*
The sepulchral cave temples of the Python Priestesses were a good three hours’ walk from the outer gates of New Baffin. Fortunately, due to their great popularity, the city of New Baffin had supplied a regular form of transport: a coach team that effortlessly transported fifteen seekers at a time in an ilkama-drawn carriage.
Eronth’s vivid scenery never failed to enthral Khartyn. Sometimes it seemed as if you only had to walk ten steps for the geography and fauna to entirely change.
Once they were outside the city gates, she was delighted at the beauty of the desert scenery. A herd of wild white stags gazed at her in shy surprise before they gambolled away. Silver, grey and blue cacti stood, some sixteen feet high, their arms raised to the skies in benediction. Desert flowers flared in brilliant colours among massive silent boulders. In the far horizon, mountain ranges shimmered in shades of ripe plum, silver and fawn. Overhead, the sky, with its triple moons, was a turquoise blue, streaked with splashes of apricot and scarlet.
In deep appreciation Khartyn took belly breaths of the air, which was so pure it seemed to fizz in her lungs. Although she loved and appreciated the action and activity in New Baffin, the tangible odour of lust that hung heavily over the city could be faintly repellent to a Crone who had never had to employ her genitals for pleasure. Any sexual energy that Khartyn possessed over the centuries had always been channelled into healing or magical workings.
The first sign they were nearing the temple caves came when they ventured near a group of serpent shamans. The bird men of the desert were adorned with snake charms and serpent jewellery. Their wings were immense, with glossy black and red feathers. They danced and whirled in a circle, while around them dozens of snakes of all species and sizes slithered in a frenzy. The seekers in the ilkama coach went berserk when they spotted the whirling shamans. There were Crossas on board who desired to disembark and take photos of the snake dance, but the driver refused. The bird men, if they desired, could pick up the coach and contents in their huge hooked claws and take to the skies. The serpents hated their dances to be interrupted.
They came to a large clearing of sun-bleached boulders. Here among the immense stones was the entrance to the caves. Two adult dragons basked in the sunshine outside. The sounds of their purring filled the air. The entire coach fell silent, awed by the sight of the dragons. They were each about the size of a large horse, with serpentine necks and heads, and their open mouths were filled with razor-sharp teeth. Their tails resembled a crocodile’s, swishing in the air menacingly at the interruption to their sunbath. Their bodies were covered in hard scales, and were black, flecked with blue and yellow; their claws were also black and as long as a bear’s. Their eyes were like hard sparkling jewels of dazzling yellow.
The dragons rolled over and got to their feet as the occupants of the coach nervously disembarked.
From between the two dragons stepped a Python Priestess. Her face was chalk-white and she was naked, save for a large python casually draped around her body. She leant on a large golden staff that had elaborate carvings of pythons around it.
‘Hail-seekers!’ she called, her voice sounding like the hiss of a snake. ‘To enter the sepulchral caves to gain the answers that you seek, you must be prepared to take your life in your hands by passing the dragons. If you have ever harmed the dragon blood in any way; shape or form, then you are wise not to pass the guardians, for the scaled beasts of the air have long memories. If, however, you are a genuine seeker and your heart is pure, then have no fear.’ She smiled, indicating with her hands where they should pass.
The dragons breathed out fire, and the group fell back. Gathering her courage, Khartyn stepped forward, respectfully bowing to the dragon guardians before she attempted to enter, slowly walking past them. As she brushed near the dragons’ scaled bodies, an image came to her — of herself advocating for the dragons’ rights when the Azephim began hunting them many years past. Good Crone, a voice echoed in her head. The voice of the dragon! Her heart leapt for joy at their approval.
Slowly, one by one, the seekers entered. One Crossa declined, saying that he would rest in the ilkama coach. His family had been involved in illegal dragon-hunting, and although he had not taken part, he was wary that the guardian dragons would not be forgiving.
Gwyndion carried Samma carefully past them, holding her mouth shut, praying the meerwog would not mew at them. Samma remained silent, but her eyes were round at the unfamiliar odour and appearance of the dragon guardians.
When they had passed safely, they found themselves in a large dark cave. Stone steps were cut into the side wall of a downwards passage. Khartyn knew from her studies that the cave temples were beneath the floor where they stood. Many of them were closed to the seekers and were used purely for holy mystery rites.
The caves had an unpleasant odour lingering under the incense. It was the smell of many women living together, and of course the snakes that filled the chambers. Khartyn imagined she could feel things brushing against her as she stood in the gloom, and she wasn’t surprised when she felt Rosedark’s hand sneak into her own for support.
Taking a fire lamp from the trestle fixed into the stone wall, the priestess indicated the group should follow her downwards. The air became thinner as they descended, and Khartyn could feel several members of the group begin to hyperventilate. She sent light to them, hoping to alleviate their distress. Rosedark was stumbling, and Khartyn pursed her lips together irritably. She had warned the maid against wearing those confounded high-heel boots today, but Rosedark had taken little notice of her, eager as she had been to impress Gwyndion with her finery. Mentally she promised to give her a tongue-forking later for her vanity.
They continued walking for what seemed hours. At various sections, lamps were placed in the wall, illuminating fantastic cave paintings of snakes and snake history.
Finally they reached the level of the cave temples. Here the odour of snakes and women was even more pungent. There were several rooms leading off the stone corridor, but the priestess indicated that they should enter the first room to their left. A stifled gasp rose from the group when they entered the stone room. It was an impressive sight. Khartyn had never seen so many snakes in one place.
You had to be wary where you tread upon the floor in order to avoid stepping on one of the thousands of wriggling bodies. Snakes hung from the ceiling of the cave and writhed in mating rituals on the walls. They draped casually over statues and bowls of fruit that were used as offerings on a simple wooden altar.
Around the walls were the Snake Priestesses, partially camouflaged by the heavy incense smoke in the cave. Drifts of opium and hemp began to lull the group’s fears as they stood, eyes wide at the scenes before them.
The priestesses were all naked, with white-painted faces. They stood like silent ghosts, eyes fixed firmly on other worlds. In the centre of the room was the Oracular Priestess, and the group dropped to their knees in front of her. She was an awe-inspiring sight as she sat upon a tripod speculum throne, where her menstrual flow could be clearly observed by the seekers. Her face, unlike the others, was covered by the skins of snakes that had been fashioned together into a large snake head.
Torches of fire ringed her, and at the four quarters surrounding her throne were laid out offerings to the elementals. There was a hushed silence. One of the Crossas sobbed quietly as some buried sadness began to emerge from his body, from where the soul had concealed it. Another lay on the ground, eyes rolled back, lost in an ecstatic experience.
The Oracle pointed at Gwyndion and Samma and indicated they should approach her. With knees that shook slightly, Gwyndion carried Samma to the speculum throne. He was shocked by the size of a gigantic python that curled around the Oracle. How had he not noticed it before? Its enormous coils were brilliant jewels in colours of red, gold and bright green. Dimly he was aware that one of the seekers had run from the cave, overcome by the presence of the thousands of snakes. He was relieved that Samma seemed to be
tranquillised from the opium and hemp. He was sure she would have disgraced herself by mewing at the giant python.
‘Do you know me, Webx?’ The voice that came from the Oracle was an elongated hiss that ricocheted off the walls of the cave. Against his will, Gwyndion found himself staring into her eyes, while the priestesses against the wall sang with voices that slithered and were heartbreaking in their beauty.
‘Do you know the Oracle? Do you see what lies in the face of the snake?’
A memory came to Gwyndion, of himself trembling, buried deeply in the earth, as the face of the Snake Crone looked down upon him.
He nodded. ‘I know you.’
A priestess threw more opium onto the dish, causing him to jump.
‘Know thyself, fool,’ the Oracle hissed. ‘Worlds have fallen, mankind is weak, all around me is worship of false gods, empty idols. The Webx are dying and the disease will spread. Dark angel and light angel are not immune. From the ground comes salvation. Lose yourself, find yourself. It is all one. You will be a leader, but that too will pass. Shadows, there are only shadows. Let go of your fears, the only Wastelands you have to traverse are inside yourself. The ego will be ripped from you. Maybe the body will survive, maybe not. It will continue, the pain will continue; the Eom has marked you, history will record you as great and noble, not the fearful creature you see yourself. Maids will sing your praises and battles will be fought in honour of you, and mankind will be foolish enough to believe their own lies . . . Sssshh!! The meerwog will break the spell and free you. You are free, but bound by your own chains. I will come to you in a dream as you lie in the world of the dead and give you guidance. Let scales grace your dreams. Sssshhh!’
Doped, Samma just managed to mew her thanks before her eyes glazed over. The Oracle’s hand pointed at Gwyndion, her long black fingernails waving slowly in the air, hypnotising him.
‘The Great Snake has entered your body, awakening the centres in your spine. He lives in you. Let him breathe, let him speak!’ The reptile head lolled back, and Gwyndion was led back to the floor by one of the priestesses.
At the base of his spine he could feel an energy beginning to move, come to life. He felt unable to assimilate the information the Snake Priestess had given him.
He watched as Khartyn and Rosedark were taken to face the Oracle. Inside himself, a memory came into being: a Webx Elder, dancing with wild abandonment in the sunlight, hands transmuting into branches — pure joy, pure power. It was Tanzen, his handsome face lit up with health and vitality. A sap tear began to form in Gwyndion’s eyes at joy that was lost, at innocence that had been destroyed when lives had been shattered and sap had been spilt.
Khartyn stood in front of the Oracle with bowed head. She felt the Priestess probing her mind, her memory banks and dreams. A black forked tongue flicked from between the snake lips as she sat silently watching them. Khartyn could easily feel it was herself sitting on the speculum. It was her flow that dripped down her leg, entering the funnel. It was her hands on the side of the throne, and her face that lay disguised under the heavy reptilian mask. She looked out at herself. An ancient, fragile, wise being. She was shocked to see how wizened and aged she was.
A lot has been given to you, Crone,’ the Oracle hissed. A lot will be demanded. Sssshhhh! You are filled with fears regarding the future of Faia. You hang onto the moment, to the old ways. Holding on blocks your own change. Watch and accept the drama that will follow. You are powerless to prevent the situation from escalating. The Dreamers move in the Shell, and all our sleeps are disturbed, and if we dream the dreams of a madman, then sleep peacefully. Sssshhhh! Put your affairs in order, Crone, tend to your own garden. There is more work for you to do, but it will not be the work you expect. Many hearts will be broken, but hearts can mend. All snakes acknowledge you as one of their own. Your scaled children honour you.’
Khartyn dipped her head in acknowledgment of the message, but her eyes remained sad at not hearing the words of comfort that she had craved.
The Oracle now fixed its reptilian cold eyes upon Rosedark. ‘Maid, you have served your Crone well. You would have been a worthy priestess of these sacred caves. You have important work to do, but it does not concern these worlds. Your body aches for love, but there is no love like the love of the serpent king. Sssshhhh! I will send him to you in your dream state to give you release. You are bound to the Dreamers in service, you have many old debts to repay, and the Dreamers can make or break, create or destroy. Out of suffering and pain, beauty and truth are learned. Embrace the dark and the light snake within.’
‘The Oracle fell back, head lolling, and Khartyn and Rosedark looked at each other, knowing the interview was at an end.
The remainder of the interviews were a blur for Khartyn. She sat cross-legged as her mind opened up to strange and frightening visions: of angels with soft voices and full sensual lips that kissed the kiss of death to all who came near; of worlds that were crying out under the strength of the toxic thought patterns choking them; of civil wars where fathers slit the throats of sons under the jeering gaze of invading soldiers, who forced them to sodomise their own children. She witnessed a great golden snake that stretched for thousands of miles. It was twisted around the worlds, half choking on the negativity that emanated out from some planets. The snake was weakening, Khartyn realised. It helped to support the worlds, but gradually the toxic vibration was overwhelming it. It was shedding its skin, shaking off golden scales. Great grey patches remained where the scales had been. Religions crashed, gods were overtaken and empires dissolved into time. If the Great Snake died, then the worlds would come to an end, and the Dreamers would dream a different dream.
Then Khartyn saw herself, as a small child, recently born, sitting in a forest glade. Light speckled through the trees, and a great Stag Man watched over her in this holy place. Above her shone the triple moons of Eronth. She was near Faia village, Khartyn realised, but it was Faia centuries ago.
Bright blue bindiwits hung from the trees and a bonelynx put his yellow lion face through the surrounding ferns and mewed. Winskis circled spitrees who peeped shyly out at the baby Khartyn from the safety of their trees. Extinct beings, Khartyn realised with a throb in her chest area. Once they had all flourished in Eronth, but the Azephim angels had hunted them into oblivion.
Around the baby Khartyn was a pile of sand and fragments of a shell. There was a strange humming note in the air. She was witnessing her own birth, Khartyn realised with excitement. With deep insight, she saw a peasant couple from Faia who had snuck away to make love in the forest. She could hear the woman’s cries of passion as the man thrust inside her. The Stag Man looked at her with his great velvet eyes that contained all knowledge.
The baby Khartyn stood up; it was time to leave, an incarnation was about to take place.
‘I will miss you, dear friend,’ she said. The Stag Man put back his head and howled. He looked at Khartyn tenderly.
‘You will forget me,’ he promised. ‘They all do.’
He began to turn in circles, his heels striking the earth, creating sparks as he spun and vanished into white floating dust. The waiting forest seemed to howl with loss. The baby Khartyn felt the memory of him already beginning to dissolve, and she welcomed the feeling. It would be less painful that way. Slowly, onerously, she began to walk with tottering steps towards the source of the cries of passion. The man was about to climax, and she had to be there to enter them when he did.
*
The Oracle had ceased talking. She sat staring straight ahead, lost in a trance world, while her menstrual blood continued to slowly drip. She had removed her reptile head, and Khartyn could see she was a young fair-haired woman with the same white-chalk face as the others. She looked tired, drained, as she sat upon the speculum. So where had the forked tongue come from? the Crone wondered as she got shakily to her feet. She had been blest, she realised, with the picture of her incarnation that had occurred so many centuries before. She felt tears stinging he
r eyes.
Before she left, she placed a substantial donation in the tithing tin before the altar. Priestesses flanking the wall sang sweetly as the seekers began to leave the cave.
Blessings upon you whom the Snake has spoken to. Blessed is the seeker who embraces the coils of the Snake. Keep us alive in your prayers and in your children’s minds. May the ones who bleed be always safe, hailed art thou among women. Blessed is the name of the Scaled One.
It was not until Khartyn was blinking in the harsh light outside the cave’s entrance that she realised Kaliegraves had not sought guidance from the Oracle.
Her old friend was seated near the ilkama coach, patting the ilkamas and talking to the seekers who had left the grotto. At Khartyn’s raised eyebrow, she smiled shamefacedly.
‘All right, I confess, I left the room early. Before we arrived, I was filled with curiosity at what the Oracle would pronounce, but once I saw the Oracular Priestess, a feeling of dread came upon me. I knew she was the genuine article, and I became petrified of her prophecies. Heft the cave quickly.’
Khartyn looked at her, disturbed by the admission. Kaliegraves was one of the most level-headed, courageous Crones she knew. But the fear that hovered in Kaliegraves’s eyes begged her not to speak of the matter any further, and so Khartyn remained silent.
Not so Rosedark and Gwyndion. They were overwhelmed by their experience in the caves and spent the entire journey back to New Baffin discussing every little aspect of it, attempting to analyse every syllable the Priestess had uttered and laughing about the fears that had sprung inside them when they had first entered the cave.
Samma lay in a pleasant opiated dream, experiencing incredible visions that she could not articulate. But Khartyn stared out at the desert plains where, amongst the cacti and the dewbeds, a Stag Man galloped, wild, blazing with light, and free.
Bride of the Stone: Circle of Nine Trilogy 2 Page 15