Rachel has already learned that Saturn is just another name for the demon Moloch in the early part of Rachel and the Many-Spledored Dreamland. She speaks to her Elf about the dangers awaiting them due to the rise of this terrible force. It is in this conversation that Rachel first hears a name that will mean nothing to her during her Freshman year but may come to mean a great deal in years to come.
Here is the scene:
Footsteps on the staircase. The tall elf woman glided back down, followed by a pale Zoë who was holding the right side of her stomach.
“Miss Elf,” Rachel curtsied politely—she felt too shy to call the great woman by her name, “do you know if there is a temple to Saturn anywhere in the world? Or whether the demon who wishes to summon him up will have to consecrate a new one?”
“A temple to Saturn?” Something like fear moved behind the stars that served the tall, graceful being for pupils. “No. Not that are standing. He was overthrown.”
“So…if someone wanted one, they’d need to consecrate the ground first, on the dark of the moon, right?”
“You mean defile,”—the Elf drew herself up. She seemed to tower above the rest of them, vast and terrible in her majesty—“not consecrate. They would need to defile the ground with the blood of a loved one, probably a youth or child.” She shuddered. “’Tis a vile ceremony. Why do you ask?”
“Some lesser demon wants to call up the demon who was also named Saturn.”
“She means Muldoon or Memphis? Something like that,” volunteered Sigfried, trying to lick the sticky marshmallow innards off the several-thousand-dollar ruby on the tip of his wand.
“I know of whom she speaks.” Illondria’s voice was soft like a distant wind. “Please, never say his name. Especially here.”
“They are trying to summon him,” Rachel said worriedly.
The elf woman lay a comforting hand on Rachel’s arm. “Fear not, little one. There’s no danger of his coming.”
“Then he is not dangerous?” Rachel asked hopefully.
“Oh, he’s dangerous! He is the most dangerous of them all, save one. But he is…” the elf woman glanced up and to the south, though whether she was looking at the polished wood of the chamber wall, into her dreams, or beyond to some distant land or vision, Rachel could not tell, “ … otherwise occupied. He will not come.”
“He almost came at Beaumont. He threw Siggy from the tower.”
“What?” The elven woman’s skin grew several shades less luminescent as if her blood carried a glow that diminished when it ran from her face. “No. It must not be! You are certain?”
Rachel nodded. Illondria whispered something under her breath. Recalling several times, Rachel was nearly certain she had said: “Phanuel’s sacrifice cannot have been in vain!”
“Who is Phanuel?” Rachel asked curiously.
The elf woman gave her a very kind smile. “Someone you would have liked very much.”