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 b
arely 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.’
Salamiel frowned. ‘Which is?’
‘I told you. Love. It is what I must give and be.’
Salamiel uttered a scornful sound. ‘Why don’t I just nail you to a cross? It seems like you think you must you be a sacrifice again. Are you going to die?’
Shem shrugged. It unnerved him how accurately Salamiel had just described his own fears. ‘I don’t know. Probably. If that’s what it takes. Sometimes love is cruel. Sometimes it goes beyond death.’
‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this. I know you, Shem. You won’t accept sacrifice that meekly. You fought your destiny in Cornwall. Have you really changed that much?’
Shem forced himself to laugh. ‘No, I haven’t. I’m merely telling you what I’ve thought about these past few weeks. It doesn’t mean I’ve wholly accepted it.’
‘Gadreel and the Yarasadi don’t want love, Shem. They want action.’
‘No, they want change. The Yarasadi believe that we, as divine avatars of Malak Tawus, herald the advent of the last epoch of the old order. The world will not end after this, but change. Humanity and the Grigori must move on. This is the last chance, for both our races.’
Salamiel frowned. ‘And how will we change?’
‘Humanity’s destiny is to become more like us; Daniel is the symbol of this. Our destiny is to regain our lost heritage, to become the Anannage once more, but this time we will interact freely with humanity. There will be no lies and no secrets. We will not guard our knowledge jealously, but share it.’
‘A dream, Shem.’ Salamiel sighed deeply. ‘Riding along here, I find it hard to believe. I have lived too long and suffered too much. So have you. Ultimately, you will rise up with fire. You’ll not be able to let yourself die for this destiny.’
‘I may not have a choice.’
‘Oh, you will. It would not be that easy. You wait and see.’
One night, they camped in what Tahira called the Valley of Stones. It was a bleak, desolate place, where incessant winds wailed between the dark cliffs on either side. Tahira told them it was a place of ghosts, and that sometimes an open mind might receive a message from the dead there.
No messages were forthcoming, however, and in the morning, the company resumed their journey. They found the cave entrance in the late afternoon. The horses stepped around a corner in the path and there it was; a cliff face that seemed to lean backwards into the landscape, lighter in colour than the surrounding rocks. The cave entrance gaped blackly upon it, like a giant stain. It seemed, from a distance, to have no depth. A narrow, treacherous-looking path led up to a small rock platform before the cave. Two other paths appeared to lead from either side of the ledge, disappearing into dry and prickly shrubs that hung precariously from the mountain-side. The area had a strange atmosphere that made Daniel’s flesh prickle. Weird echoes bounced from rock to rock, but were weirdly muffled. Wide-winged birds circled above that looked suspiciously like vultures, even though they were reputed to be extinct in this area.
Leaving their horses with Jalal and the other Yarasadi at the bottom of the path, Tahira led the avatars upwards. She climbed nimbly, like a ragged goat, her brightly-coloured shawl and long grey hair flapping in the wind.
At the cave’s entrance, there were signs that others had been there before them; small bunches of wild flowers had been left as offerings and were scattered, wilting, over the hard, dry rocks.
Tahira had not been exaggerating her description of the place. From the moment Shem and the others stepped up to the entrance, they could see that the entire interior was filled with bones, piles upon piles of them. A warm wind seemed to emanate from the depths of the cave; it smelled of singed hair. The scene within looked like that of a hidden massacre: bleached bones, broken bones and bones arranged in decorative heaps. They glowed like phosphorous in the afternoon light coming in through the cave mouth. Farther back, ghostly white lattices gleamed in the dark.
A few yards in from the entrance, someone had cleared a small circular space. An uneven stone floor, polished by generations of human feet, showed through a scattering of grey ashes. Tahira turned around in a circle, nodding her head. ‘I remember it,’ she said, and then pointed a rigid finger at the cleared space. ‘This is where we must pray.’
Shem glanced at Daniel and raised his eyebrows. They were not here to pray, although no-one enlightened the old woman.
Daniel examined some of the bones. ‘They look like bird skeletons,’ he said, ‘there are still feathers…’ He sifted through a clacking pile. ‘Some are recent, too. Meat still on them.’ He looked around himself, shaking his head. ‘This place must have been used for…’
‘Millennia,’ Salamiel said, stepping forward and lifting a bone. Almost absent-mindedly, he slipped it into his hair, behind his left ear.
Shem came over to them. ‘Birds and goats and serpents. In this place, the people — perhaps my people — once wore the wings of the vultures and flew in trance.’ He reached out and touched one of the white, delicate bones, but withdrew his hand before lifting it free of the pile.
Daniel turned in a circle to inspect their surroundings. ‘So where do we begin to look for the key? Is it under the bones, or even one of the bones?’ He shivered. The atmosphere in the cave was not wholly benign, and he sensed curious presences feeling out for him.
‘I think you should try and make contact with whatever spirit entities guard this place,’ Shem said.
‘I had a feeling you might suggest that.’ Daniel put his hands on his hips and gazed up at the roof of the cave, which was blackened with ancient soot. He sighed. ‘Right, let’s see what can be done, but I want you, Gadreel and Salamiel to share this meditation.’
Gadreel asked Tahira to wait outside, and once she had left, the four of them arranged themselves in a circle, sitting cross-legged on the ground. In the silence, they heard the hollow, wooden sound of dislodged bones shifting their positions. A dry carrion scent filled the air. It was not easy to close the eyes and surrender sight to begin the meditation.
Because Daniel wanted to concentrate on whatever entities were present in the cave, Salamiel led the group through the preliminaries of the meditation. He asked them to visualise a cone of white, protective light growing up around them. Once this was done, he invited any spirit forms that might be present to make themselves known.
For a while, nothing happened as everyone extended their senses out into their environment. In his mind’s eye, Daniel could still see the interior of the cave; the darkness, the jumbled heaps of bones. As he concentrated on this image, he became aware that a fire was burning in the middle of their circle. He could hear it crackling now and smelled the pungent smoke — wood mixed with broken bone. A tall, hunched shape was lurking in the shadows behind Shem’s back. It looked like a shadow itself, but even as Daniel concentrated upon it, its shape became more solid. Mentally, Daniel called out to this image, and without hesitation, it came forth into the light of the flames.
Daniel forced himself not to wince away. The figure before him was monstrous, in both height and appearance. He wore a skirt of bloodied feathers around his hips, while a cloak of vulture wings hung over his shoulders. The flesh was still raw and red where the wings had been hacked from the bodies of birds. Smooth white knobs of bone jutted out from the shoulders of the cloak. The guardian’s face was fierce, his eyes shadowed and predatory. His hands were curling and uncurling like claws that yearned to tear and rend. His mouth was set in a gargoyle sneer.
Daniel almost gagged from the carrion stench that enveloped this entity. It took some effort for him to ask it to name itself. The name came immediately, aggressively: Rabisu. Daniel sensed that this was an ancient spirit-form, perhaps placed millennia before by the Nephilim warrior-priests who had used the cave. The guardian was most likely a thought-form that embodied, in a limited way, the personality of one of the priests. Its duty would be to remain there over the centuries, guarding the sacred site. ‘Do you see it?’ Daniel asked the others.
‘I sense something,’ Gadreel said.
‘Shem?’ Daniel said.
He heard Shem shift restlessly on the floor. ‘It’s the guardian. Tell him who we are and what our purpose is.’
Daniel addressed the guardian aloud. ‘Rabisu, we are Shemyaza, Gadreel, Salamiel and Daniel. We are searching for the key to the Chambers of Light. Is it here?’
Daniel saw Rabisu pull himself up to his full height, which was at least seven feet. His eyes sparked blue in a face that otherwise appeared almost featureless, owing to the quantity of ash and pigment that was smeared across it, augmented with dirt and grease. A voice boomed painfully in Daniel’s head. ‘To whom does my key belong?’
‘To whom does my key belong,’ Daniel repeated. ‘Did you all hear that? You must answer.’