fast.‖
Axis walked up behind her and gently rubbed the back of her neck with his hand,
marvelling at how soft her skin was and how silky-slippery her glossy brown hair. ―I know little,
Embeth. I‘m sure court rumour is about as accurate as me at this stage.‖
Embeth doubted that very much, but understood his reticence. Axis rarely talked about
his position as BattleAxe and never talked about where and to what his duties led him. She let
her head relax back against his gently massaging fingers. ―Did Timozel do well in Coroleas,
Axis?‖
―Timozel continues to do well, my Lady of Tare, and you should be proud of him. If
Ganelon,‖ Embeth‘s dead husband, ―were alive he would be proud of him also. Timozel grows tall,‖ he kissed the back of Embeth‘s neck, ―and strong,‖ another kiss, ―and wiser with each
passing week.‖ Axis slowly turned Embeth around and softly kissed her mouth. ―He should be
arriving back in Carlon with the other Axe-Wielders in two or three days time. But right now,
my Lady of Tare, I fear I am far too exhausted to talk any more.‖
Axis always found it hard talking of Timozel to Embeth. What would he tell her if
Timozel ever found himself skewered on the wrong end of five handspans of sharpened steel?
How would he tell her? He forced his mind away from the terrible image.
He was caught, unable to move, trapped by the thick hatred that seethed across the
blackness and distance between them. He writhed desperately, trying to free his pinned arms and
legs, frantic to run from the horror that drew closer with each breath he took.
―No,‖ he whispered, ―no…go away…no…I don‘t want you. You are not my father. Go
away.‖
But the evil, disgusting presence only drew closer. In a few moments he knew that he
would be able to smell its putrid breath. He gave up fighting to free himself and instead lay
panting heavily, knowing he should garner his strength for the fight ahead.
―Go away!‖ he whispered again hoarsely.
It approached. He could feel it circling in the dark, could feel its loathsome presence.
―Axis, my son.‖ Axis shuddered violently as the voice slithered through the dark spaces
between them.
―No!‖ Axis whispered again. All he could feel from the other presence was hatred.
―My son,‖ the voice repeated. ―You should never have been allowed to reach birth. You
are an abomination. You should have been aborted. You killed your mother…your beautiful
mother.‖
The voice drooled over the word ―beautiful‖ and Axis almost vomited with fear and
loathing.
―Your beautiful mother. She died because of you, my son. You tore her apart. She cursed
you in the end, you know, as you tore her apart. She swore she would drown you when she could
finally get her hands on you. But you killed her first. She died with her life blood draining all
over you. What a fiery baptism!‖ The voice rasped at its own joke in a ghastly parody of
laughter, and its mad chuckles surrounded Axis like choking smoke.
He was crying now, crying because of the pain he had caused his mother, crying because
she had cursed him, crying because he had never known her.
―I never wanted you, my son. If I had known she was pregnant I would have torn you
from her body myself.‖
― You are not my father! ‖ Axis cried, desperate not to believe it, but scared to the depths
of his soul that this unspeakable voice was indeed his father. The muscles of his arms and legs
bulged as they fought to escape the pressure of the invisible, magical bonds that bound him, but
he remained trapped…trapped in this dark unknowable space with his father. A father who hated
him.
―You destroyed your mother, as you will destroy everyone about you. No-one wants you,
Axis, no-one loves you. You should be dead instead of your beautiful mother.‖
Scores of dreadful red-hot teeth nibbled at his flesh, tearing strips of skin and muscle
away from his body. Not enough to kill quickly, but enough to torture slowly to death. Axis
battled with his sanity.
―See here,‖ the voice soothed, suddenly solicitous, ―my friends will help you. Tasty,
tasty.‖ The voice hardened with hate. ―You are an abomination, Axis, you deserve to die. I have
come to do what should have been done while you swam in your mother‘s womb. Tear you
apart…piece by piece.‖
Axis lost control at that point, as he always did, and screamed. It was the only way he
knew to escape.
The scream reverberated about the small chamber and brought Embeth out of her slumber
with her heart in her mouth. She sat up and twisted around to Axis, who was rolling about on the
bed, covered in sweat, his hands gripping the mattress.
―No,‖ he whispered, his eyes wide open and staring at something that Embeth could not
see, ―you are not my father!‖
Embeth‘s heart almost broke. She seized his shoulders, although his violent motions
almost threw her off, and shook as hard as she could.
―Axis! Axis! Wake up. Wake up…it‘s all right, my love, it‘s all right…wake up!‖
She remembered these dreams from the time he had first come to stay with her and
Ganelon as an eleven-year-old. Once or twice a month they had punctuated his sleep, waking
both her and Ganelon even though he was bedded down in the attic of their manor house.
But they had never been this bad…and she thought he had grown out of them. ―Axis,‖
she cried desperately one more time, taking a hand from his shoulders and striking his face.
― Wake up! ‖
Finally he was awake and out of whatever horror had gripped him. He grabbed Embeth‘s
arms, startled, still desperately afraid, not knowing for a time who she was or where he was.
―Axis,‖ she murmured, cradling his head against her breasts, ―it‘s all right, it‘s all right,
my love. I am here now, I am here.‖
Axis wrapped his arms about her as tightly as he dared, clinging to the love she
represented. For a few moments they rocked back and forth on the bed, the one gently
comforting, the other trying to reestablish some grip on sanity.
Tears streamed down Embeth‘s face as she gently stroked Axis‘ hair. ―Shush,‖ she
crooned, feeling the fear wrack his shoulders, ―shush.‖ After a few minutes Axis pulled away
and lay back against the disarranged bedclothes. Embeth said nothing, thinking it better that he
speak first.
Eventually Axis took her hand. ―Thank you for being here,‖ he said softly, and Embeth
wondered how many nights he had woken up to face this horror himself.
―It is the same dream you had as a child,‖ she prodded.
He breathed deeply. ―Yes. The same, but it has grown worse over the past few months.
Infinitely worse.‖
He paused and Embeth stroked his face, feeling the sweat of fear starting to dry on his
forehead and in his beard.
―Why does he hate me so much?‖ he asked no-one in particular. ―Why? I never asked to
be born. How can it be my fault? Embeth?‖
―Yes?‖ Fleetingly, Embeth thought Axis might tell her of his dream. Even as a child he
had kept its details hidden from her, no matter how hard she probed.
Axis turned his head so he could look directly at her. He had been going to ask her if she
had ever felt as if she were about to die during childbirth, and, if so, if she had ever blamed the
child that was tormenting her body with pain. But just as he was about to speak the words he
found he couldn‘t ask. To do that would be to reveal that every day of his life he lived with the guilt of killing his own mother. His beautiful mother.
Embeth watched the change come over his face, saw his face close over and knew that he
needed to be on his own now. Axis had lived so much of his life unwanted by his own family
that he found it hard to accept that others could love him for himself.
Embeth kissed his forehead a last time then slithered out of his bed, finding her clothes
on the floor where she had discarded them. She dressed quickly in the chill early morning air,
and wound her hair back on top of her head in a rough knot that would stand a cursory inspection
by any curious eyes.
Axis lay still on the bed watching her, grateful that she had asked no more questions and
that she recognised his need to be alone. Before she left Embeth paused by the bed, not touching
him.
―Let me know if you need me again,‖ she murmured, ―and I will come.‖
He nodded, and Embeth smiled briefly, sadly. Without another word or look she turned
and slipped quietly from the room.