‘Don’t fear me, Dea,’ he said. ‘Follow me.’ Where? Dea thought. He moved towards her hotel door and vanished through it. Scrambling out of bed, Dea didn’t even pause to put on a robe. She unlatched the door and looked down the corridor. It was silent, eerie in the night’s cold belly. She hesitated. Had she dreamt his appearance? No, there he was for a second, indicating she should follow.
They moved together down a fire escape stairway — Cael leading, Dea following. The staircase seemed to go down forever. Then through a small door and they were outside. Dea could feel the chill of the night air on her face. Surely she could not be dreaming this when she could feel the cold? The magnificent Three Sisters rock formation across the valley stood in shadow behind them.
‘Come to me, Dea,’ he said. ‘I’ve missed you.’ Joy swept through Dea at these words, and desire, hot and strong. Desire she had believed long dead.
‘Oh Cael,’ she said, and moved towards him. He was holding out his arms, smiling. In that instant he resembled Jesus, which only made her ache for him more. She was throbbing, melting with longing. She was in his arms, moving against him. He was made of light, and yet he felt solid. She stiffened, something was wrong. Instead of skin she was embracing feathers. Claws dug into her back, two huge wings were around her. Large golden eyes were glowing at her from an owl’s face.
‘Time to go to heaven, Dea,’ the owl said. Dea screamed. The owl spun her around and she realised they were standing at the safety rail of the Three Sisters’ viewing platform.
The air was filled with noise and light. From nowhere, an animal sprang. A brief shocking glimpse of antlers, blazing eyes, a man’s face, a stag’s body. The image was all wrong and made no sense to Dea’s petrified mind. The animal reared over the two of them. The impossible thing screamed. It pushed with its hooves, striking out viciously at whatever was holding Dea. Where Dea had previously believed there to be only the space and silence of night, now she could see many beings. For a brief moment that seemed to last forever she saw radiant figures like angels pushing large amulets towards the demon that held her. Dea screamed as she was thrown onto the ground.
‘Madam! Are you all right, madam?’ Dea screamed again, mistaking the hotel security guard for some supernatural shadow of the night.
‘That’s how he found her,’ Faline concluded over the hot buffet breakfast the following morning. ‘By the side of the safety rail screaming her head off about an owl woman who was trying to throw her off the cliff. Luckily security spotted her on the closed-circuit camera sneaking out through the fire exit, and followed her. The poor guy thinks she’s some kind of mad junkie. Thankfully Dea had enough presence of mind to give him my room number and he came and got me to help settle her. She’s resting now.’ She rubbed her eyes with her hand, as if trying to erase the memory of the fear in Dea’s eyes. ‘She said the owl woman came to her disguised as Cael.’
Leonora gave a small cry.
‘Yes,’ Phillip said. ‘She knows we’re here and she’s chosen to attack quickly. She obviously perceives us as a threat.’
‘How can we fight her?’ Odolf said. ‘Her powers are much greater than they ever were in life. If she can wear the mask of Cael, she can shape the wind, bend time. She could impersonate any one of us.’
‘Yes,’ Phillip said. ‘This is the effect she is after. Now you can breathe fear, become fear. Don’t allow her to take control of your mind. She is strong, but she is not invincible. If Dea’s story is true, then this Stag Man was protecting her. He attacked Johanna and she was frightened enough of him to release Dea. There are other energies that wish for Johanna to be defeated.’
‘I think you underestimate her,’ Agatha said. Her hand moved to the scars on her neck, tracing them with her finger ‘There is good reason we fear her. She is stronger than us. Face it, Phillip! Let your ego admit it. She’s more powerful than you.’
‘We opened the doorway. We will close the doorway,’ Phillip said. He patted his mouth with his napkin. ‘I will not run from Johanna Develle, bleating like a lamb. If we stick together, combine our energies, she will find us a formidable foe.’
‘We have to move quickly,’ Lucius said. ‘I can feel her energy around us.’ The others nodded, sensing the faint malevolence that had begun to build around them in the dining room.
‘From now on, we stick together at all times,’ Phillip said, ignoring him. ‘After breakfast we will prepare a binding spell to hold her off as long as possible.’
‘I’m not sure if . . .’ Agatha began, to be silenced by a look from Phillip.
‘I am sure,’ he said. ‘She will try to attack the weaker members of the coven.’ His eyes flickered to Leonora for a moment. ‘That is why we must stick together.’
‘Excuse me, do you require more coffee?’ The question made them all start. A young brunette waitress offered a silver jug to them. Faline sensed the flicker of fear that ran through the group and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry for a moment. She could sense the others trying to frantically scan whether the waitress was genuine or Johanna in another guise. This is how madness is bred, she thought to herself. When the mind no longer recognises truth from fantasy. There are a thousand ways you could die in these mountains. A thousand ways to disappear.
He was no longer in the house. When Theresa awoke from her light doze, she felt his absence. She sat up, disorientated and confused. Where would he have gone to? Was it because they had slept together again? Old rejections chewed through her mercilessly. How could she have been fool enough to believe life would bring her happiness? He had probably laughed his head off downstairs with Sophie and Minette about screwing her again and was now on a train back to Sydney. She was shaking, trying to control the hot flow of tears that ran down her face. Time to leave. The voice was tiny and seemed to come from inside her. There was a faint smell of roses in the air. Time to leave now.
Theresa walked downstairs, carrying a small daybag crammed with a few belongings. She had left behind most of her things, not wanting to take possessions away that carried the vibration of Light Vision. It seemed she had sat in her room forever debating the best way to leave. Most of her plans had involved elaborate escapes in the middle of the night, cloaked by darkness, one silent step after another to freedom. Finally, it had been a small voice, an overwhelming feeling of certainty that the only option was the obvious one. To leave right now, in daylight and through the front door.
She walked along the musty corridor. One step, then another. She passed the lounge room where the mural was and could feel her heart begin to beat faster. Don’t think about it. Don’t look in there. The room felt cold, silent as she tiptoed past. She came to the kitchen, where Minette and Sophie were chopping vegetables. On their heads were wreaths of what had once been fresh flowers but had now died. The room seemed to be filled with dried leaves and twigs. Cobwebs hung in strand from the ceilings. Sophie looked up as she paused at the doorway and giggled. She held the blade to her lips.
‘Sneaky, sneak,’ she said.
Minette turned around to look at Theresa. Her eyes seemed to be totally black, ‘Come and kiss goodbye.’ She giggled. ‘Woof, woof. Oh, how sad it is that we must part! Come and kiss me, sweet breath, sneaking tongue, sneaky sneak.’
Theresa ignored them, continuing towards the front door. Where was Lazariel? She could not, would not re-enter the house. Outside, Alan and Daniel were sitting on the front verandah. Large antlers were attached to their heads and their faces had been chalked white. They sat wrapped in sheets, both of them staring into the distance, lost in some invisible world. Theresa moved past them. ‘Sneaky sneak,’ one of them said. She glanced at them, but neither acknowledged her. The light hurt her eyes. Where was Lazariel? She could not search for him in that house, with those doomed people. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to leave. She began the fifteen-minute walk into Katoomba, jumping at every shadow and sound. In front of her, as if guiding every nervous step, lingered the smell of roses.
Although it was the middle of the day, Katoomba looked to be deserted. Shops were shut with notices pinned to the door such as Back in One Hour. Only a few cars drove down the main street, and there were no pedestrians anywhere. Where was everyone? It was like a ghost town. Theresa’s mind raced with possibilities. A virus had infected the town, killing everyone as they slept. The entire town had packed up and left because of the strange happenings. Everyone was dead, murdered by some evil angel, like a biblical story. This was all some strange dream she had been having. There was no Katoomba, no Blue Mountains, no Australia. She was really an advanced extraterrestrial being who resembled a glass eye, living in a red satin ease and dreaming entire universes into being.
Theresa began to move faster, propelled by a sudden anxiety, dream or no dream, which insisted that Emily Robson had vanished along with the others. She had to be there. Emily had liked her, shown interest in her. Had called her pretty.
It was with relief that she approached The Silver Hen and saw there was no Out to Lunch sign posted on the door. Wherever the locals had disappeared to was obviously no concern of Emily’s. Theresa was about to approach the shop’s door when she paused before an obese black cat sitting on the kerb. There was something almost sinister in the way the cat was regarding her. Don’t be ridiculous. Scared of a fucking, fat cat.
She moved to pass it, attempting to fight the sudden hot flood of nausea in her lower stomach. Jesus, was it normal to have morning sickness when you had virtually just conceived? Theresa knew nothing about pregnancy, it was a topic that had never interested her in the past. She massaged her stomach, hoping it was just a cramp, or wind, not something more serious like a miscarriage brought on by stress. She had to get inside The Silver Hen and talk to Emily. But suddenly the idea of throwing herself on the mercy of Emily no longer seemed as appealing. What if she had just feigned affection for Theresa? Many people were insincere in overtures of friendship and mouthed platitudes of flattery they didn’t really mean. Perhaps Theresa was making a fool of herself by even thinking Emily Robson would want to talk to her. Another bolt of pain went through her and she bent double. When she opened her eyes, the cat appeared to be sneering at her as it washed its face. The idea of going anywhere near the strange creature filled Theresa with dread. The smell of roses came to her again. This time it was stronger and the fragrance seemed to take away her nausea for a moment. The smell moved away from her along the main street towards the mountains. Theresa hesitated, trying to work out whether she should enter the shop. The roses called again, this time more insistently, and with their cry the pain seemed to dissolve. She followed the roses.
Theresa walked uphill along the main road that led to the Three Sisters and the tourist information centres. A cold wind had sprung up. It blew miscellaneous items of rubbish, leaves and dust along the street. Still the fragrance of the roses called to her. Hurry, hurry, their perfumed voices sang. Theresa had never felt so alienated in her life. Her hair was whipped up by the wind and tears ran from her eyes from the sting of the cold air. Her heart seemed to skip a beat when halfway up the sloping hill, she thought she saw the cat from The Silver Hen behind her. It couldn’t be the same one! An overweight cat wouldn’t follow her all the way up here for no reason. She had to be imagining it. But when she next turned to look it had vanished. Turn back, her mind said. Turn back to The Silver Hen, where you can sit in front of a electric radiator, sip hot chocolate and listen to Emily Robson’s soothing voice. As if to confirm her mental chatter, the sky darkened ominously and it began to rain. But the hot sweet invitation of the roses intensified and Theresa continued to follow.
Her hair was streaked to her head and her clothes saturated, clinging to her back, when she reached the lookout platform for the Three Sisters. Normally there would be a coachload or two of tourists filming and photographing the view. Today, however, only one lone figure stood there, absorbed in the vista. It took a moment for Theresa to see who it was. The smell of the roses reached a crescendo as she stared at him meditating on the valley. Wings outstretched, head thrown back. A crack of lightning flashed across the sky as he turned to face her. It was Lazariel.
She ran towards him, not stopping to think, uncaring if he rejected her, pushed her away, spat in her face. All she felt in that moment was inevitability. Her entire life had been a series of steps to this scene; steps towards this man whose face was creased as if he was trying to hold back tears. This man whose hair, plastered to his head, made him look like a model for Michelangelo’s David. This imperfect, egotistical, moody man who had the eyes of a child and wings sprouting from his back. Lazariel, who held the velvet bud of night and the hot kiss of day in his soul. There could be no other man for her. The love she felt for him was too raw, too intense. She was all things to him: mother, sister, lover. She cried aloud as he held his arms out and she saw the joy flash across his face. They embraced, the hot perfumed odour of roses enveloping them.
‘I’m pregnant!’ she cried. ‘We’ve made a baby!’ In the perfection of the moment she didn’t care if he believed her, but she cried aloud at the joy that flashed in his face.
She became aware they were not alone as another crack of lightning flashed across the valley and thunder sounded. She turned and saw them standing there. Seven figures. They were of varying ages and appearance, but Theresa knew straight away they were witches. It was not the clothes they wore that told her this, although several of them sported prominent pentacles and esoteric symbols in their jewellery and they were dressed in black. Rather, it was the smell and energy pulsating out from them, the knowing in their eyes. The seven were grouped together, watching her and Lazariel standing in the rain with their arms around each other, his wings lying flat down his back.
Theresa’s eyes went from one silent watcher to another. Why didn’t they speak? Two were elderly women who stood bolt upright with blazing eyes and hard chiselled faces, clutching woollen shawls around them, oblivious of the cold wind and rain. Another was an elderly gentleman who looked as if he had stepped from the pages of a history book. His face was pouchy, and sadness lived within the lines of his face. His head was bald, polished and shining, and from his trouser pocket, a large fob watch hung. A younger couple stood together. The woman was stunningly beautiful, with long dark hair that hung to her waist and a face that belonged to an Italian Madonna portrait. She displayed her voluptuous figure in a tight black low-cut top and black jeans with long black boots. The man next to her was also gorgeous, very similar to the woman, with short dark curly hair and a surly expression.
But it was the man who stood in the centre of the group who had Theresa’s attention. Dressed in a long grey coat, he had silver hair and dark eyes which seemed to penetrate through to her soul. She took a step towards him before Lazariel restrained her. The man moved forward as his companions watched. Thunder sounded again over the valley. Now he was in front of them and Theresa could see the slight freckles on his face, the healthy tone to his skin. He was a lot older than he looked, she realised. There was something about his energy that was invigorating. He smelt like freshly cut flowers on a spring day. An unfamiliar emotion fluttered in her breast. Hope.
‘I think you had both better come with me,’ he said.
From behind green shrubbery Pepe the cat watched with twitching nose and tail. She saw the couple move hesitantly towards the coven, and the coven break into movement, surrounding the winged man and his girlfriend, and walking with them away from the lookout and further down the road for a short distance, into the foyer of the hotel where interesting smells came from. Distracted for a moment by a small skink she pounced hard on a pile of leaves, trapping it between her paws. Her mistress would have to wait for her report. Pepe nee Wendy, ex-proprietor of The Silver Hen, had some serious lizard torture and death to enjoy.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It is impossible to suppose a giant the object of love.
— EDMUND BURKE, 1757
Eronth
I
t was one thing for the giants to agree to disobey the tekti and move into Eronth, it was another thing for them to decide who should remain in the Wastelands as a rearguard until their invasion proved successful. It took many moon-ups and scores of violent arguments in which one of the giantesses lost an eye in a bloody battle. Fareirrod, to his shame, found himself ordered to stay behind to look after Amolda while Geferd and Angerwulf joined the delegation. Geferd was nearly beside herself at being given the honour of marching upon Eronth and spent an entire day preparing her face and body for the battle. She teased her hair elaborately, and painted stripes upon her face and chest in Solumbi blood.
Fareirrod, sick to his stomach, watched the elaborate preparations of the half-dozen giants who had been selected for the mission. This was war the giants were preparing for, and although Fareirrod had little admiration for the puny Eronthites, his conscience pricked him that the giants had the advantage of their size and brute strength against them. In the hysteria whipped up by Geferd’s speech, the dangers of marching against a people advanced in magical arts appeared to have been overlooked. There were many powerful Crones in Eronth who would not hesitate to use their powers to exterminate the giants if they believed their society to be in danger. The giants were also risking the wrath of the goddesses, who showed little mercy when their rules were flouted.
However, there was no reasoning with the giants. The rebellion, which for so many seasons had been simmering in their breasts had finally erupted, and the mood was for bloody war. Fareirrod could sympathise with their feelings, he too fostered resentment for being exiled to the arid Wastelands, but he feared for the giants’ future if they marched boldly into Eronth. Brute force the giants might have, yet despite their superior size they lacked the subtle cunning, the patient, malevolent mind a warrior fighter must possess. Still, it was easy to become swept away in the exhilaration now raging in the giants’ camp. Battle songs were sung, and heroic poems composed. The flag, hastily made up of a ripped pair of Angerwulf’s trousers, featured a large burning shell crudely sketched to represent the takeover of Eronth. It was a form of madness, Fareirrod thought, but even he was engulfed in the tide of emotion that swept over them all and wept heartily as he said his goodbyes to the six chosen giants.
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