Sinner (26 page)

H
e woke to the feel of StarLaughter’s fingers trailing down his body, and he smiled, although he kept his eyes closed. But she had seen the smile, and she laughed, low and jubilant, and bent her mouth to the task of arousal even as her fingers slipped lower.

Drago continued to play at being asleep. This must be true happiness, surely. Here no-one hated him, no-one constantly threw infant misdeeds in his face, and here the distractions were only ever of the pleasurable kind.

Here power beckoned, and life as a SunSoar Enchanter seemed a tangible certainty rather than a hopeless dream.

Here everyone lived only to regain what they had been robbed of, and Drago revelled in the single-minded atmosphere of revenge. Revenge? No, he didn’t want to think that. All here only wanted what had been wrongfully taken from them. Restitution, perhaps. Satisfaction, certainly.

“StarLaughter,” he murmured, and reached for her.

Here his lover was no kitchen girl, but a powerful Enchanter, and the wife of the most powerful Enchanter-Talon of all. He did not know why she loved him; it was just enough that she did, and Drago was grateful.

When they were done, and StarLaughter had exhausted him, Drago drifted back to sleep. He dreamed of the hunt, of riding through the forests, riding down all in his path, invulnerable in his armour, riding until he had his quarry at the point of his sword, and then
on
the point of his sword. That felt very good. Very good indeed. Even StarLaughter could not make him feel that good.

Drago rolled over, half asleep…

…and rolled against something cool and clammy.

He recoiled immediately, leaping into full wakefulness. It was the baby, StarLaughter’s damned not dead, not alive child that should have been decently interred four thousand years ago.

Repulsed, Drago rolled completely out of bed and stood looking at him.

StarLaughter carried the babe everywhere, offering him her breast when they sat down, apparently unaware that the child did not breathe or move or blink.

He just lay, and stared with his undead eyes.

StarLaughter crooned constantly to the baby, whispering words of love and encouragement, and her attention to the child sickened Drago.

He leaned down, hesitated, then poked the baby in the ribs.

The baby rolled a little at his touch, but otherwise made no response. And yet…yet Drago had the strangest sensation that somehow the baby had filed away that minor insult. Locked it away in some dark room of its mind where it kept all experiences. Kept it until it could be examined with…with more
life
and some decision made as to the response it merited.

Well, Drago tried to joke to himself, if the infant hadn’t made any response in the past four thousand years, doubtless he wouldn’t any time soon.

“My baby,” crooned StarLaughter behind Drago, and he jumped guiltily. Had she seen?

Apparently not. “My beautiful boy,” she said, and picked up the baby, cuddling him to her. “See how he grows!” and she looked to Drago for confirmation.

“A very beautiful boy,” he finally said. Why didn’t she accept that the baby was…wrong?

But maybe all that had kept StarLaughter going these past millennia was the baby. Maybe she kept him to stoke her hatred and need for revenge.

But Drago discarded that thought almost as soon as it crossed his mind. No, StarLaughter seemed genuinely to believe that the baby was alive.

“Come, my love,” she said, and Drago realised she was speaking to him. “Come walk a while with me.”

Drago dressed, in finer clothes now than those he’d arrived in, although he knew not from where they had come, clasped the sack of coins to his belt, and escorted StarLaughter and her strange undead child into what Drago had come to call the orchard.

Orchard it was not quite, for no fruit drooped from the branches of these strange anaemic trees, and the sun shone only fitfully from amid the roiling violet clouds, but orchard conjured up images of peace and happiness for Drago, and it reminded him of home.

That surprised him, for he had not thought to so miss Tencendor. But miss it he did, and he could not deny he would be glad to go back through the Star Gate. It would be good, he thought, going back cloaked in so much power people would envy him, rather than revile him.

The cloud flitted through distant trees, and Drago turned to watch them. StarLaughter called them her Hawkchilds, and the name suited them. She may have retained her Icarii resemblance and her loveliness, but the children had changed in the wastes. They
looked
Icarii
enough, with their delicate features and their jewel-like wings, but at the same time they had developed such a quintessence of bird, of predatory bird, that they appeared more the flock of hunting hawks than the crowd of children. Whatever childlike qualities they’d once possessed had been lost in their transformation to birds of prey.

Hunting hawks, not children.

Drago smiled and held out his hand as the cloud drew closer. It whispered, a constant undertone of WolfStar’s name repeated over and over, and the children – the hawks – wheeled this way and that, as if of one mind, one heart.

The cloud approached him as if it would envelop him, but it halted at the last moment, the two hundred staring at him with their heads on an identical tilt, their eyes identically dark and curious.

StarLaughter smiled. “See how they come to you, Drago. Will they hunt for you, do you think, when we return to Tencendor?”

He rubbed under the chin of the nearest creature. She tilted her head, leaning into his hand, and smiled and closed her eyes, enjoying the attention.

“I hope so,” he said. “Do you know I dreamed of the hunt? Even when back in Tencendor?”

“You must have felt us, even then, my love. You and we are bonded. Linked by our need to regain what is rightfully ours.”

“The dream is stronger here,” Drago said. Some nights it left him exhausted, breathless, but always, always with such a deep sense of satisfaction it was pleasure in itself.

He dropped his hand, and the creature drooped, dipping her head, wanting more.

“Later,” Drago said, and waved his hand.

Whispering their disappointment, the flock wheeled off, racing cloudlike through the trees, whispering, whispering, whispering.

“The Questors,” StarLaughter said, and Drago followed her eyes.

They waited between the pillars of their chamber, and Drago felt a knot of excitement form in his belly. The Questors were so powerful, and yet so benevolent in that power, that Drago felt privileged they allowed him to share their time.

“Drago,” Barzula said as he and StarLaughter joined them. “How the children adore you.” He smiled, and grasped Drago’s hand.

“They are…” Drago searched for the right word, “so determined.”

Barzula’s smile faded. “Determined. Yes, as are we. Please, do sit down.”

Drago had not had much opportunity to talk with the Questors since he’d arrived. StarLaughter had been his constant companion, and the Questors had kept largely to themselves.

He sat, with StarLaughter and her child, on the same couch he’d originally awoken on.

The Questors sat before him, ranged on a semi-circle of plain wooden chairs.

“We thought we would begin our return journey soon,” Sheol said without preamble.

Drago breathed deep in excitement. Soon! “I cannot wait to return, to regain what I have lost.”

“Nor can we,” Mot said, rubbing his skeletal hands up and down his thin arms.

“What did the Enemy steal from you?” Drago asked. “It must be very valuable that you have hunted so long and so hard after it.”

“Think
you
to steal it from us?” Raspu said, and
everyone, including StarLaughter, grinned. “I would not counsel that at all.”

“No, no, not at all. I was just curious. What
did
the Enemy steal from you?”

“Ah,” Sheol said, and her face fell in sadness. “The Enemy stole something very precious from us.
Very
precious. We call it…we call it the Grail.”

“Ah,” said Drago, understanding. “Grail Lake, of course. What you hunt is buried beneath Grail Lake. Well, I can show you where that is.”

“Thank you very much,” said Barzula.

Drago missed the sarcasm. “But what
is
the Grail –”

“It is none of your concern,” Rox said, and his voice was so heavy with threat that Drago recoiled. “The Grail is
ours
!”

“Of course. I was just curious –”

“Curiosity can be dangerous,” Sheol said, her voice as implacable as her companion’s. “Fatal.”

“I will not steal what is yours,” Drago said, his own anger stirring in the face of the threat. “Have I not had enough stolen from me not to wish further loss on you?”

In the blink of an eye the demeanour of the Questors altered. Friendliness and companionship radiated from each of them, and StarLaughter slipped an arm through Drago’s, pulling him closer to her.

“We do not mean to doubt you,” she said. “But what we all hunt is precious to us.”

Drago let himself be soothed. “And I will have my blood order reversed and my power restored if I aid you?”

“Assuredly,” Sheol said. “We can do that for you. All we need from you is to help us through the Star Gate.”

“You will be so powerful,” StarLaughter whispered against his ear, “that no-one will dare laugh at you or taunt you again.”

Drago relaxed. “But I am concerned that you use my Icarii power to help you. What if you use it all up? I
need
that power, and I –”

“Be still.” Sheol slipped from her chair, and Drago suddenly realised that all the Questors had stood, and were now surrounding him.

“We will leave you what you need,” Sheol added. “Be very sure of that.”

“Are you certain?” Drago started to rise, but hands clamped down on his shoulders and head, and he was forced back to the couch.

“This will only hurt a little,” Sheol said, and then they began.

She was wrong. It felt like they tore his flesh apart and then ripped into his soul. He felt as if a hundred fish hooks had been sunk in his heels, and then pulled up through his body. As if a ravenous rat had been let loose in the spaces of his body and told to eat its fill. He felt himself explode so slowly he could count the particles of flesh as they skimmed by his eyes.

It hurt.

At no time did he lose consciousness. He sat, awake and aware, through the entire ordeal.

He wished for death. Nothing would be sweeter than death. Sweet, blissful, total annihilation.

He realised it was over when he became aware that the five Questors were back in their semi-circle of chairs, and StarLaughter sat beside him. She stared at him curiously, her breast bared, its nipple hanging over the baby’s unresponsive mouth.

He stared back at the Questors, unable to form any words, but wanting to know why…why had they done that?

“We have leapfrogged closer to the Star Gate,” Sheol said, her voice echoing as if it came from behind an ice wall. “Look!” And she threw out a hand at the world beyond the pillars.

Slowly, every movement agony, Drago looked to where she pointed. At first he thought nothing had changed, but then he realised that the world beyond
had
altered. The trees were still there, but now they were so stunted they were barely shrubs. Now no mown lawns spread between them, but red, cracked desert. Now a silvery-white sky hung over them, and two giant red suns ebbed low on the horizon.

Pain throbbed through him, and Drago fought to remain conscious.

“Five more leaps and we will be there,” Raspu said conversationally. “Do you think you will survive?”

S
tarDrifter walked slowly up the rise toward the Temple of the Stars, every step heavy with sadness. Not only for Zenith’s problems, but also for RiverStar. News had reached him from visiting Icarii about her murder, and of Drago’s involvement. And now apparently Drago had disappeared. Two granddaughters lost, and a grandson fled. What was happening to his family? StarDrifter wished his power could stretch as far as Sigholt so that he could see down its secretive corridors.

The Temple rose into the morning sky, a great violet beacon that speared into the clouds. Stars danced in its midst, but StarDrifter found little even in that beauty to comfort him these days.

She stood there, hands folded before her, her wings folded less than gracefully against her back, staring into the beacon.

“I wish I could step in there,” she said, and sighed.

“No-one save Enchanters can enter the Temple,” StarDrifter said unnecessarily. But Zenith could have entered. His granddaughter could have entered.

Niah had apparently lost whatever powers Zenith had enjoyed.

StarDrifter shivered. Maybe it was catching. Over the past few days he’d felt as though some of
his
power had slipped away, as well. It was more than perturbing.

Niah turned and smiled at him. “Oh, StarDrifter, it is enough that I am alive to see it. When I was First here it seemed an impossibility that the Icarii would ever return, or that the Star Gods would walk among us again. But here I am, and I am alive to see it, after all.”

StarDrifter averted his eyes. She had been here five weeks, and in that time Zenith had not said a word, nor had StarDrifter seen her in an expression, or a single movement. Niah was in undisputed control of this body and this mind.

She said that she had always been Zenith, and Zenith her. That all that had happened was that “Zenith” had realised her true identity.

But StarDrifter did not believe that. He saw before him a completely different woman, different in movement, expression, and personality. If Zenith
had
been Niah all this time, then he should not have seen this massive change.

So if this entity occupying Zenith’s body was not Zenith, then where was Zenith?

Niah walked about the Temple, beckoning StarDrifter to follow, and he somewhat reluctantly did so. In normal circumstances he knew he would have liked this woman, but not now. Not now she had destroyed or trapped his granddaughter.

Damn WolfStar to eternal night, StarDrifter thought, his expression remaining neutral, and damn Azhure with him for encouraging his obsession with Niah. Damn her for damning her own daughter.

Niah led him about the Temple and then down the grassy slope towards the southern cliffs. She stopped some twenty paces from them, adjusting her wings awkwardly in the stiff breeze.

“Lift them out for balance, as I have,” StarDrifter said, and Niah glanced at his white wings extended part-way out behind him.

“I wish they would go away,” she said. “I hate them. I cannot adjust to them.”

And no doubt Zenith also finds it hard to adjust to whatever torment she has been subjected to, StarDrifter thought.

Without thinking he took one of Niah’s wings in his hand, intending to lift it into position for her.

“Don’t you dare touch me!” she hissed and spun away, almost overbalancing with the weight of her wings.

“I was only trying to help,” StarDrifter said, keeping his voice even.

“I am sorry,” Niah said stiffly. “It was concern for my baby only that made me speak so.”

Her hands rested on her belly, and StarDrifter involuntarily glanced down at them. And curse that baby that had been got on Zenith’s unwilling body.

StarDrifter knew Niah encouraged WolfStar back into her bed night after night. A feeling, a presentiment whenever the renegade Enchanter was with her, the expression on Niah’s face in the morning, all told him that WolfStar visited her whenever he could.

StarDrifter felt sickened by it, but there was little he could do. He was powerless in the face of WolfStar’s own ability, and he could hardly lock Niah up for taking a lover to her bed.

“I dreamed last night,” Niah said unexpectedly after a few minutes’ silence. She was staring out to sea, the wind whipping her black hair to tangle in the upper feathers of her wings.

“Yes?”

“I dreamed that I was trapped in a small chamber underground, so restricted I could not stretch my wings,
could not fly. I called and screamed for help, but no-one heard.”

She shivered. “No-one heard.”

Niah turned her head and smiled at StarDrifter. “I must have been remembering when I was locked in death, don’t you think? Awaiting rebirth. I was pleased when I awoke.”

No, StarDrifter thought, that was Zenith calling for help, and you woke and trapped her into yet more darkness.

“Ah.” Niah wrapped her arms about herself. “This breeze has grown cool. I shall go back to my quarters, I think, and perhaps find one of the priestesses to talk to.”

“Do you resent not being First any longer?” StarDrifter asked suddenly.

Niah tipped her head back and laughed. “Oh no! I shall use this life for other purposes, methinks.”

And then she was gone, and StarDrifter was left to watch her walk towards the Temple with eyes and heart smouldering with loss and resentment.

He flew, for Zenith’s sake as much as his own. He lifted off the cliffs and soared sunward on the thermal rising from the combined heat of island and temple beacon.

It was only there, high in the sky with just the seagulls and the sun to observe, that he let himself cry. He had lost a granddaughter, yet still her body was paraded before him,
used,
to remind him every moment of his loss. She had been stolen, and abused in that stealing.

He soared higher and higher, until the island became only a speck far below him. Perhaps it was time to leave the island, find a different purpose in life. He could not bear staying to watch Niah give birth (and to
what
? An Enchanter? Surely, if WolfStar fathered it, and if Zenith’s Enchanter powers were latent in her body), or to watch WolfStar himself croon over the baby.

No, he should leave. Perhaps stay with FreeFall and EvenSong for a while in the Minaret Peaks. But that would be a useless life, and here at least he had some use.

I have failed her, he thought. I have failed Zenith. I should have been able to help her.

Slowly he spiralled downwards, thinking only to secrete himself in his room for reflection, when he swept over the northern cliff face of the Mount. A cart had dropped off a visitor at the foot of the steps and she was now climbing upwards.

Impelled by curiosity more than anything else, StarDrifter made another pass over the steps – and almost fell out of the sky in surprise.

Faraday stood there waving at him.

She climbed to the top and StarDrifter alighted before her, sweeping her into a great hug.

“StarDrifter!” Faraday laughed breathlessly, and pulled herself out of his grasp. “Whatever is it?”

She sobered as she saw the expression on StarDrifter’s face. “What’s wrong?”

He took a great, sobbing breath. “I’ve lost my granddaughter.”

They shared tales in StarDrifter’s quarters, Faraday sitting close to the Enchanter, holding his hand, comforting him.

“Is she lost or is she gone?” she asked eventually.

StarDrifter told her of Niah’s dream. “I have to believe she is still there, Faraday.”

Faraday smiled and patted StarDrifter’s hand. “Well, if Zenith is lost we shall just have to find her again.”