Circle of Nine: Circle of Nine Trilogy 1 (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

You will hardly know what I am or what I mean
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fiber your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.

— ‘Song of Myself, Walt Whitman

T
hroughout the following day I prepared for the Cone of Power Circle under the strict supervision of Khartyn. As soon as the silvery moons spun the dawn light over the land I was awoken by Rosedark with an elixir that was specially prepared for me. The unusual early morning beverage contained yarrow, nutmeg, mugwort and elder flowers. I sipped it reluctantly. It tasted foul, and I was longing for a coffee. There was a distinct tension in the atmosphere.

‘We will fast today,’ Khartyn informed me. ‘We will consume only the elixir which helps us to focus for the circle.’

I nodded, but then the question which had been pressing my mind for days forced its way out. ‘Khartyn, how did I come to be here in this cottage?’ I asked, feeling vulnerable and alone. The semi-acceptance that I had been feeling for the last few days was disseminating. A mournful, hollow homesick feeling had come over me after I had drunk the awful brew. Khartyn and Rosedark exchanged glances.

‘Am I ever going to be able to get back?’ I asked, suppressing the terror which spiralled inside me. But just as suddenly a strong melancholy sensation washed through me. Was it just the elixir? I remembered standing in front of the half-finished mural, and then the horror as I was sucked into the wall. How can I return if I don’t have the crystal? Am I trapped here forever? Then a new thought struck me — have I died? Did some awful accident happen, and I’m in some sort of afterlife?

‘Tell me what you remember, Emma,’ Khartyn asked softly.

I reflected on this as waves of sadness surged over me.

‘I don’t know. But in the world where I am from the air smells differently and the food tastes differently and my body behaves differently and there are people who look like me!’

My tongue felt heavy in my mouth. I felt half-stoned. The elixir had gone straight to my head. Khartyn nodded as she deftly brushed Rosedark’s hair with a small dark brush, Rosedark squealing when she came across knots.

‘The air does smell differently in the land of the one moon where you have crossed from,’ she agreed with caution.

There was an uneasy pause while she brushed Rosedark’s locks in silence.

‘Emma,’ she continued at length, ‘the drink that we have given you in preparation for the ritual tonight has helped your inner sight, your psychic eye, to awaken. One of the side effects is that you may remember things today that you have been suppressing, but I know that there are some memories that you still suppress. You may feel that you belong on the Blue Planet, but I know that you were always a stranger to that tribe. Why, you’re no more human than Rosedark is!’

Rosedark shrieked again as the Crone came across another knot, and Khartyn slapped her on the head with the brush. ‘Keep still, Rosedark! Don’t be a big baby! Didn’t you feel like a stranger on the Blue Planet, Emma? Didn’t you always possess gifts that set you apart from Bluites? Since you were a little girl you kept the knowledge of your shining a guilty secret, didn’t you, Emma? Do you know why?’

I could hardly believe that the Crone spoke of my shining as casually as if she was remarking on a mole on my face. Years of keeping the shining locked away within myself were now exposed. Huge, white thoughtforms, roused by outrage and surprise, crawled from my body in scattered white peaks, but Khartyn dismissed their sudden appearance with a light wave of her hand, returning to brush the unfortunate apprentice’s hair. I was grateful that my own hair was short when I saw the way Rosedark was screwing up her face.

‘You have much time here to ponder why you kept your shining buried within and hid the knowledge from the tribe. I can see clearly why you did so. But for now, please try and focus on the present! Behold this truth: the Dreamers have placed you in our world for a reason. Your energy is scattered and I need you to pull it tightly to yourself if you are to be of help to us in our ritual tonight. The Azephim have contaminated the Candlemas rites and have severed the uneasy alliance that has existed between Faiaites and Angels. There, Rosedark, you can go now.’ Rosedark, happy to be dismissed, made a face at Khartyn behind her back, and escaped outside to feed the chickens.

‘Mary, High Priestess of Faia, is seeking to drive the Azephim back to their original world. They wish to destroy our ancient ways and to remove the power of the Goddess from Eronth. But the goddesses will not release the power of this land to angels! Tonight, the Old Ones will rise and join us in the Circle of Nine to bless and purify the land from yesterday’s desecration of the sacred soil. We will raise a Cone of Power to bring peace and prosperity to Faia. The Old Ones do not normally grace our rituals by their physical presence. The energy we will raise will be intense. We must prepare ourselves for it!’

Khartyn watched me keenly. I began to feel strange again. I held my breath. This time I could sense the serpent-like power within me begin to stir, brought to life under Khartyn’s mesmerising gaze.

‘Tonight you will die to your old self, Bluite!’ Khartyn announced solemnly. ‘Rosedark will help to ready you.’

*

I slid into the steaming-hot bath that Rosedark had drawn for me. Delicate rose petals floated on the surface, and Rosedark finished her preparations by adding frankincense and violet leaves to the aromatic mixture.

‘I’ll leave you to rest,’ she smiled, closing the elaborately carved wooden door that separated the tiny bathroom from the remainder of the cottage. The water soothed and released tension from my muscles, which burst literally from my body in black spurts and dissolved in the bath’s liquid embrace. I lay in bliss, no longer concerned about whatever world I had inhabited before Eronth or whether Khartyn and Rosedark were the good or bad guys. My breathing became deep and slow and regular, and the steam of the bath hinted at a better life, of transformation, of a kinder, more evolved world. I listened to the lies from my own heart like the foolish, willing sacrificial victim that I felt I was.

I lay in the perfumed water, eyes closed, remembering when I had been sucked into the wall. Then what had happened? I couldn’t quite make the connection between the wall and where I had ended up. Why didn’t I fight these people more? Although they appeared to have magical powers, they were, after all, just an old lady and a young girl. Surely I could make my escape from them? But then, what would happen if I ran into a pack of the Solumbi beasts again? What if I ran into goddesses who turned me into stone like what happened to those nine wizards?

I groaned, hating the way my thoughts went round and round making no sense. I hated the fact that I appeared to have no control of my life. I couldn’t even remember my old life most of the time. When I did see flashes, it was like half-watching a television drama — slightly interesting, but without any real emotional connection to the characters.

I sank deeper into the water, breathing out a soft groan of pleasure. Images came to my mind, creeping like forgotten grey memory-spiders. A large owl, with eyes like two sapphires, tangled in a web screaming, its heart pumping with fear in its chest. I saw myself planted in soil; from my feet big roots grew, intermingling with bigger roots that grew from a massive tree. Large antlers grew from the tops of the next tree. Then that tree transformed, moonlight shone down onto it, and from the bark burst the body of the Stag Man. Light flashed from his body, and he put his head back, keening.

I twisted inside my tree body, attempting to reach him, to quell his pain.

Blood, so much blood.
I was standing next to the Stag Man, but this was a distant time, and we were in different bodies. I knew in this vision that I was in Faia, but it was a time long forgotten to legend and song. I stood next to my love, to my reason for being, we both had enormous golden wings that shimmered in the light. Our clothes were made from crushed shells, antlers sprouted from both our heads, and when we moved it was sideways, like crabs. We were part of the wind, but we were not of this earth. Dismembered bodies lay before us, hacked pieces of what had been a village in Faia.

I was laughing, spreading my wings wide, causing fire to explode onto the tops of their simple straw dwellings. So easy to create, so easy to destroy. Blood, so much blood lying everywhere. A body moved, grunted, there was still life left. We watched with little expression, as the child struggled to get away from us. My love moved toward it, wanting to end its suffering, but I restrained him. Let the wild pigs finish her off. Our wings touched briefly, and we merged together, rising upwards into the cold moon. As we rose into the sky together he sang into my ear in the soft, sultry tones of love.
Blessed art thou, purified by swine. Never alone. You are always mine.

When I finally emerged from the healing bathwaters and the disturbing visions, Rosedark was holding a white cotton gown, and patiently waiting to assist me to don it. It draped to the floor and had faint whiffs of sandalwood permeating its threads. I knew without being told that this was a special ritual gown. I could sense the vibrations within the material of other initiates who had worn the same robe. Whatever mysteries or secrets the gown contained, it also held the power of transporting my mind into a more mystical state of being. I began to feel unconcerned with the insignificant meanings of everyday life. Softly, in the back of my mind, was the sound of a shell breathing. Rosedark, who was clothed in an identical gown, lit a smudge stick and began to cleanse the field surrounding my body.

Isis, Asarte, Diana, Hecate, Demeter, Kali, Inanna.

I could hear the maid softly whispering the names of goddesses as she worked. My perceptions had heightened. I no longer needed to use words to communicate with Rosedark. We were using telepathy in the old tongue of the Faiaites. The ancient familiar language flowed easily to me. Rosedark seated me at the small wooden table in the Dome’s kitchen. Here she had placed small golden dishes filled with coloured inks. With delicate, skilled strokes she engraved on my upper arms intricate tattoos similar to the design worn on her arms. While she worked, Khartyn sat opposite, also clothed in white, nodding occasional encouragement to Rosedark for her artistry while she hastily recorded information in her Book of Shadows.

In the silence that had crept upon the room, a white dove flew through the oval north window and its cooing broke the peaceful reverie I had fallen into. I realised the dove was communicating with the Crone but the language was kept hidden from me. When the laborious task of the tattoos was completed, Rosedark brought a small golden hand mirror for me to view myself.

‘Look!’

I glanced toward my reflection tentatively. Upon seeing it I couldn’t help but gasp — I looked so beautiful, so vividly alive! I was a different creature entirely from the pale, insignificant, cowed little being I felt I was before. But now I was a priestess, a goddess! My eyes blazed azure, my lips were silvery-blue like the Faiaites, and my dark hair shone with health and fire. I kept returning to my eyes, for there was the biggest change: they had become truly alive, and sparkled with depth and passion and feeling. I felt resurrected! The ancients were beginning their communion through me, moving closer to me, and the cells of my body were shedding lifetimes. I looked younger, radiant, and somehow no longer human.

Khartyn glanced up from her Book of Shadows, a hint of amusement softening her wizened features. ‘Before you fall too much in love with yourself, mark that you are under the influence of Glamour. When you return to the land of one moon, it will wear away and you’ll resume your old appearance! Although quite a bit older,’ she added under her breath.

I couldn’t suppress a feeling of disappointment that this manifestation was only temporary. Khartyn just laughed at me.

‘Always attached to the illusion, that’s the way of the Bluite!’

‘When I was in the bath tonight, I had really bizarre visions, I guess they were, to do with this being, who was half-stag, half-man. I saw us as being two great trees intertwined, and then we were angel-like beings, but we were destroying a village which I thought was Faia. I felt as if I knew this Stag Man! Do you know what it all means?’ There was a silence while the quill-type pen that Khartyn was using scratched the page.

Finally, reluctantly, she spoke. ‘The Stag Man you saw exists. You have been blessed to glimpse him, for although he travels frequently between worlds, few possess the eyes to see him. For as long as I can remember, he has been a part of our culture. He is as ancient as the wind, as timeless as a drop of rain.’

‘Why would I have seen him?’ I asked. ‘I felt as if I had known him before!’

‘Perhaps you did,’ Khartyn replied. I had the feeling that she was trying to suppress a smile. ‘There are many more, nay infinitely more facets to your soul-being than you realise, Emma! There have been many statements and prophecies concerning the Stag Man in the
Tremite Book of Life
, which the Scribes from New Baffin are responsible for keeping. Perhaps if your visit with us is extended, you might like to study some of the passages.’

‘I’ve seen something else, too,’ I ventured. ‘A child, I think she is some sort of dead child. She calls herself Rachel. Sometimes she wears a white dress with bloodstains, and she has markings down her arms. Like bruises. Do you know what that would be? She’s very young, about six or seven.’

Khartyn shrugged. ‘Who knows what your mind is showing you, and why? When you have a gift, the shining, you are open to all sorts of horrors. Our minds are capable of seeing anything. Perhaps she is one of the Looz Drem, trapped children between worlds, who have died violently and shockingly. Or she may be an aspect of yourself, an old thought pattern or a parcel of unfinished business following you about. But no, I haven’t seen this Rachel, if that is what you are asking me.’ Her gaze touched me, like a hot spider web, sticky and clinging. Her tone implied that as far as she was concerned, our conversation was over.