Pilgrim (37 page)

F
rom the cave where they had all fought off the Hawkchilds’ attack, Adamon and his companions led Axis, Azhure and Caelum into Star Finger. It was a day and a half’s walk away, and too painful a journey for Caelum to manage on his own two feet. Eventually, Pors and Silton carried him on a rough stretcher made of a cloak and two spears.

The cloud of Hawkchilds did not return. No-one knew whether it was because of the escort the three now had, or the injuries the Hawkchilds had sustained.

“What has been found?” Axis had demanded of Adamon before they left the cave, but Adamon had shaken his head.

“Wait,” he said. “Yes, I have found something and I understand your impatience, but wait until we are in Star Finger.”

And with that, Axis and Azhure, as their son, had to be content until Adamon could lead them to Star Finger’s secret.

On that journey to Star Finger Caelum slept, swayed by the movement of the stretcher…and dreamed.

He dreamed he wandered, not through the entrapment of a maze, but through the freedom of a magnificent field of flowers, redolent with the colours and scents of poppies and lilies and cornflowers.

Always the dream would be disturbed with the thunder of a horse’s hooves, and the cry from somewhere of “StarSon!”
Caelum would turn about, thinking the call was for him, but, invariably, all he would see was a woman dressed in a simple white robe wandering knee-deep in colour and fragrance through the field. Thick chestnut hair flowed down her back, and she held the hand of a small girl who skipped at her side.

In her free hand she carried a single white lily.

A man rode towards her on a white stallion, its crest and mane shrouded with a glorious mist of stars. He halted the stallion before the woman and the child, and accepted the lily that the woman held up towards him.

“StarSon,” she said, and the man smiled and leaned down to kiss her. And Caelum, seeing the man’s face, wept in understanding—and a great deal of relief.

Sometimes the dream differed and he wandered the field of flowers, seeing no woman, nor man, nor stallion. But he did see the child. She would appear before him, holding a posy of flowers in her hand.

They would stare at each other, then the girl would hold out the posy of flowers, except every time she did that the flowers would turn to blood that stained her hand and dripped over Caelum’s feet.

“Do you understand the need of sacrifice, Caelum?” she would ask, and whenever she said that, Caelum wept anew, and then listened as the girl pulled him down among the bloody flowers and spoke of love and of sacrifice.

Star Finger, once Talon Spike, had thousands of years of history in Icarii culture. Before the Wars of the Axe, when the Acharites had driven both Icarii and Avar from the southern lands, the great mountain had been the Icarii’s summer playground, a place to laugh and sing and plan the pursuit of love.

After those desperate wars that had exiled the Icarii from so much of Tencendor, the mountain had become a thousandyear prison until Axis StarMan had led the Icarii southwards to wrest Tencendor from the Seneschal’s control. Then most of the Icarii had flown southward to reclaim the spires and
citadels of the Minaret Peaks, but many thousands had remained in Talon Spike with the previous Talon, RavenCrest SunSoar and his wife, BrightFeather. While SpikeFeather had been able to persuade the majority of the Icarii to flee the mountain before Gorgrael set his Gryphon to its inevitable attack, RavenCrest and BrightFeather and many of the Elders had elected to remain.

They had all died, torn to pieces by the ravening Gryphon. Then, expecting to find tens of thousands of Icarii secreted within the shafts and winding passages of the mountain, the Gryphon had sunk ever deeper into the mountain’s enchanted defences, seeking, seeking, seeking.

They had sunk to the very bowels of the mountain (although they did not find the entrance to the Underworld, which the Ferryman had hidden). They had almost sunk to the chambers that had been excavated many thousands of years earlier to hide the mountain’s population from an attack such as this.

Of course, now they hid no Icarii.

But that which the chambers did hide, which was neither feathered nor strictly alive, was kept safe from the incursion of Gorgrael’s creatures, although the sense that there was
something
there, something
tasty
, drove the Gryphon almost insane with rage.

And when the Gryphon finally crawled exhausted from the mountain, the object remained as safe—and as lonely—as it had been for countless thousands of generations.

Star Finger was as lacking in enchantment as were the Minaret Peaks, but the mountain also housed far less Icarii than did the southern city, and they had managed to remain relatively comfortable. The corridors were gloomy and cold, but the chambers that were needed could be lit adequately for those who required them.

From the entrance in the eastern wall of the mountain, Adamon and Xanon led Axis, Azhure and a Caelum now
rested enough to walk into one of the apartment complexes close to the peak of Star Finger. Here natural light filtering through thickened glass lit the chambers and coal-fired braziers warmed the air.

Two healers waited, and led Caelum and Azhure to benches so the healers could inspect their wounds and stitch those that needed it. Azhure was clearly impatient, but Caelum appeared very calm, almost cheerful, and the others put it down to the relative safety of Star Finger.

Azhure grimaced at the bite of the stitching needle, but managed a smile for Axis. “I have not endured a wound since the Skraelings scored my ribs in Hsingard.”

Axis tried to return her smile, but found himself unable to. He’d never been able to regard the sight of Azhure bleeding, whether in field or childbirth battle, with equanimity, and he could not now.

So he touched her cheek, knowing she understood his concern, and turned to the healer attending Caelum. Only two of the wounds needed any stitching, and all were clean and healthy; Xanon’s attentions at the cave had saved both Caelum and Azhure any lasting harm.

A movement caught his eye. Sicarius, moving among his pack, which was now lying close-grouped against a far wall. He was licking the wounds of the several hounds who had also been wounded in the fight with the Hawkchilds. Among them was FortHeart, who had a severe wound running down the left side of her skull. It oozed yellow effluent, leaving the pale fur of her neck and shoulder stained and fetid, and she bit off a yelp as Sicarius tried to clean it for her.

As Axis watched, Sicarius raised his head and stared at him. His golden eyes were flat and hard, and the corner of one lip raised very, very slightly, exposing the gleam of a fang.

Help her.

Axis jumped, stunned at the distinct request—nay, not a request, more a command. It had not sounded as voice, nor in the same way as the mind voice which all Icarii Enchanters
had once been able to employ, but more as sheer emotion seething across the space between them.

Help her!

“FeatherTouch,” Axis said quietly to one of the healers assisting with Azhure, “will you and another see to the hounds?”

“Yes, StarMan.”

Again Sicarius’ lip curled, but after a moment he dropped his head, and continued cleaning FortHeart’s wound until FeatherTouch arrived. Then, having satisfied himself that the other members of his pack would receive attention in due course, he sank down to the floor, his head on his forepaws, and watched Axis steadily.

Axis tore his gaze away—damn those hounds! If they hadn’t aided in repelling the Hawkchilds then he may have tried to persuade Azhure to have them placed under close guard in cells. He no longer trusted them, and knew that they no longer trusted him.

“Azhure,” he murmured, and leaned back to her side.

Sicarius watched the activities of the Icarii, gods and SunSoars. He no longer felt at home with them, no longer wanted to be with them, although he did not feel animosity towards them as such. More than ever before in his life he felt the roar of the bear in his veins, and all he wanted to do was run with his true master.

When? When? When?

A movement in the open doorway caught his eyes. Sicarius pricked his ears, and every muscle in his body tensed. Then he relaxed, his lips almost seeming to grin, and his tail wagged once in a barely discernible movement.

There. Another of his pack.

In a manner of speaking.

The blue-feathered lizard flared its emerald and scarlet crest, then scuttled back into the shadows.

Sicarius slid his eyes back to Caelum, who sat with his eyes closed as he patiently bore the ministrations of the healer.
Sicarius could sense the change in the man, sense the understanding, and as far as the leader of the Alaunt was concerned, that made Caelum an honorary member of the pack.

Caelum opened his eyes and caught Sicarius’ stare.

He nodded slightly, and Sicarius’ tail gave a single thump.

“You
must
rest!” Adamon threw up his hands in frustration, but Axis and Azhure would have none of his patience.

“You cannot say to us, ‘I have found something’, with such high excitement,” Axis said, “and then expect us to sleep quietly and spend an hour or two at leisurely supper while Tencendor decays about us. Tell us!”

Adamon glanced at Caelum, who merely smiled and nodded his head.

He shrugged. “Xanon, will you fetch the others?”

She nodded and walked to the door. “Come,” she called softly, and Pors, Silton, Narcis, Flulia, and Zest entered. They had previously greeted Axis, Azhure and their son, and now sat quietly on chairs scattered about the chamber.

Several of the hounds moved to make room for the gods, but most remained still and watchful. Even though their interest and hope lay elsewhere, they still held a respect for the Circle entire.

Two Elder Icarii also entered. Axis knew them well, for they were the senior scholars of the Star Finger complex, respected for their wisdom and learning. Their names had long lost any importance, and they were addressed only by their titles.

“Respected Preceptor,” Axis said, and inclined his head. “Respected Historian.”

Azhure and Caelum also murmured a greeting, and the Preceptor and Historian sat together on a couch close by the brazier. They were dressed in plain white robes, and their bodies were unadorned with any of the finery Icarii usually adored. Even their wing feathers seemed oddly dulled, as if the two scholars assiduously bleached away their luminescence upon rising each morning.

Adamon, the only one who remained standing, inclined his head at those gathered, and then spoke.

“I, as my companions,” he glanced at the other Star Gods, “returned to Star Finger in the hope that the accumulated knowledge of tens of thousands of years held in its libraries might contain an answer to our current lack of effectiveness against the TimeKeeper Demons.

“Caelum StarSon must be the one to meet them…but how? How? If
all
his power, as all our powers, have disappeared with the Star Dance? When at first we returned, we had no luck,” Adamon continued. “Even with the aid of all the respected scholars in Star Finger, we could find no hint of a solution to the problem. And yet where else could lie the answer to Caelum’s dire need?”

Adamon’s voice was tight with the frustration and anger of his initial lack of success. He sighed, and visibly relaxed his muscles.

“Then the Respected Historian came to me, and said there was an inconsistency. Historian, will you speak.”

“Star Finger, once Talon Spike, has been used by the Icarii since their conception by the great Enchantress fifteen thousand years ago,” the Historian said. His voice was rich and melodious, and Axis knew how he could hold a class, as any audience, enthralled for many hours. “The mountain has been burrowed into and hollowed out for fifteen thousand years. It holds fifteen thousand years of memories—and fifteen thousand years of secrets. In the very roots of the mountains lie secret basements, basements thick with enchantment.”

“Surely those basements were always to be meant as hiding places for the Icarii nation,” Azhure said, “should they ever come under attack. That SpikeFeather chose to evacuate the mountain rather than hide the people there speaks of the fear that all then regarded the Gryphon—and Gorgrael.”

“Yes, yes,” the Historian said, “but these were unusual enchantments. Preceptor, my friend, will you speak?”

The Preceptor nodded. “My primary task here in Star Finger was to instruct those Enchanters who chose to spend their years in study and contemplation of the most arcane and secret of enchantments. When my colleague the Historian came to me and engaged me in conversations about the enchantments surrounding the basements, and after some days of investigation and study on these most forgotten of enchantments, I realised there was an unusual conundrum present.”

Caelum shifted slightly, easing his sore muscles, and again caught Sicarius’ eyes on him. How long have you known, my friend? Caelum thought. Did you run about Sigholt and Star Finger with my mother all these years and know the lie we all lived?

Sicarius’ tail thumped once again.

“The current problem surrounding the enchantments guarding the basement are twofold. One, why are they there in the first instance? The wards guarding the basements from attack should be erected only
after
they are full with refugees. Second, given that they are there, they should not be working. The Star Dance is gone—how can they still be in place?”

“But some enchantments do remain,” Azhure said. “The mists surrounding Sigholt, for example. The magic of the Maze Gate.”

“Quite,” the Preceptor said. “What enchantments remain are those which we may have connected with the music of the Star Dance, but they are enchantments that perhaps draw their power from somewhere else.”

“The Lakes,” Caelum said. “They draw their power from the Lakes, or from the craft that lie within the Lakes.”

“Yes,” the Historian said. “So we wondered if the fact that the enchantments have remained in place, and the fact they are in place in the first instance, means that they
already guard something within the basements
!”