Lying with his eyes open, Daniel could see stars flashing against the dark of his room. He sensed that by being passive, he would become a channel, and more information would come to him. His arms were flung out straight to either side, in the position of crucifixion. His cock was engorged, pointing towards his belly. This was some archetypal stance. Daniel did not understand it, but he felt its power. When Owen buried his face between Daniel’s legs and took the boy’s cock in his mouth, the garden unfolded around Daniel once more, called back by the rising energy within him. He felt delirious, drunk, euphoric, beyond action, a vessel. As Owen pleasured him, it seemed he left his body, flying back in time. He was soaring above the garden like a bird, or a spirit without the encumbrance of flesh.
Then lightning crashed over the mountains, and the sky became dark. Daniel sensed panic, but as an observer, experienced no fear. An image of a tumbling brazier spun before his mind’s eye; he saw the coals scatter, felt a brief, agonising tug of grief and loss. Then he had entered the reality of the past.
They had gone to the valley of fire, all of them, where the hot blood of the earth bubbled up from perpetual wounds in the stone. Daniel was among them, his hands bound. He was their prisoner: tall warriors, whose images shimmered before Daniel’s eyes. Sometimes they looked like the pictures of angels he’d seen as a child in an illustrated Bible. Then they were simply soldiers again, stern and tall and alien to the eye, with their long faces and serpent eyes. He knew them then: Anannage. A gust of smoke blew across his eyes; he smelled sulphur, tasted metal. The warriors paused at a lip of rock, and looked down.
The body was hanging from a gibbet in the valley, swinging from one foot. Daniel saw it twist in the hot wings of the wind. He thought, That is my master down there, and felt again a terrible sense of sorrow. Beside him, he heard a woman’s wailing cry, and turned his head, empowered by a sense of rage and vengefulness. Her fault! She was much smaller than the warriors who restrained her and her skin was darker. Her breasts were bare and across her belly was tattooed the image of a giant eye. So, she had achieved the position she had craved, become his Eye Priestess! Her hair hung in black, dusty rags around her shoulders; her eyes, red from weeping or the unforgiving air, rolled wildly in her head. Her lips were torn and bleeding. Even in her agony and disarray, she was a creature of great beauty. Sensuality oozed from her straining limbs. Daniel realised she was trying to escape her captors and throw herself from the rock into the valley below. Perhaps she would have succeeded, but another Anannage, who appeared older than the others and who wore a pale coloured robe, gestured at the warriors, and they began to drag her away. She screamed from her raw throat, ‘Shemyaza, Shemyaza!’ That name. Below, the body turned, blackened by fire, the eyes livid in the seared face. What would happen to her now? Would she remain an oracle, or would she be claimed by another of the Elders?
Ninlil appeared at Daniel’s side. He was relieved to see her there. Her voice was clear, sorrowful. ‘Listen child. Although they hang and burn his body, his spirit will be flung into the starry firmament of Orion. Once again, the power to travel through the gate will be his, but this time, it will be a prison, not the doorway to the stars, the Source. One day, he will be released, and there will be an accounting. On that day, his descendants will come into their own, but for many thousands of years, his name will be reviled by humankind, and this deed will be a hatred upon women, and the stigma of an original sin. Yet there is recompense. From this moment forward, Ishtahar the seductress will be revered as the greatest goddess. All other goddesses will spring from her name, her memory.’ Ninlil stepped past Daniel and spoke in a resonant yet sorrowful voice that echoed from the rocks, ‘Shemyaza, we vanquish your power. You no longer have the means to return to the One through the dimensions of the stars. At the gate, Orion, you will forever remain.’ She stepped back, her head hanging upon her breast. Daniel knew it had been hard and painful for her to deliver those words, an onerous duty.
The scene was beginning to fade from his mind. He could feel bonds around his body, restricting all movement. The bonds began to move, and he realised with horror that he was held in the grip of a giant serpent. A silver bracelet spun upon the air, around and around. He was flying through space, a void.
Daniel snapped back to reality. Owen was leaning over him. As the sensations of the vision faded, Daniel became aware of his physical body. The attentions of Owen’s lips and tongue seemed to have taken him to another plane, an altered state of consciousness. It was impossible to achieve orgasm, only to rise higher and higher within his own mind, travel unimagined landscapes, penetrate the deepest temples of the psyche. Now, he felt capable of anything, able to secure the most hidden knowledge. Owen seemed to be waiting for instructions. He knelt between Daniel’s legs, his head bowed, moonlight kindling white fire in his hair. Daniel felt a moment’s sorrow, knowing Owen could not share the visions, but only help create them in Daniel’s mind. They had to go further, reach for something, break through a barrier of consciousness.
Daniel held out his arms, summoning Owen into his embrace. Owen’s skin felt cool, while Daniel was burning hot. He realised then that what they were doing, and must do, was more than simply sex on a physical level and transcended the gratification of the flesh. Their intimacy created a cauldron of power, sexual energy set apart from the base instincts of reproduction or carnal release. It was holy.
They kissed and Daniel wrapped his limbs around Owen’s body, aware of himself as being like the encircling serpent. He felt Owen slippery and hard against him. There was no barrier, no resistance. Surely it should not be this easy? Owen slid into Daniel’s body like a fish. Was this magic too?
Colours erupted before Daniel’s inner eye, fluid globules of vivid green and blue and red. He was flying, beating his wings through space and time, so huge he filled the entire universe. Galaxies flashed past him, peppering his wings with sparkling dust. He was wheeling around, somersaulting in the void, delirious with ecstasy. Daniel felt a surge within his body, a small feeling which was getting larger and wilder like an approaching hurricane. He sensed that many millennia were rushing past him. He was pulled through centuries of time. And then the constellation of Orion was before him and he was zooming in upon it, sucked forwards, unable to break his flight.
Daniel cried out, tried to shut his inner eye, and all was flame; scarlet, blue, gold. He knew he should be terrified, but the only feeling he experienced was that of power, and a recognition of rage. Owen’s fingernails were digging deep into his shoulders, it seemed the whole world was violent, bucking motion and burning lust.
Then, the eye of the storm: a single, clear image came to him: the soul of Shemyaza hanging among the stars, within the starry pentacle of Orion. He looked like the transparent outline of a man, his hair surrounding him as if he was floating in water, his body bound by an enormous serpent. Daniel’s perspective shifted, and around Shemyaza he saw Orion as a mighty portal hanging in the heavens. It was as if Shemyaza’s soul was frozen there in space, unable to move. Daniel sensed that beyond this imprisoned astral body, beyond the blocked gate, existed a great void, a place as wonderful as it was terrifying. This place was God. But Shemyaza acted as a barrier. No-one could reach through the gate to the Source.
As a thunderous orgasm built up within his body, Daniel reached out to the image of the hanged man. His hands curled around the coils of the great cosmic serpent that bound Shemyaza and he was tugging at it, ripping it free, releasing its prisoner. The serpent burst into a thousand spinning points of light, a thousand stars, and Daniel shuddered to the release of climax. He cried the name, ‘Shemyaza!’ but it blew away from his mouth.
Owen groaned and shuddered, collapsing onto Daniel’s body. Lying dazed, Daniel was surrounded by a smell of ozone, the primal scent of male potency that had been bound up for ten millennia. The smell was so thick upon the air, it made Daniel want to retch. He could feel Owen’s heart racing against his body, felt his skin slick with sweat. Th
e echo of Daniel’s cry seemed to be flying round the house below, and somewhere, somewhere, it touched a thing that recognised it, that claimed ownership.
‘Daniel,’ said Owen, ‘Daniel.’ He sounded afraid, perhaps aghast at himself.
Daniel put his arms around him. ‘It’s all right,’ he said, but in his heart, he knew it wasn’t. He shouldn’t have said the name. If he hadn’t it wouldn’t have been heard, but it was too late now.
Owen slept in Daniel’s arms, but until the light came through the window, Daniel lay awake, tense and listening, waiting for the breathing at the door, for a shadow to pour across the floor, rear up before him, black.
Chapter Twenty
Friday 23rd October, Little Moor
Apart from Barbara and Peverel Othman, only Louis and two others turned up for the writers’ meeting at The White House — a married couple, Ellie and Ted Richards, who were prematurely middle-aged and not exactly the most dynamic contributors to the group. Barbara was disappointed; she’d wanted to show Othman off to everyone. Also, the rather enclosed circle had electric possibilities that might prove troublesome. She hardly dared look at Louis when he came in. His aftershave tantalised her nose as he walked slowly past her into the living room, after a formal ‘hello’. Barbara was burning a scented oil on the hearth called Jasmine Nights, perhaps a provocative choice.
To make things worse, Peverel Othman didn’t want to participate in the way Barbara had hoped.
‘I hadn’t intended to lecture anyone tonight,’ he said. ‘To be honest, my writing career is hardly glamorous. I have two self-published novels, that’s all. I don’t really feel qualified to advise anyone.’
‘What kind of novels do you write?’ Ellie Richards asked.
‘Horror,’ Othman said, fixing Ellie with a voluptuous feral grin. ‘And sex.’
Barbara noticed the woman’s colour rise. Louis caught Barbara’s eye, smiled in what she supposed was sympathy. She smiled back.
‘The horror genre fascinates me,’ Louis began, and much to Barbara’s intense gratitude, he started a discussion on the subject which seemed to keep everyone happy. Othman made caustic, but amusing, remarks. Ellie tittered and blushed. Ted asked embarrassingly inane questions. But at least it kept things going. After an hour or so, Barbara went to fetch the refreshments Mrs Moon had prepared earlier. She hoped Louis or Othman would follow her into the kitchen, but neither of them did. For a few moments, she stared out of the kitchen window over the garden of the pub. People were still sitting out there; the warm weather hadn’t let up. What do I want? she asked herself, sucking on a pickled onion she’d absent-mindedly taken from one of the dishes on her hostess trolley.
When Barbara wheeled her refreshments back into the lounge, the conversation had taken a turn. They were discussing alternative methods of healing, which had obviously arisen from talk of the supernatural. Had Louis instigated that?
‘The mind is capable of anything,’ Othman was saying. ‘Thought can accomplish miracles.’ He gestured towards Louis. ‘I take it you haven’t tried it for yourself?’
Barbara was aghast Othman could make such a bald, insensitive remark, but Louis didn’t seem upset by it.
‘Well, I’ve had aromatherapy,’ he said, ‘but what else can you suggest? My debilities are the result of severe physical injury. Can the power of the mind do anything about that?’
‘Of course,’ Othman replied coolly. ‘It just depends on which mind you use to accomplish it.’
‘Someone else’s?’ Louis said. There was a sharpness beneath the polite tone.
Othman shrugged. ‘I would recommend a visit to a competent healer, yes.’
‘Do you know any?’ Ellie Richards asked, her brow creased earnestly. Clearly she was embarrassed by the discussion of Louis’ condition.
‘They are found easily enough,’ Othman said, accepting a glass of wine from Barbara. ‘Buy any New Age magazine and you’ll come across hundreds of adverts.’
‘No personal recommendation, then?’ Barbara asked. She stood behind Louis’ chair, protectively.
Othman paused. ‘Alas, no.’
By ten o’clock, it was obvious to everyone that Louis was very weary and ready to go home. Perhaps the talk of healers had exhausted him. The Richards’ said their goodbyes and left. Barbara offered to drive Louis back to Low Mede.
‘Allow me,’ Othman said. ‘You have to clear up, Barbara. Lend me your truck.’
Barbara laughed in surprise. ‘You’re not insured!’
‘Oh, and the lanes of Little Moor are crawling with police, are they? Don’t worry. I’ve driven Land Rovers before.’ He drew her aside a little way as Louis was putting his coat on. ‘Barbara, I think I can do something for Louis,’ he said in a low voice.
‘What?’ Barbara’s heart seemed to contract in her chest.
Othman held up his hands. ‘I have many accomplishments. Healing is one of them.’
‘Pev!’ She inserted a warning into her voice.
‘Ssh! It’s true, really. I learned it in the Far East a few years ago. I didn’t want to say anything earlier, because I don’t like talking about it much.’
‘Mmm. From what I can gather, there’s quite a lot you don’t like talking about!’
‘Please let me do this, Barbara. I know you’d do anything to help Louis, so let me do this.’
Barbara sighed. ‘You are a walking miracle, Peverel Othman. Is there nothing you can’t do?’
‘Hardly. I’ve lived hundreds upon hundreds of lives, and I remember every one of them, so I’ve learned just about every possible skill a person can.’
Barbara shook her head, smiled. ‘I think you’re probably a disgusting rogue, Pev. You could be a liar and a con-man, but if you’re telling the truth about this, take the truck with my blessing!’
‘Keys?’ said Othman.
‘How long’re you planning on staying around?’ Louis asked, as Peverel Othman drove him back to Low Mede. The night was oppressively warm and the lichened trunks of trees along the lane glowed with a phosphorescent sickness as the headlights of the Land Rover splashed over them.
‘I don’t know.’ Othman replied. ‘I have no plans, no demands from the outside world.’
‘You seem to have made a lot of friends here very quickly.’
Othman wondered whether he detected suspicion in Louis’ voice. ‘I always do,’ he answered glibly. ‘Comes from travelling a lot, I suppose.’
They came to a halt outside Low Mede. ‘Well, here we are!’ Louis said. He opened the door and slowly lowered himself from the passenger seat.
Othman could tell the man was in considerable pain. His aura was full of it. ‘Louis,’ he said. ‘What would you say if I told you I could heal your body?’
Louis looked back into the vehicle. His face was ashen in the moonlight. ‘What would I say? I think I’d want to know how you could do that.’
‘Would you like to talk about it?’
Louis laughed, a little uneasily. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Very. By tomorrow morning, you could be free from pain. Your legs could be strong and agile. That’s a promise.’
Louis leaned against the door-frame of the vehicle. ‘And the price? I assume there is one.’
Othman smiled. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not trying to con you. I don’t charge. It costs me nothing to do it, so why should I demand payment? I earn more than enough money by other means.’
‘Then what is your motive?’
Othman shrugged. ‘I don’t like to see people in pain. It’s unnecessary.’
‘What would happen if I agreed to let you try?’
‘I’d come into your house and heal you. It would take a few hours, that’s all.’
‘But what do you do? What do you use?’
Othman deliberated, pulled a quizzical face. ‘A sort of mental energy, I suppose.’
Louis regarded him warily. ‘Some talent.’
‘Yes, it is. Well?’
Louis considered
for a moment, then said, ‘You’d better come in.’
Othman shook his head. ‘Not yet. I’ll just take Barbara’s truck back to the pub. Then I’ll return. Go into your most private room and wait for me there. Don’t drink or eat anything. OK?’
Louis hesitated, and then said. ‘All right. Anything’s worth a try, I suppose.’
He sounded sceptical, but Othman scented the hope in his words, that dreary, desperate hope. He smiled. ‘I won’t be long.’
Louis let himself in and went to find Verity. She was curled on the sofa in the lounge, watching TV, drinking expensive red wine from a cut crystal glass. ‘Hi, how was the meeting?’ she asked perfunctorily.
‘Fine. Is Daniel in?’
Verity shook her head. ‘No, he left a note. Gone to some night club with Owen Winter. They’ll be back late, I expect.’
‘Right...’
‘Are you going to bed?’ Verity looked at Louis intently, as if she perceived something was troubling him.
‘Er, no. I’m having a visitor in a short while.’
‘Oh? Who?’
‘Chap from the pub, the one who came here on Wednesday with Barney and Barbara.’
Verity frowned. ‘Peverel Othman? What does he want?’
Louis smiled, a little sheepishly. He didn’t want to lie to Verity, but neither did he want to confess the truth. ‘We started a conversation at the meeting, which we want to finish. Have a drink. Talk the night away.’
Verity grimaced. ‘An odd choice of companion for you.’ Without further remarks, she turned back to watching her film.
Louis said nothing, but retreated from the room. He left the front door ajar. Would Othman ring the bell? Louis went slowly to his study. His limbs were shaking, and not just from pain. Was it possible Othman could really help him? He dared not believe it could be true.