Pilgrim

  Brushing past Isfrael, Drago walked slowly through the door, pausing for a moment as his eyes scanned the symbols carved about its frame, then approached the bridge.

  It was sister to Sigholt’s bridge, he realised. The silvertracery web to match her sister’s many-legged skills.

  Drago put a foot on the bridge, and then the other.

  “Are you true?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Drago replied. “I am true.” He took another step, running his right hand lightly along one fragile handrail.

  “But,” the bridge said in a voice almost a whisper, “are you he who is true?”

  “Yes, I am he who is true.”

  Silence, then the bridge spoke again. “Show me.”

  Drago’s mind spoke the request, and the staff vibrated slightly in his hand, and almost as soon as his eyes traced the pattern appearing on the wood, so he lifted his right hand and translated the pattern into symbol.

  “Yes,” the bridge said. “You are he who is true. Welcome to my heart, DragonStar SunSoar…and welcome home after so long away.”

  “I thank you, bridge,” Drago said. “May I lead my friends across your back?”

  “With pleasure,” she assented, “although I must question each and every one of them.” Drago’s mouth twisted wryly—Tencendor would take months to evacuate if she paused to ask everyone of their truth.

  “Don’t you think you could do it in groups, bridge? The need is somewhat…urgent.”

  She thought about it. “Well…”

  “I would not ask were it not important.”

  “Oh, very well. Groups. No more than seventy-seven per group.”

  “Thank you, bridge,” Drago said with considerable relief and then lifted his head.

  “Will you come, Faraday?” he asked.

  She hesitated a moment before stepping forward, staring at the man on the bridge holding out his hand to her, fighting down the emotions that outstretched hand ignited in her. Damn him! Then, finding some refuge in humour (would he never give up?), she led the girl forward.

  “Are you true?” the bridge asked.

  “Yes,” Faraday said.

  “You speak the truth, Faraday,” the bridge responded. “Welcome to my heart.”

  Then the bridge spoke to the girl.

  “Are you true?”

  The girl replied without any hesitation. “I am truth.”

  “Yes,” the bridge said. “You are truth. Do well, Katie.”

  Katie inclined her head, and she and Faraday joined Drago on the far bank.

  “You ‘are’ truth?” Drago questioned the girl, and when Katie remained silent he looked at Faraday, but Faraday shrugged her shoulders.

  “All will spin to a conclusion eventually,” she said, and with that Drago supposed he had to be content.

  Sanctuary was not quite what Drago expected.

  He walked slowly across the grassy plains towards the entrance to the valley. A gentle warm breeze billowed the grass and the blue-and-white star-shaped flowers into spreading ripples before them. By Drago’s side walked Faraday and Katie, and StarDrifter and Zenith. Isfrael walked behind StarDrifter. He and Faraday had nodded to each other, but had exchanged no words. Now his face was carefully set in a neutral expression, although his current distaste had little to do with his mother. Isfrael did not like the idea of being underground, even though the sky yawned apparently limitless above, and the verdant valley and snow-capped mountains stretched infinitely before him.

  WingRidge and SpikeFeather had remained behind at the bridge and stairwell, supervising the evacuation of the Icarii nation into Sanctuary.

  As successive groups of Icarii successfully negotiated both the silver tracery of the bridge and her questioning and took to flight, the leading group was overtaken by the birdmen and women. By the time Drago approached the valley mouth, Sanctuary had already been well-peopled with Icarii.

  “How strange,” Faraday murmured as they walked between the twin towers of rock that guarded the entrance. “I could have sworn that there was at least a half-league to travel between bridge and valley, yet here we are as if we have but just walked fifty paces.”

  “The grass ripples with enchantment as well as flowers,” StarDrifter said. “Oh, look! It is an orchard.”

  All, except Drago, exclaimed at the beauty of Sanctuary. Before them stretched a valley that appeared to be almost entirely taken up with an orchard of astounding beauty. Thousands of trees grew well-spaced along mown lawns, their branches so laden with fruit they almost touched the ground. They could see the glint of ponds and streams here and there, and tasselled linen hammocks swung between trees above scattered silken pillows and cushions below.

  Katie broke free from Faraday and ran to the nearest tree, taking a piece of fruit from a low-slung branch and sinking her teeth into it.

  “Beautiful!” she cried, juice running down her chin, and Faraday walked over to her, and wiped it away with a smile.

  “This place seems well enough,” Isfrael said, “if you like ordered orchards before the wild beauty of the forests.” He had his arms crossed and his legs placed apart. He looked like a judge about to deliver an execution penalty.

  “There are palaces further in!” a voice above them cried, and a youthful Icarii called MurmurWing dropped down before them. “Filled with dormitories and fountains and well-fattened storerooms!”

  He looked at the faces before him and, disconcerted by Isfrael’s stiff stance and Drago’s carefully bland face, stumbled out a few more words, and equally awkwardly rose into the air and flew back into Sanctuary.

  “Drago?” Faraday said. “What’s wrong? You look like a goat has stuck his hoof down your throat.”

  Drago jerked out of his reverie, and made a bad attempt at a smile. “Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. I’m…I’m sure that all will be comfortable here…if we can ever get them past the bridge in time to enjoy it! Come,” he held out his hand for Zenith, “let’s explore this magical land a little further.”

  And yet as they walked and investigated and exclaimed at every new delight, all Drago could think of was that Sanctuary looked nothing less than an extended version of all the orchards of all the worlds that the TimeKeeper Demons had dragged him through. Every time a shadow flitted among the trees, or an Icarii descended from above, Drago jumped, more than half-expecting it to be one of the Hawkchilds.

  What should he make of this? What?

  Sanctuary, surely—but a Sanctuary for whom?

  A few hours later Drago, Faraday and Katie, Zenith, and StarDrifter, sat about a cheerful fire in a side gully of the main valley of Sanctuary. Isfrael had sat with them a while before returning to the forests of the Overworld with a somewhat theatrical shudder at the well-ordered orchards of Sanctuary. All day the Icarii, eyes wide in wonder, had been walking down the stairwell to the door and then across the chasm—stopping in groups to be examined by the bridge—before launching themselves into the inviting thermals of the approach to Sanctuary.

  “This place will be both a blessing and a curse,” StarDrifter remarked, his eyes on the dancing flames.

  “Why?” Faraday asked.

  StarDrifter turned his gaze lazily towards her. “Who will ever want to leave?” he said. “Who, trapped in this wondrous prison, will ever want freedom?”

  His voice was indescribably sad, and its melancholy communicated to all of them. The Icarii, trapped again in an exile, but one that might trap them for eternity. Who would follow a StarMan to leave this place, however urgent his summons?

  Drago shuddered, and wondered again at the similarity of Sanctuary to the orchards seen in his rush with the Demons across the universe.

  “Skies exist to be torn apart,” Katie said, “and towers to be torn down.”

  Every eye in the circle riveted itself on her. She smiled happily, revealing two rows of tiny, perfect teeth. She laughed, and her glossy brown curls bounced about with the strength of her merriment.

  “Katie,” Drago sa
id. “Who are you? What are you?”

  She quietened, and regarded him solemnly. “Pilgrim,” she said, “do you not know me?”

  Drago shook his head, and Katie dropped her face, and wiped a sudden tear from her eye.

  “Then I am no-one,” she whispered, and buried her face in the folds of Faraday’s gown. “I have no meaning.”

  Faraday rested a hand on her head, her eyes questioning, pleading with Drago, but he only shook his head again.

  “I do not know,” he repeated, and spread his hands helplessly.

  Partly because the movement of Drago’s hands had reminded StarDrifter of the strange gestures he’d seen Drago making, and partly to divert the mood of the group, he spoke up. “Drago, what is it you have been working with your hands?”

  Relieved to be given something to think about other than the orchards of Sanctuary or his failure to comfort Katie, Drago leaned forward, his face enthusiastic. “Enchantment, StarDrifter! I have found a means to access the power of the Star Dance again.”

  StarDrifter’s face stiffened. “But I was the one to realise the power of dance to touch—”

  “Yes, yes, StarDrifter. I did not mean to slight your achievement, and I apologise if I have hurt your feelings…but dance has such limitations!”

  “What do you mean?” StarDrifter was not quite ready to accept the apology.

  Drago’s face grew more serious, his tone more compelling. “Think. If an enchantment must be worked by dance…then how vulnerable is the dancer to whatever danger faces him or her. StarDrifter, yes, dance manages to harness the power of the Star Dance, but of what use is dance if the TimeKeepers swallow you whole in the midst of a slow waltz?”

  “But Song must have been as awkward,” Faraday said before StarDrifter could answer. “Surely Enchanters had to sing an entire Song before—”

  “No,” StarDrifter said, a little reluctantly. “In an Enchanter’s early stages of training he or she would have had to sing the entire Song, yes, but eventually the actual working of the enchantment became so instinctive that all we needed to do was to run a few casual bars through our head, or even only a few notes. Axis could act in seconds.

  “Drago, surely we will learn of a way to modify the time it takes to dance a pattern?”

  “I have already learned it,” Drago said, and he proceeded to tell them what he surmised about the connections between Star Dance, music, dance and symbol. “All form patterns in their own way. The waterways do this with physical underground canals, Icarii Enchanters used to do it with Song, all apparently can touch the Star Dance with dance—”

  “And you formed patterns with your hands!” Zenith said. “Show us.”

  “Not so much patterns. More like symbols. Condensed patterns.” Drago hesitated. “A little like StarDrifter said about Enchanters eventually learning to run only a few notes through their minds to effect an enchantment. I take a full Song, convert it to numbers, and then those numbers into a symbol.”

  “Numbers?” StarDrifter sounded lost.

  “Numbers form pattern as much as music does, StarDrifter. It is a simple thing to convert a Song to its equivalent numerical form, and then that to its condensed symbol.”

  A simple thing? Faraday looked at StarDrifter’s and Zenith’s bemused faces, and almost laughed. She swung her gaze back to Drago. Was this how he would use his Acharite magic? And to effect the conversion so effortlessly! Drago had noted StarDrifter’s and Zenith’s expressions as quickly as Faraday.

  “StarDrifter…sing me one of the simplest of Songs, and I will show you how to convert to symbol.”

  StarDrifter glanced at Zenith, then sang a brief lilting melody.

  “It is a Song for making a fire flare,” Zenith said as StarDrifter finished.

  “Good,” Drago said. “Now, all you have to do is convert the tune to its numerical equivalent,” and without apparent effort he ran off a series of numbers, “and then those numbers to their symbolic equivalent, which you must visualise,” and he very slowly sketched a complicated symbol through the air.

  Then, Drago drew it again, but with such speed, fluidity and grace that those watching could hardly follow his movements.

  Instantly the fire flared.

  There was a silence.

  “I have absolutely no idea how you did that,” StarDrifter said. “Zenith?”

  She shook her head. “It is beyond me. Those numbers, and the conversion of numerical formula to symbolic representation. Ah! No, I cannot do it. Drago, why can’t you just teach us the symbols we need to sketch?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Drago said, and slowly sketched the symbol through the air. “But you must do it with speed, for the form falls apart given too long to linger unaided in mid-air.”

  Both StarDrifter and Zenith—and Faraday, who was overcome with curiosity—attempted to copy Drago’s hand actions, but none could sketch the symbol with the accuracy, speed and fluidity of Drago.

  Frustrated words were spoken by StarDrifter, who could not believe he could fail at anything magical, and by Drago, who thought the whole process so impossibly simple that only a dullard could fumble it.

  “Drago,” Faraday eventually said, gently. “Do you remember what Urbeth said to us?”

  “Urbeth?” StarDrifter and Zenith said together.

  Drago stared at her. What?

  “We have come back through death,” Faraday reminded him, “and thus can touch our—”

  “That doesn’t explain why you fumble as badly as StarDrifter.”

  StarDrifter glared at Drago, but did not speak.

  “I think,” Faraday said, with a gentleness even more profound than in her last statement, “that much of the ability you display, Drago, is purely and simply you. It is StarSon DragonStar who works those symbols with such ease.”

  Zenith suddenly understood what Faraday was saying, and she, too, looked at Drago and smiled with exquisite tenderness. She laid a hand on his arm. “Drago, welcome to your own unique ability. You are a mage beyond that which Tencendor has seen before.”

  “You are StarSon,” StarDrifter said, all trace of frustration and resentment now gone from his voice.

  Drago dropped his eyes and stared at his hands, now carefully folded in his lap. “StarSon…as a man it has taken me a long time to come to terms with what I once demanded as my right. As an infant I destroyed Caelum and all he could be. As a man my actions have wreaked destruction upon Tencendor. It has been hard to snatch Caelum’s heritage away for a second time.”

  Drago glanced at the staff, which lay at his side, and then looked about the circle. “If we survive this time, I think the legends will decorate Caelum with the glory, not me.”

  StarDrifter and Faraday lowered their eyes, wondering if Drago was right. Well, and who would not deny Caelum some bardic glory for his dreadful role?

  Drago shuddered, and looked at the sky as if it were transparent. “I feel the darkness of the Demons drawing closer and closer to the Lake above.”

  “We must contact Zared,” Zenith said, “and work out how best to get the Acharites into this shelter.”

  Drago nodded, too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice that Faraday was sitting stiffly, her eyes lost in some distant memory.

  “We also, somehow, need to persuade Isfrael that the Avar need the shelter of Sanctuary. The forests will—”

  “The forests will die?” Faraday suddenly asked, her voice brittle.

  “Faraday,” Drago said gently, finally catching some of her mood. “The Demons hate the forests, and while they cannot do much about them now, once Qeteb is risen they will work to make sure every leaf is stripped from every tree. The Avar can shelter under their shade for now, but…Faraday, you knew this.”

  “Ah!” Zenith said, far too brightly, “here comes WingRidge, no doubt with news about the length of the lines of Icarii above.”

  Later, Drago wandered slowly up to Faraday, who was seated on the ground with Katie, combing out the child’s hai
r.

  He smiled and squatted down beside them, and thought to make some light conversation, but even as he opened his mouth he was forestalled by an angry shout.

  “Drago!”

  Drago cursed silently and stood up.

  It was Isfrael, his face dark with hatred and loathing, and for one dreadful moment Drago thought it was directed at him for daring to sit so close to his mother.

  But Isfrael had other concerns on his mind. “WolfStar has been spotted lurking among the trees surrounding Fernbrake Lake.”

  Faraday rose, and pushed Katie behind her skirts, as if WolfStar would this moment appear and snatch the child.

  Drago saw StarDrifter and Zenith nearby. His sister had blanched whiter than StarDrifter’s wing feathers and StarDrifter was standing awkwardly, as if he did not know whether to comfort Zenith or not.

  “Zenith,” Drago said. “WolfStar shall not harm you again, I swear it. I will not allow him to cross the bridge. Do you believe me?”

  He had taken her hands in his, and now gave them a slight shake. Zenith nodded miserably, and Drago turned to Faraday.

  “Faraday, will you…?”

  Faraday put her arms about Zenith. “I will look after her.”

  Drago turned back to Isfrael. “Where?”

  Isfrael opened his mouth, but was not given the chance to speak.

  “I’m coming, too,” StarDrifter said. His entire stance radiated aggressive anger.

  Drago hesitated, then nodded. “Why not?” he said.

  Isfrael’s mouth twisted wryly as he looked at StarDrifter—the Mother only knew what WolfStar would do to StarDrifter!—then he turned and led the other two back towards the bridge, pushing through the Icarii still coming across.

  “Come on,” Faraday said gently, putting her arm about Zenith’s waist. “We can move further back into Sanctuary, if you like.”

  Zenith let Faraday lead her down a path towards a group of farrah fruit trees encircling a small, still pond that reflected the myriad of dragonflies and butterflies that hovered and danced above its surface.