‘Now, if you would leave me in peace. I need solitude.’
Enniel nodded, began to walk to the door, then paused. ‘I hear you are expecting a visitor.’
Shem smiled. ‘Yes. My vizier, Daniel. We work together.’
Enniel smirked a little. ‘I see. Well, I’ll leave you to it then.’
Shem exhaled a sigh of relief. Why were these people so easy to fool?
At 2.15, Shem pressed his fingers against his temples. He felt an ache behind his eyes; the last thing he needed. He got up and lit the candles, then composed himself once more within the circle. A digital clock on the table beside the door, which earlier he’d synchronised with the speaking clock on the telephone, flicked away the seconds in red light. I will give him what he wants, Shem thought. His unconscious desires. The urge to fly. It must happen now.
He glanced at the clock. 2.27. He felt as if all the clocks in all the world stopped at that very moment. Would Daniel dare not to come to him?
In her bed, Aninka tossed and groaned. Her sleeping body kicked back the duvet, for she was too hot, yet her sweat cooled immediately in the freezing air.
Further down the corridor, Emma sat before her own candle. Something was happening; she sensed it. Something was approaching fast.
Taziel and Lahash sat in Lahash’s room playing cards and drinking a bottle of brandy. Taziel was very drunk and kept losing. Lahash watched him carefully, wishing he was the kind of person who could get Taziel to talk about his problems.
Daniel sat in his own room, looking at the clock. At 2.30, he thought he’d let Shem suffer enough and got up.
The house held its breath.
Shem was frozen, his watering, unblinking eyes fixed on the clock. He faced the door.
Outside, Daniel pressed his hands against the wooden panels. He tried to think of what he would say when he went through the door. Be in control. Be his equal. Don’t let him bully you. He had no idea, really, what Shem would ask of him. He was afraid to go in, but found he had opened the door without thinking. The room was a blaze of candlelight.
Shem saw a stranger in the doorway. Daniel was harder, wiser, older. The clock flicked on to 2.32. Shem felt a finger of foreboding touch his heart, for he could see that time had already passed for Daniel. Age. Humanity. Brief candles.
For a moment, they stared at one another like hostile cats, then Daniel came to stand at the edge of the circle. Shem wanted to scold him and then get down to work. He wanted to appear business-like and cool. But the sight of this slim, confident young man, with his dark, shadowed eyes and serious face destroyed all his plans. He simply said, ‘Daniel, fly with me.’
And Daniel stepped into the circle.
Like Shem, Daniel had had a barrage of clever words to say, but none of them seemed relevant now. This was not the broken man who’d lounged around the Assembly Rooms. This was Peverel Othman, with all his poise and power, reborn, renewed. There was no dark taint to him now. How had it happened? ‘You can teach me to fly?’ he said.
Shem nodded. ‘Yes.’
At first, Daniel thought that this was a game of words, something he was used to. Then he realised it wasn’t. His heart said, ‘Crawl into his arms,’ and his mind objected, ‘Wait,’ but Daniel had already sunk down into Shem’s lap and put his arms around his neck. Shem felt warm, alive and smelled of soap.
Angel, demon, man, ghost: what are you?
Shem enfolded Daniel in his arms and rocked him like a child. He uttered a low, monotonous groan, as if in pain, then words spilled out of him like blood.
‘Daniel, it is lonely, so empty. I am burning. I am cold. I can’t contain all the things that I am inside. It is bursting out. Take it from me. Daniel, pour your light into me. Make me feel, bring me faith. Heal me. Be one with me. Banish my eternal void. Give unto me your wisdom, as you always have. I will listen with humility. Take from me the burden of salvation. Still for me the endless procession of spinning stars and unfold for me the path of my destiny, but please walk with me along the way.’
Daniel looked up into Shem’s face. ‘Give me the knowledge.’ The words came unbidden to his lips.
Shem stroked the hair from Daniel’s brow. ‘Ah, how young you are, how beautiful. I can’t bear to think of what will happen to you. I can’t bear the thought of watching you wither.’
‘Give me the knowledge,’ Daniel repeated. ‘How can I walk beside you without the fruit of eternal knowledge within me?’
Shem kissed his hair, rocked him in his lap. ‘She said those words to me,’ he whispered. ‘And I gave her the knowledge, all that was forbidden to her race. But what good came of it?’ He closed his eyes, and tears leaked out between his lashes to fall onto Daniel’s face.
‘Look at me,’ Daniel said.
‘I cannot. All I see is the future.’ Shem opened his eyes. ‘We have given the curse of longevity to those who have worked for us, but it is a corrupting force. I could give you that, Daniel, but it would ruin you.’
‘You said I could learn to fly.’
‘It is not the same. You are asking for the fruit of the tree, but you ask in ignorance.’
Slowly, the realisation of what this exchange was about became clear in Daniel’s mind. He could be like Emma, his life extended. But he knew that the dissolution, when it came, could be worse than any natural ageing. Shem was putting the request into Daniel’s mouth, but it was his own idea. He had not thought about it until Daniel walked into the room. He had seen Daniel older and wiser and he had begun to be afraid. He feared he could not survive in this world without his vizier, and inevitably, because Daniel was human, he would eventually forsake his master for the hand of death.
‘I will sacrifice my mortality for you,’ Daniel said. ‘If that is what you want.’ You impart the gift, he thought, yet it seems the other way around.
‘It will not be long enough,’ Shem said, then sighed, ‘but scant time is better than none. I want you, Daniel, to be with me. Taste the fatal apple; I have held it for eternity. It is humanity’s curse, but if you want the knowledge, you can’t avoid plucking the forbidden fruit.’
‘Give it to me,’ Daniel said.
There was a pause. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’ Daniel had no idea what to expect. He knew vaguely that Grigori could summon a kind of etheric force from their bodies, which when supped or otherwise absorbed by human flesh, bequeathed the longevity.
‘You are so fragile,’ Shem said. His eyes were glowing as if he looked upon moonlit water. There was a shift of light within them.
‘I am not a child,’ Daniel answered. ‘I am strong enough to withstand whatever happens.
Shem’s brow was creased. He looked unsure. Then, as Daniel watched, the frown smoothed itself away. The light became steady in Shem’s eyes, but harder, a smoking blue. A shred of unease entered Daniel’s mind.
In a sudden movement, Shem dropped Daniel’s body, but almost immediately his hands shot out and gripped Daniel’s head. He pulled Daniel upwards, stretching his neck painfully. Still holding his face in the vice of his fingers, Shem kissed him deeply. Daniel knew this was not part of the process, but something Shem felt he had to do. Perhaps a benediction or a protection. Then he let Daniel fall back onto the floor. He hung over the boy, a stooped, carnivorous shadow. Daniel felt a sudden surge of alarm. What had he agreed to? Shem no longer looked remotely human. He had become Shemyaza, the Hanged One, full of bitterness and fire. His eyes had become vaporous orbs, burning with intense blue light, and his features were dark and indistinct. His pale hair glowed like the reflection of moonlight on virgin snow, moving languorously around his shoulders as if lifted by a breeze.
Daniel scrabbled backwards, still on his back. This is the truth of it. They look like us, but they are not. No sight for human eyes!
Shemyaza took off his robe. His body was corded with taut muscle, which seemed to writhe like serpents beneath his skin.
‘No!’ Daniel was terrified now.
; Shemyaza lunged forward and gripped Daniel’s face between his hands again. His voice was low and booming. ‘You must trust me, for you will experience intense pain.’
‘No!’ Daniel tried to escape, but his neck felt as if it would break.
‘There is no going back. You have signed the contract with your will and your desire.’ Shemyaza, fallen angel; he seemed to be eight feet tall with the pale hair whipping around his shoulders. He snarled like a demon, and ripped Daniel’s clothes from his body. The fabric tore into Daniel’s flesh, skinned the back of his neck, his hips. Shemyaza reared up, Daniel dangling helplessly from his armpits between the powerful hands.
‘This is what you asked for,’ Shemyaza said. His face was like an enormous grotesque mask before Daniel’s stinging eyes. Daniel could not look away. ‘I came to you as a shower of gold, yet you asked to see my true face. Now you see it. Are you dying, Daniel? Are you burning up?’
Daniel uttered a strangled whine, sure he was about to lose his life. Shemyaza had gone insane. He closed his eyes, tried to call for Taziel, but Shemyaza jerked his boneless body in the air and impaled him upon a spear of fire.
Daniel screamed, and felt the whole building shake to his terror and pain. The screaming went on and on, until a black void, spinning faster than the speed of light, enveloped him in darkness.
The pit, the abyss, the endless chasm of despair. A graveyard of stars and of the light of hope. Daniel dropped through it, weightless, yet heavier than lead. There was no time in this place, yet Daniel was still aware of time, because he ached with horror that this descent might be his eternal fate.
Then, slowly, light bloomed around him.
Daniel blinked. He was enveloped in cold, white light; a radiance that bleached colour and shape from the world. Slowly, he realised he was curled up on the ground, but it was a place far removed from High Crag. He sensed he was lying upon pebbled turf, but it was indistinct to his eyes. He was whimpering, naked, but could barely feel his body.
Shemyaza stood some distance away from him, at the edge of a cliff. He was dressed in a white robe, belted with gold. Around his neck, he wore the bony filigree of a serpent’s spine, and he was cloaked from shoulder to ankle in black feathers. His waving hair was woven with long, white plumes, tassels of corn and soft thongs of leather.
‘Daniel, get up!’ Shemyaza’s voice was so loud, it could hardly be heard. It was the voice of the thunder, the storm, the planets spinning in the void.
‘I can’t.’
‘Get up. Come to me.’
Daniel found he was on his feet, swaying as if his body had no substance. With shaking steps, he walked towards the edge of the cliff.
‘Where am I?’ Daniel asked. ‘What are you showing me?’
Shemyaza did not answer the questions but merely said, ‘Look down.’
Fearfully, Daniel did so. He gasped and wobbled, nearly fell. There was no end to the abyss below, only a seethe of clouds, shot with bloody streaks of light.
‘Take my hand.’
Daniel had turned his head away, closed his eyes, but he reached out for Shemyaza’s hand.
‘Do you trust me?’
Daniel dared to open his eyes, look up into the face of the angel. He could not answer.
Shemyaza removed his cloak of feathers and placed it around Daniel’s shoulders, making sure the clasp was fastened firmly at his neck. ‘Fly for me, Daniel,’ Shemyaza said. ‘Jump.’
Daniel glanced down into the abyss, winced and groaned.
‘Do it. Jump. I will be with you.’
Daniel gripped Shemyaza’s fingers hard. This was the moment of ultimate decision. He did not hesitate, but uttered a roar that reverberated deep within his chest. Still screaming, he threw himself from the cliff.
The clouds rushed up to meet him and fingers of fire spat out of them, stinking of burning meat. Daniel felt as if his heart had stopped beating. He had died of fright already. Then he was soaring above the tumbling, curdled clouds, and up and up, towards a peak on the other side of the abyss. He was as mighty as the great vulture kings, hovering on the thermals of the astral plane, as the shamans of old had flown. He flew with the wings of the griffin, a wingspan of thirteen feet. But he flew alone. Shemyaza was not beside him.
Up to the peaks and down to the fabled lands. He saw the Sphinx, a mere cub in time, its face freshly carved. It stood upon an island in the middle of a blue lake. He saw the Tower of Babel reaching for the sky, and the tiny people working upon it, dragging stone and wood. He soared across the lowlands, where the little people toiled and bred and fought and died. He saw the Ark, and the sons of Noah looking towards Hermon’s Mount, where Enoch spoke with the Sons of God. He saw the lofty temples rise and fall, and mighty armies surge across the land. He saw the great king, Solomon, taking wisdom from the Shining Ones, and flew through the heart of the most secret arcana known to humanity or gods. Then the Garden was before him, its terraces rearing up towards the High House where Lord Anu ruled the land. He was at home again. Had he ever left?
Now the flight was over and he wore the skin of a child. Memories of his life as Daniel Cranton seemed but a dream. He was playing in the garden, and his mother was coming out to him from the shady coolness of their dwelling. He was ten years old. ‘Daniel. It is time. Say your good-byes now.’
Time to go. To leave home. Take up the position.
He was walking upon a mountain path, up to a great house formed from immense blocks of smooth, white stone, with cedar trees all around it. A tall figure stood waiting for him. And his mother was behind him, pushing him forward. ‘He is there, Daniel. Your master. Work well for him and be loyal.’
Your master. Shemyaza.
The master reached out for him and took his little hand. ‘Come, Daniel. This is your home now.’
The vision ended and his consciousness jerked away. He was flying again, into a mist. The mountain peaks around him faded away, and his wings beat upon a moist, occluding fog. The motion of flight and the deep, heavy beat of his feathers lulled him into a semi-hypnotic state. Then, the mist was clearing, and his eyes blinked against bright sunlight. He was flying over the sea, towards land. The coastline undulated green, red and gold like the scales of a great serpent. Cornwall: the Lizard. He was back. He saw the image of an immense lion naturally formed in the cliff-face, which he recognised as a guardian. As he drew nearer to land, he could feel the flexing of the serpent power beneath the rock as the presence of Shemyaza, so close, disturbed its sleep. Daniel hung over the cliff-top, absorbing the impressions that came to him. The serpent was a chained creature, which needed to be free. But how to wake it? How to set it free? A voice whispered in his head. You wear the wings of the shaman. You must go the underworld and reawaken the Shamir.
But these are not my wings, Daniel thought. Beating them slowly, he descended before the face of the lion. Now, he could see that it was a giant sphinx, whose eyes were closed, and that between its paws, which reached towards the ocean, there was a columned portal. He alighted upon the rocks, and the eyes of the sphinx opened, expelling a fierce red light.
Have you come to sing the lament for Serapis?
Daniel did not understand the riddle. He knew an answer was required of him before the guardian would allow him entrance to the underworld, but was unsure of what to say. ‘I come to seek the Shamir,’ he said, with forced confidence. ‘For the good of the king. For the good of the land.’
The columned portal began to glow faintly. Daniel could make out the convolutions of strange glyphs, geometric shapes carved into the stone. A series of triangles, circles, lines and dots flickered before him. He thought they were the marks of some ancient written language, although he did not recognise it. Was he supposed to translate these markings to gain access to the underworld? Perhaps the Lament for Serapis was written in the stone.
His eyes scanned the alien shapes upon the smooth stele, back and forth, back and forth, as if by staring at them their meaning would somehow become
clear to him. As he fixed his concentration upon the marks, a deep, resonant hum began to fill his head. It gradually grew in pitch, until it was unbearably loud and shrill; it seemed to vibrate within each individual fibre of his body. Beneath his feet, the rocks trembled, and below the humming shriek in his ears, he heard the groaning clack of tortured stone grinding against itself.
Daniel was suffused with a terrible sense of doubt. The elation of flight had fled from his mind and body. He had begun the process, but was ignorant of how to continue. Was he in danger? ‘Shem,’ he cried. ‘Where are you? What am I supposed to do?’
No-one answered his plea.
Cautiously, Daniel reached out to the stone portal. He would just have to act on instinct. As his fingertips made contact, the shrill humming around him abruptly ceased. The silence that followed it seemed absolute, but as Daniel’s senses adjusted, he realised a new sound had started up; a deep and even booming. As he listened, it gradually grew louder, and he realised it was the beat of his own heart, amplified by the stone. In his mind, he formed the intention of wanting to enter through the portal beyond the slick rocks and into the dark tunnel that lay behind them.
Daniel closed his eyes, and threw back his head. ‘Let me through!’ he called. ‘I am Daniel of the Lion and I am worthy!’ He projected his intention at the guardian.
The sound of his heartbeat receded, as if it moved away from him, deep into the cliff-face, and down, down beneath the earth. Daniel stood in the tense silence that followed its retreat. Then, he extended his inner vision, and thrust his senses through the portal. Beyond, all was in thick darkness. He could not smell or hear anything, but his perception soared down the lightless tunnel, trying to keep up with the fleeting sound of his own heart-beat, which still seemed to fly ahead of him. Then, at the very perimeter of his perception, he perceived a tiny ball of light. He could not ascertain its speed, but he could tell it was approaching him, pulsing nearer and nearer, growing brighter and larger.
Outside the portal, Daniel was filled with alarm. He withdrew his senses from the tunnel, and knew he should fly away from the approaching light, but his body was frozen. He could not avoid the inevitable collision.