Starman

by Sara Douglass

  “Lady Faraday,” Goodwife Renkin whispered to herself, and wondered what had become of the Lady since she had left the Renkins’ home.

  She opened her eyes and glanced about the marketplace. The square was crowded, and with more than traders and peasants. Now and then the Goodwife glimpsed the bright fabrics and feathered wings of those called the Icarii, and she wondered what the gorgeous creatures could want here.

  She sniffed and sat up straight. Life had indeed changed over the past year or so. It was confusing. What was once Forbidden was now welcomed. What was once lost in the dark now stalked the midday sun. The old stories, once told only in whispered secrets on moonlit nights, were now being sung by every passing minstrel—even now a young, gaily dressed man was strumming his lute and singing a song of ancient enchantments to a throng of admiring peasants and their children.

  And not a Plough-Keeper or Brother of the Seneschal in sight. Once such a minstrel would have been gagged and dragged away to face charges of incitement to heresy, and there would have been a burning in the morning. But now the people in the market square laughed and clapped as he finished his song, and they tossed copper coins into the hat at his feet. And no-one paid overmuch attention to the winged people among them.

  The Goodwife, as so many others, decided she rather liked this new world. It was far more colourful, far gayer, far more exciting than the old one. She did not miss the teachings of the Brotherhood of the Seneschal, nor the occasional visit from one of its Plough-Keepers. She did not miss having to glance over her shoulder every time she wandered the pathways of the plains to gather herbs for healing, and she did not miss having to watch her tongue in front her children lest she let slip a whisper of the old stories her grandmother had once murmured fearfully to her.

  Life had indeed changed, and it seemed that the changes began the moment the Lady Faraday had graced her poor home with her presence.

  “Goodwife Renkin!”

  Startled from her reverie, the Goodwife jumped to her feet. Standing before her, a great welcoming smile across his broad face, was Symonds Dewes, a sheep trader from Arcen. He shook the Goodwife’s hand enthusiastically, recognising her from the two occasions he had travelled across northern Arcen to the sheep fairs of Rhaetia.

  “Goodwife Renkin, you cannot know how glad I am to find you here. Renkin’s ewes are sought-after prizes, and I see you have presented your best stock for Tare’s market day.”

  The Goodwife simpered with delight. Dewes always gave more than a fair price for the sheep he purchased and should he buy all twenty-eight ewes then she would have virtually the entire day to wander wide-eyed about the marketplace with a full purse. She assumed a severe expression. “They are the jewels from our herd, Symonds Dewes, and you shall have to pay a high price if you think to relieve me of their care.”

  Dewes grinned. Goodman Renkin always haggled at length for the best price for his sheep, and it looked like his Goodwife would do no less. “But they look thin and haggard from their journey, Goodwife. Perhaps you should not ask full-price for half-sheep.”

  For ten minutes they happily haggled back and forth, the Goodwife resolute, the trader determined. Finally they settled on a price that left both Goodwife and trader convinced each had got the best of the bargain. The gold coins jingled into the Goodwife’s outstretched hand and she raised her eyes in delight, about to thank the trader for his generosity, when the words caught in her throat at the sight of two of the winged creatures approaching.

  “Symonds!” she whispered, and the trader followed her eyes and looked over his shoulder. Two of the Icarii women, Enchanters by the look of the rings on their fingers and the power in their eyes, were bending and exclaiming over the closest sheep.

  “Have you not met any of the Icarii?” Dewes asked, and the Goodwife shook her head, round-eyed. “Well then, shall we ask why they find your…my sheep so fascinating?”

  Without waiting for a reply Dewes took the Goodwife’s elbow and guided her over to the two Icarii. Both were dressed in clothes of the most exquisite colour and weave that the Goodwife had ever seen, and their wings and eyes glowed with jewel-like intensity in the weak morning sun.

  The trader bowed and introduced himself and the Goodwife.

  The Icarii stood, and the closest of them laughed and held out her hand. “My name is StarShine EvenHeart, and this is my companion PaleStar Snap Wing,” the other Icarii smiled and nodded, “and I apologise from the depths of my heart if we have upset your fine sheep, Trader Dewes and Goodwife Renkin.”

  “I am merely surprised,” Dewes said, the Goodwife too tongue-tied to do anything but stare at the Icarii Enchanters, “that you should find such mundane creatures so fascinating.”

  StarShine shook Dewes’ hand. “We were trapped for so long in our mountain home, Trader Dewes, that we find pleasure and excitement in what you must consider the most trifling of things. Sheep are virtually unknown to us, and these have such fine ivory wool that we could not resist touching it. And their eyes, full of such liquid darkness, reminded us of our cousins the Avar.”

  “The Avar?” the Goodwife finally managed. “Who are the Avar?” Instantly she reddened, ashamed to have asked a question of such noble creatures.

  But StarShine smiled kindly and took the Goodwife’s hand. “They are the people of the Horn, Goodwife Renkin, and they live far away to the north in the Avarinheim. One day they will move south, once the forests are replanted.” StarShine stopped, puzzled, a slight frown on her face, and she gently massaged the Goodwife’s hand between her own.

  Her companion looked closely at StarShine’s expression, then turned sharply to stare at the Goodwife.

  “Is there something wrong?” Dewes asked.

  StarShine’s hands tightened about the Goodwife’s, but she shifted her eyes and smiled brilliantly into Dewes’ face. Her face assumed such beauty, and her green eyes such power, that Dewes took an involuntary step backwards. A hint of music drifted about the small group.

  “Have we interrupted your business with the Goodwife, Trader Dewes?”

  “Er, no,” he stammered. “I was just paying Goodwife Renkin for her sheep when you approached.”

  “Then how fortunate,” StarShine said, “for that means the Goodwife must now be free of her charges. Is that not so?” she asked the woman.

  Entranced by the Icarii, the Goodwife only nodded.

  “Free,” the Enchanter said, “to come sit with PaleStar and myself and tell us stories of your sheep. Would you like to do that, Goodwife?”

  The Goodwife nodded once more.

  StarShine let the woman’s hand go. “Then pick up your pack, Goodwife. Farewell your sheep, and come share some time with us.”

  So it was that Goodwife Renkin found herself lunching with two Icarii Enchanters under the awning of a food hall next to the market square of Tare. Both the Enchanters nibbled delicately at the fare the proprietor had placed before them; the Goodwife stared at them, her food untouched.

  For some time StarShine and PaleStar ate, unspeaking, but sharing unspoken thoughts. Every so often one of them would lift her head and smile reassuringly at the Goodwife, then lower her eyes and concentrate again on her food.

  The Goodwife, whose thoughts of adventure and excitement had never gone beyond seeing the market square of Tare, continued to stare at them.

  Finally StarShine raised her head and pushed her plate away. “Goodwife, you must tell us something about yourself.”

  The Goodwife slowly opened her mouth, then closed it silently again. What was there to say about her humdrum life in northern Arcness that might interest these magical creatures?

  “Tell us where you come from, my dear,” PaleStar said. “It will be a start.”

  Slowly the Goodwife told the two Icarii about her husband and children in northern Arcen, their lives devoted to sheep and a few meagre crops. “This is the first time I have been more than five leagues from my home,” she finished on a whisper, certain she must have b
ored the Icarii Enchanters witless.

  However, they looked anything but bored. “And your mother?” StarShine asked gently. “Does she stay behind to watch over your children while you have come to market?”

  The Goodwife shook her head. “No. My mother died of the milk-fever three weeks after birthing me.”

  PaleStar sat back, frowning. “Then who raised you, Goodwife?”

  “My grandmother, gracious Lady.”

  “Ah,” both the Enchanters breathed. “Your grandmother.” All the Icarii Enchanters who travelled south through eastern Tencendor had spent time looking for women such as this. But they were few and far between among the Acharites. The Seneschal had been…vigilant.

  “She must have been an unusual lady,” StarShine said.

  “Talented,” PaleStar added and lifted one of the Goodwife’s hands out of her lap. “Perhaps she told you pleasant stories when you were a little girl.”

  Very tense now, the Goodwife nodded her head but did not speak. She kept her eyes firmly in her lap.

  “You are safe,” StarShine said, and laid her hand over the Goodwife’s where it rested in PaleStar’s. A feeling of peace infused the Goodwife’s body, and she looked up. “Safe,” StarShine repeated.

  “I have never told anyone,” the Goodwife mumbled, and now her eyes were full of guilty tears. “Never.”

  “Of course not,” StarShine soothed. “You were good. You had to be.”

  “They took her away,” tears slipped down the Goodwife’s cheeks, “when I was eight. And every year for ten years they would come back to ask me questions. I was afraid.”

  “I have no doubt.” PaleStar’s voice was edged with anger, but the Goodwife knew the anger was not directed at her.

  The Goodwife sniffed, wiping her nose along her sleeve. “They burnt her. They told me that.”

  “They will not burn you,” StarShine said, and she impulsively leaned forward to give the woman a brief hug. “You are safe now.”

  The Goodwife took a tremulous breath, slowly relaxing. “All the Brothers have gone. When I travelled south I saw none, and there are none here in this town.”

  “No. All the Brothers have gone, and there are few Plough-Keepers left, Goodwife. You are free to do what you like now, free to believe what you like.”

  “Will you tell me what has happened? I have heard so little—mostly hearsay.”

  “Of course, Goodwife,” and StarShine told her briefly what had transpired in the land over the past two years.

  If possible, the Goodwife’s face became even more astounded than before. “Then I am safe? The Seneschal will not hurt me if I…if I…”

  “You are safe, Goodwife. Do what you will. Do you have a daughter who…?” StarShine let the question trail off.

  The Goodwife shook her head. “No. Neither of my daughters have the talent. I was glad, for I thought that they would be safe. But now…now I am sad. I should have liked a daughter to carry on.” Abruptly the Goodwife realised she had lost her awe of the Icarii and was chatting to them as if they were old friends. She grinned shamefacedly.

  StarShine’s smile faded and she leaned forward, extending her hand to rest her palm on the Goodwife’s forehead. “Shush, Goodwife, I do you no harm. I only want to help you remember.”

  Bright music flooded the Goodwife’s body, and she gasped. “Oh! I had forgotten so much!”

  “Disuse engenders forgetfulness, Goodwife.” StarShine leaned back, looking wan with her effort. That had been a powerful enchantment, and she would have to rest a day or so now before she could fly on to Carlon. “Make sure you do not forget again.”

  The Goodwife nodded.

  “Make sure you make good use of what you have remembered, Goodwife, because this new land needs such as you.”

  She sat for a very long time after the two Enchanters left her, watching the street life with unseeing eyes. Remembering.

  When she was a little girl, too young to help in the fields, her grandmother had told her stories. Told her stories and taught her herbs. Herbs and spells. Nothing dangerous, nothing evil, only herbal recipes that, when used in conjunction with the spells, would ward against hurt or infection, calm tempers, or engender love. Simple things, but enough to have her grandmother seized and burned by the Seneschal.

  From the day the Seneschal had taken her grandmother the young girl had lived an unblemished life. She had never (well, hardly ever) used the herbals again, and had never spoken the spells again (except a cradle song or two). She had grown to marry the Goodman Renkin and live an exemplary life in their little home.

  Exemplary…and boring.

  It was strange, for the Goodwife had never thought of her life as boring until the Lady Faraday had come to stay so briefly. She had hardly even remembered her grandmother or her grandmother’s tales and teachings until then.

  But once the Lady had gone, once the Goodwife tried to settle back into her old life, she discovered it to be stupefyingly boring and yearned for excitement and adventure. She had found herself muttering old verses over the stew pot and plucking wild herbs as she drove the sheep along the worn paths of northern Arcness. She had begun to look over her shoulder, remembering the day they had come for her grandmother. The pounding of their horses’ hooves. The wicked gleam of their axes.

  Now she took a deep breath. What was she going to do?

  Go home. What else could she do? She stood up and nodded to the proprietor as she wandered back into the street. She had the money for the sheep—and a goodly sum it was too—and she had her pack, and there was nothing else to do.

  But would she use her talents if she went home? Goodman Renkin would not tolerate any of that, not when she could be working out in the fields, and none of her children would want to learn the old ways.

  But she did not want to live out the rest of her life applying herbed bandages to corn-crippled feet.

  The Goodwife stopped in the street just before she reached the market square, uncertainties creasing her homely face. Suddenly she spotted StarShine EvenHeart standing some paces away, her wings folded behind her, staring at the Goodwife.

  “Please,” the Goodwife breathed as she hurried over. “Tell me what to do.”

  “You must do as you see best,” StarShine said.

  The Goodwife stood and thought, shuffling from foot to foot, her eyes on the ground. “Goodman Renkin does not need me as he once did,” she said eventually, speaking slowly as she thought it through. “The boys are old enough to take on many of the responsibilities about the farm now, and he has coin enough to hire labour to help with the harvest and shearing. My eldest girl can take care of the tot and the twins.”

  She smiled as a thought occurred to her and looked up. “Gracious Lady, do you perchance know of the Lady Faraday?”

  Truly surprised, StarShine stared at the Goodwife. “Faraday? Yes. Yes, I know her.” And how do you know her, she wondered. Did PaleStar and I discover you by chance or by design?

  “Do you know where she is?”

  StarShine nodded slowly. “She travels east, Goodwife. I passed her on my way to Tare, somewhere just south of the Silent Woman Woods. She travels alone with two white donkeys, and she goes east. That is all I know.”

  The Goodwife’s face fell. “East? Alone? Oh, the poor Lady! Oh, goodness! That won’t do at all!”

  StarShine’s face relaxed. Whether by chance or by design, it looked as though Faraday would have some company in whatever quest she was engaged in.

  And that would be no bad thing at all. Not at all.

  15

  THREE BROTHERS LAKES

  The Three Brothers Lakes had frozen into a crisp corrugated beauty, but none of the thirty-thousand men camped along the edge of the most southern lake spared much time to admire the view. Axis had taken almost four weeks to march his army across northern Avonsdale and then through the gentle passes of the Western Ranges. When they got through, he had expected to be met by Gorgrael’s frozen winds hurling sheets of ice. />
  But all that had greeted them had been an icy calm.

  Why? Why? Surely Gorgrael should have struck with all his power, with all his ice, once Axis and his army emerged from the Western passes?

  Conditions were so clear that Icarii scouts reported that they could see as far as the mist-encased Murkle Mountains and the still-frozen Nordra and Fluriat rivers.

  “And not a Skraeling in sight,” Axis whispered as he stood at the northern edge of the camp, gazing into the frozen wastes before him. “Not a Skraeling in sight. FarSight?”

  The most senior of the Strike Force Crest-Leaders stepped to his side, his black uniform and wings incongruous in this pristine environment. He’d only just returned from speaking to the last of the farflight scouts he had sent north three days ago.

  “How far have the Strike Force scouts penetrated into Aldeni?”

  “Not far, StarMan.”

  Axis frowned, and FarSight hurried on. “There are Gryphon out there, and I will not expose small numbers of scouts to their fury.”

  “How many? Where? Have they attacked?”

  “There are packs of some fifteen to twenty, ranging over most of north-western Aldeni. None of the scouts have risked attack by flying too close and the Gryphon appear not to have seen them. Our eyesight is better than theirs, I think. All scouts have returned.”

  “And what have they seen?” said Belial, who joined them.

  “Frozen fields and shattered buildings…”

  Axis shifted uncomfortably, remembering the Skraeling nests that the broken streets of Hsingard had hidden.

  “Wagons coated with ice and the stripped corpses of men and cattle, their bones cracked and drained of nourishment.”

  “The Skraeling force that we saw marching past Jervois Landing in RuffleCrest’s vision would have to strip the province bare to feed itself,” Axis said, “and yet having fed, they have disappeared. Belial? Gather Ho’Demi and Magariz. We will share our evening meal…and our thoughts.”