The Serpent Bride

by Sara Douglass

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Southern Reaches of the FarReach Mountains

  He was no harm to us,” Axis said to his men, and they slowly relaxed, murmuring between themselves.

  “And the others?” said Insharah, who was the most senior of the men of Axis’ escort. “They were Ba’al’uz’ men?”

  “Yes,” said Axis. He looked around. “They will have fled by now and, frankly, I am not happy about that power of theirs.”

  “What did you mean,” asked another of the men, Madarin, “when you said they wielded an ancient and malignant power?”

  “I believe they used the power of DarkGlass Mountain,” said Axis, “but we can’t talk about that now. The woman needs aid, fast, and we also need to build a pyre for the remains of the Icarii—the winged people. It will not take long to build, and I can farewell them then properly, as I promised. Madarin, can you take five of the men to build the pyre? Insharah, take a dozen more and make sure Ba’al’uz’ men are not lingering nearby, then search the belongings they left behind for anything that might be useful.”

  As the men turned to their tasks, Axis walked over to the two Icarii who had been struggling with Ba’al’uz’ men when they’d exploded. There was almost nothing of them left—certainly nothing that Axis could recognize. He bent down by their remains, reaching out a hand to run his fingers over the curve of a wing.

  He remembered, suddenly, horribly, how his daughter, Zenith, and father, StarDrifter, had been torn apart by the Hawk Childs.

  Blinded with tears, Axis rose and went to where the woman lay, the remains of two Icarii just beyond her. Axis brushed the tears from his eyes, then squatted down by Ishbel. He didn’t look at her immediately, though, instead running his eyes over the tattered corpses just beyond her.

  “I’m sorry,” Ishbel whispered.

  Axis took a deep breath, then looked down at her. What her features were like he could not tell, for she was covered in blood and tissue, with feathers stuck to her face.

  “Help me,” she whispered and, after a moment, Axis nodded.

  Axis made Ishbel as comfortable as he could for the moment, giving her water to drink and placing her carefully in the tray of the cart, then helped his command gather the remains of the four Icarii; the corpse of the man Axis had killed he ordered to be tossed behind some distant rocks. Collecting what was left of the Icarii was a frightful task, and they did it in complete silence, placing the remains on a bed of timber. When it was done, Axis took a coal from the smoldering fire and placed it among the timber.

  The Isembaardians watched in silence as the pyre burned, but Axis stood a little apart from them, and sang a beautiful song in a language the soldiers did not recognize. They did understand the emotion behind it, though, and its beauty, and knew that Axis was farewelling the birdmen and -woman into the Otherworld.

  Once it was done, Axis gave the command to ride out. They needed to camp for the night, but he was damned if he’d spend the night in this place of death.

  Now, as his men mounted up, Axis walked back to the cart, looking at Ishbel.

  Only then did he realize the true extent of her illness. He’d wiped her face clean earlier, and now he saw that she was gray, her face sweating.

  “Ishbel?” he said, calling her by her name for the first time. “What is wrong?”

  She tried to speak, but her mouth was too dry, and Axis had to give her a drink of water from his canteen.

  “The men,” she said, her voice weak, “had kept me drugged for…oh, gods, weeks, I suppose. Now…”

  “Your body is screaming out for more,” Axis said.

  She nodded.

  He stood and looked at her, uncertain. He wondered if there were any drugs left in the packs that Ba’al’uz’ men had left behind them and, if there was, if he should give Ishbel any more of it. He called Insharah over.

  “Was there anything among the packs…any vials or drugs?”

  Insharah shook his head. “If there were drugs, then one of Ba’al’uz’ men must have been carrying them on his person.”

  He hesitated.

  “Yes?” said Axis.

  “There was one thing of interest,” Insharah said. “A glass pyramid, small enough to sit in the palm of your hand.”

  Ba’al’uz’ rose pyramid? “My goodness,” said Axis softly. “Well, I have no time to study it now. Put it in my pack, will you, and I’ll look at it later. For the moment we need to mount up and head for the nearest town. If we can find one still inhabited after Isaiah’s push to move everyone west.”

  Insharah nodded and walked off.

  “You will need to be strong enough to get through the next hour or two,” Axis said to Ishbel. “We won’t be able to make a town until tomorrow morning at least, but I’d like to make a start now. Can you wait that long?”

  She nodded again.

  “We will camp somewhere secure for the night, and then the cooks will make you something to eat. That might help.”

  It probably wouldn’t, but it was all Axis could say.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, then, as Axis turned to go, reached out a hand and grabbed weakly at his sleeve.

  “Who are you?” she said.

  Axis smiled. “I’m sorry,” he said. “My name is Axis SunSoar. As lost as you in this land, I think.” He touched her face briefly. “Hold on just an hour, then we can make you more comfortable.”

  Then he was gone, and the donkey moved forward, pulling the cart after the men on horseback.

  Ishbel lay in the lurching cart, feeling more ill than she could ever remember. She alternated between chills and fevers, and a constant nausea and throbbing headache compounded her misery. Everything was made worse by the fact that now the drugs had worn off she could feel, whereas before she had existed in a state of constant numbness and semiconsciousness. Everything ached: her limbs, her back, her chest, her abdomen.

  What had happened to her child she had no idea. She’d run a hand over her belly, feeling the swelling there, but she did not know if the baby lived or had died.

  If it lived, then it suffered as much as she.

  Ishbel fought back the tears, not wanting Axis SunSoar to see them, nor wanting herself to succumb to the weakness. She thought a little about Axis. She knew the name, for she had heard the legend while at Sirus’ court, but she did not think that this Axis could possibly be the same man. Ishbel did not worry overmuch about it, or even think too much about Axis. All she did was to lie as still as possible (and that was impossible in this lurching cart) and manage the pain as best she could.

  Eventually, she heard Axis call to his men to establish camp. She did not know how long they had traveled, but now it was twilight, and very cold, and she was shaking uncontrollably beneath her wrappings.

  The cart came to a halt suddenly, jolting her, and Ishbel screwed shut her eyes and cried out with the pain.

  There was the sound of a horse, and then a muttered voice.

  “Stars!”

  The cart lurched, and Ishbel realized that someone had stepped onto the tray.

  “Ishbel,” Axis’ soft voice said, and she managed to open her eyes.

  He was squatting next to her in the tray of the cart, one hand resting on the coverings above her chest.

  “Ishbel,” he said, “I am going to lift you out of this cart, and down by a fire. I am sorry if I hurt you.”

  “I can get myself out, I think.”

  He smiled very slowly, and the pressure on her chest increased slightly. “I will lift you, Ishbel. Do not be afraid of me.”

  Ishbel wasn’t, but she was mortified that she couldn’t do more for herself. Axis lifted her very gently, causing her hardly any discomfort at all, stepped down from the cart, and carried her to where several of the soldiers had built a fire.

  He set her down, made sure she was reasonably comfortable, then stepped aside for a murmured conversation with one of the soldiers. Once the soldier had gone—Ishbel heard him mount one of the horse
s and ride off at a gallop—Axis returned to her side.

  “I’ve sent one of the men off to find better accommodation somewhere in this deserted land, and perhaps a herbalist or physician to help you. But in the meantime, Ishbel, what can I do for you? What do you need most?”

  To return to my home, Ishbel thought. Home to Serpent’s Nest. Her fever had taken hold once more, and she was shaking with its effects. Her throat was parched, her head throbbed unmercifully, and her nausea was getting worse with every breath.

  “More water,” she managed.

  Axis lifted her up so he could put the canteen to her mouth, but Ishbel retched as soon as the water spilled into her mouth. She half fell out of Axis’ supporting arm, and he had to grab at her to keep her steady, one hand on her belly.

  “Stars,” he muttered, “you’re pregnant.”

  Then Ishbel heard him give a soft, ironic laugh. “Isaiah won’t be happy about that.”

  “Who—” Ishbel began.

  “Don’t worry about that now,” Axis said. “Ishbel, we will get you to a town and a physician as fast as we can. I don’t want to keep you out in the open and away from better aid than I can provide any longer than is needed.”

  “I want to go home,” she whispered.

  “Escator is too far away,” Axis said, and she could again hear the smile in his voice. “One of Isembaard’s border towns shall have to do for now.”

  Not Escator, Ishbel thought. Home.

  Axis lay Ishbel down, wiping her face with a damp cloth, asking her if she wanted to try the water again. When she refused, he sat with her, unspeaking, until Ishbel drifted into a fevered sleep.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Town of Torinox, the Northern Borders of the FarReach Dependency

  Ishbel slipped deeper into her fevered slumber, so that by the time the soldier returned with news of a town that was still partly inhabited some three hours ride to the southwest, Axis was unable to rouse her. He frowned, worried, then lifted her as gently as he could and, instead of putting her back into the cart, propped her before him on his horse. The donkey-drawn cart would be too slow—he needed to get Ishbel to aid as soon as possible.

  Axis had not really thought about what he might find when he met up with Ba’al’uz’ men and their charge, but it wasn’t the slaughter he had actually encountered, and most certainly not the sudden meeting with the Icarii. That sight of them, the sight of them being slaughtered, had wrenched at something very deep in his soul. He’d been living almost in a state of unnatural serenity, almost a fugue, since he’d been hauled back into this world.

  Witnessing the death of those Icarii had propelled him into full life.

  Stars! The spectacle of those Icarii, lying in almost unrecognizable tatters of flesh and drifting, blood-spattered feathers.

  As he rode through the night, Ishbel clutched before him, Axis thought about the events of the day. The conversation with BroadWing had unsettled him badly. It had felt as though he were being dragged back into a world and a life that was not completely welcome—or welcoming, for BroadWing had certainly regarded Axis with some suspicion.

  And how else was BroadWing supposed to react, eh? The Icarii who were left had been forced to manage with such great loss and tragedy that Axis had no idea how they had coped.

  Suddenly he cursed to himself. Why hadn’t he asked BroadWing about StarDrifter? Gods, if StarDrifter was alive somewhere then BroadWing may well have known about it.

  What a lost opportunity.

  Axis rode, one arm about Ishbel, his mind and heart in turmoil. Even though he’d now been riding for almost fourteen hours, he felt no exhaustion, only a terrible kind of nervous energy that, after an hour or two, he realized was a deep, unrelenting yearning for the man he had once been. Not the Star God, not even the StarMan, but those wonderful, intense years when he had been discovering himself as an Enchanter and as an Icarii prince. When he had been doing and discovering—two women he had loved beyond imagining; power beyond comprehension; excitement and life and energy and fear.

  The sheer headiness of hurtling forward through life, of discoveries both wondrous and terrifying, of doing.

  As a Star God, Axis had stopped moving forward. His extraordinary journey had come to a conclusion. He had stopped doing, and that had been the ruination of him.

  Now here he was, hurtling through life once more, a company of fellow soldiers streaming out behind him, a stolen queen held tight in his arms, the stars whirling over his head, and the prospect of new discoveries, new challenges, new frontiers both glorious and dreadful before him.

  Axis’ arm tightened about Ishbel, his heels booted his horse into even greater effort, and he grinned, and wondered what adventures lay before him.

  Ishbel knew almost nothing of that wild ride. In years to come she would remember flashes of it: the violent motion of the horse, Axis’ arm tight about her, and the warmth and scent of his body, the glint of teeth as he grinned, the stars spinning overhead.

  The pain.

  Her fever was getting worse, and it sank dark fingers of agony into every single one of her joints. Any movement was a nightmare of hurt: not just her joints, but her head, which felt as if it wanted to explode, and her stomach, which now twisted and cramped as badly as if it had been flung onto a bed of hot coals.

  She escaped as far as she could into unconsciousness, but even that held little relief for her. She dreamed, visionary nightmares that melded effortlessly into one another.

  Her usual nightmare came to her first: the Lord of Elcho Falling, standing in the snow, his back to her, then slowly becoming aware of her presence, his head turning, turning, turning, and then the torrent of despair and pain that engulfed her world as he laid eyes on her and opened his mouth to speak.

  This time it was worse than she’d ever experienced it before.

  Then Ishbel dreamed of StarWeb whispering vicious hatred into her ear. Maximilian, turning on Ishbel in revulsion, and blaming her for the deaths of Evenor, Allemorte, and Borchard. StarWeb, exploding in a red mist of blood and bone and flesh. Maximilian, hearing the news of his lover’s death, and breaking down in grief.

  Maximilian, blaming Ishbel for StarWeb’s death.

  Herself, giving birth to a twisted, lumpen mass destroyed by Ba’al’uz’ poisons.

  Maximilian blaming her for his much-wanted child’s death, too.

  She was unaware that occasionally she called out his name—Maxel! Maxel! Maxel!—and that Axis’ arm tightened fractionally about her every time she did so.

  Worst of all, though, was the dream in which the Great Serpent appeared to her, hissing and spitting, cursing her for losing Maximilian, and any chance they had of preventing tragedy and annihilation.

  What kind of foolish woman are you, the Great Serpent hissed, to so lose Maximilian?

  And then, sometimes, dreams of Maximilian and the Great Serpent faded completely, and she was filled with a sense of total loss and foreboding, and she knew then that the Lord of Elcho Falling was close.

  Torinox was more village than town, but it had an inn still open, and, blessed be to all gods, it had a physician called Zeboath waiting inside that inn. Apparently he’d been due to leave for the resettlement convoys gathering in the east the previous week, but his horse had needed rest to recover from a slight lameness, and he was still in the town. Zeboath had spent his time waiting, so far as Axis could see, sampling most of the innkeeper’s remaining stocks of ale.

  Still, Zeboath was a pleasant enough man, in both manner and aspect, and seemed competent despite his slight intoxication, giving Ishbel a quick examination as Axis carried her in.

  “She’s burning with fever,” Zeboath said. “She needs to be put to bed immediately, given a bath, and she needs to have fluids.”

  “She tried to drink for me,” said Axis, “but was unable to keep the water down.”

  “Fever?” said the innkeeper. “Fever? I am not so sure I want her to stay—”

  Axis tur
ned to the man, Ishbel still in his arms. “I hold in my arms the Queen of Escator, and your tyrant’s future bride. If you want to refuse her aid, I am not entirely sure that Isaiah will understand.”

  The innkeeper shut his mouth with an audible snap, and hastened to show Axis to a room set aside on the ground floor.

  Zeboath did what he could for Ishbel, but it was not very much. He and the innkeeper’s daughter washed the filth of travel and sickness from her, and the physician managed to get some herbal medicine down Ishbel’s throat, which he said would ease both her fever and her nausea. He also left pieces of juice-filled fruit in her mouth so that, even in her deep sleep, she could suck moisture and sweetness from them.

  “But for the rest,” Zeboath murmured to Axis as they stood by the door of Ishbel’s chamber, “I can do little. I do not know what drugs she was given, so cannot counteract them. As for her fever…” He stopped, looking back through the door to where Ishbel lay motionless in the bed. “I cannot yet tell what has caused it, although I do not think it a plague or blight. More likely a result of weeks of little food and water, of sorrow and terror, if what you tell me about her circumstances is correct.”

  “And her baby?”

  Zeboath shrugged. “Who can tell? She is about halfway through her pregnancy and the child is small. I cannot feel it move. She will either lose it, or manage to keep it until birth, but what damage may have been done to it, I don’t—” He stopped suddenly, giving a shamefaced half smile. “And I should stop saying ‘I don’t know,’ yes?”

  Axis put his hand briefly on the man’s shoulder, instinctively liking and trusting him. “You have done what you can.” He glanced at Ishbel himself. “Until she wakes, and can speak, I doubt there’s little anyone can do for her.”

  “Her husband?”

  “I have no idea where he is,” said Axis. “North of the FarReach Mountains, I assume.”

  He remembered what BroadWing had said—Maximilian will tear the earth apart for her—and he wondered how long Maximilian would stay north of the FarReach Mountains once BroadWing had reported back to him.