Scenting Hallowed Blood (53 page)

Shemyaza uttered a caustic
laugh. ‘Is this me you’re talking about? I think not!’

Ainzu frowned and made a
dismissive gesture with his staff. ‘Listen to me. The ways of your
people became barren in their attempts to achieve this spiritual
goal. Your union with the earth crumbled their empire, and the time
for human men and women, and their own ways, came about. It was a
destiny that had been preordained since before the beginning of
time. The return to the source is the way of the cosmos, and for
this planet that journey is still in progress. A new age is
dawning, and the return must be allowed to continue. Humans are
bound by laws, which blind them to the journey. Shemyaza, you are
about to go forth upon
your
destined journey to the source
of creation, and you must take humanity with you.’

There was silence for a moment,
then Shemyaza said. ‘Why should I? I have no love for
humanity.’

Ainzu uttered an angry snort.
‘Your pain, anger and indifference, the stuff of your soul, is one
and the same with humankind’s.’

Shemyaza glared at Ainzu in
silence.

‘The love you have for Ishtahar
and the source is unconditional, and is the same as the love you
should have
for humanity and yourself. You are
their
source, Shemyaza. You are the pivot between humanity’s heaven and
the earth. Many humans have sought the secret of creation and the
light of knowledge. In doing this, they were seeking for your
light. For you are the gate to the Crown of Heaven and its
limitless light. This is the secret of human divinity, which many
have sought, and so few have found.’

Shemyaza smiled scornfully. ‘So
this is the secret that I created? So many pretty words, priest.
Your kind is adept at conjuring them!’

Ainzu’s face creased into a
snarl. ‘Foolish child! Remember your sacrifice!
Self
sacrifice. That
was
and
is
the secret!’ He raised
both his arms. ‘Now go, Shemyaza. Go into the crystal and taste the
breath of the source. Before you lies Ishtahar, the gate to
creation. Before you lies the inferno of the earth, and the serpent
awaits, to wake and move through it.’ Ainzu shook his staff in
Shemyaza’s face, and then turned in a whirl of ragged cloth, to
stride off towards the cavern entrance. ‘The bonds of centuries
will break this night!’ he cried, the sound echoing around the
chamber. ‘Orion will burn within the hearts of all those who seek
the truth. Go, king angel, and
be
love, for love is the only
truth!’ For a while, the priest’s staff could be heard thumping the
ground as he walked away. Then, there was silence, and the sense of
imminence that filled the world.

Shemyaza stood before the
crystal and the perfect, unchanging image of Ishtahar. She was a
dreaming woman, her eyes focused in upon herself. Shemyaza knew how
much he shied away from her image and the memory of her, because it
pained him too much. If he could not be with her, he would rather
blot all trace of her from his heart and mind. Yet always she
returned to him, a tantalising ghost, to torment his spirit.
Perhaps he should surrender to her now.

He tried to focus his mind on
all that the priest had said to him. At first the words seemed to
reverberate around the cavities in his brain, fragmented nonsense,
but gradually they settled within his heart, where, he realised
they had always been. This moment reminded him of the first time he
ever saw Ishtahar. He could almost hear her song, the song of her
desire and her female power.

He moved closer to the crystal,
reached out, and placed his hands flat against it where Ishtahar’s
image hung within the stone. His whole body felt pulled towards it,
as if invisible hands gripped his arms and drew him to them. He
leaned his face against the cold facets.

‘Ishtahar, deliver me, draw me
unto thyself and the source of thy power, the Shamir, the essence
of our creator.’

He drew away from the stone and
looked up. Ishtahar’s face seemed to ripple before him. Sparks of
light danced before his eyes. Again, a strong sensation of being
pulled overwhelmed him, and he realised it was no illusion. The
crystal was sucking his body towards itself. As his face touched
the cold stone, he felt his flesh begin to pass into it; a strange
disassembling of his being. He tried to withdraw, fight its pull,
but could not. ‘Ishtahar! I am afraid!’

He heard her soft voice in his
mind. ‘If you are afraid, my lord, then you are ready at last for
this journey. Is not a babe afraid of its birth? Come my child, my
lover, my father. Return to me in spirit so that I may return to
you in flesh.’

Shemyaza gasped for breath as
the immense pressure of being drawn into the matrix of the crystal
tortured his body. He felt squeezed, crushed. There was no pain
exactly, but extreme discomfort. Then, abruptly, the uncomfortable
sensations ceased, although he was aware of the weight of the stone
around and within him. The silence was total. He could not even
hear the sounds of his own breathing, his own heart. He realised he
was hanging within the crystal, at one with the vision of Ishtahar.
Her blue light surrounded him, invaded his body; she was a source
of strength and comfort. His perception was completely overwhelmed
by sparkling flecks of rainbow-coloured light. He wanted to laugh
aloud, but could not. He had never experienced such a feeling of
total wholeness. This was the gate.

Within it, Shemyaza began to
become aware of the immaculate power of his being. He was the
perfect sphere amongst all the spheres that comprised the Tree of
Spiritual Life. He sensed the divinity symbolised by the archetype
of the sacred, sacrificial king, an archetype that comprised all
the hopes, aspirations and needs of a nation. He knew that, at the
centre of all things, he could create or destroy, give or take,
love or hate. He was the symbol of the creator on earth, of godhead
incarnate. Pure joy spumed up within him. Now he could face the
serpent.

Then, even before he could
absorb this realisation fully, the surroundings shifted around him
and the light within the crystal dimmed as if clouds had smothered
the spiritual sun.

A voice came to him, seeped
into his mind, like a caustic blade stabbing through the perfect
serenity of the crystal environment. ‘So, you think you are the
perfect sphere, great king?’

Shemyaza was engulfed in a
suffocating chill that pierced his body with needles of ice. Low,
cruel laughter swirled around his head.

‘Ishtahar!’ he cried, blind.
‘Is this you?’

The laughter rose in pitch
until it became a hysterical cackle. ‘Oh, do you not know me,
Azazel, my lord? I have been at your side throughout your descent
into the underworld. Surely, your ears have bled with the touching
lament I have sung for you?’

The voice was spined with
sarcasm, but there was a fearless confidence about it that filled
Shemyaza with angry terror. He was helpless, hanging there within
the crystal, enveloped by the lightless chill of the nameless
presence. He tried to move, and his limbs convulsed with pain, held
as they were in stasis. He wanted to scream, but no sound escaped
his bound throat. His brain seemed to boil with frustration and
rage.

‘Ah,’ murmured the cruel voice.
‘That’s it, my fair one! This is the god I know and love.’

Shemyaza called out in his
mind. ‘Ishtahar, where are you? Help me!’

The voice mocked him by
mimicking the cry. ‘Ishtahar, where
are
you?’ Callous
laughter boomed around him. ‘She is where she belongs — a weak and
feeble ideal within the dreams of men.’

‘Then who are you?’

Again, laughter. ‘I am
so
hurt you do not recognise me, my sweet beloved. Come,
smell me, remember...’

A stench of carrion filled
Shemyaza’s head, and a thick reptilian scent that promised fatal
poison. The taste of blood and rotting carcasses suffused his mouth
and throat. The screams of terrified children hammered in his head.
The bodiless voice spat through his mind. ‘Fool! Scapegoat! Victim!
That’s what you were and always will be. Don’t you realise that
your brothers and lovers care nothing for your fate? Indeed, they
and the Parzupheim expect you to die here in the underworld so
that, yet again, they can reap the benefits of your sacrifice. I am
here to help you at last. You are no longer alone.’

‘I never have been,’ Shemyaza
said. ‘Ishtahar, Daniel, Salamiel...’

‘Pah! Weaklings! They have no
power to help you. You will die without me.’

‘Then show yourself to me. Face
me!’

‘Very well. But you know me
already.’

The darkness within the crystal
intensified, until Shemyaza was surrounded by a cloud of boiling
blackness. From this void emerged a female shape, dark blue of
skin, and sinuous, with snakes winding through her tangled hair.
Her beauty was terrible. He knew her. He had seen her face before.
The recognition made him want to laugh. ‘You,’ he said.
‘Sofia.’

The woman hung before him and
folded her inky arms. ‘Names are games. I have many names. Sofia is
the one I choose to employ at present. In that form, I was
venerated by the Gnostics as the mother of angels, who incited my
holy sons to commit acts of carnality with human women. I became a
whore in the sight of my worshippers, but they foolishly restored
me to a position in their Heaven and honoured me as the greatest of
angels.’ She shrugged insouciantly. ‘I have found an alternative
heaven, ignorant king, which you now have no will to taste. How can
you take on the mantle of the Solar Messiah when you refuse to rule
all
the spheres of the Tree? There is more to the universe
than Heaven and Earth, and the darker spheres are as crucial to its
pattern as any sphere of light.’ Her long arms reached out to him
and her voice, when she spoke, had softened into a sensuous
whisper. ‘Azazel, star and shining beast, come kiss me, and I will
show you the true domain of a god.’

Part of him wanted to resist.
Part of his screaming mind tried to cling to the images of
Ishtahar, Daniel and Salamiel, but Sofia’s silky words kindled
desire within him, a desire for power that had lain dormant for
millennia. He allowed her to draw him to her, and when her cold
lips touched his, freezing shockwaves thrilled his entire body. Her
arms curled around him, until he felt as if he was bound in the
embrace of writhing pythons. He could not move. Her voice was a
black velvet cloak floating down upon his mind.

‘Come, Azazel, rise up with me
through the Tree of Life, the tree on which you hung in torment.
Come with me to Da’ath, the abyss, the realm of all knowledge. It
is the closest sphere to your precious source.’

Shemyaza leaned against her,
buried his face in her snaky hair. He experienced the sensation of
flight, but could not tell in which direction they moved. He hung
in her arms like a child; she was gigantic, all-powerful. Their
speed increased and Shemyaza’s head fell backwards. His hair
streamed like ribbons of gold in the void. He saw garlands of stars
flashing past him, cloudy nebulae, exploding suns. Sofia’s freezing
embrace filled him with a delicious terror. He was helpless in her
arms. He could feel the tentacles of her greedy soul caressing the
fibres of his heart, a sensation so intoxicating he felt sure he
would die in the terror of this dark ecstasy.

Then, nothing. Stripped of all
sensation, he found himself completely alone. There was no ground
beneath his feet, no feeling of universe around him; no light, not
even any dark, just utter emptiness. He willed his arms to lift,
his fingers to move, but they encountered nothing before, behind or
beside him. In desperation, he clung to consciousness and
actuality, and reached for Sofia with the remnants of his panicking
senses, but her dark presence had abandoned him. The only sound was
the gasp of his frantic breath, and even that shuddered only within
his mind. He spun, helpless, and as he did so, he became aware of
invisible presences gathering around him, discarnate entities
reaching out to envelop him. All sense of identity was slipping
away. Nothing seemed to be of consequence any more: he was nullity.
The absolute darkness of the abyss seeped inside him, transformed
him into a vacuum. All awareness of the mysteries of light he had
attained melted into it, as if his knowledge had been only a tool
to help him achieve this perfect hollow state.

Sofia’s voice whispered through
the void and touched his mind once more, and his consciousness
expanded out into the abyss to meet her. ‘Ultimately, this is all
that there is, Azazel. Do you not feel at peace now, at one with
the essence of nothing, the source of our existence?’

Shemyaza fought with the
compulsion to agree with her. Some shred of his will still
remained. ‘No, this is an illusion of returning to the source, from
within yourself. It is not the limitless light, but a reflection of
its opposite. In the abyss, the source can be whatever you want it
to be.’

Her laughter was mocking, but
strangely gentle. ‘The Tree of Life from whence you came is the
illusion, Azazel. Let me show you the other Tree, the true
Tree.’

Gradually, balls of light began
to appear around him, soft shadowy flares that grew in intensity,
but not in brightness. Slowly, they spun and spiralled around him,
using him as a pivot for their circular dance. Although he sensed
they were growing larger in size, it was impossible to grasp the
concept of size within the infinity of the abyss.

‘Look within, mighty lord,’
Sofia murmured. ‘What do you see?’

Figures began to form within
the circling spheres. They were vaguely humanoid in shape, but also
hideously distorted; attenuated bodies and long faces, their mouths
and eyes mere smoky holes that seeped noxious vapours. They were
not solid beings, but projections of elemental emotions.