Bride of the Stone: Circle of Nine Trilogy 2

by Josephine Pennicott

  The Crone only picked at her meal, her hooded, wrinkled eyes studying the table closely. Maya felt uneasy whenever her ancient eyes rested upon her. Was she judging her for being raised by the Imomm? She felt inadequate in this situation, sitting amid people who had always known what it was like to eat in candlelit halls above ground, discussing politics and idle social chitchat in measured, melodic conversations. It was so different from the feasts of the Hills, where the table would burst into nonsense song at a moment’s notice. Being raised in the Hollow Hills did not prepare you for situations such as these. She felt self-conscious, not even sure what utensils to use for each course, and had to study the others surreptitiously to follow their lead.

  Khartyn was clothed in a dress of black silk and made an imposing figure with her white-silver hair scraped back into a bun. Some of her hair had already dropped out, leaving small freckled bald patches on her scalp. She wore a beautiful swan brooch made of moonstone on her shoulder. Rosedark, beside her, glowed in a dress of deep forest-green, decorated with intricate swirls of black lace. Like Khartyn, she wore her hair up, and Maya noted the admiring looks that the beauteous apprentice received from the Wizards — Claw included, she saw with a slight tinge of dismay. It was surprising how quickly a pretty face, violet eyes and soft blonde hair could turn a pack of men into a group of slobbering dogs, Maya thought scornfully. She’s probably as vacant-headed as the Faiaite peasantry she was raised among. Like Khartyn, the apprentice seemed to say and eat little.

  The dress that had seemed so presentable to Maya when she had donned it upstairs now seemed coarse and ordinary, paled by Rosedark’s extraordinary fairytale beauty. It was a lavender colour, and Patricia had painstakingly embroidered it with golden suns for her.

  When she remembered the big, red, chapped hands of old Patricia pushing the darning needle through the cloth, those hands so twisted from arthritis, a result of the cold conditions in the Hollow Hills, Maya got a huge lump in her throat. To calm herself down, she focused on the views from the large glass wall of the dining room. On this cold, sequestered night, the stars rose in the sky, silvery blue, illuminating little. Below, in the valley, she could see specks of glow from the homes of the Faiaites. Did they see us, she wondered, sitting up here laughing and chatting, dining in style? Did they resent the luxuries, the warmth, the servers that were taken for granted in Shellhome? Or were they, too, accustomed to the imbalance? Beyond the faint glowing eyes of the fire torches, Maya could see the black ominous humps that signalled the beginning of the Wastelands. Thousands of tiny cold stars dotted the sky. It was a spectacular view, even on this bleak winter’s night.

  Bwani, of course, was in his element. He was at his best in social occasions, Maya thought, and she marvelled again at how isolated he must have felt when he was enclosed in stone. He was seated next to Mary, while Edwen graced her other side. Maya sat to Bwani’s left, but he spoke little to her, concentrating his energies on the High Priestess. When he realised he was getting nowhere with his efforts to uncover more information pertaining to the Wastelands, he switched tactics, and began flirting subtly with the Priestess, attempting to break her defences down. She used Glamour, of course, Maya thought, sipping her mulled wine slowly. But she used it so skilfully it was impossible to gauge her true age.

  It was a disconcerting experience to be seated at the same table as the legendary Bluite, the woman who was the first Bluite to maintain a position of true power in Eronth. Maya had grown up immersed in the hatred the Imomm felt for Mary, so it was difficult to look upon her with an unbiased eye. The Winskis had entire volumes of songbooks they had composed to the whore Priestess of Faia. Watching her lean forward in the candlelight, emphasising some point she was making to Bwani, Maya found it difficult to like her. As if sensing her resistance, Mary looked over and smiled momentarily. Maya dropped her head to her plate, hoping she hadn’t read her mind, but she simmered with anger.

  Fuck Diomonna! She had ruined everything for her. She had no fine dresses, because nobody was allowed to dress finer than the Queen in the Hollow Hills. She had made her a social cripple by keeping them all isolated underground, and she had poisoned her mind against many of the beings in the Overworld. Maya realised again with frustration how difficult it was when you didn’t belong in either world.

  The fire crackled in the room, bringing a contented mood to its occupants. Bwani was admiring the floor mosaic, which was set with gemstones and delicate scrolling patterns of shells of the known worlds. A server moved discreetly around the table, taking the empty plates. The air smelt of pine and cypress, and Maya reflected on the absence of the Webx couple. They were excused from dinner, Mary had explained, because they found it difficult to digest food in the normal manner, but would rejoin everyone afterwards. Maya couldn’t help thinking this was just an excuse for their unease in the presence of the men who had originally been responsible for carrying the Eom into Eronth. Or perhaps she was the reason for their absence. They had both suffered from being held captive by the Imomm in the Hollow Hills. Old grudges, not voiced, flew in the air like Imomm arrows.

  The server reappeared, carrying jugs of Faian cream and huge trays of apple flans and apricot cheesecakes for their next course, interrupting Maya’s thoughts. Moodily she continued to eat, watching Bwani flirt with Mary. Somehow, it was easier to do that than to witness Claw sneaking admiring glances at Rosedark. She had grown to enjoy the knowledge that Claw desired her. She could tell herself over this wretched dinner that she felt sorry for him, that he had a deformity, and he was only attracted to someone who could never return his feelings. Rosedark . . . hiss, claw. She was an apprentice of a Crone. By Pysphorrus’s balls, didn’t these men have any sense at all? But her heart felt as if a sly hand were squeezing it, and she had to resist the urge to make a caustic comment to Rosedark.

  As soon as the last dessert plate had been pushed away, and the servers returned with platters of cheese and biscuits, Gwyndion and Samma made their appearance. They stood for a second in the doorway, looking tentatively into the room, and the entire dining hall seemed to come to a stop. With the Webx couple’s entrance, even the quality of the air seemed to change and become more intense.

  ‘Gwyndion and Samma! At last! Sit yeselves down with us!’ Mary said, rising. Maya was bewildered that the High Priestess would stand up and fuss over the Webx couple. She could never visualise Diomonna standing for anybody. She could only imagine the atrocities the Imomm Queen had done to the Webx couple. They sat together, while everybody openly stared. They were so similar, Maya realised, their faces with elongated dark shining eyes, their long leaf hair, Samma’s slightly red in colour, Gwyndion’s silver-white blonde. Their bodies were sleek and shining. When they noticed Maya, their faces changed and, with a sinking of her heart, she realised they could smell the Imomm all over her.

  ‘It’s all right, Gwyndion,’ the Crone said. ‘She’s the Awakener, the only daughter of Emma and the Stag Man. She might have lived among Imomm, and claimed them as her own, but she’s not Imomm.’

  The Crone’s heavy lids turned to Maya, not unkindly. ‘Do you understand their reaction? It is not an easy thing to adjust to life again after you have been held in the Hollow Hills.’

  ‘Nor to adjust when you are thrown out of the Hills,’ Maya muttered, her throat tight with resentment. Rosedark leaned across the table, fixing Maya with her pretty eyes. She had incredibly long eyelashes, Maya realised.

  ‘Emma was an exceptional Bluite and Crossa,’ she said warmly. ‘Once, when we were in the Wastelands, I was killed by a Solumbi, and — I swear this is true — she released her own sparrow to sing me to life. She was incredibly powerful. You are blessed indeed, Maya of the Hollow Hills, to have such a heritage!’

  Edwen had looked over with interest at the mention of the Wastelands, and sensing he was ready to enter into the conversation, Maya jumped in quickly. ‘Can you please tell me everything you know about Emma? Was she pretty? Did she want me? Why did she die?
’

  Khartyn held up a hand, laughing. ‘Yes, and a thousand more questions you have simmering inside your belly, Miss Dark Eyes! Rosedark, take her over to the fire and tell her all you know. It is long overdue that Maya learns of her birth mother.’

  Flushed with pleasure at this unexpected turn of events, Maya followed the green skirts of Rosedark to the elaborately carved wooden sofa in front of the fire and seated herself expectantly on the plush tapestry cushions. Rosedark sat next to her, eyes staring into the fire.

  ‘I will never forget how Emma crossed worlds,’ she began. ‘She had entered from the Blue Planet through the exhlaz portal, the main gateway between our worlds. When we first heard she was crossing, we arrived just in time to see her being attacked by a pack of Solumbi . . .’ Her soft voice went on, describing the turbulent events of seasons long past and never sung of by the Imomm. Maya listened, sometimes laughing, occasionally crying, but always marvelling. The fire sparked and flared, logs popping, and Rosedark and Maya became lost to the story.

  *

  Diomonna flew through the chill night sky, and her cry of rage threatened to split the stars. How could it be so? In her anger she forgot to balance herself properly, and she nearly tumbled from the sky. She was riding a ragwort stem, and it trembled under her fury. That treacherous demon-spawned Maya, sitting up like Lady Muck with the High Priestess of Sowdom and the Circle of Nine. She had clung to the windowpane, eyes nearly starting from her head at the sight. When Gwyndion had entered the room with Samma, she had nearly revealed her presence with a shocked cry. The meerwog had transmuted herself into her true form, which Diomonna had always seen with Faery eyes. Now, of course, the Webx was making puppy eyes at her.

  ‘How nice for them both!’ she spat at the moon. ‘May they rot of happiness in Pysphorrus’s belly! Kiss, kiss! Hiss, claw!’ She made lewd rocking gestures as she flew her stem, mocking the sex act that she imagined would be taking place between them. How she wished she had killed the meerwog while she had the chance! Many times she had fantasised about plunging her dagger into its throat, but had resisted from doing it because she had feared Gwyndion would die of heartbreak.

  ‘Stupid Diomonna, too kind!’ she screamed, slapping herself around the face. ‘Ugly Diomonna, unloved Diomonna!’ She slapped herself again.

  The memory of Maya sitting up, wining and dining in that luxurious, comfortable room, was threatening to send her insane. A large black raven flew near to her stem. Too near. She kicked out her jewelled boot. ‘Mind the Queen!’ she screamed. She was in no mood for birds who disobeyed the unwritten etiquette of Eronth. Didn’t it know that the Queen of Faeries rode undisturbed? But the bird swooped again, and Diomonna realised with terror that the bird had only one leg. Sati! She screamed, and tried to fly faster, but the bird called to her in a voice of fire.

  ‘Don’t fear! I come in peace. Sati has no quarrel with the Imomm.’

  Diomonna glanced around her fearfully, not believing her sentiments for a second.

  ‘I will help you,’ the bird said. ‘I heard your cry of pain, and understand it too well. I know what tears at your heart. Let me repeat, I have no quarrel with the Imomm. Please heed my call, come in to land. I can help you, Queen Diomonna.’

  Diomonna hesitated. Was it a trick? Would she be attacked by the bird’s razor-sharp beak and claws as soon as she landed? But the truth was, she was more vulnerable in the air, as Sati’s power over flight was legendary in Eronth. If there was going to be a fight between them, she would have more chance on the ground, where she could vanish into dust. Diomonna nodded, and began to guide the stem downwards, the fur standing up on her wings. If Sati did attack, she would find a worthy opponent in Queen Diomonna, she vowed.

  *

  ‘. . . so that’s it, you see,’ Sati concluded, wiping her eyes dry, having materialised into her Bindisore form as soon as they had landed on the ground. Her dark brown skirts were muddy and ripped where she crouched on the ground. ‘There is no-one left. Ishran has gone, forming his precious Light Vision cult. It was all too much for him, the responsibility. Oh, I always knew he was weak, although I hoped he would change. But Seleza’s visit was the last straw. Then of course, he raped Fenn. I knew that was going to happen, too, but I was powerless to stop it. By the cold prick of Alecom, the foolish girl became seeded with the egg! Sweet Alecom’s breath, all the lengths I have gone to to try to be implanted, and she did it effortlessly!’

  She twisted her hands for a moment, while Diomonna looked on coldly. ‘The Eom was taken back to the Web, Fenn was taken to the Web and, for all I see of him, Ishran may as well be a Bluite.’

  Diomonna listened impatiently. She had little interest in most of the tale and regarded Sati contemptuously. The Bindisore was behaving like a Bluite, weeping and wailing.

  ‘What do you want of me?’ she asked coldly. ‘The Imomm have no interest in these affairs. Hiss, claw.’ For a moment she felt superior to Sati. At least she managed to control her heartbroken feelings. Sati looked a wreck; she hadn’t bothered with Glamour, and her face was puffy and lined from continual crying. Her hair was lank and it smelt, and she had body odour, too. Diomonna contemplated giving her a swift kick, before vanishing into dust, but refrained. There must have been a reason why Sati had pulled her from the sky. She was proud of how she managed to control her face and voice. No admitting, she told herself privately, no changeling. Diomonna no make babyswitch. Fortunately, the Azephim Queen was so shockingly emotional that she seemed incapable of reasoning to the Imomm’s role in the present situation.

  ‘There is power in being united!’ Sati hissed. ‘If we combine our magical powers against the High Priestess and infiltrate our way into Faia, we can abduct the Wizards and force them to reenter the Web and bring us the Eom. Singly, we are weak, but if the Imomm and Wezom tribes come together to form an alliance with the Azephim, we will be able to overcome them.’

  Diomonna listened, her foot tapping the ground as she thought. ‘Imomm are not weak singly,’ she said. ‘Perhaps Azephim are, but not Imomm. Why would the Wizards allow themselves to be abducted? The stone men are not stone-brained!’

  ‘They have something they value,’ Sati said quietly. ‘Maya. If we take Maya, we can claim her as a ransom for the Eom.’

  ‘They may not agree!’ Diomonna protested. ‘Ugly unwinged one, this plan contains more holes than Faiaite cheese! Eom is Eom. Maya is just a stupid girl, easily replaceable!’

  ‘You know nothing of men’s hearts,’ Sati said. ‘Bwani is deeply in love with her.’ Diomonna made gagging noises, ignored by Sati.

  ‘It is just a plan,’ Sati said. ‘Of course, you might have a better one.’

  Diomonna tried to look as if she had a hundred plans being hatched. ‘It might work,’ she said grudgingly.

  ‘It will work,’ Sati said. ‘We will make it work. You can convince the Wezom tribe it is in their interest to fall in with us. I have a Lightcaster standing by, ready to take out the Crone. That will knock the stuffing out of Mary. With any luck, he will be able to whip the Faiaites up enough for them to take out their High Priestess as well.’

  Diomonna looked at Sati with new respect. A Lightcaster! So the tall birdwoman’s brains were not totally addled. ‘What will I get out of this?’ she asked, suddenly remembering to drive a hard bargain.

  ‘I shall become High Priestess of Faia,’ Sati replied. ‘As my first duty, I will revoke the power stolen from the Imomm. You will be granted permission to enter Faia openly. You will be allowed to tithe, and to capture changelings. The Imomm will be the most powerful Faery tribe in all the known worlds!’

  Diomonna let out a wild whoop of joy, and turned a backward somersault.

  ‘Diomonna says yes! Hiss, claw!’ she cried.

  Sati looked at her, her mouth set in a thin line. In her eyes lurked an ancient despair.

  ‘Diomonna and the Imomm know many magical secrets,’ Sati said. ‘Perhaps when we form our new friendship, Queen Diomonna will help
Sati to conceive a child.’

  Diomonna nodded absentmindedly. She could see at a glance that Sati’s belly was empty and cold, far too cold for childbearing. She knew herbs and tinctures that would warm her belly up, but she kept that knowledge to herself. Sati might be willing to give more for that information when she became High Priestess of Faia.

  They shook hands solemnly on the agreement, and then Sati transformed herself back into the raven again and, with a scattering of red sparks, flew into the sky. Diomonna jumped up and down with excitement, clapping her hands. A new day was beginning to dawn, and suddenly the Faery Queen could see hope.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  ‘. . . we are but shadows, bring us home. Lost to love, and lost to light. Oh endless pain of endless night. Love is a spell the tides . . .’

  Rudmay paused in her delivery, glancing at Simeon, who was attempting to look interested. ‘That’s great!’ he said enthusiastically. ‘Did you write it?’

  She sighed, closing the book. ‘No. Of course I didn’t! How could you not recognise the words of Eleesha?’

  Simeon shook his head, hoping Rudmay wouldn’t work herself up again about some long-dead obscure poet or text writer. She had kept him awake for the entire night two moon-ups ago, extolling the virtues of a group of poets from the Bluite planet. It had been the longest night of Simeon’s life, and he had half-wished she had left him to the sea serpent. Rudmay was the kindest, most eloquent person he had ever met, but she could get so damned passionate about the most peculiar things. She would sit and sob over the sunset if it was beautiful enough, she would debate for hours about painters and actors who were only a vague memory in the streets of New Baffin.