Crusader. Novel by Sara Douglass

fade slightly, as if whatever energy source he relied upon was being consumed particle by particle by the

Midday Demon.

“He is weak,” Urbeth said softly.

“Maybe,” said Ur. “Maybe.”

There was a stir amongst the creatures milling before Faraday, and all eyes turned in her direction.

Chapter 64

The Most Appaling Choice of Al

Faraday turned, and she saw Axis in the distance. He sat atop a small brown horse, his war band about

him, and Faraday smiled, remembering the adventures and the love they’d once shared.

Or, the love she’d thought they once shared.

Tears filled her eyes, and she bowed her head, and turned away.

As she turned, Faraday raised her head anew, and she saw Qeteb and DragonStar on a hill not far

from hers.

DragonStar … Faraday sobbed, a shaking hand to her mouth. She didn’t think she had the strength

for what lay ahead. She well knew what had happened to Goldman and Dare Wing, and the triumph that

suffused Qeteb. Now it all rested on her. The chance for complete success, or utter failure.

And utter failure would inevitably lead to obliteration. Oh gods! How she prayed for it! To escape all

pain and betrayal, to be at peace even if it was the peace of oblivion.

Still sobbing, both hands and shoulders shaking, Faraday stared at DragonStar. Did he love her? Did

he love her enough to place her before Tencendor?

Could he save her from what lay ahead?

Faraday shut her eyes, desperate to escape from the nightmarish thoughts chasing about her

head.

Desperate, whatever else, to escape from the pain that was her destiny.

Something dug slightly into her belly, and Faraday’s free hand gripped the rainbow belt that the

Mother had given her. She could feel the outline of the arrow and the sapling that wound about it.

And from that faint touch, Faraday drew strength.

She took a deep breath, and opened her eyes for a last look at DragonStar. “For God’s sake,” she

whispered, not even pausing to wonder why she put the deity in the singular now, when before she, as

everyone else in Tencendor, had always used the plural, “save me, DragonStar. Save me.”

And Faraday turned, and she faced the test.

Sheol now stood before the undulating dark mass of beasts that spread out from Faraday’s hill.

“Greetings, Faraday,” Sheol said pleasantly, and Faraday felt despair flood her. “What choice do

you have planned for me, then?”

And Sheol laughed, a dreadful, burbling chortle that rang with utter confidence.

Sheol was going to win, and she knew it.

Faraday sighed, utterly despairing, and she held out her hand to the Demon. “Come,” she said.

They walked a frozen landscape. A frigid northerly wind blew hard-edged snow about them, forcing

both to walk with heads bowed and hands grasping their cloaks about them.

Neither talked.

As they walked, Sheol very gradually turned eastwards until she was lost in the driving wind and

snow, and Faraday was left alone in the frozen land.

This was a land, and an existence, Faraday knew very well.

She had been here before, on the evening she had risen from the campfire she’d shared with Axis

and the two Avar men, Erode and Loman, as they’d journeyed northwards to Gorgrael’s ice fortress.

Faraday had risen and left that fire and not seen Axis again until he’d come to claim his inheritance

in Gorgrael’s frightful chamber.

Now Faraday lived it all over again.

She caught sight of a flickering campfire ahead, and thought she saw DragonStar’s form rise and

move about it, throwing on more wood as if awaiting her company.

“DragonStar!” Faraday breathed, and hurried forward. Maybe all would be well, after all.

A strange whisper, barely discernible in the night, ran along the edge of the wind.

Faraday paused, the cloak wrapping itself about her body in the wind. Nothing. She hurried on.

There, again, a soft whisper along the wind and, this time, a hint of movement to her right.

She stopped again, every nerve afire. Her fingers pushed fine strands of hair from her eyes, and she

concentrated hard, peering through the gloom, listening for any unusual sounds.

“Faraday.” A soft whisper, so soft she almost did not hear it.

A whisper … and a soft giggle.

“Faraday.” And another movement, more discernible this time, among the eddying snow.

She stared, hoping it was her imagination, hoping she was wrong.

The flickering campfire caught her eye again, and she looked back. DragonStar had raised his head

and was staring into the snow in her direction, but just as she was about to call out, something distracted

DragonStar, and he bent back to the fire.

“Faraday.”

No mistaking it this time, and Faraday closed her eyes and moaned.

“Faraday? It is I, Timozel.”

She mustered all her courage and looked to her right. A shape was half-crouched in the snow some

four or five paces away, its hand extended, its eyes gleaming.

It was not Timozel, but Sheol… but a Sheol who had assumed the form of Timozel: the boyishly lean

body; the hair plastered to the skull with ice; eyes which, once so deep blue, were now only rimmed with

the palest blue, the rest of the irises being stark white.

Timozel’s form, but with Sheol’s intelligence and strength shining from behind those frightful eyes.

“Help me … please,” Sheol whispered in Timozel’s voice.

“No,” Faraday whispered. “Go away.”

“Qeteb trapped me!” Sheol whispered. “I never wanted to be a Demon! No! Never! Qeteb forced

me into a life of darkness, and I’ve had no choice.”

And now? thought Faraday, but for the moment she made no comment.

“He has trapped me, Faraday! Trapped me! Forced me into his service.”

“No,” Faraday said, but she was unable to look away, unable to call for help. Once again the force

of the Prophecy lay like a dead weight about her shoulders. Nothing she could do now could alter its

abominable course.

“I’m as much a victim as you are, Faraday. Please help me. I want to escape. Trust me.”

“Go away,” Faraday muttered hoarsely, and the wind caught at her cloak so that it tore back from

her body.

Now Sheol was almost at her feet, and her fingers fluttered at the hem of her gown. “Please,

Faraday. I want to revel in the Light. Please, Faraday! Help me. You could be my friend. Help me!”

No! she screamed in her mind, but she could not voice it. Out of the corner of her eye she saw

DragonStar rising from the fire, a hand to his eyes. Then her hair whipped free and, caught by the wind,

obscured her vision.

No! But the resurgent Prophecy had her in its grip now, and it would not let her go.

“Trust me,” Sheol whispered at her feet. Trust me.

No!

“DragonStar,” she cried. “Forgive me!”

Sheol’s hand snatched at her ankle.

“Gotcha!” she crowed.

Faraday closed her eyes to fight her panic, took a deep breath, then looked at Sheol.

“This is your choice,” she said. “You can take me to Qeteb, or you can let me go. You do have a

choice. You do not merely have to mouth the words from some drama that was played out forty or more

years ago. Sheol, listen to me, listen to your choice. Take me to Qeteb, or join the light, free your soul.

Let me go.”

Let me go.

Sheol, still crouched in the snow, one claw-like hand about Faraday’s ankle, cocked her head as if

deep in thought.

Her features flowed into her female form, back again into Timozel’s lost face, and then finally settled

back into that of the Sheol-face she normally wore.

“A choice?” she whispered. “A choice? I can truly leave Qeteb and join the forces of light

and goodness?”

Before Faraday could answer, Sheol burst into sarcastic laughter, and her hand tightened painfully

about Faraday’s flesh.

“Stupid woman! I choose Qeteb! I choose never-ending demony! I choose vileness and evil and

despair! But wait! There’s more! In choosing, I offer you a choice of my own. Look!”

And Sheol’s free hand gestured into the snow to Faraday’s right.

Faraday looked, and cried out, both hands to her face in horror. “No!”

“Yes,” Sheol whispered. “Yes, indeed. Your power tells you the truth of this vision, doesn’t it?”

And the very worst thing was that Faraday’s power did tell her the truth of this vision.

The Dark Tower.

And inside the mausoleum, the black marbled and columned interior of the Dark Tower.

Worse, there was yet more.

Katie, sobbing and terrified, dangling between the grasp of Mot and Barzula.

Katie! Katie! Katie!

“This is the choice, Faraday,” Sheol whispered. “Qeteb will destroy one of you in his battle against

DragonStar. He already has Katie, but he is willing to swap Katie for you. Give yourself to Qeteb,

Faraday. Fulfil Prophecy — again — and Katie will go free.”