CrimsonStar slowly shook his head from side to side, almost unable to comprehend that this sparrow (a sparrow!) was the father of the proud Icarii race.
“Listen to me, CrimsonStar. I shall tell you of a great joy and then I shall curse you, because you must pay for the privilege of hearing my advice—”
“No…I have been cursed enough.”
“You have no choice, my son. Now…watch.”
And the sparrow fluttered his wings, and rose a handspan above CrimsonStar’s knee before settling gently down again.
“Why have you no wings, CrimsonStar?”
“Wings…”
“Wings, CrimsonStar. You are my son, and yet you refuse to wear your heritage.”
“I…”
“Do you not sing the Flight Song to your children as they lay nesting in their shells?”
“Flight Song…?”
The sparrow spat in disgust. “Listen…” And he trilled a simple song, paused, then trilled it again. “Repeat it.”
His surprise giving way to a small tingle of excitement, CrimsonStar repeated the tune, stumbling over one or two of the phrases, but correcting himself instantly.
The sparrow laughed. “You are my son, CrimsonStar. Now go home and lay beside EverHeart and sing her the Song. Run your hands down her back, rub, probe, encourage, and soon she shall have movement again. Soon she will soar free from her prison-bed and let the sky ring with her laughter. Teach her the Song, and let her minister to you as well. And when she swells with your child, then place your hands on her belly and sing to the child what I have taught you. It is my gift to my children, CrimsonStar.”
“Thank—”
“Do not thank me, CrimsonStar. Not until after the pain has faded, for you are both late in age to spread your wings. Besides, for the knowledge I have imparted and the gift I have given I must curse you.”
CrimsonStar waited, sure the curse would match the gift.
“Oh, it will, it will, CrimsonStar. Listen to me now. You and EverHeart will be the first among the Icarii to spread your wings and fly into the heavens. But for this there is a price. I name your family SunSoar, a regal name, for your feathered backs must bear the burden of the sins of the Icarii. Wait…there is more. As you and EverHeart can consider no other love save that you bear for the other, so no SunSoar will love beyond the SunSoar blood. Never will you and yours find happiness save in each other’s arms. Do you understand?”
CrimsonStar nodded soberly, considering the implications.
“Then go down to your wife, CrimsonStar. And then to your people…and tell them the heavens wait.”
The fire had died down, and Drago’s face was lost in shadow.
“StarDrifter told me that,” he repeated, “and he also told me that somehow the story must have been corrupted by the Seneschal, for how could the proud Icarii be born of a sparrow?”
Faraday managed a small smile. Poor StarDrifter. No doubt he preferred to think that the Icarii race was fathered by one of the stars themselves, falling down the ladder of the Star Dance to impregnate the Enchantress.
“It is no myth, but truth,” said Urbeth quietly, her eyes fixed on some distant point in the roof beams. “For I am she who lay with the sparrow, and I am she who mothered the three races.”
As Drago and Faraday stared at her, Faraday motionless with shock and Drago silent with understanding, Urbeth—the Enchantress—rolled over on her belly and bared her teeth at them.
“Noah sent you to me to learn, Drago, and there is a lesson in what you have just related. Shall we speak of it?”
38
The Sunken Keep
Zenith sat at the table and tried not to listen to the conversation. StarDrifter and EvenSong were chatting happily about their long-gone life in Talon Spike. All Zenith could think of was that EvenSong was her aunt…and how could she sleep with her aunt’s father? Zenith suppressed a grimace. She was becoming obsessed with guilt, and yet all she and StarDrifter had ever done was share a kiss or two!
Zenith looked at the table, trying to find something else to think about. The table held the most splendid platter-ware—the richest crimson-gilded Corolean manufacture—but it sat horribly bare. That noon they’d lunched on dried biscuits and a single apple apiece.
The only thing they had in abundance was wine. The cellars of the palace had always been well-stocked, and whether it was the accessibility or the peace of mind it gave Zenith did not know, but over the past few weeks she had begun to avail herself of it a little too freely.
She had not been able to resolve anything regarding StarDrifter. He remained warm, loving and patient. She wanted desperately to please him, to thank him for his belief in her, and had come to the conclusion that if she was unable to bring herself to sleep with him, it was nothing but her fault. There was no reason to feel such repulsion…was there?
Perhaps RiverStar had been right to taunt her. Maybe she should have taken lovers well before this. Maybe she was nothing but a prim bitch with a hall as cold as any in this complex. Why was she such a prude?
She crumpled a napkin in one hand, and felt like screaming. All Zenith wanted to do was escape…escape from this chill-chambered prison, and from her own confusion and guilt. In the next instant, escape was handed her.
StarFever bustled in the door, and behind him came WingRidge CurlClaw, Captain of the Lake Guard, with SpikeFeather TrueSong at his side.
StarDrifter gaped at them an instant before he remembered that Drago had sent them off to find Sanctuary. He stood and took a step in their direction. “Have you…?”
“Well,” WingRidge said, one eyebrow raised in amusement, “SpikeFeather thinks he knows where it is.”
“But we need your help,” SpikeFeather said.
Both birdmen remembered their manners as they caught sight of FreeFall, and they bowed low, sweeping their wings behind them.
“StarDrifter has spoken of this Sanctuary,” FreeFall said as he rose and walked slowly over to WingRidge. “He has also said that you trust implicitly in Drago. Is this correct?”
“Talon FreeFall,” WingRidge said, holding the birdman’s eyes. “If I say that I believe in Drago, then what I mean is that the Lake Guard believes Drago…and trusts Drago.”
FreeFall stilled, his back very straight. He knew as well as any other that the Lake Guard dedicated their lives in service to StarSon. “And so now you aid Drago,” he asked. “You do as he asks?”
“I can do nothing else,” WingRidge said. “The Guard can do nothing else.”
FreeFall rocked slightly on his feet as the implications of what WingRidge said sank in.
The Lake Guard acknowledged Drago as StarSon.
He looked at EvenSong, their love and many years of closeness allowing them to know what the other was thinking, even if they had never had the benefit of enchantments with which to share thoughts.
FreeFall breathed deeply, trying to accept it, but finding it hard. Why had no-one told him before now?
“The Icarii starve in this cold-halled hell,” he said to WingRidge, and walked back to his place at the table. For the moment he did not want to think about accepting Drago as StarSon. “And the Avar can hardly feed themselves, let alone us. Every day we are inundated with more refugees from the plains to the west. StarDrifter could tell me little about this Sanctuary…can you add to that meagreness?”
FreeFall sat and indicated two stools, and the two birdmen took them, tucking their wings neatly against their backs. Briefly SpikeFeather spoke about what they knew of Sanctuary. It was not much.
“Drago knew nothing of it himself,” SpikeFeather said, “save that it exists and that it is within the Underworld. He tasked WingRidge and myself with the burden of looking for it.”
“And of course,” WingRidge said, managing to combine both sarcasm and affection into his tone, “despite all SpikeFeather’s knowledge gained from the Ferryman, he could not cast a gleam of light upon this mysterious Sanctuary.”
?
??Nevertheless,” SpikeFeather said firmly, throwing the captain of the Lake Guard an irritated glance, “I now know where it must be.”
He told his four listeners of his and WingRidge’s hunt through the ancient maps of Sigholt.
“And you found evidence of Sanctuary?” Zenith said. For the first time in weeks she felt a surge of optimism…and sheer relief in being given something else to think of other than her problematical relationship with StarDrifter.
“Not quite,” WingRidge said, his eyes firmly on SpikeFeather.
“What we found,” SpikeFeather continued, “was an ancient map of Tencendor that showed the Sacred Lakes and their accompanying Keeps. All four Lakes, and all four Keeps.”
“But…” EvenSong said and shared a glance with her husband, father and Zenith.
“Quite,” SpikeFeather said with evident satisfaction. “Now there are only three Lakes with Keeps, or Towers. Where is Fernbrake Lake’s Keep? It was there on the ancient map, but now? Gone.”
He grinned and waved his hands about as if his discovery had magically solved Tencendor’s every last problem.
“My friend does tend to be slightly over-enthusiastic on what can only be sheer supposition,” WingRidge said.
“But surely he has a point, otherwise you would not be here with him,” Zenith said.
“Zenith is right,” StarDrifter said slowly. “Tell me, have you searched for this lost Keep in the waterways?”
SpikeFeather nodded. “Of course—but we found nothing. Besides…would not the Charonites have found something before now if it were in easy view?”
WingRidge thought about observing that the Charonites had managed to miss the Maze Gate, as well as any evidence of Noah’s occasional ramblings through the waterways between the craft, but decided not to spoil SpikeFeather’s moment of excitement.
“There is much in the Underworld that lay hidden in deep enchantment even from Charonite eyes,” SpikeFeather went on. “I think that the entrance to Sanctuary must be in the Overworld somewhere—for the peoples of Tencendor to have easy access to it—and leads down to a completely hidden region of the waterways. I think the door to Sanctuary must be Fernbrake’s Keep—what else can it be—and we must only find it, and then—”
“And then I suppose every one of Tencendor’s problems will be instantly at an end,” FreeFall said, with more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“At the least,” StarDrifter said, “you may find shelter and food for the Icarii, FreeFall, and room enough also for the Acharites and Avar, should the forests ever fail.”
“You are right, StarDrifter.” FreeFall looked at SpikeFeather. “I apologise for my tone, SpikeFeather. What needs to be done?”
“Well,” WingRidge said, “we need to search the shoreline of Fernbrake Lake for evidence of the Keep, and we must do it fast. I need willing legs and eyes to help in that. At the moment the majority of the Lake Guard are busy aiding the population of Sigholt and Lakesview into hiding within the Urqhart Hills, for surely the TimeKeepers will be there any day now. Then the Demons will turn for Fernbrake, aided by the gods know what increase in their power. We need to get as many people into Sanctuary before then—and all must be secreted before the TimeKeepers manage to resurrect Qeteb completely.”
“Surely Caelum will have acted by then,” FreeFall said, but he was not the only one who heard the doubt in his voice.
WingRidge fixed him with his stare. “We must needs act fast,” he repeated. “Who will aid me?”
In the end, WingRidge and SpikeFeather led only a small party of some eight Icarii, including StarDrifter, and Zenith, who’d flatly refused to be left behind in the gloomy chambers of the Icarii palace, towards Fernbrake Lake. They had not food to spare for a larger group.
SpikeFeather thought ten should be enough. The Lake and its surrounds were not so extensive that they couldn’t search the entire area, and besides, he knew where the Keep had once stood.
StarDrifter, although cheered by SpikeFeather’s enthusiasm, nonetheless wondered if it was misplaced. It was only sheer hope, after all, that saw SpikeFeather put his entire trust in this single idea, and if he was wrong, then would they have time enough to canvas other possibilities? And if SpikeFeather was right, and they found the entrance to Sanctuary—what if it was guarded by wards and enchantments? None of them had the ability left to work them. StarDrifter remembered the enchantment in the carved rockface that covered the entrance of the stairwell leading down to the waterways at the junction of the River Nordra and the Icescarp Alps. Then StarDrifter had entranced Rivkah and Azhure with his power to open the stairwell—but he could not do that now. So what if—
“Peace, StarDrifter,” WingRidge said by his side, a smile on his face. “Your shoulders alone cannot carry the weight of Tencendor.”
StarDrifter grinned, liking the birdman, although they’d hardly passed more than a half-hour in conversation previously, and put his effort back into the path ahead.
They had climbed out of the Minaret complex about half a league below the crest of the ranges. Minstrelsea rose above them, for Faraday had planted it not only up to the rim of the crater that housed the Lake, but right down into the crater as well.
“I will be glad,” StarDrifter said, his breath now short as the pathway steepened, “when we can finally take to the sky again without fear of the Demons striking us down. Gods! To be virtually deprived of flight as well as of power!”
They reached the rim of the crater by late morning, and stood a while to catch their breath and look down. It was a beautiful sight.
The centre of the crater was filled with a vast circular emerald lake, surrounded not only by trees, but by thick ferns that in places rose higher than a man’s head. Birds chirruped and cavorted among the fronds, safe within the shadows and the nearby magic of the Lake.
“I hope,” muttered a young birdman by the name of JestWing BlueBack, “that SpikeFeather does not expect us to crawl all through that bracken!”
“I sincerely hope I won’t have to ask it of you,” SpikeFeather said, then waved the party down the path.
The air was milder within the crater, but whether because of the sheltering height of its walls, or the influence of the magical water itself, StarDrifter did not know. Whichever, the extra warmth was welcome and invigorating. For the first time in many days he felt the muscles of his wings and shoulders relax, and he shook out his silvery white feathers and walked down the gravel path with confident strides.
For her part, Zenith looked about in wonder, distracted for once from her own thoughts. She had never previously been to Fernbrake Lake. Although magical and sacred, the Lake was more important to the Avar than the Icarii, and figured in none of the Icarii’s religious rituals. Zenith had heard her mother speak of the Lake, and Faraday had mentioned it once or twice (hadn’t something happened to Faraday in these waters?) but nothing prepared her for the sheer beauty of the Lake.
The water was a deep emerald in hue, yet nevertheless it remained beautifully translucent. Pausing at the edge of the waters, Zenith stared into depths that appeared to go on forever. Down to the very mysteries of the unknown, she thought, and then jumped, for she thought she saw the reflection of a stag in the water.
Zenith straightened and looked behind her, but there was nothing, and she shrugged slightly and hurried to catch up with the others.
“Here!” SpikeFeather proclaimed as they reached a semi-circular grassy area between a stand of trees and the water. The clearing extended some sixty paces, in an almost perfect crescent about the edge of the Lake. “The Keep stood here.”
“The grass is smooth and flat,” StarDrifter said. “There is no rubble, or evidence of foundations.”
“It was here,” SpikeFeather insisted, “but it must have collapsed into the earth hundreds, if not thousands, of years ago. Naturally, the grass will have grown smooth over it.
Now…” and he proceeded to instruct his companions in the manner of search they should unde
rtake.
Zenith glanced at StarDrifter, then dropped her eyes as he sent her a small smile to share his amusement at SpikeFeather’s bustle.
WingRidge noticed StarDrifter’s expression and smiled wryly himself. “Is this what I have spent my entire life training for?” he murmured. “Crawling about on my hands and knees in a grassy clearing looking for pebbles?”
“Well,” StarDrifter said, “at least you shall have the joy of watching two of the vaunted SunSoars doing the same.”
WingRidge burst into laughter, and SpikeFeather shot him an irritated glance.
Zenith grinned despite herself, then sank to her knees. If it was here, then they would find it.
In the end, it took less than an hour. JestWing, disinclined to crawl about on his hands and knees, had taken a sturdy branch he’d found lying under its parent tree, and searched the grassy flat by poking the jagged end of the branch down through the soil. For almost an hour, he sank the branch again and again into the soft earth, encountering no other obstacles than the roots of the grass carpet.
This time, as he probed into the earth, the branch slid only a handspan in before it hit stone.
The force jarred JestWing’s arm, and he frowned. He lifted the branch out of the earth and stepped forward a pace, sliding it down again.
It slid only a handspan before it stopped.
Another pace, and then five or six more, with the same result, and JestWing knew he’d found an extensive flat stone surface just under the grass.
He opened his mouth, meaning to shout his discovery to the others, but as he turned about, JestWing saw all were standing silently, watching him.
“Sanctuary,” Zenith whispered.
By late afternoon they had cleared the grass and soil away from the flat stone surface. Situated halfway between the edges of water and trees, it formed a massive circle some twenty-five paces across. The large cream flagstones were laid out in the form of a twisting maze.