Scenting Hallowed Blood

by Storm Constantine

  His words conjured a silence, until one voice broke it with sarcasm. ‘We are lucky to have such an expert among us.’

  ‘Shem’s gone,’ Daniel said. ‘He’s gone down to the underworld. It’s all started and you don’t even know it.’ Feeling these words were poignant enough, Daniel rose with dignity and left the room. His heart was pounding with fury and fear, but he managed to keep haste from his steps. He could feel Sofia’s eyes boring into his back, and sensed her grudging approval.

  Once free of the meeting room, he fled out into the garden, hid himself away in an arbour and surrendered himself to tears. He wept for Shem, he wept for himself. The past hour had only convinced him that what Sofia said was right. Shem had gone to face the serpent alone. Daniel was filled with a sense of hopelessness and impotency. ‘Shem, Shem, where are you?’ he murmured into his hands. ‘How could you leave me here with them? Why aren’t I with you?’

  Lily felt as if she’d been staying at Pharos for weeks rather than just a few scant days. She’d already grown fond of the house, and the wild landscape around it. Salamiel had told her that soon she’d be reunited with her friends, but Lily no longer really cared. She enjoyed spending time in Salamiel’s company and knew that, if she’d wanted to, she could seduce him. It was clear to her that he found her attractive, yet he did not push his attentions upon her. She sensed his reticence was due to simple respect. He liked to hear her stories about Shem, so she told him as much as she could remember of what had happened in Little Moor. Just to tease him, she even described, in graphic detail, the sex she’d had with Othman. Salamiel, however, listened with a scientific detachment.

  In the afternoons, Salamiel often sought Lily’s company. Usually, she was to be found in his library, not because of the books especially, but because of the smell of the room, and the way its dark walls played with the soft light that spilled through the window. Nina brought piles of garish magazines into the house, which Lily liked to browse through, but on the day that Shem disappeared, something impelled her to lay out her scrying stones on the baize-topped desk beneath the window. She wished she could read them properly. When she threw them down, significant patterns seemed to occur; Marmoset next to Zahtumuzgi, with Tarturophane nudging close. That must mean something surely, but what exactly? She could impose at least three interpretations on the result, but which, if any, were appropriate?

  Salamiel came into the room, and stood behind her chair. He looked down at the stones with interest. ‘So what does the future hold?’

  Lily shrugged, moved a few stones with her fingertips. ‘I don’t know. I wish I did.’ She explained about how Johcasta used to read the stones. ‘I can remember all of their names, but I just can’t understand their meanings.’

  Salamiel made a soft purring sound of interest and scooped up the stones in one long-fingered hand. Carelessly, he cast them onto the baize. ‘There. It is simple. A time of great change is indicated.’ His hand skimmed the stones. ‘And here, the frenzies of lust and greed.’ He grinned. ‘Perhaps that is Sofia. What do you think?’

  Lily frowned up at him. ‘Have you done this before?’

  He smiled at her. ‘No. I don’t need to have done. You told me enough about them for me to scry.’ He gathered the stones up again in his hand. ‘The secret is to let them speak to you. They might not mean the same thing twice. You have to let their personalities come through.’

  Lily grinned. ‘Will you teach me?’

  ‘Of course.’ He sat down on the edge of the desk.

  Lily couldn’t help being more interested in the fall of his red-gold hair and the way the wan winter light softened his features than in what he was trying to tell her about scrying.

  He is very beautiful, she thought. They are all beautiful. I would like to make love to every Grigori in the world.

  As if he’d caught her thought, Salamiel paused and looked into her eyes. It was a long moment. He reached out as if to touch her face or hair.

  The door to the library crashed open. Lily jumped and looking up, saw Sofia framed in the doorway. She looked feral and dangerous. Salamiel’s hand sped discreetly back to his lap. ‘Sofia! What is it?’ From her entrance, it was clear something had occurred.

  ‘A private word, my dear,’ she said in an icy voice. ‘Now.’ Before Salamiel had even risen from the desk, she had left the room.

  Lily watched him follow Sofia into the hall. Hopefully, Shem was already beginning to run rings round them. She didn’t want him to be taken in by Sofia. As this thought formed in her mind, she was suffused with the presence of Daniel. She shivered. It was as if he’d passed like a spirit through her body. The contact was brief, but it left a sweet feeling in its wake. Lily took a deep breath. Daniel. She closed her eyes and relaxed, hoping that he was trying to contact her, but all sense of him had vanished.

  Salamiel was gone only about five minutes. When he returned, he was alone, and his face was creased with worry. ‘What happened?’ Lily asked him.

  He shook his head. ‘Azazel has already gone into the underworld.’

  ‘What?’

  Salamiel walked to the window, stroking his chin with one hand. ‘That is what Sofia has told me. There is a furore at High Crag because Azazel was missing this morning.’ Lily intuited that whatever Sofia had told him, he didn’t totally believe it. ‘I’m not happy about this. He should be with me. I should be by his side when he faces the serpent.’

  Lily had already questioned Salamiel about Shem’s tasks, although she still wasn’t entirely sure whether the serpent was a real beast that could be touched or a spiritual being. ‘Is he in danger?’

  Salamiel sighed and took her hand. ‘The serpent has the potential to be used for good or evil. It represents the creative force or building blocks of the universe, which is dualistic. Come, sit with me on the couch and I’ll try to explain.’

  Lily was happy to let him lead her away from the window.

  ‘When Grigori work magic, we utilise god forms to empower our rituals,’ he said. ‘For example, Ahura Mazda, a god of light, and his dark counterpart, Ahriman. You know, of course, that Azazel, as Peverel Othman, worked with Ahriman.’

  Lily nodded, and shuddered. ‘Yes, I can remember him being dark.’

  ‘The truth and the lie. Well, when the serpent is awoken, the destiny of this land depends upon which frequency the Shamir adopts in its unleashing. If Azazel’s heart is true, and he is a channel for light and truth, then that is what the Shamir will carry into the land. But if he is not, then the land is doomed.’

  Lily felt faintly sick. ‘Salamiel, Shem isn’t ready. He really isn’t.’ There was a note of panic in her voice. ‘He’s not the light.’

  Salamiel stared at her steadily for a few moments. ‘Then we must send the light of our love out to him, wherever he roams, and trust it will find him, give him strength and clarity.’

  When Emma heard of Shem’s disappearance, it affected her more than she’d have believed. Unable to stay in the house, she put on her coat and walked down to the nearest village. She had an idea that Shem might have gone there. Perhaps it reminded him of Little Moor. With her hands thrust into the deep pockets of her overcoat, she walked down the steep road that led to the heart of the village. There was a strange, tense atmosphere to the place, almost as if the inhabitants had some inkling of what was going on at High Crag. Needing cigarettes, Emma went into the local post office. It was very similar to the shop she’d once run in Little Moor; dingy and dusty. There was a vast array of goods on sale, many with packaging that was old and fading. Two other women were in the shop, one of whom was being served by the post mistress. The customers were typical of the kind that used to frequent the post office in Little Moor: elderly women, stout of girth, in drab heavy coats and knitted hats. Emma wandered over to a rack of pale pink and cream birthday cards and flicked through them dispiritedly. The customer and the post-mistress were gossiping in low voices. How familiar this scene! Only a few short months ago, Emma had been a
raddled crone, squatting on a stool beside her daughter’s counter, idly chatting with whoever came into the shop. It was hard for her to believe she’d ever lived like that now. She sensed a silence behind her and turned round. All three women were looking at her: an everyday reaction to strangers in a small community. Emma stepped forward. ‘Hello, twenty Silk Cut, please.’

  The post-mistress moved with insulting lethargy to comply with Emma’s request. Emma felt very uncomfortable standing there, fixed by the unsmiling stares of the women. Perhaps a direct question wouldn’t go amiss, although she doubted she’d get a satisfactory reply.

  ‘I’m looking for a friend of mine. I don’t expect you get many visitors at this time of year, so he’d stand out a lot. He’s a tall young man with long fair hair, very striking in appearance. Have you seen him?’

  If anything, the silence around her intensified. The post mistress put a packet of cigarettes down on the counter. ‘That’ll be two pounds, fifty-three.’

  Emma delved into her purse, discovered she’d only got a fistful of change and spent several awkward moments sorting it out.

  ‘You from High Crag?’ one of the customers asked unexpectedly.

  Emma glanced at her, noticed the grey wisps of hair escaping beneath the pale blue hat, the soft pink skin of the face. ‘I’m staying there with friends, yes. Why?’

  The old woman said nothing. Her eyes were unnaturally bright. Shuddering, Emma handed over the money, picked up her purchase and fled.

  Outside, she withdrew a cigarette from the packet and lit it with relief. Weird old biddies! Unthinkable to remember she had once been like that. She began to amble down the main street of the village, which was lined by gift shops and cafes, shut up for the winter. Pausing to browse in an antique shop window, she became aware that someone was following her. She took a nervous draw of the cigarette but did not turn round, keeping her eyes fixed on the window. She would see the reflection of her pursuer in it.

  Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. This isn’t like you, Emma Manden. You’re a hard bitch, remember? Frightened of nothing.

  Why had those old women unnerved her so much? Perhaps whoever followed her wasn’t human. She remembered the hideous attackers at the Assembly Rooms with dread, and just had to turn round and see who was there. It was the customer from the shop, who’d asked if she was staying at High Crag.

  Stupid! Emma thought. She isn’t following you. She just left the shop after you, that’s all.

  She waited for the woman to walk past, but when the crone drew level with her, she stopped walking. Emma couldn’t help recoiling. The old woman pulled herself to her full height and stuck out her chin.

  ‘Yes?’ Emma asked, rather belligerently. She had the distinct impression the old biddy was about to spit at her.

  ‘You’re not one of them, are you?’ It was a statement rather than a question.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  Emma uttered a small, dry laugh. ‘Excuse me? What business is that of yours?’ She made to walk away, but the old woman grabbed her arm.

  ‘You’re Emma Manden, aren’t you?’

  Emma’s voice came out in a hiss. ‘How the Hell do you know?’

  The old woman’s stern face broke into a slow smile. ‘Oh, I have my ways.’

  ‘So what if I am? What’s it to you?’ Emma pulled her arm away roughly from the woman’s surprisingly strong grip.

  ‘You’re the Shining One’s follower. We know that.’

  Emma glanced to left and right up the street. She didn’t know whether to run away or find out what the woman wanted to say to her. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Oh yes you do. You want to talk to me.’

  ‘Do I?’

  The woman nodded. ‘Aye. I’m Meggie Penhaligon. We have interests in common. You’re looking for him today? Well, we’ve been waiting for him a long time. Now, carry my shopping home for me, will you? You’ll be coming with me.’ She held out an ancient tartan bag, bulging with tins.

  Emma stared at this object in amazement. ‘I don’t think...’

  ‘Be sensible, girl! We must talk. I’ll not harm you.’ She shook the bag. ‘Take it.’

  Emma paused for a moment, pursed her lips, then took the bag. ‘All right.’ Her curiosity was aroused. There was no way she could walk away from this woman now.

  Meggie led Emma to the other side of the village. They walked in silence, as whenever Emma began to ask a question, Meggie said, ‘Quiet! Not here! Just wait on.’

  When they reached the cottage, Meggie opened the front door, which was unlocked, and preceded Emma into the dark, cramped hallway. Moth-eaten stuffed heads of foxes yawned down from the walls. Meggie took Emma into the kitchen, where she methodically unpacked her shopping. Then, she opened a can of chicken soup and transferred it to a saucepan, which she placed over the range. Emma sat down at the enormous table without asking and lit another cigarette. Without comment, Meggie placed an old saucer in front of her, which Emma presumed she was to use as an ashtray.

  ‘This is a lovely house,’ Emma said as Meggie prepared a pot of tea. The cottage was much bigger within than it had appeared from the outside. Through the back window, Emma saw a large lawn, where several picnic tables stood.

  ‘It’s fine for our needs,’ Meggie said. ‘Been in our family a long time.’

  ‘I can tell,’ Emma replied, flicking ash into the saucer.

  Meggie smiled wryly, but said nothing. Emma wondered what connection this strange old woman, who was very clearly human, had with Shemyaza. She presumed by ‘Shining One’ Meggie had meant Shem. She’d assumed, from comments Aninka had made, that the local community had no interaction with the Grigori. She glanced around the spacious kitchen. Dried herbs hung on the walls and various ornaments on the dresser were of a certain occult appearance. It was easy to infer Meggie was an old witch.

  Meggie placed a large cup and saucer beside Emma’s makeshift ashtray. Into this she poured a stream of dark tea from an enormous china teapot. Then she busied herself with transferring her soup from the saucepan to a bowl. ‘You want some?’ she offered.

  Emma shook her head. ‘No thank you. I’d just like to know what it is you want to talk to me about.’

  Meggie set her soup bowl down on the table. ‘The Watcher Shemyaza.’ She sat down and began to pour herself a cup of tea. ‘There’s no point beating about the bush.’

  Emma laughed. ‘I’m intrigued. What interest have you in such an — er — eastern concept?’

  Meggie set the tea-pot down on the table, covered it carefully with a cosy. ‘The Grigori are very much a part of this land, as were their ancestors. You know this. We’ve been waiting for Shemyaza to return, and now he has. He will reawaken the power of the land.’ She took a spoonful of soup, holding her cutlery with a daintily cocked little finger.

  ‘How many of you know about this?’ Emma asked. ‘The Grigori have no idea people around here are aware of what’s going on, never mind that you have an interest in it.’ She took a sip of tea.

  Meggie shrugged. ‘We’ve kept ourselves to ourselves, as have they. But Shemyaza’s light is for all, human and Grigori alike.’ She drank more soup.

  Emma watched her in a daze. The juxtaposition of this bizarre conversation with the banality of consuming a tinned lunch seemed virtually unreal. ‘So where do I come in? As you obviously know, I am staying with the Prussoes at the moment. I don’t think they’d approve of me talking to you.’

  Meggie smiled. ‘I can see you’re not a woman to bother about that. Now, at the moment, I’m following my instincts and the advice of my goddess, and I have to trust you. It goes against my principles to reveal my business to an outsider, but this is a crucial time and the fact is, we have a problem.’

  Emma listened while Meggie gave her a sketchy picture of how Tamara had cut herself free from them, and also how she’d appropriated their oracle.

  ‘We know the Grigori will
balk at using a human seer, even if he is Shemyaza’s vizier, but we have no such reservations. The reason I’m talking to you is this: we want Daniel Cranton to work with us. At this time, all factions are working to awaken the serpent, and there is room for Grigori and Pelleth involvement alike. But Daniel belongs with us. He is human.’

  ‘I don’t think the Prussoes would agree with you.’

  ‘Then why should they find out?’

  Emma frowned. ‘I don’t know. I’d have to speak to Daniel. The truth is...’ She paused. ‘I’m afraid Shemyaza has gone missing.’

  Meggie pulled a puzzled face. ‘Missing?’

  Emma nodded. ‘Yes. When we all woke up this morning, he’d disappeared, left the house. Enniel’s people have been looking for him since then, but there’s no trace. Daniel thinks Shem might’ve gone off alone to begin awakening the serpent.’

  ‘Then we should speak to Daniel as soon as possible.’

  Emma tapped her lips with the fingers of one hand. ‘You don’t suppose Shem’s disappearance could have anything to do with this Tamara woman you told me about?’

  Meggie considered. ‘No, she doesn’t have that much power, I’m sure. She couldn’t work alone so effectively.’ She paused. ‘Can you bring Daniel to me tonight, or tomorrow?’

  Emma smiled. ‘Have I agreed to help you?’

  ‘You must. It is vital.’

  ‘Oh, all right, I’ll see what I can do.’ She pursed her lips. ‘But what incentives can I offer him? He’s beside himself with worry for Shem. The Grigori are giving him a hard time. I can’t make any promises to you on his behalf.’

  Meggie’s face was stony. ‘Tell him he must fulfil his part of the great destiny. That’s all. He must come because it’s ordained he should. He must follow his master into the underworld, but he shouldn’t attempt it without support. We, the Pelleth of Cornwall, have been waiting centuries for this time. We are the ones who must stand beside and behind the boy of our blood, who is the astral channel for the Fallen King.’ Her eyes took on a feverish light. ‘When the Shining One comes out of the earth, all shall be reborn!’