Scenting Hallowed Blood

by Storm Constantine

  ‘Go out there?’ Daniel queried, his voice full of misgivings.

  Taziel opened the door. ‘What else can we do?’

  ‘Wait until morning?’ Daniel didn’t have much hope.

  Taziel sighed in disgust and got out of the car. Daniel followed him. ‘It’s not that bad,’ Taziel said. He pressed his back against the front bumper. ‘Come on, Daniel. Help me, will you.’

  At first, Daniel thought the car would never move. It felt as if strong, unseen hands had reached out of the earth and were clinging onto the axle. ‘Perhaps it’s damaged underneath?’ he suggested.

  ‘Just keep pushing! It’s tangled with the gorse bushes, that’s all.’

  The undergrowth pulled and scratched at Daniel’s body as he flexed his muscles against the car. Slowly, the vehicle began to move backwards. If anything was holding onto the car from beneath, it released its grip. ‘What’s that?’ Daniel asked.

  Taziel looked out into the fog. He saw a large ball of white light hovering some distance away from them, although it was impossible to tell how far. ‘We’re nearly there,’ he said in a calm voice. ‘Don’t look at that thing.’

  The car suddenly bounced backwards onto the road, and Taziel grabbed hold of Daniel. Even though they had only a few feet to cross, it seemed to take minutes before the car door was beneath Taziel’s hand. The ball of light came screaming towards them.

  ‘In!’ Taziel yelled and threw Daniel into the back seat. He just managed to scramble inside and shut the door before the light-ball exploded against the car’s flank. There was a sound of grating metal and the stink of burning paint.

  The driver, saying nothing, started the car and set off at speed into the thick fog. The only sound in the car was that of panting breath. Taziel reached out a shaking hand and gripped the driver’s shoulder. ‘You’ve done great,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry. Nothing will get us. It’s mainly all for show.’

  The driver gibbered a soft sound, and Taziel patted his shoulder a few more times, before leaning back in his seat.

  Daniel was kneeling on the seat, looking out of the back window. ‘There’s a light following us,’ he said.

  Taziel looked round. ‘So there is.’

  ‘It’s like the film “Close Encounters”,’ Daniel said, his tone a mixture of terror and wonder.

  ‘Not much,’ Taziel said. ‘If that thing decides to engulf us, we’ll lose rather more than a few hours of our life.’

  Daniel sat down again. ‘Whoever’s after us must be very powerful.’

  Taziel pushed his hair out of his face. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will we make it?’

  Taziel looked at Daniel, and reached for his hand. He seemed so young and vulnerable. ‘Yes, I think so. We’d have been finished off by now if they meant to kill us. You’re important, Daniel, you’re Shemyaza’s vizier. They want you in their clutches, but they won’t risk your death.’

  It seemed as if the weird denizens of the moor had given up trying to frighten them. The ball of light trailed them for a few miles before veering off to the left of the road. Gradually, the fog dissipated. The driver uttered a shaky laugh. ‘I dunno what you geezers are into,’ he said, ‘but I’ve never seen shit like this before. I could use a drink right now.’

  ‘You’ll be well paid for this,’ Taziel said. The driver would be dining out on the story of this night for several months to come.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Coming Home

  The minute Shemyaza walked through High Crag’s front door, he felt he had returned home. This was absurd because he had never set foot in the place before. Still, all Grigori family houses shared a certain ambience and decor; he could now be in any one of them.

  The journey down had been strained to say the least. Aninka had done most of the driving, nervously tapping the steering-wheel with her finger-nails. On occasion, she narrowly missed causing an accident. Shemyaza could sense her tension and excitement. It was bizarre to him, for he barely remembered her. His life as Peverel Othman had become fragmented in his memory. It was as if he’d been drunk and acting out of character. There were one or two recollections that still burned vividly in his head: sitting in a dim-lit apartment drinking iced wine before the television; a visit to an art gallery. But that was all. He could tell from Aninka’s attitude that she had witnessed him doing sublime as well as horrifying things. Deeply, hidden, she still loved him. Now she felt torn, unable to reconcile the image of Shemyaza with the frightening memory of Peverel Othman.

  Shemyaza had slumped back in his seat, listening to Emma confer in a clipped voice with Lahash. They talked about Shem as if he wasn’t there for a few minutes, and then went on to discuss the white-haired creatures that had appeared in the Assembly Rooms. Who had sent them? Would they try to get at Shem again?

  Shemyaza felt a faint stirring of recollection as he listened to their conversation. Deep within him, something uncurled and woke up, pricked its ears. His mind skittered briefly across the thought of Lily and Owen. They had been left at the mercy of those creatures. And where was Daniel? Suddenly Shemyaza felt chillingly alone. His vizier had been left behind. How could he have been so blind as to ignore Daniel’s importance? He leaned forward, tapped Lahash on the shoulder. ‘You are sure that Daniel Cranton is safe?’

  Lahash glanced round nervously, the memory of being flung across the room by Shem’s power clearly still fresh in his mind. ‘Yes. He’s at Aninka’s apartment. You heard me talk to Taziel on the phone as we were leaving London.’

  ‘Taziel.’ Shem hadn’t really listened to the phone call. He’d simply climbed into the back of the car and gone into shutdown. The name: Taziel. He knew it should mean something to him.

  ‘Taziel Levantine,’ Aninka said sharply. ‘Surely you remember him?’

  The words sent a shock through Shem’s mind, but didn’t quite connect with a memory. ‘Obviously, you think I should,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t remember everything that happened to me before.’

  Aninka made a disgusted sound. ‘Vienna,’ she said coldly. ‘A band, Azliel X. You managed them, fucked Taziel, then fucked him up. Badly.’

  A faint but discomforting image of a screaming face surfaced in Shem’s mind. ‘I think I remember,’ he said cautiously and then added lightly. ‘Is there an army of ex-lovers out for my blood now?’

  Nobody laughed at this remark, although Emma did smirk a little.

  ‘Is Daniel coming to Cornwall?’ Shem asked. ‘I don’t want him to stay with this Taziel. I want him with me.’

  ‘He’s coming,’ Lahash said.

  Aninka suddenly expelled a staccato burst of laughter, which prompted Lahash to say, ‘Can it, Ninka.’

  Shem knew there was something they weren’t telling him, something about Daniel. Games, just games. Daniel was coming to him. Whatever else these people thought or felt was irrelevant.

  Enniel Prussoe was typical of the Parzupheim: urbane, condescending, immaculate. Shemyaza felt wary of him at once. He saw cold ambition in Enniel’s dark glittering eyes, and something else: humiliated anger. Still, he was politeness itself, ushering Shem into a seat in his study, offering wine or brandy to his guests. Shem could almost see Enniel’s fingers twitching, as if he longed to get hold of Shem, incarcerate him, flay him, peel his secrets and power from him. The Parzupheim were dangerous, with far-reaching influence. Peverel Othman had always treated them with wary respect, haunting the periphery of their territories. Shemyaza, for all his rebirth and the fanfare of his second coming, would be wise to remember that. He accepted a globe of brandy from Enniel, their fingers touching as the glass exchanged hands. The ends of Enniel’s fingers were burning hot. Shemyaza exuded a thought, All right. At your convenience. And Enniel withdrew a few feet as if scalded. Shem smiled into his glass, took a luxurious sip of the liquor. Emma, Lahash, Aninka: they were all shadowy figures on the boundary of this meeting. It was no longer the light versus the dark, but one spectrum of light against another. You want mine, She
m thought. But maybe I don’t want yours. You can’t make me be anything I don’t want to be.

  He kept these thoughts veiled, but guessed Enniel knew the gist of his feelings. ‘You must appreciate why it is so important for you to be here with us,’ Enniel said aloud. ‘I have heard reports of the interference at the Moses Assembly Rooms.’

  Shemyaza met his eyes, noticed with amusement how uncomfortable Enniel was with that. ‘The twins, Lily and Owen Winter. ‘Before I agree to do anything for, with or to you, I want your assurance that you will send people to help them — wherever they are.’ He remembered some of Ishtahar’s last words to him then, the time when she had come to him on the hill outside Little Moor. These are our children, Shem. Love them and care for them. It had only been a cruel illusion. He had resigned himself to the thought that it was unlikely Ishtahar and he would be reunited in this life, but if there was some vague essence of her floating around him, he hoped to appease it.

  Enniel sucked his upper lip. ‘I will, of course, see what I can do.’

  ‘I would appreciate rather more commitment than that.’ Shemyaza took another sip of brandy.

  Emma came to sit beside him on the couch and put her arm along his shoulder. Shemyaza drew strength from her presence, knowing they presented a united front to Enniel. Impulsively, he turned and kissed Emma’s cheek.

  Enniel regarded them coolly. ‘I will do everything I can,’ he said, ‘but I won’t make promises I can’t keep. I don’t know what’s happened to the twins, or who was behind the raid on the Assembly Rooms. I can only hope the Winters are of more use alive to their captors than dead.’

  Shemyaza nodded. ‘I shall work upon discerning their whereabouts as soon as I’ve rested. But I shall need Daniel for that.’

  ‘He is on his way,’ Enniel said.

  ‘Good.’

  There was a moment’s silence, then Enniel leaned back against his desk and said, ‘I would like to talk to you alone.’

  Shemyaza nodded. ‘As you wish.’

  Enniel smiled at Aninka and Lahash. ‘You have done well,’ he said. ‘We shall talk in the morning.’ A more curt dismissal was difficult to imagine.

  Aninka directed one last, burning glance at Shemyaza before uttering a chilled ‘good night’.

  ‘Take Shemyaza’s companion with you,’ Enniel said. ‘Rooms have been prepared. My staff will take you to them.’

  ‘Do you want me to stay here with you?’ Emma asked Shem.

  He laid a hand over her own and shook his head. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.’

  Enniel waited until the three of them had left the room, then picked up the brandy decanter and sauntered over to the couch. Shem held out his glass for a refill.

  ‘I find it hard to believe you are here,’ Enniel said. ‘Are you really what everyone thinks you are?’

  ‘You see what looks like a man,’ Shem answered, ‘as do I whenever I look in a mirror. The answer is: I don’t know. It’s cosy to think there is an explanation — and perhaps a tenuous justification — for the way I behaved as Peverel Othman. Memories of being burned alive are more vivid to me than, for example, those of making love to your charming ward, Aninka.’ He raised one eyebrow and shrugged. ‘But nothing is really clear to me. I feel as if I’ve been hypnotised or brainwashed. It’s as if other people have forced me to be what I am, to fulfil their own fantasies and yearnings.’

  ‘I appreciate your honesty,’ Enniel said.

  Shem could tell Enniel was surprised at how communicative he was being. What had he expected? A confrontation of wizards, complete with bolts of purple light and threatening incantations?

  ‘What are your plans?’ Enniel asked.

  Shem gave him a dry glance. ‘You mean I have a choice?’ He smiled. ‘I have no plans. You tell me what you’d like me to do.’ He made it quite clear from his tone there was no guarantee he’d fulfil those wishes.

  Enniel moved away from him. ‘Let me explain what I think you are.’

  ‘Please do. It will interest me greatly.’

  Enniel leaned back against his desk, his hands gripping its polished edge. He seemed to be at ease, but the way his knuckles pushed against the taut skin of his hands betrayed his tension. ‘Shemyaza is an archetype of our people, our progenitor, our beloved king, our long-awaited Messiah, and also our dark lord. How can you really have come back to us? Is this possible?’ Enniel raised his arms, pulled a quizzical face. ‘Rationally, it does not seem likely. Did Shemyaza’s soul really hang in the constellation of Orion awaiting the reawakening? Or was that just a metaphor for the hopes and fears of our people? I have always thought the latter. Then, I am told of your Second Coming. People above me, of greater experience and knowledge, believe in it passionately. Who am I to refute their heartfelt claims? Shemyaza is among us in flesh, they said. I naturally balked at such a belief. They told me of Peverel Othman, an amoral monster who murdered and played with the hearts and souls of others. Peverel Othman is the sleeping form of Shemyaza, they said. Again, this sounded like fantasy. Very soon afterwards, I listened to the pitiful outpourings of my “charming ward,” as you refer to her. I heard all the sordid details of your activities. Was this evidence to support the claims of my elders? I did not think so. I did not want to think so. I wanted to believe you were simply Anakim; a force that should be culled. But I followed orders, as I am used to doing. If Lahash and his colleagues had been successful in finding you there, you would have been brought here a lot earlier, which might have been better for everyone concerned. However, this was not to be. Then I was told of the events that took place in Little Moor. The Parzupheim had psychically scoured the whole area, and scooped up the residue of your little ritual. I know what you did there, and also what you tried to do. You attempted to open the stargate by force, using your beloved vizier, Daniel, as bait for the demon of falsehood — Ahriman. Hearing of these things, I am half convinced, against my will, of what you are supposed to be. And yet, I see you sitting there, and you are tired and anxious, no matter how much you try to hide it. Would the great Shemyaza suffer such mortal frailties? You are frightened and confused. Shemyaza has been burning alive among the stars for millennia. Having endured such torment, surely fear is unknown to him. So, are you merely Peverel Othman; Anakim?’ Enniel paused and shook his head. ‘I don’t think you are. You are more than that. I can see it in your eyes, beyond your weariness and confusion. So how can this be? How can legends be made flesh?’

  He waited for an answer. Shem shrugged. ‘You tell me.’

  Enniel smiled. ‘Maybe we have made you happen. Maybe the collective desires of humanity and Grigori have forged you into being, and Peverel Othman was the suitable scapegoat for this wish fulfilment. He was the outcast, the Anakim, the destroyer. He offered up what was dearest to him, the sacrificial son, and some blithe angel somewhere intervened. My sources tell me it was a goddess, the memory of your lost love, Ishtahar. But Ishtahar no longer wears flesh, whereas Daniel lives and you need him for your work. Somehow, in Little Moor, Othman was transformed into a being of light and love. If we suppose, for now, that these assumptions are correct, where do we go from here?’

  Shem snickered into the silence that followed Enniel’s words. He was conscious of the beat of his heart, the wings of fear beginning to flutter within the blood-bound cage of his ribs. He felt that Daniel should be here to speak for him now, with his determination to believe in wondrous possibilities. At one time, he had been prepared to sacrifice the boy, but Daniel believed in the reality of Shemyaza, as an ideal, and had forgiven him for the deeds of Peverel Othman. Shem felt wrung of words. His fingers passed nervously across his dry lips, and he said again. ‘You tell me.’

  ‘One would suppose the knowledge would reside within yourself.’

  ‘The knowledge of what?’ Enniel’s words held a disturbing echo of certain things Ishtahar had told Shem in his dream of her.

  ‘Your purpose. You are supposed to be the saviour of the world. D
on’t you know what it needs?’

  Shem shook his head. ‘I’m not playing with you, Enniel. This is not a game to me. Don’t believe I’m possessed of ultimate knowledge and being coy with you about it. I don’t know what my purpose is, or even if I have one. The thought of it is all too exhausting. You want me to work some magic? Heal the world? Stop war and famine? Make people like one another? Shall I create a world of women to rid the planet of aggression? Tell me how to do it.’ He laughed coldly. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to me. I remember the life of Shemyaza, his loves, his hates, his torments and ambitions. It seems real to me, but it’s so far away, so tiny. It’s irrelevant now, like someone remembering their childhood, and acting upon long forgotten conflicts and fears. The life in between has been sucked out, and surely that is what is important.’

  ‘They say the personality is forged in childhood,’ Enniel said.

  Shem turned his eyes briefly towards the ceiling in exasperation. ‘I know you people won’t leave me alone. I also know that others want a piece of me too. There is no escape for me, that is obvious. But I cannot comply with you, because I have no faith in your beliefs. If I truly am Shemyaza, then I am a bitter husk, a man who was murdered for daring to love and to teach. I have brought all that anger with me into this time, all that resentment for what was done to me. Why should I help you, or anyone? No-one dared to help me. My soul has been imprisoned for millennia, quietly going mad out there among the stars. What possible incentive do I have for helping you now? Altruism?’ He sneered. ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘Ishtahar,’ Enniel said, slipping the word into Shem’s consciousness like a knife.

  Shem felt himself wince as the blade turned. He dropped his eyes. ‘A human woman, long dead. I have created illusions of her that have even spoken to me, but they all came from my own head. Through her image, I speak to myself.’ He pulled his mouth down into a grimace, and nodded. ‘True, that part of myself talks about love and creation, but it is only a small part. It barely breaks out of my dreams.’