Starman

by Sara Douglass

  “Please,” Azhure said. “One more time.” She raised her free hand to brush some strands of hair from her forehead, and the Enchantress’ ring glittered in the golden light of late afternoon.

  Today was the first time Axis and StarDrifter had tried to teach Azhure the use of her Icarii power—but all in the room had been disheartened with the results, including Caelum who, wide-eyed, had watched the proceedings from his corner.

  StarDrifter moved to a stool close to Azhure’s side, remembering, in comparison, how easy he and MorningStar had found Axis to train. Azhure’s father, WolfStar, must not have spent the time or the trouble training her as he had the young Axis. She had been completely ignored by WolfStar, and StarDrifter smouldered with anger thinking how WolfStar had abandoned Azhure to her awful fate in Smyrton.

  As StarDrifter and MorningStar had once done for him, Axis now cupped Azhure’s face gently in his hands.

  “Hear the Star Dance,” he said.

  “Yes,” she replied, barely audible.

  At least hearing the Star Dance had been as easy for Azhure as it had for Axis—but then she had been hearing it for some time without being aware of what it actually was. Every time Axis had made love to her she’d heard it; sometimes when she had suckled Caelum; sometimes when she stood at an open window and let the wind rush about her; oftentimes at night when she dreamed of distant shorelines and the tug of strange tides at rocks and sand.

  But Azhure also heard the Dark Music, the Dance of Death, the music renegade stars made when they left their assigned courses. Neither Axis nor StarDrifter, nor any other Icarii Enchanter, could routinely hear that music, although they recognised it if it was wielded by someone else. StarDrifter had heard its echo in the Chamber of the Moons the night Axis had battled Borneheld. Axis had witnessed two of the SkraeBolds use it at the gates of Gorkentown, and both he and StarDrifter recognised its presence the morning Azhure had used Dark Music to tear the Gryphon apart atop Spiredore.

  Now Azhure put the ghastly discordant sounds of the Dark Music to the back of her mind and concentrated on the supremely beautiful Star Dance. All Icarii Enchanters wielded the power of the Star Dance by weaving fragments of its power into more manageable melodies, Songs, each with their own specific purpose.

  Axis and StarDrifter had been trying to teach Azhure one or two of the more simple Songs. Songs so simple that all Icarii training as Enchanters mastered them within an hour or two. But they had been trying to teach Azhure for almost five hours now, and she had failed to grasp a single phrase.

  Azhure closed her eyes and concentrated on the Song that Axis sang slowly for her. It was a Song for Drying Clothes, a ridiculously easy song requiring only the tiniest manipulation of power, yet it seemed totally beyond her ability.

  Axis finished, and both he and StarDrifter held their breath.

  Relax, beloved. It is a simple Song. Sing it for me.

  Azhure sighed and began to sing. Axis and StarDrifter winced. Her voice was harsh, utterly toneless, and completely lacking any of the musical beauty that had, until now, come instinctively to any of Icarii blood, whether they were Enchanters or not.

  Axis remembered how Azhure had tried to join in the songs about the campfire on their trip down through the Icescarp Alps for the Beltide festivities. Then her voice had also been as completely toneless, as gratingly harsh, but Axis had felt sure that now that the block concealing Azhure’s true identity and power had been removed her musical ability would naturally surface.

  But apparently that was not to be. If Azhure had any power at all then obviously she would be unable to use the conduit of Song to manipulate it.

  Unnoticed, Caelum tottered on unsteady baby legs to his parents’ couch.

  “Mama,” he said, startling the other three. “Simple. See?”

  And he hummed the Song for Drying Clothes as beautifully as Axis had.

  Azhure opened her eyes, stared at her son, and burst into tears.

  Axis glared the boy into silence and gathered Azhure into his arms. “Shush, sweetheart. I’m sure that—”

  “No!” Azhure cried. “It’s hopeless. I’ll never be able to learn.”

  “Axis,” StarDrifter said gently. “Perhaps the trouble is that, while Azhure is of SunSoar blood, the blood link is too far removed from either of us for us to be able to teach her.”

  The gift and powers of the Icarii Enchanters were passed on only through blood, from parent to child, and Enchanters could be trained only by one of their own House, or family, and usually only by someone of close blood relation. Normally it was a parent who trained a new Enchanter, although someone else of close blood link within the family could also assist. Thus Axis’ grandmother, MorningStar, had been able to assist her son StarDrifter teach his son, Axis.

  But WolfStar came from a generation of SunSoars four thousand years old. He had died, been entombed, walked through the Star Gate, and had then come back for purposes that neither Axis nor StarDrifter could yet fathom.

  Axis stared at his father, then looked at his wife. “Azhure, StarDrifter could be right.”

  Azhure sat back. “Yet WolfStar could train both you and Gorgrael, Axis. You are as far removed from him in blood as I am from you.”

  “None of us knows how powerful WolfStar has become,” StarDrifter said. “He obviously has the power to use whatever blood link there is, while neither Axis nor I can do that.”

  “Then perhaps Caelum can train me,” Azhure said. “See how easily he has learned the Song for Drying Clothes!” Oh, how much it stung that she could not learn even a ridiculously mundane Song while a child less than a year old could do so! “And he is as closely blood linked to me as WolfStar.”

  Surprised, for he had never thought of such a thing, Axis raised his eyebrows at StarDrifter in silent query. A child teach a parent? It had never been done before—but then never before had an Icarii Enchanter come to his or her powers after they had fathered or birthed a child.

  Neither Axis nor StarDrifter liked the thought—a largely untrained child could do enormous damage to an equally untrained parent, but what harm could the Song for Drying Clothes cause? At most, it could cause a warm breeze to fill the room. And if Caelum could teach Azhure, then it would be best to find out now.

  StarDrifter caught Axis’ thoughts and nodded slightly.

  Axis turned his gaze to his son, still cross at him for showing off in front of his mother. Even Caelum at his tender age should have had more sensitivity.

  Well Caelum, would you like to try?

  It was a thought that all in the room caught. The ability to hear and, eventually, speak with the mind voice was one of the earliest powers Azhure had demonstrated, and it was a skill she developed day by day. At least she had that much.

  The child nodded soberly, ashamed for the hurt he had caused his mother.

  Axis picked the baby up and sat him on his knee. The child reached out his chubby hands and Azhure, after a slight hesitation, took them in her own.

  Again they went through the routine, Caelum using his mind voice to talk to Azhure—for it was easier for him than his still cumbersome tongue. Azhure closed her eyes and concentrated as hard as she could, and yet, when he had finished singing and it was her turn, all that issued forth from her mouth were such discordant notes that the three Enchanters’ faces sank.

  “Useless,” Azhure said, and turned away from the others so they would not see her tears.

  “Azhure,” StarDrifter said. “No-one knows how changed WolfStar was when he came back through the Star Gate. How his power was altered by his experiences beyond the Star Gate. It is more than conceivable that WolfStar has bequeathed you power through his blood that is different to any the Icarii have known previously. So different that you cannot be trained through traditional methods. You cannot even use your power in the traditional way. Axis—” His voice firmed. “Azhure obviously has power, we both witnessed her tear that Gryphon apart.”

  Axis nodded, and even Azhure wip
ed her eyes and stared at StarDrifter.

  “We witnessed Azhure use power, Dark Music, to destroy the Gryphon that threatened her and Caelum, but we did not hear her sing!”

  “Stars!” Axis said, shocked he hadn’t remembered that himself.

  StarDrifter suddenly laughed, his beautiful face joyous, and he deposited Caelum on the floor and seized Azhure’s hands in his own. “Azhure! You have power, magnificent power, but it is so different to what any of us have experienced before that we do not know how to teach you. We probably can’t teach you, anyway.”

  Azhure smiled as she absorbed what StarDrifter was saying. “Then what use is such magnificent power, StarDrifter, if the only time I can use it is when I am attacked by a Gryphon?”

  Despite the concern evident in her words, Azhure’s voice was more relaxed now and her tone lighter.

  “Azhure,” Axis said. “There are many reasons why you may be finding it so difficult to use your powers. StarDrifter has perhaps discovered the main one. But also you effectively blocked out your power for so many years that I am not surprised you find it almost impossible to call it willingly to you now.”

  Azhure reflected on his words, her smile losing some of its brilliance. Over the past few nights vaguely troubling dreams with even more troubling voices had disturbed her rest, but she could never remember the details when she woke. Were they a manifestation of her newly freed power bubbling uncontrolled to the surface? Perhaps she ought to talk to Axis about them—but all thoughts of dreams were forgotten with her husband’s next words.

  “And,” Axis continued, “our unborn children may also be causing a block.”

  Three days ago Axis, according to the right and duty of every Icarii father, had awoken her twin babies. When he had done this for Caelum, calling the baby to awareness within her womb, it had been a joyous affair, but this awakening—the whole pregnancy—had been so different. The babes had witnessed what she and Axis had seen when he had forced Azhure to remember her mother’s death and her subsequent physical and emotional torture at Hagen’s hands. As she and Axis had endured the pain and the horror, so had her two unborn babies. Faraday had said that she thought the babies would be affected by the experience, although she did not know how. Now, both Azhure and Axis knew.

  The awakening had been successful as the babies were now fully aware and active. But during the awakening, and in the days since, it had become painfully obvious that the twin babes distrusted and disliked their father. Azhure and Axis could feel their resentment every time Axis touched their mother; even now, cuddled together on the couch, both could feel the rising hostility from the twins. It made anything more intimate an impossibility; both Azhure’s weak state and the twins’ antagonism meant Axis and Azhure had yet to consummate their marriage. Axis had tried to harm the woman who carried them and, unlike Caelum, the twins were not prepared to forgive him. Yet even Azhure did not enjoy their affection; she sensed total disinterest seeping into her from the babies. They existed only for each other, their parents either untrusted or inconsequential.

  Axis had not realised Azhure was pregnant for so long because he’d never felt the tug of the growing babies’ blood. Even before the trauma of four days ago, he mused, the twins had been so self-absorbed that their SunSoar blood had not reached out beyond each other.

  It made him wonder what kind of children he’d fathered.

  The twins, as would be natural for children conceived of such powerful parents, would be Enchanters in their own right—even now they demonstrated their awakening powers in the womb. Azhure sighed. Since their awakening the twins had refused to listen to Axis on the five occasions he’d tried to teach them.

  Were they somehow blocking Azhure’s powers now?

  Axis and Azhure glanced at each other, then at StarDrifter, letting him share their thoughts. They had told him of the problems with the twins and, unbelievably, when he had tried, StarDrifter actually had more success communicating with the babies than Axis did. Azhure had not let StarDrifter touch her when she was pregnant with Caelum, but she knew that StarDrifter would undoubtedly be the Enchanter who conducted the majority of the twins’ training while they were in the womb.

  Now StarDrifter shook his head. “No, I don’t think they would do that. Powerful as they might be, they aren’t yet that powerful. And why would they want to block your power, in any case? No, Azhure. Unless you slip naturally into your powers, ease into them as time goes by, the only person who can teach you is WolfStar.”

  3

  THE SENTINELS

  Several floors below, the Sentinels sat in a circle, holding hands. They were silent as they remembered.

  It had been a fine night, some three thousand years ago, when the Charonites had massed in the chamber below the well that led to the cave on the banks of the Nordra River.

  The races of the Charonites and Icarii, both descended from the original Enchantress, had separated some twelve thousand years previously. As the Icarii loved the open sky and worshipped the stars, so they developed wings to give vent to their longings. But the Charonites were far more introspective, preferring the depths to the heights. Eventually they discovered and developed the UnderWorld and the waterways. They still studied the stars—and their very waterways reflected the music of the Star Dance—but they became increasingly reclusive, until even most of the Icarii doubted their existence.

  Every few score years the Charonites gave vent to their urge to see once again the star-lit night, to feel the soft wind of the OverWorld in their faces, to smell the scent of flowers and of the damp leaves that lined the floor of the forest, and to sail the lively waters of the Nordra, so different from the still waterways.

  On this night, scores of Charonites sang and danced as they climbed the well leading to the OverWorld; the Charonites loved to dance and the figures carved about the walls of the well inspired them to ever more joyous efforts.

  Once in the cave they lifted the flat-bottomed boats from their storage racks and, still laughing and singing, cast them into the water of the inlet that led to the Nordra as it flowed through the Avarinheim. The Avarinheim of three thousand years past was a much greater and more magical Avarinheim than the one that stood now; then the axes of the Seneschal had not wielded their destruction.

  Five Charonites, lagging behind the others, seized the last and smallest boat and, singing, launched it into the water. They leapt in and worked their magic, and the boat glided effortlessly along the inlet, then slipped into the Nordra. The five were ecstatic with the feel of the soft night air and the immensity of the sky above them, and their singing increased in joy and reverence as their boat sailed further down the Nordra.

  Every so often a dark face peered at them from the forest that lined the Nordra—the Avar, woken from their slumber by the sounds of the Charonite merriment, crept from their sleeping skins to watch in awe as the Charonites slid past.

  As the Charonites were wont to do, the five eventually moored their boat to a spotted willow that, heavy with age, drooped its branches deep into the water. Then they slipped ashore, planning to dance unrestrained along the corridors of the Avarinheim.

  But sitting on the banks of the Nordra was a strange man—Icarii-featured but wingless—with a dismal face.

  The five stopped to ask what was wrong, for although the Charonites preferred to keep their distance from other races, they were not an unkind people, and this man obviously needed their comfort.

  The man sighed and spoke, and what he related wiped the joy from their faces. The man, this strange man, spoke of a time in the future.

  “Tencendor will already wear the terrible legacy of a millennium of hatreds, but the Destroyer’s one purpose will be to grind what is left of Tencendor into the dust. He hates, and his one desire is to give vent to his hate. To destroy.”

  The five, all thought of dance and song gone from their minds, asked the man how he knew these dreadful tidings.

  “The burden of prophecy weighs heavily o
n my soul and it consumes my days and my nights,” he said, and he stood up. “Soon I shall retire to solitude and commit what I have seen into words of power and magic.”

  The five stared solemnly at the Prophet, awed by the responsibility he had taken upon his shoulders.

  The Prophet sighed again, and the five could see how much care and pain he laboured under. They respected him deeply, although they did not envy him, for they of all races perhaps best understood the power and compulsions of prophesying.

  “Listen,” he said, and then he intoned the Prophecy of the Destroyer.

  The five moaned as they heard him speak, and leaned on each other’s shoulders, and wept. They were accustomed to lives and thoughts of introspection and beauty and great mystery, but the Prophet’s words destroyed the peace and harmony of their minds. How would they be able to resume their carefree existence after this? The words of the Prophecy would never leave them.

  “The burden of a prophecy is a hard one to carry,” one of the five said, and he took his wife’s hand for comfort.

  “That is so,” the Prophet agreed.

  Another of the five, one of two brothers, spoke. “And prophecies are terribly fragile. They prophesy only what might be, not what is certain.”

  “They can be easily bent out of shape,” his brother added.

  The youngest of the Charonites, a sensual and beautiful woman, now spoke. “And while the Prophecy indicates that this StarMan will reunite Tencendor, recreate its beauty despite the Destroyer’s hate, his victory is not certain.”

  The Prophet waited.

  Slowly the five spoke in turn.

  “A prophecy is like…”

  “A garden…”

  “That is full of the promise of beauty…”

  “And dreams never-ending…”

  “But that can, if neglected…”

  “Or left unattended…”

  “Fall into barrenness…”

  “And sorrow…”

  “And despair…”

  “And death.”

  The Prophet took a deep breath, and the younger woman realised for the first time what a handsome face he had.