Sara Douglass – The Axis Trilogy 3 – StarMan

“Oh!” Azhure said, memories flooding her mind. Her hand, slowly turning Hagen over until she could see the knife protruding from his belly. His blood steaming in pools on the floor. Shra, the Avar girl Raum had brought back from Fernbrake Lake, scrambling from the bed, dipping her fingers into Hagen’s blood and drawing three lines down Azhure’s forehead. “Accepted,” she had lisped. And none had known what she had meant.

“Accepted,” Azhure whispered, remembering, and shared her memory with Faraday and the silver pelt.

The Horned One smiled – and, with his great square yellowing teeth and cold black eyes it was a dreadful sight. “A sacrifice was accepted on your behalf. Be well and welcomed to the sacred paths, Azhure.”

Faraday was puzzled by the distress on Azhure’s face. “Azhure? Why so concerned? You have been granted a great honour. Few are welcomed so freely to the Sacred Groves.”

Azhure blinked at Faraday, then turned back to the Horned One. Her mouth trembled. “Oh, Sacred One, I am aware of the honour that you do me. But it troubles me that an act of wanton violence, violence which has turned many of the Avar against me, should prove the deed that gains me entrance to these sacred paths.”

The Horned One lifted a hand and cupped Azhure’s face between his fingers.

“Azhure. I was only surprised because I knew you, and I only know people who have been accepted into the Grove. Shra, who will grow to be one of the most powerful Banes the Avar have ever birthed, recognised your worth. Hagen’s death as such did not make you acceptable to us -”

“Much as it may have further endeared you to us,” said a second Horned One who had appeared at the silver pelt’s shoulder. Behind him four or five others had materialised from beyond the dark trees.

“- for his death was merely the method by which one of the greatest Avar Banes yet born chose to accept you as worthy to step the sacred paths to this Grove.” “Worthy? Why am I worthy?”

Faraday smiled. Despite what Azhure had learned about herself since she had fled Smyrton, she still found it hard to believe that she was worthy of all the attention, regard and love that had come her way.

“Worthy?” The silver pelt’s smile faded and his fingers tightened momentarily about Azhure’s face. “Why are you worthy to step the paths into this Grove? You are worthy simply because of who you are, Azhure. You are a Sacred Daughter. You have drunk the blood of the Stag. You have saved the lives of many Avar – despite their ungratefulness. The Sacred Grove thanks you for your actions at the Earth Tree Grove. You saved Raum’s life and helped him and Shra to escape the Smyrton villagers. But most of all, Azhure, you are worthy because of the ring you wear.and the Circle you complete.”

power within you as well – no wonder she accepted you. Hagen’s death was merely a convenient occasion to formally announce the acceptance, it was not the reason she accepted you…or why we accept you. You have great power, Azhure, and deep compassion, and you have aided the Avar and you have aided Faraday and will continue to aid her. Because of all these things, you are beloved and welcomed into the Sacred Grove.”

“And,” he let go of Azhure’s face and hand and picked Caelum out of her arms, “your son is welcomed too. Welcome, Caelum, and may your feet always find the paths to the Sacred Grove.”

Caelum, awed but not frightened, submitted to the silver pelt’s embrace, overcoming his awe to thrust a curious finger into the Horned One’s face so that the silver pelt had to avert his eye to prevent it being poked.

“Caelum!” Azhure muttered, embarrassed, but wondering at the name the Horned One had given the Enchantress’ ring; what did it mean? And what ‘circle’ did she complete? She opened her mouth to ask, but the Horned One forestalled her.

“Your son bears your blood, and he was conceived at Beltide under the Song of the Earth Tree. He will wield much of your power and he will be as compassionate. But, Azhure -”

The Horned One’s voice hardened. Azhure paled at the sudden transformation, remembering how the Horned Ones had terrified Axis the first time he had come to the Grove in a dream vision. She realised that these Horned Ones could kill at the snap of a finger and with considerably less effort.

“Azhure, never, never, bring those children you carry within you to this Grove. Their feet are not welcome on the sacred paths.”

“But they were conceived at Beltide, too,” Azhure said, more puzzled and frightened than defensive. What was wrong with these babes?

. , .

Daughter, for they may one day do you and yours great harm.”

Beware? Azhure paled until her face was almost white, her eyes great and dark. Faraday stepped forward and put her hand on Azhure’s arm.

“Now, I have a garden to show you, Azhure,” she said, “and two women who would, I think, dearly like to meet you.”

At the pressure of Faraday’s hand Azhure walked away a few paces, then she turned back to the silver pelt who still stood watching her.

“Thank you for your acceptance,” she said, finally finding her voice. “It means a great deal to me.” Then she turned and followed Faraday.

That evening, well after the sun had sunk into the west and Carlon was almost frantic wondering what had become of her and Caelum, Azhure walked down the stairs of Spiredore. Behind her the Alaunt snuffled happily. In her absence they had eaten to excess in the Silent Woman Keep.

It had been a wondrous day. The friendship that Faraday had promised Azhure had matured and deepened. She had not only visited, but had been accepted into the Sacred Grove. Faraday had led her past the dark tree line so she could discover the enchanted world that lay beyond – what other mother had ever watched her son play with blue and orange splotched panthers amid the dancing rivulets of a magical stream while diamond-eyed birds fluttered about his shoulders? She had met Raum-that-was, the White Stag, and had cried gently as he let her stroke his velvety nose before bounding away to run unfettered through the Enchanted Wood. And she had sat and talked for hours with two women, one middle-aged and dressed in a soft blue dress with a rainbow sash, the Mother, and one old and red-cloaked, reminding her vividly of Orr. Both women had, in their own way, awed her far more than the silver-pelted Horned One.

They had sat in the warm sun on the garden bench in Ur’s nursery, the four women and the baby boy. While the Mother held her hands over Caelum’s ears (for such knowledge was not his right), Ur told Azhure the secret of the seedlings.

Moved beyond words, Azhure had taken Faraday’s hand, and the women sat for some time, enjoying each other’s company, and laughing at the baby as he crawled, serenely oblivious to the significance of what surrounded him, through the pathways of the nursery. In the serenity and cornfort of the garden and the company, Azhure set aside her fear at the Horned One’s words regarding her twins. All her questions would surely be answered on the Island of Mist and Memory.

“I have been blessed,” she whispered into Caelum’s ear as she stepped forth from Spiredore to greet a relieved Hesketh, half the palace guard, and StarDrifter, who had been just about to go in after her.

Goodwife Renkin Goes to Market

Goodwife Renkin shook out her heavy woollen skirts and sat gratefully down on the stool by the sheep pen. About her the market place of Tare bustled cheerfully; this was one of the major fair days in southern Achar -Tencendor, she reminded herself – and Tare was full of traders and peasants come to buy and sell and gape and gossip.

The Goodwife leaned back against the stone wall behind her and closed her eyes. She’d set out from her small farm in northern Arcness fifteen days ago, driving her flock of twenty-eight ewes slowly so they could graze the rolling grass plains as they went. Normally her husband would have taken the sheep to market, but he, poor soul, had such bad corns on his toes this year the Goodwife had come instead. She sighed blissfully, and interlaced her fingers across her large belly. It was nice to escape both her husband and her large brood of children. She loved them dearly, but ever since that exquisite Lady had stayed overnight in their farmhouse two years ago the Goodwife had been plagued with odd dreams of adventure and excitement -and there was precious little adventure and excitement in her isolated life in northern Arcness.

So the Goodwife had clucked over her husband’s toes, wrapped them in bandages infused with cooling herbs, left