‘Hi there, Emma,’ she said in a strange accent. I felt on the verge of total panic. ‘Good to see you again! You’re visiting Eronth?’ I stared at her, too terrified to move or react. She smiled, her teeth were dazzling white. She glanced down at a clipboard that appeared in her hand from nowhere.
‘Cat got your tongue? Yep, well according to this, you’re definitely down for Eronth. You had better move quickly. They’re waiting for you.’ She indicated with a hostess motion that I should keep walking down the corridor, where a strange green light was pulsating.
My feet were moving, I was walking toward the light. I could feel heat coming from it and a smell that was strangely familiar. There was a loud rushing sound around me, and I could feel my ears popping. The light intensified.
I found myself facing an incredible scene. It resembled a tranquil English meadow, strangely bathed in peach pastel light. Overhead, in the pink sky, hung three silver moons. There were animals grazing in the distance, a species I had never seen before yet which was unaccountably familiar. They were the shape of a small zebra, with horns like a deer. Their hides were gold with striking black stripes. A voice came into my mind naming them — ilkamas. I recognised the scene from many of my aunt’s paintings and drawings. And the mural. My heart threatened to burst from its chest. I was inside the mural!
I gingerly stepped forward. I was entranced in the beauty of this strange new countryside. The scene was in 3-D, and the sensory pleasure I received from simply gazing at the landscape was almost overwhelming. The air was perfumed, and lightly fragranced with rose and jasmine.
Overall the landscape exuded an unreality. In some ways it was too real, too vivid. In other ways it resembled nothing so much as a vast child’s storybook come to life. But the beauty of the panorama in front of me was undeniable.
It is Eden, I thought. I’ve returned to Eden.
Such was my first impression of Eronth.
Then the Solumbi attacked.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I didn’t see where the creature came from. My initial sensation was a sudden feeling of gut-wrenching nausea. The odour of the enormous shaggy beast almost overpowered me. The smell of an open grave, decay, sewage, filth. Terror rose in me as I saw the Solumbi rear up in front of me as if from nowhere. It reached a height of maybe seven feet and had a scaly, snaky underbelly. I screamed as huge claws reached for me and a jaw filled with long incisors opened in readiness. I was no longer concerned whether this was a dream or hallucination. The nightmare was now horribly real and all I cared about was survival.
I began to punch and kick out at the great beast. It was futile. A low growl was emitted from his throat and with enormous force he pulled my neck to his mouth. My knees gave way under me. I was convinced my neck was broken. Then I accepted the fact I was going to die. Warm, comforting shock held me in firm arms and I was protected from full awareness of what that death would mean. His fetid breath explored my neck. I lay, scarcely breathing, waiting for the end.
‘Eko!’ A cry, loud and commanding, rang out from behind my attacker.
The Solumbi paused and grunted, turning around.
‘Eko opzuri elle!’
The cry sounded again. I was dropped to the ground where I lay winded and too shocked to move. I barely registered the fact that the Solumbi was backing away from me, snarling and growling, but backing away nonetheless.
‘Alzouri eko elle!’
I could see nothing, but the diminishing odour of the great beast told me he had, thankfully, retreated. I lay on the soft grey earth, too frightened to move. A purple cloth boot stood near my face. My gaze travelled up, discovering an embroidered pink skirt, a tapestry cream blouse and finally the delicate, fairy-like features of the young girl who had attended Johanna’s funeral service, the girl in the painting. Her luxuriant silver-white hair hung in heavy waves almost to her waist.
‘Welcome to Eronth. Hail, Bluite! I am Rosedark.’
I fainted.
When I came to I found myself lying on a simple wooden bed covered with a patchwork quilt. Cloth bags dangled from wooden beams overhead. I stared in disbelief at a peach-pink sky adorned with three golden moons visible through a window opposite the bed. The savoury odour of herbs and spices cooking somewhere nearby lingered in the air. I felt warm and contented and cared for, feelings I had not really known since I was a very small child. Then I noticed that the exquisite girl who had saved me from the Solumbi was sitting at my bedside, watching me.
‘Where am I?’ I asked. My throat felt sore and I winced when I attempted to move.
The girl smiled. ‘Khartyn!’ she called out. ‘The Bluite’s awake!’
An elderly woman entered the room. I recognised her at once as the young girl’s companion at the funeral. She reminded me of an ancient, wise spider with her silver-white hair sticking out from her head. Her milky eyes emitted a laser-like ray at me. She was as frail as a dried-up leaf.
‘Where am I?’ I directed the question to her.
The elderly woman sat down, fixing her piercing eyes on mine. Her body emitted faint traces of sandalwood odour, and before long I had begun to relax.
‘Well, where are you?’ she replied.
I thought about this for a moment while she continued her intense gaze.
‘I’m having a dream,’ I decided. ‘I suppose I’m in my own dream.’
‘Yes! Good!’ The ancient spider beamed approvingly. ‘We are all in your dream — and the Dreamers are dreaming you!’
Dreamers? I longed to ask the old woman what she meant, but waves of fatigue broke over me and I drifted back into unconsciousness.
When I awoke again I was more than a little perturbed to find myself still in the dream. My head ached, and my throat was still raw and sore. The old woman was now knitting by the bedside. I looked groggily around the walls, and my attention was caught by the earthy tones of a small landscape painting. There was a wooden chest next to my bed which held a water jug and dish, a shell soapdish which held a large cake of white soap, and a small vase of pink and yellow roses. The room was too tiny to contain any other furniture.
‘You look better,’ the woman, whose name I remembered was Khartyn, remarked softly, her voice now containing some hint of an Irish accent that had previously escaped my notice. ‘Your eyes are much more refreshed. Your auric field heals well.’
‘What was that thing?’ I asked, trying to suppress a shudder of revulsion.
‘The Solumbi? How can I describe it to you? They are the manifestations of toxic energy from your planet. Toxic pollutants formed from humans — Bluites, as your people are known here. This world coexists with the Blue Planet, Earth, except it lies in another dimension. Your Aunt Johanna and her friends made the portal through which you crossed. Many of the Bluites’ thoughts, deeds, whispers, nightmares, myths, even their gods exist here.’
She paused, glancing at me as if unsure whether to proceed with her fantastical explanation. ‘You were attacked at that particular border because many Solumbi patrol that vantage point where Crossas enter and exit the worlds. A lot of Crossas are eaten as soon as they enter Eronth. Often the Solumbi are attached to their original creators and stay as close as the Dreamers allow, hoping to make contact. The creation merging with the creator. They’re also vampiric in nature — they drain the blood from Bluites.’
‘Is that what killed Johanna?’ I asked, horrified at what now seemed certain to have killed my poor aunt. The dialogue that we were having seemed somehow staged, as if we were acting lines already rehearsed.
‘Oh, yes,’ replied Khartyn flatly. ‘But you already know this information, you have had flashes that recorded your aunt’s death. At the present moment the veil between the worlds is the thinnest it has ever been. Inhabitants of all known universes are attempting to cross. Even the Solumbi, in their longing to return to their original creators, are trying to bridge between worlds. Obviously, no planet can withstand such a dramatic alteration to its vibration.’
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br /> ‘So how did you drive it away? Who are you?’ My words tumbled out. ‘Are you saying that you’re not real? That you’re some sort of materialised thought come to life?’
Khartyn laughed, and in a second her face transformed itself into the face of a young woman. I realised with shock that I was staring at myself.
‘In answer to the first question, I drove it away with a protective magical ritual I had prepared in anticipation of the crossing. In answer to your second question, before you distract yourself too much with that, ask yourself, who are you? Are you real?’
She laughed again and her face warped and assumed its former withered features.
‘What do you mean that she created a portal?’ I cried. ‘People just can’t create portals! Are you sure that I’m not just trapped in that mural she painted?’
Even to myself the words sounded pathetic. I felt hopelessly lost and afraid, and the feeling that Khartyn and Rosedark were impatient with me only made it worse.
Khartyn smiled, more to herself than to me. ‘No, Emma, you are not trapped in a mural. You went through the portal that exists within it. This world, as I have said, is but another dimension to your own world. Imagine an onion skin, how it wraps around the onion in many layers. The crystal that Johanna left behind for you in the box helped to open the portal. Oh yes, people certainly are capable of creating gateways between the onion’s layers. People are capable of a lot more than you realise. And so are you, my girl.’
I opened my mouth to ask another question, but Khartyn frowned and held up her hand to silence me.
‘Alckaz!’ she cried commandingly.
In the space between my eyes I felt the disturbing sensation of a small wheel spinning on my forehead. There was an impression of more light and a feeling of pressure in my head. Then I realised the shining had returned to me fully. Vivid, iridescent shades of gold and silver enveloped Khartyn’s physical form, in colours more splendid than any I had witnessed on Earth. Even more startling was the sudden knowledge that Eronth was a place every bit as ‘real’ as Earth. But it was more than that; it was familiar to me — I had been here before.
I frowned, attempting to remember, to recapture that teasing glimpse of memory.
‘It’s all right, Emma. Your memory will return in time. I’ve opened you slightly more to help the transition, but it will take more time before your full awareness returns.’
I gazed groggily at her, taking in her appearance fully for the first time. She made an impressive, imposing figure. She was clothed in an austere black tunic dress, with a large silver pentacle dangling from around her tiny neck. Snowy-white hair was pulled into a carefully maintained bun. Her skin was fragile, lined and wrinkled, but the energy that radiated outward from her was youthful and powerful. Her eyes were sunken, primordial and milky-white. It seemed impossible to believe that one as old as she existed. Around her lined, sagging neck dangled a talisman with some herbal mixture inside it.
‘Are you some sort of witch?’ I asked, feeling ridiculous even as I asked the question. Witches to me were the modern variety; those women who were disillusioned with a patriarchal religious system and so adopted a type of sanitised new age nature worship. Witches were people like Johanna, people who didn’t quite fit into society and lived on the fringes. They might look like goths or lawyers or suburban housewives; anything except the stereotypical version of a witch. Khartyn hesitated before replying, and I had the uncomfortable feeling she was trying hard not to laugh at me.
‘The Bluite term “witch” does not exist in the same sense in Eronth,’ Khartyn eventually announced. ‘But according to the definition I could most probably be regarded as a witch, a shape-shifter, a wise woman.’
Her smile widened. ‘Now, you are hungry, I suspect, for the Dreamers have dreamt many days since the return and may they continue to sleep in peace. Rosedark!’
On cue, Rosedark entered the room bearing a steaming pewter bowl which she placed carefully before me. There were various unrecognisable dark-green vegetables floating in a creamy sauce. It looked foul, but the smell was intoxicating.
‘There is no animal flesh eaten by Faiaites,’ commented Khartyn. ‘However, I can observe from your auric field that you have not overindulged in that Bluite custom.’
I nodded, and began to attack the unusual stew ravenously. I was longing to question Khartyn further, especially regarding her comments of my ‘return’ to Eronth, but I sensed that she was not about to supply me with a direct answer. Rosedark sat by the bedside, watching me eat.
‘I hope it is to your liking, Emma. I used particular fresh herbs from the garden to aid the recovery of your strength.’
I noticed with bewilderment that her voice now contained a slight American accent. Both women appeared to slip from accent to accent. It was almost as if they were rehearsing the correct tongue to speak in. Khartyn nodded.
‘Yes,’ she agreed with my thought. ‘We need to meet under a common language until you remember the old tongue. The Tongue of All Worlds.’
As I ate I marvelled again at Rosedark’s beauty. I noted the intricate swirling tattoos that ran along her arms and in delicate patterns on her face. Her hair was pulled back from her perfectly symmetrical face, and although she was dressed in a simple gown, her ethereal beauty dominated the room.
‘Thank you for the trouble you went to,’ I said, sensing her need for approval and appreciation of the meal she had prepared for me. ‘Have you always lived here? Is Khartyn your mother?’ It didn’t seem possible that one as old-looking as Khartyn could have a daughter as young as Rosedark, but in the world of madness where I found myself, I was beginning to believe that anything was possible.
Rosedark smiled. A mischievous twinkle came into her eyes. ‘No, I think the Old Mother is well past her childbearing years! I am of Faia heritage, selected by the Old Mother in my formative years to leave my birth parents to study under the Crone. I was chosen by Khartyn to be her apprentice because my forehead revealed the burning shell to her.’ At my blank look she smiled, and pulled her hair back revealing a marking that could be interpreted as a small shell with a tongue of fire coming from it. ‘The Dreamers place an image of a burning shell on the forehead of the chosen apprentices when the Crones come to Faia to find them. Khartyn’s previous apprentice was Sati.’ At that she broke off, as if afraid that she had told me too much.
‘What do you study?’ I enquired, intrigued by this fairy-like woman in front of me. Although she radiated an aura of innocence and beauty, I sensed beneath the layers a female of complexity, mystery and power. Rosedark collected my empty bowl, noting with satisfaction that I had consumed the entire contents. It was like having a conversation with a flower, with a cloud. Mysterious, pure, making no sense, but still enjoyable.
‘I study herbs and healing, goddess lore, and the ancient myths and songs of the Dreamers. I also study the Solumbi and the Azephim.’
‘Who are the Azephim?’ I asked. Rosedark glanced at Khartyn, who nodded her permission for the apprentice to answer the question.
‘The Azephim are a division of a fallen race of angels. Dark Angels. They arrived in Eronth many centuries ago; they are originally from the world of the Web-Kondoell. Originally, the Azephim attempted to settle in Moon Valley, but they were banished to the Wastelands where they established their own territories. It is thanks to Artemis that we are able to keep them from infiltrating Eronth.’
‘Artemis? I know that name. You don’t mean the Artemis, the Greek goddess, do you?’ Rosedark looked at me with her cool, jewel-like eyes.
‘What other Artemis is there?’ she asked, her voice now a bewildered Texan twang.
I felt myself slowly begin to descend into a twisted madness. Perhaps I had descended into insanity so far that I would never reclaim my reason. A conversation with a cloud-like fairytale being was one thing, but to be told that ancient gods were alive in this dream-like world was too much for me. I felt my breath coming faster, and I half-rose from
the bed.
‘There can be no Artemis!’ I almost yelled. ‘There are no gods or goddesses! God! What is happening to me!’ I started to cry, and the next thing I know Khartyn was stroking my forehead.
‘Go to sleep, little one,’ she commanded. Her hand fluttered like an aged moth over my face. I opened my mouth to tell her that I couldn’t sleep, that I had gone mad. Then I fell into oblivion.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
As the waxing moons rose higher inside the sky’s black eye, Emma drifted once again into sleep. Khartyn and Rosedark sat by her side bathed in candlelight, protecting, watching. Khartyn was aware that Sati would soon realise Emma had made the crossing. She was relieved Emma had come this far safely. The shock of the crossing and the Solumbi’s savage welcome had weakened her auric field considerably, hence her almost unquestioning acceptance of her new-found circumstances. If her field had been ripped a few inches more, physical death would have resulted. Khartyn shuddered inwardly and offered silent thanks to the goddesses that her scrying had proven true on the Bluite’s crossing. After so many moon cycles of planning for this event it was overwhelming to witness once more the face of the Bluite.
Khartyn had no doubt that Emma’s memory would return, despite Rosedark’s anxiety. Khartyn was not too concerned about Emma’s slight fall from mental grace. She had known many Crossas over the centuries who had become irrevocably lost in the world of illusions. No, Emma’s memory was safe, it would return. The Crone projected the thought pattern toward the sleeping girl.
The Crone’s deepest concern at the moment was Sati. From the beginning, when Khartyn had first selected the young Sati as her apprentice, she had resolved never to underestimate her. Sati’s weaknesses were her emotions and her longing for personal power. But her abilities were awesome in their strength, and now that the Dark Beautiful Ones had selected Khartyn’s ex-apprentice as their channel, Sati’s power was at a peak. Her magic had undoubtedly intensified. Khartyn sighed, feeling the old familiar sense of failure that always accompanied her thoughts of Sati, and picked up her scrying mirror. She gazed into its surface, stilling her mind to abnormally low depths for the visions to enter.
Circle of Nine: Circle of Nine Trilogy 1 Page 9
