Circle of Nine: Circle of Nine Trilogy 1 (22 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I
n the underground, Persephone listened anxiously for the tormented sound of Demeter’s cries. She dreaded the wail that could be mistaken for wind but was instead the call of a broken heart. Relaxing, she released her breath slowly. All that could be heard from the overground was silence. Relief flooded through her, for Hades could fly into swift, terrible rages if he witnessed Demeter’s tormented grief. For the moment it was safe; he was engaged in the inner chambers of the underground entertaining the angel Ishran.

A bat flew past squeaking and Persephone jumped. Ishran and his hag wife Sati had recently been spending a lot of time visiting Hades. Their meetings were always held in the inner chambers and Persephone was never invited. A sure sign, she thought wryly, that the overthrow of the goddesses was on their agenda. Although Persephone was relieved not to have to endure Hades’ volatile mood changes, she had to admit when he was away from her the time passed so slowly. She had spent the morning playing with the new toy that he had brought for her amusement, a dead Crossa. But Persephone was becoming weary of such trifles. She had begun to long for life.

She wanted to feel the light of the Triple Moons, her hair lift in a cool breeze, watch life sprout from seeds. She had listened to the Belthane rites of the Faiaites with dismay; it was obvious life was proceeding without her in the Overland. Even Demeter had ceased to mourn and sob and plead.

Persephone’s acute senses, honed by many moon seasons in the dark caverns of the underground, meant she was skilled in perceiving the slightest difference in the overhead vibrations. A strange, discernible echo was evident through the thick layers of soil. Faia was undergoing changes; transformation was spiralling headlong, but what exactly was happening?

Persephone strained to hear but all that her ears detected was the muffled whispers of change. Bored, she played with the dead Crossa, waiting and willing Hades to complete his meeting and come to her. She had been weary and depressed more frequently and her head had begun to ache for lack of fresh air. Perhaps she should just leave, she thought, brushing the Crossa’s hair. Now is the time to steal away, while Hades is occupied with his precious angels. It’s time to flout his commands and return to the overground. Or should she stay? Stay to rule as Queen of the Dead and sit in the eternal silence listening to her heart beat and her cells change. Tears fell from her eyes at her loneliness.

‘What should I do?’

Persephone appealed aloud to the Crossa, the remains of a young, dark-haired woman. The Crossa made no reply but stared blankly at Persephone with eyes that were empty of life but not at peace. Persephone began to sob at the futility of having conversations with the dead.

The meeting with Ishran and Sati was not progressing as smoothly as Hades had envisaged. Ishran and Sati had appeared full of good cheer when they first arrived, bearing a Crossa as a gift for Persephone. (As if she didn’t have enough toys, Hades thought, but he accepted it with a pretence of forced delight.) Sati, he decided, looked particularly beautiful on this visit. She had obviously used Glamour, but with subtlety. Hades found himself engrossed in every word she said, laughing heartily at every witticism she uttered. He admitted privately to himself that he had always been a little in love with Sati. He would love to pull her to the underground and keep her locked away in one of his caverns! he thought bawdily. Well, what man wouldn’t be in love with Sati, he reasoned.

Today, for Hades’ appreciation, she had woven hundreds of minute bones of the dead through her waist-length black hair. The bones were arranged in complex patterns amid the patchouli musk scent of her hair. He allowed himself a moment’s fantasy of that beautiful hair covering the deadly white skin of her voluptuous body until he became aware that Ishran’s reptile eyes were fastened coldly on him, and Hades pulled himself together in time to register Sati’s next words.

‘We want Persephone to remain underground. Permanently. Yet even as we talk she is thinking of rising, preparing herself to rise. So far you have managed to delay her, but it is not enough. Remember, Persephone is like a child that must be kept constantly amused to pass the time. You have not been honouring your contract to us, Hades. You leave the Goddess alone for long periods of time. You rut with other women within hearing distance of her. She is unstimulated.’

Ishran leaned forward, his hand possessively on Sati’s leg. From one ear swung several bones that he had arranged in a design. His hair was as long and as dark as Sati’s. His breath was frost-black ice. An attractive man. Hades decided, but not deserving of such a witch goddess as Sati!

‘Seeing that you are incapable of keeping Persephone entertained, we will help you out,’ Ishran said smoothly. ‘We will deliver to her a new toy. Something that will stimulate her and keep her amused. Instead of another dead Crossa we will bring you a live Crossa.’

‘It won’t survive down here!’ Hades interrupted, displeased at Ishran’s inference that he didn’t know how to treat Persephone. ‘I’ve tried live ones before and they all died on her, which, Zeus knows, turned her against me for nights!’

Sati placed a hand on his arm and her touch was forbidden velvet. Later, her glance promised him, when Ishran is occupied, I will return here and you can take your pleasure of me in one of your underground caverns. Her promise lulled and bewitched him.

‘Bring the Crossa, then, but I did make a sacred promise to Demeter! Even now her rage is renting Eronth. There have been earth tremors and whales and dolphins stranding in all the worlds in response to her fury! If Zeus decided to intervene . . .’

‘He won’t,’ Sati cut in smoothly. ‘The day of the goddesses is dying. Zeus and the harpies that he surrounds himself with are losing more and more power.’

Hades glanced fearfully around him at her blasphemy but undaunted she pressed on.

‘The new religion will have Ishran and I at its forefront. The goddesses and their pathetic nature worship will be erased and forgotten. Both the Eronthites and the inhabitants of all known worlds will worship accumulation of wealth and material possessions in the new age!’

Her eyes glinted with her passion. ‘We will create a world of illusion and Glamour so thick no-one will be able to break free of it!’

Hades hesitated. In his heart he doubted Sati and Ishran had enough power between them to overthrow the old goddesses, but the idea of pushing himself between her long, thin, white legs and taking his pleasure from her was temptation enough to make him believe.

‘Who is the Crossa you will bring?’ he queried. ‘Is it anyone important?’

He hoped it was a girl, an attractive girl. Then both he and Persephone would benefit. Sati smiled and he admired her back teeth filed to sharp points.

‘No-one of any importance, Hades. My sister.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

All things change.
As the corn is sown and reaped,
The day moves into night.
Everchanging is the light.
And like dust we move through light and life.
All things change.

— From the Faian song ‘All Things Change’

T
ime passed slowly as we rode our ilkamas through the Wastelands toward the Azephim castle. Although the tall dark spires of Ishran’s ancestral home were easily glimpsed in the misty blue horizon of the Wastelands, we never seemed to get any closer to it. After the sun had set twice upon us and the castle appeared still further in the distance, Khartyn let out a soft whistle.

‘Sati, my little black bird, is playing games with us! Let’s try travelling back toward Faia!’

Infuriated, I wheeled Jabi in the direction of Faia. My lower back ached from the constant travelling. Khartyn appeared to have only one goal in mind: to reach the castle in the shortest time possible. She had allocated a minimum time for breaks and was pushing the ilkamas and us as much as she dared. When I finally summoned the courage to question the gruelling pace she curtly admonished me, stating that the Wastelands was not a healthy place and not one to linger in. Now she was demanding that we return to our original starting point!

I sat wearily upon Jabi’s back as we began to travel in the opposite direction. To my amazement, the castle appeared instantly on the horizon and immediately became slightly larger as we moved toward it.

Khartyn chuckled. ‘Sati loves her tricks!’

Rosedark was subdued and I sensed that she was not happy with being back in the Wastelands. A promising, gifted apprentice she might be, but she was still Faiaite-born and all Faiaites feared the Wastelands and the creatures who inhabited them. I longed to discuss the events of Belthane, but as with everything else in Eronth anything that occurred out of the eternal ‘now’ was no longer considered important or even polite conversation. The words and the questions would rise up in me but dissipated before I could speak them.

I soon found myself preoccupied with the panoramic desolation around me, and the sound the leaves made as they blew gently with the wind elementals. In the ‘now’ the sensations that resulted from direct clear observation were so vivid and hallucinatory that it became almost impossible to think or discuss anything that did not co-exist with ‘now’.

The countryside had begun to dramatically change since leaving Faia. Gone were the sprawling and once-prosperous crop fields much laboured over by the Faiaites for their daily survival. Foliage did not grow easily in Wastelands soil. Very little appeared to flourish here. The exception was a large silver shrub, the only vegetation that grew in profusion over the hills and dales of the bleak landscape. Khartyn informed me the shrub, was known as an endi shrub and warned me against consuming the plump berries that dangled so invitingly, so I assumed the endi was poisonous and yet another trap for the unwary or ignorant traveller.

The remainder of the countryside appeared to consist of large rock boulders and withered, black-charred trees that stretched with monotonous regularity wherever I looked. Large rotting bodies of unknown origin lay on the ground, causing us to watch every step. Some of them, in the early stages of decomposition, were obviously Solumbi. I could feel myself wanting to retch as we passed them. Others looked more human, sprawled in unnatural poses, a testament to an unnatural death. Flowers became bones in this bleak landscape. Some of the fresher bodies were swarming with insects, flies and vultures. I had never seen such huge birds in my life. Their eyes were tiny cold suns as they sized me up wondering how long it would be before their large beaks could rip into my flesh.

Even the Triple Moons could not be seen here. The sky held only a pale sun, similar to the Earth’s sun, which emitted weak rays of warmth. All in all it was a grim and desolate place, bare and filled with tears. Like hell. An eerie light shimmered over the grim landscape. Fear returned to me and began to stir uneasily within me.

Khartyn surveyed the dead land before us. ‘There are other parts of the Wastelands more scenic than these outer borders.’

Rosedark shuddered. ‘I don’t want to explore them, Old Mother. There’s a saying on the Blue Planet — they say it a lot about places like this. I think it’s “this place gives me the creeps!” Can we leave now?’

‘It’s meant to do precisely that,’ Khartyn replied, ‘Don’t forget that Sati and Ishran want this land for themselves. They have driven out entire Faery tribes that once flourished in the Wastelands. They slaughtered them in bloody massacres and rendered the land unlivable by poisoning the environment. It was not too many moons ago that wildlife and plant life flourished here. Now it is a desert.’

‘It’s hard to believe that the giants actually want to come and live here!’ Rosedark said with a shudder.

‘Only the Azephim would put their aged in an outpost such as the Outerezt,’ Khartyn said, her hair sticking up from her head, and looking more like a decrepit spider than ever. ‘May the Darkness give light and be merciful to the Azephim for the shameful way that they have treated the land!’

I stared at the stark landscape and felt an immense sadness which seemed to pulsate from the planet’s core, as if nodding in agreement with the Crone’s words.

‘This is one of the many crimes that Sati and Ishran will be held accountable for,’ Khartyn continued.

‘Who will judge their souls, Old Mother?’ Rosedark queried. ‘Great Zeus?’

‘Not Zeus, but the Dreamers. On the day that Hecate leads the Azephim to the Dreamers they will have to face the consequences of their actions.’

‘That’s if they agree to let go of their bodies, Mother!’ Rosedark exclaimed. ‘For there are rumours in Faia that Sati is negotiating immortality with Hecate in return for the provision of a constant supply of dead bodies!’

Khartyn laughed out loud at this and regarded Rosedark scornfully. ‘Maid, I have warned you before about listening to Faia gossip! Now keep your wits close to you, my good girls, for packs of Solumbi and mountain lions roam freely. They normally —’

She broke off in shock at the apparition that suddenly materialised in front of us. Gigantic in form, over eight feet tall, he made an imposing figure despite the air of ethereal fragility that clung to him. An elderly man, his long silver-white hair hung to his knees and his long white beard was plaited. Where his eyes should have been were only empty sockets.

‘Don’t be alarmed!’ Khartyn said to us. Rosedark and I were both staring open-mouthed at the new arrival. ‘Tis only Old Narziel the Toll-Keeper. Hail, All Seeing One! Merry meet, Narziel! We have travelled from the land of the Triple Moons to seek an audience with Lord Ishran in the Castle of the Azephim. We respectfully beseech you for permission to pass.’

Narziel grinned slyly, revealing his shrunken gums and gnarled rows of yellowed teeth. He spat on the ground. ‘Merry meet to yeself, Khartyn, respected Crone of Faia and to you beautiful lasses! I believe your mission, Crone, is to travel through my Wastelands in an attempt to destroy Ishran and Sati. Oh yea! Old Narziel knows the object of your journey! The entire Wastelands whisper it to me!’

He went into cackles of laughter while Khartyn looked helplessly at her travelling companions.

‘Old one, will you let us pass?’ Khartyn requested evenly.

Narziel began to hop up and down on one foot with excitement.

‘Come now, Crone! You know the price! Dinna be shy now. You can only pass if you give Old Narziel something of value. Now, no cheating, mind you, lassies! The Wastelands demands it must be something you truly value or Old Narziel will know!’

Again he erupted into hysterical giggles. Khartyn frowned, her head slightly bowed, as she reluctantly passed her athame over.

‘Will you accept my athame, old one? It has been at my side serving me for centuries.’

Narziel examined the athame, running his fingers carefully over the blade.

‘Athame, eh? The Wastelands is whispering to me and it whispers yea! Old Narziel will accept it. Now what of the young lassies? What will you give to Old Narziel, Miss Golden Hair?’

From her ilkama’s saddlebag, Rosedark produced a large pair of scissors. She began to snip at her long locks until her hair hung in spiky tangles to her shoulders. I could see the tears in her eyes fall in sympathy with her hair. When she had finished she dismounted, gathered the fallen hair in a bundle and dropped it at Narziel ‘s feet.

‘All I have of value to give you, Old Narziel, is an offering of my hair.’

Her voice crackled with emotion at the loss of her precious locks.

Narziel ran a finger over the hair. ‘Such bonny hair! So scented and soft! The Wastelands is whispering again, and again it whispers yea!’

He belched loudly in appreciation of the offering.

‘Now what of you? Accursed one from the Blue Planet — Bindisore? What can you offer to Old Narziel?’

I hesitated. I had arrived in Eronth with only the clothes on my back. Rosedark had had to lend me several of her dresses. There was only one thing . . . I desperately tried to think of something else I could offer the toll-keeper but my mind drew a blank. There was only one thing for it. Despairingly, I pulled my dress up to my thighs and unfastened the silver garter that Artemis had bequeathed to me. Trying to feel detached and failing miserably, I handed it over to Narziel.

‘I have the magic garter given to me by the Goddess Artemis for protection. There is nothing else I have of value.’

The old man’s empty sockets appeared to glisten as he fingered the garter.

‘Artemis, the Ancient Bear, the Wild Girl — she has given this? A fine treasure indeed, and one that still bears the Sacred One’s scent!’

He held it to his nostrils and sniffed deeply, then groaned with deep satisfaction. Then he stopped, looked around in alarm, and bawled with dismay.

‘Aaahh! Old Narziel hears the Wastelands whisper nay! The garter must be given back!’ He flicked the garter at me and went into another peal of maniacal laughter. Relieved, I fastened the garter back onto my thigh while Narziel looked on with great interest. Then when the garter was securely fastened, he began jumping up and down with excitement. ‘The Wastelands decree that you can now enter!’

On making that announcement he promptly vanished into thin air. I could not look at my companions in the silence that followed his departure. Khartyn had sacrificed her holy companion of many centuries. Rosedark had lost her beautiful hair, which was more than the crowning treasure of her beauty; every lock was sacred to the maid. And yet I, for some unknown reason, had been admitted toll free.

‘The Goddess is teaching me a lesson,’ Khartyn remarked with a smile as she read my thoughts. ‘Over time I have become too attached to my magical tools. The power rests in me, not in the athame! In truth I had lost sight of that fact!’

Rosedark remained silent, her head bowed as the ilkamas moved on. Sensing she was close to tears, I mentally sent light in support and commiseration to her. After some time the apprentice was able to join in light conversation with us. But the slight shadow in her beautiful large violet eyes was heartrending proof that the toll-keeper’s price had not been an easy payment for the young Faiaite.