Stealing Sacred Fire (17 page)

Melandra ignored the faint note
of criticism. ‘No. Unless he’s psychic, of course.’

Fox laughed dryly. ‘We have to assume
he has some inkling of your presence.’ He paused. ‘You said he
drove out of the city. We can only presume his destination is the
east. Given his affluence, it’s strange he hasn’t flown out of the
city. Are you sure he left in a truck?’

‘As sure as I can be,’ Melandra
answered. ‘Perhaps you should put some of your spies on to it.’

Fox’s voice was clipped. ‘He’ll
be making for the whore of cities, Babylon. You will be contacted
with further instructions.’

The line went silent.

Melandra stared angrily at the
phone for a moment, then replaced the handset.

Turkey

The road they travelled was wide, the
landscape desolate, almost lunar, and the truck thundered along at
a fast pace. Their guide and driver was a cheerful and garrulous
young Turk named Hasim, whom Salamiel had engaged after making
discreet enquiries in the city. Hasim was clearly sympathetic to
the Yarasadi, although he identified himself as Turkish. Daniel,
unsure of the young man’s heritage, understood about a quarter of
what Hasim said, as he spoke in a continuous babble that seemed to
be half Turkish, half English. Hasim knew about the prophet Gadreel
and accepted Salamiel’s story that they were a team of journalists
researching the story for a Western magazine. Before leaving
England, Shemyaza had bought an expensive camera, which Daniel now
carried in its shop-new case.

The previous day, they’d met
Hasim in a local bar in Istanbul, where Shem had made delicate
enquiries about the best way to reach the Yarasadi prophet. It was
clear that the subject was sensitive and that the Turkish
authorities would discourage any Westerners from approaching the
Kurdish rebels: that had been the way of things for many years in
Turkey. Hasim told them they would need documents from the rebels
to guarantee them safe passage through the mountains where
terrorist units held sway, but being caught by the Turks with such
papers would mean instant imprisonment and gruelling interrogation.
Hasim suggested that they should drive to the city of Diyarbakir,
where there was a large Kurdish population, including a number of
Yarasadi. Here, a guide could be found to take Shem and his
companions into the mountains. They would need someone who knew the
safest routes, and who could direct them to the places they’d most
likely run into Gadreel. Hasim warned them that the journey would
be hazardous, especially once they reached the mountains, where
what semblance of law and order remained in the lowlands had broken
down altogether.

‘Terrible things have
happened,’ he said. ‘Whole villages massacred. The Yarasadi have
few friends because their acquaintance means trouble. I’ve heard
that even other Kurdish factions view them with wariness.’

‘This Gadreel character must
have stirred up what was already an explosive situation,’ Salamiel
remarked.

Hasim nodded. ‘Yes. Neither the
Turks nor the Babylonians look kindly on the way Gadreel has fired
up this faction of the Kurds. The Turks, they say the Yarasadi are
devil-worshippers and secret followers of the new king of Babylon.
But from what we hear, Nimnezzar wants to rid the world of Yarasadi
as well. Some say he is afraid of them.’

Salamiel peered at the others
over the top of a newspaper. ‘Seems things are getting pretty hairy
all around the Middle East at present. Another hotel has been
bombed in Cairo. Wouldn’t want to be out there at the moment.’

Hasim rolled his eyes. ‘You
have seen nothing yet, my friend.’

It would take several days to
reach their destination.

Shemyaza had been subdued all
day, since they’d left Istanbul. He sat beside the driver in the
front of the truck, while Salamiel and Daniel sprawled out behind
on blankets. There was no air conditioning in the vehicle and only
the breeze from the open windows provided any relief from the heat.
A tinny, meandering strain of Turkish music spluttered from Hasim’s
cheap cassette player. Salamiel smoked a chain of vile-smelling
cigarettes and flicked through the English papers they had brought
with them from the hotel. Salamiel seemed happy to follow
Shemyaza’s lead. He didn’t question anything and was apparently
enjoying the trip, as relaxed as if they were simply on holiday. At
one point during the morning, Daniel asked Salamiel quietly if he
thought Shem was all right.

Salamiel glanced up at the back
of Shem’s head, and pulled a wry face. ‘He’s fine. Leave him be,
Daniel. He doesn’t need you to analyse him all the time. He’s just
full of thoughts.’

What thoughts, though? Daniel
wondered what was going through Shemyaza’s mind. They hadn’t
contacted Enniel before leaving England, and when Daniel had
suggested it, Shemyaza had almost snapped at him. ‘Enniel is not
involved in this. None of them are. It’s my business.’

Daniel had been tempted to call Lily,
but realised the consequences could be awkward. She would be
concerned for his safety, and would therefore tell Enniel anything
Daniel said to her. Perhaps Shemyaza was right. The Parzupheim
should not be involved in this, nor any other sly Grigori
cabal.

Daniel found it difficult to
talk to Shem now. They behaved like awkward strangers with one
another. Daniel could not help but be slightly offended that Shem
had booked a twin room for Salamiel and himself in Istanbul, while
installing Daniel in a single room next door. Once, they had been
close, making plans in the dark of a shared bed, dreaming the
future. Daniel wondered whether he himself was responsible for this
estrangement. When he and Shem had met in London, he knew he’d been
cold and defensive. As a result of that, Shem appeared to have shut
Daniel out of his personal life, and Daniel’s pride wouldn’t let
him broach the subject himself. He realised there was no point in
brooding about it now. Other, more important matters, must occupy
all their thoughts at present.

Daniel was uneasy about the
journey. He was unsure whether Shem could maintain their safety or
not, and knew that he would have to keep all his senses alert for
signs of threat, on both a physical and psychic level. They were
travelling into one of the most politically-sensitive areas of the
world to look for someone who might well be nothing more than a
terrorist. It hadn’t occurred to Shem that Gadreel might not
welcome him with open arms.

Unable to elicit conversation
from Salamiel or Shem and unwilling to listen to the prattle of the
driver, Daniel dozed as they travelled. He picked up one or two
vague psychic suggestions of threat, which seemed to involve a
woman, but the information was too nebulous to interpret.

That evening, they stopped for
the night at a small town. Here, ancient and modern Turkey again
nestled uncomfortably side by side. This land had seen many empires
rise and fall. Ottoman ruins lay everywhere, declining forlornly
alongside the brash newness of petrol stations and glass-fronted
shops.

Hasim arranged accommodation,
while Daniel and the others waited at the truck. Daniel took out
the camera and ran off a few shots of the landscape. He felt they
should be keeping a record of their journey. Salamiel disappeared
in search of more cigarettes, and Daniel used the moment of privacy
to mention to Shem the psychic impressions he’d received.

Shem offered an unexpected
response. ‘Yes, that will be the American woman.’

‘What American woman?’ Daniel
asked. ‘What have you been keeping from me?’

Shem shook his head in
irritation. ‘It’s nothing. I found her outside the hotel in
Istanbul. She wanted to kill me.’

‘Shem! I can’t believe you
haven’t mentioned this before! When did this happen?’

‘This afternoon.’

Daniel stared at him, wondering
whether this was a joke.

Shem sighed deeply. ‘I’m
changing, Daniel. I was drawn back to the city in spirit, and led
the woman into the ancient heart. She is a follower of mine. And
yet an assassin.’

Daniel tried to keep his voice
even. ‘Where is she now?’

‘She won’t follow us —
immediately. Daniel, you mustn’t worry. She’s not a threat. There
are other things…’

‘What?’

‘This afternoon, something else
intruded into my visions. I realised it’s something I’ve been
dreaming of for some nights. Disturbing. It involves another
Watcher. I couldn’t identify him, but he was in terrible pain —
incarcerated, or being tortured. Would you see what you can pick up
about that?’

Daniel nodded. ‘I’ll try.
Information’s not coming through too well. Seems you’re picking up
more than I am.’

Shem waved this remark away.
‘Just get on with it, Daniel. I don’t want your excuses.’

They are not excuses, Daniel
thought. As time progressed, he was seriously beginning to wonder
whether his talent was deserting him.

The following day, their
journey towards the east began in earnest. It would have been
easier to make the trip by plane, but Shem wanted to experience the
country firsthand. He seemed to have no sense of urgency. Daniel
was entranced by the landscape; here Shem’s heritage seemed very
close. Despite the concessions to modernity, the land still
retained the grandeur of its past, and a lot of its magic. A
rolling vista of stone-strewn grassland stretched away to either
side of the road. Occasionally, rocky outcrops rose up like
heat-blasted, alien castles. Here, hidden within the scenery, lay
the remains of the Hittite and Phrygian empires. Long before those
races surged with conquering zeal across the Middle East, the
Grigori had walked here. The remains of their civilisation had
vanished. So many ruins; so many conflicting lives. Daniel extended
his senses into the countryside and picked up fleeting images, but
none that seemed particularly pertinent to their situation. Perhaps
there was just too much information for him to interpret, and the
important symbols were lost in a confusing maelstrom of ancient
memories. Or perhaps the fault lay within himself.

Shemyaza sat in the front of
the truck, his eyes closed. He was very conscious of Daniel behind
him, this strange new Daniel who was as cold and distant as a star.
He was concerned about Daniel’s claims of losing his psychic
ability. Could it be possible? Daniel could not know how much Shem
relied on him, while doubting his own powers. Shem couldn’t help
feeling that Daniel’s insistence on having changed was his small
act of rebellion for having been abandoned after what happened in
Cornwall. And all that had come before it. Daniel had had five
years to mull over those things. Shem could sense his bitterness.
Now, all he wanted to do was turn to his vizier and say ‘Help me, I
am afraid’, but he could not speak. The episode with the American
woman had shaken him as much as he sensed it had shaken her. It had
been unexpected, a total, disorientating yanking-back to act out an
archetypal role. He’d had as little volition in it as she, as if
they’d been the puppets of higher powers.

Shem opened his eyes, his head
resting on his hand, his elbow on the rim of the open window. He
gazed down at the blurred passing road, and it seemed an oily black
streak was keeping pace with them. Shem blinked. He saw it was a
black serpent, a cobra with folded hood that wriggled with
unnatural speed beside the truck. As he stared at it, the serpent
raised its head. ‘Shemyaza, I am the symbol of your doom. You
journey towards your ultimate sacrifice. Have you no will of your
own? Turn back. Turn back. Your father laughs down at you from
Heaven.’

Shem uttered a sound of
surprise, which prompted Salamiel to call, ‘What is it?’ from the
back of the truck. Shem could not tell him. There was no serpent on
the road, no sly hissing voice in his head, only his own doubts and
fears. He closed his eyes again, resting his head against the back
of the seat. He saw Ishtahar before him, as he’d known her so long
ago. She walked past him in the oaty gloom of a room shuttered of
sunlight, fanning herself with a palm frond. ‘Shemyaza, get rid of
the boy. He watches us. You have no need of him now. You have
me.’

Had she ever said that to him? He
couldn’t remember. He had lost her and now he had lost Daniel.
Perhaps it was preordained that he should fulfil the final agonies
of his destiny alone.

Their next major stop was Sivas
— at first sight a grim and forbidding town. The stark concrete
buildings of the outskirts gave way to more historical sites in the
centre, but apart from stocking up on supplies and a night in
comfortable hotel beds, the group had no desire to linger. Daniel
tried, and failed, to acquire some information about the Watcher
whom Shem had glimpsed in dreams. Shem did not mention the subject
that evening, and again seemed wrapped up in his own thoughts.

From Sivas they travelled to
Elazig, entering the Tigris and Euphrates Basin. Daniel felt his
skin tingle to the echo of a thousand memories. If he closed his
eyes, he fancied he could hear the thunder of hooves as warriors
poured across the landscape. Ragged banners waved and fell; blood
was spilled in an eternal libation to lost gods. In contrast, and
like so many of the towns they had passed through, Elazig seemed
relentlessly modern and scoured of its ancient heart, but once its
environs were left behind, it was clear that the truck was
venturing into areas of Turkey unfrequented by casual tourists.
Nearer Diyarbakir, the land became more rocky and barren, providing
a scant living for smallholders and herders. The harsh terrain
shimmered and baked beneath the summer sun.

The further east they
travelled, the more the Turkish authorities became inquisitive
about their presence. At every junction, armoured cars and troops
could be seen, and there was a tangible atmosphere of tension in
every small town they passed through. The truck was stopped
continually, and dark faces, lean with suspicion, were forever
peering into their belongings.