Pilgrim (35 page)

StarLaughter stared at him. His words were bravado only, and StarLaughter had the horrible feeling the Enemy—or whatever remained of them—was toying with them only.

“Shall we go?” Sheol said, raising an eyebrow at StarLaughter. “Your son’s breath awaits.”

They descended in silence, StarLaughter now at the back of the line, her arms possessively tight about her son. Her misadventure had made her realise the Demons cared only for her child, but who would he care for, when he spoke and smiled? His mother? Or the Demons?

Far, far behind her, WolfStar slipped and slithered his way down the walkway, his own child’s corpse tight under one arm.

Nothing bothered him on his journey down.

The Demons found what they wanted an hour later. The walkway descended into a massive vaulted chamber, bare save for a pedestal of golden stone in the centre.

On this pedestal sat a great black bird. It had a thick body, but an overly long and completely bald neck, topped by a tiny head with a long, sharp beak.

It stood unmoving on thick, yellow, scaled legs and claws.

The Demons filed into the chamber, and Sheol waved StarLaughter forward.

“Place the child on the pedestal before the bird.”

“But what if he hurts him? What if—”

“
Place the child on the pedestal!
” Sheol took one threatening step towards StarLaughter, her shoulders hunching as she flung her arms outward, the shadow she cast on the wall behind her making her seem like a great predatory bird herself.

StarLaughter’s face tightened, but she did as Sheol commanded, turning to walk slowly towards the golden pedestal. The bird’s head turned slightly to watch her.

StarLaughter halted a pace away. The bird was far larger than it had originally seemed, almost twice the size of an eagle, and the beak was wickedly sharp.

“Place the child on the pedestal,” Sheol whispered.

Slowly, very slowly, her eyes not leaving those of the bird, StarLaughter took one more step forward, then lifted her beloved child onto the cold stone before the bird’s claws.

The child shivered, as if discomforted by the chill against its newly-warmed flesh.

“Now rejoin us,” Sheol commanded.

StarLaughter hesitated, terrified at what the bird might do to her son, but then she turned and walked back towards the Demons.

She only got halfway when she heard a frightful shriek behind her. StarLaughter whipped about. The bird’s head was now a blur as it plunged its beak again and again into the child’s chest.

StarLaughter cried out, and would have rushed to her son’s aid, but tight arms closed about her.

“Watch only!” Barzula hissed in her ear.

StarLaughter struggled and wailed. The baby, too, shrieked again and again, the level of his screams rising each time the bird stabbed its beak down.

Blood spattered across the entire chamber, spattering StarLaughter’s face and hair, and slivers of flesh slipped down the golden sides of the pedestal.

“No!” StarLaughter howled, struggling vainly against Barzula’s grip. “
No!
”

“Wait!” Barzula whispered, and StarLaughter felt his arms tighten yet more until she had no breath to cry out.

The bird continued to hack at the child’s body, and the child continued to scream. Impossible amounts of blood
flowed from his body, and ribs glinted through the ruined flesh of his chest.

Suddenly the bird stopped, tilted its head curiously as it stared into the ruined flesh before it, then stabbed its beak down a final time.

But this time it did not withdraw. It kept its beak buried deep within the child’s body, and it took a great breath through its tiny nostrils, and then exhaled through its beak.

The boy quietened.

The bird withdrew its beak, and took one careful step away from the child to the very back edge of the pedestal. There it stayed, its eyes still fixed on the child.

The child’s chest expanded in a huge breath, and in an instant so quick StarLaughter’s eyes could not follow it the ravaged flesh healed itself before her eyes, and the boy’s limbs and body lengthened and thickened.

A youth of some twelve years now lay on the pedestal, his legs and arms drooping over its sides. His chest rose in regular movement, but his eyes—now a clear, deep violet—still stared blankly above him.

Barzula’s arms loosened, and StarLaughter walked slowly towards the pedestal.

The bird watched her, but did not move.

StarLaughter halted and ran one hand softly down her son’s body, marvelling at the beauty of his sturdy figure and the well-defined muscles of his arms and legs. His head, once only covered with a fine down, was now thick with rich copper curls and as StarLaughter slid him off the pedestal, she saw he had golden adolescent wings emerging from his back.

“My boy,” she whispered. “DragonStar.”

“If you like,” Sheol murmured unheard behind her.

They waited, all of them, in a corner of the chamber hidden by shadows and the power of the Demons.

The boy stood obediently, his eyes blank, his body unresponsive to StarLaughter’s murmurings and caressing hands.

“Be silent,” Barzula hissed at her. “He comes!”

StarLaughter fell silent, lifting her eyes from her son.

WolfStar entered the chamber on feet silent with caution. His eyes slid about the walls, but he saw nothing, and he visibly relaxed.

StarLaughter stared, so shocked she did not know what to think. She moved slightly, and felt a Demon’s hand clutch at her arm.
Be silent, StarLaughter!
It was the combined voice of the Demons in her mind.

But that is WolfStar!

Aye.

But—

Watch, StarLaughter, and once he has gone, we will tell you something very, very amusing.

WolfStar was completely unaware that anyone else remained in the chamber. StarLaughter watched him, her mind in turmoil. She had waited so long for this moment. Gods, but she wished the Demons would allow her to rush forth and claw his eyes out! Her chest constricted in loathing, remembering how he had gladly wasted her life, and that of their son’s, in his quest for all-consuming power.

Her fingers grazed slightly against the warm flesh of her son’s chest, marvelling at its rise and fall, and then her attention was consumed by WolfStar. In his arms he carried the still form of a toddling girl. As StarLaughter had done, now he stepped forth and placed the child on the pedestal.

The instant he had moved back, the bird took one pace forward, and tore into the girl’s chest as he had into the boy’s.

StarLaughter turned eyes wide with anger towards the Demons.

We understand, StarLaughter. But be still and silent, and do not fret too much. There is good reason to allow WolfStar this moment.

StarLaughter looked back to her husband…and she almost sneered. His face wore an expression of open ambition as he stared at the girl.

Who was this girl? It could be no-one else save Niah, the woman he had betrayed StarLaughter with. Who else would he bother to go to this trouble for?

Me he murdered, StarLaughter thought, and this girl he resurrects.

Hate consumed her, and were it not for the power of the Demons that held her back, StarLaughter would have rushed forward to tear the child into such pieces that WolfStar would never have been able to contemplate a resurrection, let alone accomplish it.

Be still, StarLaughter.

Now the bird had finished, and he stepped back to the edge of the pedestal again.

As had the boy, so now did the girl transform. Limbs and body lengthened into the form of a twelve-year-old girl. Her skin was pale and fine, her hair as black as the bird and falling to the very floor, her limbs long and shapely, and her breasts just beginning to emerge from their childish entrapment.

Will you wait until she speaks and moves before you slake your lust on her, WolfStar? StarLaughter thought. Or will you take her now, and enjoy her silence?

But WolfStar was apparently in no rush to slake his lust, for he stepped forward and took the girl’s arm in a perfunctory manner. He gave an impatient tug. Then, when she did not move, he picked her up and slung her over a shoulder before exiting the chamber.

“What have you done!” StarLaughter cried. “That was WolfStar. And no doubt that child was the woman he craves so much. Why let him—”

“We, too, were angered when first we realised WolfStar trailed us with his own child that he wishes to return to life,”
Sheol said. “But we quickly lost our anger when we realised how we could turn this situation to our advantage,
and
gain you your revenge at the same time.”

“How?”

“StarLaughter.” Mot now stepped forward and took both StarLaughter’s hands in his. “Would you have your son rule this vast land without a bride at his side?”

StarLaughter’s eyes widened as she grasped what the Demon’s meant to do. “But she will be as powerful as—”

Sheol grinned, her teeth glinting behind red lips. “Not if we stop him after Fernbrake, beloved Queen of Heaven. Then your son will have a bride any husband would covet. Beautiful, willing…and completely soulless. And WolfStar? Sweet StarLaughter, why not let your
son
have the eventual revenge on WolfStar? After all, while he murdered both of you, it has been your son who has been deprived of all chance at life. Imagine what
he
can do to the father who denied him the chance to draw a single breath.”

StarLaughter stared expressionlessly at Sheol, then in a sudden, horrific movement, she bared her teeth in a gesture half-smile, half-snarl.

S
tarDrifter hurriedly dropped his arm from Zenith’s shoulders, realising that he may well have gone too far. Stars! How long did she need before she would accept him?

Zenith turned away slightly, lowering her eyes so that StarDrifter would not see the guilt she was certain shone forth.

“Well?” SpikeFeather cried. “Shall we go down?”

“Yes,” StarDrifter said, a little too quickly. “Let us go and see this Sanctuary of Drago’s.”

The stairwell curved down in a spiral, as did most of the entrances to the Underworld, but the steps down were wide and the gradient gentle. They wished they could have used their wings to float down, but the internal space that the stairs encircled was too tight for the Icarii wingspan. And so not only do I lose the sound of the Star Dance, StarDrifter thought, but I also lose the use of my proudest possession, my wings. But the thought did not cause him too much distress, for he was still tingling with the excitement of his discovery.

What if he could map all the Songs he knew into dance? Could he then regain the same power as he’d once enjoyed? But he did not know how to map music into movement.

StarDrifter had succeeded in the enchantment necessary to open the door to Sanctuary only because the pattern of the stone maze had shown him the steps to take.

But if I think, StarDrifter reasoned, if I think it through, surely I will learn the secret. Thus encouraged, he stepped lightly down into whatever mystery awaited them below.

Behind him trod Zenith. Her eyes and thoughts were not on the mysteries below, or even on StarDrifter’s discovery, but on the play of the tendons and sinews of his back, and the smooth transition they made from flesh to wing. Then her eyes travelled further and were trapped by the hidden play of the muscles of his buttocks and thighs beneath the skintight fabric of his golden breeches.

Why
can’t
I put my pruderies to one side? she thought. Are my inhibitions destroying me?

The walk was long, hours long, and legs ached and tempers frayed well before it was over. Darkness, and terror, had fallen in the world above, but here in the sheltered entrance stairwell of Sanctuary the shadows were dissipated by the subtle radiance that emanated from the pink walls. Even if legs ached, then terror did not find them, for from deep below rose the hope of Sanctuary.

StarDrifter’s eyes occasionally wandered to the walls. They reminded him of the walls on the stairwell leading from the Nordra down to the waterways. Patterns of women and children engaged in joyous dance had been traced into the walls, and sometimes StarDrifter lifted his hand and let his fingers trail over the tracings, wondering at the dance they performed, and wondering at its use.

Behind, Zenith’s eyes were trapped by his lean-fingered hand drifting so lightly across the carvings.

Finally, when by WingRidge’s calculation it had reached midnight in the world above, they came to the end of the stairwell. The Icarii sighed and jested in relief, bending to rub calves and stretching their hands upwards to ease cramped muscles.

They stood in a circular domed chamber. Some fifteen paces directly across from the foot of the stairs were two massive, arched doors.

WingRidge and SpikeFeather walked closer to inspect them.

As with the Maze Gate, while the doors were of plain wood, the stone surrounds had been carved into the symbols of the Enemy.

“What does it say?” StarDrifter asked, walking up.

“Again and again it mentions StarSon,” WingRidge said, pointing to the recurring symbols of the sun-surmounted star. “But basically the script states that behind these doors lies Sanctuary, a haven for all the races of Tencendor. It is a welcoming message, and full of hope.”

The others had wandered up.

“Will you open it?” JestWing asked. All he could think of were the Icarii huddled miserably in the Minaret Peaks, hungry and cold and with nothing but their despair to comfort them. Stars! Fernbrake was so close that the majority of them could be safe in Sanctuary within a week.

“I don’t see why not,” WingRidge said slowly, his hands still moving gracefully over the symbols. “There is no caution or bar against entry, as there is on the Maze Gate. SpikeFeather? Do you concur?”

“I am not as practiced as you at reading this language, WingRidge,” he said, and took a deep breath, “but nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

“Or lost,” someone muttered at the back, but no-one took offence at the remark.

WingRidge dropped his hand from the stone and looked back at his companions. “Shall I?”

“Yes!” StarDrifter said. “Yes!”

WingRidge stepped before the double doors and took firm grip on the brass handles. The muscles in his arms and shoulders visibly tensed, then his wrists turned, and his whole body leaned forward.

The doors swung silently and gracefully open.

As soon as WingRidge felt them move, he let go the handles and stood back.

For a very long time they stood there, silent, stunned by the beauty and wonder of Sanctuary.

All of them had wet eyes or tears sliding gently down cheeks.

Zenith stood open-mouthed, and StarDrifter’s wings had sagged in astonishment.

“I…I had no idea.” SpikeFeather stumbled over the words. “None. Whoever thought…the Charonites never knew…oh,
Stars.
”

Beyond the gates arched a graceful bridge constructed of what appeared to be silver. It managed to convey both the strength of fire-tempered steel and the grace and beauty of an orbed spider’s tracery web. It covered a chasm whose depths were lost in billowing white clouds.

Beyond the bridge, a road wound across a grassy plain that was liberally sprinkled with flowers and spreading shrubs. Above soared the dome of a deep blue sky, a sun shining incongruously over this UnderWorld landscape. The road extended perhaps half a league and it led towards a blue and white mountain range with jagged peaks surpassing even those of the Icescarp Alps. The mountains formed an impenetrable wall…save for the mouth of a valley that absorbed the end of the road. Even though it was distant, the Icarii could see that the valley was beauteous beyond any they had ever seen before.

StarDrifter walked slowly forward. He passed through the doors, and then set foot on the bridge.

He did not take his eyes off the distant valley.

“Are you true?” the bridge asked with the cadence of a songstress.

“Yes,” StarDrifter said. “I am true,” and took another step forward until his full weight rested on the bridge.

“You are not
he
who is true,” the bridge cried, and without further ado, vanished.

StarDrifter plummeted into the chasm in a flash of white and gold.

“Ah,” said WingRidge, his voice heavy with the sagacious wisdom of hindsight.

The TimeKeeper Demons sat their black horses through the midnight hour and stared at the bridge stretching into Sigholt.

They were powerful, more powerful than they had been in many, many tens of thousands of years. They had fed well of the souls of Tencendor, and they had increased their power further with each Lake they visited. They still had some distance to go before they attained their full powers—two lakes’ distance—but now they were more dangerous, and hungrier, than Tencendor had yet seen them. Or felt them.

They hated the Keep rising silvery grey before them. They hated it because of its inherent beauty and gracefulness, but mostly they hated it because it did not fear them.

In fact, the Keep of Sigholt chose to ignore them.

Slightly to one side, StarLaughter watched the Demons rather than the bridge. She did not totally understand their antipathy towards the Keep. It was irritating, yes, and the bridge was more than annoying, but why worry about one stone Keep when further power and glory awaited them to the south?

Her son was more important.

She turned her lovely head slightly to run her eyes over her boy. Surely no fairer youth than he had ever existed. It was all she could do not to lean across the distance that separated them—for now the boy’s size required him to ride his own black mount—and run her hand over his soft,
warm
skin.
Feel
his chest rise and fall with every breath.

He was only movement and soul away from wholeness, and when that happened StarLaughter thought she would not be able to bear the strength of her happiness, nor her love for her boy.

So why did the Demons waste time here, staring at the Keep, when they should be hasting south towards Fernbrake?

“Something waits within that stone,” Sheol said.

“But the Keep is deserted,” StarLaughter said. “All have run for the hills.”

She swivelled a little in her saddle so she could see the first of the Urqhart Hills guarding the entrance to the HoldHard Pass.

“Fools!” she cried. “Do you not know your masters when you see them? Will you not come and do them honour?”

The TimeKeepers ignored her, and, for the moment, her boy. Their mission was to give him life, but they must also guard against the Enemy’s traps that might yet defeat their hopes.

And they sensed
something
in this Keep.

Something powerful, something dangerous, something wrapped in deep, deep enchantment.

Something that might make a mockery of the Hunt.

“I do not know what it is,” Mot whispered in a voice papery-harsh with frustration.

“StarLaughter,” Sheol said, finally wrenching her eyes from the Keep to the birdwoman. “You said that the bridge guards the Keep.”

“Yes. The blue mists we passed through are in part her creation.”

Sheol glanced at her companions, and shared thoughts they did not allow StarLaughter to hear.

“I will go,” Rox said. “It is my time, and perhaps terror will disconcert the bridge.”

The other Demons finally, grudgingly, nodded.

“Take care,” Raspu said. “And seek out that which the silvery stone hides.”

Rox nudged his horse-beast forwards, and it placed a firm black paw on the bridge.

“Are you true?” the bridge asked.

“Yes,” Rox answered. “I am true.”

“Then cross, Demon,” the bridge said, “and I shall test the strength of your words.”

Rox was halfway across when the bridge spoke again.

“Rox, Demon of Terror,” she said, “I have a message for you.”

“Yes?” Rox looked over his shoulder and smiled at the other Demons. He could feel the bridge’s magic all about him, and it was as they’d originally thought—an inconsequential thing. Rox knew he could best it himself, and with the combined power of his companions, they would easily tear this bridge apart stone by stone.

“A message,” the bridge repeated. “And yet it will not be my voice that imparts it.”

And the air before Rox shimmered, and a red-haired young man dressed in very ordinary breeches and a white linen shirt stood there. His entire body was relaxed, almost lazy. Both hands rested on his hips, his weight on one leg.

“Hello, Rox,” he said. “Remember me?”

Rox took one huge breath, held it…and then screamed, as did every one of the Demons behind him.

The man laughed. “Will you step into my parlour, Rox?”

StarLaughter, acting on the pure fear generated by the Demons—for she could not possibly see what was so fearful about this man—leaned over from her mount, grabbed the reins of her son’s horse, and then urged both horses into a flat run towards the HoldHard Pass.

The red-haired man vanished as quickly as he had appeared, but the moment he disappeared from view, the bridge began to alter.

Sinewy black legs, eight of them, branched out from her sides. The portion of the bridge that rested at Sigholt’s foot reared into the air, and became a black rounded head with a hundred eyes and a gaping mouth.

The end of the bridge closest to the Demons—although they had quickly retreated to follow StarLaughter—swelled into the black abdomen of…of a massive, frightful black arachnid.

Eight legs closed about Rox and his horse with an audible snap. The rounded head darted in and out of its legs, and
each time it reappeared, it was covered with the sweet wetness of torn flesh. Then, with a huge splash, the spider and her catch dropped into the moat surrounding Sigholt.

The waters foamed and roiled for several heartbeats, and then gentled into stillness.

The bridge glimmered into substance over the moat again.

There was no-one else about, but the bridge spoke anyway. “Are you true?” she asked the night air, and then broke into pealing laughter. “Are you true?”

And Sigholt smiled, and wrapped itself ever closer about the treasure it harboured.

All around Tencendor men and women, beasts of the air and plain alike, shivered and wondered at the sudden beauty of the night.

Terror had vanished.