A Fire in the Shell: Circle of Nine Trilogy 3

by Josephine Pennicott

  ‘Braver than the fiercest giant!’ he roared, slapping his chest to display his valour. The army ignored him and began muttering battle strategies between themselves. Quimonmen watched impatiently, eager to leave this stinking beach before Shambzhla flung herself from the water again.

  ‘Problem too big for Wezom,’ his general told Quimonmen, who breathed a sigh of relief. His army was going to see sense over this and they could all go home and pretend nothing had ever happened.

  ‘Need to seek counsel from giants in the Outerezt,’ the soldier continued. ‘They big and mighty and will help little people fight the Hags.’

  ‘Madness! You talk with turds of Maja!’ Quimonmen called, forgetting himself in his anxiety. ‘Giants hate Wezom! I have their ring in my nose! Will pound King Quimonmen into ground!’ The general watched him, his spear raised, his eyes appraising the King. Quimonmen, sensing trouble, guessed that he was sizing him up to see if he could throw his spear and decapitate him without getting into too much trouble from the other soldiers.

  ‘Look! Hiss! Claw! She rises again!’ he screamed, pointing to the water. An old trick, but effective. The army turned around to look, raising their spears to throw, and Quimonmen seized his opportunity to dematerialise. Quickly, he thought, must cover my tracks before they sniff me out. He had to reach Diomonna. She would protect him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Death is the kiss of the creative power

  No magic is more powerful than the birth of stars

  Nothing ever dies. We are the Masters of our Eternity.

  — GRAFFITI ON THE BURIAL HALLS OF FAIA

  Maya stared at the beautiful dark-haired woman who blocked her entrance to the courtyard of Shellhome. ‘I am Maya, bride to Bwani of the Circle of Nine,’ she said, indicating Bwani beside her. ‘We wish to seek an audience with the High Priestess.’ To her shock the unman seemed to hiss.

  ‘The High Priestess is dead.’ There was no attempt to soften the words.

  ‘Dead?’ Maya looked to Bwani for support. He was frowning, studying the woman. He had delayed imparting the message Hecate had given until he was convinced Maya would be strong enough to cope with the shock.

  The woman looked at Maya again. A puzzled expression crossed her face.

  ‘Identify yourself,’ Bwani said. ‘You smell of Azephim. What is your business here?’

  The woman smiled. ‘I am Sati, Dark Queen to Ishran the Ghormho. You can save your violence and emotions for another. I did not kill the Bluite, if that is your concern. I merely flew the old Crone back from the Web-Kondoell in my mouth.’

  Maya shook her head, trying to take in this fresh piece of information. Khartyn in the Web-Kondoell? Had the world gone totally mad in her absence? Why was the Azephim Queen looking at her so hungrily? She moved closer to Bwani.

  ‘How did she die?’ Bwani asked, his hand creeping closer to the dagger around his waist.

  The woman adjusted the black lace shawl that hung over her shoulders. ‘Burnt,’ she said. ‘The Lightcaster has been busy in Eronth. What a tragic string of events! To think that a Lightcaster would come to peaceful-loving Goddess-worshipping Eronth. My, what a violent society we have become.’

  Maya found her voice. ‘I demand you let me pass to see Khartyn!’ she said. ‘You show little respect when talking about the dead.’

  ‘That is because I do not respect the dead,’ Sati said. ‘A Bluite should never have been given the position of power she held. I do not think Khartyn would wish to have an audience with you at the moment. She has been knocked half-senseless with grief for her milksop apprentice and that prissy Janusite.’

  Maya’s hands went to her mouth in shock. ‘Rosedark and Ano?’ she said.

  Sati nodded. ‘I hate to drop the bad news and run, but I have to warn my husband his Glazrmhom is on her way to kill him.’ She walked a short distance away from the couple and stretched her arms wide. They watched as her upstretched arms turned to wings. ‘Maya,’ she said softly. ‘A pretty name for a beautiful girl. From where do you hail, Maya?’

  Bwani gave Maya’s arm a warning pinch, but too late she spoke.

  ‘I am Maya, brought up in the Hollow Hills with the Imomm. I was born of the Stag Man and a Bindisore called Emma.’

  ‘How fascinating,’ Sati said. She had now transmuted fully into a large black raven. Maya could feel her cold eyes upon her. ‘I was very close to a Bindisore called Emma. We shared many secrets of our hearts, but not of your whereabouts, little Maya. By the cold prick of Alecom, I little thought I would see this day. You are a welcome secret that has been hidden — in the Hollow Hills, you say? No doubt under the silken wings of the delicious Diomonna. How very interesting.’

  Maya frowned, not believing for a second her birthmother had been close to this woman of ice. Yet she desperately wanted to believe Sati had been a close associate of her mother’s.

  ‘When I return from saving Ishran, perhaps we could meet to talk, girl to girl?’ the bird suggested. ‘I have memory books of your mother’s. There are even very early images of you and your faithful friend Jessie.’ She neglected to mention that Jessie was still in the Web-Kondoell, grieving for her mistress and being cared for by the Azephim angels.

  The need to find out as much information about her mother as she could was choking Maya. It had become a huge fist in her throat and mouth.

  The raven nodded, her eyes shining bright. ‘I’ll come back for you,’ she promised. Then she was rising into the air, a loud triumphant caw coming from her throat. Bwani and Maya watched in silence as she vanished towards the horizon, a minute speck.

  ‘It is folly to trust Azephim,’ Bwani said. He hated having to destroy the desire that had ignited in Maya’s eyes at the mention of Emma.

  ‘It’s true,’ Maya agreed. ‘Only a simpleton would willingly trap themselves in their webs of deceit. Although, by King Pythagorus’s hairy balls, what I would not give to hold that memory book in my hand!’

  ‘True, and what would I give if that memory book turned out to be truth,’ Bwani said, watching Maya’s face with disquiet. He was interrupted before his next sentence by the arrival of Edwen, who, summoned by a message bird, had appeared in the courtyard. His appearance was a shock to the couple. There were new lines of worry caned into his face, and he looked half asleep although it was the middle of the day. His silver white hair hung unkempt to his waist.

  ‘Bwani! Maya! I thought I was dreaming when the message bird found me. Quickly! Come inside, it is not safe to stand in the open!’

  Maya and Bwani exchanged worried glances as Edwen ushered them through the courtyard, where plants were overturned and the water fountains were silent. He led them through the pastel corridors of Shellhome to the front receiving room, where the diamond-patterned black and white floors looked as if they could use a good scrub. Maya glanced around in confusion — where were the servers? There was no sign of the serene atmosphere Shellhome was legendary for.

  ‘Edwen! By the sand of the Dreamers, you’re acting like a spooked cat! What has happened in our absence? The Azephim Queen said Rosedark, Ano and the High Priestess have been burnt at the stake! Tell me her dark tongue drips lies.’

  Edwen shook his head, grief etched into his face. ‘The bird-woman spoke the truth. She was here to return the Crone, who is destroyed by grief. None of us can reach her. She has been wailing for several moon-ups. It is heartbreaking to witness. Claw is also senseless with emotion. He had feelings for the young maid. Still, we may have been stone for a long time, but none of us has forgotten to feel and the grief we have all shared is terrible. We have been out of our minds with worry for you and Maya since we witnessed Bwani vanish into mist in front of us! I feared you had both died, and we have been afraid the Lightcaster will return.’

  ‘The fear will feed him,’ Bwani said sharply. ‘By fearing him you give him the power he needs.’

  Edwen nodded, his hands shaking slightly as he received a key from a key bird that sat waiting near the d
oor and unlocked the entrance to the receiving room of Shellhome. There was a heavy aura of grief and shock in the room. Edwen sniffed the air.

  ‘Dreamer’s tits! What is that foul stench?’

  ‘Me, I think,’ Maya replied. She felt suddenly exhausted, unable to deal with the tragedies. All she longed for was a soft comfortable bed to sink into.

  Edwen’s nose wrinkled in distaste, and Maya glared at him. She had never been fond of Edwen, sensing his resentment that Bwani now favoured her company to his.

  ‘Well, you will have to clean yourself up. There are no servants here. We couldn’t be sure they weren’t still under the Lightcaster’s influence. The entire village is in mourning, now they’ve come to their senses, and finally realised what they’ve done.’

  ‘It is a sad bird that cries when it has broken its own eggs,’ Maya snapped. Growing up among the Imomm had given her an inbred suspicion of the Eronthites.

  ‘What of the Crone?’ Bwani asked, attempting to ease the tension between Maya and Edwen. ‘Is there anyone with her?’

  ‘No,’ Edwen said. ‘The old mother has requested she be left to her mourning in private. Rosedark and Mary were like daughters to her, Ano she had known a long time.’

  ‘Poor Crone,’ Bwani said as he unbuckled his waist belt that held his dagger and coin pouch and placed it on a table. ‘She is frail with time and this tragedy may well finish the great old one off.’

  As he spoke, the ‘Great Old One’ was walking along the road that led out of Faia. Bwani would have been surprised if he could have seen the frail Crone of his imagination. She was walking with a determined stride that would have done justice to a woman a quarter of her age. Her milky-white eyes burned with determination. She passed a peasant woman and small child wearing a ragged floral dress leading a tan, aged cow to milk.

  The woman hung her head in shame at the scorn that flamed from the Crone’s eyes. When Khartyn had safely passed the woman gathered enough courage to cry, ‘Well, ’e made us do it!’

  Khartyn ignored her. She had been walking for several hours with only two breaks to rest her swollen feet. Now he had fed, she could smell the Lightcaster easily as she tracked him across the countryside. Khartyn had given little thought to what she would do when she eventually caught up with the parasite. Would a banishing spell work against him? It kept Solumbi at bay, but a fully developed, adult Lightcaster who had recently fed? Still, she had to do something! She had wept in anguish for days, calling upon herself all manner of recriminations for leaving Rosedark when she went to the Web-Kondoell to hatch the egg. She felt she would die of guilt and anguish. It was truly terrible to have lived the centuries she had lived, only to endure this crushing loss. This agony that pierced her like a sword, and made her feel as it she was crying her insides out. As moon-ups had passed, however, and she had refused to leave her room to eat or to converse with others, her torment had begun to change to anger, and then to fury.

  The parasite had been invited here, she thought. Lightcasters had shown little interest in Eronth over the centuries, thank the Dreamers. There were far more violent worlds for them to amuse themselves in, than to bother with the challenge of a Goddess-loving Eronth. Once the tears had ceased enough for her to centre herself, she meditated on exactly who had invited him to Eronth. One face kept emerging in her scrying dish — Sati. The Crone did not wish to believe her ex-apprentice had invited the Lightcaster, but the impressions she was receiving were so vivid she was left with little doubt.

  My daughter, she thought sadly. I curse the day I released you from the holding pens in Faia. I should have let the Faiaites enact their laws and kill you. When you were a child you disobeyed the laws of the land by hexing. When you were a maid you disobeyed the laws of Eronth to mate with the Ghormho, and receive his tainted juices into your body. Because of your selfish needs you caused your own sister, Emma, to die of heartbreak when you stole her child, mistaking the changeling the Imomm had swapped for Maya. As seasons have changed, your capacity for evil has only intensified. You are gentle when you carry me in your mouth from the Web-Kondoell, but you think nothing of causing the deaths of innocents by inviting a Lightcaster to Eronth. Foolish, vain old woman that I am, I should have listened to Mary when she warned me against releasing you from the pillory where you had been awaiting execution.

  The High Priestess’s words came back to her. ‘She is trouble. All Bindisores are trouble — the black blood of Seleza’s angel brood flows thick in their veins. And I trust you will pardon me, Crone, for speaking bluntly when I say you may regret raising the power of this dangerous child. I have spoken my mind.’

  Khartyn sat down by the side of the laneway. In the far distance behind her, smoke rose from a few chimneys in Faia. A pack of white deer grazed in the neighbouring field. She could see Mary speaking those words as if it was only yesterday. How she wished she had heeded them! To have lost three of the people closest to her left her inconsolable. To have not even have had the chance to say goodbye, to wish them sate journey as they travelled to the Underworld. She had never felt more lonely, more alone in her life. From the depths of her being a great scream rose, causing the deer to look up with alarm.

  ‘It will kill me!’ Khartyn screamed to the heavens. ‘I am too old and too tired to bear this loss. I have nothing left! Nothing! My homeland is gone, the people are cursed. My poor little Rosedark! My child who bore no ill will to any living being. Roasted alive! I hate all goddesses and gods! I curse you all! I spit on you for what you have put us through in Eronth! Let me die here by the side of the road and not endure this great pain. I beg you to show mercy and end my miserable long incarnation! I command you cowardly, deaf gods and goddesses to release me from this hell of life!’

  There was movement. She looked up, startled. The Stag Man was standing in front of her. In his enormous golden brown eyes she saw Emma looking out at her. The lower half of his body was in its stag form, streaked with sweat as if he had been running.

  ‘Why?’ Khartyn cried. She was centuries old, but in her grief she had become a child. The Stag Man smiled gently. ‘Old One, you have forgotten the dream. You are crying for shadows.’

  ‘Does a shadow scream in agony when the fire elementals turn the shadow skin to ash?’ Khartyn asked, her voice shaking. ‘What monster of dreamer am I that I would create such dreams?’

  ‘May the Darkness give you light and be merciful,’ he said. ‘Die here by the road of grief then. I will hold you when you fall. I will toss your body across the sky, and watch you laugh when your spirit realises how it has believed for so long all the illusions you have spun. It means nothing to me if you want to shed your wrinkled, stinking old skin. But I see others who may need you. The Dreamers are restless. They stir uneasily in their sleep and if they choose to wake, all is lost across all worlds. The Eom is releasing the evil that has been slumbering inside it. Darkness will fall over Eronth, and the breath of Alecom will contaminate the land.’

  Khartyn rose wearily to her feet. Her emotional outburst had left her exhausted. ‘I am old,’ she said. ‘I am ruined. My spirit has broken and I am not able to stop the Eom from charging. I just want to find the Lightcaster now. That is my mission.’

  The Stag Man put back his head, the breeze lifting his long white blonde hair from his face. ‘Another, not you, will be the saviour of Eronth,’ he said. ‘Your presence will be needed for him to gain the courage to do so. It is his destiny.’

  Khartyn stared at him for a moment, her numbed mind trying to figure it out. ‘Gwyndion?’ she said.

  Large silver leaves dripped from the Stag Man’s mouth. ‘Find your Lightcaster,’ he said. ‘Fight your monsters, believe in your dreams. Lost to your grief, you have not sensed his presence, but I have. He is closer to you than you realise. You are the one he is seeking, Khartyn. He will not rest until he has your blood on his hands. You thought you were pursuing him, but you were in fact running from him.’

  The Crone looked back in the direction h
e had indicated. ‘He’s back in Faia?’ she said. She began to walk in the direction she had just come from.

  The Stag Man watched her, a smile ghosting upon his face. ‘Harvest well, Old Mother,’ he whispered. He dissolved slowly into leaves, piling higher and higher then scattering into the breeze he vanished, although Khartyn could hear his cry of triumph. ‘Before the Dreamers slept, I was!’ She marched back towards the direction she had just travelled from, her pace increasing until she was nearly running.

  The Eom pulsed. It traced the path of Brier as she flew, frantically attempting to mitigate her hunger by feeding on as many New Baffinites as she could find. The Eom sensed the few victims she managed to hunt down on the streets, their disbelief, terror and then mingled fear and frantic delight as they became part of the glass fragility of the being that had drained them dry. Now, insistently, the Eom began calling her back. Back to the Wastelands, where Brier had carefully placed it. There was a disturbing dark energy moving through New Baffin, and Eom wanted its child to be out of the city before they spotted her. Besides, she had fed enough for now. Her frantic crying had ceased, she was beginning to purr gently.

  The Eom felt her eggs, strewn all over New Baffin. From them would hatch millions of her kind, all hungry, all needing to feed. It sent out a tongue of fire to her and she responded, softly purring, needing her crystal parent, longing to be reunited. She flew; the Eom could sense her coming nearer, her body swollen with red blood, her face covered in blood, her eyes filled with love. Faster and faster through the night sky while Eronth slept, unaware of the danger that traversed their skies. Then there was unity, her mouth open, crying. Brier flew into the Eom, into its dark centre and it groaned as it felt her feeding the horrors it contained at its core. There was all night to enjoy the lives she had tasted. Sweet child, suckling the parent. Inside, the dormant dark beings awoke to feed. The Eom began to glow, brilliant blue, black and then deepest red, and from its crystal side a small crack began to appear, a croak of triumph, then a tiny, searching hand.