Circle of Nine: Circle of Nine Trilogy 1

by Josephine Pennicott

  Now specks of spittle began to appear on Seleza’s lips. Her incisor fangs grew, bursting her mouth open in her fury.

  ‘What of the original Elders?’ she spat at Ishran. ‘They crossed with Eom and the Wizards into Eronth! What happened to them? Don’t tell me you developed a taste for Webx sap? Or did they end up being turned to stone as well? The Elders would have possessed the knowledge to reactivate the Eom but no doubt you have lost us that opportunity as well!’

  Ishran hesitated, wondering if the Azephim Queen was already aware that the Elders hung suspended in his dungeons, enveloped in the deadly light rays, cocooned in a sleep that was neither death nor life. They had fallen into their coma shortly after they had crossed from Kondoell. At a loss as to how to revive them, Ishran had used his Spinnerets. The Wheel of the Year had turned countless times while Sati and he had struggled with various rituals to awaken the sleeping Elders. Now his other-host was mocking him. If she found out that he couldn’t even activate a pair of aged Webx Elders the shame would kill him!

  Seated on her eggs, Seleza’s throat constricted in rage. She could see clearly enough the fate of the Webx Elders. Ishran and his slut Bindisore wife were still occupied with using the Web killing techniques. How such a weakling son had been born the Ghormho was beyond her! The Glazrmhom of Ishran’s batch, his sister Rashka, showed more power and mental skill than Ishran had ever possessed. Incredulously she surveyed him coldly before launching into one of her endless tirades about Sati. Moodily, Ishran attempted to close his mind off while the adjectives he had been hearing for years swirled furiously around him.

  ‘Incompetent, dangerous, sluttish, power-mad, stinking ageing Bindisore! Joke of Kondoell!’

  Fervently the Ghormho prayed that the Amew could not overhear the abuse he was receiving. For the millionth time in a half eyston, he asked himself why he had been fool enough to visit his other-host.

  *

  Dinner that evening was a subdued affair, the servants tiptoeing around the simmering family. Rashka sat at the side of the long banquet table, glowering at Ishran, her dark polished nails threatening to shred the white lace cloth on the table. There was no love lost between the siblings. Rashka had not bothered to dress for dinner, to Seleza’s displeasure. Her hair hung unbrushed to her waist, dyed the golden-caramel colour that was the fashion for the younger Azephim. She wore faded brown leather pants and a black shirt that was ripped and had dried bloodstains on it. There was a large bite scar taken out of her left cheek, the result of a recent wrestle with a lion. Big-cat wrestling had become a popular pastime with the tribe of affluent, bored young Azephim that Rashka associated with. In contrast, Seleza wore a white lace gown that was cut to reveal her breasts and embroidered with precious pearls and diamonds by the Bluite servants who worked in the Azephim labour factories. Her eyes shifted between her two children. Snarling softly she sniffed the old enemity between the two.

  Maug was served, along with tender ilkama breast and tall chilled glasses of Bluite blood. The aroma of scented candles mingled with the tangy, appetising fragrance of the meat. But Ishran failed to appreciate the savoury feast. With every mouthful he reminded himself that Seleza had the most skilled poisoners in the Web in her employment. She could easily decide to murder him and cross to Eronth, claiming the Eom as her own.

  If he survived this meal, he promised himself, if he lived through this agonising visit, he would renew his efforts to reactivate the Eom, but first he would cross to the Blue Planet and hunt. He felt the urge to prove that he was worthy, an Azephim to be feared. Seleza in her turn watched the Ghormho through slitted eyes, feeding on his fear, passing some of the energy through to Rashka. The night was still young but already she was growing weary. She was only too aware that if the Eom was not returned to the Web the entire Azephim race was in danger and it infuriated her that Ishran did not immediately volunteer the Eom to save his own people. Living with the Bindisore had weakened and corrupted him! If he did not volunteer the Eom she would have to cross and she was loath to do so when she was suffering from the paralysing malaise that had fallen upon her race. There had to be a better way than just killing him, and her mind raced feverishly.

  Rashka sat watching her brother, fantasising about his death, her teeth in his throat, in his stomach. Then she fixed on a mental image of cracking the head open of the loathsome Bindisore that he continued to mate with. Excited by her imaginings she smiled widely at Ishran. Soon, she promised herself, on a Dark Moon, she would cross and claim what was rightfully theirs.

  *

  In the centre of the still, dark night the Ghormho made his hurried exit from the Web. His wings outstretched to full span and he flew quickly into the light rays, panicking as he went for fear that he would be shot to the ground by his other-host’s death rays. But he was in no immediate danger. Seleza had well and truly retired for the night. All that remained of the Azephim Queen was her head, which floated gently in the restoration tank. Her mind was aware that her first egg had flown from the Panchion, but she let him go unimpeded. Already the Amew were whispering to her in her dreams that the prophecies were coming true . . . the triple alignment of Jupiter, Saturn and Mars had occurred for the third time . . . the Nova DO Aquilae. The signs were there, and a plan was beginning to form.

  *

  Leicester Square, London. Flashing neon billboards advertising Coca-Cola, McDonald’s, Sanyo and Fosters. Double-decker red buses went past, the brightly lit interiors revealing tiny bowed heads shielded behind newspapers. Static. Intensifying. Picture clearing. The odour of Bluites was overwhelming, making him nauseous. Rain was falling softly, the grey splashes blurring the edges of the scene. He sniffed the air warily. Pavements were wet and crowded with Bluites. He was pushed against them, feeling them recoil subconsciously from the alien who walked among them. Happy, happy hunting. The night air was alive, and writhing with possibilities. Protectors hissed at him in the crowded streets, holding out amulets to warn him off, but he ignored them, intent on the scent. His wings fluttered out and his breath brought thoughts and dreams of death and violence to those who tasted it. Hot on the scent . . . steps leading down, an underground basement, walking past thuggish bouncers, bringing gifts to them of tumours, scenting death. Nice joint, classy, plants hanging from stone gargoyle mouths, music thumping, the vibration spiking white-hot points in the air; sweat, lust, life. Blood moved around in the bodies surrounding him. Life jerking and dancing, eating and drinking. Two young women stood beside him in transparent blouses. Their voices reached him. ‘Bruce Willis was awesome! It’s got to be the best thing he’s ever done.’

  ‘Emily said that when she was in the States she went to a party at Dahlias and Demi was there. She’s really built up, works out all the time.’

  Easy prey, they were easy prey . . . but still he sniffed the air, still seeking . . .

  Protectors stepped forward holding up amulets to guard their charges. They could see that the Azephim had eaten recently and therefore had no real reason to seek prey. Ishran snarled at them, pitting his mind against theirs. He felt tempted to open himself and reveal his true being to the crowded nightclub. Gorge on their mass fear and panic. Crush them beneath his feet, throw their soft vulnerable bodies against walls, turn them to ice, turn them to ash . . .

  Then he smelt her . . . easy prey . . . the drugs she had taken were numbing her senses. Her auric bands slipped, the Protectors were unable to reach her, to give her the impulse to leave. Her blood would be rich and velvet smooth . . .

  Easy.

  He headed toward her, causing dancers to step back impulsively for no conscious reason. The static intensified . . . the Protectors would no doubt report him for this transgression, but mentally he told them to fuck off. He was in no mood to argue. She was sitting alone, depressed; she was pretty in a commonplace Bluite way. Mind dulled with man troubles. Ishran smiled. Men made the feeding so easy . . .

  He moved toward her and she looked up, not seeing him, of course . . .
not innocent enough. But sensing him nonetheless. An image fluttered into her drugged brain, a wedding dress, black lace, heavy, falling to the ground. Moths fluttering. She was fearful without knowing why, like someone had walked over her grave. Her drugged mind was acutely aware that evil was near.

  Charmonzhla stood beside him in the nightclub. Beside the angoli stood a demon child, her face grey with death. She was wearing a pink dress with a large bloodstain down the front of it. The angoli’s stone hands carried miniature black roses. He offered one mockingly to Ishran.

  ‘He wants to kill, he’s bored and lonely. Tired of all his other toys,’ the demon girl said to Charmonzhla. The angoli frowned.

  ‘Be quiet, Rachel!’ he said. ‘I told you that if we hunted, you had to hold your tongue still.’ He turned to Ishran, his eyes filled with an ancient knowing. Charmonzhla drew Ishran into himself. His face was radiant. Ishran almost shrank from the dark, divine essence of the angoli.

  ‘Too easy, Ghormho!’ he remonstrated.

  He smiled, showing perfect, small white teeth. Ishran relaxed, sensing the angoli’s respect for him, the acknowledgment of his power that others refused to recognise.

  ‘Too easy a kill for one as great as Ishran the Ghormho!’ the angoli exclaimed.

  Ishran felt his wings swell with pride. Never had he known such admiration. Charmonzhla winked at him. ‘Why take one Bluite when you can have them all?’ The demon child snarled in excitement.

  Ishran stared at them in shock. Even the Azephim only killed what they needed! Then he laughed aloud as he watched brilliant blue-gold tongues of fire erupt from Charmonzhla’s head. Fire, baptise them with flame. Their fear of death would give him the energy that his race was lacking . . . easy prey . . . Protectors began attempting to hurry the nightclub patrons home, but it was too late. The angels exploded into flames . . . static was buzzing, there was only the screams, static, heat, more screams and laughter.

  Then silence.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  We are all we think;

  With shadows from our minds

  We make the worlds.

  Let all your thoughts be pure and strong

  So you can harvest light.

  — Faian quote

  Khartyn sat still, in the middle of a deep trance. She had been several hours in the silver cage, but remained calm, unlike her poor apprentice who was on the verge of tears. Khartyn could feel the energy of Emma and the Stag Man around her. They are with us, she smiled to herself. Help was near. Then she felt Rosedark’s shudder of fear next to her, and knew that Sati was closer to them than anybody.

  Rosedark! she sent the thought pattern out. She couldn’t risk talking, in case a guard stood in the shadows of the room. Can you do it? If the cage is unlocked, do you recall the lesson? There was only a groan in her mind from her apprentice. ‘May the darkness give light,’ Khartyn muttered under her breath.

  Rosedark! The arrow thought she sent was so strong that she was convinced Sati would intercept it.

  Old Mother! I . . . I can’t recall the lesson! What lesson? Her apprentice’s thought wave sounded close to breaking. Khartyn cursed under her breath. There was little time left, but she had to keep her patience with the maid.

  When we took to the skies, the summer before Emma came. Khartyn looked at her meaningfully. There was a short pause.

  I can’t remember the words.

  Khartyn nearly choked on her fury. Never was there a worse moment for Rosedark to give in to panic. When I get her out of here, she thought, she will get a tongue-forking!

  Yes, you can, Rosedark. Concentrate on the claws, on the beak, the words are within you. They will come. Call them to you. Another mental silence, and she could hear the sound of a rat scurrying.

  You’re angry with me, aren’t you, Khartyn?

  For the sake of the Goddess and Emma, concentrate, Rosedark! Khartyn told her, then lied: No, I am not angry. May the Dreamers forgive me, she thought. She could feel her apprentice begin to concentrate. The fear was beginning to ease. Khartyn longed to hold her, to comfort her, but she couldn’t risk distracting her from her contemplation.

  Then, footsteps. Oh Goddess. She couldn’t risk sending another thought arrow to Rosedark, as whoever was outside would hear it. The sound of a key rattled in the lock. Khartyn held her breath. If Rosedark failed to remember, she would be trapped in the holding cage, at least until Khartyn managed to return with some help. But she had no doubt that even if she managed to escape, Sati and Ishran would waste no time in killing the girl.

  The Crone climbed to her feet and strained through the heavy bars as Sati approached. Warily, Khartyn watched her ex-apprentice through slitted eyes. She was still slumped in the corner of the cage, her hair falling over her face.

  Sati’s dark hair was piled in snaking curls on the crown of her head. A cape of exotic black and plum bird plumes hung magnificently over her shoulders.

  ‘How the mighty and great have fallen!’ Sati sneered.

  Khartyn grimaced. ‘Are you referring to yourself, Bindisore, and all the wonderful potential that you once had — for that is something truly fallen.’

  Sati laughed. ‘Mother, your foul, aged tongue will not babble for too much longer!’

  In one hand glinted a small dark key; in the other she carried lethal finger crushers.

  ‘I need you to answer a few questions, Old Mother.’

  The key was in the lock, the door swung open.

  ‘Now!’ Khartyn breathed to Rosedark. The secret word was spoken in synchronicity between them and Sati screeched in anger as Khartyn and Rosedark transformed themselves into two tiny finches. Small enough to slip through the open door of the cage, they flew swiftly to each other.

  Sati, however, transformed herself just as quickly into her bird form of a black eagle and followed in pursuit of the finches, who had left the room and disappeared into the darkness.

  Over the heads of the angel guards, over the castle drawbridge, they escaped with peeps of joy, up and away into the air of the Wastelands. Then Khartyn spied the black eagle swiftly gaining on them. There was no chance of out-flying Sati in their present form; the skill of flight was her special gift. Signalling to Rosedark to descend, they began to quickly transmute mid-air. Maid, Crone, bird landed in a flurry of feathers. Barely had their faces descended from bird family to Faiaite than Sati was upon them, transforming herself, black poisonous venom ejecting from her talons as she stood savagely before them, half-eagle, half-Bindisore. A strangled cry came from her throat. Quickly, Khartyn and Rosedark began to cast a magic circle of protection around themselves.

  ‘Hello, Sati.’

  The voice behind Sati’s back was gentle, polite. Sati swung around and gasped. A great White Stag approached her. She spat more of the deadly black venom at him and he laughed. His voice came from the cliffs and the sky and the earth around him. He was born of the land, his cells blew with the wind and the earth formed his words.

  ‘Your killing methods are always primitive and obvious, Bindisore.’

  Sensing defeat, Sati transmuted herself into her eagle form and flew into the sky. From inside their circle, Khartyn and Rosedark stared wide-eyed at the legendary Stag Man. His eyes held them captive for a few poignant seconds. Khartyn held her breath as she realised she was staring at a creature that belonged to the prehistory of Eronth.

  ‘Before the Dreamers slept — I was!’

  How often had Crone and maid heard that tortured cry to the night moons? Now, held in his gaze, she looked upon the face of the divine. He moved around their circle of protection, bowing slightly to the four quarters. Khartyn realised that he was blessing them and she raised her hands in response to his benediction. She could feel his great power, his great light, his longing for his soulmate and his endless agony. Again, she felt his relentless stare as he probed their minds for information. Khartyn gave her mind to his in an open invitation. There could be no withholding from one as pure as he.

  �
�Good Crone.’ The approval came from the air of the Wastelands. Then he was gone. He vanished into the ether; in his place lay a shiny red apple.

  Satisfied that they were safe, Khartyn opened the circle and turned to Rosedark.

  ‘Quickly, maid! We have to locate our ilkamas — call them to us so we can travel out of the Wastelands. We have to attempt to retrieve Emma from the underground. If the Stag Man has appeared to us there must be huge transformations occurring.’

  Rosedark stooped down to pick up the apple.

  ‘Why an apple?’ she wondered aloud.

  Khartyn took the fruit and smiled. ‘Because of what lies inside the apple.’

  Holding it up to the light, she instructed Rosedark to gaze inside the apple. Rosedark did so, uttering a cry of delight.

  ‘A pentacle!’ she cried.

  Khartyn nodded. ‘The brown seeds are sacred. He wants us to deliver these seeds to Emma, or else they are some form of message to her. A pomegranate was the trigger that Hades used to entrap Persephone in the underground. The apple may be the trigger that will bring her up — and when she rises, hopefully she will bring Emma with her.’

  She ran her hands over her eyes, suddenly realising how weary she was. The deep lines on her face were more pronounced than usual.

  ‘Let us hope Emma’s mind can withstand the rising,’ she stated, feeling a sense of oncoming dread.

  *

  When Persephone arrived for her third visit I was delighted that I could vaguely make out her form. A faint figure, the suggestion of a long braid. Whispers, hints of a being. Now, in the walls of the underground cavern I could dimly make out fossils and shells, and even the gleaming entire skeleton of a unicorn caught between rocks.