Pilgrim. Sara Douglass

there … something … There was another movement, more distinct this time, and Zenith felt her chest constrict in horror. There! Something lurking behind the ghost oak.

      She stumbled toward the donkeys’ heads, thinking to try and pull them forward, get herself and her sleeping companions away from whatever it was … escape … but when she tugged at the nearest donkey’s halter it refused to budge.

      “Damn you!” Zenith hissed, and leaned all her weight into the effort. Why in the world did Faraday travel with these obstinate creatures when she could have chosen a well-trained and obliging horse?

      Zenith tugged again, and wondered if she should take a stick to the damned creatures.

      The donkey snorted irritably and yanked her head out of Zenith’s grasp.

      Just as Zenith again reached for the halter, something emerged from the gloom behind the nearest tree.

      Zenith’s heart lurched. She dropped her hand, stared about for a stick that she could defend Faraday and Drago with … and then breathed a sigh of relief, wiping trembling hands down her robe.

      It was just one of the fey creatures of the forest, no doubt so disturbed by the presence of the Demons that it cared not that it wandered so close to Zenith and the donkeys.

      It was a strange mixture of lizard and bird. About the size of a small dog, it had the body of a large iguana, covered with bright blue body feathers, and with a vivid emerald and scarlet crest. It had impossibly deep black eyes that absorbed the light about it. What it used the light for Zenith could not say, perhaps as food, but once absorbed, the lizard apparently channelled the light through some furnace within its body, for it re-emerged from its diamond-like talons in glinting shafts that shimmered about the forest.

      Zenith smiled, for the feathered lizard was a thing of great beauty.

      Watching Zenith carefully, the lizard crawled the distance between the tree and the cart, giving both donkeys and Zenith a wide berth. It sniffed briefly about the wheels of the cart, then, in an abrupt movement, jumped into the tray.

      Zenith moved very slowly so she could see what the lizard was doing — and then stopped, stunned.

      The lizard was sitting close to Drago’s head, gently running its talons through his loose hair, almost … almost as if it were combing it, or weaving a cradle of light about his head.

      Zenith was vividly reminded of the way the courtyard cats in Sigholt had taken every opportunity they could to snuggle up to Drago.

      Zenith’s eyes widened, and suddenly the lizard decided to take exception to her presence. It narrowed its eyes and hissed at her, then leaped to the ground and scuttled away into the trees.

      Zenith stared at the place where it had disappeared, then looked back to Drago. She smoothed the loose strands of his coppery hair (was it brighter now than it had been previously?) away from his face, studying him carefully. He looked the same — and yet different. His face was still thin and lined, but the lines were stronger, more clearly defined, as if they had been created through purpose rather than through resentment and bitterness. And even though he was asleep, there was a strange “quiet” about him. It was the only way Zenith could describe it to herself. A quiet that in itself gave purpose — and hope.

      His eyelids flickered open at her touch, and his mouth moved as if to smile.

      But he was clearly too exhausted even for that effort.

      “Zenith,” he whispered. “Are you well?”

      Zenith’s eyes filled with tears. Had he been worried for her all this time? The last time he’d seen her had been in Niah’s Grove in the far north of the forest, battling the Niah-soul within her.

      She smiled, and took his hand. “I am well,” she said. “Go back to sleep.”

      Now his mouth did flicker in a faint smile, but his eyes were closed and he was asleep again even before it faded.

      Zenith stood and watched him for some time, cradling his hand gently in hers, then she looked at Faraday. The woman was deeply asleep, peaceful and unmoving, and Zenith finally set down Drago’s hand and moved away from the cart.

      Unsure what to do, and unsettled by the continuing agitation she could feel from the trees, Zenith remembered the staff that Drago had dropped. She walked about until she found where it had rolled, and she picked it up, studying it curiously.

      It was made of a beautiful deep red wood that felt warm in her hands. It was intricately carved in a pattern that Zenith could not understand. There was a line of characters that wound about the entire length of the staff, strange characters, made up of what appeared to be small black circles with short hooked lines attached to them.

      The top of the staff was curled over like a shepherd’s crook, but the knob was carved into the shape of a lily.

      Zenith had never seen anything like it. She hefted the staff, and laid it down next to Drago.

      Then she sighed and walked away, sitting down under a tree. She let her thoughts meander until they became loose and meaningless, and her head drooped in sleep.

      She dreamed she was falling through the sky, but in the instant before she hit the ground StarDrifter was there, laughing, his arms held out for her.

      I will always be there to catch you, I’ll always be there for you.

      And Zenith smiled, and dreamed on.

      A hand touched her shoulder, and Zenith awoke with a start.

      It was Faraday, looking well and rested.

      “Faraday?” Zenith said. “How are you? Is Drago still in the cart? What happened at —”

      “Shush,” Faraday said, and sat down beside Zenith. “I have slept the night through, and Drago still sleeps. Now,” she took a deep breath, and her body tensed, “let me tell you what happened in the Chamber of the Star Gate.”

      Zenith sat quietly, listening to the horror of the emergence of the children — but children no longer, more like birds — and of StarLaughter and the undead child she carried, and then of the appalling evil of the Demons.

      “Oh, Zenith,” Faraday said in a voice barely above a whisper. “They were more than dreadful. Anyone caught outside of shelter during the times when they hunt will suffer an appalling death — and a worse life if they are spared death.”

      She stopped, and took Zenith’s hand, unable to look her in the face.

      “Zenith, the Demons destroyed the Star Gate.”

      Zenith stared at Faraday, for a moment unable to comprehend the enormity of what she’d just heard.

      “Destroyed the Star Gate?” she repeated, frowning. “But they can’t. I mean … that would mean …”

      Zenith trailed off. If the Star Gate was destroyed that would mean the sound of the Star Dance would never filter through Tencendor, even if the TimeKeeper Demons could be stopped.

      “No,” Zenith said. “I cannot believe that. The Star Gate can’t be destroyed. It can’t. It can’t!”

      Faraday was weeping now. “I’m sorry, Zenith. I …”

      Zenith grabbed at her, hugging her tight, and now both wept. Although Zenith had known that the approach of the Demons meant that the Star Dance would be blocked, she had not even imagined that the Demons would actually destroy the Star Gate on their way through.

      There was not even a hope for the Dance to ever resume.

      “Our entire lives without the Dance?” Zenith whispered. “Even if we can best these Demons, we will never again have the Star Dance?”

      Faraday wiped her eyes and sat up straight. “I don’t know, Zenith. I just don’t.”

      “Faraday … did you see StarDrifter at the Star Gate?”

      “No.