Both Ogden and Veremund lifted their chins, their decision made. Their eyes, one set tight grey and the other as dark as the night, suddenly glowed as golden as the setting sun. “We are the Sentinels,” they said in unison, then Ogden spoke alone. “We are creatures of…”
“And serve…” Veremund broke in.
“The Prophecy of the Destroyer,” both finished, again in perfect unison.
For a moment there was utter silence. The golden light in the Sentinels’ eyes died as abruptly as it had flared, and again two old men sat across from Axis and Belial, looking unsure as to how their news had been received.
“Ah,” Axis finally said. He had known that they were not whom they pretended to be…but he had expected nothing like this.
Belial laughed suddenly, the sound a little shocking in the absolute quiet of the room. “No wonder you couldn’t remember a damn word from the Service for the Dead,” he said. Sentinels? He gazed at the two men with vastly increased respect.
“So,” Axis said very quietly, “we know that Gorgrael has arisen in the north. And now the Sentinels walk abroad.” He dropped his eyes to the floor and was silent for a while, then he came to some decision and raised his eyes again. “Well, Sentinels, shall I tell you what I am?”
Both Ogden and Veremund held their breath.
Axis watched their expressions, then laughed bitterly. “I am the son of Rivkah,” he said slowly, finding it hard to say the words. “The son of Rivkah, Princess of Achar, and…and an Icarii Enchanter.” Axis felt a great relief at finally saying it aloud, and his shoulders slumped as if freed of a great weight. Belial stared at him in amazement.
Finally Veremund nodded slowly. “Yes. That is what we think, too. But that is all we know about your parentage, Axis. We do not know who your father is beyond that he is probably an Icarii Enchanter.”
“How did you realise, BattleAxe?” Ogden asked quietly.
Axis took another deep breath, his shoulders trembling. He turned to Belial for a moment, ignoring Ogden. “Well, Belial. What do you think of that? Here we are, Axemen committed to hunt down every Forbidden that we see, yet now you hear that your BattleAxe is of their blood. What do you say to that?”
Belial gripped Axis’ hand, using its support to pull himself upright. The last few minutes had been confounding, confusing, and his mind swirled with what he had just seen and heard. Yet while Belial had been raised to fear the Forbidden, he had found the Avar man more worthy of his respect than of his hatred. And he did not see a hated Forbidden sitting beside him, but a friend who needed his support now as he had never needed it before.
“I say that you are my BattleAxe,” Belial said, his eyes burning fiercely, daring Axis not to believe him. “I say that you are the best commander that I have ever served under, and I say that you are my friend, and that in choosing my friends I have never asked who their fathers were.”
Axis’ eyes gleamed with tears and he leaned forward and embraced Belial. Veremund almost fainted with relief; Belial had probably just accomplished what it might have taken Ogden and himself months to do.
“How did you realise?” Ogden asked again, very quietly.
Axis turned back to him, his mouth twisting. “The music that I remembered. The song I sang before Gorgrael, the song…the song I sang to the Avar girl.” Axis paused and stared at the rafters for a moment, recalling. “The Avar man, Raum, said I had the soul of an Icarii Enchanter.” He laughed shortly. “He asked me what I was doing wearing the black and these axes,” Axis absently tapped the crossed axes on the breast of his tunic with his fingers, “when all the Icarii hated them as much as the Avar did. And when we were before the Shadowsward, when I had Raum at the point of my sword, a woman stepped forth from the trees.”
Ogden and Veremund leaned forward. They still did not know what had happened earlier this morning. “What happened? What woman?” Veremund asked.
Axis briefly told them of his chase of Azhure and the Avar man across the fields and through the Forbidden Valley. “As for the woman, I do not know. Of our…well, of Acharite extraction. She was not Avar. I asked her if she knew the Icarii, and she said yes. I asked her if they sang. And she told me that they sang magically, that the Icarii had music coursing through their blood. And then I remembered my own skill at music…which has improved immeasurably since you have kept me company, gentlemen.”
Ogden sat back in his chair. “We knew that you must be of Icarii blood when you read the Prophecy. The Prophet wrote it in the sacred tongue of the Icarii, rather than the common tongue of Tencendor. No-one else but an Icarii could have read his words.”
Axis rose and stood before the fire, staring into the flames for a long time. “Why else did you have me read the Prophecy, gentlemen?” he asked softly, not lifting his eyes from the flames. “Why not test Timozel, or Arne, or Gilbert? And why follow me all the way around Arcen and Skarabost? Why?”
Veremund hesitated. “Because we think that you are the One, Axis Rivkahson.”
“The One?”
“The StarMan.” It was Belial who answered. “The one who will unite the three races of Tencendor. The only one who can stop the Destroyer Gorgrael.”
Ogden and Veremund nodded. Again Belial had surprised them. He would prove a valuable ally for Axis in the coming months. Briefly Veremund considered some of the deeper riddles of the Prophecy and wondered if any of them concerned Belial.
“I do not want this!” Axis suddenly hissed from the fireplace. His eyes flickered between Belial and the two Sentinels. “I do not want this!”
“Axis,” Ogden began, but Axis broke in, turning and striking the stone wall of the fireplace with his tightly clenched fist in anger and confusion. “How can I be the one to unite this supposed realm of Tencendor? I am the BattleAxe! I serve the Seneschal, and the Seneschal is…is…”
“Is opposed to everything that you are, Axis!” Ogden leapt to his feet, his cheeks red and his grey eyes bright. “The Seneschal, driven by their devotion to Artor, spread lies among the Acharites to incite hatred of the Icarii and Avar. They drove them from this land and left it vulnerable to Gorgrael. Damn it, Axis! You know the Prophecy. The three races must unite again to defeat him and,” he took an angry breath, “you are the One. You are a war leader, and you can lead Tencendor against whatever forces Gorgrael might throw against us. You carry the blood of Achar’s royal line in you—and Priam should recognise that he has two heirs, not just one. You have compassion, as you have shown me time and time again, and you will need compassion before all else if you are to unite the races and destroy Gorgrael. And last, but not least, you have within you the makings of one of the most powerful Icarii Enchanters that ever lived—if you would only embrace it instead of fighting it!”
Axis’ face worked with emotion. “You lie, old man. I cannot combat the sorcery of Gorgrael! I could not stop the storm that killed so many of my men!”
“No!” Ogden all but shouted, waving his plump fists about in the air. “At the moment you cannot! You need to find your father—because without the teaching of your father, and he is the only one that can teach you, you will never be strong enough to face Gorgrael. And we need your father, Axis, because he must also be the father of Gorgrael, and without the father we cannot find or know Gorgrael!”
There was silence. Ogden’s passion slowly faded and he sank into his chair. Belial, with great effort, swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there, fighting the dizziness that swept over him. Axis turned back to the fire. Veremund looked a little helplessly between them all, opening and shutting his mouth.
“What did I do to that Avar girl?” Axis eventually asked, turning his head so that he could see the Sentinels.
“You sang what is known as the Song of Recreation, Axis,” Veremund answered. “The child was almost dead. But when you held her in your arms, from somewhere, I know not where, you recalled the Song of Recreation. How you could sing that without being taught it by your father, I do not know—i
t is hardly something he would sing to you while still in the womb. The Song of Recreation is a very beautiful song, very haunting, because it recreates life itself. It takes as its music the intertwined breath of the person who is dying and the breath of the person who is singing and it uses the power of the Stars themselves to infuse the dying with life. No Icarii Enchanter has been able to sing that song so well for over three thousand years. None alive today could have saved that child as you did. Ogden and I,” Veremund turned to smile at his companion, “well, we wept. We could not help ourselves. Raum was shocked. He is a Bane, one of the Avar who well understands the practice of enchantments, and he recognised the Song for what it was. He also knew how much power it took to sing it. No wonder he asked what you were doing inside that black uniform, dear one.”
“But if,” Belial’s voice was weak and he had to clear his throat and start again. “But if Axis could recreate life in the Avar girl, and none can do that now, then why is he not powerful enough to meet Gorgrael and defeat him?”
Axis answered himself, his voice weary with resignation. “Because I do not know how I do it, Belial. I cannot help myself. I cannot stand here now and call on…on this ‘talent’ within me to perform some enchantment whenever I need it. I don’t know where this power comes from. I cannot stand before Gorgrael, or even a three-legged mouse for that matter, and hope that some snatch of the appropriate song occurs to me before Gorgrael strikes.” Axis hesitated. “Belle my Wife might rally my men from a mist-induced fugue, but I doubt it will drive Gorgrael screaming from my sight. Unless,” he managed a wan grin, “Belial is there to accompany me on the harp. Your skill is so dismal, my friend, even the Destroyer would flee your dark music.”
Belial grinned, but Ogden was not to be distracted. “You need your father to teach you,” he repeated. “The Icarii Enchanters usually pass on knowledge from parent to son or daughter, as the case may be. No-one can teach a new Enchanter except another Enchanter from their family, and usually it is the closest blood relative—the Enchanter parent.”
Axis’ amusement was replaced by irritation. “And where, old man, am I going to be able to find my father to teach me those things I need to know?”
Ogden spread his hands, his face assuming a cherubic expression. “Who knows how the Prophecy will work itself out, dear one?”
“So what, oh-creature-of-the-Prophecy, do I do now?” Axis ground out, irritation in turn being replaced by anger.
Veremund shrugged. “You do as you were doing, Axis. On to Sigholt, and then to Gorkenfort. Both places, I might add, where you might find clues to your father’s identity. At one you were conceived, and at one you were born. Who knows what marks of your father’s existence remain there?”
Axis turned to Belial. “My friend, what should I do? How can I continue as BattleAxe of the Axe-Wielders, knowing what I know?”
Belial did not hesitate. “You have command of over three thousand men committed to defending Gorkenfort against the raids of Gorgrael. How does that compromise the purpose of either BattleAxe or Enchanter’s son? You simply go on as you would have done. As I see it, now you go equipped with more knowledge, perhaps more weapons, than previously.”
“He speaks well,” said Veremund.
“Yes,” Axis agreed, sighing again. He paused. “Veremund, Ogden, there is one more thing I have to tell you. When I let Raum go he told me that, as he owed me two lives, he was giving one back. He told me that Faraday lived. How would he know that?”
Ogden and Veremund were genuinely shocked. While they had been sure that Jack and Yr had managed to keep Faraday and Timozel alive in the landslide at the Barrows, they could not understand how Raum would have found out. But Axis must not know that Faraday was headed for Gorkenfort and Borneheld. There was still time for him to arrive before her and ruin all their plans. Yet they had promised not to lie to Axis. What should they do?
Veremund took Axis’ hand. “It is possible that Faraday survived the fall into the Barrow. The ground is riddled with tunnels and tombs.”
Axis looked distraught. “Then she could be wandering lost, trapped in those dark chambers!”
“No, no!” Veremund hastened, patting Axis’ hand. “If Raum saw her, then it must have been above ground. Perhaps she is working her way north from the Barrows to her home in Skarabost. She must have mentioned you to him. Otherwise, why would Raum mention her to you? Axis, she may well be home by now, and if she has Timozel to protect her, then what could go wrong?”
Axis relaxed a little. “Yes, you are probably right. Well, Brothers of the Seneschal you may not be, but you are all that the poor villagers of Smyrton have right now. Gentlemen, you have a Service of the Dead to perform. At least you’ve had some recent practice.”
Belial laughed, and then flinched and held his head, groaning.
Axis smiled at him, his thoughts on Faraday. He let himself hope a little.
36
THE GHOSTTREE CAMP
It was two days before Barsarbe was satisfied enough with Raum’s progress to let him out of the tent. And although Grindle and his family were eager to hear of his adventure through the Seagrass Plains and Shra’s presentation to the Mother, Barsarbe was adamant that Raum needed sufficient rest before he could explain what had happened.
GoldFeather felt unsettled; she kept going over their conversation with the BattleAxe in her mind, analysing each expression that had crossed his face. There was something about his face that tugged at her memory…something…something. It finally came to GoldFeather with a sickening jolt. The man’s face resembled Priam’s in some characteristics. A thought so terrible occurred to GoldFeather that her stomach turned over and she almost gagged. Borneheld? Had Borneheld become the BattleAxe? He was about the right age, and Stars alone knew he could have inherited both his devotion to Artor and his military prowess from Searlas. But no. No. GoldFeather started to relax as she thought it through. It was very unlikely that a noble as high as the Duke of Ichtar would take the position of BattleAxe. And hadn’t Azhure mentioned the man’s name at some point? Axis, yes, that was it. Axis. She breathed a great sigh of relief. Not Borneheld. That would have been too frightful to contemplate. To meet Borneheld again after so many years? No. There was too much guilt associated with Borneheld for her to want to meet him again.
And he hadn’t resembled Searlas at all. No. But the encounter still nagged at GoldFeather, shadowing her mind. There was something about the man’s face. Those eyes…no! Stop it, GoldFeather told herself firmly. Stop it! You’ve made a clean break from the past, so why worry over it like a sore tooth now? The man was probably a distant cousin to the royal family of Achar. That would explain the slight resemblance to Priam. She managed a small smile, convincing herself. Stars knew some of the past kings had scattered their bastards far and wide.
While Barsarbe kept Raum inside the tent, refusing to allow discussion with him about anything but the most trivial queries about food or comfort, GoldFeather spent more and more time walking the trails of the Avarinheim, trying to turn her mind from the BattleAxe by thinking of her husband and daughter waiting for her return in the Icescarp Alps. Although GoldFeather freely gave of her time to help the Avar in whatever way she could, each year she spent months away from her own family, and each year she wondered if she was drifting too far from them. Yet with the Skraeling wraiths intensifying their raids on the Avar, GoldFeather knew there was still work she had to do. Now more than any time in the previous twenty years, the Avar needed her help, and that of the Icarii.
Azhure spent most of the two days wandering about feeling totally useless. The question of her remaining within the Clan was still undecided, and she spent most of her time with Fleat and Pease. Fleat took pity on the Plains Dweller, and explained to Azhure what Raum and Shra, and all the other children Azhure had seen going past Smyrton over the past few years, had been doing.
“We revere the Mother as the giver of life,” Fleat explained one evening as she and Pease were grindin
g dried malfari tubers for flour between flat quern stones before the fire. “Those children picked to be trained as Banes are presented to the Mother and form a special bond with her, enabling them to touch not only the Sacred Grove itself, but use the rhythms of life that surround us to heal and help grow. Both we and the Avarinheim,” she paused in her grinding to look about her at the forest, “rely on them to keep the land and the seasons healthy, else we would all die.”
Pease added dried berries, seasoning herbs and lard to the malfari flour the two women were grinding, rolling and slapping into small round loaves which she wrapped in the large waxy leaves of the odinfor bush and put in the hot coals of the fire to bake. “Our Clan is honoured that Shra was chosen by the Banes to be presented to the Mother,” she said, smiling affectionately at the little girl who had hardly left her mother’s side since she’d come home. “Already the GhostTree Clan has Raum, Grindle’s younger brother, as Bane, and now we will have Shra as well.”
“Is Barsarbe of your Clan as well?” Azhure was still a little confused by the relationships within the Clan.
“No,” Fleat replied. “She comes from the FlatRock Clan, but came with us to the edge of the Avarinheim to wait for Raum’s return with Shra.” She took a deep breath of relief. “Thank the Mother she did. Without her healing skills Raum would likely have died.”
Azhure helped the women gut some fat-bellied trout caught from the Nordra. The older children spent much of their time helping their mothers in the time-consuming task of food gathering; they generally found time for play only in the early evening. As far as Azhure could see, the Avar did not bother to plant or crop at all, preferring to live off only what the Avarinheim provided for them. “Do all of your people live in Clans like the GhostTree Clan?” she asked, sucking a finger where the sharp blade of the bone-filleting knife had cut it open.
“Yes.” Fleat passed a spare odinfor leaf across for Azhure to wrap her finger in. “We all live in small family groups. The Avar must live from what the Avarinheim chooses to give us, and we cannot survive in large villages like your people do. We spend most of the year travelling from spot to spot throughout the Avarinheim. This is really too close to the edge of the Avarinheim for our liking. We are here only because we were waiting for Raum and Shra to return.”