Circle of Nine: Circle of Nine Trilogy 1 (20 page)

I nearly fell from Jabi in my attempts to take it all in. The Faiaites were trading in the village square, and tables had been set up laden with vegetables, fruits, grains, clothes and various knick-knacks. There was even a travelling dentist, who had set up a stand, and held a large crowd enthralled as he pulled teeth. The savoury odours of garlic and lavender permeated the air. I was touched to see the Faiaite children throwing dried flowers in our wake as we passed. Wherever I looked I saw Faiaites staring openly at me in fascination. In turn I was equally curious about the townspeople.

En route, while still deep in the Glade of the Almost Were, Khartyn and Rosedark had told me much about the Faiaites’ beginnings. They were an ancient people, descended from a race called the Weldon who were the earliest ancestors of the Faiaite people, and they had been very well respected on Eronth for their magic and purity of heart. As the seasons went by and the Wheel of the Year turned, the Faiaites began to interbreed with several Faery tribes, most notably the races of Imomm and Wezom who were famed for their delicate beauty and Glamouring. An offshoot of the interbreeding was that the Old Faiaites had lost a lot of their magical powers.

A vast majority of the New Faiaites in the village had wings and were bird-like in appearance. A few of the townspeople even had two heads as I had observed at the Circle of Nine. They were the Janusites, blest with double vision and afforded special prestige in Faia. An impression of great wealth and abundance appeared to me as I looked upon the Faiaites. Here was a prosperous people, despite all their fears of their crops’ meagre yield.

Although the Faiaites’ clothes were simple and workman-like, the fabric that they were stitched of looked to be of fine quality. The men wore loose breeches in soft browns and camels, and over their top half they wore a loose tunic jacket which had a stiff frill collar in red or orange, like the rays of the sun. Practical work aprons in earth colours topped their tunics. It seemed that the older the male, the more elaborate his frill collar. Younger boys wore shorter breeches, and instead of the material boots that the men wore, they wore simple clogs. But all of the males’ clothes had intricate embroidery in gold and silver threads along the seams, as did the clothes of the female Faiaites, which featured elaborate tapestries along the hems and sleeves of their plain dresses. Like the men, the women favoured earth colours, although some of the women wore short cloaks of bright orange. Many of the Crones sported fancy bonnets, but the young maids wore sun hats decorated with flowers, or simple wreaths of colourful flowers around their heads. The younger women wore shorter skirts, and some also wore short breeches. I noted Khartyn’s look of disapproval at these. Several villagers wore black wimples from which dark silk scarves fluttered, like some kind of mourning attire.

I was overwhelmed at the warmth of their greeting. Then I spotted a group of children jumping rope in a corner of the market. They were dressed in white dresses, with gold sashes. The boys were also in white, and on their heads were little caps adorned with ribbons that fluttered in the breeze. There was a strange, foggy energy around them. Their skin was soft blue, their lips grey. A girl was skipping the rope, her long fair hair streaming out behind her as they chanted.

‘Skip the rope low! Skip the rope high! Skip the rope quickly before you die! Don’t let the rope touch you on leg, or on head. If it goes around your neck, it will slice through your head, head, head.’

I stared at these ghostly children, somewhat repelled. They glanced over at me as they skipped, and I felt as if I was being taunted. The little girl skipping rope; was that Rachel, the demon child of my dream? How could she be here in this seemingly cosy village?

‘Don’t look at them!’ Khartyn directed sharply. ‘They are the Looz Drem, and they seek to draw energy from you.’

A great owl flapped across the market square slowly, the oversized wings creating a breeze on my face. When I looked again, the skipping children were gone.

All that is darkness is mine.

My attention was diverted as villagers came pouring out of their homes from all quarters, cheering and holding their children up for Khartyn to bless. Once again I marvelled at the respect that the Crone attracted. They milled excitedly around the ilkamas, hurriedly informing Khartyn of the latest news and developments in Faia. They spoke in the Tongue of All Worlds, so I could understand the meaning perfectly.

‘Hail to you, Khartyn — sacred Crone and Soothsayer, Healer and Witch! Hail to you, Rosedark! Pure maid of Faiaite blood and Chosen One! Hail to you, Emma! The Awaited and Intended One! You are welcome in Faia!’

I gauged from the excited conversation that the overall mood of the village was fearful and concerned. Persephone had not risen, food was running low and the Solumbi had become more brazen and aggressive. They had been spotted several times lately lurking near the borders of Faia where the protected animals were grazed. This was a great worry for the already overworked Faery protectors of the animals who were frantically working day and night producing protective, magical amulets for the animals. Now Demeter, who was wild with heartbreak over her daughter’s refusal to rise and Hades’ betrayal of the sacred contract, was wreaking her anger on the inhabitants of Eronth. The village shops were decorated with garlands of flowers and leaves, as was a huge maypole in the village circle, the centre point of the town. The maypole seemed to be hundreds of feet tall and was richly entwined with flowers of all colours and descriptions.

‘The town is preparing to celebrate Belthane,’ said Khartyn, her voice guarded and low.

‘Even though Persephone has not risen, Mother?’ Rosedark enquired, a note of fear in her voice.

I pondered the meaning of her fear but was soon interrupted by an apparition. She came floating toward us over the cobbled road, surrounded by attentive Islaes. Regal in aspect and glowing like a candle flame, the Faiaites fluttered about her like the flame’s own moths, bowing respectfully to the ground before her. She was, I realised with a sudden shock of recognition, completely human in appearance.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

K
hartyn and Rosedark slid from their ilkamas, and I quickly followed suit, bowing low to the ground in deference as Mary approached our party. She smelt of roses and jasmine, and the very air around her was perfumed. I was dazzled by her light. She could have been any age; she was timeless, although she had a youthful air. I was reminded of the words of the Bhagavad-gita —
Birthless, Deathless, Ageless, Timeless.
She wore a white garment that was beaded with tiny pearls and a pentacle hung from around her neck. Her hair was auburn, flecked with gold, and gathered back at the nape of her neck. I could clearly see Aphrodite’s energy around her, but then in the next second, Artemis could be glimpsed in her perfectly chiselled face. She imitated our greetings, bowing to us and raising her hands in front of her in the prayer position.

‘Welcome, Khartyn, favoured Crone! And greetings to Rosedark, blessed child of Faia!’ Then she gazed at me with her vivid blue eyes. Again I had the uncomfortable feeling that she was familiar to me and that she was waiting for me to remember. I was sure I had never met a woman such as this on Earth!

‘Greetings, Emma!’ she said warmly. To my surprise she clasped me in her arms and kissed me on both cheeks.

‘Oh, my fellow Bluite, you will always be welcome in Faia!’

Surprise tongue-tied me and I could only force a smile. A human High Priestess had been the last thing I was expecting to see in the surreal, fairy-like world of Faia.

‘Mary, we see that you are still planning to celebrate Belthane,’ Khartyn said. ‘Is that wise?’

The High Priestess arched an eyebrow as she replied.

‘And why not; because that fool Persephone refuses to rise? Perhaps it she sees the old festivals continuing without her she will be goaded into rising after all.’

She glanced around warily and then lowered her voice.

‘The Faiaites are a depressed people. They need to celebrate Belthane. How else may I reassure them that life will continue as it always has? Our Lady Moons will give her full strength tonight, and we will honour her generous light and dance the maypole.’

In the aqua depths of her eyes I saw all hopes and dreams and possibilities. I wondered how a human being could have so much power. Mary instantly picked up on the thought.

‘Power, child? We all possess it,’ she replied kindly. ‘The child in Africa, the butcher in Scotland, the nurse in a Polish hospital; all are one and the same in their strength. None of them have an iota less power than you or I. The real question is whether you believe in your magic and are prepared to truly focus upon it.’

Her smile widened. ‘Believe me, Emma, I have had many seasons in Faia to focus and refine my abilities!’ Her eyes glistened wickedly as she surveyed me again. Once more I had the disconcerting thought that I should really remember her from somewhere. Mary continued speaking to me.

‘Welcome, then, to our festival of Belthane. Belthane in Faia is traditionally a mischief night — an in-between time when the worlds swing on hinges and doors open between worlds and anything can happen!’

I felt a chill pass through me at these words. A precognition momentarily tempted me to run back to the relative safety of the devil I knew — the Almost Were. A goose walking over my grave, Effie would have informed me. Dear, sweet, infuriating Effie, a mistress of the clichéd statement. How I would love to see her tonight, sit on her pink bedspread and watch her make herself up for one of her crazy nights on the town. The memory of Effie faded as quickly as it had come, and now I sat with Khartyn and Rosedark against a brilliant patch of bright-pink lavender, overlarge bumble bees the size of my hands buzzing in my ears, while the three of us observed with great interest the preparations for Belthane.

More and more beings began to flood the narrow laneways of Faia. Alfecklands, Islaes, and even Crones like Khartyn, carrying their magical bags around their waists. There was a wide variety of hybrid animals: women with cat heads, men with swan wings. Khartyn and Rosedark were kept busy shouting greetings to all newcomers. Many of the Faiaite women wore garlands of hawthorn and blackthorn entangled in their hair, while their menfolk carried hoops containing small brilliant suns and moons. Flaming torches were lit in the four quarters of the town and two opposing barriers of lit torches illuminated the path for a handful of deer, ilkama and pig-like beings who wore gowns of white; these last creatures the villagers drove through the town to much acclaim.

Once the animals had been driven through the flaming torches, the High Priestess reappeared. This time she was clothed in iridescent silver, and a cloak hung from her shoulders. Her arms were adorned in silver serpent bracelets and her upswept auburn hair was held in a chignon by thousands of tiny stars. Mary’s reappearance was the signal for the huge crowd assembled in the circle to gather in front of the column of steps that she stood on. The Islaes that had previously accompanied her now carefully brought out and assembled at her slippered feet a huge dummy effigy of a Bluite man. The dummy wore an idiotic grin and had yellow straw for hair. A chaplet of colourful flowers adorned his head. The crowd jeered and mocked his appearance until Mary silenced them by raising her arms to the peach twilight sky and declaring: ‘The Oak King is dead! He has embraced the Great Mother and died of his love. So has it been, year by year since time began. Yea Faiaites! The Oak King is dead and Persephone refuses to rise! All is dead! The fields bear no crops, the trees bear no fruit and the creatures of the Great Mother bear no young. What shall we do therefore, my people, so that the Oak King may live again?’

I found myself replying excitedly with the crowd.

‘Rekindle the Bel-fires!’

Mary smiled. ‘So mote it be!’

On the opposite side of the circle was a pyre of sticks and logs with an upright pole. The Islaes lit the logs and the villagers clapped and cheered as the ravenous fire elementals began to lick and devour the wood. Amid jeers and taunts from the crowd the effigy was carried to the flames and tied to the pole. I began clapping with the others as the flames voraciously caught the dummy’s legs. Then I paused, faltering in my clapping. Something was not right. Its mouth had opened. He was screaming. The effigy offered to the flames was now a young living Crossa burning to death. He begged for mercy as the relentless flames began to melt his human flesh.

Desperately, I looked around but Khartyn and Rosedark appeared oblivious to the Crossa’s suffering. They were clapping and cheering with the rest of the crowd, content to have the young man convulsed in his death agony. Was it a hallucination? The stench of burned flesh reached me and I nearly dry-retched. I closed my eyes for a second, feeling nauseous, and when I dared to open them again all that the fire revealed was the horror of a black, writhing mass within its centre. I imagined it, I thought desperately. A trick of the light. These are a gentle, advanced people, for Christ’s sake! They wouldn’t burn a human being! Then I blushed as I felt Mary’s intense cool gaze upon me, conscious that the Priestess was capable of reading my every thought.

The Faiaites ran to the maypole and I found myself swept up into the crowd, Rosedark and Khartyn on either side. Holding lengthy satin ribbons the entire village began to dance and wind around each other, and as they danced they sang.

I am a stag of seven times,
I am a wide flood on a plain,
I am a wind on the deep waters,
I am a shining tear of the sun,
I am a hawk on a cliff,
I am fair among flowers,
I am a god who sets the head afire with smoke.

As before, I found myself singing the cryptic words as I danced with the Faiaites and weaved colours around the maypole. The last of the peach-coloured light was vanishing and the navy-blue sky began to slowly turn darker as we continued to dance and sing.

I am a stag of seven times.

I imagined it, I thought frantically. That thing was just a dummy. It
couldn’t
have been a man!

I am a wide flood on a plain.

Khartyn would never allow it, I tried to reason. A human sacrifice, right there in front of us? But they don’t even eat meat here!

A woman with a tabby cat’s head danced gaily past, thrusting her pink ribbon into my hands as the dance of the colours continued.

Three full moons began to rise. Tonight they were magnificent in their opulence and the Faiaites cried out in wonder at the beauty of them as they continued their dance. They were the largest moons I had ever seen; it seemed that the cobalt sky would not be strong enough to hold them. Their surfaces were flecked with gold and white rays splashed with pale-blue, and silver cobwebs lay upon them. Their rays were so intense that the torch-lights we had burned for illumination in the village circle quickly extinguished themselves in honour of their power.

I noted that Mary was standing with her arms upraised to the moons, chanting. Fascinated, I kept my eyes on the sky above, while my feet continued the ancient steps of the maypole dance.

I am a wind on the deep blue waters.

Now I passed Rosedark, her unmistakable hair swirling about her as we exchanged ribbons and hurried smiles. And now Khartyn, who along with the other Crones was dancing with all the stamina of a young girl, the heels of her boots ringing on the cobblestones, her silver-white hair hanging loose; she was showing no signs of tiring.

I am a shining tear of the sun.

The moons were beckoning me. Calling me. Could the shell of the legendary Dreamers be camouflaged within their depths? I tried to focus on them, but the impetus of the dance forced me to concentrate on the exchange of ribbons.

I am a hawk on a cliff.

Perspiration dripped from me. How long had I been dancing? I neither knew nor cared. I had been travelling for days, with only light sustenance, and yet I felt invigorated, reawakened. As if I could dance all night.

I am fair among flowers.

I saw him in my mind’s eye as I danced. The handsome young Crossa, afraid and disorientated. Lured to Faia by the villagers. Probably thinking much as I had done, imagining it all to be some temporary insanity or the effect of some drug. I saw the handsome Bluite take sanctuary under the protection of the beautiful and powerful Mary. Mary with her human face and inhuman goddess eyes.

He would have spent the year in Faia comfortably, gradually forgetting friends and loved ones, his memories of the Blue Planet fading. Nothing would have been spared him — luxurious quarters, the best wines of the region, ample fruits and cheeses and cakes. The prettiest and most voluptuous Faia maidens waited on his pleasure. It was a great year. A shining year. He had found his Utopia, his Eden. The Grail!

I am a God who sets the head afire with smoke.

Then I saw him carried to the pyres. I saw myself among the villagers who jeered and taunted. The terrible adrenaline of fear pumped through his body. The Glamour Mary had placed around him had turned him into the dummy effigy that I had witnessed. Or had I? Perhaps the crowd had always seen the human Crossa and I alone had seen the dummy.
Oh God!
Waves of fear broke over me. I was in the middle of a pack of bloodthirsty pagan beasts who wanted to sacrifice me next! Terror rose in my belly, genetic memories of the millions of witchburnings throughout history still echoing within my cells. Yet as fear flickered through my body I continued to dance and to sing.

I am a stag of seven times.