He began to walk off, dragging his bag of heads back to his cave, carefully carrying his new small friend. Suddenly, he was no longer lonely.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Cast a cold eye
On life, on death
Horseman, pass by
— WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS, ‘UNDER BEN BULBEN’
Eronth — New Baffin
The devastation caused when Shambzhla sang the wave had far-reaching effects on New Baffin. A memorial was erected to the many hundreds of New Baffin citizens who had lost their lives under the wall of water, and a more determined effort was made by the survivors to work with the ancient Sea Warrior Queen. Rudi had been recaptured by the Tremite Scribes, although not before she had given Joseph a vicious bite. It had taken part of his upper thigh, and now proved slow to heal. There had been doubts among the Scribes about releasing the mermain when her family group had most probably moved on, but Rudmay refused to back down. Rudi had to be returned to Shambzhla.
Rudmay’s conviction was strengthened when she escorted the servers and Scribes to the ocean of New Baffin, carrying Rudi in a portable aquarium. A large group of mermain was already in the shallows, barely visible in the early dawn light, waiting to receive her. With the strange telepathy that the Scribes had never understood, the ocean people had sensed one of their kind was being returned to them. Comprehending, Rudi stopped her hysterical flapping in the aquarium and began emitting an eerie singing. The Scribes and servers waded into the water as far as they dared and released the front catch of the aquarium, expelling the mermain into the ocean. It was a tense moment. The mermain songs were potentially deadly; a combined onslaught could kill everyone present. But the joy of the reunion took all the attention of the merpeople. The Scribes and servers hastily backed out of the water as the tailed beings danced and twisted in the air, Rudi in their midst. There were to be no songs of death that day.
For you, Shambzhla, we’ve given her back to you, Rudmay thought. Will you be satisfied now?
The mermain baiting ceased overnight, and statues of Shambzhla and her Sea Hag attendants were built by the famed sculptor Grinten Bernardo, commissioned by the city officials. The statues were erected outside one of Aphrodite’s love temples that overlooked the sea. Offering bowls and fire torches were set in front of the stone figures, and on the evening it was unveiled, Simeon, Rudmay and Horus attended the ceremony.
The social event was the biggest New Baffin had seen for an entire Turn of the Wheel. After the glass Faery murders and the horror of the Great Flood, many people had been too afraid to leave their homes. The city had been in chaos for a long time. The flood proved a turning point in the history of New Baffin. The revelation that Sea Hags had been living among them for so long, disguised by Glamour, had made a deep and traumatic impression. Neighbour now looked upon neighbour with suspicious eyes and New Baffinites came to rely on the Tremite Scribes and the oracles more than they had ever done so previously.
Simeon thought he would never grow used to the attention that his appearance in public always achieved. Word the Hermaphrodite had survived an attack by the Lightcaster when the parasite was at his most deadly stage, had quickly spread through New Baffin. He, Horus and Rudmay made the front page of the New Baffin Daily, with ‘Our Heroes’, the title. Rudmay’s popularity had increased because of her frequent warnings over the Turns of the Wheel, while Horus had reached mythic cult status due to his pluckiness in taking on the glass Faery. Simeon had become an instant celebrity, the most famous Hermaphrodite in all the known worlds.
As he alighted from the golden ilkama-drawn coach with Horus and Rudmay, the three of them wearing identical outfits of matching black glasses and tailored men’s black dinner suits, there was a stunned silence and then flashbulbs erupted as photographers scrambled to record the moment. ‘Relax,’ Rudmay nudged him. ‘You’re as stiff as a corpse. I’ll help you, Simeon.’ She was true to her word, and throughout the evening she kept a close eye on him, making sure his drink was kept full, and that bores were gently but firmly manoeuvred away from him.
After the toasts had been drunk for the night, to Aphrodite, Gwyndion, Samma and Shambzhla, Simeon sat in an alcove overlooking the ocean, protected from the wind with Horus on his shoulder while Rudmay went to the bathroom. He reflected on how differently his life had turned out from how the oracles had predicted, and how arduous the previous Turn of the Wheel had been. He had suffered many dark days with depression and anger over the loss of his sight. It had been the most agonising year of his life, although living with Rudmay and Horus had made it more bearable. They were such loyal friends. Horus hooted faintly as a couple passed beneath his alcove, their words floating clearly up to Simeon.
‘Well my dear, it’s painfully obvious to everyone except for him!’
‘But how could she? He’s a Hermaphrodite for Goddess’s sake!’
‘Be careful, Jamine. They’re sacred to Aphrodite.’
‘But she’s nearly three times his age!’
‘Three hundred times his age more like. But you know Rudmay, she’s never done the conventional thing. Bright green hair tonight — both her and the owl — and men’s suits! Falling in love with a blind Hermaphrodite is probably normal for her. Anyway, it’s written all over her. Pity he can’t see it!’ They laughed and continued their stroll. Horus hooted with amusement.
Simeon found he was shaking. He could hardly take in what he had heard. His heart felt incredibly light. Rudmay loved him? How could that be possible? He was blind. She was a Tremite Scribe. She was the most educated, intelligent woman he had ever met. He was the unwanted child of a prostitute, who could barely read or write. His education had come from the streets. She was highly regarded in New Baffin, whereas he was barely tolerated, and only by the followers of Aphrodite.
Rudmay could have any man in the known worlds. Why would she choose an illiterate, disabled Hermaphrodite? No, it couldn’t be true! It was all a cruel game. She probably intended to write a witty column on her mischief, something the entire population of Eronth would laugh themselves silly over. A Tremite Scribe loving a Hermaphrodite. Aphrodite, curse her, was slicing his heart with her devilment.
‘Simeon. What’s wrong?’ Rudmay knew as soon as she saw him. She could read him so well.
Haltingly, he told her the words he had overheard, steeling himself to hear her laugh and admit she had set up the scene to play a joke on him. There was a short embarrassed silence.
‘Rudmay?’
‘I’m sorry, Simeon, if you had to find out like that, through strangers’ gossip. What they said is true. Oh! I know what you’re going to say. I’m too old for you. You’re recently blinded. I’m only feeling guilty because I sent you to the Lightcaster.’
‘I’m a Hermaphrodite,’ Simeon said, tears stinging his eyes. ‘You do know that, don’t you Rudmay?’ There was silence before Rudmay spoke.
‘I don’t care if you’re a Herm. The sex of someone means nothing to me, it’s the soul that matters. But does it mean you can’t love me?’ Her voice sounded desperate. Simeon moved towards her.
‘Of course I love you. How could I not?’ He felt her mouth connect with his and they moved together as Horus hooted.
Out in the darkening bay, a mermain jumped up to witness the act. She could easily spot the intertwined figures illuminated in the light of the fire torches in the alcove. Laughing, she rubbed her slit lasciviously, then slipped back to the sea depths to report to Shambzhla.
‘I am ancient,’ Shambzhla whispered, her words carried by the tide to all ocean beings. ‘So ancient I am rotting away. I am too timid to move quickly, lest more of my body dissolve into the sea. But not too ancient to enjoy hearing the two-leggeds scream when I send my waves to demolish them. No, not too old, never too old for that. I am Shambzhla, weary of life now, sick with anger and grief at what has been done to my once pristine waters. Not so weary I cannot continue to teach the land-dwellers a lesson that will resonate in the bodies of the
ir children for generations to come. Not so old I cannot call the winds to aid me in my quest. Their statues mean nothing to me. Their offering bowls are filled with the guts and entrails and scales of my children. Already their boats trespass my waters, murdering my fish, my squid, my plants. They steal my shells, my coral. We have conquered their land, we live among them even now. When they think I have forgotten, when they think old Shambzhla is long dead, turned to dust, it is then we will strike again.’
A low moan came from within her, almost a cry of pain. Instantly, the billow maidens moved to comfort the Sea Warrior Queen. Their white arms flowing gracefully, their blue, white and green veils making small waves of healing caresses.
‘Our time will come again, again, again!’ their silvery voices promised.
Faia — Shellhome
Bwani came into the room where maids and servers were clustered around Maya, preparing her outfit for the burning shell ceremony. He thought again how beautiful she looked, even more radiant since she had given birth. He had to fight his impulse to strike her across the face. In the small shell cradle his son was being rocked by a server. Bwani leant over the cradle to touch him, his heart contracting in love for the boy despite his vow to remain detached. As always, he scanned the baby intently for any hint of the Lightcaster’s words being true.
‘He’s beautiful, isn’t he?’ Maya had moved beside him, her eyes guarded. He fought to keep the suspicion, anger and hurt from his voice. He knew if he found out that the putrid Lightcaster had spoken truly he would want to kill both his wife and Claw.
It made no difference that Edwen and the other wizards insisted the Lightcaster had spoken falsehoods in a desperate bid to turn them against each other. What did create vipers of suspicion within him was the refusal of both Khartyn and Claw to discuss the Lightcaster’s assertion.
‘Don’t you know me better than that, brother?’ This had been Claw’s only sentence on the matter. But Bwani could not easily forget the expression on Claw’s face when the Lightcaster had spoken his filthy obscenities just before Khartyn had destroyed him.
The Crone had responded to Bwani’s questions by just patting him on the arm. ‘Don’t listen to his poison,’ she urged. ‘Concentrate on Maya and your new babe. No good can come from continuing to suck on the Lightcaster’s bite. If you do that, you let him win.’
Bwani had attempted to put the Crone’s advice into practice, but to no avail. As much as he wanted to believe Maya was innocent, doubt lingered. It made no difference that everybody who saw the baby commented on his likeness to Bwani. He couldn’t help noticing Claw had visited the child only once, and on that day shown no interest. This was out of character for the Claw he had known in the past, who would have happily composed a song on his zitter to the baby.
She was innocent. She was guilty. He was a fool. She was a whore. The thoughts churned his stomach up and made him withdraw into himself. He found it difficult to make love to Maya. Often he would come to bed late, hoping she would be asleep. He watched her closely every day, looking for signs. Whore. Saint. Sinner. Fool.
It hadn’t helped that Maya had banned him from the labour ward when Khartyn had assisted her to give birth. Perhaps it meant he had never bonded fully with the child? There was nobody he could consult on this delicate matter. He couldn’t trust the oracles. Some of them had loose tongues, and the news of his suspicions would be spread all over Eronth by the messenger birds. He could imagine the ridicule. Bwani bent over the child again, marvelling at his tiny perfect hand, holding it carefully, inspecting it . . .
As Maya watched Bwani fuss over the child, fear twisted in her stomach that Bwani would discover the truth. What if the Glamour Khartyn had placed upon the baby to disguise his huge deformed claw hands should wear off? Bad enough that the child would be taken to the Underground by Hecate. Contact with her son made her feel physically ill, so she left his care to servers, maids and the wizards, who all delighted in spending time with the child.
Claw was one of the few exceptions. He showed no interest in the baby, and his attitude was often remarked upon by the other wizards. He spent most of his time in the Borderlands drinking, whoring and playing his zitter board. Maya avoided him whenever she could. Since she had been appointed Head Priestess by the unanimous vote of the Faiaites bar one, she had more than enough to occupy her time.
The milk server arrived, her enormous breasts filled with milk, and the child began to cry as soon as he spotted the electronic teats dangling over him. He latched straight onto them and began to suckle hungrily. Maya and Bwani watched him in silence. ‘We will have to find him a name soon,’ Bwani said, as he did every day. ‘The whole of Faia is holding guessing games as to what his name will be. The messenger birds are impatient to spread the news.’
‘Let them learn patience then. Unless they’d rather the High Priestess of Faia adopts priorities other than the discontent of the giants and second-guessing Shambzhla.’
Bwani glared at her, a twitch pulsing in his cheek, and then nodded quickly and stalked from the room. At the doorway he collided with Edwen, on his way in with a large corn bear for the baby. Maya watched carefully as he placed the toy next to her suckling child. Did he notice the claws? She was constantly on edge that one of the wizards would pierce the Glamour.
‘What did you do to Bwani to put him in such a foul temper?’ Edwen said, smiling at the drinking baby.
‘I pointed out a few facts,’ Maya snapped, dismissing the servers who had been dressing her. ‘He thinks I should be sitting around playing mother, leaving Faia to suffer another invasion from the giants.’
Edwen glanced at the milk server, whose teats were nearly half empty. ‘Perhaps we should continue this discussion in your meeting office, My Lady?’ he suggested.
In the meeting room, away from the eyes of the server, Edwen reached for Maya and began unlacing the bodice of her dress to release her breasts. Pulling a breast free, he began to mouth the nipple, causing Maya to moan. ‘I’m so glad you didn’t sacrifice your beautiful breasts to the little Claw,’ he said. ‘I want to think I’m the only one who suckles on them.’
Maya froze against him. ‘What did you say?’ she said.
‘I’ve known for a while,’ Edwen said. His hand reached up her dress and through her underclothes. ‘I knew the child was Claw’s. It made me want you even more, knowing what a wildcat you are.’ He laughed as he pushed her back onto the desk. Maya lay, lifting her hips up to make it easier for him to enter her. Edwen knew the truth about her, which meant he was now a potential threat. She would have to do something about this, but not now. Not with the pleasure he was pumping into her body.
As Khartyn made her lonely walk into Faia for the Fire of the Shell ceremony, her mind filled with memories. Sati, her dark-haired apprentice, whom she had saved from the holding pens, only to have her beautiful talented child throw all her potential away to unite with the Azephim. Then Rosedark; innocent, mischievous Rosedark, who had loved Khartyn with all the love in her pure body and had died an agonising death, murdered by the very same villagers whom Khartyn was now making her way to see.
And how she missed Mary, once High Priestess of Faia. She would never adjust to Emma’s daughter Maya being High Priestess. Khartyn shook her head sadly as she walked, remembering the look in Maya’s eyes when she had seen the claws on her new-born child. She had been half out of her mind with fear. Khartyn had feared Maya would smother the child herself if she refused to disguise his poor claws.
The trouble with Maya was her upbringing in the Hollow Hills. She had no idea of how to conduct herself among Eronthites. It was a sadness of Khartyn’s life that Emma’s child had turned into one as selfish and promiscuous as Maya. She alone had abstained from the ballot to select Mary’s successor as High Priestess of Faia. Maya’s victory, Khartyn believed was only due to Emma being her mother, and the fact she was married to Bwani. The Crone believed Maya was not up to the challenges that lay ahead for Eronth — the continued di
scontent of the giants, the next scheme of the Sea Hags, the bickering between Wezom and Imonim Faery tribes. Not to mention if Ishran and Sati ever chose to return. Khartyn believed she had not seen the last of them . . . she could still sense Sati’s unhealthy obsession with Emma’s child Maya.
Her thoughts went to Gwyndion and Samma, as they often did. Again there was the pain of loss. She knew the Webx couple still existed in some form, and she felt the energy of the couple around her. But Hecate guarded her secrets jealously. There was an impressive memorial stone of the young tree folk, their figures entwined for eternity, placed near the entrance to the pantehlum. Garlands of fresh flowers were regularly left in tribute to the saviours and on the few times Khartyn had passed the statue, she noticed devotees of the Webx in prayer. The cult of Gwyndion and Samma was beginning to spread, even threatening to usurp the popularity of the goddesses. Something that was highly ironic, Khartyn thought. The Lightcaster had chosen not to destroy Gwyndion and Samma. He would have been outraged to see the power afforded them with their sacrifice. Today, however, there were no worshippers at the statues, for they were awaiting the Crone in the pantehlum.
A vast crowd, all dressed in their best clothes, sat hushed inside the pantehlum. The men wore stiff frilled collars in brilliant gold, silver and ruby red. The young boys were allowed smaller frill collars in deep gold. Many of the females sported elaborate wreaths of fruits, flowers and shells on their heads. There were large hampers of food for the best designs. The older women wore wimples of gold and silver. Nearly all the villagers carried shells or else used them in their costume or as jewellery. Where stands of fruit and vegetables normally stood were numerous wreaths of flowers and herbs. Shells had been placed in timeless, intricate displays in honour of the sacred event. Even the animals — ilkamas, cows and hens — wore wreaths around their heads or small colourful bells around their necks. Incense burned from vast gold censers. Three ample shells contained blood, the holy sacrifice to the Dreamers. The children of Faia loved to terrify themselves and each other with wild stories of blood sacrifices of small children.
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