Bride of the Stone: Circle of Nine Trilogy 2

by Josephine Pennicott

  She had spotted Lazariel straight away. So this was the Fallen One, the one for whom Ishran had fallen so completely that he had left his long-term mate. He was handsome; Sati could sense the dormant power flowing within him. It was a legacy of the Heztarra race. He was beautiful, and he was powerful, despite his fall, but he was still human. Bluite. How she despised the Bluite race in their stinking Earth bodies — forms that decayed so easily! Sati had longed to swoop down from her tree and take Lazariel’s eyes out, but she could see how precarious his sanity was as a result of his intimacy with Ishran. An odd compassion flowered within her as she saw the soul in his eyes, afraid and sensing the danger. Nobody deserved to die like that. Somewhere in all of this she could smell the angoli Charmonzhla. She had no doubt that the Dark One was behind Ishran’s activities on Earth. Charmonzhla, the puppet master. He would have some plan that Ishran was too dense to see.

  Sati had only made a few brief visits to Light Vision but, even in that time, the group’s deterioration had been obvious. The Ghormho had given them power through a variety of half-baked Azephim rituals, but at a terrible cost. The ones that he had slept with were badly affected. Azephim essence now ran in their veins, but their Bluite bodies were unable to cope with the exchange.

  However, there was one female not afflicted like the others. Her Protector was still strong, and standing with her. Ishran had not interfered with her sexually, and she was more awake, Sati realised. But if so, why did she stay with her pack of doomed friends? The smell of fresh blood was all over the house, hanging veiled in the air. How could it be that the Bluite was not affected like her friends?

  Unable to sleep, Sati tossed and turned as the night called to every cell of her being. Finally, unable to withstand the pull, she stood before her window. The moons were not visible in the heavy dark, and only a few purple clouds trailed in the sky. She raised her arms high over her head, relishing the divine moment of her form slipping into the body of another. A loud haunting cry came from the heavens, pulling at her feathers, at her beak, eyes and claws. Lost, she flew swiftly from the window to answer the call.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Not to know me argues yourselves unknown

  — John Milton, Paradise Lost IV. 830

  Leura, Blue Mountains, Australia

  ‘In the days of old, woman was the altar now.

  ‘I am the altar.

  ‘Hail, Aphrodite! Give me your blessing on my sacred rite.

  ‘I give to you my spirit, my body, my soul and know that I am the blessed.

  ‘I am the altar.

  ‘Know that I am yours in love and return my embrace.

  ‘Oh beloved Goddess of Heaven and Earth.

  ‘I am the altar.

  ‘Oh ancient lover, bless my prayer and . . .’

  There was a knock at the door, and a voice sang out.

  ‘Theresa? Are you in there?’

  Shit. She froze, willing them to go away. Please, Aphrodite, send them away. Not now. Not tonight. We’re so close. There was a pause.

  ‘Theresa? I know you’re in there!’

  Swearing under her breath, Theresa got up, and quickly pushed her small altar from sight, under the bed. She flung open the door.

  ‘Well? What is it?’

  Sophie and Minette stood outside the door, smiling widely. They were dressed for a ritual in white gowns, with wreaths of flowers around their hair. Theresa felt like throwing up at the look of excitement on their faces.

  ‘What is it?’ she said again, as they stood there smiling at her.

  ‘Come and join us,’ they said. ‘He’s back.’

  Fear uncoiled in Theresa’s spine, and she felt her heart miss a beat.

  ‘Later,’ she said. ‘I’m busy.’

  Sophie smiled, showing perfect white bleached teeth. Theresa knew how vain she was about her teeth, and how she refused to drink tea or coffee for fear of staining them.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ Sophie said. A black forked tongue appeared to slide out from between her lips. ‘What could be more important than welcoming him home?’

  ‘It’s not his home,’ Theresa said. A desire to defecate came upon her. She didn’t like the bright way that Sophie and Minette were staring at her. As if they were birds of prey. ‘You know that he has no home. Well, not in this world.’ There was another silence, and Minette and Sophie glanced at each other.

  ‘Don’t be so bloody stupid,’ Minette said. ‘You’re spending too much time in this room by yourself. Don’t think we don’t know what you’re doing and it’s pointless. You must see that. Lazariel isn’t interested in you — you were just a root, for Chrissake! Doing stupid love spells isn’t going to help! It’s not an episode of Charmed, you know!’

  ‘Go fuck yourself,’ Theresa said, and shut the door. There was loud banging from the other side.

  ‘Break it down,’ she heard Minette say. Panicking, Theresa threw on a light cardigan, and as noiselessly as possible, pulled up the window. She could hear Minette calling for help with the door, and the sound of running feet. She jumped out of the window, landing awkwardly on her feet. Damn. Half-limping, she began to run. Where was she going to? She was panicking, unable to think clearly. All she knew was an instinctive desire to put as much distance between herself and the members of Light Vision as she could manage.

  She ran down the main road, fleeing from the madness, hoping that some car would come along to give her a lift. The night welcomed her into its belly. Where are you going? A voice inside her mocked. What are you trying to run from? It's not inside them, it’s inside you! Go back to them, finish what you all began. It’s not too late. You are the madness. Go back to the hot little house of flies.

  She began to sob, feeling isolated and alone in the dark countryside. He only used you for a root! Minette’s words ringing in her mind. Oh God, there was a car coming! She could see the headlights approaching. Impulse prompted her to jump into a ditch by the side of the road. It sped past. Through the tall grass flanking the ditch, she saw the white faces of Alan and Daniel flattened against the car window. They were coming after her. She buried herself in the grass, fear causing her to sob. Hours passed into seconds, panic hanging from her mouth. The night held its breath.

  She waited until the car had driven out of sight, before continuing to hobble awkwardly down the road. She had to reach Katoomba, to get help for herself and tell the police of her suspicions. But who was going to believe her? Even so, the thought persisted that she had to try. She had to attempt to make people believe the impossible. They had to uncover the secret contained within the house of flies.

  Her heart was pounding so hard as she ran she was afraid she was going to have a heart attack. Oh God, please let me survive this. Let me get away from this place. Let me live. Please. God, I’ll do anything. Then she heard it, and the sound turned her veins to ice. The swishing of a pair of great wings from overhead. She glanced up, and saw nothing, but her terror remained.

  She heard another car coming down the road, and she deliberated, thinking that it could be a friendly local. But finally she dived into the ditch again, this time into a pool of muddy, smelly water, where she lay face down, trying to stop herself from screaming out loud. Oh God, the car was slowing down. It was stopping. She froze, unable to believe they were aware of her presence. A car door slammed, and then footsteps.

  ‘Theresa?’ A soft, caring voice. She looked up, and they were there, looking down with concern in their eyes. Minette and Sophie, smiling gently, holding their hands out for her. They looked angelic, like two English maidens in their white gowns and wreaths. Lazariel was standing with them, his face creased with pain, his upper back bulging grotesquely outwards.

  ‘Come on, Theresa,’ he said. ‘Don’t be a fool.’ His voice held the same tone of irritation that it always did when he spoke to her. There was no gentleness in his mouth, in his eyes. A feeling of hopelessness came over her. He was right, she was a fool with her hopes and her pathetic rituals to a
ncient gods. Resignation swamped her mind with the lurking, despairing knowledge that things were working out how they had always been ordained.

  Minette and Sophie were upon her. They had seemed to pounce into the ditch where she lay. Theresa felt herself being effortlessly lifted up out of the ditch. They embraced her, stroking her hair and her face. She began to sob at the expression that she saw in their eyes.

  ‘You can’t leave now, Theresa,’ they said, still smiling. ‘He’s waiting for you.’

  Theresa began to scream.

  I evoke and conjure thee, O demons. Barbatos, Beelzebub, Sammael, in the name of the Ghormho! In the sacred name of Alecom. I command you to appear before me in the name of the most high. I command you to stay with me until you are dismissed, to speak honestly and to answer truthfully the questions I put before you!

  The room was filled with an ashen, eerie light. Theresa twisted and turned frantically, but she was held down on a wooden table they had set up as an altar. The scent of an unfamiliar incense perfumed the room. It was sweet, heavy, causing her eyelids to droop and her mouth to open slightly. Strangely, she felt no fear. Ishran had taken her fear into his mouth when they had dragged her to him, screaming and shaking in anger and terror. He had thrown back his head and laughed, then pulled her towards him with a lingering perfumed kiss from the grave. It left her mind in white silence. Candles flickered in the room, causing their shadows to mimic a bizarre play. Bowls of white roses and rose petals were scattered throughout the room. Lazariel sat hunched in a corner, his face twisted in pain, his body contorted. The others ignored him.

  Ishran removed the purple robe he had been wearing. He was naked, his body gleaming with oils. In the subdued lighting, his erection was obvious, enormous, alien. The women hissed, arching towards him in lust, flicking their tongues at him. Somewhere deep inside herself, Theresa moaned. These woman with their glazed eyes, stripping their clothes off, were not the women she had known and loathed for so long. Ishran laughed, delighting in their desire for him, but holding up a warning hand, refusing to let them touch him. Strands of mucus seemed to drip from the air.

  ‘Not before, my daughters,’ he said. ‘After.’

  Sophie was lolling her head from side to side. Her red lipstick was smeared across her mouth. She danced wildly for a second, her voluptuous body heaving in the candlelight, as the Light Vision members clapped and cheered. The darkness in the room danced with her, forming a living crown around her head as she gyrated to shadows.

  Ishran began to chant, his eyes closed. He held his arms over his head. It was a language Theresa had never heard before.

  ‘Oleo Oleo! Semboloz, aum, aum. Jedmaz ele! Oleo! Oleo!’

  Lazariel had his hands over his ears, pitifully trying to block the sounds out. Yellow pus was squirting from between his fingers, and his mouth was open. Minette was on the floor, writhing like a snake. Alan hid behind Daniel, and they were barking like dogs.

  The elemental energies were being summoned, but not from quarters that were familiar to Theresa, and these were not the nature elementals that she summoned in her rites. She could sense the fetid breath of something truly unimaginable in the room with them. There was a scream inside her, but it refused to be expelled. She lay back and watched. The bowls of roses placed around the room burst into flame. This is really happening, a little voice said inside her, a tiny lost child’s voice. This is no dream, this is really happening. It’s too late to stop him, for he has unleashed the wolves.

  As Ishran continued to chant, his body whipped in a contorted dance. The cult members joined hands and an odour spiralled through the room, a rotten, faecal smell that permeated everything. Ishran let out a wild whoop of joy.

  Theresa noticed a diagram he had drawn on the floor in black chalk, a triangle above a circle. There were many names written around the triangle, but she could only make out two — Tetragrammaton and Anaphaxeton. Inside the circle were four hexagrams, also with names written alongside them, and next to these were four pentagrams, each with a candle placed in its centre.

  Beside Theresa stood an angoli. A delicate blonde-haired little girl held his hand. She covered her mouth with her hands, and giggled when she saw Theresa looking at her.

  ‘She sees me,’ she said to the angoli. He nodded, his eyes amused.

  ‘Her hands are so large. Her head is so small. I don’t like her smell! She smells bad!’ the girl cried. Charmonzhla pulled her into his arms, holding her from behind.

  ‘Look at her with love,’ he said, dropping a kiss on her head. ‘Don’t judge her for her weaknesses, her imperfections, her rotten body.’ The demon child began to cry softly.

  ‘Don’t gaze upon her any more if it upsets you,’ Charmonzhla said. ‘Just think, my daughter, how all of this, all of them, will be dust. None of it will ever be able to touch you, or hurt you. They smell because their organs are rotting quietly inside them with every breath, and they fear death. They smell because they love with their sparrow.’

  ‘Will it really happen tonight?’ the girl hissed. She turned to Charmonzhla and stamped a white-socked foot. ‘Will I see them tonight, or is it another trick?’

  ‘No trick,’ the angoli said. ‘Listen! Can’t you hear them calling? They are coming, they are on their way. You, my good little girl, you will see everything, I promise you!’

  ‘I don’t want your promises,’ the girl said. Her face had turned dark blue, her tongue black. ‘I want to go to Disneyland. I want to experience forbidden things, and drink the night. I want to see them!’

  They moved away from Theresa, still arguing. Nobody else appeared to notice them in the room.

  Theresa moaned inwardly. The pressure in the air had increased. Pools of sweat ran down her body. She could see Sophie and Minette embracing, their hands moving over each other’s bodies. Minette had Sophie’s breasts in her hands, sucking greedily on them. There were cries of pain from the corner where Lazariel crouched. From his back, a corner of a large, black, membranous wing had begun to sprout. Fire came now from his mouth, turning to ice, turning to dust, to shadow. Alan and Daniel were speaking in tongues, blue flame bursting from their mouths as they spoke. The angoli and the demon child seemed to have vanished from the room altogether.

  There were scratching noises from the window, as if something outside were trying to claw its way in. Ishran had begun to fuck Sophie on the floor, and she lay back moaning with pleasure, urging him to go deeper. He continued to scream the invocation as he thrust inside her. Her eyes watched Theresa as he moved. The members of Light Vision had gathered around him, yelling their encouragement. The room went into total blackness for a moment, then the candle flames flickered back on. With disbelief, Theresa saw the new arrivals in the room.

  Her mind was numbed with shock as she lay watching. Ishran stopped pleasuring Sophie, and the entire room went silent with the exception of Lazariel, who continued to moan in the corner. Then Sophie saw them, and she began to scream. The things that had answered the invitation noticed Theresa. Dipping their heads to each other, they turned towards her slowly. Even Ishran’s paralysing kiss couldn’t subdue the terror that now coursed through Theresa in great white spikes. Goddess, help me!

  ‘No Goddess will help you now! The Goddess is dead! Long live the Ghormho!’ Ishran called, standing up from the floor. Theresa was aware of Charmonzhla and his child friend’s presence again. They were worshipping these things, she realised. A feeling of total misery engulfed her. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this moment. The unfairness of it all was winding around her heart and throat. Tears fell down her face as she struggled against the paralysis that held her. She wasn’t ready to die, and she didn’t want to die like this. The shadows spun their web around her, holding her immobile. The beings who had entered the room, invited by the ritual, moved quietly towards her.

  Three tall figures stood in the room. The odour of burnt, rotten flesh clung to them and the air seemed to be filled with flames and heat. Sophie crawled
away from them, giggling, a naked, petrified crab. Shaggy beings flanked the three figures. Theresa could not make out what they were; they were animalistic, similar to wolves in size, but their faces were human. Ishran welcomed the new arrivals in some foreign tongue. He had metamorphosed into a scaled beast, spitting fire from his mouth. The stench was terrible and the room crawled with flies.

  ‘Say your names.’ Theresa could understand that sentence from Ishran’s mouth.

  A huge roar came from one of the tall figures: ‘Barbatos!’ The members of Light Vision cowered in the corner together. Minette moaned, desire contorting her features as she kneaded her breasts, watching the figures intently.

  ‘And you?’ Ishran screamed, pointing to the second figure. ‘Say your name, demon. I command you!’

  The demon seemed to rise further in height, its head grazing the ceiling. It threw back its head, playing with its oversized genitals, and roared its name in reply. ‘Sammael!’

  ‘Welcome, friends,’ said the angoli, hugging himself with excitement. ‘Take what you want from the stinking Earth women. We wish only to give to our brothers and watch them enjoy the pleasures of the flesh so long denied.’

  ‘Say your name first, demon!’ Ishran pointed at the third figure, who Theresa now saw had the head of a fly. His fully erect penis was grotesque. He swayed gently as his insect head turned on human shoulders, surveying the women before him.

  ‘That one.’ The fly-headed demon pointed to Theresa with a clawed hand. ‘We take her.’

  ‘Your name!’ Ishran threw a handful of dust towards the demons and they snarled, moving together. ‘Beelzebub,’ the fly-head snarled. His claws raked the front of Theresa’s neck, drawing blood. ‘We take her. We fuck her.’