The group now numbered fourteen. Nine, including Lazariel and Ishran, moved to this new residence, which Ishran promptly labelled Light Vision. Due to space constrictions in the Federation-style house, the remaining five would have to travel up at weekends and stay in the nearby youth hostel until a larger house could be found. Lazariel had felt his customary flash of irritation when Theresa had quickly volunteered to be one of the nine, knowing she was more interested in being in close proximity to him rather than harbouring a true desire for the enlightenment that the teachings offered. But his silent protest was quelled by Ishran’s enthusiastic acceptance of her offer.
Lazariel had been swept away by his plans of holding classes in past lives, astral clearing and channelling. He had tried not to react to Ishran’s taking control of his group. He was, after all, the reason that Lazariel’s dreams had been made into reality. How many times had he visualised the pink Federation house with the pink sign outside the front announcing Light Vision. Everything Ishran suggested was what Lazariel desired. Everything. If he hadn’t felt so obsessed by him, he might have found it disturbing just how closely Ishran seemed to be able to provide all of his wish list.
Lazariel had recognised the house when he had first seen it. For years it had been appearing in his visualisations; the brass dragon doorknocker, the uneven back steps, the wild bushland surrounding it. When the door had first opened and Ishran had mockingly indicated he should enter first, he had stepped into the darkened corridor. For a split second, he had seen a ghost child, her long fair hair whipping around her face, her mouth a startled ‘oh’ as she dematerialised. He had blinked, and she was gone.
Lazariel walked down the corridor, his black leather trousers fitting him too snugly, with his arms around Sophie and Minette. Theresa followed slowly, almost as if she were afraid. They walked into the small lounge room and their attention was immediately drawn to a large unfinished mural on the wall. The group walked over to examine it, and Ishran moved quickly, standing in front of it.
‘The owner is definite that the mural is left untouched, unfinished, and the oil painting on the mantel is not disturbed,’ he announced. Minette peered into the artwork. It was a landscape, filled with small animals they couldn’t make out. There were moons, and a young dark-haired woman standing next to a man who was half-stag.
‘But it’s so ugly, Lazariel!’ she exclaimed. ‘It ruins the whole feel of the house!’
For a second it was as if darkness descended. A wing shadow appeared to brush across the room.
Theresa was examining a dusty oil painting over the mantel above the fireplace, done in soft autumn shades of red, yellow, orange and fawn. It featured the portrait of a woman with an owl’s head. The face that looked out from the canvas was sly and knowing. Miniature golden antlers adorned her head.
‘The Ancestor, A Self-Portrait,’ Sophie read aloud over Theresa’s shoulder. ‘Cool!’ Theresa ignored her, continuing to stare at the mocking painted eyes. Ishran watched them, lips twisted in a small smile.
*
They had settled quickly into their new home. There were the inevitable squabbles about sleeping arrangements, bathroom times and chore allotment. The original house contained two bedrooms, but recently the studio at the back had been converted into another bedroom when the owner had briefly considered moving back to Australia. Lazariel transformed the office and library, making a total of five bedrooms. Ishran and Lazariel both had their own rooms. Minette and Sophie quickly volunteered to share a room to avoid having to share with Theresa. Alice and their new recruit Roger came and went. Alice worked many nights in her brothel in inner-city Sydney, so Theresa shared with her, causing Minette and Sophie to raise their eyebrows at each other. Roger was a spasmodic visitor at best, so he was put into one of the larger rooms to share with Alan and Daniel.
Weeks moved past, and they settled into their new routines. The city workers commuted every weekday, either by sharing a car pool or catching the train from Leura station. The weather was pleasant and warm, the spring flowers unfolding to the sky, delighting their senses. With the exception of Theresa, the group began juice-fasting to welcome the new growth reflected in the environment around them. Despite the agreeable weather, however, there was friction in the house. Mainly, Lazariel thought, centring around Theresa. Minette and Sophie always seemed to be complaining about some act of hers. She was polluting the garden with her smoking, she wasn’t pulling her weight when it came to household chores, she spent too long in the shower; she wouldn’t even get up early enough to attend their first-light meditation. Their list of complaints seemed endless, and Theresa seemed oblivious to their animosity. Ishran was an interested spectator to their clashes, content to witness rather than discipline.
Generally, however, the group settled into their routine. The workers donated ten per cent of their earnings into a group kitty, and the weekend visitors to Light Vision were happy to donate generously — the more intense instruction they were now receiving more than compensating for their minor outlay, Lazariel thought. They were all progressing rapidly in their occult studies under Ishran’s influence. Then, just a couple of short weeks after they had moved into Light Vision, Ishran disappeared.
*
He was coming today. When Lazariel woke to sunlight streaming through the bedroom window, he knew his first thought to be true. He was coming today. He felt almost giddy with excitement at the prospect. He needed to see him. No, he ached to see him. With Ishran’s absence, the light seemed to have gone from Light Vision. Even the brilliant sunshine had clouded over, and they had been subjected to drizzling rain for weeks. The commune members were dimly aware that there was flooding in rural NSW, and — wouldn’t you know it? — droughts in the Northern Territory. But the freak weather patterns were really no more than idle dinner conversation as they shared large wooden bowls of chick pea salad and lentil curries. No matter what disasters were happening on the outside, they were unaffected, secure in their nest.
Lazariel sat in the garden, among the lavender bushes, the native shrubs and plants, a cup of peppermint tea in one hand. He admired the miniature roses, the cracked goddess statues, the smell of the bushland that he never tired of experiencing. The sun was shining, and there was no obvious sign of the storm that had been forecast earlier. Brightly coloured rosellas flew past, delighting him with their rainbow finery. Doves hopped around the overgrown garden they had adopted. Below, along the mountain track, a mother was calling for her child. He closed his eyes, enjoying a second of perfect peace, a feeling that, for once, everything was happening the way it was meant to.
‘Hello, Lazariel.’
The voice startled him, and he had to fight to control his irritation from showing on his face. Theresa plopped herself next to him on the wooden bench with its patchwork display of faded colour cushions. She wore a grimy-looking off-white dressing gown and had obviously just got out of bed. Her recently dyed blonde hair stuck out from her head in spikes. Her skin looked pasty and she reeked of stale cigarette smoke.
‘I think he’ll be here today,’ she commented, gazing into the distance moodily. He made a non-committal sound, longing for her to leave him to his own thoughts of Ishran, but, as usual, she was totally insensitive to his thoughts and needs, continuing to prattle on with her inane plans for the group and the house. Then she really infuriated him by lighting up a cigarette. He had been against Theresa being involved in this project from the start. As unfair as he knew his reactions were, she was creeping him out with her obsession for him. But Ishran had been determined she should be part of the community. ‘She needs healing,’ he had insisted to Lazariel. ‘She has extraordinary untapped potential. Far beyond what you or I can imagine.’ Lazariel thought he had to be joking. He hated the pedestal Theresa had placed him upon. He resented her faintly accusing gaze that stirred up feelings of guilt inside him. Moving in with her had only intensified those feelings. She always seemed to be under his feet. ‘I’m not worthy,’ he wanted to
tell her, but he tried to avoid any personal conversation between them. She fed on that sort of thing, he knew.
‘Hi, guys,’ Minette came out onto the verandah. She was dressed for the office, eating a bowl of organic muesli. She was a total contrast to Theresa, Lazariel thought. Minette was facing her own demons, having just walked out of her thirteen-year marriage and her two small children to live on the commune. Ishran had given her the courage to do so, Lazariel realised. He had hesitated to advise her to take that step. He had told himself it was because he didn’t want her to have to face the trauma of leaving her children behind, but the truth was that he didn’t want her to put her energy into him full-time.
‘Nice day.’ She threw a disapproving look at the cigarette in Theresa’s hand.
‘Do you need a lift into the city, Theresa?’
She paused. ‘No, but thanks anyway.’
Minette exchanged a look with Lazariel. The last few days, Theresa hadn’t bothered to show up for her job as a diversional therapy assistant at a nursing home. Minette stared across at her orange Volvo parked in the driveway with the other cars.
‘Shit, I’ll have to get Alan to move his car. I think he’ll be here today.’ Her last remark unsettled Lazariel.
‘Who?’ he asked. Minette was looking at him, a small knowing smile on her face. She straightened the scarf around her neck, and flashed him one of her toothy toothpaste smiles.
‘Ishran, of course,’ she said. Jesus, she’s almost gushing.
‘Did you practise the meditation this morning?’ she asked. Lazariel nodded. Ishran had given them a special breath technique to do each morning. He had assured them the effects of it were subtle but powerful. Theresa made a non-committal sound, and Lazariel felt a flash of anger. She hadn’t been practising at all. She was just wasting their time and energy, acting as if she were on the set of a soap opera. For Christ’s sake, he wanted to scream at her, I’m not interested in you! I have never been interested in you! I will never he interested in you!
He ignored her, focusing on Minette instead. She was already mentally preparing herself for the role that she would play in the city today, tucking pamphlets detailing their workshops into her bag to hand out in her breaks.
‘I think the meditation is working, Lazariel,’ she confided. ‘I’m feeling so much calmer about everything.’
Lazariel nodded, although privately he wondered at Minette’s lack of emotion towards the children she had just abandoned. Was that normal? There wasn’t a day he didn’t feel an ache towards the son that he had never seen. Could a mother just walk out of a long-term marriage with that much detachment? She seemed to be more concerned over the price of hairstyling for women in the city than over her children. He didn’t tell her about his own efforts at the meditation, and the vivid dreams he had been experiencing as a result.
Alan and Daniel emerged together, both in suits. Daniel was already on a mobile arranging some business deal, and nodded briefly at everyone. ‘Alan, I’ll have to get you to move your car, I’m afraid,’ Minette said.
‘Sure thing!’ Alan said. He smelt of Aramis and percolated coffee. He looked out at the view, shaking his head in wonder as they all did every morning. ‘Glorious view,’ he said absently. ‘I think he’ll be here today.’
After the city commuters left, the house seemed to settle into itself and become more peaceful. Theresa went off to waste the water in the shower. Sophie was still sleeping. She often slept until afternoon, going back to bed after their dawn meditation when she had no classes on. Alice had spent the night in the city, no doubt at her brothel rather than studying. Roger, one of their new recruits, had already left early. He was an older man who had lived a varied and exotic life, including a brief spell studying to be a priest, and a longer one as a member of the Black Goat bikie gang. Now he worked as an orderly in St Vincent’s Hospital. He had been introduced to the group by Alice, and nobody liked to enquire too closely about their connection, although Lazariel was willing to bet that they didn’t meet through her uni course.
Lazariel had planned to walk into Katoomba, and enquire about any work for himself, but the urge to begin writing all the revelations and dreams he had been having overtook him, and he knew his day would be spent compiling the teachings.
Daniel had already designed a brilliant web page for them, detailing the philosophies of the group in the hope of attracting like-minded people. No weirdos, they had told each other. No flakes. No New Agers. They wanted to distance themselves from the New Age as much as possible, seeing themselves as unique, with unique teachings. Before anyone could enter into the group, they had to be approved by all. It was important to have the teachings outlined, Lazariel realised. Working could wait for now. The others’ pay cheques would help to keep him afloat.
He wondered again about Ishran, the man of mystery. Did he work? Somehow, he couldn’t see him fitting into any type of employment. Where did all his money come from? Why did he have this weird sexual feeling towards him, and yet fear him at the same time? The sound of Theresa’s shower running brought him back to the now and he frowned. Hopefully she would leave some water for him.
He arrived around lunchtime. They had been sitting around the large wooden table, eating salad and a corn pie that Theresa had made, the air filled with anticipation. Lazariel suddenly realised they had all been listening intently — even the house — all morning. I think he will come today. And then, there he was. It was as if he had materialised from the air; one second he was not there, and then he was. His sudden arrival seemed totally natural: he was just there. Did he use the front door? Did he knock? All those details seemed unimportant under the weight of his hypnotic stare. Lazariel could feel his aura billowing out from his body and he could barely keep a huge smile off his face at the sight of him.
Ishran was dressed more casually today, in a grey jumper that fell past his hips and a pair of black trousers. His long hair hung in a plait down his back. In the middle of the enthusiastic welcome, Lazariel became aware of a rush of hostility from somewhere in the room. It was Theresa, he realised with an inner groan. Theresa was glowering at Ishran, not bothering to disguise her displeasure at his arrival. Her negative vibes are shitting me. He knew Ishran had read his mind when he turned and smiled at him, holding his hand out to him. ‘Theresa looked on with eyes of ice.
‘Close your eyes.’ His voice was languid, amused, velvet-rich. Lazariel closed his eyes. ‘Hold out your hand.’ He obeyed, feeling a small thrill run down his spine as something soft and warm was dropped into his open palm. ‘Now open them, and see the present I have brought my brother.’
The feeling between them was rich, filled with promise, of forbidden kisses and hot sweaty caresses to come. He opened his eyes, and stared in disbelief. In his hand was an eyeball.
‘It’s hers,’ Ishran hissed. ‘The unbeliever. I have taken her soul for you. There is no present that I wouldn’t travel worlds for.’
There was a movement behind him, and Kath stood there. She was dressed as if for a journey. In her hand she carried a bouquet of roses.
‘His love is like the wind,’ she said slowly. ‘He will drink from you and never be satisfied. He is inside you even now; his maggots are laying their eggs and there will be no escape. His wings are unholy, he will hold you to him in flames, and his lies will become ashes. From his eye sockets will swarm nests of flies.’
She threw back her head and began to laugh, and then he saw she had become Theresa. ‘I speak the truth as I see it,’ she said. Her eyes were empty sockets, with blood dripping from them. ‘You know who he is,’ she said softly. Golden huge flies dripped out of her mouth. ‘Why don’t you just say his name?’
Dreams. Only dreams. But long after he awoke, crying to the night, to his restless ghosts, the terror remained.
*
Ishran had returned shortly after that nightmare, and the house had seemed to moan when he entered the doorway as if in pain. They had become lovers on the third night aft
er his return and, for once, Lazariel knew what it was like to hunger for another. Their time apart had only increased his desire for him, and he had to control himself during meditation for fear his erection would be painfully obvious to the entire room. He was in love. Now he could feel sympathy for all the people who had attached themselves to him. He could even find it inside himself to feel sorry for Theresa — dumpy, moody, unattractive Theresa. This wild emotion was new to him. But he was intoxicated, and he was happy to drink freely of the fragrance of the rose. Love distorted him, it dulled his conversation and made his tongue dry and his speech slow. He sensed, no, knew that Ishran returned the attraction that he felt for him. He would often single out Lazariel by touch, or by staring at him, smiling. It was only later that Lazariel realised that none of them knew anything about Ishran. Nobody knew his surname, his life, whether he was married or divorced, what nationality he was. Nobody knew, and nobody seemed to care. He just was.
Ishran had come quietly to his room, unexpected. Lazariel had been sitting meditating, attempting to still his mind, restore his emotional balance. There had been a knock at the door, but he could not remember him entering. He had floated through wood, with hands of fire and skin that smelt like spice. He had been wearing a white silk gown, and around his neck was a large necklace Lazariel had not noticed before. It was a symbol he did not recognise. His hair was loose. He was exquisite. Lazariel stared at him in awe, thinking he had never seen anything so beautiful, so holy, in all his life. Ishran smiled, and there was an immense sadness in his eyes. He held out his hands and in each palm, a fire blazed. ‘I have come to give you rebirth,’ he said softly. He moved his hands of fire towards him.
Bride of the Stone: Circle of Nine Trilogy 2 Page 33
