Burying the Shadow (53 page)

Alcobiel steamed in
silence for a few moments, apparently observing Metatron
thoughtfully. ‘We manifest in Khalt,’ it said. I took that to be an
acknowledgement of culpability.

‘Might I ask
why?’ Metatron spoke thickly and swallowed hard; he was not as calm
as he sounded. I squeezed his arm encouragingly.

‘The soulscape
of eloim has been marked by a shadow,’ Alcobiel answered. ‘Eloim
juveniles in Sacramante are unable to perceive this, owing to an
atrophying of awareness. To us, the shadow is unmistakable.
Therefore, we manifest.’

‘A shadow?’
Metatron said. ‘Could you explain that to me?’

‘The shadow is
that cast by the Dark Brother,’ Alcobiel replied. ‘He calls the
children to him, and they obey his voice. We have to protect our
children, however ignorant they are of their peril. We took our own
action.’

‘Your own
action? What, exactly?’

To experience
another being’s laughter inside your own head, especially when that
laughter is not of the sweetest kind, is not a pleasant
experience.

‘Blind! Blind!
Blind!’ announced Alcobiel. ‘The shadow is the seed of invasion.
While you nourished this seed with your lives, we sought to smother
it.’

‘An invasion?’
Metatron continued, unperturbed. ‘By who, or what, and from
where?’

I did not
think Alcobiel was going to answer. The brightness dimmed a little,
and seemed to retreat. I heard Metatron take a breath, but he did
not speak. Then, the radiance increased again and Alcobiel said,
‘The invasion comes through. From Elenoen.’

Elenoen. The
name was familiar to me, and yet I don’t think I had ever heard it
before.

‘Watchers!’
Metatron hissed ‘From the old world. Is that what you’re
saying?’

‘Watchers
watch,’ Alcobiel replied. ‘This is something more active; a
definite form, an influence. It has leaked through, somehow.’

‘That is not
possible,’ Sammael said, in a distant, reasonable voice. He had
wandered some way up the passage, and was fingering one of the wall
paintings now revealed. ‘All the interfaces with Elenoen were
destroyed when we were exiled. Anyway, if something could get
through to Earth, surely you would be able to pass through in the
opposite direction. In which case, why are you still here and
manifesting in Khalt?’

‘The gateway
cannot be found,’ Alcobiel replied. ‘We searched for it, but there
was no sign. Our conclusion was that it must have been a temporary
access way, created for a specific purpose.’

‘I find that
hard to believe,’ Sammael said. ‘If anything had come through from
Elenoen, I would undoubtedly have been its first target.’

‘That is a
token of arrogance, Lord Sammael,’ Alcobiel replied. ‘Whatever came
through seeks to destroy eloim from within. It must be aware that
you have distanced yourself from the world. You are probably no
longer a threat to it, not even a recognised power. This is why we
confronted the problem ourselves, even though it is far from easy
for us to manifest much more tangibly than you see here.’

‘I am still
not convinced,’ Sammael said, in a voice that suggested he was more
affronted than unconvinced.

‘I don’t think
we can afford to disbelieve anything at this stage,’ Metatron said,
‘I think we have to determine what objective this hypothetical
intruder, or intruders, has.’

‘It is easy to
divine,’ Alcobiel said. ‘They wish to destroy you, and have
invented a means to infect eloim souls with the compulsion to
self-destruction. Elenoen covets this world. When we were trapped
here, a source of strength was cut off. They have been patient,
watching eloim on Earth weaken and stagnate. Now, they have decided
to act, while you in Sacramante scurry round panicking.’

‘Perhaps so,
but I cannot see how your actions have helped to alleviate this
situation either,’ Metatron said. ‘You should have contacted
us.’

Alcobiel
shimmered, pulsing faintly green. ‘Would you have warned us, had
you been the ones privileged to realise the cause of this taint?
No, I think not! Neither have you the strength to take the
necessary steps. We knew what was required and caused a roar of
entropy in the world. Entropy is anathema to the followers of
Eloat. We needed substance and took nourishment from
humanity...’

‘Which
resulted in the abomination of the half-dead,’ Metatron said. ‘And
the sudden incidence of sup-hungry humans in the Strangeling.’

Alcobiel
shivered; perhaps another sign of mirth. ‘That is irrelevant. What
we are doing has far more chance of effect against this threat than
any number of Parzupheim meetings and prattlings.’

‘Probably so,’
Sammael said, ‘but now, Alcobiel, you and your kind must cease this
activity in Khalt.’

‘Never! You
cannot command us! We are the abandoned ones!’

‘It is not a
command. You must see sense. If your suspicions are correct, and
this intrusive influence has come from Elenoen, only I can handle
the situation. Of all the eloim on Earth - you and your kind
included Alcobiel - I alone retain sufficient memory of the old
world. I am not like other eloim. You know that. I was created for
a specific task, and once had the power to fulfil that task.
Admittedly, my strength has atrophied over the centuries while I
slept, but even my memories are more capable of dealing with the
Watchers than anything you have tried to do.’

Alcobiel
clearly did not agree with Sammael. It did not respond with words,
but began to spin, around and around, throwing off sparks that
hissed as they hit the damp floor. Metatron and I prudently
retreated, but Sammael did not even flinch. He raised his right
hand and absorbed the spinning light into his outstretched palm.
Then, he closed his fingers over it. Alcobiel dimmed and shrank.
‘You will cease this activity,’ Sammael said quietly. ‘Because it
could obstruct anything I might be forced to do. You have
everything to gain from trusting me. If I can, I will secure you
freedom of passage into your next reality.’

‘It would be
unwise to contain the supra-normality we have conjured,’ Alcobiel
said, ‘for the simple reason it is a repellent force to Elenoen.
The chaotic influence we introduced might well have repulsed the
invader already. Our descendants in Sacramante, and the paranoid
flotsam scattered in hiding throughout the world, have become too
static, too stagnant in consciousness, to risk confrontation with
the intrusive force. If you intend to tackle this problem, you will
do so alone, Sammael. You will find no help in Sacramante.’

‘I am prepared
to stand by any decision I might make,’ Sammael said. ‘And you have
my word that I will try to assist you.’

‘The Word of
Light?’

‘Unutterable.’
Sammael came towards Metatron and I, where we stood close together,
some distance away from Alcobiel. ‘We shall leave now,’ he said.
‘We can learn no more here, and I have plans to make.’

‘Sammael,’ I
said. ‘I want to ask my own question.’

He sighed
impatiently. ‘Very well, but be quick. This essence that calls
itself Alcobiel is volatile.’

I let go of my
father and approached the wavering form. ‘Are you angry with us?’ I
asked.

It did not seem to
hear me. Perhaps only Metatron and Sammael resembled it enough to
communicate with it. I stood there for a few moments, just gazing
upwards, trying to emanate all the feelings I held inside. Then, I
turned away to return to the others, and a small, childlike voice
entered my head.

‘We knew,
Gimel Metatronim. We knew, when we accompanied the Prince of Light
to this world... There was no way back; we were aware of this.’

I turned round
and formed the words in my head. ‘Yet you still came.’

It did not
answer in words, but I was given a picture, very briefly, a picture
it is impossible to convey in words. I hoped the Sammael who they
adored so completely, to whom they remained unflinchingly loyal,
despite the tone of Alcobiel’s remarks, still existed.

Metatron held
out his hand to me. As I took it, all light fled the passage, and
with Pahadron leading us, we found our way back in utter
darkness.

Outside, a
rain-laden wind had sprung up, and the sky was darkening swiftly. I
could see fires around the edge of the square, and did not relish
the thought of spending a night in this place.

‘Will they
obey you?’ Metatron asked.

‘Probably
not,’ Sammael replied, ‘but for all Alcobiel’s threats and grand
assumptions they are still an uncohesive force. It is not something
I intend to worry about.’

‘Do you
believe what it said about Elenoen?’ I asked. How easily that word
flowed from the tongue. ‘Can that possibly be true?’

Sammael walked
a short distance away from us, and Metatron and I exchanged a
glance. Wouldn’t Sammael have somehow sensed it, if it were true? I
felt he really wanted to believe it, for very private reasons;
perhaps he could not be trusted because of that. Metatron made an
impatient sound and went to help Pahadron round up the horses who
were dispiritedly stripping a leaning tree of yellow leaves.

I wandered
over to where Sammael was gazing at the sky. ‘What about Rayojini?’
I asked him. ‘Should she be told these things?’

‘Hmmm?’ He
turned and blinked at me.

‘The
soulscaper,’ I reminded him.

‘Oh yes, the
soulscaper. Gimel, that procedure will have to be abandoned.’

‘What? That’s
impossible!’

He shook his
head. ‘No. In the light of what we’ve learned, the presence of a
human in the soulscape of eloim can only serve as an attraction for
unwanted influences. Think about it, Gimel. If kin from Elenoen are
involved, it is beyond your soulscaper’s powers to deal with them.
I realise now that the situation has been left unchecked too long
for soulscaping to be a remedy. I feel that certain ideas of
Alcobiel’s are right. For the moment, chaos is the eloim’s only
defence against this intrusion. At least, the distraction it
provides might give us time to formulate a defence strategy.
Rayojini’s ministrations would only restore order. It is not a good
idea.’

‘I have
brought her so far, though,’ I said. ‘She may even be in Sacramante
already.’

‘That is
something you will have to ascertain,’ Sammael replied, ‘and deal
with accordingly.’

Helplessly, I
thought about how we had arranged things so that Rayojini would
discover certain information for herself on the journey west. We
had hoped that by the time she reached Sacramante, the final
revelation of what was required of her, would not be too shocking
or incredible. I knew what an enquiring mind my soulscaper had. I
did not think we could easily persuade her to forget about the
whole business, not after her curiosity had been deliberately
piqued. ‘Sammael,’ I said. ‘Rayojini already knows so much about
us. How can I just abandon her now?’

There was a
short silence, while Sammael allowed me to think of the
unthinkable.

‘I will not
have her harmed!’ I said. ‘I mean that, Sammael.’

‘I really
think you have to entertain the possibility that this singular
priming you have given Rayojini might also be most useful to our
opponents.’

‘If they know
she exists, which they cannot!’

He shrugged.
‘There is little point in arguing about this here. Obviously, we
must return to Sacramante. Think about what I have said on the
journey home, Gimel. Think deeply.’

He walked away
from me, leaving me staring at the gaping entrance to the
catacombs. All that work; for nothing. I could not let him take all
that away from me. I couldn’t. In his tower, Sammael had insisted
that nothing compared with the skills of a Tap. Surely, Rayojini
would be even more useful to us now. We could give her specific
information about what we were looking for.

I was so angry
and confused that I marched off across the square, needing a few
moments to fume alone. Send Rayo back? I couldn’t do that! I
couldn’t! Meeting her and working with her was something I’d primed
myself for - never mind the woman herself - for twenty odd years.
We belonged to each other, surely?

I walked along
a narrow street, where high walls leaned towards each other, veined
by dead ivy. A wind blew mercilessly down the tunnel they formed
and I pulled my coat around me more tightly. Rayo! I tried to call
to her, but my mind was in such turmoil, I couldn’t summon the
concentration. Eventually, I sat down on the cracked slabs of the
street, and leaned against one of the walls. How I wished Beth was
with me. Whatever our differences, I knew I could always count on
his sympathy when I needed it. I lowered my face onto my arms,
where they rested on my raised knees. I let the cold bite into me.
I wept.

‘Lady
Gimel...’

I don’t know
how many minutes had passed, but at the sound of my name, spoken so
softly, I raised my head. The voice had almost sounded like Beth’s,
but it was Pahadron that I saw leaning over me, his enormous hat
blotting out the sky. I hastily wiped my face, and made dismissive
gestures with my hands.

‘I’m coming,
I’m coming,’ I said, beginning to rise.

The Harkasite
took my arm and lifted me effortlessly to my feet. It felt as if
I’d been blown into the air by a powerful gust of wind, and
deposited as lightly as if a gentle breeze had lowered me down.
‘Lord Sammael sometimes speaks without realising what effect his
ideas might have on his listener,’ Pahadron said.

I was
surprised by his words, not just because he had actually spoken so
many of them in one breath, but also because they seemed so untrue.
Sammael’s tongue dripped silver, in my opinion. He would never
speak anything but exactly what he intended to say. I was unsure
whether to address the Harkasite as an equal, an inferior, or as an
animal. ‘I am sure Lord Sammael is quite aware of the results of
his words,’ I said, stiffly. This was none of the Harkasite’s
business. To me, he was nothing more than an animated weapon. I had
nothing to say to him.