Bride of the Stone: Circle of Nine Trilogy 2

by Josephine Pennicott

  She crossed to the heavy glass windows to look out at the night sky to see if there were any signs of that small dark body returning. Nothing. The billions of stars were so huge that she felt as if she could pluck them from the sky. The triple moons only illuminated the shaggy, lumbering shapes of the Solumbi as they patrolled the castle borders with the occasional snorting noise coming from them.

  Fenn’s eyes could just make out the outlines of Black Annis’s elaborate swanmobile. Her team of black swans, puffed with self-importance, waited for the geriatric Hag to finish eating. Hopefully, she would refrain from eating Ishran and Bambi as they screwed on the table, Fenn thought. The ancient cannibal disgusted her with her stinking breath and the rotten meat smell that always hung around her body. Equally disturbing was the manner in which she looked at Fenn, as if trying to figure her out, or pondering the type of sauce she would like to eat with her.

  Fenn caught sight of her reflection in the windowpane. No trace of the chubby brown-haired girl remained. Fenn was pale, her skin as white as a cloud, with silver-white hair that hung to her waist and eyes of a translucent silver-blue. She knew she was a total contrast to her dark angel guardians and the Solumbi monsters who lived in the Wastelands. But Fenn never worried about the obvious physical differences between herself and the nightmare beings that surrounded her. As far as she was concerned, they were who they were and she was Fenn. Only when the few guests that visited the Wastelands looked at her with shock in their eyes did Fenn get an odd, disconcerting feeling. Of yearning, for something, but she had no idea of what.

  Preparing to exit the room, Fenn gazed longingly at the veiled magic mirrors that hung on the wall. She had only ever seen the moving pictures in one of them, and only when Sati was in attendance. She hesitated, tempted to look beneath the drape of another, but then controlled the yearning. She would wait patiently until the next time Sati took a night flight; these were becoming more frequent as her relationship with Ishran became more strained.

  Closing the heavy wooden door of the turret, she was startled by the Zegerist who flew menacingly towards her.

  ‘Mamzozlex!’ Fenn cried, but the Zegerist did not seem to pause in his attack. For a two eyston, Fenn panicked. The Zegerist could rip her to pieces in a breath. ‘Mamzozlex!’ she cried again, putting more emphasis on the word. This time he halted, pressed close against her, his long grey fingers flexing, disappointment in his dead eyes that he had lost his prey.

  Fenn nimbly skipped around him and down the hundreds of stone steps, past the numerous portraits of Azephim ancestors and elaborate tapestries that detailed the adventures of Azephim mythological angels. Jessie would be waiting. The old dog would be impatient for a pat and a chat about the night.

  At allocated sections along the twisting corridors, Azephim guards saluted and bade her good travelling in her dream state. Fenn had a few favourites among the guards, individuals who had displayed small kindnesses when she was growing up. This was rare in the harsh world of the Azephim angels, where such an emotion was despised as a weakness. She looked for her favourites eagerly tonight, but they were not on duty.

  Entering her small white bedroom, which was dominated by a large oil painting of Sati in heavy Glamour and a fire glowing in the fire grate, she was knocked over by Jessie’s enthusiastic welcome.

  ‘Oh Jessie darling! You’re so happy to see me!’ She flung herself onto the floor, where tapestry cushions were scattered, wrapping her arms around her old friend’s neck. Jessie was very old now, with myriad grey hairs in her coat. Sati believed her to be hundreds of years old in dog Bluite terms. She had been kept alive by Sati’s magical charms, and over the seasons, many Crones had been called to the castle, to add their skills to Sati’s, to keep the dog alive as long as possible. Jessie was Fenn’s only link with the mysterious world she had originated from. Jessie had known Emma. In the long years growing up in the cold, isolated world of the Azephim, she had been Fenn’s most loyal friend.

  Now Fenn lay on her small, white, four-poster bed with Jessie draped across the foot of it. She mulled over the boorish behaviour of Ishran. He had changed, Fenn thought, and like Sati, she knew it was the poisonous influence of the angoli Charmonzhla. Ishran had killed many people in the past, but under the Persecution Angoli’s influence, his killings were escalating and becoming more sadistic. He was also increasingly crossing into other worlds, and Fenn suspected that his destination was the Blue Planet. Ishran had always bragged how easy the pickings were there, as the great majority of Bluites were underdeveloped in the magical arts. He would return from these crossings manic, and it would take many nights for him to calm down. Then, as soon as his emotions had eased into a state of balance, he would crave to cross again. Hungry for blood, enjoying the thrill of the hunt.

  Not only had the Ghormho’s blood lust increased, but he was becoming increasingly more distant in his manner towards Sati and Fenn. In the past he had always been devoted to Sati. Dark soul mates, the Bindisore and the Ghormho, each understanding the other perfectly. Despite the numerous affairs they had both enjoyed, they had still found absolute harmony in the company of the other. However, now Fenn could no longer remember the last time she had seen the two embrace.

  He had also taken to eyeing off Fenn’s developing figure, and rustling his wings when she walked near him. The thought of being penetrated with his kylon was abhorrent to Fenn. She knew the Azephim code had no boundaries when it came to mating, but she was tempted to ask Sati for a charm to protect her from Ishran’s lust. Despite his recent disturbing changes, Fenn was fond of Ishran. She both pitied and feared him at the same time, instinctively understanding his black frustration and anger that he was the Ghormho and yet was unable to activate the Eom, despite all his efforts. But the thought of mating with him worried and nauseated her. Jessie, reading her mind, licked her hand in sympathy, and Fenn patted her on the head.

  ‘Good Jess. Go to sleep, Travel Safely.’

  They slept, the old dog and Fenn. As they slept, they travelled to a strange and magical land, where an exquisite winged being, with long curling red hair and a face both ancient and childlike, played on a beautiful golden harp and sang to them. The words were in the Tongue of All Worlds and went something like:

  The wheel turns, the bones awake, and all that was lost returns. The child cries, the old man dies, but all that is lost returns. Awake bones, awake skin, all that is lost returns. Awake eyes, awake truth, for all that is lost returns. To the earth and the sky, Diomonna doesn’t lie. All that is lost will return, awake bones, awake heart.

  Fenn and Jessie tossed and turned, but the eerie haunting song continued through the night.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Silent, watching. Containing the screams of a million deaths. Mimicking the children of Alecom, its breath contaminates the land. The seasons are strange, double-faced. Lightning is filled with meaning. The Eom is remembering how to breathe.

  — Condensed from the Tremite Book of Life, Column XXXIII OEP M

  Memory. Mocking, taunting, waiting for her in unexpected corridors of the castle. Memory, hot stinging cobwebs, wrapping her hands, her mouth, her dreams. Memory, a young girl, sitting hunched over, with an old woman’s hands. Filled with longing and putrid torment. False, empty, hollow promises. Insincere whispers, always near; her breath, mint-sweet, on Fenn’s neck.

  Sati was absent from the castle for three moon-ups. In her absence, Ishran became even more sinister and uncommunicative. He would spend long hours sitting cross-legged in front of the Eom, watching with desperate eyes as the crystal remained infuriatingly silent. Fenn hated the dungeon rooms where the Azephim housed the Eom. She avoided this area of the castle and was relieved Ishran and Sati did not insist she accompany them on their frequent visits to the lower dungeons. The air in these rooms appeared heavy and malevolent, and the Eom always seemed to be mocking the angels and their frantic attempts to charge it. But even without being physically present in the dark shadows of the castle, Fenn
could sense the Eom’s contempt as it waited for her. Old memories returned, with grinning faces, frantic hands and false smiles, to haunt her.

  Once before, when Persephone lay under the ground and snow had fallen over the Wastelands, bringing an unearthly beauty to that desolate place, Ishran had sought out Fenn in her nightly scented bath. With no word of explanation, he had lifted her from the steaming water. Fenn, convinced he intended to ravish her, had screamed loudly, bringing a snarling Sati immediately to her defence. The Azephim Ghormo and Queen had growled furiously at each other, wings spreading. Fenn lay, half-fainting with fear, squashed against the reptilian skin of the Ghormho, who had not troubled to use Glamour. She was convinced she would not survive this attack. ‘Let us see if the Eom will respond to a pure virgin,’ Ishran had said, frustration and anger evident in his voice. Sati had fallen silent, sensing his pain.

  The Azephim couple had carried the naked, dripping-wet Fenn along the labyrinths of the castle corridors, to the bowels of the castle where the Eom was stored. Fenn, too embarrassed and terrified to look around her, could hear the heavy clanging of armour as the Azephim soldier angels saluted the trio as they passed.

  It was a good five eyston before they reached the protected room that housed the Eom. Cradled in Ishran’s arms, Fenn could hear the sounds of the Eom breathing. Oh Goddess, she thought in terror, how could Ishran and Sati be under a delusion that the Eom was inactive? It was breathing! Her terror increased as they opened the heavy wooden doors which were adorned with engraved scenes of the Azephim dragon-hunting days. Fenn kept her eyes tightly shut, but she still gained an impression of fiery red sparks and electricity flying in the room. She could hear an eerie chanting from the direction of the Eom. Inside this space she sensed an ancient, unholy terror waiting patiently to be released. Half out of her body with fear, she felt herself pressed against something black and cold. Now her breath nearly left her body as she realised she was pressed against the Eom.

  ‘There!’ Ishran was screaming. ‘Take her! Claim her untouched energy! Take her mind, her body, her soul!’ It is living, Fenn wanted to tell him, but fear had swallowed her voice. Against her will, she found her eyes opening. She was staring into the belly of the crystal, the polished black stone glinting flashes of red and green. Against its dark planes were propped two silent figures in the spinnerets. She knew them to be the Hostlings of Gwyndion. They had become living batteries for the Eom.

  Long ago, many dreams past, in their homeland of Zeglanada they had been great Webx Elders and honoured guardians of the Eom, when it had belonged to their world, the once mighty Webx world. That was before the tragic Day of Ashes, when the Azephim had stolen the Eom and taken it to their home in the Web-Kondoell to use as a power source for their race.

  In the centre of the dark crystal, Fenn was horrified to see an enormous black eye. Around the eye rotated what appeared to be millions of tiny black floating figures. Minute and macabre, they wafted slowly in a horrifying dance. Fenn had the impression that if the Eom decided to release the figures, the known worlds would be devoured by the horror and fury they contained. Then, to her revulsion, she felt her lower parts held against the Eom begin to fill with warmth. Instinctively, she moved her hips forward to press harder against the crystal, and Ishran laughed as he held her.

  ‘Take it!’ he cried. ‘Take the energy that it gives your little virgin pussy!’

  Fenn sobbed aloud. The feeling was so enjoyable she thought she would die from the pleasure, and yet at the same time she was filled with conflicting feelings of shame. A bright light crescended through her body as she climaxed against the Eom with a loud satisfied groan. Then, as she realised the significance of what had occurred, she began to sob. After a few more minutes, when nothing else happened, Ishran dropped her, letting her fall to the floor.

  ‘Stupid bitch!’ he sneered. ‘Eom gives you a gift, and you don’t even acknowledge it. Why?’ He screamed into the crystal, ‘Why do you not acknowledge me? Why do you not give me your sweet gifts? I am the Ghormho!’

  Since that evening, Fenn had continued to feel uncomfortable in Ishran’s presence. The days when he had presented her with gifts of sweet delicacies from the Blue Planet were now over. The nights when he had sat in front of roaring log fires, with mulled blackberry wine, telling her tales of legendary Azephim angels such as Ezihhiam and Hermzeza, were now over. For Fenn had failed him. Even though she had reached a sexual climax, she had been unable to reactivate the Eom.

  Fenn also knew with terror that since he had held her as she had orgasmed, he now desired her for himself and all that restrained him from taking her was his fear she might not be able to withstand his kylon inside her. The Azephim were designed to mate only with Azephim, but Ishran continued to attract scorn from his Hosthatch, Seleza, for attempting to mate with Faia and Bluite women. Many had died, their minds and bodies broken to madness with the angel kylon inside them.

  After the third moon-up, Sati had swept back from the skies, breaking her silence. Fenn was breakfasting. It was a drizzly grey morning. Midway through her bowl of porridge, Fenn was overjoyed to see a black raven come flying into the banquet hall, shape-shifting into Sati as her foot hit the floor. The Azephim Queen smiled at Fenn’s obvious delight in her return.

  ‘You’re worse than a meerwog,’ she teased, as she helped herself ravenously to some kidney from the silver serving dish. ‘Where is the Ghormho?’

  Fenn shrugged, ‘Ishran does not make it a habit to confide his whereabouts to me. Where have you been, Sati? Have you been in Eronth, or did you cross?’

  ‘I desired to see for myself if what the scraggly Sea Hag said at dinner the other night was truth, and so I flew to Faia to check.’

  ‘And is it true?’ Fenn asked eagerly. ‘Have the Hags infiltrated Faia?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sati hissed, breaking off a piece of bread and adding a thick slice of cheese. ‘Bambi and Kryssti are there. I observed them closely from an oak tree in the temple grounds. That fool Mary is not even aware she harbours the Sea Hags in her own backyard! Then I had a friend to catch up with.’ She paused. Fenn could guess the friend’s identity from the expression on Sati’s face.

  ‘The Lightcaster,’ Fenn breathed.

  ‘Yes, and he was not happy to get an unexpected visit from me, the insipid dandy, but he’s taking his time tracking the Crone. Night’s breath, he is too fond of ducking back to the Blue Planet when he gets bored of Eronth. “But, my dear lady, I had to, just had to see the Monet retrospective in Paris!”’ Her voice rose, mimicking the soft, affected tones of the Lightcaster. ‘I tell you, Fenn, by the claws of Alecom, I will not rest until I have the Crone’s head on a pike in my turret!’ Her words cracked with emotion as she spoke. Fenn watched her uneasily. Faia and the Lightcaster could be easily reached in a day’s flight. She knew the Azephim Queen was not telling her the entire story of her absence. Fenn attempted to scan her mind in an effort to uncover the Bindisore’s whereabouts, but Sati had been prepared for this and had placed a block over her thoughts. Fenn’s suspicions sprang up inside her like Faery toadstools. She vowed to herself she would discover what Sati was attempting to conceal. The two finished their meal together, discussing the weather, and between them crept a red mist of uneasiness.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The wrinkled, the infirm, the senile, the incontinent. Such conditions are not to be tolerated among the Azephim. The contaminated ones who are afflicted with such conditions must be isolated. The nest must be kept pure.

  — Extract from a speech given by Seleza, High Priestess of The Web-Kondoell, at the Conference of Seven Worlds

  Ishran had spent the morning visiting the Outerezt. This was never one of his favourite duties, but Charmonzhla had advised him it would be better if he were seen to be taking control of his responsibilities as Ghormho. ‘Seleza has her spies everywhere,’ the angoli had informed him gravely. ‘We don’t wish to go upsetting your Hosthatch, hmmm?’

  Ishran didn’t.

/>   The outpost colony of aged Azephim from the Web-Kondoell, who were now too frail to use Glamour and hunt, was a bleak and barren place, with its wash of grey sky, its collection of mud huts and vast hordes of vultures waiting to pick off the elderly Azephim. The ground was littered with decaying skeletal remains of Azephim who had expired over the centuries, slowly turning to dark grey dust. As always, in this most desolate region of the Wastelands, a thin layer of silver-grey mist clung to the earth, and a chill wind blew. There was little comfort in the Outerezt.

  Ishran, who had wanted to spend the morning in his rose gardens talking to Charmonzhla, was fractious when he spotted the mud houses from 18,000 feet. He felt the familiar irritation that his Hosthatch Seleza had banned all the geriatric angels from the Web-Kondoell, only to park them in his backyard. Why didn’t she keep the senile ones in the Web? As if he didn’t have enough to deal with in his life, with the Eom refusing to recharge and Sati moping about not being with child.

  He landed in a great rush of wings, and was instantly surrounded by numbers of aged and wrinkled Azephim. Their bodies were white, with pus caked hard to their scales. Most of them had completely lost their hair. They were covered in scabs and their wings drooped, no longer able to fly. Some of them were making incoherent sounds to their neighbours, nonsense words. As he always did, Ishran uttered a prayer to Charmonzhla that in the short time he spent in the Outerezt, he would be protected from viruses or from negative emotions about aging. The angels with their gumless mouths and withered shrunken kylons terrified him. He found the thought unbearable that he might one day end up like them.

  ‘Ghormho! Ghormho, have you brought food, Ghormho?’ Hands where claws had long dropped off were reaching greedily for him. Ishran aimed a swift kick at the head of an old female bolder than the rest, and she dropped to the ground moaning, as dark old blood spurted from the wound. The begging crowd dropped back. Ishran smiled to himself. Now they were showing him respect. While he had their attention, he unfolded his wings. The crowd moaned. One of the males with angry eyes ventured enough courage to speak.