Circle of Nine: Circle of Nine Trilogy 1

by Josephine Pennicott

*

  Mary leant into her window alcove as she observed the rolling, luxuriant hills of Faia, gazing beyond its patchwork green and pink foliage against which were dotted mobs of the unmistakable ilkamas. Further in the distance, defiantly black against the pastel hues of the Faia landscape, could be glimpsed the faint smudges of the turrets of the Azephim castle, which were the focus of Mary’s unblinking gaze as Khartyn made her entrance.

  ‘So, your Bindisore and Ishran have joined forces,’ Mary commented without averting her eyes from the distant turrets. ‘As I said they would. The Dreamers are giving us an interesting time of it, wouldn’t you say?’

  Khartyn sensed that no comment was necessary. Mary spun around to face the Crone, her gossamer blue gown billowing about her. For one of the human race she was indeed beautiful, Khartyn reflected, with her auburn-gold curls gathered in that chignon she favoured. She suspected the Priestess of resorting to Glamour, for as the seasons had moved with the Wheel of the Year, Mary had not aged one iota, and ageing was something all Bluites were karmically forced to endure. No wrinkle had ever marked the Priestess’s beauty and her flesh remained as soft and firm as a young maid’s.

  ‘Forgive me, Old Mother. I do not know what to do,’ Mary added.

  Khartyn’s heart went out to the Priestess for her frank admission.

  ‘I sense the Azephim power is growing stronger. I know their plan is to destroy our goddesses. Their black hearts covet Faia and they would destroy me to take it. I feel powerless to stop them. Oh! I know I have powers, the power of fire, the power to cross. I can achieve the Glamour, but the Bindisore’s lust for power has ignited her magic. You have trained her too well, Old Mother.’

  The Crone sighed. In the many seasons she had known Mary she had never seen such a display of fear. Her power, beauty and strength were revered in Eronth. Even the most obscure of the old Faery tribes had heard tales of this legendary Bluite who had crossed unintentionally after suffering tremendous shock and grief when her entire Bluite blood family were killed in their home by escaped criminals. Her father was decapitated in front of her and her mother and elder sisters were raped and their throats cut. The young Mary ran praying for her life through the house of blood and into the enclosed garden. In that hot, sweet second of time the Dreamers had heard that prayer of agony that screamed from the soul of the child. The stars, the Earth, the night, all had moved swiftly and had swallowed the child. Even then, when the very young Mary had arrived in Eronth she had not displayed fear. Her shock had protected her. The Faiaite people then brought the dazed future High Priestess to Khartyn, who had treated her condition with psycho-aromatherapy. Khartyn had recognised instantly upon meeting the child that she was in the company of an exalted soul. She saw what the Faiaite people had failed to recognise, the unique energy that the child possessed. The slight buzzing around her head area signalled her origins from the distant Heztarra Galaxy where very few Crossas originated, the few that did being major teachers for the worlds.

  It had been no surprise to the Crone as time passed and Persephone rose and descended and rose again, that Mary should become ever more radiant as she grew to womanhood. In her sixteenth summer the light that emanated from her was so strong she was elected High Priestess of Faia. It was a legendary moment in Eronth history. Previously, the honour had always been allocated either to one of the virgins who tended the Blest Circle of Nine or to someone of Faery blood from the old tribes. It was unheard of for a Bluite to achieve the title.

  When the Dreamers decreed through the dreams of the Tremites the decision to honour the Bluite with the office of High Priestess, the entirety of Eronth had echoed with cries of joy. The bells had rung in the village for days on end in honour of the momentous occasion. The only inhabitant of Eronth who did not join in the celebration was Ishran. The Azephim skulked in his castle and clenched his long dark nails into his palms until blood flowed from his hands. To award the exalted position to a woman was crushing enough for Ishran; he felt there were already far too many goddesses in Eronth. But to allocate the position to a Bluite was more than he could bear. He sat, meditating on the silent Eom for days, allowing his hate to fester and grow, forming armies of soldiers as he cursed, brooded, planned and waited. Persephone would rise and fall with the seasons, and one of those seasons would see his designs come to fruition.

  *

  Now Mary sat looking at Khartyn, desperately hoping for an answer from the Crone. Khartyn noted the inner turmoil that was unbalancing the High Priestess. She felt her own turmoil too, and knew she must unburden her soul before she continued. A secret kept too long could go stale. She suffered with the guilty knowledge that she had trained the Bindisore in the ancient ways, unknowingly giving the Azephim vastly enhanced ammunition to use against the Faiaites.

  ‘I have something to share with you, Mary.’ She glanced toward Ano and Geldoz, who discreetly left the room. After the door closed behind them, Khartyn continued. ‘Something I have kept to myself over the seasons. I can but hope it will aid you in bringing about the downfall of Sati and Ishran.’

  Mary leaned forward, her startling blue eyes wide in anticipation as Khartyn began her tale.

  The Crone began, and her words seemed imbued with a rhythm both compelling and illuminating. It was as if the Mother Ocean herself moved through her silvery-grey lined lips.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  I am the stag of seven times.

  Over the flooded world

  I am borne by the wind.

  I descend in tears like dew, I lie glittering.

  I fly aloft like a griffin to my nest on the cliff,

  I bloom among the loveliest flowers,

  I am both the oak and the lightning that blasts it.

  — The Song of Amergin (1268 BC)

  When I awoke in the dim, morbid light of the Almost Were I related my experiences of the night. Khartyn and Rosedark exchanged that meaningful look. It was beginning to irritate me.

  I asked Khartyn what my dreams and visions meant, not really expecting a straight answer. The Crone promised to look into her scrying mirror for the answer as soon as we had eaten breakfast. Huddling together for warmth in the chill morning air, we shared a simple meal of apple-bread and esteo. When we had finished our meagre rations Khartyn brushed the crumbs from her gown and reached for her black bag.

  ‘Before we continue it is time for me to scry your mystery.’ She produced her mirror, wrapped in black velvet cloth, and after centring herself began to gaze deeply into the worlds revealed beyond the mirror’s smooth surface. Time crept by, and my feet went to sleep beneath me while I sat willing the Crone to pin down what it was that had haunted me. Rosedark quietly went about feeding and preparing the ilkamas, taking care not to disturb Khartyn’s meditation. After what seemed like hours to me, and days to my aching back, the Crone opened her eyes. She looked drugged; her pupils were huge and dilated.

  ‘Did the mirror tell you anything?’ I asked, trying to disguise my impatience.

  The Crone’s face was grim and determined.

  ‘We must move from the Almost Were — and quickly! The skies of Faia run red with blood.’

  ‘Did you see the White Stag Man that I have dreamt of?’ I asked, incredulous that this was the only information she had received in all that time of meditation.

  ‘No,’ the Crone replied flatly. ‘I saw many things but not the White Stag.’

  I went to question her further but the look on her face silenced me.

  ‘Quickly!’ Khartyn ordered. ‘We must set forth for Faia!’

  *

  Ishran peered into his scrying mirror, engrossed, and watched the three women wheel their ilkamas about and commence their retreat from the desolation of the Almost Were. He smiled. Sati idly stroked his long black hair with a fingernail that was more a dark claw.

  ‘What amuses my angel?’ she whispered.

  Ishran leaned back into his chair and smirked.

  ‘Oh, just a memory.’ His voice he
ld the blackness of coals and the sweetness of rain.

  ‘A memory?’ Sati repeated. ‘Does it involve the Bluite Crossa? Or the Crone? Surely not that Barbie-doll apprentice?’

  Ishran covered her numb, dead grey hand with his own. He smiled again and in his eyes Sati saw the demon of love.

  ‘The trio are on their way here!’ he hissed. ‘To destroy me! That skinny old magic bag of bones is charging at full speed toward the castle — to destroy me!’

  He laughed uproariously and his mouth opened wide, revealing his fetid breath and the forked, scaled tongue within. Sati laughed with him, entertained by his hilarity. She moved his dark hand to the curve of her breast.

  ‘Well now, you’d best move quickly, Ishran!’ Her voice dripped black honey. ‘I know that if Khartyn has decided to destroy you she might at the very least kill you!’

  Then they laughed together, for they both knew it was impossible for an ageing Faiaite to kill the undead.

  ‘What of the Crossa?’ Sati asked seriously. ‘I cannot rest until she is dead! I do so want her heart! If the White Stag reaches her first . . .’

  Ishran considered this and snorted smugly.

  ‘Let the Stag have her. When he has finished with her I will kill her. I’ll kill her slowly and rip her beating heart from her chest and bring it to you, my dear Sati. That should dampen the nasty little Crossa’s enthusiasm for harming my Queen.’

  He began delicately exploring the full contours of her breast with his fingers. She smiled and flicked her tongue at him in the Azephim fashion. He responded by snaking his tongue across her nipple. Sati tried to relax, but this talk of Khartyn and her companions reignited the old fears inside her. Ishran smelt her fear and looked up to face her.

  ‘Perhaps I should have her before I kill her for my Queen,’ he smiled. ‘Show the Crossa the Azephim way, see if she responds differently to the other Earth people. If she feels differently to other Earth people.’

  The fear inside Sati flared and he smiled, loving her for the power that she gave him. He held her as the kylon stirred and flowered, and mating chemicals released from the black sacs inside his wings. They smiled lasciviously at each other. Their faces were like contorted, ragged masks; they looked like the demons they were. Here, in their private chambers, they rarely bothered to use Glamour to disguise their true appearance. There was no need, for when they looked at each other through their pus-filled, filmy eyes, all they saw was beauty.

  *

  As our ilkamas trotted briskly through the Glade of the Almost Were I could sense their longing to be free of this melancholy twilight world with its fetid odours and sense of menace. The Fair-I’s had begun to diminish in number beside the path; only here and there tiny patches of gold still shone through the sad grey of the sky. With these signs I felt a sense of optimism returning that the ordeal of the Glade would soon be over. Soon we would be free of the oppressive atmosphere of the Almost Were.

  The Crone sensed my altered mood. ‘Beware, Emma. Guard against the complacency alighting on your nerves. The Almost Were relies on your false sense of security; it is at this point that most of its victims are ensnared.’

  In time the patches of yellow in the sky became more and more frequent. Now there were no more Fair-I’s glinting on the path at all, only luxuriant bushes of flowers of a kind unknown to me. Rosedark had begun to hum one of her haunting, lyrical ballads.

  It’s nearly over, I thought, relieved. Oh thank God, it’s nearly over!

  Jabi picked up my mood and began to prance with relief. Then up ahead I spotted water and the three of us let out a cheer of excitement.

  ‘Llaami stream! We are nearly through!’ Khartyn called. ‘But be wary! For the Almost Were always has one more trick up her sleeve!’

  I was entranced by the bubbling stream, and its song lulled and soothed me.

  ‘Will the ilkamas be able to cross the water, Old Mother?’ Rosedark queried.

  I shuddered with distaste at what might lie beneath the swirling pink and green surface of the water. Then, sitting on a rock near the far side of the river, I saw her. Her bottom half was that of a goat but her face was clearly of Faery origins, with its silver lips, elongated large green eyes, and high purple cheekbones. Her hair was a brilliant tangle of every shade of red imaginable and through the luxuriant mass she had woven leaves and sticks and twigs from the Llaami. She was naked, her breasts large and full and covered in deep scratches. When she noticed us, she sniffed the air, her silver lips parted to reveal long, incisor fangs and she growled a low, bloodcurdling growl. I could hardly believe my eyes when I observed Khartyn signalling to her ilkama to enter the water.

  ‘Hey! Wait a minute!’ I yelled in panic. ‘You’re not going to enter with that thing in the water, are you?’

  Khartyn glanced over at the goat woman, who was continuing to snarl her displeasure at our invasion of her river.

  ‘It’s only a Glaistig,’ Khartyn replied calmly. ‘For us, her bark is worse than her bite. An advantage of being female in this fair land. If you were a male she’d eat you.’

  I was too afraid to argue with Khartyn, but I was also afraid of getting too close to the ferocious-looking vampire siren. Deciding to choose the lesser of the two evils, I led Jabi into the Llaami. To my relief, the water of the Llaami was delightfully warm. As we made quick work of the crossing, I cried out in surprise as I spotted coloured fish and water-fairies swimming together in a colourful underwater microcosm. The Glaistig continued to growl her displeasure at our intrusion, but as Khartyn had predicted she left us in peace to make the crossing and we reached the borders of Faia with no mishap.

  Upon crossing to the other shore it became apparent we were nearing the village of Faia. Tendrils of smoke curled into the peach-coloured sky from fires within the settlement. The ilkamas quickened their pace, knowing their destination was near and they’d soon be treated to some choice delicacies from the Crone’s bag.

  I wondered why Khartyn had chosen to travel to Faia via the longer route, making us endure the despondent atmosphere of the Almost Were. Surely it would have been so much easier to journey the same path that they took every week or fortnight when they travelled into the village to purchase the supplies that they needed? Was she just testing me? Or did she have some other, more sinister agenda? By circumnavigating Faia, and travelling illogically through the Almost Were first, we seemed to have wasted an entire day and night! When I mentioned this to Khartyn, she just regarded me with her impregnable milky eyes.

  ‘Oh, I just thought that perhaps you might care for some sightseeing, child,’ was all she said. Great. Just continue to keep me in the dark, then. It would be nice to be told what’s happening for a change, instead of being treated like a backward child! I was struggling to keep my resentment from showing on my face, and failing miserably. It didn’t help that Khartyn appeared to be choking with suppressed laughter.

  ‘Look upon your experience in the Almost Were as an initiation, Emma,’ she said, glancing mischievously at Rosedark. ‘Yes, it might seem fallacious to detour through the Glade, but my exposing you to some of your buried thought patterns about yourself, and by you facing that side of yourself, we will make faster progress on our journey.’ She laughed again at something that was amusing her, and I fought to keep my emotions under control. There were times when Khartyn’s smugness was just enraging. I shook my head, watching her shoulders heaving with laughter.

  She sobered up quickly when we began to realise how infertile the land appeared around the village. There were acres of fruit trees where the fruit lay rotten on the ground, and all the plant life and flowers were either dead or dying. Khartyn and Rosedark appeared troubled by this as well. It certainly looked as though the earth of Eronth was determined to deny sustenance to its dependants.

  Faia finally lay revealed before us upon crossing a small hillock and I was immediately struck by its beauty. The cottages of the village were reminiscent in some way of the English Tudor style. They
were painted in neutral shades, with darker stripes down the front of them, and they blended into the surrounding landscape perfectly. On the borders of the village were enclosed groups of animals. They were grazing inside large circles which were drawn with white chalk into the ground. As we neared the seemingly inadequate enclosures my attention was drawn to various magical symbols engraved around the animals.

  ‘They are of species rare and precious, Emma,’ Khartyn spoke, noting my curiosity. ‘Unicorns, such as once trod the surface of your world, dragons, also once known on the Blue-Planet, and a third creature extinct on many other worlds — alfecklands.’

  I wondered at the beauty of the protected animals. Two perfect silver unicorns, their single twisted horns etched with gold, dozed peacefully next to each other. A trio of baby dragons with reptilian heads and long serpent’s necks drooping and emanating much sadness brought a tear to my eye. They were the size of small dogs, with tails like crocodiles that swished in the air, claws black, shining and long. Their little bodies were covered in beautifully patterned scales of blue, yellow and red, and their eyes were yellow jewels of sadness. Then the third species, the alfecklands, a strange mixture with some features of a horse and some of a deer, topped off with a distinctly cat-like countenance.

  The alfecklands meowed in welcome and continued their playful game with each other. Rosedark said, ‘Long ago the Dreamers tell of a time when dragons were so plentiful in Faia that some even managed to cross into the other worlds. Now all that remains are a precious handful.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Khartyn, ‘and it’s a handful more than Lord Ishran would allow us.’

  I grimaced, an image flooding my mind of Ishran fastening his fangs onto the neck of the mother of the remaining dragons. Then a massacre as Solumbi swarmed and overwhelmed the screaming beast, tearing it to bloody pieces as other dragons fled in panic. I saw the sad eyes of a survivor filled with listlessness and pain. Shame at their fate flooded my system.

  Khartyn raised her arms to send energy to the dragons, but they were too despondent to respond. Faery folk who were guarding the protected animals waved cheerfully to the three of us, but remained at a distance. Khartyn nodded by way of acknowledgment.