Emma took a last drag from her cigarette, studied the old face before her. Were the Pelleth hoping that Shemyaza would give them extended life? Were they his nuns, awaiting a second coming and the night of holy marriage? She glanced down at her arm, her own tanned, young skin. If the Pelleth got hold of Shem, they might well eat him alive.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Watcher and the Maiden
He awoke with the perfume of the sea filling his head, but he was not exposed to the elements; his body was warm.
Shemyaza opened his eyes. He lay naked upon a window-seat, covered by several tartan car blankets, which scratched his sore flesh. The curtains beside his face were drawn, but he could see it was day-light outside. A fire, well built-up, roared in the hearth, and soft music was playing, something on flutes and hand-drums. The sea-smell, he realised, was a salty incense.
A woman glided into his line of sight. She was dressed in a long green caftan and her fair, curling hair was tossed up onto her head and confined with a stretchy velvet band. Talismans adorned her large breasts. Her face was round, her eyes rather staring, but despite the fact she was no conventional beauty, her body oozed a sense of sexuality and power. She carried a small, earthenware bowl in her outstretched hands, bearing it with a reverence that suggested it contained something holy.
Shemyaza raised his upper body a little and rested his weight on his forearms. His whole body ached. He could remember nothing of what had happened to him or how he had come to this place. His throat felt raw as if he’d gulped salt water, nearly drowned.
The woman knelt beside him, and placed the bowl in her lap. She regarded him with her watery, round eyes, which were the palest shade of sea green. ‘You are awake, my lord.’
‘So it appears.’ He looked at her in puzzlement. Was she a menial of his? He didn’t recognise her. Where was this place? It had a northern feel. Even though the fire burned high, he could tell the air of the land was damp.
‘Then I must anoint and soothe your flesh.’
‘Thank you, but I’d rather have something to drink.’
The woman blinked slowly. ‘All your needs will be gratified, but first I must anoint you.’
Shemyaza could tell she would have her way. He felt too weak and drained to argue. ‘Very well. If you must.’ He lay back down on the window seat.
Tamara, kneeling before him, was suffused with love and desire. It was hard to believe this creature, this perfect being, lay submissive before her. It had been difficult to get him back to the cottage unseen. After the ritual of the night, she and Delmar had fallen asleep in the cave at the bottom of the cliff. Neither of them had seen Shemyaza appear, but when they awoke and went out onto the beach, they had found him lying in a stupor at the tide’s lip. Delmar, whom Tamara had been relying on for physical assistance, had appeared to be still in trance, caught up in the vision that he was a sea-born vizier for the Prince of Light. Dismissing the fey boy with a gesture of irritation, she had set about dragging Shemyaza back to her car. It had exhausted her hauling him back up the treacherous cliff face. The guardians had been thrown into euphoria by his proximity, and had wanted to hold him to themselves. Their strong grabbing limbs had only accentuated the dead weight of Shemyaza’s body. By the time Tamara had managed to pull him onto the road at the cliff-top, she’d been near to tears and her whole body had been shaking with fatigue. Summoning the last of her strength, she bundled his tall frame into the back seat of her car and pushed the semi-catatonic Delmar into the front passenger seat. He’d been in such a state, she hadn’t dared risk taking him home, and he now lay unconscious in her spare room. On the journey back from Mermaid’s Cove, she’d been alert for signs of the Pelleth. They must not know she had Shemyaza. Perhaps it was a sign of the limit of their power that they had not sensed what had happened. Tamara was tortured by visions of finding Meggie Penhaligon crouched on her doorstep when she reached her cottage, but it seemed the Pelleth had no inkling of what she was doing. None of them had been in touch with her so far.
It had been a terrifying, wonderful night, and the exertion, both physical and spiritual, had nearly killed her. As she’d driven home, she’d been angry that Barbelo hadn’t been there to help her. Yet now that she had Shemyaza helpless in her cottage, Tamara was glad her strange Grigori friend had kept her distance. Perhaps Barbelo had more understanding than she’d imagined. This hour belonged to Tamara alone.
She peeled back the tartan blankets and let her eyes linger on the perfect lines of his body. He was truly as lissom as a serpent, and his skin was so pale. Grigori flesh. His eyes were closed and the ferny fringes of his long, dark lashes rested against his cheeks. His tangled hair looked like unravelled swatches of raw silk, matted with slivers of driftwood and skeins of seaweed. She longed to comb it out. Her gaze travelled down his chest to the dark coins of his nipples, which seemed to call for a halo of lips to encircle them, for eager teeth to bite them. Further, her eyes drank in the beauty of the hollow of his belly that was plaited with muscle. Below, lay the ripe fruit of the tree of his body; his heavy genitals, lying in a nest of soft, curling hair. She longed to bury her face there, and her mouth filled with saliva, but she knew she must be patient. Just gazing upon him sharpened her breath.
Tamara placed the earthenware bowl of herbal unguent on the carpet before her knees. She scooped out a handful and kneaded it between her palms, so that it melted like butter. When the moment came to touch him, she paused, savouring the moment. Then she laid her hands upon him.
He made a small sound of pleasure as her warm slippery fingers began to massage the sacred ointment into his chest, and the scent of myrrh, camphor and cinnamon rose like incense around them. She rubbed the poppies of his nipples between her fingers, feeling herself grow loose and damp between the thighs. Steeling herself not to hurry, to enjoy each holy moment, she took another handful of unguent and rubbed it slowly, languorously into his belly. Then she moved to his feet and began the slow, sensual journey up to his groin. By the time she reached her goal, his pale, flaccid penis had become hard and dark. It rose from the mat of his pubic hair like the huge, phallic fungi she collected from the woods, emanating a scent of ozone and ripe corn. Gently, she rubbed her unguent into its shaft, feeling him shudder at the burn of the camphor. With her free hand she cupped his heavy balls, delighted to find she could not hold them in one hand. Her mouth was full of water; she swallowed twice to clear it. It seemed his taste was already on her tongue.
Leaning forward, she took the long, sloping mushroom head of his sex into her mouth, probed with her tongue into its secret recesses, sucked the salt liquor from him. He made an appreciative noise and put his hands on her head, pushing himself into her, so that the bitter tang of the unguent filled her mouth. His prick seemed to be growing inside her, pressing her tongue down, filling her throat. She tore herself away, gasping.
He did not raise his head, or even open his eyes, but he laughed softly. Tamara knelt there panting, her hands plunged between her knees. She could feel her cunt pulsing in time to her heartbeat. Still without speaking, Shemyaza reached out for her, found the hardness of a nipple poking through the taut fabric of her kaftan. His long fingers cupped her heavy breast, squeezed hard. Then he rose up like a serpent, and pushed her back onto the carpet. He towered over her where she lay with her knees raised, her kaftan riding up her thighs. He seemed utterly alien, yet the mere sight and smell of him made her feel as hot and demanding as a she-cat on heat. She tried to struggle from her garments, eager to be naked against him, but as she fought with the folds of cloth around her ears, she felt his head plunge in between her legs, felt his long tongue dive into her body. Instead of winning free of her clothes, she lay quiescent, with her arms flung over her head, blinded by fabric as he worked at her. He sucked dextrously at her clitoris as if it was a man he was pleasuring. She felt delirious with pleasure, almost beyond orgasm. But then the wave came furiously inside her and she felt a gush of liquids burst loose from h
er, which he drank from greedily. Without pausing, he turned her onto her belly and raised her hips. She could feel her muscles still contracting like a flower of flesh as his great organ slithered into her. As he punched in and out of her, she felt him grow, until it seemed she would have to burst and tear. His hands kneaded her buttocks and then reached around to massage her clitoris, until she heaved into a blinding, multiple orgasm. He stood up, holding her powerfully against him, her body dangling down, and she felt him spasm inside her. Then he unsheathed himself from her flesh and let her fall crumpled to the floor. She lay there, curled up, panting and shuddering, her genitals still convulsing in the last tides of climax.
When she was able to compose herself, she sat up. Her thighs were drenched in his seed and her own liquor. Sex had never been so raw for her before, so intense and immediate, so erotic in its simplicity. He was sitting in front of her on the window-seat, his head bowed, his hands dangling between his knees.
‘Who are you?’ he asked her.
She flicked her damp hair back off her breasts. ‘To you, I am Ishtahar,’ she said.
‘Ishtahar?’ As Tamara spoke the name, the shroud around his memory fell away. He remembered. Uttering a cry of pain and fear, his hands flew to his face.
Tamara watched in horror. Shemyaza screamed in agony. His sensuality she could cope with; his anguish was far greater to comprehend or control. She was also worried that someone outside might hear this gusting lament. The Pelleth might be lurking about by now.
‘Hush!’ She knelt before him, put her hands around his wrists and attempted to pull his arms down. After a moment, he relented and fell quiet. When she saw his eyes, they were dark and blank of emotion. She could feel the bones grinding in his wrists as he flexed his fingers. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I am here to help you.’
‘You! You are human!’
She nodded. ‘Yes. As was she.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘How did you find me?’
‘I found you on the beach below High Crag. Do you remember what happened?’
He pulled away from her hold and rubbed his face. ‘Yes... The sea. The boy in the sea.’ He paused. ‘I flew into my own history. He made me do it.’
Tamara laughed softly. ‘He is your true vizier.’
Shemyaza frowned. ‘No, I have a vizier. Daniel. He has always been with me.’
‘And look what’s happened to you! Did Daniel help you in the Garden? No. Delmar has more power, as do I. My lord, it is hard for me to say this, and will be hard for you to hear, but Ishtahar and Daniel are of the past, whereas I and Delmar are of the present. People have tried to keep you away from us, but we had faith. We knew we would triumph. And we have.’
Shem still looked at her warily. ‘Do the Parzupheim know about you?’
Tamara did not know what the Parzupheim was, but answered quickly. ‘Everyone who knows about us wants to keep us apart from you. Your own people work against you! They want to contain you and control you.’
Shemyaza rubbed his face again, looked to the side. ‘But Daniel...’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know about this.’
‘Trust me. I am here to help you fulfil your destiny. I am part of it: your priestess.’
Shemyaza stared at her for a moment, then his lips peeled back from his teeth. He uttered a growl and pushed her away, rising up to tower over her. This was no moment of desire. She could see his power and it terrified her. He could crush her like a spring shoot, if he wanted to.
She steeled herself not to cower away from him. ‘My Lord, do not be angry! My only purpose is to serve you.’
‘You are just like them!’ he cried. ‘I can’t fulfil this destiny you all want for me so badly! I’m sick of hearing about it!’
Tamara saw the colours of anger and bitterness shining from his aura. Stupid Grigori, what had they done to him? He should have come to this shore in joy and strength. They had tortured him with their selfish demands. The Pelleth had always known of this, how Grigori greed would warp the Transformation when it came. Barbelo too must have known. She alone of the Grigori had the intelligence and honour to see the truth. ‘Shemyaza,’ she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. ‘You have been hurt, but it can be healed. You don’t have to be bitter, angry, or sickened by what must be. There is another way to victory, and I can show you how. No-one knows this land as well as I. Its secrets are my secrets. I can bend its elements to my will. You don’t have to go to the serpent alone.’
Shemyaza expelled a short, snarling laugh. ‘Any who go with me die. Only I can withstand the gaze of the serpent, or so I’ve been told.’
Tamara shook her head. ‘A lie! Delmar and I will be with you, I as your priestess and Delmar as your vizier. We are a sacred trinity, male, female and androgyne.’
‘Your Delmar is a boy! That’s not remotely female.’
‘Physically, maybe, but he is also a melding of you and I, our essential spiritual components. He is stronger by far than Daniel.’ She saw him thinking about what she’d said. He wanted desperately to believe her, she could tell, for he was so tired and weary. Whatever he’d experienced when he’d leapt from the cliff had battered him like a hail of ironbound staffs.
Sighing, he sat down again. ‘I want a bath,’ he said, ‘and something to eat and drink.’
The cold light had gone out of him. He seemed smaller, hardly more than a man. Tamara could see the fragility in him. She got to her feet. ‘I’ll run a bath. There’s plenty of hot water, and how about a cooked breakfast?’
He smiled up at her and nodded. ‘Yes... Thank you.’
Tamara introduced Shemyaza to Delmar in the afternoon of their first day together. Delmar acted like a small child, shy and afraid. Shemyaza was clearly unimpressed. Barbelo had told Tamara that, in this life, Shemyaza had a predilection for working magically with the male principle, but he seemed to have no interest in Delmar. Personally, Tamara didn’t blame him. Delmar was almost fishlike in his dank lack of passion, and his ocean eyes were empty of expression. He came alive only in his element, or in the throes of trance. ‘My vizier was warm,’ Shemyaza said, tilting Delmar’s face in his hand. He turned to Tamara. ‘Is this boy a bit peculiar?’
Tamara, busy washing up, glanced over her shoulder. ‘He is sea-born. It’ll be different once he’s in his element, you’ll see.’
Shemyaza pulled a wry face and let Delmar go. He had a strong desire to wipe his hands after touching the boy. This was no Daniel. He looked back at Tamara. She, on the other hand, was vibrant and dynamic. If anyone could help him in the task everybody kept insisting was his destiny, he was prepared to believe she could. Sexually, she was voracious. She leapt upon him at every opportunity like a sacred whore. They had only been together for just over half a day, but had already had sex five times: before breakfast, after breakfast, mid-morning, before lunch, after lunch. No woman had aroused him as much since Ishtahar. Perhaps she was really telling the truth about herself. Now, he went up behind her and wrapped her in his long arms. She tilted back her head so that he could nuzzle her neck. His fingers crept down to between her thighs. He grew hard against her.
‘I want you now,’ he said, nipping the skin below her ear. ‘I want you every hour.’
‘And you shall have me,’ she answered. She pushed her hips backwards against him, spreading her legs wide.
Delmar, sitting at the kitchen table, watched with cold eyes, as Shemyaza flipped up Tamara’s skirts and started fucking her from behind.
It was little more than a week to the solstice night. Tamara knew the Pelleth had been priming their sacred sites, but she wanted to use this time to do a little priming of her own. She wanted to take Shemyaza to some of the sites and introduce him to them. It was strange that Barbelo didn’t come to the cottage, but perhaps she was afraid of Shemyaza recognising her. She still called on the telephone every evening to see how Tamara was getting on, but insisted that Shemyaza not be told anything about her. Most nights she had instruction
s for Tamara, which were strictly obeyed. Tamara was a little frightened herself of Shemyaza and relied on Barbelo’s verbal assistance on how to handle him. When he was being ordinary and almost human, she loved him and felt she had control, but when the shadow of his power, or his former existence, stole over his countenance, he became an alien, unpredictable creature, who might lash out and destroy anything within his reach. His mood changes were erratic. He could be almost carefree one moment, then either murderous or suicidal the next. Only sex seemed to calm him. Barbelo told her to exploit this, as it was her greatest tool of control. Happy to comply with this instruction, Tamara kept him well drugged with the elixir of her body.
On the day following his arrival at the cottage, Tamara took him out in her car to visit the first of the sites. She bundled him up in old clothes of her widowed father’s that she stored in a trunk for the rare occasions when he came to stay with her; a heavy coat, stout wellington boots and an old hat, under which she concealed Shemyaza’s shining hair. If any of the Pelleth spotted them, she hoped they would not penetrate his disguise.
As they drove along the narrow lanes in pelting rain, Shemyaza talked about his future. She saw this as an encouraging sign.
‘I can’t see the point of it all,’ he said. ‘What good can come of reawakening the power of the land? People will only abuse it, mine and yours alike.’
‘Well, people like you and I are here to prevent that happening. Have faith in yourself, my lord.’
Shemyaza laughed. ‘I am Shem,’ he said. ‘At least that’s what my friends call me. If I am lord, then you are my lady. We should be partners, not master and servant.’
Tamara was pleased with his words, although she sensed they belonged to the ordinary aspect of his personality and would be quickly forgotten by the Fallen One when he was invoked. When he was existing normally, Shemyaza seemed almost oblivious of his darker side. She could tell he was attracted by the thought of believing and trusting her.