Slowly…slowly…slowly he lifted his eyes to Azhure. She was staring at the creature, ignoring the screams of the child in her arms.
The Dark Music was being wielded by her. She was using the power of the Dark Music, the Dance of Death, to kill the Gryphon!
“Azhure? Azhure? What is that you do?” he whispered in a voice papery-thin with fear, and he could feel StarDrifter’s hand on his shoulder.
When Azhure replied her voice was flat and full of emptiness, making Axis recall the vast empty distances that lay between the stars he had seen in the Star Gate.
“What is this I do? I use the same Dark Music that was used to make this creature to unmake her. I unravel the enchantments that made her with the same powers.” She looked up and met Axis’ eyes—and Axis could see the stars circling in the great emptinesses of their depths.
“WolfStar!” StarDrifter gasped behind him, and Axis cried out. “No! No!”
But both the Enchanters, watching as the Gryphon was finally shredded to pieces by the power that enveloped it, remembered every single piece of evidence that indicted Azhure.
As one they remembered…Azhure walking graceful and confident along the rock ledge outside Talon Spike that any normal human would have fallen from in terror…Azhure’s mastery of the Wolven…the Alaunt hounds, once WolfStar’s, who now answered only to her call…the call of her blood that both Axis and StarDrifter were unable to resist—SunSoar blood?…the ancient Icarii script that she had decorated the cuffs of Axis’ golden tunic with—how had she known that?…her ability to hear (and use, StarDrifter whispered) the mind voice…the Star Music that Axis heard whenever he made love to her…the depth of Caelum’s Icarii blood, as if Azhure had contributed as well as Axis…the scars that rippled down Azhure’s back, as if wings had been torn out…she had first found MorningStar’s body, but had she killed her as well? And finally, the most damning of all, her easy use of the Dark Music. No Icarii Enchanter, and certainly no simple peasant girl, could use that.
“WolfStar,” Axis whispered, and then white-hot anger enveloped him so completely it overran and negated his horror. Had he spent his nights loving WolfStar?
As the Gryphon finally blew apart in a cloud of vaporised tissue and blood, Azhure blinked and the stars faded from her eyes. A tremor ran over her face, and she became aware of her surroundings.
“Axis?” she whispered. Why all this blood? Why was Axis staring at her like that?
The Gryphon! Memories of the Gryphon attack flooded in and Azhure cringed and hugged Caelum tight. Where was the Gryphon? There had been a pain, a pain in her head, and then everything had gone dark. Strange whispers had shouted words through her mind. Where was the Gryphon?
“Dead,” hissed Axis, and behind him StarDrifter’s face was as implacable and as cold as his son’s. “Dead, as you will be before long, WolfStar!”
It was not so much his words, although those were horrifying enough, but the tone in which he said them that tore Azhure’s soul apart. Why did he hate her? What had she done? As Axis tore Caelum from her arms Azhure automatically dissolved into the welcome blackness that had always served as a refuge during her childhood whenever Hagen had sprung at her with similar hatred on his face.
In her last moment of consciousness Azhure realised her worst nightmare had come true. Hagen was not dead at all. He had simply assumed the form of Axis.
“By all the stars in the universe,” the Dark Man screamed, “what have you done?”
Gorgrael backed up against a chair, almost falling over it. An instant previously, just as Gorgrael had felt the Gryphon blink out of existence, the Dark Man had materialised in Gorgrael’s chamber deep in the heart of his ice fortress. He was insanely angry. Out-of-control angry.
And Gorgrael abruptly realised that an out-of-control Dark Man was a very, very, very, bad thing.
“Only a woman and a baby,” Gorgrael whispered, scrabbling to keep his balance as the chair started to slip under his weight. “Only a woman and a baby. I saw no harm in it.”
“No harm?” the Dark Man shouted. “No harm?”
Gorgrael thought he could see fire (or was it ice?) glinting somewhere in the depths of the Dark Man’s hood. His tongue lolled out of his mouth in fear.
“You could have killed her!” the Dark Man shrieked. “You could have killed her!” He advanced on Gorgrael, his black cloak billowing, yet revealing nothing of the man beneath.
“What concern of yours is the death of a single woman and child, Dark Man?” Gorgrael hissed in fury. “What concern of yours?”
“She is a concern of mine!” the Dark Man snarled.
“A single human woman and child, Dark Man?” Gorgrael said, advancing himself now, and the Dark Man retreated a step.
“You fool,” the Dark Man said quietly. “You may have undone everything now. Of all the people you had to set your Gryphon on you had to pick her. Of all the people.”
“She lives,” Gorgrael said, and peered as close as he could at the Dark Man. “She lives, and she destroyed the Gryphon. Is that not unusual for a human woman? To use the Dark Music to destroy my Gryphon? My beautiful pet? Who is she, Dark Man? What is she to cause you to storm my fortress in unconsidered rage? What is she?”
The Dark Man stared at Gorgrael. “She is exposed, now, Gorgrael. That is what she is. And, because of that, she may very well be dead.”
64
AZHURE (1)
“By all the gods in creation,” Belial screamed as Axis raised his sword for the killing thrust, “what are you doing?”
“She is a traitor!” Axis yelled back. “She is WolfStar!”
Belial stepped back, appalled both by the scene before him and by the power and anger that blazed from Axis’ eyes.
They were in one of the lower chambers of the palace—used, occasionally, as an interrogation chamber, and it was to this foul purpose that it was being put again.
Azhure, moaning in pain, was bound upright to a stone pillar, her head lolling on her shoulder. She was only barely conscious. Blood stained her nightgown in several places, and Belial could see that one of her legs had been heavily bruised. Mother knows what other contusions that nightgown is hiding, he thought distractedly.
“Damn you, Axis! Prove to me that she is this traitor! Prove it!” Belial shouted.
Axis stared at him, breathing heavily with effort and with rage. He shifted cold eyes to StarDrifter. “Shall we unmask the bitch?” His voice was as cold as his eyes.
“Best to kill her now, Axis.”
“No!” Belial screamed and grabbed Axis’ arm. “Prove to me that she is this traitor or, so help me Axis, I will raise every soldier I can to move against you!”
Axis swore viciously and threw the sword across the room. It hit a far wall and clattered to the floor. Apart from Azhure, there were only the three of them in the chamber. Belial had kept everyone else out.
“You want to see what she really is, Belial? You really want to see?” Axis snarled. He held Belial’s stare for a moment, then he dropped his eyes and stared at his Enchanter’s ring, twisting it slightly. StarDrifter scowled—what was Axis doing to the ring?
When Axis looked up again, his eyes were subtly different. He walked over to Azhure and twisted his hand in her hair, wrenching her head up so he could stare into her eyes.
She moaned again, and fear flickered across her face.
“I am going to unlock the traitor’s mind,” Axis said, his voice now so cold that Belial recoiled.
Music started to waft about the chamber. Harsh music. Music that StarDrifter at first thought was Dark Music, but then realised was a combination of fire and air music that was discordant and twisted. It was a song that unlocked a mind’s secrets, but StarDrifter had never, never heard it before. It was a new Song.
“I am going to find out what secrets her dark soul hides,” Axis said, grating out his words through clenched teeth, “and I am going to prove to you, Belial, that this…this creature is the traitor who
murdered MorningStar and who intended to betray me to Gorgrael!”
A moment later Azhure screamed, her body convulsing, and she continued to scream as Axis tore her mind apart.
“Oh, gods,” Belial whispered, appalled. He turned away, unable to watch, wishing that he could stop his ears as well, wishing that he had the courage to attack Axis and stop him from killing Azhure.
“He is sifting through her mind,” StarDrifter said calmly. “Sifting through her memories. Searching for the key that will unlock her true identity.”
Several minutes passed, and the intensity of Azhure’s screams, if anything, deepened. Her body strained against the ropes so desperately that they burned through material and skin, and Belial, on the one occasion he found the heart to look, saw blood seep through to stain the white linen wherever the ropes pressed against her body.
“Ah!” Axis suddenly exclaimed in satisfaction. “I have found it!”
“What?” StarDrifter asked, stepping a little closer.
“A block. A shuttered grate. A welded door. A block. Behind this, StarDrifter, lies the true Azhure. Shall I open it?”
“Can you?” StarDrifter asked. “Is it possible? Should we?” What if WolfStar lurked behind that block, waiting to leap out? “Perhaps it is best to kill her now, Axis. It is enough to know the block is there.”
“No, no,” Axis grunted. “Belial wants proof. Well, he shall have it. Wait. I almost have it.”
His face tightened in concentration and effort and the strength of the music doubled. Azhure abruptly stopped screaming and simply stared into Axis’ eyes, so close to her own.
“Ah,” Axis whispered, his hand still tangled deep in her hair. “I almost have you…almost…almost…there! It is gone!”
Suddenly his eyes widened, startled, horrified, staring at something that StarDrifter and Belial could not see. “Oh gods,” he whispered, and then, without a sound, both he and Azhure vanished.
He was enveloped by her power, by the pure power of the Stars, and by some spark of compassion left within her, she did not let it immediately crush him. But she was also still caught in his enchantment—both were—and she was compelled to show him her secrets. All of them. Even those she had repressed and hidden in this dark hole of her mind because to let them free would have driven her mad. She opened her eyes and began to see. Began to see with the eyes of a five-year-old child.
And Axis saw with her.
The eyes blinked and opened. Blinked yet again, and opened wider. They saw the interior of the Plough-Keeper’s home in Smyrton. It was a well-kept home, well furnished. The Plough-Keeper, Hagen, did well for himself.
It was early evening, and lamps and the fire burned merrily. A meal was set out on the table, but the food lay untouched on thick white plates. The eyes belonged to a little girl, and she was crouched in the furthest corner from the fireplace. She did not like the fireplace.
That was where Hagen was intent on the murder of her mother. He had her prone on the hearth, her head dangerously close to the fire. Kneeling astride her body, Hagen gripped the woman’s throat with his hands.
“Whore!” he screamed. “I did not father that aberration cringing in the corner, did I ? Did I? Who, woman? Who?” And he thrust her beautiful head a little further into the fire.
Her hair was raven blue-black, and thickly coiled about her head. The Axis part of the mind that watched through the eyes in the corner saw that her face, even distorted with terror and marked by violence as it was, was very beautiful, her eyes a deep and mysterious blue, her skin creamy smooth in places, but blackened and burned in others. And soon her hair would go up in flames.
“Who?” Hagen roared, again driving her head yet further towards the flames and the coals, and Axis cringed in horror. Was this Hagen driving Azhure’s mother into the flames, or was it he, driving Azhure to her death?
“Azhure, hear me!” the woman screamed, knowing she was near death. “Hear me! This man is not your father!”
“I know that!” Hagen yelled. “I know that. Ever since I saw those feathers sticking out of the girl’s back this afternoon, the feathers that you have been binding for weeks now, trying to hide them from me, ever since that moment I have known she was not my daughter. Who? Who?”
“Azhure!” And the woman screamed, for in a burst of crackling her hair had caught fire. “Azhure,” as the flames engulfed her head, “Azhure! You are a child of the gods. Seek the answer on Temple Mount! Ah!” Her hands beat frantically at Hagen’s fingers clenched about her throat, desperately seeking release from the torment that engulfed her.
“Azhure!” her voice crackled horrifyingly from the ball of flame that now engulfed her entire head. “Live! Live! Your father. Ah! Azhure…Ah! Your father…Ah!”
Whatever she had been trying to say was lost in the expanding ball of flame. His own hands singed, Hagen recoiled, and for a moment or two the woman’s hands beat ineffectually at the flames licking at the edges of her linen collar. An instant later her entire bodice had gone up, and the instant after that her skirts erupted in a roar of flame.
For minutes…hours?…the Azhure/Axis mind watched as the blackened body twisted and writhed on the hearth. It still made odd grunting noises, but the Azhure/Axis mind wondered if it were her lungs searching for air, or the sound of joints popping in the heat.
The smell was awful.
Only after the charred corpse stilled did Hagen turn to the little girl.
“Now you,” he said softly. “Now you.”
He lifted the bone-handled knife from the table, and bent down to the girl.
He ripped the dress from her body and twisted one hand into her hair. In his other hand he hefted the knife, seeking a firm grip.
As the little girl felt the knife sear into her flesh, so too did Axis.
As the little girl twisted and screamed and begged for forgiveness, so too did Axis.
As Hagen dug and twisted the knife deeper and harder, so too did Axis feel each and every twist in his own flesh.
As Hagen grabbed the slowly developing nubs of wings and twisted and pulled and wrenched, so too did Axis suffer.
Blade scraped bone, and Axis screamed and twisted and begged for forgiveness.
So too had Azhure.
As the knife rattled to the floor and Hagen seized every remaining vestige of wing and flight muscle and feather that he could find and pull and wrench and tear, so Axis begged, pleaded, screamed, twisted, fought, cried, despaired.
So too had Azhure.
And, as Hagen picked up the knife again, and began to dig and twist again, searching for hidden feathers, so Axis gave into despair.
So too had Azhure despaired.
And, as Azhure had, Axis lived through each moment of the next six weeks, weeks when the wing nubs kept trying to reform, weeks when each morning Hagen would tear off the grubby, blood-and pus-encrusted bandages and curse and reach for the knife and dig and twist and wrench and dig and twist and cut and scrape and tear and curse and…
I understand! Axis screamed somewhere in a dark, dark place. A place to which the Azhure/Axis mind had retreated because it was the only way it could survive. I understand!
Do you? her voice softly asked. Do you?
…and bandage up again to leave the child thin and weak and infected and pain-ridden to lie in the bed as he buried the charred corpse that had been her mother but yet to return the following morning and curse and reach for the knife and twist and scrape and tear and cut, cut, cut, cut and then leave to conduct worship in the Worship Hall, leave to give due reverence to the great god Artor, the good god Artor, and to guide the souls of the good people of Smyrton on their voyage into hell and to return to lift the Azhure/Axis head and force cool water down her/his throat.
“Why let me live?”
Hagen smiled. “Because I want to see you suffer,” he said. “I like it. Shall I check your bandages again?”
I understand, Axis whispered, and this time he heard nothing but the s
obbing of a girl driven to madness by the pain and the hatred and the loss and driven, as her only means of survival, to bury all of her memories and all of her enchanted powers behind a locked grate, a shuttered gate, a closed, silent door and repress, repress, repress and concentrate on being “normal”, because that was the only way she would survive. The only way.
He was in a dark, dark place and he did not know how to get out. Azhure’s strange power, long hidden, long fettered, had brought him here, and he did not have the skills to escape.
“Azhure?” he whispered into the darkness. “Azhure?”
Nothing.
“Azhure?” he called softly again, starting to crawl directionless through the dark. “Azhure?”
Nothing.
He sat and thought and listened. If he were Azhure, would he answer?
No. The darkness was the only thing protecting her.
What could he say? What could he say?
“Forgive me,” he whispered. “Forgive me.”
Nothing.
“For your mother’s death, forgive me.”
Nothing.
“For your pain and your terror, forgive me.”
Nothing.
“For the loss of your childhood and the rape of your innocence, forgive me.”
Nothing.
“For all the cruelty of the world that has ravaged you, forgive me.”
Nothing.
“For my lack of trust and my lack of faith, forgive me.”
Silence, and Axis knew that she was there.
“Help me, Azhure, for I am lost and I am frightened and I am lonely without you. Help me.”
“Forgive me,” a whisper reached him, and Axis burst into tears, appalled by her need for forgiveness. “Forgive me, Mama, that I cannot remember your name.”
And then she was in his arms, the little girl and the grown woman all in one, and the girl and the woman and the Icarii Enchanter were weeping and seeking forgiveness and release and love and comfort and somewhere to hide, hide, hide from the pain and the injustice of the world.
Enchanter Page 64
