Crusader. Novel by Sara Douglass

all, he was sure he could keep Rox under control for that length of time. But Qeteb would not,

could not, tolerate a permanent situation where Rox controlled the vast power of the Enemy.

It might put Qeteb himself under threat.

No, better to dispose of the Niah person once and for all the instant her purpose was served.

There was one further reason why Qeteb did not give Niah’s soulless body to Rox, a reason that he

did not even want to voice in his mind, let alone aloud to the other Demons: there was something inside

the Niah-woman that stopped him doing it.

Qeteb could not understand it. There was no logical reason why he shouldn’t have been able to

suffuse the Niah-woman’s body with Rox’s soul, but he could not do it. All his exploratory probings had

been repulsed. By what? By what?

He growled, and flexed his fists, and the four watching Demons took a simultaneous,

co-ordinated step backwards.

“Her body is foul and corrupted,” he said, “and I wish Rox to have flesh of this flesh,” he slapped his

thigh, “to use. I am honouring him thus.”

The other four stared at him, then decided to accept his words.

“Once Rox is installed in the foetus and has control of the woman’s body,” Qeteb continued in a

pleasant voice, as if none of the previous unpleasantness had occurred at all, “then we will destroy

Sanctuary. We will consume everything within it —”

There were howls of laughter and hunger.

“— and then I will set you to hunting down each of DragonStar’s helpers, pitiful that they

are, and to slaughtering them as they cringe begging for mercy.”

“And then DragonStar!” Mot cried, flinging his arms wide.

“Yes! Then DragonStar,” Qeteb said, and raised his arms heavenward. “And once His Prettiness is

disposed of, we can turn our attention to this entire world!”

“And then?” Sheol asked, sidling close to Qeteb and laying an arm about his waist.

“Then we can rest awhile, my dear,” Qeteb said, and patted her cheek. “Before the next world.”

Beyond the apple grove, the wasteland ran with corruption. There were now hundreds of thousands of

beasts — both human and their livestock, and formerly wild creatures — that ran the wastes. They had

bred in past weeks and the young that they dropped only days after the frenzied copulations that had

created them grew at a maniacal rate — and grew into maniacal shapes. The breeding itself had been

utterly indiscriminate — men-things with cow-things, rooster-things with bitch-things, bull seal-things with

woman-things •— and the results of these copulations were worse than horrific, more imaginative than

the darkest nightmare, and far more aggressive than the most ill-trained and starved guard dog.

The wasteland crawled with corruption that could have been barely imagined by the most

drug-crazed mind.

There was an eating ahead. Their master, Qeteb, had issued an invitation.

But first, Qeteb and his Demons must needs attend the Sacred Groves. Eating aplenty lay there, too, but

the Demons were not about to share this meal with anyone. The power of the Mother, and of

the Horned Ones, and of whatever other enchantment the Groves harboured was far too potent and far

too glorious to share with the misconceived darkness that slavered in the dirt.

Qeteb stood in the centre of the apple grove and raised his hand above his head.

He twisted it in an abrupt motion, and the wooden bowl spun down out of the sky.

It wailed a little as it fell through the air, as if grieving.

Qeteb caught it in firm fingers, and squeezed the wooden flesh of the bowl until tiny cracks

appeared.

“Careful!” Sheol muttered, shuffling from foot to foot.

Qeteb raised the bowl as if to strike her with it, then relaxed. “I have never been careful, my dear,

only successful.”

Sheol grinned. “May I be the one to —”

“We all must shed our blood for this,” Qeteb said, “if we all want to go to the Groves.”

He put the bowl on the ground and the five Demons grouped about it. Qeteb waved his hand, and

the bowl brimmed with water; it was the colour of a murky day.

“Mother, you cow-bitch,” Qeteb said in a voice that bordered on the pleasant, “we’re coming to eat

you!”

He lifted his hand to his mouth and bit down savagely on his thumb.

Blood spurted out, and Qeteb let it spatter into the bowl of water.

He looked up.

The other four lifted their own hands to their mouths, bit down, and then let their blood spatter into

the bowl.

Large amounts of blood also dribbled down their clothes, and stained their chins.

One of them had bit too hard, and the severed tip of a thumb fell into the bowl with a splash.

The water in the bowl turned to blood.

Qeteb laughed — then he began to howl with mirth. He abruptly stopped, his chest heaving, his eyes

bright. “It’s time!” he cried, and he grabbed the hands of the two Demons next to him.

They all joined hands … and as they did their forms changed. They blurred and ran like candle wax

placed too close to a fire, and each of them lifted a foot — now too metamorphosed into free-flowing

form to be distinguishable as a foot — and placed it on the rim of the bowl.

A great wind howled through the apple grove, shaking the trees and knocking over several of the

stumps the Demons used as seats.

It was laughter, the laughter of a world gone completely mad.

The Demons’ forms flowed completely into a black-green liquid, and then they flowed completely

into the bowl of water.

The laughter quieted, and a new grove, a sacred place, was invaded.

Chapter 26

A Gloomy and Pain-Raddled

Night

She did not know exactly why she had come here, but she thought it was because she needed to put an

end to it. If she could do that, then perhaps she could move on with the rest of her life.

And maybe she could come to terms with StarDrifter.

“First things first,” Zenith muttered as she lifted a hand, clenched and unclenched it to try and control

its unwelcome trembling, then grasped the door handle before her.

It did not budge, and Zenith took that as a sign from the stars that she should not be here. She

heaved a sigh of relief, let the handle go, and turned away.

“My Lady Zenith?” a polite voice inquired behind her.

Zenith’s throat went suddenly, horribly dry, and she turned her head back to the door.

It was open now, and a birdman, one of the Lake Guard, stood there.

“My Lady?” he repeated, ever polite and deferential.

“I, ah, I wondered if I might, ah, see …”

“Yes?”

“I wondered if I might spend a few minutes with Wolf Star.”

There. The words were out. The action had been stated, even if the motives remained horrifyingly

unclear.

“You want to see WolfStar? My Lord Axis has left very clear instructions that —”

“Surely they do not pertain to me?” Zenith said. “His daughter? Besides, I have heard that

WolfStar is seriously ill, and I

thought —” What could she say? Everyone knew she was no Healer! “— that I might sit with him for a

while, perhaps while he sleeps, and give the Healers some respite.”

The guardsman hesitated, and glanced at someone over his shoulder.

Then he looked back at Zenith, nodded, and opened the door wide. “Please enter, my Lady.”

Zenith clenched her hands amid her skirts, and walked in, carefully folding her wings so that they

touched neither door frame nor guard.

She entered a small chamber. There were several chairs and stools scattered about, a chest, a

table, and a wooden crate packed with bottles of unguents and herbal potions.

In the far wall was a closed door.

WingRidge CurlClaw sat on one of the stools, leaning back against the wall, his arms folded, his eyes

steady as they gazed at her.

“What do you here, Zenith? I would have thought that you would be the last person to offer her

services to WolfStar.”

Zenith smiled, bright and artificial. She spread her arms wide and waggled her fingers. “Look! No

knives!”

WingRidge continued to gaze at her. He did not smile.

Zenith’s own face lost its feigned humour, and she let her arms fall to her sides. “WingRidge …

please.”

“Why?” He had not unfolded his arms, and his eyes were keener than ever.

“To put an end to it,” she said. “I need to put an end to it.”

WingRidge continued to stare a heartbeat longer, then he nodded and stood up. He stepped

forward and gave Zenith a brief but warm hug. “I understand. He is asleep at the moment, but sleeps

only lightly. You can wake him or not, as it pleases you.”