There. There it was again, that strange, aching silence. Then suddenly, a loud banging from outside the room. Startled, Rudmay got up and peeped into the corridor. ‘Joseph?’ she called. No answer. She walked down the winding corridor hoping to see one of the Tremite Scribes or the Geldoz Joseph, but there was no sign of life. She was reluctant to knock on any of the corridor doors and disturb the Scribes, because invading the privacy of any Scribe when they were attempting to work was strongly discouraged.
The banging was coming from the aquarium where the mermain Rudi was housed for observation purposes. Rudmay was started to see her knocking on the side of the aquarium, a huge smile on her face, revealing her jagged teeth. When she saw Rudmay standing in the corridor, she screeched with laughter and banged again on the glass with abnormal strength. Rudmay was reluctant to approach the glass, filled with an irrational fear the mermain would reach through the glass and pull her into the water. This is not good or normal, a part of her brain warned. Call Joseph!
She was walking back to her chambers when it happened. The world around her began to shake. The corridor of the Hall of Records had become a moving rug, and Rudmay a dust mite upon the rug. The earthquake was over as quickly as it had begun, leaving Rudmay shaken. No damage seemed to have occurred to the building around her, although Rudi’s banging on the glass had intensified.
Panic stricken, Rudmay realised what was going on and ran to try to get to the lift to go outside, but the emergency alarm system, normally set in place when a major disaster was occurring, had triggered a force-field screen that could not be penetrated from either side. Rudmay beat her hands against it, calling to Joseph. The mermain, laughing at her panic, imitated her shrieking for Joseph as she continued striking her fists upon the glass. Doors began to open along the corridors, as Scribes Rudmay had only seen infrequently over the years looked out to enquire what was going on.
‘The flood,’ Rudmay said. ‘It’s happening again. Shambzhla’s destroying everything!’
The Scribes exchanged worried glances. Several of them had received direct predictions concerning the floods, but there had been alternative threads picked up that might have occurred. Now the worst was happening overhead and they were powerless to prevent it.
‘What is Rudi banging like that for?’ Wollemoonx snapped, his fingers covered in ink and irritated at the disruption to his studies.
‘Celebrating Shambzhla’s revenge,’ Rudmay said. She beat with her hands against the force-field, but it refused to budge.
‘Best to go back to work and keep ourselves busy,’ Wollemoonx growled and disappeared back into his room. Rudmay looked at the other scribes and shook her head. Old Woolly was so self-absorbed it shouldn’t have surprised her that he would prefer to keep studying rather than worry about a mere tidal wave threatening the city.
After the Great Flood of Unah, the Tremite Scribes had been moved underground into secure chambers. This was partly to protect the Scribes from the survivors of Unah who had been furious at their failure to warn them against the floods, and also to safeguard them in case of future emergencies. Although they were deep underground, the air around them seemed to grow ominously darker as though mirroring what was happening overhead. The Hall of Records gave an enormous shudder, and then came the sensation of a huge wave approaching the city. Rudmay could sense the immense panic and fear that swept through the city as its civilians screamed and ran, some trying in vain to outrun the wave, others scurrying under buildings and furniture to escape the great mass of sea water. Time now had no meaning. A breath held entire galaxies and worlds. With a sound like a roaring bushfire, the wave broke over New Baffin.
The Scribes held hands, Athena owls perched on their shoulders, hooting wildly. Some of the Scribes sobbed quietly as they received one vivid impression after another. Buildings being swept away. People screaming, running in the streets, snatched up in the tidal wave. Sea Hags, mermain and grotesque sea animals riding the waves laughing, grabbing whatever bodies were in their path. Old, young, animals; the sea knew no discrimination. Broken bones, lungs gasping for breath. The sky turning black. Aphrodite statues being smashed to pieces. The screaming, weeping and wailing of a thousand voices. A roaring, cracking sound that seemed to last forever. The great wave in Rudmay’s vision seemed to be hundreds of metres high. Sailing ships that had been on the harbour were snatched up and destroyed in seconds. Miniature, dark figures fell from the splinters of wood cascading around them, screaming as they fell into the dark rush of water. Trees, buildings, ilkamas; all were forced into submission by the lethal wall of water.
Rudmay stood frozen in horror as she received the impression of these scenes. For so long now she had been warning the New Baffinites of their arrogant attitude towards the sea-dwellers. She and Horus had looked on with pity in their hearts as beautiful sea creatures like the white sea panthers, countless fish, Asrai and Nereids lost their lives in the fishermen’s nets. Under Horus’s instructions, she had held public forums, and wrote numerous articles for papers and magazines in an attempt to educate the citizens of New Baffin. She had been far from the only scribe who had been concerned about Shambzhla’s displeasure. Professor Wollemoonx, the cantankerous Sixth Scribe, had been absorbed with the disturbing weather patterns affecting New Baffin. Several oracles had also uttered sinister predictions regarding the sea. The problem was, in a city like New Baffin which had an abnormal amount of oracles for the population, truth was often camouflaged among the predictions of the false sightseers. It seemed as if history would repeat itself; the Great Flood of Unah that had destroyed the old city had also occurred after many seasons of disrespect to Shambzhla.
When Rudmay had pointed this out in her articles, she had been criticised for appearing to side with the sea Warrior Queen. In consequence, badly needed funds were withdrawn from the Hall of Records and both Horus and herself had received death threats.
Despite her sympathies with the sea people, Rudmay found the psychic impressions of what appeared to be thousands of New Baffinites being killed difficult to witness. She held hands with her fellow Scribes to amplify their psychic telepathy. Listening with horror she heard a thousand mouths joined in one contracted scream as a city was destroyed, numerous prayers and pleas to Aphrodite, and the sound of the merpeople in the waves laughing as they visited their long pent-up fury upon New Baffin, whipped up by the wild voice of Shambzhla, carried in the wind.
To add to the general confusion, the lights in the corridor dimmed, leaving the Scribes in darkness. Rudi’s banging and hysteria had increased to a frenzy. With disbelief the Scribes heard the aquarium shatter. Glass, water and fish poured into the corridor in a miniature version of what was happening outside. They were quickly waist deep in cold water. Worse still, a more ominous sound was heard; the heavy thud and scream of triumph as Rudi slithered in the dark among them.
The Wastelands
Gwyndion already knew where he and Samma were even as the pyramid of light dissolved around them. The two Webx stood in front of an apparition that for so long had been an obsession. There was no mistaking the four sinister pointing towers and the red banner that fluttered above them, the skeletons curved around the top of the towers in grotesque contortions after their last feeble death kicks. They were standing in front of the Azephim castle in the Wastelands. For a brief second, terror grabbed him by the throat and issued a harsh cry to flee. It was Samma who gave him strength, coming forward to stand next to him. He looked at her for a moment and their eyes connected. There was so much he would have loved to have said to her. She took his hand and drew it to her lips and kissed it. An expression of similar yearning crossed her face. There is still time to flee, Gwyndion thought wildly. What business is this of the Webx? Surely it is more important to love and be loved rather than continue to fight old battles that time never resolves? But his doubts came too late, for standing with them outside the castle like a classical, perfectly proportioned statue come to life was the Stag Man. He looked at t
he two Webx with his beautiful dark gold eyes and bowed his head slowly to them. He was in his animal form, with no trace of the human about him, his antlers covered in numerous markings and scars.
The Stag Man’s scent drifted to Gwyndion, the harsh musky animal odour, the light serene tang of a breeze, the musty, secret essence of a Paleolithic cave. Now Gywndion knew there was to be no turning back. Everything that had occurred in his life had led him this far. His idyllic time as a shootling on Zeglanada. The Tragic Day of Ashes and the loss of his Hostlings. His brief time of madness in the Hollow Hills, and studying under Rudmay in the Hall of Records. The ordeal of facing the Warrior Queen Shambzhla and selecting the fish containing Samma’s soul so she could revert back from a meerwog to her true Webx form. All these events now seemed so precious and undervalued. All of them and a million others had ushered him too quickly to this moment.
The intricately carved wooden door to the castle opened slowly and an Azephim angel stepped outside and unfurled his large wings. He was a repellent, although fascinating sight to Gwyndion. The angel was clothed in a brown leather thong that covered his genitals and brown strap-up sandals lacing his legs to his knees. His chest was deeply engraved with markings and scars. Being so close to one of the deadly Azephim was an intimidating experience. So close that the network of veins running through his dark wings were clearly visible. Bone and turquoise jewellery adorned the angel’s arms and ankles. The angel snarled when he saw the Webx, who were frozen to the spot as every natural instinct for self-preservation swept over them, but the Stag Man knocked his heels against the ground and the angel opened the door for them with a mocking flourish.
‘Welcome to the home of the damned,’ he hissed.
The Stag Man trotted through the poorly lit doors of the castle, giving a warning glance to Gwyndion and Samma as they followed him. A stone image of a cherub’s face above the door, encircled by snakes, grinned lasciviously and then hissed at them as they passed beneath. Clearly, they were not welcome here.
They came to a vast hallway, cool and shadowy. A black panther startled them when it rose as if birthed from shadows. Fixing them with its enormous jade eyes, it snarled but let them pass. Candelabra held by human hands covered the walls, adding an eerie glow. The smell of something rotten, covered by the sweet perfume of thousands and thousands of rose petals falling from the air and lying in decaying black bundles on the floor, combined with the sharp odour of wild animals living together. There was only time for the briefest of impressions of suits of armour and slashed oil portraits hanging on the walls, a bowl of fruit where a yellow rat perched, a red book on a small table from which a thin trail of smoke drifted.
The Azephim angel continued to lead the way with the Stag Man next to him and the two Webx following. Brocades and tapestries hung on the stone walls, much of the detailed work grown thin in places with age and covered in mould. Spider webs drifted from the ceiling and they had to brush them aside as they moved along the corridor. Chandeliers blazed in great fountains of silver and gold light from the ceilings and the hallway smelt of patchouli, decaying roses and uneasy dreams. Azephim family portraits watched them pass, painted eyes following them with hatred. Black marble statues with broken arms and heads lined the passages, many of them with oversized kylons erect and grotesque. Along the twisting corridors they passed small oval stained-glass windows featuring brilliant displays of jewel-like scenes, splashing a miniature world of colour into the dim corridors. Scrutinising them as they passed were Azephim guards, each more formidable and frightening than the last, all with waist-length dark hair, battle scars, filed teeth and enormous wings. Each guard saluted the Azephim escorting them, some snarling contemptuously at the Webx. The Stag Man seemed to intimidate them, however, for most fell silent at his approach, watching him with narrow eyes. Leather doors were opened with a flourish by angels. Rose petals fell through the air, striking the odd procession like snow falling, then toppling onto the ground to decay under their feet.
The winding corridor appeared to be endless, as if somehow their angel escort was merely playing with them, deceiving them by leading them back to the beginning of their journey. The smoke drifting from the candelabra was beginning to make Gwyndion feel sick. His leaves folded inwards around him, and he wondered again at his readiness to accept Khartyn’s plan so easily. He could hear the sounds of a piano being played in the distance, a repetitive tune that caused a chill to flicker down his spine.
An Azephim angel stood guard in front of a red leather door. He banged his spear on the ground when he saw the party approach, but allowed them to brush past him as they entered the doorway. They were so close Gwyndion could smell the angel’s breath, see the tiny veins that outlined his dark, full lips. It was a very different sensation to be inside the Azephim castle and be faced with these creatures on their home turf than it was from merely discussing the idea with Khartyn at Shellhome. Gwyndion could feel Samma’s shallow breathing beside him and he knew she too was extremely frightened by this castle of shadows. The two Webx walked together as one, the sound of the Stag Man’s hooves ringing on the stone floor of the castle steps.
They were moving downwards now. The air began to feel cooler around them, and moisture and ferns covered the walls. The teasing, horrible sound of the piano being played was stilled, but from the dense bricks of the castle walls around them could be heard pleading whispers and faint agonised screams, as if the very foundations of the castle had recorded the impressions of souls walled within it and left to die. Gwyndion could glimpse faint stains of red on the stone steps. Once, as they made their way down he received a quick shocking glimpse of an entire wall covered in dark black blood, guts and entrails. Then the image vanished, leaving him feeling sick and afraid. Paranoid thoughts began to race through his mind. How did he know he could trust the Crone and the Stag Man? Perhaps they had betrayed both himself and Samma and he had been offered as some kind of sacrifice to these bloodthirsty angels. Why had Khartyn seemed to have found it so difficult to look him in the eye recently? Why had the Azephim guards allowed them such easy access to their castle?
Still they continued to descend downwards. Now there were fewer Azephim guards posted, which only served to increase Gwyndion’s anxiety. He could hear the squeaking of rats and mice and the more they descended, the more brazen the rodents became, Finally, when the air was so thin and icy he could see goosebumps upon the flanks of the Stag Man, they reached a doorway. The Azephim angel snarled softly, then he turned to look at Gwyndion and his black lips rolled upwards in what looked to be a smile.
‘The tree people are blessed by Alecom to see the treasures of the Azephim,’ he said. The Stag Man struck the floor with his hooves and the angel hurriedly fumbled for the keys he wore around his waist on a chain, each one encased in a leather pouch. He found the appropriate key and opened the door. The party stepped inside.
It was like entering hell. Nothing else could describe the emotion Gwyndion felt as he looked at the scenes around him and smelt the stench of pain, suffering and torture. They were in a large, sterile laboratory. The odour of chemicals and gases hung in the air. Miscellaneous glass jars and bottles stood lined on shelves covered in dust and cobwebs. There were stuffed figures; a grizzly bear and two Bluites. Stacked around the room were numerous cages filled with different species that had obviously been experimented upon. Ergom heads on bats; tethered to a pole was a maja spider, its bloated furry body grown grey with age, with the head of a small girl whose hair had long turned white. She whimpered in fear when she spotted the intruders.
In a large cage against the wall was the pitiful sight of four Imomm Faeries, or what had once been Imomm Faeries. Now they had the heads of Faiaites, and were horribly disfigured from having their wings removed. Beside him, Gwyndion could feel Samma’s distress. There were numerous other mutilated creatures but Gwyndion’s attention was focused on the rows of spinnerets placed carefully against the wall. His leaves began to shake and rustle. For so lo
ng he had imagined this moment. Tanzen and Rozen . . . Among the cocoons were his Hostlings. The Azephim angel moved away from them and went over to the maja tarantula to pat it, causing the child to cry harder.
Then Gwyndion felt what he had overlooked before. The Eom. The crystal was in the room with them, placed unnoticed on a table stacked with specimen jars filled with snakes and spiders. It had chosen to keep its presence a secret when they had entered the room, preferring to observe quietly. And there, propped against the table were two large spinnerets. Gwyndion realised he was staring at what remained of Tanzen and Rozen.
Rage swept through Gwyndion’s veins, his roots and leaves. He felt like screaming his misery aloud, rushing over and ripping the spinnerets open with his bare hands.
No. The Stag Man’s voice sounded in his head. Destroy the Eom first.
Gwyndion was taken aback. Destroy the Eom? How? He became aware Samma was surreptitiously passing him the dagger that Khartyn had taken from Maya. Large tears filled her eyes. Then Gwyndion understood, and a terrible desire for life came over him. He had known Samma for such a brief time in her Webx form, it seemed cruel to have to be parted from her now. She shook her head sadly at him, her leaves rustling around her face. I will not leave you, she promised him in her silvery voice. I will be coming with you.
A Fire in the Shell: Circle of Nine Trilogy 3 Page 36
