Pilgrim by Sara Douglas

Ancient Barrows.

Even though mid-afternoon had passed, and the world was once more left to its own

devices, the men did not dare leave the safety of the slaughterhouse.

Animals ringed the building. Sheep, a few pigs, seven old plough horses, and

innumerable cattle—all once destined for death and butchery. All staring implacably,

unblinkingly, at the doors and windows.

One of the pigs nudged at the door with his snout, and then squealed.

Instantly pandemonium broke out. A horse screamed, and threw itself at the door. The

wooden planks cracked, but did not break.

Imitating the horse‘s lead, cattle hurled themselves against the door and walls.

The slaughtermen inside grabbed whatever they could to defend themselves.

The walls began to shake under the onslaught. Sheep bit savagely at any protuberance,

pulling nails from boards with their teeth, and horses rent at walls with their hooves. All the

animals wailed, one continuous thin screech that forced the men inside to drop their weapons and

clasp hands to ears, screaming themselves.

The door cracked once more, then split. A brown steer shouldered his way through. He

was plump and healthy, bred and fattened to feed the robust appetites of the Tarean citizens.

Now he had an appetite himself.

Behind him many score cattle trampled into the slaughterhouse, pigs and sheep squeezing

among the legs of their bovine cousins as best they could.

The invasion was many bodied, but it acted with one mind.

The slaughtermen did not die well.

The creatures used only their teeth to kill, not their hooves, and those teeth were grinders,

not biters, and so those men were ground into the grave, and it was not a fast nor pleasant

descent.

Of all the creatures once destined for slaughter, only the horses did not enter the

slaughterhouse and partake of the meal.

They lingered outside in the first of the collecting yards, nervous, unsure, their heads

high, their skin twitching. One snorted, then pranced about a few paces. He‘d not had this much

energy since he‘d been a yearling.

A shadow flickered over one of the far fences, then raced across the trampled dirt towards

the group of horses. They bunched together, turning to watch the shadow, and then it swept over

them and the horses screamed, jerked, and then stampeded, breaking through the fence in their

panic.

High above, the flock of Hawkchilds veered to the east and turned their eyes once more

to the Ancient Barrows.

Their masters called.

The horses fled, running east with all the strength left in their hearts.

At the slaughterhouse, a brown and cream badger ambled into the bloodied building and

stood surveying the carnage.

You have done well, he spoke to those inside. Would you like to exact yet more

vengeance?

Sheol tipped back her head and exposed her slim white throat to the afternoon sun. Her

fingers spasmed and dug into the rocky soil of the ruined Barrow she sat on, her body arched,

and she moaned and shuddered.

A residual wisp of grey miasma still clung to a corner of her lip.

―Sheol?‖ Raspu murmured and reached out a hand. ―Sheol?‖ At the soft touch of his

hand, Sheol‘s sapphire eyes jerked open and she bared her teeth in a snarl.

Raspu did not flinch. ―Sheol? Did you feast well?‖

The entire group of TimeKeeper Demons regarded her curiously, as did StarLaughter

sitting slightly to one side with a breast bared, its useless nipple hanging from her undead child ‘s

mouth.

Sheol blinked, and then her snarl widened into a smile, and the reddened tip of her tongue

probed slowly at the corners of her lips.

She gobbled down the remaining trace of mist.

―I fed well!‖ she cried, and leapt to her feet, spinning about in a circle. ―Well!‖

Her companions stared at her, noting the new flush of strength and power in her cheeks

and eyes, and they howled with anticipation. Sheol began an ecstatic caper, and the Demons

joined her in dance, holding hands and circling in tight formation through the rubble of earth and

rocks that had once been the Barrow. They screamed and shrieked, intoxicated with success.

The Minstrelsea forest, encircling the ruined spaces of the Ancient Barrows, was silent.

Listening. Watching.

StarLaughter pulled the material of her gown over her breast and smiled for her friends. It

had been eons since they had fed, and she could well understand their excitement. They had sat

still and silent as Sheol‘s demonic influence had issued from her nostrils and mouth in a steady

effluence of misty grey contagion. The haze had coalesced about her head for a moment, blurring

her features, and had then rippled forth with the speed of thought over the entire land of

Tencendor.

Every soul it touched—Icarii, human, bird or animal—had been infected, and Sheol had

fed generously on each one of them.

Now how well Sheol looked! The veins of her neck throbbed with life, and her teeth were

whiter and her mouth redder than StarLaughter had ever seen. Stars, but the others must be

beside themselves in the wait for their turn!

StarLaughter rose slowly to her feet, her child clasped protectively in her hands.

―When?‖ she said.

The Demons stopped and stared at her.

―We need to wait a few days,‖ Raspu finally replied.

―What?‖ StarLaughter cried. ―My son—‖

― Not before then,‖ Sheol said, and took a step towards StarLaughter. ―We all need to

feed, and once we have grown the stronger for the feeding we can dare the forest paths.‖

She cast her eyes over the distant trees and her lip curled. ―We will move during our

time, and on our terms.‖

―You don‘t like the forest?‖ StarLaughter said.

―It is not dead,‖ Barzula responded. ―And it is far, far too gloomy.‖

―But—‖ StarLaughter began.

―Hush,‖ Rox said, and he turned flat eyes her way. ―You ask too many questions.‖

StarLaughter closed her mouth, but she hugged her baby tightly to her, and stared angrily

at the Demons. Sheol smiled, and patted StarLaughter on the shoulder. ―We are tense, Queen of Heaven. Pardon our ill manners.‖

StarLaughter nodded, but Sheol‘s apology had done little to appease her anger.

―Why travel the forest if you do not like it,‖ she said. ―Surely the waterways would be the

safest and fastest way to reach Cauldron Lake.‖

―No,‖ Sheol said. ―Not the waterways. We do not like the waterways.‖

―Why not?‖ StarLaughter asked, shooting Rox a defiant look.

―Because the waterways are the Enemy‘s construct, and they will have set traps for us,‖

Sheol said. ―Even if they are long dead, their traps are not. The waterways are too closely allied

with—‖

― Them,‖ Barzula said.

―—their voyager craft,‖ Sheol continued through the interruption, ―to be safe for us. No

matter. We will dare the forests…and survive. After Cauldron Lake the way will be easier. Not

only will we be stronger, we will be in the open.‖

All of the Demons relaxed at the thought of open territory.

―Soon my babe will live and breath and cry my name,‖ StarLaughter whispered, her eyes

unfocused and her hands digging into the babe‘s cool, damp flesh.

―Oh, assuredly,‖ Sheol said, and shared a secret wink with her companion Demons. She

laughed. ―Assuredly!‖

The other Demons howled in shared merriment, and StarLaughter smiled, thinking she

understood.

Then as one the Demons quietened, their faces falling still.

Rox turned slowly to the west. ―Hark,‖ he said. ―What is that?‖

―Conveyance,‖ said Mot.

If the TimeKeeper Demons did not like to use the waterways, then WolfStar had no such

compunction. When he‘d slipped away from the Chamber of the Star Gate, he‘d not gone to the

surface, as had everyone else. Instead, WolfStar had faded back into the waterways. They would

protect him as nothing else could; the pack of resurrected children would not be able to find him

down here. And WolfStar did not want to be found, not for a long time.

He had something very important to do.

Under one arm he carried a sack with as much tenderness and care as StarLaughter

carried her undead infant. The sack‘s linen was slightly stained, as if with effluent, and it left an

unpleasant odour in WolfStar‘s wake.

Niah, or what was left of her.

Niah…WolfStar‘s face softened very slightly. She had been so desirable, so strong, when

she‘d been the First Priestess on the Isle of Mist and Memory. She‘d carried through her task—to

bear Azhure in the hateful household of Hagen, the Plough Keeper of Smyrton—with courage

and sweetness, and had passed that courage and sweetness to their enchanted daughter.

For that courage WolfStar had promised Niah rebirth and his love, and he‘d meant to give

her both.

Except things hadn‘t turned out quite so well as planned. Niah‘s manner of death (and

even WolfStar shuddered whenever he thought of it) had warped her soul so brutally that she‘d

been reborn a vindictive, hard woman. So determined to re-seize life that she cared not what her