Stealing Sacred Fire (53 page)

‘You will come home with us,
won’t you?’ Lily murmured.

And now, at last, Kashday could
say, ‘Yes.’ In that moment, he knew that the past had released him
and that his true life had been given back.

He did not see Lily’s daughter
come to stand beside them, and only became aware of her when her
small but firm voice interrupted their reunion. ‘Hello,
Grandfather.’

Kashday glanced down and saw
her looking up at him gravely. For a moment, he did not see the
face of a child, but the features of an adult woman. It was a face
known instinctively by all Grigori: Ishtahar, Shemyaza’s lover,
priestess of Kharsag. Kashday uttered a sound of surprise and took
a step back, but then the image fled and only a dark-haired, pretty
little girl stood before him.

‘This is Helen,’ Lily said. ‘I
named her after Mum.’

Kashday nodded. There was very
little of the grandmother in Helen. She was a Grigori child through
and through, knowing in the ways a human woman could never be. He
scooped the child up into his arms and pressed her against him. She
clung to him like a kitten, smelling faintly of musky earth and
cedar wood.

The reunion of Lily and her
father had held everyone’s attention in the near vicinity. Even
strangers had paused to watch. Nobody noticed that, by paw of the
Sphinx, Melandra lowered Tiy gently to the ground and then got to
her feet. Her hoarse shout made everyone jump. ‘Our lord is dead,
yet you forget this and smile! How dare you! He’s dead! He’s
dead!’

Eyes turned to look at her, but
no-one spoke. Her face looked wild, demented, then her eyes
narrowed. ‘You are all free now, aren’t you? He paid the price,
gave up his life. All you feel is relief.’

For a moment, there was
silence, then Salamiel’s voice cut like a blade into the stillness.
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. No-one feels relieved,
least of all me. It was I who had to kill him.’

Melandra stared at him with
wide, fierce eyes, then said in a bewildered voice, ‘You killed
him? You?’

Salamiel was still spattered
with dried blood across his face and neck. It was evidence
enough.

‘He had no choice,’ Gadreel
said coldly. ‘Shemyaza ordered him to do it.’

Melandra uttered a snarl and
spat in Salamiel’s face. ‘Betrayer! Judas! You’re not fit to wear
his blood’

Salamiel did not flinch, but
stood erect, his expression hard. Melandra’s spittle gleamed upon
his face. ‘I’ll kill you for this!’ Melandra growled. ‘You’re dead
meat!’

‘Quite the little zealot,
aren’t you?’ Salamiel said shakily.

Melandra did not reply to this.
She bunched her fists and punched Salamiel hard in the chest. He
groaned and staggered backwards.

Daniel pushed himself between
them and placed his hands on Melandra’s arms. ‘Stop it!’ he said in
a calm voice. ‘We’ve all been through enough.’

Melandra turned on him,
apparently ready to attack Daniel as well, but before she could
take any further action, a baying ululation swept through the crowd
on the plateau above.

Instinctively, everyone turned
their heads towards the pyramids. The aurora had expanded and now
filled the sky with a ghostly image. It seemed to be smoking
directly out of the apex of the pyramid of Cheops, drawing
substance from the golden light that blazed there. A willow forest
of long hair snaked wildly around the apparition’s head, netting
stars. Its face was as big as the pyramid itself, its features
elongated, its eyes burning cauldrons of turquoise fire. It was a
star giant, imprinted against the black night sky.

Silence fell upon the gathering
on the plateau like the aftermath of a slap on flesh. The gaze of
the smouldering eyes above them was hypnotic. They were frozen
where they stood, like tiny prey in the shadow of a swaying
cobra.

Daniel stared at the image in
the sky. He did not feel afraid, nor sensed any malevolent intent.
He had seen this face before, or one like it. An Elder. ‘Shem has
succeeded,’ he murmured. ‘He must have succeeded.’

Lily curled her hand through
his elbow, shaking her head. ‘But it’s so beautiful,’ she breathed.
‘So strange.’

Daniel could not tear his eyes
away from the Elder’s smoking eyes. He felt as if his consciousness
was being drawn upwards, right into them. The crowd around him
melted away. He was alone. All that existed was the silence of the
night and the presence of the Elder.

Daniel’s spirit hung before the
alien countenance. Its elliptical eyes were a window onto the
corners of the world. The apocalypse had come. Daniel saw images of
the twelve sites of the sacred crystals around the globe. He
witnessed what had happened as midnight had passed across the
planet, and what would happen as the hour swept further west.

First, the past. His inner eye
looked upon a snow-capped mountain, where a lofty temple hugged the
sheer crags. Saffron-robed figures sat cross-legged within it,
chanting three repetitive notes. Some of them conjured a ringing
chime from bowls of bronze and gold. They were Nying-ma-pa Buddhist
monks. Above the pagoda roofs of their temple, the image of an
Elder god reared up to fill the sky behind their sacred mountain.
Watching, Daniel knew that the mountain had housed a crystal, which
had been buried millennia before and had lain dormant since that
time. Now, its energy had awoken, and the high lamas prepared for a
new cycle of karma. To them, it was the eyes of Pahdma-sam-bava,
the oldest lama, that blazed down from the sky. Samsara had
ended.

Now, Daniel looked a short time
into the future, upon an isolated Greek peninsula, a place where no
women ventured. He saw a crumbling monastery that nestled within
the woods at the foot of a holy mountain. Within it, black-clad
priests prayed incessantly. On the walls, murals of the Second
Coming and Revelations shivered with eerie life in the light of
candles. As Daniel watched, twelve of the bearded priests rose to
their feet and silently left the sanctuary of the chapel. They
carried with them a rare jewel of clearest crystal. They knew it as
the key to one of the twelve gates of Heaven and it had been
revealed to them within the tomb of their founder.

The priests had read the signs and
heeded the omens. Now, as they filed out into the darkness, the sky
over the mountain was filled with the countenance of their lord.
They averted their eyes, for they feared to look upon his radiance.
They would journey to the foot of the mountain to witness his
descent. Then a great voice filled their ears and said to them,
‘Behold, it is done. I am the alpha and omega, the beginning and
the end. I am the root and the offspring of El, the bright morning
star. To you who have guarded the seventh seal I shall give the
waters of life. I shall wipe away every tear from your eyes and
death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning and pain.
Go down to the lowlands and find yourselves wives, for the former
things have passed away.’

Now Daniel’s vision sped
further into the future, to the slopes of a pointed mountain in
Mexico. Many people had gathered there. Astronomers and Ufologists
mingled with the surviving remnants of native tribes. Tiny
earth-lights whizzed around the dark peak; cherry red, amber and
blue. The gaze of a huge phantom in the star-encrusted firmament
burned down upon the crowds. Some saw the black, slanted eyes of an
alien visitor, while others beheld the burning green fire of the
god Quetzalcoatl’s return.

Daniel’s perception shifted to
midnight in England. He saw a gathering of tribal youth who swarmed
over the grassy sides of a sacred tor in Somerset. They had come to
celebrate the new year, but the beat of drums and the warble of
their voices had died away. A vision had appeared that filled the
sky: the great earth goddess, her arms extended, her hair aflame.
Nobody moved. The brightly-painted faces of the crowd were
transfixed by the apparition. They heard a triad of sweet, female
voices that belled out across the mist-girdled land. ‘All hail the
return of the once and future Dragon King, who has supped from the
crystal chalice of life.’

Images flickered rapidly before
Daniel’s perception. He saw glimpses of seven other points on the
earth, where the spirit of an Elder had been evoked by the summons
of a hidden crystal. In every location, all who encountered the
vision beheld the harbinger of their hopes, dreams and beliefs. All
the sacred deities of the world’s civilisation had manifested as
the dreaming mind of the world and its peoples had always
remembered them.

When midnight struck in
whatever part of the world, humanity had held, and would hold, its
breath. Even those who had not been drawn to the sacred sites would
feel that something momentous was happening. The celebrants of New
Year’s parties across the globe would invoke the spirit of the new
age. It would come as hope, as potential.

Suddenly, Daniel’s perception
was snatched back to England. He saw the chimneys of High Crag;
stark against a clear, cold sky. The French windows that led out to
the gardens at the back of the house were open, and sounds of
merriment echoed out over the rolling lawns. Enniel Prussoe walked
across the frosty grass, arm in arm with a human woman. Daniel
recognised her: Emma Manden, his old friend, now mistress of the
Pelleth witches. The Pelleth and the Grigori had ever been wary
adversaries. Now, Emma threw back her head and stared up at the
sky. She laughed. The air was like chilled sparkling wine, the
stars fizzing overhead. Neither Enniel nor Emma spoke, but Daniel
sensed a peace between them; an impression of coming home, of
casting off the past. His heart ached to behold it. He thought of
his own family, in the village of Little Moor. So long since he’d
seen his father and sister. Thought was transport enough.

There was Verity, his sister,
sitting alone in the drawing room of Low Mede, his old home. Daniel
felt as if he was sucked into the house. It had hardly changed.
Verity sat before a roaring fire, yet rubbed her arms, as if a cold
draught had passed over her. She looked older, but more serene.

‘Vez,’ Daniel murmured, but she
could not hear him. She held a glass of red wine against her
chest.

Daniel didn’t want her to be
alone, not on this night, but he sensed no other human presence in
the house. He knew then that his father was dead. Poor, solitary
Verity. He wanted to be with her, comfort her. Then, the door to
the drawing-room opened and a tall, dark-haired man came into the
room. He was not human, but not Grigori either. A spirit creature
in some respects, but also a being of flesh. Verity smiled
languorously, turned, and held out a hand to him. He curled up
beside her on the sofa, enfolded in her arms. They did not speak,
but gazed into the fire together, as if they dreamed of the future.
Outside, the church bells rang, chiming in the new era.

Now, Daniel’s perception swept
up the Thames in London, where an icy wind fretted the surface of
the water. He was a bird, skimming between the brightly lit
buildings on either bank. His attention came to rest high above the
Embankment, by Cleopatra’s Needle. He saw two figures standing
together, muffled in thick coats and scarves, between the great
lions. A man and a woman. It was Aninka Prussoe, who had once been
a lover of Peverel Othman’s, and Lahash Murkaster, the assassin
who’d been sent to Little Moor to kill him. Lahash and Aninka had
been estranged the last time Daniel had seen them. He was glad to
see they had re-established contact. But were they lovers now?
Lahash put one hand inside his coat and withdrew a dark gleaming
object. It was his gun, the symbol of his profession. He handed it
to Aninka. She held it up towards the stars for a moment, then
tossed it out into the dark, shifting waters of the ancient river.
Simultaneously, Big Ben began to toll in the New Year and across
the entire city, a great cheer went up. Fireworks exploded in light
above the steeples and the towers. Aninka and Lahash held each
other tight before the sacred waters. They too had cast off the
past: his need to avenge and kill, her obsession with unrequited
love.

Daniel had witnessed glimpses
of the lives of people who had been close to him over the last five
years. It seemed the millennium had brought promise, hope and
reconciliation for them. But there were others, whom Daniel had not
yet seen. His mind shied away from touching the sore spots of his
past.

Relentlessly, his perception
took to the air once more and he was snatched back to Cornwall, not
to High Crag, but the cottage that Lily shared with her daughter
and brother. Owen Winter. I do not want to see this, Daniel
thought, sure that there could be no shining road of optimism
opening up for Owen. Fighting the vision, Daniel saw the warm
lights of the cottage spilling out into the winter countryside. In
the distance, he heard the lash of the ocean against serpentine
rocks. He was pulled into the kitchen of the cottage, where two
people sat at the bare wooden table, a bottle standing open between
them. One of them was Owen, Daniel saw that straight away, but the
other... It took a moment for recognition to occur. Then he
realised it was Taziel Levantine, another of Daniel’s past lovers,
whom he had spurned to be with Shemyaza. Both Taziel and Owen had
felt very bitter towards Daniel; perhaps together they could heal
those past hurts. They drank together in silence, as if
conversation had dwindled, but their postures were relaxed, their
faces content in companionship.

Daniel’s perception now swirled
up into the heavens once more. It was all so neat, so tidy, he
thought. All these endings and new beginnings. He knew that what
he’d seen were only visualisations, and therefore perhaps mere
approximations of what would happen as the New Year occurred in
England. But he also realised that he had been shown something very
important. The potential for change was sweeping across the world
and, as the bells chimed at midnight, past bitterness and
resentment would fade — even if only for a few moments. New
alliances, ideas and loves could grow in that fertile soil. In the
midst of battle, soldiers would drop their weapons and behold with
clear eyes the faces of those they had been ordered to destroy;
murderers would pause, blades and guns in hand, above their
victims; politicians would consider the hypocrisy of their policies
and principles; criminals and delinquents in every country would
feel a burden lift from their hearts, leaving in its wake an
inexpressible hope, and in the highest cathedrals and churches,
bishops and priests would kneel before their altars, pondering
their dependency upon dogma and faith in the unseen. Ordinary
people would feel as if invisible shackles had fallen from their
bodies, minds and hearts. They might liken it to having been asleep
all their lives. Now they were awake and could see the world with
fresh, new eyes. They would be inspired to seek new destinies.
Perhaps somewhere a young man or woman would suddenly have their
own vision of the future and dream some life-changing invention or
political theory. Coincidence might align to let wonderful things
happen.