Bride of the Stone: Circle of Nine Trilogy 2

by Josephine Pennicott

  At the rear of the Great Hall, Patricia could feel Ellie-Jane, cold and tense beside her. Steady, girl. Terror was a cold claw within her own belly. She knew that Diomonna could sniff out the guilty parties if Ellie-Jane didn’t bring her emotions under control. The Winskis were huddled together, hands to their mouths, as Diomonna passed her blade over them.

  ‘Well, was it any of you golden blowflies?’ she asked. A loud chorus of ‘NO!’ and frantic denials and protestations of undying love for the Faery Queen were expressed.

  Now Diomonna passed from Faery to Faery, holding her razor-sharp blade against their throat and repeating her question. Again she met with emotional denials. Patricia could almost smell the fear that clung like wisps of smoke to Ellie-Jane, and she had to fight to stop herself from shaking her. Their only hope of survival was remaining as neutral as possible. Diomonna’s acute senses were honed for the slightest symptom of panic or fear.

  Bogie after Bogie was questioned. She had reached the short row of Bluites who lived in the Hollow Hills. A large bat flapped across the roof of the cave. One after another, the Bluite nursemaids tearfully protested their innocence, and their love for Diomonna. Ellie-Jane was shaking like a leaf, and Patricia had to fight to prevent panic from completely enveloping her. She should never have trusted the girl to help her release Maya.

  Now the Faery Queen was in front of Ellie-Jane, holding the silver blade to her throat. Her gown of leaves, one that had taken Patricia six Turns of the Wheel to complete, rustled terribly.

  ‘Was it you who betrayed me, Bluite?’ she asked. As terrified as she was, Ellie-Jane had wit enough in her head to stammer out, ‘No!’

  Diomonna sniffed the air, her eyes narrowed jewels of fury.

  ‘Why do you stink of fear so much, big blonde dumpling? Why do you shiver so?’ She pressed the blade harder against Ellie-Jane’s throat, and a thin line of blood appeared. ‘Tell me what you know!’ she hissed. ‘I can feel words inside your Bluite brain. Give them to me.’

  Patricia groaned inwardly as Ellie-Jane, terrified beyond logic, squealed, ‘We did it! We didn’t mean any trouble, I swear! I didn’t know! I’m so terribly sorry, I love you, you know that I love you!’

  ‘Who is we?’ Diomonna demanded.

  ‘Old Patricia and myself. We never . . .’ the sentence was never completed.

  With a savage groan, Diomonna sliced through the Bluite’s throat. A look of surprise shot across Ellie-Jane’s face. She slid to the floor, holding her open throat, which gurgled horribly. The court looked on in silence.

  Diomonna looked at Patricia. There was a deep sadness in her face.

  ‘Why, Old One?’ she asked. Patricia looked into her elongated gold-green eyes. The Imomm, she knew only too well, were childlike in their wild likes and dislikes.

  Memories flooded her mind of Diomonna abducting her from Earth, after a busy shift delivering babies. Her glistening wings had embraced her, rose with her into a bright blue Earth sky as she screamed in terror. Diomonna laughing with her, clapping her hands in delight, stars falling from her eyes. Hugging her briefly at some witticism Patricia had uttered, then quickly drawing back, aghast at the contact she had just shared with a Bluite. Then Patricia saw herself aging, losing her memories of her previous life, Diomonna slipping her what Glamour she would spare to keep her as young as possible. But she was and would always be a stranger between worlds.

  ‘Why?’ Diomonna asked again. Her eyes were filled with fear. Patricia knew she was offering her a chance. If she thought quickly enough, she could invent a tale, blame it all on Ellie-Jane, whose blood still dripped, red and thick, from Diomonna’s blade. The Faery Queen wanted to save face, but she also wanted to save Old Patricia.

  ‘I am Bluite,’ she said weakly. No excuse would come to her. All she felt was incredibly weary. She sensed her own death, only a breath away.

  Diomonna raised the blade and moved forward. Patricia crossed herself, looking into those violet eyes that glistened with tears. She felt the icy blade slice through her throat as Diomonna’s mouth opened to a scream. Then blackness.

  *

  The tangible aura of grief reigned throughout the Hollow Hills all moon-up. Winskis sat in groups on the floor, holding their tiny heads in their hands, gnashing their minute teeth, sobbing. Even Jig Boy had paused in his writing to express his anguish, his diminutive shoulders shaking as he mourned. Faery consoled Faery with stroking hands and whispered sentiments, and toasts were silently raised to Old Patricia, who had been a favourite of the court.

  Later, grim-faced Bogies dragged Ellie-Jane’s body into the further recesses of the Hollow Hills, ready to transport it into Eronth, to be thrown to the Solumbi from the air, as befitting one who had betrayed the Imomm.

  Diomonna refused to be consoled. She sat on the floor, Patricia’s head in her lap, blood covering the leaf dress that the old Bluite had spent so long sewing for her. In death, Patricia had aged even more, as the scraps of Glamour that had been given to her returned to their source. But there was a serenity about her, suggesting that in Hecate’s arms she had found some measure of peace. ‘Why, big Old One?’ Diomonna sobbed over and over. ‘I gave the chance, why make me bleed you? Hiss, claw.’ She shook off one Faery after another who attempted to console her, and nearly slit a Bogie’s throat when he tried to move the body.

  Water dripped slowly down the walls of the Hills, causing small trickling streams that ran to the fern bathing rooms.

  The scent of blood hung heavily in the air, causing the Faeries to gag and hold their noses. Their delicate constitutions hated the rich, cloying smell of Bluite blood. They cast longing glances at Patricia’s body on the floor, eager to throw her to the Solumbi, despite their great affection and respect for her.

  A great majority of the Faery court had been attended to by Old Patricia, with her chapped red hands, from their first breath. One young Faery was even daring enough to whisper to her neighbour that Diomonna should maybe have just given her a beating. It was a sentiment that many shared, but lacked the courage to utter.

  Bogies mopped up the blood, scarves over their noses and mouths. Small groups of Faery handmaidens stood with concerned expressions on their faces, gazing at the sobbing Queen. A couple attempted to approach her, but Diomonna spat at and abused them.

  As the Winskis sang to each other at sun-up, there had been no sadder death in the Hollow Hills, not even in the memory of the oldest Winski. The elder Winskis claimed King Pysphorrus’s death had been more tragic, but as there was no Winski living who could verify this claim, this statement had little impact. They gathered around Jig Boy in sombre groups to read with interest what he had recorded, and their tears made his inkwork run into nonsense words.

  Patricia, the stinking old Bluite, was dead, and their Queen had gone mad with grief. It was the stuff that Winski legends were made of.

  High in the coal-black sky, Black Annis’s swanmobile made its steady progress across the star-flecked heavens towards the Wastelands. The black swans hissed importantly at any bird or air elemental that swooped too near the craft. It was icy in the night sky, and Black Annis continually checked that Abigail was snugly covered with animal furs. As she had aged, the cannibal’s gums had become increasingly sensitive and would react if her food was too cold.

  Abigail stirred, woken by the crisp cold of the night sky. Black Annis smiled, pleased that her meal was moving. The flesh of Bluites was always more tender when fear pumped adrenaline through their bodies. ‘Hello, little girl,’ she smirked. The child’s breath hung in white frost on the air as she opened her mouth and screamed. It was a piercing sound, and the team of swans jumped, nearly upturning the swanmobile. Swiftly, the Hag covered the child’s mouth with her hand. She couldn’t risk her highly strung swans bolting in midair. Far below them, fire torches glinted, and she knew that they were passing over Faia. ‘Settle down, little girl,’ she said. ‘Nobody is going to hurt you.’

  The odour of fresh virgin blood and juicy te
nder organs so tantalisingly near to her was sending her stomach into excited spasms. She fought against it. The swanmobile would he approaching the Wastelands soon, and she would be able to present the Ghormho with this tasty little delicacy.

  Abigail, sensing the danger she was in, began to kick and struggle, calling out for her mummy. Her struggles only excited the cannibal Hag more. The temptation became too great for her.

  She raised the child’s small arm to her mouth, marvelling at the tiny size of the porcelain arm, the perfectly formed hand and fingers.

  Black Annis began to feed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The night will claim her as a daughter;

  The Death Crone waits patiently near the dawn;

  Silence, as the world is cracking.

  The Horned Man’s breath gives healing,

  A temple falls.

  — Condensed from the Tremite Book of Life, Column XLIV P

  The lights were dimmed in Mary’s bedroom. When her servers entered the room, they walked on tiptoe, and talked in hushed voices. Several of the more sensitive maids had wept tears for their mistress during the day. Their eyes red-rimmed and puffed, they avoided looking at Ano as they attended to the sleeping High Priestess. Not so Bambi and Kryssti, who looked directly at him as they fussed around Mary. They shook their heads sadly at each other, and Bambi even patted him consolingly on the shoulder. Ano knew. He had witnessed a possible future that had brought him to his feet in despair. It was one path of many, but it was the path that they were now upon, and Ano knew he had little time. He had embodied a thought pattern and sent it to Khartyn in New Baffin; he urgently needed the Crone by his side. Several Crones had been called in to minister to Mary, but with no success. Mary remained in her deep sleep. Now they were gathered around her bed, hunched over, stooped with the wisdom of their years, attempting to break the binding that hung over their High Priestess.

  Ano began to shake. He had slept and eaten little since he had witnessed the portal of the possible future. His heart was breaking in torment for Mary. Continually he reproached himself for not being more aware of what was happening under his nose; for standing back and doing nothing while the vile parasites had infiltrated and were now consuming Faia.

  Throughout the day, he had rested by placing his heads in his hands, closing his eyes briefly, allowing himself the luxury to meditate on his feelings for Mary. Why, he wondered, did he never tell her how much he loved her? Did she know she had held his foolish heart in her beautiful hands from the first time he had sighted her? He had known from that moment that his soul belonged with her. He was a Janusite; she could never have returned his love in the way that he desired, but it was enough for Ano that she regarded him as her closest friend, although he had constantly craved for more. When you were dying of thirst, you grabbed whatever liquid refreshment you were offered, no matter how small. Why did I not speak my heart sooner? Continually he remonstrated in a pained mantra.

  He jumped when Kryssti touched him lightly on the shoulder. ‘We have prepared a light supper for you, Master Ano. Pickles, cheeses and nut pies. Do you feel up to taking some nourishment?’

  Ano moved abruptly away from her, refusing to answer. He could not tolerate the vile creature touching his skin. He knew it was foolish, even dangerous, to reveal his knowledge of their true identity to them, but his anger and repulsion were too strong to deny.

  Ignoring the supper, he crossed to the bedroom windows and, opening them, stepped out onto the small balcony to observe Faia far below him. With disgust he noticed a thin stream of smoke and fire rising from the village. Another witch-burning was taking place. He glanced into the room to see one of the oldest Crones watching him with fear. No words were needed between the two to communicate. The knowledge of what was occurring in the streets below was written in her lined face. None of them were safe from the madness that had infiltrated Faia.

  Overhead he saw the unmistakable outlines of the swanmobile of Black Annis passing, no doubt to visit the Azephim in the Wastelands. Mary tossed and turned, moaning softly, lost to a dream world. She did not wake.

  *

  The triple moons illuminated the landscape. Shadows threatened Maya in the silence as she ran across the countryside. She paused for breath by a stone wall, and a feeling of fear crept through her body. With clarity she knew she was feeling Old Patricia’s fear. In her mind she saw Ellie-Jane drop to the floor, a ribbon of red appearing across a throat cut from ear to ear. Maya moaned, beating her hands upon her head.

  ‘No, Diomonna!’ she screamed. Then she was inside Old Patricia’s body, feeling the life force slowly leaving her, along with the borrowed Glamour which was leaking back to Diomonna. She felt Old Patricia’s weary acceptance of her death, her long years of imprisonment in the Hollow Hills over at last. There was a rushing sensation in her head. Sobs and moans burst from her body at the enormity of the sacrifice the old Bluite had made for her freedom. She heard Diomonna’s scream of agony.

  Cradled against the stone wall, Maya began to sob hysterically. Old Patricia had been a nanny and friend to her in the Hollow Hills. She had scolded her continually over the years, she had boxed her ears when Maya had cheeked her, but she had loved her.

  There was movement in the field beside her, and Maya tensed, whirling around. Her eyes peered into the blackness as she attempted to locate the source of the sound. Packs of Solumbi were known to roam freely over Eronth at night, and she had little to defend herself with against these or other dangerous beasts. The stars shone brightly, each star as big as Maya’s fist. The entire scene appeared to have a staged quality about it, as if the very earth itself had been waiting for this moment. A gigantic owl hooted from an overhanging tree, and a strange perfume filled the air. Then Maya saw him.

  He came walking into the field in the moonlight. The lunar rays illuminated his shining coat and his magnificent antlers, scarred and massive, reaching to the sky. The Stag Man! He reared in the light. Silver and red sparks flashed from his hooves. A cry came from him, which Maya knew was her name. Tears now fell freely from her eyes, for she knew that this was her father, the being who had sired her with her Bluite mother, Emma. He reared again, crying to the moons, ‘Before the Dreamers slept, I was!’

  Earth elementals began to rise from the ground. Normally reclusive, now they danced joyfully around the great stag being, gyrating and striking poses as they moved. Leaves blew in the air, partnering them in joyful swoops, and Maya heard the faint singing of creatures of the night, hidden in the shadows.

  He paused and looked at her with his great eyes. Maya saw total recognition of who she was. He claimed and recognised her as his kin. He began to move slowly towards the other side of the field and then looked back at her. His breath blew blue in the air. She could see his ribs moving in his white coat. She recognised that he wanted her to follow him, and she stepped forward. Slowly, slowly, as if in a dream, she moved towards him. Her breath came deeper. With his presence she now knew that she had been destined to leave the Hollow Hills.

  *

  She had reached his side and she could smell him, the odour of a god, the odour of ancient forests and forgotten songs and half-remembered dreams. He turned his head slowly and looked at her. Then he dropped to the ground. Maya knew that he wanted her to climb onto his back and she did so, positioning herself carefully. She felt no fear of the huge beast whatsoever. The moment that they now shared seemed stolen from time, a gift from the earth, from the sea, from the sky. He rose, Maya on his back, and they began to ascend into the sky. She gripped him by his mane and closed her eyes, feeling his huge muscles work beneath her.

  They rose higher and higher. The air was cold, but Maya was oblivious. She was among the stars. They flew and the journey seemed to take forever. Maya could feel the presence of her mother with her. She could feel the weight of her mother’s hand upon the Stag Man’s flank, and her mother’s dark hair, streaming out behind her, as her spirit accompanied them.

 
; She glided through the night sky of Eronth, while Faia slept below. Then he was descending, and she could feel the energy change. He landed on the ground lightly, and waited until Maya had clambered from his back. Maya looked at what lay before her in shock. He had delivered her to the Circle of Nine. He stared at her again, and Maya, sensing his departure, tried to speak, to hold him with her. He reared up into the air, and she stepped back. His hooves pounded the earth in front of her. Three words came into her mind. Go to him. Then he vanished, swallowed in a breath by the night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The Awakener will dissolve the worlds

  Through her womb of fire, stone birds will fly

  And the Winged Ones will be challenged

  In an almighty battle,

  Where great chariots of fire bring new blood to Eronth,

  The Shell of the Dreamers fills with blood

  And mothers cry for children consumed by great fire.

  Plague will sweep the land, striking the weak and the old;

  White frost will fall, covering sacred land.

  — Condensed from the Tremite Rook of Life, Column DLV

  The Virgins were sleeping when Maya tiptoed into the Circle of Nine. The stones appeared to whisper a welcome when she approached them, staring with longing at Bwani. Surely the Virgins would sense her presence, fresh from the Hollow Hills? She held her breath as they stirred, but they continued to sleep peacefully, as if under a strange enchantment.

  The air beckoned her on, and she could feel the presence of other beings watching her, but they did not reveal themselves. Then she realised it was the stones, the stones who had drawn her here, had willed her to be among them.

  Bwani stood, mysterious and impressive, illuminated by moonlight. Maya could hear the beat of his heart as she moved towards him. There were fresh flowers and fruits placed at his base, no doubt left earlier in the day by his Virgin Protectors. She stood under the glow of the triple moons and placed her arms around the stone. She could feel the presence of the man inside, embracing her back, as lost in the magical moment as she was. Her lips brushed against the stone, softer then harder. She moaned softly in her throat, feeling the build-up of sexual energy within her and knowing that the stone was responding.