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 litde 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 …
/ 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?”
/ understand, Axis whispered, and this time he heard nothing but the sobbing 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.
Belial and StarDrifter stood, frozen. Waiting. Time passed immeasurably around them. Waiting.
And then, snap! they were freed from whatever bound them and the air shimmered and Axis stepped forth into the room and he bore Azhure in his arms and she seemed almost lifeless, for the skin and the flesh had been stripped from her back until the blood ran in colourful rivulets down Axis’ breeches and boots to the floor.
“Help me,” he whispered.
Azhure ( )
Faraday ran along the corridors of the palace, her skirts bunched in her hands, her breath heaving. She had fallen asleep sometime after Axis had left her and had then slept through until well past dawn. Only after she had washed, dressed and breakfasted did her new maid tell her something of the commotion in the palace.
What had he done’?
The maid had heard only vague rumours, and eventually Faraday had rushed from the chamber, found one of the palace guard, and asked him where Axis was. Where he had taken Azhure.
In the interrogation chamber she found only blood and emptiness – but she could feel the horror and fear still resonating about the room.
What had he done?
From the interrogation chamber Faraday followed the trail of blood and lingering horror until now she ran along one of the main corridors.
Where? Ah, one of the principal apartment complexes, kept for visiting diplomats. He had taken her in there.
Faraday burst into the antechamber of the apartment complex and stopped dead.
In the antechamber were crammed StarDrifter, Belial, FreeFall, EvenSong, Magariz, Rivkah, Ho’Demi. All silent.
All pale. All shocked. Among them paced nervous Alaunt, as silent as the people, but just as obviously upset. One scratched at the closed door to the main chamber.
Frantic footsteps sounded in the corridor behind her, and a man collided with Faraday as he scrambled into the antechamber.
Ysgryff. Dark, angry, and only a breath away from violence. “Where is he?” he growled. “Where is he? What has he done to her?”
Before anyone could answer a baby whimpered, and Faraday glanced to one side. Rivkah sat patting Azhure’s baby son ineffectually as he wailed and twisted feebly in her arms. Faraday stepped over to Rivkah. “Give me the baby,” she said softly, and held out her hands. Rivkah shrugged and handed the baby over.
Hello, Caelum. My name is Faraday.
The baby twisted around to look at her face. Her. Will you help Mama? Her name is Azhure.
Faraday smiled softly and stroked the boy’s cheek. Azhure. What a lovely name. Is she with your father?
The boy’s mind clouded. He was afraid of her, Faraday. Why was he afraid? Will you help Mama? He was quiet now, soothed by this woman who held him. He could feel the warmth and the love of her power and it comforted him.
If I can, Caelum. Shush now while I talk with the others. She looked up at StarDrifter. “Tell me.” StarDrifter took an anguished breath. “Axis and I – and I am as much to blame for what happened here as Axis -thought that Azhure was WolfStar.” ” Whatl” Ysgryff hissed.
“She started to use Dark Music, Ysgryff,” StarDrifter pleaded. “What else were we to think? We had no choice. She had to be WolfStar.”
“Ysgryff, wait,” Faraday said urgently, stepping forward to lay a calming hand onYsgryff’s arm. “StarDrifter. None of us here know what you are talking about. Who is this WolfStar? And why would you think that Azhure was this person?”
Slowly, falteringly, StarDrifter explained about the renegade Enchanter-Talon, about his crimes against the Icarii race, about his return through the Star Gate. He explained how Axis, he and MorningStar believed that WolfStar was disguised as one of Axis’ confidants, one of those closest to him. The traitor of the third verse of the Prophecy.
“MorningStar always believed it to be Azhure,” StarDrifter said. “But Axis and I refused to believe her. Yet there were so many inconsistencies. So much hidden and strange. And Caelum,” he waved at the baby in Faraday’s arms, “has so much Icarii blood. So much. This morning…when Azhure used the Dark Music of the Stars to destroy the Gryphon…what were we to think, Faraday?” StarDrifter pleaded. “What were we to think?”