Circle of Nine: Circle of Nine Trilogy 1 (29 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Could make a ladye seem a knight,
A nutshell seem a gilded barge
A sheeling seem a palace large
And youth seem age and age seem youth
All was delusion, nought was truth

— ‘The Lay of the Last Minstrel’, Sir Walter Scott

Gwyndion! Gwyndion!
Knower of neither love nor of sin!
Let yourself rest here,
Let your roots grow here!
With our Faery hands we’ll remove all your fear!

— Imomm Faery song

And thus it was the great wood man came to the Hollow Hills (plus his stinky meerwog). Great was the excitement with we small Faeries, as in all recorded Winski history no tree man had ever been captured before.

It would not be an idle boast to declare that I, Jig Boy, son of Elven foot, was one of the first Winskis to summon the courage up to poke him in the eye. How we clapped and cheered and somersaulted! Even as I write, my throat is red, and my hands still sore. The meerwog, stinky thing that it is, has proven to be a delight. Fat and soft and pinchable. We spend countless moon ups pinching and poking the small fat ball, making it scream and cry. Several of the older Winskis wanted to kill the fat ball straightaway, disliking the smells that it brought into the Hollow Hills. But our fair Queen, Diomonna, forbade the killing.

The tree man is such a sight that my pen is shaking as I write this. We are all hard at work, composing songs about him. His hair is white, almost silver, and leaves grow around the strands. Imagine — if you can — eyes the colour of the moon, but then they change to blue! From silver to blue, he is a strange thing to observe. But wait! I have left the best to last. His organ is enormous, and many of the Winski women are oohing and aaahing from moon down to moon up, beating their breasts, fluttering their eyelashes, and declaring — as only a silly Winski woman can — to be in love with him. What foolishness! By the beard of King Pysphorrus, women are a stupid, feeble breed indeed, to lose their senses so quickly over a Webx man! Believe me, he is nowhere near as fair as they claim.

Even our own exquisite Diomonna is fluttering her eyelashes, and eyeing his organ hungrily when she gets the chance. She thinks I do not notice, that I am like all the other pebblebrain Winskis, wishing only to dance and sing and somersault. Life is intolerable at the moment; with any luck they will decide to kill him soon, and conversation in the Hollow Hills will improve.

The weather has been on the cool side. Persephone has not risen, although that is no concern of Winski folk.

Lightbright had a baby boy. Mother and son well.

Yes, I look forward to the Webx being killed. I know then that I will not have to listen to this manic talk about his organ. Once he is dead Jig Boy will be far more content.

— Account written by Jig Boy, son of Elven Foot, in his First Turn of the Wheel.

*

When Gwyndion eventually opened his eyes he gazed upon a face that belonged to his dreams. It was beautiful, ethereal, with enormous green tiger-eyes flecked with yellow. A dream face, a dream woman. Skin of flawless porcelain. Red, long, curling glossy locks fell to her waist, decked throughout with cowslips and pansies. He recognised the woman’s features as belonging to the Imomm, one of the earliest, most reclusive Faery tribes in all the known worlds. The dream smiled at him and spangles of coloured light dripped from her eyes and skin onto his upraised face as she spoke.

Her words were in Xon, her native Faery tongue. ‘Hail and merry meet, young Webx from the land of Zeglanada! My men have carried you to me and you are now the captive of the Faery people of Imomm. I am Diomonna, Queen of Imomm, daughter of King Pysphorrus. You have trespassed upon Faery hunting ground. It is Imomm law that yeself — and the meerwog — must be put to death unless you can explain the impudence to my satisfaction! Hiss! Claw!’

‘Samma?’ Gwyndion managed to stammer, fearing that he had lost his wits and finding the obscure Xon tongue difficult to speak.

A frown marred the perfection of the Faery Queen’s brow.

‘Samma is the form you perceive as meerwog?’ she enquired icily, a note of condescension in her voice. ‘The meerwog has been taken to a holding pen while we evaluate her condition. Now, Webx, you must rest and prepare yeself so you can provide an explanation for the transgressions to the Imomm people.’

In her elongated porcelain hands appeared a blue china jug and mug. ‘Drink from this jug and you will ne’er be thirsty.’

Gwyndion took the proffered jug and sipped cautiously. He was well aware of how the inhabitants of the different worlds of Faery were skilled in using food and drink to enslave those foolish enough to partake. The brew was delicious, like sweet caramel, and tiny pink primroses floated on the surface. Despite his fears he could not restrain himself from draining the jug. Instantly, he felt lighter, more insubstantial. Diomonna laughed briefly, her enormous gold and mauve wings fluttering behind her. Her face was a perfect synergy of good and evil. Tiny golden Winskis encircled her head.

‘Kill the root man!’ they chanted in a furious little falsetto. ‘Kill him dead! Deader than dead wood! Kill eyes! Kill heart!’

Immense butterflies of a brilliant blue colour applauded the Winskis’ taunts as they encircled Gwyndion’s head. Gwyndion, sedated from the Faery brew, felt a weight upon his eyelids and he nodded, growing drowsier by the second.

Diomonna clapped her hands. ‘I shall return. Hiss, claw.’

She dissolved into silver dust as Gwyndion fell into a heavy slumber.

*

When Gwyndion came to he felt more aware of his surroundings than he had before. He knew himself to be in the fabled Hollow Hills of the Imomm tribe, the basis for many tales the storytellers had spun over the centuries. In every direction the Webx looked he was dazzled by the beauty of the white limestone cliffs that surrounded him.

Fool’s gold glinted next to enormous slabs of amethyst and quartz crystal. Petrified wood seemed to contain secrets of long-lost worlds. Dazzling diamonds were flung casually onto the floor. Huge Faery chandeliers of deer antlers and maja webs revolved slowly from the ceiling. Treasure pilfered over centuries from all the known worlds were heaped carelessly in unordered piles. The effect was beautiful but surreal; the impression was like gazing into a mirror and viewing the reflection, not the reality. Air elementals swooped in a graceful dance as a young Imomm woman sat in the corner with a beautifully polished wooden harp, her long Faery fingers moving over the strings with practised ease. An elderly woman who looked Bluite was in the corner pounding leaves and berries to dye clothes. Her hair was grey, thin and like pieces of string; she had a few bald patches on her head. She had an ample figure with large drooping breasts. Her clothes were patched and worn. Her long cotton dress was faded from numerous washes, and she wore a stained red apron. Her hands were large, red and chapped. Winskis circled her head in excited formations. She looked through him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. A name came to his mind.
Old Patricia.

‘Your Webx has woken!’ she called out with a sour expression. Nobody appeared to react to her call, with the exception of a group of Winskis who began to shriek and clap.

Gwyndion was aware of a barely detectable odour that made his nostrils wrinkle with distaste. It was the odour of Faery, that unmistakable smell that was not animal, not vegetable or human, but a disconcerting mixture of all. There was a bestial note to the odour, and the Webx found it repellent.

Gradually he became aware that he was tethered to a large oak tree that grew within the hills, held by a thick maja web. As he watched in horror, the feared maja spider, so revered in the worlds of Faery as a steed, continued to busily spin the web that entrapped him.

Gwyndion attempted to communicate with the oak, but was met only by a string of abuse from the Faery loving tree. Then he heard Samma’s whimpers, and anger swept through him. They had tethered his meerwog nearby to his right, in more dense maja webs against the wall. His view was obscured by the careless heaps of treasure. As disorientated as Gwyndion was, it was obvious to him his beloved Samma was bleeding and in pain. The Webx howled his anger, wishing he could kill every last one of the vermin Faery Imomm for the hurt they had inflicted upon his faithful friend. Deaf to his cries of rage, the Faery harpist did not cease her playing. Instead her fingers flew faster and faster over the harp strings. Faeries and Bogies and the ever-taunting Winskis came flying from all directions in a chorus of excited chatter, enjoying the spectacle of the Webx’s rage. Faery women clasped their hands to their exposed breasts, sighing their desire for the handsome young Webx who screamed his fury for their callous treatment of Samma. Faery men stood jealously nearby, surrounding the shootling and taunting him with Imomm curses on both him and his race. Some of the smaller Faery children cried at this terrifying, raging alien in their midst. The smallest ones attempted to fly away, panicked by the first Webx they had ever seen outside of their picture books.

Amid the chaos, Gwyndion continued to howl his fury at his meerwog’s plight. Suddenly three Faery handmaidens of Diomonna’s flew in among the wild Faery throng. The three were so radiantly beautiful that even Gwyndion paused. As befitting their exalted rank in the Imomm tribe, the ravishing trio wore transparent silver gowns. Their hair, like the majority of the Imomm women, was worn long and was carefully curled with magical flowers placed in wreaths around their heads.

The beauties advanced toward the Webx and the crowd fell back respectfully, although now and again a smothered giggle could be heard. Gwyndion was dazzled by their sheer beauty as they approached him. Holding their perfumed arms out to him, they sang in soft, lilting Faery voices.

Gwyndion! Gwyndion!
Knower of neither love nor sin!
Let yourself rest here,
Let your roots grow here!
With our Faery hands
We’ll remove all your fear.

With that the handmaidens fell upon him. Their soft Faery hands caressed his face, and their voluptuous Faery bodies pressed firmly against his through the spider’s strands that held him. They pressed their perfumed breasts against his and their delicate moist tongues trailed with sensuous fragility along his hardened, weathered Webx skin. Aroused, Gwyndion forgot all about his cries for Samma. He forgot all about how much he despised the Imomm for what they had done to him. All he knew was that he wanted to sink himself into the three bodies that offered themselves so openly to him. He could glimpse flashes of their tempting flesh through their loose gowns. The rosy tips of their budding breasts were made darker by the berry stain with which the Imomm women adorned themselves. The enchanting slit between their Faery thighs, with a mixture of dark and blonde pubic hair, aroused the Webx still further. Furiously he battled with his maja chains in an effort to wrap himself around them. The Faery women giggled excitedly at his efforts, and then the blonde handmaiden dropped to her knees and brushed the maja strands away from the Webx’s swollen member. An audible gasp was heard from the assembled Imomm women as the handmaiden ran her tongue quickly up the wooden bony shaft. Gwyndion moaned softly, all rational thoughts forgotten as the three handmaidens shared his organ between them.

The other Faery women in the company stood by jealously as the handmaidens pleasured Gwyndion with their skilled mouths and tongues. When he finally ejaculated he failed to observe them hastily gathering his seed into a small golden bag. Drained and exhausted, he slumped forward as the three attendants exited slowly through the cheering Faery throng, with the exception of Old Patricia, who continued to dye the Faery clothes with a bored expression on her face, as if such sights were commonplace in the Hollow Hills. The Winskis, however, were already somersaulting, and composing songs, and Jig Boy was seated at his desk, writing up the event he had just witnessed.

The three Hags held the golden bag aloft triumphantly.

*

Straining against the restrictive maja web, Samma attempted desperately to reach her beloved master. Her heart was breaking at having to witness how easily he had fallen under the Faeries’ Glamour. What else could explain his eager, wanton reaction to the three Hags who stroked him with their fetid, wrinkled hands? Now they had extracted his precious seed from him! Samma was only too aware of the potency of the magic that could be raised against Gwyndion with his own semen. She mewed piteously, hoping to rouse Gwyndion from the enchantment he had fallen under, but her efforts were only rewarded with an angry poke with a spear by a watcher Faery. She retreated as far as she could from the needle-sharp point. Feigning sleep, Samma rested with her head on her paws but her mind raced frantically. There must be a way.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

D
iomonna smiled when the Hags entered her quarters holding the mojo bag out to her. Her kitten sat purring contentedly on her lap. Jinji was typical of the Faery animals, similar to a Bluite cat in that her fur was white and fluffy, but wildly different in that she had red ears and three red eyes. Diomonna’s long purple painted nails stroked Jinji tenderly and her stolen rings flashed against the kitten’s snowy back.

‘Give the magic bag to me!’ she cried, her hand reaching for it greedily.

The Hags hesitated and glanced at each other. It was difficult to refuse the Faery Queen, after all, they were on her territory, but the sperm that they had extracted contained potent magic for them.

‘Black Annis gave specific instructions we were to deliver the Webx’s seed personally.’ The Hag who dared to speak had been the first maiden to place her mouth to Gwyndion’s organ. Diomonna’s eyes widened. Her gaze was child-like and without guile, but the Hags could sense the menace beneath her innocent stare.

‘I, Diomonna, Faery Queen, am about to fly to Black Annis. In person I will deliver the seed. And you will not object, Hag. Am I heard? Hiss, claw.’

The Hags hesitated and then reluctantly handed the mojo bag over. Diomonna dismissed them curtly. When they had departed her quarters, her pink and mauve wings shook with excitement. She opened the mojo bag to examine and smell the sperm. Little giggles erupted from her dainty mouth, and she lifted some of the sperm to her lips on a fingertip and tasted it carefully on her tongue. She nodded, pleased at the sensation. Then, taking an identical mojo bag that contained the sperm of an insolent Bogie who had been guilty of belittling Diomonna through careless gossip, she hastily boarded a ragwort stem. The Faery Queen could have used her wings to fly to the appointment with Black Annis, but she preferred to make an entrance mounted grandly on her chosen vehicle. Rising into the invigorating scented air of Eronth, she began her journey.

*

The Faery Queen’s red hair streamed like a wild tail behind her as she flew balanced astride her ragwort chariot. She travelled so fast she seemed to be but a sudden dash of mauve and pink, a fleeting burst of iridescent sunbeam.

Over Faia village she flew, and she spat down onto the gaily coloured cottages, laughing to herself. She was fully aware that the Faiaites were no friends of the Imomm. No doubt they were influenced by that cursed Bluite Mary. The Bluite Priestess had even attempted to ban the seven-yearly practice of tithing Bluite children to Hades. (At this further proof of betrayal from the Faiaites, Diomonna always chose to ignore the fact that she too had hated the inconvenient practice.) Indeed, since the Bluite bitch had taken rule it was not unusual to see pentagrams and pigs’ heads outside Faia doors, desperate attempts to keep all pilfering Faeries out. To the Faeries’ dismay, who needed to replenish their dwindling supply of Faerykind, all small Faia children now had miniature bells and St John’s wort stitched into their clothing to prevent the children being seized and carried off. For if the Faeries succeeded in capturing a child they would enslave it for lifetimes, caught in the web of illusion, madness and Glamour that the Faeries loved to weave. It had been a crushing blow to the Imomm and Wezom tribes when the Faiaites, obviously under the spell of some powerful enchantment, had placed Mary the ex-Bluite on their throne. All Faery tribes had longed for a ruler in Faia who was at least half-Faery blood. Diomonna spat again in defiance and contempt at the Faiaites’ treachery to the world of Faery. But soon the village was a dwindling blot of light and shadow retreating into the distance beneath her.

As the ragwort stem continued its flight over the grim, forbidding landscape of the Wastelands, Diomonna’s sharp eyes spotted the bodies, some still jerking fitfully, impaled on top of the Azephim turrets. Giving a mock-servile salute to the angels, her sharp Faery eyes sensed the lifeless Eom that lay dormant within the castle. How Diomonna would love to claim the Eom for herself! She was convinced — and the Hags had agreed with her in endless discussion — that if the Faeries had the mysterious black Eom for themselves they could cock their noses at Hades, refuse to pay the tithe, and the world of pure Faery could once again rule in Eronth! No more having to feed those fat, useless Bluite midwives that sat around like sows! At that thought Diomonna gave an excited jump on the ragwort, nearly losing her balance. Filled with confidence she sang to the angels’ castle.

Useless angel, useless stone,
No useless child for the throne!
Eom dead now — like his seed,
Ugly black wife — still doth bleed.
Faery curse now, you are swine!
Big Black Eom will be mine!

Saluting contemptuously and laughing hysterically, she flew by and left the castle far behind. As Diomonna considered the Eom and the handsome young Webx her tribe had captured, a plan began to take shape in her devious Faery mind.

*

Now Diomonna stood in the northerly, most desolate region of the Wastelands. She glanced around fearfully. This area of Eronth was not safe for a Faery but the Hag had insisted on them meeting here. The sky was overcast, a dull brownish colour, the air was stagnant and smelt rank. Bones littered the cracked, arid earth in every direction that the skittish Faery Queen looked. A great majority of the carcasses were Bluite, the flesh and clothing still clinging to some bones. Life still in the process of decomposing.

Horrified, Diomonnna recoiled, realising she stood in a Solumbi feeding pit. She craned her neck peering this way and that, looking out fearfully for the deadly beasts. Rats and ergoms scurried busily among the bones, and Diomonna felt her stomach lurch.

‘No safe for Faery, no safe for Faery!’ she whispered to herself.

For the first time she wondered if it was sheer folly to attempt to deceive the Hag. Perhaps Black Annis was brighter than she appeared. Then her wings fluttered in alarm. It was too late to back out now. The awesome black swan carriage that transported Black Annis was making its way across the purple sky. Diomonna shivered. Accompanying the arrival of the ancient cannibal was a black mist and a frost that swept the feeding pit with a chill. The scattered bones became laced with ice, adding a terrible beauty to the already grim landscape.

The six black swans landed gracefully on the ground in front of Diomonna. As they pulled up they spat at the Faery Queen, their contempt for the world of Faery visible in their haughty faces. Diomonna summoned up an image of them on a silver dish surrounded by a banquet feast and shot it back at them, forgetting her fear in the joy of the visual sparring. Black Annis alighted slowly, her arthritic joints making her wince. Her long silver hair was scraped back from her face. Her lethal oversized pale eyes, so feared in Eronth, scrutinised the Faery Queen as she gave the Imomm greeting.

‘You have the Webx shootling?’ Black Annis hissed through gleaming fangs, still razor sharp and polished despite her declining years. Diomonna knew that if the ancient Hag lost her teeth, it would mean it was time for her sparrow to depart as the old carnivore would never survive on a diet of vegetables.

Bad Meat! Old Meat!
she told herself privately. Trying not to flinch at the hatred in the ancient one’s voice and attempting to appear nonchalant, Diomonna held out the mojo bag containing the Bogie’s sperm. The Hag snarled her displeasure and the Queen jumped back a pace. The Swans spat again, disgusted at the impudence of a mere Faery who dared to disobey Black Annis.

‘I had given specific orders! No Faery hand was to contaminate his seed!’

Diomonna kept her face neutral, although she longed to just empty the sperm onto the ground and fly away. Generations of being treated with disgust and fear had bred a rebellious streak in the Faery and she continued to hold the mojo bag out.

‘I wanted to be the bearer. I wanted the honour of being carrier for Black Annis, hiss, claw,’ Diomonna said smoothly.

She watched with barely disguised anticipation as the Hag untied the mojo bag and sniffed the contents, focusing her mind on the smell of the young shootling. His Webxness sprang easily, too easily to her mind. As Diomonna had suspected, the ancient Hag fell for the illusion.

‘Black Annis is pleased with the Imomm!’ she announced.

Diomonna leapt into the air to signify her joy, although her real elation lay with the fact that the savage old Hag had not detected the odour of Bogie. The Hags were too important to the Imomm’s plans to risk offending them.

‘What docs Black Annis need with fluid from the handsome one?’ Diomonna became bold enough to ask.

Black Annis’s long, black, curling nails stroked the mojo bag reverentially and her enormous, inhuman eyes glanced in the direction of the Azephim castle.

‘Tis my bargaining tool!’ she snapped.

Diomonna frowned, a suspicion beginning to form in her mind.

‘What does the oldest Hag give the Imomm people in return? What is the gifting?’

The Hag smiled briefly, revealing her black, mottled gums. She gestured for the Faery Queen to look into her swan carriage. Unconscious on the black leather seats was a tiny boy, a Bluite child. Diomonna cried aloud in delight when she spotted him. He had the colouring that the Faeries favoured, blond curls and creamy skin. Excitedly she clapped her hands and immediately began trying to pull on the child’s arm to rouse him.

‘I will bring him to you when I collect my Hags,’ Black Annis promised. ‘He shall be prepared and ready for the tithe with Hades it you so wish.’

Clambering awkwardly into the carriage, she kicked the child with her boot.

‘I shall refrain from eating him,’ she promised, sensing the Faery Queen’s unspoken concern. Then she laughed malevolently. ‘We purchased his young sister as well. She will prove a more tender meal for Black Annis!’

Diomonna wondered how the cannibal Hag had acquired the siblings, although she was well aware there was a thriving black market trade in Crossas. Mary the Bluite had not managed to stamp it out despite her best efforts. Waving goodbye to Black Annis and giving a last mental pinch to the swans’ feathered behinds, she waited until the carriage had disappeared into the horizon, taking the black mist and fog with it. Then, reboarding her ragwort stem, Diomonna prayed to the Dreamers. Although she often doubted that the Dreamers were interested in the prayers of Faeries, the Faery Queen was quietly troubled that her deception with the sperm would be discovered by Black Annis. The Imomm had troubles enough without incurring the wrath of the land Hags. And so she prayed fervently that her scheme would succeed.

*

Black Annis was presented to Ishran and Sati immediately by the most exalted of their servants, angel watchers who had been in faithful service to Ishran for many years. The ancient Hag had proved a frequent visitor over the seasons and so the Dark Angels didn’t even bother with the formality of applying Glamour to themselves. They lay on their black throne, entwined together like two huge winged snakes, feasting hungrily on the carcass of something that had once moved and dreamed. Black Annis sniffed the air, suddenly realising how hungry she was. The excitement of the morning’s negotiations with the Imomm Queen had stimulated her appetite. The little girl she had eaten that morning had been far too small to satisfy her for long. She secretly hoped she would be invited to share the Azephim luncheon.

‘Ah, my dear old Hag! Greetings! What brings Black Annis to the Wastelands?’ said Ishran, his mouth flecked with brains and blood.

The Hag smiled. ‘Why, to bring the Great Winged Ones joyful tidings. I bring news that the Imomm people have a member of the Webx tribe in their possession.’

The bulbous eyes of the Ishran–Sati thing watched her with intensity as it continued to feed voraciously.

‘Not just any old Webx, either,’ the Hag continued, enjoying the moment. ‘I wouldn’t deign to bother you with trifles, Dark Ones. No, this is a pretty prize indeed. They have the shootling Gwyndion, barely sap-spawned, whose hostlings were the Elders, the protectors of the Eom!’

Suddenly, with a single whiplash movement, the snake-like creature that was Sati and Ishran separated. The feeding was abruptly terminated and Black Annis found herself looking into Ishran’s yellow eyes, radiant with light and hope, his glossy dark wings curled beneath him. Sati sat eagerly by his side, seductively beautiful as always under the illusion of Glamour.

‘You have done well, old stinking one,’ Ishran’s tone was silky and measured. ‘If this information be correct, you will be rewarded. What did you wish from the angels in return?’

‘There be three things,’ Black Annis said unflinchingly.

Ishran’s eyes slitted with suspicion. ‘Go on.’

‘I request that when your Solumbi cross into the other worlds they bring back a Bluite for Black Annis to feast upon. I request that Black Annis and the Earth Hags be allocated permanent quarters in the Azephim Castle. Thirdly, I request that your door be opened also to the Sea Hags.’

‘The Sea Hags!’ Sati exclaimed. ‘Pray tell us, Black Annis, how you expect the Sea Hags to sustain their life-force for an indefinite period out of water?’

‘There be ways, Dark Mistress,’ Black Annis replied inscrutably.

Ishran leant forward, his yellow eyes scrutinising the cragged face of the Earth Hag before him.

‘The angels have heard rumours, Hag. Possibly naught but idle Faiaite voices, but rumours nonetheless. It is said that the Sea Hags have already infiltrated Eronth, using magic, and they already walk among us. It is said they are seeking to seize power in Faia and take the throne from the rightful angel owners. You ask me to entertain the idea of taking into my home the Hags that would seek to attack Lord Ishran?’

Black Annis frowned. ‘This be fresh intelligence to Black Annis. I know nothing of it. The Sea Hags have always supported the Dark Angels. Indeed, my understanding was they longed for the time when the Azephim are promoted to their rightful place and the Bluite whore no longer rules the land!’

‘Black Annis,’ Sati said, ‘why do you wish the Sea Hags to leave their natural environment?’