“And of what do you think, my sweet?” Yr murmured as she brushed Faraday’s burnished gold hair out with long and languid strokes.
“You know perfectly well that I think of Axis, Yr. It is rare that I think of anything else these days.”
Borneheld had returned to Carlon a month ago. On his arrival he had granted Faraday an audience, relieved her of most of her court duties, completely disregarding the fact that Faraday had virtually run Achar while he had been ensconced in Jervois Landing fighting the Skraelings, briefly inquired after her health, and then dismissed her. He had not required Faraday’s presence in his bed, and Faraday had heard that he had taken a mistress – none other than the blowsy woman who had accompanied her father, Isend, to court.
Freed from most of her onerous court duties and Borne-held’s attentions, Faraday now had her time almost exclusively to herself, and she used it to good purpose, spending the larger part of most days in the glorious garden of Ur or wandering entranced through the enchanted forests that spiralled out from the Sacred Grove. Each time she wandered them she found different things — a new glade she had not seen previously, a creature that was more impossibly beautiful than any other she had met before, a mountain more mysterious and fascinating than the rest. But always she ended up at the gate to Ur s garden, and the woman would emerge from her cottage, or wave at her from her sunny garden seat, and Faraday would smile and enter and begin another lesson.
Lessons with Ur mainly consisted of learning the names and histories of the tens of thousands of Banes represented by the tree seedlings gently swaying in their tiny terracotta pots. Ur would pick up a pot, hand it to Faraday, and tell her of the Bane who had transformed into this tree.
Faraday found that as she listened to Ur speak, as she murmured the Bane’s name to herself, she formed a bond, a friendship, with the seedling. As she would never forget the name or the history of a friend, Faraday knew she would never forget the name and the past of each of these seedlings as she heard them from Ur’s lips. It did not matter that there were some forty-two thousand of them.
They were magical hours, the hours spent with Ur in the garden nursery of the enchanted woods, hours when Faraday was healed of so much of the pain that she had suffered, and given the strength to survive so much of the pain she had yet to endure.
Raum whimpered behind his hood as he rode his wagon south with Axis. It was all he could do not to cry out loud, and that he managed to keep even mildly sane was due to the support of the three Sentinels who often sat by his side. Each bent what power he had to aid Raum through this transformation that it seemed would take months instead of weeks. And it was taking place so far from the Avarinheim. What would happen, Raum worried, if he transformed completely while so far from the shaded walks of the trees? So far from the Mother, from Fernbrake Lake? Would he wither and die under the unremitting sun and wind of the Seagrass Plains?
“Why me?” he had whispered one day when the pain had finally ceased, when Faraday had finally left the Sacred Grove. “Why am I tied to her like this? Why do I transform only when she uses her power?”
It was Jack who answered. “You were the one who bonded her to the Mother, Raum. And she was the one who renewed your bonds with the Mother. Perhaps that is what binds you, why you are so tied to her power.”
Raum shrugged inside his cloak. His face was now so misshapen that he kept it hidden. Axis often sat by his side at night, soothing him to sleep with his harp and his enchanted music. But very little could soothe Raum through this dreadful transformation.
Faraday was not unaware of Raum’s pain. She sensed it every time she used her power to enter the Sacred Grove and the enchanted forests that surrounded it.
Sometimes Faraday wandered the enchanted forest, feeling Raum’s pain, knowing that he was transforming, wishing she could help him. She asked the Horned Ones what would happen to Raum, what she could do to help.
“Nothing,” the silver pelt answered. “Nothing. Raum’s transformation is different because of the bond between you, and because your grasp of the power of the Mother and of these woods is so great. What can you do to help? Wait until Raum manages to find the Avarinheim again, or one of the surviving remnants beyond what remains of the forest. Wait until Raum is ready to step into the Sacred Grove, wait until he is ready to complete the transformation — then pull him here with all your power, help him with every ounce of your strength. Raum cannot reach you until he reaches the power of the trees, and he is currently far from any trees that can help him. Wait. Watch.”
Faraday turned away, grieving for Raum, but knowing there was not much she could do for him. She knew he was trying to find her, and she hoped for his sake that he would not take too long.
Faraday did not now need the enchanted bowl to move between this world and the Sacred Grove. Her command of her power had increased to the point where she could simply will herself into the emerald light that led to the Sacred Grove. She did not know what to do with the bowl. She had suggested to the Horned Ones that she give it back to them.
“You will find a use for it, Faraday,” they had counselled. “Keep it.”
So she had kept it, pleased that she did not have to give it back, and it now sat on the dresser in her chamber. To any ordinary eye it simply looked like a rather plain wooden bowl, hardly fit for a Queen, but it daily reminded Faraday not only of the enormous task that awaited her, but of the comfort the bowl and the Mother had given her in days past.
She smiled atYr as she put the brush down. “Axis comes, Yr. I can feel it. In a few short months he will be here. Oh, Yr, I can hardly wait until we are together!”
Axis’ Salutary Lesson
In the dark hours before dawn the Icarii Strike Force had lifted off. Burdel’s men were entrenched themselves in the steep, rocky passes of the Bracken Ranges, and nothing save an airborne force could dislodge them without massive loss of life.
But this was a battle Axis was highly uneasy over. It was too likely to reopen old wounds and old hatreds. Axis loathed having to set the Icarii Strike Force on humans. He had wanted to use them as little as he could, hoping that the Acharites would the more easily accept the Icarii if they did not perceive them as an invading force. This battle was a risk, but it was a risk Axis had been forced to take. The Icarii were the only ones who could effectively clear the slopes of the Bracken Ranges with minimal losses.
Now Axis paced back and forth, his blood-red cloak wrapped about him. Every three or four strides he looked up at the Bracken Ranges rising in the rapidly lightening sky. He knew what was happening in the narrow passes of the Ranges, for the eagle circled high overhead.
“Well?” Belial’s face was almost as strained as Axis’. Axis blinked, cleared his vision, and stared at Belial. “It goes well. Burdel’s force had no idea what was attacking them when the Icarii sent down their first volley of arrows. They could not see, and simply shot blindly into the sky.”
“Casualties?” Magariz asked.
“Five Icarii have taken arrows in the wings and are limping their way home or are safe among the ridges. The others evaded well. The casualties are all on Burdel’s side. I think,” Axis’ eyes assumed a dreamy quality, and Belial and Magariz knew he was seeing through the eagle’s eyes again, “that Burdel is pulling his men out as fast as he can. The passes will be clear for us by noon.”
“Pulling back to Arcen?” Belial queried.
“Undoubtedly.” Axis shrugged. “We will not be able to catch them. It will take at least a day to get this army moving into the lower Ranges, and several days to get through. What remains of Burdel’s force is more lightly armoured and much more mobile. He will be able to race to Arcen and slam the gates shut well before we’re through the Ranges.”
Arcen was Burdel’s capital in Arcness. It lay some ten leagues south of the Ranges, surrounded by the grazing lands of the province.