She approached the dock area. Her heart beat heavily in her chest at the memory of the last time she was here. A prostitute slept in the arms of a drunken sailor, her make-up smeared, her ample breasts pulled from her dress. Aphrodite gazed upon her sleeping child and blessed her. The docks were silent, the great ships were out at sea. The sea lapped coldly against the shore of New Baffin, Seabirds rose in the dawn sky with harsh cries.
Taking no heed of the cold, the Tomb Goddess stripped herself of her robes. Her naked body was gleaming, every muscle perfectly defined. Her breasts jutted out, intricate tattoos encircling them. She unbound her gleaming hair. She could feel the presence of unseen beings celebrating her beauty, but she refused to acknowledge them.
The ocean was silky when she stepped into it. She had no fear of the sea serpents, sharks and Merpeople inhabiting this realm, for the ocean was her natural home. Born from the severed bloody genitals of Cronus, when they had been tossed to the waves, she was both genital- and ocean-born. The creatures of the sea respected her privacy as she bathed in the purifying waters. They were near, she could hear their breathing, but none dared to invite her wrath by approaching her. Yellow jasmine flowers floated near, a sly gift from the Merpeople, and tears finally spilled from her eyes, dropping into the water as fire jewels. She could still smell her lover’s remains in the ocean. She shared this water with the dismembered body of her beloved. It seemed she floated in the ocean for hours.
A finger of light was beginning to point across the sky. A new day was poised, waiting to begin. She saw the fire torches of her priestesses approaching, and stood on the waves to receive them. Her hair was whipped wildly around her by the wind. Her Brides dropped to their knees in supplication. They had been fasting for days for this sacrament, this holy rite. Their veils blew in the wind, covering their faces. They flanked the dock, watching with awed silence as the Tomb Goddess slowly made her way to shore walking on the water.
The oldest Bride, her wrinkled naked body so saggy it threatened to slip from her shoulders at any moment, carried a golden casket. Aphrodite felt a sob in her throat when she spotted the familiar casket. The other half of Adonis’s remains were concealed inside the box. Today the second half of the ritual would be completed. The Brides began to chant.
‘Othum! Othum! Halo! Othum! Bee-like, deathlike, now you float in the air. You are lost, speaking to us only in thoughts and dreams. Hail, Artemis! Cerridwen, Shakti, Shekinah, Tara, Tiamat, Arachne, Freya, Gaia, Lilith, Ariadne, Aphrodite, Morrigan, Durga. Ishtar, Hecate, Isis, Kali, Persephone, Aradia, Diana, Astarte, Athene, Demeter, Bast Medusa, Morgan. Darkness now is yours, now you rot in the earth and water. Othum! All your beauty now gone. You are the breath never released. We scatter you to the waves, to the dark worlds under the earth, and as the tide ebbs and flows, know that you will return.’
Thousands of doves had gathered, adding their winged support, and Aphrodite knew that it was time for them to leave before they attracted too much attention at the docks. She had felt the city stirring as she bathed, and she knew that New Baffin was ready for her. Gathering her robes around her, she tenderly took the golden casket from the Crone Bride. Persephone was waiting impatiently to receive the remains.
They walked in silence along the rear of the docks through the back-streets of New Baffin. An unnatural silence had enveloped them. Rose petals were thrown onto the streets for the Goddess to tread her honey-brown feet upon. Censers were swung, releasing clouds of myrrh and frankincense into the air. The people of New Baffin, who had been alerted through their Oracles that the second half of the Adonis rites would be enacted this dawn, were lining the pavements, waiting to receive the grace of Aphrodite. Thousands of prostitutes, their faces lined and stark without their heavy make-up, peered anxiously for the Goddess. They had dragged themselves out from their beds to see the Tomb Goddess. Drums were tapped slowly and flutes played. The New Baffinites prostrated themselves before the Goddess as she passed; some tore at their hair, others spoke in tongues for days afterwards. Nearly all began to cry when they glimpsed her. They could not bear to think of the agony that the Goddess was forced to endure annually.
Aphrodite’s face could only be dimly glimpsed through the translucent black veil that billowed behind her. She was naked for this rite, save for her magic girdle. Her body was oiled and powerful. Two black sows were forced along with sticks by the Brides. They would be sacrificed when they reached the location of the second rite. The air surrounding the Goddess was tense and expectant; the worlds held their breath. Air elementals breathed smoky tongues of healing energy to Aphrodite.
Two white tigers waited near the Old City walls amid the crumbling statues and reminders of the previous civilisation. The wild beasts waited patiently to witness the rites. The large crowd ignored them, showing no fear of the magnificent animals. This was a time of union.
Crowds of Crossas, tourists from other worlds, watched in excitement, flashbulbs erupting as they attempted to capture the sacred moments. Statues of broken peacocks came to life, scattering brilliant tails, and nestling together near the New Wall, eager to see the rites enacted.
Outside the New Wall huge crowds had gathered. In the belly of the spectators were Gwyndion and Samma, Khartyn, Rosedark and Kaliegraves. They had arrived too late to attain a prime viewing position, but they could still soak up the atmosphere. A cry echoed from the front of the crowd.
‘The Tomb Goddess approaches!’ The drumming intensified. Then, there they were, glimpsed for a consciousness-changing breath: Aphrodite, holding her lover’s remains, with her sacred Brides flanking her.
The air was thick with doves and owls. The rustling of wings could be heard for miles. Among the crowd, angel beings from the Heztarra Galaxy could be glimpsed standing in the crowd to give their support to the rites. Many citizens of New Baffin had taken their lives into their hands and had climbed the city walls. Every year the papers of New Baffin reported casualties from overzealous spectators toppling to their deaths from the walls. Now they sat, perched among the sculptures, receiving a bird’s-eye view of the scene below, uncaring of the danger. A chant began in the crowd as the Brides began to dance, shaking their breasts and stomachs at the crowd.
‘Hail, Artemis! Cerridwen, Shakti, Shekinah, Tara, Tiamat, Arachne, Freya, Gaia, Lilith, Ariadne, Aphrodite, Morrigan, Durga. Ishtar, Hecate, his, Kali, Persephone, Aradia, Diana, Astarte, Athene, Demeter, Bast Medusa, Morgan.’
The Brides began to dance more wildly around the Goddess, the chant building until Aphrodite halted them with a wave of her hand. She signalled to the Brides to drag the screaming sows forward.
Where the Goddess and the Brides now stood there was a heaped mound of earth which was an ancient power spot. Heztarra angels had landed there before the Great Flood had washed away the Old City. The women of the city held powerful mystery rituals on the spot, which was also rumoured to be the burial site of King Pysphorrus’s second wife, Eshbezta.
The sows’ throats were cut, and the blood fell upon the soil to the chanting of the Brides:
‘Darkness now is yours, now you rot in the earth and water. Othum! All your beauty now gone. You are the breath never released. We scatter you to the waves, to the dark worlds under the earth and, as the tide ebbs and flows, know that you will return.’
Aphrodite stepped forward, holding the chalice. A stirring was heard beneath the earth, and a shudder passed over the multitude. There was a loud gasp as a small childlike hand shot out from the earth. Quickly the Tomb Goddess stepped forward and placed the golden casket in the open palm of the hand, which submerged back into the Underground with its prize. An awed silence fell over the crowd. Only the sounds of the ocean could be heard in the distance.
The Tomb Goddess began to walk away, her head bowed, her slim shoulders shaking, openly displaying her grief. The Brides poured holy oils onto the spot where the hand had appeared. The youngest Bride addressed the crowd. She looked to be no more than a few Turns of the Wheel.
The crowd began to scream and clap, hugging each other and chanting:
‘Othum! Othum! Halo! Othum!’
Across the early morning sky grey rain clouds began to gather.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Evil and Good share the same cradle
And sleep peacefully in the same grave.
— Eronthite saying
Khartyn and Rosedark announced their plans to return to Faia over a breakfast of grilled mushrooms and fried cornbread.
‘It’s unexpected, I know,’ Khartyn said to Kaliegraves. ‘Indeed, I had expected to stay in New Baffin for longer, but I have received an urgent message.’
She did not mention the shock that the messenger thought pattern had given her when it had climbed through her open window in the middle of the night. An ethereal silver spirit, it had hissed its message at the Crone before dematerialising in front of her startled eyes. You are powerless to prevent the situation in Faia from escalating. The Oracle’s words resounded in her ears. There had been little sleep for Khartyn that night. She had lain awake and restless, attempting to hear the message contained within the slap of the ocean outside her window.
Now with hair hastily arranged in an untidy bun, and her simple cotton gown buttoned in all the wrong holes, Khartyn was impatient to leave. Rosedark, she knew, did not share her sentiments. The apprentice had enjoyed her time in New Baffin. The change of scenery had brought pink roses to her cheeks, and she looked the happiest she had been since her traumatic journey into the Wastelands with Emma. Now she sat hunched over her plate of field mushrooms, casting sidelong looks at Gwyndion. Perhaps it was for the best that they did leave, Khartyn thought with an inner sigh. The maid had grown overly fond of the Webx. Khartyn had already suffered the consequences of an apprentice who had forgone her chosen role to run off with a lover. Sati had been one of Khartyn’s most promising apprentices, with powerful shape-shifting abilities and a mastery of the element of air, but she had elected to forsake her destined role to abscond to Ishran. Khartyn could see that Gwyndion did not reciprocate Rosedark’s feelings. He was still enduring the loss his people had suffered when the Eom was abducted on the tragic Day of Ashes. His Faery shock from his time in the Hollow Hills had begun to diminish, but Khartyn had no doubt that Diomonna would attempt to ensnare the Webx again into her Faery kingdom. The Imomm were not a race that let go of anything easily.
A peach-coloured dove knocked at the window sharply with her beak, causing them all to start. It was a messenger from the skymobile, letting them know their ride was ready. The two Crones warmly hugged each other goodbye. ‘Any time you desire some country air, then know we are waiting for you in Dome Cottage,’ Khartyn promised Kaliegraves.
The Healer smiled, though a lingering shadow was in her eyes. ‘My home is your home,’ she said.
Gwyndion stood up, feeling awkward. Rosedark shook him by the hand, her violet eyes lowered. ‘I shall miss you, Gwyndion, fare well with your studies. Prosperous Harvest.’
Shyly, she picked up Samma, burying her face in her soft fur to disguise the tears that sparkled in her eyes. The two Crones exchanged understanding glances. Khartyn made the fluttering Webx hand farewell to Gwyndion, who returned it slowly.
‘We shall meet again, I warrant,’ Khartyn said. They left in a swirl of cotton frocks and wicker basket. From the moment the door closed between them, it was as if they had vanished into the air and had never been there.
After Khartyn and Rosedark’s departure, Kaliegraves decided she would accompany Gwyndion and Samma to the Tremite Scribes that very day. After clearing the breakfast dishes and ensuring the Webx and meerwog looked their best, they set forth for the Scribes’ Halls, which were situated in nine concealed subterranean chambers in the heart of New Baffin. They made their way through the maze of crowded streets, Gwyndion marvelling again at the numerous prostitutes who called to him from every doorway. The brilliant shimmering colours of the market assailed his senses. The appetising smell of fried vegetables and fish curries hung in the air. Many of the stalls were selling statuettes of Aphrodite. He also noticed the large number of serpent shamans walking the streets, or selling snake relics and charms in numerous market stalls. After first noticing them, suddenly it seemed wherever he looked there were painted and stone serpents adorning the architecture of both Old and New Baffin.
When he questioned Kaliegraves about the serpents, she replied shortly that they were the remnants of the Ancient Kings, who once ruled New Baffin according to legend. Three of these kings were serpents, Elois, Marchomox and Eyeble, and through them much channelled wisdom had come from the Heztarra Galaxy. These teachings were now encrypted in the Hall of Records and not available for general viewing. He sensed she did not wish to pursue the matter further, and so he kept silent, although questions bubbled inside him. He remembered the amulet that Kaliegraves had fingered when Aphrodite had performed the Adonis rites, and he wondered.
As they got closer to the Hall of Records, the Webx could sense a change in the energy of the city. There was an audible note in the air, high-pitched, shining golden in the light. The air smelt of roses. At his first sighting of the upper section of the Hall of Records, his breath seemed to catch in his throat. Flanked by yew trees, it reared upwards, a massive piece of stone architecture, a gift from the Heztarra Galaxy, where it had been constructed using sound vibration. Crossas and Pilgrims sat and stood in the immense courtyards that flanked the Hall. Some took photos, some sat and sketched the magnificent facade of the building, which was adorned with carvings of gods from the Heztarra Galaxy. The smell of rose incense wafted in the air. Kaliegraves led the way up the thousand stone steps, worn with the tread of seekers over time, to the entrance of the Hall of Knowledge.
Inside the dimly lit receiving hall, a dozen or so hermaphrodites organised large tour groups for the vast libraries within the collection. As usual, Gwyndion’s appearance attracted attention, and he suffered his usual pangs that among the diverse representation of different cultures and worlds, he remained the only Webx. Kaliegraves ignored the tour guides, taking them directly to a small booth in the corner marked ‘Hall of Records’, where a bored-looking young hermaphrodite was turning seekers away. Without wasting time on words, Kaliegraves produced a yellow disc from her purse, which she handed to the guide. Gwyndion was fascinated by the elaborate hairstyle of the hermaphrodite, bright purple and coiled into an intricate sculpture on top of its head. He couldn’t understand how the being managed to keep its head upright. With a flash of long varnished nails, the hermaphrodite passed the yellow disc through its computer, surveying him with a long sigh. Information flashed up onto the screen, and the hermaphrodite then indicated the lift door with a dangerous dip of hair, before resuming his uninterested stare into space.
Inside the lift a speaker message asked for instructions, and when Kaliegraves replied, ‘Hall of Records’, the lift began to plummet rapidly through the earth. The journey appeared to take only an instant, but Gwyndion knew from his studies that the Hall of Records was situated miles deep within the earth. When the lift doors opened, they found themselves looking at a sterile grey corridor. Gwyndion was surprised to see a Geldoz rushing to meet them, a smile on his face. He had seen very few of the bull men in New Baffin, and had believed they mostly lived in Faia. The Geldoz was one of the Weldon race. The Weldon bull people were plentiful in the area surrounding Faia. They had oversized bull heads and long, curling
horns, and were much in demand for work involving intellect and negotiation.
‘Welcome, seekers!’ he cried. ‘Glad to finally make your acquaintance, young Gwyndion, and Samma too, of course. We’ve been following your adventures with great interest down here.’
Gwyndion and Samma looked at each other in shock; it seemed incredible they could be known in this subterranean world.
‘Oh yes,’ the Geldoz said, nodding his horns enthusiastically, ‘not much happens in the known worlds that the Scribes don’t track. It’s a delight to see you again, Kaliegraves, as always.’
The Crone nodded. ‘And you, Joseph,’ she said with warmth. ‘The Scribes are growing increasingly more reclusive, so it is indeed an honour to be granted access to the Hall of Records. And an enormous privilege for Gwyndion to study the Book of Life!’ Gwyndion looked around him carefully. What he had originally taken to be plain grey walls was actually an immense aquarium lining the corridor walls, filled with fish and sea creatures of species he did not recognise. There was even a Merperson, a young female, her ghostlike skin glowing with an unnatural light, as she peered out at the two-leggeds with her slanted dead pebble eyes.
Joseph noted the focus of Gwyndion’s attention. ‘Her name is Rudi,’ he said. ‘She provides valuable information on the Merpeople’s habits.’
Gwyndion frowned, feeling sorry for the sea creature floating alone, separated from her friends and family. He felt an overwhelming urge to approach the tank and communicate with her. Sensing his thoughts, Joseph laughed. ‘Be wary of our Rudi,’ he warned. ‘We know not the full extent of her powers but, like all Merpeople, she could charm your heart out of your body, and then swallow it without a moment’s remorse.’
Bride of the Stone: Circle of Nine Trilogy 2 Page 21