the Sacred Groves,” he said. “I want them in peace. You can have everything else.”
“The Groves must be very special to you,” Sheol said, and she made her voice wistful.
“They contain all that is holy and precious to the Avar peoples,” Isfrael said. “The Horned
Ones, the Mother —”
Sheol raised her eyebrows questioningly, and Isfrael was foolish and dull-brained enough himself to
fall into the trap.
“The Mother is the personification of all nature,” Isfrael said, and the Demons instantly hungered,
“while the Horned Ones are the most powerful of our Banes, transformed over the centuries into forms
close to that of the stag, our sacred animal.”
And all this sounds like good eating, Qeteb mind-shared with his companion Demons. / am sick
of cockroaches and sheep.
Imagine the power we would gain from such a meal! Sheol whispered among their minds.
“You want the Sacred Groves,” Qeteb said, “but what are you prepared to give U s?”
“The secrets of the Enemy,” Isfrael said, and watched in satisfaction as those of the Demonic faces
he could actually see stilled in amazement. “Did you know that you have among you,” and he indicated
the form of Niah still lying behind the trees, “a weapon so powerful that you could destroy the StarSon
with it?”
“Her?” Qeteb said, and this time he did not have to feign the puzzlement. “Her?”
“Promise me,” Isfrael said. “Promise me the Groves.”
“Of course,” said Qeteb. “Of course. You have them. In peace, forever and ever. Amen.”
“I need assurance,” Isfrael said. “I need proof of your goodwill.”
Qeteb laughed, low and uncomfortable. “And you shall have it.” He leaned backwards,
brushing aside Sheol and Raspu, and plucked an apple from one of the trees.
“Take this apple and eat of it,” Qeteb said, “and you will know my sincerity.”
Isfrael stared at the fruit. “An apple?”
“Assuredly. Eat of it, and you shall eat of knowledge. You will know if I lie or not.”
“And the Sacred Groves will be yours,” whispered Mot.
“Forever,” whispered Sheol.
“And ever and ever,” echoed Barzula.
Isfrael took the apple and weighed it in his hand. It felt warm, heavy, inviting.
He could see himself wandering the paths of the Sacred Groves, safe, contented … powerful.
He did not know that in the instant he’d taken the apple the Demons could penetrate the inner
spaces of his mind.
Although they could not see details, they could see that he did indeed have a powerful secret
regarding the Niah-woman, but they could also understand that there were other secrets in
there … other amusements …
Isfrael was still caught in his vision. The Mother walked by his side, not a god at all but a
companion. She was asking his advice, and listening gratefully to his answers.
Qeteb saw a glimpse of what Isfrael wanted, perhaps more than anything else, and the vision
altered slightly for the Mage-King …
And Shra walked by his other side. She had transformed as did all female Banes
when they died, and now she awaited him in the Sacred Groves. She waited for him …
Isfrael lifted his hand and took a bite of the apple —
The Demons screamed with silent triumph.
— and realisation that the Demons did speak the truth flooded his being. They would help
him to the Sacred Groves, and there they would leave him in peace, and all for the price of a piece of
information that they would surely have figured out sooner or later for themselves.
Peace, power, and all for the tiniest of prices. Isfrael could hardly comprehend his good fortune.
Qeteb grinned, malevolent with exultation behind his mask. The apple always did the trick.
“Let me tell you about the Niah-woman,” Isfrael whispered. “She is a treasure you can hardly
comprehend. It all has to do with Acharites and death …”
And Isfrael talked, the words tumbling out and falling over themselves. All Acharites carried the
seeds of Enemy magic within themselves. Only those who’d come back through death could use it. Niah,
if only she could speak and think, was a weapon that could breach the walls of Sanctuary, and perhaps
could be thrown at the StarSon himself.
“Was that worth the Sacred Groves?” Isfrael finished. “Was it?”
“Oh, assuredly,” Qeteb said, and his voice quivered with triumph.
The StarSon was his!
“I can’t get to the Groves by myself,” Isfrael said, desperate now that the Demons had their
information to receive his payment. “I need your power to breach the defences that the Mother has
placed around them.”
“But how can we —” Qeteb started.
“All I need is power,” Isfrael said. “Surely you must be more powerful than the Mother? Just
create that small rent for me, and I will pass through, and then I can seal the fissure from the other
side.”
Qeteb glanced at his companions, and they all remembered the strange bowl that one of the
Hawkchilds had found. It was of great magic, and StarLaughter — and curses that she had not yet been
found! — had said it was of Avar magic.
Without a spoken word, but with mutual agreement, Qeteb lifted a hand and gestured at the sky.
A round-shaped object spun down, and Qeteb caught it in a hand.
“Tell me about this bowl,” he said to Isfrael.
Isfrael’s face brightened with excitement. “That is my mother’s bowl!”
“And its significance is …” Qeteb said patiently.
“It does many things, but one of its main purposes was to allow my mother to travel to and from the
Sacred Groves.”
“Do you know how to use it?”
Isfrael stared at the bowl, then raised his eyes to Qeteb’s mask. “Yes. I can use it, but I
will need your power added to the power of the bowl so that I can propel myself into the Groves. And
… one more thing.”
I do hope your flesh is going to be sweet enough for all the trouble you are causing me, Qeteb
thought, but he answered pleasantly enough. “Yes?”
“I take the bowl with me,” Isfrael said. And then I shall be safe for all time! he thought.
“But of course,” Qeteb said. “I would not dream of keeping it.”
And even his visor seemed to smile reassuringly.
Isfrael relaxed with complete relief. “My people are in Sanctuary —” he began.
“No,” said Qeteb. “No. They were not part of your original bargain.”
“But—”
“No!”
Isfrael subsided. The Avar had abandoned him after all. And even then he had tried to save them.
He’d done his best. He had. He really had. Now he should concentrate on saving what was left.
“Very well,” he said, and reached out for the bowl.
Isfrael may not have been told of the exact way in which Faraday had used the bowl to reach the
Sacred Groves, but he was Mage-King of the Avar, instructed and expert in all of their secret arts. He
knew the bowl for what it was: a conduit, a means of entering the Groves either when all other means
were closed, or, as in Faraday’s case, by a person who normally would not have the power or
the knowledge to access the secret paths.
The Mother had forgotten the bowl when She’d closed the paths. She’d forgotten that She’d left the
back door open.
And here it was, Isfrael thought, in the hands of the Demons. The silly Bitch, She needed him there
to guide Her. Why, if he hadn’t come along, the Demons would have accessed the Groves for
themselves! The Mother was fortunate indeed that he was here to save Her and all who still
dwelt within the Groves.
Isfrael placed the bowl on the ground. “I need water.”
Instantly Sheol was at his side, solicitously offering him a pewter pitcher filled with clear, sweet
water.
She poured it into the bowl, and as it swirled about, the water changed to a deep emerald colour.
Isfrael’s chest constricted with excitement, and he had to fight to calm himself. He opened his right
hand, and hesitated.
Qeteb, deep inside Isfrael’s unwitting mind, instantly leaned out his own hand, one finger extended.
Isfrael stared at the mailed hand, then took a grasp of it —
It was deathly cold, as if it had been entombed for centuries within one of the great bergs that
drifted in the Iskruel Ocean.
— and used one of the sharpened overlapping joints above a knuckle to slice a small way into his
thumb.
Blood welled, and Isfrael let Qeteb’s hand go.
He had not noticed the intensity of its cold, or the intensity of the coldness that now coiled deep
inside his mind.
A trace, that the Demons could use later, at their leisure.
Isfrael stood over the bowl murmuring prayers and invocations to the Mother, then he let a
single drop of blood fall into the bowl of water.
Blood swarmed over the entire surface of the emerald water.