It fell straight for the Worship Hall.
“Good,” said Shra when she realised its destination, and Azhure risked a fleeting glance and a smile for the child. This was for Raum and Shra as well as for Niah and Azhure.
“Yes,” Azhure said, “very good,” and the arrow struck.
Fire crackled along the roof of the Worship Hall and then, in the blink of an eye, the hall exploded. Fiery stones flew through the air, and wherever they landed houses exploded and gardens erupted. A hot wind rushed towards the women, and Faraday had to hold on to Azhure’s arm as it passed.
It smelled of decay and the fetid breath of the sick, and Faraday wondered what evil had lived under the foundations of the houses and the Worship Hall.
“All gone now,” Azhure said. “It’s all gone.”
And indeed it had, for when the wind and smoke finally cleared, the village had entirely disappeared. Not even rubble remained. Everything, stone included, had evaporated.
And there, tall and proud in the centre of the circle of burned earth that had been Smyrton, stood the arrow, its head buried in the earth.
“Will you be able to find your mother’s grave?” Faraday asked. Perhaps they should have marked it somehow.
“Don’t worry,” Azhure said. “Come on, Faraday, an afternoon’s planting awaits you.”
Faraday and the Goodwife called to the donkeys and they retraced their steps to the last seedling Faraday had planted that morning. When Barsarbe made as if to follow them, Faraday told her to stay where she was. Shra, as the other Avar women, just sat on the ground to wait.
Then, slowly and with the utmost reverence, Faraday resumed planting.
Eventually, after an hour or two, she realised that Azhure was standing before her.
“Here,” Azhure whispered, and Faraday looked down at the woman’s feet—and drew sharp breath in surprise.
Azhure was standing in a circle of small-leaved plants that had only just broken the surface of the soil. Even as Faraday watched a tiny flower slowly budded and uncoiled; its petals were dark violet and so transparent that they barely cast a shadow. Moonwildflowers. Faraday had only ever heard of them in legend before, but she instantly knew what they were.
She raised her eyes to Azhure’s face; it was pale and luminous, her eyes so great and dark that Faraday thought Azhure was about to faint, but then realised that Azhure had wrapped herself in so much power that some of her true nature shone through.
Very carefully Faraday reached out a hand, intertwining her fingers with Azhure’s. “I shall make a grave that will reflect your mother’s love and courage,” she whispered, and then led Azhure slowly away from the circle of Moonwildflowers, handing her to the Goodwife to hold.
Faraday planted in a great circle about the grave, nine seedlings in all. When she had finished she stood up, brushing the dirt from her hands, her own face pale with exhaustion.
“Nine seedlings for the Nine Star Gods she served,” she said quietly, “and now the Nine will stand for eternity to honour the First who died for their sake. Niah’s Grove, Azhure.”
“A place,” the Goodwife said, her fingers tightening about Azhure’s, “where the Nine can come to honour her and to dance for her sake and theirs.”
Azhure bent her head and wept.
52
THE ROOF!
Cazna picked up the baby and crooned a little tune to him. The nurse had fed and changed him, and now he lay replete, with a tiny smile for his foster mother.
“Drago,” she whispered and held him close to her breast, wishing she could have a baby as beautiful as this one. Goodness knows why Azhure found it so easy to let Axis dictate to her about the baby; Cazna would never let Belial overlook…she blinked…disinherit a son of hers.
Poor baby, poor sweet baby. She rocked him in her arms and smiled and sang to him. Poor Drago. Well, if Axis and Azhure refused to love him then she would give him enough love and attention to make up for it.
The roof.
Cazna sang and rocked the baby.
The roof.
She smiled at him, and wondered how she should fill in the hour before dinner. Since Belial had ridden out with Axis and his army several days past, time hung heavy on Cazna’s hands.
The roof.
“Perhaps I shall take you for a walk, little one,” she said, bending down to kiss his velvet brow.
The roof, bitch! Now!
“But where to? The courtyard? No, that will be heavy with shadows now and too cool for your skin…”
The roof! Roof!
“…perhaps the hall. But no, for the servants will be bustling about there with the silverware and linen and will not want our eyes to disturb them…
Bitch, listen to me!
“Ah! Why not the roof?”
Ahhh!
Cazna thought about it, remembering Axis’ warning. Well, she doubted that Imibe would have Caelum and RiverStar there now, and even if she did…well, Axis was far away, and who would tell?
“Come!” She laughed, swinging her sweet Drago in her arms, “let us promenade above the bustle of Sigholt, and I shall show you how the blue mist turns to dusky rose where it meets the waters of the Lake of Life.”
I couldn’t care less, you inane woman. Just take me upstairs. And there…
“Let me wrap you in this shawl first, Drago,” Cazna said.
…I shall gain what should rightfully be mine.
It was time. Gorgrael knew it was time because the faint voice had told him it was so. The parents were both gone, where Gorgrael didn’t truly care because all he needed for sweet, sweet victory was that they both be gone from Sigholt.
Gorgrael was nervous about this adventure, nervous because he rarely left his Ice Fortress and nervous because of the magic of Sigholt itself.
But he knew that Timozel had been harbouring doubts about his master’s courage, and that stung Gorgrael into precipitous action. And the thin voice had told him that Sigholt’s magic could be outwitted.
Gorgrael didn’t totally trust the thin voice, but he recognised power when he felt it, and he recognised hate when he heard it, and he could feel the truth of what the thin voice told him. So he decided to act on it. If worst came to worst, well, Sigholt wouldn’t let him through and he would just have to slink back here to his Ice Fortress and he would never trust the thin voice again.
But something told Gorgrael he wouldn’t be slinking anywhere this afternoon.
“Sweetheart,” he crooned to his Gryphon, his original, his beauty, and she crawled on her belly towards him. “Shall we take some fresh air?”
Cazna started guiltily. Imibe had indeed brought Caelum and the baby girl to play on the roof of Sigholt, and now the Ravensbund nurse was staring at Cazna with a look that suggested the woman should turn on her heel and haul Drago downstairs again.
But who is the Princess here? Cazna thought, tossing her head, and who the servant?
So she returned Imibe’s stare boldly and marched to the far side of the roof.
Imibe glared at the woman’s back—surely she could remember the look on the StarMan’s face and the tenor of his command!—and then she nervously checked RiverStar and Caelum. The girl lay wriggling on a blanket, but Caelum…Caelum was staring at Cazna as though she were about to burst into flames at any minute. His face was pasty white and his blue eyes round and frightened, and Imibe walked over to him, picked him up and cuddled him.
Perhaps it were best if she collected the girl and left.
DragonStar twisted his head around as far as he could and tried to see what Imibe was doing. She had picked Caelum up, that much was certain, but did she walk away with him? He seethed with frustration and writhed in Cazna’s arms so that she looked at him in some concern.
Cloaked by his dark magic, Gorgrael rode his Gryphon far above the blue mists that surrounded Sigholt.
Damn his pretty brother for his pretty mists, he cursed. But he could feel the Keep, and he could feel the mind of the…Trai
tor.
It is I. Is all in place?
DragonStar ceased his twisting, and Cazna smiled in relief. Hurry.
The bridge…
Do not concern yourself about the bridge. She is easily fooled.
Gorgrael smiled.
Imibe put Caelum down as she wrapped RiverStar in her blankets. At least the Nors woman was keeping DragonStar well away, and Imibe ceased her hurrying. She might not be possessed of the ability of the Icarii Enchanters or even of the Ravensbund chief, but she could smell badness from a league away, and there was something about that baby that was just not right.
She put RiverStar, strangely tense now, in her basket and turned for Caelum.
His mouth open in a silent shriek, Gorgrael plunged through cloud and mist.
Are you true? cried the bridge, sending her challenge to meet him.
I…I…True to what, curse her?
Bridge, it is I, DragonStar, son of Axis and Azhure. Here comes my friend. He is true, bridge. Trust me.
The bridge mulled over this. The stranger should answer for himself, truly he should.
Trust me, whispered DragonStar’s mind, and the bridge smiled to herself, remembering the truth of Axis and Azhure and the warmth of their companionship.
Trust me…
The bridge thought about sending out her challenge again…
Trust me…
…but instead she chose to trust. Besides, how could any enemy find its way through the enchanted mists?
Gorgrael plunged straight and true, locking in on the beacon of the baby’s mind. That a baby should have this power! he wondered, but soon ceased his wondering, for the mist was thinning and there…there! was the magical keep of Sigholt and there! there! there was the BOY!
Caelum screamed even before he saw the plunging Gryphon and the horror that clung to its back. He could feel the evil dropping out of the sky, again, and he could feel his brother’s ecstasy, and he understood.
He understood that he was to be the sacrifice for his brother’s ambitions. He was to be the sacrifice that would bring his father to his knees.
And so he screamed.
Cazna spun about, sickened by the sound of primeval terror that had come from Caelum and then confused by the gurgle of laughter that came from the baby she held.
Imibe did not even think. She lunged for Caelum, kicking the basket containing RiverStar into the shadows of the walls.
And then something indescribable dropped out of the sky.
Of them all, Cazna was the first to see it. Her heart seized in terror, and only after a long moment did she think to back up against the wall, as far from the falling shadow as she could.
She had heard tell enough to know that one of the creatures was a Gryphon, but what was that clinging to its back? What could it be? “Belial!” she whispered, knowing she was dead.
Gorgrael ignored her, dropping straight to the Ravensbund woman who held the son in her arms.
Yes! Yes! That was he!
He leapt from the Gryphon’s back as she swooped low over the roof, and he capered across to Imibe in a half-crouch, wings outstretched, claws extended, eyes and teeth gleaming. Saliva from his protruding tongue splattered across the stone paving. He paused half a pace from her and screeched.
The woman, brave bitch that she was, only held the screaming child closer. She must have known that death was close, but she chose to meet his eyes steadily, and that made Gorgrael uncomfortable.
“Fool!” he hissed, swinging one arm, and raked his talons down her face.
Yet still she held the child close, turning away so that her body protected him, and Gorgrael lashed out in a vicious flurry of fury, shredding her back and flank within instants and, as the dying woman sank to the floor, he seized a mercifully insensible Caelum by one arm and jerked him from the woman’s clutch.
He whipped about, Caelum swinging from his grip like a rag doll, and stared at the other woman and baby across the roof.
Far below the bridge screamed. “Woe! Woe! Treachery!”
Gorgrael jumped and the Gryphon swooped.
“Woe! Woe! The roof! The roof!”
But Gorgrael still had a moment to spare, and he was enjoying himself so hugely he thought he might as well make this moment worthwhile. He scampered across the roof, and the woman shrieked in terror and sunk to the floor, trying to curl herself about the baby. Gorgrael grinned. Futile effort. He raised a taloned claw already soaked in blood.
Cease, my friend. She is still useful to me.
Gorgrael paused with his hand suspended ready for the downswing.
And surely it would be best if you had a witness to the kidnap?
“Yes,” Gorgrael whispered. “A witness. Yes. Good.”
“Woe! Woe! Treachery on the roof!”
“Bitch,” Gorgrael snarled, and he turned for the Gryphon. As he swung his leg over the Gryphon’s back and felt her welcome fur beneath his buttocks, he looked down at the senseless child still swinging by one bloodied and bruised arm from his claw and screamed his triumph and delight over Sigholt.
“Woe! Woe!” cried the bridge.
But it was already far too late. When the first Icarii arrived on the roof Gorgrael and his Gryphon had disappeared into the mists. All that remained was Imibe’s torn body, the hunched and frightened form of Cazna, the screams of the twins, and the memory of Caelum’s terror that would linger for days to come.
53
MINSTRELSEA
Azhure shivered, her stomach suddenly clenching in vague horror, but the moment passed, and she looked at Faraday.
Faraday knelt in the soft earth some fifty paces from the entrance to the Forbidden Valley, and before her the Nordra leaped and roared from the chasm. Behind her the plain stretched almost half a league to the line of trees; seedlings bobbed hopefully across it in between woman and forest. She stared at the seedling she had just planted, wishing it well.
Azhure knelt by Faraday’s side, worried. The woman was obviously in terrible discomfort, and every so often would press a hand to her side or back as if she were riven with pain. “Faraday,” Azhure asked softly, “are you—”
“I’m fine,” Faraday said brightly—far too brightly and far too quickly, and the concern in Azhure’s eyes deepened. “Look,” she continued, “the Forbidden Valley. I’m almost finished.”
Utter silence greeted her words. Azhure struggled for something to say, and raised her eyes to meet those of the Goodwife. Behind the Goodwife stood Shra, clinging to the woman’s apron, her eyes as anxious as those of the two older women. The other Avar were twenty or so paces behind them; Faraday had only wanted Azhure, the Goodwife and Shra with her.
“One more seedling,” Faraday whispered, and struggled to her feet, swaying alarmingly once she had risen. Azhure caught at her arm but Faraday shook her off. “Please, Azhure. This last I would do on my own.”
She reached out and took the final seedling from the Goodwife’s hands. “Mirbolt,” she said. “The last to die. The last to be planted out.”
Azhure stared at the seedling. She’d known the Bane, for Mirbolt had died in the Skraeling attack on the Earth Tree Grove. Mirbolt had also been the one who had conducted the Avar discussion regarding Azhure’s request to join them. The Avar had refused her, but Azhure harboured no ill will towards Mirbolt. She had been fair and proud and handsome and had not deserved to die as she had.
“It is fitting that she be the one to connect the forest with the Avarinheim,” she said.
Faraday’s mouth curled in a gentle smile. “You understand, Azhure. Yes. This will be her right.”
“Where will you plant her, Faraday?” Azhure looked at the entrance to the Forbidden Valley. The valley was narrow and its rocky walls steep. The only path beside the rushing river was rock and only a pace wide.
Faraday fingered the seedling silently, her eyes misty. “At the entrance to the Valley, Azhure. That is all I need do.” Her face lightened at the expression on Azhure’s face. “
You’ll see.”
Then she walked forward, her gait slow and heavy, her pace faltering every seven or eight steps.
“Goodwife,” Azhure said urgently. “She’s—”
“She’s doing what she has to,” the Goodwife said, “and we can do nothing for her. Not yet.”
“Soon,” said Azhure, her voice brittle.
“Assuredly,” the Goodwife soothed. “Soon.” She gathered her full skirts as if she would follow Faraday, but she paused as she placed one boot beside the seedling Faraday had just planted. She hummed a little lullaby, bending momentarily to stroke the tiny seedling’s leaves. Then she straightened and clumped after Faraday.
Azhure, holding her hand out for Shra, hurried after her.
One final time Faraday knelt in the soil, wet here where the Nordra sprayed forth. She paused, her eyes misting with tears. Here. It had all come to this. One final time…and then the final journey. One more time, and then Tree Friend’s task was done.
“Mirbolt,” she whispered, the roar of the Nordra masking her words from the three who had halted two paces behind her. “Mirbolt, take what strength I have left and use it to surge towards the sky. Be joyful, for your time is here and you will be the one to join ancient with replanted. Yours will be the task to receive the Song from the mother tree.”
Singing softly under her breath, Faraday dug her fingers into the soil, and then she gently tipped the seedling from its crib and placed it in the hole. “Mirbolt, you are the last, and to you I would entrust my message. Behind you your sisters stretch to the Cauldron Lake, their voices ready to raise with yours. Before you lies the Avarinheim, and the Song of the Earth Tree. Mirbolt, when the time comes I would that neither you nor your sisters nor the mother tree herself hesitate. Axis, the StarMan, will need you. His wife, my sister, will also need you.”
She turned her head slightly and indicated that Azhure join her. When the woman had knelt by her side, her face puzzled, Faraday took Azhure’s hand and touched her fingers to the top of the seedling. “Mirbolt, this is Azhure—you already know her. Azhure is beloved of myself, of the Horned Ones and of the StarMan…and she is accepted among you.” She lifted her head. “Azhure…do you feel it?”