Pilgrim (38 page)

“Something connected to the Lakes, and the craft, perhaps!” Adamon said, now walking about the room, his
movements restrained but tight with excitement. “We had to see. We had to search. We had to
know
!”

“And?” Axis said quietly.

“And…” Adamon took a deep breath. “My friends, do you feel you could manage the long walk down to Star Finger’s cellars?”

They descended for hour past hour, and Adamon made them rest at regular intervals, passing out food and liquid at each stop. A score of Icarii, bearing burning torches and light packs with the food, came down with the gods, Caelum and the two scholars.

Behind all trod the Alaunt. Axis had noticed them rise to follow the party, and again had thought about asking that the hounds should be detained, but had eventually remained silent.

At first, as they descended the stairs that curved about the main shafts, the way was pleasant, if somewhat dark and chill. But after two hours they reached less travelled shafts, and then moved into stairwells that had lain forgotten for generations of Icarii. The odd feather and tuft of fur, covered with dust, lay as reminders that the only living beings who
had
descended into the bowels of Talon Spike had been Gorgrael’s Gryphon.

The stairwells stank, stank from disuse, damp and the foulness that still remained of the Gryphon. All had to watch their footing on edges that crumbled and surfaces that glistened with ice.

Several turns of the stairwell behind the main party trod the Alaunt, the feathered lizard openly travelling with them, albeit at the rear.

“No-one had any idea, really, that these stairs existed,” the Historian murmured as they descended. He, like everyone, kept one hand on the wall for support. “They had lain so long forgotten.”

“We came down here once, last week,” Adamon said, “and found what we…well, found what we did, and then decided to await your arrival before coming back.”

“What’s that noise?” Azhure said, raising her head.

“What we have come to see,” Adamon said, and the next instant the stair levelled out onto undulating flagstones. “This way. Come.” And he led them across the floor to a corridor.

As they walked down the corridor the noise became louder.

“Oh!” Azhure cried, and her eyes filled with tears. It was the sound of a child weeping, a girl-child, and Azhure was reminded of her own painful and lost childhood. “Let me past! I must—”

“No.” Adamon caught Azhure’s arm as she tried to push past him. “Please, Azhure, there is nothing you can do for her, and no point in rushing on this damp and slippery flooring.”

They walked through the dark corridor—it felt as close as a tomb! Azhure thought—for another fifty or sixty paces, and then suddenly they were in a large domed chamber.

Empty, save for the figure of a five- or six-year-old girl huddled against the far wall, her arms wrapped about a great leather-bound book, crying disconsolately.

“Oh!” Azhure cried, and finally managed to push past Adamon and rush towards the girl.

Instantly, the girl’s sobs became screams of terror and, as Azhure neared her, the girl literally convulsed with the strength of her fear. There was a flash of light, and Azhure was thrown against a side wall.

“No-one can approach her,” Adamon said, as Axis hurried to Azhure and helped her to rise. She was uninjured, save for a bruise where her shoulder had hit the stone, and wheezing from being badly winded.

“All have been repulsed who tried to near her, or comfort her,” Adamon continued.

“But look,” he pointed to the book held tightly within the girl’s arms. She was relatively still now, although she still cried, but her eyes remained terrified as she stared at the intruders. “Look at what you can see on the front cover.”

Between the white flesh of the girl’s forearms, three words could be seen gleaming in gold.

Enchanted Song Book.

“I think there lies the one way we can re-find the power of the Star Dance,” Adamon said. “She waits, we think, for the StarSon. Caelum. Will you—”

Caelum had recognised the girl instantly as the child who had spoken to him in the field of flowers. He hesitated, knowing it would be useless for him to approach her, but everyone was looking at him, and so he started forward.

He hoped the girl would understand.

She had calmed even more now, and all watching thought, hoped, that Caelum might be able to approach her when no-one else could.

The girl’s sobs stopped, and her blue eyes widened.

When Caelum was no more than seven paces away, the girl rose to her feet.

“You came!” she cried out with glad voice, and Caelum smiled…and then he realised that her eyes were fixed on something—someone—behind him. Very slowly, knowing who he would see, Caelum turned about.

There, barely visible in the gloomy doorway leading to the corridor, stood Drago.

He smiled, his eyes only for the girl.

“Hello, Katie,” he said.

A
xis whirled about, shocked and angry at Drago’s intrusion. How had he entered? How had he
known
? Axis had had enough. He’d promised Drago the last time he’d seen him that if Drago set foot in Star Finger he would die, and Axis meant to carry the promise through.

The instant he moved in Drago’s direction, Caelum’s voice cracked across the chamber. “
Father!
”

Every eye in the chamber, save those of Drago and the girl, swivelled to Caelum.

“Father,” Caelum repeated, “let Drago enter.”

Axis stared at Caelum, shocked by the command in his son’s voice, looked back to Drago, then reluctantly took a step back. He felt Azhure at his back, and felt her take one of his hands.

Drago had hardly noticed his father, and had hardly heard Caelum. He only had eyes for the girl, as she him. Drago walked slowly into the chamber, the only display of emotion the slight clenching and unclenching of his hand about the staff.

Azhure watched him carefully. He seemed different, but she could not define it. Physically, he looked much the same; the copper hair slicked back into a tail, the leanness, the thin face that looked perpetually tired because of the deep lines that ran from nose to mouth.

But his eyes were subtly different. Still violet, but deeper, more alive. Deeply compassionate, Azhure realised with a start, and with a depth of knowing that she’d never, never seen there previously.

Power? Maybe. But how? Something the Demons had invested him with? Azhure abandoned that thought the instant it crossed her mind. No. This came from within him,
deep
within him, and
was
somehow him.

“DragonStar,” she mouthed silently—and completely involuntarily—as he drew level with her, and for the first time since he’d entered the chamber, Drago’s eyes flickered away from the girl and towards his mother. In the space of a heartbeat, a look, an understanding passed between them and Azhure dropped her eyes, stricken.

In that instant she had been consumed with love. Unimaginable love for her had coursed from him, but she had also felt her own love overwhelm her. Her love for her second-born son…a love she had denied both to herself and to him for forty, long, horrid years.

Drago looked back to the girl.

She had clambered to her feet, still clutching the book, a final hiccupping sob escaping her lips. She was a beautiful child, with glossy brunette hair and dark blue eyes, and with fragile translucent skin.

“Katie,” Drago murmured, and walked towards the girl.

Caelum stepped back to let him pass, his gaze riveted on his brother. His eyes were very bright and full of emotion, and Axis, watching him carefully, wondered at that. He would have said it was fright, save that Caelum’s face showed no hint of fear.

Unseen by any in the room, Faraday slipped through the door into the chamber. Behind her crowded the pale shapes of the Alaunt. She stopped just behind Xanon, who stood behind everyone else.

Drago squatted before the girl. “Katie,” he said, and his smile widened into embracing warmth.

She gave one final sniff, wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and stared at him with unblinking eyes. Slowly she took the book in both hands, and extended it towards him.

“For you,” she said.

“No!” Axis’ voice rang across the chamber. “That is meant for—”

“Axis,” Azhure took his arm firmly, drawing him back against her body. “Please, just watch.”

He tensed, angry, but he closed his mouth. Azhure could feel every muscle in his body tighten, and she gripped his arm the harder.

Drago laid his staff on the floor and took the book from the girl’s hands. Then, balancing the heavy book under one arm, he took her hand in his, and held it loosely.

“Katie,” he said. “See who I have brought for you.”

And he turned his head slightly.

Faraday stepped out from behind the crowd, kneeling down on the cold, damp stone, and held out her arms. She was weeping silently.

Katie drew a breath in shock, and then she was flying across the chamber, pushing past Caelum, and ran into Faraday’s arms. Katie was crying again, but this time with sheer joy as she felt Faraday’s arms lock tightly about her, and felt Faraday’s face pressed into her hair, and smelt the fragrance of the woman as it enveloped her.

No-one knew where to look, whether at the girl and Faraday, or back to Drago and Caelum.

Drago rose to his feet, the book held in his hands.

“Drago and I must speak,” Caelum said. “Alone.”

Everyone left. No-one spoke, no-one demurred, no-one offered any hint of resistance. Even Axis simply turned, and left.

Faraday gathered the girl into her arms, shot Drago a look of warmth and gratitude, and followed them out.

The door closed behind her.

“This is a bad place to meet,” Drago said. “We should talk, you and I, in a place of sunshine, where we can feel the weight of the wind in our hair.”

“Nevertheless,” Caelum said, his tone neutral, “this is what we have come to, you and I, a cold and damp cellar in the bowels of a mountain. A dungeon in all but name.”

Drago dropped his eyes to the book. “Caelum—”

“No. Let me speak.”

And having said this, Caelum hesitated. He wandered about the chamber in silence, as if involved in a deep inspection of the walls. Occasionally he reached out and touched the stone, running his fingers through the trails of moisture.

Drago watched him silently, content to let Caelum take his time. They had been moving toward this moment for over forty years. Who could blame Caelum for now wanting to delay the words a few moments more? It would be extraordinarily hard for him, for he would have to deny everything he’d ever believed in.

“For many months,” Caelum eventually said, his voice not much more than a confessional murmur, “I have been plagued by dreams. The hunt. Running terrified through the forest, the hunter on a great black horse behind me.”

Drago remembered his own dreams, of hunting, hunting, hunting, and of the joy he’d felt in the hunt.

His eyes filled with tears.

“Every time, no matter what I did,” Caelum continued, “the hunter cornered me, and every time he would lean down and plunge his sword or lance into my chest. Every time I woke with the taste of blood in my mouth and the feel of it bubbling unhindered through my lungs.”

Caelum turned from the wall and faced Drago. His arms were now relaxed by his side, and his eyes were bright with courage. “And every time, just before he sank his dreadful weapon into my chest, the rider would lift his visor, and I would see his face.

“It has always been your face.”

“I—”

“No. I need to finish. I feared you as I have never feared another, Drago. I have spent my
life
fearing you. You ruined my childhood, you scarred my adulthood, and you invaded my dreams. You have lurked in every shadow about me, and your malevolence has stalked my happiness, my resolve, and my confidence.”

“I—”

“
No!
” Caelum screamed. “
Let me finish!
”

He strode forward, and stabbed a finger into Drago’s chest. Drago flinched slightly, but at the pain in Caelum’s eyes, rather than at his stabbing finger.

“You
bastard
!” Caelum spat, “you stole my heritage, you stole
everything
from me.” A slight pause. “You have denied me even my self-respect.” He took a great breath, trying to control his emotions.

“And yet,” Caelum said, his voice now little more than a whisper, “you had every right to do that, didn’t you?”

He turned and walked a few steps away before he faced Drago again. “DragonStar was the name of that rider, and he wore your face, and the malevolence and repulsiveness of his existence was the mirror of my interpretation of you.

“Yet a few nights ago, trapped in the dream again, I realised a frightful truth. He
isn’t
you, is he, Drago?”

“No,” Drago said. “It is the body of StarLaughter’s son. DragonStar…the body that Qeteb will use.”

Caelum nodded. Again he breathed deeply. “Drago…DragonStar…how
we
have betrayed
you
, and in betraying you, how we have betrayed Tencendor.

“As I realised that the fiend who hunts me was not you and has never been you, I realised something else. It felt so
right
,” Caelum raised a hand as if in appeal, “that I
knew
it was truth.

“I learned, brother, that
I
have should been the second son.
You
should have been heir…should have been StarSon.”

“No!” Drago said. “You have been the best of—”

Caelum interrupted him with a low, deprecating laugh, and walked away a few more steps. “It
is
I who would have made a wonderful second son, DragonStar. I have all the qualities for it. The loyalty, the desire—the
need
—to serve someone else, the constant questioning of self-worth, the constant feeling that I always had to prove myself, and that I had to prove my right to sit upon the Throne of the Stars. I have not done well as StarSon, and that is only right, because I have never been StarSon.”

He turned back to face Drago. “
You
have. You knew from the instant you grew to awareness in Azhure’s womb that you were the legitimate StarSon, and ‘tis no wonder you developed such anger and resentment. You were right to rail against Axis as an infant, and correct in demanding your true birthright.”

“No! I was
not
right to do what I did,” Drago said. “To ally myself with Gorgrael and plot your death…I should have spent my life serving you, not betraying you, and surely not resenting you.”

Caelum waved a hand dismissively. “We walk in circles with our words, brother.” He paused. “You say you were wrong to ally yourself with Gorgrael and to plot my death. But am I any better?” They stared at each other, and then, neither yet ready to speak of the greatest tragedy of all, Caelum continued: “I should have been the second son, but instead I was born first. Drago, I understand
why
I was born first, and I accept that, and I will do what is needed.”

He half-smiled. “If you want me to continue on with the pretence of StarSon, then I will do so. It will serve the same end. If you think I must face Qeteb as StarSon, then I understand that I must do so.”

He stopped, and stared at Drago. “You are weeping,” he whispered. “Why?”

“For the loss of both of our lives, Caelum, but mostly for you. For your courage. For your dignity.”

Caelum shuddered with emotion. “You said…you said in the forest, when last we parted, that when you came back through the Star Gate all enchantments fell from your eyes.”

Drago nodded.

“Then how is it, brother, that you can stand there and weep for
me
?” Caelum’s voice broke, and he had to pause to regain control of it, and of himself. “How is it that you can stand there and weep for me, when you
know
how foul I am?”

“Caelum—”

“How can you weep for
me
, when I did RiverStar to death?”

There was utter silence and stillness in the chamber. Here, finally, surrounded by the cold damp stone, the weight of the mountain upon them and Tencendor disintegrating outside, they dared to speak and confront RiverStar’s death.

And remember.

RiverStar turned, and hungered.

“I thought you would not come tonight.”

“I could not help myself,” Caelum said. “I needed you.”

She was on him then, her body tight against his, her hands daring, arousing. “Take me,” she whispered hoarsely. “I
demand
it.”

He half-pushed her away. “You are in no position to demand anything.”

Her lip curled, hate and lust rippling across her face in equal amounts. “And are
you
, brother? How would Tencendor react, do you think, to know that their StarSon spent each night deep inside his
sister’s
body?”

“You foul-mouthed—”

“Oh!” she laughed, pushing back against him. “I can be much fouler than that, Caelum. As well you know. Do you think Tencendor would be interested in knowing
just
how foul? Do you think Tencendor would like to know just what you do to my body, Caelum? How you use it? How you scream and pant and sweat with every thrust?”

Now she had lifted one leg and wrapped it about his hip, lifting herself up slightly, and rubbing herself against his groin.

“Do you think,” she whispered, her own lust now threatening to overwhelm her, “that Tencendor would like to know how much of yourself you expend within your
sister’s
body?”

“Bitch!” Caelum spat, and he shoved her against the table behind her, ignoring her sudden cry of pain—and excitement—as the edge dug into her back. He slammed her along its surface, one hand tangled in her hair, one hand fumbling with her clothes and then his, and then he grunted and buried himself within her.

She laughed, writhing around him. “Do you think, brother,” she whispered, her words barely audible above both their panting, “that Tencendor would like to know just how
pregnant
you have made me?”

He stopped, appalled, still buried deep within her. “You lie.”

She wriggled against him, rocking her hips, intent on her own satisfaction, even if he had abandoned his. “Considering the amount of SunSoar seed you have planted in me, brother, I would be amazed if I did not give birth to a battalion of your sons.”

Her movements intensified, and as Caelum continued to stare at her, she suddenly shuddered, then jerked, and cried out with hoarse gratification.

“You lie…” Caelum said.

“You
must
marry me,” she whispered, her face running with sweat. “Or else I shall run to our parents and say that you raped me.”