Sinner (23 page)

T
here was pain, terrible pain, and a sensation as if every last breath and drop of blood were being squeezed out of him. He felt his chest explode. Then…then there was a nothingness for what seemed like a very long time.

Finally Drago – if he was still anything that resembled Drago – became aware that he was hanging suspended in a cold, dark space. No light, no warmth, no laughter. A vacuum of nothingness about him. Then he felt and saw stars, before he caught just the faintest snatches of what he thought must be the Star Dance.

Drago assumed this was the Star Dance, because none but Enchanters ever heard the Star Dance.

But whatever it was, the snatches Drago heard were so beautiful, so haunting, so powerful, that he felt cold tears slide down his cheeks.

How strange that he could cry when he was dead. Drago knew he was dead. He must be. The pain had been so terrible, and even now there were trails of it still running through his body.

Now, no doubt, he was on his journey to the AfterLife. At that thought Drago was overwhelmed with sadness. He did not want to die. His life had indeed been a waste.

For an unknowable time Drago wept in sorrow at such waste, and then, when his grief ended, he cast his eyes (or his awareness, Drago was not truly sure if he could still “see”) about him. He drifted among stars, powerless. He recognised none of them. Even though Drago had paid attention to his childhood lessons on the patterns of the heavens, none of the patterns presented to him now made any sense.

But, of course, now he was drifting among them, not viewing them from the safety of the ground, and that made his perspective different.

It made everything different.

Drago wept anew. He clutched the sack to him, cuddling it, trying to let it comfort him, and suddenly realised that the Rainbow Sceptre had gone. Destroyed, probably, in his leap through the Star Gate. Or lost to drift about the heavens, waiting for some other hand to pick it up.

What a waste his life was.

But just as Drago thought this, the stars reformed, whirling through the sky, twisted and rewoven by some powerful hand or force that Drago could not understand. He was caught up in a maelstrom, whirled about until the pain returned.

Who are you? Who are you?

Whispers, all around him. He had been consumed by a black cloud. It choked him, prodded him, invaded his mind, demanded that he answer.

Who are you? From where have you come?

“Drago,” he whispered. “And I have come from Tencendor –”

Tencendor!

Triumph erupted about him, and in that instant Drago realised that he had succeeded. He had found those who would help him, and all his sadness dissipated in a heartbeat.

“
I am alive!
” he screamed through the universe, and that cry was taken up two hundred times about him.

Alive!

And then a voice, a different voice. Calm, gentle, benevolent. “Would you like to join the quest?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Drago cried. “
Yes!
”

Faraday sat on the floor of the Star Chamber, staring at the spot where Drago had thrown himself into the Gate, until she realised she was shivering with cold. She struggled to her feet, wrapping the Ferryman’s cloak tight about her, and remembered the vision that had consumed her when she’d been struck by the light of the Rainbow Sceptre.

She stood in a strange room, so strange Faraday felt disorientated and unsure. The walls, ceiling, benches and even parts of the floor were covered with metal plates, and these plates were studded with knobs and bright, jewel-like lights. Before her were the high backs of several chairs, facing enormous windows that…that looked out upon the universe.

One of the chairs before her swivelled, revealing a man in its depths. He was silver-haired, and his face was lined with care, but there was such youthful humour in his brown eyes that Faraday did not fear him. He wore a uniform made of a leathery black material, gold braid hung at his shoulders and encircled the cuffs of his sleeves, and Faraday saw a black peaked cap, also with gold braid about its brim, sitting on the bench behind him.

He stood, and held out both hands.

Without hesitation Faraday walked forward and took them.

“You are Faraday,” the man said, his voice warm and lively, “and I have watched you for many years.”

“Who are you?”

“Like you, I am a survivor,” he said, and smiled. “But you may called me Noah. My friends…” his voice faltered, and his eyes glanced about the room, “…my friends once called me that, thinking to make me laugh. But it is an appropriate enough name, and I have made it my own.”

“Where are we?”

He sighed, and released her hands. “I no longer know quite what to call this old girl,” he said, and patted a wall almost affectionately. “She is a little different to what I once knew. This is…this is one of the Repositories.”

“Ah! I know! The Repositories lie in the depths of the Sacred Lakes.” And then Faraday frowned. “But the power of the Repositories was what killed the Sentinels. They came down here, and were so corrupted their skin blistered, and their hair fell out, and –”

“They visited the heart of the Repositories,” Noah said hastily, “where lies the corrupting power you mention. The Repositories are larger than you can imagine…and mostly not dangerous.”

Mostly, Faraday thought a little cynically. “Why am I here?”

“Because I want to ask something of you.”

She did not speak, merely raised an eyebrow.

“I know that others have asked much of you, Faraday, and that you have endured pain and loss for your troubles on their behalf. Faraday, I dare to ask you again to commit yourself to Tencendor, and for your troubles I can promise you one of two outcomes. Either complete and lasting happiness and peace, or…”

“Or?”

“Or annihilation.”

Faraday startled him by pealing with laughter. “Then I win both ways, do I not?”

Noah smiled gently. “I guess that you do, Faraday. I guess that you do.”

“What must I do, Noah? Tell me and I will consider your request.”

“Four things.”

“Four? You ask a great deal, sir.”

“You will not find them onerous, my dear.”

“Then speak them, and I will make up my mind.”

“First, be Drago’s friend.”

Faraday’s eyes went wide with surprise. “Drago? But he…”

“He is not what most believe, Faraday.” And then Noah leaned forward and whispered in her ear.

“
Him?
” Faraday stuttered. “I find that difficult to believe –”

“No, you do not.” Noah laid a warm hand over her heart. “In here, you
do
believe it.”

Faraday stared at him, then nodded. “I will be Drago’s friend. That will not be an onerous task. What else?”

“Second, I want you to be Drago’s trust.”

“What do you mean?”

“My meaning will become clearer in time. Meanwhile, I ask only that you trust in
me
when I say that.”

Faraday thought about it, then again nodded her head. “Very well, I will be his trust. What is third?”

“Thirdly, I wish that you bring Drago to me. As soon as you can, although that may not be for many long months yet.”

“How do I reach you?”

“Go to the Silent Woman Keep. And trust.”

Faraday grinned, but agreed. “And fourth?”

“Fourth, I want you to find that which is lost.”

“I do not know what you –”

“Faraday,” Noah said gently, “as we speak you are being transformed. It is the power of the Rainbow Sceptre that transforms you, and the Sceptre uses as its power the combined intelligence of the Repositories. No, let me finish. The transformation will enrich you. It will give you the power to find that which is lost.”

“And what must I find?”

Noah shrugged. “Many things. Use the power as you see fit. But eventually, once Drago comes back, I will need you to find something that I mislaid. Something that Drago will need – my Katie’s Enchanted Song Book.”

“Katie?”

Immense sadness came over Noah’s face. “She was once my daughter, but that was long ago, and she and hers have turned to dust. Do this for me, please.”

Faraday regarded him carefully. “You do not ask difficult things of me, Noah. I accept.”

He leaned forward and briefly hugged her. “Faraday, I thank you! Once I meant to ask WolfStar these things, but he has misunderstood so many things and now I no longer trust him. I will hand Drago over to you instead. Oh Faraday, I do thank you!”

And she knew no more of Noah or of the strange room in the Repository.

So here she stood in the Star Gate chamber, committed again to someone else’s quest, but this one Faraday could accept. At the end of it lay peace, whether the peace of happiness or the peace of death. Those were terms she could live with.

But she could do nothing for either Noah or Drago at the moment. Drago had gone through the Star Gate, and until he came back, her life was her own.

Faraday stilled at that thought. What was she to do with herself?

She did not particularly want to go back to the forests. She had not enjoyed treading the paths of Minstrelsea as a doe. The Mother had promised her peace in that form and, true, for a while she had found it. But she had also been trapped. She could not reach out to the ones she loved.

She had wanted to let Axis touch her, but the White Stag had not allowed it.

She would have liked to have held her child Isfrael in her arms, croon lullabies to him, but instead had been forced to watch him grow from behind the doe’s eyes. Now he hardly ever thought of her. No-one ever thought of her. She had simply become a dream legend.

No-one thought of her any more.

She had done her dreadful duty for the Prophecy and for Tencendor, and had been condemned to wander in doe form through legend. For an instant the memory of Gorgrael filled her mind. The feel of him tearing her belly out, then her throat, and all the while Axis locked in his duty as StarMan and doing nothing, nothing, nothing.

But now she had been released from that legend, hadn’t she? She had a second chance, and time for herself – at least until Drago returned.

For what?

“To find that which is lost,” Faraday murmured. “As I see fit. An easy task. Otherwise my life is now my own. To do what
I
want!”

“For what
I
want!” she repeated, and slowly straightened. That was a novel thought. Her life had been handed back to her, for
her
to direct as she willed.

She looked about the Star Gate chamber one last time. The blue light pulsed about the domed roof, and the sound of the star wind assaulted her ears, but she’d had enough of star mysteries. Now was her time. Finally.

She turned her back on the Star Gate, wrapped the cloak more securely about her nakedness, and walked slowly into the passageway.

She emerged into the dark, cold hours of the morning, and Faraday hugged the cloak gratefully to her. She let the cold air wash about her face, and suddenly she laughed and spun about.

“I am alive!” she cried, not caring who heard her. “I am
alive!
”

She could not remember ever feeling happier.

She stood and looked at the line of Minstrelsea to the north, considering. The forest had held her and nurtured her, and she could feel its welcoming pull. But it no longer felt like home.

She squinted into the dark and realised there was a figure standing there.

Goodwife Renkin.

Faraday shifted her weight from foot to foot. Did the Mother wish to speak to her? But then she saw the Goodwife raise her hand and wave her goodbye. There was a lovely smile on her face, but she was too far away for Faraday to discern any other expression.

Goodbye, my Daughter. May the luck of the world finally spin your way.

“Goodbye, Mother,” Faraday whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. “Goodbye.”

Then she turned her back on the forest and walked south.

She walked until dawn, remembering only the warmth of the Mother’s smile, and the blessing of her goodbye, then she stopped as the sun dawned, and she tried to think about where she should go.

Where did she want to go? Who did she want to see?

Zenith. She wanted to know how Zenith was. And StarDrifter. Drago’s words that StarDrifter had said he’d always be there to catch Zenith had touched Faraday deeply, and she thought she would be glad to see StarDrifter again, too.

“South,” she said, and laughed yet again. “South to the Island of Mist and Memory!”

She turned and strode across the Tarantaise plains, nothing but freedom before her.

T
here was pain again, and darkness, and a time when Drago fell into an unknowing. And then he came to the realisation that he was…asleep.

Warm and comfortable, and asleep. He rose slowly towards wakefulness, and as he emerged from his sleep the feeling of warmth and comfort increased until he thought he would cry with the joy that it gave him.

He lay, cocooned in warmth on a soft, fragrant couch. His eyes were still closed, yet he felt others about him. One of them approached – he heard soft footsteps – and Drago felt a smooth, warm hand stroke the hair back from his forehead. He smiled, still not opening his eyes, and heard a voice.

“He said his name was Drago.” Rich, melodious, and full of power.

“He was drifting.” Another voice, as powerful as the first, but with more of a lilt to it.

“He is a mortal,” said yet another again, “and yet he has such a feel of enchantment about him.”

“He stepped through the Star Gate –”

“And survived –”

“Why?”

“How?”

“Speak to us, mortal being. We know that you are awake.”

“Share with us your secrets.”

Drago opened his eyes, and they widened in wonderment as he beheld those before him.

There were five beings, human-like in shape, but with very pale skin and jewel-like eyes – all of different hues. They stood ranged before his couch in a semi-circle, their hands folded before them, their full, long pastel robes of plain cut. Behind them were pillars, and beyond those a garden of carefully spaced trees and close-mown lawn. There was something moving among the trees, but Drago could not make it out.

He frowned –
had
he gone to the AfterLife, and was this peaceful room the AfterLife he warranted?

“Nay, mortal man,” one of the beings said. The only woman among them, and with sapphire eyes. “You are merely with us.”

“Where am I?” Drago said, looking about. Strangely, he felt no fear.

The beings looked among themselves, and shrugged their shoulders. “It is difficult to explain,” one said.

“It is a ‘place’,” said another, and he shrugged uncomfortably. “A world, if you like. It is not our usual abode. Merely a necessary resting place on our journey.”

Journey? thought Drago, but other questions took priority for the moment.

“And you are…?” He swung his legs over the side of the couch. He was still dressed in the clothes he had jumped through the Star Gate in, and Drago felt grimy and insignificant before these five beings.

“My name is Sheol,” said the woman, and smiled. “This is Raspu,” and indicated a dark-haired being with ruby eyes.

“I am your friend,” said Raspu, and bowed. There was a faint suggestion of pitting and scarring under his luminous skin, but it accented his beauty rather than marred it.

Not knowing how to respond, Drago merely inclined his head.

“And this is Mot.” Sheol indicated another of her companions, an ebony-eyed man who was painfully thin.

Drago nodded to him, and Mot smiled but did not speak.

“Barzula,” and a being with unruly brown curls and golden eyes nodded.

“And finally, Rox.” The last of the five, with black hair and ivory eyes, smiled and nodded.

“Who are you, Drago?” Raspu asked. “What are you? From whence have you come?”

“My name is Drago SunSoar,” Drago said, and hesitated as the five glanced at each other. “You know the name?”

“Indeed we know the SunSoar name,” Sheol said smoothly. “Please, continue.”

“I am the son of Axis SunSoar and Azhure SunSoar.” Again he hesitated, but the names apparently meant nothing to the five, for they gazed at him with bland eyes. “And I come from a land called Tencendor –”

“The land of the lakes?” Barzula interrupted. His tone was excited, eager, and Sheol laid a hand on his arm.

“There are lakes,” Drago replied. “Four Sacred Lakes.”

“Four!” the five exclaimed.

“Tell us about them,” Rox said, allowing his eagerness to carry him forward a step.

Drago looked about at them, but decided they were only over-curious, rather than threatening. “There is little to tell, for they remain mostly mystery. Legend has it they
were formed aeons ago in a fire-storm when ancient gods fell from the stars –”

“He
is
from the land,” Barzula said, and his golden eyes blazed.

“Surely,” Mot agreed.

“No-one has ever investigated their depths?” Sheol asked, and there was a strange light in her eyes.

“No,” Drago said slowly. “Not that I am aware of.”

He slid forward so that he was on the very edge of the couch. “
What
are you? And why these questions?”

“We are the Questors,” said Raspu.

“And we quest towards your land of Tencendor,” Sheol added.

Drago nodded slowly, thinking he understood. “You want something in those lakes…is that what you quest for?”

“Yes!” Sheol clapped her hands delightedly, but Drago thought it an oddly childish gesture for one of her obvious sophistication and power. “Yes, we quest for what lies at the foot of those lakes. Ah, Drago…”

As one their faces fell into sadness.

“Drago,” Sheol continued, “before time had barely begun on your world we had something very precious stolen from us.”

“Taken from us,” the others echoed.

“By criminals, Drago. The Enemy. The Enemy stole from us and then fled through the universe only to come to grief on your world.”

“What lies at the foot of the lakes could destroy you,” Rox said sadly, but out of the corner of his eye Drago thought he saw a smile gleam momentarily on Barzula’s face. But when he turned to check this, the Questor’s face only reflected the sadness of the others.

“But we can remove it without harm to your people or your land,” Rox finished.

“If you help us recover what is ours,” Sheol said, “then we will be in your debt, and we will do anything in our power –”

Again Drago sensed vast amusement somewhere in this room, but he could not fix where it came from.

“– to aid you in your quest.”

“
My
quest,” Drago said slowly.

“My friend.” Sheol slid down on her knees before Drago and took his hands in hers. “We felt you come through the Star Gate, and we felt the sadness in your heart. We cushioned you from death, and we sent our friends to collect you and bring you to us.”

“Your friends?”

Sheol stood up and looked over Drago’s shoulder. “Our beloved friends,” she said very softly. “Behold, the Queen of Heaven.”

Drago twisted about on the couch, and then froze. A woman had entered this chamber. She was not the most beautiful woman Drago had ever seen, although her dark hair and pale complexion were beauteous enough, but she carried about her such an aura of allure and power that Drago felt an instant attraction.

“You are a SunSoar,” she said, and to his shock Drago realised she had the features and wings of an Icarii.

He nodded, realising who she must be. “And you are StarLaughter.”

She laughed, agreeing, then slid onto the couch beside him, hip to hip, her hand on his shoulder, her face close to his. Her eyes slid down over his body, and then back to his face. “Yes, I feel your SunSoar blood. Drago – what a strange name for a SunSoar – tell me your story.”

Drago began slowly, not sure how to tell so much in a short space of time, but with StarLaughter’s hand so hot on his shoulder, and her breath fanning across his cheek, Drago found his words tumbling out. Whenever he
paused to take a breath, she tilted her head to one side and murmured encouragement.

He told her about the Prophecy of the Destroyer and the fight between Axis and Gorgrael. He told her of his own birth, and of Azhure’s punishment for his crime.

“My mother reversed my blood order, so that my enchanted Icarii blood was subjected to my mortal human blood.

“It was a cruel punishment,” he added, “and it has been hard to live with. Sometimes I wonder what it
would
have been like to have been an Icarii Enchanter. I wish…I wish…”

“Ah,” StarLaughter said, and leaned back to look at the Questors briefly. “And so you have leapt through the Star Gate, hoping to re-find your power. Well, death is always one way to find that which is lost. But tell me, what was your birth name? What was Drago shortened from?”

Instantly Drago remembered that she and WolfStar had named their unborn son DragonStar, and he glanced at her belly. Smooth. She had lost the babe, then.

“My name had been DragonStar,” he said quietly.

He shocked her. StarLaughter leaned back and stared at him, her face paling, her chin trembling momentarily. Then she looked at the Questors. “That was
my
babe’s name!”

“We know, Queen of Heaven,” Sheol said soothingly. “How appropriate. How…fated.”

She turned to Raspu. “Is he usable?” she murmured.

The mood among the Questors and StarLaughter changed abruptly. StarLaughter tensed and sat forward, Drago forgotten for the moment.

Raspu knelt down before Drago and took the man’s face between his hands. “Peace, Drago. I will not harm you.”

A tingling passed through Raspu’s hands into Drago’s body. It did not hurt, but it was not entirely pleasant, either.

Raspu drew in a long breath and sat back. “Yes,” he said. “Yes he is. His Icarii power is still there, although cunningly hidden in twists and traps. But we can use it. He will be enough for the final leaps to the Star Gate.”

StarLaughter laughed, a sound of pure exultation, and threw her arms about Drago.

“I
adore
you!” she cried, and Drago laughed with her. Everything was going to be alright.