Bride of the Stone: Circle of Nine Trilogy 2

by Josephine Pennicott

  ‘Go now,’ she said. ‘Before you spill your seed. Sleep with a stranger and explore the pleasure they have to give you. When you next plunge your magnificent instrument into the body of another, remember me.’

  Gwyndion walked from the room, hearing the loud cry of the Bridal Crone as she climaxed. The veils were soft against his skin. He did not look back.

  On the way home to Kaliegraves, he did something he had never done before. He sought out a young prostitute in a doorway who beckoned and called to him. Fresh from an audience with the Tomb Goddess, he had no need of coins, for she could smell divinity all over him. He reached for her hungrily in the doorway, pulling her dress down over her ample bosom, uncaring of who was witnessing. She moaned, responding to his hunger. A young Webx in the Oakdeer stage was preferable to the crusty old sailors she had to mount daily. She could smell the Goddess on him and it aroused her instantly, making her damp and hot. He pushed into her in the doorway, oblivious to the passing crowds. They climaxed together violently, and as he came, he saw the feline face and knowing eyes, the full dark oiled breasts and knowing tongue of Aphrodite.

  *

  Rudmay guessed instantly something had happened when Gwyndion turned up for his studies. She took one look at his face when he entered the room and sighed deeply.

  ‘I knew it was too good to last!’ she declared. ‘Just having some company in here has made a difference, not to mention all the work we’re getting through!’

  Gwyndion attempted to disguise his surprise. He had thought he was struggling with the obscure tree alphabet. There were so many different interpretations on all the known worlds that he would often leave with a splitting headache from attempting to decipher the thousands of symbols. When the Scribe heard of his experience, however, she sighed heavily.

  ‘Well, of course you must go,’ she said. ‘Although I shall miss you both terribly and shall pray to the Dreamers that you will return to me to continue your studies.’

  ‘Are they who decide where I am allocated?’ Gwyndion asked. ‘The Dreamers?’

  Rudmay nodded, her pink bob swaying vigorously. ‘Oh there’s suits that have shares in the Scribes,’ she said. ‘They probably like to think they make the decisions, but the truth is, the final say always comes from the Dreamers.’

  Mischievously she added, ‘The old sleepy ones are keeping a special interest in you! Oh well, tarry not with the Crone Khartyn. Fare thee well, Prosperous Harvest. Merry Meet, Merry Part and Merry Meet!’

  Gwyndion exchanged the Webx farewell blessing with her, and bowed low to the golden owl, who fixed him coldly with an impassive stare. His expression formed an anomalous contrast with the pink studded collar Rudmay had tied around his neck. Gwyndion had come to instinctively understand that much of the inspiration the Scribes achieved was through the influence of the Athena owls.

  As he followed the purple-suited figure of Joseph through the aquarium corridor, with the malevolent, unblinking stare of Rudi watching him from her watery tank, he felt a sting in his breast at the disruption to his studies but, really, there had never been a choice. From the moment he had explained to Kaliegraves the content of his dream and he had seen the expression in Samma’s eyes as she clung onto every word, he had known what option the meerwog wanted him to take. Gwyndion prayed he would not fail her. Samma was the most important thing in the world to him, his only remaining link with his past. Together they had survived the Day of Ashes, and then the Hollow Hills.

  At the thought of the Hollow Hills, he quickened his pace, remembering that Queen Diomonna had been in his dream last night. Her eyes had been filled with pain and she had been reaching for him, her hair hanging to her waist, dull and lank. Her face was unwashed, and tear stains were still evident as she had chanted in a monotone:

  Gwyndion! Gwyndion! Knower of neither love nor sin.

  Come back to Faery friend.

  Come hack to Dreamers’ End.

  I give you Faery love. I make you mend.

  Although the Webx ensured that he carried herbs and flowers with him at all times to ward off a further attack by the Imomm, and Samma always had a mojo bag of clover dangling around her neck, he knew how tenacious the Imomm were. Diomonna would not easily release him to the light and to the world. Despite the attraction that he had always felt for her, he viewed his feelings as unhealthy. All was distorted in the world of Faery: shadows became truth and silence spoke lies.

  He was relieved to reach Kaliegraves’s cottage and see the familiar loved faces of the Crone and Samma. The Crone had spent the morning bathing and grooming Samma, and although nobody dared speak the words, Gwyndion knew she feared she would never see the lovable bundle of white joy that was Samma again. If he succeeded in his quest — and he had to succeed — Samma’s true form could be anything: a fish, a flower, an extinct reptile. But Gwyndion knew he could not refuse his beloved meerwog’s wishes and ignore the difficult challenge given to him. Samma deserved the right to live and die as her true form.

  Kaliegraves had packed for him and had managed to secure seats on the normally booked-out skymobile. Gwyndion was surprised by the depth of his emotion when he said goodbye to her.

  ‘I shall return as quickly as I can,’ he promised her, sweeping her into his arms. ‘You have shown me more kindness than I truly deserve.’

  Kaliegraves did not attempt to disguise her tears. ‘Having you both here has done this old Crone the world of good,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘You may be Webx, but you be the son and daughter I never had.’

  As they left her peaceful home, turning to wave goodbye to her standing in the doorway, Samma let out a small scream. Gwyndion took this to be a bad omen, and his heart felt heavy. Would they ever see Kaliegraves again? Or was his quest doomed to failure? He began to walk, a nagging feeling of unease with every step that he took. He did not look back.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  I sing of a maiden

  With a face like a rose;

  She is as fair and bonny as a midsummer rose;

  So womanly, with no evil to her soul;

  Gentle as a hawk with a face like a rose.

  She has beguiled me;

  My hunger for her is sharper than thorns;

  Sweet is the death that brings an end to such love

  For the maiden with a face like a rose.

  — ‘Maiden Rose’, song by Claw

  Claw strummed the small zitter board he had acquired from a farmer’s wife en route to the Sapphire Lakes. Beside him sat Maya and the Wizards around their small camp fire, behind them was the spectacular brilliant blue sheen of the legendary Sapphire Lakes. An owl hooted in the twilight as the zitter board strummed and Claw sang. His voice rose sharply on the last note, filled with longing. A slight breeze came around them, as if to listen. The Wizards were silent for a moment as the power of the song affected them, lost in memories of women they had loved and lost. Bwani stroked a strand of Maya’s long dark hair.

  ‘I think young Claw is sweet on you,’ he teased. ‘For it’s undeniable that when he sings his poetry, he looks everywhere but on you, Maya!’

  The Wizards laughed, but Maya was dismayed to see a hot flush appear on Claw’s pale cheeks.

  ‘For shame, Bwani,’ she said. ‘Don’t take any notice of him, Claw.’ She patted the embarrassed Wizard on the arm. ‘It is a beautiful verse, and it brings tears to my eyes when you sing it.’

  Claw shot her a grateful look, and Maya thought again how handsome he was, with his dark brown hair that fell to his chin and his sensitive pretty face. His beauty, however, was marred by the enormous claws that protruded from his hands, which had earned him his name. Thanks to his birth deformity, Claw was a formidable rival in close combat, being able to easily scoop out a person’s eyes. He could play the zitter board like an angel, however, lulling the Wizards with his creative gifts. But for many everyday functions, he was helpless, and Maya had witnessed his frustration at his inability to perform the simplest tasks.


  Now he sat, his hair falling over his face as he strummed the zitter board softly. Maya had to resist the impulse to move the errant lock back from his eyes. Claw always managed to bring out her maternal side. Not so the other Wizards, who could be a rowdy, quarrelsome lot at times. Their initial relief at being expelled from their stone form had quickly evaporated as they realised that they were once again in a physical form that could partake of food and drink and women. None of them, with the exception of Claw, had suffered from abstinence from the latter, Maya thought wryly. The women of Eronth had been more than happy to provide them with ample supplies of ale and food. Without exception, they were also happy to pull their skirts over their waist and service the Wizards when their husbands and sons had left the room, squealing with delight as the Wizards had shared them. If a woman was of Crone age, then her daughters would be promptly offered for the legendary heroes’ satisfaction. Maya dreaded to think of the unfortunate women left behind whose wombs would swell with life in the coming months — with no man to help them expel the child from their belly.

  Bwani and Claw were the only two of the Bird Wizards who did not partake of the invitation offered so eagerly between damp thighs. Claw was content to sit outside in the winter sun and play his zitter while he sang of beautiful maidens and unrequited love, his eyes avoiding Maya’s. Bwani, however, had eyes only for Maya.

  At times Maya thought she would explode with joy. Happiness blazed an ache inside her, too powerful to contain, bringing tears to her eyes. She had never known such love as the light that shone from Bwani’s eyes. His forceful, gentle hands on her body were familiar and, when his mouth explored hers, she felt as if she kissed herself. The two could not bear to be parted from each other, and spent a majority of their time lost in each other’s eyes, ignoring the jeers of the Wizards.

  ‘Be wary,’ Edwen would warn, tossing his silver-white hair back from his face. ‘If old Aphrodite smells out your love, she might get jealous and throw a complication or two at you both. The Goddesses do not like you loving over much. Especially the hitch Tomb Goddess. She is not termed the man slayer for naught. Born of severed prick, the Tomb Goddess hates all men because we have what she would like between her legs.’

  The others agreed with winks and sly nudges. Maya, who remained ignorant of the Wizards’ attempted rape of Aphrodite and the subsequent fury of the Goddesses, who had turned them into stone, wondered at the contempt and fear in their words.

  Black frost had covered the ground when the party had made its way to the Sapphire Lakes. They had been given ten sturdy ilkamas from a prosperous landowner with whom they had stayed, along with his curvaceous, obliging dark-haired wife and her two eldest daughters, whom the Wizards had enjoyed for the night. Maya knew Bwani had been given main visions when he was a stone concerning the Sapphire Lakes. It had been unanimously decided prior to arriving in Faia that they would make a short pilgrimage to the Lakes and receive direction from the energies that had called to them as stones in their dreams. There had been fear among some of the Bird Wizards at Bwani’s decision, however, because it meant they would be out in the open on Salhmain night, the holy night when the dead of all the known worlds were remembered and honoured, and the veils between the worlds were the thinnest. Bwani had laughed at the Wizards’ trepidations, knowing they feared the dreaded advance of the Phooka.

  ‘You’re worse than a bunch of New Baffin hermaphrodite sissies!’ Bwani mocked them. Don’t you remember the countless Salhmains when the Phooka walked among us and we stood as rocks? You did not shiver in your breeches then!’

  The men fell silent, but Maya could sense their unspoken resentment at camping out without the protection of stone. She knew how deeply fear of the Phooka ran in Eronth; even the hardworking farmers would leave their crops unharvested and ungathered until the night of primordial chaos was at an end.

  Maya had been delighted when she was informed of the detour. The Imomm had sung of the Lakes in the old songs, but none of their people had ever visited them in time, remembered, due to a superstitious belief Diomonna possessed that the Guardian of the Lakes could suck the Imomm of energy, like a vampire. Several Imomm had been discovered dead by the Sapphire Lakes many hundreds of Wheel Turns before, and the myth of a mysterious mass slaying had been embellished over time. There were many Imomm that wondered if the Sapphire Lakes even existed, due to them being uncharted. It was said the Lakes chose who they called, and that few were ever chosen.

  Maya knew that when they reached Faia, where the Wizards had always been worshipped, it would become even more difficult for her to have quality time with Bwani, and so she had vowed to make the most of every moment.

  Tonight, even the bitter air that turned her face and body numb, despite the heavy brown cloak she had been given, could not quell her spirits. She burst into song, accompanying Claw. Edwen smiled at her, sipping from a flagon of Faia home brew ale, and Maya was momentarily chilled. She found it difficult to fathom why she held so much dislike for Edwen. He was, after all, Bwani’s closest confidant and had been the stone that had stood nearest to him for their long imprisonment over time. Perhaps it was her fancy, but there was something lurking in his eyes when he glanced at her, and at times when she laughed and exchanged love talk with Bwani, she could feel Edwen’s eyes upon her, like burning coals.

  She glanced around at the faces of her travelling companions, their features illuminated by the glow of the fire. It remained inconceivable that the nine men who sat around her, discussing their future plans with such passion, were the nine stones that had been protected and worshipped for so long. None of the Wizards seemed any the worse for wear for their time as monoliths, although on the rare occasions that any goddesses’ name was mentioned, an uneasy silence would fall upon them.

  Initially, the Wizards had been a confused mass to her, but gradually they were forming their own very different personalities.

  Claw was a favourite, with his sensitive, creative personality. Josem was an older man; he thought carefully before he spoke, and tended to keep his opinions to himself. Harbog was feisty in nature, strapping and tall, with long red hair and beard. He had a huge booming voice and, unlike Josem, held opinions on everything. Ejillahm was vivacious and cheerful. When Ejillahm walked, he bounced, and was often to be found staring into space, a huge smile upon his face. Steppm was handsome, with his blond locks and intelligent blazing blue eyes. Steppm the Lady Slayer, as he was termed by the Wizards, was often the focus of the amorous advances of the women. He would flirt with Maya constantly, until Bwani sent him packing, usually with a clip under his ear. Aaambll was small and dark, his mouth often twisted into a sneer, and sometimes, when Maya spotted Aaambll and Edwen talking earnestly together, she had an uneasy feeling in her stomach. Dewf was an enigma, always pleasant on the surface, but Maya found it difficult to fathom his true thoughts. He was like a pool of water where all you ever saw was yourself reflected.

  ‘Sing us a song, Claw!’ Bwani called, after they had eaten their supper of black bean stew and apricot cakes. Claw ducked his head shyly and strummed the zitter board.

  Why do your hands drip wet with blood?

  Ghormho? Ghormho?

  Why do you not love your wife and Fenn?

  Ghormho? Ghormho?

  And how will you charge the Eom dark?

  Ghormho? Ghormho?

  When we kill you, what will be your last thought?

  Ghormho? Ghormho?

  Will the vultures find you in the dirt and the mud?

  Ghormho? Ghormho?

  Then will our hands drip wet with blood?

  Ghormho! Ghormho!

  There was a strained silence after Claw finished singing. Maya frowned, trying to absorb the meaning of the song. She could sense Bwani’s displeasure.

  ‘I think your love songs are better than the piece you have just sung,’ Bwani said shortly. Claw bent his head over the zitter board. The easy camaraderie they had shared as they digested their meal was now gone. May
a heard the cry of some unquiet spirit from the direction of the Sapphire Lakes, and she shivered.

  ‘The trouble with you, Claw,’ Harbog boomed, breaking the silence that had fallen upon them, ‘is that you have no balls. You live life as if you were a simpering Faian peasant woman!’

  ‘Like one of the peasant women that you have enjoyed recently?’ Claw rejoined. ‘No doubt, come the season change, there will be many more simple peasants with red hair stumbling around Eronth.’

  ‘Unlike you, I take the small pleasures offered to me while I travel. It would be ungrateful to refuse their generosity. We are not all sissy boys.’

  Claw was silent, but Maya noticed with compassion that his great claws shook slightly. She hugged her knees, watching his sensitive face in profile, reading the pain that lived within him. Privately, she was grateful that Claw refrained from lusting with the other Wizards. She found it repulsive the way the Bird Wizards could use the Eronth women’s bodies so casually. She found herself wondering if she had not been with them, how differently Bwani might have acted. Would he have pushed himself inside the bodies of strangers while his men cheered him on? As if he read her mind, he glanced over at her. He smiled tenderly, and Maya felt her agony wash away. His hand sought hers under her cloak, and then travelled further up her leg while he addressed Claw:

  ‘If we are going to reclaim power in this land, then I need a united front. Surely you realise how destructive the Azephim have been in Eronth?’

  ‘Which was our fault,’ Claw pointed out, his voice shaking, if we had not carried the Eom into Eronth, then the Azephim would never have crossed.’ There was an angry silence.

  ‘Claw, you are talking ilkama shit, brother!’ Aaambll muttered. ‘The Azephim are not the rightful owners of the Eom. They are the thieves. Besides, look how badly the goddesses have ruled in Eronth. The Azephim get banished to the Wastelands, where they merely continue their destructive ways, while we become chunks of bloody rocks!’