Then she was gone. Moving into air with the air. In front of me, a sight that raised the hair on my arms and sent shivers through my body. Demeter was waiting about six feet away, arms outstretched to receive her child. Gone was the heavily cloaked, grieving Demeter of the Circle of Power ritual. I could hardly reconcile that broken-hearted figure with the severely beautiful goddess before me with hair like ripened corn. Her face was alight with joy and radiance as she hugged her daughter to her. As they embraced, they merged so they appeared to be the one.
As I lay on the ground, awestruck, engrossed in their reunion, I became aware of a soft chanting. The chanting began to increase in intensity. Slowly materialising around the goddesses were a crowd of what looked to be over one hundred women, clothed in white gowns. They wore gold masks which covered their entire faces and around their bodies glowed a phosphorescent light. Each masked figure carried a severed pig’s head.
I lay, half-terrified and half in ecstasy, as the chanting women surrounded and swallowed the two goddesses. There came a sound of huge wings flapping, the earth moved quickly and the chanting rose in intensity. Tears fell from my eyes at the beauty of the chant. As quickly as they had appeared, they were gone. The mass of masked women, the pigs’ heads and the goddess mother and daughter, all were gone.
I lay back on the earth’s surface, weeping as waves of nausea began to ripple through my body, and I vomited. I lay, emptying my stomach onto the soil, then gratefully slipped into unconsciousness.
*
A cold pressure was on my head, and the enchanting fragrance of neroli and rose wafted soothingly over me.
‘How are you feeling, Emma?’ A familiar voice accompanied the fragrance. I winced as the much longed-for light invaded my eyes. Then I smiled as I recognised the familiar faces of Khartyn and Rosedark bending over me. Awareness returned and I groggily recognised the cosy interior of the cottage.
‘H-h-how did I get here?’ I stammered, attempting to sit up.
Khartyn pushed me back onto the bed. ‘Lie and rest. How do you think you got here, you Bindisore fool? We’ve been expecting you in the Overworld. I’ve been in constant communion with my scrying mirror. As soon as I saw the vision of you and Persephone bursting from the womb of the mother earth, Rosedark and I hightailed it like mad to greet you.
‘It is good to see you, child.’
She looked at me with genuine, undisguised warmth, and then glanced mischievously at Rosedark. They both started to giggle like schoolgirls.
‘Blessed Be!’ exclaimed the Crone, as she began to apply fragrant aromatic compresses to my aching eyes and temples. ‘My old eyes have seen a lot of sacred mysteries over the centuries, but never have they seen a Bindisore-Crossa pop through the earth like an erupting pimple!’
I grinned weakly, attempting to recapture the moment when Persephone had embraced me as we rose through the soil together. Frustratingly, all I could remember at that point was myself rising and twisting through the dark earth. There was a faint elusive memory of the smell of Persephone as we rose, and women with masks, but no matter how hard I tried to recall them, the memories danced tantalisingly away.
‘Take heed, for you that have witnessed the sacred rites are forever cursed with the knowledge of the awake among the dead,’ Khartyn quoted softly. ‘The Dreamers in their grace will not leave you in peace with the memories of the sacred mysteries. Now rest, Emma. Faia is celebrating and feasting the return of Persephone, but Ishran and Sati are scheming as we speak. We need you fully alert to aid us against their plan for Salhmain. Now rest.’
As she spoke her fingers pressed pressure points behind my ear.
*
‘There!’
Khartyn spoke with satisfaction, watching Hypnos descend swiftly upon Emma.
‘The Dreamers will look after our Crossa now and give her instructions for when her viper sister strikes again.’
Handing the bowl of scented water to Rosedark to dispose of, she added, ‘And strike the viper will. I sense her plotting to draw upon the energy of Salhmain for her own selfish ends.’
The Crone looked down on the sleeping face of Emma where she lay. Respect and affection softened the deep crevices in her face. How many lifetimes had she shared with the Crossa? The two of them had sprung from the Dreamers’ Shell more times than she could remember. Never had she known of a Crossa, let alone a Bluite, who had descended and survived the underground.
‘You truly are the mother of the Chosen One,’ she murmured, making the sign of the pentacle over her. Rosedark watched intently, and felt the dark-green scorpion of envy strike at her breast. She longed for Khartyn to look upon her with the same respect and adoration that illuminated her face when she gazed at Emma.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Gwyndion and Samma reached Shellome on the moonrise ruled by Mars. Following the directions given to them by a local Faiaite fruit seller, they made their way quickly, eager to seek guidance from the High Priestess. Concerned as he was with the urgency of his quest, Gwyndion scarcely bothered to look around at the bustling village town. The merest impressions reached him of a prosperous, joyful people who were growing more and more concerned with the poor yield offered by the season’s crops. The streets were cobbled and laid out in a grid and it was easy to find Shellome, the home of the High Priestess, which dominated the landscape on the distant end of a twisting path leading up a hillside overlooking the countryside.
The views were magnificent. Faia village and the Wastelands stretched out below. In the very far distance, he imagined he could see the hair-thin, silver-blue glint of the ocean, where the great city of New Baffin lay. Clouds trailed lazily across the sky, and far above, black specks of birdlife darted. The Triple Moons appeared close enough to touch.
Nobody bothered the Webx and he made his way easily, although many curious glances were thrown his way. Beings from all the known worlds had at different times made their way to Mary to seek counsel of the pentacle stones, but a Webx and his meerwog was a rare sight indeed in the village.
Shellome was surrounded by a huge wall on the eastern side which was tilted up, making a natural amphitheatre. However, it was the receiving quarters in the High Priestess’s home itself that Gwyndion was interested in. The fruit seller had given him detailed instructions on how to locate the rooms, which proved to be unnecessary as they were easy to locate, and the Webx was relieved to see the queue for the receiving line was not overlong and would only take the best part of a morning’s wait.
Joining the queue to collect their pentacle bead from the Janusite manning the desk, Gwyndion could finally relax slightly and look with more interest around him. The majority of beings in the queue appeared to be travellers like Samma and himself. There was a family group of tourists from New Baffin, a Crossa, an elderly couple of Bluites and a few pure-blood Faeries looking uneasily about. Gwyndion and Samma nervously avoided the Faeries’ eyes, although they could see at a glance that they were of the Wezom tribe, being more thickset and slightly larger than the delicate Imomm people.
The occupants of the queue for their part tried terribly hard, without success, not to stare at the Masachinoneaf and his meerwog. Webx people were such a reclusive race that to sight one, even in worlds where the fantastic was considered commonplace, was quite an event. A tangible ripple of excitement could be felt in the line. The handsome Janusite seated at the desk looked intently at Gwyndion and Samma when they nervously approached him.
‘Greetings, Masachinoneaf and meerwog! What reason do you seek to receive counsel with the High Priestess of Faia?’
His left head asked the question while his right looked gloomily into a possible future. Gwyndion thought quickly, deciding honesty was the best course of action.
‘We have crossed by grace of the Snake Crone and now Samma and myself are lost in this land. I am Gwyndion, shootling of Webx Elders Tanzen and Rozen. My race has suffered insurmountable losses with the abduction of the Eom by the black-winged angels. I seek a
dvice from Mary, the Bluite Priestess, as to how I can not only recover the Eom, but also how I can locate my beloved Hostlings, as they too were abducted by the Dark Angels.’
He paused for breath while the Janusite motioned him to slow down as he recorded Gwyndion’s request in a large parchment book. Reaching into a conch shell on the table, the Janusite presented him with a small pink tablet with a miniature pentacle etched into the surface.
‘Sit quietly and concentrate on the tablet. Place into it all your questions, concerns and fears. I shall present you to the High Priestess shortly.’
Relieved that their request for an audience with Mary had been granted, Gwyndion and Samma crossed to the far side of the room where the remaining members of the queue were sitting quietly, meditating and focusing on the magical talismans. The morning passed quickly while Gwyndion and Samma sat with Webx hand and meerwog paw on the tablet, focusing their combined energies on their homeland and the plight of Tanzen and Rozen. Gradually the queue became shorter and shorter. At last they were next.
‘This way, please!’ commanded the Janusite. They followed his quick pace down corridor after corridor, all in identical pastel tones with closed rosewood doors, hand carved with wooden shells. Gwyndion could feel the energy of Shellome throbbing and pulsating. He could well believe that the tales were true that the High Priestess had designed her living quarters from an ancient chart presented as a gift to her by a Tremite Scribe when she was first ordained High Priestess of Faia. The legends claimed that Shellome was modelled after the original Great Shell, but Gwyndion knew that there were many rumours about Mary, who remained a source of fascination throughout Eronth. However, feeling the little flickers of energy around him, Gwyndion had no trouble believing that it was possible that she had intimate knowledge of the Dreamers, and that at least some of the innuendo and gossip had some truth.
Beside him Samma trotted, her fluffy tail beginning to wag in an excited greeting. The Janusite presented them to Mary with a low bow.
‘May I present Gwyndion of the Webx tribe, shootling to Tanzen and Rozen, and Samma meerwog, companion to the said Webx.’
The High Priestess stood and made the traditional Webx greeting. Impressed that she knew it, Gwyndion followed suit, their fingers fluttering together slowly until they touched.
‘Welcome to you both!’ she said warmly.
Her Bluite accent sounded strangely guttural to Gwyndion. Then Samma suddenly threw herself at the High Priestess with an urgent mewing. Before the alarmed Janusite could prevent her she jumped into Mary’s arms as if greeting a long-lost friend. Gwyndion stared in horror, convinced they had broken the strict code of etiquette surrounding the High Priestess, but Mary laughed heartily.
‘Sit down!’ she commanded, indicating a velvet-lined bench.
She resumed her seat with Samma now entrenched firmly on her lap, her fingers stroking the little meerwog, who gazed at her speculatively every now and again.
‘Do you have your pentacle with you?’ she asked.
Gwyndion nodded shyly, handing it over to her, his hand shaking slightly with the importance of this meeting. It had not been an easy journey through the Almost Were to reach Faia, and he still shuddered with memories of the diseased soil he had had to rest his roots in at night. Mary noticed his shaking.
‘You are still suffering from Faery shock,’ she said gently.
Taking the pentacle from him, she began to concentrate. The atmosphere in the room altered. Gwyndion’s senses became more acute until he was even aware of the sound of his skin breathing. Finally Mary looked up, her brilliant blue eyes reflecting new depths.
‘You are not ready at this time to travel into the Wastelands in pursuit of what you seek. You have barely reached Masachinoneaf and the Azephim are very treacherous. They are also aware of your pilgrimage and desire you for their own ends. They wish for you to serve them as a living battery to the Eom, as they once used your Hostlings.’
Gwyndion opened his mouth to protest, but the Janusite silenced him with a double-headed glare of admonishment.
The High Priestess continued. ‘You need to stay here under my sanctuary at Shellome and continue your studies until you reach Oakdeer development. Only then will you be able to enter the Wastelands. If you attempt to do so now, I doubt that the toll-keeper will let you pass. If you stay here in Shellome you can study all the texts that the Tremite Scribes have provided us with. You will better understand the Azephim, and so you will not underestimate the energies you must deal with.
‘I can sense Tremite energy around you, they obviously have some interest in you. I can arrange an interview in New Baffin with the Tremites shortly before you turn Oakdeer. I sense also that your meerwog desires to communicate with me but there is some form of blockage or curse preventing her from being able to talk to me. I will need to arrange an examination of the meerwog by Khartyn, one of our most respected Witch Crones. If there is a binding on the little meerwog, Khartyn may be able to undo it. The message she wishes to communicate may prove to be of great importance to your people. You may of course reject my advice. Although it comes from the Dreamers it is channelled through me, and is therefore shaped by my own ego, but I strongly advise you against attempting to retrieve the Eom at this present moment in time, lest you end up in the same cocoons that your Hostlings presently occupy!’
At Gwyndion’s look of horror the High Priestess laughed and continued more gently.
‘You will be comfortable here. You will stay as a guest in Shellome and I will provide earth for you to rest your roots. It will not be as fine, quality as your home soil, but it will be more comfortable and nutritious than the Almost Were! You both need time to recover from your Faery shock. Consider yourself blessed that you managed to escape the clutches of the Imomm tribe, as most do not. However, the one you knew as Diomonna has cast an attachment upon you, and the Imomm people do not let go easily when they weave their love spells. She will come looking for you again and you need to be prepared. Do you have any questions?’
She handed the talisman to the Janusite, who scowled at Gwyndion. Nervously Gwyndion shook his head and Mary smiled, placing Samma gently on the floor before rising and bowing deeply to them both.
‘Then Ano will settle you both in and orient you. Welcome to Shellome. We are deeply honoured to provide shelter to one of the mighty Webx race. It is a happy moonset for Faia. I can only hope that the study you undertake in this sanctuary will be beneficial in your bid to free your Hostlings and reclaim the Eom.’
Gwyndion replied with the threefold Faia gesture, touching his heart, third eye and throat. The High Priestess nodded her approval and dismissed him.
When the Webx and meerwog had departed the room, Ano turned to Mary.
‘Do you really feel it wise to offer sanctuary to a Webx? It is after all a direct challenge to the Azephim! Ishran we can cope with, but if Seleza is offended by our action it could have dire repercussions on the Faiaites!’
Mary ignored him, picking up the talisman and puzzling over it.
‘Birds coming home to roost,’ she murmured softly to herself.
Without looking at Ano she added, ‘I will always offer sanctuary to those races who have been persecuted! Did you not feel the power of that young Masachinoneaf and his meerwog? This may be our chance to finally banish the Azephim from Faia!’
Ano clicked his tongues impatiently in both of his heads. ‘I feel strongly I must advise you against this rash decision! I am, after all, Janusite, and able to view the consequences of the path you are taking!’
Mary raised her head and smiled widely, causing his heart to melt slightly.
‘Possible consequence, I think you mean,’ she corrected him.
Ano sighed deeply. The curse of his nature was weighing heavily upon him. He was forbidden by Janusite law to speak of his visions, and there were times in this Turn of the Wheel that he had longed for the gift of sightlessness. Some things were too hard to view.
Insid
e himself he prayed, May the Dreamers protect us and may the path we are on be changed!
*
There was such a myriad of marvels to behold in the narrow cobbled streets of Faia that Gwyndion and Samma could scarcely comprehend them all at once. Exotic hybrid Faiaites. Colourful fragrant wreaths placed around the village, the smell of spices and cooking, fruits and joy wafted through the streets. To the Webx and meerwog Faia appeared even more marvellous than it actually was. After the illusory shadow-world of the Faeries and the sombre atmosphere of Zeglanada after the Eom was abducted, the life and colour of the town seemed to leap out at them. It lifted their hearts.
The town in fact was subdued. The Faiaites had found it difficult to recover from the shock of Persephone’s late rising and the meagre crops that the fields had so far yielded. As Gwyndion and Samma made their way through the crowded streets, they stopped to admire a newly erected bronze statue of a horned man triumphantly holding aloft a baby. They became aware that they had become the object of delighted curiosity and admiration from the Faiaites, and as a result of their sightseeing through the village they had collected a small trail of inquisitive Faiaites closely watching every move they made. Samma mewed a greeting at some Faiaite meerwogs and was joyfully engaged in no time in a meerwog game of running in circles and jumping over each other’s backs, while the crowd looked on, laughing and applauding.
Pretty Faiaite maidens shyly offered Gwyndion flagons of raspberry wine which he accepted gratefully. He was beginning to relax and bask in the unexpected warmth of the villagers’ hospitality. Samma, too, was not to be left out of refreshments, as Faiaite children came running with carrot honey cakes for the meerwog to munch on, each child desperate to feed the meerwog first.
Circle of Nine: Circle of Nine Trilogy 1 Page 36