Starman

by Sara Douglass

  She needed to be alone. Totally alone.

  “Mama?”

  She dropped her gaze and smiled. Caelum was wide-eyed with curiosity and twisted his head from side to side as he watched the crowd grow. “What will happen tonight?’

  “I do not know, Caelum. StarDrifter would tell me nothing. But,” she kissed the crown of his head, “I am sure that it will be something wondrous.”

  “I wish Papa were here.”

  “So do I, Caelum,” she said. “So do I.”

  At some deep, emotional level Azhure could feel Axis, feel his life-force, feel the faint tug of his breathing, but she could do nothing more than that. Reports from the north remained maddeningly vague, and five days ago a scout had brought her a month-old letter from her husband, but it had said little apart from the fact that he loved her and missed her and thought of her every day. It told her little of where he was, nothing about where the Skraeling army was, and nothing about whether he had found the power within himself to repel them.

  “Live,” Azhure whispered as she did every time she thought of Axis. “Live.”

  StarDrifter, Caelum said in her mind, and Azhure turned her head.

  StarDrifter strode across the circle towards them, enthusiasm springing his steps and his eyes shining with excitement. He was dressed only in golden breeches; like Azhure, his feet were bare. Behind him his wings were extended, catching the soft light of the stars.

  “StarDrifter,” Azhure said as he reached them, “I am not sure what Caelum and I do here. What can we do?”

  What can I do?

  StarDrifter seized her shoulders and kissed her quickly, bending his head to kiss Caelum as well. “You can experience, Azhure. And that ring gives you the right to stand in the centre of the circle. Caelum has every right to share with you as his parents’ heir. Now,” his tone turned businesslike, although his excitement was still patent, “is everyone in place?”

  He slowly scanned the extremities of the circle. Among the arriving Icarii had been several dozen Enchanters, and now they stood at the very edge of the circle, spaced evenly, facing inwards.

  “The Nine?” Azhure asked, looking about for the Priestesses of the Order of the Stars.

  StarDrifter indicated to one side and Azhure saw that the Nine stood in a close group behind the circle of the Enchanters, their heads bowed in prayer or meditation.

  “They will witness,” StarDrifter said, “for only Enchanters can participate in the lighting of the Temple of the Stars.

  “Azhure.” He looked her in the eye. “Whatever happens, do not be afraid. You will be safe. Whatever happens.”

  She nodded, feeling a thrill of both fear and excitement, and Caelum squirmed anxiously in her arms. StarDrifter smiled and stroked the boy’s hair. “You have been born to witness great wonders, Caelum. I hope this will be but the first for you.”

  Then, abruptly, he left them, striding about the circle, meeting each of the Enchanters’ gaze, communicating with them at some level that Azhure could not yet discern.

  There was complete silence about the circle and from the thousands of watchers, and Azhure could faintly hear the crashing waves far below.

  Azhure? Azhure? Is that you?

  Above them the stars reeled.

  StarDrifter continued to walk about the circle, but his stride was now slower, and his head was bowed—but still his wings arched behind him. As his steps slowed he walked closer and closer to the centre of the circle.

  Azhure realised that the encircling Enchanters were singing. The words and music were so soft that Azhure could not distinguish them, although she heard enough to know they sang in the sacred language of the Icarii. It was fluid music, mingling with the cry of the waves below, and for the first time in months Azhure felt revitalising energy flowing through her. She took a deep breath and smiled.

  Caelum looked up at his mother in awe.

  StarDrifter’s steps were very slow now, his head still bowed, and he was close enough for Azhure to see that his eyes were closed. He was silent, listening, but his fingers flexed slightly at his side, and the muscles of his shoulders and back quivered.

  The Song about them deepened, intensified, grew more emotional. Both Caelum and Azhure quivered with its power, and the stars above blurred momentarily.

  StarDrifter had stepped behind them and suddenly, shockingly, he seized Azhure’s shoulders and gave a great cry that sent waves of power rippling through her. She gasped and would have fallen had it not been for StarDrifter’s hands gripping her. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that StarDrifter now stood straight, his head thrown back, his eyes open and staring at the firmament above.

  His wings flared behind him, and the brief thought crossed Azhure’s mind that he was going to try to lift her and Caelum into the air.

  But then a movement about the circle caught her eye and she forgot StarDrifter in an instant. Every one of the encircling Enchanters had spread their wings, their tips touching those of their neighbours, and had thrown back their heads in the same manner as StarDrifter, lifting their arms joyously to the sky.

  Then StarDrifter began to sing.

  Azhure had heard him sing before, most notably in the Assembly Chamber in Talon Spike, but that had been only a fraction of his power.

  Now she heard all of it. Its sheer loveliness rocked her, and she cried out, feeling StarDrifter’s fingers bite painfully into her shoulders, feeling his power flood through her. She dimly comprehended that he gripped her for only one reason—to anchor both of them in the torrent of power that he now let free.

  Azhure felt his power surround and penetrate her, felt and heard his Song seize and uplift her, and then she heard, and felt, every one of the Enchanters take up the Song also, and let their power flood the circle of marble.

  She moaned, thinking she did not have the strength to bear it.

  Then, just as she thought she could take no more, the Song abruptly ended, although Azhure could still feel power flooding about the circle.

  “Wait,” StarDrifter whispered behind her. “Wait…wait…wait…”

  And then he laughed and let her go, spinning about the circle on feet as light as breath. “Feel it!” he cried. “Feel it!”

  As quickly as he had left her he was behind her again, although this time he did not touch her.

  “Feel it,” he said again, his voice now flat.

  And indeed Azhure could feel it. A tingling on the soles of her bare feet, a gossamer touch along the skin of her bare arms.

  “It lives,” StarDrifter said, again curiously tonelessly. “The Temple lives.”

  The circle of marble, which Azhure had thought so dull and uninspiring, now began very, very gently to glow a deep violet. Azhure could see its faint glow reflected on Caelum’s face and on the faces of the Enchanters. When she turned her head slightly, she could see that the glow flowed so smoothly over StarDrifter’s pale colouring that he seemed to absorb the light.

  Then the marble underfoot disappeared.

  She cried out and would have fallen in shock had not StarDrifter seized her shoulders again. There was nothing below her feet now but the violet glow. Not only could Azhure not see anything, she could feel nothing below her feet.

  “StarDrifter!”

  “It is all right,” he whispered. “You are safe.”

  Then the violet glow flickered, dimmed for a heartbeat, and then…then the entire circle became a vast cauldron of cobalt light that throbbed with power. As Azhure looked down she saw stars circling below her feet, and when she finally looked up, she realised that the circle of light speared skyward in an immense pillar of power…and that the stars circled above her and about her as well.

  They were standing—or floating?—in the centre of a beacon whose power Azhure could not even begin to comprehend, and through this beacon floated the stars.

  She wept with the beauty of it. Stars drifted close, so close she could feel their burning power although their heat did not singe her
. Wind tugged at her hair, and she knew it to be the wind of their passing. Music consumed her, and she knew it to be the full beauty of the Star Dance.

  “I have to be so careful,” StarDrifter whispered behind her, “not to let it consume me.”

  She knew what he meant. The power of the Star Dance was so close here that if either had wished it, they could have let its full power envelop them.

  For a long time they stood, the other Enchanters floating with them, all participating in the ultimate worship of the Stars.

  Here is where we used to come to study and understand and worship, StarDrifter’s voice echoed through her, and now we can again. Behold, the Temple of the Stars.

  After a long, long while, StarDrifter pulled Azhure and Caelum to the edge of the beacon and they stepped beyond its walls.

  Outside the thousands who had come to witness stood, awed, and Azhure looked over her shoulder as StarDrifter led her slowly down the grassy slope. From the outside the Temple was beautiful—although not as beautiful as it was from inside—the great column of light shooting into the firmament, stars dancing in its midst.

  “We will let it stand unquenched,” StarDrifter said as she halted. “As it did in ages past. Let Gorgrael see it from his cold northern fortress and know the power of the Star Dance. Let the remnants of the Brotherhood of the Seneschal see it and know that the Icarii have reclaimed their homeland.”

  She trembled and his arm tightened about her. “Will the others go inside?” she asked. She could dimly see the shape of some of the Enchanters floating in the Temple.

  “None but Enchanters can go inside and survive the power that the Temple contains,” he said.

  Azhure’s eyes widened. “But I…I…”

  “I never doubted you, nor what you are,” StarDrifter said. “And neither did the Temple.”

  All the Enchanters at the Ancient Barrows were looking towards the south-west, their eyes straining, and they could feel, if not see, the great beacon that was the Temple of the Stars leap into the night.

  All were above ground, none were present in the Chamber of the Star Gate to witness.

  The blue shadows that chased each other across the vaulted dome above the Star Gate swayed, leapt, then intensified in both hue and movement. The alabaster statues surrounding the Gate turned deep purple in the intensifying light. Music so powerful the entire Chamber vibrated coursed from the Star Gate.

  And then, as both music and light exploded about the Chamber, seven laughing figures stepped through the Gate. Stepped through from the Stars.

  A man first, and he turned to help a woman. Then five others, two women and three men. As the last stepped onto the floor of the Chamber both light and music swelled, then died completely.

  “It has been a long time,” the first man said, and hugged the woman next to him. The other five looked at each other, then at the first two, and all seven embraced, their eyes glimmering with joy.

  “We’re back!” one man cried, and then he tipped his head back and screamed. “We’re back, Artor!”

  The first man smiled at his companion’s exuberance, but did not reprimand him. Stars knew, they all felt the same.

  “Come,” he said. “The time draws near. The tides surge and call her name. Soon we will be Eight.”

  “And then Nine,” his wife breathed. “And then we will be Nine!”

  24

  THE FIEND

  The Goodwife was a gift from the Mother. With the Goodwife beside her, Faraday found the courage and the heart to plant with renewed enthusiasm. That first morning the Goodwife appeared, she cleansed Faraday’s hands with soothing herbal ointments and bound them, humming a cradle song all the while. She forced Faraday to sit while she cooked her a good breakfast; and then the Goodwife spent the day at her side, fetching and carrying, and, again, singing the lilting cradle song over each seedling that Faraday planted. In between scolding and healing and cooking and laughing and fetching and carrying, the Goodwife told Faraday of her journey to Tare and her decision to leave her Goodhusband to fend for himself for a few months.

  “’Twill do him good,” she said when Faraday quietly questioned the decision. “After fifteen years we need a rest each from the other.”

  That night the Goodwife cooked with the ingredients she found in the donkey’s saddlebag. “Magical, magical,” she muttered as she delved yet deeper into the bags, but she smiled, and after they had eaten, she told Faraday of her granny and her granny’s stories.

  Faraday slept well and when she woke she saw that the previous day’s seedlings reached a hundred paces into the sky and their gentle humming filled the morning.

  Although Faraday still felt ill from time to time, the Goodwife gave her herbs to ease her stomach, and laughter and companionship to ease her soul, and when Faraday complained that she gave nothing back, the Goodwife smiled and said that Faraday gave her adventure and beauty and music, and they were recompense enough.

  And so they planted until they came to the fortified city of Arcen. Their approach could hardly be missed. For many days the townsfolk had watched in wonder as the great forest advanced towards them, and in the two days before Faraday entered their gates, they had stood on the walls and watched the two tiny figures.

  Some of the townsfolk had been nervous; it had, after all, only been a matter of months since the Seneschal had held tight sway here. But there were many Icarii present who smiled and reassured them, and said that it was Faraday, Tree Friend, who brought only wonder, not darkness.

  “Very soon,” one of the Icarii said, “Arcen will be known as the gateway to this enchanted forest, and your market will blossom with the patronage of Acharite, Icarii and perhaps Avar as well. And, see, she plants only on barren land—the trade routes remain well open and the fields free. There is no harm in what she does.”

  And Faraday had been Queen. Many were surprised when they realised that Faraday, Tree Friend, was also the very same Queen Faraday, wife to the late and generally unlamented Borneheld.

  “And Lover to Axis,” one of the Icarii whispered, and the whisper spread. In her relatively brief tenure as Queen, Faraday had earned a reputation as a fair and compassionate regent. While Borneheld had been occupied in the north, Faraday had virtually run southern Achar, and many traders in Arcen had good reason to regard her kindly, for her favourable decisions had increased the city’s prosperity.

  And she was so beautiful, the watchers whispered as she and her companion finally stood outside the city gates late one afternoon, that it would be an honour to have her visit.

  Mayor Culpepper Fenwicke himself greeted Faraday and the Goodwife at the gates, then escorted them to his own home where he feted and dined them for four days and four nights.

  Gilbert led his small band of Brothers north-east, and for weeks the way was barred by a thick line of trees so massive that Gilbert thought they would eventually block out the sun.

  And Faraday was responsible for this. Every night Artor whispered in Gilbert’s ear, encouraging him to greater efforts, telling him how the foul beings that Faraday daily planted sapped and weakened His own soul.

  Daily their whisperings grow, good Gilbert, and daily they ensorcel more and more among the weak Acharites. And there was worse, far worse, to the south, but Artor did not tell Gilbert that.

  Destroy this Faraday, Gilbert, and then we can turn our attention to the trees themselves. We will have ourselves a burning, you and I. Kill Faraday, and you may light the match.

  So Gilbert pushed and badgered and berated his band, constantly emphasising to them the disgusting nature of the forest that spread its way across Arcen. Daily the Brothers grew more depressed; how could they halt a disaster of this proportion? But when they asked Gilbert, shouting their questions from the back of the cart as Gilbert rode ahead, he only smiled and said he had a Grand Plan, and would reveal it when the time was ripe.

  Moryson, sitting cloaked and silent at the front of the cart, the reins of the increasingly sprightly h
orse loose in his hands, wondered if Gilbert did have a plan, or if Artor had yet to fill Gilbert in on the details.

  After travelling the southern edges of Minstrelsea for weeks, Gilbert was finally forced to lead his band through the vile forest to reach the city of Arcen to the north. Artor had whispered to him in recent nights that he might catch Faraday here, and the thought that he would finally be able to squeeze his damp palms about the renegade woman’s fragile neck gave Gilbert the courage to dare the forest.

  Minstrelsea now stretched from the Silent Woman Woods to Arcen, completely enclosing the Ancient Barrows but swinging just south and east of the city itself as it surged towards the Bracken Ranges. Every day, as more and more of the sisters were transplanted out from Ur’s nursery, the richness and intricacy of the forest’s humming grew just a little more vibrant, and its leaves stretched just that little bit more joyously towards the sun and the stars.

  Gilbert, riding behind the cart now (best to let Moryson take the risks in the lead) managed to keep calm only through a supreme effort. This was worse, far worse, than his ride through the Silent Woman Woods with Axis. Those Woods were old, and had seemed slightly faded and tired, but this forest was new and vital, and Gilbert, much as he hated to admit it, could feel its magic. The sky was completely obliterated by the forest canopy, and Gilbert felt as though he had been thrown alive into a dark grave.

  The Brothers cowered in the back of the cart as they passed through the forest to the gates of Arcen, but Moryson did not seem overly afraid of the music and fragrance of Minstrelsea. He was an old man, and had seen many strange sights, so even the glimpses of strange creatures gambolling among the crystal waters of rocky streams did not perturb him.

  After almost four hours the way ahead lightened and Gilbert spurred his horse gratefully past the cart. “See!” he cried, “I have led you through!”

  Arcen was abustle with activity, and Gilbert was appalled. How could life go on with this much gaiety and vibrancy when evil trees loomed not four hundred paces to the south and east?