Circle of Nine: Circle of Nine Trilogy 1 (25 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

‘T
he days moved slowly as the Wheel of the Year turned. The Webx were unaware that they were moving into the last days of their race. The ground sometimes trembled slightly, whispering, sending urgent warnings out into the corn-coloured sky across the orange blazing sun. The Webx, once so proficient at reading the messages from the earth, chose to ignore the whispers, engrossed as they were in their worship of the Eom and its black crystal facets, polished to shiny perfection.

‘Gwyndion was present on that Day of Ashes. He held Samma in his arms, close to his heartbeat, as he watched his Bowz lead the invocation to Eom. “Armaaa! Armaaa!” the Webx chanted as one, their long leaf-hair fluttering in the evening breeze.

‘As always, Gwyndion dully mimed the chanting, strangely loath to participate fully in the ritual. His eyes watched the familiar sight of Tanzen’s and Rozen’s faces alter and soften into a palette of indescribable beauty as they paid homage to the Eom. The odour of myrrh and sandalwood purified the air. As always, Gwyndion marvelled at his lack of response to the service.

‘The lovingly polished facets of the Eom reflected the angels as they attacked silently from behind. The facets mirrored with detachment the agonised screams as the worshipping Webx were burnt to death or had their necks snapped by the murderous angels. But the Azephim lust for blood could not be quelled with the mere sap that ran in Webx veins.

‘Gwyndion lay dazed amid the dying bodies of his people. Some still writhed on the ground in agony, charred and black — instinctively, he had thrown himself on top of his meerwog to protect her. He was being suffocated. Bodies were heaped on top of him, friends whom he had met and laughed with just a few breaths before. His inner being screamed in terror for Samma, who he was sure was crushed beneath him. All of them dead. Now he did scream as a thousand sparrows flew swiftly upwards, and he saw them etched across the sky in a flight of triumph.
Please, no! Not of all them dead!
He lay, waiting to die, to join his people.

‘The angels were laughing, shouting their triumph. Their hands and faces were smeared with black sap. Gwyndion closed his eyes, paralysed by grief, feeling sap run through him. The angels were hunting down survivors. Gwyndion could hear them saying, “I think there’s some still alive under here!” Bodies were being moved off him. He could now see the sun, the sky. Around him he smelt the sap of the innocents who had been slain.

‘In the distance, a woman was screaming. Was it a Webx or angel throat that the scream came from?

‘“There’s a few still alive down here!”

‘Imagine wings, great black wings, blocking out the sun. Gwyndion opened his eyes to see a face of divine beauty looking down upon him. His body lurched, expecting the angel would breathe fire upon him. How could life end when it had just begun?

‘Then a woman’s voice cried, “Leave them!” As ancient as the night, as time. He longed to die, to be part of the sea, to return to memory. “Seleza had ordered no killing! Just take the Eom! Quickly, before she senses the slain and closes off the Web to us! I won’t be held accountable for this!” The words trailed in the air and over the sea, and the words were arrows beating against his skull as he lay waiting to die.
I won’t be held accountable for this!

‘Silence. He could hear the soft whimpers of bodies that still breathed, of bodies still dying. Samma! Great Sun, Great Earth, Tanzen! Rozen!

‘Why did he have to take so long to die? He was ready now, the pain was too hot, too raw. Nobody could survive this pain. He wanted the oblivion of ashes. He longed for the peace of death.

‘There was to be no peace. He watched in horror, a lone witness, as a Black Angel claw touched the Eom for the first time. Angel merged with Eom. The crystal was seized and claimed. Life under the Eom as the Webx people had known it was at an end.

‘Gwyndion believed that the entire world had ended then. The keening from the surviving Webx had continued for days. Several of the Old Ones’ chests had shattered with the impact of their grief. Rings of dolphins surrounded the island of Zeglanada sending healing energy to the remaining shattered Webx. Day and night became one as the intensity of their sorrow plunged the island into darkness.

‘Tanzen and Rozen had survived, to his great relief, as had Samma. But his hostlings spoke little about the abduction to their shootling, their grief over the massacre being too great. They were inconsolable. Instead they chose to entwine together, burying themselves into the earth, crying tears that formed oceans.

‘Then the Dark Angels had returned, ruthlessly pushing the Webx’s protective thought barrier aside. The woman with the voice like night was leading them. Her face was pale, every vein beautiful beneath her skin. Her wings were a pure shade of white, and when she looked at the Webx who cowered before her, fire flamed in her eyes.

‘They had no chance. There was never any chance. Gwyndion watched helplessly as Tanzen and Rozen were seized by the angels, who engulfed them beneath their putrid black wings and carried them forever from his sight. All that was left to follow the Day of Ashes was an eternity of despair.

‘When the plague of despair entered Zeglanada it spread like a cancer among the Webx. All knowledge became the unknown. Dreams died overnight. The Webx were now a people without soul. With the loss of his beloved Bowz Gwyndion’s grief was overwhelming. For two seasons he refused to take his human form, and he planted himself firmly in the now-depleted soil in an attempt to escape the pain and the memories and the visions that haunted him. Tanzen and Rozen were light-years away, chained to the Eom in a nightmare world ruled by Dark Angels. The grief and pain that Gwyndion could detect on his Bowz’s faces threatened to break his heart and so he took refuge in the earth. But he was not to be abandoned to his grief.

‘Planted into soil, Gwyndion was oblivious to the events that were occurring around him. The Webx were a fragile race and they had already suffered the double blow of the loss of their Eom, the heart and soul of their community, and their Elders Rozen and Tanzen. There were few Webx remaining who possessed the leadership qualities of the highly esteemed couple. The balance of Zeglanada had tipped dangerously, and the Wheel of the Year was now out of control. Long-extinct ancient animals, such as the bonelynx and the ratsi, were seen by several reliable witnesses. Animals normally found on the other known worlds such as tigers and dogs were observed wandering dazed and afraid as they fell through the veil between the worlds.

‘The seasons were chaotic; one day hailstones as large as Oootsa shells would fall from the sky, the next ten suns would blaze in the heavens above. In one shocking instance a Webx woman gave birth to a human child, which the midwives quickly smothered as was the Webx way with the deformed and the frail.

‘The few younger Webx that remained now refused to enter the badly depleted soil. Instead they frantically attempted to consume their nutrients orally. This ancient practice had tragic results and several of them died in the violent convulsions that followed. Many Webx, unable to cope with the loss of the Eom, began to cross into other worlds. Several of them made it to the Blue Planet where they selected isolated areas like rainforests and solidified their energies to become trees in a desperate attempt to rebalance themselves after the deadly plague of depression that had befallen their tribe. For even to take on a lower life form was considered preferable to the heartbreak of witnessing the irrevocable erosion of the race. Yet equally as many elected to remain on Zeglanada, hoping against all possibility for the return of the Eom to the island.

‘At the close of each day at moonrise, the surviving Webx would gather together in a white marble temple containing wild frescoes of a horned man, two-headed horses, grapes, snakes and a slaughtered bull. The temple had stood for centuries, abandoned and alone, and there was no mention of it in the
Tremite Book of Life.
There, every moonrise, the Webx would stand and keen as one to their Eom. Frantically they directed their cries, songs and prayers in the direction of the Web, hoping and longing for a reply. Yet no answer ever came. The Webx grieved bitterly, increasingly realising they had been merely the branches while the Eom had been the tree.

‘In the dark seasons that followed the Day of Ashes, Zeglanada was host to the Snake People. Alerted by the vibration of pain from Zeglanada, they decided to cross over to be of assistance. They were shocked by the extent of the damage visited upon the Webx. The enormous grief was tangible, if suppressed as much as possible, and a high percentage of young Webx had crossed to Earth to live as trees.

‘Even without the heavy aura that surrounded a certain shrub, the Snake Crone would have recognised it as a Webx shootling. A young female meerwog stood devoted guard nearby. With infinite care and respect, the Snake Crone pulled Gwyndion from the soil and listened to his tragic tale of invasion, pillage and destruction. The Snake Crone realised that the Webx race was perilously close to extinction. She also realised that even in his shrub body the shootling possessed the same power that moved through his unfortunate Hostlings. She hesitated on the best course of action. The remaining Webx that had survived the Day of Ashes were in no fit state to give the child the upbringing he deserved. They were vulnerable, broken, possibly even dying.

‘After meditating for a short time, and gently stroking the quivering, shocked shrub that was Gwyndion, the Snake Crone decided to consult with her gods for guidance. Leaving Gwyndion and the devoted meerwog in the care of the Snake Healers, she retired to a shell-lined cave by a distant, deserted beach. There, safe from the constant threat of the Sea Hags, she entered a great temple of light with her dreaming mind.

‘Ash fell lightly on the Snake Crone in a fall of soft rain. The wind moved her scales, bringing ecstasy. Bone Man danced in the corner, his mouth opening, mewing, streaming tongues of fire. Snake Crone continued the journey. A hand moved the stars, moved the suns. A lizard was birthed from the sky. The flesh fell from the Snake Crone’s body, her eyeballs popped and became liquid, and she felt her head explode. She continued the journey.

‘The Crone walked inside her mind for many days, treading the path of death. For many nights she walked the sacred circle, feet treading the hidden codes of the known worlds. Then, on the last day, she found the snake that she sought: small, brown and deadly. He smiled a warning at the Snake Crone — and then struck. He threw himself with sudden force at her exposed breasts and bit them savagely with his two sharp fangs. The Snake Crone felt herself turn icy cold as his poison crept swiftly through her body. In seconds her flesh turned black. The small snake laughed hysterically and then, in the ancient snake tongue, whispered the message that the Snake Crone had sought.

‘When the Crone finally came to her senses, eleven cycles of moons had passed over Eronth. Gwyndion and his meerwog sat facing her in her temple-cave. Tonight the shootling was half-in, half-out of his shrub body. His unearthly, fantastical eyes were fixed on the Snake Crone’s, seeking help, and she sighed heavily, for the Snake God had spoken and she knew what she must do.

‘Taking the Webx child gently into her arms, she breathed the mantra given to her by the brown snake. Instantly, the child fell into a deep sleep akin to death. His meerwog protested, baring her teeth and growling, but the Snake Crone subdued her with a glance. Knowing that time was precious she focused her mind, and over the inert body of Gwyndion she placed an immense pyramid of light, its four sides aligned to the cardinal points. From the bag she wore at her waist she extracted a small, jewelled shell. The pyramid was now settled over the unconscious Webx and his protective meerwog. The Snake Crone blew a single, piercing note into the shell and the pyramid lifted effortlessly into the air, taking the shootling and his terrified meerwog with it.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

The old one waits patiently,
Darkness creeps near,
Her blood a prayer, her days already tattooed
On the Snake King’s tongue.
Pain shatters stone,
Brings closure — purifies the ancient snake.
A Solumbi screams into the night.

— Condensed from the
Tremite Book of Life
, Column IIXCII

K
hartyn’s tale continued, taking me far back into the ancient history of Eronth, going into detail regarding the arrival of the nine Wizards and the Webx Elders, and their relationship with the Faiaites.

‘Eronth was then a very different land to the one existing in the present time. The Azephim had not yet settled near Faia in the Wastelands, and among the Faiaites there was no conception of darkness. All of Eronth was filled with light. The Wastelands teemed with wildlife. The lost races of Faery roamed the Wastelands freely, the Immom and Wezom tribes being the most numerous of the many tribes that co-existed peacefully here. Many of the Faery tribes are now lost to memory.

‘Dragons also lived in Eronth in large numbers. They occupied the more mountainous regions, especially in the East; now of course only a few of these mighty beasts remain. There was a time when it was common for the skies to turn dark with the number of dragons flying overhead. There were also a myriad of other creatures such as the Bindiwit and Spitrees.

‘Legend recalls the arrival of the warriors that now form the Blest Circle of Nine. The Faiaites, unused to Crossas, fell under the charisma of these rugged, handsome men who arrived one chilly morning in the depths of an ancient winter. Unlike the Faiaites, the hardy explorers had even penetrated the fearful Web. The truth about these strangers’ characters was not perceived by any of the Faiaites and they easily fell under the Wizards’ spell of Glamour, not discerning the evil that lurked within their alien souls. The destruction and corruption that the Warriors were responsible for was never picked up by any soul on ancient Eronth. There was little knowledge of the Azephim race or the Web, or even the Eom. The Faiaites had sent Crossas over the years to the Web in an attempt to establish communication with the angels but no Crossa had ever returned, so the people of Faia were vulnerable in their ignorance. The Tremites had hinted in their sacred writings of a vampiric race of fallen angels who inhabited a deadly Web in the neighbouring skies. So when the handsome strangers arrived on the shores of Eronth with the Webx Elders and the Azephim’s greatest treasure, the Eom, they were hailed as heroes. Although the Eom had originally been used as an energy source for the Webx tribe, the Turn of the Wheel had passed it to the Azephim and now Azephim knowledge was inscribed into the facets of the crystal. The power to awaken the dead, to create new worlds and galaxies, to form superbeings indestructible in warfare or in plague; all was there. In the short time that they had the Eom, billions of Azephim had poured their deadly knowledge into its ebony depths and in turn received its gifts of power and rejuvenation. Just as it had been to the ancient Webx tribe, the Eom was now the very soul of the angels. And now the Eom, just as it intended, was in the hands of the Wizards.

‘Although they had taken the Eom out of the Web and into Eronth, the Wizards found it impossible to harness the forces of the crystal. Highly skilled magicians and soldiers they might have been, but the Azephim’s obscure encodings proved impossible for them to decipher.

‘The Webx Elders were unable to assist the Wizards, or so it appeared, for the couple became deadly ill when they contacted the soil of Faia and spent many seasons listlessly delirious. It was feared throughout Eronth that the respected tribal Elders would die and in the unskilled hands of the Wizards the Eom would prove to be useless.

‘Then the Dark Ones came and night fell on Faia. Its shadow passed breath over the land and where its breath touched, death fell as the Azephim came in pursuit of the Eom. Following the scent and leading the pack was Seleza, the Dark Mother, the Destroyer. When she found the Wizards and the Eom in ancient Faia village, all hell and fury was unleashed.

‘She attempted to destroy the Wizards, but the ancient Faery tribes who by now were completely besotted with the Wizards used their magical protective binding spells to prevent the Azephim from entering Faia village. Furiously, Seleza retreated to the area now known as the Wastelands to meditate on her next move. As the Wheel turned, more and more of the angels began to cross into Eronth, and as their race adjusted to the temperature and oxygen changes they found that they were equally as comfortable as they were in their own worlds.

‘No foot walks upon the earth without having an impact on it. The Azephim did not tread lightly. Almost overnight Eronth was in environmental chaos. Entire species of plant life and Faery life began to vanish before the angels’ utter contempt and disregard for living matter. The Dreamers began to stir uneasily in the Shell.

‘The Wizards were by now living comfortable lives in Faia and were regarded as demi-gods by the people. However, they too fell to their own egos and there came many reports of rape and sacrifice of Faery women as the Wizards tried countless variations of ritual in ceaseless attempts to reawaken the dormant Eom.

‘Still the Faiaites refused to turn against the Wizards. They were so taken in with their Glamour, with the spell of enchantment that the Wizards had placed around themselves. They represented to the Faiaite people everything that they longed to be. There was great power in the knowledge that they possessed. They had, after all, managed to penetrate the Web-Kondoell.

‘Finally, the legends record that Bwani spotted Aphrodite and unwisely attempted to capture and molest the goddess of beauty. United in mutual anger, the goddesses’ tolerance of the transgressions of these invaders was at an end. They poured their fury onto the Warrior Wizards and turned them into stone. To this day they remain the Blest Circle of Nine. Despite their transgressions, the Faiaites still feel an inexplicable loyalty to the Wizards. Even when flesh became stone, they were still loved and protected by the Faiaite people as they were many eons ago when they came to Eronth and were flesh and blood. Over time, their legend grew, the facts became distorted, and the story altered with each telling. The Circle of Nine has become an emblem of hope for the Faiaite people. The Scribes have predicted that the devotion of the Faiaites will bear fruit, that a pure love will reawaken the sleeping warriors and they will step forth from their stone bodies, to be flesh once more. There are many in Faia who are praying for that day.’

Khartyn’s tale tapered off at that point, leaving me pondering its strange immensity in silence. Eventually I ventured to ask her to continue.

‘What became of the Eom?’ I whispered.

‘Oh, Seleza regained control of the Eom. Nobody knows how the Azephim managed to retrieve it. Perhaps it was handed to her by a goddess, perhaps by the Faiaite. It is likely some kind of magic was involved. No matter. The Azephim could not restore the ancient power the Eom possessed. Many of them died as a result of this sudden shutdown of the core of their life-force. Only the hardiest of the Dark Angels survived. Thereafter they spent their time crossing between Kondoell and Eronth.

‘Eventually Seleza’s son Ishran settled in the Wastelands and evolved his castle. There the dormant Eom now rests while Seleza remains in the Web attempting to restore her race to their former health.’

‘But what of me?’ I asked. ‘How does all this apply to me being a Bindisore?’

Khartyn’s ancient sunken eyes looked as if they were stretching backward far into time.

‘Centuries passed. The Faiaites continued to co-exist uneasily with the Azephim. Over time — and against Eronth law — there came to be some interbreeding. Very little, admittedly, because by now the Faiaites had grown to fear the angels, but there were a number of isolated cases. The result was strange births, children born in the Azephim fashion incubated inside the black egg — Bindisore. They had to be hatched by eagles, because no Faia woman could survive the hatching of the egg.’

The Crone stopped again. She seemed to search my strained expression for a sign I wanted to hear more.

‘Emma,’ she said eventually, ‘you were the result of a forbidden hatching. A young Faian woman fell in love with an Azephim. They banished her from Faia. She died in labour delivering the contaminated black eggs. You were born from one of them.’

‘Eggs?’ I whispered, my throat dry. ‘There was more than one? Do you mean I have brothers and sisters?’

Khartyn nodded soberly. ‘Aye, you have a sister, child. Sati.’

*

Time passed and I continued to sit, dazed, my mind refusing to take in the enormity of what the Crone had divulged to me. I was a chaotic mix of emotions and no words that Khartyn or Rosedark uttered could ease my agonised thoughts. I had been an only child all my life, and I had always longed for a sister. A playmate. I had even invented a sister named Angela. But to be told that I was related to a sinister being with supernatural powers who was partly responsible for the death of my aunt Johanna was almost too much to take in.

She wants to destroy me. She fears me, and she wants to destroy me, as with my death any power that I have will transfer to her.
My breath reduced to shallow panting, I held my face in my hands. I was trembling. Khartyn was shaking her head slowly, roses falling from her hands. Her eyes were burning into me. I was too exposed, too naked, there was nowhere left to hide.

And the child is no longer safe. Even from the wind.

Moaning, low and soft, gradually rising in intensity. My stomach shifting and rising, huge waves of grief and anger. Fury. I wanted to strike out, knock Khartyn over for telling me such a stupid lie, for spinning such a deadly black web. I sat with my head in my hands, willing myself to slide into madness with each breath.

‘Can you not aid her, Old Mother?’ I could hear Rosedark dimly, pleading with Khartyn somewhere in the background. ‘Can you not ease her mind with a charm or herb? By King Pythagorus’ hairy balls, I cannot bear to stand by and witness this!’

‘Mind your mouth, Rosedark,’ the Crone snapped. ‘Emma needs to absorb the truth of her being into herself to be fully integrated. I will prepare a charm for her to help with the shock. We have little time to linger in the Wastelands. I would be doing Emma a disservice to ease her of the pain of awareness of her true being, no matter how traumatic that discovery might be.’

‘Do you think she realises the full extent of her power?’

‘No. But if she opens too quickly to full awareness we will lose her. The shock would kill her.’

I barely took in Rosedark’s concerned face as she placed a lavender shawl gently around my shoulders and brushed some hair out of my eyes with a gentle hand.

‘It is a mighty shock to be told you are Bindisore after living as a Bluite all your time; that would be surprise enough. But to discover you are related to Sati! Well, that would be enough to kill me, I think, to find I was kinfolk with that black-hearted sow’s turd.’

‘Enough!’ Khartyn snapped. ‘Use your words wisely, Rosedark.’ She began to mix a combination of herbs and oils in her mortar and pestle. ‘My foul-mouthed child, she knew the truth all along. She just chose to suppress the memory. There are more layers to her heritage she will refuse to face.

‘Observe how she cannot discuss or even think of the Stag Man? Her mind has developed itself to censor any thought pattern that threatens to reveal the truth of her being. I will treat her for the worst of the shock only, for we shall have to move quickly. We still have to travel through Headhunter territory; Emma will need to be a little stronger than she is at the moment!’

I made no protest when the Crone passed the chalice with the rescue remedy brew she had prepared. After I had sipped the contents there was an instantaneous easing of my chaotic thoughts. The anxiety I was experiencing began to subside and my breathing deepened.

‘Come, Emma!’ Khartyn ordered. ‘We have to continue our journey. Sati and Ishran will not permit us to continue meandering through the Wastelands indefinitely! By now they will be aware that we have paid the toll to enter their kingdom; it will not be long ere they send their pet Solumbi to welcome us!’

Thinking of the Solumbi had the desired effect and goaded me into action. I swung myself onto Jabi’s back.

‘I’m ready,’ I said, sounding distant and flat. Khartyn shot me a concerned glance. There was no time to lose.