‘What do you see, Old Mother?’ Rosedark asked.
Khartyn screwed her face up in concentration. She stared deeper into the mirror’s black surface, allowing the images to penetrate her mind.
‘The Dark Lord, Ishran, has taken over the mind of the Bluite woman Effie. Originally he had planned to use her to reach Emma. Now Emma has crossed he is confused. He is thinking of killing the Bluite.’
‘Can we do anything to aid her?’ Rosedark asked.
Khartyn sighed. ‘We could send protectors to her, but she has taken the angel into her body, into her aura. The contamination has spread and will not be easily cleared.’
Rosedark sighed. ‘What about the Stag Man? Is he near? Does he know Emma is here?’
Khartyn took her apprentice by the hand and led her to the crystal window. Outside, the garden was illuminated by the triple moon and was floodlit in the eerie glow. In the darker reaches the silhouette of the Stag Man was clearly visible. He stood, patiently watching the house.
‘I don’t need a scrying mirror to keep track of his whereabouts!’ she chuckled. ‘His mind should rest easier now she has crossed.’
The Stag Man sensed the watching women and moved further back into the shadows. Khartyn stared into the impregnable darkness where he had retreated. She placed a hand, twisted with veins, to her chest, feeling her heart flutter weakly.
‘Sati has a lot to answer for,’ she said.
Rosedark winced at the sudden bitterness in the old woman’s tone.
*
Sati exited the banquet hall and headed for the fire tower. She had been unable to enjoy the lavish feast, despite the fact that the quality of the fruit and salad was the finest in Eronth. The Solumbi had brought fresh produce from the Blue Planet as an offering to the Azephim. The average citizens of Faia had to cope with the meagre, poor crop that their soil was reduced to as they waited for Persephone to rise.
If Persephone continues to resist Demeter’s cries there will be famine in Faia, Sati reflected. A slight smile crossed her beautiful features at the thought. Azephim guards jumped to attention and saluted her as she passed.
As she walked the flight of stone steps to the fire tower, her white lace gown rustling and her white, high-heeled goatskin boots clanging on the stone steps, Sati reflected on the night. Ishran is a fool! she thought savagely. He truly believes if he keeps Persephone underground the Faiaites will turn to him when famine seizes the land. He has no idea how despised the Azephim are in Eronth and how highly the people of Faia regard the Crone and the goddesses. The fools would surely starve before accepting Ishran as their leader!
As she continued to climb the twisting, tiny staircase she passed the numerous portraits of generations of the Azephim that had spent time on Eronth over the moon cycles. Their appearance shared several traits. Both sexes had stunningly beautiful faces that looked as if they were fashioned from cold flat marble, and curly dark locks that flowed to their waists. They had huge wings, dark and heavy, that whispered of their unholy origins; wings that they could disguise with Glamour. Burning fire torches fixed in brackets in the stone walls illuminated the contempt that Sati always imagined she could see in the painted Azephim’s eyes.
Passing the deadly loveliness of the portraits filled Sati with the familiar sadness of her own unlikely prospects of producing an offspring that could one day join this sacred gallery. Sati was painfully aware of her childlessness, and was doubly beset by the certain knowledge that Ishran wanted the royal lines of Dark Angels to continue through all his descendants.
It was a sadness she chose to suppress. If she thought too long on the topic she could feel the burdens of regret and longing descend heavily on her heart. The angels had studied closely the worlds where the heart chakra was the predominant force. In all those worlds, without fail, coronary heart dysfunction was the major cause of death.
To enter the fire tower Sati had to pass through the protective thought pattern that she had installed in the outer quarters of the turret. Now he came lumbering toward her, this unholy materialisation, this zegerist.
Long, thin, grey fingers stretched hungrily for her. As she swept past the zegerist he recognised the scent of his creator and, snarling with disappointment, he retreated back into the shadows to his web.
Sati entered the turret and walked toward the southern end of the circular room. Scented candles breathed subtle perfumes. Her eyes barely registered the familiar surroundings. Bird skeletons lovingly gathered from different worlds were carefully arranged in size. Books of Shadows, a human skeleton. A mummified hand of one of Sati’s favourite Bluite poets that Ishran had once presented her with — he had dug up the fresh grave in Paris and bitten through the corpse’s wrist. A photograph of Ishran and Sati together, taken in a Berlin nightclub. And at the southern end of the circular room, positioned carefully next to each other, were Sati’s seven magic mirrors screened by black drapes. On the wall, covered in black velvet, waited her scrying mirror. Standing before it, Sati removed the cloth, admiring her reflection in the mirror. She had used her Glamour well tonight. Glossy, jet-black hair framed a face that was serene and Madonna-like. Her face was the pure face of a young nun. Touching a finger to her lips, smearing her red lipstick over her face, she smiled, shifting the Glamour and watching her face transform into the demon Azephim that she was slowly becoming. The pointed fang teeth, the golden eyes, the sheen of scales on her décolletage. Then she shifted back to her angelic Sati face. What a beautiful child she could make with Ishran! She took a breath, ignoring the claw at her heart, and began to focus her mind on Emma. The vision that came to her quickly caused her to inhale sharply.
So, the little milksop had crossed!
Not only had she crossed, but she had evaded the Solumbi watchdog and connected with the Crone. Sati continued to look into the mirror’s depths until her eyes began to tear with tiredness. Then she smiled broadly. It was as well that the Bluite had rejoined the Crone and her doll-like protégé. Khartyn was unlikely to inform Emma of her origins. She had her motives for keeping the Bluite in ignorance. If Sati played her cards well she could destroy the three of them in one fell swoop. Forcing her protesting eyes to refocus, she concentrated her mind back into the mirror again. By night’s end she would be enlightened as to the quickest route to destroy Emma. Already she could sense the Eom was stirring slightly, sensing the arrival of the Bluite. There was little time.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I sat on a small trellis seat in the herb garden watching Rosedark cut herbs for the potions that we were preparing. The light danced through her hair as with skilful hands she snipped the herbs with miniature golden scissors. I marvelled at the apprentice’s love and respect for the plants as she gently gave thanks for their life force. Today, Rosedark had twisted three tiny pale-pink snakes through her hair. At first their scaly bodies and flickering tongues had horrified me, but I had become accustomed to their presence very quickly. I could sense the deep love that the tiny reptiles had for their mistress as they curled contentedly in her golden locks, forming a living crown.
I looked around me, putting down the small book on herbs that Rosedark had given me to read. Three ilkamas were grazing contentedly on the lawn, tearing at the grass with white, perfect teeth. They were the zebra-like animals I had seen in the mural. They were beautiful to look at with their shining gold hides lined with black stripes. I had observed Khartyn performing some sort of spell upon them in the morning, and Rosedark said that the ilkamas were in danger from the Azephim because of their distinctive hides. They had once been common in Eronth, but their numbers were rapidly decreasing. Around the feet of the ilkamas a dozen or so fat brown chickens had their heads down in the soil, looking for food. They were the healthiest-looking chickens that I had ever seen, like illustrations from a children’s fairytale book. The disturbing thought came to me that they were exactly like happy chickens from one of my aunt’s early children’s books. A self-satisfied-looking rooster pranced around
them.
A collection of planters of wildly different sizes containing various herbs, flowers and vegetables was scattered about the garden. Near the bench where I sat two black cats slept, enjoying a small patch of sunlight. It was an idyllic scene.
The cottage that Khartyn and Rosedark shared was called Dome Cottage. Why, I couldn’t fathom, as it was not dome shaped. It had a thatched roof, although part of the roof was glass, where doves and owls nestled. The front was painted a red-pink shade, with a magical symbol painted onto the door. Wild roses, in varying shades of white, red, pink and yellow, climbed up the exterior of the cottage, creating a perfumed air. Miniature white roses planted in pots were clustered in untidy rows in front of the house. Spider webs clung to the front of the house in delicate patterns, as though longing to enter.
There were no neighbouring houses. Rolling, patchwork green hills stretched to the horizon in every direction. Fat sheep grazed on the slopes in meadows constructed with stone walls, and the ground was a sea of purple heather. When I asked what lay behind the hills I was told to stop asking so many questions until I was more settled in.
The strange thing was that although it didn’t resemble Johanna’s home in the Blue Mountains in any way, it still reminded me of it. I could never shake the feeling of being trapped in a painting on the wall of my aunt’s cottage. It was like being caught in the sort of 1950s science fiction or fantasy film I used to watch on idle Sunday afternoons. I mentioned this to Rosedark in the garden one day, but she laughed so much that I was too intimidated to persist, and I quickly changed the topic.
‘So, why are you so busy today? What are you doing?’ I asked.
‘I’m gathering rosemary for the Candlemas celebrations tomorrow night, when Brighid walks.’
‘Who is Brighid and what is Candlemas?’ I asked, feeling keenly the expectation that I should know the answer. Rosedark looked surprised.
‘Why, Brighid is many things, Emma. Merciful Mother! Do they not teach you anything in the land of the one moon?’
I hid a smile at Rosedark’s shocked indignation.
‘Well now, let me see, she’s the goddess of fire, healing and inspiration. She’s the patroness of craftspeople, doctors, priests. In the world of the one moon she was Christianised by Pope Gregory I and eventually became a saint. That’s how our Lady Brighid survived the onslaught of patriarchal religion on the Blue Planet — as St Brigit.’
Rosedark seemed to be reciting something she had learned by rote, but still I couldn’t help feeling touched by her simple devotion and obvious love for her goddess, or saint.
‘Why Candlemas?’ I repeated. ‘What is that, then? And does she really walk?’
‘Candlemas welcomes the first stirrings of spring in Eronth. It is the feast of Brighid who is the fertility bringer.’ A wave of uneasiness passed over her fine features. ‘This year the spring is overdue, as Persephone refuses to rise. But hopefully Brighid will still materialise for the Faiaites.’
I paused, and saw an image of shopkeepers and Blue Mountains village locals in another life, in another world, lamenting the late arrival of spring. But theirs was merely casual wonderment. Rosedark was genuinely worried. Then I frowned as the full impact of Rosedark’s words became clear to me.
‘Persephone? Another Greek goddess! Don’t tell me she’s real too?’
Rosedark’s puzzled expression was all the reply I needed.
‘Okay, so she’s as real as anything else around here. Which is not really real, she’s just something that exists in the onion peel, and you’re saying she’s underground somewhere here in this Eronth place, making the seasons imbalanced,’ I said. ‘Is that right? She’s stopping spring happening? You reckon she’s controlling the seasons? Is that what you’re saying?’ I could feel anger inside me, as once again my mind twisted in ways that frightened me. I longed to wake up from this nightmare. I beat my head with my hands. ‘Jesus, what am I doing here listening to this madness! What am I doing here, full stop! Why am I here?’
Rosedark gathered her basket of herbs to her.
‘What would you prefer to hear, Emma?’ she asked softly. ‘That this is a lucid dream? Your own hallucination? Insanity? Perhaps you’ve died? Yes! All these things, perhaps. But unlike the world that you moved and believed in, the Goddess is alive in Eronth. Very much alive. Alive in all her forms, fully manifest and able to be invoked She could be Roman, Greek, Catholic, Christian, it doesn’t matter what her original origin. What mind thought her, as long as they thought, they created life!
‘She’s alive in your land of the one moon as well, but the thought pattern of her is much weaker. Much damage was done with the onslaught of the new religions! Fewer Bluites have the power to perceive her these days.’
Her hands continued to carefully select plants, and she seemed calm, but I sensed her frustration with me. ‘Yet I’ll answer your fears and tell you that yes, this is a lucid dream, an insane hallucination, and you have died. You’re dead to your old ways, Bluite. Perhaps you are trapped in a mural battling with madness, perhaps you never left here, perhaps the time you spent on the Blue Planet was the dream, the illusion. Here in Eronth, you may have always been, always were. You have been touched by grace, Bluite, for you will gaze upon the face of the Goddess. And if the Dreamers will it, you will survive that sight. If that happens, then you will return to the Blue Planet as one of the truly awake. Believe me, there are those who are truly awake there now.’
‘And if your Dreamers don’t will it? What then?’ I asked, feeling a flicker of fear.
Rosedark smiled. ‘Then they will dream you another life and you will believe that to be true also! I know you’re confused and frightened, Emma, but it’s really very simple indeed. Look, you will make the transition much easier here if you discipline your mind to stay in the now. Anything outside of the present moment is only illusion and if you think of it constantly, you only add to that illusion. As well as being energy-draining, you’ll only add to the toxic pollution that is threatening us all.’
I knew that she would probably only tell me to stay in the now, but I couldn’t resist another question.
‘You say your family live in Faia. Is that nearby, Rosedark? Can you go and visit them whenever you want?’ I was intensely curious about this intangible woman.
Rosedark looked at me for a brief second, long enough for me to glimpse pain.
‘No, Emma,’ she said, returning to her task. ‘Once the Dreamers select you to be the candidate for the apprentice to the Crones of Eronth, you are then branded with the burning shell. Once you are branded, and your Crone finds you, then all your energy has to be focused on the Crone that you serve. You are no longer permitted to see your blood family.’
‘Wow, that sounds rough,’ I said, though I could see certain advantages in the practice. After all, in my case it meant I didn’t have to see Jade.
Rosedark shrugged. ‘Oh well, my blood parents were always quite poor; there were never enough shelkas so they were overjoyed when I was selected. One less belly to fill when the White Goddess begins to creep over the land.’ At my blank look, she said, ‘I’m talking about winter!’ She shook her head, as if in disbelief at my ignorance.
‘So, you have brothers and sisters then?’ I asked, remembering all my childhood fantasies of imaginary brothers and sisters.
Rosedark glanced around her.
‘We shouldn’t be discussing these things, Emma. If the Crone catches us indulging in idle speech of the past . . .’
I looked around apprehensively. Khartyn had a habit of being able to creep up on you when you didn’t expect her. I was becoming convinced that she did it deliberately.
‘Yeah, she can be a bit of an old tartar,’ I muttered, reflecting how she often made me feel like a mentally deficient, naughty schoolchild. Rosedark giggled before she could stop herself.
‘She can be strict,’ she allowed. ‘But she is revered in Eronth. Her magical abilities are extraordinary. It’s still incredibl
e for me to believe that out of all of Faia, I was selected to serve her.’ I resisted the urge to make a wisecrack.
‘There are much worse Crones you can serve,’ Rosedark said, lowering her voice. ‘I read in the New Baffin Daily about a Crone called Erig. She selected a young boy from Faia, whom she claimed has the burning shell although his blood kin said that it was just a birthmark. She offered him as a sacrifice to the sea serpents in New Baffin to try to curry favour with Shambzhla, the Warrior Sea Queen.’ She whistled, her violet eyes wide. ‘By King Pythagorus’ hairy balls, imagine that, Emma!’
I was too afraid to even go there.
‘I guess Khartyn would seem pretty good to serve in comparison,’ I said carefully, my mind screaming: Sacrifice? Sea serpents? Warrior sea queens? She said sacrifice!
I coughed. ‘You’ll probably miss her when you eventually find some husband and have to leave.’
Silence. A cold wind seemed to flow from the young apprentice. A faint tremor flashed over her face.
‘That won’t be happening,’ she said in a tight voice, giving me a look that I could have interpreted as hostile if it was anyone else but Rosedark.
‘Rosedark!’ Khartyn’s sharp voice rang out from within the cottage.
She jumped up, brushing down her tunic. ‘There! She has smelt our conversation and I’ll probably get a lecture. I’ll have to go. Emma, you stay and help the fairy folk tend the garden. Mother Earth will help you to ground and balance yourself. I have to see what she wants. Prosperous Harvest, may the Old Mother always hold you tight.’
Circle of Nine: Circle of Nine Trilogy 1 Page 10
