Part 46 (1/2)

Before me: this beautiful being whom I cannot understand. Neither man or woman, there is no distinction in their kind. All I feel is the resonance of the tonal sounds they generate and their invisible hands upon my brow, igniting the fibres of my soul. And the words come, pa.s.sing into the world and the ears of men.

I beseech the ancestors: Reveal to me the sacred names, for I would use them well. Give me the knowledge that men covet. Am I not worthy? Do you not look upon me with love and give me the touch of your holy hands?'

But still the words that tumble from my mouth are meaningless to me. If I try hard enough will the forms of the words change in my head, become real? No. I have tried. I always try.

The Renowned Old Ones draw away from me, and it is time to retreat from the stargate. I feel the pull in my skin, dragging my soul back into the temple. And yet, as my spirit travels, I sense an unseen Presence: something different. It seems to me as if a voice is speaking, and at last, the words have meaning: You will gather the harvest of knowledge through your own power, the power that you have yet to discover, a power I have yet to use.' The voice is male, and rings like a clarion across the heavens, yet whispers as soft as the feet of a mouse running over the grain. Now, I fly across the rippling fields of corn, and my spirit's eye can see the roofs of the temple, ruddy in the harvest light. A perfume rises from the corn, the smell of ozone, a salty, male scent. And on the horizon, rising from the jagged mountains of Heaven, the dwelling place of the s.h.i.+ning Ones. A yearning presence envelops me.

I rise from my trance and my sisters hold out their hands, with their henna-red palms, to lead me from the flame. Already the men have dismissed me from their attention and apply themselves to debate, arguing over the patterns in the sand. I want to spit upon their symbols, muddle the pictograms with my hands so they cannot read them. The Presence is still with me: I can feel it all around. Something is coming.

Brus.h.i.+ng aside my sisters, I am drawn out into the immensity of the spreading fields. Here, I am so small, it is a marvel. The grain sways for as far as I can see, and in the eastern distance the mountains are dark and secret against the sequins of the stars. It is as if the mountains are hanging above the earth, not part of it at all. The smell of the sky is overpowering out here. The earth G.o.d holds sway across the fields. I walk into the corn, and it caresses my body as I glide along the narrow path towards the mountains.

How dare they deny me! Within the words I give to them are the answers to the greatest questions: where we come from and what we are. The men are too stupid to see this, yet they are unwilling to question their G.o.ds, the Anannage, on these mysteries. Instead, they use me, unaware that I have the potential to be greater than them. Fools!

I throw back my head to the sky and scream in silence, Give me the answers!

Then, as I lower my eyes, they rest once again upon the mountains, the High Place. Women are forbidden to go there, too. I have never gazed upon one of the Anannage at close quarters. On the rare occasions they come to us, I have been shut inside the house with the other women. We looked through the slats across the windows and saw their tall shapes, but that was all. Now, as I walk this path, I defy the elders and begin to sing the forbidden tones of the Renowned Old Ones. My song is my greatest gift, and I sing it from my soul. I sing it to him whose presence is with me, and whose body is coming to me. As my song reaches its highest pitch, the tones rising through the sacred scale, a blinding light fills my mind and a powerful love fills my heart. He is coming to meet me, he is coming from the High Place, and when he arrives...? Oh, by all the names of all the G.o.ds, sacred and profane, I feel his soul: already it pa.s.ses through mine like a veil of incense smoke, like a shower of rain at dawn. It shouts to me. May the Great Lady give me strength to bear his beauty and his power!

There. I see him upon the path, tall and pale, his robes swinging about him. He has heard my soul-song calling to him, I know this. As he draws closer, I can see that he wears a feathered cloak which hangs about him like wings. They are vulture feathers: black as night. Beneath the cloak, his robe, as I first thought, is white, belted with gold. Nearer. I can see his feathered head-dress, the plumes nodding against the night sky. He is so tall. Am I afraid? He wears the bones of a snake, wound around and around his long neck, the brittle, ivory head of the serpent gripping in its jaws the bony links of its tail. The symbol st.i.tched in gold upon his breast is that of the Watchers. I have seen that seal before, and heard men mutter about it. They watch over us and take words of our activities back to the mountains. Usually, they hide themselves in clouds. But there are no clouds to conceal the one who comes to me now. He is a Watcher, high-ranking among his kind. Nearer. His face. I can see his face. What is it that I see? He is a serpent man, a feathered serpent, yet how lovely to behold. His eyes are like the eyes of a viper, filled with an ancient wisdom. My knees are weak, but I must not stumble. I must walk, walk towards him. He is looking up at the sky now, towards Orion. How bright the constellations s.h.i.+ne this night, brighter than ever before. When he speaks, his voice will be familiar, yet we have never met. The smell coming from his body is the salt smell of the sky after a storm; it is so strong now, the essence of manhood.

Here: we meet. In the mid-path between the High and the Low. He looks down at me from his great height, and it is as if he is afraid. A flame of golden light burns around his body. Does it burn with desire? I have called him, and his body heard me.

Are you my G.o.d in Heaven?' I ask him.

He holds out his hands to me and I take them in my own. I can be, if you want me to be,' he says, and there is a smile on his face. His hair falls from beneath the plumes on his head like a cascade of flowing white feathers. His eyes, even in the dusk, are the deepest blue.

In contrast to him, I am female power, the residue of Orion's energy hangs about my body like a veil. He recognises this. I know it. He knows my function. Is this real? Am I still in trance? I want this man and the things that he might teach me. He enfolds me in his cloak, wings wrapped about my body. Pressed against him, I can hear his beating heart, feel the hardness in his loins.

I say to him, If you are my heavenly G.o.d, tell me the hidden names, tell me what the men of the temple refuse to tell me.'

He takes my head between his long hands and looks into my face. You have a need,' he says, as do I, to experience that which is forbidden to you. If you, my lady, give me the power of the earth and all the fire within her, I will do anything you ask of me. My Heaven is cold, my wings have grown tired of traversing the astral spheres and constellations, and my heart grows sick of the commandments from my brethren. The smell of the earth is ripe around you. The fruit of your body I long to taste. Seek not the stars for me, Ishtahar, oracle of Hebob. Lay open for me the depths of the earth, and the richness of her power. Please do not deny me the knowledge of this pleasure.'

There is knowledge, then, that the Anannage deny their own.

He lifts me in his arms and puts his mouth against my own. My hands steal beneath his eburneous mane. I press my wrists against the heat of his neck. His skin is smooth, like marble. He carries me into the corn and lays me down there. In the stillness of the night, I can hear the soft voices of my sisters in the temple, and the sound of it makes me aware of my flesh, my existence in the world. The air is cool now, like an urgent hand shaking the sleeper to wakefulness. The s.h.i.+ning One blots out the stars above me and I feel a fear rise up within my breast, like a serpent arranging itself to strike. He feels it too. As I start away from him, he leans down and grips my hand. No, do not be afraid of me. For this act, you will be venerated as the highest G.o.ddess forevermore.'

I have been told the serpents are sacred. To lie with this serpent man must be a holy act. Our love has been waiting, like a star ready to fall. It is inexorable.

I take him in my arms and he breathes in my ear the first of the forbidden words. His name: Shemyaza.

Chapter Thirty-Five.

Barbara Eager was overseeing operations at The White House. To a casual observer, it might have appeared that she was no different than she'd ever been, but Mrs Moon knew otherwise. Whispers had been circulating around the village all day, a condensation of rumours that had flown for a couple of weeks now. The Grigori were back. Like Eva Manden, Mrs Moon had a parent who had once been a Grigori dependant and, also like Eva, she welcomed their return with mixed feelings. Still, there was little anyone could do about the situation. If they'd come back, they'd come back, and that was that. The Eager woman was charmed, all right. You could see it on her like a dark glow. She was hysterical, but managed to hide it.

Peverel Othman made an appearance at six o'clock, just as a couple of the Perks boys were seeing to the barbecue in the garden. A few people had already begun to arrive, mostly oldsters, although a couple of new families were present, who had brought their children with them. Mrs Moon, watching from the kitchen window at the back of the pub, shook her head at that, and pursed her lips. Fodder! she thought, but it was not her place to judge.

Othman went up to Barbara, who was supervising the placement of bread rolls on a trestle table, which was covered with a glowing white cloth.

Is everything ready?' he asked.

Barbara jumped at the sound of his voice, then turned to him with a smile. Yes, Pev. Everything.'

He touched her face. Good.'

Is Louis coming?' Barbara asked.

Later,' Othman replied. We shall all be down later.'

What are you doing?' Barbara's eyes became momentarily alert.

Othman smiled at her gently. A ceremony at the High Place. Don't worry. Soon, all shall be as it was before.'

Before when? Barbara couldn't help thinking, but the thought was quickly smothered. Misgivings had been tugging at her heart all day, indistinct fears and doubts, yet her body felt exuberant and sleek, more beautiful than it had felt for years. Barbara could sense youth creeping back into her bones and flesh. Whatever she had involved herself in, it had been a voluntary act. She must accept the consequences.

All the oldsters present were watching Peverel Othman with greedy, inquisitive eyes. He acknowledged each of them with eye contact, knowing that to risk more would prove to be a waste of his energy. Just the slightest touch could set them off, sucking and starving at his soul.

Emma Manden appeared at the edge of the garden, dressed in a long, man's raincoat, her abundant hair curled forties' style around her shoulders, her lips a bruised smudge in the artificial light. Othman noticed her and thought that she looked as if she was getting ready to leave the place. Her attire spoke to him of stations and partings. She was obviously playing another role from her memory.

Emma!' He summoned her.

She marched over to him briskly. Well, everyone's here! So what happens now?'

Othman led Emma aside. In a few minutes, I shall leave for the High Place. I'll be back in an hour or so.'

Can't I come with you?' Emma's eyes were defiant.

Othman hesitated, then touched Emma's arm. My dear, this is a man's ritual. I'm sorry. I wish you could be present, but it is impossible.'

I see.' Emma narrowed her eyes. He is a little afraid of me, she thought. He was not as confident as he should be, appearing too nervy and jumpy.

It's up to you to keep everyone happy here, Emma,' Othman said. I'm relying on you.'

Emma shuddered involuntarily. In an hour Daniel Cranton would be dead. She chided herself for feeling uneasy about it. In the past, she'd been aware of human deaths in Long Eden. Was this one so different?

Where is Lily?' Othman asked her.

Emma shrugged. I don't know. She wasn't at the cottage when I left. I think she's hiding. It's frightening her, all this.'

She's just jealous,' Othman said, with a smile. She wanted to be the one to empower the flame.'

And Emma thought, how can you be so wrong? She felt no fear for Lily, and had not even bothered to search for her. Othman clearly considered her unimportant to the proceedings, intent as he was on his man's ritual'. There was a tiny seed of feeling within Emma whispering that Lily might spring some surprises of her own. Emma did not question this. She only thought of their brief conversations concerning the key to Long Eden, and harboured a cautious hope. She realised then that she had faith in Lily. Owen is ready,' she said. I've dressed him and put him in the kitchen.'

Thank you,' Othman replied.

Emma watched him leave the garden of The White House, thinking, He's not as clever as he believes himself to be.

Othman prowled the lanes of Little Moor, dragging his intentions behind him like smoke. The air was like needles against his skin, invisible p.r.i.c.ks of light. He sensed a wave about to crest, a veil about to tear. Soon. Like Emma, he shuddered, half in antic.i.p.ation, half in dread. He could not go back on his decision.