Starman

by Sara Douglass

Sometimes, when she rode, the hounds would sniff out small bands of Skraelings, sometimes a nest or two, and then Azhure would let the hounds clamour, and hunt.

  During those hours when she stopped to rest and eat, Adamon invariably joined her, and both would share the partridge they roasted above the flames, and divide the bread they baked among the coals.

  Azhure was never sure where the fires came from, nor the food. She would be riding one minute, then sitting before a fire the next, the hounds curled in sleep about her and Adamon smiling into her eyes.

  Tell me of your fight with Artor, she asked one day.

  Adamon sighed, and his handsome face crinkled. He rubbed the furrows on his brow and glanced at Azhure. Do you really want to know?

  I have to know, don’t I?

  He laughed, and the hounds stirred in their sleep. How well you have learned, Azhure. How well you have grown. Very well. I will tell you of Artor.

  He was silent for some minutes, but Azhure did not push him.

  The Star Gods are tied to this world—to this earth and water and air and fire, Azhure. This sun and this moon.

  She nodded. You are tied by those who worship you.

  Adamon started. He had not thought her instinct had deepened to this extent. Yes, Azhure. The worship of the Icarii binds us to this world.

  Azhure thought about that for a while. Tied. Would you like to…travel…if you could?

  Adamon smiled, introspective. Would we? I am not sure. But it does not matter. Azhure, beyond this world, beyond the Star Gate, there are many beings—

  Gods?

  Adamon shifted uncomfortably. Some have god-like powers, certainly. Many of these beings are free, not tied. They seek.

  For what?

  For worshippers. Sustenance. Souls.

  Artor is one of these beings, isn’t he.

  Yes, Azhure. He is.

  Azhure took a deep breath. Artor came through space…?

  Through the Star Gate.

  Ah. Through the Star Gate. Artor came through the Star Gate, seeking adulation and sustenance, and he managed to imprison you. How?

  We were weak then. We were only seven, the Circle was not complete. And Artor is old and very powerful; he is a Circle complete in himself. As the Seneschal cast the Icarii, and the Avar, out of Tencendor and imprisoned them behind the Fortress Ranges, so Artor drove us into the interstellar wastes where we drifted, imprisoned. When Axis recreated Tencendor, when the Icarii came south…

  When the sacred sites were opened again and the Temple relit, then you were freed. Yes, I understand that. The actions of this world mirror those of the gods.

  Adamon reached out and stroked her cheek. You understand so well, Azhure.

  Azhure let him stroke her cheek for a moment longer, then she gently lowered his hand, smiling. And why do you think we will be able to defeat Artor now?

  We were weaker, but also we did not understand that to defeat Artor we needed to combine with the force of the Mother.

  And this time?

  Adamon sat forward, his eyes serious. Azhure, this time you will have to fight for us. You grew in Smyrton, close to Artor…

  Azhure felt a surge of excitement. WolfStar said I had to grow in Smyrton so that I could be close to Artor, so that I could understand him!

  Yes, Azhure. Of all of us you have been closest to Artor. You know him the best.

  Azhure thought about that. But Axis was BattleAxe. Surely he…?

  No. Smyrton is a place of power. Of Artor’s power. Of all people who were born there, you were the only one who managed to resist that power. When it comes time to face him, you will be the strongest. Most capable of facing him and of resisting his power.

  And Faraday and I must face him as one. Azhure finally understood. The power of the Mother and of the Stars.

  Yes.

  The further she rode into Aldeni, the more the wind lost its bite and the more the snowdrifts lessened. It was cold and bitter, but it was only winter, not Gorgrael’s calculated evil. Azhure laughed, and kicked Venator into even greater efforts.

  Axis was closer, she could feel it, and now the hounds ran with their noses constantly to the ground.

  They were silent.

  They were tracking.

  She and Adamon continued to talk. Adamon, I have heard of this Fire-Night, from both the Sentinels and from StarDrifter. A night, long ago, when the fire fell from the sky and the Star Gods walked the earth. Their fire created the sacred lakes.

  Yes. Older gods than us, Azhure. Adamon turned yet another partridge on its spit and Azhure grimaced slightly. Truth to tell, she was becoming a trifle tired of roast partridge. The Nine are yet young; still learning, still developing. The Star Gods who fell during the night of fire crashed and burned. We do not know what became of them.

  He offered Azhure a piece of the bird, but she shook her head and Adamon smiled to himself. She was almost ready. I am glad you have mentioned Fire-Night. Azhure, you must give Axis a message from me.

  Certainly. If I can help him.

  Adamon glanced at her sharply. You must.

  Azhure sighed. Yes. What is the message?

  Whatever happens in the next few months, he must be in the Earth Tree Grove for Fire-Night. The Avar still celebrate Fire-Night, held in the third week of Rose-month.

  Why must he be there?

  Azhure, the Avar will be instrumental in the making of the Rainbow Sceptre, and the Rainbow Sceptre can only be constructed on Fire-Night.

  Why?

  Because the Rainbow Sceptre, the single weapon Axis can use against Gorgrael, will be built from the power of those ancient gods who crashed and burned that first Fire-Night.

  I understand.

  Adamon stood up and threw his uneaten piece of partridge into the coals. “Then ride, Azhure, for Axis lies close to despair, and you have a long way to go.”

  40

  THE BEAT OF THE STAR DANCE

  Belial sat before the fire and stared at the tent. They had come to this place ten days ago, and here they had stayed. That was partly due to Axis’ condition, but mostly because Azhure’s farflight scout had finally caught up with them. “I am coming,” Azhure’s message had stated, “do not commit to any course of action until I get there.”

  Where are you, Azhure? Belial thought bleakly. And what are you going to do when you get here? What the scout had been able to tell him of Azhure had cheered Belial. She had given birth and was well. She was eager to reach Axis. She would help.

  And has she learned of her power? Belial asked the scout.

  The birdman had thought about that. She was different, was all he could say, and with that Belial had to be content.

  The tent flap stirred and Belial jerked.

  Arne stepped forth, his face sallow and creased with deep lines.

  “How is he?” Belial croaked with a voice suddenly dry.

  “Still there,” Arne said. “I have come to refill the water pot.”

  A pail of melted snow was set to one side of the fire, and Arne ladled water from it into the pot he carried. Axis craved water constantly, and Belial wondered if his internal organs were as charred as his exterior. Gods, he wondered for the hundredth time that day, why can’t he die? Why won’t you let him die?

  Axis’ condition had deteriorated so badly that even if Belial had not received Azhure’s message, it was doubtful he would have travelled much further anyway. Axis had started the march east demanding that he ride Belaguez, but as his body further failed him, even the ropes and blankets could not keep him upright, and the day the farflight scout had arrived Axis had slipped twice from the saddle; the ropes meant to secure him almost cutting him in half as he hung down the horse’s side, moaning.

  Now Axis spent his days and nights inside a darkened tent, wrapped in blankets, sometimes delirious with pain and despair. Arne stayed with him most of the time, Belial taking his place when he had to sleep.

  Those hours with Axis, sitting silent in the tent, were
driving Belial mad. He had never thought to have to watch his friend suffer this way.

  Why couldn’t he die? Why?

  The night was full and dark now, the heavy clouds hiding the silvered disc of the moon floating above. About him the camp was settling down; horses stamped, men spoke quietly, somewhere someone laughed, gear clinked.

  It was quiet now, and Belial felt himself drift towards sleep. A horse snorted then whickered, and his head jerked up. But then there was silence, and Belial relaxed again. It was beginning to snow gently, and he wrapped his cloak about him, too tired to get up and search for a blanket or his sleeping roll.

  The tent was still and quiet, and Belial hoped Axis had managed to find escape in sleep or unconsciousness.

  He jerked out of slumber again. Something soft had tickled his hand where it lay curled about the outer edge of his cloak and he twitched irritably.

  But the tickle remained, and Belial twisted his head to see.

  Resting on the back of his hand, caught by a snowflake, was a delicate purple flower.

  Belial blinked, thinking it a phantasm of sleep, but the flower did not disappear. Wonderingly he reached out with his other hand and lifted the flower to his nose. It had a wild scent, and Belial felt his head spin.

  Somewhere a dog barked softly, once, then was quiet.

  Belial slowly sat up. There were no dogs in camp. Was this some stray that had survived the ice of Aldeni? He twisted about, looking behind him, wondering if he should investigate, when a rough tongue rasped across his cheek.

  “What—” he began, then fell to his back as the hound pushed him over and licked his face enthusiastically.

  Sicarius!

  “Oh, Mother!” Belial said, tears starting to his eyes, “Azhure!”

  “None other,” she laughed, and Belial scrambled to his feet. Azhure stood the other side of the fire, hands on hips, her eyes and mouth soft as she gazed at him.

  Belial stared at her. He had always believed Azhure more than beautiful, but now she seemed impossibly lovely. He remembered when she’d arrived at Sigholt, when he had lifted her from her horse. Then he had thought she had gained an aura of wildness; now that aura shone forth a hundred times stronger.

  Without thinking he stepped around the fire and folded her in his arms.

  Azhure hugged him, feeling his pain, remembering herself what it had felt like to have him hold her. “Shush,” she murmured, stroking his hair and kissing his cheek as she would a child. “I am here now. It will be all right.”

  “Oh, Azhure,” he muttered, “Azhure!” and he burst into tears.

  For a long time Azhure stood there, rocking him in her arms, trying to comfort him. Her own eyes glinted with tears, for the strength of Belial’s despair gave her some idea of the depth of Axis’ own nightmare.

  She leaned back in his arms eventually. “Tell me,” she said.

  And Belial did. She did not let him go, and he could feel when her arms tightened in horror even though her eyes and face remained calm. When he had finished she held him close again, gently stroking his cheek, her eyes fixed on some point far distant.

  “I thank you, Belial,” she whispered, “for what you have done for him.”

  “Azhure. Can you help him die? Do you love him enough for that?” “I love him, Belial, and I will do what I have to.”

  Axis lay still in his constant night and wondered that pain should have become such a valued companion. It was his only link with sanity, for if he held on to the pain, if he concentrated on it hard enough, then the despair receded until it was only a dark shadow lingering in the back of his consciousness.

  Pain, and his thirst. His thirst had become almost a living creature in itself, never letting him go, never letting him sleep, always demanding to be listened to, to be sated.

  He twisted his head, thinking to whisper to Arne for another sip when he heard the tent flap open, then fall shut. He closed his mouth, wondering if Belial had come in to relieve Arne. Belial was his friend, but Axis did not like Belial sitting with him; he could feel the man’s horror and his pity every time he had to come close to him.

  Arne’s voice sounded, low and surprised, then the tent flap lifted and closed again, and all was silent.

  Axis lay, every nerve afire, his ears straining. “Belial?”

  But his only answer was a soft footfall. Too soft for Belial. Someone else, then. Perhaps Belial could not face another shift minding this charred corpse and had sent some anonymous soldier. Axis did not blame him. Even friendship must have its limits.

  There was the flare of a match.

  “No,” Axis croaked. “Douse the lamp.” He had ordered that no-one light a lamp in his presence—he did not need to endure the horrified breaths every time someone caught a good look at him. But he heard the clink as the lamp glass was shifted, then replaced, and could almost feel the warm glow as whoever it was stood closer to the bed, lamp held high. Did they now disobey him, as well as recoil from him?

  Axis twisted in the bed, but his body was now so useless that he could do nothing about this silent inspection. “Put it out!” he rasped. “Put it out!”

  Then he caught the scent of the person, and his entire body stilled. So warm, so fragrant, and what was left of his hands twitched, as if he could feel her skin beneath his fingers.

  “Azhure,” he whispered, “Azhure…please…go! Please go! Don’t see me like this! Please…please…GO!”

  Belial heard Axis scream and took a step forward.

  Then a hand fell on his shoulder. “No, Belial, good man. Leave them.”

  Belial turned. A man, a beautiful man, stood behind him, his hair dark and curling about his shoulders. He was clad only in the lightest clothes, as if it was but a balmy summer’s day. “Who are you?” Belial said.

  And yet, strangely, he felt no fear, nor anger.

  The man indicated the fire. “Shall we sit, Belial? It will be a long night, I think.”

  “Very well.” But as they sat themselves before the fire Belial turned to the man, his face puzzled. “Who are you?”

  “My name is unimportant, Belial.”

  “Are you a friend of Axis’?”

  The man’s eyes drifted towards the tent. “Yes. Yes, I am. A friend of both Axis and Azhure’s.”

  Still she did not speak.

  He heard her put the lamp down on the stool by the bed, and then, horrifyingly, he felt her reach for the blankets and pull them away from his body.

  “No!” he shouted again, and began to cry, his arms twitching as they tried uselessly to cover the ruin of his flesh. Why did she have to see him like this? Why? Damn Belial for sending for her!

  Then he heard the rustle of fine material and the twitching of his arms slowed. What was she doing? Why wouldn’t she speak to him? Why wouldn’t she voice her horror? Her rejection?

  There was movement in the air, and he heard the crumple of material fall to the ground.

  Then she leaned close. “Axis,” she whispered so low he almost did not hear it. “Axis,” and the word was full of love. “Axis,” and she lay down beside him, and wrapped him in her soft, warm flesh.

  He thought he would never be able to endure the agony as his skin lifted and tore where she rubbed against him. He arched his back, and opened his mouth to scream. Why? Why? But then her movement ceased, and she lay warm and heavy and replete along his side, as if they had just made love, and her flesh no longer tortured, but eased him.

  For the first time in many interminable days he could feel warmth suffuse his body.

  She lifted her face to his and softly kissed what was left of his cheek, his nose, then his mouth.

  “Help me to die,” he whispered. “Please.”

  A cheerful woman, as beautiful as the man, now joined them. Her filmy gown made Belial blush, but politely she pretended not to notice, and gave him her hand to kiss.

  “My husband is here already,” she said, “and I am late. Well, ‘tis ever the way.”

  S
he turned to the man. “Are they inside?” and Belial heard the tension in her voice.

  Her husband nodded.

  The woman turned back to Belial. “Then we must wait. Perhaps we can pass the time with some conversation. Belial, know that we know you.”

  It was a strange thing to say, and Belial stared at her.

  She smiled, and Belial saw some of the same wildness about her eyes that he had seen about Azhure’s. He tensed. Who were they?

  The man replied quickly, sharply. “Friends, Belial. Nothing else matters.”

  The woman patted him on the arm. “Belial, whatever happens tonight, do not fear. Will you promise me that?”

  Belial nodded. “I have seen too many strange things over the past few years, my lady, to jump at shadows now.”

  “You are a rock, Belial.”

  “Azhure,” he whispered, evading her mouth, “what are you doing here?”

  He felt her lips smile against his face, and he wondered that she could bear it. “A strange thing to ask a wife, beloved, when she slips into her husband’s bed and seeks to please him with her kisses.”

  He tried to twist his face away, tried to pull away from her jest, but the bed was narrow, and there was no escaping her persistence. “Azhure,” he asked again, “help me to die.”

  “No.”

  “What point is there to life like this?” he shouted, startling her enough that she pulled back.

  “Axis,” she said mildly. “I will show you the way.”

  “To death?”

  “The GateKeeper has already refused you, beloved. Forever, we vowed, and forever it is.”

  Axis lay still and tried to think, tried to ignore her soft warmth. He had never told Azhure about the GateKeeper. “How do you know?” he asked eventually. Had the GateKeeper been so entertained by his desperate pleas that she had wafted into the OverWorld to share her amusement with his wife?

  Azhure smoothed her hand over his head, and tried to remember how soft his hair had been. “I met her, beloved, on the Isle of Mist and Memory.”