‘I will return,’ she promised the watching castle. ‘I will return and free the Imomm from the cages. I will drive Ishran and Sati from these unholy walls. In the name of Alecom, I swear I will return!’
She remembered too late that she no longer believed in Alecom. How could she acknowledge the Dark Lord after what she had witnessed had been done in his name?
‘In my name, then!’ she screamed, ‘In the name of Fenn, only child of Emma and the great Stag Man, I will return. Justice will be done!’ The castle appeared to laugh at her. Sobbing, Fenn grabbed Jessie’s leash. ‘Come on, old girl,’ she whispered. ‘We’re going to walk the Wastelands.’ Jessie whimpered, not liking the sound of this walk. Jessie had been happily asleep, dreaming of killing ergom when Fenn had awoken her.
The dog could sense Sati’s emotions as they left the castle and was confused. The Azephim Queen, in a detached way, had shown the dog only kindness since they had abducted her for companionship for Fenn, and now Jessie felt that perhaps she should be there to console the Queen. More than anyone in the castle, Jessie could see the sorrow that lurked in the Dark Queen’s heart. Her longing for a child of her own, her sorrow over losing her leg, her sadness that her relationship with Ishran was deteriorating. Now that Fenn appeared to be leaving Sati, Jessie felt that the Queen could benefit from a loving lick. It seemed preferable to a long walk in the middle of a freezing windy night. Still, Fenn was Jessie’s one great love in life, and the dog would follow her into hell if required. Shaking her doubts aside, Jessie began to trot beside Fenn. The night swallowed them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
‘Why do you grieve?’
Charmonzhla was beside him. They were in a beautiful green field. It was autumn, and leaves were slipping slowly from the trees to form an exotic carpet of red, yellow and brown shades. A large golden owl watched them silently from overhead. The sky was a brilliant blue, like the blue of the Bluites’ sky, but more so. It made Ishran’s eyes ache to gaze upon it. He was disorientated; the seasons were out of order. What season was it in his world? He frowned, attempting to remember.
‘Why do you grieve?’
He glanced down at the angoli, clothed in a heavy black cloak made of eagle feathers. On his face, he had smeared blood.
‘Time has defeated me,’ Ishran answered. He felt lulled and peaceful, wishing to remain in this paradise forever.
Charmonzhla winked. ‘Time defeats us all, Ghormho.’
Ishran sighed.
Leaves fell slowly to the ground, each revealing a different memory to him. His Hosthatch and Rashka planning to kill him, laughing at him behind his back. Watcher Angels discussing him with derision in their quarters. Sati aiding Fenn to flee from the castle in the night. Ishran enjoyed the leaf pictures, for they seemed like small fragments of a bad dream that he would never have to return to. A larger leaf fell, dark brown and curling, and he saw the Nine Rainbow Wizards. Awakened, he noticed with apathy, and making their way to Faia village. They had changed little since their time in the stone, except now there was an extra member of their group, a young dark-haired woman who was obviously a mate to Bwani, the lead Bird Wizard. He could see the cords linking their genital and heart areas. She was the Awakener, he realised with a dull acceptance. For many Turns of the Wheel, he had believed Fenn to be so, but it was obvious where the true power lay. Never mind, he thought. All he wanted to do was lie down in this bed of fallen leaves and sleep.
Snow was now falling, soft white flakes dropping onto the ground and bursting into flame. A doe, with caramel-golden hide, watched them without fear from the corner of the field. Charmonzhla was now clothed in white swan feathers, and on the angoli’s head was a thick crown of thorns. ‘Don’t sleep,’ he said softly. He held out his tiny hand. In the centre of the palm was another leaf. In the centre of that leaf was Lazariel, lighting a candle, his thin face filled with longing for Ishran’s return. ‘He has been calling to you,’ Charmonzhla said, and his voice carried to Ishran on the wind. The leaf burst into flame, and then took flight into a small red bird. Charmonzhla watched it go without expression. He held out his arm to Ishran. Along the inner length of it, the flesh parted. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘Drink from Charmonzhla, drink of his body and flesh. Your strength will return.’ Why do you grieve? Ishran could no longer remember. All that he knew was a hideous thirst.
*
Seleza stood by the huge stained-glass windows in the dining hall of the castle. Outside, the dawn was breaking. The apricot-coloured fingers of the day were beginning to spread and unfurl across the sky. She opened the windows, breathing deeply of the cold air. Packs of Solumbi slept in shaggy clumps on the ground outside. The very earth appeared to be filled with a strange and terrible yearning. Breaths of mist rose in the air. This was the time of day the Azephim High Priestess liked the best. Untouched, perfect. She felt as if she could drag her wings across the sky and claim all of life for her own. Around her the castle slept. She knew that Sati might have flown all night, and could easily be claimed by the skies for days. Ishran was not an early riser, and would most probably hide in his room all day. But then, as if she had conjured him into being with her thought, Ishran appeared in the doorway. He had obviously been up for some time, as he had carefully applied his Glamour. His skin gleamed, and his hair was oiled to a sleek blackness, hanging loosely down his back. He was dressed in a white gown, his hands adorned with the elaborate gold jewellery that he favoured.
Seleza recovered quickly from the shock of seeing him. ‘Ghormho. You never fail to surprise me. Is this early appearance in honour of me?’
Ishran smiled, and in his throat a pulse throbbed, a tiny heart. Seleza found herself fascinated by his eyes, golden chips of light, incredible suns that gave off warmth and strength. In the heart of each eye, she could see herself reflected. She had aged, she realised with a sharp pang to her heart. All the Glamour in the worlds was not going to alter that fact. The stresses of watching the steady deterioration of her planet had taken its toll. A mental picture of herself banished to the Outerezt came to her, and she shuddered. In that moment, she felt as if Ishran had her heart in his hands, slowly squeezing it, squeezing the precious sparrow. He could give life, or he could take it away.
‘Fenn has left us, Seleza,’ he said. His voice was mellow, sensual, seeming to come from a long way away. ‘She has escaped with the night, run into the Wastelands with my dog. She is hoping the earth will swallow her, receive her into its dark womb so she can hide her true face from us. The face of Faery. She is, as no doubt Sati could tell you, Imomm.’
Seleza nodded slowly, her mind considering the implications. If Fenn was Imomm, and of course she was, it was inconceivable that they had all not noticed it before. They saw what they wanted to see. The heart blinds the senses to truth. Deceptive, treacherous heart. All the time the Imomm were among us, and we were blind to it.
‘The stones have awakened,’ Ishran said, reading the direction of her thoughts. ‘Even now they are with the spawn of the Stag Man, making their plans to reclaim the Eom. So, you can see that it’s all over for me. You can have the Eom if you like, as I promised you last night. Take it back to the Web, before the Wizards arrive to give it back to the Webx, or whatever fool thing they are planning.’
Seleza began to scan his brain waves. He was giving in far too easily. She mistrusted this compliant, rational Ishran. The Ishran that she knew would hang onto the Eom out of childish spite, even as the Wizards hacked their way through his castle doors.
‘The Eom is not yours to give,’ she repeated again. Anger swelled in her throat like a toad, as she thought of the trauma her people had suffered as a consequence of Ishran’s selfishness. Ishran stared out at the hard cracked earth beneath them. He concentrated on the soil below him and a briar of roses began to form, pushing up through the soil, seeking the light of day, perfect tiny white buds forming, opening in a glorious bloom. He smiled, enchanted by the sight. He held out his hand to Seleza, and a perfect white
rose lay in his palm.
‘Take this, my beloved Hosthatch,’ he urged.
Bewildered, Seleza accepted the gift. Ishran stood, wings outstretched to full span at the window. ‘It’s time to bring Fenn back,’ he said. He flew from the window, arching himself upwards into the sky, as Watcher Guards saluted. Seleza watched his soaring figure until he disappeared into a tiny dot. She didn’t notice the thorns scratching her hands, or the tiny drops of blood dripping onto the castle’s stone floor.
*
They had travelled all night, and Fenn was exhausted. Jessie’s tongue was hanging from her mouth, her eyes wild as she attempted bravely to keep up with her mistress. Fenn hated to see the distress the dog was under. She was a selfish fool, she realised, believing she could travel the Wastelands easily with an elderly dog. Sati had been correct, she should have left Jessie behind in the comfort of the castle, where the dog was loved by the Azephim angels. Pack after pack of Solumbi had approached them constantly throughout the night. The Wastelands appeared to be teeming with the bloodthirsty thought patterns.
Time after time, when the huge grey shapes had loomed out of the night, she had to scream, ‘Eko! Fko! Opzuri elle! Alzouri eko elle!’ The command would force them to drop to the ground, growling furiously in disappointment at being denied the fresh meat. Although she had no fear of the beasts, it was still unnerving that there were so many of them roaming the vast Wastelands. Also, when she faced them out on her own, their breath seemed more powerful, their claws sharper, more likely to break through the magical protective words.
The triple moons were full, bathing the landscape in light. She could dimly make out the silver shrub endi bushes. By the light of day, she knew the inviting berries on the plant that grew profusely in the Wastelands would become tempting to eat to procure the juice. But it would be an easier death to die of hunger and thirst than to eat from the lethal bush. The moonlight revealed clumps of dark rotting bodies wherever she looked. Some of them, in the earlier stages of decomposition, made Fenn gag. She had to pull on Jessie’s lead constantly to prevent her from investigating the corpses. Some were Solumbi, but she hated to think what the others could be. Possibly, travellers foolish enough to wander into this desolate twilight hell.
She longed to lie beside Jessie and drift off to sleep, but she was too terrified to let her guard down, with so many ravenous Solumbi nearby. And they were far from her only problem. There were the Crone Headhunters, the three sisters who patrolled the Wastelands in their eternal search for heads. Many had fallen victim to underestimating the spider-like fragility of the ancient beings, and paid the ultimate price of having their heads ripped from their bodies by the bare hands of the Crones. If Fenn and Jessie managed to survive the Headhunters, they could encounter one of the savage giants who had been banished to the Wastelands to live in caves. Ishran had raised Fenn on blood-curdling stories of these giants. Then they had to face old Narziel, the blind toll keeper at the gates. He would always manage to exact the toll from you that you held most precious, and Fenn was afraid the only thing she held precious at the moment was Jessie. She would never be able to hand the dog over as her toll out of the Wastelands. As they walked she consoled herself with the thought it was better to die in the Wastelands, metamorphosing into one more dark unidentified corpse, than spend an entire lifetime condoning the barbaric practices of the Azephim. However, she would have given her eyes if it could have helped to alleviate the suffering Jessie was going through. The old dog was wheezing; she needed to rest.
Fenn chose one of the more putrid corpses to sit next to. The foul odour that was leaking from its distended green stomach meant she was unlikely to drop off to sleep. She pulled Jessie onto her lap, allowing the dog to doze, feeling her snores through her coat. Around her the Wastelands breathed, and she could hear the squeak of rats and ergom as they chewed through the bodies. The stars blazed in the skies and a soft rain began to fall, briefly. Fenn attempted to lick the raindrops from her face. Her throat was aching with dust and memories.
That night seemed endless. Once she thought she saw a large white owl watching her from one of the withered dead trees. Jessie continued to sleep, and a large golden lion strolled near them. Convinced they were about to be killed, Fenn began to pray to Alecom, forgetting she had pledged never to speak to him again. The lion looked at them with no interest. His eyes were blazing red balls of fire. In his mouth he carried a single white rose. He padded away softly into the night. Another light shower of rain fell, and this time Fenn managed to get a few drops of liquid onto her burning tongue. She could not sleep, she had to protect Jessie, she told herself over and over. The old dog was vulnerable. Sleeping would be a death sentence to them both. She slept.
When Fenn awoke to the steel-grey sky of early morning, it took a few moments to work out where she was. Then the odour of the rotting bodies surrounding her registered, and she began to dry-retch onto the hard cracked earth. Jessie’s eyes were glazed, she made no sound, and Fenn began to moan in despair at her stupidity in bringing the dog into the Wastelands. It was obvious the old dog wasn’t capable of surviving this journey. The thought suddenly gripped Fenn: perhaps neither of them would. Already thousands of vultures sat silently waiting, the closer birds enormous in size and white with age. They were the elder birds, Fenn knew, first to peck the spoils when they dropped unconscious. She screamed at them, throwing a stone, but they held their ground, their anticipation palpable in the air. Daylight revealed that the large rotting body she had slept next to was a Solumbi. Its stomach was bloated to an enormous degree, swollen in death. Its eyes were long gone, taken by the vulture birds. It had died of old age, Fenn surmised, as parts of its fur were grey. It did not look as if it rested peacefully.
In every direction that she looked, Fenn saw death and destruction. Bones, whitened by summers past, lay scattered everywhere, like exotic desert flowers. It occurred to her they would look like strange shells from the air. From high above, this hell could look like a paradise. Fenn’s mouth ached; her body was worn out. She knew there was a part of her that longed to become part of this garden of death, to lie in the Wastelands, never flowering or blossoming, but adding her own unique beauty to this arid landscape. Withered tree-like earth elementals stood listlessly, their large roots half curled around their bases as if attempting to escape from the toxic soil. The horizon shimmered, giving the illusory promise of ice-cool water for drinking and bathing and pearl-white vegetation, smooth and cool to sleep on. But all it would really contain, Fenn knew with mounting horror, was more bleached bones, more shells of death.
Then she saw them, silhouetted against the deceptive horizon — the Headhunter Crones. For a wild moment of hope, Fenn thought that they were a triple mirage, more phantoms dripping from the Wastelands’ lying tongue. It seemed impossible that she had spotted such a thing. She tried to tell herself that her eyes had played tricks, that the three figures she saw were just more distorted barren trees. But she could catch glimpses of red, green and yellow, and no colour grew on the dead trees of the Wastelands. Dreamlike, they moved closer. Now she could see their extraordinary elongated necks, their hair in white, tight buns. Closer still, and she could make out their wrinkled ancient oval faces and the large straw basket they carried between them. An excited chirping note came from them, as they realised they had prey in sight.
Fenn panicked; it would be impossible to outrun the Crones. The only way you could ever escape them was if you had some heads to barter with them. As much as they were respected in Eronth due to their advanced age, they were not exactly renowned for their compassionate nature. They would lop the head of a child as easily as they would a flower.
Their chirping became louder as they advanced. Fenn looked wildly around for anything that she could defend herself with, or trade with the deadly sisters. There was the sound of flapping in the sky, startling her. A small bird was descending at an incredible speed, quickly becoming larger and larger. It was Ishran.
&nbs
p; The Headhunters were almost upon her. Fenn could now see their eyes, milky dead and white. She could now hear clearly the words that the middle sister was chanting as they floated towards her, smiling eagerly.
Oh Sisters dear, her throat is small and fine.
You both take the dog, the girl is mine.
Beloved Jamis and Citti, give them sweet grace,
Sever with speed the neck from the face.
Move quickly, Jamis. Citti, use speed.
Your Esmir’s belly is empty Great is her need.
Alarmed, she saw the wrinkles in their heavy skirts, the Adam’s apples that bobbed in their throats. Then Ishran was upon her, in a deafening flap of wings. The Crones screamed in fury. She was engulfed in angel wings and arms. Clutching Jessie tightly to her chest, Fenn found herself ascending into the sky.
‘Don’t worry!’ Ishran screamed as they began to fly over the Wastelands towards his castle. ‘By the time I finish with you, Imomm bitch, you’ll wish I had left you to the Crone sisters!’
Fenn shut her eyes, concentrating on holding the dog closely to her. She could smell the rage coming from Ishran. He was so angry she would not have been surprised if he had released the two of them from his grasp. She knew if she looked down, she would faint, as she had always feared heights. Of one thing she was now certain: Ishran had cheated her of a relatively painless death. She had failed. She lay numbed with fear as the Dark Angel held them to his chest, his heart beating to the sound of his great wings. Inside her the last small hope she had held when she had first spotted him, died.
Sati’s words returned to haunt her. ‘Ask yourself, why do these Faeries matter so much?’ Realisation swept over her as she flew enfolded in the Ghormho’s arms like a lover. She was Imomm. She was doomed.
Bride of the Stone: Circle of Nine Trilogy 2 Page 24