Bride of the Stone: Circle of Nine Trilogy 2

by Josephine Pennicott

  ‘I recall you speaking to me of the meerwog, and I have scryed her at the dark of the moons. Alas, I could see no obvious cause for the binding. And yet I sense her deep agitation.’ Khartyn said, frowning at Rosedark, who had started on her third portion of cinnamon slice.

  ‘You have reprimanded me many times in the past on the issue of the Borderlands, and I was foolish enough not to listen to your wisdom,’ Mary said, twirling her long braid, a habit that Khartyn had not seen her indulge for many seasons. When she had been a young maid in Faia, and the memory of the terrible slaying of her family was fresh, she would often twirl her hair and clench her teeth. Now the habit had returned.

  ‘I meant no disrespect,’ Khartyn said. ‘But it did always seem foolish to exile the prostitutes and outcasts to the one area. I have heard from my message birds how much the area has deteriorated since they were moved from Faia. I suspect this latest outbreak of killings is not the first time blood has been spilt in the alleyways of the Borderlands.’

  She was interrupted by a small knock at the door. The two maids entered.

  ‘Thank you, Bambi and Krysstti, you can remove the tray now.’

  Silently, the maids did so. ‘I have not seen those two lasses before,’ Khartyn said. ‘They are not from these parts?’

  ‘No,’ Mary said. ‘They are from Barlem. They are both good girls, and eager to please.’ She paused, staring into space. Khartyn was shocked by how much energy had left her body. Now that she had become used to her Glamour, she could see how tired and drawn the normally energetic High Priestess really was.

  ‘I do not sleep well these nights,’ Mary said, noticing Khartyn’s look of concern. ‘Such horrors plague my mind. I have even been recalling the murders from when I lived on Earth.’ She shuddered.

  Mary had originally crossed into Eronth after her entire family had been slain in front of her. The Dreamers had taken mercy on the praying, terrified child, and had swept her into their great arms, transporting her to Faia. Her story had become legendary in Eronth; she was the first Bluite in recorded history to reach a position of power there.

  ‘I have other dark dreams as well,’ Mary confessed in a low voice, the spaces under her eyes smudged dark, her lips blue. ‘Nightmares of the sea, of drowned mermain singing to me with ghostly green hands, twirling seaweed in their hands, thick and green, ready to kill me, to drag me under.’

  Khartyn frowned. Something was terribly wrong here.

  ‘What does it mean, Khartyn?’ Mary asked. ‘Are they mere dreams, or a terrible premonition?’

  Before Khartyn had a chance to reply, there was a knock on the door and Ano, Chief Counsel to Mary, entered the room. As always, the Janusite was immaculately attired in a black shirt with white trousers and polished camel-coloured boots. Khartyn noticed the concerned expression he sent to Mary, and her heart went out to him. It had long been obvious to the Crone that the sensitive, introverted Ano was in love with Mary. Now his two heads rotated slightly, one smiling a greeting to Khartyn and Rosedark, the other gazing into an unspeakable future.

  ‘Are you relating your dreams?’ he asked Mary. ‘Does the Crone have any insight into why these messages are coming at this particular time?’

  ‘The Dreamers move in mysterious ways,’ Khartyn replied. ‘But their language is often couched in symbols that are of particular importance to us at the time. I will consult my dream bones for you, if you desire. And I hear there are many powerful Oracles in New Baffin I can confer with.’

  ‘Yes, and there be many charlatans, too!’ Mary said. ‘So be on your guard. Have the giants settled into the outer Borderlands?’ Mary asked Ano.

  ‘No, they are still restless and demanding more territory. However, the area they have their eye on is farming land. I have tried negotiating with the Azephim to release some of their land, but I might as well talk to the moons. The Azephim refuse to enter into any discussions, and the giants are threatening to invade Faia village.’ Mary sighed deeply, a crease marking her forehead.

  ‘I will ride out this afternoon and speak to them. What of the Sun God Lugh? Were there any casualties this year from his appearance?’

  ‘It was not as bad as last year, Mary,’ Ano replied. ‘There were, however, two small children who disobeyed their mother’s instructions not to gaze upon his face. Their eyes have been singed, but they will recover, according to our chief Crones.’

  Khartyn nodded thankfully, while Mary thinned her lips in exasperation that her orders to avoid the Sun God’s face had been ignored. Rosedark longed to question Ano over the identity of the children, in case they were related to her, but dared not risk Khartyn’s ire if she displayed an idle curiosity. She wished the cinnamon slice had not been removed.

  ‘What of the Circle of Nine? Have they settled down yet?’ Mary asked.

  ‘The Virgins claim Bwani has been depressed and withdrawn.’ Ano stated. Khartyn looked at Rosedark with a small smile, and Mary caught the look.

  ‘I know,’ Mary said. ‘The Virgins are so devoted to the stones! They sense every little mood change. They would lay down their lives for them without thinking. Are the Wizards deserving of such amour, I wonder? At the moment, the Virgins are worked up because a young Imomm was spotted communing with Bwani.’

  ‘The Imomm?’ Khartyn said. ‘That is indeed curious. I was always under the impression that the Imomm tended to avoid the Circle, fearing the dormant power of the Wizards within.’

  ‘Who knows how the Faery people think?’ Mary said. ‘Trying to follow Faery logic is like trying to hold a snowflake and equally as futile.’ She sounded tired and drained, and Khartyn knew it was time for them to take their leave. The High Priestess had a full day of negotiations and duties ahead.

  As they were saying their goodbyes, Mary broke with tradition and embraced Khartyn warmly. ‘Keep yourself safe in New Baffin, Old One,’ she cautioned. ‘If there is a Lightcaster working in Eronth, you may well be his next target.’

  ‘Don’t fret, Mary, I will keep my magical circle around me at all times. I will do my best for you in New Baffin.’

  ‘Thank you, Crone,’ Mary smiled, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘It means so much to me to have people that I can trust around me. It appears the numbers grow fewer with every Turn of the Wheel.’

  Khartyn left the High Priestess, deeply disturbed. If murders were occurring in the backstreets of Faia, then darkness had indeed fallen upon their land, and Mary’s power was threatened.

  Giving their ilkamas some fresh water from a well outside Shellhome, Khartyn and Rosedark tethered them to the shade of a tree and walked into the markets, which were already in full swing. The travelling dentist was pulling teeth to the excitement of the crowd who had gathered to watch. Exotic snake women from the cave of the pythoness were belly dancing and shimmying, their scaly lithe bodies glistening in the light, their tongues flickering out of their mouths as they worked the crowd up. Skin pullers were engaged in a fierce battle; two teams faced each other over a small fire, engaged in an earnest tug of war with a long dried piece of ilkama hide, as the crowd cheered support and made bets over who would be tugged into the flames first. Whittlers, carvers and embroiderers displayed their wares, and jugglers juggled burning torches and sharp knives. Professional storytellers, the layscops, sat in different corners of the market, with crowds in front of them subordinate to their skill. A variety of musical instruments sounded in the air — pan pipes, harp-bone whistles and drums — and also clinging to the air was the tantalising odour of hot nuts, Goza and sweet-potato pancakes. Due to the Lughnasadh festival, there were many wooden tables heaped with loaves of grain breads, oatcakes, grapes, apples, corns and vegetables.

  Avoiding the more garish distractions at the market, which had lately begun to escalate with every Turn of the Wheel, Khartyn and Rosedark made their way to the pulses and grains section. Thanks to their unexpected trip to New Baffin, they would not have to purchase the quantities of black-eye beans, rice and kidney bean
s that Khartyn had been expecting, just enough to tide them over until their departure.

  Carefully selecting her supply of grains, Khartyn had the disconcerting impression there was something lurking near, just out of her field of vision. She quickly turned — nothing. Only grey dust floated in the light.

  ‘Old Mother?’ Rosedark was watching her in concern.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Khartyn replied, but she felt as jumpy as a Faery cat. She was dimly aware of snatches of the jostling crowd’s conversation.

  ‘His throat cut . . .’

  ‘There’s no work, there’s nowt for my young Ben. It breaks my heart to send him, but . . .’

  ‘I mean, how can it be? I’ve never heard such rubbish! Sea Hags walking the land? Faery tales!’

  ‘If she would let the Faery kingdoms have their rightful place . . .’

  ‘The Janusite has her ear, but I heard he seeks the power for himself. . .’

  ‘Black, her face was black, and he had used his own belt . . .’

  ‘Perhaps the Ghormho was right. A woman doesn’t understand the old ways. Our ways . . .’

  ‘I heard she wants to put a stop to the tithing, not just that, but all sacrifices . . .’

  ‘Where are the bloody goddesses when you need them? Putting all their energies into fancy New Baffin, I’ll wager! They don’t care about the likes of us!’

  Voices, some spoken out loud, some only thoughts in the head, flailed Khartyn like so many whip lashes. She cast her eye over the market. She saw the familiar Faiaite market stand keepers. Three Islaes stood tall above the crowd, shopping for the dark, leafy vegetables they enjoyed so much. Imomm Faeries darted amid the people, looking for money purses left carelessly dangling, a Faiaite child unattended for just one breath. Janusites strolled with Faiaites.

  They were the same familiar faces the Crone had been accustomed to seeing for what seemed like centuries. Never before, however, had she been witness to such discontent. They must have been aware that the Crone could read their minds, but they did not trouble to guard their thoughts. Why? Khartyn could not understand how such a great heaviness had come upon Faia. She listened, as the whispers flew around her.

  On the ride home to Dome Cottage, it began to drizzle. Rosedark burst into a pleasing melody, her spirits lifted at the thought of being by the sea air, but the Crone remained silent. Her back was sore and she felt an aching in her temples. In her pain she ignored the Lughnasadh mourning procession which they overtook on its way into Faia, led by a young man carrying a hooped wreath. Her mind was too filled with residue from the enmity she had witnessed at the markets. Her palms were clammy, and fear throbbed in her mouth as she heard the mocking echo of an uncertain future resounding within her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A soft rain fell upon the Circle of Nine, drenching the Virgins as they completed their daily ritual to the petrified Wizards. Their white gowns moulded to their bodies, and they huddled near Bwani for warmth, singing to pass the time. Their voices harmonised as they sang of ‘far-off magical lands’, of ‘exotic yellow men with angel blood and the faces of lions’, of ‘tiger women, white and deadly, with women’s breasts’.

  From inside his stone prison, Bwani heard their voices. His senses, finely honed after an eternity encased in stone, heard other voices as well: the soft flapping of owls in the sky, the cries of Persephone trapped under the Underground. He heard Aphrodite weep as she mourned her slain lover, and he heard the low menacing rumbling of the Eom as it called to him, willing him to life. As he stood impassively listening, he heard the cry of a Faian baby being born and a million prayers and a thousand deaths. But he waited, enclosed in his coffin, ears straining, forever straining to hear the one sound that had come to matter the most to him: the beating of Maya’s heart.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Chosen One answers the call. The Tomb Goddess smiles. The one that he seeks is always with him. The moons shower gifts of learning upon him.

  Blessed, blessed is the one who the Scribes thus honour.

  Blessed is he who enters the chambers of his own mind.

  But his winter will be cold.

  — Condensed from the Tremite Book of Life, Column LVI 0QA

  Gwyndion’s feet ached, burned, throbbed. Each step was a sharp reminder of the raw, angry blisters covering his ankles and soles. He longed to plant himself in soil and rest. But all such thoughts of comfort vanished from his mind when he first reached the elaborately carved gates of New Baffin.

  Fire torches flickered along the length of the wall that graced the stone inscription, Behold, we are born from the great Shell, from the grey and misty sea. Learn now the mystery of the ebbing and flowing tides oh ye that were before the earth was formed. There was no time to contemplate the ancient meaning behind the words. His only emotion was relief that the long trek was over.

  He stood with Samma, gazing up at the statues of Aphrodite on the gates. The stone wall featured columns of statues of the Tomb Goddess, leaping dolphins and lions. They could smell the sea calling to them, and their excitement began to rise. Samma, unable to contain her agitation, yelped out aloud, which brought an elderly guard, with ginger whiskers, scurrying to the gate.

  ‘Hail, travellers, and Merry Meet! For what purpose do you seek entrance past the stone Arzeel?’

  Pondering Arzeel’s identity, Gwyndion glanced around him and saw that what he had assumed to be part of the great stone wall, protecting the town, was actually a massively carved stone lion.

  ‘Merry Meet,’ Gwyndion replied, bowing low. ‘Samma and I have journeyed from Faia village, under the orders of the High Priestess of Faia, to seek tutelage in New Baffin.’

  The sentry reached for a chunky piece of quartz crystal and ordered Gwyndion to put his hand out. On Gwyndion’s wrist, Mary had placed an invisible tattoo of her crest, which the sentry now saw revealed under the ray of the quartz. He motioned for Samma to be placed before him. The tattoo had also been placed on the Meerwog’s soft underbelly, and Samma obligingly dropped onto her back, paws up in the air, so the sentry could view the marking. With a grunt, the sentry opened a small side door that was camouflaged to blend in with the wall. Feeling a rush of anticipation and a sense of his destiny unfolding, Gwyndion stepped forward with Samma in his arms.

  Although the sea could not be glimpsed from where they stood, it was obvious that this was a coastal city. The odour of salt and brine permeated the air, and sand lay mixed with dirt on the ground. In every direction that Gwyndion looked, there were people walking broad, cobbled streets. There were sailors clothed in bright baggy trousers and shirts, with bandannas over their heads and elaborate tattoos that detailed the sea dragons and mermaids they had seen. Women, with red dye covering their faces and serpents draped around their bodies, glanced at the Webx and his meerwog with curiosity. Their gowns were more elaborate in cut and style than those seen in Faia. Many of the men’s tunics displayed the frilled collars that were the fashion in Faia and, like the Faians, the older the male, the more elaborate the frill. But unlike the villagers who favoured neutral, earthy colours in their attire, the New Baffinites wore a lot of black and silver. Wimples were still worn by many of the women, but several of the younger women had shaved heads, or sported short haircuts which they had bleached peroxide-blonde. Gwyndion admired the large, elaborate belts many of the men wore around their waists. Younger men wore long flowing skirts in place of breeches in shades of red and grey and in materials of velvet. Many of the exotically dressed people rushing past Gwyndion wore long painted shoes and the length of the women’s skirts were far shorter than any he had observed in Faia. Several of the inhabitants were winged.

  Scallop shells, periwinkles and bright green ferns covered the smart red, black and white buildings. Mirrors were hung at strategic places to remind the New Baffinites to know themselves. Doves of multiple colours gathered in their thousands and cooed softly. White marble statues of Aphrodite, all varying sizes, lined the streets and building
s. Overhead, seabirds squawked as they flew about their business.

  Behind the imposing great wall that blocked the entrance to the city was the crumbling, antediluvian wall of Old Baffin. The more Gwyndion looked, the more he could see traces of the archaic city that had flourished before the Great Flood of Unah. Ancient stone buildings groaned beneath modern establishments. Street stalls and stores sold unimagined modern wares right next to crumbling statues of gods with forgotten names, always overlooked by new gleaming statues of Aphrodite. The two cities, ancient and modern, coexisted together companionably.

  Gwyndion felt as if forgotten secrets danced in the air. Wherever he looked there were new sights, sights he had only read about in history books. The double-sexed people, the hermaphrodites, fascinated him with their faces a perfect balance of male and female. Another more shocking contrast to Faia was the prevalence of prostitutes. Lounging in shop doorways in seductive poses, they were everywhere. They sat gossiping to friends in the street, stroking cats, smoking cigarettes. The Webx could smell aphrodisiac oils drifting from the pores of their tanned skins as they begged Gwyndion to spend some time with them.

  *

  As always, the Webx and his meerwog attracted attention wherever they went, even in the middle of a city as bustling as New Baffin. Very soon a large audience had gathered around them. Samma mewed threateningly at the New Baffinites, just enough to let them know to be wary. A small, youthful hermaphrodite, wearing a crimson tunic with a grey skirt to his knees, black stockings and a crimson velvet cap, his dark hair in a short swinging bob, pushed some prostitutes out of the way to get a closer look at the Webx.