Pilgrim

by Sara Douglass

  Some were paddling about in the shallows, some swimming over the shadows of the rising Maze, all were concentrating on what they thought was the voice of Qeteb speaking to them from the heart of the Maze.

  Even as he watched, the voice sounded again.

  Obey me, and I will give you all you desire.

  Goldman glanced at Drago, noting the very slight movement of his lips.

  “That is a deft enchantment,” Goldman said.

  “It will not work for very much longer,” Drago said. “Already some animals are becoming…‘disenchanted’,” his lips twitched, “and are turning away from the Lake. Their master is taking his time, it seems, about granting their every wish.”

  Drago leaned out the window and surveyed the street immediately below the palace. “Nevertheless, it has given my three girls—”

  Goldman noted with some humour the proprietorial way Drago said “my three girls”.

  “—time enough to complete the emptying of their quarters.”

  “I ran into a badger,” Goldman said, “a most ingenious badger. I found…”

  Goldman paused, again wondering at the depth of experiences that now suffused his being. When would he find the time to fully explore it?

  “I found that I could see inside its mind.”

  Drago looked at Goldman. “Really?”

  “Aye. And most disturbing it was, too. This badger knew the voice was a trick, but could not persuade his comrades to believe him.”

  Goldman paused. “He was a special badger, and I spent a moment or two talking with him.”

  Drago’s eyes narrowed. “That was dangerous, my friend.”

  Goldman nodded. “That badger’s mind connected directly to the Demons. One of them, Sheol, spoke to me through the badger’s mouth—”

  “What! What did you tell her?”

  “Nothing! But…”

  “But?”

  “But I think she realised that I was, ah, something ‘other’ than she, or her companions, had ever expected to encounter.”

  The Demons must be truly worried by now, Drago thought. When they’d destroyed the Star Gate, they had thought to have destroyed the most powerful well of enchantment in Tencendor—the Star Dance. All the power that remained was that which emanated from earth and trees, and that the Demons knew they could deal with once Qeteb was resurrected.

  What they had never known—what no-one had known—was that the Star Dance lived on within the craft, and literally within the land itself.

  Well, very soon they were going to work it out.

  But not before…gods! not before he had a chance to get into the Maze. Without understanding why, Drago understood that whatever else happened, he had to enter the Maze before the Demons did.

  How far away were they? Far enough, he hoped.

  “Drago?”

  Herme’s voice broke into his reverie, and Drago looked at the Earl.

  “There are perhaps a score of people to bring up the stairs and send through the doorway,” Herme said. “And then we will have done all we can for this section of Carlon. And not before time. Every building surrounding this palace is afire.”

  Drago put a hand on Herme’s shoulder. “I thank you, Herme.” He looked beyond Herme to where Gustus and Grawen stood. “And you. Ten thousand at least owe you their lives.”

  “Nay,” Herme said quietly. “They owe you their lives, Drago.”

  “Well…Herme, your family?”

  “They are among this final score to come through,” Herme said.

  Drago nodded. “Good. WingRidge? Get everyone through this door as fast as you can. Herme, take the men you have with you, and follow your family through to Sanctuary. Wait for me there.”

  “And you?” Herme asked.”

  “Goldman, WingRidge and I will wait in Spiredore for the others to complete their tasks. And then…”

  “Then?”

  Drago shrugged. “Then I will follow what my heart tells me, my friend.”

  For Faraday, Gwendylyr and Leagh, the situation was growing ever more desperate. Both the fires, and whatever stray animals who had not responded to the enchanted summons, were closing in like a nightmarish net, and yet the people continued to stream towards the houses where the women had erected the doorways.

  Faraday, like the other two women, had lost a little of her serenity. Smoke and biting cinders choked corridors, making eyesight difficult, and control almost impossible to enforce. Faraday strode up and down the lines of people in the corridors leading to the doorway chamber, trying to keep them calm, but finding it difficult to keep composed herself when her lungs felt as though they were afire and her voice was lost amid her coughing. She was reduced to simply grabbing people’s clothing, urging them along as fast as they could go—and yet trying not to create panic—and patting faces and shoulders in an effort to generate calm.

  But no-one could retain a convincing facade of calmness in this degree of calamity. Without exception children were screaming their fear and panic; parents were crying and shouting, young men were pushing and shoving, and girls sobbing and collapsing in sorry heaps on the floor and tripping others up.

  “What’s happening?” Faraday shouted to the Lake Guardsman who suddenly loomed out of the smoke at her shoulder.

  “There are thousands more below in the streets!” he yelled, “and more still moving through falling debris and burning buildings to get to us. Ye gods, Lady Faraday! We are never going to get them all out before this goes up completely!”

  “Do your best,” Faraday shouted. “Do your best!”

  Hopelessly inadequate words. Utterly inadequate…but what else could she say?

  A youth close to Faraday suddenly convulsed, screaming in jerky breaths, and everyone within hearing distance dissolved into complete panic—had the fire leapt through the walls? Had the Demons finally arrived to run amok through their midst?

  Were the rats back?

  “Calm down!” Faraday screamed. “Calm down!”

  But the panic in her own voice did nothing to ease the panic of others, and within heartbeats the entire corridor became a mass of pushing, shoving, screaming people, all determined to get to the doorway and achieve their salvation at their neighbours’ expense.

  Faraday was pushed and pummelled herself. She tried desperately to think of something she could do—surely there was some kind of calming spell her re-found Acharite powers could give her? But she could not think in the midst of this frenzy, she could not breathe amid this madness, all she could feel and realise was that she was being consumed, sucked into the trampling stampede of elbows and feet and—

  Silence.

  A shudder ran through the entire corridor, and Faraday swore she could feel it run through the entire building and then sweep through to the crowds in the streets below.

  She slowly got to her feet, straightening her robe and rubbing an upper arm where it had been badly bruised.

  Drago’s cats were kneading their way along the corridor—that was the only verb Faraday’s numbed mind could come up with, but it entirely suited the cats’ actions. A dozen mongrel courtyard cats were climbing over the mass of people halfsitting, half-lying in the corridor, their paws enthusiastically kneading flesh as they went.

  And as they went, people smiled, stroked the cats, and passed them on to their neighbours to be kneaded and loved in return.

  Faraday stared, wide-eyed, her lips slightly parted. A cat brushed by her legs, butting his head against her knees, and she bent down to pat him. A deep rumble of purr met her hands, and the cat moved on to the next person.

  Faraday remembered something Drago had told her on their long trip north. His childhood spent in utter rejection, totally unloved…save by Sigholt’s courtyard cats. They’d accepted him and loved him and given him their total friendship, for no price, and without caring that he was the most reviled creature in Tencendor.

  And now here they were again, spreading love and friendship, and somehow imparting
hope and joy. People rose to their feet and without prompting moved quietly and quickly through the corridors—now miraculously almost cleared of smoke—towards the enchanted doorway.

  The Lake Guardsman appeared again at Faraday’s elbow. “It’s remarkable,” he said in a low voice. “A short while ago I would have said we’d never get these crowds through in time. Now, I think we’re going to do it with time to spare.”

  Faraday nodded, but did not speak.

  Instead her eyes, bright with tears, followed the progress of the last cat in sight, a rangy ginger tom, as he rubbed his way through the forest of legs surrounding him.

  Gwendylyr and Leagh had had similar experiences. No matter the efforts they’d expended trying to keep people calm, as the fires had drawn hotter and closer, and stray, maddened animals attacked those people moving through streets towards doorways, panic spread. Theod and Zared both thought they were about to again lose their wives: Zared was especially worried as Leagh was pregnant. And yet, just as panic erupted into a potentially deadly hysteria, the cats had appeared, happy, loving, utterly relaxed, and within heartbeats their joy and serenity communicated itself to the crowds.

  Nevertheless, both Theod and Zared were heartily glad when their wives had shooed through the last refugee, Lake Guard member, whatever Alaunt they had with them, and had stepped through into Spiredore themselves and folded down their doorways.

  Leagh was the last one to close her doorway, and just as she reached to fold it down, the cats came bounding through and thundered down the stairs in Spiredore in some mad feline chase until they were lost in its twisting gloom.

  Leagh took a deep breath, recovering from the start they’d given her, then folded down the door. Then she stood as if uncertain, holding the glowing cube of light in her hand, a tear running down her face.

  “Why so sad?” Zared asked, wiping the tear away. “We have rescued most people.”

  Leagh held up the cube of light, her face illuminated in its glow. “Beyond this,” she looked at the cube, “Carlon lies a-burning. We could save the people, Zared, but we could not save the city.”

  “A city is only its people,” Zared said, his voice gentle.

  Leagh shook her head slightly. “Carlon was ever more than that, Zared.”

  “Leagh…” Zared did not know what to say, but Leagh blinked away her tears and pocketed the cube of light.

  “Drago,” she said, and then led Zared down the stairs before them.

  Drago was atop Spiredore. It was close to late afternoon now, the hour of despair well past. He stood at the western parapets, his hands resting on the stone, the wind ruffling his hair and clothes, watching Carlon burn.

  It was both a dreadful and an awe-inspiring sight. The entire city was afire. Flames leapt skyward through wreaths of grey and black smoke, and yet, right at the peak of the city, the ancient Icarii palace stood unscarred and unlit.

  Drago wondered at its purpose. Why was it being saved?

  Directly below was Grail Lake. The Maze was very slightly more visible than it had been earlier in the day, although it was still deep. Creatures continued to line the Lake’s shores, but now they were less certain. The voice had not spoken for an hour or more, and both the patchy-bald rat and the brown and cream badger were dead.

  Directionless, but still hot for the taste for blood, some of them had surrounded Spiredore, others drifting to join them.

  Drago hoped the tower’s door was firmly bolted.

  A distant rumble of collapsing masonry reached his ears, and he turned back to the rooftop space, unable to watch any more.

  Gwendylyr, Theod, Leagh and Zared stood in a small group to his left, Goldman, WingRidge and the feathered lizard directly in front of him, but against the far parapet, the Alaunt were curled up in an ivory pile, and Faraday…Faraday stood closest to him on his right.

  Her eyes were fixed on the burning city.

  “It must pain you to watch it destroyed,” Drago said.

  Faraday’s eyes shifted and refocused on Drago’s face. “On the contrary,” she said, her voice hard. “I experienced nothing but pain and betrayal in that city.”

  “And now?” Leagh asked, a trifle too brightly.

  “We have a bare week before the TimeKeepers reach Grail Lake,” Drago said. “Once they have finally reconstituted Qeteb, nothing still walking the surface of Tencendor can be saved. Therefore…”

  “Therefore?” Zared prompted.

  “Therefore we have a week to empty Tencendor of all life into Sanctuary. A week.”

  “We do it the same way we emptied Carlon,” Gwendylyr observed.

  “Yes,” Drago said. “Each of you will have a region of Tencendor you shall be responsible for. Use Spiredore and your doors. Ask Spiredore to take you to the groups of people left in your region, group by group. Don’t waste time moving about the land by foot. Move everyone you can find into Sanctuary. Then, when the Demons have arrived at Grail Lake—you will know the moment—step into Sanctuary yourself and wait for me there.”

  “Do we take the Alaunt?” Leagh asked.

  “No. They, as the lizard, go directly into Sanctuary now. Spiredore can hunt out the isolated groups for you.”

  “And myself and Zared?” Theod asked.

  “You go with the hounds into Sanctuary. Your wives will rejoin you there.”

  “I cannot allow that!” Zared said.

  “You must,” Drago responded, and his tone was hard and commanding enough to subdue both Zared and Theod. “They can move as fast without you as with you, and neither of you can work through the Demonic Hours. If anything, you will hinder rather than help.”

  His tone softened. “They can survive without you,” he said, and smiled a little to take the sting out of his words.

  “Where do we go?” Goldman asked.

  “Goldman, you take Nor and the Island of Mist and Memory. Your territory will be the smallest geographically, but Nor is the most heavily populated.”

  Goldman nodded, bowed, and descended the stairwell into Spiredore. His footsteps disappeared almost instantly.

  “Leagh? You shall be responsible for Romsdale, Avonsdale and Aldeni. Leagh…be careful.”

  She nodded, kissed and hugged Zared, then she, too, was gone.

  “Gwendylyr, I want you to take Ravensbund, Skarabost—also sparsely populated—and Ichtar.”

  “And Star Finger?”

  “Yes. Empty Star Finger as well. Whatever happens, and whoever remains, make sure they understand the implications of staying in the OverWorld when Qeteb draws breath.”

  She nodded, farewelled Theod, and was gone.

  “And I?” Faraday asked quietly, but her face was ashen. There was only one region left.

  Drago did not respond to her immediately. “Zared, Theod? Take the Alaunt and the lizard and go back to Sanctuary. And do not worry too much about your wives.”

  Zared snapped his fingers at the Alaunt and the lizard, who rose and moved to his side, but Theod hesitated. He stared at Drago, stared at Carlon, then let Zared lead him and their four-legged companions down the stairwell.

  Sicarius was the last to go down, and he paused on the top step, stared at Drago and woofed softly.

  “Go!” Drago said, but he smiled at the hound, and Sicarius vanished.

  Still Faraday stood, staring at Drago.

  “WingRidge? Will you wait below for me?” Drago said.

  As WingRidge left the rooftop, Faraday stepped up to Drago and slapped his face as hard as she could.

  “How dare you send me to—”

  “To the forest?” Drago asked softly. “Faraday, the majority of the Avar, and all the wondrous fey creatures of the forests also need to be saved. You know that with Qeteb at their side, the Demons will turn the Avarinheim and Minstrelsea into matchsticks.”

  “Axis sent me to the forests, and so now you do the same,” she said, her tone hard and bitter. “And from there it is but one step to the final betrayal, is it not, Drago? How sh
all Qeteb seize me, do you think? He has no Timozel now to work his…ah! But he has WolfStar! Yes, WolfStar shall trick me and seize me and lead me to Qeteb where, in order to save this beloved land,” her voice was heavy with sarcasm, “you shall let me die!”

  Drago eyes narrowed. So…the Demons had WolfStar, and no doubt the Niah-thing as well. There was something he knew should concern him deeply about that, but for the moment it eluded him.

  “You have overlooked one minor detail,” he said softly. “Did not my father send you pregnant into the forests? Should I now do the same? After all, we must make sure that Faraday does not miss a step on her pre-ordained journey into sacrifice, must we?”

  Faraday’s face twisted and she raised a hand to hit him again, but Drago seized it in his own before she managed to strike him.

  He dragged her closer. “Faraday,” he said, and his voice had lost all its anger and was very, very gentle. “Will you never believe me when I say that I will not betray you?”

  “You have no choice,” she said. “My betrayal is a fated thing.”

  He gathered her, still stiff and resisting, into his arms. “No,” he said, “it never, never is.”

  And he bent his head and kissed her.

  Finally, he raised his head slightly, and stared into her face. “Go fetch your wondrous people and fey creatures into Sanctuary, Tree Friend. Complete the journey that you started so many years ago. Lead the Avar into Sanctuary.”

  He kissed her softly again. “And go this time knowing that the man who loves you will never, never, betray you. Neither I nor Tencendor need your blood.”

  He lifted one of her hands, and placed it on his chest.

  “Faraday, my heart is always your Sanctuary.”

  67

  The Emptying

  Of them all, only Goldman thoroughly enjoyed himself. He had always admired the Nors people for their skilful enterprise, and spent many happy hours chatting to old friends as he waved people towards wherever he’d erected his enchanted doorway. The pirates of the Island of Mist and Memory were just as much fun, for they were a colourful lot who never had let morals stand in the way of a profit, and that Goldman fully appreciated. But of all the areas that he cleared, Goldman delighted in the Complex of the Temple of the Stars the most.