Sara Douglass – The Axis Trilogy 2 – Enchanter

“There is so much about the Prophecy that is not yet understood,” Ur said, “and these seedlings are part of it. I doubt if even the Prophet was quite aware of what he meant when he wrote of the age-old souls locked into their cribs.”

She halted and stared at the seedlings waving gently in the breeze. “Each will one day become a great tree in the replanted forests of Tencendor, Faraday Tree Friend. You know that the Avarinheim has been slaughtered, cut down by the Axes of the Plough-fearing idiots of the Seneschal?”

“Yes,” Faraday replied, feeling guilty she was of their race.

Ur’s mouth thinned. “The Avarinheim as it stands today is but a fraction of what it once was. Yet, if you succeed, then the forests will one day stretch south like a vast sea into the lower reaches of Tencendor. They will one day resemble the enchanted woods that you see about you here.

“And here wait the seedlings of that great and enchanted sea, Faraday. Not only will they recreate the ancient forests, but they are also the only things that can wipe completely the filth of Gorgrael’s armies from the face of Tencendor. You are the only one who can replant them. The only one who can remove them from the Sacred Grove.”

Tears sprang to Faraday’s eyes. In recent months she had sometimes felt bitter, trapped by the Prophecy in a role that held only pain, trapped in a spreading darkness that seemed to hold no light. But now Faraday felt overwhelmed at her good fortune. She would reawaken the greatness of the ancient forests, replant the enchanted seedlings across Achar. “Thank you,” she whispered, squeezing Ur’s hand.

“Enough,” Ur grumped. “There is more you should know, more beauty.”

She leaned forward, her joints creaking, and picked up one of the nearest seedlings. It was tinier and more fragile than most, having only just sprung from the earth of its nursery pot. “Here,” the old woman said, and handed the seedling to Faraday. “Take it, feel it.”

The pot was warm, and Faraday could feel a faint tingling running through her fingers. The seedling was so fragile that Faraday could see the tiny veins in each of the almost transparent leaves, each throbbing with new life, each throbbing with newly awakened potential.

“Her name is Mirbolt,” Ur said.

“Mirbolt,” Faraday murmured. “Do all the seedlings have a name?”

“Indeed they do, Faraday. And you must learn them all.”

“Why?” The woman must be doting, Faraday thought, if she thinks I can learn the names of these thousands of seedlings about me.

“Have you not noticed the Horned Ones are all male?”

“Yes,” Faraday answered hesitantly.

“And yet,” Ur smiled, “the Avar have both male and female Banes. Where do the female Banes go when they die, Faraday? When they transform?”

“Oh!” Faraday gasped, nearly dropping the seedling pot as she realised she held the life of a female Bane in her hand.

“Mirbolt died in the attack on the Earth Tree Grove at Yuletide a year ago. She has only just transformed. Here she waits, with her almost forty-two thousand sisters, for the moment when they can be replanted across Tencendor. You have just learned a secret which only the female Banes know. Not even your friend Raum knows these seedlings exist.”

“Forty-two thousand?” Faraday repeated.

“The female Avar Banes have been transforming for well over fifteen thousand years, Faraday Tree Friend. As have the male Banes — who, I should point out, often retransform into the fairy creatures you saw about you in the forest. The Avar are the most ancient race of Tencendor, and their Banes have been transforming for a very long time.”

“And I must learn all their names?”

“Indeed you must, Faraday. They cannot be transplanted if you do not know each and every name. And just think, now you have learned one. Mirbolt.”

In his den of tree branches and shrubs, Raum whimpered in agony. His bones were gradually stretching and altering, and he knew that he would shortly have to leave his people. He knew his transformation was not as it should be, not as it normally was for male Banes. Somehow Faraday held the key to his successful transformation. He would have to find her.

“Faraday,” he whispered, then shrieked as his bones began to pull apart again.

Faraday straightened her skirt and turned to Yr. “Am Ipresentable?”

“Very. Now go down to the Chamber of the Moons andconduct Audience. It will be the last one before New Year.” “Thank the Mother for that,” Faraday muttered, andpatted her hair into place. Audience seemed so insignificantafter what she had just learned from Ur.

“Timozel waits outside to escort you, Faraday.” “And what will you do with your free afternoon, Yr?” Yr grinned. “I shall stay here and watch the Palace guardat exercise from your private balcony. That should keep meentertained.”

Faraday laughed. Yr would no doubt manage to inveigleone of them into the stable for some further exercise oncetheir courtyard callisthenics were done. She winked andwalked through her chamber door into the outer chamber ofher apartment complex, closing the door carefully behind her.

Skraelings and SkraeBoldsTwo nights afterYuletide Gorgrael’s Skraelings struck Jervois Landing with their full force. If it had not been for the canals, Ho’Demi mused, crouched in his muddied trench, Borneheld and all who fought for them would surely have been eaten by now.

By his side Inari hefted his spear in his hand. “They will strike soon, Ho’Demi. Already the mist begins to seethe.”

Ho’Demi did not bother to reply. He was a courageous man, but every Skraeling charge caused a hard ball of cold fear to roll about his belly. He glanced along the trench. After six days of heavy fighting the weaker and less experienced among them were dead — many of the peasants Borneheld had pressed into fighting had proved all but useless — but those who’d survived were the better tempered for their experience.

There were many Acharites as well as a unit of Corolean mercenaries among the Ravensbundmen in Ho’Demi’s section of the line. Borneheld had hired thousands of the dark-eyed and fair-haired soldiers to bolster Jervois Landing’s defences. Ho’Demi nodded at their unit commander. They had proved silent and efficient killers, and the Ravensbund Chief was pleased to have their support.

A soft sound behind him made Ho’Demi’s heart lurch in fear – had the Skraelings somehow circled behind them?

But it was only Borneheld. He jumped down beside Ho’Demi and stared into the mist before them.

“Soon,” he said, his voice tight, hefting his sword in his hand.

Yes, very soon, Ho’Demi thought. Borneheld had earned his grudging respect over the past week. He did not hesitate to fight among his command, but he bolstered courage with harsh words and a hard hand where Ho’Demi thought encouragement would have worked better.

Gautier had an even harder hand, and many grew to fear his visits to their section of the trenches.

“There!” Inari called, pointing, and Ho’Demi signalled his men as he caught side of the wraiths seething through the mists towards them.

Teeth gaping, eyes gleaming, gibbering with delight, the Skraelings poured over the lip of the trench. Ho’Demi barely had time to skewer the first with his pike before another took its place, and then another. Beside him Borneheld grunted and seized a Skraeling by its stringy hair, twisting its head to one side as he manoeuvred his blade for a killing stroke.

Up and down the trench the predominant sound was of the harsh breathing of the defenders intermixed with the excited whisperings of the wraiths – interspersed occasionally with an agonised cry as a man fell victim to the hungry teeth of a Skraeling.

After twenty minutes Ho’Demi stuck the Skraeling currently reaching for his throat, then looked up to see clear space before him.

By his side Borneheld was struggling to best a particularly large Skraeling, and Ho’Demi seized its hair and pulled its head back, giving Borneheld the chance to puncture its great silver eye.

Blood spattered over the three of them.

Borneheld nodded his thanks to Ho’Demi, then glanced along the line. “They falter.”

Yes, Ho’Demi thought, exhausted after a long day fighting, they falter. Many had cursed Borneheld as they had struggled for months to dig the system of trenches and canals that stretched between the Azle and Nordra rivers, but now all could see their brilliance. The Skraelings could not attack in mass as they had at Gorkentown. The canals forced them to splinter into small bands as they wound their way around and between the waterways. Instead of attacking as they preferred, in a great mass of writhing, nibbling teeth and claws that panicked and overwhelmed most opponents, the wraiths were forced into pits and traps. There the defenders were able to deal with them more easily than if they had been forced to meet a mass charge.