Scenting Hallowed Blood (33 page)

‘But we can’t be without an
oracle!’ Jessie exclaimed.

‘I know,’ Meggie answered. ‘But
we must trust in the Shining Ones. They will provide for us. Until
then, we must continue to prime the sites in readiness for the
Advent. Shemyaza is very close to us now, and the night of the
solstice draws nigh. We mustn’t lose heart because some of our
number are abandoning us. This is perhaps a natural result of
Shemyaza’s frequency. He is Change, and the effect of his proximity
is that our weakest links will be broken away. We must comfort
ourselves with the knowledge that we are best rid of them.’

The women glanced at one
another fearfully, wondering if any of them would also prove to be
weak links.

Agatha’s high voice broke the
silence. ‘But Gran, Del is my friend.’

Meggie sighed. ‘Aye, I know,
love. But sometimes we have hard burdens to bear. I’m sorry. You
must forget about him.’

Agatha swallowed, clearly close
to tears. ‘I will!’ she said fiercely. ‘Oh, how could he have been
so stupid!’

The women looked with
tenderness upon Agatha. Tamara had changed the girl’s future for
her. Agatha’s destiny had been linked with Delmar’s. In a few
years’ time, she was to have taken him as her lover for a few scant
nights before he was sacrificed to the elements. Now this
sacrament, this flowered path to womanhood, had been snatched away
from her.

‘Come now,’ Meggie said. ‘We
have work to do this night. Bolster’s Bed awaits our attentions!
Put any thoughts of Delmar or Tamara from your minds. They are no
longer our concern, although I shall do my best to keep a weather
eye on the boy. Tamara’s own actions will give birth to her
punishment.’ She picked up her mug of tea. ‘Drink up, now. It’s a
cold night and we’ve a long walk ahead of us.’

The Pelleth had been preparing
the ancient sacred sites for some time, doing what they could to
prime them for the solstice night, when they believed Shemyaza
would awaken the serpent, and all the sites would be flooded with
energy. They drove in two cars up to the edge of the moorland, and
then proceeded on foot to Bolster’s Bed, a fogou, or underground
artificial burial chamber, where the body of Bolster the Giant was
reputed to lie. Each woman carried a bag containing their ritual
equipment. They were all dressed in black cloaks, beneath which
they wore their ritual robes. The night was dark, so several of the
company carried electric torches, gliding silently past darkened
farms and drowsing sheep. Meggie thought about how, in the old
days, they would have walked by the wavering light of hurricane
lamps, or candle jars, but even the ancient order of Cornish
witches had to make concessions to the century. Now that the
population of ‘outsiders’ had grown, and there were more tourists
about, it was more practical to carry lights that could be switched
on and off with speed and the minimum of fuss. The Pelleth were
adept at melting away into the darkness, if necessary.

The fogou was set into a
hillside, its entrance flanked by listing stones, topped by a
cracked lintel. A curving passageway led to the chamber itself, and
the women had to walk in single file along it. The ceiling was so
low, they had to stoop, and as they eased their way forward, they
were surrounded by an intense perfume of earth. Meggie was
depressed by the evidence of mindless humanity that littered the
floor of the passage: crumpled sweet wrappers, an empty Coke can.
She gestured for one of the company to pick up the offending items
and place them in a carrier bag brought for that purpose.

When they reached the chamber,
Rachel set up a circle of candles and lit them. Lissie prepared the
incense, lighting a charcoal and sprinkling a few fragrant grains
upon its glowing core. Jessie unpacked the spirit bowl, while Betsy
uncapped a wide glass jar of herbal unguent. With her bare fingers,
she scooped out a large handful of the mixture and transferred it
to a silver dish. Meggie took the dish from her and smeared the
unguent at the four elemental quarters, representing air, fire,
water and earth. When the site was finally empowered by the
serpent, the unguent would help open the channels for the energy to
flow.

When all was ready, the women
sat down in a circle. Lissie held the spirit bowl in her lap, and
began to stroke its inner surface with the sounding stick,
conjuring a ringing resonance in the low chamber. The rest of the
women whispered a soft chant and concentrated on the image of their
goddess, Seference: ‘Om Sefer, Tu Sefer, Sefer, Sefer, Sahar.’
Gradually, their voices rose in timbre and the song of the spirit
bowl rang out, enhancing the inherent energies of the site. As
their chant intensified, the Conclave felt the tired, latent
dynamism around them start to hum and wake up. Soon it vibrated
throughout their bodies. Their actions were not enough to awaken
the serpent fully, but they could make it shift in its sleep.

As the energy and sound swirled
around them, Meggie addressed the ancient Giant king who was buried
there. ‘You will soon awaken, Ancient One. Your time is near.’

‘Your time is near!’ echoed the
company.

The women didn’t stay long at
the Penhaligons’ that night, and the cheerful banter that usually
took place around the table after a night’s work was absent.
Although the Conclave had succeeded in forgetting their dilemmas
during their ritual, gloom descended upon them once the work was
done. Meggie felt weary herself, and beyond chivvying the rest of
them into lighter spirits.

After the rest of the women had
left, and Agatha had gone to bed, Meggie and Betsy sat alone at
either end of the table. They drank strong, sweet tea in silence,
each lost in her own thoughts. Then Betsy said, ‘Megs, we must see
to the matter of the oracle.’

Meggie nodded. ‘I know.’ She
sighed. ‘We must find a replacement for Delmar very soon.’

‘Tonight,’ Betsy said.

Meggie looked into her sister’s
face. ‘The mirror?’

Betsy nodded. ‘Aye.’

That night, before retiring,
Meggie and Betsy took out their velvet-wrapped scrying mirror. The
two women had already put on their nightgowns and their long grey
hair was braided down their backs. Meggie wore a heavy, fringed
shawl of scarlet wool against the nip of the night-air, while Betsy
was buttoned to the neck in a housecoat of thick pink velour. In a
dark corner of Betsy’s bedroom, which smelled of old face powder,
they sat down upon two stools with the mirror between them. Their
bent heads were almost touching.

‘Seference, show us the face of
he who comes after,’ Betsy said. ‘Show us the face of the oracle,
he who must be ours.’

The dark surface of the mirror
seemed to be the portal to a bottomless void. The suggestion of
faint, distant stars spun in its depths.

‘There,’ Betsy said. ‘I see a
boy. Ah, he is beautiful, and he has the way of wyrd within
him.’

Meggie’s eyes were watering,
and the image of the boy in the glass seemed to be in soft focus to
her. ‘It is Shemyaza’s vizier,’ she breathed. ‘The one named
Daniel.’ She glanced up at Betsy who was still concentrating on the
image. ‘But how can we bring
him
to us?’

‘Through the woman, his
protectress,’ Betsy answered. ‘She has been given extended
life..’

‘Emilia!’ Meggie exclaimed.

Betsy narrowed her eyes at the
mirror. ‘She calls herself Emma now.’

Meggie shook her head. ‘But
they are both connected with the Grigori! I don’t like this.’

‘Don’t doubt Seference,’ Betsy
said without rancour. ‘She would never speak false. The opportunity
will come to us. I’ve a feeling, because of Miss Trewlynn mucking
around, Daniel Cranton will want to work with us.’

‘Tamara won’t have that much
influence,’ Meggie said. ‘She’s no threat to anyone.’

Betsy shook her head. ‘She will
cause tremors in the earth and the aether. Like a midge, she’ll
buzz in our ears and be too quick for us to swat.’

‘Perhaps,’ Meggie murmured,
shaking her head. ‘But if this Daniel is Shemyaza’s vizier, he will
have great sight. He will know how the office of oracle must end.
He won’t want to offer up his life for us.’

‘We must reach him through the
woman,’ Betsy repeated. ‘When the serpent wakes, every man and
woman in the land will become aware of their destiny, and if that
is to be sacrifice, so be it. Everyone will accept their
portion.’

Meggie frowned, still staring
into the mirror. ‘I don’t like the idea of attracting Grigori
followers. We have always shunned the Grigori and their kind.’

Betsy nodded. ‘True. But this
is a changing time, Megs. We have to make good use of the tools
that fall in our lap, no matter how sharp they seem to our clumsy
fingers.’ She turned the mirror over and reached for its velvet
wrap. ‘The time will come, you’ll see. We’ll need to expend no
effort to bring the boy to us.’

The Parzupheim in the United Kingdom
and Ireland consisted of representatives from twelve Grigori
families. Enniel Prussoe administered the ancient kingdom of
Cornwall, while his colleagues held sway in other parts of England,
Ireland, Scotland and Wales. To the Grigori, all of the countries
and islands around England were one, known as the empire of
Albion

They began arriving at High
Crag around mid-day, when Austin came to wake Shemyaza with a tray
of lunch. Having not gone to sleep until well past five in the
morning, neither Daniel nor Shem felt like facing an interrogation
from the Parzupheim. Shem insisted he wanted Daniel to accompany
him to the meeting, although privately Daniel wondered whether
Enniel would allow that. Even though he was now officially a
dependant of the Grigori, having been bestowed longevity, he was
still only human. Austin brought them clean clothes, presumably
donated by Enniel. Daniel, wanting to make a good impression,
dressed himself in a loose white shirt and black trousers, but Shem
pointedly donned the clothes he had arrived in; ripped black jeans
and a faded T-shirt. His hair hung in a matted, pale tangle nearly
to his waist.

‘If the way I look bothers
them, they don’t deserve my attention,’ he said in response to
Daniel’s critical glances.

At two o’clock, Enniel himself
came up to Shem’s room. As Daniel had anticipated, he seemed
reluctant to allow anyone but Shemyaza to attend the meeting, but
Shem was adamant. ‘If Daniel doesn’t come, neither do I.’
Grudgingly, Enniel gave his consent, and led them to a meeting
chamber on the first floor

Daniel was afraid of running
into Taziel, but they saw no-one as they walked along the hushed
corridors, past many closed doors. Enniel halted before a pair of
double-doors, carved with stylised representations of the peacock
angel. He glanced back at Shem. ‘Are you ready?’

Shem shrugged. ‘As I’ll ever
be, I suppose.’

Enniel flung the doors wide and
they went into the room beyond. It was a high-ceilinged chamber,
with long, stained-glass windows flanked by heavy drapes. Natural
light came only dimly into the room.

The Parzupheim were seated
around a round table. Daniel counted twelve men and one woman.

‘That’s Sofia,’ Shem murmured.
‘The mother spider, but I don’t think they realise it.’

Every head, but for Sofia’s,
turned or looked up to regard Shem as he walked towards them. Sofia
concentrated on lighting a cigarette. Daniel was immediately wary
of her. He sensed her power, and the darkness of it.

‘Shemyaza has requested that
his vizier attend this meeting,’ Enniel said, as he gestured for
Shem and Daniel to take a seat facing the window.

Daniel sat down nervously. His
position made it difficult to see clearly the faces of those
sitting opposite him.

Sofia exhaled a curling serpent
of smoke. ‘That is reasonable enough.’ She smiled at Daniel, but he
couldn’t manage to return it.

Once everyone was seated,
Austin came round with small blue bottles of mineral water and
glasses, which he placed before each attendee. A pen and a
note-pad, embellished with the Prussoe seal, already lay before
every place. The mundanity of it was unnerving. There was a hushed,
expectant atmosphere in the room; people spoke in whispers. Daniel
poured himself some water for his throat was dry. A residue of the
effects of last night’s ritual still shimmered around him; he could
taste the history of the water as he drank it. Over the rim of
glass, he inspected the Grigori around the table. Beautiful men,
like models or actors, but whose eyes burned with cold fire.
They are angels,
Daniel thought.
This is a host of
angels.

Enniel took his seat last and
cleared his throat. He made a small speech about welcoming Shemyaza
to High Crag and introduced his colleagues. While he spoke, Daniel
watched Sofia. When it was her turn to be introduced, she smiled at
the table. It appeared she was based in India and had been allowed
admittance as a ‘foreigner’ only because of her involvement with
the case. ‘Also,’ she interrupted Enniel’s explanation, ‘because
Shemyaza’s advent affects the whole world, not just the empire of
Albion. I sit here as an agent of other Parzupheim.’

And not just that,
Daniel thought.

She gestured languidly at the
men. ‘Of course, we all appreciate Shemyaza’s work must be
initiated here, in these isles.’

‘Really!’ Shem leaned back in
his seat with his arms folded. ‘I’m most interested to hear
how!’

Sofia gave him an appreciative
glance. Daniel realised that she thought Shem and herself were
conspirators. ‘That, I suppose, is another reason why I am here.’
She glanced around the table. ‘May I tell Shemyaza of the
suggestions that have been discussed?’

All assented, although not
without reluctance. Daniel guessed the Parzupheim were
uncomfortable with an outsider taking a leading role in this
business. But Sofia made it known, from her cool glances to her
very body posture, that she had been sent by Grigori who outranked
these men; it shone from her aura as amused defiance.