimel
This is the dawn of a new age. We felt the tug, the pull of it, as we travelled east to the Strangeling. We knew, in our hearts that somehow, somewhere, Sammael had succeeded. We knew this because suddenly we were filled with hope and happiness for no reason at all. ‘The sickness is past!’ I said, ‘The sickness is past!’ Nobody disputed my words; Beth and Avirzah’e felt it too.
‘And so is our disguise in this world,’ Beth said.
I took his hands. ‘We must not be afraid. At least we have a chance now. It is up to us, all eloim, to make our own future. And we still have human friends to help us.’
‘It will not be easy, Gimel,’ Avirzah’e said. ‘Some eloim might resist change, and many humans will be hostile to us.’
‘I know that, but I don’t care. The change will be painful, but it is necessary. At least we are together.’
‘You then,’ Beth said, grinning, ‘can be the one to break the news to Metatron.’
We found Rayojini sitting on the steps of a ruined building in Ykhey, close to where Sammael, Metatron and I had visited the ancients. A group of humans, native to the Strangeling, appeared from nowhere when we entered the city, and took hold of our horses’ harness. Ramiz, driving the carriage, tried to scare them off with a whip, but I leaned out of the window and told him to leave them alone. They led us to the soulscaper, telling us they had found her wandering around the plaza, just after an explosion of light had shattered the great palace there. All her clothes had been tattered, but through the rags, they could see that her skin was glowing, so they concluded she was one of us. Since then, they had been caring for her, thinking her some kind of unusually dark-coloured eloim seeress. She had been regularly fed, they assured us, although the sustenance they had given her had made her sick at first, and she’d been quite violent with them when they’d offered her the sup. Consequently, they had filled cups for her and spiced the ichor with herbs, which she had reluctantly accepted. They had cleaned her skin, which had been strangely covered in blood, although she had no wounds, and dressed her in clothes of their own. They had expected someone to turn up and claim her.
I jumped out of the carriage and saw the ragged figure sitting on the steps. Behind her, the palace was utterly destroyed, all its beautiful carvings pulverised, although Rayojini was resting her feet on a gilded stone lotus flower, perhaps the only surviving relic. I was overjoyed to find her there, never believing for one moment during the journey east that she would be located so easily, if at all. She looked dishevelled and dazed, and rather incongruous in an elaborate scarlet gown of stained satin, her long braids loose around her body. She was wearing woollen fingerless mittens, and a large battered hat with a wide brim. Her feet were bare. Her skin was exactly the same colour as some beautiful purple-black beads I have. She looked, even in her state of disarray, good enough to eat. I wanted to hug her immediately, but realised I should be cautious. How much had she learned about Beth and I? Did she resent us?
‘Rayojini?’ I said, walking up the steps towards her. She was staring at her feet and did not look up as I approached. Beth and Avirzah’e lingered behind me, knowing this moment mine alone. ‘Rayojini, are you alright?’
She looked up then, with dark, unfocussed eyes. I was afraid she did not know me.
‘I am Gimel Metatronim,’ I said.
She blinked. ‘They’ve gone.’
I sat down beside her on the steps and took one of her cold mittened hands in my own. She smelled very strange, as if she was wearing a perfume of blood, frankincense and myrrh. ‘Sammael?’ I asked her. ‘Did he reach you in time?’
She smiled and chuckled a little. ‘Oh yes. Yes. He killed me.’
She must be hallucinating. I put an arm around her shoulders. It felt so familiar to do that, yet it was the first time we had ever touched. ‘Rayojini, my brother is here, and Avirzah’e Tartaruchi, who you met before, remember? We have a carriage. Come back to Sacramante with us. Tell us what happened, and we can perhaps explain a few things to you.’
She looked at me with fierce eyes. ‘I’m not dead!’
I squeezed her shoulders. ‘Of course not!’ Poor Rayo: what had she gone through? I wanted to smother her with attention and comforts immediately.
‘They’ve gone from the catacombs,’ she said. ‘I saw them come up with the dawn today, like a wind of light. They’ve gone now. They’ve gone to Samikha’il.’
‘Samikha’il?’
‘Yes. Sammael and Mikha’il. They are brothers and they are one. I can’t explain, but I think they are something called Eloat now.
For a moment, I had to sit in silence beside her; both of us were now dazed women. So Sammael and Mikha’il had confronted each other again, and now Sammael was gone. I felt a pang of anger and jealousy that the traitor Mikha’il could take him from us so easily, but then, I should have realised what would happen.
‘Samikha’il did kill me,’ Rayojini said, in a low voice, glancing at me sidelong. ‘I went to Elenoen, where the eloim came from.’
‘How?’ I asked, in a breathless whisper.
She shrugged. ‘I can’t explain at the moment. I feel too peculiar.’
‘Oh Rayojini,’ I said, squeezing her shoulder, ‘I don’t know how you got back here, but I’m glad you did!’
‘These awful people have been giving me blood to drink,’ she said. ‘They think I’m eloim and won’t believe me when I say I’m not. It tasted terrible. It was disgusting. I’m really hungry.’
‘Well, we’ll get you something to eat, then,’ I said. ‘Come on, stand up. Come to the carriage.’ She resisted my attempt to lift her to her feet.
‘Are you Gimel Metatronim?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘I’ve seen so much of Gimel recently, but it was never really her.’
‘I really am Gimel,’ I said. ‘I’m the presumptive little madam who’s interfered in your life since you were eight. You can hate me for that, if you like, but I really think you should come to my carriage. It is warm in there, and I have some fleeces you can wrap up in.’
Rayojini pulled a face and stood up. Her mind was obviously damaged, but at least she was alive. Then, she looked at me, as if she’d only just noticed I was there. ‘Gimel?’ Her voice was small.
‘Yes?’
‘Really you?’
‘Really me.’
‘You’re a bitch!’
‘I know.’
‘I don’t like being used, unless I know the purpose is a good one!’
‘I know.’
She folded her arms and looked towards the carriage. ‘Is that Beth down there?’
‘Yes.’
‘He is beautiful.’
??
?He is.’
‘And so are you.’ She paused. ‘Is it really, really you?’
‘The authentic version. Still arrogant, but learning fast. Less human than I was, but perhaps more humane. I don’t know. I’m sorry, Rayojini. This was never your mess.’
‘No, but it was my life,’ she said, and made a grumbling sound, holding out her skirts. ‘Look at this! It’s disgusting! Sort of thing Liviana Tricante would wear! My clothes are all gone.’
‘We can get you some more. It doesn’t matter.’
‘I’m not insane, Gimel Metatronim!’ she said, giving me a fearfully wonderful glinting stare. ‘Don’t speak to me as if I was.’ She sighed, shook her head, and then gave me an uncertain smile. ‘Well, introduce me to your brother, then, even if I do look like the queen of fools in this stupid dress.’
I had to ask. ‘Are you angry with us, for all we did?’
She shrugged. ‘I suppose I must be, in a way. I don’t know. I’ve seen amazing things, things that no other person alive has ever seen or ever will do, I suspect. You wouldn’t believe it. I’m not sure I do yet, but I have to thank you for that, at least.’
‘I never wanted to hurt you, Rayojini. That’s the truth. The boy you were travelling with, Keea, we thought he was our servant. He wasn’t. I’m sorry about that. I hope he didn’t harm you.’
She shook her head. ‘No, he didn’t.’ Then, she squinted at me. ‘Do you know who he was, Gimel?’
‘He was from Elenoen,’ I said. ‘We guessed that much.’
‘He was Mikha’il.’
I had to put my hands over my mouth to stop myself making an undignified sound. The great traitor had supped my ichor, shared my bed? It was unthinkable! And Sammael had been so close to him without knowing it. At some point they might even have been in my house at the same time!
Rayojini reached out and touched my arm. ‘It doesn’t matter now, does it?’ she said, and grinned, wrinkling up her nose. ‘I found him rather a pathetic creature actually, and I’m sure he’s in need of a good soulscaper, but still... being conjoined with Sammael should cure his problems.’