Their Azephim escort was growing restless. He scraped his long claws along one of the table tops. ‘Tell him to take the spinnerets and leave now!’ he snarled. ‘They have proven useless in activating the Eom, they’re probably long dead in their cocoons!’ The angel must have sensed something in the mocking expression the Stag Man shot at him, for his eyes narrowed to tiny red slits and he began to snarl softly while his mind attempted to work out the best chance of escape from the dungeon laboratory.
Nobody will be leaving this room. The Stag Man’s voice returned to Gwyndion’s head. When you plunge that dagger into the body of the Eom, the blade, which has been blessed by the Dreamers, will not only destroy the Eom, but all occupants of this room. For some, a merciful death long overdue.
What of you? Gwyndion thought back. The Stag Man was so deeply entrenched in the myth and folklore of Eronth it seemed impossible his life was about to be terminated by none other than Gwyndion himself.
I am in conscious control of my cells. I will not die in the way that you will. Death holds no mystery for me.
The desire to live swept through Gwyndion and also the bitter tang of the unfairness of it all. He began to doubt the truth of what the Stag Man was saying. Why should he sacrifice himself and Samma — and his Hostlings — for the Eronthites? Hadn’t they proved they were in their own way as bloodthirsty as the Azephim? Besides, there were so many Eronthitcs compared to Webx! It was grossly unfair that the Stag Man was prepared to sacrifice two Elder Webx and two Webx in the Oakdeer stage, the prime of their development. For so long Gwyndion had lived with the dream of rebuilding the Webx race under Tanzen and Rozen in Zeglanada. He could barely comprehend that he was now expected to sacrifice not only his life, but the lives of all he held most dear, and for Eronth! In his confusion, the Stag Man seemed to take on a more sinister appearance, and the Azephim angel who had escorted them now seemed to be as much a victim of his cunning as Samma and Gwyndion.
The Eom began to glow with a pulsating dark light, as if sensing his confusion.
Quickly! The Stag Man warned. It is calling its child here!
Now Gwyndion felt even more confused. The Eom had a child? The Azephim angel had thrown back his head and begun to howl, as if to summon the angel guards.
Why did Maya have the dagger? He was shaking as he flung the question at the Stag Man. Perhaps after all there had been some ghastly mix-up and Maya was meant to sacrifice herself, not the Webx. How could Khartyn have sent me into this?
You don’t need to know everything. ‘There is no time! Choose!
The tarantula child let out a scream as the torch flames in the dungeon dimmed. Now the Eom was pulsating colours. A black ooze seemed to be leaking from it.
All the evils of the known world are escaping from it. Gwyndion could hear Samma’s voice, filled with grief, but otherwise seemingly calm. He could see the Imomm Faeries, tiny hands clenched around their cages, their eyes flickering with light as they attempted to work out the Webx’s choice.
Outside, the sound of many Azephim feet came pounding down the stone steps; the guards were on their way. The Eom was groaning, heralding an even more ominous sound, the sound of Faery wings and a high-pitched voice. The child of the Eom was answering its call.
Choose! The Stag Man screamed.
The Outerezt
‘Ow!’ Fareirrod yelled as a large boulder caught him on the head. Amolda giggled from his hiding place behind a rock. ‘Amolda!’ Fareirrod shouted. ‘Stop that rot or I will smack your bottom with a tree, and hard!’ His response only made Amolda laugh more as he threw another rock. It hit its target and he was overjoyed to see a splash of red appear over his uncle’s eye. He laughed harder, making the ground shake slightly.
‘Amolda!’ He jumped as a shadow blotted out the sun. Fareirrod stood above him, a look of anger upon his face. ‘You wait until Geferd gets back and hears how naughty you have been!’ the giant said.
‘She won’t care,’ Amolda replied cheekily. ‘She would be pleased my aim was so good on lazy, good-for-nothing Fireirrod, who has shit for a pillow!’
Fareirrod opened his mouth to reply and then closed it again. Amolda was right. His mother would only laugh and praise her wilful boy for having such a good aim. He growled and struck his hand against the rock, splintering it, which made Amolda laugh again.
‘Come and play, Fareirrod!’ he begged. ‘We could go hunting together.’
‘I have no time for hunting, boy!’ Fareirrod said loftily. ‘I have cave sweeping to do. When your mother returns I want her to see how hard Fareirrod worked.’ The truth was he felt like a small nap. Amolda often kept him awake of a night crying for his mother.
‘Then can I go hunting, Fareirrod?’ the young giant pleaded. ‘Geferd and Angerwulf often let me go hunting on my own.’
The temptation was too great for Fareirrod. He knew Geferd would no sooner let Amolda go hunting in the Outerezt by himself than she would praise Fareirrod for being handsome, but the thought of an uninterrupted nap without Amolda sticking spiders in his ears, or farting in his face, or cutting his hair short as he slept was irresistible.
‘Just don’t wander too far away from the cave,’ he said. ‘Take the heavy axe. It is Solumbi breeding season and they will be more vicious.’
Amolda let out a whoop. ‘I shall bring you back seven Solumbi heads to make an eyeball stew!’ he promised, striding to the main cave to collect his axe.
The giant toddler’s footsteps had no sooner faded away than Fareirrod felt his eyelids beginning to close. Looking after children was very exhausting, he decided as he climbed in his cave. Now he knew win Geferd was always so snappy and irritable. The poor thing was worn to a frazzle.
Amolda whistled a merry tune to himself as he strode along the sandy path leading from the cave. He could already hear Fareirrod’s loud snoring as he climbed a cliff. ‘Lazy good-for-nothing Fareirrod!’ he said in an imitation of his mother’s voice. He knew the giant would sleep all afternoon and this suited his purposes, for today he had a definite mission. He wanted to bring back the head of an Azephim angel to show his mother when she returned. Not one of the younger angels, of course, for even Amolda knew that despite his great size he was no match for one of the deadly Azephim, but he had heard many stories about the aged Azephim in the Outerezt. He was convinced it would be easy to find one, hunt it, lop its head off and then return to show Fareirrod his prize. Now if only he could remember the general direction where the aged Azephim were supposed to live . . .
As he walked, the toddler kept an eye out for Solumbi or the Headhunter Sisters. Being brought up in the Wastelands, he had little fear of either. Even so, he did not relish the thought of facing a Solumbi in its breeding heat without Angerwulf and Geferd to back him up. The Headhunter Sisters tended to leave the giants alone, having respect for the antiquity of their race. They acknowledged the original inhabitants of Eronth and deferred to them in a way no other Eronthites did.
After he had been walking a while, Amolda realised he was hungry. He turned out his pockets eagerly, but there were only crumbs to be found. He had seen little sign of wildlife anywhere, but he did not think to connect that fact with the noise he was making as he thumped along the path. He looked around, dispirited. Perhaps he really should consider going home now? There were no signs of the Azephim, no Solumbi to prove his killing skills. Fareirrod must surely be waking up soon and there would be smoked fish and fresh bread and cheeses to eat. His stomach began to cramp with hunger and he felt like crying. Not only was his mother gone, he was hungry and would have to wait until he had satisfied his groaning belly! He began to walk back the way he had come.
He seemed to have been walking for a long time when he realised that some of the landmarks were no longer familiar. Had he seen that black tree split by lightning before? Surely he would remember that! Then a pile of rocks that resembled a large Solumbi sleeping, caused his heart to pound faster. He could not remember passing those rocks. Amolda was begin
ning to feel panicky. His mouth was becoming dry and his desire for food was quickly being overtaken by a harsh longing for water. He tortured himself with thoughts of Fareirrod waking up, and drinking deeply from one of the vast containers of rain water the giants collected on their excursions into Faia. Then a picture of Fareirrod eating smoked fish and drinking nettle tea came to him, and he started to cry. He was only a child giant, he sobbed to himself, and Fareirrod should have had more brains than to let him wander off by himself into the Wastelands.
Amolda sat down on a fallen log and gave himself over to tears, trying to comfort himself with the thought of the scolding Geferd would give Fareirrod when she discovered how irresponsible he had been with her loved child. Perhaps when he made his way home, he thought, beginning to suck his thumb to comfort himself, he would cut off Fareirrod’s head and present it to his parents on their return.
When Amolda awoke from his nap, darkness had swept over the Wastelands. It looked as if a storm was building up, there was electricity in the air. Bats swooped across the sky, startling him. The thought came to him that if he returned along the path the way he had come, then he might find himself back on the original path. Trying to ignore the rumbling sensation in his belly, he gripped the handle of his axe tighter. It was one thing not to fear Solumbis and Azephim angels in the daylight, but the night diminished his courage. He began to cry again for his mother. Walking as quickly as he could, he set back along the path in the direction he had come from.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Oh, I am not going to die, am I? He will not separate us, we have been so happy.
— LAST WORDS OF CHARLOTTE BRONTE TO HER HUSBAND, DIED 1855
They sat up all night in the hotel, crammed into Phillip’s suite, taking turns to talk. Theresa didn’t feel tired as she listened, soothed by their soft persuasive voices. Clear, healing energy flowed from them. Initially Lazariel had been sceptical and defensive, unwilling to accompany the group into the hotel, but Theresa had smelt the roses again, drifting towards the witches and into the foyer of the hotel, and she had taken it as a sign that it was safe to trust them.
She found herself increasingly more fascinated by this exotic group as the night wore on. Their wisdom seemed timeless, but they had the energy of people much younger than themselves. Phillip, the obvious leader of the group was charismatic; she noticed how the good-looking sexy one, Faline, kept glancing at him from beneath lowered lashes and Theresa understood the attraction. Despite his years, his sexuality was almost overwhelming. She sensed Lazariel felt threatened by him. Faline’s husband, Lucius, was also very sexy. Theresa could picture the expression in Sophie’s and Minette’s eyes if they spotted him. He was dark and intense, as opposed to Phillip’s silver-haired beauty. His smile, when he did smile, was warm and genuine. Theresa noticed a slight tension around his jawline when Phillip addressed Faline directly. It was always handy to store information about people you observed, you never knew when it could come in handy.
The older witches also intrigued her. Odolf and Agatha were obviously a couple, they even looked similar and mirrored each other’s mannerisms like people who had spent many years together. There was a deep well of sadness about Agatha. As Phillip spoke her hands would occasionally trace the scars that marked her wrinkled neck. Theresa wondered at those scars, and why Agatha’s eyes looked so haunted. Leonora was also restless, she would twist her mouth up in an attempt of a smile, but the smile never quite reached her eyes. When she looked at Theresa with her milky eyes, it was as if she could see straight through her.
Then there was Dea Dreamer, who didn’t seem to fit into the group at all. She wore a large gold crucifix around her neck and seemed ill at ease and frightened. She reminded Theresa of an aged, country and western singer with her brassy hair and heavily made-up face, her low-cut blouse revealing a décolletage sprinkled with freckles.
The witches spoke to Theresa and Lazariel not as strangers whom they had just met, but more as old friends who would understand and sympathise with their fantastic tale. They ordered food through room service as the story continued. It was mainly comfort food: bowls of vegetable soup, garlic bread, potato wedges, cheeses and crackers. Puccini played softly in the background. The witches talked earnestly in lowered voices, at times their eyes flickering to the windows as if afraid that the night would come crashing through the glass at any moment. When any one of them had to go to the bathroom, they would pause in their story and the room full of people would sit in silence as if impatient for that person to rejoin them. Lazariel kept himself aloof from the group, sitting with his back turned towards them, eyes fastened on the door or the clock, offering little in the way of verbal contribution.
‘In so many ways I blame myself,’ Phillip said. Agatha shook her head as if to say that was a ridiculous statement. ‘Yes,’ he continued, ignoring her. ‘I blame myself. It was my idea for us to move to the mountains and start our experiments.’
‘You weren’t to know,’ Leonora spoke automatically as if she had uttered this reassurance a million times before. Her eyes flickered nervously to the corner of the room, where a dark shadow had gathered.
‘Wrong,’ Lucius said. ‘He did know, didn’t you Phillip? You knew the risks of invoking spirits more than we did. We were too busy believing you knew it all, falling meekly into line behind you. We trusted you and Johanna Develle! Cael trusted you!’
‘Let him tell the story, Lucius,’ Faline said. ‘This is no time for recriminations. You’re as guilty as Phillip. You were happy to take the good things they gave to us.’
‘They opened a doorway,’ Leonora said, smiling gently at Theresa and Phillip. ‘To let in certain energies that we had worked with in our rituals for spiritual enlightenment.’
Lucius made a snorting noise. ‘Not to mention wealth, prosperity and success,’ he said.
‘Which you were only too happy to take,’ Phillip said in a quiet voice. The room seemed to darken for a moment as the two men looked at each other.
‘Oh dear.’ Agatha twisted her hands, looking helplessly at Odolf. ‘There’s such little time for you to be squabbling.’ A loud roll of thunder made them all jump for a second, then a great fork of lightning illuminated the room.
‘The storm is close,’ Faline said. She suddenly looked depressed and worn. Lucius moved closer to her and put his arms around her.
‘Back then we were nine,’ Phillip said. His eyes seemed to burn into Theresa’s as he spoke. The fear came to her that he was hypnotising her. ‘The seven you see here tonight, plus Johanna and Cael.’
At the mention of Cael’s name, a sadness seemed to ripple through the room. Dea Dreamer crossed herself. Theresa looked at Lazariel to see how he was reacting and noticed he was sitting with his head to one side, as it listening to some other message in the wind.
‘I had spent the best part of my lifetime collecting rare esoteric books from around the world,’ Phillip said. ‘My father had been a keen student of occultists both obscure and famous, and had a valuable collection of occult literature. That was where I discovered my first Grimoire. Looking back, I think the darkness even in those very early days had readied out to me. It recognised I could be an instrument, albeit an unconscious instrument to work through, to lead me through a process of steps in my life so that I would develop the knowledge to open the portal between worlds.’
‘The Devil as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour,’ Dea quoted suddenly. An uneasy silence fell upon the room for a moment. Faline glanced at Phillip, visibly disturbed.
‘Over the years I travelled to main countries in my pursuit of spiritual knowledge,’ Phillip continued. ‘Egypt, Turkey, Great Britain, India, Iran, Norway, Greece, the Middle East, Australia, the highlands of Papua New Guinea. I collected whatever scraps of esoteric information I could get my hands on. Sometimes I paid exorbitant prices for books from dealers. Other times I found what I was looking for a song, on some trader’s table, or in a dilapidated bookst
ore. But the point is, I always found what I was looking for. I thought it was luck, I believed myself to be blessed by the gods. I became complacent and arrogant, mistaking the energies around me for benevolent ones. Yes, I totally misjudged how patient, how cunning the darkness can be.’
There was a pause while Dea Dreamer went to the bathroom. She seemed to be away for a long time. When she emerged, her eyes were red and her eye make-up was gone.
Lazariel shifted uncomfortably at her appearance. ‘What business is it of ours?’ he spoke out loud for the first time.
Leonora stood up. No longer such a frail-looking, elderly woman, she seemed taller, more intimidating, her face severe, her eyes calm. ‘It is your business because of who you are,’ she said. ‘I saw you in visions many years ago. We have been calling to you for a long time. There are not many of the Heztarra fallen angels on Earth, but when they do incarnate, they are generally easy to track. Many of them cannot cope with their legacies, or even the pain in their backs as their bodies remember wings. You were one of the lucky ones. Some kill themselves, unable to fit into a world where they truly don’t belong. Others’ nervous systems blow out, and they find themselves turning to drugs or alcohol to cope with the everyday reality of Earth. Still others find themselves permanent fixtures in psychiatric asylums. My brother and father ended up in one of those. They were Heztarra, but they never knew. They were not as aware as you are, Lazariel. Their wings never sprouted, but their kundalini energy rose along their spines too quickly and propelled them into madness.’
Lazariel was looking at Leonora as if she was totally mad. Theresa couldn’t even begin to wonder what was going through his mind. Fear rose in her; nothing was real. There was nothing predictable or balanced about her world anymore, She had witnessed a man grow wings from his back. She had seen the things they had summoned to the house. She had heard the songs of flies, and she remembered the expression in the creature’s eyes as it had opened her legs.
A Fire in the Shell: Circle of Nine Trilogy 3 Page 37
