Scenting Hallowed Blood

by Storm Constantine

  Shemyaza rested his hands on his knees, stooping forward to catch his breath. He sensed no direct threat from the figure before him, but perhaps a slight air of challenge. The stranger allowed him time to recompose himself and then stepped towards him. Shemyaza looked up into the long, ascetic face, the almond-shaped eyes of deepest blue. Plaited locks of bone-white hair hung down from beneath the cap of silver, onto the priest’s chest. His face seemed incredibly ancient, yet also youthful. Humour shone from his eyes, as well as wry wisdom. Shemyaza sensed he was looking upon the face of a Grigori who had come to these shores long ago. The attenuated countenance before him reflected how the giants would have appeared in those ancient times.

  ‘You are a ghost, of course,’ he said, with some disdain. He did not believe that one of the original giants could have survived this long.

  The figure inclined his head. ‘I am the guardian of the serpent’s realm, left here by those who laid the Shamir to rest. I have waited a long time for you.’

  ‘Are you real?’ Impulsively, Shemyaza reached out to touch the guardian’s robes, and the man did not flinch away. Shemyaza felt rough cloth between his fingers, and a faint aroma of camphor and myrrh wafted out from the dark folds.

  The guardian’s lips stretched into a crooked smile. ‘I have slept and dreamed the serpent’s dreams. Time has passed above and below. I am aware of it, yet it seems like the blink of a child’s eye; all beheld in wonder.’

  ‘Tell me your name,’ Shemyaza said.

  The priest bowed. ‘I am Ainzu, keeper of the gate to every path.’

  ‘You know why I am here?’

  Ainzu sighed theatrically, and glanced upwards in an exaggerated manner. ‘Do not ask questions to which you already know the answers!’ He turned round abruptly, in a swirl of cloth, and began to stride quickly away along the precarious ledge. Loose stones shifted and tumbled as his staff smashed against the ground in time to his rapid steps.

  ‘Wait!’

  The priest ignored the call. Shemyaza was both confused and annoyed by Ainzu’s behaviour. Wasn’t Ainzu’s function, as guardian of the underworld, to help and guide him? Ainzu had already disappeared around a corner of the path, although Shemyaza could still hear the thump of his staff against the rock. He knew he had no choice but to follow. Clinging onto the right hand wall as best he could, he hurried along the narrow ledge. Small, smooth stones slipped from beneath his feet. He stumbled, fell to his knees, grazed his palms on the rough rock as he groped for handholds. One glance over the ledge was enough for him to see that not even he could survive the fall into the abyss that lay below. How could Ainzu make him take this risk? The priest was obviously familiar with this domain. For Shemyaza, a stranger to its dangerous paths, the threat of death lay in haste.

  He rounded a corner of the path and saw the dark, flapping robes of the priest up ahead, the silver flash of the sigil on his staff. ‘Wait!’ Shemyaza called again, and this time, Ainzu slowed his pace a little. Encouraged, Shemyaza cried out, ‘Tell me what I have to do! That is your function, isn’t it?’

  Ainzu halted completely, and after a moment of what seemed to be consideration, turned back to face Shemyaza. His low chuckle resounded throughout the cavern. ‘Oh, no! That is not my function. You know already what you have to do. My purpose is one and the same as that of the rocks around you.’ He smashed his staff furiously against the rock, his eyes flashing with crimson fire. ‘I can tell you what is within your heart!’

  Shemyaza felt his way forward, until he was only feet away from the priest. ‘Tell me what I must do now. My heart refuses to speak to me.’

  Ainzu narrowed his eyes and, after a few moments’ consideration, spoke. ‘Very well. Go in unto the serpent. It rolls in its sleep and its skin is loose. Only when the serpent sheds its skin can you look upon its face, for at that time, it is blind. But remember, even in its blindness, it can sense and taste your heart. What it finds there, it will swallow and become. Are you brave enough to risk that? It can blink the scales from its eyes very quickly.’

  Shemyaza steadied himself against the rock. He felt weak, as if the fumes within the cavern had occluded his senses. ‘You said you could see what’s in my heart, guardian. Tell me what you see.’

  Ainzu grinned and cocked his head to one side in appraisal. ‘Your heart is the pit of the apple, that hangs as a burning, blue star in your breast. Humanity has ached to bite into its shining flesh. Bite one side and you will taste liberty and salvation, yet bite the other and your mouth will fill with a bitter gall that will lead you straight to the high, narrow halls of Gehenna.’ He extended his hands and gripped Shemyaza’s shoulders, stared steadily into his eyes.

  Shemyaza found Ainzu’s penetrating gaze hard to hold. There was no doubt he could peer right into Shemyaza’s heart, even his soul. ‘Yes, Gehenna’ Ainzu murmured. ‘Taste it, angel king. It is the domain of shame, where souls twist in frenzy between the despair of self-loathing, the injustice of martyrdom and the rage of abandonment.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘And which side of the fruit will the Shamir taste? What harvest will you reap for humanity this time? Shemyaza, Tree of Life, are you finally to be cut down now?’

  Shemyaza knocked Ainzu’s hands from his shoulders. ‘Stop this! Stop mocking me with words, priest! You might as well just laugh in my face!’

  Ainzu again shook his head, still smiling, although his eyes were filled with sadness. ‘Ah, I have long forgotten how to express mirth so freely, my child king.’

  Shemyaza laughed uneasily. ‘Your words are magic, priest. They have filled me with despair. Is that what is to be?’

  Ainzu said nothing.

  ‘Then shrive me!’ Shemyaza cried. ‘Cleanse from me the bitterness that sours my taste of life!’

  Ainzu uttered a cold gust of laughter. ‘Oh, you think I am worthy of extinguishing the firebrand that is your shadow, and the shadow of humanity? That is flattering.’

  Shemyaza sighed, and pressed his fingers against his eyes for a moment. ‘Ainzu, listen to me. I am truly lost. I am here, yet unsure of what I must do, of what I want to do. What guided me here?’

  ‘Faith guided you here,’ Ainzu remarked.

  Shemyaza shrugged. ‘But faith in what?’

  Ainzu was silent for a few moments, as if listening to an inner adviser, then he said, ‘Didn’t you see the light at the portal?’

  Shemyaza nodded. ‘Yes.’ He looked around himself. ‘But I don’t see it now.’

  Ainzu shook his head. ‘Ah, Shemyaza, you are as blind as the Shamir! Couldn’t you recognise your own light? It is now back within the eye of the great serpent, but it recognised you. You and the serpent are one, and that is what guided you here.’

  For a brief moment, Shemyaza heard once again the fading tones of the Lament for Serapis echoing around the cavern walls. A vision of Tamara’s face, slack with desire, flashed before him. He shook his head wildly to dispel the image. He felt sick.

  ‘See!’ hissed the priest. ‘Guides, all guides, many of them. How you listen to them...’

  Shemyaza put his hands against his eyes. ‘No! That was a lie!’

  ‘Oh, you can see it now, then?’ Ainzu’s voice was amused.

  Shemyaza nodded. ‘Yes. I was led here by the greed of an enchantress, beguiled into believing love was my guide.’

  ‘Ah,’ Ainzu sighed dramatically. ‘The boy king learns!’ He touched Shemyaza’s chest with his staff, placed a brief sensation of burning within his heart. ‘Oh, pay no heed to the manipulations of the woman. Whatever illusions she spun for you, there is no doubt that love led you here. Love and faith and knowledge. All one.’

  Shemyaza frowned. ‘But I have lost my love.’

  Ainzu made a dismissive gesture with one hand and turned away again, to disappear through a side tunnel in the rock. His voice echoed out from it. ‘What is lost can be found again. Come, it is near the time.’

  Shemyaza followed the priest into the darkness, unable to see him but guided by the cl
ick of Ainzu’s staff against the stone floor.

  Ainzu’s voice came from up ahead. ‘Ah, what a black sun you are, angel king. The shadow of your rays has shone upon humanity for the last two thousand years. Will it shine for another millennium?’

  Before Shemyaza could answer him, they turned a corner in the tunnel, and blinding neon radiance spilled over them. Shemyaza had to shield his eyes; he could just make out the shadowy silhouette of the priest ahead.

  ‘Come,’ Ainzu said. ‘Waste no more time.’ He led the way into a high, stone chamber, Shemyaza trailing him cautiously. An unnatural purple glow, which emanated from no visible source, illuminated the vault. The chamber’s ceiling and walls were encrusted with points of quartz that sparkled with reflected light, while in its centre a single gigantic crystal grew up from the gem-littered floor. The whole chamber smelled of cold, clear water, yet there was no water to be seen.

  Ainzu stalked into the chamber and stood, dwarfed, beneath the towering crystal. He held out his arms and cried, ‘Behold! The mirror, the gate and the heart.’ He beckoned for Shemyaza to approach.

  Shemyaza took slow steps towards the priest. He sensed the immense power of the stone, the power of its memories, and feared what it might reveal to him.

  ‘Look upon its surface, Shemyaza, look deep within it, for the pattern of your destiny is stored within this sacred stone. Look close, look backwards in time — what do you see?’

  ‘I see nothing, transparent quartz.’

  ‘You are not looking!’ Ainzu’s staff thumped the ground, crushed fragile crystals to powder. ‘Look again, and look properly. This is the first part of your journey, the first steps on the path. You must take them.’

  Shemyaza flicked him a hard glance, then forced himself to stare into the stone. He was afraid of what he would see.

  At first the details of the crystal remained clear before him — the imperfections in the quartz, the warped outline of the chamber wall beyond. Then, gradually, the centre of the crystal became milky, swirling like liquid. As Shemyaza stared into the depths of the crystal, a shape began to manifest within it, a stooped, shadowy shape.

  ‘You see?’ Ainzu whispered.

  ‘Yes. It is myself. I did not expect otherwise.’ In the stone, Shemyaza saw himself as he’d appeared in the time before the Flood; a tall, dour warrior, commander of his Nefilim sons. He wore battered leather armour, scored with the cuts of many blades. His bare legs were splashed with blood, his sandals fastened with human gut. His hair was tied up on his head, wound around gory bones. In his face, Shemyaza saw the thirst for vengeance, the pain and bitterness that had filled his soul with rage. This was his dark shadow, the monster from whom Ishtahar had fled and had subsequently betrayed. Looking at his horrifying countenance, bereft of all compassion, Shemyaza understood why she had run. Uttering a cry of self-disgust, he turned away from the apparition. ‘Send it away, priest!’

  Again, Ainzu uttered a soft laugh. ‘Oh, I can’t do that, angel king. This warrior is yours to command, not mine. Perhaps you could send him in to the serpent for you, for he is undoubtedly without fear.’

  ‘Where is my other self?’ Shemyaza demanded. ‘There has to be another side.’

  ‘Your other self flew from a cliff,’ Ainzu replied dryly, ‘and I suspect he still lies wounded beneath it.’

  ‘How can I reach him?’

  Ainzu made an impatient sound. ‘Oh, use your will, Shemyaza. It is your greatest tool.’

  Shemyaza forced himself to turn back to the shimmering crystal and stare hard within it. He willed the violent image of himself to fade, and gradually, it did so.

  Another shadow began to take form in the milky mist; a limping, halting shape, whose hands reached out for the walls of the crystal as if it was blind. Shemyaza uttered a single low moan. It was the image of his fall, which he still could not face without pain, or being engulfed by resentment. He did not want to look upon its ravaged face, its beaten, naked body, stained with gold paint and blood. Both aspects of himself were repugnant to him.

  ‘Handsome, isn’t he!’ Ainzu remarked.

  Shemyaza winced away from the image, but not before its grief and agony spilled over into his own heart. Tears filled his eyes, spilled down his face. He could feel the pain of wounds from that time, both within and upon his body. ‘Ainzu, are these archetypes all that I am, all that I have ever been?’

  Ainzu’s voice was calm. ‘Sometimes, the image of another can reflect to us what we truly are. Look, whose face is this appearing before us now, this most earthly angel?’

  ‘No, I cannot look!’

  ‘You can and must. Conquer your fear!’

  Reluctantly, Shemyaza turned back to the crystal. His vision was blurred with tears, and he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes to clear it. At first, it seemed that he was looking at another image of himself, lying sprawled out in the position of the five-pointed star, but the hair of this figure was golden-red, and its staring eyes burned deepest orange. Shemyaza took a step nearer the crystal. ‘Salamiel,’ he murmured. ‘My brother.’ He turned to Ainzu. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Closer to you than you have realised,’ Ainzu answered.

  Shemyaza glanced once again at the motionless image. ‘I was told he was near.’ He screwed up his face. ‘But, like me, he fell. He is a despised creature, no bright angel.’

  Ainzu shook his head. ‘No. The fall from grace never touched his soul, for unlike you, he has lived with the consequences of his actions — and yours — with grace in his heart.’

  Shemyaza smiled wearily. ‘Yes, Salamiel was always full of grace...’

  Ainzu gestured with his staff impatiently. ‘But he is you, Shemyaza, as you can be him. He is your brother. Even now, he aches to walk beside you.’

  Shemyaza extended a hand towards the crystal, but did not touch it. ‘I renounced my own kind, priest, to propagate a new race that was a dark shadow of my people.’

  Ainzu nodded. ‘Yes, and as your sons went forth, so evil was unleashed into the world.’

  ‘My brother is lost to me.’

  Ainzu uttered a harsh laugh. ‘More self-pity? Listen to me. You were always Azazel to Salamiel, just a scapegoat for all that happened. He has lived with the reminder of that evil and ignorance for many thousands of years, but it has not detracted from the true light of being for him. He had hope, Shemyaza, always hope. And as I said, what was lost can be found. Your brothers are not lost to you.’

  Shemyaza glanced at the priest. ‘I thought that I heard him, his voice in prayer, but I dared not believe.’

  Again, Ainzu nodded. ‘You heard him. Even though the dark shadow of another is cast upon him, he prays for your absolution.’

  Shemyaza narrowed his eyes. ‘The dark shadow of another?’ He thought immediately of Sofia, and sensed a cold tongue of air reach out to touch his body, heard a faint sibilance as of whispered profanities.

  ‘If you love him,’ Ainzu said, ‘then you can free him, as he prays to free you. But the time for that has yet to come.’

  Shemyaza sighed and smiled. ‘Love... oh to love again.’

  Ainzu snorted through his nose in scorn. ‘But you already do, angel king! Look now upon the crystal, and a love that you already have.’

  Shemyaza held the priest’s eyes for a moment, then turned back to the stone. A perfect image of Daniel filled the centre of the crystal, his face composed and tranquil, his delicate lips drawn into a wise smile. The image was so lovely it punched shards of pain through Shemyaza’s heart. He wanted to look away, but could not. How could he have forgotten this? ‘My beautiful one,’ he said. ‘Daniel. My eyes, my ears, my tongue, my heart.’

  ‘Indeed, he is beautiful,’ Ainzu agreed. ‘Look well, for you look upon your own spirit. That is what Daniel represents. Is he not a lamb to your lion? Have you not lain down together?’

  As Shemyaza stared at the vision before him, he could see that Daniel was dressed as a shaman, a bird shaman of ancient times. He
wore a headdress of feathers. It seemed as if the wind was on his face, blowing back the waving plumes and the tendrils of tawny hair. He appeared to be looking for someone, gazing straight ahead in trance. Now, his features were troubled by an expression of worry and confusion. Shemyaza wanted to call out to him, sure that Daniel was looking for him, but he sensed that he was beyond the boy’s hearing. He tore his gaze away. ‘Ainzu, my spirit is not beautiful. Lions devour the sweetest of lambs, for that is their nature’

  ‘Indeed, you are the beast,’ Ainzu said. ‘And is not the beast of the earth? And is the earth not beautiful?’

  Shemyaza laughed coldly. ‘I have rarely seen its beauty, priest. I’ve only felt the all-consuming fire of its power. I do not have the heart to see beauty.’

  ‘Wrong, Shemyaza. Look now, and see the error of your words.’ Ainzu waved his staff in a slow yet complicated gesture. The image of Daniel faded in a flare of soft, white light, to be replaced by an incandescent glare of blue radiance, which gradually grew in intensity, until it sharpened into the form of a woman.

  Shemyaza uttered her name as a sigh. ‘Ishtahar!’ She hung before him within the facets of the crystal, serene and vivid, her blue veils floating voluptuously around her.

  ‘Yes,’ Ainzu said. ‘Your love. A woman of the earth. Haven’t you ever wondered why you felt such all-consuming passion for her?’

  ‘I never understood why,’ Shemyaza answered, ‘and I never will.’

  ‘Ishtahar is the mother of humankind,’ Ainzu told him. ‘Your union with her was a union with the earth, the mother of all living things. Your love changed the evolution of life and initiated the great civilisations of humankind. That love can provide the way for you to return to your source.’ Ainzu paused for a moment. ‘The source of all things is perfection, and your buried love for it is unparalleled. It is your purpose for being.’