StarDrifter was entranced by the baby and, after asking Axis and Azhure for permission, took the baby into his own arms, rocking him gently and singing to him. The baby was still awake, and stared at StarDrifter curiously.
“Icarii babes can focus and see within only a few minutes of birth, Azhure. He will recognise and remember faces from this point on,” said Rivkah.
StarDrifter smiled at the baby, then raised his head and smiled at Azhure. “He is a wonder,” he said softly and turned his eyes back to the baby again. “Who would think that he is half human! His SunSoar blood sings so strongly.”
Axis’ and MorningStar’s eyes met and caught.
“Just like EvenSong’s,” Rivkah said over-brightly. “Don’t you remember, MorningStar, when EvenSong was born? StarDrifter said exactly the same thing then.”
But everyone save Azhure knew exactly what had crossed MorningStar’s mind as StarDrifter spoke. Of course the baby’s SunSoar blood would be strong if Azhure were WolfStar.
StarDrifter spoke into the silence. “A name, Axis. What name will you give him?”
Axis smiled at Azhure. “Azhure has named him.”
Both StarDrifter and his mother looked startled.
“Caelum,” Azhure said. “We will call him Caelum.”
“Impossible!” MorningStar cried. “He needs a Star name! He is an Icarii Enchanter.”
“I am an Icarii Enchanter and I do not have a Star name,” Axis said. “Azhure wants to call him Caelum, and I think it is a fine name. And suitable, if you think about it. The world is changing, MorningStar, and we cannot linger among the traditions of the past. Welcome Caelum into the House of SunSoar.”
MorningStar dropped her eyes and her objections, although all could see by the stiffness of her shoulders that she was still displeased. She bent over the baby in StarDrifter’s arms and kissed him gently on the forehead. “Welcome, Caelum, into the House of SunSoar. I am MorningStar, your great-grandmother. Sing well and fly high, and may your father win you Tencendor to grow in.”
Now StarDrifter leaned down and kissed the baby softly. “Welcome, Caelum, into the House of SunSoar. I am StarDrifter, your grandfather. Sing well and fly high, and may you always hear the beat of the Star Dance.” He handed the baby to Rivkah.
She kissed the baby on his other cheek. “Welcome, Caelum, into this world of strife. I am Rivkah, your grandmother, mother to your father. Never forget that through my blood you also carry the hopes and heritage of a people who will never sing well or fly high, but who can love and cherish the better because of it.”
She handed the baby to his father, then stood straight and stared defiantly at MorningStar and StarDrifter.
“Welcome, Caelum Azhurson SunSoar,” Axis said softly. “I am your father, Axis Rivkahson SunSoar, and know that I love you well. Remember your grandmother’s words, and never forget your human heritage or your human compassion. Both will be more important to you than your Icarii enchantments.” He handed the baby to Azhure.
“Welcome to my heart, Caelum Azhurson SunSoar,” Azhure said, “for you already know how much I love you. Never forget that you were born amid the death of Yuletide night and that you took your first breath as the sun crested the horizon. You are truly a child of the sun, Caelum. Live long and bright.”
There was a stunned silence in the room as Azhure’s words sank in. Everyone had forgotten she had laboured through the Yuletide night and given birth as the sun rose the next morning. StarDrifter muttered to himself. How could he have forgotten Yuletide? Had the rites gone as planned at the Earth Tree Grove? This was the first time he’d missed the Yuletide rites since he had been fourteen and old enough for the long and difficult flight to the Avarinheim. He had sent the larger number of Icarii Enchanters back to the Avarinheim two weeks previously in readiness for the rites, but had then completely forgotten them himself. Well, perhaps Azhure had supplied them with a rite which achieved exactly the same thing. Both the child and the sun had been reborn at exactly the same moment. What did that mean? Was Caelum a child of the gods?
“Behold the child,” Axis whispered, stroking Azhure’s hair from her forehead. “Caelum was conceived at Beltide and born at Yuletide,” he paused again and kissed the crown of Azhure’s head gently, “of the most remarkable mother.”
Watching Azhure smile at Axis, StarDrifter finally realised how hard it would be to steal her from him.
“But your first daughter is mine, Azhure,” he whispered, only to himself, “for surely she will be as remarkable as her mother.”
Yet would the conquest of the daughter ever compensate for failing to achieve the mother?
38
THE NURSERY
Faraday had managed to keep the third week of Snow-month virtually free of court engagements—easy enough to do when the social life of court and city quieted under the oppressing certainty of war in the north. Most citizens had a husband or brother or son at the front, and all were well aware of what winter heralded. Yuletide was not celebrated or marked in any way in Achar, but Faraday and Yr had their own small celebration in the Queen’s apartments. The two women had drawn very close, leaning on each other for company and for emotional support. Both felt trapped in Carlon, both were trapped within the Prophecy. Yr now spent most of her time with Faraday, even to the point of sharing her bed at night. It was a large bed, almost four paces across, and two bodies could get lost quite easily in it, but neither Faraday or Yr ever seemed to lose each other. In circumstances that sometimes seemed as hopeless as Faraday found hers, she took what comfort was offered, and Yr offered the girl a virtually bottomless well of comfort.
Faraday took a sip of water from a pewter goblet, thinking of the royal chalice. Borneheld had never used it, stating loudly to all who would hear that such a cup was too gaudy for a man of steel. His actions firmed Faraday’s suspicions about Priam’s murder into near certainty. And when Borneheld had given the chalice to Jayme and Moryson for safekeeping, he announced to her who his accomplices were. The poisoned chalice was too subtle for Borneheld. It must have been suggested, planned and ensorcelled by someone else.
Ensorcelled. That the chalice had been ensorcelled was beyond doubt. But by whom? How?
Faraday shook her head slightly, and put the goblet down. “Yr? Can you keep Timozel away for the rest of this afternoon? I want to step the paths of the Sacred Grove again.”
Yr nodded. “I will tell him that you sleep. That you need to rest before the New Year celebrations.”
Faraday removed the bowl of enchanted wood from the chest where she had secreted it. “Yr, do you know why Timozel has changed? Why he has turned from a loving, cheerful youth into the dark and brooding man he is today?”
“No, sweet girl. I have thought long and hard on the matter. Perhaps he has a canker in his soul that eats away at his peace of mind.” She shrugged. “I do not know what it is.”
“I heard him speak of visions to Borneheld, Yr. Has he never spoken of them to you?”
“No.” Visions? From who? “And he’s never shared them with you?”
“No.” Faraday sighed and began to prepare the bowl for her ritual embracement of the Mother’s power. “We are not as close as once we were. He prefers to serve Borneheld now.”
Timozel was her Champion, but these days always supported Borneheld against his wife. Nevertheless, Faraday was as yet loath to break the bonds of his oath of Championship to her. Perhaps Timozel needed her help. Perhaps one day she could help him as he had sworn to help her.
But now the Mother’s power and the Sacred Grove awaited, and next to them, nothing else seemed important.
The power, the Grove and the Horned Ones awaited her. Once she had greeted the Horned Ones, Faraday wandered past the Grove and into the enchanted forest. Again she delighted in watching the strange beasts cavorting through glades and trees, but this time she was anxious to reach the small hut she’d been dragged away from so precipitously before.
Responding to her wish
, the forest helped her feet onto the paths to the old lady’s hut.
It was as she remembered; the grove with the tiny hut in its centre, surrounded by a picket-fenced garden. Just as Faraday focused on the plants the garden contained, the glossy red door of the hut opened and the old lady issued forth, dressed again in her red cloak with the hood thrown back from her cadaverous head. Her child-like eyes glowed with vitality and humour, and she held out her age-spotted hands to Faraday.
“Welcome, Faraday, child of the trees. Welcome to my garden. Will you stay awhile?”
“Yes, I’d like to stay. Very much. Thank you, Mother.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” the old woman clucked, limping down the garden path and opening the green gate into her garden. “No, no, I am not the Mother. But she allows me this little plot to tend my seedlings, and I, as they, are grateful for that.”
Faraday stepped through the gate, closing it behind her. “Then what am I to call you?”
“Name? Oh, you may call me Ur.” She rolled the “r” so that the name stretched over a breath and became almost a melody. “Now, dear girl, do you see my garden?”
Faraday looked carefully, and after a moment saw why this garden was different to most she had seen. “Why! It’s a nursery!” she exclaimed.
“Good girl! Good girl!” Ur cried, and Faraday had to steady the old woman as she tottered alarmingly on her feet.
Instead of flowers and shrubs planted in the earth, Ur’s garden was filled with thousands upon thousands of tiny terracotta pots, each filled with rich, damp black earth, and each supporting a single, slender seedling.
“I tend,” Ur said, her violet eyes misting, “those who have entrusted themselves to me.”
Faraday sensed that there was far more to these seedlings than was apparent. “Tell me,” she pleaded. “Tell me.”
The old woman motioned to a garden seat, warm and inviting in the sun, and Faraday helped her over, sitting down beside her and lifting her eyes to the sky for a moment. She did not think it strange that the sun could shine so ebulliently while the stars still reeled overhead in their tens of thousands.
“There is so much about the Prophecy that is not yet understood,” Ur said, “and these seedlings are part of it. I doubt if even the Prophet was quite aware of what he meant when he wrote of the age-old souls locked into their cribs.”
She halted and stared at the seedlings waving gently in the breeze. “Each will one day become a great tree in the replanted forests of Tencendor, Faraday Tree Friend. You know that the Avarinheim has been slaughtered, cut down by the Axes of the Plough-fearing idiots of the Seneschal?”
“Yes,” Faraday replied, feeling guilty she was of their race.
Ur’s mouth thinned. “The Avarinheim as it stands today is but a fraction of what it once was. Yet, if you succeed, then the forests will one day stretch south like a vast sea into the lower reaches of Tencendor. They will one day resemble the enchanted woods that you see about you here.
“And here wait the seedlings of that great and enchanted sea, Faraday. Not only will they recreate the ancient forests, but they are also the only things that can wipe completely the filth of Gorgrael’s armies from the face of Tencendor. You are the only one who can replant them. The only one who can remove them from the Sacred Grove.”
Tears sprang to Faraday’s eyes. In recent months she had sometimes felt bitter, trapped by the Prophecy in a role that held only pain, trapped in a spreading darkness that seemed to hold no light. But now Faraday felt overwhelmed at her good fortune. She would reawaken the greatness of the ancient forests, replant the enchanted seedlings across Achar. “Thank you,” she whispered, squeezing Ur’s hand.
“Enough,” Ur grumped. “There is more you should know, more beauty.”
She leaned forward, her joints creaking, and picked up one of the nearest seedlings. It was tinier and more fragile than most, having only just sprung from the earth of its nursery pot. “Here,” the old woman said, and handed the seedling to Faraday. “Take it, feel it.”
The pot was warm, and Faraday could feel a faint tingling running through her fingers. The seedling was so fragile that Faraday could see the tiny veins in each of the almost transparent leaves, each throbbing with new life, each throbbing with newly awakened potential.
“Her name is Mirbolt,” Ur said.
“Mirbolt,” Faraday murmured. “Do all the seedlings have a name?”
“Indeed they do, Faraday. And you must learn them all.”
“Why?” The woman must be doting, Faraday thought, if she thinks I can learn the names of these thousands of seedlings about me.
“Have you not noticed the Horned Ones are all male?”
“Yes,” Faraday answered hesitantly.
“And yet,” Ur smiled, “the Avar have both male and female Banes. Where do the female Banes go when they die, Faraday? When they transform?”
“Oh!” Faraday gasped, nearly dropping the seedling pot as she realised she held the life of a female Bane in her hand.
“Mirbolt died in the attack on the Earth Tree Grove at Yuletide a year ago. She has only just transformed. Here she waits, with her almost forty-two thousand sisters, for the moment when they can be replanted across Tencendor. You have just learned a secret which only the female Banes know. Not even your friend Raum knows these seedlings exist.”
“Forty-two thousand?” Faraday repeated.
“The female Avar Banes have been transforming for well over fifteen thousand years, Faraday Tree Friend. As have the male Banes—who, I should point out, often retransform into the fairy creatures you saw about you in the forest. The Avar are the most ancient race of Tencendor, and their Banes have been transforming for a very long time.”
“And I must learn all their names?”
“Indeed you must, Faraday. They cannot be transplanted if you do not know each and every name. And just think, now you have learned one. Mirbolt.”
In his den of tree branches and shrubs, Raum whimpered in agony. His bones were gradually stretching and altering, and he knew that he would shortly have to leave his people. He knew his transformation was not as it should be, not as it normally was for male Banes. Somehow Faraday held the key to his successful transformation. He would have to find her.
“Faraday,” he whispered, then shrieked as his bones began to pull apart again.
Faraday straightened her skirt and turned to Yr. “Am I presentable?” “Very. Now go down to the Chamber of the Moons and conduct
Audience. It will be the last one before New Year.”
“Thank the Mother for that,” Faraday muttered, and patted her hair into place. Audience seemed so insignificant after what she had just learned from Ur.
“Timozel waits outside to escort you, Faraday.”
“And what will you do with your free afternoon, Yr?”
Yr grinned. “I shall stay here and watch the Palace guard at exercise from your private balcony. That should keep me entertained.”
Faraday laughed. Yr would no doubt manage to inveigle one of them into the stable for some further exercise once their courtyard callisthenics were done. She winked and walked through her chamber door into the outer chamber of her apartment complex, closing the door carefully behind her.
39
SKRAELINGS AND SKRAEBOLDS
Two nights after Yuletide Gorgrael’s Skraelings struck Jervois Landing with their full force. If it had not been for the canals, Ho’Demi mused, crouched in his muddied trench, Borneheld and all who fought for them would surely have been eaten by now.
By his side Inari hefted his spear in his hand. “They will strike soon, Ho’Demi. Already the mist begins to seethe.”
Ho’Demi did not bother to reply. He was a courageous man, but every Skraeling charge caused a hard ball of cold fear to roll about his belly. He glanced along the trench. After six days of heavy fighting the weaker and less experienced among them were dead—many of the peasants Borneheld had pressed into fighting had proved all
but useless—but those who’d survived were the better tempered for their experience.
There were many Acharites as well as a unit of Corolean mercenaries among the Ravensbundmen in Ho’Demi’s section of the line. Borneheld had hired thousands of the dark-eyed and fair-haired soldiers to bolster Jervois Landing’s defences. Ho’Demi nodded at their unit commander. They had proved silent and efficient killers, and the Ravensbund Chief was pleased to have their support.
A soft sound behind him made Ho’Demi’s heart lurch in fear—had the Skraelings somehow circled behind them?
But it was only Borneheld. He jumped down beside Ho’Demi and stared into the mist before them.
“Soon,” he said, his voice tight, hefting his sword in his hand.
Yes, very soon, Ho’Demi thought. Borneheld had earned his grudging respect over the past week. He did not hesitate to fight among his command, but he bolstered courage with harsh words and a hard hand where Ho’Demi thought encouragement would have worked better.
Gautier had an even harder hand, and many grew to fear his visits to their section of the trenches.
“There!” Inari called, pointing, and Ho’Demi signalled his men as he caught side of the wraiths seething through the mists towards them.
Teeth gaping, eyes gleaming, gibbering with delight, the Skraelings poured over the lip of the trench. Ho’Demi barely had time to skewer the first with his pike before another took its place, and then another. Beside him Borneheld grunted and seized a Skraeling by its stringy hair, twisting its head to one side as he manoeuvred his blade for a killing stroke.
Up and down the trench the predominant sound was of the harsh breathing of the defenders intermixed with the excited whisperings of the wraiths—interspersed occasionally with an agonised cry as a man fell victim to the hungry teeth of a Skraeling.
After twenty minutes Ho’Demi stuck the Skraeling currently reaching for his throat, then looked up to see clear space before him.
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