No. Horus’s voice was clear in her head. Such a loud, deep. clear voice for an exhausted little owl. I came for Simeon to return to New Baffin. I think it may he too late. Shambzhla is singing the great wave.
Edwen had returned with a golden dish of water which Khartyn seized. She held it for the owl to drink from, and attempted to still the trickle of blood that came from his ear. The wizards had joined hands to call upon angelic healing energies. Khartyn looked at them with an anxious glance, the quarrelsome words they had spoken forgotten for now. An injured Athena owl was a deeply serious occurrence in Eronth. Their close associations with the Tremite Scribes and the goddess Athena meant they were held in great reverence in Eronth. The thought came to the drone that Horus may have encountered the glass Faery.
The voice responded immediately to her thought. Yes, It is called Brier. Child of the Eom and the Imomm changeling Fenn . . . Brier must be stopped. She is laying eggs all over New Baffin. Her voice kills. We fought, but I managed to escape.
Many things had surprised Khartyn in her life, but few as much as the thought of the dandy Athena owl who was cosseted and petted by Rudmay, the social darling of New Baffin, fighting off a glass Faery intent on destroying all Eronth. Some of her surprise must have shown on her face for Horus hooted weakly. No chance against me, he bragged. A pink ribbon does not mean that Horus’s roar is not mighty. The words might have carried more effect if after uttering them, his eyes hadn’t upturned as he collapsed.
Simeon was lying in the clinic with healing compresses over his eyes as the server healer fastened a pale mauve ray onto his eye area. A lone Crone sat in the peaceful healing room, her ergom familiar on her shoulder. They both hurriedly rose to their feet when Khartyn entered the room. Khartyn indicated for them to leave her as she sat down to send more energy to Simeon. The pale green curtains at the windows fluttered in the night breeze.
From the window the Crone could see the glow of the Triple Moons and a few night torches burning from Faia. It was a peaceful scene except for the heavy fog of cloud that seemed to be choking the village. The emotions of the villagers, their own thought patterns were threatening to smother them, Khartyn realised. It gave her little solace. Simeon stirred in his sleep and called out something unintelligible. Khartyn bent over to look at him and adjusted the light ray. There was nothing to be done for his eyes as all of the rods and nerves had been singed away by the Lightcaster. What the Crones were attempting to treat him for was shock and depression. His recovery was slow. Most days he lay in bed, communicating nothing. Perhaps the news Horus had delivered before he collapsed would help him.
‘Simeon? Horus arrived with a message for you.’ There was no answer, but Khartyn was sure the hermaphrodite was listening. ‘It’s an urgent message from Rudmay.’
‘Traitor.’ Just one word from the bed. One word was enough.
‘No traitor. The Scribe allowed her valuable Athena owl, her one true friend to deliver the message to you. Would a traitor do that? Horus was attacked by the glass Faery as he flew to you. Would a traitor sacrifice their precious owl for you?’
The figure in the bed tried to sit up, causing a warning beep from the healing server. Khartyn pushed him back onto the bed before alarms began to ring through Shellhome.
‘Horus! Is he all right? Is he dead?’
Khartyn smiled to herself in the darkness. ‘The plucky little owl is, as we speak, sitting in the best room in Shellhome attended by servers who are dying his feathers and polishing his claws to his satisfaction. He lost some blood from the glass Faery’s voice, but it seems Athena owls are a lot more resilient than any of us could have guessed.’
There was a short silence while Simeon digested the news. Since hearing about Rudmay and Horus his whole aura had lightened and lifted up from his body, which was a good sign. Khartyn marvelled at the relationship between the three of them. She would never have picked a Tremite Scribe and Athena owl to befriend a street urchin hermaphrodite like Simeon. Aphrodite’s affairs of the heart were more complex and subtle than anyone could guess, although Rudmay was far from conventional in every aspect of her life.
‘What was the message?’ Simeon asked in an offhand tone.
‘She wishes you to return to New Baffin as soon as you are well enough to travel and to live with her and Horus. She will care for you.’
‘I don’t need her pity,’ Simeon said in a tight, strained voice. ‘Nor her guilt. She sent me to the Lightcaster knowing he would torch out my eyes. What sort of friend is she? She should have left me to die by Flembow, it would have been more merciful!’
Khartyn listened to the flow of angry words. She took hold of his hand. ‘We don’t know what Rudmay saw. We are all guilty of believing the Tremite Scribes are all-seeing and yet they are not. Like us, they can get things wrong, misinterpret, or just not see things altogether. Even if she did see clearly, she might have still been compelled to send you to the Lightcaster because of the role you were to play in future events. It is comforting for us to think the Scribes are all-knowing, all-powerful, yet even the goddesses and gods make mistakes. To have the gift of all-seeing is both a curse and blessing. Look at the Janusites . . .’ Here she stopped, because the memory of gentle Ano screaming as he burnt to death next to Mary and Rosedark was still too raw, too painful to bear.
‘She should have stopped me.’ Simeon said. ‘What sort of person is she to blind me? I hold her responsible! Not him, her!’
Khartyn nodded, feeling hope for his recovery. The boil of pus he had been nurturing within him was lanced. His anger, his bitterness, his self-pity — all were preferable to his silence.
It was a long, miserable cold night. Khartyn sat by the hermaphrodite’s bedside as he slept for short periods. Occasionally he called out in his sleep, for his mother, for Rudmay and for other women he had known. Once he woke up bathed in sweat and screamed his own name into the night, but with these exceptions he slept restlessly. The Crone had plenty of time to think as she sat there. Rosedark. Her energy felt so strong around the Crone tonight. How she missed her sweet, pure, mischievous assistant. How she regretted she had never had the chance to say goodbye to her properly and let her beautiful girl know how much she loved her. Then Mary, with her Bluite birth and Eronth ways. Her calm, blue eyes that never failed to soothe Khartyn. Mary would have known what to do in these turbulent times.
It seemed incredible that life as the Crone had known it could change so swiftly overnight. That the peaceful, idyllic routine of life in Eronth could become a world where a Lightcaster could invoke the Eronthites to burn their witches; where Sea Hags could live among them after scheming for many Turns of the Wheel to overthrow Eronth under Shambzhla’s leadership; where a child of the Eom could destroy lives with its voice and lay its eggs over the countryside. And if the messenger birds were correct about the giants on the move, then they were all in serious trouble.
Outside, the sky turned from velvet black to a wash of pale silver as the Crone sat, lost in her tormented memories of ghosts who were once friends, and a time in Eronth she feared would never come again. Innocence had been lost, blood now marked the land.
Dawn came, and it was a relief for Khartyn to hear the sunbirds singing, and to greet the Crone who had come to take over her vigil at Simeon’s bed. The hermaphrodite’s breathing was more regular and his countenance more peaceful as he slept. Her constant presence was no longer needed by his bedside.
Leaving the room and thinking wearily she would need a wash to try to wake herself up, she was startled to nearly collide with Claw. He sprang up from where he had been crouched outside the doorway that led to the healing quarters. ‘Claw! What are you doing here?’ Khartyn noticed the dark smudges under his bloodshot eyes.
‘Waiting for you, Old Mother,’ he replied. At Khartyn’s expression, he tossed back his hair. ‘I cannot let you face the Lightcaster on your own. Old Mother. As one of the sacred Bird Wizards of Nine, I demand you allow me the grace of accompanying you.’
‘And I demand the same.’ A quiet voice spoke from the shadows and Bwani stepped forward.
‘And I,’ came another voice, and there was Edwen standing next to them. One by one, the nine wizards stepped forward to surround Khartyn, their colourful cloaks swirling around them: Josem, Harbog, Kjillahm, Steppm, Aaambll and Dewf. On their faces were similar expressions of resolution, combined with weariness from the long night spent debating and planning strategy.
‘No arguing. You’re outnumbered, Crone,’ Bwani said. Then in a more serious tone he added, ‘Give us this chance Khartyn, to repair the damage we did to Eronth and to honour the memory of the maid, Rosedark, Mary and Ano.’
Khartyn paused. Slowly, she smiled. ‘Why do I have the feeling that you wizards will come no matter what I say?’ she said. ‘Well, if you wish to be recorded as a suicidal bunch of fools, then follow me when I leave. But pray let me rest my old bones for a short while!’ Her eyes had lost some of their strain when she met Bwani’s gaze.
Maya watched as the wizards and Khartyn prepared to mount their ilkamas for the short journey to the Borderlands where Khartyn had scryed the Lightcaster was hiding. The entire household of Shellhome had turned out to farewell the wizards and Crone. The remaining servers stood to one side, with a handful of Janusites and Geldoz who had been managing Shellhome’s domestic affairs. The cooks and the kitchen servers stood clustered together. Even the stable staff emerged, covered in dust and cobwebs, to wave goodbye to the party The general air in the courtyard was one of deep sadness, as if the spectators were convinced they were never going to see Khartyn and the wizards again.
Khartyn looked impossibly fragile upon her ilkania, so old and weary, looking as dangerous as a handful of clouds. Many of the onlookers shook their heads in amazement that she was still alive, let alone perched up on an ilkama riding to tackle a fully grown Lightcaster. She gave Maya a nod from her ilkama and the hooded, ancient eyes swept over her stomach, branding her with the knowledge that the Crone held. Maya found herself longing to run up to the Crone and kiss her hand goodbye, and beg her to try to love her. She felt a deep physical ache at witnessing her departure, but she resisted the urge, fearing Khartyn’s sharp-voiced rejection. She would have to accept she was never going to measure up to Rosedark or Emma. She folded her hands protectively over her stomach as if to ward off the Crone’s icy stare. She had already said her goodbyes to Bwani in the dead of night when he had crept to her bedchamber to inform her of the Circle of Nine’s decision.
Maya had felt anger sweep through her when he had first announced his intention. ‘If the Crone is egotistical and insane enough to tackle the Lightcaster on her own with nothing but a vulture bone and feather, does it mean the Circle of Nine have to throw their lives away as well?’
Bwani had no answer to her challenge, he just held her. Maya had begun to weep, huge sobs that seemed to come from the very pit of her soul. Faces flashed before her eyes as she cried. Emma, the birthmother she could not remember, the Stag Man with his huge, all-wise eyes, Diomonna, with her pointed sharp face and berry-stained lips. Old Patricia, with her rough, red chapped hands and Ellie Jane with her timid mannerisms. So many people she had lost and too few people she had loved.
‘Please don’t leave me!’ she begged. ‘Don’t go away and die!’
Bwani was both touched and concerned as he held her. He had never seen Maya so emotional. ‘Come now, my love,’ he said, trying not to betray his own fears, his voice shaking. ‘We shall return before you know it. I do not intend to be killed, sweet Maya! But we must right the wrong we did to this world when we crossed over with the Eom.’
‘Is it worth your own deaths?’ Maya had cried. ‘Let the mad old Crone go and get herself killed to rejoin her beloved Rosedark! She is centuries old and is probably ready to go. I am begging you Bwani, don’t leave me! I need you here with me!’
‘And I need to go,’ Bwani said quietly. ‘I cannot allow a Crone to take on the Lightcaster without support. I have no fear of the Underworld now that I have travelled through it.’
‘What about me!’ Maya screamed. ‘What about your wife! You’re as mad as that old hen to go chasing after the Lightcaster!’
‘Not everything is about you, Maya,’ Bwani said.
‘Fucking stone-brained man!’ Maya screamed as he left the room. ‘Go and get yourself fucking killed! Hiss! Claw!’
It had not been the most romantic goodbye Bwani could have wished for.
Now the ilkamas were restless to be away. Edwen touched his head mockingly at Maya and she nodded to him, their eyes connected. Look after him, she longed to say. Bring him hack to me alive. But she felt incapable of uttering the words, dreading the contempt she might see in Edwen’s eyes for Bwani being foolish enough to lose his heart to one brought up in the Hollow Hills.
One by one, she acknowledged the nine wizards, conscious this might be the last time she would see them. Steppm, with his handsome face, his blazing blue eyes. Cheerful, plucky Ejillahm, who flashed her a smile. Fiery, red-haired Harbog, who looked slightly nervous as he called out a booming goodbye to her. Introverted Josem; she had barely exchanged fifty words with him and now she felt a real pang she had not troubled to learn more about him. Dark-haired Aaambll, who sneered at her before riding next to Edwen and muttering some comment. Dewf, who regarded her soulfully for a few moments, reflecting her own fears and sadness in his fine features. Then Claw, with his sensitive beautiful face, his dark hair falling to his shoulders, an expression she could not read in his eyes. As he gazed upon her for a few brief moments, she felt the new life within her belly and she longed to tell him. But the dark bargain she had made with the Norns silenced her lips and she could only look on as he rode to join Steppm beside Khartyn. Finally, Bwani was in front of her, his long fair hair swept back from his face. His chakra system flashed vivid shades of pink when he looked upon Maya.
‘Forgive me,’ he said quietly, aware his words could be overheard. ‘I can only follow what I believe is right in my heart.’
‘Does your heart not tell you to stay with me to keep me safe?’ Maya could not help herself. She knew it was a terrible thing to say, but a desire to wound him for risking his life and abandoning her forced the words out. ‘You do not care to protect the child I am carrying.’
A spasm crossed his face, a mixture of emotions easily read in both his chakra wheels and eyes: joy, shock, excitement, fear, guilt. Khartyn turned her head and looked straight at Maya and she flushed red, knowing the Crone knew exactly what she had told Bwani.
Maya began to cry as the ilkamas trotted briskly from the courtyard. She had never felt so ashamed of herself, yet some dark imp inside her had made her long to wound Bwani before he left. ‘I hate you, fucking man of stone!’ she shouted, oblivious of the shock of the servers and general Shellhome staff. ‘Heart of stone, more like! Hiss, claw! Go and get yourself killed! I don’t care! I never cared!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Long live King Quimonmen! Long live the Wezom tribe! May they prosper and be Imomm friends for all time! Joy and great cheer to all Winskis in all known worlds, for Queen Diomonna has risen! If I, Jig Boy, had not seen it with my own eyes I would not believe it! A shining sun day for all Winski folk. My hands are covered in blisters from clapping, my throat is red and dry from singing. Never before have I seen such joy and feasting in the Hollow Hills.
When fat little Quimonmen flew back from his adventures with the wild goddess Medea, I confess I thought he had lost his marbles. Who would have believed a Wezom could visit the world of vultures and the magical phoenix? I tell you, Dear Reader, the Goddess works through some unsightly vessels to perform her magic. I, Jig Boy, would have been honoured to have been selected to collect the magical ashes, although then my scribe work would not have been done that day and we all know how important my words are in the Hollow Hills. As I have said numerous times in these accounts, if I, Jig Boy, do not record Winski history, who among our number will?
/> But I digress. The Wezom King arrived with his bag of ashes. We all cheered and sang a clapping song, although none of us had much faith it would work. Our great Queen’s body was dragged out by her assistants. It was pretty stinky at this stage, although she still looked as beautiful as ever, if not a touch grey. We watched as the King sprinkled the phoenix ashes over Diomonna. Not a Winski wing moved. Then! Oh miracle of miracles! She opened her eyes! Some among us screamed, some burst into tears, and some fainted. I, Jig Boy, just watched with shining eyes to make sure I recorded every moment of this occasion.
Queen Diomonna looked surprised to see us at first, then annoyed, because she had been enjoying a wonderful feast in the Underworld when Quimonmen sprinkled her with ashes. She gave us all a good tongue-forking and boxed Qnimonmen’s ears for his troubles! Then we knew our Queen had truly returned to us and the entire Hollow Hills rang with wild celebration. The only one of our number who did not join in the feasting was Diomonna herself. She sat in a corner with her head down looking half asleep and being stinky. Still a stinky Queen is better than no Queen. Then bat’s piss, and bird cries, King Quimonmen has declared they are to be married, which wade the Hollow Hills shake with cheers and happy songs from the Winskis. So Wezom and Imomm are to be joined together. The feasting is still continuing as I write, but I, Jig Boy, am very tired and must now lie down to rest my full belly and happy heart. Oh joyous, glorious day for the Imomm!
— ACCOUNT WRITTEN BY JIG BOY, SON OF ELVEN FOOT
(FORGOTTEN WHAT TURN OF THE WHEEL)
Hard at work inside the Hall of Records, Rudmay became aware something was wrong. What was it? She paused, looking up from the parchments she had been attempting to decipher for moon-ups with little success. Without Horus’s presence she found it difficult to attain the deep levels of mind power needed to work on the Tremite Book of Life. She rubbed her eyes, they felt red and sore. There was an odd feeling in the air, as if Eronth itself was holding its breath. She frowned, feeling uneasy, wishing Horus was there to guide her. She had been shocked when she had tried to communicate with the bird and had received impressions of him being attacked by the glass Faery. He had only just managed to get away due to his godlike speed, but not before a telltale trickle of blood could be spotted dripping from his ear. However, the next impression Rudmay had received was of Horns having his feathers curled by a server, so Rudmay at least knew he had survived the attack. Now she missed him terribly and ached for both his and Simeon’s return.
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