Starman

by Sara Douglass

  As Faraday led her across to a couch, Azhure glanced about the room, noting its comfort and welcome—and also noting that seven bowls of food had been laid out beside the kitchen range. The Alaunt already had their noses buried deep.

  Azhure quickly told Faraday of the mysterious powers of Spiredore.

  “These magical Keeps must be linked,” Faraday said, then smiled. “But let us not waste our time talking of the Keeps. Come, let me cuddle Caelum.”

  Caelum held out his arms, almost as delighted to see Faraday as his mother was. This was the woman who had healed his Mama when all others had wrung their hands uselessly.

  As Faraday cuddled the baby to her, speaking softly to him, Azhure turned to the low table near the couch and poured their tea. Here we sit as if we were but simple housewives, she thought, talking babies and recipes, and no-one would guess the magic that surrounds us or the shared love for one man that has brought us both so much grief.

  The Alaunt had finished their meal and drifted back to the fire, stretching out before it, completely encircling the two women.

  “Azhure,” Faraday finally said, not looking up from Caelum as he nestled in her lap. “Axis. Did he…?”

  “He married me that afternoon,” Azhure said, making her voice as gentle as she could, yet knowing each word would cut straight to Faraday’s heart.

  “Ah,” Faraday said, and she looked up. “I am glad.” Then, utterly surprisingly, a radiant smile broke out across her face. “Glad for all the hearts he must have broken over the years that someone has finally won him.”

  “Yes. Look, he gave me this ring.”

  She had wondered if Faraday would recognise it, but Faraday merely exclaimed over its beauty. Yet after a moment she frowned.

  “It has the feel of power to it.”

  “It last belonged, so I am told, to a woman known as the Enchantress, the mother of the Icarii, Charonite and the Acharite races.” Azhure’s mouth twisted sourly. “Now people call me the Enchantress, but I do not know if I like it. I hope that I am not to be submerged in the personality of a woman fifteen thousand years dead.”

  Faraday patted her hand reassuringly. “I can only see Azhure sitting here before me, not the ghost of some long-dead sorceress.”

  “Hmm. WolfStar told me not to fear that the ring would seek to control me. He said that it sought my hand because it had found one fit to wear it. It has, apparently, come home to me. He seemed to fear it, though.”

  She looked up and started at Faraday’s shocked white face.

  “WolfStar?”

  “Oh,” Azhure said, remembering that Faraday did not know of Azhure’s connection to WolfStar. “Listen,” and she proceeded to tell her of all that had happened since Faraday had left Carlon.

  “And so you will leave for the Island of Mist and Memory soon?” Faraday eventually asked.

  “Within the week, I think. I cannot wait to find out what secrets it has to offer me.” Azhure told Faraday about the fall of Jervois Landing and Axis’ march north with his army. “And I think a trip to the island will comfort me. I find the palace a lonely place now that Axis is absent.” She paused. “The Sentinels have disappeared, too.”

  Faraday put her cup down and looked at Azhure sharply. “The Sentinels have gone? What do you mean? Gone with Axis?”

  “No. They disappeared the day before Axis left to march north. No-one knows where they are. No-one.”

  Disturbed, Faraday thought for a few minutes. Had she upset them so badly with her recriminations and tears that they had vanished? She had been sure that the Sentinels would stay with Axis.

  Azhure remembered Dru-Beorh’s report. “And there is further worrying news, Faraday. Moryson and Gilbert have been seen travelling east. Be careful. I cannot but think that they might prove a danger to you.”

  And a warning is the best I can do for her, Azhure thought, if Axis thinks an armed escort would be inappropriate.

  Faraday, still concerned over the disappearance of the Sentinels, brushed the matter of Moryson and Gilbert aside. “I cannot think that either of them would do much except rant at me, Azhure. But thank you for the warning. Now,” she handed Caelum back to his mother and smiled. “I have a wonder to show you and wondrous people for you to meet. But I think you must leave the hounds here by the fire.”

  As they’d sat talking the idea had slowly grown in Faraday’s mind that she might take Azhure to see the Sacred Grove. She wondered if the Horned Ones, or even the Mother, might object, but in the end Faraday decided that it was her decision.

  “Come,” she said, standing, and stretched out her hand. Carefully stepping over the sleeping hounds, Faraday led Azhure and her son into the Sacred Grove.

  Both Azhure and Caelum were transfixed with wonder as Faraday’s power then the emerald light of the Mother surrounded them.

  Mama! Caelum cried, leaning forward and stretching his hands out as far as he could.

  Azhure’s arms tightened automatically about her son but otherwise she paid him no attention. While healing Azhure’s back, Faraday had described to her the sensation of walking through the emerald light then watching it gradually shift and change until it resolved itself into the trees and sky of the Sacred Grove.

  Now Azhure experienced it for herself.

  Without knowing exactly when the transition took place, Azhure found herself wandering down a path carpeted with soft pine needles, trees to either side of her, the sky above filled with stars reeling through their eternal dance. She stared at them, thinking she could actually see them move.

  Finally lowering her eyes, Azhure glanced to one side and saw that Faraday wore a gown such as she had never seen before. It reminded her of the emerald light as it had darkened and shifted and changed; when Faraday walked, the colours in the gown shimmered from emerald to blue to violet to brown, then back to emerald again.

  Faraday herself seemed changed as well. Far more powerful, far more sure, far, far more lovely.

  “Are you certain that I should step these paths?” Azhure asked, unsure about her reception here. “The Avar refused to accept me, and their Banes,” she thought of the coolness Barsarbe had consistently displayed towards her, “might be furious that I now visit their Sacred Grove. They did not like my violence.”

  But Faraday did not seem perturbed. “I will accept responsibility,” she said. “Now, hush. See? We enter the Grove itself. You will know soon enough how the Sacred Horned Ones regard you.”

  When Faraday had pulled Axis into the Grove to witness Raum’s transformation she had felt almost instantly the resentment that emanated from the trees. They had tolerated him, for Faraday’s sake, but they certainly did not like him. But Faraday felt none of this now; instead she experienced the love and exultation that usually enveloped her when she stepped the paths to the Grove.

  “Say nothing until you are spoken to,” Faraday said, and Azhure nodded, hoping that Caelum would behave himself. Never before had she been exposed to such power as she felt here, and it awed and frightened her. As they stepped into the centre of the Grove, giant trees rearing on either side, Azhure felt strange eyes watching her from under their dark branches.

  She looked straight ahead…and jumped. Walking towards her was the most magnificent—and most frightening—creature Azhure had ever seen. With the splendid head of a stag atop the muscular man’s body, this was one of the Sacred Horned Ones, the magical creatures that male Avar Banes transformed into when they died.

  Was Raum here?

  But this Horned One was not Raum, for he was not a complete stag, but he did have a noble silver pelt that extended over his shoulders and halfway down his back, and Azhure instinctively realised that he was among the senior of the Horned Ones.

  “Greetings, Tree Friend,” the silver pelt said, and leaned forward to rub cheeks with Faraday.

  Azhure started at the sound of normal speech and managed to compose herself only the instant before the Horned One turned her way.

  “Sacr
ed One,” Faraday said. “I have brought my friend, Azhure SunSoar, to meet with you. I hope you will accept her presence here in the Sacred Grove.”

  The silver pelt stepped before Azhure and stared into her eyes. His gaze was cold and hard, and Azhure felt herself tremble, but she did not drop her eyes.

  She could feel Caelum holding his breath against her body.

  “I know who you are,” the silver pelt said, his voice puzzled. “I know you!”

  This was the woman for whom the StarMan had betrayed Tree Friend. But this was not why he was puzzled. Slowly he lifted a hand to Azhure’s face and traced his middle three fingers down her forehead.

  “You have already been accepted into the Grove and the company of the Horned Ones,” he said, with surprise.

  “Already accepted?” Faraday frowned. Acceptance was reserved only for Banes of the Avar and those children they brought to the Mother.

  “Oh!” Azhure said, memories flooding her mind. Her hand, slowly turning Hagen over until she could see the knife protruding from his belly. His blood steaming in pools on the floor. Shra, the Avar girl Raum had brought back from Fernbrake Lake, scrambling from the bed, dipping her fingers into Hagen’s blood and drawing three lines down Azhure’s forehead. “Accepted,” she had lisped. And none had known what she had meant.

  “Accepted,” Azhure whispered, remembering, and shared her memory with Faraday and the silver pelt.

  The Horned One smiled—and, with his great square yellowing teeth and cold black eyes it was a dreadful sight. “A sacrifice was accepted on your behalf. Be well and welcomed to the sacred paths, Azhure.”

  Faraday was puzzled by the distress on Azhure’s face. “Azhure? Why so concerned? You have been granted a great honour. Few are welcomed so freely to the Sacred Groves.”

  Azhure blinked at Faraday, then turned back to the Horned One. Her mouth trembled. “Oh, Sacred One, I am aware of the honour that you do me. But it troubles me that an act of wanton violence, violence which has turned many of the Avar against me, should prove the deed that gains me entrance to these sacred paths.”

  The Horned One lifted a hand and cupped Azhure’s face between his fingers.

  “Azhure. I was only surprised because I knew you, and I only know people who have been accepted into the Grove. Shra, who will grow to be one of the most powerful Banes the Avar have ever birthed, recognised your worth. Hagen’s death as such did not make you acceptable to us—”

  “Much as it may have further endeared you to us,” said a second Horned One who had appeared at the silver pelt’s shoulder. Behind him four or five others had materialised from beyond the dark trees.

  “—for his death was merely the method by which one of the greatest Avar Banes yet born chose to accept you as worthy to step the sacred paths to this Grove.”

  “Worthy? Why am I worthy?”

  Faraday smiled. Despite what Azhure had learned about herself since she had fled Smyrton, she still found it hard to believe that she was worthy of all the attention, regard and love that had come her way.

  “Worthy?” The silver pelt’s smile faded and his fingers tightened momentarily about Azhure’s face. “Why are you worthy to step the paths into this Grove? You are worthy simply because of who you are, Azhure. You are a Sacred Daughter. You have drunk the blood of the Stag. You have saved the lives of many Avar—despite their ungratefulness. The Sacred Grove thanks you for your actions at the Earth Tree Grove. You saved Raum’s life and helped him and Shra to escape the Smyrton villagers. But most of all, Azhure, you are worthy because of the ring you wear and the Circle you complete.”

  He lifted Azhure’s hand and held it for all the other Horned Ones to see. “The Circle of Stars has come home; Shra saw the power within you as well—no wonder she accepted you. Hagen’s death was merely a convenient occasion to formally announce the acceptance, it was not the reason she accepted you…or why we accept you. You have great power, Azhure, and deep compassion, and you have aided the Avar and you have aided Faraday and will continue to aid her. Because of all these things, you are beloved and welcomed into the Sacred Grove.”

  “And,” he let go of Azhure’s face and hand and picked Caelum out of her arms, “your son is welcomed too. Welcome, Caelum, and may your feet always find the paths to the Sacred Grove.”

  Caelum, awed but not frightened, submitted to the silver pelt’s embrace, overcoming his awe to thrust a curious finger into the Horned One’s face so that the silver pelt had to avert his eye to prevent it being poked.

  “Caelum!” Azhure muttered, embarrassed, but wondering at the name the Horned One had given the Enchantress’ ring; what did it mean? And what ‘circle’ did she complete? She opened her mouth to ask, but the Horned One forestalled her.

  “Your son bears your blood, and he was conceived at Beltide under the Song of the Earth Tree. He will wield much of your power and he will be as compassionate. But, Azhure—”

  The Horned One’s voice hardened. Azhure paled at the sudden transformation, remembering how the Horned Ones had terrified Axis the first time he had come to the Grove in a dream vision. She realised that these Horned Ones could kill at the snap of a finger and with considerably less effort.

  “Azhure, never, never, bring those children you carry within you to this Grove. Their feet are not welcome on the sacred paths.”

  “But they were conceived at Beltide, too,” Azhure said, more puzzled and frightened than defensive. What was wrong with these babes?

  “They were conceived well beyond the Avarinheim, and they do not share your compassion, Azhure. Beware of them, Daughter, for they may one day do you and yours great harm.”

  Beware? Azhure paled until her face was almost white, her eyes great and dark. Faraday stepped forward and put her hand on Azhure’s arm.

  “Now, I have a garden to show you, Azhure,” she said, “and two women who would, I think, dearly like to meet you.”

  At the pressure of Faraday’s hand Azhure walked away a few paces, then she turned back to the silver pelt who still stood watching her.

  “Thank you for your acceptance,” she said, finally finding her voice. “It means a great deal to me.” Then she turned and followed Faraday.

  That evening, well after the sun had sunk into the west and Carlon was almost frantic wondering what had become of her and Caelum, Azhure walked down the stairs of Spiredore. Behind her the Alaunt snuffled happily. In her absence they had eaten to excess in the Silent Woman Keep.

  It had been a wondrous day. The friendship that Faraday had promised Azhure had matured and deepened. She had not only visited, but had been accepted into the Sacred Grove. Faraday had led her past the dark tree line so she could discover the enchanted world that lay beyond—what other mother had ever watched her son play with blue and orange splotched panthers amid the dancing rivulets of a magical stream while diamond-eyed birds fluttered about his shoulders? She had met Raum-that-was, the White Stag, and had cried gently as he let her stroke his velvety nose before bounding away to run unfettered through the Enchanted Wood. And she had sat and talked for hours with two women, one middle-aged and dressed in a soft blue dress with a rainbow sash, the Mother, and one old and red-cloaked, reminding her vividly of Orr. Both women had, in their own way, awed her far more than the silver-pelted Horned One.

  They had sat in the warm sun on the garden bench in Ur’s nursery, the four women and the baby boy. While the Mother held her hands over Caelum’s ears (for such knowledge was not his right), Ur told Azhure the secret of the seedlings.

  Moved beyond words, Azhure had taken Faraday’s hand, and the women sat for some time, enjoying each other’s company, and laughing at the baby as he crawled, serenely oblivious to the significance of what surrounded him, through the pathways of the nursery. In the serenity and comfort of the garden and the company, Azhure set aside her fear at the Horned One’s words regarding her twins. All her questions would surely be answered on the Island of Mist and Memory.

  “I hav
e been blessed,” she whispered into Caelum’s ear as she stepped forth from Spiredore to greet a relieved Hesketh, half the palace guard, and StarDrifter, who had been just about to go in after her.

  14

  GOODWIFE RENKIN GOES TO MARKET

  Goodwife Renkin shook out her heavy woollen skirts and sat gratefully down on the stool by the sheep pen. About her the marketplace of Tare bustled cheerfully; this was one of the major fair days in southern Achar—Tencendor, she reminded herself—and Tare was full of traders and peasants come to buy and sell and gape and gossip.

  The Goodwife leaned back against the stone wall behind her and closed her eyes. She’d set out from her small farm in northern Arcness fifteen days ago, driving her flock of twenty-eight ewes slowly so they could graze the rolling grass plains as they went. Normally her husband would have taken the sheep to market, but he, poor soul, had such bad corns on his toes this year the Goodwife had come instead. She sighed blissfully, and interlaced her fingers across her large belly. It was nice to escape both her husband and her large brood of children. She loved them dearly, but ever since that exquisite Lady had stayed overnight in their farmhouse two years ago the Goodwife had been plagued with odd dreams of adventure and excitement—and there was precious little adventure and excitement in her isolated life in northern Arcness.

  So the Goodwife had clucked over her husband’s toes, wrapped them in bandages infused with cooling herbs, left instructions with her eldest daughter about the care of the younger children, and set off cheerfully with the ewes. They were good ewes, bright of eye and fat with lamb, and the Goodwife knew she would get a good price for them. Not that she or her husband were desperate for the cash. Ever since the Lady Faraday—may she live in happiness forever—had left them the gold and pearl necklet to pay for the supplies she and her companions took north with them the Renkins had existed in a comfort and security that made them the envy of their neighbours.