Chapter 19

The Apple

Spiredore deposited Isfrael in the Demons' den. It surprised him. Somehow Isfrael had expected something truly horrific: a seething atmosphere of flames and acidic smoke filled with the screams of the tormented and the stink of the damned. A chamber furnished with rocks and chasms, and with blood-rusted spikes to embrace welcome and unwelcome visitors alike.

Instead the Demons had constructed for themselves a boudoir of pleasantness. There was a circle of apple trees, stunted, true, but sweetly fruited nevertheless, and an inner circle of stumps each topped with a tasselled violet or scarlet cushion. Overhead spread a sky that was only mildly stained with grey-streaked clouds.

The only aspect that was truly unpleasant was the torn and half-eaten body of a dog that lay to one side (possibly the remains of a picnic) and, of course, the Demons themselves.

They each stood between and very slightly behind the apple trees. A silent, watchful semicircle. Four were clad in pastel robes of varying hues, their faces bland, their eyes glowing like gems.

Qeteb had not varied his dull black armour, and trailed his metalled wings on the ground behind him in a parody of the Icarii gesture of welcome.

When he stepped forward, as he did now, they gouged great wounds into the earth.

"And you are ...?" he inquired. He stopped just under one of the apple trees. As Qeteb moved, Isfrael could see that behind him lay the form of the Niah-woman. She was arranged neatly, her legs straight, her arms at her side, her eyes gazing upwards without thought or warmth.

Isfrael walked forward until he stood just before the inner circle of stumps. Qeteb was directly across the clearing from him.

"My name is Isfrael," he said, "and I am Mage-King of the Avar, Lord of the Forests."

One of the other Demons, the female, smirked, and Qeteb make a quick gesture to stop her laughing.

"Lord of ashes only," Qeteb said, and took another step forward, "and Mage-King of nothing but a pack of huddled prisoners." His voice harshened. "What do you here?"

"I have come to deliver you the Sanctuary and all its fodder," Isfrael said. He relaxed slightly. This was going to be easier than he thought.

"Ah," Qeteb said, "a traitor."

"And how," said Sheol, "can we possibly trust a traitor?" She had sidled forward until she stood just at Qeteb's left shoulder.

"I can see that a new world beckons," Isfrael said, "and I merely want to carve out my own niche within it."

Qeteb laughed, but it was Barzula, Demon of Tempest, who spoke. "And now we have hit the heart of it, eh? You want something from us, and to obtain it you are prepared to sell us Sanctuary."

"I am prepared to sell you victory," Isfrael said softly.

"We do not need your help!" Qeteb said, but all the Demons shared the one thought.

Had DragonStar grown stronger than when they'd last spotted him? Sheol's news of what Dare Wing's bravado had done had been more than unsettling, and his disinclination to use any of the Enemy's Songs was ... almost frightening.

He had made no mistakes, and the Demons did not like that at all.

"You need all the help you can get," Isfrael said. "Only fools refuse aid. I am prepared to sell you the assurance of victory."

"We do not need your —"

"You are a fool!" Isfrael shouted, and strode through the circle of stumps until he stood directly before Qeteb. "You've been trapped before, why can't it happen again? Why can't it go one step further?" He stabbed a finger into the centre of Qeteb's chest plate. "What if this land is to prove your grave, Qeteb, rather than your playground?"

Qeteb hissed. "I have learned and grown the stronger for my captivity!"

"And what if the Enemy has, too?" Isfrael countered, his voice quiet, his eyes steady.

"What if the Enemy has, too?"

The Demons were silent, although Barzula, Raspu and Mot had crept forward until they'd joined Sheol just at or behind Qeteb's shoulders. What if the Enemy had, too?

"What do you want," said Qeteb.

"The Sacred Groves," Isfrael said, "and peace within them."

"The Sacred Groves?" Sheol said. "What are they?"

"The Sacred Groves are the most holy glades and forests of the Avar people —"

"We did not destroy them?" Qeteb said, his voice combining both anger and puzzlement.

Isfrael dared a slight sneer. "You know none of the secrets of this land, Qeteb, and there are many spaces still hidden you have not even dreamed of yet."

Behind his visor Qeteb smiled. He could play this idiot like a lute. So, there were other spaces still to be explored and hunted for fodder, were there? And you, with your foolish bravado, he thought, are going to lead us to them all, like it or not.

But he kept the angered puzzlement in his voice, and twitched his fists, to make it all the more convincing.

"Spaces?" he roared.

You metalled oaf, Isfrael thought, the dullness of your armour has spread to your brain. "I want the Sacred Groves," he said. "I want them in peace. You can have everything else."

"The Groves must be very special to you," Sheol said, and she made her voice wistful.

"They contain all that is holy and precious to the Avar peoples," Isfrael said. "The Horned Ones, the Mother —"

Sheol raised her eyebrows questioningly, and Isfrael was foolish and dull-brained enough himself to fall into the trap.

"The Mother is the personification of all nature," Isfrael said, and the Demons instantly hungered,

"while the Horned Ones are the most powerful of our Banes, transformed over the centuries into forms close to that of the stag, our sacred animal."

And all this sounds like good eating, Qeteb mind-shared with his companion Demons. / am sick of cockroaches and sheep.

Imagine the power we would gain from such a meal! Sheol whispered among their minds.

"You want the Sacred Groves," Qeteb said, "but what are you prepared to give U s?"

"The secrets of the Enemy," Isfrael said, and watched in satisfaction as those of the Demonic faces he could actually see stilled in amazement. "Did you know that you have among you," and he indicated the form of Niah still lying behind the trees, "a weapon so powerful that you could destroy the StarSon with it?"

"Her?" Qeteb said, and this time he did not have to feign the puzzlement. "Her?"

"Promise me," Isfrael said. "Promise me the Groves."

"Of course," said Qeteb. "Of course. You have them. In peace, forever and ever. Amen."

"I need assurance," Isfrael said. "I need proof of your goodwill."

Qeteb laughed, low and uncomfortable. "And you shall have it." He leaned backwards, brushing aside Sheol and Raspu, and plucked an apple from one of the trees.

"Take this apple and eat of it," Qeteb said, "and you will know my sincerity."

Isfrael stared at the fruit. "An apple?"

"Assuredly. Eat of it, and you shall eat of knowledge. You will know if I lie or not."

"And the Sacred Groves will be yours," whispered Mot.

"Forever," whispered Sheol.

"And ever and ever," echoed Barzula.

Isfrael took the apple and weighed it in his hand. It felt warm, heavy, inviting.

He could see himself wandering the paths of the Sacred Groves, safe, contented ... powerful.

He did not know that in the instant he'd taken the apple the Demons could penetrate the inner spaces of his mind.

Although they could not see details, they could see that he did indeed have a powerful secret regarding the Niah-woman, but they could also understand that there were other secrets in there ... other amusements ...

Isfrael was still caught in his vision. The Mother walked by his side, not a god at all but a companion. She was asking his advice, and listening gratefully to his answers.

Qeteb saw a glimpse of what Isfrael wanted, perhaps more than anything else, and the vision altered slightly for the Mage-King ...

And Shra walked by his other side. She had transformed as did all female Banes when they died, and now she awaited him in the Sacred Groves. She waited for him ...

Isfrael lifted his hand and took a bite of the apple —

The Demons screamed with silent triumph.

— and realisation that the Demons did speak the truth flooded his being. They would help him to the Sacred Groves, and there they would leave him in peace, and all for the price of a piece of information that they would surely have figured out sooner or later for themselves.

Peace, power, and all for the tiniest of prices. Isfrael could hardly comprehend his good fortune.

Qeteb grinned, malevolent with exultation behind his mask. The apple always did the trick.

"Let me tell you about the Niah-woman," Isfrael whispered. "She is a treasure you can hardly comprehend. It all has to do with Acharites and death ..."

And Isfrael talked, the words tumbling out and falling over themselves. All Acharites carried the seeds of Enemy magic within themselves. Only those who'd come back through death could use it. Niah, if only she could speak and think, was a weapon that could breach the walls of Sanctuary, and perhaps could be thrown at the StarSon himself.

"Was that worth the Sacred Groves?" Isfrael finished. "Was it?"

"Oh, assuredly," Qeteb said, and his voice quivered with triumph.

The StarSon was his!

"I can't get to the Groves by myself," Isfrael said, desperate now that the Demons had their information to receive his payment. "I need your power to breach the defences that the Mother has placed around them."

"But how can we —" Qeteb started.

"All I need is power," Isfrael said. "Surely you must be more powerful than the Mother? Just create that small rent for me, and I will pass through, and then I can seal the fissure from the other side."

Qeteb glanced at his companions, and they all remembered the strange bowl that one of the Hawkchilds had found. It was of great magic, and StarLaughter — and curses that she had not yet been found! — had said it was of Avar magic.

Without a spoken word, but with mutual agreement, Qeteb lifted a hand and gestured at the sky.

A round-shaped object spun down, and Qeteb caught it in a hand.

"Tell me about this bowl," he said to Isfrael.

Isfrael's face brightened with excitement. "That is my mother's bowl!"

"And its significance is ..." Qeteb said patiently.

"It does many things, but one of its main purposes was to allow my mother to travel to and from the Sacred Groves."

"Do you know how to use it?"

Isfrael stared at the bowl, then raised his eyes to Qeteb's mask. "Yes. I can use it, but I will need your power added to the power of the bowl so that I can propel myself into the Groves. And

... one more thing."

I do hope your flesh is going to be sweet enough for all the trouble you are causing me, Qeteb thought, but he answered pleasantly enough. "Yes?"

"I take the bowl with me," Isfrael said. And then I shall be safe for all time! he thought.

"But of course," Qeteb said. "I would not dream of keeping it."

And even his visor seemed to smile reassuringly.

Isfrael relaxed with complete relief. "My people are in Sanctuary —" he began.

"No," said Qeteb. "No. They were not part of your original bargain."

"But—"

"No!"

Isfrael subsided. The Avar had abandoned him after all. And even then he had tried to save them.

He'd done his best. He had. He really had. Now he should concentrate on saving what was left.

"Very well," he said, and reached out for the bowl.

Isfrael may not have been told of the exact way in which Faraday had used the bowl to reach the Sacred Groves, but he was Mage-King of the Avar, instructed and expert in all of their secret arts. He knew the bowl for what it was: a conduit, a means of entering the Groves either when all other means were closed, or, as in Faraday's case, by a person who normally would not have the power or the knowledge to access the secret paths.

The Mother had forgotten the bowl when She'd closed the paths. She'd forgotten that She'd left the back door open.

And here it was, Isfrael thought, in the hands of the Demons. The silly Bitch, She needed him there to guide Her. Why, if he hadn't come along, the Demons would have accessed the Groves for themselves! The Mother was fortunate indeed that he was here to save Her and all who still dwelt within the Groves.

Isfrael placed the bowl on the ground. "I need water."

Instantly Sheol was at his side, solicitously offering him a pewter pitcher filled with clear, sweet water.

She poured it into the bowl, and as it swirled about, the water changed to a deep emerald colour.

Isfrael's chest constricted with excitement, and he had to fight to calm himself. He opened his right hand, and hesitated.

Qeteb, deep inside Isfrael's unwitting mind, instantly leaned out his own hand, one finger extended.

Isfrael stared at the mailed hand, then took a grasp of it —

It was deathly cold, as if it had been entombed for centuries within one of the great bergs that drifted in the Iskruel Ocean.

— and used one of the sharpened overlapping joints above a knuckle to slice a small way into his thumb.

Blood welled, and Isfrael let Qeteb's hand go.

He had not noticed the intensity of its cold, or the intensity of the coldness that now coiled deep inside his mind.

A trace, that the Demons could use later, at their leisure.

Isfrael stood over the bowl murmuring prayers and invocations to the Mother, then he let a single drop of blood fall into the bowl of water.

Blood swarmed over the entire surface of the emerald water.

Isfrael bent down, picked up the bowl, then straightened. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back slightly, and prepared to enter the groves.

"Do it now!" he whispered. "Use your power to propel me now\"

And the Demons did. They sniggered and they capered, they dribbled and they scampered, and they concentrated their entire power on the man and the bowl before them.

After all, they had promised.

Isfrael screamed, and then emerald light consumed him. He found himself caught up in a whirlpool of the light, and he almost panicked, until he realised that he was being propelled towards the Sacred Groves with such power that he was being forced through the barriers the Mother had erected.

It hurt. Dreadfully.

But he could feel himself being forced through.

Isfrael clung even tighter to the bowl, concentrating as hard as he could on the image of the Groves

... and suddenly he could feel the firmness of a forest floor beneath his feet, and he could smell the pungent odour of the trees, and then the emerald light resolved into the form of a thousand trees.

He was in the Sacred Groves. Finally.

Isfrael stood triumphantly. He had done it! He was safe! He turned slightly, and he saw a silver-backed Horned One walking towards him. The Horned One's stag head was trembling, and his liquid dark eyes were filled with anger.

Anger ... and panic.

"What have you done!" the silver-pelt hissed. "What have you done?"

And he knocked the bowl from Isfrael's hands. "What is this abomination you introduce into the Groves?"

Qeteb stood in the centre of the apple grove, Faraday's bowl in his hands.

"I do hope he liked the imitation I sent with him," he said, and all the Demons howled with laughter.