Sinner

by Sara Douglass

  Zenith glanced at the sack in Drago’s arms.

  Whatever their luck at evading capture so far, Zenith and Drago both believed they ran only on borrowed time. Scouts would spot them, a peasant on his way to market would stop and ask them their business, or WolfStar would finally arrive to claim his bride.

  Both hoped they could still escape.

  Drago managed to snare a rabbit the evening before they approached the ferry that crossed the Nordra above the site where once had stood the village of Smyrton. It had been days since they’d eaten, and even though Zenith produced a fire with her Enchanter powers, they gobbled down the meat half-raw, burning fingers and mouths.

  “We’ll get to Minstrelsea by tomorrow,” Drago said as he regretfully regarded the well-chewed bone in his hand. “We’ll be safe there.”

  Brave words, thought Zenith, but she nodded dispiritedly anyway.

  Drago lifted his eyes. He could not imagine what it must be like to live with another inside you. Zenith had told him how she had been fated to be the reborn future of Niah, their grandmother. WolfStar’s reborn lover. Fate? Drago imperceptibly shook his head. SunSoar manipulation, more like.

  Damn all SunSoars to eternal fire! Drago thought, throwing the bone to one side with a jerky motion. Both of us left to run through the night by events out of our control!

  As Drago reached for the final morsel of rabbit flesh, Zenith dropped her face into her hands and began to cry silently. Drago dropped the meat, scrambled about the fire, and put his arm about her.

  “Shush, Zenith. I am here.”

  She let him hold her for a while, then she made an effort to wipe her eyes and sat up a little.

  “I know what you have been thinking, Drago,” she said. “You have been damning all the SunSoars to a particularly nasty fate.”

  Drago tried to smile for her, but the effort failed dismally. “And curse your Enchanter powers, too, Zenith.”

  That did raise a small smile from his sister. “Drago, I hope you never know what it is like to have another being battling for control of you. There is this thing,” she hissed the word, “coiling about in my mind, trying to tell me that she is me, and I her.”

  Drago was silent.

  “But…no! I refuse to believe it. I am Zenith, and this thing inside me is foreign and unwelcome and completely apart from me. But she writhes and calls to me, and begs me to lay down in WolfStar’s arms!”

  “Can you cast her aside?”

  Zenith shook her head miserably. “I have tried every trick I know, used all of my powers. I have even begged her. But she has sunk such determined claws into my mind and soul that I do not know how to remove her.”

  Drago thought of how death had changed Niah into the grasping demon she was now. “I do not ever want to die, if this is what death means,” he remarked.

  Zenith shrugged a little. “She is determined for life, and she cares not that she snatches mine in the process.”

  “And she calls to WolfStar?”

  “Constantly. I try to dampen her call, but…oh Stars, Drago! I am terrified he will hear, and find us!”

  “Shush, Zenith. No-one has found us yet, and soon we will be in the forest.”

  She didn’t answer, and after a moment she turned away and curled up for the night.

  Zenith woke in the early hours of the morning, shivering with the cold. She sat up, wrapping her wings more closely about her, and threw some more wood on the glowing coals.

  She shivered again, and this time Zenith realised it was something other than the cold.

  Something else. Somewhere out there in the darkness.

  Coming closer.

  Fast.

  She whimpered and hugged her arms about her, and this time Zenith was so frightened she leaned over to shake Drago awake.

  Niah! Ah, my love! I have found you!

  Stars! Zenith froze in the act of leaning over to Drago. It was WolfStar! Close…very, very close, but not yet here.

  She stared at Drago, knowing he was dead if WolfStar found him.

  Without a thought for her own safety, she lurched to her feet and ran into the night.

  She ran, not knowing where she could run, but knowing she could not outrun WolfStar. He was still in the ethereal, not the physical, and that meant she had a few minutes to put as much distance between the camp site and herself as possible.

  His voice followed her, homing in on her, homing in on the Niah-voice’s call – now almost thundering through Zenith’s mind, threatening to swamp her completely—but Zenith knew she had to hang on as long as she could, hang on until she was far, far from Drago.

  She tried to lift into the air, but she was weak, and her wings failed her, and the next instant her foot caught in a fox’s burrow and she was falling, falling, tumbling down an incline.

  “My love!”

  Strong arms grasped her and prevented her crashing into the rocks at the foot of the gully.

  WolfStar.

  “My love,” he said again, and Zenith knew she was lost, she could not fight him and Niah at the same time.

  “My love,” he said yet one more time, and his hands ripped at her gown, bruising her flesh.

  She bit her tongue, knowing if she cried out Drago might wake and come looking for her, and then she felt a knee force itself between her legs.

  WolfStar grunted, and settled himself upon her. He had waited too long. Far too long.

  WolfStar thrust, and Zenith moaned. Again he thrust, and Zenith twisted her head to one side, hoping that Drago had not woken, hoping she had run far enough.

  She could do nothing but endure this rape. Something – someone – else now controlled her arms, her entire body. Appalled, Zenith found that her hands now grabbed at WolfStar’s shoulders and back, encouraging him, and her body writhed under his, her hips arching to meet him, her voice now strangely demanding that he expend greater effort upon her satisfaction.

  And the true horror of it was that she found herself enjoying this, enjoying the feel of him, the fire of him inside her.

  I wish he would never stop.

  No! But she did not have the strength or the control for the cry. WolfStar was playing to her SunSoar blood, and playing to the Niah-soul within her, and so finally she gave up the struggle, and allowed WolfStar and her own body their independent ways.

  He jerked and shuddered, and she felt the extension of his own life fill her womb.

  And something else.

  No, no, no, no…

  Even as he withdrew from my body I could feel the fire that he had seeded in my womb erupt into new life. He laughed gently at the cry that escaped my lips and at the expression in my eyes, but I could see his own eyes widen to mirror the wonder that filled mine. For a long time we lay still, his body heavy on mine, our eyes staring into each other’s depths, as we felt you spring to life within my womb.

  It was happening all over again! He lay hot and oppressive over her, the stickiness and dampness of his body where it touched hers repulsive, his eyes fixed on hers, and both felt the new life leap in her womb.

  “Our magical, magical daughter,” he whispered, a hand now pressed into her belly. “Do you feel her?”

  Zenith could not find the strength to speak. Again she turned her head to one side, trying to ignore him, hoping he would go away now that he’d used her.

  WolfStar thought her movement only the languor of love. He kissed her, and rubbed and pinched her nipple, and he lay still longer, enjoying her warmth and what he thought was her love.

  Zenith moved, trying to ease off his weight, but her movement only aroused WolfStar once more, and then again he was atop her and moving within her. Again she found her hands encouraging him, and her body writhing wantonly under his, again her voice moaning and calling out to him, and Zenith let go, the only thing she could do, and slipped completely into the pits of oblivion, leaving Niah to enjoy her lover.

  Drago woke suddenly, thinking he’d heard a faint cry. He lay, wrapped in his c
loak, watching the flames leap in the fire, listening.

  There, again. The hoarse cry of a man – and Drago was old enough and experienced enough to recognise that cry for what it was.

  Puzzled, he pushed himself into a sitting position, glancing over to make sure Zenith was asleep…and saw nothing but the flattened grass where she had once lain.

  “Oh gods!” he whispered, appalled, and struggled to his feet.

  Where had that sound come from? Where?

  Ah, there…again!

  Drago hurried into the night.

  “Ah,” WolfStar breathed, and then cried, and then shuddered again.

  Go away, go away, go away, Zenith thought in a litany of repugnance. Go away! When would he have done? When?

  WolfStar sighed and rolled off her, leaning up on an elbow and stroking her face. “Under the stars,” he whispered. “Perfect.”

  Zenith tried to smile, but found it difficult.

  WolfStar smiled and kissed her. “Now that I have found you…” he whispered, then sighed again – in impatience this time – and sat up. “I wish I could stay, but I must away. Damn your brother – did you know he has escaped?”

  Zenith looked at him, but did not speak.

  WolfStar, busy rearranging his breeches, did not notice. “I have tried to scry him out, but I cannot find him. I must find him, for I cannot allow him to live through this crime.”

  He paused, his face puzzled. “But I cannot scry him out. Has he refound his power? Has he?”

  And he swivelled to look Zenith direct in the eye.

  She managed to find her voice. “How can I know? I have not seen him for many days.”

  He frowned. “And why are you running, my lovely? Why? Where?”

  She smiled for him, although it cost her dearly to do so. “I have been struggling to come to terms with what you told me, WolfStar. I…I thought to go south…south to…”

  “Ah, the Island of Mist and Memory,” WolfStar said. “Yes, that would indeed be best for you.”

  He rose. “I will see you there, Niah. Wait for me.”

  And he shimmered and vanished.

  Drago got to the lip of the gully just in time to see WolfStar lift himself from Zenith’s side and then disappear.

  “Zenith!” he cried, and started to clamber down the side of the gully.

  She lay curled on her side, naked, bruised and bloodied, her hands over her belly.

  Her eyes were wide open, staring.

  “Zenith?” Drago hesitantly touched her shoulder. “Zenith?”

  She didn’t move, or even acknowledge his presence.

  “Zenith…come.” He pulled gently on one arm, and finally managed to get her to sit up.

  She blinked, as if seeing him for the first time, then she burst into tears and hugged him tight.

  “Oh gods, Drago,” she sobbed, “you’re alive!”

  He carried her back to their makeshift camp, wrapped her in her cloak, and sat her by the fire. He had no idea what to say to her, what she wanted to hear.

  She kept her face averted, her eyes on the fire, apparently lost in thought.

  She hardly blinked.

  But when the sun rose, so too did Zenith, wrapping the cloak more closely about her nakedness.

  “The ferry is only a few hours away,” she said, and walked off.

  Stunned, Drago stared after her, then after a minute snatched at his sack and got to his feet.

  They had to wait over an hour for the ferry to come back to their side of the shore, and when the ramp had been dropped, they stepped as silently onto the ferry as they had walked the last three hours.

  “Fare,” grunted the ferryman, a man as thin and insipid as the waterweed he plied his craft through.

  “Zenith,” Drago murmured. “Zenith, you need to do something. I have no coin.”

  Zenith lifted her head and stared at Drago, then she shifted her eyes back to the waters of the river disinterestedly.

  Drago opened his mouth, then closed it again. He thought frantically – what could he do? He fumbled with the sack, sliding his hand in as if he was going to withdraw money.

  “No fare and I don’t move this craft,” the ferryman said, and now there was a gleam of malice in his eyes. At the other end of the ferry two muscular assistants picked up short, thick poles and hefted them menacingly.

  Drago groped about in the sack, pretending to search for a sack. Maybe he could hit the ferryman with it and jump off. Maybe he could…his eyes widened, and he slowly withdrew his hand. In his palm lay a newly minted silver piece.

  The ferryman leaned forward and snatched it.

  “That’s more than the fare,” Drago said.

  “Aye, but I’ve had to wait for it,” the ferryman said. “Want to argue the matter with my sons?”

  The two assistants stepped yet closer.

  Drago retreated. “Just get us to the other side as fast as you can.”

  “Aye, my lord,” and the ferryman gave a mock bow.

  Drago waited until he had moved away, then whispered to Zenith. “Thank you. I did not know how I was going to pay him.”

  She looked at him, frowning. “It was not my doing,” she said, and turned back to the water.

  She stood at the railing, where Drago could not see her, and wept. She felt so alone, and yet she felt more crowded than ever before. Trapped.

  WolfStar was so good! You enjoyed it, I know you did. Accept it, Zenith. You are me and I am you, and WolfStar is our future. There can be no other way.

  No. There must be another way.

  I have been reborn SunSoar so that WolfStar will never leave me. Our blood will sing to each other through an eternity of nights. Accept.

  No. No, I will not allow it.

  You have no choice.

  Worse still than that insistent voice was the distinct feeling of fire eating into the lining of her womb. New life. A magical daughter. Who? Who? Another Azhure? No. Another Azhure to birth another daughter to live out this hell all over again? No, no, no!

  What could she do? Zenith tried to keep her thoughts private, tried to think what to do, but it was no use. All she could see was WolfStar leering into her face, and all she could feel was the thrust of his body.

  23

  Minstrelsea

  They stumbled towards the forest, Drago with one arm about Zenith, now constantly mumbling to herself, the other wrapped about his sack.

  Drago didn’t know what to do. Zenith obviously couldn’t go much further – but where could he leave her? Who could he leave her with? Drago loved his sister, and was terrified for her, but he also knew that he was no help to her. She needed more powerful magic than his concern to evict this Niah creature.

  Besides, there was a compulsion growing within him. Get south. Get south fast.

  Where? Where? The Island of Mist and Memory? No. That didn’t feel right.

  “Where? Where?” he muttered, tense with frustration and worry.

  “What?” Zenith whispered, rousing slightly. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing. Look, the forest is not far away. A few more minutes only.”

  “The forest?” she said. “What forest?”

  Drago stopped and wrapped his arm more securely about her. “Minstrelsea. Remember? You wanted to come here.”

  “I did?” She struggled a little against his arm, but did not have the strength to break free.

  “I’ll find help,” he said. But help against what? Niah? Or the shock of WolfStar’s rape?

  “No, no,” Zenith whispered, again struggling feebly. “Not Minstrelsea. Not here…no…no…no…”

  “It won’t hurt you, Zenith! Be still now, I can hardly hold you!”

  Here is where Niah died! Zenith wanted to scream at him, but her voice was no longer her own. Here is where she is strongest! Not here! Not –

  Yes, here, Zenith. Here is where you die, at last.

  She choked, and Drago stopped in alarm. “Zenith? Zenith?”

  But s
he was no longer responding, and Drago, sure now that the only way to help her was to somehow get her deep into the forest, hauled her onward.

  Minstrelsea loomed before them. There was no thin scattering of brush and seedling trees to blur the demarcation between plain and forest. Behind them and to the west lay leagues of rolling grass and grain land, while before them reared a wall of trees. The trees hummed, singing softly to themselves, and between their trunks peered the curious eyes of the strange, fey creatures that populated the forest.

  Drago could not help a shiver of apprehension as the trees loomed above him. He’d been in Minstrelsea only once or twice previously, although Zenith and Caelum had visited regularly.

  And Isfrael, of course, had come with Axis to meet with his mother Faraday.

  No wonder Isfrael was so strange, Drago thought feverishly, to have a doe as a mother.

  But even if Drago had hardly ever been here, and even if he no longer had the use of his Icarii powers, he knew those trees were far more than they appeared. Each one was a living entity capable of anger or of love. Combined as the forest, the trees could wipe out an army if they wished, or midwife the birth of a butterfly.

  He paused just before committing himself and his sister to the forest. Then, because he had nothing left to do, and nowhere else to go, he plunged into the trees as if he were running into a burning building.

  As so many others had before him, Drago stopped in utter amazement within five or six paces.

  Despite its forbidding aura, Minstrelsea was a pool of light and music. The trunks of the trees grew far apart, and sunlight filtered down through the green canopy at least a hundred paces above. Birds – strange birds – sang from the branches of the immense trees, and even stranger creatures gambolled about the glades, paths and in the rivulets that wound their way through the trees.

  Peaceful. It was peaceful. Drago dared to take a deep breath and let his shoulders relax for the first time in days.