We could not think of how to best break this news. Both you and Lazariel seemed to want to have no contact with any of us after we closed the doorway, but I think you should know. Lucius believes I should leave you in peace to enjoy your family, get on with your life. But doubt remains in my mind about what happened to Dea. I have to inform you. To warn you. Be careful, dear Theresa. Keep protective light around yourself at all times. One question has haunted me day and night since we left Australia. We may have closed the doorway, but what remained behind?
Yours as ever in service,
Faline
When she showed Lazariel the letter, he was silent for a long moment, then he looked up at her. ‘If there is something there,’ he said slowly, ‘we should go and see, try to sense if we can feel anything.’
‘No!’ the word shot through the kitchen and Rachel looked at Theresa with her old woman eyes. ‘I won’t go back. It’s not safe. I won’t take Rachel where it’s not safe!’
‘Can you hear yourself?’ Lazariel said. ‘You’re talking about the Blue Mountains, not a war zone. Think, Theresa! Dea Dreamer was killed in the middle of Sydney for godsakes! If there is something, then it could just as easily get us here. She shouldn’t have written to you worrying you. She should have left us in peace!’
A cold finger of fear touched Theresa. She looked at the windows, half expecting to see a fiend from the mural peering back at her, claws pressed against the dusty glass.
‘Don’t you remember, Lazariel?’ she said. ‘Don’t you remember what happened when we closed the doorway? The things we saw?’ She began to cry at the memory of the horrors that had been disguised in the house.
‘They were thought patterns,’ he said. ‘Materialisations of many events over the years. We only saw them because the psychic energy was so highly charged during the ritual. The more you fear them, the more power you give them.’
‘What does it matter what the fuck it was?’ Theresa said. ‘I can’t talk about it, I can’t share it with anyone. I feel as if I’m crazy half the time, as if we’re all crazy. I’m so afraid, I keep thinking something is still out there after me. For the first time in my life I’ve found happiness and I want it to last. I don’t want to be killed by a thought pattern!’ She broke off; Rachel had begun to cry and Lazariel went to pick her up off the floor.
‘There, there darling, Mummy didn’t mean it.’ He scowled at Theresa. ‘Don’t go upsetting her, talking about being killed.’ Lazariel was always convinced Rachel could understand every word. Then came the words she had been dreading. ‘On my next day off, I’ll take a drive up there. You can stay here with Rachel.’
In the finish they all went. Theresa could not contemplate the thought of Lazariel going back to Light Vision by himself. They hired a car, and Lazariel drove, while Theresa gripped the seat, hyperventilating the entire way, although she attempted to control her fear and act as if everything was alright for Lazariel’s and Rachel’s sakes. He had risen early that morning, gone to the markets and returned with two enormous hunches of flowers. One for Theresa, and one to place at Light Vision. Theresa’s heart ached for him, knowing he was feeling responsible for the deaths of his friends. He had been the one who had encouraged them to move to the mountains. Theresa had not been fond of Sophie and Minette, they had excluded her too much in their childish games, and Alan and Daniel had kept to themselves, but the grisly manner in which they had been killed made her cry for months after the event. She could not shake the guilt that they hadn’t buried them properly and notified the authorities. Her dreams were haunted by lumps of blackened flesh burning among the embers of the house, and the smell. A sickening, familiar smell. She would never forget the expression on the witches’ faces as they watched the cremation of the Light Vision members. They had ignored Lazariel dry-retching into the earth, screaming into his hands. She could still see the flames rising higher, an arm seeming to reach out of the inferno, a clutching hand. Memories, clocks, the mural, dolls. Skin, laughter, guts, fur. Everything destroyed in heartbeats. Phillip had been adamant it would achieve nothing if they went to the police, except placing suspicion on the witches. Their souls were released from their physical bodies, he had said. They were no longer bound by the superstitions and conventions of Earth. Theresa wasn’t so sure. Although Minette’s children had displayed no interest in being with their mother, the dead cult members had families somewhere. Families that should have been notified. At the time, she had been too traumatised to argue for what she believed. Now she regretted she hadn’t stood her ground. Phillip could be extremely persuasive and authoritative, he was so used to his word being law. Theresa wasn’t looking forward to seeing him in Sydney again. She hoped he wouldn’t contact them.
In the back seat, strapped into her baby seat, Rachel sat glaring out of the window. She hadn’t felt so afraid in her young life. Never had she more regretted her inability to talk; she ached to warm her parents of the course they were taking. It infuriated her to see them sitting in the front seat, changing radio stations, sipping on soft drinks, talking about the car and the view as if nothing was happening. Couldn’t they feel the energy change? Were their vibrations so dense they didn’t sense her? She longed to undo her seatbelt and flee from the car, but she was trapped. Trapped in the body she had voluntarily chosen. No! she wanted to scream. Not yet! I’m still only a baby! Theresa was smiling at her, turning to fuss with her seatbelt and Rachel marvelled she couldn’t see the fear in her eyes. She could smell her mother’s apprehension and it fuelled her own.
‘How is my little Rachel kitten pie?’ Lazariel sang to her from the front seat. He alone was pleased about this excursion, a chance to lay his flowers and his demons. Rachel is afraid. The night is cold and waits for me eagerly. Stars reflect an earth still warm from where I have just risen. All this she longed to say, but all she could manage was a gurgle.
Lazariel beamed to Theresa. ‘Did you hear her?’ he crowed. ‘She said “Dad!”’ Rachel was sure she could hear the sound of Charmonzhla sniggering.
The fire alert for the day was high. It was early summer, and already arsonists had been busy lighting fires. Eleven homes had been destroyed in the mountains. At least there were no bushfires near Katoomba. The town hummed softly with weekend tourists browsing the antique shops and art galleries. Theresa looked with beating heart as the car passed The Silver Hen. The memory of the obese black cat in the rain never failed to chill her. A couple peered in the window of the shop, the woman wearing an unflattering pair of long white shorts; both carried cameras. ‘Don’t go in there!’ Theresa wanted to scream as they drove by.
Lazariel fell silent when they reached the site where Light Vision had stood. Now all that remained was a large black square, with the grass slowly beginning to grow back. He laid the flowers on the grass, and then stood, head bowed, shoulders shaking. Theresa walked over to him, Rachel on her hip. It was like a knife in her heart to see him so distressed. He sat on a large rock in the sunshine and cried helplessly, snot running from his nose, his face shaking with grief. Theresa looked at Rachel, their eyes connected, and she held the baby out to Lazariel who took her, still crying. Theresa stood behind his back and massaged his wings and shoulders. No words were spoken.
They drove farther down from Light Vision to a little picnic place, where they found a shady spot and lunched on barbecued chicken and cold salads. Theresa sat under a large tree, smoking a cigarette and drinking a can of beer that Lazariel had picked up from the bottle shop, watching Lazariel and Rachel lying together. They photographed Rachel as she explored clover and crawled around, her bare bottom sticking up, her large daisy sunhat on her head. It should have been a perfect day. It seemed, however, as though they were merely going through the motions. Theresa constantly felt nauseous and afraid, wanting to leave. She knew she would not feel safe until they were back in Sydney. The mountains held too many memories. At any moment she expected Ishran to come walking around a corner, smoke surrounding him, clothed in black l
eather. He would smile at Lazariel, and Lazariel would stand up and follow him without a backward glance at Theresa or Rachel. Or skipping around a corner would come Minette and Sophie with brightly coloured ribbons hanging from their hair and foam flecks around their mouths. Then the memory of the demon with the fly head came to her and she began to cry softly, so that Lazariel would not hear her pain. It was not over. It would never be over. She would carry the memories for a lifetime and beyond.
In the late afternoon Theresa’s arms were sunburnt. She had tried to protect herself as much from the heat as she could by staying in the shade, but the sunblock they had brought wasn’t a high enough protection factor. Lazariel had decided he wanted to explore the Leura shops before they left and she agreed. She knew it was important for him to have this outing, to try to lay some of their fears, and for herself to conquer an ever-increasing agoraphobia. As they wandered the streets of Leura, pushing Rachel in her stroller, Theresa was aware how they appeared the perfect young, hip couple up from Sydney. Lazariel, as always, attracted plenty of attention with his blond good looks and charismatic energy. They browsed shops, ate ice-creams, and for a short time Theresa was able to push her fears to the back of her mind.
It was when they were having a late afternoon tea in one of the cafes along the main street that Lazariel noticed a brochure about a small circle of standing stones near Blackheath called the Nine Maidens. The stones were reputed to have healing powers and the friendly woman who served their scones and tea said many weddings had been performed at the Maidens. Theresa was tired; she didn’t like the idea of leaving Leura so late in the day to find a group of stones that had probably been erected by locals hoping to attract tourists. But Lazariel insisted. ‘Come on, Theresa,’ he said. ‘How could you leave here not knowing if they might be authentic?’
Rachel started to cry and Theresa sighed in exasperation. Lazariel’s idea of a family excursion was beginning to wear thin. She just wanted to go home, put Rachel to bed, have a bath and try to sleep. ‘I think Rachel and I are both too tired,’ she said. She saw Lazariel’s face fall and instantly felt a sharp prick of guilt. This day had meant so much to him, he wanted every second of it to be special.
‘All right, Lazariel.’ She smiled. ‘Let’s just make it a quick look. Rachel hasn’t been in a stone circle.’ Rachel started to cry harder, and so they hurriedly left the cafe. It was now late afternoon and would soon be dark. There was no way Theresa wanted to be out in the mountains after dark.
During the drive out to the Nine Maidens, Theresa fell silent. Paralysing fear was beginning to creep through her body. She began to wish she had been more insistent that they leave for Sydney immediately. This felt wrong to her. They should have been on the highway now, heading back to polluted, light-filled Sydney. They could have picked up an Indian curry along with a video. Instead, here they were driving into darkening countryside. She sat shaking inside, listening to the radio. The drive along the highway and then a winding unfamiliar country road seemed to last forever.
The Nine Maidens were exactly what Theresa had expected. A couple was just leaving the circle when they arrived. They looked embarrassed and left the area quickly, driving off in a hotted-up car. The local kids must use the area as a courting spot, she realised, lifting Rachel from her car seat and wincing as her sunburn throbbed. Now that the sun was going down, the damage she had done to her skin was becoming even more evident. She was eager to get home and put some soothing cream on it.
Lazariel stood in the centre of the stone ring, his face upturned to the sky as if receiving a private communication. Rachel had begun to grizzle again, and Theresa tried to soothe her, cradling her back and forth as she walked around the circle of nine stones which were covered in graffiti. A flock of noisy rosellas took flight in the sky and she delighted in their brilliant colour. Litter was scattered all over the ground; orange peel, rusty cans, a ripped pair of black underpants, a used condom. Evidence of secret trysts.
Finally Lazariel sighed. ‘You were right,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing here, babe. Let’s go.’ He scooped Rachel up in the air. ‘Is Daddy’s girl ready to drive home to Sydney?’ he sang.
They drove slowly back towards Leura, mindful of the animals that were likely to be on the road at this time of night. Classical music played softly on the car radio. Theresa glanced into the back seat, checking to make sure Rachel was all right. I should have changed her, she thought. The baby was staring straight ahead, an expression of terror on her face. Confused, Theresa turned around. What was she looking at? There was nothing out there but the deserted twilight road. Then it happened.
Directly in front of them, in the middle of the road in the car headlights, stood a woman. Except she wasn’t a woman. She was a bird. She had the head of an owl, and her body was covered in feathers. She was standing, shrieking at them, arms raised over her head. Everything happened in slow motion. Lazariel yelled and wrenched the wheel, trying to avoid hitting her. Theresa screamed, a never-ending long scream. She heard Rachel screaming in the seat behind her. The horror of an ancient cry coming from a baby. The thing in the road lifted off the ground and flew straight at them — claws, screeching bones, fur, death. The windscreen shattered. The air filled with the odour of decay and filth. The car lurched off the road and turned over. Feathers churned in the air around them, thousands and thousands of feathers. Then they hit something solid and there was an immense bang.
When Theresa came to, she thought she was a child once again in her bedroom in Hobart. She was lying in a bassinette beside a china doll. The doll was crying and bloody. Her father was screaming outside, he had become the wind. Memories of her childhood flashed in front of her. An aunt, whom she had not thought of in years, was showing her how to make ginger beer. Her sister wore a bird mask, laughing through the beak, which was snapping of its own accord. Her father was wind, he was rain, calling to her in a voice of fire. Her father was all the elements, he was the voice of God. It was a while before she realised she was in an upside down car. She began to moan, pain shooting through her leg. Where was Lazariel? Oh Father, where was Rachel? The image of the screaming owl woman came back to her and she panicked. She tried to move, but the pain was overwhelming. Oh God, she had lost her leg. She was damaged badly, she knew. She began to cry out as the pain hit her in waves.
Amolda heard the screams and came towards the smoking monster tentatively. He knew about cars, understood what they could do to you. He had lurked by the road for numerous nights watching the small animals die under the wheels of the monsters. His hunger and his curiosity proved too much for him. There were small animals trapped inside the car.
Since the day he had found himself in this terrifying world, all Amolda knew was constant hunger. It had taken him a long time to adjust to his new life. When he first found the opening in Faia, he’d been excited, but he hadn’t realised that once he entered through the shimmering ball of light, he would never be able to come back. He had come through into a place where small beings screamed, yelled and threw things at him. It had been lucky for him that he had his hunting axe with him and had killed them by cutting off their heads. He then tried desperately to find his way home again, but it proved impossible. The shimmering light was now gone. For many nights he lay under the moon and stars crying for his mother and father. He even cried for Faereirrod; he would have given anything to see his face. But his family had not come for him. Instead, one of the little people had come out with a stick that shot fire and frightened him away. He had learnt how to hide in the mountains and avoid the little people after that encounter, taking the hint that they were more dangerous than they looked.
Gradually, he had come to make friends with the creatures of the bush. There were many other beings similar to him. Some were familiar beings, like Solumbi or Azephim. Others, he had never seen before. He had learnt to eat from the land, trapping small animals, but soon his hunting skills increased and he tackled larger game. He loved to study the little people whe
n they came to the stone circle, and spent hours watching them grab at each other and rub their parts together. This always made him feel excited, and often he would masturbate as he watched.
The owl woman had come to him many times since he had become lost in this alien world. He knew many creatures of the bush feared her, but she always showed him kindness. Under her tutelage he learnt where to find fresh water, how to make fire, and how to dispose of the little people’s bodies after killing them. Now she was indicating he should follow her to the smoking car. A finger held to her beak signalled he should keep very quiet.
Tentatively, he stepped forward, holding his axe. The smell of the little people was reaching his stomach and he realised how hungry he was. The owl woman was indicating he should move the smoking monster the right way up, so he did. He heard screaming from the monster as he did so. He looked inside. Pull them out of the car, the owl woman spoke in his mind. Amolda grabbed the first one, a male, by a clump of blond hair and dragged him free. The man was already dead. Raising his axe, Amolda loped his head off as the owl woman nodded her approval. Then he reached for his bag and dropped the head inside; he would eat it later in his cave.
Next was a female who was making a lot of noise. Amolda smashed the window on her side and lifted her out. Her leg was badly crushed and mangled. Amolda placed her on the ground and she began screaming louder when she saw the headless corpse of her companion. She was shouting words Amolda did not understand. ‘Jesus! God! Therese!’ Again the axe was lifted, and the female’s head rolled from her neck. Amolda was proud to note it only took two strokes to achieve this. Then he placed his trophy in his bag. He could feel the rustling expectation of the Headhunter Crones. They were a faint memory of a happier life. He fought against their unwelcome interruption. He did not intend to share his heads.
One more, the owl woman spoke in his mind. He reached into the car, searching until he found it. A tiny one. It too was screaming and crying. It smelt good. He put it to his nose, sniffing its face. He did not want to kill this one. There was something about the small thing that appealed to him. He looked at the owl woman. She nodded, understanding, granting permission.
A Fire in the Shell: Circle of Nine Trilogy 3 Page 43
