Sara Douglass – The Axis Trilogy 3 – StarMan

Soft arms encircled her. Faraday.

“Shhh,” she crooned, rocking Azhure as she sobbed. “Shhh. Is this where your mother lies? Well, cry now, Azhure,

let it all go, and when all is gone, then you and I shall make of this wasteland a fit place for your mother to rest in.”

“Oh, Faraday,” Azhure sobbed, “she did not deserve this!”

“None of us deserve all that happens to us, and some mothers rest far from the love of their families,” Faraday said gently, stroking Azhure’s hair. “Come, dry your cheeks. What are you going to do to this village?”

“Destroy it,” Azhure said roughly, wiping her eyes. “And what are you doing here, anyway? I thought I told you to wait outside the village?”

“You needed me, Azhure. Now, shall we join the others?”

Azhure nodded, and together the two women walked hand-in-hand through the village.

“This is your childhood you are about to destroy, Azhure,” Faraday said as they neared the group of Avar and the Goodwife waiting some distance beyond the village. “Are you sure you want to do it?”

“Never more sure, Faraday.”

Just before they reached the women, Azhure turned back to the village, fitting an arrow to her bow. “Azhure’s vengeance,” she said, then let the arrow fly.

It arced into the sky, catching the noon-day sun, then it turned its head for the ground, and the watchers could see that its tip burned with a feverish flame and it fell so fast that even from this distance they could hear its whispering roar.

It fell straight for the Worship Hall.

“Good,” said Shra when she realised its destination, and Azhure risked a fleeting glance and a smile for the child. This was for Raum and Shra as well as for Niah and Azhure.

“Yes,” Azhure said, “very good,” and the arrow struck.

Fire crackled along the roof of the Worship Hall and then, in the blink of an eye, the hall exploded. Fiery stones flew through the air, and wherever they landed houses exploded and gardens erupted. A hot wind rushed towards the women, and Faraday had to hold on to Azhure’s arm as it passed.

It smelied of decay and the fetid breath of the sick, and Faraday wondered what evil had lived under the foundations of the houses and the Worship Hall.

“All gone now,” Azhure said. “It’s all gone.”

And indeed it had, for when the wind and smoke finally cleared, the village had entirely disappeared. Not even rubble remained. Everything, stone included, had evaporated.

And there, tall and proud in the centre of the circle of burned earth that had been Smyrton, stood the arrow, its head buried in the earth.

“Will you be able to find your mother’s grave?” Faraday asked. Perhaps they should have marked it somehow.

“Don’t worry,” Azhure said. “Come on, Faraday, an afternoon’s planting awaits you.”

Faraday and the Goodwife called to the donkeys and they retraced their steps to the last seedling Faraday had planted that morning. When Barsarbe made as if to follow them, Faraday told her to stay where she was. Shra, as the other Avar women, just sat on the ground to wait.

Then, slowly and with the utmost reverence, Faraday resumed planting.

Eventually, after an hour or two, she realised that Azhure was standing before her.

“Here,” Azhure whispered, and Faraday looked down at the woman’s feet – and drew sharp breath in surprise.

Azhure was standing in a circle of small-leaved plants that had only just broken the surface of the soil. Even as Faraday watched a tiny flower slowly budded and uncoiled; its petals were dark violet and so transparent that they barely cast a shadow. Moonwildflowers. Faraday had only ever heard of them in legend before, but she instantly knew what they were.

She raised her eyes to Azhure’s face; it was pale and luminous, her eyes so great and dark, that Faraday thought Azhure was about to faint, but then realised that Azhure had wrapped herself in so much power that some of her true nature shone through.

Very carefully Faraday reached out a hand, intertwining her fingers with Azhure’s. “I shall make a grave that will reflect your mother’s love and courage,” she whispered, and then led Azhure slowly away from the circle of Moonwildflowers, handing her to the Goodwife to hold.

Faraday planted in a great circle about the grave, nine seedlings in all. When she had finished she stood up, brushing the dirt from her hands, her own face pale with exhaustion.

“Nine seedlings for the Nine Star Gods she served,” she said quietly, “and now the Nine will stand for eternity to honour the First who died for their sake. Niah’s Grove, Azhure.”

“A place,” the Goodwife said, her fingers tightening about Azhure’s, “where the Nine can come to honour her and to dance for her sake and theirs.”

Azhure bent her head and wept.

The Roofl Cazna picked up the baby and crooned a little tune to him. The nurse had fed and changed him, and now he lay replete, with a tiny smile for his foster mother.

“Drago,” she whispered and held him close to her breast, wishing she could have a baby as beautiful as this one. Goodness knows why Azhure found it so easy to let Axis dictate to her about the baby; Cazna would never let Belial overlook . . . she blinked . . . disinherit a son of hers.

Poor baby, poor sweet baby. She rocked him in her arms and smiled and sang to him. Poor Drago. Well, if Axis and Azhure refused to love him then she would give him enough love and attention to make up for it.

The roof.

Cazna sang and rocked the baby.

The roof.

She smiled at him, and wondered how she should fill in the hour before dinner. Since Belial had ridden out with Axis and his army several days past, time hung heavy on Cazna’s hands.

The roof.

“Perhaps I shall take you for a walk, little one,” she said, bending down to kiss his velvet brow.

The roof, bitch! Now!

“But where to? The courtyard? No, that will be heavy with shadows now and too cool for your skin …”

The roof! Roof!

“… perhaps the hall. But no, for the servants will be bustling about there with the silverware and linen and will not want our eyes to disturb them …

Bitch, listen to me!

“Ah! Why not the roof?”

Ahhh!

Cazna thought about it, remembering Axis’ warning. Well, she doubted that Imibe would have Caelum and RiverStar there now, and even if she did…well, Axis was far away, and who would tell?

“Come!” She laughed, swinging her sweet Drago in her arms, “let us promenade above the bustle of Sigholt, and I shall show you how the blue mist turns to dusky rose where it meets the waters of the Lake of Life.”

/ couldn’t care less, you inane woman. Just take me upstairs. And there . . .

“Let me wrap you in this shawl first, Drago,” Cazna said.

… / shall gain what should rightfully be mine.

It was time. Gorgrael knew it was time because the faint voice had told him it was so. The parents were both gone, where Gorgrael didn’t truly care because all he needed for sweet, sweet victory was that they both be gone from Sigholt.

Gorgrael was nervous about this adventure, nervous because he rarely left his Ice Fortress and nervous because of the magic of Sigholt itself.

But he knew that Timozel had been harbouring doubts about his master’s courage, and that stung Gorgrael into precipitous action. And the thin voice had told him that Sigholt’s magic could be outwitted.

Gorgrael didn’t totally trust the thin voice, but he recognised power when he felt it, and he recognised hate when he heard it, and he could feel the truth of what the thin voice told him. So he decided to act on it. If worst came to worst, well,

Sigholt wouldn’t let him through and he would just have to slink back here to his Ice Fortress and he would never trust the thin voice again.

But something told Gorgrael he wouldn’t be slinking anywhere this afternoon.

“Sweetheart,” he crooned to his Gryphon, his original, his beauty, and she crawled on her belly towards him. “Shall we take some fresh air?”

Cazna started guiltily. Imibe had indeed brought Caelum and the baby girl to play on the roof of Sigholt, and now the Ravensbund nurse was staring at Cazna with a look that suggested the woman should turn on her heel and haul Drago downstairs again.

But who is the Princess here? Cazna thought, tossing her head, and who the servant?

So she returned Imibe’s stare boldly and marched to the far side of the roof.

Imibe glared at the woman’s back – surely she could remember the look on the StarMan’s face and the tenor of his command! – and then she nervously checked RiverStar and Caelum. The girl lay wriggling on a blanket, but Caelum. Caelum was staring at Cazna as though she were about to burst into flames at any minute. His face was pasty white and his blue eyes round and frightened, and Imibe walked over to him, picked him up and cuddled him.