Starblood (The Starblood Trilogy) (4 page)

‘Samael, brother, lover, husband – forgive me,’ Lilith weeps.

Eyes closed she waits for death, but death does not come for her. Hours pass and she opens her eyes again, stretching her limbs as far as the shade of the tree will allow. As she watches the golden light becomes a soft blue as the sun falls and daylight is replaced by twilight.

That night Lilith follows the river as it rushes to join the sea. She reaches the red sea before dawn and finds a deep, dark cave in which to spend the daylight hours. As the eastern sky turns salmon red she hides herself.

‘Why do I cower and hide myself from the sun’s light?’ she asks. ‘Am I not equal to it? Greater perhaps, as I am pure light, the moon’s flame. Luna, why do I share your shame, your inequality?’

A voice echoes in her head, a sonorous voice which shakes every nerve in her body. It fills her completely and she knows its source. ‘You are demon, Lilith, a creature of the night. Daylight is poison to you. Would you prefer it otherwise?’

‘I don’t know, Father, what do you offer?’ she asks. The words seem hollow and without power compared to the effect of His words. Her cheeks prickle but she refuses to cower from the voice.

‘A garden and a man, a mate as beautiful as the sun, you will walk in the sun’s benevolent light and you will help him care for the animals.’

‘May I see him?’

Laughter shakes the cave. Lilith holds her ears in terror. Her muscles tense. She wants to run, but where can she go? The laughter is inside her.

‘When the sun sets become an owl and fly west. You will see the garden.’

Lilith trembles at the back of the cave waiting for the punch of that terrible voice to return. Her back, lacerated by sharp rocks, bleeds and yet she barely notices the pain. Relief that the voice has left her dominates her thoughts. As she grows used to the silence again, other thoughts surface:
a man, a beautiful man.

As evening falls Lilith creeps out of her cave. The sea whispers and she strains to hear its advice but the words are too soft.
He told me to turn into an owl.
She concentrates, imagining feathers growing from her shoulder blades, a beak breaking through her nose and mouth. She concentrates so hard that her mind cramps from the effort but when she checks, she still has fleshy fingers and toes. Sighing, she sits on the sandy shore. Turning her face towards the moon she whispers, ‘I am an owl.’ Stretching her great wings she ascends and flies westward, dipping and soaring with pleasure at her new freedom. Her excited screech fills the night.

Maybe she travels due west, guided by some internal compass. She is only aware of the cool air between her feathers and the silent laughter bubbling inside her belly. The greater part of her wants to get lost in the wilderness, soaring and diving forever. Yet, in spite of her carelessness she spots The Garden ahead. There is no denying that this must be the place He created, the jewel in the crown of His great work.

Her throat tightens. Gasping for breath, she falls awkwardly to the ground. Feathers vanish. Skin and hair covers her. Kneeling in the dust, she stares ahead. A high wall surrounds The Garden. But even from this lowly angle, Lilith can see the tips of great trees pierce the sky high above the glistening barrier. Standing up, she tries to brush the dirt from her legs. The dust clings to her and she feels ashamed. She looks around for a pool or river. Somewhere she can wash herself and feel worthy of such beauty. Dust surrounds her. She rubs at the filth with her spit soaked hand. Stubborn streaks of grey grime replace the layer of powder.

‘Father,’ she calls, but He does not answer.

Eyes stinging from the tears she refuses to shed, she walks towards the towering wall. As she gets closer she notices a silver gate. A few more steps and she sees two beautiful short and plump human forms, like children perhaps but Lilith can feel their power even from this distance. They are unlike the children she left behind. In their hands they hold great flaming swords, guards to the entrance of the garden. Will they let her pass?

Each careful step brings her closer to the gate and she feels drawn towards these powerful children. It occurs to her that she might stay here, at the gate with them, and never enter. She could look after them, feed them, tell them stories. She could amuse them, embrace them, even love them. All the feelings she never felt for her own demonic brood fill her now, so that as she reaches the gate she falls to her knees and begs them to let her stay in their presence, to be their friend and mother, to love and protect them.

As the guardians turn away from her, the pure and ethereal rejecting the base and animal, Lilith’s spirit plummets and with it all those soft and nurturing emotions. Without a smile the cherubs open the gates and stand aside. Lowering their swords of fire they turn their heads from her. They will not look into the eyes of their would-be mother. Their only acknowledgement of her existence is an uncomfortable shuffling of their tiny feet and a furrowing of their ageless brows. They want her gone, but they cannot dismiss her. She feels a screech of fury build up inside her, but filled with shame she swallows it and steps through the gate.

Stepping from the wilderness into paradise, Lilith takes a deep breath. The air is fragrant. The smell of flowers fills her nose and throat, a heady scent that feels like tendrils probing her body. Her eyes are assaulted by a billion shades of green, vibrant reds, aggressive yellows and startling oranges. Everything is too vivid, so real as to feel artificial. God’s glory screams from every branch of every tree, every blade of grass and each petal of the thousands of different flowers, which grow around her. She takes a step forward, teetering on her unsteady legs, then falls to the ground.

Lilith opens her eyes.
Have I been unconscious for minutes, hours or days?

She is enveloped in green. Grass tickles her nose and cheeks. Her eyelashes are edged in saffron from clouds of pollen, the brothers and sisters of which still float around her. She doesn’t rush to look away. Two colours are easier than a billion to absorb. She stares at the green and the yellow. She tries to understand them. Looking at her hands she sees the colour of her own skin, a soft brown stretched over a web of blue
. I have colour too. I am the hue of the wilderness. These are the pigments of The Garden.
Brushing the pollen from her eyes, she dares to turn her face upwards. The sky above her is blue, not dark like the moon-ruled universe with which she is familiar. But a softer shade, like the colour she can glimpse at beneath her skin. Lilith is certain the sun blazes somewhere above her although her eyes do not search for it, and yet her skin does not blister or burn, just as God had promised.
What does that mean? Am I no longer demon? If so, then what am I?

Footsteps approach. Plants whisper as something large brushes past them, towards her. She rolls over and looks towards the sound. Above her towers another, a person with a body similar to her own. He, for he is most definitely male, like Samael and yet nothing like her brother, looks down at her and smiles. Lilith’s heart pounds in her chest.
Who is this?
The man is tall and stands incredibly straight. The hand he now extends towards her is huge. She could fit her head inside its palm. His hair is as yellow as the pollen and his eyes as soft as the sky. His skin, although similar to her own, is cleaner, paler and it seems to glow in the sunlight. She looks downward from his delightful face. His body is well made. He looks strong and lean and that organ of Samael’s which Lilith had felt loath to leave behind hangs between these legs too, crowned with vibrant yellow hair, the same shade as falls in waves from his head.
Is this God?
He shines like the sun. Lilith’s eyes water at the sight of him. Fiery pride and shame battle within her. She pushes herself to her feet. He is taller than her but at least now she can feel almost as strong, almost as great as he. His smile never falters. His hand still reaches towards her.

‘Who are you?’ he asks at last. His words are music.

Lilith’s body sways and she struggles to keep her balance. The sweet melody of his question dances around her brain.

‘I am Lilith,’ she answers at last. Her throat feels dry and she wonders if he can hear her rasp.

‘Lilith,’ he repeats, rolling the syllables around his mouth with his tongue. ‘I am Adam.’ Now his hand is at her face, his fingers lift her hair, investigating her. ‘You look like me.’

She looks away from his shimmering skin. ‘If only I weren’t so filthy. Is there water, here in the garden?’

He nods and lets her hair fall from his fingers. Striding away from her, Lilith can see the power of his leg muscles. She runs behind him, trying to keep up with his pace. Beyond the contours of his body she can see the silver shimmer of water. She runs past him and dives into the pool. As the water closes around her she has no fear and no shame. Breaking the surface again, she blinks water from her eyes and searches for him. He squats at the edge of the pool stroking the head of an animal as it laps at the water. The animal stands on four slender legs. Its hair is closely cropped and reddish brown in colour. Its huge brown eyes watch her.

‘What animal is that?’ she asks him.

‘A deer,’ he answers. His voice is soft and full of reverence. ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’

Lilith nods. The animal is perfect.

Lilith rests. It is always like this at first, existing on another plane. It takes a while for her to feel herself. This world will be fun though. She can feel it in every nerve ending. Stepping from Kursiya, through Chaos and onto Malkuth – Earth, she has brought the essence of chaos with her. It rests in every pore, ready to be unleashed.

Her thoughts turn back to the magician.
Why did she let him live? Such arrogance should be punished.
But there is something about his soft white body that draws her to him.
Of course he will be punished, but it will be slow and sweet and I will savour every moment.

Stretching her fingers and toes, she smiles to herself. The memory of last night is delicious. The sensuality of the violence excites her. It is a moment worth reliving. Her would-be rapist and murderer slaughtered by his own blade. Although no two experiences can ever be identical, she will have more moments to cherish. Sex and death: her entire universe.

Rising from her reclined position on the bed, she crosses the room and pulls back a strip of newspaper to look out of the grimy window. The street below is busy now. Men and women in colourful costumes are on display beneath her: night-creatures—drug pushers and HIV-positive hookers. They would succumb too easily, half-dead already. She wants to feel again the sadistic pleasure of shock, disbelief, pain and the refusal to die until the very last moment. If not that then peace, for a while at least, to relive the memories until they lose their shine.

Voices call to her. They do not give her peace and before long she is itching to go outside and play.

What to wear? Yesterday’s corset and mini skirt were perfect for yesterday. But maybe green today?
The decision made she is remodelled by her will. Her hair changes from long pillar-box red to an auburn Cleopatra style bob with a heavy fringe. Her leather bodice is absorbed back into the skin it came from and an emerald silk blouse, open dangerously low, grows like ivy in its place clinging to her breasts and stomach. The hem of her skirt moves downwards and a split from knee to pelvis opens along her left thigh. She keeps the green eyes; they remind her of her time in The Garden.

These dark streets are filled with the city’s secrets. Visitors pass through looking for sights not listed in
Tourist Information
. Cars cruise by at walking pace. Women move forwards and back like the tide, some becoming passengers for a while, others retreating into doorways. Music is everywhere. The heavy beats and fast lyrics of rap and dance music float from open windows. The smell of fried chicken, mutton fat and spices hang heavy in the air.

With no fixed destination she moves towards the city centre. People surge out of theatres and into bars to impress their friends or partners with their knowledge and insight. Taxis collect fares, queuing in the shifting light of headlamps and man-made waterfalls.

She chooses a rum bar. A quiet place emitting a warm red glow,
The Lucifernum
, the irony of the name is not lost on her. She settles onto a vinyl barstool and stretches her legs. The oily, dark-haired bartender hurries towards her.

‘Something fiery,’ she tells him.

He nods and shuffles away in silence. With reverence he places a squat glass on the bar. Igniting the gloomy liquid, he smiles as tongues of flame lick hungrily at the air between them. Reflecting the bartender’s smile, Lilith lifts the glass and downs the drink without extinguishing the fire. She feels his steady stare and nods to him.

‘Give me something longer this time,’ she says.

Moments later a tumbler of amber liquid sits on the bar before her. She picks it up and wanders around the room. With its flagstone floor and curved walls it feels like being underground. The render on the walls looks moist, almost like living tissue. She has to touch it to know it is solid. Hung around the walls are baroque pseudo-Catholic renditions of saints, covered in gilt and rich oils, except that each has its breasts or genitals exposed and the look of sexual ecstasy on its face. Lilith approves. Such art might look good in her humble room.

The bar is empty except for a table of card players intent on their game, and the bartender who watches her in fascination. She sees a dark archway at the far wall and wanders through. A long dimly lit hallway stretches before her. Striding along it, she passes a child gate on her left. Two sleek Dobermans cower behind it, whimpering. Lowering her face to theirs she strokes their bony heads. Tails wag, delighted to be accepted. Ahead are three doors; two of which have signs which mark them as toilets. The other displays a metal plate etched with the word PRIVATE. She tries the one marked private, but it is locked. Turning the handle again, she shoves the door and it swings open.