Bride of the Stone: Circle of Nine Trilogy 2

by Josephine Pennicott

  *

  Sati and Seleza knew instantly the moment Ishran had returned with Fenn and Jessie. They could smell them as he hovered in the skies above. They looked at each other, united for once in confusion and trepidation. Ishran in his present mood was capable of anything.

  ‘Why has she no wings?’ Rashka demanded as she devoured slices of cold Maja pie. Her eyes were shining brightly at the thought of Ishran raising a member of the Imomm tribe.

  Sati shook her head, a migraine beginning to throb in her temples. ‘The Imomm must have removed them when they changed the babies; perhaps it is a strong binding spell they placed upon her.’ She was uncomfortably aware of Seleza’s scrutiny.

  ‘You would have thought it was obvious to any Faian simpleton that she was Faery,’ Rashka said scornfully. ‘I mean, look at her, for Alecom’s sake! She has Faery hair! She has Faery mannerisms.’

  Sati remained silent as the headache stirred within her like an octopus, its dark tentacles unfurling to fill her skull. She heard the sounds of clanging of metal as Watcher Angels saluted Ishran, and she knew they were entering the castle. Her ears strained, her heart pounded within her head.

  There was a thud, and the sound of Fenn screaming. Sati knew she was being pulled up the staircase. Jessie came slinking into the dining hall, tail between her legs. Sati busied herself with preparing some ilkama milk and Maja pie for the dog. It shocked her to see the debilitated state Jessie had returned in. The three women craned their necks upwards, to where Ishran had dragged Fenn.

  ‘What will happen to the Faery?’ Rashka asked, unable to keep the smile from her face at the imminent prospect of pain and torture.

  Sati hugged Jessie, burying her face in her hair. Her head ached, her phantom leg ached, and her heart ached. Her words came out grey and lifeless. ‘He will claim his right as the Ghormho. He will do what he has been aching to do for a long time. Then he will most probably kill her.’

  They stood, faces upraised, trying to sense what was happening in the room upstairs. It appeared the entire castle was listening. News had spread rapidly through the Watcher Guards and servants that Ishran had returned with the runaways. There was silence for a short time, while the wind outside buffeted the castle walls like a frantic beast. The silence was terrible to listen to. Even Rashka fell quiet, her lips pulled back from her teeth as she concentrated. Seleza watched Sati with a small frown. The silence continued, with an ominous language of its own, travelling rapidly through the castle, filling every brick and furnishing. The silence snaked along corridors, floating around family portraits, permeating all the food in the kitchens, and reaching the ears of the inhabitants of the laboratories, who understood the meaning of it. Then the screaming began.

  When Ishran had first revealed his erect kylon to her, Fenn knew that she was most probably going to die. Few beings survived sexual intercourse with the Azephim angels. The ones that did were driven insane by the climax of the act. He was laughing, throwing his clothes off as he walked towards where she cowered on his bed. Candles flickered, casting a romantic glow over a scene that was far from romantic. Fenn knew only regret as she studied his eyes, reptilian and gleaming with desire, regret that she would never free the deformities that the Azephim had hidden in their laboratories, regret she had made Jessie suffer in the last moments that she would ever see her, regret she would never know her people, her heritage. She also deplored that before she died, she would have to endure being under Ishran.

  He had not troubled to use Glamour — part of his power trip, Fenn surmised. He knew his true countenance would be far more terrifying to her. His scaled skin was dark, his eyes yellow and glowing. Her arms bled as he reached for her with long, razor-sharp claws. A black forked tongue slid from between his lips, licking her face in anticipation as his claws raked at her clothes. Blood flowed as he scraped her skin at the same time.

  Fenn began to sob as his tongue explored her breasts. The knowledge that what was about to occur was unholy, that her body and brain would never be the same again, filled her with terror. His claws parted her legs. He snarled, screaming obscenities at her in a tongue that she could not understand. She became aware of someone else with him. Charmonzhla, the angoli, was in front of Ishran, floating, but the Ghormho appeared oblivious to his presence.

  Charmonzhla spread cream onto her genital area. It was blue, and cool, and it fizzed between her legs. The angoli worked quickly; he was smiling. Then Fenn saw with horror that sap had begun to drip from the ends of Ishran’s erect kylon. His bi-shaft had opened. He moved towards her roughly, forcing his kylon inside her. The pain split her in a fiery trail through her entire body. She thought at first that he had cut her with a knife from end to end. He began to thrust, and Fenn began to scream.

  Later, long after the screaming had stopped, Seleza and Sati went into Ishran’s bedroom. There was no sign of the Ghormho, although an open balcony window signalled his hasty exit from the castle. Briar roses grew over the windowsills, their heavy dark red blooms perfuming the air. What Sati first took to be red rose petals scattered among the sheets was blood, mixed with kylon sap. Frantically, she looked around the room for Fenn, and found her crumpled in a corner in a pool of blood. Her skin was as white as fallen snow. Her silver-white hair was flecked with sap and blood.

  ‘He’s killed her!’ Sati said, hands to her mouth, uncaring at the emotion that she was revealing to Seleza. The Azephim High Priestess stooped over the broken figure, her eyes scanning the inner organs. ‘Not quite, there is still life,’ she said, and her voice shook slightly. ‘But the Faery has conceived. The Imomm hosts the egg of the Ghormho.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Thus, on the third day of great sorrow, when all her tears had filled the Hollow Hills and had drowned several of our number, our great Queen Diomonna appeared to come to her senses. It was a day of celebration among the Winskis. Some of us had believed her mind had gone forever, and we would be left alone without a ruler. Queen Diomonna was thin, for she had refused to eat since she had spilt such blood in the Hills, but she managed to raise a smile when we performed a Winski dance in joy at her regaining her sanity and sang the following song of celebration. Written by the youngest among us. Hundreds of us performed, clapping as we sang:

  Our teeth are white inside our head

  Our brains are pebble small

  But our love for Diomonna

  Represents us all!

  (Chorus, sung together) We are Winskis, rays of light

  Our life span is not long

  But our love for our Queen

  Ensures that we live on, in song! (Big finish, as we somersault through air)

  Ensures that we live on!

  Yes, it was a great song and worthy of our beautiful Queen, and I, Jig Boy, contributed the first two lines of the chorus. There is indeed no-one to match us in the Hollow Hills for songwriting and singing.

  At first we all believed life in the Hollow Hills would return to normal. We liked old stinking Patricia, and the other one (we have forgotten its name), but they were Bluites and as common as Maja turd! Not like Winskis! Not like Imomm! But Queen Diomonna was not the same. She was in misery, with her mouth turned downwards, and only black thunder for words when she spoke to us. The Bogies and Faeries tried everything. We held several Dances of Death, where we all danced like mad as the Bluites danced to their deaths, but that didn’t cheer her. We heard the Faery hunters went looking for ones who looked like old stinking Patricia, but it was hard to find one as old and stinky and ugly.

  As we have recorded before, it’s harder and harder for us to hunt and exist on Earth when the thought pattern about us is so weak. Damn stinking Bluites! They will be the death of us all!

  Then on the fourth moon-up, many of us in the Hollow Hills shared the same dream. The stone men had awoken from their sleep, awoken by the kiss of the traitor who had lived among us! Queen Diomonna flew into a rage such as we had never seen. Then, realising the danger of her position if the stinking
angels should discover among them the changeling she had planted, she flew off in a fury, trailing black clouds. Some Faeries whispered she had gone to New Baffin to consult with the Oracles, others that she had gone in pursuit of Gwyndion, the tree man, who was making her lovesick. Of course, none of us Winskis knew the truth, for little is told to the smallest members of the Hollow Hills. Great is our grief, our hearts are breaking, for without a Queen to worship, what is a Winski? It is Winski lore that a Winski answers to no law but Winski law, but worships the Faery Queen at all time. Tears fall, and I can write no further.

  Account written by Jig Boy, son of Elven Foot. Not sure what Turn of the Wheel age.

  — Extract from the Winski Book of Life

  Diomonna had not gone to New Baffin, but instead had flown like a homing pigeon to Faia village. High in the evening sky, she cast uneasy glances around her for signs of the Azephim angels. She had no doubt that once the angels learned her changeling was not the Awakener, they would seek their revenge on the Imomm.

  ‘Diomonna no scare. Diomonna no scare,’ she repeated over and over to herself as she flew. As much as she had always hated the High Priestess of Faia, she could not think of who else she could turn to for counsel about how she could protect herself from the fury of the Azephim. As she flew over the clearing where the Circle of Nine had once stood, she was disturbed to see it now bereft of the nine monoliths. Fire torches were everywhere over the clearing, and hundreds of flowers had been heaped in the flattened grass where the Wizards had awoken. The sounds of the Virgin Protectors’ sobbing could be clearly heard.

  In the normal course of events, Diomonna would have loved to taunt them by mocking them from the sky, or by spitting on them, but today her panic was so great she flapped past them with scarcely a second look. Every bird she saw in the air made her tense; any one of them could be Sati out hunting the skies for the Imomm Queen.

  Diomonna was appalled when she reached Faia. Gone were the colourful markets where the Imomm liked to perfect their pickpocketing skills. Market stands were turned over, flowers pulled from pot stands and left to die. Ilkamas trotted throughout the debris untethered. In the centre of the square stood several wooden poles with charcoaled bodies still clinging to them, covered by vulture birds that formed living cloaks.

  ‘Heart fast, fear in mouth, but Diomonna no scare,’ Diomonna panted. If the normally docile Faiaites had taken to burning bodies, then some terrible plague had occurred. Perhaps the entire village was dead, stricken with some virus, or the Azephim had finally carried out one of their numerous threats and had enacted a mindless slaughter of the agricultural people. Diomonna began to beat the air in her frustration, but then spotted two Islaes, sitting, heads bowed, against one of the corner shops. She had no fear of the Islaes, knowing how gentle their race was, so she materialised before them.

  ‘Big pink ones,’ she began. ‘What has happened that stinks of evil in this village? Why the burnt meat?’

  The Islaes looked up at her, each with three large violet eyes. Tears shimmered, and Diomonna found her hands flying to her mouth in horror at the despair that filled the magical beings. And the Islaes were no stranger to suffering, having witnessed the great majority of their species being killed by the Azephim.

  ‘Speak, big pink ones,’ she repeated. ‘What is the evil finger that has touched Faia?’

  She glanced around nervously. ‘Is it Azephim?’ she whispered, half ready to fly into the air if she spotted one of the loathsome beings.

  The tallest Islae shook her head. ‘Lightcaster,’ she managed to stammer. Diomonna resisted the temptation to jump into the air in relief. Then she remembered that Lightcasters might also prove detrimental to the Faery population.

  ‘Why has the Bluite Priestess allowed a Lightcaster to destroy her people?’ she dared to ask.

  The Islaes exchanged glances, holding onto each other for support. ‘Have you no ears in the Hollow Hills?’ they said bitterly to Diomonna. ‘Mary lies in a deadly sleep. Nobody is able to awaken her. There are fears she will never recover. Faia has become a cursed village. We are without hope.’

  They clung to each other and sobbed. Diomonna spat on the ground reflectively. She was a confused mix of emotions. On a normal day she would have been ecstatic to hear about Mary’s enchanted sleep. She had long despised the Bluite for her public condemnation of ancient Faery practices, such as tithing small children to Hades and stealing changelings. But at the moment she felt she needed Mary’s advice. ‘Damn Bluite’ she muttered. ‘She sleeps while Diomonna suffers.’

  The Islaes glared and turned their backs on her. Diomonna spat at them. ‘Dirty big pink weaklings!’ she screamed. Then she took to the skies again, heading for Shellhome, Mary’s home. If it were true that the High Priestess was in a deathly sleep, then Diomonna needed to see.

  Soon she hovered outside the High Priestess’s bedroom window, wings beating the air. She looked at the scene in front of her with a mixture of confusion and stupefaction. Mary lay on the bed, her face ashen. If it had not been for her chest rising and falling, Diomonna would have taken her to be dead. She was being attended to by two maids, who had their backs to the windows as they sponged the High Priestess’s hair and face. With the Imomm’s keen hearing, Diomonna was able to make out every word the maids were saying.

  ‘I hear that Khartyn and Rosedark are rushing back to diagnose her ailment,’ one said. The other maid laughed. ‘A fat lot of good it will do them! The Crone is ancient. How is she to make her way to Shambzhla and retrieve her tongue?’

  ‘But what of Ano?’ the other hissed. ‘Sister, he is onto us. Even now he plots with the Crones, seeking to destroy us.’

  ‘He is no match for us,’ the other boasted. ‘I will eat his eyes for my supper. A creature of the earth can never match the sea!’

  They turned to face each other and laugh. Diomonna nearly let go of the vine she was clinging to in shock. They were Sea Hags! They had both applied Glamour, but the Faery Queen could clearly make out the black crustacean shell beneath their skin.

  She watched, breath coming faster as Ano entered the room. She could tell in one glance the emotional damage to his heart, and her lip sneered contemptuously.

  ‘Aphrodite jerks you on a golden lead,’ she sneered, conveniently forgetting her own tortured longings over Gwyndion. It was both easy and fascinating to sense the hatred that flew like Imomm arrows between the three in the room. Why did Ano not challenge them? He obviously knew their true origins, judging by the look of hatred that he was throwing at them. Why did they not kill him outright? The drama was proving too much for Diomonna and, forgetting she could be seen, she pressed her face tighter against the window, ears pricked, and hissing slightly over her excitement at the scenes she was witnessing.

  ‘A Faery at the window!’ The cry alerted her. Hurtling herself backwards, she threw herself into the air in a shower of golden dust, and soared quickly away from Shellhome, her mind pounding with the information she had absorbed. She needed to work out her next step. There was no doubt in her mind, the beast of change was upon Eronth. Diomonna now had to sort out where her alliances were going to lie. Excitement gripped her. Perhaps the new order that was sweeping Faia would bring a better deal for the Imomm people! She performed three quick somersaults through the air in succession, her previous fears temporarily forgotten, as for the first time since she had cut the throats of Old Patricia and Ellie-Jane, she gave herself to hope.

  *

  Pain. She was breathing pain. Pain had swallowed her; she was inside the belly of the monster Mother Pain. When pain breathed, she breathed; when pain laughed, she laughed. Pain had broken her, broken her legs, her ribs, her chest, her heart. Or so Fenn believed when she first came to. Her room was in half-darkness; she peered into the dim light, straining to see. A fan turned, near to the bed. Jessie lay beside her, ministering patiently with her healing tongue. Fenn had been dreaming of Faeries. A Queen called Diomonna with eyes like a cat, who flew throug
h the hearts of flowers, a Queen who feared the dark beings she had placed the changeling Fenn among, yet gave no second thought to her once she had used her to achieve her purpose. She had dreamt of the Hollow Hills, where thousands of Winskis had performed their latest song and dance in tribute of the Queen, and Bogies were polishing chandeliers. She had walked among them, unnoticed by all. A stranger to her own people. Realisation of what had occurred in the castle came to her in sweeping waves, and she began to weep. A hand was upon her brow, stroking, caressing, taking some of the pain. Cool compresses were applied. She could smell the tang of fragrant herbs, lulling her to sleep. She fell into the arms of Morpheus.

  ‘There is little time,’ an eagle spoke to her through a sharp polished beak. It was perched on the bedpost, and its golden honey feathers gleamed. ‘You must leave soon.’

  The eagle gripped a white rosebud in its claws. Its eyes were glistening jewels. Fenn realised it was Sati in her bird form, and she struggled to regain full consciousness.

  ‘He will come back to finish you off if you don’t leave soon,’ the eagle continued. In its eyes flashed oceans of pain. ‘Seleza has agreed to take you back to the Web-Kondoell with the Eom. Under her protection, you will be safe from him. Your time has finished here.’

  There was a silence while the two surveyed each other. Fenn could see the beating of the bird’s heart.

  ‘You are no longer safe from me or him,’ the eagle said. ‘For you are carrying his sacred egg.’

  Fenn moaned, now shocked into full consciousness. ‘I will come for you,’ the bird said. ‘I will be there in dreams, in the language of the night. I will speak to you in the wind and the waves of the ocean foam. But it is best you leave quickly, for if you stay here with his child in your Faery belly, I will kill you.’

  Fenn sat up in bed, her hair blowing around her as a wind swept through her bedroom. Jessie snarled, ready to protect her. The eagle let out a cry and flew through the open bedroom door, through the castle, fire coming from its beak, screaming as it went.