The Grigori: Stalking Tender Prey Part 46

Before me: this beautiful being whom I cannot understand. Neither man or woman, there is no distinction in their kind. All I feel is the resonance of the tonal sounds they generate and their invisible hands upon my brow, igniting the fibres of my soul. And the words come, pa.s.sing into the world and the ears of men.

I beseech the ancestors: Reveal to me the sacred names, for I would use them well. Give me the knowledge that men covet. Am I not worthy? Do you not look upon me with love and give me the touch of your holy hands?'

But still the words that tumble from my mouth are meaningless to me. If I try hard enough will the forms of the words change in my head, become real? No. I have tried. I always try.

The Renowned Old Ones draw away from me, and it is time to retreat from the stargate. I feel the pull in my skin, dragging my soul back into the temple. And yet, as my spirit travels, I sense an unseen Presence: something different. It seems to me as if a voice is speaking, and at last, the words have meaning: You will gather the harvest of knowledge through your own power, the power that you have yet to discover, a power I have yet to use.' The voice is male, and rings like a clarion across the heavens, yet whispers as soft as the feet of a mouse running over the grain. Now, I fly across the rippling fields of corn, and my spirit's eye can see the roofs of the temple, ruddy in the harvest light. A perfume rises from the corn, the smell of ozone, a salty, male scent. And on the horizon, rising from the jagged mountains of Heaven, the dwelling place of the s.h.i.+ning Ones. A yearning presence envelops me.

I rise from my trance and my sisters hold out their hands, with their henna-red palms, to lead me from the flame. Already the men have dismissed me from their attention and apply themselves to debate, arguing over the patterns in the sand. I want to spit upon their symbols, muddle the pictograms with my hands so they cannot read them. The Presence is still with me: I can feel it all around. Something is coming.

Brus.h.i.+ng aside my sisters, I am drawn out into the immensity of the spreading fields. Here, I am so small, it is a marvel. The grain sways for as far as I can see, and in the eastern distance the mountains are dark and secret against the sequins of the stars. It is as if the mountains are hanging above the earth, not part of it at all. The smell of the sky is overpowering out here. The earth G.o.d holds sway across the fields. I walk into the corn, and it caresses my body as I glide along the narrow path towards the mountains.

How dare they deny me! Within the words I give to them are the answers to the greatest questions: where we come from and what we are. The men are too stupid to see this, yet they are unwilling to question their G.o.ds, the Anannage, on these mysteries. Instead, they use me, unaware that I have the potential to be greater than them. Fools!

I throw back my head to the sky and scream in silence, Give me the answers!

Then, as I lower my eyes, they rest once again upon the mountains, the High Place. Women are forbidden to go there, too. I have never gazed upon one of the Anannage at close quarters. On the rare occasions they come to us, I have been shut inside the house with the other women. We looked through the slats across the windows and saw their tall shapes, but that was all. Now, as I walk this path, I defy the elders and begin to sing the forbidden tones of the Renowned Old Ones. My song is my greatest gift, and I sing it from my soul. I sing it to him whose presence is with me, and whose body is coming to me. As my song reaches its highest pitch, the tones rising through the sacred scale, a blinding light fills my mind and a powerful love fills my heart. He is coming to meet me, he is coming from the High Place, and when he arrives...? Oh, by all the names of all the G.o.ds, sacred and profane, I feel his soul: already it pa.s.ses through mine like a veil of incense smoke, like a shower of rain at dawn. It shouts to me. May the Great Lady give me strength to bear his beauty and his power!

There. I see him upon the path, tall and pale, his robes swinging about him. He has heard my soul-song calling to him, I know this. As he draws closer, I can see that he wears a feathered cloak which hangs about him like wings. They are vulture feathers: black as night. Beneath the cloak, his robe, as I first thought, is white, belted with gold. Nearer. I can see his feathered head-dress, the plumes nodding against the night sky. He is so tall. Am I afraid? He wears the bones of a snake, wound around and around his long neck, the brittle, ivory head of the serpent gripping in its jaws the bony links of its tail. The symbol st.i.tched in gold upon his breast is that of the Watchers. I have seen that seal before, and heard men mutter about it. They watch over us and take words of our activities back to the mountains. Usually, they hide themselves in clouds. But there are no clouds to conceal the one who comes to me now. He is a Watcher, high-ranking among his kind. Nearer. His face. I can see his face. What is it that I see? He is a serpent man, a feathered serpent, yet how lovely to behold. His eyes are like the eyes of a viper, filled with an ancient wisdom. My knees are weak, but I must not stumble. I must walk, walk towards him. He is looking up at the sky now, towards Orion. How bright the constellations s.h.i.+ne this night, brighter than ever before. When he speaks, his voice will be familiar, yet we have never met. The smell coming from his body is the salt smell of the sky after a storm; it is so strong now, the essence of manhood.

Here: we meet. In the mid-path between the High and the Low. He looks down at me from his great height, and it is as if he is afraid. A flame of golden light burns around his body. Does it burn with desire? I have called him, and his body heard me.

Are you my G.o.d in Heaven?' I ask him.

He holds out his hands to me and I take them in my own. I can be, if you want me to be,' he says, and there is a smile on his face. His hair falls from beneath the plumes on his head like a cascade of flowing white feathers. His eyes, even in the dusk, are the deepest blue.

In contrast to him, I am female power, the residue of Orion's energy hangs about my body like a veil. He recognises this. I know it. He knows my function. Is this real? Am I still in trance? I want this man and the things that he might teach me. He enfolds me in his cloak, wings wrapped about my body. Pressed against him, I can hear his beating heart, feel the hardness in his loins.

I say to him, If you are my heavenly G.o.d, tell me the hidden names, tell me what the men of the temple refuse to tell me.'

He takes my head between his long hands and looks into my face. You have a need,' he says, as do I, to experience that which is forbidden to you. If you, my lady, give me the power of the earth and all the fire within her, I will do anything you ask of me. My Heaven is cold, my wings have grown tired of traversing the astral spheres and constellations, and my heart grows sick of the commandments from my brethren. The smell of the earth is ripe around you. The fruit of your body I long to taste. Seek not the stars for me, Ishtahar, oracle of Hebob. Lay open for me the depths of the earth, and the richness of her power. Please do not deny me the knowledge of this pleasure.'

There is knowledge, then, that the Anannage deny their own.

He lifts me in his arms and puts his mouth against my own. My hands steal beneath his eburneous mane. I press my wrists against the heat of his neck. His skin is smooth, like marble. He carries me into the corn and lays me down there. In the stillness of the night, I can hear the soft voices of my sisters in the temple, and the sound of it makes me aware of my flesh, my existence in the world. The air is cool now, like an urgent hand shaking the sleeper to wakefulness. The s.h.i.+ning One blots out the stars above me and I feel a fear rise up within my breast, like a serpent arranging itself to strike. He feels it too. As I start away from him, he leans down and grips my hand. No, do not be afraid of me. For this act, you will be venerated as the highest G.o.ddess forevermore.'

I have been told the serpents are sacred. To lie with this serpent man must be a holy act. Our love has been waiting, like a star ready to fall. It is inexorable.

I take him in my arms and he breathes in my ear the first of the forbidden words. His name: Shemyaza.

Chapter Thirty-Five.

Barbara Eager was overseeing operations at The White House. To a casual observer, it might have appeared that she was no different than she'd ever been, but Mrs Moon knew otherwise. Whispers had been circulating around the village all day, a condensation of rumours that had flown for a couple of weeks now. The Grigori were back. Like Eva Manden, Mrs Moon had a parent who had once been a Grigori dependant and, also like Eva, she welcomed their return with mixed feelings. Still, there was little anyone could do about the situation. If they'd come back, they'd come back, and that was that. The Eager woman was charmed, all right. You could see it on her like a dark glow. She was hysterical, but managed to hide it.

Peverel Othman made an appearance at six o'clock, just as a couple of the Perks boys were seeing to the barbecue in the garden. A few people had already begun to arrive, mostly oldsters, although a couple of new families were present, who had brought their children with them. Mrs Moon, watching from the kitchen window at the back of the pub, shook her head at that, and pursed her lips. Fodder! she thought, but it was not her place to judge.

Othman went up to Barbara, who was supervising the placement of bread rolls on a trestle table, which was covered with a glowing white cloth.

Is everything ready?' he asked.

Barbara jumped at the sound of his voice, then turned to him with a smile. Yes, Pev. Everything.'

He touched her face. Good.'

Is Louis coming?' Barbara asked.

Later,' Othman replied. We shall all be down later.'

What are you doing?' Barbara's eyes became momentarily alert.

Othman smiled at her gently. A ceremony at the High Place. Don't worry. Soon, all shall be as it was before.'

Before when? Barbara couldn't help thinking, but the thought was quickly smothered. Misgivings had been tugging at her heart all day, indistinct fears and doubts, yet her body felt exuberant and sleek, more beautiful than it had felt for years. Barbara could sense youth creeping back into her bones and flesh. Whatever she had involved herself in, it had been a voluntary act. She must accept the consequences.

All the oldsters present were watching Peverel Othman with greedy, inquisitive eyes. He acknowledged each of them with eye contact, knowing that to risk more would prove to be a waste of his energy. Just the slightest touch could set them off, sucking and starving at his soul.

Emma Manden appeared at the edge of the garden, dressed in a long, man's raincoat, her abundant hair curled forties' style around her shoulders, her lips a bruised smudge in the artificial light. Othman noticed her and thought that she looked as if she was getting ready to leave the place. Her attire spoke to him of stations and partings. She was obviously playing another role from her memory.

Emma!' He summoned her.

She marched over to him briskly. Well, everyone's here! So what happens now?'

Othman led Emma aside. In a few minutes, I shall leave for the High Place. I'll be back in an hour or so.'

Can't I come with you?' Emma's eyes were defiant.

Othman hesitated, then touched Emma's arm. My dear, this is a man's ritual. I'm sorry. I wish you could be present, but it is impossible.'

I see.' Emma narrowed her eyes. He is a little afraid of me, she thought. He was not as confident as he should be, appearing too nervy and jumpy.

It's up to you to keep everyone happy here, Emma,' Othman said. I'm relying on you.'

Emma shuddered involuntarily. In an hour Daniel Cranton would be dead. She chided herself for feeling uneasy about it. In the past, she'd been aware of human deaths in Long Eden. Was this one so different?

Where is Lily?' Othman asked her.

Emma shrugged. I don't know. She wasn't at the cottage when I left. I think she's hiding. It's frightening her, all this.'

She's just jealous,' Othman said, with a smile. She wanted to be the one to empower the flame.'

And Emma thought, how can you be so wrong? She felt no fear for Lily, and had not even bothered to search for her. Othman clearly considered her unimportant to the proceedings, intent as he was on his man's ritual'. There was a tiny seed of feeling within Emma whispering that Lily might spring some surprises of her own. Emma did not question this. She only thought of their brief conversations concerning the key to Long Eden, and harboured a cautious hope. She realised then that she had faith in Lily. Owen is ready,' she said. I've dressed him and put him in the kitchen.'

Thank you,' Othman replied.

Emma watched him leave the garden of The White House, thinking, He's not as clever as he believes himself to be.

Othman prowled the lanes of Little Moor, dragging his intentions behind him like smoke. The air was like needles against his skin, invisible p.r.i.c.ks of light. He sensed a wave about to crest, a veil about to tear. Soon. Like Emma, he shuddered, half in antic.i.p.ation, half in dread. He could not go back on his decision.

Ray Perks was lurking on the lawn of the Winter cottage, his two cronies, Bobby and Luke skulking behind him. Othman presumed Emma had directed them to be present. Although he had not thought of this, he saw the sense of it. They were Owen's minions and protectors, always had been. This was their hour too, and later, if Owen was wise, he would reward them for their dumb loyalty.

Inside the cottage, Owen sat at the kitchen table, staring into s.p.a.ce. He was dressed in loose white trousers and s.h.i.+rt - presumably, a hasty costume Emma or Lily had put together. Owen's hair was a shocking aureole of light around his head and shoulders. He appeared blind, or mindless. Othman did not bother to address any remarks to Owen, but simply raised him by the arm and led him into the garden. Here, Othman directed Ray and the others to take Owen to the High Place. He would meet them there shortly.

For a few minutes, he sat upon the lawn in the cottage garden, composing his thoughts, condensing his strength. The sky s.h.i.+vered with dark colours, the stars were tiny shrieks of radiance, each proclaiming a legend, a history, a tragedy. The constellation of Orion hung like an omen high in the sky. Othman could feel them all converging on the High Place: Owen and his acolytes, Louis with his sacrificial son. Tonight, the veils between the worlds were thin. He would tear them open, blast them apart, clear the astral rags that blocked his way to the gateway. When it finally opened, understanding would come to him. He felt nervous, exhilarated, as if held in the throes of a great and powerful love.

As he walked down the lane towards Herman's Wood, Peverel Othman's thoughts were entirely on the ritual to come. He did not notice, nor could perceive, the liquid shadow that followed him. No unearthly predators, but Emma Manden, acute and aware, covering her own back, intent on seeing with her own eyes what would happen at the High Place.

As Othman clambered up through the bracken, figures were silhouetted against the orange-purple sky at the summit of the hill. All stood motionless, as if unable to move or act until he arrived. The sky, the earth, the air, were full of a vast imminence, the event waiting to happen. Othman felt breathless; hysteria scratched at his control. His fingers tingled, his belly churned with acid, his eyes ached. He felt like a vessel waiting to be filled, or a filled vessel waiting to be uncorked, to issue froth and foam in ferocious spurts. All eyes turned towards him as he crested the hill. Earlier in the day, he had visited the High Place to make certain preparations for the night. An unlit bonfire stood ready in the centre of the circle. This he intended to be the gateway to the flame below. Owen stood before the cone of branches and moss, his eyes downcast. Perks and his two companions were stationed around the edge of the circle, while Louis Cranton stood just outside, opposite Othman on the brow of the hill, his hands upon Daniel's shoulders, who stood before him. Daniel, dosed with haoma, did not appear tranced like Owen, but aware and serene. It was almost, Othman thought, as if he knew what fate awaited him and accepted it. That, of course, could not be possible.

While the others waited in silence, Othman lit the bonfire. It did not crackle up greedily, despite the dryness of the tinder, but snapped and fizzed in a sullen manner, a dark red glow forming at its heart. All was as it should be.

Othman raised his arms, causing Owen to lift his head languidly. There seemed no recognition in his eyes, just stupefaction.

Tonight,' Othman said, we meet to reawaken the flame below. The power shall rise, and the gateway open.' He lowered his arms. Louis, bring forth the lamb.'

Hesitantly, Louis pushed Daniel before him into the circle. The dull ruby light of the fire did not seem to touch the boy. He was the lamb to the slaughter, pure, beautiful, burning with his own white light. Othman experienced a twinge which was almost regret; all that potential soon to be quenched, extinguished, gutted. He allowed himself to bask in the ray of pure love for Daniel which speared his being. Then he turned away to face the dark of the forest below, to invoke the elements.

In the eastern quarter, the direction of air, a wind started up as Othman chanted the invocation. It stirred the high branches of the trees, caused the bonfire to grow momentarily brighter. In the north, the direction of earth, Othman's words conjured movement from the leaf mould at his feet, and the phallus of the green-wood thrust forth from the ground. In the south, for water, rain began to fall, but only on that side of the circle. In the west, as Othman conjured fire, earthlights flickered among the debris of the forest floor, and the bonfire in the centre flared up in great tongues of flame. It had begun.

Below the High Place, numb in the temple chamber, Lily opened her eyes. At first, she felt disorientated, unsure of her surroundings, still lost in the scrolls of history, reliving an ancient story of love. Ishtahar. She stood up. The air was warmer now, the incense perfume pervaded by the smells of corn and ozone. Across the fire-pit, Raven also got to his feet. Lily began to cry. Her heart was filled with grief, a great sense of loss. She ached for the arms of the s.h.i.+ning One. Shemyaza and Ishtahar's story had ended in death and tragedy. All that was left was the memory of their great love, and the peoples who had come after them. Grigori. Lily herself.

Blinking, Lily stared into the perpetual flame. What use was this knowledge to her? She knew now that her mother and Kashday Murkaster had in some way seen themselves as reflections, or avatars, of Ishtahar and Shemyaza. Helen had tried to reopen the stargate which the Renowned Old Ones had closed after Shemyaza and his brethren committed transgressions with human women, turning away from the power of the stars and seeking the female power of the earth. Helen had failed. The flame here burned weakly, Lily understood that now. She held out her hand to it, willing it to reawaken. She felt that if the flame could fill her being it would burn away her grief.

Suddenly, without warning of any kind, the flame made a brief fizzing noise and then roared up towards the ceiling of the chamber in a buzzing blue-white column. Lily yelped in surprise, and cowered away, covering her head with her arms. Across from her, Raven uttered a panicked snarl and dropped to all fours, his ears back. The chamber was filled with a sound like electricity crackling. Lily looked up and saw the flame spattering across the ceiling. It is awake. Did I wake it?

Something creaked and rustled beside her. Lily shuffled backwards, her feet stumbling in the grooves on the stone floor. Around her, on their pedestals, the ancient guardians of the flame began to stir. As they stretched their desiccated forms, powder crumbled from between the cloths around their bodies. Withered limbs creaked, ruined throats strove to make sound. Lily covered her ears with her hands for she could not bear the dreadful squeaky whisperings. Something was happening above her; she could sense it. She wanted to flee the chamber, but also felt compelled to remain, even though she was afraid. Raven slunk around the circle and stationed himself behind her. She was grateful for his presence, his protection. Glancing up, she saw the domed ceiling of the chamber was laced with cracks. As the blue flame beat against it, chunks of plaster and stone began to crumble away, dropping to the floor where they exploded in clouds of dust. The flame was trying to break free into the world. I have done this, Lily thought.

The long black car pulled up onto the sloping drive of The White House. Aninka was the first to get out. The air smelled of cooking meat and smoke. Lahash helped Taziel out of the back seat. Aninka noticed Lahash was wearing black leather gloves. She shuddered, even though the air was steamy and hot.

Stay behind me,' Lahash told her.

At sundown, Lahash had coerced Taziel into investigating the village psychically. He had winced and shuddered as his inner senses glanced off the presence of Peverel Othman. The place is pervaded by him,' he'd said, s.h.i.+vering. Everywhere... The old ones gather at The White House, they wait for their replenishment. It is there. There.'

Using his binoculars, Lahash had picked out the three storey hotel, and had even read its name. The White House. There is a fire built in the garden,' he'd said, and turned to Aninka. Something is going to happen there.'

So The White House had drawn them. Now Aninka could feel something gathering in the air around her. It made her feel both nauseous and excited. Was Peverel Othman in the garden behind the hotel?

He might have left guardians,' Lahash said. Follow me, and be careful. Do not say anything to anybody.'

We look so conspicuous, Aninka thought. Surely, the first person we meet is going to challenge us?

Lahash led the way around the side of the building. Aninka saw a dark crowd milling around, barely illuminated by garden spotlights. Lahash drew them all against the hedge. It seemed no-one was paying much attention to anything that moved outside their immediate circle.

Taz,' Lahash whispered. Read these people.'

Taziel looked ready to collapse. His skin was damp. Dependants,' he said, almost immediately. Many of them. Waiting.'

Lahash glanced at Aninka. Murkaster dependants. They have been left here to rot.'

And now Peverel Othman has found them,' Aninka concluded.

Lahash shook his head. They must be destroyed.'

Aninka shuddered. Why? What have they done?' She had been taught to respect dependants.

They are Othman's potential army,' Lahash replied. Also, I have my instructions.' He threw back his head and pressed one hand against his eyes. Aninka saw his lips moving silently. She knew in her heart what he was doing. She could feel a surge of energy, a sense of movement and of summoning. On the hilltops around Little Moor, the Kerubim stirred, unfolded their wings, flexed their claws. They flowed towards The White House, came stamping like legions, floating softly like moths. Aninka thought of the gentle friends she had made in Cresterfield, their hideous end. Would this have been their fate too if the Parzupheim had deigned to interfere in Othman's activities sooner? What about herself? Could Kerubim make distinctions once unleashed to destroy?

A woman dressed in a pale coloured trouser suit with a long, flowing waistcoat had noticed them. She came towards them with enquiry written on her face. Can I help you? I'm the proprietor of this establishment.' Her voice reeked of exclusion. What she was really saying was Get out!'

Good evening,' Lahash said, suddenly suave and urbane. We are looking for accommodation, actually.'

The woman subjected them to a penetrating glance. I see. Well, we are having a bit of a party this evening. If you'll excuse me, I'll find someone to book you in and show you to your rooms.' She smiled. I'm sorry, but the party is private.'

Lahash raised his hands. I quite understand. Before you go, could you tell me the best places to go sight-seeing around here?'

Aninka was surprised by Lahash's behaviour. What was he up to? The woman seemed not at all inclined to be drawn into conversation, and no wonder, if she was a part of whatever Othman was planning. Still, despite an expression of annoyance, she began to list a few places of interest. What she could not see was what was invading her garden. Perhaps only Grigori could see them. As the woman tried to satisfy Lahash's request, to get rid of him, Aninka watched the Kerubim manifest as translucent creatures of light around them. They were enormous, hideous, beautiful. With their tongues of fire, they licked certain people in the crowd, breathed a kerubic breath upon them. These victims fell to the ground, crumbled away, as the false life they had been given was taken from them. No chance of replenishment. No more. Younger people, apparently oblivious of what was happening, stepped over the piles of dust and rag to reach the barbecue, paper plates held in their hands, completely oblivious of what was occurring. Only a couple of the children looked anxious, glancing around themselves as if something had whispered their names in an earthy voice.

Taziel leaned against Aninka's shoulder, s.h.i.+elding his eyes from what was happening. Perhaps his groaning sigh alerted the landlady, perhaps she was Grigori-touched enough to sense all was not well. She glanced behind herself nervously, then back at Lahash.

You are...' she began, her face creasing in anxiety. You are one of them!'

Where is Peverel Othman?' Lahash suddenly demanded, aware his cover was blown.

What do you want with him?' The woman's voice was suddenly harsh. Aninka saw, in her mind, a vision of a cornered she-cat, all claws and defences.

We are colleagues of his,' Lahash answered smoothly. Please answer me... I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name.'

The woman took a step backwards. He's not here.'

Then be so good as to tell me where I can find him.'

Behind the landlady, the Kerubim had begun to rear up against the sky, roaring out their triumph in voices that could not be heard by human ears. Aninka put her hands over her ears, while Taziel cried out in pain. Lahash made a gesture, and the monstrous creatures fell silent, motionless sentinels around the garden. The woman had not answered Lahash.

If you will not tell me, I shall be forced to take the information from you by other means,' he said in an affable voice. Please don't be difficult.'

The woman threw back her head and flared her nostrils. When she spoke, it was with scorn. He's staying at a house called Low Mede further down the village. Try there. If he's not in, well...' She shrugged. He could have gone anywhere. I hardly know him.'

You had better be telling the truth,' Lahash said with a grin. Otherwise, we shall be back to talk to you again. Now, where is this house you spoke of?'

Barbara watched the three strangers walk away from The White House. She knew that they meant danger to Peverel Othman. She had no choice but to go to the High Place and warn him, even though he had instructed her to wait for him at the barbecue. As she hurried down the lane, she kept visualising an enormous hourgla.s.s in her head, the sands running quickly through its waist. For a moment, she paused, listened to the beat of her heart, the healthy sighs of her breath. The night was hot and still around her. I could go back, she thought, I could go back now and no-one would be any the wiser. It will be over soon.

She even looked over her shoulder, where the ruddy light of the bonfire in her garden burned behind the hedges. Barney was there, she could go back to Barney. But Louis was waiting at the High Place, and perhaps in danger, as Peverel Othman was. Barney or Louis? After brief consideration, Barbara resumed her pace in the direction of the High Place. There was regret in her heart, but only a little.