‘When the Crone finally came to her senses, eleven cycles of moons had passed over Eronth. Gwyndion and his meerwog sat facing her in her temple-cave. Tonight the shootling was half-in, half-out of his shrub body. His unearthly, fantastical eyes were fixed on the Snake Crone’s, seeking help, and she sighed heavily, for the Snake God had spoken and she knew what she must do.
‘Taking the Webx child gently into her arms, she breathed the mantra given to her by the brown snake. Instantly, the child fell into a deep sleep akin to death. His meerwog protested, baring her teeth and growling, but the Snake Crone subdued her with a glance. Knowing that time was precious she focused her mind, and over the inert body of Gwyndion she placed an immense pyramid of light, its four sides aligned to the cardinal points. From the bag she wore at her waist she extracted a small, jewelled shell. The pyramid was now settled over the unconscious Webx and his protective meerwog. The Snake Crone blew a single, piercing note into the shell and the pyramid lifted effortlessly into the air, taking the shootling and his terrified meerwog with it.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The old one waits patiently,
Darkness creeps near,
Her blood a prayer, her days already tattooed
On the Snake King’s tongue.
Pain shatters stone,
Brings closure — purifies the ancient snake.
A Solumbi screams into the night.
— Condensed from the Tremite Book of Life, Column IIXCII
Khartyn’s tale continued, taking me far back into the ancient history of Eronth, going into detail regarding the arrival of the nine Wizards and the Webx Elders, and their relationship with the Faiaites.
‘Eronth was then a very different land to the one existing in the present time. The Azephim had not yet settled near Faia in the Wastelands, and among the Faiaites there was no conception of darkness. All of Eronth was filled with light. The Wastelands teemed with wildlife. The lost races of Faery roamed the Wastelands freely, the Immom and Wezom tribes being the most numerous of the many tribes that co-existed peacefully here. Many of the Faery tribes are now lost to memory.
‘Dragons also lived in Eronth in large numbers. They occupied the more mountainous regions, especially in the East; now of course only a few of these mighty beasts remain. There was a time when it was common for the skies to turn dark with the number of dragons flying overhead. There were also a myriad of other creatures such as the Bindiwit and Spitrees.
‘Legend recalls the arrival of the warriors that now form the Blest Circle of Nine. The Faiaites, unused to Crossas, fell under the charisma of these rugged, handsome men who arrived one chilly morning in the depths of an ancient winter. Unlike the Faiaites, the hardy explorers had even penetrated the fearful Web. The truth about these strangers’ characters was not perceived by any of the Faiaites and they easily fell under the Wizards’ spell of Glamour, not discerning the evil that lurked within their alien souls. The destruction and corruption that the Warriors were responsible for was never picked up by any soul on ancient Eronth. There was little knowledge of the Azephim race or the Web, or even the Eom. The Faiaites had sent Crossas over the years to the Web in an attempt to establish communication with the angels but no Crossa had ever returned, so the people of Faia were vulnerable in their ignorance. The Tremites had hinted in their sacred writings of a vampiric race of fallen angels who inhabited a deadly Web in the neighbouring skies. So when the handsome strangers arrived on the shores of Eronth with the Webx Elders and the Azephim’s greatest treasure, the Eom, they were hailed as heroes. Although the Eom had originally been used as an energy source for the Webx tribe, the Turn of the Wheel had passed it to the Azephim and now Azephim knowledge was inscribed into the facets of the crystal. The power to awaken the dead, to create new worlds and galaxies, to form superbeings indestructible in warfare or in plague; all was there. In the short time that they had the Eom, billions of Azephim had poured their deadly knowledge into its ebony depths and in turn received its gifts of power and rejuvenation. Just as it had been to the ancient Webx tribe, the Eom was now the very soul of the angels. And now the Eom, just as it intended, was in the hands of the Wizards.
‘Although they had taken the Eom out of the Web and into Eronth, the Wizards found it impossible to harness the forces of the crystal. Highly skilled magicians and soldiers they might have been, but the Azephim’s obscure encodings proved impossible for them to decipher.
‘The Webx Elders were unable to assist the Wizards, or so it appeared, for the couple became deadly ill when they contacted the soil of Faia and spent many seasons listlessly delirious. It was feared throughout Eronth that the respected tribal Elders would die and in the unskilled hands of the Wizards the Eom would prove to be useless.
‘Then the Dark Ones came and night fell on Faia. Its shadow passed breath over the land and where its breath touched, death fell as the Azephim came in pursuit of the Eom. Following the scent and leading the pack was Seleza, the Dark Mother, the Destroyer. When she found the Wizards and the Eom in ancient Faia village, all hell and fury was unleashed.
‘She attempted to destroy the Wizards, but the ancient Faery tribes who by now were completely besotted with the Wizards used their magical protective binding spells to prevent the Azephim from entering Faia village. Furiously, Seleza retreated to the area now known as the Wastelands to meditate on her next move. As the Wheel turned, more and more of the angels began to cross into Eronth, and as their race adjusted to the temperature and oxygen changes they found that they were equally as comfortable as they were in their own worlds.
‘No foot walks upon the earth without having an impact on it. The Azephim did not tread lightly. Almost overnight Eronth was in environmental chaos. Entire species of plant life and Faery life began to vanish before the angels’ utter contempt and disregard for living matter. The Dreamers began to stir uneasily in the Shell.
‘The Wizards were by now living comfortable lives in Faia and were regarded as demi-gods by the people. However, they too fell to their own egos and there came many reports of rape and sacrifice of Faery women as the Wizards tried countless variations of ritual in ceaseless attempts to reawaken the dormant Eom.
‘Still the Faiaites refused to turn against the Wizards. They were so taken in with their Glamour, with the spell of enchantment that the Wizards had placed around themselves. They represented to the Faiaite people everything that they longed to be. There was great power in the knowledge that they possessed. They had, after all, managed to penetrate the Web-Kondoell.
‘Finally, the legends record that Bwani spotted Aphrodite and unwisely attempted to capture and molest the goddess of beauty. United in mutual anger, the goddesses’ tolerance of the transgressions of these invaders was at an end. They poured their fury onto the Warrior Wizards and turned them into stone. To this day they remain the Blest Circle of Nine. Despite their transgressions, the Faiaites still feel an inexplicable loyalty to the Wizards. Even when flesh became stone, they were still loved and protected by the Faiaite people as they were many eons ago when they came to Eronth and were flesh and blood. Over time, their legend grew, the facts became distorted, and the story altered with each telling. The Circle of Nine has become an emblem of hope for the Faiaite people. The Scribes have predicted that the devotion of the Faiaites will bear fruit, that a pure love will reawaken the sleeping warriors and they will step forth from their stone bodies, to be flesh once more. There are many in Faia who are praying for that day.’
Khartyn’s tale tapered off at that point, leaving me pondering its strange immensity in silence. Eventually I ventured to ask her to continue.
‘What became of the Eom?’ I whispered.
‘Oh, Seleza regained control of the Eom. Nobody knows how the Azephim managed to retrieve it. Perhaps it was handed to her by a goddess, perhaps by the Faiaite. It is likely some kind of magic was involved. No matter. The Azephim could not restore the ancient power the Eom possessed. Many of them died as a result of th
is sudden shutdown of the core of their life-force. Only the hardiest of the Dark Angels survived. Thereafter they spent their time crossing between Kondoell and Eronth.
‘Eventually Seleza’s son Ishran settled in the Wastelands and evolved his castle. There the dormant Eom now rests while Seleza remains in the Web attempting to restore her race to their former health.’
‘But what of me?’ I asked. ‘How does all this apply to me being a Bindisore?’
Khartyn’s ancient sunken eyes looked as if they were stretching backward far into time.
‘Centuries passed. The Faiaites continued to co-exist uneasily with the Azephim. Over time — and against Eronth law — there came to be some interbreeding. Very little, admittedly, because by now the Faiaites had grown to fear the angels, but there were a number of isolated cases. The result was strange births, children born in the Azephim fashion incubated inside the black egg — Bindisore. They had to be hatched by eagles, because no Faia woman could survive the hatching of the egg.’
The Crone stopped again. She seemed to search my strained expression for a sign I wanted to hear more.
‘Emma,’ she said eventually, ‘you were the result of a forbidden hatching. A young Faian woman fell in love with an Azephim. They banished her from Faia. She died in labour delivering the contaminated black eggs. You were born from one of them.’
‘Eggs?’ I whispered, my throat dry. ‘There was more than one? Do you mean I have brothers and sisters?’
Khartyn nodded soberly. ‘Aye, you have a sister, child. Sati.’
*
Time passed and I continued to sit, dazed, my mind refusing to take in the enormity of what the Crone had divulged to me. I was a chaotic mix of emotions and no words that Khartyn or Rosedark uttered could ease my agonised thoughts. I had been an only child all my life, and I had always longed for a sister. A playmate. I had even invented a sister named Angela. But to be told that I was related to a sinister being with supernatural powers who was partly responsible for the death of my aunt Johanna was almost too much to take in.
She wants to destroy me. She fears me, and she wants to destroy me, as with my death any power that I have will transfer to her. My breath reduced to shallow panting, I held my face in my hands. I was trembling. Khartyn was shaking her head slowly, roses falling from her hands. Her eyes were burning into me. I was too exposed, too naked, there was nowhere left to hide.
And the child is no longer safe. Even from the wind.
Moaning, low and soft, gradually rising in intensity. My stomach shifting and rising, huge waves of grief and anger. Fury. I wanted to strike out, knock Khartyn over for telling me such a stupid lie, for spinning such a deadly black web. I sat with my head in my hands, willing myself to slide into madness with each breath.
‘Can you not aid her, Old Mother?’ I could hear Rosedark dimly, pleading with Khartyn somewhere in the background. ‘Can you not ease her mind with a charm or herb? By King Pythagorus’ hairy balls, I cannot bear to stand by and witness this!’
‘Mind your mouth, Rosedark,’ the Crone snapped. ‘Emma needs to absorb the truth of her being into herself to be fully integrated. I will prepare a charm for her to help with the shock. We have little time to linger in the Wastelands. I would be doing Emma a disservice to ease her of the pain of awareness of her true being, no matter how traumatic that discovery might be.’
‘Do you think she realises the full extent of her power?’
‘No. But if she opens too quickly to full awareness we will lose her. The shock would kill her.’
I barely took in Rosedark’s concerned face as she placed a lavender shawl gently around my shoulders and brushed some hair out of my eyes with a gentle hand.
‘It is a mighty shock to be told you are Bindisore after living as a Bluite all your time; that would be surprise enough. But to discover you are related to Sati! Well, that would be enough to kill me, I think, to find I was kinfolk with that black-hearted sow’s turd.’
‘Enough!’ Khartyn snapped. ‘Use your words wisely, Rosedark.’ She began to mix a combination of herbs and oils in her mortar and pestle. ‘My foul-mouthed child, she knew the truth all along. She just chose to suppress the memory. There are more layers to her heritage she will refuse to face.
‘Observe how she cannot discuss or even think of the Stag Man? Her mind has developed itself to censor any thought pattern that threatens to reveal the truth of her being. I will treat her for the worst of the shock only, for we shall have to move quickly. We still have to travel through Headhunter territory; Emma will need to be a little stronger than she is at the moment!’
I made no protest when the Crone passed the chalice with the rescue remedy brew she had prepared. After I had sipped the contents there was an instantaneous easing of my chaotic thoughts. The anxiety I was experiencing began to subside and my breathing deepened.
‘Come, Emma!’ Khartyn ordered. ‘We have to continue our journey. Sati and Ishran will not permit us to continue meandering through the Wastelands indefinitely! By now they will be aware that we have paid the toll to enter their kingdom; it will not be long ere they send their pet Solumbi to welcome us!’
Thinking of the Solumbi had the desired effect and goaded me into action. I swung myself onto Jabi’s back.
‘I’m ready,’ I said, sounding distant and flat. Khartyn shot me a concerned glance. There was no time to lose.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
As our ilkamas neared the borders of Headhunter territory, Khartyn related for my benefit the history of the three Crones who dwelled there.
The sisters were derived from the dark aspect of the Great Mother. Many moontimes ago the Headhunter Crones lived in profusion in Eronth. As a consequence of their gruesome spiritual ritual of collecting heads from all life that was unfortunate enough to encounter them, the goddesses had decided after much meditation to banish the Headhunters to the Wastelands, mainly to protect the Faiaite children.
The Tremite Book of Life hinted that the Headhunter Crones had existed even before Eronth had emerged from the Shell. Only three sisters had remained from their original abundant population and so were considered as deserving special protection in their banishment. Despite their macabre habit, they were revered in Eronth, and were widely written about, sung about and used to threaten unruly children. Few people had survived a meeting with them, however. The lucky survivors of meeting up with the Crones had survived only by using their wits. The sisters communicated to each other by clicking, an odd sound that they made by slapping their lips together. When they attempted to use the Tongue of All Worlds, they used simple rhymes. No-one knew why the Headhunters spoke this way. It was a common joke among the Eronthites that the rhymes were a result of the Headhunters’ banishment in the Wastelands. Bored with so few heads to take, they were reduced to trying to upstage each other with wordplay.
‘All who pass through the Wastelands must encounter the Headhunters,’ Khartyn said.
I looked listlessly around the barren countryside as we rode.
If it would stop my tormented thoughts, they are welcome to my head.
As if accepting the invitation, the Crone sisters materialised on the spiralling dirt track. The ilkamas snorted and began tossing their heads fearfully. Wind blew the heavy skirts of the sisters and I was amazed at how ancient the trio appeared to be. Khartyn looked almost a teenager by comparison. The skin of all three was parched and dry, and the wind blew little bits of skin into the air as it breathed gently upon them.
Their hair was white and worn pulled up into tight, high buns. Their small oval faces were identically crisscrossed with wrinkles and lines. Age and decay were the perfumes that the pores of their skin breathed. Their extraordinary elongated necks were lined with wrinkles like the stumps of trees. They wore high-buttoned dresses with heavy velvet skirts sweeping the ground. One wore a dress of blood-red, one of forest-green and one mustard-yellow. Ethereal as cobwebs, insubstantial as the death of a shadow, they nonetheless emitted
a chillingly otherworldly aura.
Khartyn raised a hand in salutation.
‘Blessings to you, Esmir! Jamis! Citti! Merry meet! We ask permission of our sacred sisters to continue our journey through the Wastelands.’
The trio looked excitedly at each other. I watched incredulously as their withered, toothless mouths jabbered frantically in their native clicking tongue, which almost immediately began to translate into English.
‘Why, sisters dear! The wind has blown us a treat so rare — three heads so fair! Oh, they’ll prove far finer in our basket than head of rat or hare!’
I noted for the first time the cumbersome straw basket they carried between them and I shuddered. Khartyn dismounted from her ilkama and despite Rosedark’s protests walked toward the trio.
‘I bring you a gift of something finer than this withered neck of mine. For each of you I present the gift of finest Faia swine.’
The sisters gibbered excitedly as Khartyn reached into the bag she carried and solemnly presented to each eager and appreciative sister a severed pig’s head. The heads quickly disappeared into the raffia basket and the three Headhunters made a parting between them, indicating the ilkamas should pass. They trotted between the Crones rapidly and began to canter at Khartyn’s urging lest the Crones should decide to hunt our heads after all.
‘Don’t be fooled by the look of them!’ Khartyn shouted. ‘They can snap off a grown man’s head with their bare hands. If they had decided they really desired us, we would have been staring at those swine heads in the basket.’
*
As evening began to fall my morose state and the ilkamas’ exhaustion became increasingly obvious to Khartyn. Eventually she indicated we should rest for the night at a small clearing by the side of the road.
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