Enchanter: Book Two of the Axis Trilogy. Sara Douglass

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      “Drink,” he whispered.

      The moment the warm, viscous liquid filled her mouth Azhure understood why all those she’d watched had been reluctant to relinquish the bowl. The wine felt alive and seemed to speak to her, sing to her as it filled her mouth. It tasted of earth and salt, birth and death, wisdom and sadness beyond knowing. As the warm, coppery liquid slid down her throat and warmed her belly, Azhure thought she could hear music. Wild music, as if the stars themselves were reeling naked and crazed with lust through the night sky.

      Azhure took another great mouthful. There was not much left.

      “Thank you, Axis,” she said from the depths of her heart. “Thank you for making me a part of this night. I would that you drink the last mouthful.”

      Their hands still locked together about the bowl, Axis raised it to his lips and drained it. Now the trail of wine through his beard looked more like blood than ever and Azhure was vividly reminded of the magnificent Stag sacrificed in this grove at Yuletide.

      “His life, his blood, he gave to us to celebrate tonight,” Axis said, and placed the bowl carefully to one side of a boulder. Azhure wondered how he knew what she’d been thinking. As she turned she found every SunSoar eye riveted on her. Let them think what they like, she told herself, and sat down in one graceful movement. Already Azhure could feel the effects of the wine racing through her blood.

      A light flared behind the torch-lit stone archways and all eyes turned away from Azhure and towards the circle.

      Azhure blinked, her vision blurring, but her eyes cleared and she stared at the circle.

      Figures dimly moved behind the archways, and wild music erupted violently into the night. This music was nothing like that Azhure had heard at Yuletide, or in Talon Spike. The Icarii generally sang unaccompanied, or used harps to make their music. But this music was the music of wild pipes. Avar music as Azhure had never heard it before.

      The music reeled through the night and twisted down among the crowds until groups of the watchers stood to dance, gyrating wildly. Azhure longed to be with them, but, just as she was about to leap up, the music abruptly stopped.

      Azhure’s blood throbbed in her ears and her heart beat madly. Was it the music or the fermented stag’s blood?

      Someone nudged her elbow. It was Rivkah, smiling a little secretively as she held out a gourd of wine. “It is not as good as that you have just drunk, Azhure, but it is good nevertheless. Drink, and pass it on.”

      Azhure took the wine and drank deeply, then handed the gourd to Axis. His face was intense. Perhaps he waits for the music to begin again, thought Azhure, and as she passed the wine over she touched the blood where it still lingered within his beard and at the corner of his mouth.

      A movement at the edge of Azhure’s vision caught her attention, and she looked back to the circle.

      A figure walked through one of the archways, and a murmur ran through the watching crowd. It was Barsarbe, small, delicate, and completely, utterly naked. She had painted spiral designs over her body, emphasising her breasts and her belly, although what paint she had used Azhure could not see.

      “It is what remains of the stag’s blood,” said Axis quietly at her side. “Can you not see its redness? Smell its warmth?”

      “I have not the senses of an Enchanter,” Azhure muttered, unable to drag her eyes away from Barsarbe.

      Another woman walked through the archways. It was MorningStar, similarly naked, similarly painted, although this time the paint was some golden substance that highlighted the beautiful pale sheen of her skin.

      By Azhure’s side Axis stirred uncomfortably.

      Both women started to dance. The pipe music had begun again, but it was softer this time, less insistent, and there was an accompaniment of drums that mirrored the beating of Azhure’s heart.

      The beat made her think, momentarily, of the insistent tug of the waves against a distant shoreline, and of the dip and sway of the moon.

      As StarDrifter used his voice to speak and persuade, to relive memories and to tell stories, so the slow, sensuous dance of these two women spoke of many things to the watching eyes. They spoke of the gradual reawakening of the earth under the soft and sensual touch of the sun; of the seeds of life that lay buried under cover of darkness for long months but were now stimulated into life; of the green shoots that burst through the sod and grew to feed the mouths of man and beast. They spoke of the continual renewal of life, whether in the earth or in the belly of a doe or a woman; of the joy that was granted each time a child drew breath for the first time; and they spoke of love, its delights, its place in the continual renewal of the earth and of life.

      Barsarbe danced with passion, but it was MorningStar who stirred Azhure the most. She not only used her long limbs and lithe body, but also her wings, using them one moment to hide and tantalise, the next to invite and demand.

      The dance of the two women was budding to its zenith, their movements slower but more intense. A man stood to dance with MorningStar, and with a start Azhure saw that it was Grindle, leader of the GhostTree Clan. MorningStar orientated her dance to Grindle alone, while another man now rose and danced with Barsarbe. Azhure swallowed as their movements became more intense, more intimate. Many Avar and Icarii were now engaged in their own private dances, while inside the stone circle, dimly visible frantic figures were writhing in pairs on the ground. Azhure did not need an Enchanter’s vision to know what they were doing.

      The wine sang through her blood.

      Without conscious thought, Azhure stood and walked through the boulders into the surrounding forest.

      Azhure walked until she no longer heard the music of the pipes or the drums. The grass was soft and cool under her feet, and the Earth Tree sang soft and seductive over her head. The night mist thickened around her, until it seemed that she was moving through a drifting sea of soft silver. Azhure had no sense of confinement, for the silvery mist created an atmosphere of light and space.

      The wine sang through her blood, and somewhere, deep within her, she thought she could feel the faint pull of an answering Song. She slowed her steps. Her hands drifted to the emerald sash that bound her crimson robe, and she undid it, letting it fall gently to the ground, rejoicing in the feel of the material floating free to wrap and fold itself against her body in the soft, damp air of the Avarinheim.

      The Earth Tree sang sweet and gentle, and Azhure closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting the Avarinheim wrap her in its loveliness, giving herself completely to the Song surging through her blood.

      The sense that another answered it was stronger now, more insistent, and Azhure opened her eyes.

      StarDrifter stood some ten or fifteen paces away, holding out his hand and smiling. Slowly his fingers curled, beckoning, once, twice, a third time, and Azhure rocked as the Song roared through her blood in response.

      A twig cracked behind her.

      Azhure turned her head. The Song of her blood was now almost deafening; she could no longer hear the Earth Tree.

      Distant, still distant, another figure was walking through the mist towards her. Axis.

      “Azhure!” StarDrifter’s voice cracked across her consciousness and Azhure blinked, tears СКАЧАТЬ