Pilgrim

by Sara Douglass

  His thoughts meandered, wondering what it would be like when Zenith finally did come to his bed…

  “Watch where you’re going!” a hoarse, unknown voice cried.

  Zenith gave a sharp cry of surprise and wrenched StarDrifter to one side.

  StarDrifter blinked, concentrated on the moment rather than the wishful, and then his eyes widened in surprise.

  He and Zenith had rounded a bend in the corridor to meet a group of four Avar and a male and female Icarii, all six now staring angrily at StarDrifter. There was an overturned basket and a dozen pieces of halo fruit scattered over the floor, and StarDrifter realised the group had been in the midst of an acrimonious argument over the possession of the crop of fruit the Icarii pair had obviously plucked from the Minstrelsea forest.

  It was extraordinary, StarDrifter thought, that the Avar had pursued the Icarii inside the city. He opened his mouth to say something, but the Avars’ attention had swung back to the fruit and the guilty Icarii.

  One of the Avar jabbed his fist angrily in the direction of the Icarii male.

  “The forest is ours to forage, birdman! What gives you the right to—”

  “My starving children give me the right!” the birdman yelled, his bright yellow feathers standing up along the length of his neck and across his shoulders. “The forest is not yours exclusively.”

  StarDrifter and Zenith shared a shocked look, and StarDrifter decided he ought to do something. He stepped forward and held out his hands placatingly.

  “My friends, what is wrong? Surely,” he turned slightly to the birdman, “there is no need to expend such anger over a simple basket of halo fruit?”

  “That fruit,” the birdman said in a voice still vibrating with emotion, “means survival for my wife and children.”

  He paused and looked at StarDrifter carefully. “You are StarDrifter SunSoar, are you not?”

  StarDrifter nodded. “And this is Axis and Azhure’s daughter, Zenith SunSoar.”

  The Icarii birdman’s lip curled slightly. “And as always, the SunSoar clan looks remarkably well-fed. Does your family have stocks of food, SunSoar, that might feed my family?”

  The Avar had stepped back slightly, looking carefully between the two groups of Icarii. Nevertheless, the largest Avar male, probably the Clan leader, had not stepped so far from the fruit that he could not seize it if the opportunity presented itself.

  “I am sorry, we have no food ourselves,” Zenith said. “Forgive me, I do not know you and your wife’s—”

  The birdman belatedly found some manners. “My name is GristleCrest SweptNest,” he said, with only the barest inclination of his head. “And this my wife, PalmStar.”

  GristleCrest very slightly stressed the “Star” of his wife’s name, conveying just the faintest touch of disrespect. StarDrifter shivered involuntarily. If Enchanters had lost their powers, had they then lost all value and respect in the eyes of ordinary Icarii?

  Zenith nodded at the two Icarii, and then politely enquired after the Avar.

  “Jokam, of the StillPond Clan,” the man said. “My wife, my brother, and my nephew.”

  He did not extend Zenith the courtesy of their names.

  GristleCrest took a deep breath, his neck and shoulders corded with tension. “StarDrifter, Zenith, do you retain your enchantment?”

  For an instant hope flared in PalmStar’s eyes, but it faded as StarDrifter and Zenith shook their heads.

  “No,” StarDrifter said. “We have lost the Star Dance, as have all Enchanters.”

  “Then you can well imagine life in the Minaret Peaks without enchantment, SunSoar,” GristleCrest said. “No light, no heat, no food.”

  “We have seen the darkness, and felt the chill,” Zenith said. “But we had not thought that you might be—”

  “Starving,” PalmStar said. Her voice was flat. “And worse. Scores of Icarii have died trying to fly through the corridors and shafts we have no torches for. My own sister, an Enchanter for the Stars’ sakes!, died yesterday evening—she slammed into a rock face when flying to find food for her children.”

  She turned her face away, unable to look at StarDrifter or Zenith. “Other Icarii lie crippled, their wings broken through accident. Others yet lie unable to move because of the cold, or because they have not eaten enough to find the strength to move.”

  StarDrifter briefly closed his eyes. All this sadness and misery and death within only weeks of the Demons’ arrival. Would there be an Icarii race left in a year? In six months?

  “Even our gods have deserted us,” GristleCrest said, very quietly now, his eyes fixed on StarDrifter. “Where are they, SunSoar? Where your son? Where Azhure? Where the StarSon? How long before all the Gods survey is a pile of bones? Even the Acharites could not bring us to our knees so effectively.”

  “We have news,” StarDrifter said, “but should share it first with the Talon—”

  “Ah,” GristleCrest spat, “and no doubt you SunSoars will decide to save only each other!”

  “That is not fair!” Zenith said. “We will do all we can—”

  But GristleCrest and PalmStar were gone, snatching a few pieces of fruit as they went.

  The Avar silently gathered the rest into the basket, stared equally as silently at StarDrifter and Zenith, and then walked away.

  Within heartbeats they were lost to the gloom of the corridor.

  A few minutes later StarDrifter and Zenith met the Master Secretary of the palace, StarFever HighCrest, wandering down a side hallway. His well-remembered saffron brightness was undiminished, but his skin was pale and his eyes overbright.

  At least he, they were relieved to see, offered them more respect than GristleCrest had.

  “StarDrifter! Zenith! Welcome.” StarFever bowed deeply, spreading his wings out behind him.

  StarDrifter returned StarFever’s bow, noting that the Master Secretary of the Palace’s face was haggard and lined (the effects of hunger and frustration, or was his age showing?).

  “We greet you well,” he said, Zenith murmuring the same words at his side. “StarFever, things do not seem well here.”

  To StarDrifter’s horror, StarFever’s eyes glimmered with tears. “Have you brought hope with you, StarDrifter?”

  “As much as I am able,” StarDrifter said, his voice soft with pity. “Please, Zenith and I need to see Talon FreeFall.”

  StarFever nodded, then raised the lamp he held at his side and led them down a hall. StarDrifter thought nothing epitomised the depths the Icarii had sunk to more than that lamp. It spluttered fitfully on a thin diet of animal fats and the oil of the limapeg tree; it smelled frightful and threw an utterly inadequate light about them—several times StarDrifter stumbled across a step he had not realised approached, and Zenith likewise had trouble with her footing.

  Who had ever seen an Icarii stumble before?

  As they progressed deeper within the palace complex, what brightness the lamp did cast revealed an increasing number of gaunt-faced Icarii. All they passed were huddled in their wings (none dared fly the spacious corridors) and some even in fur capes; the fitful lamplight revealed thin fingers of ice running down stone walls. Whatever beauty the inner chambers of the Peaks had once possessed had been lost with the Star Dance, or was hidden in the gloom.

  There was no music save careful scuffling movement and the occasional exclamation and thump as someone fell down a step that had surprised their feet, and it was to that accompaniment that StarFever led them into the Talon’s audience chamber.

  There was more light in this chamber, for the roof soared into one of the massive spires that characterised the Minaret Peaks, and welcome sunlight filtered down from the skylight far above. The chamber, decorated with swirls of gold and silver on its walls and ceiling, was empty of everything save a round table and chairs directly beneath the spire, a glowing brazier to one side (a dusty pile of coal beside it), and FreeFall and his wife EvenSong, standing close together by the heat. They turned as StarFever le
d StarDrifter and Zenith into the room.

  “Uncle! Zenith!” FreeFall strode across the room and enveloped StarDrifter in a huge hug, turning to embrace Zenith as EvenSong wrapped her arms about her father.

  Behind them, StarFever quietly exited the Chamber, closing the door as he went.

  “I swear,” FreeFall said, as he stepped back from Zenith and studied StarDrifter, “that you look better than I do.”

  StarDrifter tried to smile, but was unable to. Both FreeFall and EvenSong looked careworn and tired beyond measure. As with StarFever, their skin was abnormally pale and their eyes overly bright, and StarDrifter realised the toll that maintaining a constant facade of strength had exacted on his daughter and nephew. He thanked every Star in existence that Rivkah had died before she could see the fate that had enveloped her daughter. At least, he thought, she died thinking that EvenSong would live out a long life in joy and comfort.

  “Things have not been good here,” he observed.

  FreeFall grimaced. “As good as they are on the unprotected plains, no doubt. We might not be subject to this disgusting miasma I am told issues forth during the Demonic Hours, but the loss of enchantment, and all that means to us, has been devastating.”

  “We have tried our best to cope, father,” EvenSong said. “We have tried so hard, but trying to find the food to feed over a hundred thousand Icarii, and the means to warm them and light their way, has been…taxing.”

  Zenith shot her a sympathetic glance. EvenSong was a resourceful and emotionally strong birdwoman. Seeing her face wreathed in so much helplessness bespoke the difficulties of life in this dying complex.

  “But at least you two look well,” FreeFall said. His voice tightened. “What news? We are as starved for news—and hope—as we are for bread and warmth.”

  “Zenith and I are weary,” StarDrifter said, “for we have come many leagues to see you. May we sit?”

  “Oh!” EvenSong cried, distraught at her rudeness. “Please. And we shall find some refreshments for you—”

  “Just something to drink, EvenSong,” Zenith said. “We do not need food.”

  “You need it as much as EvenSong or I,” FreeFall said dryly, “and as much as the smallest child among us. We can manage a cup of warm ale at the least.”

  He rang a small chime, then escorted StarDrifter and Zenith to the table.

  “So,” FreeFall said. “Talk.”

  And so they talked, their hands gratefully wrapped about the warmth of the ale cups the servant brought them. First Zenith, telling FreeFall of her adventures with Drago, and then her struggle for life with the Niah-soul that battled to claim her.

  EvenSong and FreeFall listened silently, their eyes wide, their hands clasped together on the table before them.

  Then StarDrifter spoke of Faraday’s reappearance—

  Both FreeFall’s and EvenSong’s mouths dropped open at that point. Her return could mean only hope, surely?

  —and her help in saving Zenith, and then leading her toward the Star Gate.

  “Oh, Stars, FreeFall,” StarDrifter said, his voice hoarse with emotion as he remembered the hopelessness and horror of the chamber of the Star Gate. “Axis and Azhure, as well the other Star Gods, WolfStar and all the Enchanters the Icarii nation could summon—”

  “And Isfrael and his Banes,” Zenith put in.

  “—and then with all the strength of the Mother and trees behind us…and yet we could do nothing. Nothing.”

  “And now,” FreeFall said, leaning forward and staring at StarDrifter, “what is to be done about the Demons? Am I to be Talon of nothing but a disintegrating people? Are we to watch Tencendor destruct before our eyes?”

  StarDrifter exchanged a glance with Zenith—how could he say blandly that, yes, that is what Drago wanted them to do?

  “There is more we must tell you,” Zenith said softly, and she began to speak of Drago, and how he had come back through the Star Gate to help, not hinder. She spoke of her own belief in him, of the man who’d had his own incredible potential strangled in retaliation for his infant crime, and yet who nevertheless had shown her humour and compassion. She spoke of what he’d said when he’d returned from Cauldron Lake, and hoped she’d been as persuasive as Drago had been.

  As FreeFall and EvenSong both opened their mouths to speak their objections, Zenith hastened on, speaking of Faraday’s similar belief in Drago, and of Drago’s peculiar connection with the craft that lay at the foot of the Sacred Lakes.

  “Caelum—” FreeFall began, but Zenith did not allow him to continue.

  “Caelum is first-born of Axis and Azhure, and he has been named the StarSon, true, but I believe more in Drago.”

  Zenith looked steadily at FreeFall and then EvenSong. “Caelum has gone with our parents to Star Finger, and the other Star Gods try and determine a method by which these Demons can be beaten back. I wish them success, but my heart…” She lay her hand on her breast, “…my heart tells me that Drago will be the one who will return to us and say, ‘I have found a way’.”

  FreeFall exchanged a dubious look with EvenSong. “I find it hard to transfer my hopes to Drago. Drago? Did he not murder his sister, RiverStar? And I have heard it was he who led the Demons towards the—”

  “I, as many, believe Drago innocent of RiverStar’s murder,” StarDrifter said. “And if he aided the Demons, then he was driven to it by a lifetime of wrongful accusations and resentments. Now his life is dedicated to righting whatever part he had in the wrong that has happened. I believe him, FreeFall. You have not seen Drago recently, nor spoken to him. He has my trust, as well as Zenith’s, and Zared, who has been given control of both ground and air forces of Tencendor, has given his support. And Isfrael listens to him, and accepts what he says.”

  That did cause FreeFall to raise an eyebrow. “I thought Isfrael listened to nothing but the thoughts roaring about his own head.”

  “Why,” EvenSong said, getting back to the kernel of the matter, “should we trust a man who says we must watch the destruction of Tencendor. That is equal to saying, ‘Die, and be glad of it!’ Damn you, father. Your wits must be addled to listen to such nonsense!”

  “There is more, EvenSong,” StarDrifter said, “and the ‘more’ encompasses hope.”

  He told them of Sanctuary, and the shelter that all would find there.

  “And while we shelter in Sanctuary, then by whatever means Caelum and Drago and Axis and Azhure and every one of the Star Gods and scholars in Star Finger can devise, the Demons shall be destroyed without the risk of destroying every innocent soul in Tencendor as well.”

  “Yet the land must be destroyed?” FreeFall said. “I cannot imagine why—”

  “Sometimes,” Zenith put in, “destruction precedes new life. Think of the joy of spring after the death of winter, and imagine with what zest Tencendor will manage its own regeneration.”

  “Still…” EvenSong said.

  “Would you sit here and freeze to death?” StarDrifter said. “Our people will be eating each other within the month! Already Icarii are dying needlessly. Will you refuse Sanctuary out of stubborn-headedness?”

  “I will personally carry every Icarii into Sanctuary myself if it will save a single life,” FreeFall said. “So, when do we leave? How far to the Sanctuary?”

  “Well…” StarDrifter glanced at Zenith. “It has yet to be found—”

  “Ha!” EvenSong said. “So you proffer hope, and then snatch it away.”

  “—but SpikeFeather and WingRidge and the entire Lake Guard are searching for it. Believe, EvenSong. Please.”

  EvenSong stared into her father’s eyes, then shrugged and dropped her own gaze.

  “Wait,” she said softly. “Very well.”

  She straightened on her stool and reached for the chime. “I shall have servants prepare you apartments. No doubt you are tired after your long journey north.”

  Zenith lay awake for long hours that night, staring into the cold blackness of her chamber. There
was a candle on the table by her bed, but she preferred not to light it.

  Better the darkness, where she could think without distraction. Better the darkness, where no-one could read her thoughts.

  StarDrifter. Gods! What could she do?

  She trusted him, she loved him, and she even found him sexually appealing (was there a woman alive who did not?) but the thought of actually bedding with him made her stomach heave with repulsion. Over the past three days they had kissed several times, and every time they laid mouth on mouth Zenith had thought she was finally learning to conquer that repulsion. But then his hands would become more demanding, his body harder, and Zenith would panic.

  Her hands clenched into the bedclothes, and she stared into the oblivion above her. StarDrifter was being so patient, so kind, so tender—so loving and protective, dammit! He was sure, as she’d been sure, that time and patience would cure the damage WolfStar had wrought.

  But in these past wakeful hours Zenith had come to realise that her hesitation about being intimate with StarDrifter had nothing at all to do with WolfStar. True, WolfStar had raped and humiliated her, but that in itself formed no barrier to Zenith’s sleeping with StarDrifter. StarDrifter was everything WolfStar was not: kind, patient, gentle. Zenith was well aware that StarDrifter’s loving would be a very, very different thing to WolfStar’s rape.

  But that was not the issue. While she and StarDrifter had been talking with FreeFall and EvenSong, Zenith had finally realised just why she felt so uncomfortable about forming an intimate relationship with StarDrifter.

  StarDrifter was her grandfather, and her perception of him as her grandfather was the greatest barrier to being able to perceive, and accept, him as a lover. Zenith had realised, as she’d sat about the table with her family this afternoon, that if she and StarDrifter had been lovers, and that if EvenSong and FreeFall had realised it, then she would have been consumed with self-disgust and crippled with humiliation. Sleeping with her grandfather?