The serpent expelled a short hiss. ‘Oh, Daniel, Daniel. Look within. Must I hold your hand at every turn? You are more now than I was in life. You have reclaimed your angel blood. Listen to its music.’
Daniel closed his eyes and summoned a quiet within him. Have faith, he told himself. He listened to the beat of his own blood and it resolved into the sound of feet trudging a stony path. An image bloomed in his mind: Shem climbing and climbing. He could feel all that Shem felt as he walked towards the site of vanished Kharsag. He saw the devastation that Shem had seen and then, almost in slow motion, relived Shem’s communication with the crystal. When the time of Shem’s capture came, he was aware of the sound of the guns, but in his head, louder than any metallic threat were the words, ‘Go to the old kingdom. Carry me to the Chambers. In Khem.’ The words Shem did not hear.
Daniel opened his eyes with a gasp. ‘Egypt!’
‘Yesss!’ hissed the serpent. ‘Shem has gone to Babylon, but you, my Daniel, must lead your companions back to Egypt.’
‘Back to Egypt? We have not yet been there.’
‘It is the place of beginning, but not your beginning.’
‘But where in Egypt? What must we do there? Will Shem join us?’
‘Remember, Daniel, you are of the Lion,’ answered the serpent. ‘Seek the lion of the desert who guards Orion.’ It began to retreat, back into the darkness.
‘Wait!’ Daniel said. ‘You must answer me, Ishtahar. It is not enough just to tell me we have to go to Egypt. I need more! Stay! I command you!’
The serpent uttered a long, soft hiss. ‘You released me, Daniel. You are on your own now.’ Presently, it disappeared into the shadows. Daniel uttered an anguished cry and jumped to his feet.
‘Daniel!’ Gadreel’s voice.
He turned and saw her approaching him from the circle. It was nearly dawn. He could see that Gadreel’s eyes looked sleepy. ‘What are you doing out here?’ she asked, rubbing her face and yawning.
‘Trying to get answers,’ he said.
‘And did you succeed?’
He shrugged. ‘We have to go to Egypt.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Ishtahar came to me. That’s the only information I could get.’
‘But where in Egypt?’
‘She told me to seek the lion of the desert who guards Orion. I can only hope that was a reference to the sphinx.’
Gadreel reached out and squeezed Daniel’s shoulder. ‘Good, good. This is what we need.’
‘But it’s hardly enough.’
‘No, it’s more than enough. Much more than we had before tonight. We know now what to do. I’ll wake Salamiel and tell him. The others might as well go back to Qimir’s camp.’
‘It’s so far, Gadreel. We can’t ride there.’
‘It’s not that far to the nearest town, despite how desolate and lonely it feels up here. We’ll get transport. You and Salamiel still have money, don’t you?’
‘Yes, but…’
‘No buts. That’s all we need. Our final destiny has been revealed to us. We have only to follow it.’
Far away, in Cornwall, Helen Winter woke up in her narrow bed. Blinking from sleep, it seemed to her as if a shower of blue sparks were falling down onto her, disappearing as they touched the quilt that covered her body. She could not move at all, but sensed that the sparks were pouring out of her scarab beetle Met-Met’s jar. At the same time, she was gripped by a strange sensation. It was similar, in some respects, to when she fell over and the air was knocked from her lungs, but this feeling was a reverse of being winded. Something was gusting into her with the same sudden impact. Helen was not afraid. She was used to seeing and feeling strange things.
Released from her paralysis, she gulped for breath and sat up in the bed. Should she call for her mother? Not yet. The sparks and the peculiar sensations had gone now. She hopped out of bed and went to the window, where the curtains hung open.
Outside, the garden had disappeared. The cottage was surrounded by the sea, and now rose up from its own small island. Helen saw a shining figure walking towards her across the dark waves. It was a golden-haired man, dressed in a white robe. He seemed to be walking fast, but he came no closer to the island. His arms were held out to her, yet he could not reach her. ‘Do not worry,’ Helen said to him, touching the glass of her window with small fingers. ‘Your love has brought me back. I am coming to you.’
She drew the curtains across the window and went back to bed.
Chapter Eighteen
Bound in Babylon
Melandra Maynard was beginning to get impatient. She had been kept waiting for a couple of weeks now, and had still not spoken with the king. The old woman, Tiy, kept Melandra close to her and questioned her often. She appeared to be intensely curious about Melandra’s life and history. Melandra had been selective about the facts she released, but Tiy had a knack for extracting data. Almost without realising what she was doing, Melandra found herself describing her insular childhood. When she looked back into her memories, all that she could remember was winter — bare trees, cold weather — and never any summers. There had been summers while she’d been at the school, so where had the memories gone?
‘You were a lonely child,’ Tiy pronounced, ‘and you are a lonely woman.’
‘No,’ said Melandra, frowning. But I am, she thought.
Tiy shook her head at the description of Melandra’s secluded school and its dusty teachers. ‘Such creatures have never grown up to be women,’ she said. ‘They should not be entrusted with the mind of a child.’
Melandra described her teenage years defensively, although Tiy offered no comment. At the end of it, she merely patted Melandra’s arm and said, ‘All that fire and energy poured into a desire to kill. You have much fire, Melandra Maynard, and one day we shall all see its flames.’
Melandra hesitated, then said, ‘You know why I’m here, Tiy. I am sworn to kill the Fallen One.’
Tiy sighed. ‘Yes. We are friends talking across a fence.’
Friends? Melandra hadn’t thought of that, but realised that over the last couple of weeks she had spoken to Tiy more than she’d spoken to anyone in her life. Here was the grandmother she had never known. It was most peculiar and certainly inappropriate. Tiy was little more than a devil-worshipper. Why then did her words make more sense to Melandra than anything her teachers had ever said to her? Tiy’s opinions gave her new insight into her past. Tiy did not say so, but Melandra could tell the old woman thought she had been treated very badly. There had been no love in her life, no excitement, no childish happiness. These revelations disturbed Melandra greatly, although she strove to ignore the needlings of doubt that now pricked her mind. Tiy’s careful words attacked the citadel of Melandra’s schooling and conditioning, but as yet the walls remained unbreached. Babylon might act as a narcotic upon the senses, lulling Melandra into a dreamy state of unreality, but bitterness still burned hot within her. Tiy would never understand the reason for it. Melandra knew she would always feel that Shemyaza had shamed and polluted her to an extent where her own survival now meant far less than the destruction of the Fallen One. After what had happened to her, she doubted she could ever return to the life she’d once had. Here, in the wilderness of the world, she might hide her dishonour, but among other Children of Lamech in the States, she felt her defilement would be burned upon her brow like the mark of Cain. She could never forget the violation in Istanbul, no matter how dim — or changed — her memories of home might become.
It was clear to her that Shemyaza was not yet in the city himself, and she resolved to use the time before he arrived to ingratiate herself with the Babylonians. In some way, she must become part of their society, so that, to a degree, she would become invisible. Perhaps it was no longer important for her to speak to the king. She realised that at some point in the future, Tiy might well try to obstruct her work. Melandra shrank from dwelling upon the consequences of that. It was not inconceivable that Tiy too might have
to be killed. I should not get too close to her, Melandra thought, but it was difficult not to respond to the offered warmth and confederacy.
Under any other circumstances, Melandra might have enjoyed the exotic luxury of Babylon and treated her stay there as an unusual holiday. She knew there was a queen and a princess in the city, but never caught sight of them. Their quarters lay behind cyclopean doors at the end of a wide corridor roofed in green glass. Melandra was free to wander around the areas of the palace where the servants, musicians and companions of the queen were housed, but soon discovered that guards at the doorways leading to other regions of the palace would not allow her to pass by. Effectively, she was a prisoner.
In the women’s quarters, she had her own room. It was of modest size but opulently appointed with drapes and cushions and a private bath-room. There was a phone she could pick up to order food or drink, like room service in a hotel. Outside the long windows to her room was a cloister that surrounded a pleasant water garden, where the women would sit under canopies in the late afternoon, brushing each other’s hair, or painting delicate patterns with henna upon their hands and feet. The Babylonians were respectful to Melandra, if distant, and although the women were fond of whispering together and giggling whenever she was present, they always offered her sweetmeats or hashish or wine, all of which she refused. She was not invited into their circle, but they smiled at her, watched her, discussed her.
Melandra liked exploring the labyrinth of the women’s quarters. It was decorated with ancient art — statues and wall paintings — which despite their heathen nature were fascinating to study. One of the more mature women noticed her interest and confided to Melandra a secret. Thus, she discovered that the women had access to a maze-like system of corridors that wove like a secret web through all the levels of the palace. Her benefactress told her in halting English of a story associated with these secret ways. She said that when King Nimnezzar’s Magian priests had invoked the djinn to help build Babylon, Queen Amytis and Tiy had trapped one of the elemental spirits, and ordered them to give the women of the palace entry to all the places from which the men would bar them. The woman said that even to this day, Nimnezzar and his male staff were blind to these ways and were unaware the women watched them in all they did. Melandra found the story amusing, but gave it little credence. To her, Babylon must have been built by very human hands. Still, she was now able to explore the palace more fully and marvel at its eccentricities and indulgences.
The secret passages led to screened balconies high above ceremonial chambers, where presumably the women were free to watch in privacy, without fear of rude male interruption, whatever proceedings took place there. Whenever Melandra went exploring, the rooms below her were always empty.
Most impressive of the secret places was the gallery that ran along one entire side of the palace’s throne room. Behind its filigreed screen, lay a miniature hanging garden. Fountains made soft music in ivory pools and languid ferns hung down to the marble flag-stones. The gallery’s presence must be entirely obvious to anyone in the room below who happened to look up, thus proving to Melandra that Nimnezzar himself must have commissioned the secluded balconies and walk-ways for his wife. Still, the legends were compelling, and she could understand why the pagan, superstitious women of Babylon would prefer to believe in them rather than plain fact.
Melandra had noticed that the palace itself had moods, which were affected by the lives of those who lived within it, or perhaps even vice versa. She soon realised she didn’t have to hear any sounds of activity to know that something momentous was going on. She could simply feel it.
One morning, she awoke with an intense feeling of oppression that seemed to have fallen upon her like a fog some time during the night. After bathing, she wandered into one of the communal salons, where some of the women were sitting on cushions, whispering together. They ceased speaking when she entered the room, their gaze sliding furtively around her. Melandra smiled, uttered a bright greeting, and went to help herself to a breakfast of fruit, milk and nuts, putting the women’s behaviour down to some petty intrigue or quarrel. Perhaps a storm was brewing, which was affecting everybody’s mood.
Later, as the morning lengthened, the feeling of oppression lifted somewhat, but was replaced by a tension. Melandra eventually asked one of the girls what was going on, but she only shook her head, apparently unable to speak English. For once — perhaps no coincidence — Tiy was nowhere to be found.
Melandra prowled the secret corridors, peeking through lattices, peering round drapes. There seemed to be fewer people around than usual, but those she did see hurried about their duties. She knew something was about to happen. The air was full of the scent of incense, which drifted in enormous clouds from across the city. Melandra climbed out onto the only roof to which she’d found access. It was wide and flat and presumably covered the servants’ quarters, because over a dozen long washing-lines were stationed upon it, from which a colourful assortment of laundry hung. Melandra shielded her eyes to gaze out over the city. She could see the enormous ziggurat of the temple a mile or so away, its summit shrouded in dense smoke. Tiy had told her it was the Tower of Babel, and despite her despising of its purpose, Melandra could not help but be awed by its construction. It was like an enormous stepped pyramid, its slope punctuated by wider terraces at certain levels where the entrances to shrines were situated or outdoor altars. Even from where she stood, the incense fumes were strong enough to make her eyes sting. She heard male voices raised in an eerie, wailing chant and a cacophony that sounded like the cry of goats. A couple of drops of moisture fell onto her bare arms from the sky, but there were no clouds.
Melandra sensed a presence behind her rather than felt it, and turned round quickly. A woman stood behind her, looking as if she’d stepped down from one of the wall paintings of ancient times. Her apparel, Melandra deduced, must be a copy of the original Babylonian costume; a long, closely fitting robe of shimmering green cloth, whose golden fringes rippled in the slight breeze. Her black hair was squarely cut in an almost Egyptian style; its braids tipped with brightly-coloured beads; it could have been a wig. Her arms and throat were adorned with heavy gold jewellery. The woman was perfectly still and regarded Melandra through hooded black eyes. Melandra stared back at her.
After a few moments of intense mutual scrutiny, the woman spoke. ‘You are the American,’ she drawled, speaking the words as if they were an insult.
Melandra made no response but turned back to studying the Tower. The woman came up beside her. She was shorter than Melandra but was surrounded by an air of confidence and power that gave an effective illusion of height.
‘What is an American doing here?’
‘Seeking Shemyaza,’ Melandra answered shortly. She had no wish to converse with this woman; her aura of voluptuous sexuality made Melandra feel uneasy.
‘We both know there is more to it than that.’
‘I don’t think that’s any of your business,’ Melandra said. ‘I’m here as a guest of the king. If I have anything to say, I’ll say it to him.’
‘And I am Nimnezzar’s queen. I am Amytis.’
Melandra’s eyes widened in surprise. She was annoyed that this intelligence impressed her and fought an instinct to treat the woman with more respect. She must use this meeting with care, although she had no idea what honorific title was due to the queen, or even if it was expected in this barbarous country. ‘Why won’t your husband see me?’ she asked. ‘I have come a long way.’
Amytis shrugged. ‘He is a busy man. Very busy.’
Melandra paused, then forced a smile. ‘Is there anything you can do to help me obtain an audience?’
Amytis glanced up at her with disdain. ‘You must wait until he is ready. He is the Great King, American woman.’
Melandra abandoned this train of conversation before she became impatient with it. ‘What has happened today? It’s obvious that something’s going on.’
Amytis walked to the ver
y edge of the roof, her sandaled toes hanging over its edge. ‘Why do you ask? I think you know as well as I do how a woman may learn things here.’
‘What do you mean?’
Amytis flashed her dark eyes at Melandra and smiled. ‘Well, as you creep around my corridors, I follow you. You do not know that I am there. I watch you. I see your mind working, planning. You think you are dangerous, American woman, but you are not. You know not in what you meddle.’
‘I know well enough.’
Amytis laughed; a display of full-throated hilarity, hands on hips. ‘Tiy tells me of you,’ she said. ‘You intrigue us with your strange, misguided thoughts.’
Melandra realised the futility of responding to this affront. It would be pointless to rant about how Shemyaza was the ultimate evil. These pagans were too ignorant ever to understand that. They were waiting for him to come to them; their dark god.
Melandra swayed upon the roof as if the intense blue sky was pressing down upon her. A terrible loneliness surged unbidden through her mind. She felt abandoned by God, by Jesus. They were not present in this nest of infidels, but shut out by unbelief. Melandra could not even remember the last time she had prayed. How effectively this whore of cities had drugged her mind. She had eaten of its lotus and lost the memory of her faith. These revelations came to her as if she’d just awoken from an intoxicated sleep. What am I doing here? she wondered. How did I get here? She was so far from home, so far even from what had happened in London. It was as if she had been led into a desert by a seductive mirage, only to come to her senses and find nothing there, with no way of getting back to the point from which she’d started. She shivered in the hot air. How would she kill Shemyaza here? Babylon was an alien world, and she no longer had a gun. Women here would use poison, snakes and scorpions to kill their enemies. They would use knives, perhaps, or a twisted skein of their own hair. She was not like the women of Babylon.
Stealing Sacred Fire Page 26