Starman

by Sara Douglass

  “Do you know everything?”

  “Most,” WolfStar said. “Yet even so, the Prophecy has managed to surprise me occasionally. Sit, Axis, and talk with me.”

  Reluctantly, Axis sank to the ground and forced himself to relax. “Well?”

  “Well…what?”

  “Tell me about the Prophecy. Why did you create it? Was it just idiot gabble for your amusement?”

  WolfStar sighed and ran his fingers through his coppery curls. “Idiot gabble?” He laughed shortly and stretched one golden wing slightly, then he folded both wings against his body. “Oh, the Prophecy has meaning, Axis, deep meaning.”

  He settled comfortably. “I did not actually ‘create’ the Prophecy of the Destroyer, although I was the one to write it down.” He grinned. “Think, Axis, of when you read the Prophecy in the Silent Woman Keep. The last fingers to trace so closely over that page were mine.”

  Axis waved a hand impatiently and WolfStar sighed. “There are things that would take me years to explain, Axis, and you have to grow before you can hear them anyway, so I will not attempt to explain them here. I died…you know how…and I was laid to rest in my Barrow among the others—with my death we were nine.” His eyes locked with Axis’ for an instant. “I walked through the Star Gate and entered another existence.”

  He stopped, and for some time there was silence between them.

  “I existed,” WolfStar said eventually, and Axis jumped, for he could see stars circling in the Enchanter-Talon’s eyes. “I cannot say more than that. But while I…existed…there came to me certain knowledges. Knowledges that made it imperative that I re-enter this world.”

  “Wait.” Axis leaned forward, and whatever antagonism he had for WolfStar vanished in his thirst for knowledge and understanding. “Some time ago Veremund told me your story.”

  WolfStar’s face remained expressionless, although a nerve twitched in his throat.

  “He told me of how you had been fascinated in your youth by the possibility of other worlds beyond this one. You surmised that each sun was paired with a world, perhaps like ours, that circled it, as ours does. You looked at the multitude of stars in the universe, and surmised that a multitude of worlds also existed. The others thought it was crazy, but I wondered. WolfStar…what did you find beyond the Star Gate?”

  WolfStar smiled slightly. “Do you ask if I found other worlds, Axis? Well…conceivably. But that is a story that waits for another day. It was,” his voice slowed, “perhaps one of the reasons I returned.”

  He shook himself and the smile died. “Enough. I returned because among the knowledges that came my way was the knowledge that the world I loved and served…yes, Axis, I did love and serve Tencendor despite my actions…faced terrible troubles. A time of turmoil. Of war. An age when it would be torn asunder. Nothing could stop these troubles. But something could be done to help repair the damage.”

  “The Prophecy?”

  “Yes. The Prophecy existed beyond me. I did not create it. It found me and used me as it used so many others. It persuaded me back through the Star Gate and I, in my role as the Prophet, have been its servant ever since. I recruited the Sentinels, I wrote it down, I watched the nation I loved fall apart as the Prophecy said that it would, I fathered Azhure, and I have worked constantly to ensure the success of the Prophecy.”

  “Manipulated.”

  “Yes!” WolfStar spat. “Manipulated. I will stop at nothing to ensure its success, and I let no trivial emotion or consideration of right or wrong get in the way of the Prophecy!”

  “WolfStar,” and his hand plucked at his golden tunic.

  “Yes?” WolfStar growled.

  “Do you see these bloodstains here?”

  WolfStar peered, then waved his hand. “Those? Bah!”

  And Faraday’s blood disappeared.

  Somehow that angered Axis more than anything else.

  “Does guilt vanish that easily, WolfStar?” he snarled, and he seized WolfStar’s forearm.

  WolfStar stiffened, but he did not throw Axis off.

  “That was Faraday’s blood, WolfStar! Faraday! Who died instead of Azhure!”

  “Yes,” WolfStar said quietly.

  “Did you manipulate her into Gorgrael’s den?”

  There was utter silence across the tundra. Far, far away Axis could…feel…the grey waves rolling against the Icebear Coast, but their sound had faded into silence. There was nothing but the featureless snowfields and WolfStar…WolfStar staring into his eyes.

  “Yes,” he said, voice and face calm. “I did.”

  Axis’ fingers spasmed and dug further into WolfStar’s flesh, but the Enchanter-Talon showed no response.

  “Yes?” Axis whispered. “Yes? You murdered her!”

  “You pitiful fool!” WolfStar shouted, and wrenched his arm from Axis’ hold. “Would you rather the entire Prophecy had collapsed at that point? Would you rather that Gorgrael had Azhure embraced in his talons?”

  Axis stared at the Enchanter.

  “Listen to me,” WolfStar said, his patience exhausted. “Gorgrael could have won, would have won, if he’d had Azhure instead of Faraday. Even as powerful as she is now, Azhure would have been no match for him; he would have overpowered her…and killed her. Could you have maintained your concentration, maintained your hold over the Star Dance flooding through the Sceptre if it had been Azhure with her throat and belly ripped open before you?”

  “And so you murdered Faraday.”

  “Yes. If you want to put it that way.”

  “You sacrificed her!”

  “I fooled Gorgrael into believing that Faraday was your true Lover, and I saved your life, and Azhure’s life and the life of Tencendor. That’s all that really matters.”

  “And Faraday died.”

  “You are more than a pitiful fool, Axis.” WolfStar’s voice was low and very angry. “Why not tax me with Jorge’s death? Or HoverEye’s? Or any one of the thousands you lost at Gorkenfort? Why not tax me with the loss of Timozel’s innocence? Why not? Because of your own guilt that you stood there and watched Faraday die!”

  “I had no choice,” Axis said flatly. “To try to save her would have been to condemn us both. She had to die.”

  With those last words his mouth froze open, as if he could not believe that he had said them.

  “Yes,” WolfStar said, and there was sympathy in his voice now. “She had to die, and in dying she saved you and Azhure and Tencendor, and she knew it! That was the greatest gift I could give her in return for her life.”

  He reached across and took Axis’ hand, and when he resumed his voice was very soft. “She knew it, Axis. And she knew there was no place left for her here.”

  “Stars, WolfStar, what do I do now?”

  Even WolfStar had to react to the naked pain in Axis’ voice. “You set your guilt to one side, Axis, and you carry out Faraday’s last wish and visit the Sacred Grove. Then you go home to Azhure and you rebuild Tencendor into the glory that is its by right and you learn and you grow and you take your proper place among the Nine, and one day I may return and share with you some of the other knowledges I gained beyond the Star Gate. I may even tell you of the worlds I found there…I think you would like that. And one day I will have to tell you of the dangers I found beyond the Star Gate.”

  He stopped, and he squeezed Axis’ hand gently.

  “Now, go collect Faraday’s gift.”

  Then he rose in one fluid movement and strode away over the tundra.

  That was the last Axis saw of him. A figure striding away into the distance.

  As he watched, the figure assumed a black cloak that billowed out behind him, and he could hear faint snatches of some merry melody being whistled across the tundra.

  74

  FARADAY’S GIFT

  Axis ran the Song of Movement through his head, and transferred into the Sacred Grove. This was a deeply magical place, and Axis never harboured a single doubt that he would transfer there as easily as he co
uld have transferred to Sigholt.

  And so he did.

  About him the white tundra flowed into glowing emerald, then that shifted and changed into the trees that lined the paths to the Grove. Axis did his best to still his nerves and strode as resolutely as he could along the path. What would he find? The Horned Ones had never liked him, nor had they ever trusted him—what would they think now? Their beloved Faraday had been torn to pieces before his eyes while he did nothing?

  Perhaps that was why they had never liked him. Perhaps they had somehow known.

  The path broadened and the trees drew back. Above his head the stars spun in their everlasting dance; the music of the Star Dance was potent here. Before him the Grove yawned in a great, silent circle.

  Axis halted at its edge, uncertain. The Grove was very different, but why was not immediately obvious. Axis stood completely still, trying to understand.

  The same power still swept it; he could feel it circling, watching.

  It was the trees, he finally realised. On the two occasions he had been here previously, once in dream and once at Faraday’s behest to witness Raum’s transformation, he had felt the weight of eyes watching from the encircling trees.

  Now the eyes were largely gone. Oh, some were still there, and Axis could feel them waiting…waiting for something, but they were only a fraction of the number that had watched before.

  Axis felt more comfortable now that he understood the difference, and he stepped into the Grove itself. Why had Faraday wanted him to come here? What had WolfStar meant…“gift”?

  He stepped cautiously, unnerved by the silence. Where were the Horned Ones? Always before they had greeted him.

  A movement in the grass caught his eye and he jerked to a halt.

  Breeze, that’s all, he told himself, and took another step forward.

  Except there was no breeze.

  He stopped again, his heart pounding. He could sense that something very important was about to happen—he could feel the power of the Grove gathering—and the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

  Eerie silence crashed about him.

  Another step, then another, oh so cautious, and the grass wavered a little more.

  Axis stopped again. His heart was beating so hard now that he could feel it leaping into his throat. The sense of imminence was almost overbearing, and Axis fought the urge to turn and run.

  He looked carefully about. Nothing moved…except something in that patch of grass some fifteen paces away.

  Why am I afraid? Have I not just defeated Gorgrael? Have I not just won? Then why am I so afraid? Afraid like a child lost in a dark wood on a stormy night?

  Why? Because here he was the child lost in the dark wood.

  Axis took several more steps and, when nothing happened, several more. He was closer to the patch of grass now, and he understood that whatever was going to happen would take place there.

  Taking a deep breath, summoning all his courage, feeling the icy weight of fate, he stepped over to the gently waving grass.

  A tiny naked baby lay there.

  Axis wavered with shock, and his face blanched. For several heartbeats he did not breathe.

  A tiny baby boy.

  No! No! Not this!

  He trembled, and his shaking grew so bad he had to sink to his knees.

  Beside the baby.

  The baby was asleep, and he moved his fists slowly, his fingers kneading, as if he dreamed of his mother. His head was covered with soft blond down, his body was plump and healthy.

  He was so small that Axis knew he could not have been more than seven or eight weeks old, if that.

  Axis reached down towards the baby, and found that his hand shook so violently he had to clench it into a fist before he could continue. Once he regained control of himself, he touched the baby’s head.

  The baby woke with a soft cry, and Axis’ heart lurched over. The baby turned his head slowly, dreamily, looking for the hand that had woken him, and then he rolled his head completely over and looked at Axis with Faraday’s green eyes.

  “Oh gods,” Axis muttered brokenly, and gathered the baby into his arms.

  How could I have done this to her, on top of all the other hurts?

  The baby nestled familiarly against his chest, as if he recognised him, and buried one tiny fist in the material of the golden tunic.

  The baby’s blood called to him, sang to him, and Axis felt his own respond. There was no doubt that this was his son.

  Why didn’t she tell me? Why? Why? Why?

  Axis began to cry, slowly, silently, not wanting to upset the baby. No wonder Faraday had disappeared morning and evening to return to the Grove. She had come to feed their son, and to play with him.

  Now she was dead, and her beautiful son would never more know his mother.

  Axis bowed his head, and his tears fell on the baby, and he sat there for a very long time, rocking gently, grieving anew for Faraday.

  “His name is Isfrael.”

  Axis blinked, and wiped away some of his tears, but he did not immediately look up.

  “She named him that because she thought it resembled a dream.”

  “A dream?” Axis finally raised his eyes. Standing several paces away was a silver-pelted Horned One.

  Utter hostility radiated from him.

  “Isfrael,” Axis murmured. “It is a beautiful name. A dream?”

  The hostility increased. “She would dream of a home and a happiness she knew she could never have. Sometimes, in those dreams, she dreamed of this name.”

  Axis closed his eyes momentarily against the pain and the guilt.

  “She told me to tell you to take him home to Azhure to raise. She said that Azhure would be a good mother to him.”

  Axis turned his head away, unable to bear the Horned One’s stare any longer. Azhure had once feared that Axis would take Caelum from her and give him to Faraday to raise. What ultimate irony. Now Azhure would raise Faraday’s son.

  “She also said that one day you would give him to the Avar.”

  “What?” Axis looked back at the Horned One and his hands tightened protectively about the baby.

  “Isfrael is a gift, StarMan, but ultimately he is a gift to the Avar people. Faraday did not live long enough,” and the silver pelt paused to stare at Axis with hard eyes, “to lead them from their exile. Isfrael will eventually do that. He will become the Mage-King of the Avar. You must teach him what you can for as long as you can and, when the time comes, the Avar will take over his care and his training.”

  No, Axis was going to whisper, but the Horned One forestalled him.

  “They died for you as well, StarMan.”

  Not as many as others, Axis was going to shout, but again the Horned One anticipated him.

  “And so did she.”

  Axis closed his mouth and bowed his head in silent agreement.

  Axis?

  He raised his head. The silver pelt had disappeared, and by the tree line stood a white stag. He paused, trembling, as if afraid to be caught in the open, and his dark eyes rolled in apprehension at the sky above, but he eventually overcame his fear and stepped daintily, regally, towards Axis and the baby.

  Axis?

  Raum?

  That was once my name, yes.

  Have you come to revile me as well?

  I would never do that, Axis. I have come to repay my debt to you.

  Debt?

  Axis, years ago at the border of the Avarinheim you saved both my life and Shra’s. For that I owed you two lives.

  Yes.

  I gave one back to you then. I told you that Faraday lived.

  Axis lowered his head, remembering. Yes.

  Now I give you back the second life that I owe you.

  Axis raised his eyes.

  Faraday lives.

  Axis’ eyes widened and his breathing stilled.

  But she does not exist in a form that will suit you, StarMan. You may see her occasionally, but you will never speak
to her again. You will never touch her again. You will never hurt her again. She runs unfettered, Axis, and she is finally free of you.

  The stag paused, trembling again and, as Axis stretched out a silent hand towards him, he bounded away into the trees and was lost to sight.

  “No!” Axis cried, and the baby whimpered. “No, come back! Come back!”

  Epilogue

  NINE YEARS LATER

  “Papa?”

  “Yes?” Axis looked down into Isfrael’s green eyes and smiled. He tightened his own hand about that of his son.

  “You don’t like these woods very much, do you?”

  Axis laughed uncomfortably, and glanced back to the forest path they had walked down. To either side the great trees reared towards the sky, but the atmosphere was peaceful rather than constricting, and birds and butterflies frolicked among the sunbeams filtering through the emerald canopy. Earlier in the day, he and Azhure had brought their children to the northern rim of Minstrelsea. They had picnicked by the banks of the Nordra, then Axis and Isfrael had entered the forest alone.

  They did this twice a year, as they had every year since Axis had returned to Sigholt with the baby in his arms. Although he could never bring himself to ask, Axis suspected that Azhure sometimes travelled these woods with Caelum or Isfrael or their daughter, and perhaps sometimes all three. There was a deep bond between what-had-once-been-Faraday and Azhure, and Axis wondered if Faraday ever appeared to Azhure in her human form.

  The one time he had asked, Azhure had looked at him, and then gently changed the subject.

  Axis never asked Isfrael.

  “Well?” Isfrael pulled at Axis’ hand impatiently.

  “I like them well enough, Isfrael. How could anyone not appreciate their beauty? But I feel uncomfortable here, yes. I…”

  How to explain it to the boy? “The forest and I enjoy different kinds of magic,” and Axis suddenly realised that this was the nub of the matter, “and although we appreciate each other, neither of us is truly comfortable with the other.”