Stealing Sacred Fire (29 page)

For a moment, Qimir fell silent
and lowered his head. A bird cawed from the cliff-face; the only
sound. The sun-light burned a furrow of light across the grass.
Then, with a great cry, Qimir drew himself to his full height and
thrust the final sword into the earth, spearing the centre of the
circle of blades. Sparks flew up as hard metal bit into the ground,
grinding against stone. Qimir fell to his knees, collapsing upon
the pommel of the seventh sword. Daniel saw the energy from Qimir’s
own body, the strength of his beliefs, cascading into the vibrating
metal. Radiant lines of power emanated from the central sword to
each of its companions; they rang like tuning forks, filled with
Qimir’s light and energy.

The circle of guards began to
chant rapidly and made complicated gestures with their hands,
augmenting their leader’s ritual actions. The tribe swayed beyond
them, all hands extended with fingers splayed, towards the
swords.

Daniel gazed at Shem. His eyes
were wide, his head thrown back, as if he could see something
coiling up from the ground that was readying itself to strike him.
Daniel sensed it as another layer of responsibility preparing to
enshroud Shemyaza. Part of him is fighting this, Daniel
thought.

Qimir rose slowly from the
ground and, after a few moments’ silent contemplation, drew in a
deep breath and straightened his spine. He turned to Shem and
strode up to him, placing his hands upon Shem’s shoulders. Daniel
saw Shem wince, very slightly. Qimir chanted a repetitive phrase,
which Daniel could tell meant he was calling down the power of
Malak Tawus into Shemyaza’s body. It was ironic really, for wasn’t
Shem, in his original incarnation, the prototype of the Peacock
Angel? After a few moments, Qimir fell silent and hugged Shem, then
kissed him on both cheeks. Shem bowed his head, as if in respect,
and Qimir nodded approvingly.

The tribe leader returned to
the centre of the circle and repeated the whole process with
Gadreel, before moving on to Salamiel. When Daniel’s turn came,
Qimir paused. Daniel wondered whether it was because he had only
recently risen to the state of Grigori, but when Qimir met his
eyes, he realised this was not so. Qimir seemed moved almost to
tears. When he came to place his hands upon Daniel’s shoulders, he
spoke in English before beginning the formal chant. ‘Son of the
mountains, who recognised you,’ he murmured. ‘Your soul is old,
Daniel, yet irrepressibly young. Stay by your master, for he needs
you.’

Daniel bowed his head, unable to speak.
His throat felt constricted and he closed his eyes. Then Qimir’s
voice rang out and over him, like a stream of crystal clear liquid.
He felt something move through his flesh, his bones, and realised
that Qimir was actually giving something to all of them, part of
his soul and the soul of his family. Before Qimir moved away,
Daniel whispered, ‘I will treasure the gift.’ Qimir met his eyes
and smiled. Then, with a brisk turn, he positioned himself at the
centre of the circle once more.

Raising his arms, Qimir uttered
the final lines of the ritual and once it was concluded, the whole
tribe raised their voices in a great cheer. The air became thick
with petals that were thrown from baskets carried by the children.
The tense, solemn atmosphere broke up, and someone began to play a
merry tune on the zurna.

The party set off later in the
morning, amid a din of cheering and shouting. As they prepared
their animals to leave, Qimir pulled the seven sacred swords from
the ground and presented them to Gadreel. ‘Take these divine
weapons with you,’ he said. ‘Do not use them to take life, but to
preserve it. Use them only in a time of dire need, for away from
their home, my heart, their power diminishes and you will have no
means to restore it.’

Gadreel nodded and carefully
stowed the swords, safely wrapped in several yards of cloth, onto
her pack horse. ‘I will return them to you,’ she said, and Qimir
nodded once, clearly trusting her word.

Leaving the camp in style,
Gadreel led the way by urging her horse into a gallop. Everyone
followed; the horses kicked up clods of earth, the tassels on their
bridles swinging wildly. Cooking utensils clanked and clanged on
the pack animals. The whole tribe uttered a haunting ululation as
Gadreel’s company careered off towards the mountain path.

Before long, the riders left the wider
path-ways and headed off up narrower trails, where the cliffs
seemed to lean towards one another, until they virtually met
overhead. Birds arced over the high rocks, uttering occasional
mournful cries. There was no sound of gun-fire, but what seemed
like an eternal silence beyond the natural noise of wild-life.
Daniel felt that he and his companions could be the only creatures
on earth.

The journey proceeded, unmarred
by any dramatic events, and after a few days, once the saddle
soreness had abated, Daniel was able to enjoy the untamed
surroundings. Here, in the wilderness of the world, among the very
crags where the Nephilim had fought and the Anannage had worked
their arcane technologies, it was easy to believe he had somehow
moved backwards in time. At any moment, a Watcher whose shoulders
were adorned with the wings of a vulture might appear around a
corner. Daniel experienced no sense of danger. He felt held by the
mountains, protected.

At night, he held Shemyaza in
his arms. Shem would not speak of his worries, but perhaps sensed
that Daniel was aware of them. There was little Daniel could say.
Behind every conversation, every shadowed glance, every stone on
the road, every bird overhead, lurked a hidden threat: that the
climax of Shem’s task would be his own sacrifice.

Daniel said, ‘You must not look
for omens, Shem.’ He himself fought not to think of them.

Gadreel seemed to think the
greatest danger lay not in the approach of human adversaries, but
in the djinn. She felt that if Nimnezzar’s Magians had sent
elemental spirits out into the mountains, they would probably be
attracted to the light of Shemyaza’s soul. Every night, Gadreel and
Tahira muttered incantations around the camp and placed bowls of
water and flowers at strategic points, which Gadreel said would
ward off any djinn that might sniff them out.

One day, late in the afternoon,
as the horses plodded along the trail, Salamiel drew his mount up
alongside Shem’s. ‘You’ve hardly uttered a word since we left
Qimir,’ Salamiel said. ‘What’s going on in your head?’

Shem, who had been lost in his
own torturing thoughts, detected a sharpness in Salamiel’s voice.
He shrugged. ‘I’m just thinking about what I’ll do once the key is
found.’

‘If we find it,’ Salamiel said.
‘What exactly are we doing, Shem? Will our journey end with the
opening of the Chambers? You must know.’

Shem smiled. He could not speak
of his doubts to Salamiel. ‘I don’t know any more than you do.’

Salamiel shook his head. ‘I
don’t believe it. Tell me everything, Shem, or must we follow you
as blindly as we did before, when we were cast out of Kharsag?’

Shem glanced at him sharply.
‘You did not follow me blindly, Salamiel. You came with me because
you believed what we were doing was right. Isn’t that why you’re
with me now?’

Salamiel did not answer
immediately. Shem detected a tightness to his companion’s
expression, and also a faint corona of angry crimson fire around
his body. ‘We have never really talked about the past,’ Salamiel
said. ‘Perhaps it is time to. I, and your other supporters,
despised Anu’s hollow sanctimony. We were filled with a fire to
rebel against all that Kharsag stood for. You made us see the
truth, Shem, the lie of it. You were our glorious leader. We would
have followed you anywhere.’

Shemyaza glanced across at him,
but did not speak.

‘Don’t you understand?’
Salamiel snapped. ‘We have the chance to redress our failings now.
We should go further than we did before. Our people rule this world
behind a veil, believing themselves to be superior to the human
race, but in truth they are dissolute, power-hungry and selfish. It
is the same as it was in the days of Kharsag, when you recognised
that, Shem, and yearned to change it. We are wiser now and less
impulsive. We should destroy the dominion of the Grigori, squash
the tyrant of Babylon and any others who wield oppression in this
world. Think, Shem, this is our destiny. We must raise an
army.’

Shemyaza laughed quietly. ‘We
already have an army. There will be seven of us.’

Salamiel uttered a harsh caw of
irritation. ‘Seven? Shem, wake up! I followed you ten thousand
years ago because I believed in your strength and in our power to
change the world. You fought so hard, and suffered the worst of
agonies because of it. But you had fire! You had courage! Remember
your Nephilim sons and how you led them in battle.’

Shem did not respond, but gazed
silently ahead. His head was filled with images of war and
darkness. He closed his eyes briefly. His sons had been monsters,
trained by him and inspired by him. They had been bred in
bitterness and had wanted to destroy the world rather than change
it. ‘That was not the way,’ he said softly. ‘I was wrong.’

Salamiel shook his head. ‘No,
you were right, and you had the support of your brethren. We knew
you had doubts, even then. Perhaps I should not reveal this, but
the brotherhood made me swear an oath. You had led us so far, we
could not return to our old, comfortable lives, but towards the
end, we saw signs of weakness and indecision within you. Therefore,
it was decided that should you renege on your promises to us, and
seek peace with Kharsag, I would be the one to kill you.’

Shem frowned. ‘You were the
closest to me, but for Ishtahar and Daniel. Would you have done
it?’

Salamiel sighed. ‘I would have
had to, Shem, no matter what I felt for you. We would have carried
on without you.’ He paused. ‘We were parted for millennia, but in
Cornwall, fate brought us together again. I have stayed with you
since, even though I might have had to wait another ten millennia
for you to regain your strength. I was prepared to do it, because I
believe in you.’ He raised a closed fist before his face. ‘Our
revolution failed in Kharsag, Shem, but we can succeed now.’

Shem pulled a wry face.
‘Salamiel, you seem to have charged off down a side road. We are
not travelling together at this point.’

‘You’re not listening to me,
are you!’ Salamiel hissed. ‘I had hoped we’d returned to Eden to
turn back history, to win the war we lost. We have an army, Shem:
the Yarasadi, who are desperate to regain their kingdom. You have
ever been their spiritual king. Inspire them now! Find the power
within you and wield it! We’ve become immersed in these meaningless
rituals of swords and avatars and keys. I don’t understand it,
Shem, and I don’t like it.’

Shem could see that Salamiel
was close to becoming emotional, a rare condition for him. ‘You are
too impatient,’ he said. ‘Reflect upon what you are saying.’

This answer only seemed to
inflame Salamiel’s temper more. ‘What has happened to you?’ he
cried, incurring curious glances from their travelling companions.
‘And what has happened to Daniel? You don’t really believe he has
become Grigori again, do you? It’s preposterous!’

Shem smiled. ‘Not preposterous,
Salamiel. It happened, because it was destined to happen. It is a
sign, a star that we must follow.’

Salamiel expelled a derisory
snort. ‘It’s all too rarefied. We should be warriors not ascetics,
mumbling over rituals and searching for omens!’

Shemyaza laughed. ‘Your rage
gives me strength, as it always did. Haven’t you ever wondered why
our plan to bring lasting change failed in the past?’

‘Well, we were thwarted,’
Salamiel said, mulishly. ‘By the treachery of Ishtahar and by the
superior force of Anu’s militia. We didn’t have enough time to
educate humanity, we...’

‘No,’ Shem interrupted. ‘It was
because we did not act with love.’

‘Love!’ Salamiel rolled his
eyes in exasperation. ‘How could we? Our position demanded courage
and fire.’

Shem sighed and leaned forward
in his saddle, resting his forearms on its pommel. ‘I have had time
to think in these mountains. It has helped me to analyse the past.
I have learned to appreciate that to understand what love is, you
have to understand what it is not. It is the not the fire that
lovers feel, it is not desire or lust or need, those ultimately
selfish cravings. Love is not a feeling, but an action. We should
not feel it, but do it; an act of unconditional giving. Daniel has
shown me this.’

Salamiel looked at him sourly.
‘I don’t see what this has to do with our failure in Kharsag or
what we have to do now.’

‘Ah, but you’re wrong,’ Shem
said. ‘Daniel’s experience in Mani’s cave made me realise
something. When we rebelled against Anu’s law, we wanted to
civilise the human race and give them our knowledge. But that act
of giving was not unconditional. There were things we wanted in
return: women, submission, reverence, power. Humanity were barely
more than children then, and children learn by example. They
learned from us and became what they are now. If the world is a
hell on earth today, it is the result of our past selfishness. I
know you don’t think we need Daniel, and that I am capable of doing
what he does myself, but he represents our aim and what the results
of success should be. A flowering.’

Salamiel sniffed derisively. ‘I still
don’t see what this has to do with finding keys, and dancing around
sacred swords!’

Shem shook his head and sighed.
‘We are approaching our return to the source, the Chambers of Light
and the knowledge of the Elders that Anu kept hidden from us. In
Kharsag, we thought we were so advanced, but we lacked awareness of
what we were. We looked upon humanity as children, but we were
barely their seniors. They were not ready for the knowledge we gave
them, and we were not ready to accept the consequences of our
actions. We made changes happen, but they were too quick. Qimir’s
swords and the key we seek are some of the tools through which we
will channel the bringer of real, lasting change.’