Pilgrim (18 page)

Why?

Why?

Slowly Drago turned his face to the east.

Far away Rox turned and stared across the western Skarabost Plains. There was something wrong. Something…different.

He sent his senses reeling out across the land.

There! A man and a woman, standing close together in the night, their minds invulnerable.

The man was staring at him, as if he could somehow see him so far to the east.

Who? Who?

Why? Why? Why?

Slowly Rox turned his eyes back to his east. There the StarSon was, walking into the dark trap, so who was this to the west? Who? Who?

Why?

He sent a message screaming through the night to the Hawkchilds:
It seems we have a stray magician or two to the west. Find them. Find out why they can resist us. And then kill them.

T
hey arrived in Arcen by late afternoon the next day. The mayor greeted them enthusiastically, begging for news, hope, anything…

“I am sorry,” StarDrifter said. “We know little, but what we do we would be happy to share. Perhaps over dinner…?”

The mayor apologised, embarrassed at his lack of civility, and bustled StarDrifter and Zenith into his townhouse. His servants laid out a good meal, and the mayor and his wife were pleasant and entertaining conversationalists, but StarDrifter and Zenith spent the time far more aware of each other than of the mayor.

“You must be tired!” the mayor eventually declared, as his guests lapsed once more into silence. He clapped his hands. “Let my servants show you to your rooms.”

They had separate but adjoining rooms, and Zenith was not surprised to hear the gentle knock at her door after an hour.

“Come in,” she called softly.

“I missed you,” StarDrifter said as he closed the door behind him. “Even the feather bed is not enough compensation for the lack of your company.”

Zenith smiled awkwardly. This was so strange, so uncomfortable. She felt as if he thought she should just invite him straight into her bed, she knew that was what he wanted, and maybe she
should
do that, but—

“I just came to say goodnight, Zenith,” StarDrifter said, watching the play of emotions over her face.

She nodded, relaxed, then smiled. “Goodnight, StarDrifter.”

Then, suddenly bold, she walked up to him, put her hands on his chest—his skin was so warm!—and kissed his mouth softly. She leaned back slightly, but she did not step back, and she did not take her hands from his chest.

Feeling certain that the time for hesitancy was past, StarDrifter slid his hands into her hair, pulled her close, and kissed her again. She tensed slightly, but did not pull back, and so StarDrifter held her tight against his body, and let both hands and mouth grow bolder.

More than anything else Zenith wanted to be able to accept StarDrifter as a lover—it was why she’d been bold enough to kiss him—but now she fought to keep still as unwelcome images tumbled through her mind. StarDrifter gently chiding her when she was a child, and holding on to her chubby arms as she learned to walk. WolfStar’s harsh kisses, the scrape of teeth and rasp of tongue against her neck. StarDrifter rescuing her from the cliff face, and telling her he’d always be there to catch her. WolfStar’s repulsive rape, feeling him force himself inside her body—

She pulled back.

“I won’t hurt you,” StarDrifter said. “I won’t.”

“I know,” she whispered, feeling even more the failure. “I
know
you won’t…but…”

“But?”

“But it just doesn’t feel right,” she said.

StarDrifter reached out a hand and stroked her cheek. “I can wait,” he said, planted an undemanding kiss on her forehead, and walked from the room.

Zenith stared at the door, then turned and looked at the bed.

A tear slowly ran down one cheek.

Two days later, Zenith and StarDrifter arrived at the colonnades and spires of the Icarii city nestled in the forests and ridges of the Minaret Peaks.

What they found shocked them.

To avoid the deadly miasma of the Demons, they’d had to approach via the forest paths rather than drop down from the sky—the infinitely more preferable way for any Icarii to approach the city. They initially assumed that the sense of gloom they experienced as they approached was due to their restricted flight underneath the trees. But the instant they’d alighted before the entrance to the Talon’s palace they had to reassess their initial assumption.

“Why is it so dark?” Zenith said, drawing her wings in close against her back and hugging her arms about her.

StarDrifter hesitated before answering.

“I should have expected this,” he murmured, and Zenith looked at him.

“Expected what? Why?”

In answer StarDrifter took her by the elbow and led her under the great pink stone archway. A long corridor stretched before them, and Zenith frowned. In previous visits she remembered this corridor as glowing with soft light, and pleasantly warm.

Now rank torches sputtered fitfully down its length, and chill air swept out to envelop them.

The corridor was empty of all life. Where the guards? Where the always hovering servants ready to provide a welcome for unexpected guests?

StarDrifter stood and stared, and felt an inexpressible sadness sweep over him. He knew what was wrong, but because he hadn’t thought through the full implications of the Demons’ effects on the daily lives of the Icarii, he’d not been prepared for this sight.

“StarDrifter?” Zenith said, and he turned and half-smiled reassuringly at her. She was unsure, and nervous, and StarDrifter’s heart went out to her. He ran his hand softly
along her arm and gently disengaged one of her hands from her tightly-crossed arms and cradled it in his own.

“There has always been so much we took for granted,” he said. “So much.”

He sighed and looked back down the corridor. “Why no light? No warmth? Because for thousands of years the Icarii have relied on their Enchanters to weave light and warmth from the Star Dance.”

“Oh,” Zenith said, and then shivered. “This place feels like a tomb.”

“It might well become one,” StarDrifter said. “Come, let us find a friendly face.”

As they walked through the outer corridors and halls, StarDrifter contemplated the potential ruin of Icarii life with sadness and, he was surprised to realise, more than a little cynicism. For too long, perhaps, no Icarii had ever soiled his or her hands with agricultural pursuits, for had they not always had Enchanters who could coax the most delicious of foods into existence with merely a breath of Song? No Icarii had ever chopped wood, nor lugged it about the corridors of Talon Spike or their Minaret Peaks, nor had they spent their mornings choking as they cleaned out their ash-filled hearths; always there had been enchantment to provide them with clean glowing braziers. No Icarii had ever scorched his or her hand on a hot pot, or a wayward candle, or cursed the hours spent peeling vegetables in a cold kitchen. Their lives had been spent in pleasurable pursuits, whether physical sports and games, challenging intellectual conundrums or the ever-appealing pursuit of love.

Now enchantment had disappeared from their lives, and the Icarii were obviously finding it hard to cope with the most simple demands of daily life.

As they walked down the cold corridor, StarDrifter’s thoughts drifted from the Icarii’s ever-appealing pursuit of love to his own problems with Zenith. He glanced at her walking quiet at his side. Since Arcen, StarDrifter had been
careful not to scare Zenith by pushing her on the issue of their relationship. He hadn’t realised how badly Zenith had been scarred by WolfStar’s rape, but now that he
did
know, StarDrifter was determined to give Zenith the time and space she needed. She loved him, she’d admitted that, and there was no Axis lurking in the wings to steal
this
woman from him, and so, somewhat uncharacteristically, StarDrifter was prepared to bide his time.

His thoughts meandered, wondering what it would be like when Zenith finally did come to his bed…

“Watch where you’re going!” a hoarse, unknown voice cried.

Zenith gave a sharp cry of surprise and wrenched StarDrifter to one side.

StarDrifter blinked, concentrated on the moment rather than the wishful, and then his eyes widened in surprise.

He and Zenith had rounded a bend in the corridor to meet a group of four Avar and a male and female Icarii, all six now staring angrily at StarDrifter. There was an overturned basket and a dozen pieces of halo fruit scattered over the floor, and StarDrifter realised the group had been in the midst of an acrimonious argument over the possession of the crop of fruit the Icarii pair had obviously plucked from the Minstrelsea forest.

It was extraordinary, StarDrifter thought, that the Avar had pursued the Icarii inside the city. He opened his mouth to say something, but the Avars’ attention had swung back to the fruit and the guilty Icarii.

One of the Avar jabbed his fist angrily in the direction of the Icarii male.

“The forest is
ours
to forage, birdman! What gives you the right to—”

“My starving children give me the right!” the birdman yelled, his bright yellow feathers standing up along the length of his neck and across his shoulders. “The forest is not yours exclusively.”

StarDrifter and Zenith shared a shocked look, and StarDrifter decided he ought to do something. He stepped forward and held out his hands placatingly.

“My friends, what is wrong? Surely,” he turned slightly to the birdman, “there is no need to expend such anger over a simple basket of halo fruit?”

“That fruit,” the birdman said in a voice still vibrating with emotion, “means survival for my wife and children.”

He paused and looked at StarDrifter carefully. “You are StarDrifter SunSoar, are you not?”

StarDrifter nodded. “And this is Axis and Azhure’s daughter, Zenith SunSoar.”

The Icarii birdman’s lip curled slightly. “And as always, the SunSoar clan looks remarkably well-fed. Does your family have stocks of food, SunSoar, that might feed
my
family?”

The Avar had stepped back slightly, looking carefully between the two groups of Icarii. Nevertheless, the largest Avar male, probably the Clan leader, had not stepped so far from the fruit that he could not seize it if the opportunity presented itself.

“I am sorry, we have no food ourselves,” Zenith said. “Forgive me, I do not know you and your wife’s—”

The birdman belatedly found some manners. “My name is GristleCrest SweptNest,” he said, with only the barest inclination of his head. “And this my wife, PalmStar.”

GristleCrest very slightly stressed the “Star” of his wife’s name, conveying just the faintest touch of disrespect. StarDrifter shivered involuntarily. If Enchanters had lost their powers, had they then lost all value and respect in the eyes of ordinary Icarii?

Zenith nodded at the two Icarii, and then politely enquired after the Avar.

“Jokam, of the StillPond Clan,” the man said. “My wife, my brother, and my nephew.”

He did not extend Zenith the courtesy of their names.

GristleCrest took a deep breath, his neck and shoulders corded with tension. “StarDrifter, Zenith, do you retain your enchantment?”

For an instant hope flared in PalmStar’s eyes, but it faded as StarDrifter and Zenith shook their heads.

“No,” StarDrifter said. “We have lost the Star Dance, as have all Enchanters.”

“Then you can well imagine life in the Minaret Peaks without enchantment, SunSoar,” GristleCrest said. “No light, no heat, no food.”

“We have seen the darkness, and felt the chill,” Zenith said. “But we had not thought that you might be—”

“Starving,” PalmStar said. Her voice was flat. “And worse. Scores of Icarii have died trying to fly through the corridors and shafts we have no torches for. My own sister, an
Enchanter
for the Stars’ sakes!, died yesterday evening—she slammed into a rock face when flying to find food for her children.”

She turned her face away, unable to look at StarDrifter or Zenith. “Other Icarii lie crippled, their wings broken through accident. Others yet lie unable to move because of the cold, or because they have not eaten enough to find the strength to move.”

StarDrifter briefly closed his eyes. All this sadness and misery and death within only weeks of the Demons’ arrival. Would there be an Icarii race
left
in a year? In six months?

“Even our gods have deserted us,” GristleCrest said, very quietly now, his eyes fixed on StarDrifter. “Where are they, SunSoar? Where your son? Where Azhure? Where the StarSon? How long before all the Gods survey is a pile of bones? Even the Acharites could not bring us to our knees so effectively.”

“We have news,” StarDrifter said, “but should share it first with the Talon—”

“Ah,” GristleCrest spat, “and no doubt you SunSoars will decide to save only each other!”

“That is not fair!” Zenith said. “We will do all we can—”

But GristleCrest and PalmStar were gone, snatching a few pieces of fruit as they went.

The Avar silently gathered the rest into the basket, stared equally as silently at StarDrifter and Zenith, and then walked away.

Within heartbeats they were lost to the gloom of the corridor.

A few minutes later StarDrifter and Zenith met the Master Secretary of the palace, StarFever HighCrest, wandering down a side hallway. His well-remembered saffron brightness was undiminished, but his skin was pale and his eyes overbright.

At least he, they were relieved to see, offered them more respect than GristleCrest had.

“StarDrifter! Zenith! Welcome.” StarFever bowed deeply, spreading his wings out behind him.

StarDrifter returned StarFever’s bow, noting that the Master Secretary of the Palace’s face was haggard and lined (the effects of hunger and frustration,
or was his age showing?
).

“We greet you well,” he said, Zenith murmuring the same words at his side. “StarFever, things do not seem well here.”

To StarDrifter’s horror, StarFever’s eyes glimmered with tears. “Have you brought hope with you, StarDrifter?”

“As much as I am able,” StarDrifter said, his voice soft with pity. “Please, Zenith and I need to see Talon FreeFall.”

StarFever nodded, then raised the lamp he held at his side and led them down a hall. StarDrifter thought nothing epitomised the depths the Icarii had sunk to more than that lamp. It spluttered fitfully on a thin diet of animal fats and the oil of the limapeg tree; it smelled frightful and threw an utterly inadequate light about them—several times StarDrifter stumbled across a step he had not realised approached, and Zenith likewise had trouble with her footing.

Who had ever seen an Icarii
stumble
before?

As they progressed deeper within the palace complex, what brightness the lamp did cast revealed an increasing number of gaunt-faced Icarii. All they passed were huddled in their wings (none dared fly the spacious corridors) and some even in fur capes; the fitful lamplight revealed thin fingers of ice running down stone walls. Whatever beauty the inner chambers of the Peaks had once possessed had been lost with the Star Dance, or was hidden in the gloom.