Crusader

by Sara Douglass

  A thicket of thorns.

  Bands of thornbush enveloped her, pressing into the white flesh of arm and breast and belly and creeping between her legs and binding her to their own cruel purpose.

  Thorns studded her throat and cheek so that whenever she breathed, blood spurted and the thorns dug deeper.

  Must I always bleed, she thought, and must I always suffer the despair of entrapment?

  “It’s a bitch of a job,” muttered a thorn close to her ear, “but someone’s got to do it.”

  Yes, yes, Faraday thought, someone has got to do it. She had been so sure that she’d not succumb to the temptation of sacrifice any more, but here she was, embracing it again.

  Someone would surely have to die if Tencendor was to be saved, and Faraday supposed she’d have to do it all over again.

  Painfully.

  Trapped, trapped by the land. Trapped by its need to live at her expense.

  The thorns twisted and roped, and Faraday screamed.

  It seemed the right thing to do, somehow.

  “You have a choice,” said the thorns. “You can succumb and the pain will end…reasonably fast. Or you can fight and tear yourself apart in the effort to free yourself. Which will it be?”

  “I…I…”

  “Quick! The decision cannot take forever, you know!”

  “I…”

  “Quick! Quick! Time is running out!”

  Faraday panicked. She opened her mouth to scream—and then stopped, very suddenly calm.

  “You choose for me,” she said. “I trust you to choose for me.”

  “Good girl,” said the land, approvingly, and Faraday found herself rising slowly through a lake of emerald water, rising, rising towards the surface.

  She broke through the surface and shook the water from her hair, and laughed.

  “DareWing,” she said, and her hand gripped his shoulder more strongly. “We will be here for you.”

  DareWing spiralled through the air, more determined than at any time in his life.

  The ground was not going to get him.

  He was an Icarii! A birdman! The ground held nothing for him, nothing.

  Then why did he feel the tug on his wings so painfully? Why did the weight of his body seemingly grow with each breath so that now he found it almost impossible to stay aloft?

  The ground called him: “Walk on me, be my lover, bind yourself to me.”

  No!

  “Bind yourself forever.”

  No!

  DareWing made a supreme effort, his shoulders and breast and belly aching with the effort of staying within the thermal.

  But now he was spiralling downwards, not up.

  The speed of his fall increased, and DareWing screamed curses at the ground. He would never allow himself to be ground bound! He was a creature of the air, of the sky, of the stars!

  The ground rushed towards him, and DareWing screamed in fear rather than anger. Not fear at death or even pain, but fear that he would be ground bound, that he would never fly again, never soar, never again be the proud Icarii warrior…

  He hit the ground with a force that should have killed him outright, but the worst injury DareWing felt was a bruised shoulder and thigh. He scrambled to his feet, and almost overbalanced.

  He kept to his feet only with a sustained effort. Why was his balance so out? Why was everything so heavy?

  DareWing halted, horrified.

  His wings had become a burden. For the first time in his long life, DareWing realised that his wings were a burden. They hung like great stone weights from his back, and he could barely move them, let alone will them to lift him into the sky.

  “No! Damn you! Give me my grace back! My balance! Give me back—”

  My Icarii pride, he thought, and halted, amazed. Have I always been so arrogant?

  So contemptuous of the ground?

  So blind?

  “What do you want of me?” he whispered. “How can I redeem myself?”

  “Relinquish your arrogance,” the ground replied, “for that is what made the unwinged resent you in ages past.”

  Relinquish my wings? DareWing thought, and anger surged through him. No birdman relinquishes his wings!

  The ground was silent, and DareWing hung his head in shame.

  His wings hung heavy behind him. A burden, not of weight, but of arrogance.

  DareWing turned his head slightly so he could regard them. His wings were creations of majesty and beauty, feathered in glossy black, powerful, graceful, the physical manifestation of the Icarii “otherness”, the means by which the Icarii believed they were the creatures of the stars.

  The Star Dance loved the Icarii for their beauty, and for their ability to fly.

  “Wrong,” said the ground. “The Star Dance has tolerated your beauty and your flight skills, but it has loved you for other reasons.”

  “Really?”

  “Your inner beauty, which thrives despite your arrogance—”

  DareWing winced, and hung his head.

  “—as well your courage to dare. You and your people are composed of jewel lights, DareWing. Don’t hide them behind your arrogance.”

  DareWing nodded. Courage, he thought, is not required for what I do now. It is boundless humility.

  And so DareWing turned his shoulders, and lifted his arms, and he took hold of one of his wings. He took a deep breath, flexing the powerful flight muscles of chest and shoulder.

  Then he tore the wing out.

  He screamed, and doubled over, sobbing in agony, still gripping the wing. Blood poured down his back, obscuring the brief glint of bone.

  DareWing dug his teeth into his lips, fighting to remain conscious, then he threw the wing aside.

  It landed some two paces away, a useless appendage of flesh and feather.

  Waves of blackness threatened to consume DareWing, but he fought against them. He took hold of his remaining wing, his hands slipping in the blood from his back, then he steadied himself, his eyes wild, his chest heaving in frantic breaths, and he tore it free.

  It fell useless to the ground, and DareWing managed one final scream before the agony tipped him into oblivion.

  Faraday knelt by DareWing’s side, and her hand tightened its grip on his shoulder. His eyes were wide, staring but unseeing, and his body jerked and jittered as if caught in some crazed, sickened dance.

  “Faraday…” Leagh said, her voice tight, and she shifted on her chair.

  “He will come through this shortly,” Faraday said. She paused, and her jaw tightened as if she shared DareWing’s pain. “He must.”

  “Nevertheless,” Leagh said, “he needs all of our aid.”

  She, as Gwendylyr and Goldman, rose from their chairs, circled slowly, then knelt with Faraday. Gwendylyr placed her hand on DareWing’s other shoulder, while Leagh and Goldman each took one of the birdman’s hands. “We love you,” Leagh whispered.

  We love you, whispered her voice through DareWing’s tortured existence.

  All of us, said a different voice, and DareWing realised it was the land itself.

  “Really?” he said.

  “Really?” DareWing whispered, and his eyes opened and stared into the four faces above him.

  “I have relinquished my wings,” he said, and smiled.

  Faraday returned his smile. “Is that so? Then how is it that they still sprout from your back?”

  DareWing jerked in surprise, and rolled so he could see them for himself. “Oh,” he said, with such an expression of amazement on his face that his companions laughed.

  “DareWing,” Goldman said. “Did you realise your ground fever has broken?”

  “I am well,” DareWing said. “I am well.”

  And then Leagh gasped, and all looked about. Flowers were spreading over the entire field of bare, ploughed earth, covering the ridges and furrows so completely that no one could see where the plough had been.

  “Artor is truly dead,” Faraday said, “and we are finally fr
ee.”

  Chapter 9

  Of Predestination and Confrontation

  They stood before the seven-sided, white-walled tower and hated.

  “It stinks of the Enemy,” Sheol said. “Badly.”

  Qeteb did not speak. He sat his black beast and regarded the tower thoughtfully.

  Finally he turned his head slightly to where StarLaughter half-sat, half-crouched on the ground. “Tell me of its nature,” he said.

  StarLaughter hissed.

  Something frightful reached out from Qeteb and sunk deep talons into StarLaughter’s mind, and she screamed, writhing amid the dirt.

  “Spiredore! Its name is Spiredore!”

  “You are such a fount of information,” Qeteb said. “Mother dear.”

  The other Demons giggled.

  StarLaughter quieted, but her eyes never left Qeteb’s form.

  She had been a fool to allow this Demon to steal her son! Could she yet save her boy? Was there something to be done that might mean—

  “Your son died thousands of years ago,” Qeteb said. “Nothing can bring him back. Resign yourself to a worthless and unwanted motherhood, StarLaughter.”

  Her eyes glinted.

  Qeteb took no notice. “Tell me about this tower.”

  StarLaughter thought about remaining silent, but her lust for revenge had imbued her with a strong sense of self-preservation. She knew Qeteb was now only looking for the merest hint of an excuse to kill her.

  Qeteb shifted slightly, and StarLaughter spoke. “Only a very few Icarii have ever been able to use the tower. Its secret was closely guarded.”

  Sheol muttered irritably, but Qeteb sat his mount silently, waiting.

  “Nevertheless…” StarLaughter smiled, remembering how powerful she had once been, and how great her destiny was bound to be, “I have eyes with which to observe, and a mind with which to think—”

  Mot sniggered.

  “—and I believe that the tower will take a person—maybe any who ask it—wherever they wish to go. Even its name points to its actions. It is a spire and it is a door.”

  Qeteb sat, staring at the Icarii woman, knowing she spoke the truth. A useful piece of Enemy magic, then, he thought, and pondered its implications. Could he use it? Perhaps. Was it a trap? Possibly…possibly…

  Could he risk the trap?

  He turned his head and regarded the other Demons. He could send one of them…

  No. Rox was gone—for the moment—and Qeteb did not want to risk the others. Qeteb’s eyes flickered over Niah, but she was an impossible choice. Niah had no soul with which to form the question, let alone a desire strong enough to make Spiredore act.

  Who else?

  Ah, of course! The Midday Demon lifted a mailed hand and beckoned.

  A dark shape spiralled down from the sky and alighted before the Demons. It was StarGrace SunSoar.

  “Great Father,” she said, and bowed before him.

  “StarGrace,” Qeteb said. “I have a task for you.”

  StarLaughter looked at StarGrace, looked at Qeteb, and wondered. Would the Hawkchilds join her in exacting a revenge upon Qeteb (he had stolen her son!), or would they remain blind to the Demon’s duplicity, and continue to obey him?

  StarGrace did not even look at StarLaughter, and bowed her head as Qeteb spoke to her. Once he had finished, she moved quickly to do his bidding.

  And still she did not look at StarLaughter.

  StarLaughter’s mouth thinned. She was alone, then.

  Faraday blinked, and they were standing under a crystal dome in the midst of a field of flowers.

  She blinked again, and she was standing with her four companions in an apple orchard in Sanctuary. A movement caught her eyes. It was DareWing, fully healed, stretching his glossy wings in the sun.

  He smiled at her, but Faraday noted that the expression in his eyes had changed. No doubt, she thought, the expression in all of their eyes had changed.

  “My witches,” said a warm, humorous voice, and Faraday’s smile widened.

  DragonStar rejoined the group from the shade of an apple tree. He regarded them all carefully, and gave each a small nod and a smile, but otherwise made no remark on their final evolution.

  What will he do? thought Faraday, and then the next thought sprang almost immediately into her mind. What will he do with us?

  “Faraday?” said a small voice, and Faraday turned quickly.

  Katie ran out from behind the same tree DragonStar had been sheltering under, and Faraday held out her arms and embraced her.

  “She will stay with us for the time being,” DragonStar said. “But when we venture back into the wasteland it would be safer if she stayed here in Sanctuary.”

  Thank all stars and gods in existence he isn’t going to expose her to danger, Faraday thought, and planted a kiss on the girl’s shiny brown curls.

  “When do we go back to the wasteland?” DareWing asked, his voice thick with an emotion that Faraday only belatedly realised was the need for revenge.

  “We will all need to go back,” DragonStar said, “but you and I will return first, DareWing. No, wait, let me speak before you all bombard me with questions. Will you sit? This orchard is secluded enough for us to talk without interruption.”

  They settled themselves in a circle, Katie resting with her head on Faraday’s lap.

  As Faraday looked up from Katie, she caught Leagh looking at the girl with an odd expression on her face.

  The instant Leagh realised Faraday had seen it she wiped her face clear of any interest in the girl. Katie had her own destiny, as did Leagh’s child, and she could do nothing to change either.

  Faraday wanted to ask Leagh why she’d looked so at Katie, but before she could speak DragonStar began to talk.

  “Tencendor can be reborn,” he said, “but it must first be cleared of all its corruption.”

  “The Demons?” Gwendylyr said. There was a tendril of black hair hanging un-neat across her forehead, and Gwendylyr lifted a hand as if to pat it back into place, but her hand hesitated, then dropped. Gwendylyr left the strand to its own devices.

  “Yes,” DragonStar said, “but also of all the crazed animals and…and…”

  And the maniacal people crawling about, he almost said, but could not. But even with the thought unspoken, DragonStar could see the knowledge in everyone’s eyes anyway.

  “Which first?” Goldman said.

  DragonStar hesitated, and ran the tip of his tongue over his lips. “Ideally, the Demons first,” he eventually said, “but we, you five as well as I, need to be stronger before we can attempt their destruction.”

  Katie lifted her head at the latter words and stared briefly at DragonStar, then she dropped her face back into Faraday’s lap. Her shoulders shuddered slightly.

  No-one noticed her reaction, save Faraday, who assumed Katie had shivered with the gentle breeze blowing through the orchard. She pulled a section of her skirt around Katie, far more concerned at DragonStar’s words.

  Faraday and the other four had shared concerned glances. “Talk to us,” Faraday said. “What do you mean?”

  DragonStar took a deep breath. “I am StarSon, and Qeteb will be my battle,” he said. “But the other Demons—”

  “Ah,” Goldman said, understanding, “as you will be responsible for Qeteb’s destruction, so will each of us be responsible for one of the other Demons.”

  “Yes. It is preordained. Five of them, five of you.”

  “But, how can each of us contend with one of the Demons!” Leagh said. Her face was almost panicked, and she’d placed both her hands protectively over her belly. “I can’t—”

  “Right here and now,” DragonStar said, his tone and eyes gentle as he regarded Leagh, “you can’t. No, I agree. We need experience and perhaps even some more knowledge before we can dare the Demons. But eventually each of us will have our task to do, and for each of us that task will be a particular Demon.”

  “But there are only four Demons left
,” Gwendylyr said, “not counting Qeteb. Sigholt’s bridge destroyed Rox—”

  “Evil cannot be destroyed,” Katie whispered into Faraday’s lap, “it can only be transformed.”

  No-one heard her.

  “—so surely that means only four of us need to confront a Demon. Leagh must wait it out in Sanctuary. We can’t risk her.”

  DragonStar looked Gwendylyr steadily in the eyes, and then shifted his gaze to Leagh. “We will all be needed in the wasteland,” he said. “Leagh as much as anyone else. Her pregnancy cannot excuse her. And as for Rox, well…all I know is what I feel. The balance will be restored.”

  “How?” asked Goldman.

  DragonStar lowered his eyes, remembering his long disquiet about Niah, but not knowing why he was so disquieted. “Niah,” he said. “Niah will become the fifth Demon.”

  Everyone stilled, dismayed at the thought, and yet instinctively feeling the truth of it.

  Niah would become the fifth Demon…and yet…yet all felt that peculiar, edgy dissatisfaction that DragonStar did.

  There was something else about Niah. Something else they should all know and understand.

  StarGrace entered Spiredore, and hungered. She had been a SunSoar Enchanter once, and heir to the throne, if StarLaughter’s child had not survived.

  And he hadn’t really, had he?

  So, theoretically, she—StarGrace—should now be Talon.

  If only WolfStar hadn’t embarked on his murderous ambition.

  WolfStar, WolfStar, WolfStar!

  StarGrace ran the name in a litany of hate through her head. WolfStar! When would Qeteb throw them at WolfStar?

  Ah! She calmed herself, remembering the instructions Qeteb gave her. There would be time enough for WolfStar.

  StarGrace cocked her bird-like head to one side and regarded the interior of the tower. This was the first time she’d ever been inside. During her lifetime in this land only Icarii Enchanter-Talons had been allowed to know Spiredore’s secrets.

  Above her the tower seemingly rose into infinity in a misfit collection of stairways and crazily-canted balconies. Nothing made sense—no stairways linked to balconies, and no balcony gave way to any room.