Stealing Sacred Fire

by Storm Constantine

  A globe of radiant light had lifted above the horizon.

  ‘A second sun…’ Daniel said bleakly.

  ‘A UFO!’ Lily’s voice was more excited.

  At first, Daniel thought that the great cry that emanated from the crowd along the cliff-top was their response to this apparition. Everyone was cheering, clapping, singing, weeping, hugging one another. The arms of the New-Agers were raised to the sky in adoration, while other people reacted by falling to their knees, hands clasped beneath their chins. From the group of sword-wielders, a taller man stepped forth, holding a black blade up to the sky.

  This is their sign, Daniel thought, the summons for their madness. Then he realised that again only a select few could see the phenomenon in the east. Everyone else reacted to the radiant diamond of light that had appeared at the edge of the blackened sun high overhead. It presaged the return of light. People’s spirits soared as any mood of depression was lifted instantly. Daniel could sense this, but it did not affect him.

  Lily was still examining the light in the east. ‘Daniel, it’s unreal!’ she breathed. ‘So beautiful.’

  ‘It’s an earth-light,’ Daniel said. He lowered his glass. ‘Truly a natural phenomenon, Lil. It’s probably been triggered by the eclipse.’

  Lily dropped her glass. ‘It’s gone now. What’s an earth-light?’

  ‘A manifestation of natural energy.’

  She grinned. ‘Oh, did Shem teach you that?’

  He shook his head uncomfortably. ‘No, but I haven’t been idle while I’ve been in the Midlands. Let’s say I’ve been continuing my studies.’

  Lily frowned. ‘No one else seemed to be looking at it.’

  ‘No,’ Daniel said dryly.

  ‘But what does it matter?’ Lily said. ‘The sun looks incredible. It’s like a cosmic birth or something.’

  Daniel noticed that Enniel was loping towards them, grinning widely, his binoculars still in his hands. ‘Well, isn’t this something!’ Enniel said, his voice full of pleasure. ‘Just look at them! Fatima revisited! I wonder how many of them are seeing the Virgin Mary floating in the sky?’

  Daniel jerked his head in the direction of the crowds. ‘Some are seeing something more than that, I think. Have you noticed the group with the swords?’

  Enniel trained his binoculars on them, and uttered a sound of surprise. ‘Hmm. Perhaps I should send someone to look into that.’

  Daniel shook his head in exasperation. ‘I suppose this has made a memorable day out. Did you notice the other phenomenon, the earthlight?’

  ‘Yes. It was there for those with eyes to see, which does not include the sheep, of course.’

  Daniel put his head to one side quizzically. ‘And what do you see in the sky, Enniel? Computer print-outs?’

  Enniel uttered a chuckle devoid of amusement and lowered his binoculars. ‘I see the future, Daniel. There’ll be more phenomena like that earth light as the year progresses.’

  ‘You hope.’

  ‘Hope has nothing to do with it. It’s fact.’

  Daniel uttered a small sound of annoyance and put the smoked glass to his eyes again. Enniel never failed to irritate him in some way. He stared at the eclipse merely to find an excuse not to talk or listen to Enniel, but the gradually brightening sun seemed to draw his attention. He wanted to tear his eyes away, but could not. Even as he looked at it, three concentric rings of light appeared within it, and at their centre a shape manifested; a cone of what looked like crystal that emitted rays of multi-coloured light. A series of high-pitched tones suddenly assaulted Daniel’s ears. He blinked, and felt a constriction in his head.

  The next moment he was lying on the ground, looking up at Lily’s face. He could see Enniel behind her, his expression that of interest rather than concern.

  ‘Dan!’ Lily cried. ‘What happened? You fainted!’

  Embarrassed, Daniel pushed her hands away and started to get to his feet. ‘I’m fine. It’s OK.’ He didn’t feel disorientated or muzzy-headed, as he’d expect to if he’d simply passed out. It was almost as if someone, or something, had punched him in the head and sent him flying. The weird tones still rang in his ears. As he stood up, his eyes met Helen’s on the same level.

  ‘He didn’t faint, Mummy,’ she said. ‘He saw the light.’

  ‘What did you see?’ Lily asked sharply.

  Daniel pressed a hand to his eyes, shook his head.

  ‘Daniel!’ Enniel snapped. ‘What did you see?’

  ‘All right, all right. Rings in the eclipse. A cone of light. That’s all.’

  ‘And that means?’

  Daniel shrugged. ‘You tell me. I just see the stuff. Other people can interpret it.’

  Presently, warmth returned to the land and the sun shone down benignly as normal. While parties raged along the beach, the Grigori started drifting back towards High Crag.

  ‘I’m coming back to High Crag for a while,’ Lily said, and linked her free arm through Daniel’s. ‘Are you coming? I mean, yes, you are coming. I’m not leaving you out here, moping.’

  ‘I’m not moping,’ Daniel said, managing a smile. He let her begin to lead him back towards the house, keeping half an eye on Helen, who was walking straight-backed and sombre beside her mother. Lily chatted amiably of inconsequential things and Daniel felt himself begin to relax. Then, Helen pulled away sharply from Lily’s hand and ran backwards in front of them, laughing. ‘He’s awake!’ she cried. ‘Awake!’

  Daniel glanced at Lily, then back at the child, who fixed him with bright eyes. She pointed at him stiffly and, when she spoke, her voice sounded weirdly adult. ‘He wants you,’ she said. ‘He wants you now.’

  Daniel pulled away from Lily’s arm and began to run towards High Crag.

  ‘Daniel, wait!’ Lily cried, but he ignored her.

  Chapter Two

  The Children of Lamech

  New York

  Smoking was forbidden in the building, which loomed high and shining behind her, its summit resplendent in the afternoon sun, its side-walk root bathed in shadow. Hectic city traffic surged past at street level, horns blared. The aromas of coffee, cinnamon, fried dough and vanilla smoked from a nearby cafe and hung on the hot, chemical-filled air like incense.

  Melandra Maynard stood just beyond the entrance to the building, smoking a final cigarette before her meeting. She had been to Lamech House many times before, even worked on some of the floors, which housed the offices of various industries owned by the corporation. But today she would be granted admission to the inner sanctum. Some part of her, childish in its fears, worried that she might not come out again. She did not fear death, but change. Melandra as she was now might cease to exist.

  She had lived a normal life in New England until the age of five, brought up by god-fearing parents who were members of a secretive Christian sect called the Children of Lamech. Then, her cousin Isaac had died, carried off by leukaemia at the age of ten. At the funeral, Melandra had noticed how some people — who weren’t relatives — had looked at her strangely. She could tell they were talking about her. At first, she had thought she’d done something wrong. Then, one Sunday, soon afterwards, a man and a woman whom she’d never met before came to her parents’ house.

  It had been an autumn day, the air full of soft rain and smoke, the trees hanging onto the last of their gaudy finery. Melandra had been playing on her bicycle in the yard and had watched the big, black car slide up to the house, and the strangers get out of it. The couple had been very tanned, full of smiles, their smart, city clothes so stiff it seemed they would creak. They had gone into the house, and after a while, Melandra had been called indoors. The strangers sat with china teacups in tooth-thin saucers resting on their laps. Their bright teeth were like china. Melandra looked at her mother and father. They looked odd, strained.

  ‘You’re going to school,’ Melandra’s mother had told her. ‘Away.’

  ‘Be a good girl, Melly,’ said her father.

  Melandra hadn�
�t wanted to go with the strangers, but because she’d never been a troublesome child, she had kept her bewilderment and shock to herself. It had all happened so quickly. Her mother had packed a suit-case for her daughter, and with suppressed emotion, kissed the child on her head and offered her into the hands of the strangers. There had been no explanations as to why this unexpected fate had fallen upon her. Perhaps it had been planned for a long time. Melandra never saw her parents again.

  The child had sat in the back of the big, black car and had watched her familiar life retreat through the rear window. The strangers gave her sweets to suck, and a colour comic of stories about Jesus. The leather smell of the car had made her head ache. They had driven for a long time.

  Melandra had been taken to a big, grey house at the end of a gravel driveway surrounded by trees. The house was a school, but there were no children there. Just Melandra. She had six teachers, who were all mousy spinsters. The head-mistress at least had the distinction of being widowed, but seemed hardly marked by the past experience of marriage. It had been a house of dry, genderless women, who smelled of moth-balls and lavender, and who all wore cardigans of colourless wool. Melandra had been absorbed into this cloister-like environment, and it had seemed as if the gates to the outside world had sealed behind her like flesh over a wound. Her teachers had been kind, and because she was naturally an obedient child, rarely had to be strict. Melandra had learned she was different from other children. She had a purpose in life; a very special one. But no-one would tell her what it was. Once, she had wondered whether the death of her cousin had been instrumental in changing her life, but had never voiced the thought. In her isolation, she learned to create a secret life for herself. She was imaginative and naturally wild, but no-one who met the demure, tidy child would ever have guessed that.

  Once she turned sixteen, she had been removed to another grey house; this one a college rather than a school. There had been other girls and boys there, which made Melandra feel uneasy for she was unused to mixing with people her own age. In this place, she had been told she was one of God’s special warriors, and the skills she had learned there had no place in the mind of a young girl.

  Now, she was twenty-four years old, living rent-free in an apartment owned by the Children of Lamech. She did not work, but received a payment from the church into her bank account every month. It was sufficient to live on. She’d always been aware that her life had been on hold, and that eventually it would be turned on by someone else’s finger on a secret switch. Today it would happen.

  Grinding out her stub on the side-walk Melandra turned to the main entrance, caught sight of her reflection in the eternally revolving doors, and paused for a moment to inspect herself for flaws. Dark suit, severe in cut; long, dark hair cut in a bob that was equally severe. A light summer coat hung over her arm. She held a briefcase. Her make-up was precise; pale foundation, dark eye-shadow, a perfect slash of red lip-stick. Her perfume was salty-citric, a mere suggestion of a scent. All was in order. She was ready. At last. She would learn why she’d been trained to kill.

  Inside, the lobby was spacious, like a shopping mall. Enormous escalators swept up to and down from a mezzanine floor above. Security guards, stationed behind a desk by the door, equipped Melandra with an identification tag; then one of them made a murmured call, not through the main switch-board but from another, independent phone.

  ‘Go right on up, Ms Maynard.’ He spoke in a Brooklyn drawl.

  She nodded curtly, did not smile, and walked to the elevators. The guards did not know where she was going. It was doubtful operatives employed on the ground were even aware of the secret floor high above their heads. There were so many storeys to the building, each a squirming hive of labour and commerce, that one so near the clouds could easily be missed.

  There was a line of elevator doors — like the portals to temples, vaguely art-deco — and Melandra halted before the one farthest from the entrance. She did not have to summon the elevator herself. Presently, its polished doors slid open of their own accord and she entered it alone. The doors whispered shut and encased her in a micro-world of darkened mirrors, lustrous brass and soft, almost sinister, music. She pressed the button for the top floor. Her mouth was dry. She wanted to reach into her pocket for a mint candy, but felt it would not be approved of if she arrived at her destination with something in her mouth. Breathing shallow, she watched the indicator above the door as the floor numbers lit up in succession. Twelfth: Lamech Communications; fourteenth: Lamech Hydro-Power; twenty: Lamech Investments. She had forgotten all but a few of the companies housed within the building. They did not concern her.

  Up, up and up. She felt as if she was flying towards the stratosphere.

  The intercom emitted a chime to indicate she had reached the top floor. All was quiet for a moment, but for the low intrusion of the piped music. Then, without a shudder, and only the faintest of mechanical hums, the elevator began to move again, obeying the injunctions of a primed receptionist on the restricted floor above all the others.

  The doors slid open onto muted splendour. The light was greenish and people moved slowly within it. Melandra stepped onto the thick teal carpet. It was as if she’d entered the lobby of a high class hotel. The people around her did not look like office personnel, but guests. They sat round low tables, on plush sofas, reading sheaves of papers or talking softly together, elegant coffee cups and cafetieres on designer trays beside them. Others strolled languidly across the expanse of carpet as if going nowhere. They inclined their heads politely to Melandra, and she returned the gesture.

  She approached the reception desk — vast and greenish marble — behind which sat three women, all of them groomed to perfection. They looked like models or actresses and perhaps were. Behind them, on the wall, was a huge carved banner in gold and green: it proclaimed ‘The Children of Lamech’. This was the heart of the corporation; its ruling cabal was hidden here. Melandra knew it must have little to do with commerce, for all that was attended to lower down in the building. Lamech House was like a representation of heaven; angels worked on the lower levels; seraphim and thrones as the sidewalk diminished in perspective; but here the splendour of God, incomprehensible and remote, reigned supreme.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ Melandra said, putting down her briefcase. ‘Melandra Maynard. I’m expected.’

  The nearest receptionist smiled widely. She wore an identification tag that named her as Natasha. ‘Hi there. Good to see you.’ She stood up. ‘I’m to take you right in. Just sign here first.’

  She pushed a thick, leather-bound book towards her.

  Melandra was conscious of her damp palms as she lifted the gold-nibbed fountain pen and signed her name in the space on the creamy page next to where the receptionist’s long, ochre-lacquered fingernail rested.

  ‘Great!’ said the receptionist and came out from behind the desk. She indicated Melandra’s briefcase. ‘Allow me?’

  Melandra nodded. ‘Yes. Thanks.’

  The receptionist picked up the brief-case, plucked Melandra’s coat from her arm and sashayed across the room. ‘This way, ma’am.’

  Melandra felt as if she’d stepped into a different reality as she followed the receptionist through gliding double doors into a vast room. A reception or party was going on. The room was panelled in dark, lustrous wood and ponderous classical music played, louder than in the elevator. People milled around; some in evening dress, others in what appeared to be traditional costume from far lands. Green-and-gold liveried waiters hovered among them, bearing trays of drinks and canapés. In a corner of the room, next to a palm tree, a photographer was taking carefully posed pictures of some of the participants. Surreal. Melandra wanted to smile, but she felt unnerved. All through her childhood and her teenage years, even beyond it during her training, she’d been unable to dismiss the anxiety that her purpose in life would also be her curse. She did not want to discover it, for then it might be that her remaining life-time would be measurable, like visiting
a fortune-teller and learning the day of your death. Yet she’d been told how important she was, how special and how needed.

  She had never disobeyed anyone openly, ever, but she had thought about doing so, and they had known.

  Now, she stood at the threshold, fearing the unknown. The receptionist had glided over to a tall, handsome man with steel grey hair, who looked to be in his fifties. He stood within a group of people, all of whom were smaller than him, and he held a glass in his hand. As he leaned down to listen to the receptionist, his eyes flicked upwards in their sockets and fixed upon Melandra. Grey eyes. Metal eyes. Unyielding. Melandra did not smile. He would not approve of that. Not yet.

  She watched him excuse himself from his companions and then saunter across the room towards her. He wore an immaculate tuxedo and gold glinted at his wrist. ‘Hello, Melandra Maynard,’ he said, and held out a large, tanned hand. ‘I’m Nathaniel Fox. Pleased you could make it.’

  She took the hand, felt its dry heat engulf her. ‘Glad to be here.’ As if she’d had a choice.

  ‘Drink?’ He put proprietorial fingers beneath her elbow and began to lead her into the crowd.

  ‘Yeah, thanks. The driest white wine you have.’

  Fox smiled. ‘A white drink, a glacier drink. Of course.’

  She knew she had passed a test and, absurdly, relaxed. The receptionist had disappeared — with her briefcase and coat.

  They paused at a vast, linen-snowed table while Fox ordered her drink. Accepting it, Melandra risked a brittle laugh. ‘This wasn’t quite what I was expecting.’ She put the glass to her lips, tongued the cold liquor.

  Nathaniel Fox ignored her remark. ‘The meeting will take place in seven minutes. There are a couple of people who want to be introduced to you first.’

  She downed her drink. ‘OK.’

  They were just faces, people who seemed to be impressed by her. A couple of them were senators, she knew, but they failed to make an impression on her. In no time at all, Fox was ushering her through another set of doors, and the soft babble of the party was cut off as if it had never existed.