Stealing Sacred Fire

by Storm Constantine

  The room before her now was long, silent and dimly-lit. A slim, gleaming road of executive table lay before her. Around it sat a group of formally-dressed, middle-aged men. No women: she was the only one. The walls were swathed in dark-grey curtains, and if there were any windows, they were obscured.

  Fox came into the room behind her and put his hands upon her shoulders. ‘Gentlemen, this is the young lady we’ve been waiting to meet.’

  All eyes were upon her. She both hated and feared them. They were rigid, merciless beings. She wanted to please them. It was instinctive. They were her masters. ‘Good afternoon.’ She inclined her head.

  ‘Here, sit down, sit down.’ Fox pressed her into a vacant seat next to the head of the table, where he himself sat down. Beside his right hand was a console covered in numbered pressure pads that looked like an enormous remote control. Fox drew in a great breath, then threw his head backwards, exhaling. ‘Let us pray, brothers.’

  Around the table, the delegates of the cabal bowed their heads. Melandra did likewise, although she could not close her eyes.

  ‘Dear Lord!’ cried Nathaniel Fox. ‘We are your humble servants, bound to do your duty and honour your causes. We meet here today to discuss a matter of grave importance, for the time has come. Your bond-woman, Melandra, awaits the touch of your spirit. Grant her this, oh Lord: your strength and your purpose. May she be our tool to accomplish your great design, for she herself is willing to sacrifice her very being upon the altar of this holy conflict.’

  Am I? thought Melandra. She remained silent, conscious of the slight pull of a frown across her forehead.

  ‘The evil ones mass in the filthiest corners of the earth,’ Fox continued, his voice filling out with a greedy relish for the words. ‘Even now, they speak their blasphemies and call upon He Who Walks the Deserts. The Scapegoat shall come forth from the bowels of the earth, shaking curses from his hair. His breath shall be poisonous fire, his words the foul stink of hell!’

  Fox uttered a shuddering sigh. ‘Prepare us, oh Lord, for what is to come. Arm us with your spiritual weapons.’ He reached out blindly and placed his hand heavily on Melandra’s head. Her neck jerked. ‘Bless your bond-woman, and protect her from the ancient, blaspheming memories of the weaker sex. It is by your will that the Scapegoat shall be purged by the hand of a woman, one of the creatures whom he corrupted in sin. Amen.’

  ‘Amen,’ echoed the assembly.

  Nathaniel took his hand from Melandra’s head and she felt dizzy from the sudden lifting of the weight.

  Fox laced his hands before him on the table. ‘Shall we begin, gentlemen?’ He touched a pad on the console beside him.

  The curtains that covered the left hand wall glided open. Banks of television screens or monitors were revealed. There must have been over a hundred of them. At another command from Fox, the screens flickered into life; they showed news reports from around the world: war, famine, political summits.

  ‘What do you see, Melandra Maynard?’ Fox enquired.

  Melandra shrugged. ‘Reality. Not a pretty sight.’

  Fox sucked his upper lip, nodding. ‘Yes. But reality as you see it is the work of devils. This, if you like, is the entr’acte before their grand performance, and the finale will be the end of the world.’

  ‘Devils,’ said Melandra. She presumed he meant some rival cartel, who dealt in arms or drugs.

  ‘That is one word for them. Others are Nephilim, Watchers and Grigori. Fallen angels. Just look upon their filthy work, my sister.’

  Melandra glanced at him sharply, then back at the screens. She knew what Fox was talking about. Once, when she was very young, she had found a book on her Sunday school teacher’s desk. It had been old and frayed; well thumbed. Her teacher had come into the room and had snatched the book from her hands with a sharp rebuke. ‘You mustn’t look at that,’ she had been told. ‘You are not old enough.’ Like any child, Melandra had been curious about knowledge that was forbidden and had asked awkward questions. Patiently, the teacher had explained that the book contained stories about the Fallen Ones, the rebel Sons of God, who in the distant past, before the Great Flood, had come down from heaven and corrupted human women. Her teacher had refrained from explaining in detail the fallen angels’ unholy behaviour. Melandra had been told it was sinful even to think of them now. They were God’s enemies, for they had disobeyed him and revelled in sin. For that, they had been punished, utterly destroyed, but their spirits might live on to tempt the weak. Good girls would certainly not want to read about them.

  Over the years, in her isolated boarding school and college, Melandra had learned to regard the Grigori as a spiritual evil, like having bad thoughts about a friend or a teacher. Now, the suspicion stirred within her that Fox and his colleagues believed they might be something more.

  Fox turned in his seat. His voice was laconic. ‘The ancient leader of the Grigori, Azazel, walks the earth again, Melandra. He is the anti-Christ, the Satan, the Adversary. He gathers his people beneath a banner of blood. When the millennium turns, he plans to cast a pestilence of war and ravagement upon the earth. Only his debased followers will survive it, into the darkest centuries mankind will ever know. He must be stopped. He must be destroyed. All your life, you, Melandra, have been trained for this divine purpose. God has deemed it shall be you who will destroy Azazel.’

  Melandra’s mouth dropped open involuntarily, and she had to shut it again quickly. ‘Excuse me? I... how?’

  Fox smiled. ‘You are horrified, and no-one could blame you for that! How will you do it? Well, that is simple. You have your gender on your side. All women have ever been followers of the Scapegoat. He is the great seducer, after all. In the days before Abraham, the wife of our founder, Lamech, gave birth to a monstrous child, spawned of a fallen angel. Although she denied it, Lamech knew the truth and began the holy war to root out and destroy the tainted blood of these unholy unions.’

  ‘Where is this written?’ Melandra asked. She could not help but take his remarks about women personally.

  ‘In the Book of Enoch,’ Fox replied. ‘It was a book that was excluded from the Old Testament, for the terrible history it contained was not for the eyes and ears of common Christians. The time has come for you to learn its contents. I will give you a copy to read while you journey to your appointed duty. Azazel will not expect the fatal thrust to come from a woman. Remember your Bible history, Melandra. Remember Judith. “Praise God, for he hath not taken away his mercy from the house of Israel, but hath destroyed our enemies by mine hands this night.”’

  ‘You want me to be Judith?’ Melandra was well aware of the story. Judith had cut the head from her enemy, Holofernes, while he slept. Did that mean she’d have to get close enough to this Azazel to sleep with him?

  ‘Sacrifices may have to be made,’ Fox said carefully, ‘but may not be necessary, in the event.’ He smiled. ‘You are an excellent shot, after all. Perhaps you won’t need to get that close.’

  ‘Who is it?’ she asked, expecting to hear a name she had heard before.

  Fox pulled a quizzical face. ‘I told you. Azazel, leader of the Grigori.’

  Melandra smiled. ‘Yes, but... I mean, it isn’t really him. It can’t be. He died thousands of years ago. And the Grigori… fallen angels…’ She shook her head. ‘Do they really still walk the earth?’

  Fox shook his head and spoke gently. ‘Believe me, the Grigori have never left this world. Like maggots they have feasted on its flesh, and it is the holy duty of our order to root them out wherever they hide. God is with us, my child. We are his arms in this world; we mete out his vengeance to the miscreants and their spawn. We bring down fire upon their vile heads.’

  Melandra swallowed. She didn’t want to offend Nathaniel Fox, but even after all her training this information was hard to take in. Why hadn’t they told her before, prepared her? For a few moments, her faith wavered. Were the Children of Lamech all mad? It could not be true that the Grigori still lived.

&nbs
p; Fox was eyeing her steadily, and a hard light had come into his eyes. ‘Let not the devil’s doubt assail you, my child. Disbelief in their existence is the Grigori’s greatest defence.’

  Melandra touched her lips briefly with cold fingers. So this was the answer she’d been waiting for. Since her early days at the college, she had known she would eventually be sent out into the world to destroy God’s enemies, but she’d had no idea her targets would be angels, fallen or otherwise. It didn’t seem real to her. ‘They never told me,’ she said. ‘Not once. Is it the same for everyone at the college?’

  Fox looked slightly uncomfortable. ‘Everyone has their duty,’ he said. ‘All of our warriors hunt down the children of the Fallen Ones. There have been many before you, who have efficiently and discretely removed identified Grigori and their supporters.’

  ‘But why weren’t we told about this?’

  Fox sucked his upper lip, nodding distractedly. ‘I understand your surprise. All of your college friends have now gone on to destroy Grigori that we uncover, but you — you have this special purpose. You were not born to it, no, but when your cousin Isaac died, his fate fell upon you. The Scourge of Azazel. We knew that when the eve of the millennium was upon us, the Evil One would rise up from the earth to glory in destruction. We had to protect you, Melandra, keep you in ignorance. A child with such knowledge would be a dangerous thing. The Grigori might have sniffed you out, contaminated you.’

  Melandra shivered, remembering all the hours she had spent alone as a young girl, and the tall, sinister shadows that might have waited for her in the tangled corners of her garden play-grounds.

  Fox touched her hand. ‘Have no doubt that the man you must kill is Azazel. In the flesh. He has been reborn, not under another name, but his own. At least...’ He paused. ‘He uses another form of his name: Shemyaza.’

  At the sound of the word, a strange charge volted through Melandra’s body. She felt both revolted and thrilled, and then sickened by the response. Perhaps Nathaniel was right about this fallen angel’s influence over womankind. It was important to remember her purpose; she was an assassin, an expert. She swallowed. ‘What do you know of him?’

  ‘He is at present in England. God willing, you might accomplish your mission there. In London.’

  ‘How do you know of him?’

  ‘That is not for you to know, my child.’ Nathaniel grinned. ‘Our sources of information must necessarily remain secret, but rest assured that the data has been verified.’

  ‘Is he in hiding?’

  ‘Not totally. He walks among humanity. Only those with eyes to see could tell he is not a man. You will go to London tonight, and will be given instructions on how to find him. Then, you must do your work as cleanly and discreetly as possible.’

  Melandra desperately needed a cigarette. ‘It seems... too easy.’

  ‘He might become aware of you and flee. You may have to follow him.’

  ‘I see.’ This seemed more likely, and also the unspoken possibility that he might kill her first. ‘How dangerous is he?’

  Nathaniel laughed. ‘More than you can ever imagine. You must be clever, but remember that the spirit of the Lord is ever within you and will shield you with the wings of holy angels. Azazel’s aim is to return to the sacred lands of his ancestors. Eden. That is where he will want to build his vile empire. His followers are already preparing the way. You have only to examine the situation in the Middle East to appreciate that.’

  ‘They are Islamic countries,’ Melandra said. ‘Are you implying that Islam follows the Scapegoat.’

  Fox shook his head. ‘Not at all. It is the secret societies concealed in those lands. A dark star has arisen in the east, a dictator who wishes to restore the glory of the Grigori. He worships fire and is undoubtedly one of Azazel’s creatures. The situation there is very precarious. The pagan aspect of the Scapegoat has encouraged the belief that the land of the idolaters, Egypt, is the site of the New Age. Foolish followers of this creed, unaware of the seductive evil behind their beliefs, wish to flock there and reclaim what they see as their lost heritage. Naturally, this has caused some concern among the native population, and fundamentalists are prepared to take extreme measures. Already the West is talking in terms of sending in peace-keeping forces. We do not wish that to happen. Ridding the world of the figure-head of this movement will stem the rising tide of devil-worship that grips the minds of the impressionable. You must appreciate, Melandra, how vital your task is.’

  Melandra again found it hard to take in what she was being told. It all seemed too unreal. Surely Fox was blaming Middle Eastern political troubles on what was essentially a fantasy? She could not believe that the Scapegoat, literally the Devil, was incarnate in the world. It seemed like paranoia to her. Yet, if they wanted her to kill a man for them, she would do it. He was undoubtedly just some little tin-pot New Age guru, spouting heresies to impress the young.

  ‘Do not under-estimate your adversary,’ Fox said in a silky voice, as if he could read her mind.

  ‘I...’ Melandra began to speak, but before she could muster any words, the lights in the room began to flicker on and off. All the TV screens sputtered, their images reduced to grey fuzz.

  Fox frowned and silenced Melandra with a wave of his hand. He began to press buttons on his console. ‘What the…’

  The other delegates had begun speaking to one another in soft, urgent tones, and Melandra became aware that a strange atmosphere had come into the room. Her skin tingled with what felt like static electricity. The hair had lifted on her head. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  Fox did not answer her. Beneath his hands, the long table began to shake. Evincing only slight unease, he pressed the intercom button. ‘Kimberley? Can you hear me? We got problems with the systems in here…’ The intercom expelled a high-pitched whine. Fox cursed beneath his breath.

  Abruptly, one of the other delegates sprang to his feet. He wore glasses, and all Melandra could fix her eyes upon was the reflection of the fuzzy TV screens in the lenses.

  ‘Abraham?’ Fox snapped. ‘Sit down. I’ll get this fixed.’

  The man, an overweight, grandfatherly figure, opened and shut his mouth with a fish-like popping sound. His body was shaking, as if he was about to go into convulsion.

  Fox made an impatient sound. ‘Someone help him out.’ He pointed at another man. ‘Mordecai, go to my secretary’s office and call the technicians.’

  Mordecai nodded shortly and went to the door. Melandra saw him try to open it, and fail. He turned to Fox. ‘Somethin’s wrong with this here door…’

  Fox uttered a snort of irritation and jumped to his feet, but activity from further down the table took his attention. Two men were trying to ease Abraham back into his seat, but he suddenly uttered a distressed cry and pushed the helping hands away violently. Strange sounds began to issue from his distended mouth. It sounded like a language, but none that Melandra had ever heard.

  ‘Get him out of here!’ roared Fox.

  ‘How? The door’s jammed!’ someone yelled.

  ‘Then break down the goddam door!’

  For a moment, chaotic activity erupted around the table as the men jumped to their feet to obey their leader’s command. Then, a brilliant flash of blue light threw everybody back into their seats. Melandra yelped and shielded her eyes. When she dared open them again, she saw a dozen or so baseball-sized globes of blue-white light whizzing around the room, just above the heads of all present. The men cowered beneath them.

  ‘Lord, protect us!’ gasped Fox.

  After what appeared to be a few light-hearted circuits of the room, the light balls converged to form a single, hovering globe of radiance above the centre of the table. It emitted an electric hum.

  ‘What is it?’ Melandra asked in a high voice. ‘Mr Fox… what is it?’

  ‘Abomination!’ Apparently, Fox could not take his eyes from the light.

  Melandra glanced around herself. Her limbs were tense to the point of p
aralysis, and it seemed no-one else could move either. The room was held in stasis. Power, confidence, and a certain mordant humour, seemed to ooze from the globe of radiance. It pulsed before them, gradually increasing in size. Then Melandra became aware that a tall shape was forming within it. ‘My God!’

  Abomination? Surely not. An alien creature now hung above the table, its hands extended in a gesture of welcome. It was beautiful. An angel. Its face was utter benevolence, its body clad in a long, shifting robe of coloured light. White-gold hair floated around its head and shoulders like a halo of wind-blown feather-down.

  Beside her, Fox uttered a choked cry. Melandra thought he didn’t know whether to pray or scream. Beneath his breath, he murmured lines from Luke: absurdly inappropriate, or perhaps not. ‘And the angel said unto her, fear not: for thou hast found favour with God.’

  Had this being manifested for Melandra’s benefit: one of God’s angels sent to offer His support to her mission?

  Then, the radiance around the angel began to change. The blue light became darker, slowly mutating into indigo, then growing gradually more purple. Finally, dark red light surrounded the ethereal figure, as if it was splashed with blood. Scarlet sparks spat out from the pulsing effulgence and the beatific face of the angel twisted into an expression of contempt. Its robes fell away, revealing a body of corded muscle, with huge, jutting genitals. Its hands became clawed, and a long, black tongue shot out from its mouth, flicking the shuddering cheeks of Abraham, who still stood rigid against the table.

  Then, with a silent explosion, the apparition vanished.

  All was silent in the room, but for the crackle of the TV screens. Then, somebody whimpered, and Melandra heard the sound of a chair scraping against the carpet. Abraham made a gurgling sound in his throat and slumped forward, face-first, onto the table.