Pilgrim

“How can I let Tencendor be destroyed?” he asked again, his voice breaking. “I came back through the Star Gate to save it, and yet you tell me to stand witness to its destruction! Would you have me deepen my sin against the land?”

Noah reached out a hand and gently cupped Drago’s chin. “You are a Pilgrim,” he said, “and all pilgrims must first learn their own soul, and the power of their own soul, before they can save anyone else. If you take but one piece of advice from me, Prince of Flowers —”

Prince of Flowers?

“— then take this. Go north, and listen to your mother.”

Drago was silent a long time. The lizard crawled into his lap, and Drago sat stroking it absently, his eyes unfocused.

When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy with acceptance. “I will go north to Gorkenfort. What else can I do?”

“The craft are not insensitive to the devastation that will occur. Somewhere within the waterways, I know not where for I have not been granted the knowledge, lies a sanctuary. A place of shelter. The craft would not let the peoples of this land suffer ultimate extinction. Do you understand?”

Drago nodded. “If the craft have that much compassion,” he asked, “then why do they let you die?”

“So that another may be reborn,” Noah said, but speaking with the voice of the craft.

So that another may be reborn? he thought, and then his eyes filled with tears as he understood what the craft were doing. They were using his life to create another, and the beauty of that other was enough for Noah to accept his death with gladness.

“Drago,” he said, “I have not much time. Will you tell Faraday something for me?”

“What?”

“Ask Faraday to find that which I lost. She will know. Now go, Drago. Go. I would die alone, as I have spent an eternity alone.”

Drago slowly stood, picking up his staff. “Goodbye, Noah.”

“Goodbye, Prince of Flowers.”

He sat in his chair in the empty chamber, staring at the screen full of stars, and let their love and comfort infuse him. He could feel the life ebbing from him, but it no longer hurt, and it no longer distressed him.

“Katie,” he said. “Be strong.”

His chest heaved, and again, then fell still.

In the dank basement, surrounded by dark and the stale air of a thousand years past, a light glowed faintly, and then flared into sudden brilliance.

When it faded, the thin voice of a desperate child filled the darkness.

“Mama? Mama? Where are you? I’m lost! Mama? Mama!”

The sacrifice had begun.

15 Hidden Conversations

Drago hesitated outside the doorway to Noah’s chamber, then turned back.

The doorway had closed behind him, and there was no longer a panel of knobs by which to gain access.

“How can I do this to Caelum?”

But no-one in this barren corridor, least of all the lizard, was going to answer him, so Drago took a deep breath and walked slowly back to the rectangular chamber.

Here he again hesitated. He’d meant to retrace his steps to the crystal forest, and from there to rejoin Faraday, but on impulse he took one of the other open doorways.

And found himself in the waterways.

Drago stopped dead. Before him a tunnel disappeared into the distance, a deep channel running down its centre. He walked to the white-stoned edge of the waterway and looked down. The river that ran there was deep emerald. In its depths shone the stars.

The stars are everywhere, thought Drago. Somewhere, surely, still lingers the Star Dance. But where? In these waterways? In the craft of the Enemy? Or will this puzzling “mother” awaiting in Gorkenfort tell me?

“We must find it,” he said aloud to the lizard, “if Caelum is to defeat the —”

“Did you listen to nothing Noah told you?” a soft voice said, and Drago spun about.

Walking along the banks of the waterway were WingRidge CurlClaw, Captain of the Lake Guard, and the unmistakable red plumage of SpikeFeather TrueSong behind him.

Where had they come from?

“What are you doing here?” Drago said, taking a step back.

WingRidge stopped a pace away, SpikeFeather just behind. Both birdmen studied Drago carefully, and both glanced curiously at the blue lizard under his arm.

“You know why we are here,” WingRidge said softly. His face was a mixture of awe, determination, and sheer unadulterated relief. He lifted a hand and placed it on Drago’s chest.

“You are here as I am here,” Drago said, a hard edge to his voice. “We must do all we can to aid the StarSon.”

WingRidge’s mouth curled. “And what do you mean by that, Drago?”

Drago stared at him. “Caelum needs our help.”

WingRidge inclined his head. “Caelum will need aid, assuredly.”

Drago looked at WingRidge, then at SpikeFeather standing obviously confused behind the Captain of the Lake Guard’s shoulder, then turned to look back the way he’d come.

“Noah told me … he told me …”

“I do hope you had the grace to listen, and the courage to accept,” WingRidge said, and now his voice was hard, and his eyes flinty.

Drago looked back at him. “Why are you here, WingRidge?”

“I am here to aid the StarSon.”

“Then why are you here?”

WingRidge remained silent, his eyes unblinking as they regarded Drago.

A muscle flickered in Drago’s cheek. “I came back through the Star Gate to aid Tencendor.”

“Good,” WingRidge said quietly.

“In whatever way I can.”

“Even better.”

“I did not come back to disinherit my brother!”

“There is no question of that.”

“Then we understand each other?”

WingRidge startled the others by bursting into laughter. “Yes, Drago, I think that we do. Now, in what direction did Noah set your wandering feet?”

“I must go north. To Gorkenfort.”

For the first time WingRidge looked mildly disconcerted, but with a languid shrug of his shoulders said, “North is good. You will meet with Caelum in the north, eventually.”

“Noah … Noah told me that Tencendor must die. We must allow Qeteb’s resurrection.”

“Surely we can stop the Demons before —” SpikeFeather began, his face horrified, but WingRidge turned about and placed a hand on the birdman’s shoulder.

“Trust,” he said. “Please. Did you not see this in the Maze Gate?”

SpikeFeather nodded unhappily.

“The Maze Gate?” Drago asked.

“Under Grail Lake lies a Maze,” WingRidge said. “Each of the craft have grown into different forms over the millennia. Here, the crystal forest cradled Qeteb’s warmth. The Maze cradles Qeteb’s soul. At the entrance to the Maze lies a Gate, and it is the script about the Maze Gate that the craft used to speak to … well, to whomever, over the aeons. The Maze Gate tells of many things. It, too, awaits the StarSon.”

Drago ignored the last remark. “And this Maze Gate speaks of Tencendor’s destruction?”

“It has been written,” WingRidge said, “and thus it must be. Do not dread it too much, Drago. Does not the field need to lay fallow for it to flower full bright in the season that follows the night?”

The man speaks in nothing but riddles, Drago thought irritably, and then remembered that Noah had also mentioned flowers. Prince of Flowers. He stared at WingRidge, and the captain smiled at him, his eyes now soft.

Still pondering the consequences of turning Tencendor into an uninhabitable wasteland, SpikeFeather had completely missed the exchange. “And Qeteb is to be allowed a resurrection,” he said. “How can this be?”

WingRidge did not look away from Drago as he answered. “How can the StarSon defeat a memory? A ghost? Only when Qeteb’s scattered life parts unite in flesh and blood can they be destroyed. Eventually, the StarSon and Qeteb will face each other.”

“And Caelum will defeat him,” Drago said.

“The StarSon will defeat him,” WingRidge said. “Will you agree to that, Drago? That the StarSon shall defeat Qeteb?”

SpikeFeather shifted, uncertain what to make of the conversation. He had the uncomfortable feeling that WingRidge and Drago were somehow weaving a hidden dialogue over and above their spoken words.

“I can agree to that,” Drago said softly. “The StarSon shall defeat Qeteb.”

“Then our purpose is as one,” WingRidge said. “We both serve the StarSon and we both serve Tencendor.”

He held out his hand, and after a brief hesitation Drago took it.

“That is an interesting staff you hold,” WingRidge observed, not letting go of Drago’s hand.

“You know what it is.”

“Aye. I know what it is.” WingRidge clasped his other hand over Drago’s, holding it securely between both of his. “The Sceptre. Never let it go.”

“But —” SpikeFeather said, remembering the entwined symbols of StarSon and Sceptre about the Maze Gate … and then suddenly the entire conversation between WingRidge and Drago fell into place.

“Ah,” he breathed.

WingRidge laughed again and let Drago’s hand go. “So you are to go north, my friend. Will Faraday go with you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And your new friend?” WingRidge indicated the lizard, now leaning over the edge of the waterway and splashing at shadows with one of his claws, light glimmering in shining shards from his talons under and over the water.

“His intentions are hidden from me,” Drago said.

WingRidge cocked an eyebrow. “And you think I know? Not I. The beast is a mystery to me as well. What else?”

“You do not know?”

For the first time WingRidge looked uncomfortable. “If there is more, then, no, I do not know it.”

“Remarkable,” Drago said, but grinned to take the sting out of the remark. “Well, there is actually a little palatable news. Noah spoke of a Sanctuary somewhere within the waterways.”

“A Sanctuary?” SpikeFeather queried, and WingRidge narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. Sanctuary. This was news!

But Drago took no notice of WingRidge’s reaction.

“Gods!” he whispered, and shuddered. His eyes lifted upwards, as if he could see through the tons of rock above them. “I can feel the Demons on the move. Every hour they are on the loose more souls are lost.”

He dropped his gaze to the two birdmen before him. “I must go north, and I hardly know these waterways. Can I ask you to —”

“You know I serve no-one but the StarSon,” WingRidge said carefully.

Drago’s face worked. “Then in the StarSon’s name,” he said, grating the words out, “will you hunt for Sanctuary while I go north?”

WingRidge grinned at Drago’s discomfiture. “You had but to ask, Drago.”

SpikeFeather hesitated, not wanting to be the one to break the tension, but finally the words burst out of him:

“Drago, these waterways spread not only under the complete landmass of Tencendor, but leagues out under the oceans, too. It might take a lifetime — three lifetimes! — to find this ‘Sanctuary’.”

“Nevertheless,” Drago said, “you possibly have a few months. No more. It will not take the TimeKeepers long to travel between Lakes, and before then we … someone … must manage the evacuation of Tencendor.”

“A few months!” SpikeFeather muttered.

“I will help,” WingRidge said to him. “The Lake Guard will help. Won’t it be fun to keep company, SpikeFeather?” He threw an arm about SpikeFeather’s shoulders. “You and I. Brothers in quest.”

SpikeFeather glared at the Captain. He’d never seen WingRidge full of such high humour before. WingRidge kept his arm about SpikeFeather, but again addressed Drago.

“And once you have achieved your north and Gorkenfort, Drago? What then?”

“I … I don’t know.”

“Then I am sure your feet will find the right path,” WingRidge said softly. “Drago, there is something you must know. WolfStar haunts these waterways. With him he carries the corpse of a girl-child. I do not know why.”

Drago frowned, not sure what to make of this. What was WolfStar up to?

“Be careful,” he said. “If WolfStar has a hidden purpose, then he can hardly be trusted.”

WingRidge grimaced. “You hardly need tell me that, Drago. But don’t worry, my friend and I shall find this Sanctuary. Won’t we, SpikeFeather?”

SpikeFeather nodded, his mind full of the problems that conducting a search of the entire waterways would entail.

He’d spent at least fifteen years wandering the tunnels and had never had a whiff of this secret place — and Orr had never mentioned it. Had the Ferryman even heard of its existence, let alone known its location?

“Come,” WingRidge said, and took a step back along the tunnel. “We have a long —”

“Wait!” Drago cried, and touched the Captain’s chest as he turned back to face him. “What’s that?”

“This?” WingRidge looked down at the maze. “It represents the Maze, my friend. It represents my bond to the StarSon.”

Drago stared at him, then he deftly picked out a golden thread from the embroidery and dropped it into his sack.

Then he gave a smile, almost apologetic, turned and walked away.

The lizard scampered after him.

16 Destruction Accepted

Drago retraced his steps through the craft and the crystal forest. When he finally entered the green shade of the live trees he stopped, hesitated, then turned and plucked one of the golden leaves from one of the crystal trees, and slipped that into his sack as well.

He was not sure why he did so, as he was not sure why he’d plucked the thread from WingRidge’s emblem nor collected some of the dried blood, in each case yielding only to a sudden urge.

“I am glad you do not ask questions!” Drago said to the lizard crouched beside him. It opened its mouth in a parody of a grin, and then bounded forward. Drago smiled to himself as he walked the final few paces into the Silent Woman Woods.

Faraday emerged from behind one of the trees, her face relaxing in relief.

“Drago!” She halted a pace away from him, her eyes searching his.

“Well?” she asked softly.

He stared at her, wondering what she knew. Did she also think …?

“You cannot hide from who you are,” Faraday said, watching the denial in Drago’s face, “nor from your heritage.”

She started to say more, but Drago cut her off.

“We have to go north. To Gorkenfort —”

Sudden emotion flared in Faraday’s eyes, but Drago did not see it.

“— where,” his mouth thinned, “I must meet with my mother. My ‘ancestral mother’. Do you know what this means?”

Emotion relaxed to puzzlement in Faraday’s eyes, but she did not question him. She shook her head. “What else?”

“And you are to find that which Noah lost,” Drago continued. “He said you would know what he meant.”

“Katie’s Enchanted Song Book,” she said. “It will, I believe, be a help against Qeteb.”

At the name of the Midday Demon, Drago stared into the trees at Faraday’s back.

He took a deep breath. “Faraday, Noah told me Tencendor must die and Qeteb must walk. How can I let this be? Gods, how can I let this?”

Faraday stared at him, almost unable to believe what he’d said, then she collected herself and gave him a brief hug. But all she could think of was the land dying, the trees toppling, the lakes disintegrating, the dust drifting … drifting …

She turned her head aside, not wanting him to see the tears in her eyes.

“It must be,” Drago repeated in a soft voice. He was still staring into the forest, almost unaware of Faraday, and certainly completely unaware of her own distress. “Whatever it takes, I will let nothing, nothing, stand in my way. I came back through the Star Gate to help Caelum and to save this land, and damn me to the pits of the AfterLife if I cannot repair the horror I helped sow.”

Faraday jerked her gaze back to his face, disturbed by his determination without quite knowing why. Drago would let nothing stand in the way of his quest. Tencendor would always come first in his affections and loyalties.

The land would always come first.

Faraday had known another man like that, and had been hurt beyond compare by him.

She turned away and walked back to the donkeys.

They took four days to move back to Zared’s camp. They could have moved faster, but both wanted to put off the moment when they would have to share their grim news with Zared. Both Drago and Faraday, each driven to chronic loneliness by either circumstance or choice, also needed the time to forge the bonds of a friendship that would prove comforting, but not taxing or dangerous or potentially painful.

Both found themselves very much aware of the other, and aware of the other’s reaction. For one that was a welcome surprise, for the other a frightening and unacceptable risk.

“Can you tell me what happened with Gorgrael?” Faraday asked one day as the thin Snow-month sun filtered down through the forest canopy and she caught Drago watching her from the corner of an eye. The lizard rode with her that day, curled up behind her back, snuggled between Faraday’s warmth and that of the donkey.

Drago nodded. His passage back through the Star Gate had shattered all the enchantments that had crippled his memories. “I came to awareness early.” His voice was very quiet. “I was growing in Azhure’s womb, RiverStar wrapped tightly about me. Maybe the third or fourth month of life. I knew even then that I had … that I had a task. I believed I should be Axis’ heir. I knew it!”

He turned to stare at Faraday. “I cannot know how. But I knew it. I was so stupid. I imagined a life full of greatness and pride, of reverence and of muscle-throbbing power. I thought of thrones and courts and the masses of Tencendor spread at my feet.”

Drago’s eyes slipped back to the path before them. “I understood the power of both my parents. I revelled in it. And I thought to be twice as powerful as them because in me was combined the power of both.

“And then … then I became aware of Caelum. Gods, Faraday, you cannot know the resentment that swept me! Another son? Born before me? A son that my mother rocked to her breast, only thin layers of flesh between us. A son that my father tossed high in the air and proclaimed StarSon.

“I thought that title should have been mine.”

To that Faraday said nothing. But now? she wondered. Now?

Drago glanced at Faraday, his mouth crooked. “Of course, I set about my ambitions all the wrong way. I wanted to escape from that womb and set things to rights so badly. The moment I knew I could survive beyond it I beat my way out, dragging RiverStar with me.”

“You almost killed Azhure.”

“I know that now. Then, I did not care. She was useless. She had done her task in breeding me.”

“And so you conspired with Gorgrael?”

Drago was silent a while before he replied, and when he did his voice was distant. “Yes. So then I conspired with Gorgrael. With his help, I hoped to be rid, not only of Caelum, but also of my parents. One or both of them would surely die in Caelum’s rescue.”

“You underestimated Azhure.”

“Yes. I surely did.” Drago sighed. “Gorgrael’s mind was so easily manipulated. My success with him blinded me to the fact that my parents might have greater power.”

“You were very stupid.”

Drago stared at her, but let the remark lie. “Then I almost ruined Caelum. Now I will do my best to help him.”

“Of course you must,” Faraday said, and Drago glanced at her, trying to interpret her remark.

But her face was in shadow, and he could not read her expression.

As soon as Drago looked away, Faraday spoke again. “If circumstance shows you a path that is distasteful, Drago, but one that will result in a freed Tencendor, will you take it?”

He took a long time to reply. “Stop trying to convince me that —”

“Will you?”

“There is only one person who can persuade me to —”

“Then Caelum will do that,” Faraday said.

Drago’s face closed over. “I can hardly imagine that ever being the case. He rightly loathes me.”

“Will you do whatever you have to in order to aid Caelum and Tencendor?”

“Yes!”

“Then that is enough,” Faraday said. “No-one can ever ask more of you.”

Drago sat on his donkey and wondered if he had just been outwitted. She was as smooth-tongued as WingRidge. He suddenly grinned, dissipating the tension between them. “You retain the sharp skills of a Queen immersed in court intrigue, Faraday.”

She laughed softly. “Naturally. One never knows when they will come in handy.”

“We worry,” said a soldier by the name of Gerlien.

“I know,” Zared answered, rubbing the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. He’d hardly slept the past few nights. “But —”

“Sire? We do not know if our wives and children are safe or wander the plains demented. We must find out.”

To one side, Askam lounged against a tree and watched. Zared had command. So be it. He could deal with this nasty mess, then.

“We must wait for Drago and Faraday to —”

“How much longer must we wait?” Another man stepped forward from the group facing Zared.

“What do you propose?” Zared snapped. “That we just march out into the plains? How long do you think we would last before one of the Demons’ miasma found us? There is no shelter out there, and at least two weeks between us and Carlon!”

“Zared, hush one moment.” Leagh stepped to her husband, and took his arm, although she kept her eyes on the knot of men before them.

“Gerlien, Meanthrin, my husband speaks the truth. Do not blame him that at least he knows where his wife is.”

She smiled to take any sense of chastisement out of her words.

The soldiers relaxed a little, impressed with the fact that Leagh knew their names. But then, she’d been tireless this past week, moving among the campfires of the army each night, spending a few minutes and words at each. And although Zared had done the same, Leagh had always managed to raise a few more, and far more genuine, smiles.

“I ask you to wait,” Zared said. He smiled lopsidedly. “None of us can know where, or how, to move until Drago and Faraday return.”

“And yet,” Askam’s voice cut in from the side, “some people might think you should be out there, saving as much of Tencendor as you can, Zared. After all, is that not what Axis asked you to do?”

“And I will do so,” Zared said, keeping his tone even, “when I know how it is that I may keep most of these men alive.”

“You would put your trust in someone as treacherous as Drago?” Askam asked. “Or as unknown as Faraday?”

“Faraday is hardly ‘unknown’, Askam,” Leagh said, her voice sharp. If her husband necessarily had to guard her tongue in front of Askam, then she did not. “She died for —”

“Ah,” Askam said dismissively, turning away as if to walk into the forest. “And yet here she walks again. Not quite ‘dead’, is she? What did she promise to the Demons to get her life back? The green fields of Tencendor? The jewelled corridors of the Minaret Peaks? And I hardly need start on Drago — that man has never had anything but deadly intentions for Tencendor, or for anyone who steps in his path.”

“No-one can blame you for being scared, Askam,” said a voice to the side, “but you should learn to look beyond past grievances. Don’t fight that which may well save your life.”

“Faraday!” Zared strode forward and helped her from her donkey, relieved beyond measure that she was back. He looked over to Drago. The man was different. Sadder, almost.

“Drago?”

“Soon, Zared, but —”

A lizard scrambled from the donkey’s back and scrambled up the nearest tree. Everyone’s eyes widened in surprise.

“— a meal first would surely be appreciated.”

Sitting about the fire with Zared and his immediate command, Drago told them what he could.