“It has been a long time,” the first man said, and hugged the woman next to him. The other five looked at each other, then at the first two, and all seven embraced, their eyes glimmering with joy.
“We’re back!” one man cried, and then he tipped his head back and screamed. ” We’re back, Artor!”
The first man smiled at his companion’s exuberance, but did not reprimand him. Stars knew, they all felt the same.
“Come,” he said. “The time draws near. The tides surge and call her name. Soon we will be Eight.”
“And then Nine,” his wife breathed. “And then we will be Nine!”
The Fiend ^ I the Goodwife was a gift from the Mother. With the Goodwife beside her, Faraday found the courage and the JL. heart to plant with renewed enthusiasm. That first morning the Goodwife appeared, she cleansed Faraday’s hands with soothing herbal ointments and bound them, humming a cradle song all the while. She forced Faraday to sit while she cooked her a good breakfast; and then the Goodwife spent the day at her side, fetching and carrying, and, again, singing the lilting cradle song over each seedling that Faraday planted. In between scolding and healing and cooking and laughing and fetching and carrying, the Goodwife told Faraday of her journey to Tare and her decision to leave her Goodhusband to fend for himself for a few months.
“Twill do him good,” she said when Faraday quietly questioned the decision. “After fifteen years we need a rest each from the other.”
That night the Goodwife cooked with the ingredients she found in the donkey’s saddlebag. “Magical, magical,” she muttered as she delved yet deeper into the bags, but she smiled, and after they had eaten, she told Faraday of her granny and her granny’s stories.
Faraday slept well and when she woke she saw that the previous day’s seedlings reached a hundred paces into the sky and their gentle humming filled the morning.
Although Faraday still felt ill from time to time, the Goodwife gave her herbs to ease her stomach, and laughter and
companionship to ease her soul, and when Faraday complained that she gave nothing back, the Goodwife smiled and said that Faraday gave her adventure and beauty and music, and they were recompense enough.
And so they planted until they came to the fortified city of Arcen. Their approach could hardly be missed. For many days the townsfolk had watched in wonder as the great forest advanced towards them, and in the two days before Faraday entered their gates, they had stood on the walls and watched the two tiny figures.
Some of the townsfolk had been nervous; it had, after all, only been a matter of months since the Seneschal had held tight sway here. But there were many Icarii present who smiled and reassured them, and said that it was Faraday, Tree Friend, who brought only wonder, not darkness.
“Very soon,” one of the Icarii said, “Arcen will be known as the gateway to this enchanted forest, and your market will blossom with the patronage of Acharite, Icarii and perhaps Avar as well. And, see, she plants only on barren land – the trade routes remain well open and the fields free. There is no harm in what she does.”
And Faraday had been Queen. Many were surprised when they realised that Faraday, Tree Friend, was also the very same Queen Faraday, wife to the late and generally unlamented Borneheld.
“And Lover to Axis,” one of the Icarii whispered, and the whisper spread. In her relatively brief tenure as Queen, Faraday had earned a reputation as a fair and compassionate regent. While Borneheld had been occupied in the north, Faraday had virtually run southern Achar, and many traders in Arcen had good reason to regard her kindly, for her favourable decisions had increased the city’s prosperity.
And she was so beautiful, the watchers whispered as she and her companion finally stood outside the city gates late one afternoon, that it would be an honour to have her visit.
Mayor CuJpepper Fenwicke himself greeted Faraday and the Goodwife at the gates, then escorted them to his own home where he feted and dined them for four days and four nights.
Gilbert led his small band of Brothers north-east, and for weeks the way was barred by a thick line of trees so massive that Gilbert thought they would eventually block out the sun.
And Faraday was responsible for this. Every night Artor whispered in Gilbert’s ear, encouraging him to greater efforts, telling him how the foul beings that Faraday daily planted sapped and weakened His own soul.
Daily their whisperings grow, good Gilbert, and daily they ensorcel more and more among the weak Acharites. And there was worse, far worse, to the south, but Artor did not tell Gilbert that.
Destroy this Faraday, Gilbert, and then we can turn our attention to the trees themselves. We will have ourselves a burning, you and I. Kill Faraday, and you may light the match.
So Gilbert pushed and badgered and berated his band, constantly emphasising to them the disgusting nature of the forest that spread its way across Arcen. Daily the Brothers grew more depressed; how could they halt a disaster of this proportion? But when they asked Gilbert, shouting their questions from the back of the cart as Gilbert rode ahead, he only smiled and said he had a Grand Plan, and would reveal it when the time was ripe.
Moryson, sitting cloaked and silent at the front of the cart, the reins of the increasingly sprightly horse loose in his hands, wondered if Gilbert did have a plan, or if Artor had yet to fill Gilbert in on the details.
After travelling the southern edges of Minstrelsea for weeks, Gilbert was finally forced to lead his band through the vile forest to reach the city of Arcen to the north. Artor had whispered to him in recent nights that he might catch Faraday here, and the thought that he would finally be able to squeeze his damp palms about the renegade woman’s fragile neck gav< Gilbert the courage to dare the forest.
Minstrelsea now stretched from the Silent Woman Woods to Arcen, completely enclosing the Ancient Barrows bui swinging just south and east of the city itself as it surgec towards the Bracken Ranges. Every day, as more and more oi the sisters were transplanted out from Ur’s nursery, the richness and intricacy of the forest’s humming grew just a little more vibrant, and its leaves stretched just that little bit more joyously towards the sun and the stars.
Gilbert, riding behind the cart now (best to let Moryson take the risks in the lead) managed to keep calm only through a supreme effort. This was worse, far worse, than his ride through the Silent Woman Woods with Axis. Those Woods were old, and had seemed slightly faded and tired, but this forest was new and vital, and Gilbert, much as he hated to admit it, could feel its magic. The sky was completely obliterated by the forest canopy, and Gilbert felt as though he had been thrown alive into a dark grave.
The Brothers cowered in the back of the cart as they passed through the forest to the gates of Arcen, but Moryson did not seem overly afraid of the music and fragrance of Minstrelsea. He was an old man, and had seen many strange sights, so even the glimpses of strange creatures gambolling among the crystal waters of rocky streams did not perturb him.
After almost four hours the way ahead lightened and Gilbert spurred his horse gratefully past the cart. “See!” he cried, “I have led you through!”
Arcen was abustle with activity, and Gilbert was appalled. How could life go on with this much gaiety and vibrancy when evil trees loomed not four hundred paces to the south and east?
Arcen was one of the main cities of the country. High-walled and densely packed with tenement buildings, the city boasted a massive covered market, itself a sign of the power of the craft and trading guilds, a town hall that outshone any of the Worship Halls Gilbert had ever seen, and streets that were not only paved, but resolutely swept every morning and evening to keep them free from dust and dung. Almost sixty-five thousand people crowded into its walls, and Gilbert had been stunned when he’d heard the city had capitulated so easily to Axis. Built to withstand a siege of months, Arcen opened its gates and delivered its Earl to Axis in the space of one fine morning.
But Gilbert thought he knew why. The city was evil, yes it was, infected with the filth and lies of the Forbidden. Its noble Earl – who had fought so long and so well for Borneheld and Artor -had been the unwilling sacrifice offered to the traitor knocking at its gates. Now Burdel rested with Artor even though he had found nothing but treachery in this life; at least he has found his just reward in eternity, thought Gilbert as he led his cart of followers through the packed streets towards the market square.