Scenting Hallowed Blood

by Constantine, Storm

  Around the circle on the floor were positioned twelve ornate, stone pillars, that must have been at least fifteen feet high, supporting an arched, domed canopy. The pillars were covered in representations of serpents, most of which were winged. Others were half human, or half Grigori: a woman’s torso rising from a thick ophidian coil; a man with twin snakes for legs whose gaping maw devoured a child with a viper’s head. The dome above the columns was inlaid with a complex mosaic of blue, white and mauve tiles: a circling frieze of winged beings, that were depicted enacting weird and arcane ceremonies. At the far end of the temple, opposite the gallery, stood the altar; a huge block of stone, weathered and pitted, but covered in carvings. A further two pillars reared just before it, supporting a section of the canopy, which extended out over the altar itself. Around the walls, tall brass censers on tripod legs exuded down-drifting clouds of sandalwood fumes. Light came from long, red candles, held in ornate iron sconces that were fixed to the wooden panelling. There were round windows, high up, composed of the stained glass so beloved of Grigori, but soon after Sofia and Daniel sat down, soft black drapes whispered down from some high place to cover them. The only sound was the soft pad of sandaled feet as a couple of dark-robed servants moved elegantly round the temple, making sure that the candles and incense were burning correctly, and adjusting the placement of items on the altar. Then the last of their pattering steps receded from the hall, and all was silent.

  Sofia smiled at Daniel’s awed examination of his surroundings. ‘It is supposed to be just like Solomon’s temple,’ she said in a soft voice. The acoustics of the place would ensure that sound travelled far.

  Daniel shook his head, gazing up at the imposing dome. ‘It’s incredible.’ He glanced at Sofia. ‘This seems weird, because I’ve never been here before, but I recognise it.’

  Sofia took a puff off her cigarette. ‘That’s not weird, Daniel. Think back. Relax. Where have you seen this place before?’

  Daniel surrendered his mind to the flock of images that had come to flap against his consciousness. It seemed Sofia’s words had unleashed them. He closed his eyes. ‘They have made a copy of an ancient temple that now is lost. The layout is the same.’ He opened his eyes and glanced at Sofia nervously. ‘Did I once work within it, in another life?’

  She nodded encouragingly. ‘Perhaps. What was its name?’

  Again, Daniel closed his eyes to concentrate. ‘It was the Temple of the Royal Flame at Tak... Takti el Sulamain.

  ‘Persia,’ said Sofia.

  ‘Yes. It was a fire temple. And I served a great king there.’ He screwed up his face with effort — the memories were fleeting and vague, mere ghosts across his mind. ‘Darius, his name was Darius, King of Persia.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Sofia. ‘The true Solomon and his temple.’

  Daniel shook his head. ‘This is so strange. I’ve never had impressions like this before.’

  ‘Oh well,’ Sofia remarked. ‘There’s a time and place for everything, and you are surely in the right place at the moment.’

  Daniel gazed around the temple. ‘So many of these fittings are original, aren’t they, plundered...’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Sofia replied. ‘Look at the altar. Carved from a single block of stone. It wasn’t plundered, but salvaged, from an old Persian fire temple at the time of the foundation of Islam. All the old temples were being destroyed back then, because they were seen as pagan and heretical monuments.’ The altar was intricately carved with symbols, but a single image dominated the side that faced them. It was of an equal-armed cross, cut to resemble the ripples of moving water. ‘You see that cross?’ Sofia said, pointing. ‘It represents the four rivers of Paradise.’

  Various ritual items were laid out upon the surface of the altar, in readiness for the ritual to come. There was an elaborate crown, designed to mimic the tail of a peacock. Each feather was painstakingly fashioned from solid gold, its shimmering eyes set with polished stones of lapis lazuli and amethyst. To the left of the crown, stood a silver chalice. Sofia explained that it was filled with haoma juice, and Daniel recalled the time he had smoked haoma in the Moses Assembly Rooms. It seemed an eternity ago now. To the right of the crown lay a silver platter, containing an arrangement of pomegranates. A mound of red, purple and white flowers were heaped beside the platter.

  ‘What’s going to happen?’ Daniel asked. ‘Where is everybody?’

  Well, here’s Enniel,’ Sofia murmured, and gestured for Daniel to be quiet.

  Enniel had emerged from the left side of the altar. He was dressed in a deep crimson robe, over which he wore a feathered apron, adorned with the symbol of the all-seeing eye, picked out in rubies, emeralds and beads of gold. ‘The apron signifies he is to be Master of Ceremonies,’ Sofia whispered.

  The Parzupheim began to file into the temple with slow steps, and took up silent positions between the pillars around the circle. They were adorned with robes of vibrant colours — red, blue, yellow, purple, green, orange — that represented the spheres of celestial influence. They too wore short aprons over their robes, fashioned from shining black and white vulture feathers. Their hair hung unbound down their backs. Sloughed of their city clothing, the Grigori looked primal and shamanic, their aquiline features full of the secrets of their ancient ancestors.

  For a few moments, all was still and silent, and then a low keening arose from the throats of the assembled Parzupheim. The doors to the temple opened, and there stood Shemyaza, flanked by two Grigori youths Daniel had not seen before. The youths took hold of Shemyaza’s arms and led him forward. They were dressed only in feathered kilts, and their lithe adolescent bodies were anointed with oil, so that their taut flesh gleamed like polished marble in the soft candlelight. Shemyaza himself was clad in a simple white robe of rough-spun cotton that was belted at the waist with a gold cord. He looked tired and stooped, and Daniel thought with some discomfort that all he lacked was a crown of thorns.

  When Shemyaza reached the centre of the circle, Enniel bade him kneel down. The Grigori boys stepped back into the shadows beyond the circle’s perimeter. Shemyaza seemed dazed or drugged. His white-gold hair hung forward over his breast. Some trick of the light conjured beams of peacock blue radiance to enhalo Shemyaza’s bowed head. He was, to Daniel, already a Divine King, and any ritual to proclaim him so was merely perfunctory.

  Daniel had expected the Parzupheim to enact some fierce shamanic ceremony, with stamping, drums and shouted invocations, but he was disappointed. They stood rigidly erect and motionless, and the chant they uttered was monotonous, although it gradually rose in pitch and speed. All the while Shem remained upon his knees in the centre of the circle, his head drooping forward, perhaps hypnotised by the chant. Daniel himself felt weirdly affected by it. ‘Asha, merediska, vohu mainya! Asha, merediska, vohu mainya!’ After a few minutes, he was repeating it himself, beneath his breath. He knew in his heart what it meant: truth and the spirit of love. Occasionally, the Parzupheim inserted other short phrases into the chant, but Daniel could not hear what they were. The words all seemed to flow into one another, as if the Grigori did not need to draw breath while intoning the chant. The vibration of it filled Daniel’s head. It bored through to the most sensitive parts of his brain, blurring his senses and shifting his perception onto a different level. He felt his body sway, and for a moment feared he was about to pass out.

  Then Sofia’s cool hand was on his arm. ‘Look Daniel, pay attention. The Passing of Flowers Ceremony is about to begin.’

  Her touch seemed to bring Daniel back to reality, and the chant no longer rattled round his brain nor commanded his tongue. He watched as Enniel lifted the flowers from the altar. They spilled over his arms in a riot of fresh colour. The Parzupheim all held up their hands before their chests, the palms pressed together in an attitude of prayer and, while the intonation continued, began to pass the flowers round the circle. The way they did this was strange and fluid. One Grigori would grip a flower stem between the tips of his fing
ers, roll it down between his palms and turn to his neighbour on the left, who would cover the flower-holder’s palms with his own, and somehow transfer the bloom to his own hands, before passing it on. The movement was like a dance, rippling and graceful.

  ‘What are they doing?’ Daniel mumbled in a slurred voice.

  Sofia’s whisper sounded absurdly clipped. ‘It signifies a cleansing to purity, and the sharing of energies and intentions.’

  When the flowers had been passed for a single circuit of the circle, they were placed around the kneeling figure of Shemyaza at the centre. Once all the blooms were emplaced, the chanting ceased abruptly. Then, the Parzupheim changed positions, moving one pillar to the left around the circle.

  Enniel stepped forward and stood before the kneeling figure in the centre. He placed his hands upon Shemyaza’s shoulders. The silence in the temple seemed almost deafening. Nobody moved or made a sound. Peacock light blossomed around Enniel and Shemyaza, dying their skins an impossible purply-blue. Daniel wondered what communion was occurring between them. Did they speak in thoughts? What was in their minds as they stood and knelt there so silently?

  After a few minutes, Enniel took a step back and signalled to the two adolescent attendants, who were stationed beyond the circle. They bowed to him, and glided forward between the pillars. Standing behind Shemyaza, they deftly removed his flimsy robe, revealing the flawless lines of his naked body. He looked so vulnerable, huddled there, clothed only in his hair.

  Enniel gestured with both hands for Shemyaza to arise. Gracefully, he lifted his head and unfolded upwards from the floor like a column of white cloud, mottled with beams of the peacock light. Erect, he towered over the figure of Enniel, obscuring him from Daniel’s view. Shem’s body looked so perfect, it could have been an idealised statue of male beauty. Daniel heard Sofia uttered a lascivious, appreciative murmur, and a blade of pure jealousy sliced through his belly. She would want a piece of Shem. Everyone did.

  Shemyaza appeared mindless, because Enniel had to take hold of one of his arms to lead him from the circle. He was ushered to a stone chair, which stood on a raised dais behind the altar. Here, Enniel stood him in position, facing out towards the temple. Shemyaza made no move to resist, or even assist. He was like a magnificent sacrificial animal, docile and obedient.

  Enniel went back to the altar and here opened the lid of a gilded chest that stood beside the great, stone cube. Carefully, he withdrew an enormous cloak, which hung heavily in his arms. It was adorned with beads and the feathers of many exotic birds; crimson, purple, gold and electric blue. This he carried back to the stone chair and draped around Shemyaza’s shoulders. The cloak hung to the ground, a shimmering maelstrom of colour, hemmed with peacock feather eyes. Shemyaza stood unaffected, as if barely aware he’d been clothed again. Gently, Enniel helped him to sit down upon the throne. At the same precise moment, the assembled Grigori sank down as a single unit, to kneel around the circle.

  Daniel stared hard across the smoky reaches of the temple, trying to catch Shemyaza’s eyes, hoping to recognise some flicker of mordant humour there. But Shem looked like a stranger, beautiful beyond measure and distant as the dawn horizon. His eyes gazed blankly straight ahead and his jaw was set rigidly. His glorious hair tumbled down over the scintillant feathers that curled around his neck. Daniel wondered whether Shem’s faraway eyes gazed upon distant visions of his ancient home, upon kingships long past. Or did he ponder more recent events in his long soul existence; memories of death and callous destruction?

  Enniel approached the altar and lifted the silver chalice of haoma juice, which he carried smoothly to the throne. Here, he held the brimming vessel aloft and spoke in a ringing voice. ‘In the name of Darius the Mede, I obsecrate thee, Holy One, to state thy divinity and claim us unto thy spirit, and the spirit of thy father Anu, through thy own royal blood.’

  Enniel pressed the chalice to Shemyaza’s lips. He appeared to sip from it with detached co-operation. Then, Enniel leaned forward and parted the front of Shemyaza’s cloak. He poured a measure of the dark red, sticky liquid onto Shem’s exposed breast, where it spread over his heart like a stain of blood.

  Enniel turned to face the kneeling Parzupheim. ‘Behold! For this is his blood, within which dwells the light of truth!’ He handed the chalice to the Grigori nearest to him, who took an eager sip from it, before passing it to the celebrant on his left. The chalice was passed from hand to hand around the circle, each member of the Parzupheim taking their measure in restrained eagerness. Finally, the chalice was passed back to Enniel, who replaced it upon the altar.

  Next, Enniel took up the platter of pomegranates and laid it before Shemyaza’s feet. Reverently, he lifted one fruit, and held it before Shem’s inexpressive face.

  ‘Sacred Father, recall to us the state of thy wound upon the eve of thy sacrifice, when thy most holy body lay bent and broken from thy treacherous flight.’

  He held the fruit to Shemyaza’s mouth. As it touched his lips, Shem took a firm but delicate bite, slicing into the leathery skin. Purple juice trickled down his chin, and onto his chest, to mingle with the blood-like stain over his heart.

  Enniel turned once more towards the waiting Parzupheim and held aloft the dripping fruit. ‘Behold, the flesh of his body, within which dwells the food of salvation!’

  The Parzupheim passed the fruit around the circle, each taking a bite. Outwardly, their movements were precise and cordial — each bowing respectfully as the fruit was passed to him — but Daniel felt he could see the truth within their hearts. They were like a horde of greedy cannibals, salivating to sample the divine flesh. Yet the rabid, starving light only burned from their eyes while the fruit filled their mouths.

  By the time the mangled pomegranate returned to Enniel, purple juice stained the robes and faces of all participants. Daniel noticed that Sofia glared hungrily at the remains of the fruit as Enniel replaced it on the altar. She looked as if she might rise up, throw herself across the temple and gorge herself on the sticky fragments.

  Daniel sensed that everyone, except perhaps for himself and Shemyaza, were suffused with a suppressed hysterical frenzy, which given the right stimuli might erupt into orgiastic madness. Even Enniel was behaving oddly. His normally bland expression held a hint of wildness. His hair appeared wantonly dishevelled, and all his actions were exaggerated. His colleagues were no different. Daniel would not have been surprised to notice erections pushing out the front of their robes, but as far as he could tell, they were not sexually aroused. Something had been conjured within them, yet despite this, the ritual itself seemed empty and mechanical. In some subtle way, it lacked the essential spark of spiritual feeling that should have united everyone present. Perhaps this was a symptom of what had been discussed at the meeting earlier; Grigori ritual had gone stale.

  Now that the ceremonies of the haoma and the pomegranate were completed, the Parzupheim stood up, and changed positions again, moving in a clockwise direction around the pillars. Enniel stepped back to the altar and, with both hands, reverently lifted the gleaming peacock crown. He went to kneel before the throne, and held the crown up before Shemyaza’s rigid body.

  ‘Shemyaza, by what law dost thou reclaim the Crown of Melek Taus?’

  Shem’s voice sounded like a hollow echo. ‘Blood.’

  ‘Shemyaza, what dost thou deem to bestow upon thy subjects?’

  ‘Knowledge.’

  ‘Shemyaza, what dost thou seek in thy destiny?’

  ‘Truth.’

  Daniel was surprised to hear Shemyaza speak, and even more startled that he was aware of the correct responses. He was sure that Shemyaza had been mesmerised into complicity throughout the whole ritual. Shem, do you know what you are doing? he thought. Why are you playing their game? Daniel had wanted Shem to comply with the Parzupheim’s wishes, simply to make sure he himself wasn’t burdened with Shemyaza’s responsibilities, but now that he was watching the coronation, he felt sick. It was a charade, a mockery.
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  Beside the throne, Enniel stood with his spine erect, holding the shining crown a few inches above Shemyaza’s head. ‘According to the ancient laws, I crown thee in the name of Cyrus the Great. I exalt thee in the Highest, from Anu, Father of Heaven. And I bestow upon thee the sanctity which is thy blood.’ With these words, Enniel finally lowered the crown onto Shemyaza’s head and the Parzupheim sank down to kneel upon one knee before him. They had their king now. They honoured him.

  Daniel’s heart contracted in his chest. Before his eyes, the image of Shemyaza seemed to expand and distort. His face and body were beginning to stretch and elongate. His eyes had become long and snake-like, glowing with a spectral yellow light. His gaze met Daniel’s eyes across the temple and locked with him. Shem’s lips, which were now bloodless and thin, peeled back from his teeth. He expelled a long, low, sibilant hiss, and a ribbon of crimson tongue lashed out. Daniel was sure its burning end flicked against his cheek. He was horrified by what he saw, yet also strangely awed. What was happening? Was the coronation ceremony a means to transform Shemyaza into some hideous serpent king? He glanced around himself quickly, to see how the Parzupheim were reacting to the transformation, but no-one save himself seemed to have noticed it. Desperately, he hissed Sofia’s name and she turned to look at him grudgingly, reluctant to tear her gaze away from the throne.

  ‘What is it?’ she whispered.

  Daniel pointed at Shemyaza, unable to speak, but when he looked back at the throne, the frightening vision had vanished. Shem appeared as he’d done before; a beautiful angel in the robes and crown of a king. Daniel shook his head and signalled to Sofia that it was nothing. She shrugged and returned her attention to the proceedings before them.