Fernbrake Their pace had been, literally, kept to a crawl. Ogden and Veremund had never been as robust as Yr, and with the infusion of the ancient power into their bodies, their physical condition deteriorated rapidly. They could only stumble one or two hundred paces before they had to rest, their faces splotched scarlet and white, their breath wheezing and bubbling in their chests, their hands quivering uselessly at their sides. But Yr had been corrupted by power longer – almost four months now – and there were many days when she could not move at all, when the Sentinels sat in a silent and solemn circle as she struggled to maintain her grip on life.
Jack and Zeherah were quietly frantic as they approached Fernbrake Lake. They had not thought the journey would prove so hard, and they were taking so long! And the two longer stages were yet to be accomplished.
And after tonight Zeherah would be left on her own to cope with the other four.
“I did not think it would be so bad,” Jack said to her as they waited at the lip of the crater that held Fernbrake Lake for the other three to catch up. Ogden was hanging onto Yr’s arm, but Jack did not know who was supporting whom. Behind them Veremund struggled in his own private hell.
Zeherah leaned against Jack’s body, knowing there were only hours left in which she could touch him. “There are only five months before Fire-Night,” she said. “Five months.”
“We will manage.” Jack turned from the struggle below and gazed at Zeherah, knowing and sharing her pain.
“We will have to,” she said, and blinked away her tears.
Their journey through the Bracken Ranges had been made doubly difficult by the need to avoid the sharp eyes of hundreds of Icarii who were swarming over the mountains. As much as the Sentinels would have enjoyed their company, they could not afford to be seen. Any Icarii who came close would risk infection by the dreadful power that now radiated from the bodies of three of them; and the Sentinels did not want to risk contaminating the Icarii, nor risk being drawn away from their purpose.
At least they had the trees to cover them from over-curious eyes. This was their first contact with the forest that Faraday had planted, for they had cut directly north from the Silent Woman Woods and had missed Faraday in her eastwards sweep. Each of the Sentinels took comfort from the gentle humming of the trees, and the trees lent them sympathy and shelter from the frosty nights. At least, they thought, Faraday continues to plant. Pray to the Prophet that she reaches the Avarinheim unscathed.
Yr and Ogden finally reached the waiting pair, and within a few minutes Veremund joined them. Jack and Zeherah gave their companions almost half an hour to recover, then they started on the downward path towards the Lake. It was almost dusk, and it would be well into the night before they reached the waters.
Zeherah felt Jack tremble as they turned into the path, and she squeezed his arm gently, treasuring the contact.
The Avar and Faraday were weeks gone, and the Sentinels had the Lake to themselves. They rested an hour after they had . finished their descent to its shores, then Jack hefted his staff and stood up.
“Will you want me to carry the staff once . . . once …” Zeherah found she could not finish.
“No. I will continue with it. I have carried it this long…and no doubt I will need its support once I am through here.”
Zeherah could no longer hold her tears in check. “I had not thought this to be so difficult,” she sobbed, and Jack leaned down and stroked her cheek. She grasped his hand and kissed it, and Jack battled with his own emotions.
Yr, Ogden and Veremund, lost in their own misery, watched impassively to one side. This was a goodbye in which they could not participate.
“Jack,” a voice said, and he looked up. Walking slowly towards him across the grass was the Prophet, silvery and powerful, his coppery hair shining like the late afternoon sun.
The Prophet reached down and laid a gentle hand on Zeherah’s hair, and she took a deep breath and swallowed her tears, trying to smile at him. Jack stood straight and tall, determined not to let the Prophet see his own doubts.
But the Prophet saw anyway, and understood. “All goes well,” he said, and gazed lovingly on Yr and the brothers. “The Prophecy spins out to its conclusion, and Axis and Azhure have accepted their heritage.”
Yr looked up. “Their heritage?”
“We thought that Axis might be …” Veremund whispered, “but Azhure?”
“They are the last of the Nine,” the Prophet said, and all the Sentinels took deep breaths. So.
Jack sighed. and looked towards the Lake. “It is time. Prophet, will you hold my staff while I am gone?”
The Prophet took the staff, his hand closing about Jack’s. “You will be beloved always for the sacrifice you now make,” he said, leaning forward and softly kissing Jack on the mouth. “And you will always rest in my heart. You have proved far more than I could have hoped.”
Jack blinked, then he bent down to Zeherah. “Beloved,” he whispered, “there are times when I have wished that you had never accompanied me on that expedition to float down the Nordra, so many thousands of years ago. If you had not, if you had stayed safe in the UnderWorld, then you would never have had to face the dreadful fate you do now.”
“And I would have lost you so much sooner,” she said bravely, lifting her face to be kissed. “Go in peace, Jack, and go with my love.”
The Prophet took the staff and stood back several paces, inclining his head slightly at Jack, and the Sentinel shed his clothes, shivering slightly in the cold night air.
“I have regrets,” he confessed, and the others regarded him with compassion. “I never expected to miss life so much.”
For one more instant his eyes met those of Zeherah, and then he was gone.
They waited many hours, and it was close to dawn when Jack resurfaced, his eyes glittering with power, the corruption already turning his heart.
Zeherah’s jaw clenched, and she lowered her head, almost unable to look at him, but then she straightened, smiled and nodded, and let Yr and Ogden and Veremund greet him and welcome him into their painful community.
Unlike the previous occasions, the Prophet was still with them, and he handed Jack his staff and let his hand rest on his shoulder briefly. Then he gazed at the other three suffering Sentinels. Their bodies were wasted, their strength almost gone. In places their skin hung in narrow strips, and their eyes glittered with as much pain as power. Heat radiated from their flesh and while Yr had lost most of her hair, Ogden and Veremund were now losing theirs in uneven handfuls.
“It is hard on you,” the Prophet said-. “I understand that, and perhaps I can do something to help you on your way.”
He turned and walked down to the Lake until its waters lapped his toes. He did not know if this would work.
He spread his arms wide. “Mother!” he cried. “Hear me! I seek Your aid for my servants who are Your servants too. Did
not Jack and Yr lead Tree Friend to You? Did not Yr protect and comfort Faraday during her darkest hours? Have not all five worked as much for Your redemption as for that of the Star Gods? Mother, hear me. Help them complete their task. If You require blood, then have they not given enough already?”
When the Mother replied it was only the Prophet who heard.
Blood, WolfStar? Who are you to speak to Me of blood sacrifice? Must not My Daughter offer the ultimate –
Mother! I beg You, do not vent Your righteous anger at my actions onto the Sentinels. They have done as much for You and Faraday as they have for me or any other.
“Help them,” he said and, without affectation, let tears trail down his cheeks.
His sorrow turned the Mother’s heart. She had been indifferent to the Repository that lurked in the depths of Fernbrake Lake, and She had been largely indifferent to the fact that Jack had watched over the Lake for so many years. But She found that She could not remain impervious to the Prophet’s sorrow.
She, like so many others, had thought him indifferent to pain or love.
The Lake burst into brilliant emerald light that bathed the faces of those who watched. The Prophet turned to the Sentinels, the trails of his tears clearly evident on his cheeks; and the Sentinels were as much moved by his sorrow as they were by the power of the Mother.