Pilgrim

by Sara Douglass

  “I know nothing,” SpikeFeather kept telling WingRidge, “of any place beneath here that might harbour so many hundreds of thousands of people.”

  “Then why,” WingRidge invariably shot back to his companion, “did you spend so damned many years down here with the Ferryman, if not to learn these secrets?”

  “I do not think even the Ferryman knew,” SpikeFeather finally said stiffly one day as they stood in a cavern in the waterways halfway between the Lake of Life and Fernbrake Lake. “Apparently Orr was not privy to this secret, nor were any of his Charonite predecessors.”

  “He who seeks only finds what he wants to find,” WingRidge said obscurely, and then placed his hands on his hips and looked about the cavern. There were several other members of the Lake Guard standing to one side, their ivory uniforms gleaming softly in the lamplight, the golden knots in the centre of their chests sending bright sparks of light about the cavern.

  “We have wandered these passages for weeks,” WingRidge said, now studying the blank rock walls as if he might find inspiration there. “And nothing. In the meantime the Demons have retrieved what they needed from Cauldron Lake and must now be drawing close to the Lake of Life.”

  “There must be a clue somewhere!” SpikeFeather said. “Does the Maze Gate say anything?”

  WingRidge shook his head, still studying the rock. He, as with most members of the Lake Guard at various times, had gone back to the Maze Gate under Grail Lake to study more carefully its inscriptions—but nothing. There were only the symbols depicting the rise of Qeteb and StarSon, the devastation of Tencendor, and the beginning of a final battle between Qeteb and the Crusader.

  There had been a new symbol depicted amongst the script devoted to destruction, a lily, but WingRidge did not think the lilies related anything of Sanctuary.

  The Maze Gate was mute when it came to sanctuaries.

  “Then do you suppose Drago misheard?” SpikeFeather asked.

  WingRidge finally turned back to the birdman. “No. He heard correctly enough, and we have been set to the task, and we are failing, dammit!”

  “Captain?” One of the Lake Guardsmen had stepped forth.

  “Yes, GapFeather?”

  “Captain, there must be a clue somewhere. Something that stares us in the eye, and yet we remain blind.”

  “I thank you for that observation, GapFeather,” WingRidge said, “but unless the blindfold has been suddenly removed from your eyes, I fail to see how this—”

  “Captain, pardon my interruption, but here in these waterways we are blind. We can explore only a small portion of the whole. What we need to be able to do is see the whole.”

  “What do you mean?”

  GapFeather glanced quickly at his companions for support. “We need to see a map of the waterways. That may well give us an indication of where to look. Even what to look for.”

  WingRidge nodded. “A good point. SpikeFeather?”

  “What?”

  “A map, SpikeFeather! Do you know of a map of the—”

  SpikeFeather threw up his hands in disgust. “No. Gods, WingRidge, don’t you think I would have thought of that first? I have never seen a map of the waterways. Orr never spoke of one, and—”

  “Sigholt,” WingRidge said quietly, his eyes still on SpikeFeather.

  “Sigholt?”

  “Sigholt. Sigholt is ancient, it is in itself almost a part of the waterways, as it is so closely tied to the Lake. And…”

  “And?”

  “And it has at its heart a map room.”

  SpikeFeather was still not convinced. “But I’ve never seen a map of the waterways there. And Axis, and then Caelum, who both used the room, have never mentioned one to me—and I’m sure they would have.”

  WingRidge stood silently, his fingers thumping gently against his hips, his wings held tense against his back.

  “That room has ten thousand maps in it,” he said softly. “There are even vaults under the floor with maps stuffed into cabinets. I would swear that no-one has ever, ever, investigated them all.”

  Sigholt felt empty and spiritless without a member of the SunSoar family in residence. There were still many people who lived there, and thousands more in Lakesview a little further about the Lake, but the silvery-grey stones of the Keep seemed duller, as if in mourning.

  All present were nervous, and WingRidge and SpikeFeather had no doubts why. The Demons were on their way, and would be only days distant.

  “Can we not do something to help the people here?” SpikeFeather said as they crossed the bridge into Sigholt’s courtyard. “Once the Demons arrive…”

  “Lakesview perhaps,” WingRidge said, impatient to get to the map room.

  “Too close,” SpikeFeather said. They had entered the Keep and were now climbing the steps of the great staircase three at a time. He wished there was more overhead space so they could fly. “Perhaps the Urqhart Hills—”

  “And perhaps Sanctuary, if we find a clue here,” WingRidge said, flinging open the door of the map room.

  They both came to a halt just inside, looking at the room as if for the first time. Completely circular, the room had windows opening on to all aspects of the Lake and its environs. Between the windows were deep map cases filled with maps both rolled up and laid flat. There was a brazier to one side, filled with wood, but currently unlit, and the very centre of the room was occupied by a table and several chairs.

  It looked purposeless without either Axis or Caelum here, pacing back and forth worrying out a problem.

  “You said there were vaults?” SpikeFeather said quietly.

  “Yes.” WingRidge led the way into the room and then turned to speak quietly to the half-dozen men and women of the Lake Guard who had accompanied them, setting them to searching through the map cases about the walls.

  Once they were at work, WingRidge motioned SpikeFeather to the western window. Outside, the Lake ruffled gently, hedged about with its blue mists, but WingRidge ignored the view and squatted down by the floor.

  “Few people know about the vaults,” he said. He slid his finger into a cunningly hidden ring and lifted a trapdoor.

  “How do you know about them?” SpikeFeather asked, craning his neck to look into the square of darkness.

  “I found them,” WingRidge said, and looked up, grinning. “At least Caelum and I did. I was about twenty, and Caelum ten. Axis and Azhure often set me to be Caelum’s companion, to keep an eye on him. One day we were working at strengthening our hearts by running up and down the grand staircase, counting each step as we did, when Caelum realised that there were more steps between the floor the map room is on and the one below it than between any other level in Spiredore—and yet the chambers on each floor are no higher. We realised there must be a space below the floor of the map room. So, while Axis and Azhure were still out riding the hills, we investigated the floor of this room. I was the lucky one to find the hidden catch.”

  WingRidge’s grin widened. “Caelum was disgusted that I’d found it and not he. Whatever, we set to investigating.” He took a lamp that one of his Guard’s handed him, and stepped down onto a narrow wooden ladder. “We thought to find treasures and secrets, but only found yet more maps.”

  He stepped swiftly down the ladder, his voice now muffled. “Who knows? Perhaps there are secrets and treasures down here yet.”

  SpikeFeather also took the lamp proffered him, and climbed down after WingRidge. He found himself in a room the same size as the map room above, but without any of the windows, and with a low ceiling only a handspan above his head.

  Chests, bookcases and crates crammed floor and wall spaces, and there was barely room enough to move between them.

  “Where are we going to start?” SpikeFeather whispered.

  “You take that side, I this one,” WingRidge said, and bent down to the box he’d just opened.

  Sighing, SpikeFeather set to his task.

  They searched for hours. All through that day, through the night
, and into the next morning. As soon as the search of the map room itself had proved useless, the members of the Lake Guard went below to help WingRidge and SpikeFeather.

  The space became awash with curses, bruised wings, and ancient dust as elbows jostled and feet tripped over upended cases and piles of discarded maps.

  There were maps of the road systems of Tencendor, maps of the ancient castles that had once dotted the countryside, maps of cattle trails, starling nesting sites and the pattern of gem mines in Ichtar. There were maps of population densities in a Tencendor of two thousand years ago, maps showing the location of lace factories, and maps of the shadows the stars threw over the land during full moon. There were even maps of the gloam mines in far away Escator.

  But no maps of the waterways, and no maps with thick, black arrows helpfully pointing to “Sanctuary”.

  Finally, towards noon, they crawled out of the space into the map room, brushing dust off their clothes and wings and out of their hair.

  SpikeFeather sneezed and, tired out, sank down into one of the chairs at the table. He pushed a pile of maps to one side to make room for his elbow and leaned his head in his hand.

  “Nothing,” he said, his voice emotionless.

  WingRidge took the chair next to him. “Perhaps we will think of something after we have slept,” he said.

  “Perhaps,” SpikeFeather replied.

  For a while both birdmen sat in silence, too tired to speak, too tired to contemplate the implications of their failure. The members of the Lake Guard who had helped them had either left, or had sunk down to sit against walls, their eyes closed, their skin ashen with exhaustion.

  SpikeFeather finally stirred. “At the very least we should think about what to do to protect the people here against the Demons.”

  WingRidge grimaced. “Yes. I suppose you’re right. I’ll set the guard to shifting them into the Urqhart Hills…perhaps the mines will shelter them until the Demons have gone.”

  “How are you going to tell Drago you couldn’t find Sanctuary?”

  WingRidge laughed humourlessly. “What do you mean, how am I going to tell Drago?”

  He sighed and sat up straight, shuffling maps haphazardly across the table. There were several that they’d brought up from the vaults to study.

  “Look at this ancient network of castles around Tencendor,” he said idly. “It is a shame most of these are no longer here. They might have proved useful.”

  SpikeFeather rested his eyes on the map. He was too tired to think. Maybe WingRidge was right. Maybe they would think of something after they’d slept a few hours.

  Then his whole body jerked. “WingRidge!”

  “What?”

  SpikeFeather’s eyes were fixed on the map of the ancient castle systems in front of them. “Gods, WingRidge—why didn’t we see that!”

  “What?”

  About the room, birdmen and women were stirring from their lethargy, their eyes brightening.

  “Look!” SpikeFeather jabbed his finger at Fernbrake Lake. “What do you see?”

  WingRidge shrugged. “There’s a castle on its edges. Gone now. Like three dozen more such castles that have disappeared from the ancient landscape.”

  “No, no! It’s not a ‘castle’…it’s a Keep.”

  WingRidge raised his eyes and stared into SpikeFeather’s face. “What are you trying to say?”

  SpikeFeather made a gesture of irritation. “Every one of the other three Lakes have Keeps associated with them. Highly magical Keeps.”

  “Yes…”

  “But not Fernbrake Lake. Why not?”

  WingRidge shrugged again. “I don’t know. Maybe there was no need—”

  “Yes, there was a need. Every one of the Lakes is supposed to have a Keep! But Fernbrake’s has gone.”

  “So where is it?”

  SpikeFeather hesitated, trying to think it through, trying to find out what was wrong with his idea. But there was nothing. It was perfect.

  “It’s sunk,” he said.

  WingRidge stared at him, then quickly glanced at the others present before he looked back at SpikeFeather. “Sunk?”

  SpikeFeather nodded. “Sunk.” His finger tapped the map. “The waterways under Fernbrake Lake hold the Sanctuary, my friend, and the lost castle is the key. Perhaps even is Sanctuary. Now all we have to do is find it.”

  WingRidge leaned forward and laid his hand gently on SpikeFeather’s arm. “Are you sure your weariness has not addled your wits, my friend?”

  29

  The Mountain Trails

  Still in shock, Azhure helped Caelum and Axis to rise. She was trembling badly, and as she gripped both men’s hands, she realised they were, too.

  Azhure opened her mouth to ask if they were all right, but thought better of it. She contented herself with patting Caelum’s chest as if to reassure herself it was still whole, and took Axis’ hands and kissed his palms.

  Then she looked around. Azhure’s first impression that all the blood had gone was wrong. They were surrounded by it. The bodies of their horses, and of the captain and the men of the escort, were strewn about the floor of the tunnel, splintered bones poking through ragged flesh.

  Their swords lay to one side, blades gleaming spotlessly.

  She raised her eyes and looked at Axis, and he stepped forward and took her hand.

  “Come,” he said. “We will walk the remainder of the way.”

  They picked up their swords and walked forward in silence. Azhure battled back tears. Never had she been as helpless in her entire life as she had been in the past hour. Her son and husband apparently torn to pieces before her eyes, their escort slaughtered, laughed at by beings that but a few months ago would have barely dared to threaten her shadow.

  Even Azhure the Plough-keeper’s daughter would have done more against them than she had, she berated herself. But no, Azhure the once-god could not even find the words to fling in their defence.

  For his part, Axis was thinking much the same. Could he not have done more? Gods! Even a junior Axe-Wielder could have helped more than he’d managed!

  They approached a gentle curve in the tunnel. Once around it, the three saw that the tunnel apparently stretched into infinity.

  There was no sign of the Alaunt.

  “I sincerely hope this does lead to Star Finger,” Axis muttered, then straightened his shoulders and looked at Caelum, marching silent and tight-faced by his side.

  “Caelum, that black rider…is he the one who has hunted you through your dreams?”

  “Yes. The dreams started soon after Drago fled from Sigholt with the Rainbow Sceptre. They have rarely left me since.”

  “Cursed be the day I conceived my second son!”

  Azhure frowned, remembering what StarLaughter had said. “Axis…are you sure that rider is Drago—”

  “He has always hunted me!” Caelum cried, halting and swinging to face his mother. “Who else?”

  Azhure glanced at Axis—his face was as stubbornly set as Caelum’s—and then took Caelum’s hands in hers.

  “Caelum, might it not be StarLaughter’s son, her DragonStar, that hunts you through your dreams?”

  All she received by way of reply was a hostile stare.

  Azhure took a deep breath and tried again. “Caelum, Axis. StarLaughter was angry that Caelum is heir to the Throne of the Stars and all that it implies. She said that her son should be the heir. She had the legitimate son. That black rider, that DragonStar, rode out of the stars, as her son would—”

  “No,” Caelum said, pulling his hands from Azhure’s. “Did you not see his face? That was the face of Drago, not some long-dead unborn child!”

  Again Azhure glanced at Axis, but she could see she wouldn’t get any help from him.

  “Caelum,” she said, “both would look very similar. Drago takes after WolfStar in colouring and features, and naturally StarLaughter’s son would, too. After all, they are virtually brothers—”

  Caelum shifted impatien
tly, angrily. “Drago is my enemy, mother, perhaps more so than any of these Demons. It is the dagger from behind that always strikes home first. And did you not hear StarLaughter? Drago has passed across to her every secret of our family, as he has undoubtedly passed across the Sceptre. The Demons must have it, and I think they will use it to destroy us completely—”

  “Caelum,” Axis said. “Enough. We need to talk about this in calmer surroundings than this grey tunnel. Star Finger is all we have left, and I would prefer that we expend our energies on walking there instead of arguing among ourselves.”

  Star Finger is all we have left? Caelum wondered. But Star Finger stores only Icarii knowledge and magic, and Icarii knowledge and magic has as much hope of defeating these Demons as a feather does of surviving a tempest. Is it time to give up? Is it time to say, “enough”? Surely we have done what we can. What more can one do against the treachery of a brother?

  They walked in silence, time out of mind, the overhead lights clicking softly on as they approached, then turning themselves out some minutes after they’d passed.

  They walked in an isolated island of light and time and desperate bravado.

  They eventually walked about a long sloping curve of the tunnel to come face to face with the pack of Alaunt sitting facing them.

  Every one of the hounds, Sicarius included, had shamefaced expressions.

  Azhure stared at them. Could she blame them for fleeing before the dark cloud of murdered children?

  She sighed, rested her hand briefly on top of Sicarius’ head, then walked past. Axis and Caelum followed her, and the hounds fell into step behind the three.

  They emerged, eventually, in the Avarinheim forest beneath the first of the Icescarp Alps.

  “Stars!” Axis said, as they stood in the dawn air, looking at the trees and the rising cliffs. “How did we come so far, so fast?”

  Azhure shrugged. “The tunnels still contain some enchantment, perhaps.”