Sara Douglass – The Axis Trilogy 3 – StarMan

Finnis thought hard, staring at the man before him. He was not dressed like a Brother, but then Finnis was only too well aware that to dress like a member of the Seneschal in these days was foolishness personified. Gilbert? Yes, Finnis remembered that name being on some of the orders he had received from the Tower of the Seneschal. He looked behind Gilbert to the old man, huddled despondently on his horse.

“And Brother Moryson,” Gilbert said. “My adviser.” Until I find better.

Moryson’s eyes glinted, but he said nothing.

“What happened to Brother-Leader Jayme?” Finnis asked Gilbert.

Gilbert’s face assumed an expression of pious sadness. “Murdered by the foul feathered creatures that block out the sun over the Tower of the Seneschal, Brother Finnis. He died screaming Artor’s name.”

That was a nice touch, Gilbert thought, not realising how true it was. “I am Artor’s anointed,” he made the sign of the Plough, “and I will keep you safe and shall rebuild the Seneschal to its former glory.”

Finnis felt the first faint stirrings of hope and he bobbed his head deferentially at Gilbert. “Will you tell me what to do, Brother-Leader Gilbert?”

“Gladly, Brother Finnis, but not until we stop for evening camp. For the moment you can scramble up behind Moryson.”

After that day Gilbert’s band grew until, as they approached northern Tarantaise, it numbered eight displaced Brothers of the Seneschal besides himself and Moryson. After they had stumbled across Finnis, they found a Brother every day or two — Gilbert thought Artor must have directed their steps his way, and the Brothers confirmed this by telling him that Artor had appeared in their dreams. Most were displaced Plough-Keepers who had been ejected by their local village after Axis’ army had swung south through Arcness and Tarantaise.

“How is it that the people have accepted the Forbidden so easily?” they asked one after the other as they told Gilbert their story, and Gilbert always replied, “Because of the foul enchantments the creatures fling their way. But do not worry, Artor will save them yet.”

Gilbert did not have enough coin to buy every Brother a horse, and compromised by purchasing a cheap horse and can in Tare. He sent Moryson, well-cloaked, inside the town, reasoning that if the man was caught then it would be little loss. But Moryson re-emerged from the town’s gates after several hours driving a splintered but serviceable cart pulled by a sway-backed mare who looked as old and sad as the old Brother; and who, Gilbert was disgusted to discover, suffered from much the same bowel condition as Moryson himself.

From that point on they moved faster, Gilbert riding ahead on his horse, Moryson driving the cart with the band of Brothers clinging to its tray.

At the end of the first week of Frost-month they drove past the Silent Woman Woods; they stayed well to the south, for none of the Brothers wanted to go too close. Only Artor knew what demons had re-inhabited the Woods in recent months.

“I penetrated deep within those Woods some years past,” Gilbert told the Brothers, for once reining his horse back to the

cart so he could talk to them. “Not only did I enter; but I led the BattleAxe and two Axe-Wielders, too terrified to lead themselves. They were assaulted by foul creatures who leaped at them from beneath the very earth, but I fought clear, and saved them from a gruesome death. For what purpose, I know not,” Gilbert sighed melodramatically, “for the BattleAxe has gone on to betray not only the Seneschal, but Artor himself.”

The Brothers jouncing along in the cart gazed at Gilbert admiringly.

“I discovered great secrets in the Keep at the centre of the Woods,” Gilbert continued, “but at the same time the BattleAxe released into an unsuspecting world two demons who lived there in the guise of Brothers of the Seneschal. I could not stop him, although I tried valiantly. I think that Achar’s descent into hell started from the moment those fiends were released.”

There were gasps of horror, but Moryson grinned beneath the hood of his cloak.

“/ am not afraid of the trees,” Gilbert said, “and when Artor tells me the time is right, I shall unleash on them such a storm of righteous anger that they will topple before me. The Plough will win through, and tear the tree stumps out of the earth.”

But even Gilbert fell silent in two days’ time when they spied the newly planted forest in front of them.

“That wasn’t there before,” he whispered, “I am sure of it! No-one has ever mentioned thisl”

Moryson pulled the grateful mare to a halt and stared ahead. They had topped a small rise and before them, perhaps a few hundred paces away, sprawled Faraday’s forest. It spread across the horizon for over a league, and- all could see that it stretched thick and healthy for many more leagues to the north. Far to the north Moryson could just see the Barrows rising out of the centre of the forest, a blue flame beckoning.

His companions stared at the forest, eyes and mouths hanging open.

Not even the Silent Woman Woods had trees as tall, as thick, as powerful as these. Birds fluttered among branches, and as they watched, a brown and black badger, common to these plains, emerged from its burrow and bounded the fifty or so paces into the tree line.

It had gone home.

“It’s disgusting!” Finnis whispered.

One of the Brothers made the sign of the Plough, and the others hastily copied him.

“It hums’.” Gilbert croaked.

And indeed the forest did hum. Not loudly, and not even with a discernible tune – not at this distance – but all could feel fragments of melody vibrating through their flesh.

“Its name,” Moryson abruptly said, blinking, “is Minstrelsea.”

The horse lifted her tired head and whickered, her ears flickering forward.

“I don’t give an Artor’s curse what its name is!” Gilbert cried, too scared to wonder how Moryson knew its name. “Back! Back before it traps us! Moryson, turn the horse about. We’ll camp in the hollow behind this rise, out of sight of this demon-spawned aberration.”

That night, Gilbert summoned Artor for his band. He had not done so previously, preferring to relay Artor’s words secondhand, but he knew that after the horror of the forest they would need the comforting presence of Artor Himself. And it would impress on the men Gilbert’s own place at Artor’s side.

No wonder, he thought, as he knelt in prayer, his Brothers ranged in a semi-circle behind him, that Artor had warned him about Faraday. Was she responsible for this? Had she planted this…he tried to remember what Moryson had called it…this Minstrelsea? When had she been corrupted? Gilbert recalled the looks that had passed between Axis and Faraday across the campfires of the Axe-Wielders so long ago.

Perhaps Axis had befouled her with his own corruption way back then.

Well, no matter. Artor would see that Gilbert’s commitment would not waver. If Artor wanted this forest destroyed, then so be it.

If Artor wanted Faraday destroyed, so be it.

His head bowed, Gilbert humbly begged Artor’s presence. He reached out with his prayers, and summoned the god to his side.

He felt it through his body first, the rhythmic thumping of the ploughshare through the earth. Then the laboured, maddened snorts of the fury-eyed red bulls reached his ears, and Gilbert lifted his head and flung his arms wide in exultation.

Behind him, the Brothers cowered to the ground in terror. To one side Moryson fought to keep his fear under control, burying his face in his hands.

As Artor urged his plough-team forward, Gilbert scrambled to his feet. “Artor!” he screamed.

My good Gilbert, Artor’s voice whispered over the plains and He stepped out from behind His Plough, His body roped heavy with muscle and power. Have you seen what she has done? Do you understand now?

“Oh yes!” Gilbert breathed. “It is foul…foul!”

foul indeed – and yet I can do little without your assistance, good Gilbert.

“Anything, Artor, anything!”

The world collapses about us, Gilbert. The other bitch threatens to open the Gates even further, but I can do nothing about her. She is too distant. Too powerful.

The other bitch? Gilbert frowned, but did not interrupt his god.

But it matters not. If we can stop this Faraday, then the whole scheme will unravel. Take but one note away, Gilbert, untune that string, and hark! What discord follows!

“Yes, oh Blessed One.”

Get her, Gilbert.

“Yes,” Gilbert hissed ecstatically.

Get Faraday. You must stop her, Gilbert. Or else I WILL DIE!

Gilbert screamed as Artor’s voice ripped through his body, and behind him he could hear the other Brothers screaming.

Then Artor’s voice dropped to a whisper. She moves more swiftly now, and the Enchanted Forest grows. Go to Arcen, Gilbert. Hurry. Stop her before she links these trees with the Shadowsward. If she does that. . . stop her!