I groaned, hating the way my thoughts went round and round making no sense. I hated the fact that I appeared to have no control of my life. I couldn’t even remember my old life most of the time. When I did see flashes, it was like half-watching a television drama — slightly interesting, but without any real emotional connection to the characters.
I sank deeper into the water, breathing out a soft groan of pleasure. Images came to my mind, creeping like forgotten grey memory-spiders. A large owl, with eyes like two sapphires, tangled in a web screaming, its heart pumping with fear in its chest. I saw myself planted in soil; from my feet big roots grew, intermingling with bigger roots that grew from a massive tree. Large antlers grew from the tops of the next tree. Then that tree transformed, moonlight shone down onto it, and from the bark burst the body of the Stag Man. Light flashed from his body, and he put his head back, keening.
I twisted inside my tree body, attempting to reach him, to quell his pain.
Blood, so much blood. I was standing next to the Stag Man, but this was a distant time, and we were in different bodies. I knew in this vision that I was in Faia, but it was a time long forgotten to legend and song. I stood next to my love, to my reason for being, we both had enormous golden wings that shimmered in the light. Our clothes were made from crushed shells, antlers sprouted from both our heads, and when we moved it was sideways, like crabs. We were part of the wind, but we were not of this earth. Dismembered bodies lay before us, hacked pieces of what had been a village in Faia.
I was laughing, spreading my wings wide, causing fire to explode onto the tops of their simple straw dwellings. So easy to create, so easy to destroy. Blood, so much blood lying everywhere. A body moved, grunted, there was still life left. We watched with little expression, as the child struggled to get away from us. My love moved toward it, wanting to end its suffering, but I restrained him. Let the wild pigs finish her off. Our wings touched briefly, and we merged together, rising upwards into the cold moon. As we rose into the sky together he sang into my ear in the soft, sultry tones of love. Blessed art thou, purified by swine. Never alone. You are always mine.
When I finally emerged from the healing bathwaters and the disturbing visions, Rosedark was holding a white cotton gown, and patiently waiting to assist me to don it. It draped to the floor and had faint whiffs of sandalwood permeating its threads. I knew without being told that this was a special ritual gown. I could sense the vibrations within the material of other initiates who had worn the same robe. Whatever mysteries or secrets the gown contained, it also held the power of transporting my mind into a more mystical state of being. I began to feel unconcerned with the insignificant meanings of everyday life. Softly, in the back of my mind, was the sound of a shell breathing. Rosedark, who was clothed in an identical gown, lit a smudge stick and began to cleanse the field surrounding my body.
Isis, Asarte, Diana, Hecate, Demeter, Kali, Inanna.
I could hear the maid softly whispering the names of goddesses as she worked. My perceptions had heightened. I no longer needed to use words to communicate with Rosedark. We were using telepathy in the old tongue of the Faiaites. The ancient familiar language flowed easily to me. Rosedark seated me at the small wooden table in the Dome’s kitchen. Here she had placed small golden dishes filled with coloured inks. With delicate, skilled strokes she engraved on my upper arms intricate tattoos similar to the design worn on her arms. While she worked, Khartyn sat opposite, also clothed in white, nodding occasional encouragement to Rosedark for her artistry while she hastily recorded information in her Book of Shadows.
In the silence that had crept upon the room, a white dove flew through the oval north window and its cooing broke the peaceful reverie I had fallen into. I realised the dove was communicating with the Crone but the language was kept hidden from me. When the laborious task of the tattoos was completed, Rosedark brought a small golden hand mirror for me to view myself.
‘Look!’
I glanced toward my reflection tentatively. Upon seeing it I couldn’t help but gasp — I looked so beautiful, so vividly alive! I was a different creature entirely from the pale, insignificant, cowed little being I felt I was before. But now I was a priestess, a goddess! My eyes blazed azure, my lips were silvery-blue like the Faiaites, and my dark hair shone with health and fire. I kept returning to my eyes, for there was the biggest change: they had become truly alive, and sparkled with depth and passion and feeling. I felt resurrected! The ancients were beginning their communion through me, moving closer to me, and the cells of my body were shedding lifetimes. I looked younger, radiant, and somehow no longer human.
Khartyn glanced up from her Book of Shadows, a hint of amusement softening her wizened features. ‘Before you fall too much in love with yourself, mark that you are under the influence of Glamour. When you return to the land of one moon, it will wear away and you’ll resume your old appearance! Although quite a bit older,’ she added under her breath.
I couldn’t suppress a feeling of disappointment that this manifestation was only temporary. Khartyn just laughed at me.
‘Always attached to the illusion, that’s the way of the Bluite!’
‘When I was in the bath tonight, I had really bizarre visions, I guess they were, to do with this being, who was half-stag, half-man. I saw us as being two great trees intertwined, and then we were angel-like beings, but we were destroying a village which I thought was Faia. I felt as if I knew this Stag Man! Do you know what it all means?’ There was a silence while the quill-type pen that Khartyn was using scratched the page.
Finally, reluctantly, she spoke. ‘The Stag Man you saw exists. You have been blessed to glimpse him, for although he travels frequently between worlds, few possess the eyes to see him. For as long as I can remember, he has been a part of our culture. He is as ancient as the wind, as timeless as a drop of rain.’
‘Why would I have seen him?’ I asked. ‘I felt as if I had known him before!’
‘Perhaps you did,’ Khartyn replied. I had the feeling that she was trying to suppress a smile. ‘There are many more, nay infinitely more facets to your soul-being than you realise, Emma! There have been many statements and prophecies concerning the Stag Man in the Tremite Book of Life, which the Scribes from New Baffin are responsible for keeping. Perhaps if your visit with us is extended, you might like to study some of the passages.’
‘I’ve seen something else, too,’ I ventured. ‘A child, I think she is some sort of dead child. She calls herself Rachel. Sometimes she wears a white dress with bloodstains, and she has markings down her arms. Like bruises. Do you know what that would be? She’s very young, about six or seven.’
Khartyn shrugged. ‘Who knows what your mind is showing you, and why? When you have a gift, the shining, you are open to all sorts of horrors. Our minds are capable of seeing anything. Perhaps she is one of the Looz Drem, trapped children between worlds, who have died violently and shockingly. Or she may be an aspect of yourself, an old thought pattern or a parcel of unfinished business following you about. But no, I haven’t seen this Rachel, if that is what you are asking me.’ Her gaze touched me, like a hot spider web, sticky and clinging. Her tone implied that as far as she was concerned, our conversation was over.
I felt frustrated, there was so much that I was aching to know! And, I suspected, much that was being kept from me.
Tonight Rosedark wore her hair in thick plaits coiled around her head. Among the golden tendrils of hair glinted tiny gold and silver stars. Khartyn took a miniature jar from the small silver pouch she carried in a belt around her waist. It contained ‘eyebright’ ointment, which she smeared gently onto our eyelids. After the application I could see everything around me with more intensity. The Dome appeared to be in 3-D. The world was sharper, clearer. I could perceive the tendrils of energy arcing outwards from every thought produced by Rosedark and Khartyn. Mostly their minds birthed golden flashing sparks. Then I became aware of invisible beings in the room with us. I knew them to res
emble no being that I would be able to see; I realised I would not be able to process their forms even if I could see them. Yet they were with us, and always had been, as helpers and protectors in loyal, silent service. I also felt the presence of a dark, stagnant panther-like energy that had begun to assemble in the cottage.
‘It is Sati.’ Khartyn noticed my uneasy reaction to the formation of the dark energy. ‘She is angry and afraid and creating the toxic thought pattern you have observed. Never fear, the cottage is charged with light and her thought pattern will dissipate.’
Indeed, even as I received this communication from Khartyn I could perceive the thought pattern had slowly begun to waft into the ether.
Rosedark said, ‘This is what is occurring on the Blue Planet and other worlds of equal frequency. Because the people of your world have a limited knowledge of the power of their thoughts, despite the intervention of many Crossas who have spent time in the land of the one moon, the psychic pollution that now emanates from the Blue Planet is immense. It is slowly choking your world, and in certain segments of the planet it totally smothers several countries, who now operate under the control of a negative shield even though they believe their thoughts, beliefs and actions to be originating within themselves.’
Khartyn nodded in agreement. ‘The tragic consequence,’ she continued where Rosedark left off, ‘is the continued existence of wars on the Blue Planet, and the spilling of innocent blood is commonplace. Spiritualism is replaced by empty worship of media-created idols, and the old gods are ignored or subsumed by the domineering new religions. The environment is in ruins.
‘Whole species become extinct with every passing second of your Earth time, and whales and dolphins beach themselves in silent agonised protest. Even more tragic for all the worlds, the thought patterns on the Blue Planet have become so strong that they drift randomly into other universes, causing tremendous pollution. Now the cracks and invisible veils between the worlds are opening wider than at any time recorded since the Dreamers first drifted into sleep. The toxic thought patterns are entering Faia at a rate faster than we can clear.’
The Crone paused for breath as Rosedark stood perfectly still at her side.
‘What do those toxic thoughts do once they get here?’ I asked.
‘They spawn Solumbi,’ Rosedark answered. ‘Those that unknowingly create them have no idea what agents of destruction they have given birth to. They spawn other beings too.’ Khartyn motioned for her to be quiet.
A dove cooed gently during the uneasy pause that followed.
‘Yes!’ Khartyn replied in answer to the bird’s call. ‘It is time to prepare. Let us begin the chant.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sati stood outside the perimeters of the cottage in the gathering dusk, listening. Her long black hair blew in the breeze. Dark greasy feathers clung unevenly over her body. Her transformation between forms was incomplete. Fresh blood spattered and adorned her skin. The sound of the women chanting inside filled her ears.
‘Kloza! Great Mother! Kloza! Zarkeez! Zarkeez!’
Sati was fully aware of the significance of the chanting. A ritual was planned for tonight. She grinned bloodily and absently nudged the corpse she had fed from at her feet. The dead woman would make an ideal gift for Emma. Sati could not enter the cottage herself, for Khartyn’s power was too great. But the Crone could not prevent her leaving calling cards for the Bluite to consider. And she could not prevent Sati calling Emma with her mind. She began to focus her thoughts in order to summon Emma to the spot where the butchered body lay. She had travelled the worlds for this offering.
Settling upon Emma mentally, she began to attempt to draw energy from her. At that point the Stag Man appeared, stepping from the embrace of the watcher trees where he had hidden to watch the Azephim Queen. Tonight he was in his human form, with waist-length blond hair entwined with twigs and leaves. His dark-brown and gold eyes were of the deep, dark earth, and somehow fully reflected his half-human, half-animal nature.
‘So, you have come,’ he said simply.
In his hands he held a yellow gourd. He shook it and a white powder fell onto the ground, sparking into a yellow flame. Sati backed away, snarling, as the night elementals began to mock her fear.
‘So you have come!’ they mimicked.
The Stag Man danced in front of her, the gourd dangling from his grip. A groan escaped Sati’s lips as she backed further away from him, waves of nausea sweeping her body. She became feathers, beak and claws. With a rustle of wings she was gone, disappearing into the night sky. The Stag Man bayed triumphantly to the silent watching moons. Then he knelt down before the corpse.
‘What of the Bluite?’ the wind elementals whispered aloud to him. ‘Hecate will arrive soon to release her bird.’
The Stag Man gently rolled the dead Crossa over onto her back. Effie stared sightlessly up at him, expressionless and cold in death. The odours of Thanatos enveloped her. Her candy-pink minidress was torn and bloodied, and her long white boots were streaked with mud and scratches. She was in shockingly violent contrast to her enchanted surroundings. He lifted her, his nose wrinkling at the strange mixture of Azephim and human odour coming from her pores. He held her dead body over his head, pointing her toward the twin moons that hung together in the night sky. The sound of his scream echoed through the woods and around the deserted cobbled streets of Faia, filled the void of the plains and the Moon Valley, and reached across the furthest wastelands. Sati shuddered as it vibrated painfully throughout her being. It was a cry of sorrow and of rage.
Inside his ancestral castle, which dominated the best grazing land of the Wastelands and afforded a distant view of Faia, Ishran himself heard the anguished scream. He had been sitting in his private temple contemplating the Eom. He frowned, his communion irrevocably disturbed. The voice of the Horned One he fully recognised. Inside the endless blackness of the Eom a minute red light flickered, drawing his startled attention. In all the centuries he had shared communion with the Eom there had been no light or movement. Now the truth of the writings of the Azephim prophets had manifested. The Eom was charging itself — at last!
Dark salty tears ran down Ishran’s angel features. Ever since he was a young Azephim studying under the tutelage of the now legendary Seleza, his angel mother, he had been conditioned and primed for this very moment. His eyes glazed over with the sheer force of his mental concentration as he willed the Eom to transmute, to finally provide him with the advice he had waited long centuries to obtain.
*
Inside Dome Cottage I heard the wind howling outside and I shivered. A goose walking on my grave, I thought. Khartyn and Rosedark exchanged uneasy glances.
‘The hounds of death are about to be unleashed,’ said Khartyn.
The white dove in the far corner of the kitchen sang a short, sweet song to Khartyn, who listened to it intently. I noticed a slight change pass across the cragged features of the Crone, but she said nothing to Rosedark or myself regarding the meaning of the words. Instead she fastened her athame, a double-bladed knife that she always carried with her for her spells and rituals, around her slender waist with single-minded determination.
‘There is a tale that is whispered in this land,’ she said to no-one in particular, ‘that when the hounds of death run to the Horned Man’s scream, then innocent lives will be lost.
‘It will presage the advent of evil which will overthrow the goddesses and the ancient ways. The Warriors of Stone will transmute into flesh and walk, and Persephone will break her sacred contract and remain forever underground.
‘There will be great famine in Eronth and the world of Faery will be overthrown by fallen Azephim angels. Dark Angel will bond with Faiaite, and a new blood formed of that lust will contaminate this land. Solumbi will multiply rapidly and cross into other worlds and wreak enormous destruction. In the land of the triple moon whole species will become extinct and the ocean will spill from the Great Shell, drowning all in its path and reclaiming
much of the holy land. The Dark Angels will rule under the guidance of their sacred Eom and the rays from their unholy crystal will destroy everything in the discovered worlds that is of the light. Black, endless black will cover the totality of the Dream.’
On her face were etched deep lines of sorrow as she intoned this speech, but as soon as she finished she looked up and grinned at me. For a brief second she was transformed into a young girl. I sensed her great power and hope.
‘The Dreamers whisper to us of an alternative destiny,’ Khartyn continued, ‘where a Crossa, a lamp holder of the old ways, returns to Faia. Through her sacrifice she heralds a new age in Faia. With her powerful gift, the warriors of the Blest Circle of Nine remain trapped in their stone prison, and Persephone rises to bring blessing to our land. The Eom is transformed with her magic and all the discovered worlds salute a new consciousness as the planetary serpent spirals with kundalinic grace.’
All the while I could hear the tortured howl of the wind outside.
‘Tonight the Horned God heralds the death hounds. Are you ready, Emma, to claim your power?’
I was under the influence of the eyebright and elixir. My senses were in overdrive. It was all too much like the LSD experience I had had back at university. Everything in Dome Cottage was wildly alive. The tables and chairs spoke in urgent tones, and the walls expressed their desire that I heed their mistress. I could hardly bear to look at Rosedark and Khartyn, for their faces would continually transmute into faces that I had known and loved in many pasts. The small part of my logical mind that still survived was protesting, rejecting everything that this crazy old woman claimed. I wasn’t the Crossa that she had proclaimed in her speech would lead Faia into a new stage! I was just Emma Develle, wasn’t I? Now I was even unsure of this. I was no longer convinced of any reality. I was in a crazy dream that was slipping sideways, twisting me up and down, rolling me over; a ghastly egocentric dream. Or else I was totally insane. But it was no matter. Even as these rational thoughts were breaking through, that dwindling part of my consciousness flickered and died.
Circle of Nine: Circle of Nine Trilogy 1 Page 14
