CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I’m a fire burning cold ice,
I am rotting, watch me die;
Touch my mystery, touch your ocean;
Deep within the answer never spoken
Only water will never lie.
I am ancient, long-forgotten,
Remembered in the drowned ones’ cry.
— Song of the Temple of Drowned Sorrows
Mary sat in her bedroom, eyes shut while Kryssti and Bambi prepared her bed for sleeping, placing warming bottles in it, sprinkling her sheets with floral waters, taking turns massaging her temples. The High Priestess had come to depend more and more on the two maids recently. It was peculiar, but these relative newcomers and Ano were the only people she felt she could trust in her inner circle.
The putrid vibration of distrust radiating from Faia was continually making the High Priestess nauseous, and she was regularly afflicted with cramping stomach pains that would leave her doubled over in agony, too weary to concern herself with the spate of murders and the giants’ heated disputes over land.
As she massaged the Priestess’s temples, Bambi sang a pleasing little ditty about the ocean, and Mary felt herself slowly relax. The migraine that had been brewing in her temples gradually began to ease.
In a very short space of time, events had changed dramatically for the High Priestess. There had been more murders in the Borderlands, and two of them had witch bottles connected to them. It was a form of killing rarely seen in Eronth, and a tide of suspicion had begun to flow regarding Mary’s competence. As her lethargy and attacks of stomach pains intensified, Mary no longer had the energy to cope with even the most mundane of tasks in the village. The annual thanksgiving ceremony for Mabon had been indefinitely postponed, and nobody seemed to care whether the Faiaites took part in the annual seasonal rite.
Bambi and Kryssti’s lilting childlike voices faded away after the last chorus of the lullaby, leaving Mary aching for more. The highlight of her days recently had been the maids’ nightly lullaby to her, and she had grown to hate it when the song was over. The lyrics would reassure her that everything was working out for the highest, that the sea was protecting and guiding her, and Mother Sea understood her pain.
Kryssti pressed her hand against the back of Mary’s neck. From her palm a razor-sharp spike grew, and it entered into the nape of Mary’s neck, injecting her with a dose of azmome, which quickly began to travel through her bloodstream. The maids started to giggle to each other, unreprimanded by Mary, who only cared about the lullaby. The Sea Hags’ takeover was happening quicker than they could have foreseen, even with their detailed planning, because the Lightcaster was helping to turn the tide of public opinion against Mary.
In their smug excitement, they allowed their Glamour to slip slightly. Their double brains emerged from the top of their skulls, pushing their caps up, and their hands grew to enormous pincer claws, but Mary was oblivious to the transformation. She was aching for the lullaby to continue.
Ano entered the room unexpectedly and the maids jumped, quickly pulling their Glamour tighter around them. For a microsecond, the Janusite paused, eyes widening, although his expression and tone of voice remained unchanged.
‘I desire to speak with the High Priestess alone,’ he informed the maids, who curtsied respectfully before leaving the room. Ano frowned, disturbed by the slight buzz of electricity in the air, and a barely imperceptible odour of the sea. He shook his head, trying to clear the vision he thought he had seen, of a dark, disturbing energy around the maids. Telling himself he was overworked, he sat down next to Mary on the bed. His heart ached for her. Ano had seen possible futures for his beloved High Priestess. Several of them were agony to witness, and he had found himself praying to Azbel that she would not elect to follow those paths. His curse as a Janusite was that he was powerless to prevent or inform her of any of the consequences of her actions. Fate had ruled him to be merely a passive witness, and there were many days and nights he shivered in terror at the visions that flared so quickly in his two heads.
He touched her hand; it was icy cold and her lips were pale mauve. Ano was momentarily chilled. He knew the news he had brought to her bedside would not be welcome, but she had to be informed of what was happening in the village.
‘There’s been another murder, High Priestess,’ he said softly. ‘This time in the Pantehlum. A Crone was set upon by a group of neighbours who claimed she had made their herds of ilkamas weaken by a magical curse. She was set alight in the marketplace tonight. Mary, the Faiaites are not of sound mind. I swear this must be the work of a Lightcaster, for these normally tolerant people to be acting like this! We are beginning to resemble the Blue —’ he broke off, staring at Mary. Her nails were digging into her palms, causing them to bleed.
‘Don’t you hear her, Ano?’ she said in a harsh, guttural tone. Her eyes were wild, and a stranger looked out at him. ‘Don’t you hear her wild song? The whip in her hand as she pursues us?’
‘Who, Mary?’ His breath came faster as he noticed the white foam that had appeared on her lips. A smell of the ocean came from her.
‘Shambzhla!!’ she screamed, before she collapsed backwards, eyes rolling upwards, revealing their whites.
As she lay on the bed, Mary travelled out of her body. She rose high into the air, and from her new vantage point she could see Ano shaking with fear and grief, attempting to resuscitate her. She saw the entirety of Shellhome, with its sacred astral guardians and keepers. A visiting scribe sat in the peacock lounge, studying a series of religious texts from the Blue Planet. She saw the Great Library, and a kitchen assistant who had snuck in to study the books, believing himself unseen. She saw shadows that breathed, flashing colours of etheric light bodies of sleeping staff. Dogs and cats in warm furry pyramids dozing in the servants’ quarters, and rats running freely in the well-stocked larders. She saw the cook’s lover, a married farmer, whom the cook had smuggled into her private quarters, and the lustful expressions of pleasure on their faces as he thrust into her from behind. And then she saw the maids.
When Mary saw Bambi and Kryssti, they were in their sea forms, crammed together on top of each other in a bath of salt water and magical sea herbs. Their glistening black bodies were a confused mass of pincers and scales and claws. Then Mary understood fully what she had been harbouring in her home, but she was not afraid.
She drifted over Faia village and witnessed ominous dark trails like a gigantic snail, glistening graphic evidence that a Lightcaster had walked through those once peaceful streets. Where doves and eagles had roosted in peace, now thousands of vultures waited hopefully from the rooftops.
Above the Pantehlum, she witnessed the charred remains of the unfortunate Crone, tethered to a post, her screams still encircling her body in a frenzied astral pollution. Mary felt no emotion at the sight, although it was obvious to her that Faia was no longer the innocent village she had known. Evil now walked the streets, camouflaged in the bodies of the Faiaites; they were hosts infecting themselves willingly with the parasite.
From the dark sky above, she saw twinkling golden, iridescent lights, a magical Faery communication signalling that Faery territories were in the Hollow Hills. Far out on the horizon, forbidding dark purple shadows heralded the beginning of the Wastelands, from where she felt the ominous humming of the Eom.
Then she was over the Blest Circle of Nine, where the Virgins were performing some ritual to the stones by candlelight. In the Bwani stone, she saw a small red sparrow, and she knew that the man inside the stone was awakening.
On she floated towards the lights of New Baffin. A dragon couple passed near her, blowing flames in warning for her to keep her distance, but still Mary felt no fear. Over the sea city of New Baffin she floated and saw Khartyn and Rosedark asleep. In another room, Gwyndion and Samma lay wrapped in each other’s arms, dreaming dreams of each other.
She felt the cold magnetic pull of the sea, and helplessly, she drifted towards it. From a great
height in the sky, she was hurtled towards the shining black water. Down, down, down, falling with sickening speed.
Then she was propelled through layers of green, blue, silver, black. The Merpeople were around her, and she could feel their icy hands upon her skin, guiding her. Nereids darted teasingly in front of her, talking excitedly to each other, bubbles rising from their small black mouths. Millions of Asrai, miniature transparent Faeries, darted joyfully around her, and mermaids guided her into deeper depths. Under water, their bodies appeared so much larger than she would ever have dreamt.
In the deep, Mary saw the crystal palace of Shambzhla, glimmering with light. Its outer gardens were bleached white with the bones of drowned land dwellers. White sea panthers guarded the entrances, and they growled furiously as Mary floated past them. As she swam through the walls of the palace, it was as if her flesh were melting away. Eyes, teeth, nails and hair appeared to dissolve. Around her, candlelight flared, illuminating elaborate painted murals that detailed the earlier race of the mermain people, the Seefaxomill. Miniature red dolphins glided past her, ridden by Asrai, screaming her arrival.
Mary floated into a spacious dome room that was filled with Sea Hags. There were seven, all of a fearsome grotesque appearance, with their split brains and stomach teeth, magnified under the water. They burst out laughing when the High Priestess entered the room, her hair streaming out behind her as she swam.
‘Our sisters did not let us down!’ they chortled. Seated in the centre of the Hags, on a pewter throne from which sea slugs and sea snakes writhed, was Shambzhla, the feared Warrior Sea Hag. She was a terrifying vision, with her electric red hair and her blackened, festering, decaying face. One eye was half-melted, and her teeth were jagged like a shark’s. She had eleven breasts, from which iridescent gold fish, the favoured ones, suckled greedily. In place of legs, she had the body of a sea serpent, yellow-and-black-diamond patterned, coiled in a massive pile on and around the throne. She was truly ancient, Mary realised with awe. She felt as though this creature had existed before the Dreamers first entered the Shell to dream the known worlds into being. Her voice came as a shock: it was childlike, soft and breathy, echoing in Mary’s head.
‘Hail, Mary! High Priestess of Faia. I have carried you into my womb to inform you of changes in your territories. Once, long before recorded time, long before the Faiaites worked the land, Eronth belonged to me. It was my kingdom. Now, the Eom prepares to charge, and the Blest Circle of Nine return to their true form, and Eronth will once again come under control of Shambzhla. However, this time, my Hags will control Eronth from the land.
‘For centuries, the Sea Hags have toiled, perfecting our Glamour, growing land legs, and experimenting in our laboratories, until we have achieved our goals. Already two of our sisters, two courageous pioneers, are in your service, and soon there will be more. We will walk from our sea home and reclaim what is rightfully ours. The land dwellers have for too long abused the Merpeople. Before you ruled, there were many sacrifices to us, a mark of respect that we appreciated. However, since you crossed from the Blue Planet and discontinued the old rituals, the Faiaites have forgotten about Shambzhla. They have become entrenched in their earth rituals. Now they will suffer for their negligence.’
Mary tried to speak, but could not. Although she was not in her physical body, an irrational fear of drowning had come upon her. Shambzhla yawned. There was an expression of contempt in her eyes, combined with an enduring sadness.
‘I am ancient and weary,’ she said. ‘So old that even the land dwellers are slowly forgetting me. So ancient that parts of me are rotting away every day. But I will never be able to rest, or be at peace, until I have seen my sisters regain their rightful heritage on land.’
The Hag sisters loudly verbalised their agreement, with a noisy banging of their skeletal jewellery. The Warrior Sea Hag held out a glass jar: inside it was a tongue. Mary recognised with a thrill of horror that the tongue was her own.
‘Go now,’ Shambzhla said. ‘To ensure your confidence, we have in our possession your tongue. I will return it to you if I feel that you are capable of restraining it.’
Slowly, escorted by a procession of Merpeople, Mary floated back through the water. As she rose, dark shapes bumped against her in the pitch-black ocean, and she had to fight her feelings of terror. Who knew what grotesque sea monsters shared these depths with her? Then she was back in her body with a team of physicians and Crones milling about her, attempting to rouse her to consciousness. Mary could not open her eyes, nor her mouth, but she was aware that Bambi and Kryssti were making a great display of weeping and wailing, while Ano looked on, suspicion in his eyes. She longed to sing out to him, to caution him not to allow his qualms to be so evident, because the Hags were powerful and would be merciless in silencing him. But all she could do was lie helplessly, hearing the town crier announce the shocking news.
Dear Goddess, she prayed, break this binding upon me, so I can prevent this takeover of Faia by the Sea Hags.
There was a mocking glance from Bambi, as she covered her eyes and pretended to weep. It was the only answer Mary received.
*
Khartyn awoke with a start. The light was still dark grey in the bedroom outside, the sunbirds had not begun to sing. Mary’s face was vivid in her mind, as she had been dreaming of the High Priestess as a child, fleeing from the murderers who had slain her family. The little girl was attempting to scream, to cry out and alert the neighbours, but she was too terrified to make a sound lest the murderers hear her and find her hiding in the garden.
Finally, the terrified child opened her mouth to scream, but only blood dripped from her mouth. They have cut out her tongue, Khartyn thought in anguish. How will she call for help when the fiends have cut out her tongue?
It was at this point that she had awoken.
Moving quietly, so as not to disturb Rosedark, Khartyn reached for her scry, looking for information. Something sinister was happening in Faia, that much was obvious. She needed to discern more detail. Aligning her energy with the scry, she looked into the black reflection, expecting to see Mary. Instead, she was startled to see an image of the great Warrior Sea Hag, Shambzhla, on her throne, still majestic despite her rotting body. The golden fish of legend, rumoured to be her favoured children, whom she could not bear to part with, suckled greedily from her eleven pendulous breasts. In her hand she held a glass jar, and as Khartyn peered into it, she made out Mary’s tongue, floating.
The images cleared and Khartyn was left looking at a blank scry. For the next half-hour, she concentrated in vain, willing the scry to release more information about Mary, but as was often the way, when you desired it most, it refused to give up its secrets.
Disturbed, Khartyn crossed to the windows, hugging herself in her lavender shawl and watching as the sunbirds began to herald the new day.
In the distance she could hear the melodic crash of the waves as the sea broke onto the shore. Normally, it was a sound that soothed the Crone, but this morning she found it sinister. It was as if the land and the realm of water were in constant conflict, neither understanding nor respecting the other. Today, Khartyn thought, it is imperative we find an Oracle today that can help me in understanding what is happening in Faia.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Blessings upon you who the Snake places in its mouth. Blessed art the seeker who embraces the coils of the Snake. Keep us alive in your prayers and in your children’s minds. May the ones who bleed be always safe, hailed art thou among women. Blessed is the name of the Scaled One.
— Song of the Snake Priestess, Eronth folk song
At a breakfast that consisted of peacock eggs and apricot bread, Khartyn neglected her usual habit of sitting engrossed with the daily paper and asked of Kaliegraves whom she would recommend as a suitable Oracle to visit.
The Healer laughed out loud. ‘Well, New Baffin is not short of Oracles, Khartyn! Unfortunately there is no legislation surrounding the Oracles, so every man and h
is meerwog can and does practise the art. Let me see, there are Oracles for initiates of Dionysos, for Apollo, Oracles for poets and artists and, of course, in this cultured city, there are Oracles coming out of your ears for Aphrodite. The love Oracles! I hear they do a roaring trade.’
She sniffed contemptuously at the foolishness of the Baffinites. ‘Now the priests even deal in Oracles. Remember at first how they were so against them? That didn’t last long after they realised the money that could be made! There are Oracles who will inspect the intestines of a sacrificed victim for an exorbitant fee and give a reading. There is a famous Oracle who drinks water from a sacred well and makes all his pronouncements in verse. There are dream interpreters on every street corner, bone readers and scrying experts aplenty. Demeter’s priestesses have recently set up their temple here and are doing a prosperous trade by drinking bull’s blood. Then, of course, there are the pythonesses in the sepulchral caves.’
‘What are they?’ Khartyn interrupted, feeling an energy around the words as she spoke them.
‘The famed priestesses in the desert caves outside the city walls,’ Kaliegraves replied. ‘Guarded by two ancient dragons, they make their pronouncements monthly in fume-filled cave temples. The Python Priestesses synchronise their menstrual cycles by psychic disciplines, and the Shamaness makes her readings from a speculum throne where the menstrual flow can be observed.’
Gwyndion felt a rush of excitement at her words, remembering the Snake Crone who had transported him to Eronth. Perhaps the Python Priestesses could enlighten him further and shed some light on his quest. Khartyn picked up his excitement at once.
‘Would you and Gwyndion care to accompany us today?’ she asked.
Kaliegraves grinned. ‘Aye, I wouldn’t miss it for worlds, although whether we get an audience all depends upon the favour of the dragons. They decide whom the priestesses will bless with a reading.’
Bride of the Stone: Circle of Nine Trilogy 2 Page 14
