Stealing Sacred Fire

by Constantine, Storm

  The girl brushed a nervous hand through her hair. ‘He came to us about the same time Nimnezzar seized control of what was once Iraq. It was no coincidence. We are a threat to this false despot, for we carry the true ancient blood. He wants to eradicate us completely, but we too are strong, in a different way. As his great foot stamps down to crush us, we scatter and scamper away.’ She grinned, uplifted by the speech she had made. ‘Now, a lot of us are here in England, seeking support.’

  ‘And are you getting it?’

  She pulled a wry face. ‘In some areas.’

  He reached out and with one long finger briefly touched her cheek, smooth with youth. ‘I think you’ve been here for a long time, young lady. Have you experienced the atrocities first hand? I don’t think so.’

  She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘So, what if that is true? I know where my roots lie.’

  He raised his hands. ‘That was not a criticism... er, you did not tell me your name.’

  ‘Meenah,’ she answered, clearly uncomfortable with surrendering the information, but unable to stop herself.

  ‘I am Shemyaza,’ he said. ‘Shem.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘An odd name for an Englishman.’

  ‘I’m not English,’ he replied.

  More might have been said on this topic, but Meenah grabbed his arm and pointed at the screen with her free hand. ‘Look! There is our only hope of victory.’

  The scenes of brutality and death had been replaced by the image of a vast gathering, much like the one they were attending now, but this one was being held outdoors, beneath the merciless canopy of a foreign sky. Hot sunlight shone down upon sharp, grey rocks that were virtually covered by a seated crowd. Some were dressed in Western clothes, while others were adorned with colourful ethnic costumes. All were paying rapt attention to the speaker, who stood high above them; a lone figure silhouetted against the unbearable blue. But that was not the prophet. Meenah explained the great man would not communicate directly with crowds, although he always stood silently watching on as his followers relayed his words to the masses. Shem tried to discern details of the one who stood tall with folded arms behind the animated speaker. The prophet was disguised; wrapped in a black robe that flashed with metallic embroidery. His head was entirely covered by a scarlet scarf. Shem’s body went utterly still as if, for a moment, his heart ceased to pump, but listened. He recognised that figure, and for a moment could not think from where. Then he remembered. The TV screens before he’d been caught up in the demonstration. He could discern no details about the figure on the rocks, but he just knew that it was the same person.

  ‘What is the name of your prophet?’ he asked Meenah.

  ‘Gadreel,’ she replied with feeling.

  ‘Gadreel,’ Shem echoed in barely more than a whisper. ‘That is the name of a fallen angel.’

  Meenah glanced at him sharply. ‘Is that so?’ She shrugged. ‘To us, Gadreel was the name of one of the Ancient Ones with Shining Faces. I suppose you Westerners would call them angels. The Yarasadi worship the Ancient Ones; we are descended from them.’

  Shem nodded. He knew that the people of Kurdistan were descended from those who had perhaps served the race Meenah called the Ancient Ones. Interbreeding would have taken place after the Fall. What amazed him was that this knowledge was becoming public. Perhaps it was a result of what had taken place in the underworld of Cornwall, five years before. Somehow, he had released the information into the unconscious mind of the world, and perhaps the person who had styled himself prophet of the Yarasadi had somehow picked up on it. England was far from Kurdistan, and the links between the two countries might seem negligible, but a faction of the Grigori had fled to this island many millennia ago and had brought their sacred knowledge with them, hidden it in the bones of the land. Since reawakening, Shem had looked for changes here in England, some sign that his experience in the underworld had been beneficial, but perhaps the seeds of his work had taken root in the homeland, the cradle of all civilisations.

  Meenah took Shem’s silence for scepticism. ‘The Ancient Ones existed as people of flesh and blood,’ she said. ‘You can believe it or not, I don’t care, but it is true. They were wiped out, their knowledge lost. Perhaps the same thing happened to them that’s happening to us now. There are always cycles in history.’

  Shem smiled at her. ‘I don’t dispute it.’ He directed his attention back to the screen. Had another of his brethren reappeared as a prophet to these people? What was he trying to accomplish? The Grigori had always hidden themselves in the world, yet here was a man who used the name of one of the Fallen Ones, blatantly telling forbidden truths to the descendants of people who had once served the Anannage. Perhaps he was deluding himself and was as human as Meenah herself, yet looking at the imposing figure on the screen, Shem did not think so. He recognised the charismatic presence of another Grigori. The Parzupheims of the world must know about this. Why had they done nothing? It didn’t make sense. He realised this could be another example of a Watcher undergoing a period of awakening. Perhaps, like Shem and Salamiel, Gadreel had only recently remembered who and what he was. Shem wanted a good, close-up look at the figure, but the cameraman seemed to be at the back of the crowd with limited zoom facility. Cheap camcorder perhaps.

  ‘Do you think we’ll get a closer look at Gadreel on this film?’ Shem asked.

  Meenah shook her head. ‘No. He discourages revealing his identity. Not many people have met him personally. He has an elite company around him that disseminates his word among his followers. He has to be careful, for obvious reasons.’

  ‘You have not met him yourself, then?’

  She scowled at him. ‘Of course not. I’ve been studying at university over here for the last three years.’ She turned back to the screen. ‘But I’m going over there for the millennium. Nothing could keep me away, not guns, not borders, not even the threat of death.’

  ‘Why? What’s going to happen?’

  She glanced at him sideways. ‘We won’t know until it does happen, but it will be... unimaginable.’

  The video finished and the screen went dark. Lights came on in the hall, and people began to drift to the back, where a shutter was being lifted to reveal a refreshments counter. ‘Coffee?’ Shem asked.

  Meenah looked around for a few moments, again as if searching for friends, then nodded. ‘OK.’

  Coffee purchased, they went to sit in a side room, where long tables had been set out. The room had at some time perhaps been used for religious purposes; the tall, narrow windows were arched, admitting a diluted sunlight over the heads of those seated at the tables.

  Meenah frowned into her drink. ‘Why are you so interested in our troubles? What are you after?’ Later, she would wonder at the strange influence this handsome stranger seemed to have had over her.

  Shem had no doubt that generally she was far too sensible to be so open with a man she did not know, and who set alarm bells of self-preservation ringing madly within her. ‘I thought you wanted people to be interested.’

  ‘Of course we do, but your interest seems… different. What are our problems to you?’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that a racist remark, Meenah?’

  She smiled, in spite of herself, ducked her head. ‘Maybe. As I said, most people think we’re crazy. Just another crackpot religion to cause trouble in the world.’

  ‘Well, they’re very stupid, then. The worship of angels is the most ancient of all, and it is true they are rumoured to have lived in your ancestral lands. If you believe they existed at all. Archaeologists and scholars are still desperately trying to prove it, although the archaeological establishment takes a dim view of innovative ideas.’

  Meenah rolled her eyes. ‘Of this we know!’

  Shem folded his hands together on the table in front of him, and leaned forward. ‘So, what can you tell me about the King of Babylon?’

  Meenah pulled a sour face. ‘He was originally just a nobody way down in the ranks of
a repressive regime, but he clearly had ambitions and — may his name be cursed — he does have charisma. About four years ago, he instigated a revolution in his country. Publicly, he says he wanted better for his people, but we know the truth, for our prophet told us. He believes his destiny is to rebuild the great empires of the past, when human kings were guided by the knowledge of the Ancient Ones. He envies and fears my people, because we carry the blood in our veins that he covets. The West wants to keep him sweet, and won’t believe, or rather ignores, the atrocities his military commit. So many of our villages have been destroyed, women and children tortured and killed.’

  ‘That sounds a familiar story,’ Shem said.

  The girl sneered. ‘Oh, it is, but this man is different, more dangerous. Our prophet told us that Nimnezzar believes he is a direct descendent of the race who were known as the Arallu. Demons. They were the spawn of the Ancient Ones who turned away from the Light and took human wives. Nimnezzar claims they were not evil, but somehow martyrs for a human cause.’ She uttered a scornful sound. ‘Now can you understand why we detest him so much?’

  Shem nodded encouragingly. ‘Yes, I understand.’ Privately, he considered that Meenah’s people were undoubtedly descended from the same stock as Nimnezzar, because as far as he was aware only the rebel angels bred with humans, although it was clear the Yarasadi viewed things differently.

  Meenah’s hands flexed into fists involuntarily on either side of her coffee. ‘He lies so well! People believe it readily! He promises a Golden Age of prosperity, so people are flocking beneath his banners. They are converting from Islam back to old faiths of the Magian priests. They worship fire again in the deserts. My people see this as a great blasphemy, for Nimnezzar is a follower of the Lie rather than the Truth. For thousands of years, and despite persecution, we have practised the old beliefs, in the right and proper manner. Muslims all over the world, but particularly in Egypt and Turkey are incensed by Nimnezzar’s effrontery. They know he wants these countries to be part of his empire, because of their history and ancient sites. We are caught between all these opposing powers.’ She sighed. ‘We need allies, powerful allies…’

  ‘Hmm,’ Shem said. ‘I see.’ He paused. ‘What do you know of Babylon itself?’

  Meenah rolled her eyes. ‘I have heard that it is wondrous. Nimnezzar has reconstructed the Tower of Babel there, and other ancient monuments. It was built so quickly, Nimnezzar must have had the help of djinn. Or so people say.’

  Shem smiled down at her. ‘A city built by fire demons! What do you believe?’

  The girl narrowed her eyes a fraction. ‘I think there is more truth in myth than people want to admit. It’s just been distorted over the centuries.’

  Shem nodded. ‘Oh, I agree with you… What else can you tell me about this king who commands demons?’

  ‘He’s summoned the world’s surviving Magian priests to his court. It is said they were scattered throughout Europe and India, still practising in secret the ancient fire religion. The Magians who chose to heed the summons are now his to command. I’ve heard that they perform powerful rites for him, so that his soldiers become possessed by djinn, who will be used to crush Babylon’s enemies.’ Meenah moved closer and lowered her voice. ‘The media speak of atrocities against my people, but they refuse to talk about the true perpetrators. Nimnezzar’s warriors assault my people at night, in the deserts and in the mountains.’

  ‘A powerful and… intriguing man, this king.’

  ‘Intriguing?’ Meenah sounded outraged. ‘He’s a mad-man, who wants the Arallu to return to this world. Foolishly, he believes he will stay in control.’

  Shem put his head on one side, glanced up at the ceiling as if in thought. ‘Perhaps he knows less of the Arallu’s reputation than he thinks. They are a particularly blood-thirsty faction of the fallen ones, whose practices are unmentionable in polite company.’

  ‘What do you know about it?’ the girl interrupted in a cold voice. ‘The name Arallu was revealed to our prophet in trance. It is not a common term.’

  Shem raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? Forgive me, but I have an interest in the mythology of your part of the world. The term Arallu is not that unknown. They were an off-shoot of the Biblical Nephilim, known also as the Grigori.’

  The girl stared at him for a moment. ‘Nephilim, maybe. I’ve not heard of the other term.’

  ‘Your prophet appears well-educated in ancient beliefs.’

  ‘It is more than that!’

  ‘I’m sure it is. Look, I’m not mocking you. Where does this Gadreel hang around?’

  Meenah frowned, but with humour. ‘He does not hang around anywhere. He keeps on the move. Has to.’

  ‘So how would I find him?’

  Meenah’s mouth dropped open. ‘Why would you want to?’ Her mouth closed with a snap. ‘Hey, just who are you? What do you want with us?’ Suspicion flared in her eyes again and, more deeply, fear.

  Shem raised his hands in an appeasing gesture. ‘Don’t worry. I’m on your side.’

  ‘You’re a journalist, aren’t you?’

  ‘In some respects, in others a scholar.’

  ‘Half an hour ago, you claimed to know nothing about what was going on, now you’re grilling me for information and asking how to find our prophet! Also, you seem to know a lot already.’ She stood up. ‘Thanks for the coffee, but I think I’d better go now. People will be waiting for me.’

  Shem looked up at her, conscious of the afternoon sunlight slanting in through the high windows. He knew he was bathed in it, reflecting it. If she was truly what she claimed to be, surely she would realise what he was, if only instinctively. Her eyes were wide, and she did not move away.

  ‘Meenah...’ No, he could tell her nothing. He smiled. ‘It’s OK. I enjoyed your company. Thanks for bringing me here.’

  She hesitated. ‘Who are you?’

  He raised his plastic coffee cup to her. ‘A friend. Now go and find your companions. They might be worrying.’

  Dismissed, she left in a hurry. Released from his influence, she looked as if she was desperate to get away from him. He watched her straight back retreating through the doorway, then drained his cup. Gadreel. Nimnezzar. He must speak to Salamiel and Daniel about this as soon as possible. They would have a journey to make.

  Chapter Four

  A Dream of the Garden

  When Daniel finally arrived in London, and presented himself at Shem’s hotel room, Shem was shocked by his appearance. There were now faint lines on Daniel’s face, which over the years had become more angular and muscular than Shem remembered. His eyes were clearer, yet strangely haunted. He seemed much taller, his long, light-brown hair confined in a band at the back of his neck, wisps of it escaping over his shoulders. The ethereal beauty of him appeared to have solidified. He was a very attractive young man, but hardly fey. The army jacket, combat trousers, scuffed para boots and surly demeanour conveyed an entirely different image to the one Shem kept fondly in his memory. When Shem stood up to welcome him, Daniel stood unyielding in his embrace. He seemed uncomfortable, perhaps embarrassed. Perturbed, Shem held him at arm’s length. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  Daniel shrugged and wriggled away. ‘I had no choice. You told me that.’

  ‘Didn’t you want to come?’ Shem smiled widely, inflected the question with innuendo.

  Daniel held his eyes. ‘You left me, Shem. Why? I couldn’t reach you. Your mind was closed to me. After all that happened, it was cruel!’

  Shem didn’t want to be drawn into a conversation of this type. He was impatient with it. Daniel was being peevish and too human. He wanted to say, ‘I didn’t grant you longevity for this!’ but held his tongue. Instead, he told Daniel about what had happened at the Yarasadi meeting.

  ‘So now you want to go to the Middle East?’ Daniel said sarcastically. ‘A holiday; great! Let’s dodge bullets in the sun.’

  ‘I told you a long time ago we’d have to go there eventually. I want you to start wo
rk now, Daniel. We mustn’t waste time.’

  ‘We’d never make it, Shem. The obvious route is through Turkey, and it’s common knowledge the Turkish authorities discourage any Westerners from making contact with the rebels. We’d end up in prison, if not dead, before we even got a sniff at this Gadreel.’

  Shem shook his head. ‘Daniel! Remember who I am. No human will bar my passage to the old land. We must leave England as soon as possible.’

  Daniel rolled his eyes. ‘You said we’d talk about this first, remember?’

  Shem sighed. ‘Things have happened, Daniel. Stop behaving like a child. You are now a man. Once, you soared in astral flight with me. You wore my wings and took the gift of extended life. You can’t just back away from our work together.’

  Daniel held Shem’s gaze for a moment, then relented. ‘OK. What do you want me to do?’

  ‘See what you can find out about this Gadreel character. Salamiel and I are sure there must be others of our kind around. We must find them.’

  ‘Then what?’

  Shem’s expression became distant. ‘I don’t know yet. There is something, and I’m driven to accomplish it, but I just don’t know what it is.’ He flicked a direct glance at his vizier. ‘It’s perhaps your job to find out. What have you been picking up recently?’

  Daniel frowned. ‘Nothing to do with you, but then I haven’t been trying. For the last five years, I’ve been learning about my psychic ability, from an academic point of view, but I sort of closed down after you shut me out.’

  Shem nodded. ‘You probably needed to recuperate as much as I did. But you must open up again now. Flex your muscles and dream for me tonight, Daniel. Dream as well as you used to. Be my eyes and my ears.’

  Daniel shook his head. ‘I hope I can.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I’m older now. It’s not so easy. I’m a different person.’ He sat down on a chair, sticking his legs out before him. ‘It’s quite common, Shem. The younger a psychic is, the stronger their ability. Perhaps you need a new vizier now, another young boy, or girl, who’s starry-eyed and easy to manipulate.’