Starman

by Sara Douglass

  “Belial!” she whispered and then found she was allowed to say no more, nor that any more needed to be said.

  Rivkah stared at them a moment, wondering if she could interrupt to ask after Magariz, then decided against it. Neither Belial nor Cazna would hear her, anyway. She turned back to the crowd…and came face-to-face with her son.

  “Axis.”

  He had dismounted, Belaguez’s reins held loose in his hands, and he just stood, an island of stillness in the excitement about them, staring at his mother.

  “Axis,” she said, stepping forward, extending a hand, and after an instant’s hesitation he took it, then hugged her. She was five months pregnant now, and as her belly pressed into his Axis battled to control his emotions. It seemed somehow wrong, to have a mother this old carrying a child.

  And a brother. He could feel it.

  Rivkah leaned back, knowing the touch of power. “I’m sorry, Axis,” she said, and then cursed herself for apologising to him.

  “Rivkah!” Magariz’s voice broke between them, and he unceremoniously shoved Axis aside to embrace his wife.

  His reaction was entirely different to Axis’. “Rivkah!” he breathed, his eyes huge. “I…I…”

  “Thirty-five years too late, Magariz,” she said gently. “But an heir nevertheless. I hope your arthritis won’t prevent you from dangling your son on your knee.”

  Axis turned away, his mouth tight. He handed Belaguez’s reins to a stableboy, and looked about for Azhure.

  He found her over by the main entrance to the Keep, Caelum in her arms.

  “Papa!” Caelum shrieked, and Axis swung his son high into the air, then hugged him tight. Azhure stepped forward and put her arms about them both.

  “A family again,” she said, and Axis leaned down and kissed her.

  “Roland?” he asked.

  “Abed. Apparently he has not left it these past three weeks.”

  The light died in Axis’ eyes; having spent so much time close to death himself, he did not know if he could witness someone else’s death this soon. He nodded, then searched the crowd for Belial.

  “Belial!” he called, spotting him, arm about Cazna, and waited impatiently as the pair moved over to him.

  “Cazna,” he said, forcing a smile, “I regret that I will have to take your husband away from you.” Her face fell, but she straightened her shoulders stoically. “Belial, order the unit commanders to encamp the army on the grass between Sigholt and Lakesview, then join me in Roland’s chambers. He’s dying.”

  “Yes, StarMan.” Belial kissed Cazna quickly, then disappeared into the throng, shouting out names.

  Axis took Azhure’s hand. “Come, let’s see Roland.”

  Roland was one of Axis’ last links with a life that was rapidly fading into distant memory. Axis stood for a moment at the side of his bed, staring at Roland, before sitting down on its edge and taking the Duke’s hand.

  “At least,” Roland smiled, as if he knew what Axis was thinking, “I have the grace to die with the old order, and not hang around to clutter up the new.”

  “You are not clutter,” Axis said. Beside him Azhure sank into a chair, Caelum in her arms. As they approached the chamber Axis had asked her the wisdom of bringing Caelum, but Caelum had answered that he spent many hours each day with Roland, and Azhure had met Axis’ eyes. He does not need to be sheltered from death, Axis.

  Roland’s smile faded. His face was cadaverous, and his skin shone a dank grey. Axis was well acquainted with the look; the body was dead, but the spirit resisted and clung tenaciously to life. “There have been great battles, Axis, so I have heard.”

  Axis shrugged. “Battles, yes, whether great or not history will judge. But there are yet to be greater.”

  Roland’s eyes shadowed. “Azhure told me Jorge was dead.”

  Axis nodded. “He was murdered by a Traitor. Timozel, son of the Lady of Tare.”

  If possible, Roland’s skin shrank even closer against his bones. “Oh, no, Axis! I liked that boy.”

  “We all did,” Axis said softly, “and we were all mistaken.” He touched the sword by his side. “I carry Jorge’s sword, Roland, the one Timozel used to murder him with, and I vowed on Jorge’s body that one day I will sink it deep into Timozel’s belly.”

  Roland looked away. “Perhaps I am not sad to be leaving this world, Axis. No doubt Jorge awaits me in the AfterLife, and will harangue me when I arrive for keeping him waiting.”

  Axis’ eyes filled with tears. “Your children and grandchildren are well, Roland, and Aldeni itself reawakens from its death.”

  Roland nodded without interest, his thoughts still on Jorge. It would not be long before he saw his old friend again.

  Azhure leaned over and kissed Roland softly on the mouth. “We will miss you, Roland. Miss your humour, and your wisdom.” She lifted Caelum up so he could say his goodbyes.

  The door opened and Belial stepped into the room. He exchanged glances with Axis, then sat down on the other side of the bed.

  Roland looked at Belial. “The Enchantress says I am wise, Belial, but perhaps I erred too long in staying with Borneheld. What do you think?”

  “I think that even Borneheld appreciated your wisdom,” Belial said, trying to smile, “but I do not think he fully understood it.”

  Roland guffawed with laughter. “For a man who has ridden with the sword for so long, Belial, your courtly manners amaze me.”

  His laughter died suddenly. “I am afraid, Belial…and I think you are the only one in this room who truly understands that.”

  There was utter silence. Axis opened his mouth to say something, but found that there was nothing to say. Azhure rested her chin in Caelum’s hair, her eyes steady on Roland’s face. Belial took Roland’s hand and held it.

  “I am afraid,” Roland said again, then died.

  For some time Axis stood and stared at Roland, then he roused and looked at Belial, still sitting on the other side of the bed, his head bowed. “Belial?”

  Belial raised his head, and Axis was not surprised to see that his friend’s eyes were red-rimmed. “Belial,” he said, “Roland is no longer afraid.”

  Belial shifted his eyes to Azhure, and she gazed placidly at him. “I will fetch the servants, Belial, and attend to Roland myself. There is no need for you to stay. Cazna no doubt awaits you.”

  “No,” he said. “No. I loved and admired Roland too, and he would appreciate it if I stayed to help prepare him for burial and watched the night through to dawn.”

  As Azhure rose, Axis lifted Caelum from her arms. “Where are they?” he said flatly.

  Axis had brought Caelum, not only because he needed the support, but because he thought the twins might react more favourably with their brother present. Unfortunately, he was wrong.

  He paused outside the door to their apartments, his hand on the doorknob, then he turned it quickly, before his courage failed him completely, and stepped through. He did not particularly want to meet these latest children of his, but it was a task that had to be done. Caelum twisted his head towards a door that led to a series of smaller rooms away from Axis and Azhure’s main chambers, and Axis walked slowly over. There was a soft light shining from under the door and, when he opened it, he found Imibe leaning over one of two cribs in the first of the rooms.

  Axis felt a shiver of premonition crawl down his spine and he berated himself silently; how can you call yourself a great warrior to be so terrified of two small babes?

  Imibe straightened and Axis tipped his head toward the door; she curtsied silently and left, closing the door behind her.

  Then, as Azhure had done two months before, Axis walked slowly over to the cribs to greet his children. And, as Azhure had, he reached his daughter’s crib first. A daughter. Axis tried to conjure up some joy at this thought, for she was indeed a beautiful child, but she lay there and gazed at him with such studied lack of interest that Axis found he could not summon even a single spark of enthusiasm.

&n
bsp; He reached down a hand and stroked her cheek. Why couldn’t she love him? Why couldn’t he love her? But all there was between them was indifference.

  “Welcome RiverStar SunSoar, into the House of the Stars. My name is Axis, and I am your father.” Much that you care, he thought, almost nauseated by the cold apathy that rose from her flat stare. “May you learn charity and tolerance,” he said suddenly, “for your beauty will be nothing without them.”

  Then he put Caelum down and picked up his daughter, raising her to his face and kissing her brow gently. “I want to learn to love you, RiverStar,” he whispered. “Please, let me love you.”

  But the baby turned her head away, and Axis, his mouth thinning, put her back in her crib and lifted Caelum back into his arms. “And now,” he said, “your brother.”

  If he had felt apathy from RiverStar, then Axis was met with such a torrent of hatred from DragonStar that he took a shocked step back as soon as he looked into the crib.

  “By the Stars!” he whispered, and Caelum whimpered, clinging close to his father. “What have I done to deserve this much revulsion?”

  DragonStar twisted in the crib and glared at his father and his elder brother. His tiny fists clenched in rage and frustration; he’d hoped his father would never, never, come home.

  “Why?” his father asked, leaning back over the crib. “Why?”

  Because of what you did to my mother.

  “There must be more to it than that!” Axis said, trying to control his temper. If that was all that lay between them, then why did DragonStar harbour so much ill-feeling toward Azhure as well?

  The baby was silent, but his fists twitched, and Axis suddenly understood that if DragonStar was grown, he would have physically attacked him. As it was, Axis was stunned by the power the baby demonstrated.

  I should be first, DragonStar said suddenly. I should be your heir. With my power, my potential, I deserve to be your heir. Make me first and I will love you.

  Now Axis was even more shocked, and he saw that Caelum had lost most of his colour. “No-one chooses when or to whom they are born,” he tried to explain in as moderate a tone as he could manage, then he repeated what he had said to RiverStar. “I want to love you. Let me love you.”

  DragonStar narrowed his eyes into tiny slits. I want to be your heir! I must be StarSon, not that sop-eyed tot you carry in your arms! What quirk of fate seeded me SECOND into Azhure’s used womb?

  Utterly appalled, Axis lost his temper. How can you lie there and berate me for what I did to Azhure, when you tore her almost to shreds in your efforts to be born! You do not deserve her for your mother, and I, at least, am glad that you are not my eldest son! I have every reason to be glad you are not my heir, DragonStar. And I will not welcome you into the House of Stars until you have learned both humility and compassion!

  He took a huge breath, his eyes wide and furious, then he strode from the room.

  DragonStar stared at him through the gaps in the wickerwork as long as he could, watching his father stride away, Caelum cuddled tight against his chest, and hated.

  I will be your heir, he thought with malevolence surprisingly focused for one so young, for none deserve it more than I!

  Axis had managed to control his temper by the time he found Azhure and Belial conversing quietly outside Roland’s chamber, but anger still coursed through him. Azhure looked up as he approached, and she paled at what she saw on his face.

  “I want DragonStar out of our apartments,” he said tightly. “I do not want him near Caelum or his sister. If she is indifferent, then it is because of his influence.”

  Belial opened his mouth, appalled. “Axis? He is but a baby. How can you—”

  Axis rounded on him, his temper out of control again. “But a baby? He hates enough for a battalion of Skraelings, Belial! I do not have to live with that, and I do not have to expose my other children to it!”

  Azhure placed a hand on his arm, and Axis turned his eyes on her, sharing the memory of what had gone on in the room.

  “Axis!”

  Belial looked between the two of them, wishing he could understand. “Axis,” he said, “do not let this night ruin your relationship with your son.” He thought quickly. “If you like, Cazna and I will take him, give you time to think things over. I’m sure that Cazna would like to have a baby to croon over.”

  “Better to give her one yourself!” Axis snapped, but he nodded curtly after a minute. “As you wish. You can take the boy. But keep him out of my way!”

  And with that he was gone, Azhure hurrying after him.

  43

  CHOICES

  They farewelled Roland at dusk the next day, sending him on his journey into the AfterLife with a great pyre on the shores of the Lake of Life. Almost everyone attended, for Roland had been loved among the people of Lakesview as well as among most of the soldiers in Axis’ army. Even the remainder of the Strike Force were there, forming an honour guard as Roland’s body was carried from the Keep to the pyre.

  The bridge wept as Roland passed over her for the last time, for they had spent many a long hour talking companionably together, and the bridge had come to respect him very much.

  Cazna was there too, the baby boy in her arms, still faintly surprised at finding herself so precipitously cast into motherhood. But she smiled and crooned over the baby and remained totally insensitive to the fact that DragonStar directed a constant stream of malevolence towards his parents and elder brother.

  When it was done, Axis waved SpikeFeather TrueSong over to him and Azhure.

  SpikeFeather saluted smartly, then stood ready.

  “SpikeFeather,” Axis began, “we are worried.”

  Azhure took over. “Few Icarii have come this way, have they, SpikeFeather?”

  “No, Enchantress,” SpikeFeather said. “There were some here when we arrived, but most of them had been here since well before the StarMan locked Sigholt in her enchantments. Anyone else coming from Talon Spike would probably be unable to find the place.”

  “Have you heard word of any movement south from Talon Spike?”

  SpikeFeather smiled. “Enchantress. You know how isolated Sigholt has been. If Icarii fly south then they would go through the Avarinheim, then directly south from the Nordra.”

  Azhure exchanged a worried glance with Axis. “SpikeFeather, you may not know this, but two months ago I sent word to RavenCrest to evacuate Talon Spike. I feared attack by Gryphon—Gorgrael still has many at his command—and you know Talon Spike is almost defenceless.”

  SpikeFeather’s face darkened. “I could fly the Strike Force there within—”

  “No,” Axis said, raising his hand. “No. SpikeFeather, Gorgrael has over seven thousand Gryphon left…”

  SpikeFeather blanched so badly Azhure thought he would faint.

  “And I don’t want you, or anyone else, to pretend that what’s left of the Strike Force could protect Talon Spike against the Gryphon.”

  “We thought we could send you, perhaps with a Wing, north to Talon Spike,” Azhure said, her eyes locked onto SpikeFeather’s face. “Find out what’s happening, help if you can.”

  Azhure could go herself, but she was reluctant. She knew that Faraday would need her within six or seven weeks, and she didn’t think she could get to Talon Spike and back with enough time to spare; her instinctive powers did not permit travel between sites as Axis’ Enchanter powers did. Her instinct, however, did warn her that to attempt to confront the Gryphon now would be fatal; she still needed to grow further. And Azhure didn’t want to leave Axis. Not when she’d just found him again. Or Caelum.

  “It will be hard, if not impossible, to evacuate Talon Spike,” SpikeFeather said. “There are the young children…”

  “I sent word that RavenCrest should use the waterways to get the children to safety,” Azhure said. “I can see no reason why Orr should refuse them.”

  SpikeFeather glanced at Axis; he had met the Ferryman two years ago, and he did not think the
cantankerous Charonite would accede to anything without great persuasion. The Charonites did not think very highly of the Icarii, and if RavenCrest had gone down there personally and imperiously demanded that the Ferryman take the children…SpikeFeather shuddered, and his reaction did not go unnoticed by either Axis or Azhure.

  “SpikeFeather,” Axis said. “We need to know that the Icarii in Talon Spike are safe. Make sure they are flying to the Avarinheim, or even further south into Tencendor, but make sure that they are out of there!”

  SpikeFeather nodded, saluted, and turned away.

  He left at dawn the next morning, a Wing behind him, and flew as hard and as fast as he could. They rested six or seven hours each night in the Avarinheim itself, with one of the Clans if they could find one, and the Avar reported that there had been no large-scale movement south since Yuletide.

  One Clan leader had shrugged. “Daily flights of about two hundred for several weeks before Yuletide, and groups of fifteen to twenty every few days since, Crest-Leader, but that’s all.”

  Stars! SpikeFeather cursed, tens of thousands must still be in Talon Spike. That night he gave the Wing only four hours rest before he hustled them back into the sky.

  When they finally arrived at Talon Spike they found the mountain still crowded with Icarii, a discovery that sent SpikeFeather spiralling as close to depression as he had since the virtual destruction of the Strike Force at the Azle.

  They had been spotted approaching the mountain, and RavenCrest himself met SpikeFeather at the flight balconies at the very apex of Talon Spike.

  “Talon,” SpikeFeather said, spreading his wings behind him as he bowed low.

  RavenCrest’s mouth quirked in grim humour. “Crest-Leader I see, SpikeFeather, by the insignia you wear. Next you’ll be telling me that you command the Strike Force itself.”

  SpikeFeather rose from his bow, and in his dark eyes was such great sorrow that RavenCrest recoiled. “No,” he whispered. “It cannot be!”