Qimir knew of the Cave of Treasures, although he had not visited it in person. ‘Its location is known to the adepts of my people, and some have travelled there to connect with the spirit of our ancestors. But the journey is long and arduous.’
‘How far?’ Shem asked.
Qimir shrugged. ‘Days, at least. You must head south-east. Most of the journey is impassable for trucks, so you will have to travel on horseback.’
It was decided that they would take an escort of half a dozen Yarasadi, for the route was sometimes hazardous, and rival Kurdish factions prowled the shadowed passes, as well as agents of Babylon. Qimir summoned an old woman of the tribe, Tahira, to his dwelling, explaining to his guests that she had visited the cave fifteen years previously and would make an excellent guide.
Tahira was tall and unbent by age, although her advanced years showed in the weathering of her face. Long, grey hair, that looked as strong as steel wire, coiled down over her shoulders. She wore heavy jewellery of malachite-inlaid silver at her throat and wrists, and around her spare shoulders hung a large, fringed shawl of red and yellow silk. She listened without expression as Qimir explained what he required of her. Once he’d finished speaking she spent several minutes arguing with him in Kurmanji. It was clear she did not welcome the suggestion of acting as Shemyaza’s guide.
Gadreel translated her words quietly for the others. ‘She says she’s too old to risk such a journey. And she’s demanding to know why we want to go there. She says there’s nothing left there but bones.’
While Gadreel was whispering, Tahira turned to her and uttered a question in accurate English. ‘Why are you making this journey? Do you seek guidance from heaven and will visit the Cave to find it?’
Gadreel shook her head. ‘Not exactly. We are looking for an artefact.’
‘No artefacts there!’ Tahira snapped, waving her hands. ‘Many bones, old memories, but no artefacts. Barren place, home of the vulture spirits.’
Gadreel smiled patiently. ‘Perhaps the artefact we’re looking for doesn’t look like much. It could be a stone or even one of the bones. We don’t know yet what it is. It is very important, Tahira. The future of our people might depend on us finding this thing.’
Tahira considered for a moment, then shrugged. ‘Did not want to be called upon this late in life, but if the journey must be made again, then so be it. But finding artefacts — that is up to you.’
‘Thank you,’ Gadreel said, in obvious relief. ‘We could not do this without your help.’
Tahira asked Qimir if she might take her grandson, Jalal, with her, for she claimed the boy had a sensible head on his shoulders and she’d feel safer with him there. ‘And you know, Qimir,’ she added, in English for the benefit of the visitors, ‘what you must do before they leave.’
Qimir regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded. He rose from his cushions and went over to what looked like a pile of rugs in the corner of the room. These he threw aside to reveal an old wooden chest, covered in intricate carvings. ‘Come here,’ he said to Shem.
Shem joined him and watched as Qimir reverently lifted the lid with both hands. Inside, lay an article wrapped in layers of multi-coloured silk and bound with seven ribbons of the different colours of the rainbow. Qimir reached in and lifted out the bundle. Shem heard something clank inside it; metal. Qimir gestured for Shem to hold out his arms and laid the bundle into them. Then, he unwrapped the coverings to reveal a collection of ancient, blackened short swords.
Shem looked down at them steadily, although his instinct was to wince away from the blaze of power they emitted. He could sense their great age, and also that they had been used in ritual for centuries, if not millennia. He realised he was looking at treasured artefacts of Qimir’s clan.
‘These swords have been passed down my family since our blood-line began,’ Qimir said. ‘They have great power. In the distant past, they may have tasted blood, but now we use them in our most important rites.’
‘They have tasted blood,’ Shem said, almost absently.
Qimir nodded. ‘Before you begin your journey, we will join in a ritual to ask for the protection of the highest god. You must be confirmed as divine avatars of the last epoch.’
Shem nodded. ‘Whatever you think best.’
The ritual would take place at daybreak, when the first rays of the rising sun slanted over the mountains and touched the valley. In the dim pre-dawn, Shirin and two of her sisters came to Shem and his companions in Qimir’s dwelling. Here, they offered robes of bright colours; gold for Shem; green for Daniel; red for Salamiel and violet for Gadreel. The robes were embroidered with gold wire and when Daniel held the cloth to his nose, he could smell a faint aroma of flowers.
After they’d dressed themselves in the robes, the Yarasadi women wove fresh blooms into their hair and circled their necks, wrists and ankles with bracelets of flowers. Then they were led out into the central area of the camp. Qimir and his personal guard were already waiting, adorned in multi-coloured robes and similarly decorated with flowers. The air was filled with their heady scent, and the green smell of cut stems.
Qimir bade the avatars stand in a circle around him; his personal guard forming a wider ring around them. Then, quietly, every other member of the tribe gathered beyond them.
The crowd waited in silence until the blue-grey twilight turned rose and the sun lifted between two mountains, sending a golden-pink road of dawn light down into the valley. Along such a road, the angels might once have walked to enter the ancient settlements of humanity.
Qimir bowed three times to the rising sun and gestured for Shemyaza and his three companions to follow his movements. Then Qimir began to chant in quick, lilting tones, his voice rising and falling rapidly, his tongue flicking around complex sounds. Beyond the circle, in lower voices, his guard echoed responses, pausing to bow at regular intervals.
Qimir fell silent and made a gesture with his hands. A young girl entered the circle, carrying the sacred swords. They seemed to weigh heavily in her thin arms. Qimir lifted the first of the swords, kissed it and held its blade up to the light. Now, he spoke in English, presumably for the benefit of the avatars. ‘Let all present bear witness upon these oaths I swear today. You with eyes aloft, behold the splendour of haq, the universal spirit, shine forth through my will.’
Everyone’s eyes focused upon the sword Qimir held high. He turned round slowly. ‘I, Qimir, create baba ba and open the gate through which all holy avatars may pass from dun ba dun, from oblivion to oblivion.’ He bowed and then plunged the sword into the earth at his feet. This ritual was repeated with five more of the swords, which he positioned in a tight circle. Projecting his voice across the valley, he held the final sword above his head for several minutes.
Standing at the edge of the circle, between Salamiel and Gadreel and opposite Shem, Daniel felt the hairs rise on his arms. Qimir was attracting the attention of powerful forces, who now hovered invisibly around them, observing the proceedings. Power was gathering, swirling above them; a maelstrom of memories, emotion and purpose.
For a moment, Qimir fell silent and lowered his head. A bird cawed from the cliff-face; the only sound. The sun-light burned a furrow of light across the grass. Then, with a great cry, Qimir drew himself to his full height and thrust the final sword into the earth, spearing the centre of the circle of blades. Sparks flew up as hard metal bit into the ground, grinding against stone. Qimir fell to his knees, collapsing upon the pommel of the seventh sword. Daniel saw the energy from Qimir’s own body, the strength of his beliefs, cascading into the vibrating metal. Radiant lines of power emanated from the central sword to each of its companions; they rang like tuning forks, filled with Qimir’s light and energy.
The circle of guards began to chant rapidly and made complicated gestures with their hands, augmenting their leader’s ritual actions. The tribe swayed beyond them, all hands extended with fingers splayed, towards the swords.
Daniel gazed at Shem. His eyes were wide, his head thrown back, as if he could see something coiling up from the ground that was readying itself to strike him. Daniel sensed it as another layer of responsibility preparing to enshroud Shemyaza. Part of him is fighting this, Daniel thought.
Qimir rose slowly from the ground and, after a few moments’ silent contemplation, drew in a deep breath and straightened his spine. He turned to Shem and strode up to him, placing his hands upon Shem’s shoulders. Daniel saw Shem wince, very slightly. Qimir chanted a repetitive phrase, which Daniel could tell meant he was calling down the power of Malak Tawus into Shemyaza’s body. It was ironic really, for wasn’t Shem, in his original incarnation, the prototype of the Peacock Angel? After a few moments, Qimir fell silent and hugged Shem, then kissed him on both cheeks. Shem bowed his head, as if in respect, and Qimir nodded approvingly.
The tribe leader returned to the centre of the circle and repeated the whole process with Gadreel, before moving on to Salamiel. When Daniel’s turn came, Qimir paused. Daniel wondered whether it was because he had only recently risen to the state of Grigori, but when Qimir met his eyes, he realised this was not so. Qimir seemed moved almost to tears. When he came to place his hands upon Daniel’s shoulders, he spoke in English before beginning the formal chant. ‘Son of the mountains, who recognised you,’ he murmured. ‘Your soul is old, Daniel, yet irrepressibly young. Stay by your master, for he needs you.’
Daniel bowed his head, unable to speak. His throat felt constricted and he closed his eyes. Then Qimir’s voice rang out and over him, like a stream of crystal clear liquid. He felt something move through his flesh, his bones, and realised that Qimir was actually giving something to all of them, part of his soul and the soul of his family. Before Qimir moved away, Daniel whispered, ‘I will treasure the gift.’ Qimir met his eyes and smiled. Then, with a brisk turn, he positioned himself at the centre of the circle once more.
Raising his arms, Qimir uttered the final lines of the ritual and once it was concluded, the whole tribe raised their voices in a great cheer. The air became thick with petals that were thrown from baskets carried by the children. The tense, solemn atmosphere broke up, and someone began to play a merry tune on the zurna.
The party set off later in the morning, amid a din of cheering and shouting. As they prepared their animals to leave, Qimir pulled the seven sacred swords from the ground and presented them to Gadreel. ‘Take these divine weapons with you,’ he said. ‘Do not use them to take life, but to preserve it. Use them only in a time of dire need, for away from their home, my heart, their power diminishes and you will have no means to restore it.’
Gadreel nodded and carefully stowed the swords, safely wrapped in several yards of cloth, onto her pack horse. ‘I will return them to you,’ she said, and Qimir nodded once, clearly trusting her word.
Leaving the camp in style, Gadreel led the way by urging her horse into a gallop. Everyone followed; the horses kicked up clods of earth, the tassels on their bridles swinging wildly. Cooking utensils clanked and clanged on the pack animals. The whole tribe uttered a haunting ululation as Gadreel’s company careered off towards the mountain path.
Before long, the riders left the wider path-ways and headed off up narrower trails, where the cliffs seemed to lean towards one another, until they virtually met overhead. Birds arced over the high rocks, uttering occasional mournful cries. There was no sound of gun-fire, but what seemed like an eternal silence beyond the natural noise of wild-life. Daniel felt that he and his companions could be the only creatures on earth.
The journey proceeded, unmarred by any dramatic events, and after a few days, once the saddle soreness had abated, Daniel was able to enjoy the untamed surroundings. Here, in the wilderness of the world, among the very crags where the Nephilim had fought and the Anannage had worked their arcane technologies, it was easy to believe he had somehow moved backwards in time. At any moment, a Watcher whose shoulders were adorned with the wings of a vulture might appear around a corner. Daniel experienced no sense of danger. He felt held by the mountains, protected.
At night, he held Shemyaza in his arms. Shem would not speak of his worries, but perhaps sensed that Daniel was aware of them. There was little Daniel could say. Behind every conversation, every shadowed glance, every stone on the road, every bird overhead, lurked a hidden threat: that the climax of Shem’s task would be his own sacrifice.
Daniel said, ‘You must not look for omens, Shem.’ He himself fought not to think of them.
Gadreel seemed to think the greatest danger lay not in the approach of human adversaries, but in the djinn. She felt that if Nimnezzar’s Magians had sent elemental spirits out into the mountains, they would probably be attracted to the light of Shemyaza’s soul. Every night, Gadreel and Tahira muttered incantations around the camp and placed bowls of water and flowers at strategic points, which Gadreel said would ward off any djinn that might sniff them out.
One day, late in the afternoon, as the horses plodded along the trail, Salamiel drew his mount up alongside Shem’s. ‘You’ve hardly uttered a word since we left Qimir,’ Salamiel said. ‘What’s going on in your head?’
Shem, who had been lost in his own torturing thoughts, detected a sharpness in Salamiel’s voice. He shrugged. ‘I’m just thinking about what I’ll do once the key is found.’
‘If we find it,’ Salamiel said. ‘What exactly are we doing, Shem? Will our journey end with the opening of the Chambers? You must know.’
Shem smiled. He could not speak of his doubts to Salamiel. ‘I don’t know any more than you do.’
Salamiel shook his head. ‘I don’t believe it. Tell me everything, Shem, or must we follow you as blindly as we did before, when we were cast out of Kharsag?’
Shem glanced at him sharply. ‘You did not follow me blindly, Salamiel. You came with me because you believed what we were doing was right. Isn’t that why you’re with me now?’
Salamiel did not answer immediately. Shem detected a tightness to his companion’s expression, and also a faint corona of angry crimson fire around his body. ‘We have never really talked about the past,’ Salamiel said. ‘Perhaps it is time to. I, and your other supporters, despised Anu’s hollow sanctimony. We were filled with a fire to rebel against all that Kharsag stood for. You made us see the truth, Shem, the lie of it. You were our glorious leader. We would have followed you anywhere.’
Shemyaza glanced across at him, but did not speak.
‘Don’t you understand?’ Salamiel snapped. ‘We have the chance to redress our failings now. We should go further than we did before. Our people rule this world behind a veil, believing themselves to be superior to the human race, but in truth they are dissolute, power-hungry and selfish. It is the same as it was in the days of Kharsag, when you recognised that, Shem, and yearned to change it. We are wiser now and less impulsive. We should destroy the dominion of the Grigori, squash the tyrant of Babylon and any others who wield oppression in this world. Think, Shem, this is our destiny. We must raise an army.’
Shemyaza laughed quietly. ‘We already have an army. There will be seven of us.’
Salamiel uttered a harsh caw of irritation. ‘Seven? Shem, wake up! I followed you ten thousand years ago because I believed in your strength and in our power to change the world. You fought so hard, and suffered the worst of agonies because of it. But you had fire! You had courage! Remember your Nephilim sons and how you led them in battle.’
Shem did not respond, but gazed silently ahead. His head was filled with images of war and darkness. He closed his eyes briefly. His sons had been monsters, trained by him and inspired by him. They had been bred in bitterness and had wanted to destroy the world rather than change it. ‘That was not the way,’ he said softly. ‘I was wrong.’
Salamiel shook his head. ‘No, you were right, and you had the support of your brethren. We knew you had doubts, even then. Perhaps I should not reveal this, but the brotherhood made me swear an oath. You had led us so far, we could not return to our old, comfortable lives, but towards the end, we saw signs of weakness and indecision within you. Therefore, it was decided that should you renege on your promises to us, and seek peace with Kharsag, I would be the one to kill you.’
Shem frowned. ‘You were the closest to me, but for Ishtahar and Daniel. Would you have done it?’
Salamiel sighed. ‘I would have had to, Shem, no matter what I felt for you. We would have carried on without you.’ He paused. ‘We were parted for millennia, but in Cornwall, fate brought us together again. I have stayed with you since, even though I might have had to wait another ten millennia for you to regain your strength. I was prepared to do it, because I believe in you.’ He raised a closed fist before his face. ‘Our revolution failed in Kharsag, Shem, but we can succeed now.’
Shem pulled a wry face. ‘Salamiel, you seem to have charged off down a side road. We are not travelling together at this point.’
‘You’re not listening to me, are you!’ Salamiel hissed. ‘I had hoped we’d returned to Eden to turn back history, to win the war we lost. We have an army, Shem: the Yarasadi, who are desperate to regain their kingdom. You have ever been their spiritual king. Inspire them now! Find the power within you and wield it! We’ve become immersed in these meaningless rituals of swords and avatars and keys. I don’t understand it, Shem, and I don’t like it.’
Shem could see that Salamiel was close to becoming emotional, a rare condition for him. ‘You are too impatient,’ he said. ‘Reflect upon what you are saying.’
This answer only seemed to inflame Salamiel’s temper more. ‘What has happened to you?’ he cried, incurring curious glances from their travelling companions. ‘And what has happened to Daniel? You don’t really believe he has become Grigori again, do you? It’s preposterous!’
Shem smiled. ‘Not preposterous, Salamiel. It happened, because it was destined to happen. It is a sign, a star that we must follow.’
Salamiel expelled a derisory snort. ‘It’s all too rarefied. We should be warriors not ascetics, mumbling over rituals and searching for omens!’
Shemyaza laughed. ‘Your rage gives me strength, as it always did. Haven’t you ever wondered why our plan to bring lasting change failed in the past?’
‘Well, we were thwarted,’ Salamiel said, mulishly. ‘By the treachery of Ishtahar and by the superior force of Anu’s militia. We didn’t have enough time to educate humanity, we...’
‘No,’ Shem interrupted. ‘It was because we did not act with love.’
‘Love!’ Salamiel rolled his eyes in exasperation. ‘How could we? Our position demanded courage and fire.’
Shem sighed and leaned forward in his saddle, resting his forearms on its pommel. ‘I have had time to think in these mountains. It has helped me to analyse the past. I have learned to appreciate that to understand what love is, you have to understand what it is not. It is the not the fire that lovers feel, it is not desire or lust or need, those ultimately selfish cravings. Love is not a feeling, but an action. We should not feel it, but do it; an act of unconditional giving. Daniel has shown me this.’
Salamiel looked at him sourly. ‘I don’t see what this has to do with our failure in Kharsag or what we have to do now.’
‘Ah, but you’re wrong,’ Shem said. ‘Daniel’s experience in Mani’s cave made me realise something. When we rebelled against Anu’s law, we wanted to civilise the human race and give them our knowledge. But that act of giving was not unconditional. There were things we wanted in return: women, submission, reverence, power. Humanity were barely more than children then, and children learn by example. They learned from us and became what they are now. If the world is a hell on earth today, it is the result of our past selfishness. I know you don’t think we need Daniel, and that I am capable of doing what he does myself, but he represents our aim and what the results of success should be. A flowering.’
Salamiel sniffed derisively. ‘I still don’t see what this has to do with finding keys, and dancing around sacred swords!’
Shem shook his head and sighed. ‘We are approaching our return to the source, the Chambers of Light and the knowledge of the Elders that Anu kept hidden from us. In Kharsag, we thought we were so advanced, but we lacked awareness of what we were. We looked upon humanity as children, but we were barely their seniors. They were not ready for the knowledge we gave them, and we were not ready to accept the consequences of our actions. We made changes happen, but they were too quick. Qimir’s swords and the key we seek are some of the tools through which we will channel the bringer of real, lasting change.’
Salamiel frowned. ‘Which is?’
‘I told you. Love. It is what I must give and be.’
Salamiel uttered a scornful sound. ‘Why don’t I just nail you to a cross? It seems like you think you must you be a sacrifice again. Are you going to die?’
Shem shrugged. It unnerved him how accurately Salamiel had just described his own fears. ‘I don’t know. Probably. If that’s what it takes. Sometimes love is cruel. Sometimes it goes beyond death.’
‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this. I know you, Shem. You won’t accept sacrifice that meekly. You fought your destiny in Cornwall. Have you really changed that much?’
Shem forced himself to laugh. ‘No, I haven’t. I’m merely telling you what I’ve thought about these past few weeks. It doesn’t mean I’ve wholly accepted it.’
‘Gadreel and the Yarasadi don’t want love, Shem. They want action.’
‘No, they want change. The Yarasadi believe that we, as divine avatars of Malak Tawus, herald the advent of the last epoch of the old order. The world will not end after this, but change. Humanity and the Grigori must move on. This is the last chance, for both our races.’
Salamiel frowned. ‘And how will we change?’
‘Humanity’s destiny is to become more like us; Daniel is the symbol of this. Our destiny is to regain our lost heritage, to become the Anannage once more, but this time we will interact freely with humanity. There will be no lies and no secrets. We will not guard our knowledge jealously, but share it.’
‘A dream, Shem.’ Salamiel sighed deeply. ‘Riding along here, I find it hard to believe. I have lived too long and suffered too much. So have you. Ultimately, you will rise up with fire. You’ll not be able to let yourself die for this destiny.’
‘I may not have a choice.’
‘Oh, you will. It would not be that easy. You wait and see.’
One night, they camped in what Tahira called the Valley of Stones. It was a bleak, desolate place, where incessant winds wailed between the dark cliffs on either side. Tahira told them it was a place of ghosts, and that sometimes an open mind might receive a message from the dead there.
No messages were forthcoming, however, and in the morning, the company resumed their journey. They found the cave entrance in the late afternoon. The horses stepped around a corner in the path and there it was; a cliff face that seemed to lean backwards into the landscape, lighter in colour than the surrounding rocks. The cave entrance gaped blackly upon it, like a giant stain. It seemed, from a distance, to have no depth. A narrow, treacherous-looking path led up to a small rock platform before the cave. Two other paths appeared to lead from either side of the ledge, disappearing into dry and prickly shrubs that hung precariously from the mountain-side. The area had a strange atmosphere that made Daniel’s flesh prickle. Weird echoes bounced from rock to rock, but were weirdly muffled. Wide-winged birds circled above that looked suspiciously like vultures, even though they were reputed to be extinct in this area.
Leaving their horses with Jalal and the other Yarasadi at the bottom of the path, Tahira led the avatars upwards. She climbed nimbly, like a ragged goat, her brightly-coloured shawl and long grey hair flapping in the wind.
At the cave’s entrance, there were signs that others had been there before them; small bunches of wild flowers had been left as offerings and were scattered, wilting, over the hard, dry rocks.
Tahira had not been exaggerating her description of the place. From the moment Shem and the others stepped up to the entrance, they could see that the entire interior was filled with bones, piles upon piles of them. A warm wind seemed to emanate from the depths of the cave; it smelled of singed hair. The scene within looked like that of a hidden massacre: bleached bones, broken bones and bones arranged in decorative heaps. They glowed like phosphorous in the afternoon light coming in through the cave mouth. Farther back, ghostly white lattices gleamed in the dark.
A few yards in from the entrance, someone had cleared a small circular space. An uneven stone floor, polished by generations of human feet, showed through a scattering of grey ashes. Tahira turned around in a circle, nodding her head. ‘I remember it,’ she said, and then pointed a rigid finger at the cleared space. ‘This is where we must pray.’
Shem glanced at Daniel and raised his eyebrows. They were not here to pray, although no-one enlightened the old woman.
Daniel examined some of the bones. ‘They look like bird skeletons,’ he said, ‘there are still feathers…’ He sifted through a clacking pile. ‘Some are recent, too. Meat still on them.’ He looked around himself, shaking his head. ‘This place must have been used for…’
‘Millennia,’ Salamiel said, stepping forward and lifting a bone. Almost absent-mindedly, he slipped it into his hair, behind his left ear.
Shem came over to them. ‘Birds and goats and serpents. In this place, the people — perhaps my people — once wore the wings of the vultures and flew in trance.’ He reached out and touched one of the white, delicate bones, but withdrew his hand before lifting it free of the pile.
Daniel turned in a circle to inspect their surroundings. ‘So where do we begin to look for the key? Is it under the bones, or even one of the bones?’ He shivered. The atmosphere in the cave was not wholly benign, and he sensed curious presences feeling out for him.
‘I think you should try and make contact with whatever spirit entities guard this place,’ Shem said.
‘I had a feeling you might suggest that.’ Daniel put his hands on his hips and gazed up at the roof of the cave, which was blackened with ancient soot. He sighed. ‘Right, let’s see what can be done, but I want you, Gadreel and Salamiel to share this meditation.’
Gadreel asked Tahira to wait outside, and once she had left, the four of them arranged themselves in a circle, sitting cross-legged on the ground. In the silence, they heard the hollow, wooden sound of dislodged bones shifting their positions. A dry carrion scent filled the air. It was not easy to close the eyes and surrender sight to begin the meditation.
Because Daniel wanted to concentrate on whatever entities were present in the cave, Salamiel led the group through the preliminaries of the meditation. He asked them to visualise a cone of white, protective light growing up around them. Once this was done, he invited any spirit forms that might be present to make themselves known.
For a while, nothing happened as everyone extended their senses out into their environment. In his mind’s eye, Daniel could still see the interior of the cave; the darkness, the jumbled heaps of bones. As he concentrated on this image, he became aware that a fire was burning in the middle of their circle. He could hear it crackling now and smelled the pungent smoke — wood mixed with broken bone. A tall, hunched shape was lurking in the shadows behind Shem’s back. It looked like a shadow itself, but even as Daniel concentrated upon it, its shape became more solid. Mentally, Daniel called out to this image, and without hesitation, it came forth into the light of the flames.
Daniel forced himself not to wince away. The figure before him was monstrous, in both height and appearance. He wore a skirt of bloodied feathers around his hips, while a cloak of vulture wings hung over his shoulders. The flesh was still raw and red where the wings had been hacked from the bodies of birds. Smooth white knobs of bone jutted out from the shoulders of the cloak. The guardian’s face was fierce, his eyes shadowed and predatory. His hands were curling and uncurling like claws that yearned to tear and rend. His mouth was set in a gargoyle sneer.
Daniel almost gagged from the carrion stench that enveloped this entity. It took some effort for him to ask it to name itself. The name came immediately, aggressively: Rabisu. Daniel sensed that this was an ancient spirit-form, perhaps placed millennia before by the Nephilim warrior-priests who had used the cave. The guardian was most likely a thought-form that embodied, in a limited way, the personality of one of the priests. Its duty would be to remain there over the centuries, guarding the sacred site. ‘Do you see it?’ Daniel asked the others.
‘I sense something,’ Gadreel said.
‘Shem?’ Daniel said.
He heard Shem shift restlessly on the floor. ‘It’s the guardian. Tell him who we are and what our purpose is.’
Daniel addressed the guardian aloud. ‘Rabisu, we are Shemyaza, Gadreel, Salamiel and Daniel. We are searching for the key to the Chambers of Light. Is it here?’
Daniel saw Rabisu pull himself up to his full height, which was at least seven feet. His eyes sparked blue in a face that otherwise appeared almost featureless, owing to the quantity of ash and pigment that was smeared across it, augmented with dirt and grease. A voice boomed painfully in Daniel’s head. ‘To whom does my key belong?’
‘To whom does my key belong,’ Daniel repeated. ‘Did you all hear that? You must answer.’
There was silence for a while, then Gadreel said simply, ‘to us, its inheritors.’
Daniel saw the guardian draw back his lips into a snarl. He made a sudden movement, as if about to pounce. ‘No,’ Daniel said bleakly. ‘That’s not the answer.’
‘To Anu,’ Salamiel said, ‘the first Lord. It is his key.’
Again the guardian snarled and stamped his feet, sending a spray of bone-dust up into the smoke of the fire. ‘No,’ Daniel said. ‘Think! Rabisu is impatient with your answers.’
‘What do you think, Daniel?’ Salamiel said. ‘You’re the vizier. You answer the question.’
Daniel shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’ His mind was whirling; it was impossible to organise his thoughts. What was the answer? He felt the air move around him as Rabisu struck out with hooked fingers towards his face. Daniel uttered a gasping cry. He could feel the guardian’s power building up, his impatience and scorn. They should not have considered summoning him until they were surer of what they wanted from him or indeed from themselves.
‘The key belongs to the Yarasadi!’ Gadreel said. ‘This is their secret place of worship.’
Rabisu growled and his long, black fingernails raked Daniel’s brow. Daniel heard Salamiel and Gadreel utter soft cries of surprise, and knew that the spiritual guardian had left a physical mark. He could feel a trail of blood begin to seep down his face.
‘Shem!’ Daniel yelled. ‘You answer him! Speak! Do it now or everything will be lost! Say it, Shem! Say what I know you can say!’
Shem stood up and Daniel opened his eyes. The two realities were overlaid upon each other; the cold cave in afternoon light; the fire and the guardian. Daniel blinked blood from his eyes. Shem seemed contained and almost dazed, as if his mind was elsewhere. ‘The key,’ he said, ‘belongs to me. Shaitan. It belongs to me.’
Abruptly, the guardian uttered a wild scream, which everybody heard, then jumped up into the air and vanished. The company all opened their eyes and looked around themselves in astonishment for a few moments, then Salamiel said. ‘I can’t see any key. Where is it?
Gadreel glanced at the ground and sighed, ‘No key.’
Daniel shook his head. His brow was stinging now; he felt dizzy. ‘We failed,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if we’ll get another chance to speak with the guardian. It won’t trust us, and probably won’t even make another appearance.’
Gadreel slapped the ash-strewn stone floor with the flat of her palms. ‘Damn! We should have been more prepared!’
‘But how were we to know what the guardian would ask?’ Salamiel said.
‘I should have known,’ Daniel answered in a dull voice. ‘Site guardians often set riddles, ask questions. Gadreel is right. We were too impetuous.’
Shem was staring out of the entrance to the cave. Daniel looked up at him and sighed. Shem was an unpredictable creature; he could not be relied on. ‘What do you want to do now?’ Daniel asked him.
Shem did not answer, but walked out of the cave. His three companions swapped a few incredulous glances, then followed him.
Shem stood upon the narrow ledge gazing up at the sky. Tahira and the other Yarasadi, standing below with the horses, were looking up at him. For a moment, Daniel wondered whether Shem was possessed by Rabisu, for he was acting strangely. He laid a hand upon Shem’s arm. ‘What is it? Are you all right?’
Again, Shem said nothing, but slowly raised an arm to point up at the sky.
Daniel shaded his eyes with one hand, and squinted to where Shem was pointing. He saw a pin-prick of light against the clouds.
Gadreel came up beside him. ‘What’s that light?’
Daniel shrugged. ‘I’m not sure…’
Suddenly the light began to zoom towards them, becoming larger and brighter, until it hung above their heads as a hovering sphere of radiance about two feet in diameter. The Yarasadi below began to cry out in Kurmanji and gestured at the apparition in surprise and fear. The sphere emitted a high-pitched hum. It swerved to the left a few feet, then to the right, before shooting off to the left, towards the cliff face further along the path. Here, it collided with the rock and exploded with a deafening blast. Everybody on the cave ledge cowered down, while the Yarasadi below uttered panicked cries and covered their heads. Stones showered downwards, and a cloud of rock dust billowed out from the cliff face.
After a few moments, when everything seemed quiet, the group straightened up, brushing dust from their clothes and faces.
‘Incredible!’ Salamiel said. ‘Our own UFO.’
Shem glanced at him inscrutably, then said, ‘Daniel, come with me.’ He began clambering along the tortuous path that hugged the face of the soaring rocks. Daniel followed him. Dust clouds still hung in the air and there was a smell of ozone. Daniel didn’t know what it was they’d seen and questioned the wisdom of going to investigate the explosion. ‘Shem, shouldn’t we wait a while?’
Shem glanced back at him. ‘It’s quite safe.’ Shattered rocks shifted beneath his feet. He stumbled, yet kept on moving. Daniel could not let him go alone.
Presently, Daniel saw light reflecting off something that lay in a pile of rubble that had demolished a stand of shrubs. Shem said, ‘There!’ and increased his pace, clawing his way through the debris. He bent down and sifted through the stones. ‘Daniel, come here!’
Cautiously, Daniel approached. Shem squatted with his arms resting on his thighs. He gestured at his feet. ‘Look. There.’
Daniel looked over Shem’s shoulder. In the rubble, he saw a shining shape that lay partially buried. ‘What is it?’
Shem gestured for him to come forward. ‘Take a look. Pick it up.’
Daniel paused for a moment then knelt down. He saw a perfect crystalline cone about the size of his fist. Strangely, he could not tell whether it was green or red. The colours seemed to shift within it. Carefully, he picked up the cone and dusted it with his sleeve. ‘What kind of stone is this?’ he asked Shem.
Shem shrugged. ‘It must be alexandrite. In daylight it appears to be one colour, in artificial light another.’
‘So what kind of light are we in at the moment, then?’ Daniel held the stone up before his face, turning it this way and that. Still, the colours merged and flowed.
‘It must be an effect of the earth-light that carried it,’ Shem said.
‘It’s incredible,’ Daniel said softly. ‘This is what I saw in my dream vision of the Elder. He was holding it out to me. And in Cornwall, at the eclipse. I saw it in the dark sun…’
Shem reached out and touched Daniel’s hair. ‘It’s the key,’ he said.
Daniel handed it to him. ‘And it’s yours… apparently. Apported straight to your feet.’
Shem nodded distractedly and put the crystal cone into his jacket pocket. He looked around himself. ‘It’s very close.’
‘What is?’ Daniel stood up.
‘Kharsag, the garden,’ Shem answered shortly. ‘This is Eden, Daniel.’
Daniel observed the barren terrain, the harsh cliffs of splintered rock, the wheeling carrion birds high above. If this was indeed the ancient land of Eden, then not even a memory of its former splendour remained.