Scenting Hallowed Blood

by Storm Constantine

  Shemyaza uttered a caustic laugh. ‘Is this me you’re talking about? I think not!’

  Ainzu frowned and made a dismissive gesture with his staff. ‘Listen to me. The ways of your people became barren in their attempts to achieve this spiritual goal. Your union with the earth crumbled their empire, and the time for human men and women, and their own ways, came about. It was a destiny that had been preordained since before the beginning of time. The return to the source is the way of the cosmos, and for this planet that journey is still in progress. A new age is dawning, and the return must be allowed to continue. Humans are bound by laws, which blind them to the journey. Shemyaza, you are about to go forth upon your destined journey to the source of creation, and you must take humanity with you.’

  There was silence for a moment, then Shemyaza said. ‘Why should I? I have no love for humanity.’

  Ainzu uttered an angry snort. ‘Your pain, anger and indifference, the stuff of your soul, is one and the same with humankind’s.’

  Shemyaza glared at Ainzu in silence.

  ‘The love you have for Ishtahar and the source is unconditional, and is the same as the love you should have for humanity and yourself. You are their source, Shemyaza. You are the pivot between humanity’s heaven and the earth. Many humans have sought the secret of creation and the light of knowledge. In doing this, they were seeking for your light. For you are the gate to the Crown of Heaven and its limitless light. This is the secret of human divinity, which many have sought, and so few have found.’

  Shemyaza smiled scornfully. ‘So this is the secret that I created? So many pretty words, priest. Your kind is adept at conjuring them!’

  Ainzu’s face creased into a snarl. ‘Foolish child! Remember your sacrifice! Self sacrifice. That was and is the secret!’ He raised both his arms. ‘Now go, Shemyaza. Go into the crystal and taste the breath of the source. Before you lies Ishtahar, the gate to creation. Before you lies the inferno of the earth, and the serpent awaits, to wake and move through it.’ Ainzu shook his staff in Shemyaza’s face, and then turned in a whirl of ragged cloth, to stride off towards the cavern entrance. ‘The bonds of centuries will break this night!’ he cried, the sound echoing around the chamber. ‘Orion will burn within the hearts of all those who seek the truth. Go, king angel, and be love, for love is the only truth!’ For a while, the priest’s staff could be heard thumping the ground as he walked away. Then, there was silence, and the sense of imminence that filled the world.

  Shemyaza stood before the crystal and the perfect, unchanging image of Ishtahar. She was a dreaming woman, her eyes focused in upon herself. Shemyaza knew how much he shied away from her image and the memory of her, because it pained him too much. If he could not be with her, he would rather blot all trace of her from his heart and mind. Yet always she returned to him, a tantalising ghost, to torment his spirit. Perhaps he should surrender to her now.

  He tried to focus his mind on all that the priest had said to him. At first the words seemed to reverberate around the cavities in his brain, fragmented nonsense, but gradually they settled within his heart, where, he realised they had always been. This moment reminded him of the first time he ever saw Ishtahar. He could almost hear her song, the song of her desire and her female power.

  He moved closer to the crystal, reached out, and placed his hands flat against it where Ishtahar’s image hung within the stone. His whole body felt pulled towards it, as if invisible hands gripped his arms and drew him to them. He leaned his face against the cold facets.

  ‘Ishtahar, deliver me, draw me unto thyself and the source of thy power, the Shamir, the essence of our creator.’

  He drew away from the stone and looked up. Ishtahar’s face seemed to ripple before him. Sparks of light danced before his eyes. Again, a strong sensation of being pulled overwhelmed him, and he realised it was no illusion. The crystal was sucking his body towards itself. As his face touched the cold stone, he felt his flesh begin to pass into it; a strange disassembling of his being. He tried to withdraw, fight its pull, but could not. ‘Ishtahar! I am afraid!’

  He heard her soft voice in his mind. ‘If you are afraid, my lord, then you are ready at last for this journey. Is not a babe afraid of its birth? Come my child, my lover, my father. Return to me in spirit so that I may return to you in flesh.’

  Shemyaza gasped for breath as the immense pressure of being drawn into the matrix of the crystal tortured his body. He felt squeezed, crushed. There was no pain exactly, but extreme discomfort. Then, abruptly, the uncomfortable sensations ceased, although he was aware of the weight of the stone around and within him. The silence was total. He could not even hear the sounds of his own breathing, his own heart. He realised he was hanging within the crystal, at one with the vision of Ishtahar. Her blue light surrounded him, invaded his body; she was a source of strength and comfort. His perception was completely overwhelmed by sparkling flecks of rainbow-coloured light. He wanted to laugh aloud, but could not. He had never experienced such a feeling of total wholeness. This was the gate.

  Within it, Shemyaza began to become aware of the immaculate power of his being. He was the perfect sphere amongst all the spheres that comprised the Tree of Spiritual Life. He sensed the divinity symbolised by the archetype of the sacred, sacrificial king, an archetype that comprised all the hopes, aspirations and needs of a nation. He knew that, at the centre of all things, he could create or destroy, give or take, love or hate. He was the symbol of the creator on earth, of godhead incarnate. Pure joy spumed up within him. Now he could face the serpent.

  Then, even before he could absorb this realisation fully, the surroundings shifted around him and the light within the crystal dimmed as if clouds had smothered the spiritual sun.

  A voice came to him, seeped into his mind, like a caustic blade stabbing through the perfect serenity of the crystal environment. ‘So, you think you are the perfect sphere, great king?’

  Shemyaza was engulfed in a suffocating chill that pierced his body with needles of ice. Low, cruel laughter swirled around his head.

  ‘Ishtahar!’ he cried, blind. ‘Is this you?’

  The laughter rose in pitch until it became a hysterical cackle. ‘Oh, do you not know me, Azazel, my lord? I have been at your side throughout your descent into the underworld. Surely, your ears have bled with the touching lament I have sung for you?’

  The voice was spined with sarcasm, but there was a fearless confidence about it that filled Shemyaza with angry terror. He was helpless, hanging there within the crystal, enveloped by the lightless chill of the nameless presence. He tried to move, and his limbs convulsed with pain, held as they were in stasis. He wanted to scream, but no sound escaped his bound throat. His brain seemed to boil with frustration and rage.

  ‘Ah,’ murmured the cruel voice. ‘That’s it, my fair one! This is the god I know and love.’

  Shemyaza called out in his mind. ‘Ishtahar, where are you? Help me!’

  The voice mocked him by mimicking the cry. ‘Ishtahar, where are you?’ Callous laughter boomed around him. ‘She is where she belongs — a weak and feeble ideal within the dreams of men.’

  ‘Then who are you?’

  Again, laughter. ‘I am so hurt you do not recognise me, my sweet beloved. Come, smell me, remember...’

  A stench of carrion filled Shemyaza’s head, and a thick reptilian scent that promised fatal poison. The taste of blood and rotting carcasses suffused his mouth and throat. The screams of terrified children hammered in his head. The bodiless voice spat through his mind. ‘Fool! Scapegoat! Victim! That’s what you were and always will be. Don’t you realise that your brothers and lovers care nothing for your fate? Indeed, they and the Parzupheim expect you to die here in the underworld so that, yet again, they can reap the benefits of your sacrifice. I am here to help you at last. You are no longer alone.’

  ‘I never have been,’ Shemyaza said. ‘Ishtahar, Daniel, Salamiel...’

  ‘Pah! Weaklings! They have no power to help you.
You will die without me.’

  ‘Then show yourself to me. Face me!’

  ‘Very well. But you know me already.’

  The darkness within the crystal intensified, until Shemyaza was surrounded by a cloud of boiling blackness. From this void emerged a female shape, dark blue of skin, and sinuous, with snakes winding through her tangled hair. Her beauty was terrible. He knew her. He had seen her face before. The recognition made him want to laugh. ‘You,’ he said. ‘Sofia.’

  The woman hung before him and folded her inky arms. ‘Names are games. I have many names. Sofia is the one I choose to employ at present. In that form, I was venerated by the Gnostics as the mother of angels, who incited my holy sons to commit acts of carnality with human women. I became a whore in the sight of my worshippers, but they foolishly restored me to a position in their Heaven and honoured me as the greatest of angels.’ She shrugged insouciantly. ‘I have found an alternative heaven, ignorant king, which you now have no will to taste. How can you take on the mantle of the Solar Messiah when you refuse to rule all the spheres of the Tree? There is more to the universe than Heaven and Earth, and the darker spheres are as crucial to its pattern as any sphere of light.’ Her long arms reached out to him and her voice, when she spoke, had softened into a sensuous whisper. ‘Azazel, star and shining beast, come kiss me, and I will show you the true domain of a god.’

  Part of him wanted to resist. Part of his screaming mind tried to cling to the images of Ishtahar, Daniel and Salamiel, but Sofia’s silky words kindled desire within him, a desire for power that had lain dormant for millennia. He allowed her to draw him to her, and when her cold lips touched his, freezing shockwaves thrilled his entire body. Her arms curled around him, until he felt as if he was bound in the embrace of writhing pythons. He could not move. Her voice was a black velvet cloak floating down upon his mind.

  ‘Come, Azazel, rise up with me through the Tree of Life, the tree on which you hung in torment. Come with me to Da’ath, the abyss, the realm of all knowledge. It is the closest sphere to your precious source.’

  Shemyaza leaned against her, buried his face in her snaky hair. He experienced the sensation of flight, but could not tell in which direction they moved. He hung in her arms like a child; she was gigantic, all-powerful. Their speed increased and Shemyaza’s head fell backwards. His hair streamed like ribbons of gold in the void. He saw garlands of stars flashing past him, cloudy nebulae, exploding suns. Sofia’s freezing embrace filled him with a delicious terror. He was helpless in her arms. He could feel the tentacles of her greedy soul caressing the fibres of his heart, a sensation so intoxicating he felt sure he would die in the terror of this dark ecstasy.

  Then, nothing. Stripped of all sensation, he found himself completely alone. There was no ground beneath his feet, no feeling of universe around him; no light, not even any dark, just utter emptiness. He willed his arms to lift, his fingers to move, but they encountered nothing before, behind or beside him. In desperation, he clung to consciousness and actuality, and reached for Sofia with the remnants of his panicking senses, but her dark presence had abandoned him. The only sound was the gasp of his frantic breath, and even that shuddered only within his mind. He spun, helpless, and as he did so, he became aware of invisible presences gathering around him, discarnate entities reaching out to envelop him. All sense of identity was slipping away. Nothing seemed to be of consequence any more: he was nullity. The absolute darkness of the abyss seeped inside him, transformed him into a vacuum. All awareness of the mysteries of light he had attained melted into it, as if his knowledge had been only a tool to help him achieve this perfect hollow state.

  Sofia’s voice whispered through the void and touched his mind once more, and his consciousness expanded out into the abyss to meet her. ‘Ultimately, this is all that there is, Azazel. Do you not feel at peace now, at one with the essence of nothing, the source of our existence?’

  Shemyaza fought with the compulsion to agree with her. Some shred of his will still remained. ‘No, this is an illusion of returning to the source, from within yourself. It is not the limitless light, but a reflection of its opposite. In the abyss, the source can be whatever you want it to be.’

  Her laughter was mocking, but strangely gentle. ‘The Tree of Life from whence you came is the illusion, Azazel. Let me show you the other Tree, the true Tree.’

  Gradually, balls of light began to appear around him, soft shadowy flares that grew in intensity, but not in brightness. Slowly, they spun and spiralled around him, using him as a pivot for their circular dance. Although he sensed they were growing larger in size, it was impossible to grasp the concept of size within the infinity of the abyss.

  ‘Look within, mighty lord,’ Sofia murmured. ‘What do you see?’

  Figures began to form within the circling spheres. They were vaguely humanoid in shape, but also hideously distorted; attenuated bodies and long faces, their mouths and eyes mere smoky holes that seeped noxious vapours. They were not solid beings, but projections of elemental emotions.

  ‘Here are your brethren, angel king,’ Sofia said. ‘Here, where they have always been, within the abyss. Look into the blue light — see your brother, Penemue.’

  The blue sphere glowed dully before him, and as he looked into it, Shemyaza was hit by an intense feeling of pride. He had once owned the power to divide nations, to kill and conquer. All had bowed before him. Was any of this worthless? No. He had lived and experienced it.

  Sofia uttered a soft sound of approval. ‘You see well, my lord. Now, look into the purple light. See your brother, Araqiel.’

  Proud and imperious, Shemyaza directed his attention to the next sphere that came to hover before his perception. A painful feeling shot through his heart. He thought of Daniel, safe in the world of humanity, ignorant of what his lord was experiencing. How Shemyaza envied Daniel. He wanted to be him. He thought of Enniel, with his riches, his vast house, his network of power. Surely, he should have Enniel’s life? Enniel did not deserve its comforts, but he, Shemyaza, did. The sick purple light hovered and spun before him, its rays filling his being with the spikes of envy. Only Sofia’s voice could break the spell it cast over him.

  ‘Now, Azazel, look upon the red light, for this is your brother, Salamiel.’

  Reluctantly, Shemyaza turned his perception towards the bloody globe of light. He felt the aching sense of envy conjured by the purple sphere bleed out of him. In its place came a blinding sword of rage, fiery in its intensity. He wanted to hit out at all those who had oppressed him. He wanted to cut out their hearts, scatter their entrails over the fields of the land. He wanted blood, and the sweet euphony of agonised screams. In his wrath, he was all-powerful.

  ‘Yes!’ Sofia cried. ‘Now look, Azazel, upon the green light, for it is your brother, Pharmaros.’

  Empowered, Shemyaza had no difficulty in transferring his perception from the light of wrath. He turned towards the green light, and immediately, his entire body, from his loins to his heart, was convulsed by an overwhelming sexual desire. It was mindless, the need to sate his cravings, whatever the consequences. Pure lust. In comparison to its demands, all other considerations of life seemed worthless.

  ‘How beautiful you are,’ Sofia purred. ‘Turn now. Look upon the silver light, and see your brother, Baraqijal.’

  Resentfully, Shemyaza tore his perception away from the green light and turned to the next sphere that came to dance before him. At once, all feelings of desire left him and he was engulfed by a paralysing sense of lethargy. What was the point of being here and experiencing this? It was all too tedious. It made him tired. He didn’t care about it.

  ‘You crave the light of sloth,’ Sofia said, ‘but turn and behold the orange light as it moves before you, for it is your brother, Gadreel.’

  Shemyaza could hardly summon the energy to obey her words, but painfully, slowly, moved his perception away from the dull, silvery light. Immediately, the numbing feelings of lethargy fled his senses, to be repla
ced by a cold realisation. He became aware of the falsehood of existence and the sense of self-justice in untruth. He understood the complexity of the reasoning behind all lies. There was no honesty in the universe.

  ‘And lastly,’ Sofia said. ‘Look now upon the yellow sphere, for here is your brother, Kashday.’

  Of all the lights, this one hit Shemyaza the hardest with its assailing sensations. Its aspect struck at the fibres of his heart and soul with a ravenous feeling of greed. He knew that he had been hungry for the entirety of his existence, and it was a hunger that could never be satisfied, a thirst that could never be quenched. He craved power, adoration, riches, freedom, and no matter how much he managed to snatch from the world, it would never be enough.

  ‘These are your attributes, your gates to power!’ Sofia cried, and there she was before him, eclipsing with her dark light all the colours of the spheres. ‘Learn well, angel king, for these are the planets that spin around your pivot. You are the sun that propels their existence. Take all of their aspects and reflect them back. Shine for them, son of light, be the black sun that feeds the life substance of their nature. And be the perfect sphere. You shall not seek the source, Azazel, you shall be it.’

  Shemyaza raised his head to her, aware once more of corporeality, the flesh around his bones. ‘And what of you, Sofia? Are you to share this power?’

  Sofia raised her arms above her head. The snakes in her hair lifted their gleaming coils and hissed her words in chorus. ‘I am the first and the last, the honoured and the despised, the whore and the holy one, wife and virgin, barren and fertile. And you will make me the queen of your heaven!’

  Shemyaza bowed his head to her. ‘I thank you, Sofia, for showing and giving me this knowledge, for now I am equipped to be a king who rules all the spiritual realms.’

  Sofia threw back her head and laughed, the snakes twisting crazily around her in a feverish halo. ‘Indeed, my lord. Indeed! Now, fly back to the world of flesh, and take my strength with you!’