Crusader

  There was silence.

  Axis glanced at Azhure, then looked down to the ground, studying the shine on his boots with a deep intensity.

  Feelings of anger, resentment and horrifying guilt flowed through him. Anger at WolfStar, resentment at StarDrifter for putting the truth so baldly, and such deep guilt at how he’d treated Zenith that Axis thought he could hardly bear it.

  Eventually he raised his eyes and looked steadily at StarDrifter.

  “Tell me,” he said quietly.

  StarDrifter took a deep breath, steadying his own emotions. “I fought so hard for Zenith,” he said. “Fought for her and loved her when no-one except Faraday would do the same for her. Faraday and I saved her from Niah and WolfStar—and, dammit, no-one fought harder in that battle than Zenith!—and, oh gods, the joy when we succeeded!”

  StarDrifter had to turn away for a moment, his chest heaving, gulping down his tears.

  When he finally had himself under some control, he turned back and continued. “Zenith and I became close after that. Very close.”

  Axis narrowed his eyes. “You fell in love.” It was not a question. More than anyone, Axis understood the SunSoar attraction each to the other. Stars! He could remember the leap in his own blood when his grandmother, MorningStar, smiled at him with seduction in her eyes.

  “And so you became lovers,” Axis finished, and his tone was hard. His daughter had slept with his father. As with Azhure, his Acharite blood rebelled at the images now tumbling through his mind.

  StarDrifter laughed, low and harsh and bitter, noting well the expression on Axis’ face. “No. We have never slept together. Zenith could not…could not bear me to touch her.” StarDrifter paused, his eyes locked into those of his son. “For the same reason you now wear such blatant disgust on your face, Axis. She could not lie with her grandfather, despite what she felt for him. Every time I laid a finger on her, she would shudder with revulsion.”

  Such relief flowed through Axis that he could almost manage some sympathy for StarDrifter’s frustrations.

  “That must be—” he began.

  “But she can overcome her revulsion enough to sleep with WolfStar!” StarDrifter screamed.

  Horror overwhelmed Axis. “But…but…”

  He felt Azhure take his hand, and finally understood the depth of anguish she, too, must be feeling.

  “How?” Axis finally whispered. “Why?”

  “She says,” and StarDrifter’s voice was as cold and impersonal as the interstellar wastes, “that she does not view WolfStar as her grandfather. She says that she finds some comfort with him. Him! Her rapist!”

  “I’ll put an end to this!” Axis said, and half turned away.

  “No.” Azhure stopped him. “No. I must. This must be said woman to woman. Besides,” her mouth quirked with utter sadness and a guilt far deeper than Axis’, “Zenith is paying for my sins, not hers. Stay here, Axis, StarDrifter. Let me do this.”

  And she was gone.

  Chapter 42

  Of Commitment

  Zenith sat on the small stool by the fire and tried to let some of her companions’ good cheer raise her spirits. She and WolfStar were sharing a fire with three Ravensbundmen and a farming couple from northern Ichtar: Zenith suspected they had some Ravensbund blood in them as well, for few Acharites were ever comfortable in the presence of either the northern hunters, or two Icarii Enchanters.

  But as the Ravensbund cared neither way about their companions, so Zenith presumed it was with this couple. Not even the reputation of WolfStar appeared to concern them.

  The Ravensbund were sharing a pot of Tekawai tea, turning the pot its ritual three turns to honour the sun, then pouring the fragrant tea into small porcelain cups that carried the emblem of the blood-red sun.

  Maybe that is why they are so comfortable with us, Zenith thought, for we are of SunSoar blood, and the Ravensbund are pledged to the StarMan.

  The peasant husband was strumming a small lute—badly. His wife was singing some rollicking peasant ballad to his accompaniment—equally as badly.

  Zenith could feel WolfStar’s irritation grow, and she placed a hand on his arm to forestall his otherwise inevitable blast of sarcasm. She had discovered that she had a gentling affect on him. This amazed Zenith, for she had not known that anyone could gentle the otherwise self-consumed WolfStar.

  He would stay his voice and his hand for her, when otherwise he would let fly, and for her WolfStar would sit still and bland when otherwise he would prefer to pace and fidget and bemoan the fates that had brought him to this sorry, useless and utterly magic-less pass.

  Zenith had no idea of the depth and professionalism of WolfStar’s manipulation.

  A small movement caught Zenith’s eye, and she turned her head slightly.

  WingRidge CurlClaw was talking quietly to another member of the Lake Guard just at the outer limits of the fire’s warmth. There were always at least three or four of the Lake Guard about WolfStar, or standing guard at the door and window of whatever chamber he lay in.

  WingRidge caught Zenith looking at him, and he nodded a silent greeting.

  Zenith smiled, then looked back to WolfStar. He was, at least to outward appearances, dozing. His physical condition had improved markedly, but he still tired easily. The flight from Sanctuary, and the subsequent hours spent in the frigid storm, had wearied him to the point where he had slept on and off during these past five hours since the Skraelings had taken root and sprung into this magical avenue.

  Zenith let her eyes slip down his body. Did she love him? No, but she felt a closeness to him that she could not achieve with StarDrifter; a companionship almost. WolfStar had shown her a gentler side to his nature that she’d not known existed.

  She and WolfStar shared the same night, the same experiences and pain and humiliations, and even though WolfStar had been responsible almost entirely for her pain and humiliation, she nevertheless now felt such a bond with him that she knew she could not leave him.

  Certainly not now they’d again shared a bed.

  She’d let him make love to her, finally, in those hours when they’d huddled together in their own warm, intimate space under a tarpaulin while the ice storm raged overhead. There had been no words, only gentle touches and long pauses, and the final turning to him to offer him her mouth.

  Zenith had wanted WolfStar to hurt her, to hurry her, or even to force her, for then she would have been able to loathe him. Then, she thought, she would have been able to turn her back on WolfStar, and look to StarDrifter.

  But WolfStar had not hurt her, or hurried her, and he certainly had not forced her.

  He had, unbelievably, been hesitant and unsure.

  After they had done, Zenith had cried, and WolfStar had held her and comforted her, and Zenith knew she would learn to enjoy him and desire him as a lover.

  He was WolfStar, but something, somewhere within him had changed.

  Or is it me? Zenith wondered, and had to bow her head and blink back her tears, because she didn’t want to change, she didn’t want to respond to WolfStar, she only wanted to run to StarDrifter and let him hold her, and let him protect her from all the hurts of the outside world.

  And what hurt most of all was that that could never, never be.

  Not now.

  Zenith knew StarDrifter would accept her without question, recrimination or a single hint of revulsion.

  It was she who could not now go back. A chasm had been created the instant she allowed WolfStar back into her body, and it was a chasm Zenith knew she would never be able to bridge.

  She lowered her head still further and wept.

  Now she had no-one to loathe but herself.

  It was quiet. The Ravensbundmen had finished their tea and were huddled as still as rocks under enveloping blankets. The peasant couple were asleep in each other’s arms. WolfStar had drifted into a deep sleep, and lay half slouched against the wheel of the cart, half against a pile of blankets. Of them all, only the Lak
e Guard stood wakeful, their eyes relaxed but nevertheless watchful.

  A hand fell softly on her arm, and Zenith jerked fully awake from her light doze. She opened her eyes and saw Azhure, crouched down beside her.

  Azhure put a finger to her lips, and then pointed to a spot ten or twelve paces distant from the fire. Come with me.

  Zenith hesitated, glanced at WolfStar who had not stirred, then rose grudgingly and followed Azhure. The last thing she felt like right now was a mother and daughter chat.

  The Lake Guardsmen followed her with their eyes, but did not move after her, and Zenith wondered at what point they would. When would she become so associated with WolfStar (so much an extension of WolfStar) that she would require watching in her own right?

  “I needed to talk with you,” Azhure said as she drew Zenith close to the first row of ghost trees. Above their heads the leaves moved gracefully, humming a sweet, soothing lullaby.

  “So it would seem,” Zenith said, her tone unresponsive. She would not meet her mother’s eyes.

  “I don’t blame you for your reaction, Zenith,” Azhure said. She reached out and took both her daughter’s hands. “I cannot say how much I regret what I said and did in Sigholt when—”

  “Then don’t.”

  “Zenith…” Azhure stopped, not knowing what to say or how to say it. “StarDrifter has told us—”

  “He had no right! None!”

  “He is Axis’ father, and he is a friend so dear to me that I can hardly bear his grief,” Azhure said evenly. “And you are my daughter, and WolfStar is my father. We are all tangled up in a web so intricate, and so intricately painful, that no-one within the web can escape the grief and heartbreak of another. I have every right to talk to you about this, Zenith. What you do affects us all—”

  “Oh, so I am to be blamed for everyone’s pain, am I? What about you? What about your and Axis’ abandonment of me, and of DragonStar and RiverStar, while you pampered Caelum and then fled to your godly pinnacle of accomplishment and starry meditations? Don’t speak to me of intricate webs!”

  Azhure’s hands tightened, stopping Zenith from pulling completely away.

  “Then please, please, talk to me as your friend! Forget the fact that I am your mother! Talk to another woman who has felt so much of what—”

  Zenith turned her face away.

  Azhure lowered her face as she thought desperately of what she could say next. Finally, she looked at Zenith again, tears coursing down her cheeks.

  “Zenith, you are right to lay so much blame on my shoulders, as on Axis’. There is nothing I can say or do now to negate what we—what I—did to you. I can’t even ask for your forgiveness. But, Zenith, I just want to help. Please…please…”

  Something in Azhure’s voice finally made Zenith turn her face back to her mother. She stared, closed her eyes briefly, then stepped forward and embraced her mother.

  Azhure clung to her, sobbing, and Zenith found herself soothing her mother when all she wanted was to be soothed herself.

  And then, magically, she was, for Azhure had pulled her down to the ground, and was holding her and rocking her and murmuring to her the words that Zenith had needed to hear for years, and in that embrace Zenith felt so treasured, and so loved, that she could hardly bear it, and she broke down and wept.

  By the fireside, WolfStar opened his eyes, and stared. What was that bitch saying to Zenith?

  In time, Azhure quieted her daughter, and wiped away her own tears, and they sat themselves more comfortably and talked.

  “If I could somehow be with StarDrifter,” Zenith finally said, very softly, “then, believe me, I would. He is a man I should be able to be happy with. But now it is too late. Far too late.”

  “How so—too late?” Azhure’s fingers slowly stroked back the hair from Zenith’s forehead.

  “I have committed myself to WolfStar now.”

  Committed? “You have bedded with him?”

  Zenith tensed, then nodded.

  “Oh, my dear, that means nothing. StarDrifter will not hold that against you. That fact will not stand between you.”

  “It is far more than that, Azhure. I feel a companionship with WolfStar that I cannot feel with StarDrifter. And I feel a responsibility for WolfStar that—”

  “Oh, I don’t believe that! Zenith, all you have to do is walk away from WolfStar! You do not have to become StarDrifter’s lover if you do not want to, but for the gods’ sakes, girl…WolfStar is not the man for my daughter!”

  Zenith smiled, wondering if she should remind her mother about the time Azhure had all but pushed Zenith into WolfStar’s arms, then decided against it. That was so long ago, and so many heartbreaks ago.

  “I cannot, Azhure. I cannot leave him. I know I should…but I cannot.”

  Azhure, almost panicked by the resignation in her daughter’s voice, began to protest when a shadow fell over them.

  It was WolfStar, with three of the Lake Guard in close attendance.

  “Azhure,” he said, and nodded at her. “How are you these days? No, please, I don’t truly want an answer. Family reunions were never my strength. Zenith. Come. It is cold by the fire without you.”

  For a heartbeat or two Zenith hesitated, feeling the warmth of her mother’s arms about her, seeing WolfStar’s hand stretched out for hers.

  She hesitated still further, desperately wanting to stay locked within the protective warmth and love of her mother’s encircling arms, but knowing that, in the end, she could not.

  And at that realisation, Zenith felt such a profound sense of doom that she almost let go of life completely. She struggled frantically against a black insanity, battled, then won, but feeling herself the loser even in that victory.

  Resigned and compliant, she pushed back her mother’s arms and let WolfStar draw her to her feet.

  As he turned to take Zenith back to the fire, WolfStar looked Azhure in the eye. “Tell StarDrifter to go back to his meaningless seductions, for he has lost the battle for the jewel.”

  And with that, they were gone.

  Azhure stared after them, not comprehending, and not wanting to. Then she somehow managed to rise to her feet and, through a blur of tears, wend her way back to Axis and StarDrifter to tell them they’d lost a daughter and a lover.

  Chapter 43

  StarLaughter’s Quest

  DragonStar’s five witches needed time, space and peace in which to prepare themselves, and the Strike Force were there to give them every possible chance of having it. Of the five, Gwendylyr needed to prepare fastest, for she would be tested first.

  “What can I do for you?” said DeepNote, the Wing Leader in overall charge of the three Wing who protected Gwendylyr. It was still night time, and the majority of the Strike Force huddled inside the cave, clinging to rocks as they could. “What do you need?”

  “Peace, and a few days in which to construct my…”

  “Trap?”

  Gwendylyr hesitated, then shook her head. “No. Not a trap. A fork.”

  “A fork?” DeepNote shifted from foot to foot, and glanced at his lieutenant.

  Gwendylyr smiled, but it was sad. “I do not construct a trap for the Demon—for to do that would be to fall into his own trap. No, what I do is rather to construct a fork in his road, a fork where he must choose freedom or servitude.”

  “And what will that do?” DeepNote said.

  “It will destroy him or it will save him,” Gwendylyr said, “and the Demon will not relish either choice.”

  “How will you build this ‘fork’?” asked MirrorWing, DeepNote’s lieutenant.

  Now Gwendylyr grinned broadly. “By doing what I do best,” she said. “By making up a list.”

  And while the two birdmen looked perplexed, Gwendylyr moved away to a free spot and sat down, arranging her features calmly, closing her eyes, and meditating.

  Both birdmen—indeed, all the Strike Force members who were in the cave—could feel the power emanating from her, but they could
not yet see what enchantment it was she was constructing from her Acharite magic.

  “A list?” MirrorWing muttered.

  DeepNote sighed. “Well, we must do what we can, and I fear there will be a great deal to do. Gwendylyr, as all five witches, will act as a lodestone to the crazed who populate this wasteland. Within hours, we will be surrounded again.”

  MirrorWing’s face tightened, and his silvery-grey body swayed slightly in his eagerness. “Then we will be useful, for every creature we kill—”

  “Transforms and moves on,” DeepNote murmured.

  “—will be one less corruption to free Tencendor of.”

  DeepNote hesitated, then nodded. “Aye. We each have our own tasks to do.”

  And he turned away and moved to speak quietly to the Wing.

  Gwendylyr opened one eye as he walked away, then closed it and smiled gently.

  She was deep in contemplation of domestic servants and the chaos they could cause when left to run amok.

  StarLaughter had found the decision about what to do a difficult one. After she’d left DragonStar—how could he not see that WolfStar would welcome her with open arms?—StarLaughter had returned to the deep, undamaged vaults of Star Finger. There, she’d spent several hours rummaging until she had found what she needed.

  The implements of seduction.

  Perfumes, powders, face paints. Bangles, pendants, earrings. Corsets, bustiers, veils. Nail varnishes, hair brighteners, wing softeners. Creams, potions, smoothers. Gold, silks, brocades.

  Most of these StarLaughter packed into a small bag. Her implements were small-sized, and the silks and jewellery could fit into the smallest of spaces.

  What she could not fit into the bag, StarLaughter fitted onto her person, for who knew when she’d come face to face with WolfStar again! Best to be prepared, best to look her best now, just in case.

  So she perfumed, painted and powdered. She draped, tightened and revealed. She varnished, pampered and pandered.