I slept very badly on the first night; Sah’ray had kicked my legs continually, whimpering in her sleep. Fortunately, her tent was larger inside than it appeared, although she was clearly used to having it all to herself. If she had guessed my intentions concerning the shaman, she was sensitive enough not to comment upon them, and had made me most welcome when I’d crept up through the night after leaving his tent. The food she had prepared for me was rather congealed, however.
The tribe emerged from their tents at dawn, some of them seeing to the first meal of the day, others packing up the camp, preparing for another day’s travel. Young men and women danced in the damp ashes of the previous night’s fire to release any lingering flame spirits, and there was a great feeling of imminent departure all around us; in the air as well as in the camp itself. I crawled out of Sah’ray’s tepee, stretching and yawning, stiff as wood, and yearning for a draught of water because Q’orveh’s liquor had shrivelled my mouth as I slept. There was a spring some distance off, where twittering people had gathered to draw water, flushing themselves down with it, as they stood in the springy grass along the banks. I sauntered up slowly, admiring the wet, naked bodies shivering in the cool morning; all laughter was shaky because the air was chilly enough to set everyone’s teeth chattering.
Q’orveh’s boy was squatting by the stream. He was fully clothed, although his trousers were wet to the knees. His hair was tied back neatly at the nape of his neck. I recognised him instantly because he glowed with dark. From yards away, I could tell he was aware of my approach, prompting me to think, ‘Well, I have made an enemy here.’ Indignantly, I walked right up to him and said, ‘My sleep was peculiarly free of dreams.’
He was rinsing his face in the stream and did not turn for a moment or two, leaving me unacknowledged for long enough to feel insulted. Then he sprang to his feet, causing me to jump back, uncontrollably, in alarm. He grinned. ‘Come and see this,’ he said, and leapt over the stream.
I made a sound of irritation, because my heart was still hammering with shock; I’d thought he was going to attack me. Squatting down, I took a few handfuls of the pure water, which revitalised my palate and my spirit.
The boy watched me silently from the other side of the stream, hands on hips. Then, when I had drunk, he said. ‘Well, follow then. The others will be moving off soon and I suppose you’ll want to eat before.’ He sauntered off into the knee-high scrub, confident that I would follow him. I did so, without qualm. No way could I allow this creature to see I was wary of him. Q’orveh had made that mistake; I had no intention of doing so.
The sounds of the tribe members by the stream faded very quickly, swallowed up by the thick, green murk of the forest. Birds were calling through the morning, drawing up the sun from rest. Animals rustled away from our path. I kept a fair distance between us. The boy had the self-assured grace of a person whose body is often fondled and admired. It was as if he’d been trained to be an actor or a dancer, or had at least been well-schooled in the arts of the flesh by one.
We ducked into deeper growth, scrabbled, almost bent double, through a tangle of thorny shrubs, finally emerging into a rough clearing. I had been able to smell something distasteful for a few minutes; now I understood why. This was a nomad burial circle. Platforms about ten feet off the ground ran like a balcony around the trees, littered with indistinct and colourless shapes. I have no fear of the dead, but I do respect them, and kept my eyes averted after a quick glance.
‘Why have you brought me here?’ I asked. I had a feeling he intended to frighten me.
‘Do you believe the dead can walk again?’ he replied.
‘Do you really want an answer from me? Is that why I’m here?’
He smiled. ‘Look, one of us is going to have to answer a question. I’ve brought you here so you can see. Soulscapers see much more than the normal person, they say. Tell me what you see.’
‘You are not a normal person,’ I said. ‘You are playing with me. I do know this, boy. You are a shadow.’
He laughed. ‘A shadow am I? What kind?’
‘A dark one, naturally.’
‘In that case, aren’t you afraid I might have brought you here to hurt you?’
‘No, because I am more powerful than you. I actually still believe you are jealous because I wanted your master last night. You are playing and you are a snake.’
‘Please answer my question. I want to know what you think.’
We are not communicating, I thought. We are not communicating at all. I don’t know what we’re doing. Still, I wandered to the nearest tree, put my hand upon the bark and gazed upwards to the platform. It creaked slightly and there was a sudden rattling, whirring sound as a bird flapped out of the foliage. I did not receive any bad feelings particularly; this place was truly dead. ‘If corpses really are climbing down from the trees, this is not a place where it has happened,’ I said. ‘But then, I expect you already know that.’
‘You will be needed, soulscaper,’ he answered.
I looked at him sharply, and realised that he was not of Khaltish stock; he was too pale, his eyes were too wide, lacking the catty, slanty look of the nomad. His hair was matte black, an absorber of light.
‘Do you need me, Shadow?’ I asked, teasing. ‘Is that the reason for this performance?’
He shook his head, a grin splitting the serious expression on his face. ‘I don’t need anyone, soulscaper. I’m just telling you, so you’ll be prepared.’
I nodded, warming to the game. ‘So tell me, what is happening in the world. Your master doesn’t know. Do you?’
He twitched - no other word for it. ‘No, I don’t know. I only watch. Whatever is happening won’t be solved in this reality, I do know that.’
The pertinence of his remark astounded me. He was probably right. I folded my arms and gazed around the clearing. The dead do not walk, I was sure of that. ‘So, you have shown me. What exactly you expected me to learn from this, I am unsure, but I will remember the place. Now, I am hungry.’ I turned around and headed back into the trees. I expect he followed me, though I did not look.
Section Five
Rayojini
‘Of forests and enchantments drear, where more is meant than meets the ear…’
From ‘Il Penseroso, Milton
Q’orveh had said I could not help him, and yet his people came to me steadily, relentlessly, from the moment we trod the same path, asking about my art, and often begging me to exercise it. Because they were travelling westwards and I was intrigued, both by the rumours flying in the air and the people themselves, I elected to join them for a while, perhaps even until we reached the Strangeling. There was much to record, which I wrote down in my notebook, visualising myself, even as I wrote, reading these words aloud to the scryers back in Taparak when I returned. Sah’ray was glad to share her company and her tepee, although she was a restless person who disturbed my nights. Very soon, however, I became adept at avoiding her flailing limbs, even while half asleep.
I would not have said the nomad Khalts were a people often prey to the Fear. They had their own rituals and customs for dealing with it, which seemed effective. Their shamans were powerful. Strangely, I learned that none of these holy people were female - wise-women were another caste entirely - and yet all nomadic shamans were expected to take on a female role, even going so far, as I had suspected, to emasculating themselves. Perhaps because of this, they possessed a unique mystery, a finely tuned polarity of gender. Khaltish shamans were, on a spiritual level, both sexes. One thing I learned later was that the dark-shadowed boy had lied; Q’orveh did know how to please a woman.
The tribe is an extended family in Khalt. I had joined the Halmanes, who claimed their blood was mixed with ground-sylph stock, because sometimes children would vanish, drink blood or turn into animals. I saw no immediate proof of this, but still, being in their company made me feel as if I had stepped into another world - the soulscape itself, perhaps. The nomads had the unpredictable, sur
real ambience of soulscape creatures. Halmanes was destined for a meeting with another tribe - the Toors - in order for their shamans to commune, a marriage or two to be arranged, and religious celebrations to be shared. Sah’ray told me that everyone would wear knives in their hair during this meeting. Relations were delicate among the tribes and could often dissolve into conflict. The nomadic Khalts are a deeply religious breed, although their beliefs do have a flavour of defiance. Often, I felt they mocked their god. Rituals generally involved some kind of pantomime, usually of divine beings making fools of themselves. Grinning, moronic masks, pendulous false breasts and phalluses abounded in such rites. The men and women had their own mysteries, which were exclusive to gender, but any woman walking the path with them was automatically admitted to the women’s rites. It was taken for granted I would participate.
After my encounter with the Shadow, which had amused and stimulated me rather than caused the discomfort I’d expected, I ate with Sah’ray, and then joined the tribal line for the day’s travelling. Sah’ray kept me by her side, linking her hard, skinny arm through mine. She was eager to talk about herself and was anticipating finding a man at the coming celebration.
‘I have no desire to marry outside the tribe,’ she told me, ’but it is time for a kidling, and Q’orveh rewards those of us who bring new blood to the family.’
‘Rewards in what way?’ I couldn’t help asking.
‘He elected my friend, Madlin, to his inner circle for a moon or two. She took a prominent part in the women’s rites because of that. It is said he gives red liquor to the favoured.’
‘Red liquor?’
She tapped her wrist. ‘The life fluid. Blood.’
I tried not to grimace. ‘Blood-drinking seems to play a prominent part in both your rites and your legends.’
She nodded. ‘It is the sylph in us. We are an old race. If you know the magicks, you can be immortal. Some of us achieve that, but most of us have forgotten how. It’s said we are under a curse that makes us forget this important thing.’
‘Have you seen an immortal nomad, Sah’ray?’
She gave me a sneaky look. ‘How would I know if I had? They would disguise themselves, wouldn’t they?’
I shrugged. She had a point, I suppose.
What interested me more than the old legends, were the new rumours and stories that were springing up; blood places, mutant births, angry spirits. As I got to know the Khalts, I began to wonder whether it was simply part of their racial behaviour to surround themselves with these stories. Perhaps it was not a new phenomenon after all.
Sah’ray, naturally, was not loath to talk to me about it. ‘The shamans say things have been building up for years, like an energy. Now, it cannot be contained. We have seen many strange things.’
‘Such as?’ I prompted, probably needlessly.
Sah’ray wrinkled her nose to think. ‘There have been deaths that are not deaths among us for several seasons.’
‘Non-deaths?’ I asked excitedly.
Sah’ray nodded. ‘You could call them that. They are like the Sacred Paling, but not so. It is like a holy death that begins but does not end. Do you understand?’
It astounded me that these primitive people had been drawing virtually the same conclusions about the non-deaths as myself. Q’orveh had deceived me; he knew more than he had suggested. ’Yes, I think I understand,’ I said, grimly. ‘How many have there been among your people?’
‘Maybe five since the last Farless - that’s what you call winter. Three of them were children, which is unusual.’
‘Indeed. What else have you encountered?’
‘Blood places. The grass is flattened and there are the marks of great carnage, but no flesh. The blood is always wet, as if whatever happened only just happened. A couple of times we’ve heard other tribes approaching us at night. We hear the road-singing. Nobody sings the road at night. Nobody travels after dark unless in fear and then they wouldn’t sing, they’d be silent. When you go out of your tepee to take a look, there is nothing at all to see. Then the sounds just stop. We crossed the path of the Sho’wl tribe, two moons back, and they were jumpy as deer. Maybe too much like deer. Their shaman told Q’orveh one of their girls had gotten pregnant and her child had four legs and hooves.’
‘Ah, the mutant virgin birth.’
‘He told you that, then.’
‘Yes. He told me that. Now, tell me something else. Tell me about the black-haired boy in Q’orveh’s tent.’
‘Keea?’
‘I don’t know his name. He is not one of you.’
‘It is Keea; there is only one boy in Q’orveh’s tent now. He came to us a short while back. It is to do with the men’s mysteries. I don’t know about that and couldn’t tell you if I did.’
‘He spoke of the dead coming down from the trees.’
Sah’ray visibly shivered. ‘Q’orveh tells us it is part of the non-death. Perhaps people have sent their dead to the trees when they haven’t really been dead, and they come down again. Keea knows something about this, which is why Q’orveh keeps him close.’
‘What does he know?’
Sah’ray gave me a keen glance. The urgency in my voice must have alarmed her. ‘You ask a lot of questions, Rayo. Why do you want to know so much about us?’
I could see no point in lying. ‘Let us just say I too have encountered those who have suffered the non-death. In eastern Khalt. It is horrible and I want to know why it’s happening.’
‘You must speak some more with Q’orveh, then.’
I nodded. Paused. ‘Another question, Sah’ray. Is it possible to speak with Q’orveh when Keea isn’t there?’
An unspoken knowledge passed between us. She pulled a rueful face. ‘Not easy, but I have friends in the inner circle. No promises, but I’ll see what I can do.’
That evening, we paused again in a habitual nomad resting-place. After we’d erected the tepee and Sah’ray was preparing us something to eat, I sat down, with my notebook on my knees, and reviewed what I had learned. It seemed my instincts about Keea were right (or was I deceiving myself about him?). I would have to observe him more closely. It was possible he wasn’t human at all, but if that was so, what was he? I certainly didn’t believe he was a soulscape emanation who’d taken on flesh. Still, it was not unheard of for great concentrations of thought to produce manifestations in the physical world, and the widespread panic, caused by the strange events occurring all over the place, would certainly be capable of producing the required power. Greater implications seemed to loom within my head; approaching swiftly, but under a cloud.
Sah’ray brought me a broadleaf full of minced goat. She sat down beside me, licking her greasy fingers. I ate carefully. Khaltish cuisine tended to be rather gritty; they were not too fussy about what they threw into their cooking pots. ‘You must go to Q’orveh’s tepee again tonight,’ Sah’ray told me.
I was surprised. ‘You have gained me private access so quickly?’
She shook her head. ‘No, but I have talked to someone. You must become part of Q’orveh’s talking wheel. Keea will be there. Keea is always there, but you must become so regular a visitor to the talking that you will be invisible to him.’
‘I see. What do your people think of Keea?’
She shrugged. ‘Nothing. He just is. It’s you that wants him out of the way, not us.’
There were questions I wanted to ask the shaman and they referred back to a subject I was already keenly interested in.
I already knew that the majority of religious people, whatever their particular creed, reacted violently against the bodies of their Holy dead being inspected. It was very unfortunate that the only people objective and rational enough to study the condition - the guild leaders in Taparak - never had local corpses at their disposal. Recently, I had been mulling over the idea that the Holy Deaths and the non-deaths were connected. Now, it seemed, Q’orveh might have reached the same conclusion. I felt it was time to establish exactly what
the Holy Death was, in order to understand what the non-death might be. Perhaps Q’orveh would be receptive to my ideas, and would even let me examine one of these corpses should the opportunity arise, but instinct cautioned me to keep my thoughts to myself and him alone. I needed privacy in which to speak with him about it.
As Sah’ray instructed, I presented myself at the shaman’s canopy that night and was again admitted. The tent was full of people, tribe elders, both men and women; acolytes of the shaman clustered together, heeding the wisdom being spoken. Keea was a vibrant, dark presence by the tent curtain. The discussions involved only tribal gossip; speculations about what other tribes were doing, arrangements for the coming celebration. I was not called upon to speak, although Q’orveh did acknowledge my presence as I entered the tent. I would have to be patient.
The meeting with the Toors nomads was destined to take place at an especially sacred nomad site, known as Helat’s Sink. Helat was a deity worshipped by all the nomad tribes. It took us only three days to reach the location, during which time members of the tribe, requesting my services, frequently approached me. Sah’ray was delighted by this and decided to manage my appointments. Each evening, a few people would queue outside her tent, and she would usher them inside, one at a time, where I sat burning a minor fume. Generally, these people wanted no more than simple mind-purifying rituals from me; they were unnerved and jumpy. I was happy to comply and, while burning assuaging fumes that calmed the mind, would murmur some gentle, reassuring words and massage the face and scalp of my clients. I was rather concerned that, by my undertaking this work, Q’orveh and his healers might think I was undermining their role within the tribe. I remained alert for signs that I was causing upset within the shamanic circle, but picked up no whisper of reproach.
Burying the Shadow Page 20