Pilgrim (12 page)

Drago took a deep breath. “
He
is the StarSon, Noah, and I will not again deprive him of that right!”

“I think you will find he may insist,” Noah said somewhat dryly.

“No,” Drago said in a very quiet and almost threatening tone. “Caelum
is
the StarSon. Caelum will meet Qeteb, and I will do everything in my power to aid him in that quest. I will
not
betray him again.”

“You have very much to accept,” Noah said quietly. “Very much.”

“I—”

“But if you want to do your best to aid Caelum and Tencendor, then do this. Go north, north to Gorkenfort. Seek your mother.”

“Azhure?”

“Nay,” Noah said, and smiled with such love that he unsettled Drago. “Your true mother. Your ancestral mother. Listen to her if you will not listen to me.”

And ignore her if you dare.

Drago stared at him, then slowly sank down to the floor before the dying man.

“How can I let Tencendor be destroyed?” he asked again, his voice breaking. “I came back through the Star Gate to
save
it, and yet you tell me to stand witness to its destruction! Would you have me
deepen
my sin against the land?”

Noah reached out a hand and gently cupped Drago’s chin. “You are a Pilgrim,” he said, “and all pilgrims must first learn their own soul, and the power of their own soul, before they can save anyone else. If you take but one piece of advice from me, Prince of Flowers—”

Prince of Flowers?

“—then take this. Go north, and listen to your mother.”

Drago was silent a long time. The lizard crawled into his lap, and Drago sat stroking it absently, his eyes unfocused.

When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy with acceptance. “I will go north to Gorkenfort. What else can I do?”

“The craft are not insensitive to the devastation that will occur. Somewhere within the waterways, I know not where for I have not been granted the knowledge, lies a sanctuary. A place of shelter. The craft would not let the peoples of this land suffer ultimate extinction. Do you understand?”

Drago nodded. “If the craft have that much compassion,” he asked, “then why do they let you die?”

“So that another may be reborn,” Noah said, but speaking with the voice of the craft.

So that another may be reborn? he thought, and then his eyes filled with tears as he understood what the craft were doing. They were using his life to create another, and the beauty of that other was enough for Noah to accept his death with gladness.

“Drago,” he said, “I have not much time. Will you tell Faraday something for me?”

“What?”

“Ask Faraday to find that which I lost. She will know. Now go, Drago. Go. I would die alone, as I have spent an eternity alone.”

Drago slowly stood, picking up his staff. “Goodbye, Noah.”

“Goodbye, Prince of Flowers.”

He sat in his chair in the empty chamber, staring at the screen full of stars, and let their love and comfort infuse him. He could feel the life ebbing from him, but it no longer hurt, and it no longer distressed him.

“Katie,” he said. “Be strong.”

His chest heaved, and again, then fell still.

In the dank basement, surrounded by dark and the stale air of a thousand years past, a light glowed faintly, and then flared into sudden brilliance.

When it faded, the thin voice of a desperate child filled the darkness.

“Mama? Mama? Where are you? I’m lost! Mama?
Mama!
”

The sacrifice had begun.

D
rago hesitated outside the doorway to Noah’s chamber, then turned back. The doorway had closed behind him, and there was no longer a panel of knobs by which to gain access.

“How can I do this to Caelum?”

But no-one in this barren corridor, least of all the lizard, was going to answer him, so Drago took a deep breath and walked slowly back to the rectangular chamber.

Here he again hesitated. He’d meant to retrace his steps to the crystal forest, and from there to rejoin Faraday, but on impulse he took one of the other open doorways.

And found himself in the waterways.

Drago stopped dead. Before him a tunnel disappeared into the distance, a deep channel running down its centre. He walked to the white-stoned edge of the waterway and looked down. The river that ran there was deep emerald. In its depths shone the stars.

The stars are everywhere, thought Drago. Somewhere, surely, still lingers the Star Dance. But where? In these waterways? In the craft of the Enemy? Or will this puzzling “mother” awaiting in Gorkenfort tell me?

“We must find it,” he said aloud to the lizard, “if Caelum is to defeat the—”

“Did you listen to nothing Noah told you?” a soft voice said, and Drago spun about.

Walking along the banks of the waterway were WingRidge CurlClaw, Captain of the Lake Guard, and the unmistakable red plumage of SpikeFeather TrueSong behind him.

Where had they come from?

“What are you doing here?” Drago said, taking a step back.

WingRidge stopped a pace away, SpikeFeather just behind. Both birdmen studied Drago carefully, and both glanced curiously at the blue lizard under his arm.

“You know why we are here,” WingRidge said softly. His face was a mixture of awe, determination, and sheer unadulterated relief. He lifted a hand and placed it on Drago’s chest.

“You are here as I am here,” Drago said, a hard edge to his voice. “We must do all we can to aid the StarSon.”

WingRidge’s mouth curled. “And what to you mean by that, Drago?”

Drago stared at him. “Caelum needs our help.”

WingRidge inclined his head. “Caelum will need aid, assuredly.”

Drago looked at WingRidge, then at SpikeFeather standing obviously confused behind the Captain of the Lake Guard’s shoulder, then turned to look back the way he’d come.

“Noah told me…he told me…”

“I do hope you had the grace to listen, and the courage to accept,” WingRidge said, and now his voice was hard, and his eyes flinty.

Drago looked back at him. “Why are you here, WingRidge?”

“I am here to aid the StarSon.”

“Then why are you
here
?”

WingRidge remained silent, his eyes unblinking as they regarding Drago.

A muscle flickered in Drago’s cheek. “I came back through the Star Gate to aid Tencendor.”

“Good,” WingRidge said quietly.

“In whatever way I can.”

“Even better.”

“I did
not
come back to disinherit my brother!”

“There is no question of that.”

“Then we understand each other?”

WingRidge startled the others by bursting into laughter. “Yes, Drago, I think that we do. Now, in what direction did Noah set your wandering feet?”

“I must go north. To Gorkenfort.”

For the first time WingRidge looked mildly disconcerted, but with a languid shrug of his shoulders said, “North is good. You will meet with Caelum in the north, eventually.”

“Noah…Noah told me that Tencendor must die. We must allow Qeteb’s resurrection.”

“Surely we can stop the Demons before—” SpikeFeather began, his face horrified, but WingRidge turned about and placed a hand on the birdman’s shoulder.

“Trust,” he said. “Please. Did you not see this in the Maze Gate?”

SpikeFeather nodded unhappily.

“The Maze Gate?” Drago asked.

“Under Grail Lake lies a Maze,” WingRidge said. “Each of the craft have grown into different forms over the millennia. Here, the crystal forest cradled Qeteb’s warmth. The Maze cradles Qeteb’s soul. At the entrance to the Maze lies a Gate, and it is the script about the Maze Gate that the craft used to speak to…well, to whomever, over the aeons. The Maze Gate tells of many things. It, too, awaits the StarSon.”

Drago ignored the last remark. “And this Maze Gate speaks of Tencendor’s destruction?”

“It has been written,” WingRidge said, “and thus it must be. Do not dread it too much, Drago. Does not the field need
to lay fallow for it to flower full bright in the season that follows the night?”

The man speaks in nothing but riddles, Drago thought irritably, and then remembered that Noah had also mentioned flowers. Prince of Flowers. He stared at WingRidge, and the captain smiled at him, his eyes now soft.

Still pondering the consequences of turning Tencendor into an uninhabitable wasteland, SpikeFeather had completely missed the exchange. “
And
Qeteb is to be allowed a resurrection,” he said. “How can this be?”

WingRidge did not look away from Drago as he answered. “How can the StarSon defeat a memory? A ghost? Only when Qeteb’s scattered life parts unite in flesh and blood can they be destroyed. Eventually, the StarSon and Qeteb will face each other.”

“And Caelum will defeat him,” Drago said.

“The StarSon will defeat him,” WingRidge said. “Will you agree to that, Drago? That the StarSon shall defeat Qeteb?”

SpikeFeather shifted, uncertain what to make of the conversation. He had the uncomfortable feeling that WingRidge and Drago were somehow weaving a hidden dialogue over and above their spoken words.

“I can agree to that,” Drago said softly. “The StarSon shall defeat Qeteb.”

“Then our purpose is as one,” WingRidge said. “We both serve the StarSon and we both serve Tencendor.”

He held out his hand, and after a brief hesitation Drago took it.

“That is an interesting staff you hold,” WingRidge observed, not letting go of Drago’s hand.

“You know what it is.”

“Aye. I know what it is.” WingRidge clasped his other hand over Drago’s, holding it securely between both of his. “The Sceptre. Never let it go.”

“But—” SpikeFeather said, remembering the entwined symbols of StarSon and Sceptre about the Maze Gate…and
then suddenly the entire conversation between WingRidge and Drago fell into place.

“Ah,” he breathed.

WingRidge laughed again and let Drago’s hand go. “So you are to go north, my friend. Will Faraday go with you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And your new friend?” WingRidge indicated the lizard, now leaning over the edge of the waterway and splashing at shadows with one of his claws, light glimmering in shining shards from his talons under and over the water.

“His intentions are hidden from
me
,” Drago said.

WingRidge cocked an eyebrow. “And you think
I
know? Not I. The beast is a mystery to me as well. What else?”

“You do not know?”

For the first time WingRidge looked uncomfortable. “If there is more, then, no, I do not know it.”

“Remarkable,” Drago said, but grinned to take the sting out of the remark. “Well, there is actually a little palatable news. Noah spoke of a Sanctuary somewhere within the waterways.”

“A Sanctuary?” SpikeFeather queried, and WingRidge narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. Sanctuary. This
was
news!

But Drago took no notice of WingRidge’s reaction.

“Gods!” he whispered, and shuddered. His eyes lifted upwards, as if he could see through the tons of rock above them. “I can
feel
the Demons on the move. Every hour they are on the loose more souls are lost.”

He dropped his gaze to the two birdmen before him. “I must go north, and I hardly know these waterways. Can I ask you to—”

“You know I serve no-one but the StarSon,” WingRidge said carefully.

Drago’s face worked. “Then in the StarSon’s name,” he said, grating the words out, “will you hunt for Sanctuary while I go north?”

WingRidge grinned at Drago’s discomfiture. “You had but to ask, Drago.”

SpikeFeather hesitated, not wanting to be the one to break the tension, but finally the words burst out of him:

“Drago, these waterways spread not only under the complete landmass of Tencendor, but leagues out under the oceans, too. It might take a lifetime—
three
lifetimes!—to find this ‘Sanctuary’.”

“Nevertheless,” Drago said, “you possibly have a few months. No more. It will not take the TimeKeepers long to travel between Lakes, and before then we…someone…must manage the evacuation of Tencendor.”

“A few months!” SpikeFeather muttered.

“I will help,” WingRidge said to him. “The Lake Guard will help. Won’t it be fun to keep company, SpikeFeather?” He threw an arm about SpikeFeather’s shoulders. “You and I. Brothers in quest.”

SpikeFeather glared at the Captain. He’d never seen WingRidge full of such high humour before. WingRidge kept his arm about SpikeFeather, but again addressed Drago.

“And once you have achieved your north and Gorkenfort, Drago? What then?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Then I am sure your feet will find the right path,” WingRidge said softly. “Drago, there is something you must know. WolfStar haunts these waterways. With him he carries the corpse of a girl-child. I do not know why.”

Drago frowned, not sure what to make of this. What was WolfStar up to?

“Be careful,” he said. “If WolfStar has a hidden purpose, then he can hardly be trusted.”

WingRidge grimaced. “You hardly need tell me that, Drago. But don’t worry, my friend and I shall find this Sanctuary. Won’t we, SpikeFeather?”

SpikeFeather nodded, his mind full of the problems that conducting a search of the entire waterways would entail.

He’d spent at least fifteen years wandering the tunnels and had never had a whiff of this secret place—and Orr had never mentioned it. Had the Ferryman even heard of its existence, let alone known its location?

“Come,” WingRidge said, and took a step back along the tunnel. “We have a long—”

“Wait!” Drago cried, and touched the Captain’s chest as he turned back to face him. “What’s that?”

“This?” WingRidge looked down at the maze. “It represents the Maze, my friend. It represents my bond to the StarSon.”

Drago stared at him, then he deftly picked out a golden thread from the embroidery and dropped it into his sack.

Then he gave a smile, almost apologetic, turned and walked away.

The lizard scampered after him.