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“He did,” he said slowly. “He did hurt you. How?”
Zenith probably would have confessed to the first person who showed her kindness, be it Caelum or unknown dairy maid. Words came tumbling out of her mouth.
“WolfStar … on the roof … kissed me … thoughts, images, not mine … crowded me … frightened me.”
Caelum pulled her close again, stroking her hair. “Go on.” His eyes were distant.
Zenith gripped her hands together in an effort to stop them shaking. “He appeared suddenly, and that surprised me, but then I felt as if I was in a … chamber of some kind. The Dome of the Moon. It was very dark. I felt there was something there, clinging to the roof. It frightened me, terrified me, I was there, I saw that place – and yet I have never been inside it in my life!”
She raised her head, enough to look Caelum in the eyes. “I felt as though I was someone else. Memories crowded my mind. Memories that were not mine! Oh, Caelum …!”
And in another flood she told him of the lost hours and the nightmares and the fears. Who was this who crowded her mind, and who sometimes took such possession of her that she could not remember what she had done? Who?
“Caelum, I do not know what to think, what to do!”
“Hush,” Caelum said, holding her tight, stroking her hair, her back, kissing the crown of her head. “Hush.”
Thoughts and memories crowded his own mind, but they were not of someone else’s making. He remembered the time, nine years ago, when Axis and Azhure had handed control of Tencendor over to him. True, there had been a glittering ceremony on the shores of Grail Lake, but there had been a far more private afternoon, when his parents had handed into his keeping some of the most precious items of their lives.
The Rainbow Sceptre, now carefully secreted within Sigholt.
The Wolven Bow, for Azhure had said she no longer needed to ride to the hunt.
The enchanted quiver of arrows, which never ran out.
A Moonwildflower.
And a letter. A letter addressed to Azhure, and written by her long dead mother, Niah.
No-one save Azhure could remember Niah, for she had died when Azhure was only about six. Niah had been the First Priestess on the Island of Mist and Memory when one night WolfStar had appeared to her, lain with her, and got Azhure upon her.
Within seven years Niah was dead, burned alive at the hands of her Plough-Keeper husband, Hagen, in the cursed village of Smyrton. But she had left Azhure a letter, and when Azhure had given it to Caelum she’d told him that one day he must hand it to Zenith.
“You will know when, Caelum. You will know the moment.”
And this was the moment. Trembling, for he had never read the letter, and did not know what was in it, Caelum gently disengaged himself, and left the room.
Zenith sat up straight, dried her eyes, and shook her hair out, grateful for the support and love Caelum had shown her, but wishing she could have explained about Drago.
Caelum was back within a few minutes, holding an envelope in his hands.
“Caelum. Drago was only –”
“Hush. Let us not speak of him, Zenith. Read this. Maybe it will help you understand.”
Puzzled, Zenith took the letter. Across the envelope there was a word scratched in bold ink. Azhure.
Even more bewildered, Zenith looked at Caelum. The writing was in Zenith’s own hand. “Who wrote this?”
“Niah, Azhure’s mother.”
Niah?
“Read it, Zenith.”
Zenith dropped her eyes to the letter. Quashing the sudden wave of apprehension that almost engulfed her she opened the envelope and took the letter out. Hands trembling, she unfolded it and began to read, her eyes skipping over the irrelevant passages.
My dearest daughter Azhure, may long life and joy be yours forever …
Five nights ago you were conceived and tonight, after I put down my pen and seal this letter, I will leave this blessed isle. I will not return – but one day I hope you will come back.
Five nights ago your father came to me.
It was the fullness of the moon, and it was my privilege, as First Priestess, to sit and let its light and life wash over me in the Dome of the Moon. I heard his voice before I saw him.
“Niah,” a voice resonant with power whispered through the Dome, and I started, because it was many years since I had heard my birth name.
“Niah,” the voice whispered again, and I trembled in fear. Were the gods displeased with me? Had I not honoured them correctly during my years on this sacred isle and in this sacred Temple?
“Niah,” the voice whispered yet again, and my trembling increased, for despite my lifetime of chastity I recognised the timbre of barely controlled desire … and I was afraid.
I stood … my eyes frantically searched the roof overhead and for long moments I could see nothing, then a faint movement caught my eye.
A shadow was spiralling down from the roof of the Dome … The shadow laughed and spoke my name again as he alighted before me.
“I have chosen you to bear my daughter,” he said, and he held out his hand, his fingers flaring. “Her name will be Azhure.”
At that moment my fear vanished as if it had never existed. Azhure … Azhure … I had never seen such a man as your father and I know I will not again during this life … His wings shone gold, even in the dark night of the Dome, and his hair glowed with copper fire. His eyes were violet, and they were hungry with magic.
Azhure, as Priestesses of the Stars we are taught to accede to every desire of the gods, even if we are bewildered by their wishes, but I went to him with willingness, not with duty. I wore but a simple shift, and as his eyes and fingers flared wider I stepped out of it and walked to meet his hand.
As his hand grasped mine it was as if I was surrounded by Song, and as his mouth captured mine it was as if I was enveloped by the surge of the Stars in their Dance. His power was so all-consuming that I knew he could have snuffed out my life with only a thought. Perhaps I should have been terrified, but he was gentle for a god – not what I might have expected – and if he caused me any pain that night I do not remember it. But what I do remember … ah, Azhure, perhaps you have had your own lover by now, but do you know what it feels like to lie with one who can wield the power of the Stars through his body? At times I know he took me perilously close to death as he wove his enchantments through me and made you within my womb, but I trusted him and let him do what he wanted and lay back in his wings as he wrapped them about me and yielded with delight and garnered delight five-fold in return.
Zenith blinked, for it was as if she were there, feeling this, not reading about it. She … she could remember writing these words, remember sitting there for almost an hour at this point, her mouth curling softly in memory of that night of passion and loving. She had not known his name then, but that had not mattered very much, not when she had his body to grasp to her, not when both she and he burned with such virulent desire.
Zenith shuddered. Gods! What was happening to her?
Even as he withdrew from my body I could feel the fire that he had seeded in my womb erupt into new life. He laughed gently at the cry that escaped my lips and at the expression in my eyes, but I could see his own eyes widen to mirror the wonder that filled mine. For a long time we lay still, his body heavy on mine, our eyes staring into each other’s depths, as we felt you spring to life within my womb.
Zenith’s mouth formed the word “No”, but she did not voice it. She was no longer in her mother’s chamber in Sigholt, but lying on the cold floor of the Dome of the Moon, staring into WolfStar’s eyes as he lay atop her.
After a moment she managed to regain enough control so she could resume reading the letter. Niah wrote of how the “god” – WolfStar – had told her she would have to travel to Smyrton, wed the local Plough-Keeper, Hagen, and bear her child. There the child, Azhure, would eventually meet the StarMan.
I know that I will die in Smyrton, and I know that the man your father sends me to meet and to marry will also be my murderer. I know that my days will be numbered from the hour that I give you birth. It is a harsh thing that your father makes me do, for how will I be able to submit to this Plough-Keeper Hagen, knowing I will die at his hands, and keep a smile light on my face and my body willing? How can I submit to any man, having known the god who fathered you? How can I submit to a life dominated by the hated Brotherhood of the Seneschal, when I have been First Priestess of the Order of the Stars?
Your father saw my doubts and saw my future pain, and he told me that one day I will be reborn to be his lover forever.
“No, no, no, no.” Zenith shook as the implications of what she was reading began to sink in. “No!”
He said that he had died and yet lived again, and that I would follow a similar path.
He said that he loved me.
Perhaps he lied, but I choose not to think so. To do otherwise would be to submit to despair. His promise, as your life, will keep me through and past my death into my next existence.
“I do not believe it,” Zenith said with all the calmness she could muster. She carefully folded the letter in half and handed it back to Caelum. “Read it. But do not believe it. It is a mistake. A lie.”
Caelum walked slowly over to the fire, standing with his back to the flames as he read through the letter once, then once more, far more slowly.
“I knew some of this,” he said, finally looking up. “I knew that WolfStar came to Niah in the Dome of the Moon. I knew how Niah died. But this … this promise that WolfStar made to Niah … that she would live again … that I did not know.”
“But Mother did know. She knew … all these years! Knew and never told me! Why?”
Is that why Mother did not give me a Star name? Zenith wondered. Because she knew I was Niah reborn?
“Why?” Caelum shrugged helplessly, spreading his hands out. “Zenith, I don’t know. Maybe she felt there was no point telling you until … until WolfStar reappeared. Gods! I don’t know!”
“So she let me find out this way?”
“Zenith.” Caelum came back to sit by her side, his voice gentle. “If there is one thing I have learned from my parents’ lives, and from my own, it is that we are all born with a destiny. My parents were into their third decades before their destinies became clear to them, and –”
“No!” Zenith took the letter from Caelum’s hand and began to turn it over and over in her own. “I will not accept it!”
“– and I have had to accept that my destiny is as StarSon, and my burden is Tencendor.”
“I am Zenith! No-one else!”
“Yes, my dear, yes. But … but it is apparent that you also have Niah’s soul and many of her memories, and –”
“No!” How many times had she shouted that negative tonight, Zenith numbly wondered in a dark recess of her mind, and how many more times would she have to shout it?
“– and,” Caelum continued, speaking over Zenith’s increasing denials, “you still have life. You have all of your own memories and experiences. You must only come to terms with the fact that you also have a set of memories and experiences that stretch back before your birth.”
“No!” Zenith leapt to her feet and began pacing restlessly about the room. What now was truly, truly terrifying was the fact that as she had shouted that “No!” some part of her mind had whispered back, Yes!
She was Niah reborn … born to live out Niah’s yearnings, Niah’s life.
No!
She was Niah, reborn, both mother and daughter to Azhure.
No!
She was Niah reborn, and what that meant was that she no longer had any say in her own life, because her life would now be lived according to Niah’s dictates, Niah’s dreams.
“No!”
She would live her life locked in the arms of Niah’s lover.
“I am not Niah!” she whispered, low and fierce. How could she be?
“Zenith! Listen to me!” Now Caelum was before her, his face was determined, his voice hard. “Zenith, you will have to adjust, but you will be able to –”
“No! No! No!” Zenith wrenched herself from Caelum’s grasp and stumbled across the room. With vicious movements she tore the letter into shreds and threw the pieces into the fire.
“Niah is dead!” Not living in her. Not! Had this misplaced ghost always been hiding in her bodily spaces, waiting for a moment when she could – no! She could not even think it!
“No!” Zenith screamed one last time and fled from the chamber.
Caelum stood in the middle of his chamber, staring after her, trying to make sense of her reaction. It had been a shock, of course … but surely if she calmed down, thought it through, and accepted it, then it would be easier. Perhaps she’d best be left alone for a while. Perhaps all she needed was time.
Then Caelum remembered how WolfStar had kissed RiverStar, and his eyes clouded over. Not RiverStar! No! Better Zenith, better by far. Zenith must learn to accept WolfStar, and WolfStar surely would not harm her if he loved her.
But …
“Leave her alone for a few days, WolfStar,” he said into the empty room, but he spread the words over and through Tencendor with his power, seeking out the Enchanter. “Give her time.”
Somehow he felt, if not saw, WolfStar’s predatory grin.
12 Council of the Five Families (#ulink_4d1a0133-82d1-5c79-8d58-da9e6f90a994)
The Great Hall of Sigholt sat silent, waiting, as the morning sun danced down through the high arched windows set among the massive roof beams. Banners, pennants and standards hung from walls and beams, their fields and borders rippling slightly in the warming air. From the windows the silvery-grey walls fell unfettered for twenty paces, eventually dividing into immense arched columns, behind which shifted the shadowy spaces of the cloisters. The floor was utterly bare, the newly scrubbed and sanded flagstones gleaming almost ivory in this bright light.
In the very centre of the Hall sat a great circular golden oak table. Seven chairs were arranged about it.
About eight paces from this great table, and between it and the empty fireplace, were arranged some three smaller tables, each draped with black cloth and with a dozen chairs behind them.
The notaries were first to enter, their faces solemn with importance, their scarlet robes stiff with self-worth. Behind them came their secretaries – arms bustling with ledgers, accounts, papers, scrolls and the minutiae of a nation’s life – and their scribes, carrying the quills and inkwells of final judgment. Finally there was a brief scuttling of messenger boys, too overcome with the occasion to be anything but round-eyed and obedient.
Once the bureaucracy had arranged themselves at the black-draped tables, the messenger boys waiting behind them amid the columns, the honour guard entered. Three Wing of the Strike Force, unarmed, stood about the walls of the Great Hall, their black uniforms merging with the dimness behind the columns. When they were still, WingRidge led in twenty-five of the Lake Guard, who took a prominent position, standing in a ring ten paces back from the central circular table.
All the Council needed now were the main actors.
Of those, StarSon Caelum entered first. He wore black, as was his custom, but his face was far more careworn than usual. Without fuss he seated himself at the table. And then, in a procedure initiated by Caelum when he first assumed the Throne of the Stars, the heads of the Five Families entered simultaneously, each from a different door. They strode to the central table, their boot heels clicking, arriving to stand behind their chairs as simultaneously as they had entered the hall. All were unarmed, their swords left back in their chambers.
They waited. From the central doors Isfrael emerged.
As one they all turned to Caelum, and bowed.
“I thank you for your attendance here this day,” he said. “Be seated.”
Askam sat on Caelum’s immediate right, Zared his left. FreeFall sat next to Askam, Isfrael next to Zared. Sa’Domai and Yllgaine took the seats immediately opposite Caelum. There was nothing on the table before the men, save their differences.
“My friends,” Caelum said in a voice that, although soft, was so well modulated it carried easily to the men at the table, and to the notaries and secretaries eight paces away. “I bid you welcome to Sigholt for this Council, and I express my regrets that it should be convened so hastily and so soon after our last Council.
“However, as you are all aware, there are matters which need to be discussed and decided among us. Chief among these matters is the issue of the taxes that Prince Askam has been forced to levy on the West. Over the past few weeks Askam has imposed taxation on goods moved by land or water through his territory, as well as on those families deciding to emigrate to the North.”
“‘Forced’ is hardly the word I’d use,” Zared muttered, his grey eyes on Askam.
