“And the fourth?” Faraday asked.
“It lies far to the north.” Jack smiled to himself. “But I think it is the most beautiful of all.”
Faraday turned back to Yr. “Why are they sacred, Yr?”
Yr started to crunch her way through a currant biscuit, holding a hand beneath her chin to catch the crumbs. “Each has its own purpose, Faraday,” she muttered ambiguously, “and its own secrets. Today, or perhaps tomorrow, you may see why it is that the Avar people particularly revere the Mother.”
Faraday remembered what Veremund had told her about the Avar people. The people of the forest. He had also called the Icarii the people of the Wing, and now Jack had told her that, incredibly, the Icarii were actually winged people. “Yr, if the Icarii are referred to as the people of the Wing, and if they do indeed have wings, then what do the Avar look like if they are the people of the forest? Do they have leaves instead of hair?”
Now it was Jack and Yr’s turn to laugh. “No, dear one,” Jack said obscurely as he rose to his feet. “Hardly that. Come, it is time we were moving.”
Just as they were beginning to climb again Faraday remembered what else Veremund had mentioned about the Avar, that perhaps they could speak to the trees. She looked about the slopes of the Bracken Ranges. The mountains were so named because of the dense growth of ferns and waist-high bracken that covered most of their lower slopes. But now Faraday wondered if the interior of the Ranges surrounding Fernbrake Lake supported plant life a little larger than bracken. Some of Faraday’s nervousness returned. Her entire life up to this point had revolved about fear of the forest and the forbidden creatures it contained; despite her wonder at the Star Gate, it was not easy to let go of such ingrained fear.
Timozel, caught in his enchantment, dreamed. Again he walked down a long ice tunnel, enslaved, terrified, and again he approached the massive wooden door. Again a dreadful voice boomed from the other side of the door to enter and Timozel’s treacherous hand closed firmly upon the latch, which twisted open. “No!” he screamed, but the latch continued to move and Timozel heard a click as the door lock gave way. Just as the door began to inch open his mind let go and Timozel slipped back into sleep.
After many hours of climbing, Jack, Yr and Faraday topped a ridge and Fernbrake Lake lay before them, a vast circular body of emerald water almost completely filling the collapsed peak of a mountain. Great ferns and bracken, as tall as a man, surrounded much of the lake, but around one end there stood a stand of massive trees towering into the dark and cloudy sky. Jack led them down the side of the ridge towards a smooth, well-grassed area between the trees and the water’s edge.
Faraday was subdued as they scrambled down the side of the ridge onto a steep path hemmed in by the tall tree ferns. Fernbrake Lake, although beautiful, was not as wonderful as Jack and Yr had promised. It was certainly nothing like the Star Gate. And Faraday was depressed at the sight of the trees. For her they recalled the dreadful images of her vision, and she did not think she could bear it if they wanted to sing her another like it. Yr turned and smiled reassuringly at her. Yr had said that she would learn to love the trees almost more than life itself, but Faraday thought it would take all her efforts simply to learn to accept them. Even the myriad birds that called from the bracken did not calm her.
It took them close to an hour to climb down the steep path and work their way around the lake towards the clear area in front of the trees. The clearing stretched some fifty paces between the tree line and the water’s edge, extending in an almost perfect crescent around the eastern rim of the lake.
“This is a very sacred spot for the Avar people, dear one,” Yr whispered to Faraday. “You see, the Avar revere the—”
“I do not think your explanations will be necessary, gentle one,” Jack said, his voice very still, gazing towards the tree line. “I think that for once our luck has turned for the better. See, the Mother has an Avar Bane in attendance.”
Both Yr and Faraday turned to look at the spot in the tree line where Jack’s eyes were riveted. “A Bane,” Yr whispered, awed. Faraday stared at the trees, but for a long moment she could see nothing. Then, just as her eyes adjusted to the shadows between the trees, a man, carrying a small child, walked into the cold daylight of the clearing.
Timozel was trapped again in his dream, trapped before the slowly opening door. He finally managed to force his hand from the door latch lest the opening door pull him precipitously into the room beyond. The person—the creature—who was opening the door was standing behind it, and all Timozel could see was his shadow stretching across the ice floor of the room beyond. Even the ill-defined shape of the shadow was ghastly enough for Timozel to finally wrench his mind from the power that held him and escape once more.
29
THE BANE AND THE CHILD
Faraday shifted a little closer to Yr. “Who are they?” she whispered.
“Shhh!” Yr hushed, and stepped up to stand beside Jack as he stood, staff in hand.
Faraday looked back to the man and child. The man was of an indeterminate age, a little shorter than Jack, about her own height, and very muscular with smooth olive skin and dark brown hair waving down about his neck. He wore a short woven tunic with a subtle pattern around its hem that Faraday could not quite make out and brown leggings underneath that. His face was broad, open and peculiarly formed with a wide, almost lumpy, forehead above a long aquiline nose, high cheekbones and a thin mobile mouth. Of all his features, however, it was his eyes that demanded most attention; they were so dark as to be almost black, deep liquid pools that appeared to have witnessed both great tragedy and indescribable joy. He was one of the most compelling people Faraday had ever seen, with a wild, alien air about him that almost vibrated. The child was very young, no more than a toddler. She was of the same race as the man who carried her, curly brown hair above a similarly structured face and black eyes. She smiled happily at the group before her as the man stopped some five or six paces from them. At this distance Faraday could see that the subtle pattern around the hem of his tunic was of leaping deer.
The man’s eyes were disturbed as they shifted between the three. He opened his mouth to speak, but both Jack and Yr stopped him as they bowed deeply. Yr placed the heels of both her hands on her forehead as she bowed, but Jack, encumbered with his staff, placed only the heel of his left hand on his brow. “Bane,” they said simultaneously in strong, clear voices, “we honour you and yours. May you always find shade to rest in, and may the paths to the Sacred Grove remain always open to your feet.”
The man was surprised by the formal greeting, but he visibly rocked with astonishment when Jack and Yr both stood straight again; their eyes glowed softly emerald and sapphire. He placed the child gently on the ground and bowed low before them, his hands over his eyes and forehead. “Sentinels. I greet you with honour.” He straightened and dropped his hands, his eyes unreadable. He sighed. “And with mixed relief and fear. Your presence before the Mother confirms to me and to mine that the Prophecy has indeed awakened.” His eyes shifted to Faraday questioningly.
She stared at the Bane. She could easily understand him, although his accents were strange.
Jack’s voice sounded instantly in her head. All three races once lived together in Tencendor, Faraday, and all three still speak the same language.
As Faraday hesitated Yr shot her a sharp glance from the corner of her eyes and Faraday started a little. She was being rude. She bowed low and in the same manner as Jack and Yr had, trying to repeat their greeting exactly. Then she straightened and let her hands fall to her sides. “My name is Faraday, daughter of Earl Isend of Skarabost.”
The man frowned. She was a Plains Dweller and her presence before the Mother troubled him. But she accompanied the Sentinels. “Faraday, I greet you and welcome you before the Mother.”
The girl-child was clinging to the man’s legs and he picked her up again. “The child’s name is Shra,” he said, “and I am Raum, of the Ghost Tree
Clan.” Jack and Yr introduced themselves and then Jack motioned at the ground.
“Bane Raum, may we sit? We have been climbing into this valley for most of the day and our legs ache. We would have words with you.”
Raum nodded and they sat down in a circle, Jack, Yr and Faraday slipping the packs off their backs. Faraday stretched her back and arms a little, glad to be relieved of the weight. The child Shra stood beside Raum as he sat cross-legged, her small hands holding onto his bended knee for support. She looked immeasurably curious at the presence of these strange visitors.
Jack smiled gently at her, and then looked back at Raum. “Have you presented her to the Mother yet?”
Raum glanced at Faraday again, but then looked back at Jack. “No, Sentinel. We only just arrived. The time will not be right until very early tomorrow morning.”
“Good. Raum,” Jack hesitated, “Yr and myself have brought Faraday to the Mother for the same purpose. But we are honoured that you are here and would ask that when you present Shra you also present Faraday.”
Raum’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared in anger. “She is a woman of the Plains! She does not understand the trees! Only the Avar can tread this path! Sentinel, you cannot mean what you ask!”
“Bane, one of your learning must understand the words of the Prophecy, yes?” Raum nodded stiffly. “And the Prophecy has chosen this young woman to serve too. She will serve the Prophecy by serving the trees—we are sure of that. Raum, will you test her? If you do not think she is worthy of this task then we will leave.”
Faraday tensed as Raum eyed her angrily. The alien air about him was magnified ten-fold and she clenched her hands to stop them from trembling. Abruptly Raum rose and stepped across the circle to squat before her. He reached out with both his hands and seized her head between them. Faraday went rigid as his powerful hands gripped her. Raum leaned forward until his black, hostile eyes were only inches from her terrified ones. Then she fell into blackness.
She was running, terrified, through an immense forest of trees that towered above her. Something appalling, undefinable, yet so dangerous that Faraday knew it would tear her to pieces if it caught her, chased her through the trees. The thick and crooked black trunks of the forest trees reared angrily from the lichen and leaf covered soil of the forest floor, crowding in on Faraday as she ran, reaching out to trip her feet with their cunning twisted roots and snag her shoulders and arms with their sinister boughs until Faraday’s white skin was scratched and bleeding. Faraday cried as she ran, desperately trying to find a way through the trees, but as hard and as fast as she ran the forest crowded thicker about her, striving to impede her progress. She could hear the beast that hated her, that wanted to kill her, gaining ground behind her, crashing unobstructed through the trees while she had to fight for every step. “Help me,” she sobbed as she ran, but the malicious trees only intensified their efforts to hinder her progress, trying to hold her tight for whatever chased her through their midst. Faraday began to lose her temper, frustration slowly overcoming her fear as she pushed her way between the thick, black forest. Why should the trees hinder her and not the one who chased her? “Naughty trees,” she muttered angrily, not realising that she had copied Jack’s tone when he berated the trees for frightening her during the long Silent Woman Night. “You should help me!” Perhaps they would tell her where she could hide if she asked them. Faraday lurched to a halt beside a massive Whalebone Oak, slapped it as hard as she could in her all-consuming rage, then leaned against it, palms tight against its rough bark. For a moment there was nothing but her rage, but then Faraday recalled how Jack had taught her to listen to the trees of Silent Woman Wood. “Damn you,” she muttered, “listen to me now.” She deliberately erased all feelings of anger from her heart, and tried to feel the tree’s presence through her hands into her heart. For a long moment she concentrated hard, trying to ignore the sounds of her pursuer. Then, finally, just as she was beginning to despair, a tremendous sense of peace engulfed her and she started to hear the tree sing a Song of love and reassurance. Tears slipped out of her eyes, and she humbly apologised to the Whalebone Oak for hitting it in her anger. The sense of danger, of being hunted by some dreadful beast, completely disappeared; there was now no sound but that of the Tree Song. The forest no longer oppressed her; instead it held her and comforted her. A slow smile curved her lips as she felt its love, then she laughed delightedly and opened her eyes.
Raum, his eyes still wide, slowly let her head go and sat back on his heels. Faraday smiled at him in understanding. “It was you who chased me through the forest, wasn’t it?”
Raum nodded, bewildered at what he had witnessed. He resumed his seat within the circle and looked at Jack and Yr. “She underwent the same test as do all those of our children who show the promise,” he said hesitantly. “And yet we, the Avar, who live so close to the trees, lose so many in the test. All that they are required to do to pass the test is simply to think about asking the trees for help from the danger that threatens them. That is all. And yet we lose so many.” Sorrow deepened his voice. “Most die of terror. Most never think about asking the trees for help. Of all that undergo the test in the Avarinheim, only a small number survive to make the trip to the Mother.”
“What did Faraday do?” Jack asked, immensely relieved that Faraday had passed the test.
Raum smiled introspectively. “She stood, even as the danger was closing in on her, and let them sing to her, let them sing the danger away. None of our children have ever done that. Even after a lifetime of training few of our number are ever privileged to hear even a small part of the Tree Song.” He paused. “They sang for her. They sang for her,” he repeated, still amazed at what had happened. He looked across to Faraday, and his eyes now reflected awe. “What will they do for her once she has been presented to the Mother?”
Trapped again, all Timozel could see was the ghastly shadow stretching across the ice floor of the room beyond. The ill-defined shadow wavered as the creature behind the door stepped out into the light. “Who is it?” a dreadful voice asked. “Who comes to disturb my rest?” Timozel could feel hate oozing out of the creature’s mouth along with its words, but he was so mesmerised by the slowly moving shadow that he had no heart to resist the question. “My name is Timozel,” he whispered, “and I do not want to be here.” Unfortunately, unconsciousness did not save him from the nightmare this time.
Raum fetched a bundle from the trees and unwrapped it to share some of his food with the others. Although Faraday recognised some of the berries and fruits that he offered her, the piece of flat bread that she ate tasted unusual, although not unpleasant. “What is it made from?” she asked.
“It is malfari bread, made not from the grains that you grow on the plains, but from a fibrous tuber we gather in the Avarinheim called malfari. We crush it and dry it and then bake it with herbs and cheese into flat bread. During winter it is the mainstay of our diet.”
“The Avarinheim?” Faraday asked puzzled. Shra, her black eyes trusting, tottered over to her and curled up in her lap. Faraday stroked the child’s head, but repeated her question. “What is the Avarinheim?”
Jack smiled at the Bane in apology. “Bane, we have had no time nor the opportunity to tell her anything. We have only just found her ourselves. Could you perhaps explain a little about your people, and particularly about yourself and the child and why you are here?”
“Shra and I are of the Avar people.” Raum’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “One of the two races you call the Forbidden. We live in the Avarinheim, the great forest that stretches from the Icescarp Alps to the Fortress Ranges—where your ancestors penned us a thousand years ago in the Wars of the Axe.” Faraday’s face brightened with embarrassment for her people, but she held Raum’s eyes in a steady gaze. “You know the Avarinheim as the Shadowsward, and your Brotherhood of the Seneschal have taught your people to hate and fear it and all those who live within it.”
Raum looked about the valley
of the Fernbrake Lake, beginning to darken in the dusk light. “Here there stand a few remaining remnants of the Avarinheim, and I am told that there still stands a wood around Cauldron Lake.” Jack nodded in confirmation. “Those are the last remaining stands of trees that once belonged to the Greater Avarinheim which stretched from the Icescarp Alps to Widewall Bay and from the Widowmaker Sea to River Nordra. You and yours have killed much of our home, Faraday of Skarabost.”
“Over these last few weeks I have learned that the past has many different interpretations, Raum,” she said a little dryly.
Raum continued. “The Avar are a peaceful people, Faraday. We live in as great a harmony with the land as we can—unlike your race, which desecrates and scars and rapes the land for what it can give you, and yet give nothing back. Your Way of the Plough is an abomination, Faraday.”
“Enough, Raum,” Yr said softly. “Poor Faraday has not the shoulders to carry the guilt for her entire race.”
Raum inclined his head at the Sentinel, but his eyes glinted with anger. “Sometimes, Sentinel Yr, it is hard for us to watch the land we loved and cared for carved up into barrenness under the dreadful ploughshare.” He turned back to Faraday and moderated his tone somewhat. “We live in harmony with the land,” he repeated, “and with the seasons. We do not try to change or to warp, but to assist both land and seasons as best we can. Of all living things we revere the trees most of all. For us the forest, the Avarinheim, is a living being and we treasure it as we do our own families. Our most sacred rituals are those designed to assist the turn of the seasons and the regeneration of the land and forest. Some among us have the ability to become Banes, or mages, and it is our duty to care for the forest with an even greater dedication than most Avar, and to conduct the rites of land and season.”