Scenting Hallowed Blood (36 page)

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 fingers, 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.

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.