entrance to the stairwell, came forward, put his arm about her, and guided her down to
Sanctuary. As they‘d gone down, he had passed a quiet word to one of the Lake Guard, ordering
him to stop the trail of Icarii and Avar through the trees towards Fernbrake Lake for the time being…until the Demons had got what they wanted and had gone.
Only StarDrifter and Isfrael—and the unseen woman on the top of the eastern
ridge—were left to witness the passing of Fernbrake Lake.
The four creatures howled and cavorted in the shallows of the Lake, pausing only briefly
to urinate and defecate into the waters. StarLaughter watched fascinated, WolfStar appalled,
although he treasured the time it drew the Demons‘ attentions from him. He sat carefully on the
ground, bent protectively over the arm wrapped about his belly, leaning heavily on the other.
Every so often he glanced at the boy—he could not think of this creature as his son, even though
his colouring and features were so much like his—as also at Niah.
Niah! If WolfStar had not believed it would call unwanted attention to him, he would
have bent his head and wept at his own stupidity.
Now the Demons had ceased their prancing and defecating and stood still in water deep
enough to lap against their bellies.
One by one the Demons began to tremble. They stared into the Lake, their noses almost
touching the water, completely rigid save for the curious quivering that wracked their bodies.
The trembling increased by the moment until it seemed as though they were in the final moments
of some massive, hysteric convulsion…and yet still they stared down into the depths of the Lake.
The water changed.
It happened so subtly, and yet so swiftly, that WolfStar was not sure at what point the
Lake ceased being a liquid and turned, instead, to glass. Emerald glass that trapped the Demons‘
legs and, in Sheol‘s case, her pendulous udders.
Still the Demons convulsed, the bodies a blur as their muscles spasmed faster than should
have been possible, and the convulsions quickly transferred themselves to the glass.
It cracked, and then the entire surface of the Lake shattered into millions of tiny pieces. A
great wind arose from beyond the ridge of the crater, and swept down over the Lake‘s surface.
The glass pieces turned to dust, whipped up into a maelstrom against which WolfStar had
to screw his eyes closed and hide his face under an arm. He wanted to reach out for Niah, to
shelter her against this murderous whirlwind of millions of razor-edged glass pieces, but he was
not able to fight its force, and could only concentrate all his strength on protecting his own body
against its fury.
StarDrifter and Isfrael, protected by Drago‘s enchantment, watched silently. Tears
streamed down their faces, and Isfrael reached out and leaned a hand on his grandfather‘s
shoulder.
Who comforted who, neither knew, but both drew strength from the physical contact. A
piercing scream rose on the shoulders of the wind, growing in intensity and density until it
seemed as if it filled the entire world.
It was the Lake, dying, and weeping in its death.
On the ridge, the woman wailed with it, and sank to her knees, tearing at her hair with her
hands.
Almost as suddenly as it had arrived, the whirling maelstrom vanished, and WolfStar
blinked, cleared away the glass shards that had embedded themselves in his eyelashes and hair,
and stared out at what had once been the Lake.
All traces of water and glass had gone, and the Demons—now back to their humanoid
forms and attired again in innocent pastel robes—pointed and exclaimed excitedly.
What had once been a Lake was now a garden, but a garden such as WolfStar had never
seen previously.
It was a garden snatched from the darkest pits of the AfterLife, a wasteland, an
abomination. The ground, gradually rising to a small hillock in what had once been the centre of
the Lake, was cracked and scarred, bare-baked earth with no grass, no life, and no hope of life.
Trees stood bare-branched and blackened, as if consumed in some ancient conflagration that
they‘d never recovered from. Rambling roses hung from trees and rusted trellises, their leaves
and blossoms only a distant memory, flowering instead with needled thorns that reached out like
traps.
The centre hillock was barren, save for a windstorm that spun around and around on its
crest, thick with dust and the thick, thorny tendrils of a rose bush.
―Movement,‖ Sheol said with immense satisfaction. ―Come.‖
StarLaughter tugged at WolfStar‘s chain, but he‘d been ready for her, and rose and
stumbled forward before she cut off his breathing. Mot and Barzula seized the boy and girl,
throwing them over their shoulders, and striding into the wasteland with no mind for the thorns
that reached out to scratch and mar.
WolfStar could not be so disdainful. He cried out each time a thorn hooked into his flesh,
sometimes becoming so entangled in thorns that StarLaughter—the thorns appeared to
completely ignore her—had to tug with all her strength to pull him free. By the time they
approached the hillock he was covered in bloody scratches, and his wings had suffered so badly
they were almost completely defeathered.
―Movement!‖ Sheol cried again. ―Quick, Barzula! The boy!‖
Barzula stepped forth, strode up the hillock until he was just outside the confines of the
whirling wind. Then, in an abrupt movement, he hurled the boy inside.
Instantly, blood and flesh whipped out of the whirlwind as the boy‘s body was torn apart
by the thorns inside. A piece of the ghastly meat struck WolfStar in the face and he gagged,
reminded forcibly of the moment Zenith had flung Niah‘s poor dead body at him.
No-one else minded. The Demons and StarLaughter were leaning forward in their
eagerness, their eyes bright, their breasts heaving with excitement.
―When?‖ StarLaughter cried.
― Now! ‖ Mot screamed, dancing from foot to foot in an obscene gig, and as he screamed,
so a man stepped forth from the bloodied rose wind.
WolfStar‘s mouth slowly dropped open.
What now stood on the hillock was a nightmarish parody of an Icarii male. He was
over-tall, and his naked body was obscenely roped with thick muscles which bulged so thick at
chest and arm and thigh that WolfStar could not see how the man could possibly walk. From his
back sprouted fully developed golden wings— too fully developed, for they were half as large
again as a normal Icarii male‘s, and feathers sprouted unevenly from flight muscles that bulged
as thick as they did on the man‘s body. The hands that dangled at the end of each arm were like
spades; the fingers were as long and as thick as every other appendage, but flexible nevertheless.
They would miss no crevice that could be exploited.
The man‘s face was curiously flattened, with a broad and thick nose and forehead under
dense, dull copper curls, and light violet eyes that were narrow and cunning—almost
piggy—rather than bright and clear.
WolfStar looked closely. They remained lifeless, for Qeteb still had to be animated with
soul, but they were chilling for all that they lacked spirit. The mouth was wide, its lips thick, red
and moist, a pink flicker of tongue appearing between large, crowded white teeth.
Sheol turned slightly so she could see WolfStar. ―The girl,‖ she whispered.
―No!‖ WolfStar cried. ―No!‖
―Why?‖ Sheol said. ―Is this not what you wanted? Mot! The girl!‖
Mot stepped forward, the girl slung over his shoulder, but instead of hurling her into the
rose wind as Barzula had done the boy, he handed her to the Qeteb-man.
―Take her,‖ he said, and the Qeteb-man held out his arms and took her weight from Mot.
―The wind,‖ Sheol commanded, and the Qeteb-man turned, but not before WolfStar had
seen him run his spade-hands over the girl‘s breasts and belly…exploring, his body instinctively
reacting to the feel of the female flesh under his hands.
No! WolfStar screamed in his mind, but at that instant the Qeteb-man flung his Niah into
the rose wind, and particles of flesh and blood again streamed out across the wasteland. When
Niah finally emerged, completed in body, if not in spirit, WolfStar had to turn his face aside.
She was flawless, beautiful. Her alabaster body was female physical perfection, and
glossy black hair streamed down her back to her buttocks.
Her face was stunning in its loveliness, fragile and yet strong at the same moment.
WolfStar knew in that instant that he‘d lost. The Demons would use Niah, and her
potential power, to their own ends. WolfStar felt nauseous: sick with self-disgust, sick with
horror at how his plan to save Tencendor would now likely condemn it.
What had he done?
―There are many kinds of death,‖ Sheol again informed WolfStar, her voice almost
kindly, ―and you shall now experience another one. She is female,‖ she said to the Qeteb-man.