Sinner

by Sara Douglass

  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.

  32

  The Questors

  There 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 awar
e 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.

  33

  StarLaughter

  The Questors drifted off, claiming some matter they had to attend to, and Drago was left with StarLaughter.

  “You are curious,” she said, leaning back from him but keeping her hand on his shoulder. “Come with me and I shall show you this place.”

  Drago stood up, feeling a passing dizziness, but steadying himself almost immediately.

  “You are still shaken from your journey through the Star Gate,” StarLaughter said. “Stand a while, get your bearings.”

  Suddenly Drago remembered his sack. It lay on the floor by his feet and he bent down for it. The Sceptre might be gone, but the sack’s presence still somehow comforted Drago.

  StarLaughter smirked. “What is it you dragged through with you from Tencendor, Drago? Here, let me see.”

  And she snatched it from him.

  Drago tried to hang on, but StarLaughter had moved too quickly, and she hefted the sack in her hands.

  “What is this?” she said, and thrust a hand in the sack. “What?”

  She drew out her hand and it was filled with silver coins.

  “What?” Drago echoed, and seized the sack from StarLaughter. He emptied it out on the couch. All it contained was silver coins. Perhaps twenty-five or thirty. Almost dazed, Drago sifted them through his fingers. They were weighty, and each had stamped on one side a sword, and on the other a staff.

  StarLaughter chuckled, and ran a hand through Drago’s hair. “Did you think to pay for your passage, my delightful man?”

  Where had they come from? Then Drago remembered the silver coin he’d found to pay the ferryman on the Nordra. Were they somehow connected with the lost Sceptre?

  “I carry my wealth about with me,” he said lightly. “I trust no-one.”

  StarLaughter’s face lost its humour. “Trust no-one,” she said, and her voice had hardened as well. “Yes, yes. Trust no-one. That is a good plan. I trusted WolfStar, and look what he did to me.”

  She turned away, walking slowly towards the pillars, then whipped about, holding out a hand. Once again her face was lit with a smile.

  “Will you come with me, Drago SunSoar? There are others you should meet.”

  Drago swept the coins back into the sack and tied it to his belt.

  “We’ll find you a bath and some clean clothes,” StarLaughter said, linking her arm through his as he joined her. “I do not like the stink of sweat and dirt.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him, smiled and laughed yet again, and led him through the pillars.

  There was a garden outside, and a sky and a sun, but all was different to anything Drago had ever experienced. The air was heavier, far more oppressive than even the Tencendorian summer, yet it was not hot. The sky was a dark purple, roiling with high clouds, and the sun shone weak silver, as
if its own light were an effort it could not endure much longer.

  The garden consisted of regularly distanced trees with large lawned spaces between them. The trees, like the light, seemed weak. Their trunks were spindly, their foliage sparse.

  Some distance away, just out of Drago’s vision, a cloud moved swiftly among the trees. Perhaps not a cloud, but whatever its true nature, it was dark and insubstantial, moving this way, now that.

  “I can comprehend none of this,” he said helplessly.

  StarLaughter squeezed his arm sympathetically. “I understand your disorientation. This is a world far away from our home. A world distant from Tencendor. A world that would be but a bare speck, were you still gazing through the Star Gate from the safety and comfort of Tencendor.”

  “I have so many questions…”

  “Then ask, sweet Drago,” she said, leading him slowly though the trees. “Ask.”

  “What happened to me when I stepped through the Star Gate?”

  She considered carefully before answering. “In a manner of speaking you died, but death is so unknown, and so largely misunderstood, that to use that expression will probably create illusions in your mind.”

  She paused. “You came through, you changed, and yet you are the same.”

  “But how did I get here?”

  “The Questors felt you, as did my companions. The Questors, bless them, saved you as they saved us.”

  Us? “Saved you? StarLaughter, what happened to you and your…companions…after WolfStar threw you through the Star Gate?”

  StarLaughter’s entire body tensed, and her face hardened into a mask of utter hatred.

  “We drifted, dead yet undead, for time unknown. We drifted, we hated, we lusted for revenge. But we were lost and helpless. Then,” she took a deep breath and visibly relaxed, “then the Questors found us. Oh, Drago! We owe them so much! Look! Here are my friends, my companions, come to greet you!”

  The cloud hurtled closer. Drago halted, wary, but StarLaughter patted his arm and drew him closer, comforting.

  “Be not afraid,” she said, “for these are they who, with the Questors’ help, brought you here.”