Free Burying the Shadow by Storm Constantine

They were garlanded in rose-vines, the thorns of
which had provocatively pricked their faultless skins, conjuring
aromatic gems that beaded redly upon the surface. As we passed
them, Beth and I made a sacred genuflection, because we knew the
significance of their presence. The crowning with thorns and roses,
the piercing of flesh by thorns, was a traditional message to
signify that Izobella did not expect to have these morsels returned
to her. They were sacrifices. Because of this, the supping, the
draining of their flesh, would be of holy intention. But,
refreshment would not come until later. First, we must attend to
business.
    The hall was
oblong in shape, with tiered seating around the edges. Most of
these seats were already occupied. I supposed that every eloim
throng in Sacramante was represented there that night. The
Parzupheim had taken their places upon the platform at one end of
the chamber and, as we entered, their amanuensis signalled that
Beth and I should place ourselves nearby. The Parzupheim are
antique beings of an almost ethereal appearance and, to those of us
in our first cycle, seem distinctly alien. History lives in their
eyes; it is said they can remember the birth of the world, when
they came through from the other place. Looking into their
translucent faces, I could believe that easily.
    The Partsuf
Oriukh Kadishah, a Metatronim like ourselves, raised his hands for
silence, although there was very little noise within the hall.
Everyone sat down. There was a moment’s silence as the Oriukh
composed himself for speech.
    ‘I am
gratified to behold so many of our brethren beneath this roof,’ he
began, ‘and wish only that our gathering could be to discuss a
happier subject. However, I will address the business succinctly.
As you are all no doubt aware, we have lost thirteen souls to
self-extinction. It is unprecedented in our history. Death is a
trickster whose sleeves we thought we had shaken free of fatal
cards, and yet now he comes to trespass in our courts. Our
immortality has become a curse. Curiosity has become ennui;
anticipation - despair. Our kin throw themselves into the face of
Lilit’s cup-bearers, spurning life, desecrating our existence. We
were born immortal; to extinguish that light voluntarily is an
abomination, and one that affects us all. So, the madness takes us;
so, we die. The question is: why? As you know, humanity, who are
close friends of the Dark Brother, are plagued by a condition they
refer to as the Fear. Eloim have never been prey to such sickness,
but strong voices within our community have suggested that the
tragedies we have endured recently may be caused by this unseen
thing. This was a controversial suggestion, I know, and even I am
unconvinced of its veracity, but certain individuals took it upon
themselves to investigate the possibility, and concluded that we
should find for ourselves a person who could treat the sickness and
expunge it from our midst.’ He leaned forward, resting his chin on
a clenched fist, his sleeve falling back to reveal a sinuous, tawny
arm embraced by golden serpents.
    ‘There are,
among humanity, special people. They are known as soulscapers.
Doubtless all of you have heard this term before. Humanity, being a
younger race, compelled by hotter and more dangerous fires than we,
is often prey to madness, in all its forms. Soulscapers not only
know how to eradicate the condition known as the Fear, but can hunt
down all manner of defects in the mind and drive them out.’ Here,
he paused again and directed a glance at Beth and myself. I lowered
my eyes, although I could feel the attention of everyone present
riveted on our heads.
    ‘Two of the
Metatronim throng,’ the Oriukh continued, dryly, ‘took it upon
themselves, four years back, to seek out a soulscaper of
superlative prowess, a soulscaper who might be strong enough to
face our sickness and purge it from the soulscape of eloim. My
beloved siblings, I give you the Lady Gimel and the