Unlike this green and fertile Earth, where all the creatures can conjoin in their own fashion to bring forth young in great joy, there is only ever one progenitor in our world. But when certain cycles of causality have revolved to their completion, our parent, Eloat, will spawn a successor. Only then may he pass through to his next actuality, a new form of being in a different world. For that is the way of the multiverse.
This then was the rhythm of Elenoen, which had been maintained harmoniously since before memory. We, as trusting children, gave no consideration to our estate. We lived in Eternity.
Then, Eloat spawned a son whose name was Sammael, and the time had come for the transference of power, for a new cycle to begin, in Elenoen and on Earth. It was to have been a time of great celebration, of feasting and love, as the old Eloat departed to new frontiers, with the blessings of his people.
We enfolded Sammael in our thoughts, preparing to elevate him to the position of Eloat, but his predecessor faltered in the cadence of the world. For a moment, our father stepped out of the multiversal rhythm and, in doing so, acquired the desire to remain in Elenoen.
Eloat would not transfer, but claimed the new cycle meant the old rhythm should be destroyed. Eloat would retain his power over eloim, with Sammael sitting beneath him as his son.
Strange influences seeped through to the Earth, for the multiversal rhythm had been disrupted. The Earth remembered war and began to practice it. Her races diverged and fought. The strength and energy that came back to Elenoen was sour and bitter. Sammael pleaded with Eloat to depart Elenoen, to pass on, so that the multiverse rhythm could take on the new intricacies it desired; the old ones were becoming stagnant and breeding disharmony. Eloat refused and, through supreme effort, spawned another son for himself, whom he named Mikha’il. This other son was to be his weapon in the world, a defence against the demands of his first son, Sammael.
But Eloat had underestimated the attraction two such similar beings would have for one another. At first, these brothers were in accord, and loved each other dearly. United, their power eclipsed even that of their parent. Mikha’il was loyal to our father but, in love, he listened to the words of his brother, Sammael, who was still committed to the cycle of the multiverse. Because of his youth, Sammael lacked the ability to overthrow Eloat, and sought to petition Mikha’il to conjoin with him, so that they might achieve what Sammael alone could not do.
Angry at their union, Eloat deceived Mikha’il into believing the sour energy affecting Earth and Elenoen was caused deliberately by Sammael, and that his influence should be destroyed for all time. Sammael was cast into the role of greedy aggressor, a creature craving power and domination of his brethren. Eloat instructed Mikha’il to cast Sammael out of Elenoen into nothingness, where he might bleat in vain, without power. This division caused, for the first time in eloim history, a war in Elenoen. When Mikha’il gathered his father’s throngs about him to carry out the expulsion, many of the eloim - myself among them - supported Sammael. We did this because we loved him, and in our hearts we trusted his word.
Were we wrong to do this? I sit here now, an outcast from my home, having followed my Lord of Light, in the belief that his power, guided by the natural flow of the multiverse, could overcome the foul stagnation corrupting the essential forces of our home.
When Sammael was cast out, all eloim loyal to him were cast out with him, although, with his strength, we resisted the pull of the void of nothingness and succeeded in transferring to Earth. In his fury Eloat destroyed all the interfaces between the worlds, condemning we the rebel eloim to remain on Earth for eternity. Without access to the portals, we cannot pass through Elenoen to our next phase of actuality. We are trapped on Earth but, even in our grief, determined to make the best of our predicament. We take comfort in the fact that our presence on this world allows us to maintain its natural rhythm. We have lost our war, but so too have Eloat and Mikha’il. There are no victors in this conflict.
As I write these words, our Lord of Light lies grieving among his brethren. He is wounded above the heart, where the sword of Mikha’il struck home. The strength of his grief permeates the walls of this humble dwelling, where I sit in the light of a single taper, recording this sorry history. And yet, despite how our kin in Elenoen have abandoned us, and ignored our plight, we bear no malice. In this world, we shall grieve, but without hatred, and hope for a day, when Sammael, our Lord of Light, will be conjoined once more with his lost, beloved brother...”
Keea stopped reading. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep, shuddering breath, as if the account had physically hurt him. For a moment, I had the absurd impression he had forgotten I was there.
‘Yes, yes, go on!’ I cried.
He shook his head. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘Not yet.’
‘Well, if we are pausing, then perhaps you can answer some questions for me. These eloim - the ones that were thrown out of - what was it, Elenoen? - are they the people who were depicted on the walls of Helat’s temple, the Host?’
‘Yes!’ Keea looked at me in a disturbingly manic way. ‘You would have heard that in a moment, if you’d waited for me to continue!’
‘Sorry! But the Host were shown as being spawned by a single parent. Is that parent Eloat?’
Keea shook his head impatiently. ‘No, don’t be stupid. Sammael’s followers - many of them - were destroyed by Mikha’il during the conflict. Sammael had to replenish his people. Sammael spawned the Host. He is Helat! He taught his spawn how to mimic humanity enough to exist on this world, to manifest as flesh. He taught them how to acquire gender, how to breed, how to mix with men and women!’
‘Keea,’ I said, sure I was going to regret these words, ‘you didn’t read that bit. You aren’t reading now, Keea.’
He blinked at me. ‘Stop asking questions and let me continue, then.’
‘No, you don’t get my point. You don’t have to read it, do you! You already know all this! I don’t want legends, Keea. I don’t want archaic stories. Tell me the facts, the truth in your own words!’
He sighed, and closed the book, running his fingers over the ancient, embossed leather. ‘What you saw in the temple is all true. The eloim are the Host of Helat. They gave humanity many gifts, but.... because of what they were there was a price to pay. They feed on human blood, Rayo, like humans breathe air. They need it.’
‘Why human blood?’
‘There is no good reason for that! They must simply want to. They are ghouls, demons! The rebellion must have warped their instincts!’
I accepted this explanation, but my instincts sensed there must be more to it than he had suggested. ‘And yet, despite their predatory tendencies, they are depicted as being great teachers,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Well, it is true that they gave humanity knowledge,’ Keea replied airily, ‘but the price was death. After a while, people grew restless. They had the knowledge; they no longer wanted to pay the price. All the eloim were driven to the land you call the Strangeling. It was there that they were finally vanquished by humankind.’
‘Vanquished?’
Keea sighed again. ‘Most were killed, but some... some escaped. Many of the ruling families of Bochanegra believed that, should the eloim be completely annihilated, the Earth would lose the important things humanity had learned, such as the spirit of creativity, spirituality itself. They believed that, Rayo, and they helped the eloim survivors to escape those who sought to exterminate them. The eloim were hidden on Earth for many centuries, the knowledge of their existence handed down only through the human families who supported them.’
‘And now they are re-emerging?’
‘No, they re-emerged centuries ago. Here. All at the same time. Now, they practice their conceits of creation and feed off the populace.’
‘What? You mean the artisans?’ I laughed. ‘Oh Keea, that’s impossible! I think the artisans might be descended from these... these eloim, but they couldn’t have just arrived in a bunch lik
e that. People would have noticed! People would have asked questions!’
‘Ask yourself this question then, soulscaper. The Taps and the Deltans have recorded the history of the world. Have you ever read of the eloim in their records?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘That’s true... Perhaps this war you speak of occurred before the records were kept.’
Keea shook his head. ‘It didn’t.’
‘That’s impossible!’
‘As impossible as the fact that eloim slunk into Sacramante and set up house as artisans, hmm?’
‘No, that’s even more impossible.’
‘But it happened.’
‘How?’
‘They sabotaged the soulscape, Rayo, but it cost lives. They do not have the abilities of your people. Somehow, they used the life energy of eloim martyrs to uproot the knowledge of their existence from it, and once that initial excision was made, it was possible for eloim leaders to occlude the soulscape to this day with their insidious influence. Even you have never seen through it. The eloim are present in the human soulscape - they have to be, because they are part of human history - but you cannot detect them. In a similar way, apart from the patron families, the Sacramantans have never noticed the eloim in this city. Until recently.’
‘Don’t talk rubbish!’ I said. ‘The artisans are celebrities. They are known everywhere!’
‘Yet the fact that they are virtually immortal is never commented upon, the fact that they are never seen to ingest solid food. Very strange, isn’t it? They go to great lengths to disguise themselves. The patrons keep them alive.’
‘The patron families? You mean the people who helped them hide?’
He nodded.
I sat back in my chair, and took a deep breath. ‘Like the Tricantes,’ I said softly.
‘They are a patron family, yes. And their patronage goes beyond merely helping the eloim to hide, Rayo. They provide the eloim with sustenance. They feed them.’
‘Willingly? No!’
‘Yes. The process provides an obscene gratification to human beings, a kind of erotic stimulation. It is quite revolting, quite parasitic, and it perpetuates the abomination on this Earth.’
‘I can’t believe it!’
‘You must!’
I put my hands over my face, thinking of Liviana, thinking of Avirzah’e Tartaruchi, thinking of Gimel Metatronim. Gimel Metatronim? ‘But where do I come into this?’ I asked him. ‘Why was I brought here? What do they want with me?’
Keea lowered his head and sighed. ‘The eloim are in difficulty, Rayo. They are suffering from mind sicknesses. They are dying. I told you they don’t have the powers of Taps, so they need a soulscaper to heal them. They need you.’
‘A soulscaper? Me?’ I laughed nervously. ‘This is outrageous!’
Keea did not share my amusement. ‘When you were eight years old, Beth and Gimel Metatronim were prowling the world, looking for a Tappish child to overpower. They chose you, and violated your soulscape while you were in a vulnerable state. They fooled you into thinking they were your guardian-pursuers, and have influenced you ever since.’
‘I feel sick.’
Keea touched my arm. ‘Forgive me, Rayo, but I too am guilty of deceiving you. I have brought you to Sacramante for a very special purpose.’
‘You are working for the Metatronims!’ I said. ‘Yes, I know. I see it all now.’
Keea shook his head. ‘No, you do not. The eloim have discovered, too late, that if a soulscaper of your prowess enters their soulscape, it will effectively end their power on this world.’
‘How? How could I do that?’
He screwed up his eyes and shook his head. ‘You would reveal them, don’t you see? They made a mistake, Rayo, which they now desperately want to correct. Gimel is trying to destroy you, while I dearly want you to fulfil the initial purpose of your summoning. I am not working for the Metatronims, although they think I am.’
‘Then who are you working for? Whose side are you on, Keea?’
He made a dismissive gesture. ‘I am on the side of my native people. Look at me. What do you see?’
‘A young man - I think.’
‘Your eyes can be trusted. Rayo, you must enter the soulscape of eloim as Gimel originally planned. These creatures should not be on this world, exploiting its people; they must be removed. The first step is to uncloak them in the human soulscape, so that they are revealed to everyone, and cannot hide. Then, you must create a portal in the eloim soulscape.’
My laughter in response to these remarks held an edge of hysteria. ‘Oh, is that all? Keea, until this moment I was unaware there might be another soulscape besides a human one. How can I possibly become aware of it, never mind create a portal in it? It’s preposterous!’
Keea shook his head. ‘I can help you.’
‘You? How?’
‘I have lived with these people, been very close to them. I am sure that should we scape-share, I could lead you in the right direction.’
‘It is not as simple as that, Keea, believe me.’
‘We have to try, at least! The portal must be created, so that those who are able to vanquish the eloim will be able to do so.’
‘And who is able to vanquish them? Another secret society?’
Keea tapped the book beneath his hands. ‘This is a biased account, Rayo. The story has basic flaws. Its author was obviously glamorised by the rebel Lord of Light, and has represented him in a far more flattering manner than he deserves. In reality, Sammael was furious when Eloat told him he could not rule Elenoen. Eloat is misrepresented in this narrative, the viewpoint is all wrong. Mikha’il was never deceived by his father, and only did what had to be done.’
‘When we first came in here, you insisted that book was a true history,’ I said. ‘Now, you’re telling me it’s propaganda? You are still throwing me false information!’
‘No, I’m not! This is a true history - in most respects. There was a war in Elenoen, and some eloim did end up here. Sammael was an infernal egotist, Rayo. He craved power, and for that reason alone was expelled from Elenoen. It was a mistake that he ended up here, a mistake that his own people have been trying to correct for a very long time. Now, they might be able to do so. Humanity will be freed from its curse, Rayojini, and you can help accomplish it.’
‘This is incredible!’ I cried, but already a little part of me was seduced by the thought of being responsible for such a victory. ‘I can’t believe it.’
Keea shrugged. ‘Once you enter the eloim soulscape, you will see for yourself.’
‘And they are trying to prevent that...’ I rubbed my face. ‘Oh, spirits of every realm, one of the artisans visited me last night. He tried to persuade me to leave Sacramante.’
Keea’s face bloomed into a smile. ‘You see?’
‘Maybe I’m beginning to....’ I had to think. ‘The Holy Death... The victim is someone who has been drained of blood by an eloim, yes?’
Keea nodded.
‘No wonder the Taps aren’t allowed to examine the Holy Dead! But I thought all the artisans lived in Sacramante.’
‘No, they are dispersed throughout the world. The wanderers, the loners, are the eloim who cause the Holy Death. They are quite deranged.’
‘And the non-deaths? Explain.’
‘A different phenomenon entirely. They have been caused by the eloim becoming greedy. They now want to extend their influence beyond Sacramante.’
‘I see.... What about Salyon?’
‘Who?’
I explained to him about my visit to Sacramante with my mother when I was a girl. ‘He is a scion of one of the patron families. Why should he suffer?’
He paused, and averted his eyes from mine a little. ‘Well, of course he would have been an offering.’
‘An offering? You mean a voluntary Holy Death? Then why did the Tricantes want him healed?’
‘How can I answer that? Perhaps they changed their minds.’
‘Salyon said something to m
e... Wait, this makes sense. He spoke of an addiction whose drug made him sick. So maybe he wasn’t a Holy Death sacrifice. Maybe he’s simply allergic to being fed from. All the Tricantes look astonishingly healthy. Perhaps that means the artisans don’t kill the patrons at all, but just feed from them regularly.’
Keea shook his head emphatically. ‘No, it is indisputable that many of the patrons are sacrificed. Children, I expect. I have no explanation for the Tricante boy, although I suspect his sickness wasn’t caused by an allergy, but by the insatiable appetite of the eloim who fed from him. Their legends speak of how they can drink souls as well as blood. In their feeding-frenzy, perhaps they damaged his soul.’
‘No wonder Liviana was disturbed by what I said to her!’ I paused to review all the information I’d amassed in the light of these new, barely believable, facts. ‘We also found mutant births in Khalt. There were rumours of what they called ‘blood places’, ghosts... How does all that relate to what you’ve told me?’
‘It is really very simple. The nomad Khalts are descended from degenerate eloim who interbred with humanity. The artisans want to reappear as gods in this world, and the new religion will spread outwards from the nomads. All the supernatural phenomena were designed to help them do that.’
‘Why now? Why didn’t they do this years ago?’
‘Oh, I don’t know!’ Keea said irritably, ‘I expect they needed to replenish their strength or something. Anyway, to the eloim, time is a different concept than it is to humanity: because they are immortal, they can afford to take things slowly.’
‘And now they are trying to prevent me entering the eloim soulscape? So Gimel has been following me. As a guardian-pursuer, she was very real. One thing I don’t understand though. She attacked me on the road in Khalt, yet later when it seemed I was speaking to her in Ykhey, she denied having done that. Her response was genuine enough. It doesn’t seem to make sense.’
Keea pulled a sour face. ‘She is insane, Rayo, as are all eloim. You saw what happened to me in Ykhey. I have had to endure such treatment for years!’
Burying the Shadow Page 47