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Utter, horrible silence.
Zared could not believe his ears. DragonStar had been Drago’s birth name, given to him by his grandfather StarDrifter, and stripped from him by Azhure when she’d also taken his Enchanter powers and Icarii heritage. Zared risked a look at Drago – the man appeared as frozen as a trapped hare, his eyes locked with WolfStar’s.
“Imagine my amusement,” WolfStar continued, now moving his gaze about the room, “when I discovered that StarDrifter, insipid fool that he is, had unwittingly named you after my lost son.”
Caelum took a step forward, his eyes sharp, his voice heavy with angry power. “Is this your manipulation, WolfStar? Did you twist StarDrifter’s mind so that you could enjoy your amusement and our discomfort so many years later?”
WolfStar laughed merrily, driving the witting cruelty yet deeper into Drago’s heart, and waved a casual hand. “No. It was sheer coincidence. Or maybe Fate. I do not know.”
He looked back at Drago. “I believe, Drago, that had you not mishandled your infancy so badly you would have grown into an Enchanter unparalleled in the history of the Icarii. As my DragonStar would have done.”
Drago was now staring fixedly at a lamp far across the room, as if he could not trust himself to look at WolfStar.
“And yet here my unfortunate brother is,” RiverStar said, unable even in this crisis to control her vicious tongue, “a cripple in every sense save the physical one. Even then, I hear the kitchen girls laugh behind his –”
“Hold your tongue, girl!” Zared had heard enough, and gods knew what Drago was going through. “Enough, RiverStar! Can you not see or understand what Drago is feeling? Can you not feel his pain?”
Drago looked at Zared with complete astonishment, and Zared wondered if this was the first time in his life someone had actually spoken on his behalf.
RiverStar slowly stood to her feet, furious that this … this mortal had spoken so harshly to her. “Do not forget, uncle,” she hissed, “that I also witnessed Gorgrael tear Caelum from Imibe’s arms because of Drago’s persistent jealousy, and I watched as Gorgrael sliced the flesh from Imibe’s bones. I believed then,” she turned her gaze to Drago, “that he would direct Gorgrael to my murder as well. I feared for my own life. That is a fear, Zared, that twists and warps.”
Along with everyone else, Caelum was looking at his sister. But he had lost all sense and understanding of being in this chamber. All he could see was the horror of Gorgrael plummeting from the sky, all he could feel was the terror of knowing his brother had plotted to kill him by the vilest means possible.
For decades Caelum had fought to bury that memory, fought to forget the frightful weeks he’d spent trapped in Gorgrael’s Ice Fortress, fought to heal himself of the scars on his soul as his body had healed itself of the scars inflicted by Gorgrael’s talons.
But now the emotions and words of this room had called it all back, brought the fear and the pain and the uncertainty slithering to the surface again.
He blinked, blinked again, and finally managed to control himself. He was beyond that now, far beyond it. Surely. His eyes drifted to Drago, and a lump of unreasoning fear rose in his throat.
And Zared thought to defend Drago? Why? Was he in league with Drago?
FreeFall watched the emotions flow over the faces of Axis’ children. Fear, hatred, bitterness, sadness – all were evident. How is it, FreeFall thought, that Axis and Azhure united a land so deeply divided, yet left a brood of children separated by such appalling antipathy that they can barely keep themselves from each other’s throats?
He sighed, and spoke. “WolfStar, is this coincidence of naming of any consequence?”
“No, FreeFall. None. It is not even surprising, when you think about it. The son whom StarLaughter carried was very, very powerful, and DragonStar was an appropriate name for him. Azhure also carried an immensely powerful son, and DragonStar was also an appropriate name for that baby.”
“And yet as I was stripped of name and heritage,” Drago said, his voice under tight control, “so was he. Both DragonStars doomed just before or just after birth.”
Caelum stared flatly at him. “WolfStar’s son did not deserve his fate, Drago. You did.”
Drago visibly winced, and dropped his eyes. But WolfStar grinned impishly at him. Oh, but he did, he did, he thought, his mind masked from all the other Enchanters in the room. Like you, Drago, my son plotted to steal my heritage as you plotted to steal Caelum’s. Maybe it is something to do with the name …
“Continue, WolfStar,” Caelum said, his eyes still on Drago. “We have not yet got beyond the front gate of your explanation.”
WolfStar shook himself from his entertaining train of thought. “I killed two hundred and twelve,” he repeated. “I threw them through the Star Gate in my obsession to discover a way back. I thought that if one of those children, just one, managed to come back, then I would be able to do so as well.”
“You wasted two hundred and twelve lives,” FreeFall said flatly.
“At the time I thought it was necessary,” WolfStar replied. “I was afraid that the Star Gate held more terrors than wonders. What if someone, some thing, crawled through that could threaten Tencendor?”
“An admirable sentiment,” Caelum interrupted, “if only it were true. My father told me you were also intent on expanding your own power.”
WolfStar smiled humourlessly. “No, not entirely. I was genuinely afraid of the potential threat that the Star Gate posed. I wanted to understand all its mysteries, not only to expand my own power, but also to ensure Tencendor’s protection.
“Well, to continue. Every Icarii birdman and birdwoman in this room has the right, as the Icarii nation has the right, to sit in judgment for that act. None of the two hundred and twelve came back, and I had lost the two I valued most dearly, StarLaughter and our son. Before I could commit acts of even greater horror, CloudBurst ended my misery, and the misery of the entire Icarii people, with a heavy dagger thrust to my back.”
WolfStar twisted in his seat, clearly remembering the feel of the blade sliding in, the taste in his mouth as his lungs filled with blood. “I died, I was entombed, and I walked through the Star Gate.”
“What did you find there, WolfStar?” Caelum’s voice was very, very soft.
“I found … other existences. I found knowledge. I found that life, as death, are but passing dreams.” And there were other things I found and that found me, Caelum StarSon, that I am unwilling to disclose. Not until I am sure there is the need. But this thought WolfStar shared with no-one.
From the corner of his eyes, Zared noticed that Drago had leaned forward slightly, as if caught by the magic of WolfStar’s voice, or perhaps the vistas the Enchanter’s words had prompted in his mind.
“And other worlds, WolfStar,” Caelum asked. “Did you find other worlds?”
“They exist, Caelum. I experienced them – I cannot put it in any other way – but I did not physically visit them. But they are there, yes.”
“Do they harbour races who might invade?” Zared ventured to ask, leaving the enigma of Drago for the moment.
WolfStar blinked. “Races from other worlds? No, no, I think not. I did not sense any threat –”
“Then what of the children you murdered?” Zenith said. Zared was surprised to hear that although her voice was soft, it was strong. “For surely it is they who whispered beyond the Star Gate. Will they come back?”
Her question made WolfStar turn and stare at her for long minutes, as if he were trying to burn every angle, every plane of her face into his mind.
“Yes,” he finally managed, “you are right. They are those I killed.”
“Do they pose a danger to Tencendor?” Caelum asked.
“No, they do not. They yearn for my blood, but I am here and they are lost beyond the Star Gate. As far as I am concerned, that is the way it will stay.”
Isfrael shifted irritably. “Then why do we hear their voices now, and never before?”
WolfStar shrugged, not willing to take his eyes from Zenith. “They drift, lost. It is not surprising that they would eventually drift slightly closer to the Star Gate than they had been previously.”
“Should we help them come home?” FreeFall asked.
His question was enough to make WolfStar drag his eyes away from Zenith. “No! No, we cannot do that!”
“And why not, WolfStar?” FreeFall’s voice was very tight.
WolfStar took a deep breath. “They have changed. Being thrown through the Star Gate as they were, alive, terrified, into a cosmos to drift for thousands of years, has altered them. They are not what they were. If they were to come through, then yes, I would fear. Please, believe me in this.”
No-one in the room noticed Drago’s eyes narrow.
“But you said there was no danger,” Caelum said.
“As long as they remain beyond the Star Gate,” WolfStar replied testily. “And I can see no way they can step through.”
“You could,” Caelum reminded him. “You came back.”
“Yes, I came back, but I went through under very different circumstances,” WolfStar explained, unwilling to disclose what it was that had helped him back. It wouldn’t help the children, would it? “I was a powerful and fully trained Enchanter when I went through. I came back, but they will not. They do not have the skills, and they do not have the power. Believe me. They will never come back. In time the interstellar tides will carry them far away from the Star Gate. In a week or two their voices will be gone.”
Caelum stared at WolfStar a moment longer, then he turned to SpikeFeather.
“My friend, get you to the Star Gate and keep watch with Orr. If those voices come closer, if anything happens, then let me know.”
SpikeFeather nodded, and slipped from the room.
WolfStar raised his eyes above the gathered heads and looked at WingRidge CurlClaw.
10 Pastry Magics (#ulink_7a05dbc6-7cd7-5be2-80f0-ac6bae1c6686)
At some point, when people had grouped into ones and twos to discuss WolfStar’s words, the Enchanter himself had disappeared. Zenith, who’d made sure she kept a close eye on him, had no idea how he had done it. He’d been close to the fireplace, but she could have sworn he had not stepped back into it. Neither had he used any Song of Movement, because she would have felt it had he done so.
He was there one heartbeat, gone the next.
And Zenith had allowed herself to breathe a little more easily.
Of the others, Drago had been the next to leave, his exit far more noticeable. He’d pushed bluntly past those in his way and stalked from the room, every eye following him.
Zenith felt for Drago, and wished she’d had the courage Zared showed in leaping to his defence when RiverStar’s cruel tongue had been working its damage. Zenith had felt so ashamed that she’d later made the effort to join in the conversation, even asking WolfStar a question.
He’d stared at her, but this time there had been nothing but the stare, nothing but the roiling and yet unreadable emotion in his eyes.
Once Drago had gone, the rest of the group had been fairly quick to break up. There was much to be discussed and debated in the privacy of individual chambers, and even breakfasts to be had, for the initial shock of WolfStar’s appearance, and then his news, had long gone, and stomachs were now complaining.
Most of the servants within Sigholt, as well as the heads of the Five and their advisers, were busy with preparations for Council, which was to commence the next morning, so Zenith spent most of the day with Leagh. She felt restless, and useless in the current hive of activity, and Leagh was always comfortable company. Zenith told Leagh all that had happened in Caelum’s chambers, for she thought the woman had as much right to know as Askam or Zared, and then she asked what had transpired between her and Zared the night previously.
“Oh, Zenith! I saw more of him last night than I swear I have in the past four years. Thank you, thank you!”
Leagh’s eyes had glimmered with emotion, and Zenith had to fight back the tears herself.
Having passed the evening meal with Leagh, Zenith wandered back to her own chamber, but could not settle. Every time a drape moved in a draft, or a shadow flickered, Zenith jumped, thinking it was WolfStar.
She was sure he would come after her –
Why use that phraseology?
– why, she could not tell. But something in his touch, something in his eyes … he wanted something from her. But what? Surely it was not lust, for what WolfStar had shown her was not the wantonness he’d displayed with RiverStar.
But something else.
Something … deeper.
But that was ridiculous. She’d never met him, she was sure. WolfStar had disappeared long years before she’d even been born. Why should he spare her even a passing thought? She was nothing in the power games and mysteries currently being played out in Tencendor.
The images – memories? – that had flooded Zenith’s mind when WolfStar touched her cheek now came back and assailed her again, though with less force this time. She’d seen the inside of the Dome of Stars – but that was the province only of the First Priestess of the Temple, and Zenith had never been there. She’d seen inside that peasant hut, seen the angry, nameless man advance on her, murder in his eyes – but neither had she seen hut nor man previously. And the child … the child. Who?
Ah! Zenith shook herself. She would go mad left alone in this room to think!
She wondered again about Drago, how he felt after enduring his own personal trauma that morning, and determined to find him.
She found him, as she thought she would, in the kitchens.
RiverStar goaded Drago about affairs with the kitchen girls, but Zenith knew the real reason Drago spent so much time in the kitchens of Sigholt.
She’d discovered his secret one night seven years ago when she could not sleep and had thought to heat herself a glass of warm milk. She’d come in the kitchen doors, and then halted, astounded.
Drago had been standing at one of the work tables, dicing a huge mound of vegetables.
For some obscure reason, Drago loved to cook. He spent an hour or two down here most days, and longer if he was particularly upset over something. It was no mystery to Zenith that he would be here now.
This late at night the fires were damped down, and the staff had long gone to bed. Even so, the air was still warm, and the great metal ranges against the far wall radiated a comforting glow.
Drago was standing at a table before one of the ranges, several bowls before him, the tabletop strewn with flour and pieces of discarded meat.
“Drago?”
His head whipped up and a bowl rattled as he jumped. “What is it?”
Zenith walked further into the room. “I thought you might like to talk about this morning.”
Her brother dropped his eyes and kneaded some dough in a bowl, unspeaking.
Zenith walked over to the range, keeping her wings carefully tucked away but rubbing her hands before its warmth. “What did you think about WolfStar?”
Drago did not answer.
Now Zenith hugged her arms to herself, her eyes unfocused. “He scares me, Drago. I did not like the way he looked at me. The way he touched me.”
“I am sure there are some dozen or more people within Sigholt today who could say they do not like the way WolfStar looks at them.” He still had not raised his eyes from the bowl.
Zenith studied Drago carefully. He was kneading dough as if he wanted to bruise it.
“Drago …” She hesitated, but thought it needed to be discussed. “How did it make you feel to learn the name of WolfStar’s son?”
Drago lifted the mass of dough out of the bowl and slammed it down on the table, sending flour drifting in a cloud about him. He lifted his eyes and stared at Zenith.
“If he did not lie – and from the tales we’ve heard we know how WolfStar can lie – then all I can say is that DragonStar is a cursed name. Both of us condemned to our different deaths.”
“Drago –”
“Except that I think WolfStar’s son died far more gently than I!” He started to roll the dough back and forth, back and forth.
“Drago –”
