Stealing Sacred Fire (21 page)

Malagriel had shrugged. ‘Well,
it could have come from High Crag. Enniel has the place stuffed
full of old relics, as you probably know.’ He grinned. ‘Not least,
some of his relatives.’

Lily had been in no mood for jokes.
‘Are you sure it couldn’t have hurt Helen?’

‘Yes. Scarabs aren’t
poisonous.’

In the early stages of her
illness, Helen had insisted on keeping the creature in a jar beside
her bed. She liked to turn the glass vessel in her hands, staring
at the oil-bright colours of the insect’s carapace. Now, the jar
stood ignored on the table, next to the Winnie the Pooh lamp, amid
a jumble of Helen’s toy ponies. Lily’s heart contracted within her.
The little array of youthful belongings seemed pathetic standing so
mundanely above the suffering child. Lily dreaded that Helen would
never be able to play with them again.

Thunder growled in the
distance; another storm. They had been occurring every evening
recently; violent electrical tempests that brought no rain. The air
was humid, yet Lily shivered. She stood up and went to the window,
looked out. Another jagged spear of light cracked down to spike the
earth. It was almost as if something were moving again beneath the
Cornish soil, another monstrous serpent brought to life. Lily’s
mind was cast back to the terrifying time when she had first come
to Cornwall. She felt unnerved, in need of company. Her brother,
Owen, was out, but she could call Emma Manden.

Downstairs, Lily discovered
that the phones were down again. Another peal of thunder came,
followed by what felt like a minor earthquake. Lily cringed.
Ornaments on the shelves rattled, pictures tilted, and the overhead
lamp fitting swayed. ‘No,’ Lily said aloud. She could sense
something creeping towards her home, shrouded in thunder, carried
by it.

The lights suddenly went out
and Lily jumped, repressing a cry that rose in her throat. She
could not stay here. She would have to pick Helen up and carry her
from the house. They would have to go to High Crag. Enniel would
know what was happening. He would protect them.

Running to the stairs, Lily was
horrified to see a spectral shape staring down at her from the
first floor, limned in blue-white lightning radiance that came in
through the landing windows. Her first instinct was to slam herself
backwards against the wall, trying to make herself invisible. Helen
was up there, though. Her vulnerable daughter. What could she do?
There was no way Lily would abandon her. Then the voice came.
‘Mummy! Mummy!’ The ghostly shape came scampering down the stairs,
and Lily realised it wasn’t a ghost at all.

Lily scooped the child up into
her arms and realised at once that Helen felt cooler. The fever had
broken. Relieved, Lily pressed her face against Helen’s cheek.
‘Helen, what are you doing out of bed? Are you scared?’

‘No, I’m not scared, but I’ve
got something to tell you.’

‘What?’ Lily carried Helen
towards the kitchen. As she pushed open the door, the lights came
on again. Normality restored.

Helen wriggled in her arms.
‘Met-met wants to go home. He wants me to take him.’

‘Who’s Met-met?’

‘My animal. The one I
found.’

‘The scarab beetle?’

Helen nodded.

‘Where does he want you to take
him, sweetheart?’

‘To Khem. It’s a long way.’

Lily knew that Khem was one of
the ancient names of Egypt, but how could Helen have known it?
‘Well, perhaps one day we can go on a holiday there and then we’ll
take him home.’

Helen shook her head
emphatically. ‘No. Soon.’

Lily deposited Helen on a chair
and went to the fridge to fetch milk. ‘We can’t. It’s not a safe
place at the moment. People are fighting all the time.’

‘Mummy, we must go. Met-met
jumped onto my face and folded the thing that made me sick up into
a ball. He threw it away. Then he told me.’

Lily paused, the milk carton
poised over Helen’s cup. A mother would normally dismiss such
nonsense as make-believe, but Helen was no ordinary child. She was
Grigori. ‘Why does Met-met want to go home so badly, Helen?’

‘He wants to show something to
me.’

‘What?’

Helen shrugged and took the
milk drink from her mother. ‘I don’t know. We mustn’t be scared of
the fighting, though. Mummy, will you ask Enniel to sort it out for
us?’ Already Helen was wise enough to know where money and favours
came from in their home.

Lily sat down at the table and
folded her arms upon it, staring at her daughter. In many ways,
with her perfect face and shadowed, sometimes commanding, gaze, she
resembled a girl of Ancient Egypt.

The phone rang. Lily got up to
answer it, but by the time she reached the hallway and lifted the
receiver, all she heard was a crackle, a long-distance hissing.
‘Hello, hello?’ No answer. She replaced the receiver thoughtfully,
her mind suddenly full of Daniel. Did he need her? Was he thinking
of her? Lily stared at the phone before going back into the
kitchen. She could not dispel the suspicion that Helen’s
announcement was somehow connected with Daniel’s disappearance. The
phone call seemed like an eerie omen. Enniel knew that Shem had
taken his companions to the Middle East, but there had been no news
from them for weeks.

I can’t just go out there, Lily
thought. I can’t.

But she knew that in morning,
she would go to High Crag and speak to Enniel.

Babylonia

Rocks cast long blue shadows over the
twisting road. It was late afternoon, and they had been travelling
for a day and a half. Shem dozed beside Daniel on the floor of the
jeep. Daniel stared at his sleeping face, fighting an urge to reach
out and touch it. Not yet. The time wasn’t right.

Salamiel was driving. He had
persisted in chatting to the Yarasadi woman and had gleaned the
information that her name was Sabry. She spoke enough English for
Salamiel to make himself understood, and had grudgingly responded
to his friendly overtures. Daniel had watched him flirting,
amused.

The truck careered to a stop in
front of a group of armed men, who appeared to have materialised
from crevices in the rock. Like the first Yarasadi they had met,
these men were not dressed in modern military garb, but long, dark
robes embroidered elaborately in gold and crimson. Their heads were
swathed in scarlet cloth, which revealed only their eyes. ‘We are
near the camp,’ Sabry said. ‘Very near.’

The peshmergas approached the
jeep and Sabry spoke to them in Kurmanji. After a wary inspection
of the passengers, the Yarasadi waved them onwards.

‘Is Gadreel here?’ Daniel
asked.

Sabry glanced round at him,
frowned and shook her head.

The road suddenly turned sharply to the
left and downwards. A hidden valley was revealed. Shem woke up and,
as Daniel watched, wound a long white scarf around his head to
conceal most of his features. Their eyes met. Daniel saw challenge
in the gaze and returned it, obtaining a smug satisfaction when
Shem finally averted his eyes.

Daniel leaned forward over
Sabry’s seat to get a better view. The valley floor was lush and
fertile, surrounded by forbidding cliffs of green-veined rock, full
of gaping caves, which appeared to have been utilised as dwellings.
A forest of oak hugged the far side of the valley, while before
them, bizarre natural monoliths reared up from the valley floor,
dwarfed by the looming cliffs. These formations looked very much
like the ‘fairy chimneys’ of Cappadocia, but here the terrain was
remarkably different. Cappadocia was almost a desert.

‘It’s unreal,’ Daniel
murmured.

‘Bad in winter,’ Sabry said.
‘Cut off by snow for months.’

As well as the permanent rock
dwellings, the settlement comprised many temporary buildings of
hides and canvas, which were all roughly circular. People wearing
the distinctive dark clothing and scarlet head-gear could be seen
moving among them. Goats were grazing among parked trucks, and
horses were corralled nearby.

Salamiel crunched the gears and
the jeep descended into the valley. People paused in their
activities to watch its advance. Daniel could sense their wariness
and suspicion. Everyone carried guns. It was difficult to determine
who was male and who was female.

At Sabry’s command, Salamiel
brought the jeep to a halt between two tall chimneys of stone which
stood before a wide sway-backed tent of goat hides. A tall figure
stood at the entrance canopy, hands on hips. Golden fringes adorned
his scarlet head-scarf. His proud stance declared his leadership. A
group of other figures surrounded him, with guns slung over their
shoulders.

‘Qimir,’ Sabry said. ‘Tribe
leader. The sheikh.’

Daniel could sense a certain
‘otherness’ about the people before them. He felt almost reluctant
to leave the safety of the jeep. How would they react to Shem?
Would he reveal his true nature to these people, who had worshipped
the angels for millennia?

‘Wait here,’ Sabry told them
and climbed out of the jeep. Daniel watched as she approached the
tribe leader and spoke to him. Qimir stood motionless, listening to
the rapid outpouring; his eyes, which were the only visible
features of his face, fixed on the wind-shield of the jeep.

‘He doesn’t look very
welcoming,’ Daniel said.

Shem smiled. ‘You see what you
want to see.’ Without further words, and ignoring a protest from
Daniel, he got out of the back door of the jeep and approached the
tribe leader.

Salamiel uttered a small,
worried sound.

‘We can’t let him deal with
this alone,’ Daniel said.

Salamiel nodded. ‘You’re right.
Anu knows what he’ll say!’

Together they got out of the
jeep. Daniel saw Qimir’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly as Shem
drew close to him. What did the man see? Daniel wondered. Shem,
even with his head and face covered, exuded a magnificence that
went beyond appearances. Judging from the sudden stiffening of the
sheikh’s body, Daniel felt it was almost as if the tribe leader’s
worst fears or wildest hopes had been confirmed.

Shem halted beside Sabry and
bowed his head. ‘Greetings to you, sir.’

The sheikh nodded shortly, but
otherwise made no move or sound.

Shem straightened up. ‘My
friends and I are here because we would like to meet Gadreel.’

‘I have explained your
purpose,’ Sabry said.

Qimir’s eyes travelled slowly
over Shem and his companions. ‘You are not journalists,’ he
announced. ‘Just what are you?’ He spoke English perfectly, and his
voice was not heavily accented, almost as if he’d been brought up
in the West. It was a soft, low voice, precise and careful.

‘No, we are not journalists,’
Shem admitted. ‘But I assure you we have the interests of your
people at heart. It is very important that I meet Gadreel.’

‘We shall talk,’ said Qimir. He
turned and gestured towards the tent.

‘Thank you.’ Shem turned to his
companions. ‘Well, this is it. Shall we go in?’

Daniel and Salamiel exchanged a
glance. Gadreel was not here. Did that mean they would have to
endure another fruitless period of waiting?

Inside, Qimir’s dwelling was
adorned with flowers of white, purple and yellow that exuded a
fresh perfume. Blooms splayed out of brass bowls and were hung in
garlands on the canopied walls. The light from outside was dim,
augmented by a couple of oil lamps flickering on the floor. Qimir
bade his guests be seated on brocade cushions. As they sat down,
the tribe leader summoned a young man from the shadows of the tent
and spoke to him in a whisper. Then, Qimir unwrapped the red cloth
from around his head to reveal a clean-shaven, tawny-skinned face
of long, delicate features. ‘You have had a hard journey?’ he
enquired.

Shem smiled. ‘Tiring. But the
mountains are beautiful and do much to restore the spirit.’ He also
unwound his head-cloth and shook out his hair.

Daniel watched Qimir’s reaction
carefully; he suspected that the tribe leader knew already that
Shem was no ordinary man.

A young boy emerged from beneath a
curtain, carrying a large dish of dried fruit and nuts, accompanied
by a girl who bore a tray containing a tall, narrow tea-pot and a
number of glasses.

‘Refreshment,’ Qimir said. ‘It
eases conversation.’

Shem inclined his head. ‘We
thank you.’

The company waited in silence
as the tea and food were distributed. Unlike most other people
they’d met since they’d entered Turkey, Qimir seemed taciturn and
aloof. The silence was uncomfortable, yet Qimir himself displayed
no sign of unease. He sat thoughtfully, his head resting in one
long-fingered hand.

Taking a sip of tea, Shem said,
‘These are my companions, Daniel and Salamiel.’

Qimir afforded them an
appraising glance.

‘And I am Shemyaza.’

Qimir smiled thinly. ‘Yes? That
is not the name of an Englishman.’

‘No,’ Shem answered, ‘my name
is, as Gadreel’s, from an ancient source.’

‘Shemyaza,’ Qimir said, ‘is a
name known to me. It is another form of Malak Tawus, also called
Azazil, the Peacock Angel and the first avatar of the Divine
Spirit. Do you understand what that means to us?’

‘Yes,’ Shem answered simply. ‘I
understand. I have lived with the knowledge of the meaning of my
name for a long time.’

Their eyes locked, and after a
while Qimir looked away and helped himself to a handful of the
nuts. ‘So what is your business with Gadreel, other than a
comparison of names?’

‘I cannot discuss it at this
juncture. It is of a personal nature.’

‘You are known to Gadreel?’

Shem paused, then said simply.
‘Yes. I am known.’

Salamiel shifted uncomfortably upon his
cushion. Qimir indicated him languidly. ‘Your companion does not
think so.’