Enchanter

by Sara Douglass

  The young Bane who served their section stepped in front of RavenCrest first, murmured to him, then offered him the bowl. RavenCrest drank, then the Bane turned to BrightFeather, then to Rivkah. He stepped carefully through the rocks and offered StarDrifter the blessed wine, then he turned to Axis.

  “Drink well and deep, Axis SunSoar, and may the sacred wine of Beltide remind you of the joy and the steps of the Star Dance as you celebrate the renewal of life tonight.”

  Axis took the bowl in both hands and drank the wine deeply. He raised his head only with reluctance and Azhure, watching him, noticed that the wine clung in heavy, red drops to his beard. Two of the drops ran together, trickling down through the short golden hairs. She stared at them, fascinated. The wine was so thick and heavy it reminded her of blood.

  The Bane paused briefly before Azhure, then bowed his head in regret. “You have not been accepted among us, Azhure. I am afraid that I cannot offer you the—”

  He stopped, shocked, as Axis stood and took the bowl from his hands. “I take the responsibility,” Axis said. “The wine is almost gone and you are needed before the circle of stone. I will take responsibility for what remains of the sacred wine.”

  After a moment the Bane bowed stiffly. “The bowl and its contents are your responsibility, Axis SunSoar,” he said, then turned and marched away, every step stiff with displeasure.

  Axis turned to Azhure.

  “Stand, Azhure,” he said, and Azhure slowly stood, her eyes on his face.

  “Drink well and deep, Azhure,” Axis said softly. “And may the sacred wine of Beltide remind you of the joy and the steps of the Star Dance as you celebrate the renewal of life tonight. Celebrate.”

  Azhure hesitated, aware that every eye within twenty paces’ radius was on her.

  “Drink,” Axis repeated, his voice insistent.

  Azhure reached for the bowl. As her hands wrapped themselves about the bowl, Axis, instead of dropping his own hands, slid them around the bowl to cover hers.

  “Drink,” he whispered.

  The moment the warm, viscous liquid filled her mouth Azhure understood why all those she’d watched had been reluctant to relinquish the bowl. The wine felt alive and seemed to speak to her, sing to her as it filled her mouth. It tasted of earth and salt, birth and death, wisdom and sadness beyond knowing. As the warm, coppery liquid slid down her throat and warmed her belly, Azhure thought she could hear music. Wild music, as if the stars themselves were reeling naked and crazed with lust through the night sky.

  Azhure took another great mouthful. There was not much left.

  “Thank you, Axis,” she said from the depths of her heart. “Thank you for making me a part of this night. I would that you drink the last mouthful.”

  Their hands still locked together about the bowl, Axis raised it to his lips and drained it. Now the trail of wine through his beard looked more like blood than ever and Azhure was vividly reminded of the magnificent Stag sacrificed in this grove at Yuletide.

  “His life, his blood, he gave to us to celebrate tonight,” Axis said, and placed the bowl carefully to one side of a boulder. Azhure wondered how he knew what she’d been thinking. As she turned she found every SunSoar eye riveted on her. Let them think what they like, she told herself, and sat down in one graceful movement. Already Azhure could feel the effects of the wine racing through her blood.

  A light flared behind the torch-lit stone archways and all eyes turned away from Azhure and towards the circle.

  Azhure blinked, her vision blurring, but her eyes cleared and she stared at the circle.

  Figures dimly moved behind the archways, and wild music erupted violently into the night. This music was nothing like that Azhure had heard at Yuletide, or in Talon Spike. The Icarii generally sang unaccompanied, or used harps to make their music. But this music was the music of wild pipes. Avar music as Azhure had never heard it before.

  The music reeled through the night and twisted down among the crowds until groups of the watchers stood to dance, gyrating wildly. Azhure longed to be with them, but, just as she was about to leap up, the music abruptly stopped.

  Azhure’s blood throbbed in her ears and her heart beat madly. Was it the music or the fermented stag’s blood?

  Someone nudged her elbow. It was Rivkah, smiling a little secretively as she held out a gourd of wine. “It is not as good as that you have just drunk, Azhure, but it is good nevertheless. Drink, and pass it on.”

  Azhure took the wine and drank deeply, then handed the gourd to Axis. His face was intense. Perhaps he waits for the music to begin again, thought Azhure, and as she passed the wine over she touched the blood where it still lingered within his beard and at the corner of his mouth.

  A movement at the edge of Azhure’s vision caught her attention, and she looked back to the circle.

  A figure walked through one of the archways, and a murmur ran through the watching crowd. It was Barsarbe, small, delicate, and completely, utterly naked. She had painted spiral designs over her body, emphasising her breasts and her belly, although what paint she had used Azhure could not see.

  “It is what remains of the stag’s blood,” said Axis quietly at her side. “Can you not see its redness? Smell its warmth?”

  “I have not the senses of an Enchanter,’ Azhure muttered, unable to drag her eyes away from Barsarbe.

  Another woman walked through the archways. It was MorningStar, similarly naked, similarly painted, although this time the paint was some golden substance that highlighted the beautiful pale sheen of her skin.

  By Azhure’s side Axis stirred uncomfortably.

  Both women started to dance. The pipe music had begun again, but it was softer this time, less insistent, and there was an accompaniment of drums that mirrored the beating of Azhure’s heart.

  The beat made her think, momentarily, of the insistent tug of the waves against a distant shoreline, and of the dip and sway of the moon.

  As StarDrifter used his voice to speak and persuade, to relive memories and to tell stories, so the slow, sensuous dance of these two women spoke of many things to the watching eyes. They spoke of the gradual reawakening of the earth under the soft and sensual touch of the sun; of the seeds of life that lay buried under cover of darkness for long months but were now stimulated into life; of the green shoots that burst through the soil and grew to feed the mouths of man and beast. They spoke of the continual renewal of life, whether in the earth or in the belly of a doe or a woman; of the joy that was granted each time a child drew breath for the first time; and they spoke of love, its delights, its place in the continual renewal of the earth and of life.

  Barsarbe danced with passion, but it was MorningStar who stirred Azhure the most. She not only used her long limbs and lithe body, but also her wings, using them one moment to hide and tantalise, the next to invite and demand.

  The dance of the two women was building to its zenith, their movements slower but more intense. A man stood to dance with MorningStar, and with a start Azhure saw that it was Grindle, leader of the GhostTree Clan. MorningStar orientated her dance to Grindle alone, while another man now rose and danced with Barsarbe. Azhure swallowed as their movements became more intense, more intimate. Many Avar and Icarii were now engaged in their own private dances, while inside the stone circle, dimly visible frantic figures were writhing in pairs on the ground. Azhure did not need an Enchanter’s vision to know what they were doing.

  The wine sang through her blood.

  Without conscious thought, Azhure stood and walked through the boulders into the surrounding forest.

  Azhure walked until she no longer heard the music of the pipes or the drums. The grass was soft and cool under her feet, and the Earth Tree sang soft and seductive over her head. The night mist thickened around her, until it seemed that she was moving through a drifting sea of soft silver. Azhure had no sense of confinement, for the silvery mist created an atmosphere of light and space.

  The wine sang through her blood,
and somewhere, deep within her, she thought she could feel the faint pull of an answering Song. She slowed her steps. Her hands drifted to the emerald sash that bound her crimson robe, and she undid it, letting it fall gently to the ground, rejoicing in the feel of the material floating free to wrap and fold itself against her body in the soft, damp air of the Avarinheim.

  The Earth Tree sang sweet and gentle, and Azhure closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting the Avarinheim wrap her in its loveliness, giving herself completely to the Song surging through her blood.

  The sense that another answered it was stronger now, more insistent, and Azhure opened her eyes.

  StarDrifter stood some ten or fifteen paces away, holding out his hand and smiling. Slowly his fingers curled, beckoning, once, twice, a third time, and Azhure rocked as the Song roared through her blood in response.

  A twig cracked behind her.

  Azhure turned her head. The Song of her blood was now almost deafening; she could no longer hear the Earth Tree.

  Distant, still distant, another figure was walking through the mist towards her. Axis.

  “Azhure!” StarDrifter’s voice cracked across her consciousness and Azhure blinked, tears springing to her eyes at the anger and tension in his voice. “Azhure! To me! Your blood calls to me, for me. Answer it. Now!”

  But now a deep, gentle Song surged through her, intermingling with her own blood, and this Song she knew was Axis calling to her.

  She moaned, her hands clenching by her side, knowing that her blood demanded of her that she choose, hating herself, knowing that she could not walk away.

  The mist clung thick and loving to both forms, so that both StarDrifter and Axis, equal distances from her now, seemed ethereal, wraithlike, in the forest. Each now beckoned, demanding.

  Without conscious thought or decision, Azhure turned to StarDrifter. His eyes widened in triumph and his fingers flared towards her.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, then walked towards Axis. Behind her StarDrifter screamed.

  Axis had thought his heart would tear itself apart with victory and craving when Azhure turned to walk towards him, her eyes downcast. His entire body had vibrated with every beat of his heart, his blood as wild and as febrile as the pulse of the feral pipe music.

  “Dance with me,” he’d whispered, and Azhure had raised her eyes to his. Neither had cared if StarDrifter still watched.

  Now she rested, heavy and warm along the length of his body, sleeping. They lay underneath a stand of giant feather-back ferns, encased in green tracery, warm and safe.

  Axis shifted slightly, tensing a little as Azhure mumbled in her sleep, then relaxing with her as she slipped deeper into her dreams.

  Did she dream of him? He knew he would dream of her for many long nights to come. No other had ever made him feel this way. She had sent him reeling among the stars, until his entire vision had been filled with the myriad blur of the stars as they rushed by, seizing him up in their mad dance through the heavens, until he could feel his very soul tear itself loose from its moorings and crash free about the firmament itself. Wonder and madness, exultation and pain, all had consumed him. He had withheld nothing, could withhold nothing, from this woman.

  Perhaps it was her virginity, perhaps it was Beltide night, perhaps it was the wine they had both consumed. Axis did not know. Perhaps it was because this was the first time he had coupled with a woman since coming into his full powers as an Enchanter.

  Slowly his touch grew firmer, and his hand moved further down her arm. How long, Axis wondered, did his body need to recover before he could make love to her again? His hand drifted to her back, and his touch softened. He remembered holding her as he lost himself among the surging waves of the Star Dance, feeling the terrible ridged scars that ran the length of her back. Only the single smooth strip of skin over her spine had escaped the cruel hand that had inflicted these scars. Why? What spirit of cruelty had driven Hagen to inflict this pain on Azhure?

  “Azhure,” he whispered, wishing the circle of his arms could protect her from any further hurt. He leaned his body towards her, stroking her gently awake.

  She woke slowly, opening her smoky eyes into his pale ones. “Axis? Did we…” She hesitated.

  “Did we celebrate Beltide together, my lady? Do you not remember?”

  Azhure laughed a little, her cheeks colouring. “Yes. I remember.”

  Axis smiled, and kissed her very slowly, refreshing her memory. His hand moved down over her hips.

  “And tell me, Azhure, did you ever think, when you were a small child growing up in Smyrton, that you would lose your virginity to an Icarii Enchanter on the hard ground of the Avarinheim forest?”

  Azhure did not hesitate in her reply. “I swore that I would never give myself to anyone less than a hero, Axis SunSoar. That I should love him so deeply makes this night the more sweet.”

  Axis’ hand stilled. “Azhure,” he stumbled. “Do not love me. I cannot, I…Faraday…” His voice trailed off. It was the first time he had thought about Faraday this night, and the guilt struck deep.

  Azhure flinched at the expression on his face. “I know, Axis,” she whispered. “I know. I did not expect to be loved in return.”

  Now Axis winced. Who had he betrayed here tonight? Faraday—or Azhure? He leaned down and kissed Azhure again, shifting his body against hers, allowing his desire to swamp him. The night was yet young, and Faraday was very far away.

  Neither knew that somewhere, sitting in front of his lonely fire, the Prophet laughed at the man and woman entwined beneath the ferns. He was pleased. Well pleased. Azhure had served the Prophecy well this night.

  16

  A PARTING OF WAYS

  Azhure, dressed in her Avar tunic and leggings, packed the crimson robe carefully into the base of her pack. Last night seemed a dream. But every aching muscle in her body told her otherwise.

  “Rivkah, where will you be going from here?” she asked.

  “Back to Achar, Azhure. Do you think to join me? Why not go back to Talon Spike with the Icarii?”

  Azhure hesitated. “I—”

  “I know what happened last night,” Rivkah said gently. “I saw both StarDrifter and Axis follow you into the forest, and I saw StarDrifter return alone.”

  Azhure busied herself thrusting the last of her belongings into the pack. “It would be hard to go back to Talon Spike, Rivkah. StarDrifter would be…well—”

  “Impossible,” Rivkah said. “Yes, Azhure, I understand that. Do you want to follow Axis?”

  “That would be impossible, Rivkah. No, I thought I might follow you. I am heartily sick of this Prophecy, and I do not want to get in Axis’ way. It would be best if I left whatever we had last night here. As quickly as possible.”

  Rivkah nodded. She understood that Azhure wanted to walk away from Axis before he had the chance to tear her soul apart as StarDrifter had torn Rivkah’s. Mortal women had no place beside Icarii Enchanters.

  Axis stood conferring with several of the Crest-Leaders. Those of the Icarii who had not indulged too freely in the wine of Beltide were making preparations to return to Talon Spike. The groves about him were filled with the rush of feathers and shouted goodbyes.

  “We have further reports of Sigholt, Strike-Leader,” FarSight said.

  Axis glanced his way sharply. He had sent three different patrols on long-range missions over Ichtar and the Urqhart Hills—he desperately awaited news of both Belial and Borneheld. “Well?” he snapped.

  FarSight raised a black eyebrow. For a man who had, according to common gossip, thoroughly enjoyed his first Beltide, Axis had a ferocious temper this morning.

  “Belial is well and has settled comfortably into Sigholt, Axis. Sigholt is secure and Belial is establishing supply routes into northern Ichtar. They currently have enough supplies for several months. Before we join him, Belial still wants to secure the area surrounding Sigholt, as well as the WildDog Plains.”

  “But Sigholt itself is secure?”<
br />
  “Yes, Strike-Leader. The threat from the Skraelings is almost nonexistent. None dare approach the waters—”

  “The waters?” Axis broke in. “What waters?” To one side Ogden and Veremund, hovering about trying to look inconspicuous, gave up all pretence of indifference and stepped closer.

  “Belial has somehow managed to reflood the lake and Sigholt not only has the waters of the lake to protect it, but is also surrounded by a deep and wide moat. Skraelings do not like water.”

  “Especially magic water!” Ogden cried, his white hair standing even more on end than usual. “It is a Sacred Lake, Axis. One of the four magic Sacred Lakes. I wonder how Belial managed it?”

  “Jack!” Veremund whispered, tugging on Ogden’s sleeve. “It must be Jack!”

  “Well,” Axis said, “Sigholt seems to be a good site for a base in more ways than one. I must get word to Belial.”

  “We can send more farflight scouts, Axis,” FarSight began, but Ogden and Veremund broke in, speaking as one.

  “We’ll go, Axis!”

  Axis laughed. “What? You expect me to entrust a message to two such rascals? Even if I did, would Belial believe a word that came out of your mouths?”

  Ogden’s and Veremund’s faces fell and Axis relented. “I will entrust messages to both farflight scouts and to you two gentlemen,” he said, then turned back to FarSight. “And Borneheld? What news of Borneheld?”

  “Not much, Axis. Borneheld has encamped at Jervois Landing, where you expected.”

  Axis nodded.

  FarSight continued. “Jervois Landing is too far for the farflight scouts to fly—and too dangerous. West of Sigholt Ichtar seethes with Skraelings, and Borneheld’s archers would as soon shoot at Icarii as they would at the Skraelings. Belial intends to send human scouts on foot, disguised as peasants, to scout Borneheld and his encampment and learn what they can. At the moment, however, Belial knows little and we know even less.”