Burying the Shadow Read online

  Both Beth and myself could speak Lannish, but we used only the Bochanegran tongue for our transactions. The soulscapers, all of whom, it is said, speak every language in the world, were as we suspected shrewd creatures to a fault. Several of them were keen enough to be acutely suspicious of us, despite our convincing fabrications and superbly delivered performances. I remember one or two of them actually believed my brother and I to be victims of the Fear. One man told me he did not like what looked out of my eyes. How could I respond to that? He was clearly seeing the truth of me; for all my pious motives, a dangerous killer.

  Once we had approached an individual, and allowed them access to our own soulscape, we could not simply leave them in possession of this knowledge and pass on. Only the patron families in Sacramante were aware of our more intimate needs, as predators - for obvious reasons. To other humans, any creature needing to feed on their ichor for survival were simply legends; no more real to them than fairies or ghosts. However, it seemed that no soulscaper was strong enough to endure the weirdness of our inner landscapes; in short, it tended to drive them mad. We could not risk these pathetic casualties blurting something out to their colleagues, and so had to cull them in order to cover our tracks. At first, I was sickened by the necessity of having to dispose of these people, although Beth appeared to relish it; his sensuality had run riot since we’d left Bochanegra. Until that time in Lansaal, the only murder of humans by eloim I had witnessed had been the rare and regulated ritual of sacrifice, part of the agreement we had with the patrons. At home, regular supping was nothing more than honouring the holy trade; sustenance for pleasure. Except for the occasional sacred sacrifices, which were always confined to significant festivals or events, death was not part of our relationship with humanity. But as time went on, my heart seemed to harden to the culling.

  Looking back, I feel that a beast was loosed in me in Lansaal - it was certainly loosed in Beth - an ancient beast from ancient times, which lurks still within the hearts of our people, waiting for the scent of terrified blood to wake it from sleep. This beast led me, let me stand by while Beth killed, let me - eventually - bend to the unwilling sup myself. May the Old Ones forgive me, but as the leagues rolled past our carriage windows, the pleasure of the hunt came over me too and I reverted to a forgotten, former wildness. Eventually, I no longer had to force myself to kill. And yet, at the time, I could not find the will to be ashamed of it, which means I must accept that this cruel greed is a part of me, thankfully hidden in the regulated, civilised world of Sacramante, but always present in the deepest corners of my soul.

  Our kills became cleaner; there was little mess. Tamaris and Ramiz buried what remained of the victims, after Beth and I had taken any sustenance we desired. We found no one capable of withstanding the eloim soulscape. It was as if some higher power of the world condemned us for our actions. Every day brought us nearer to Taparak with our quest unfulfilled.

  Eloim living in Lansaal were few and far between, and tended to be very unapproachable. Most were enclosed family groups, who were nervous of outsiders because of the need to keep their identities secret. Their virtual immortality caused them problems, and meant they had to move accommodation quite regularly, so that suspicion was not aroused among the local people as to their longevity. As it was, the majority of these families were either feared or viewed with scorn by their closest neighbours, because of the distance they maintained from the local community. Shrouded carriages, securely walled demesnes, and tribes of in-bred servants who would occasionally roam outside the walls, were fuel for gossip and speculation. Because the eloim were so careful, they made themselves weirdly visible. In Sacramante, we had evolved very complex and painstaking methods for camouflaging our differences from humanity. We could not have maintained these precautions without the cooperation of our patrons, but the provincial eloim did not have recourse to human supporters. Their lives were often fraught with danger.

  Beth and I did manage to secure lodgings in one or two eloim redoubts - we missed the company of our own kind - but I found the Lannish eloim oppressive; their paranoia is infectious. Discreet enquiry assured us no one but Sacramantan artisans appeared to be suffering from the sickness of despair. Perhaps their consistent anxiety about being discovered left no room in the hearts of Lannish artisans for yet darker pressures.

  Because eloim outside Bochanegra have no human patrons, they really do have a much harder time than their Sacramantan peers; there are, for example, no willing offerings for the sup from outside their own staff. Beth and I wondered how they ever managed to find time to express their creativity, and it was true all works of art we saw in these houses were frantic, doom-laden affairs. Their reluctance to seek sanctuary in Bochanegra mystified both Beth and myself. We concluded they must have a proud and defiant streak within them, and must, in some ways, enjoy their precarious existence.

  We discussed our intentions with no one; as far as the Lannish eloim were concerned, we were simply the spoiled scions of a noble Sacramantan house, idly exploring the continent. Most advised us to return home as soon as we could. They thought we were too innocent to be roaming Lansaal, that in our ignorance we might betray their existence to humanity, although they disguised their self-concern as being worried about our safety.

  As we approached Toinis, we stayed for two days with a venerable eloim diva, a sweet and incredibly ancient lady who, in order to protect herself, had resorted to supping only on the blood of chickens. Her name was Favariel Eshahim, and she claimed to be the last daughter of a lost eloim throng. Her skin was in a disgraceful condition - only to be expected, considering her meagre sustenance. She lived in an area plagued by a particularly stringent religious code - implemented by a particularly stringent local priest - so was forced to be meticulously careful in her behaviour. A myriad of diverse cults thrived in Lansaal, and a group of rich mystics had formed the Church of Pure Soul in Favariel’s area about sixty years ago. Any eccentrics were regarded as heretics by the infuriatingly active high priest, especially those who did not attend the church on a regular basis. Favariel tried to appease this quick-tempered zealot by sending yearly offerings of gold to the church - an act that allowed her a precarious security - and pleading a frailty of age that precluded church worship. ‘I fear he will live forever!’ she declared, when telling us of her difficulties with the man. ‘I only hope my gold lasts longer than he does! Whoever comes after him just cannot be as bad!’

  She lived in a wonderful old house, which was falling badly into decay. And yet, with its rose-garlanded, crumbling walls, its ancient stone embellishments, the house only appeared more beautiful because of its dissolution. There was but one servant left in the house - an elderly peasant woman - who had been with Favariel for eighty years or more. At one time, she had provided her mistress with sustenance, but now Favariel refused to sup from the woman; she was too old, her blood was thin, and the strain placed on her heart by being supped might easily kill her. Favariel feared being left alone. She, more than any of the Lannish eloim we had previously encountered, was delighted to meet us, and laid the amenities of her household at our feet, insisting on showering both Tamaris and myself with gifts. Our luggage cases were stuffed with exquisite antique jewellery and elaborate gowns of pale, powdery silk. In return, Beth quickly painted a flattering portrait of her, and our servants insisted on letting her sup from their veins to her fill. By the time we left her, she looked much healthier, and a youthful bloom had come back into her flesh. We also arranged to send her a couple of human retainers from Sacramante, once we returned home. I thought it disgraceful that no other Lannish eloim clan had done anything to help her before now.

  On our last night in her house, as we talked together after supping, she mentioned that she thought a lone artisan was wandering around the countryside, who behaved eccentrically to her mind. Eccentric, by eloim standards, presaged something extremely odd indeed. I pressed her for information, worried she might be referring to the business Beth and I
were involved in, but she seemed reluctant to expand on her theory. ‘They leave signs, that is all,’ she said. ‘It has been going on for some years.’ After that, Beth and I were alert for the phenomenon, but came across nothing out of the ordinary.

  Our experiments with soulscapers had continued to be depressingly unsuccessful. It got to the point where we had taken so many victims that the urge to sup was lost. Even Beth was sated, and we had to resort to outright murder; precious blood spilling untasted over the Lannish fields. The beast in both of us was exhausted, and a dim perception of the foulness of our behaviour began to clarify, once more, in my mind. In the end, it was me who called a halt to the procedure; it was pointless and wasteful.

  We had reached the lively port of Toinis and, as usual, had taken lodgings in a secluded fohndahk. I was tired, disillusioned with our quest, disappointed with myself, and wanted only to return home. The encounter with poor Favariel had especially depressed me. Beth was still eager to continue, as he was enjoying our travels immensely. I think this was because his creative soul had opened up like a sunflower, away from Sacramante. As he feasted on the sweet ichor of the Taps, it seemed their mystic lifeblood flowed into his fingers, summoning marvellous scenes from the soulscape. Gone were the precise and mannered portraits he was famous for at home, which hung on the walls of patron galleries. Now, his paintings were undisciplined and fierce: no demure maidens in limpid bowers, but powerful sorceresses depicted against violent skies, cowering souls dismembered at their feet, soulscape monsters wheeling round their heads. He painted beautiful demons that smiled with frightening realism from the canvas; demons that - even though only representations in paint - promised pain and pleasure in equal measure. Beth had sold many of these savage, lustful canvases as we travelled; they intrigued the Lannish art dealers and commanded a high price.

  One evening, we sat out on the fohndahk terrace, lazily drinking our way through a carafe of orange wine. Tamaris and Ramiz had ventured out into the night, intent on secret adventures of their own; the mysteries of humans closely allied to eloim households, into which we were too polite to pry. Beth was in such a lively mood, it was difficult for me to broach the subject on my mind, but eventually, I forced him to listen to me. ‘We cannot keep destroying soulscapers,’ I said. ‘They are too precious.’

  Beth resented my sharp tone. ‘Then what do you suggest we do? I have no intention of returning to Sacramante until we have accomplished our task.’

  ‘But, Beth, they are too old, all of them, in spite of their smooth skin and silky eyes.’ My remarks were loaded with insinuations. ‘Their experience works against them. We need someone who has the Tappish ability, but who lacks the preconceptions of a mature scaper. You must know this too, in your heart.’

  Beth gave me a keen look; I saw his fingers twitch around the stem of his goblet. ‘So, the answer is simple. We find a young soulscaper; a very young one. Someone who is out on their first scaping-range.’

  I shook my head. ‘No, still too old. If you insist we continue in this madness, there is only one recourse. We must go to Taparak, and find ourselves a child. Someone who is yet untrained, and whose mind is more malleable. We have no choice. It is either this, or else we go home and wait for the sickness to find us.’

  Beth sneered at me. ‘Gimel, you talk nonsense. We don’t have the time. A child has to grow. It will take years.’

  ‘All seeds of potential require a protracted growth period. You know I’m right, Beth.’ The truth was, he derived so much pleasure from our experiences with the soulscapers that he was disinclined to abandon them. Eventually, his hunger for the sup would return and, when it did, the blood of scapers would fuel the power of his art. A child would not endow him with such delights; eloim code forbade the supping of children.

  He took a silence upon himself at my remarks, which I would not caress away. For all his tendency towards physical self-indulgence, Beth was not stupid. I knew I only had to wait.

  Two days later, he relented. ‘Very well, we’ll take a boat to Taparak and find your child, Gimel,’ he said.

  Content, I allowed him to kiss me.

  Very swiftly, I proved myself correct on all counts; we stayed in Taparak no longer than a single night. I was so twitchy while we were there that I could not take pleasure in sightseeing, which was a shame, because Taparak is an astounding place. It seemed to me as if a crazed artist had carved the whole city out of petrified wood; walkways swept dizzily from massive trunk to massive trunk. Bird-catchers killed their prey by squatting in the higher tiers of the city and throwing missiles down onto the birds. This could prove dangerous for people below should the hunters miss their targets, which was fortunately rare. The narrow, root-patterned streets were full of people, most of whom seemed to be visitors from Lansaal, Khalt and the Delta Lands. Native Taps were recognisable through their colourful clothing and artfully braided hair. Carts rumbled over the uneven ground, drawn by small, determined asses that paused for no-one. We’d left our bulky carriage behind, with the driver and his assistant, at the Lannish coastal town of Cozca and, after having ascended to Taparak itself, hired a cart to take us to the visitors’ district where accommodation was plentiful. We installed ourselves in a ground level hostelry, while Tamaris went off to ingratiate herself with the local traders and ask a few cautious questions. We supposed that many visitors would be curious about local customs and that inquiries concerning scaper training would not be too unusual.

  Tamaris was absent for several hours and was quite drunk when she returned. Still, she had accomplished what she’d set out to do, having forced herself upon a group of Taps in a taverna, in a manner only Tamaris can get away with. Charmed by her open friendliness, the Taps had teased her with stories, unaware that an astute mind was hidden behind the fluttering lashes and girlish smiles. Between us, Tamaris and I extracted the truthful aspects of all she’d heard, discarding the more obvious elements of tale spinning. The Taps were clever - especially the women - and had given little away, but we still had enough information to help us. It was clear that Tappish children underwent a ceremony at eight years of age, when they were introduced to their future vocation. This must be some form of initiation - perhaps an ideal time, for our purposes, to make contact with a Tappish child. I knew that the soulscapers’ abilities to influence the minds of others was far superior to any eloim’s - which was why we needed a soulscaper - but it was also true that the Taps relied on their mind-altering scaping substances to change their level of awareness, whereas an eloim could achieve a similar, if weaker, effect through concentration alone. I reasoned that this might mean Beth and I would possess a greater clarity of mind should we establish psychic contact with a Tap. Of course, we could not be physically present during one of these initiation ceremonies, which meant we would have to project ourselves - always an enervating experience. After our experiences in Lansaal, we were quite familiar with the procedure of soulscaping, but had not accomplished contact with a Tap from a distance before.

  For once, Beth was happy to follow my lead. If hunting was his province, mind-seeking was mine. Tamaris’ most precious snippet of information was that initiation ceremonies took place early in the morning. I did not know how long we would have to stay in Taparak, and doubted whether we’d be lucky on our first attempt at finding a suitable child, but there was little point in wasting any time.

  The following morning, Beth and I composed ourselves in my room at the taverna, lying down on the bed and breathing together, forging a link between ourselves. We had suffered many differences of opinion, even heated arguments, during our journey east, but once our minds touched, all hostility melted away.

  ‘You have hated me,’ Beth observed.

  ‘True,’ I replied, ‘but we knew this journey would be difficult.’

  ‘I’m sorry...’

  ‘I know that. Rise!’

  We could not enter the soulscape, but we could move, disembodied, through the real world. The combined essence of our m
inds soared up through the tiers of Taparak, the ancient trunks shadowy to our altered awareness.

  ‘What do you see, sister?’

  ‘Many bright sparks, many souls...’

  ‘A child?’

  ‘There are hundreds of children. They are the brightest flickers. Look...’

  ‘Must we examine them all?’ The tone of his thought echoed his reluctance for so much tiring work.

  ‘Wait... Don’t strain yourself, Beth. Conserve your energy. I will search.’

  My prowess for mind travelling had always been stronger than Beth’s. I knew I could not keep him away from his body for too long. The shortest journey was exhausting; making contact with another individual could actually be painful.

  I released myself to the flow of the world’s rhythm, not struggling to search, but simply letting my instincts guide me. Lightly, taking Beth with me, I danced from spark to spark, pausing for the briefest of touches. The children sensed me, but I moved so swiftly, the sensation was too fleeting to cause them alarm. I felt my strength begin to falter and told Beth we would examine only two more souls, when a condensed node of energy attracted my attention. Within it gleamed the radiance of a child, but the diffuse glow around it indicated minds expanded beyond normal consciousness. Could we be so fortunate as to discover what we were looking for this soon?