‘We are too large!’ Fareirrod pleaded from his rock. ‘We will destroy all the vegetation if we move there as one. Think of the small ones, they will be crushed beneath our feet and we will lose all good relation with them!’ But his words were lost to the wind as the giants began to stamp their feet and chant for Geferd to say more. Fareirrod looked to Angerwulf for support and saw the shame in his eyes, then back to Geferd who was raising her fist into the air and shouting, ‘Time to move! Kill and crush! Time to move! Kill and crush!’ Never before had the vast plains of the Wastelands been witness to so much emotion.
What will she lead them to? Fareirrod thought in horror. The Crones and the goddesses would not stand by if they attempted to take over Eronth. He looked miserably towards the pretty maiden giantess whose attention he had been seeking earlier. She stood flanked by two other giantesses, scorn in her enormous sky blue eyes. There were titters from behind the hands of her friends, and Fareirrod heard the unmistakable words, ‘Pillow shit Fareirrod!’ before they turned their backs on him.
That act of rejection hurt Fareirrod more than a million insults from Geferd over the main Turns of the Wheel, for he had privately considered his brother’s wife’s character to be the result of too much inbreeding. He tilted his head back and howled his fury to the darkening sky.
His cries of pain went unheard by the celebrating melee, who had decided to build a bonfire to dance around and were now engaged in running in various directions to gather kindling. ‘Crush and kill! Time to move!’ The chants of war were echoed around the Wastelands.
Maya and Bwani were informed by a server that the Crone had returned and was waiting for them in the receiving room. ‘A fine time for her to disappear!’ Maya hissed to Bwani. ‘By King Pysphorrus’s hairy balls, she must have lost her senses through grief!’
The woman waiting to receive them in the dishevelled and dusty receiving quarters was equally dishevelled, but her eyes blazed and there was even a slight amusement to be detected in them as she bowed her head. ‘Thank the Dreamers, for they have given me hate in my heart to keep life flowing through my old veins. One as old as I should have died instead of the maid, but may the sleepers give light and be merciful to us all, my old bag of bones has been spared. My mind, body and spirit are broken through grief. But, daughter of Emma, hate gives me energy to go on. I bless every pump of this hate that I feel!’
Maya was shocked by Khartyn’s words. She had never thought to hear one of the leading Crones of Eronth speak passionately of hate.
‘Khartyn, you must rest,’ she said. ‘You have, we all have, suffered a terrible shock and you need time to recover. I will send for a physician Crone to bring you a soothing tonic’ She stepped towards Khartyn, but the Crone moved away.
‘The only tonic I need is the Lightcaster’s heart in my hands,’ she said. ‘I want to watch him slowly die in agony in the flames for what he has done, and recover his smoking black heart from the ashes.’ Her voice broke as she spoke, and she sat down abruptly on a small sofa. ‘He did not even leave me that,’ she said. ‘There was nothing left of her. Not even her heart.’ For a long terrible moment, she stared into space.
Bwani knelt beside her, and dared to gently hold one of her blue-veined hands. It felt as if it might turn to dust in his hand. His heart contracted in pity for the anguish he felt coming off the Crone in waves.
‘Brave words, Old Mother!’ he said. ‘But foolish ones all the same! Lightcasters cannot be burnt or destroyed in the normal way and the path of the Crone is one of love and service, not hate and talk of killing!’
‘Is it service to stand back and do nothing while innocent people die?’ Khartyn whispered. ‘Evil grows rapidly in untended gardens, when pious people meditate but do not weed. Is it not more evil to do nothing?’
‘Khartyn, your mind is in shock,’ Maya said. Her large dark eyes were filled with fear when she looked at Bwani. ‘Old Mother, let me call the physician Crone, she will put you to sleep with her tonic and crystals. Morpheus, the great healer, will soothe you.’
Khartyn nodded. ‘Yes Maya, I need to rest, but I require no physician. Once I have gathered my strength and spoken to Gwyndion, I will know what to do. However, none of us can afford to rest for long. The Lightcaster is lurking near, waiting for his moment to strike again. I have to be ready.’
‘Khartyn, you have to give up these foolish ideas of taking on the Lightcaster,’ Bwani said. ‘The Circle of Nine are here, we will protect you. You need to conserve your energy for your magical work. Now, either you walk to your bedchamber, or you go over my shoulder.’
Khartyn stood up slowly. Maya was shocked by how aged the Crone looked. She would not have believed it possible for her to look even older than she already did, but now Khartyn was painful to look upon.
‘Yes child, I am not a pretty bag of bones,’ Khartyn said, pulling her shawls around her tightly. ‘But if the Dreamers dream it, then you too will become what I am. I pray, sweet Maya, you do not suffer the same fate, however. Life is too hard and terrible to live for centuries.’
‘I will walk with you, Khartyn,’ Maya said, offering her arm. She felt overwhelming sadness for the grief the Crone was feeling. How she hated being so inadequate she couldn’t think of any consoling words! If she hadn’t been brought up in the Hollow Hills, she was convinced that she would know how to react in this situation.
‘No, child of Emma,’ Khartyn said, reading her mind. ‘Words melt quicker than Imomm promises when I am filled with such pain. Understand it was not the fact that they died, for if I know anything, it is that death is just another stage. Merely removing clothes and putting on another set of clothes. It is the manner in which they passed into the Underworld that fills me with anguish. How can the Gods watch with pitiless eyes as good people are treated such by carriers of darkness?’
Gwyndion was planted, staring into space when Maya went to look for him in his quarters in Shellhome. Since Bwani had forced the appointed guard, a Faian farmer, to release the two Webx in the holding cells, Gwyndion had often seemed abstracted. Maya regretted that events had been moving so quickly, and they were all so caught up in their grief none of them had bothered to attempt to help the young Webx. Claw, too, had been absorbed in his anguish and was keeping to his quarters. Maya’s heart ached for him, knowing the young wizard had felt deeply for Rosedark.
Fortunately, Gwyndion’s release from the cells hadn’t been defended by the villagers. The few Faiaites they spotted in the streets had appeared dazed, lowering their eyes and hurrying away when they had spotted Bwani and his men in the streets. An aura of shame hung over the village, and from behind more than one bolted door the sounds of sobbing could be heard. The air had still smelt of ash from the recent bonfires, and in every direction the wizards had looked, the sharp expectant eye of a vulture or a messenger bird had stared at them. As they walked through the hushed streets, they had found themselves staring uneasily at every shadow, every leaf that blew along the ground. None of the men had been able to cope with walking past the pantehlum, where flies and vultures still clung to the burning poles and the smell of the flesh of their friends lingered. Edwen, Harbog and Steppm had volunteered to undergo the gruesome task of shifting through the ashes of the bonfires to see if there was any part of their friends that remained to offer to Hecate. They had returned white-faced and morose, and had refused to speak about their experiences at the pantehlum.
When the cell door had eventually opened on the Webx, the wizards were dismayed to see the poor condition they had quickly fallen into. Their leaves and root legs were discoloured in places, their eyes were dull, and a strange rasping sound came from their chests when they tried to walk.
‘You bastards!’ Bwani screamed at the silent streets of Faia, as they had emerged from the cells supporting the two Webx. Some of the villagers watched with handkerchiefs clenched in their hands and magical symbols sketched over their doors to ward off evil.
‘Don’t attempt to hide behi
nd the Lightcaster, you cowards! My men and I will find you. We will put our swords through you, your children and your elderly! May a curse fall upon you all and your future generations for the evil you committed! May Charon refuse to take you in his ferry and Hecate send forth the Erinyres, and may your skies always be dark and your food filled with worms and your children decay early. Bastards!’
‘Stop!’ Gwyndion had pleaded. Sap trickled from his mouth in a thick green gob, causing Edwen to inhale sharply. ‘They were not to blame, it was the Lightcaster! Remember, they were good to you when you were of stone!’
But Bwani in his wrath took no notice. The curtains in the rows of cottages twitched as he stood in the street waving his sword over his head.
‘You burn women and lock up Webx. Well, come for me, Lightcaster! Come for a soldier, for a wizard. Not for defenceless girls! I am here waiting, send your servants from hell! My sword is waiting! It is hungry for your cowardly belly!’ His cry echoed through the cobbled, rat-infested streets, but even the wind was silent.
‘Come on, brother!’ called Edwen. ‘We can’t leave the Webx out in the cold.’
‘Look!’ Harbog called, pointing up into the grey sky. Floating in a dark grey cloud was a black chariot drawn by cats. ‘You’ve alerted Freya with your talk of curses and killing. Come on, Bwani! Time to move, before you have the Berserkers upon us!’
Bwani hardly glanced at the golden-haired goddess above. ‘I will visit the cursing altars,’ he screamed into the shadows. ‘I will not rest until justice is served and the blood of the Lightcaster is upon my hands!’
‘Stop Bwani! Freya’s starting to get too interested in your words!’ Edwen pointed upwards and Bwani saw the cats beginning to descend towards the ground. Wild cries from Freya were answered with yowls from her cats.
The wizards had taken the Webx back to Shellhome, silent but for the sound of Gwyndion’s raspy breaths and the ominous voice of the land protesting in rumbles. Samma had recovered the quickest from her ordeal, although pain and grief now stared from her eyes. The physician Crones had administered their crystal wand healings, but warned they had scant knowledge about healing a Webx. It was Gwyndion the residents of Shellhome remained concerned for, for although his racking cough had ceased, he would sit for long periods at a time totally withdrawn, ignoring all outside distractions.
When Maya entered the chamber, Samma sprang back from where she had been trying to console Gwyndion. Her eyes met Maya’s in mute horror. Maya crouched down, dismayed at the faint rotting smell that Gwyndion broadcast. Was his grief so strong he was rotting? She cursed their ignorance of Webx people. Kneeling beside his bed of soil, she took his hand in hers and tried not to react to his dull eyes. ‘My friend,’ she said gently. But it was hopeless, tears were pouring down her face. If the Webx were to die, she thought her heart would surely break. ‘You are suffering indeed, but you must fight against being broken by grief. Don’t let the Lightcaster claim another victim, Gwyndion. You know he thrives on the fear he creates. Let us not feed him any more than we have already done.’ There was no response from the Webx, who stared at her as if he failed to recognise who she was.
‘You’re not alone in your anguish,’ Maya continued. ‘Samma needs you to comfort her, and the Crone is calling for you.’ Now a spark came to his eye. Faint, but a spark. Encouraged, Maya pressed on. ‘The Crone is nearly destroyed by grief, but she is fighting it. Can you believe, the Old Mother attempted to hunt the Lightcaster?’
Samma made a whishing sound which Maya took to be amusement or wonder.
‘She is asking for you,’ Maya said. ‘You must pull yourself together enough to visit her. We’re half out of our minds with worry for her and if your visit can alleviate the old one’s mourning, we will be grateful.’ The papery, leafy arms Maya held moved slightly. His head came upright, and she realised he was looking directly at her with eyes that now contained some faint essence of himself.
‘Lead me to her,’ he said.
The memory of the unsteady progress of the Webx down the hallway of Shellhome would haunt Maya for a long time. The hallway that smelt of lemons and recent grief. Samma hovered near, but Maya was firm, Khartyn had to receive Gwyndion on her own. She knew better than to ignore the Crone’s instructions. Keying the password into Khartyn’s room, she led Gwyndion in. For a moment, Maya felt the energy of Rosedark and she paused, disorientated and staring into the darkness. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw Khartyn, propped up in bed, her long silver hair spread on the pillow. She looked mummified, and Maya felt with an overwhelming sense of loss that they might soon be preparing Khartyn’s body for the Underworld.
‘Don’t save your coins for my eyes yet.’ The dry voice came from the bed and she realised the Crone had been reading her mind. Maya dipped her head in embarrassment.
‘Thank you for bringing him here, Emma’s child. You did well.’ The voice was a whisper, a nightmare, a birth of life. Retreating awkwardly from the room and nearly tripping over her long purple skirt, Maya longed to ask Khartyn about the energy of Rosedark she had just felt.
‘If you have to ask, you’re not ready to know.’ The whisper came again. ‘I shall call you when we have finished our talk.’ It was a dismissal. Maya went. Later, she was to curse herself for obeying the Crone’s instructions and escorting Gwyndion to her, the memory of her ancient face and nightmare whisper voice staying with her.
Bwani came to her bedchamber that night with a face filled with hope. Their handfasting had never been fully consummated, since Maya had been taken by the snatchers and they had discerned their friends’ deaths. He moved under the cover, extinguishing the candles that blazed by the side of the bed on the candelabra and lay beside his bride. She was naked, expecting him, and her skin smelt faintly of vanilla and jasmine flowers. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see her long black hair, a red rose she had placed upon his pillow and the hollow in the base of her throat.
‘Maya,’ he said. It was one word, but it was filled with all words and contained everything he had in his heart. He felt tears come to his eyes at the emotion he was feeling, and he struggled to control himself. She smiled at him and with her hand began to trace the contours of his face.
‘My wizard,’ she said. ‘My hero who entered the world of the dead for me. You faced the Mother of Monsters.’
His face creased in pain at the memory. ‘Not here, he said kissing the hollow at her throat. ‘Don’t speak of the dead here.’ His mouth found hers and they kissed. She began moving her hips against him, inviting him.
‘Maya,’ he said again. He felt as if his body was about to explode.
‘Now,’ she said, reaching for his erect cock. ‘Now, do it to me hard. No gentleness, no soft words. Fuck me hard, Bwani. I’ve waited for so long for you.’ He needed no further invitation.
She was on top of him, moving, enjoying the feeling of power and control, loving his open mouth, his muttered encouragement. She could sense his climax was near and she panicked, so near to the brink herself. Then a vision of Claw came to her — she was sucking on Claw as Bwani watched. The fire burst through her body, so intense it was almost painful, and she cried aloud in triumph.
Later, they slept in each other’s arms and Maya dreamt. In the dream there was a strange clicking noise, and four figures standing. They wore gold masks and were dressed in black pants and tops. They stood facing each other, and then the first figure spoke.
‘Stars will fall.’
The next figure nodded and turned to Maya. ‘Cocks will crow.’
The third figure held out a hand and a small flame appeared in the palm. ‘Fire will envelop the world.’
The fourth figure’s body became a rotting mass of compost. ‘The vegetation will be destroyed.’
Then they spoke in unison. ‘And the Dreamers will awake!’ They fell upon her and became four black bears, tearing Maya with their claws. She tried to scream, to push them away but she couldn’t move.
She was in a darkened, circular, glass room. The lights went out and Maya gasped in amazement. From one window she saw hundreds of angels floating among the stars and galaxies. From another window hung suspended angels and Maya knew that these were the captured Fallen Ones, hanging in eternal torment awaiting punishment.
Through a third window she glimpsed an incredible fragrant garden, ripe with fruits and trees. It seemed to throb with energy and life. In the middle of the beautiful scenery was a tree from which wafted an incredible smell. From the roots of the tree came four streams. One stream was of honey, one of oil, one of milk and the last of wine. The streams divided into four separate directions. Near the fragrant tree was an olive tree. Floating and thing around this garden were three hundred angels, singing as they tended to the garden.
Then a darker scene, where prisoners writhed on the ground in agony as dark angels, carrying weapons, tortured them. The only illumination in that window was a small gloomy fire. From another window she could see an observatory where men and women studied the suns and moons of different dimensions. Yet another revealed where Grigori angels, who had slept with Bluite women, were imprisoned and awaited sentence.
There was a dazzling window where angelic beings watched the cycles of time, and another where whole hosts of Archangels, Cherubim and Seraphim surrounded a throne of radiant light. The throne was made of crystal and was on wheels; beneath it were tongues of fire. Maya could not make out the figure on the throne, the light was so dazzling it hurt her eyes.
A Fire in the Shell: Circle of Nine Trilogy 3 Page 19
