and pruned among
the riot of foliage. Plants from many different climates flourished
together; fan-leaved ferns next to tiny desert flowers. Among the
huge, obsidian glass domes of the green-houses, waterfalls flashed
from terrace to terrace; rainbow light danced in the air. Once, in
a far distant life, Daniel had been born in this place, nurtured to
be Shemyaza’s vizier. How different his role had become in
comparison to the days of leisurely contemplation, when he’d scryed
the universe for his master, spellbound by rarefied ideas and
abstract thoughts. Shemyaza and he we now firmly entrenched in the
new century of their birth, as alien to their past selves as spirit
forms were to humans.
Ishtahar waited for him beneath
a spreading cedar, sunlight dappling her bare arms.
‘Why have you brought me here?’
he asked her.
Ishtahar pointed up through the
spreading branches. ‘Look, do you see that white building up there?
That is the house of Shemyaza.’
Reluctantly, Daniel followed
her gaze. ‘Yes, I remember it. Is that what I’m here to see? I need
to know about Gadreel. Shem thinks he’s still alive or has been
reincarnated. Tell me, Ishtahar, is he right? Are there other
Watchers waiting to be found?’
Ishtahar only smiled and, reaching for
his hand, began to lead him through an orchard, where some trees
were in fruit, others not. She chattered constantly, but Daniel
could only pick up fragments of her speech. ‘The Watchers are in
flight. The sand weighs heavily on the past. Listen to the sound of
her feet.’
Daniel knew better than to ask
questions. Ishtahar was a dream vision; he must let her speak as
she willed, and hopefully remember her words for later
analysis.
As they walked, Daniel sensed a
change occurring, a shift in the dream reality. He realised that he
was holding the hand of a child. When he looked down at her, he
recognised Ishtahar’s face, but now she looked no more than seven
or eight years old.
Back in time, Daniel thought.
Younger selves. Ours? Is that where the answer lies?
The child chuckled and planted
her feet firmly on the ground, so that Daniel had to stop walking.
She tugged on his hand to make him squat down before her.
‘Gadreel,’ Daniel said to her,
hoping to provoke some information.
Ishtahar wrinkled up her nose.
‘Hidden in cloth,’ she said. ‘Angry yet proud.’
‘Gadreel is?’
She nodded. ‘On a horse with
tassels. Running hard, ahead of the smell of blood. Hot, cruel
land. Don’t like it.’
‘Who else?’ Daniel asked
gently. ‘Any more?’
‘He works with knives. Unhappy.
He’s forgotten everything, because they made him forget.’
‘What’s his name?’
Ishtahar pursed her lips and
shook her head. ‘It’s the key to the Chambers of Light.’
‘Knives?’
She giggled. ‘No! The key’s
waiting to be found. It was in the Cave of Treasures, but now it’s
in the sky.’
‘Where, Ishtahar?’
‘In the place of beginning,
where the Anannage held dominion.’
‘Here, then,’ Daniel said, his
heart sinking. ‘Eden. What do we do with the key?’
‘Open.’ She giggled again.
‘He’s born for it. He will know.’ Then, she let go of his hands and
went running away swiftly through the trees. Daniel watched her go,
feeling the dream disintegrate in her wake, casting his
consciousness back to a hotel room in London.
In the morning, Daniel
discovered that Shem had already instructed Salamiel to book
flights to Istanbul. ‘We’ll fly into Turkey and take it from
there,’ he told Daniel over breakfast. Salamiel was still in his
bedroom, phoning Grigori agents in an attempt to find last minute
seats. Daniel had no doubt Salamiel would be successful. Everything
was developing as he’d feared.
‘Shouldn’t we think about this
first?’ he suggested. ‘You know, discuss it?’
‘We can talk on the flight.’
Shem paused. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Dreams?’
Daniel sighed. ‘I think you may
be right
the riot of foliage. Plants from many different climates flourished
together; fan-leaved ferns next to tiny desert flowers. Among the
huge, obsidian glass domes of the green-houses, waterfalls flashed
from terrace to terrace; rainbow light danced in the air. Once, in
a far distant life, Daniel had been born in this place, nurtured to
be Shemyaza’s vizier. How different his role had become in
comparison to the days of leisurely contemplation, when he’d scryed
the universe for his master, spellbound by rarefied ideas and
abstract thoughts. Shemyaza and he we now firmly entrenched in the
new century of their birth, as alien to their past selves as spirit
forms were to humans.
Ishtahar waited for him beneath
a spreading cedar, sunlight dappling her bare arms.
‘Why have you brought me here?’
he asked her.
Ishtahar pointed up through the
spreading branches. ‘Look, do you see that white building up there?
That is the house of Shemyaza.’
Reluctantly, Daniel followed
her gaze. ‘Yes, I remember it. Is that what I’m here to see? I need
to know about Gadreel. Shem thinks he’s still alive or has been
reincarnated. Tell me, Ishtahar, is he right? Are there other
Watchers waiting to be found?’
Ishtahar only smiled and, reaching for
his hand, began to lead him through an orchard, where some trees
were in fruit, others not. She chattered constantly, but Daniel
could only pick up fragments of her speech. ‘The Watchers are in
flight. The sand weighs heavily on the past. Listen to the sound of
her feet.’
Daniel knew better than to ask
questions. Ishtahar was a dream vision; he must let her speak as
she willed, and hopefully remember her words for later
analysis.
As they walked, Daniel sensed a
change occurring, a shift in the dream reality. He realised that he
was holding the hand of a child. When he looked down at her, he
recognised Ishtahar’s face, but now she looked no more than seven
or eight years old.
Back in time, Daniel thought.
Younger selves. Ours? Is that where the answer lies?
The child chuckled and planted
her feet firmly on the ground, so that Daniel had to stop walking.
She tugged on his hand to make him squat down before her.
‘Gadreel,’ Daniel said to her,
hoping to provoke some information.
Ishtahar wrinkled up her nose.
‘Hidden in cloth,’ she said. ‘Angry yet proud.’
‘Gadreel is?’
She nodded. ‘On a horse with
tassels. Running hard, ahead of the smell of blood. Hot, cruel
land. Don’t like it.’
‘Who else?’ Daniel asked
gently. ‘Any more?’
‘He works with knives. Unhappy.
He’s forgotten everything, because they made him forget.’
‘What’s his name?’
Ishtahar pursed her lips and
shook her head. ‘It’s the key to the Chambers of Light.’
‘Knives?’
She giggled. ‘No! The key’s
waiting to be found. It was in the Cave of Treasures, but now it’s
in the sky.’
‘Where, Ishtahar?’
‘In the place of beginning,
where the Anannage held dominion.’
‘Here, then,’ Daniel said, his
heart sinking. ‘Eden. What do we do with the key?’
‘Open.’ She giggled again.
‘He’s born for it. He will know.’ Then, she let go of his hands and
went running away swiftly through the trees. Daniel watched her go,
feeling the dream disintegrate in her wake, casting his
consciousness back to a hotel room in London.
In the morning, Daniel
discovered that Shem had already instructed Salamiel to book
flights to Istanbul. ‘We’ll fly into Turkey and take it from
there,’ he told Daniel over breakfast. Salamiel was still in his
bedroom, phoning Grigori agents in an attempt to find last minute
seats. Daniel had no doubt Salamiel would be successful. Everything
was developing as he’d feared.
‘Shouldn’t we think about this
first?’ he suggested. ‘You know, discuss it?’
‘We can talk on the flight.’
Shem paused. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Dreams?’
Daniel sighed. ‘I think you may
be right
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