Battleaxe

  Azhure thought for a moment, her eyes downcast. “And will you discuss my case then?”

  Pease moved over to Azhure, her dark eyes gentle. “Azhure, we do not mean to be rude or unwelcoming to you. But you must understand that we are a cautious people. You are one of the Acharites, one of those who drove us from our homes and murdered the forests that once stood as far as the Widewall Bay. And,” Pease did not particularly like to mention this again, but perhaps Azhure still did not realise how seriously the Avar regarded those who caused another’s death, “you have committed violence. The killing of anyone, let alone a father, we regard as abhorrent. Yes, I know that you killed him accidentally and in defence of Shra—but there is also the fact that you struck the Axe-Wielder. Two acts of violence, one through carelessness, one premeditated.” She shrugged. “For the Avar to allow one who has committed violence to walk the paths of the Avarinheim is extremely rare. Your people have murdered with their axes most of the once great Avarinheim as they once murdered the Icarii and Avar. Now you have killed your father. Don’t you see that we believe that your people are inherently violent?”

  “Pease, I have nowhere else to go. If you reject me, then where can I go? I have no-one who wants me.” And that was the crux of the matter, she thought. No-one except her mother had ever loved her, and her mother chose to leave her with Hagen. After a lifetime of rejection and ill-treatment, Azhure yearned to be loved, needed, and valued.

  “Azhure!” Pease was distraught at the distress in Azhure’s face. “We thank you from the depths of our souls for the life of Raum and Shra. But if you want to be accepted among the Avar and make your home among us then it must be by the acceptance and invitation of the entire Meet.”

  Azhure nodded.

  The entire congregation of the Clans of the Avar met that night in the grove of the Earth Tree. The Icarii would not be joining them for another day or so, and tonight was reserved for the Avar people alone. There were several groves used for the religious rites of both the Avar and Icarii peoples in the northern Avarinheim, but of them all the Earth Tree Grove was the most venerated and played the most important role in both Yuletide and Beltide rites. At dusk the Avar people, having eaten light meals in their own camps, began to move reverentially through the groves, their feet soundless on the carpet of soft grass and pine needles.

  All the groves were circular, open to the night skies. The tall secretive trees of the Avarinheim surrounded them, keeping the mysteries of the groves safe from outside eyes. Azhure walked with the GhostTree Clan, her eyes downcast. Raum and Barsarbe rejoined them, and Barsarbe stared at Azhure so coldly that Azhure’s feelings of shame and remorse deepened. GoldFeather finally caught something of the woman’s heartache, and as they approached the Earth Tree Grove she stepped up beside Azhure and took her hand.

  “I have been too preoccupied with my memories and the news of my son to think much of your troubles, Azhure,” GoldFeather said very quietly. “Do not fear the Meet too much. Already it stands well in your favour that the GhostTree Clan have allowed you to walk with them this far. Azhure, know that I will stand with you, and Raum will speak as strongly for you to this Meet as he did to the GhostTree Clan.”

  Azhure squeezed GoldFeather’s hand slightly and managed a smile. “Thank you, GoldFeather. I appreciate your support.”

  Ah, the poor girl, GoldFeather thought. I should have known how she felt. But what could I tell her? That even I, loved by StarDrifter as I am, still find it hard to find a place that I can call home? “Sometimes I think we dream too much of safe haven in a world where few truly find it, Azhure. Azhure, if the Avar people decide against you this night then do not let it harden your heart, not after what you have already endured. And who knows, Azhure. The Icarii value excitement and daring far more than do the Avar.” She paused. “And beauty.”

  Azhure laughed quietly, allowing GoldFeather to cheer her. How could she complain when GoldFeather had endured so much loss? “Then I shall grow wings and fly, GoldFeather, and knock at their front door. I have no wish to return to Smyrton.”

  Barsarbe frowned at their conversation and cautioned them into silence. “We approach the Earth Tree Grove,” she whispered. “Be silent now in respect for the Earth Tree.”

  Even though Azhure had grown used to the beauty of the Avarinheim, she gasped in wonder at the Earth Tree Grove. It was massive, easily holding all the Avar people gathered there. On one side it was bordered by the semi-circular black cliff face of the first of the Icescarp mountains, on the other by the encircling Avarinheim. In its precise centre stood a huge circle of upright stones, each stone ten paces in height and three in width. They were joined by similar stones laid horizontally above them, so that the circle consisted of a series of stone archways that led into the space inside. In the centre of that space stood a gigantic tree, larger than Azhure had seen anywhere else in the Avarinheim. It soared above the encircling stone and reached its spreading branches to the very stars above. Flaming torches placed in niches in the stone circle gave enough light to show that the tree had large pointed oval leaves, dark olive in colour and waxy in appearance. From the ends of the branches drooped fat trumpet-shaped flowers, some gold, some emerald, some sapphire and some ruby in hue. In daylight the Earth Tree would be as colourful as a rainbow.

  GoldFeather gripped Azhure’s hand tighter. “The Earth Tree is the Avar people’s most sacred object,” she whispered, defying Barsarbe’s reprimand for silence. “For them it symbolises the harmony that exists between earth and nature.”

  Azhure nodded, unwilling to speak before the power of the grove. Even though her hatred of the Seneschal and her fear of Hagen had made her largely indifferent to religious matters, Azhure was deeply affected by the atmosphere in the grove and the haunting beauty of the Earth Tree within its circle of fire-rimmed stone.

  The Avar had gathered about the stone circle, sitting themselves about twenty paces away from it. Banes, both men and women in long pastel robes with leaping deer about their hems, passed silently in and out of the stone archways, bringing with them bowls of fluid of which all the Avar partook. Barsarbe and Raum joined the other Banes inside the stone circle, Raum hobbling awkwardly. Azhure noticed a Bane, old and silver-haired and carrying a wide flat wooden bowl, approaching the area where the GhostTree Clan had sat. Azhure caught a brief glimpse of a thick black liquid within the bowl.

  The Bane stooped by Grindle and offered him the bowl. “Drink sweet and deep, brother, and may the nectar of the Earth Tree guide your steps down the paths to the Sacred Grove when your time comes,” the Bane murmured as Grindle took a mouthful. Then the Bane moved on to Fleat and Pease, calling them sister, and offering them the bowl. Even the children were greeted and received a sip of the nectar. GoldFeather smiled as the Bane bent down to her. “Greetings, Enchanter’s wife,” the Bane smiled. “Drink sweet and deep, and may the nectar of the Earth Tree help you to remember the Star Song when your time comes.” GoldFeather took a deep draught and Azhure watched fascinated as peace and joy spread across GoldFeather’s face. Her fingers let the bowl go only reluctantly. The Bane turned to Azhure and frowned slightly. “Greetings, sister.” He paused. “I am afraid that until the Meet accepts you into the Avar I cannot offer you the nectar of the Earth Tree.”

  Azhure’s face dropped in disappointment, but she understood the Bane’s reluctance.

  The Bane felt for her, but after a moment he stood and moved stiffly towards the next group of Avar.

  GoldFeather stretched a hand towards Azhure, but just as she was about to speak a clear voice called from among the circle of stone. Azhure could only barely see the speaker, a woman in late middle-age with hair almost as silver and thick as GoldFeather’s.

  “Bane Mirbolt,” GoldFeather murmured to Azhure. “The most senior of the Banes.”

  “Welcome to the Earth Tree Grove,” Mirbolt called, walking about just inside the circle of stone. Although she quickly moved out of eyesight Azhure could still hear her perf
ectly. “Welcome to the Clans of the Avar, who have walked the trails of the Avarinheim since last we met. In four short days we will enact Yuletide with our brothers and sisters the Icarii, and dance and sing the sacred rites together. But tonight, brothers and sisters mine, we have other matters to discuss. Bane Raum has returned from the Mother with startling news. The Prophecy of the Destroyer walks the earth. Already the Sentinels are abroad.” There were disturbed murmurings among the Avar. Rumours had been spreading for many months, now they had the dreadful confirmation. The murmurs died as the woman continued. “Tree Friend has been found and has been presented to the Mother and to the Sacred Horned Ones.” Cries of amazement erupted about the grove. Tree Friend! The Avar turned each to the other and gripped hands in excitement. Tree Friend! “All these matters we must discuss in concert with our Icarii brethren because they concern them as much as us. This will be a Yuletide when matters are truly turned on their head, my people.”

  For some time Bane Mirbolt remained silent, walking around the inside of the circle of stones, the light from the burning torches illuminating her handsome face as she listened to the Avar people exclaim and discuss among themselves. The news that the Prophecy of the Destroyer walked was news the Bane had hoped she would never live to utter. What she had to say to them next was bitter gall. Her voice was very, very soft, but the command ringing through its tone brought complete silence to the grove.

  “My people. Gorgrael lives and breathes and will shortly bear his might down on the lands that were once united as Tencendor. Remember the words of the Prophecy—the Destroyer is of our blood, ours and the Icarii intermingled. One of our women, or one of the Icarii women, did not abort a baby that was in all probability conceived here in this grove, under the shade of the Earth Tree during the joy that is Beltide. We all bear the shame that is Gorgrael. Grieve with me that through our carelessness we should bring destruction down upon ourselves.”

  Many of the Avar hung their heads, some wept. That the Destroyer was of their blood was shameful news, and though the Prophecy had long predicted it they found it hard to bear. To think that one of their blood would direct such violence and hatred to rain down upon them was bitter news indeed.

  “And yet out of sorrow perhaps there is good news as well,” Mirbolt continued in a stronger voice. “The StarMan is of the Destroyer’s blood, and perhaps we can hope that our shame can be redeemed if he is also of Avar blood.” Although Mirbolt had been informed of the news regarding the BattleAxe, his parentage and his ability, the Banes did not feel that this news was yet anything but a private matter between StarDrifter and GoldFeather. If the BattleAxe was connected to the Prophecy then the Banes wanted to be very careful before they broached the news to their people. By the Horned Ones! It would be a grievous truth indeed to accept that one born of Icarii man and human woman was in fact the StarMan.

  For a while Mirbolt talked of Faraday Tree Friend, giving her people some background on the woman. Many of the Avar spoke, standing and bowing respectfully towards the Earth Tree, wondering how it was that the Avar should be so shamed that one of them was not chosen by Earth Tree for this honour in their hour of need. To that the Banes had no answer. Raum spoke at length, telling of his testing of Faraday, of her instant and strong bonding with the Mother and of the present of the enchanted bowl the Horned Ones had made her. One day, he said, she will stand before the Earth Tree and lead the Avar to safety and to their promised home. One day, he pledged, she would present to them the StarMan. One day. Meanwhile Gorgrael brewed his terrible hate to the north.

  All will be well, Raum finished, and all feet will find their way to the paths of the Sacred Grove. And to that, no-one had anything to say for a long while.

  Finally the silver-haired Bane stepped forward again. “We have one more issue that must be discussed and decided here tonight, my people. We have with us a guest, Azhure, daughter of the Plough-Keeper of the village of Smyrton just beyond the Avarinheim.” As all eyes swivelled her way, Azhure’s stomach turned over with nervousness. “Azhure, step to me, please.”

  GoldFeather gave Azhure a little shove and Azhure stood, picking her way a lot more calmly through the assembled Avar than she felt. Despite her fear, she kept her face composed as she walked up to Mirbolt who had stepped out of the stone circle to greet her. The Bane had a kindly face, but looking into her eyes was like falling into a lake where you did not know what lay below the surface waiting for you—hard rock a handspan below the surface to shatter your bones? Or soft, comforting water to cushion your fall? The Bane took Azhure’s hand and led her around the outside of the stone circle so that all the Avar could see her.

  “Azhure comes to us with both hope and pain in her heart,” the Mirbolt spoke gently. “She helped Bane Raum and Shra escape the Plains Dwellers when it seemed that all hope was lost.” Many of the Avar smiled at Azhure. “But Azhure committed violence to that purpose, violence that we could not normally condone.” The Bane described how Azhure had caused the death of her father and attacked the Axe-Wielder Belial—and as she did so the faces of the Avar closed to Azhure.

  Raum stepped forward and took Azhure’s other hand, smiling at her encouragingly and speaking to his people, describing how he would almost certainly have died had it not been for Azhure’s assistance, describing her attempts to care for himself and Shra when all her kindness had earned her was a beating from her father. He described the scars on Azhure’s back, described the ill-treatment she had endured at the hands of her father, and the eyes of the Avar softened a little in sympathy and Azhure dared let herself hope. Raum also described Shra’s puzzling acceptance of Hagen’s blood as a gift to the Mother. The Banes had discussed this at length, but no-one had known quite what to make of it. At the end Raum turned to Azhure. “Speak, Azhure,” he said, his hand warm about hers. “Speak about what you want, about what you feel.”

  Azhure blinked. She had not expected to be asked to speak, and she felt shy in front of these people and in this sacred place. But she did not lack courage, and so she stood even straighter and addressed the Avar people.

  “I thank you for being allowed here tonight and for being given the opportunity to speak to you. I would ask that I be allowed to join your people. I know that my people have treated yours harshly and that I have myself acted with violence. I can only vow before the Earth Tree tonight that I will never offer you or yours any violence. Please, let me stay with you. I have no people and nowhere to stay. I have lived for weeks with the GhostTree Clan and have learned to respect your way of life deeply. What I have witnessed here tonight has only increased my respect. I felt nothing but hollowness and pain when I lived in Smyrton. The Avarinheim has given the closest thing to peace that I have yet known. Please, let me stay with you,” she repeated.

  Bane Mirbolt nodded at her. “Thank you for your words, Azhure. Please, Raum, would you take her inside the circle of stone while we discuss with the Avar what their decision will be?”

  Raum drew Azhure slowly underneath the nearest stone arch as the Bane started to walk among the Avar, leaning down to talk quietly with them as she passed through their ranks. Azhure turned to Raum, hope and pain softening her blue eyes. “What do you think, Raum? Will they accept me?”

  Raum avoided answering and drew Azhure closer to the Earth Tree. “Come, Azhure. Let me present you to the Earth Tree.”

  “Are you allowed to do that?”

  Raum grinned, his teeth white against his swarthy complexion. “I hardly think the Earth Tree will gather her roots and flee, Azhure. She has seen worse than you in her lifetime. Come.”

  They walked the twenty or so paces to the tree. Its girth was immense, fifteen men holding hands could not have encircled it. Slowly Azhure reached out a hand and touched its bark. It was smooth, like silk, and slightly cool to the touch. She smiled and rubbed her fingers up and down. It felt alive, almost as if it breathed. And to think that the Seneschal taught that trees, forests, were evil. None of them had ever touched the
Earth Tree. She looked at Raum inquiringly.

  “The Earth Tree has stood as long as the Avar have been here to tend it,” he said. “We believe that the health of the Earth Tree is intimately connected with the health of the entire Avarinheim. When, so many years ago, your people,” Azhure turned her eyes away from him, “embarked on the wholesale slaughter of the Avarinheim below the Fortress Ranges it is said that the Earth Tree sickened near unto death. It has taken many generations to recover and is now not so green and verdant as it once was. If the Tree should die, then we believe the Avar people would also be destroyed.” Raum touched the Tree himself. “We could not live without it,” he said quietly, but then smiled. “Ah, Azhure, ever since the destruction of so much of the Avarinheim the Earth Tree has sought refuge from her pain in sleep, absorbed in her dreams of great mysteries. Can you imagine her power and beauty should she wake? We all live for that day.”

  “Azhure.” The voice behind her made Azhure jump. She turned around. Mirbolt stood there.

  “My dear.” The Bane’s face was sad and Azhure’s heart sank. “Our people have reached their decision. They sympathise with your plight, and they are deeply grateful to you for Raum and Shra’s lives. But…your acts of violence still upset them. Yet they are prepared to be forgiving. You may freely walk the paths of the Avarinheim, Azhure, and you can continue with the GhostTree Clan for as long as you will, but you will not be accepted as Avar. I am sorry, my dear.”

  Azhure physically swayed on her feet and Raum’s hand grabbed her elbow to steady her. The villagers of Smyrton had tolerated her presence, but they had never accepted her. Now the Avar would do the same thing.

  “I understand,” she said eventually. “Thank you for allowing me to stay with you.”

  46

  IN THE HAND OF ARTOR