Circle of Nine: Circle of Nine Trilogy 1 (15 page)

I felt frustrated, there was so much that I was aching to know! And, I suspected, much that was being kept from me.

Tonight Rosedark wore her hair in thick plaits coiled around her head. Among the golden tendrils of hair glinted tiny gold and silver stars. Khartyn took a miniature jar from the small silver pouch she carried in a belt around her waist. It contained ‘eyebright’ ointment, which she smeared gently onto our eyelids. After the application I could see everything around me with more intensity. The Dome appeared to be in 3-D. The world was sharper, clearer. I could perceive the tendrils of energy arcing outwards from every thought produced by Rosedark and Khartyn. Mostly their minds birthed golden flashing sparks. Then I became aware of invisible beings in the room with us. I knew them to resemble no being that I would be able to see; I realised I would not be able to process their forms even if I could see them. Yet they were with us, and always had been, as helpers and protectors in loyal, silent service. I also felt the presence of a dark, stagnant panther-like energy that had begun to assemble in the cottage.

‘It is Sati.’ Khartyn noticed my uneasy reaction to the formation of the dark energy. ‘She is angry and afraid and creating the toxic thought pattern you have observed. Never fear, the cottage is charged with light and her thought pattern will dissipate.’

Indeed, even as I received this communication from Khartyn I could perceive the thought pattern had slowly begun to waft into the ether.

Rosedark said, ‘This is what is occurring on the Blue Planet and other worlds of equal frequency. Because the people of your world have a limited knowledge of the power of their thoughts, despite the intervention of many Crossas who have spent time in the land of the one moon, the psychic pollution that now emanates from the Blue Planet is immense. It is slowly choking your world, and in certain segments of the planet it totally smothers several countries, who now operate under the control of a negative shield even though they believe their thoughts, beliefs and actions to be originating within themselves.’

Khartyn nodded in agreement. ‘The tragic consequence,’ she continued where Rosedark left off, ‘is the continued existence of wars on the Blue Planet, and the spilling of innocent blood is commonplace. Spiritualism is replaced by empty worship of media-created idols, and the old gods are ignored or subsumed by the domineering new religions. The environment is in ruins.

‘Whole species become extinct with every passing second of your Earth time, and whales and dolphins beach themselves in silent agonised protest. Even more tragic for all the worlds, the thought patterns on the Blue Planet have become so strong that they drift randomly into other universes, causing tremendous pollution. Now the cracks and invisible veils between the worlds are opening wider than at any time recorded since the Dreamers first drifted into sleep. The toxic thought patterns are entering Faia at a rate faster than we can clear.’

The Crone paused for breath as Rosedark stood perfectly still at her side.

‘What do those toxic thoughts do once they get here?’ I asked.

‘They spawn Solumbi,’ Rosedark answered. ‘Those that unknowingly create them have no idea what agents of destruction they have given birth to. They spawn other beings too.’ Khartyn motioned for her to be quiet.

A dove cooed gently during the uneasy pause that followed.

‘Yes!’ Khartyn replied in answer to the bird’s call. ‘It is time to prepare. Let us begin the chant.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

S
ati stood outside the perimeters of the cottage in the gathering dusk, listening. Her long black hair blew in the breeze. Dark greasy feathers clung unevenly over her body. Her transformation between forms was incomplete. Fresh blood spattered and adorned her skin. The sound of the women chanting inside filled her ears.

‘Kloza! Great Mother! Kloza! Zarkeez! Zarkeez!’

Sati was fully aware of the significance of the chanting. A ritual was planned for tonight. She grinned bloodily and absently nudged the corpse she had fed from at her feet. The dead woman would make an ideal gift for Emma. Sati could not enter the cottage herself, for Khartyn’s power was too great. But the Crone could not prevent her leaving calling cards for the Bluite to consider. And she could not prevent Sati calling Emma with her mind. She began to focus her thoughts in order to summon Emma to the spot where the butchered body lay. She had travelled the worlds for this offering.

Settling upon Emma mentally, she began to attempt to draw energy from her. At that point the Stag Man appeared, stepping from the embrace of the watcher trees where he had hidden to watch the Azephim Queen. Tonight he was in his human form, with waist-length blond hair entwined with twigs and leaves. His dark-brown and gold eyes were of the deep, dark earth, and somehow fully reflected his half-human, half-animal nature.

‘So, you have come,’ he said simply.

In his hands he held a yellow gourd. He shook it and a white powder fell onto the ground, sparking into a yellow flame. Sati backed away, snarling, as the night elementals began to mock her fear.

‘So you have come!’ they mimicked.

The Stag Man danced in front of her, the gourd dangling from his grip. A groan escaped Sati’s lips as she backed further away from him, waves of nausea sweeping her body. She became feathers, beak and claws. With a rustle of wings she was gone, disappearing into the night sky. The Stag Man bayed triumphantly to the silent watching moons. Then he knelt down before the corpse.

‘What of the Bluite?’ the wind elementals whispered aloud to him. ‘Hecate will arrive soon to release her bird.’

The Stag Man gently rolled the dead Crossa over onto her back. Effie stared sightlessly up at him, expressionless and cold in death. The odours of Thanatos enveloped her. Her candy-pink minidress was torn and bloodied, and her long white boots were streaked with mud and scratches. She was in shockingly violent contrast to her enchanted surroundings. He lifted her, his nose wrinkling at the strange mixture of Azephim and human odour coming from her pores. He held her dead body over his head, pointing her toward the twin moons that hung together in the night sky. The sound of his scream echoed through the woods and around the deserted cobbled streets of Faia, filled the void of the plains and the Moon Valley, and reached across the furthest wastelands. Sati shuddered as it vibrated painfully throughout her being. It was a cry of sorrow and of rage.

Inside his ancestral castle, which dominated the best grazing land of the Wastelands and afforded a distant view of Faia, Ishran himself heard the anguished scream. He had been sitting in his private temple contemplating the Eom. He frowned, his communion irrevocably disturbed. The voice of the Horned One he fully recognised. Inside the endless blackness of the Eom a minute red light flickered, drawing his startled attention. In all the centuries he had shared communion with the Eom there had been no light or movement. Now the truth of the writings of the Azephim prophets had manifested. The Eom was charging itself — at last!

Dark salty tears ran down Ishran’s angel features. Ever since he was a young Azephim studying under the tutelage of the now legendary Seleza, his angel mother, he had been conditioned and primed for this very moment. His eyes glazed over with the sheer force of his mental concentration as he willed the Eom to transmute, to finally provide him with the advice he had waited long centuries to obtain.

*

Inside Dome Cottage I heard the wind howling outside and I shivered. A goose walking on my grave, I thought. Khartyn and Rosedark exchanged uneasy glances.

‘The hounds of death are about to be unleashed,’ said Khartyn.

The white dove in the far corner of the kitchen sang a short, sweet song to Khartyn, who listened to it intently. I noticed a slight change pass across the cragged features of the Crone, but she said nothing to Rosedark or myself regarding the meaning of the words. Instead she fastened her athame, a double-bladed knife that she always carried with her for her spells and rituals, around her slender waist with single-minded determination.

‘There is a tale that is whispered in this land,’ she said to no-one in particular, ‘that when the hounds of death run to the Horned Man’s scream, then innocent lives will be lost.

‘It will presage the advent of evil which will overthrow the goddesses and the ancient ways. The Warriors of Stone will transmute into flesh and walk, and Persephone will break her sacred contract and remain forever underground.

‘There will be great famine in Eronth and the world of Faery will be overthrown by fallen Azephim angels. Dark Angel will bond with Faiaite, and a new blood formed of that lust will contaminate this land. Solumbi will multiply rapidly and cross into other worlds and wreak enormous destruction. In the land of the triple moon whole species will become extinct and the ocean will spill from the Great Shell, drowning all in its path and reclaiming much of the holy land. The Dark Angels will rule under the guidance of their sacred Eom and the rays from their unholy crystal will destroy everything in the discovered worlds that is of the light. Black, endless black will cover the totality of the Dream.’

On her face were etched deep lines of sorrow as she intoned this speech, but as soon as she finished she looked up and grinned at me. For a brief second she was transformed into a young girl. I sensed her great power and hope.

‘The Dreamers whisper to us of an alternative destiny,’ Khartyn continued, ‘where a Crossa, a lamp holder of the old ways, returns to Faia. Through her sacrifice she heralds a new age in Faia. With her powerful gift, the warriors of the Blest Circle of Nine remain trapped in their stone prison, and Persephone rises to bring blessing to our land. The Eom is transformed with her magic and all the discovered worlds salute a new consciousness as the planetary serpent spirals with kundalinic grace.’

All the while I could hear the tortured howl of the wind outside.

‘Tonight the Horned God heralds the death hounds. Are you ready, Emma, to claim your power?’

I was under the influence of the eyebright and elixir. My senses were in overdrive. It was all too much like the LSD experience I had had back at university. Everything in Dome Cottage was wildly alive. The tables and chairs spoke in urgent tones, and the walls expressed their desire that I heed their mistress. I could hardly bear to look at Rosedark and Khartyn, for their faces would continually transmute into faces that I had known and loved in many pasts. The small part of my logical mind that still survived was protesting, rejecting everything that this crazy old woman claimed. I wasn’t the Crossa that she had proclaimed in her speech would lead Faia into a new stage! I was just Emma Develle, wasn’t I? Now I was even unsure of this. I was no longer convinced of any reality. I was in a crazy dream that was slipping sideways, twisting me up and down, rolling me over; a ghastly egocentric dream. Or else I was totally insane. But it was no matter. Even as these rational thoughts were breaking through, that dwindling part of my consciousness flickered and died.

‘Yes, Mother,’ I found myself replying. ‘Yes, I’m ready.’

Outside, the eerie cry of the wind abruptly ceased.

*

Our three ilkamas were already waiting with endless patience when we finally departed the cottage for our journey. They were filled with anticipation of another excursion and flicked their manes excitedly in the air. As I mounted Jabi I glanced around uneasily. I had the sensation of being watched. A faint memory teased at me. It was an attractive blonde woman, who was yelling at me, filled with unspoken frustrations and resentments.

‘Go then! You don’t even know what the house looks like! It’s probably a rotting, falling-down old dump! You won’t find any
real
work up in the mountains, you know! You’re chucking everything away, leaving a good place here filled with your friends and family to go and paint those pathetic art school paintings!’

I frowned. Who was that woman? The memory faded — nobody too important, I decided, as I followed the rump of Khartyn’s ilkama with Rosedark bringing up the rear.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I
drew in the fragrant air, sensing the tangible excitement of the air elementals as the ilkamas trotted proudly into the Blest Circle of Nine, the echo of their golden hooves heralding their arrival. There were already ten women seated in a circle in a clearing amid the stones, the triple moonlight revealing the varied colours of their cloaks. I could recognise the three young Crossas where they sat together, their faces expressionless and pale against their dark cloaks. But it was more than that — their eyes flickered briefly over me, leaving me with the disturbing impression that I
knew
them. It was yet another irritatingly vague half-memory. Then my eyes crossed to the remaining seated silent women and I gasped. My heart could have missed a beat. These were no ordinary women. The energy that radiated out from them was overwhelming. Among them I saw Artemis, with her rows of multiple breasts gleaming in the moonlight.

Torches of flickering flames were erected at the four directions of north, south, east and west. The women sat in indifferent silence on the ground and Khartyn hastily indicated to me where I should be seated. I tentatively squeezed between an Islae and the most beautiful-looking woman I had ever seen. Shining, dark hair framed a face that was both pure and lascivious. Her gown was rose-coloured — large, creamy scallop shells barely covered her round breasts, and the odour of frankincense drifted about her. Khartyn stood in the middle of the circle and I wondered at the power and authority that she must possess. Holding her hands high above her head, Khartyn pointed her athame up in salutation to the moons.

‘I conjure you, O Circle of Power, that you will be a meeting place of love and joy and truth. A shield against all wickedness and evil. A boundary between the worlds. A rampart of protection that shall preserve and contain the power that we shall raise within you. Wherefore do I bless you and consecrate you in all the names of the God and Goddess.’

Rosedark carried a small golden dish of water to Khartyn, who placed the tip of her athame into it. The water began to bubble and a small explosion was heard.

‘I exorcise you, o creature of water, that I cast out from you all the impurities and uncleanness of the spirits of the world of phantasm, in all the names of the God and Goddess.’ Rosedark now carried a small dish of salt to Khartyn. Standing in front of the Crone she began to chant, ‘Blessings be upon this creature of salt; let all malignity and hindrance be cast forth henceforth and let all good enter herein. Wherefore do I bless you, that you mayest aid us in all the names of the God and Goddess!’

Carefully Rosedark emptied the salt into the bowl of water. Rosedark then carried the consecrated water around the circle and sprinkled it upon the assembled women. Khartyn held out her athame in front of her, facing the east, and made a sign of the pentacle. Her voice rang out clear and strong.

‘You Guardians of the East, home of Air! I do summon, stir and call you up, to witness our ritual and to guard this circle set outside of time and place.’

At that point incredible beings, clothed in what appeared to be white cobwebs with hoods drawn over their faces, appeared as if sketched into existence across the night sky. A faint clicking sound came from them. They hovered in the air at a short distance from the circle of women. Air rushed over me in benediction. It flowed in communion with every cell of my body. I
was
air. Now Khartyn faced the west and swiftly her athame sliced the air in the sign of the pentacle.

‘You Guardians of the West, home of Water! I do summon, stir and call you up, to witness our ritual and to guard this circle set outside of time and place.’

Through the air from the direction of the west undulated shimmery, wet beings. Their scales shone golden-green, and blue-green, long, wet seaweed hair hung to their knees. They shone magnificently as they sent the odour of the ocean as a kind of blessing into the circle. Now Khartyn faced to the south and traced the pentacle into the air and called aloud once more.

‘You Guardians of the South, home of Earth! I do summon, stir and call you up, to witness our ritual and to guard this circle set outside of time and place.’

From a southerly direction advanced the Earth Guardians. Tall and commanding, heads veiled in grey and black and green membranes, they moved quickly toward the circle, a high-pitched clicking noise accompanying them. Now the Crone faced the north. Again the athame cut the sign of the pentacle.

‘You Guardians of the North, home of Fire! I do summon, stir and call you up, to witness our ritual and to guard this circle set outside of time and place.’

The Fire Guardians materialised abruptly. They were tall and seemed to be literally living flames. Their hair formed a halo of fire above eyes like burning coals, and their bodies were charred wood licked by flame. Their heat scorched my face.

The circle of women stood and I rose awkwardly with them. Their arms were wide open, welcoming the quarters.

Together they chanted, ‘Welcome, Great Beings of all that is! We bid you to witness and bless our ritual set outside of time in the realms of your eternal magic.’

I found with surprise that I was chanting the response with the circle. Somehow I knew exactly what to say. As many things had done in this hypnotic world it felt familar to me. As we spoke in unison a violet-blue sphere manifested itself around us and the Guardians. With the materialisation of this sphere the whole group, with the exception of Artemis, seated themselves on the ground. Artemis held a golden chalice, intricately engraved with corn and grapes and suns.

Raising it over her head, she called, ‘I am Artemis, friend and goddess of the green earth and all the beloved creatures who live upon her. I am Queen of the hunt and of battle. Older than the beginning of memory. With my breasts I suckle all of life. For all goddesses are one goddess!’

Her catlike green eyes looked upon me. Their depths whispered the origins of the great forests. I could hear Artemis’ screams of rage as one species of wildlife after another was made extinct in homage to the great slayer technology. Around the multi-breasted goddess I sensed the imprint of numerous sacrifices made to her across a vast tract of time.

Artemis passed the chalice to the woman seated next to her and sat down. The woman who stood was petite, with long dark hair running down her back and a serene oval face. She gazed at the sphere and she too held the chalice aloft to the moons.

‘I am Brighid!’

For a second I saw in my mind’s eye the memory of the great white swan beginning to materialise at Candlemas.

‘Goddess of inspiration, fire and healing, craftsmanship and childbirth. Lover of poets and of artists. From my heart flows all inspiration and wisdom. Drink from it deeply! For all goddesses are one goddess!’

As I gazed upon her tranquil face I saw great works of art being created. The Muses of eternity attached to Brighid like roots to a tree. From her heart flowed the sap that fed the creative urge throughout all the worlds, an urge that ebbed and flowed like the tides of the primordial oceans. The ocean was the heart and the heart lived inside the chest, a small pink shell throbbing in Brighid.

The goddess seated next to Brighid now took her turn with the chalice. She was tall and fair skinned, with hair of white silk. Minute goose feathers drifted softly about her person.

‘I am Epona,’ she stated with quiet authority. I heard the clattering of a million horses’ hooves. Inside a Paleolithic cave I watched with awe as the first horse figure was clumsily etched onto the cave wall by an ancient mortal hand.

‘I am the great horse goddess. I am all things that are! I am beyond your imagining and my feet have made horse prints since before time began. Yet all goddesses are one goddess!’

Now the beautiful woman seated next to me stood. ‘I am Aphrodite.’ Her melodious voice sent shivers down my spine. My mind bathed in the love radiating from the Goddess’s perfectly symmetrical face. I saw centuries of beautiful marble statues built in honour of her, statues that lay smashed and desecrated with the onslaught of the haughty violence of patriarchal Christianity. Her perfect features were the mask of all that was beautiful on all the worlds. One second she was small and dark, the next taller, with corn-blonde hair. I realised that I was watching different aspects of the love goddess, the tomb goddess, that had been thought of, and dreamt of, over time.

The energy that flowed from her in honey waves was almost unbearably powerful. I saw it create happiness, misery, wars, births, weddings, suicides. Modern-day cinema stars like Brad Pitt and Marilyn Monroe were there, but were merely foam on her waves along with Helen of Troy, Cleopatra, Lord Alfred Douglas and the pre-Raphaelite artist Millais. Women of all tribes and cultures danced naked and in unity beneath the spell of Aphrodite’s chant. The seas of beauty and divinity merged across time to form cobwebs of galaxies that caressed with the lap of their tides Aphrodite’s silken thighs. All this merged with the stars into perfection itself.

‘I am the love goddess sprung from the divine sea-foam of mother ocean. I was never born and so will never die. With grace I attack and I conquer all with pleasure. I am a lover of loins and of love itself, of beauty and of laughter. For all goddesses are one goddess!’

Now the chalice was passed to the last goddess, who stood up somewhat awkwardly. A ripple of alarm ran through the assembled company. I could sense the waves of love and encouragement being sent to the dark-clothed figure who swayed unsteadily. Immense waves of grief surrounded her.

‘I am Demeter,’ she said in a subdued tone that revealed her depression and pain.

I imagined I could hear the very bowels of the earth listening intently.

‘I am the great mother of birth, death and rebirth. To me belong the cycles of seed and of harvest. I am ancient beyond time; my name was whispered before time began. Yet all goddesses are one goddess!’

She reseated herself heavily with a sigh that echoed through my soul. Now the golden chalice was passed quickly from hand to hand. Khartyn sipped from its contents, then Rosedark. Then the three young Crossas sipped from the brew, their expressions detached but for the hint of alertness in their eyes. The two magical Islaes fascinated me as I observed each one take the chalice with their delicate, gentle, child-like hands. Their auras billowed softly around them in scarcely imaginable shades of pink, rose and gold. But in their beautiful violet eyes — each one had three — I saw only terror and sadness of their race’s imminent extermination before the Solumbi hordes. They were also beleaguered by the Azephim, who hunted the Islaes both for the sport and for the valuable trophy of three magical violet eyes which was believed to aid visionary powers when mashed to jelly and consumed. Artemis’ eyes were locked fiercely onto the Islaes as they drank sadly from the chalice and I sensed the murderous fury that lurked inside the Goddess for the Islaes’ plight.

When the chalice reached me I regarded its mysterious contents cautiously. Praying that it wasn’t blood of any shape or form I sipped it slowly. It was only grape juice. I took a larger gulp.

Memory returned to me, and I recalled instantly the planet I had known as Earth and a life I lived as a woman named Emma, a struggling artist. I saw my aunt Johanna who, I realised, had been much more than I had ever known. No village hedge witch, but a legendary Crossa, who was drained dry by a Solumbi on a deserted mountain track in the Blue Mountains of eastern Australia.

I witnessed with ice-cold detachment my friend Effie making love to the Angel King, known as the Ghormho Ishran, and then her shocking screams of terror as he began to extract the bird from her chest at her moment of orgasm. I witnessed other lives I had lived on Earth, none of which seemed particularly important. I had lived and died, eaten of the earth, created life, toiled and wept. I had only half-lived, I had never fully been there. A thought pattern myself, unaware that I was a thought pattern, a shadow play. I had risen from dust and returned to dust.

Then the memories changed. I was now a star body, looking down at the writhing bodies of two beings making love. I was about to be conceived. The auras of the groaning couple were dark and mossy. Dark? I frowned in consternation. This could not be right! I fought to repress the memory even as it struggled to be viewed.

‘Enough!’

The youngest of the Crossas stood up. She seemed about three years old with her pigtails and tiny body. She crossed the circle toward me and placed her hands on my shoulders. I found myself gazing into the innocent brown eyes of a child. The Crossa’s gaze intensified, and a small, black, writhing octopus shape flew from my mind and entered hers. The Crossa screwed up her little face in disgust.

‘Too much too soon!’ she scolded.

I sat back into the circle, shaking slightly. The chalice continued to be passed around and each goddess sipped from it. Then Khartyn began to lead a chant and we all followed, including myself as my tongue involuntarily remembered the sacred words.

‘Eko, eko! Azarak eko eko zamerak! Zod ne koze e ko ni koo zod! Ur koze goo rumae eco eco hoo! Hoo! Hoo! East and south and west and north. In the earth and air and sea. By the light of moon or sun. Hearken to the goddess rune — here we come to call you forth! Earth and water, air and fire. Wand and pentacle and sword. Work you into our desire. Hearken you into our world! Cords and censer, scourge and knife, powers of the goddess blade! Waken all you into life! Come ye as the charm is made! Queen of heaven, Queen of hell. Horned hunter of the night — lend your power to the spell! And work our will by magic rite! By all the power of land and sea, by all the might of moon and sun — as we do will, so mote it be; chant the spell and be it done. Eko eko Azarak. Eko eko Zomerak. Eko eko Cernunnos. Eko eko Arcadia!’

With this last chant the group stood as one and began dancing around the perimeter of the circle. I heard Khartyn mentally commanding me to focus on defeating the negative energy which was threatening Eronth. I followed her instructions as I continued to chant with the others. We linked hands and I could feel all the chakra wheels in my body whirling madly. The entire circle, including myself, were beginning to levitate and dance off the ground. The chanting continued to a crescendo as we rose up as one.