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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