Stealing Sacred Fire (40 page)

Everyone was silent, and the
only sounds were those of the wind scraping granules of sand across
the granite flag-stones and the distant rumbling from the sky.
Jazirah’s lips moved, although he uttered no sound. His brow was
unfurrowed as he projected his intention towards the clouds.

A fork of lightning splashed
down, and hit the dirt some distance from the city. Jazirah did not
flinch.

One of the other Magians
approached the king and murmured softly, ‘We should move your
servants and guards down to the next tier for a while.’ Some of the
king’s attendants were indeed looking anxious.

‘No,’ Nimnezzar replied. ‘They
stay where they are.’

Veins stood out upon Jazirah’s
forehead now. He frowned with effort. A web of light spun briefly
across the undersides of the clouds and then a mighty crash of
thunder split the air. The younger attendants covered their heads
and cried out. It sounded as if someone was shaking the sky,
banging upon it, breaking it. Jazirah’s head snapped backwards. He
gasped. And then the chaos of the elements fell upon Babylon.

Lightning speared down as if
cast by angry gods. It hit nowhere but the temple platform,
creating a cage of light around the upper tier of Etemenanki.
No-one was struck, but many of the guards and attendants cowered
down upon the flag-stones. The Magian priests and their acolytes
prudently removed themselves to the steps that led down to next
tier, in defiance of the king’s command. Nimnezzar’s eyes were wide
with fear as he watched the lightning spit down around him, but not
a single fork struck the key stone.

‘It is not working,’ Nimnezzar
said, his voice shaking. ‘The bolts strike everywhere but where
they are summoned.’

Shemyaza folded his arms and
shook his head. ‘It appears the stone is drawing the lightning, but
is also repelling it. Unfortunately, it looks as if it will not
absorb the power while Jazirah is involved.’

Nimnezzar gestured. ‘Then you go. You
take it.’ His face was unhealthily pale in the blue-white radiance
of the lightning.

Shemyaza looked at him wryly,
apparently at ease. ‘Are you sure? Do you trust me?’

Nimnezzar glanced around at the
wild elements. ‘The lightning has been summoned, but it is out of
control. Destruction must follow. Empower the stone!’

‘Very well.’ Shemyaza unfolded
his arms and walked to where Jazirah stood stiffly at the altar.
For a moment, he had to wrestle with the vizier to prise the stone
from his hands. Jazirah’s fingers had locked upon it. ‘It holds
me!’ the vizier cried. ‘I can’t let go.’

Shemyaza slammed his bunched
fists down onto Jazirah’s wrists. The vizier cried out in pain, but
his frozen fingers spasmed, so that Shemyaza was able to pluck the
stone from his hands. ‘Go back to your master,’ he said. ‘You have
done what you can.’

Jazirah clenched and unclenched
his numb fingers. He stared at Shemyaza as if trying to think of
something to say. Then, with as much dignity as he could summon, he
walked slowly to the side of the king.

Shemyaza dismissed all other
occupants of the temple platform from his attention and tossed the
crystal cone idly from hand to hand for a few moments, to get a
feel of it. The lightning still stabbed down around him, and in
some places the flag-stones had been scored and splintered by its
assault. Shemyaza sensed the spirit of the key was glad it was once
again in his hands. He held it against his heart, and projected his
mind outwards to control the wild elements. The growling in the sky
gradually died down and the lightning merely flickered across the
undersides of the clouds. It is waiting, Shemyaza thought.

He held up the stone in his
right hand, the fingers of his left hand pointing down to earth. In
his mind he called out, ‘Father, I am here! Ormuz, give to me the
power of the foundation!’

For a moment all was still;
even the wind died down. Then, with a monstrous cymbal crash of
thunder, a brilliant blue trident of lightning snaked down from the
clouds and struck the stone in Shemyaza’s hands. He felt its
powerful volts course into his body. His back arched, his body
lifted onto the balls of his feet.

Nimnezzar cried out. ‘He is
dead!’

The lightning twisted and
coiled as if trying to wrench the stone from Shemyaza’s grip. He
could not have released it if he wanted to. The power of the skies
poured into the key. Shemyaza waited until he had taken as much as
he could bear, then projected his will to shut down the
empowerment. At first, the elements resisted and he was afraid his
body would be used as a conductor for the power until it was
destroyed. His arm had gone beyond the sensation of burning. Now it
was numb and cold. Energy poured through him, down into the stones
of the temple. ‘Enough!’ he cried in his mind, and visualised a
dome of protective insulation around him. Then, it was over. The
lightning disappeared instantaneously and the silence left in the
wake of the thunder was absolute.

Shemyaza staggered forward
against the altar, his right hand still held high. The stone glowed
red in his hold. The Magians came back onto the summit, murmuring
together. Those who had cowered down got to their feet.

Nimnezzar hurried forward. ‘I
have never beheld…’

Shemyaza uttered a snarl that
interrupted Nimnezzar’s words. The king halted, uncertain.

‘Come no closer,’ Shemyaza said
in a cold, calm voice. He felt different now, as if a new
personality had come to inhabit his body.

‘The crystal…’ Nimnezzar began.
Suspicion, then fear, came into his eyes.

‘Did no-one ever tell you not
to trust a fallen angel?’ Shemyaza said. ‘They tell lies.’

Nimnezzar’s mouth dropped open.
He raised a hand to summon his guards, but before he could complete
the gesture, Shemyaza thrust the stone out before him.

‘Too little, too late, he said.
He knew he did not appear beautiful now, but a sneering demon. He
held the key stone out before him and uttered a few words in the
ancient tongue. A brilliant gout of energy exploded out from the
stone, a blinding radiance that created an immense cage of light
around the summit of Etemenanki. Everyone upon the temple platform
screamed and fell to their faces, clutching their eyes. Shemyaza
laughed at their agony, possessed by the power of the stone, by the
bitterness of his father’s spirit.

After only a few seconds, the
radiance faded and the madness left him. He felt an invading
presence depart his mind and dropped his arm to his side. The
crystal weighed heavily in his hand. He looked around himself.
Jazirah lay prostrate some distance away. His turban had fallen
from his head and his hands flexed in his hair. Servants hugged one
another, whimpering. Guards flailed their arms about, uttering
curses, while the Magians sat still, believing themselves to be
victims of enchantment. Salamiel’s words on the journey to the Cave
of Treasures whispered in his mind. ‘You will rise up with fire…’
Love seemed far from this place, but then, had he not predicted
himself that love could be cruel and stronger than death?

Nimnezzar sprawled on his back
at Shemyaza’s feet, his fingers pressed against his face. Slowly,
he lowered his hands and blinked his streaming eyes. Realisation
came a moment later. ‘Blind! I am blind!’ he screamed. ‘Guards,
seize him!’

Shemyaza laughed softly. ‘Fool
to trust me, little king. I have work to do. You stood in my way.
Don’t bother calling for your guards — they are as blind as you
are! You are a victim of your own mindless greed. This land will
radiate glory, but you will never you look upon it.’

Only Tiy stood erect beside the
altar. She alone was unaffected by the gale of energy, for her eyes
were already blind. Shemyaza held out his hand to her. ‘Come,
mother.’ She stepped unerringly over the fallen, writhing bodies
and came to his side, dainty as a girl.

‘Now, my son, you are ready for
what I have to tell you next. Soon, you will be meeting someone. I
must prepare you with information.’

Together they descended
Etemenanki and went towards the palace.

Melandra sat in the salon of
Queen Amytis, chewing the skin around her finger-nails. Everything
had got out of control. She shouldn’t be here. It was dangerous.
She’d gone too far. Nathaniel Fox seemed like the figment of a
dream. She was alone. Her god turned his face from this whore of
cities.

The oppression of the electric
storm outside terrified and enervated her. Shemyaza was here,
working his evil magic. She could feel it. But what could she do to
stop it? It was all far bigger than Fox, or any of his
confederates, had realised.

Amytis was chatting with her
women, seemingly unaffected by the tension in the atmosphere. Then,
a mighty explosion of thunder made the windows rattle and all the
lights went out. The women uttered cries of surprise; some were
frightened, others excited. Melandra got to her feet, her skin
crawling. She saw Amytis sashay over to the window, lift aside one
of the wafting drapes. It was very dark in the room now, and the
light outside looked unnatural; greenish, as if they were
underwater.

‘What’s happening?’ Melandra
went to the queen’s side.

Amytis shrugged. ‘Something. No
matter. Tiy is with the men. She will tell me everything
later.’

If there is a later, Melandra
thought.

‘There is a glow on the top of
Etemenanki,’ Amytis said, pointing.

‘We mustn’t look at it,’
Melandra said and pulled the thin curtain fabric from Amytis’ hold,
arranging it hurriedly back over the window.

Amytis looked surprised and
amused. ‘You are afraid, American. Why? The ways of men have no
power over us.’

Maybe I am afraid, because I am
not a woman like you, Melandra thought. The ways of men do have
power over me. She wanted to pray, but lacked the heart for it,
aware in a dismal corner of her mind that it would provide no
comfort. She had walked into Hell and must deal with its
abominations alone.

‘Yes, I am afraid,’ she said.
‘I know what Shemyaza is capable of.’

‘Tell me.’

‘He will kill us all!’

Amytis frowned. ‘He is the king
of angels, the martyred one who gave his life that we might have
knowledge.’

‘It was never our knowledge,’
Melandra said. ‘He stole it and we accepted stolen goods. We are as
guilty as he is and our only hope of redemption is through God.’
Melandra reached for the queen’s hands, which Amytis bemusedly let
her hold. ‘Shemyaza is the great seducer. That is his dark power.
We must fight it, see him for what he is. A demon! A prince of
Hell!’

Amytis laughed uncertainly.
‘You are mad.’

Melandra let go of her hands
and shook her head. ‘No.’ She kept her voice calm. ‘People must be
made to see Shemyaza as he really is. I came to the king to warn
him.’

Amytis stared at Melandra in
amazement for a few moments, then sneered. ‘Tiy told me of your
mission to kill,’ she said. ‘You will not do it. Your gods are
false, so you do not have the power to destroy the king of angels.’
She turned away, and went to sit with her women, eyeing Melandra
coldly.

Melandra dropped down onto a
silk cushion. Her head was aching. It felt as if all the fibres of
her body were being stretched.

After a while, some of the
women, who had been sitting near to the windows, began to chatter
and point. It was clear that they could see something outside.
Amytis rose languidly to her feet and lifted the drape again,
ignoring Melandra’s protest.

‘Tiy is coming,’ Amytis said.
Quickly, she let the curtain drop back into place. Her eyes were
shining in the gloom like black jewels. ‘Come, American, we will go
into the garden and greet her.’

Melandra could not control the
terror that gripped her heart. It was almost as if she’d been given
a fear-inducing drug. Something more than Tiy was approaching
through the twilight. Something terrible. Melandra could sense its
fatal footfalls. Once. Twice. Closer. It was slower than the
beating of a heart, yet more empowered by blood. She didn’t want to
go into the garden with Amytis, but lacked the will to resist.

The queen of Babylon dragged
Melandra through the window. Outside, the cries of peacocks echoed
around the garden. Birds ran haphazardly in panic across the
manicured lawns, dragging their tails through the marble pools. A
flock of doves lifted and fell in alarm, like a curtain of pale
light. Amytis cried out in delight and pointed towards the heavens.
‘Look, American! The gods are at work.’

The heavy clouds that had once
carried the storm were beginning to break up. Dense fragments
rolled across the sky, amassing substance as they did so, forming
themselves into gigantic balls, like wool or snow. A few had
already become perfect gaseous spheres and were wheeling away in
all directions. Melandra had seen nothing like it, nothing so
unnatural. Then her eyes were drawn to more earthly matters.

Something was shining in the
garden, something that had excited the peacocks and the doves. It
was a column of light upon the path, and within the column, a
shape.

Melandra sank down to her
knees, aghast at what she saw. A man stood on the path, but not a
demon. She could see clearly who it was: Jesus, dressed in
white.

‘My sweet lord,’ she murmured,
and clasped her hands before her. Was this possible? Had he come to
save her and cleanse this city of whores and idolaters? Jesus
walked steadily towards her, holding out his hands. She saw the
holy wounds there, dark against the pale palms. He looked exactly
like how he’d appeared in all the countless paintings and
crucifixes that had supervised her childhood; a pale, thin man with
tawny hair and neat beard. Rather than wearing the rather scanty
costume of his execution, however, he was chastely robed from neck
to ankle.