Pilgrim by Sara Douglas

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. I am sorry, Zenith. I don‘t know where he is…but I am sure he is safe.‖

―Oh.‖ Zenith‘s face went expressionless for a moment. ―And the Sceptre?‖ she finally

said.

―That, at least, is safe.‖ Faraday looked back to the cart. ―But transformed, as is

everything that comes through the Star Gate. Come. It is time to wake Drago up. There are some

clothes for him in the box under the seat of the cart, and we all need to eat.‖

―And then?‖

―Then we go find Zared, make sure he is well.‖

―And then?‖

Faraday smiled, and stood, holding out her hand for Zenith. ―And then we begin to search

for a hope. Come.‖

Despair and then, as night settled upon the land, terror swept over Tencendor, but it left

him unscathed. He was lost in his dreams, and the Demons could not touch him. He shuffled

from leg to leg, trying to ease his arthritic weight, but none of it helped. He wished death would come back and take him once more.

His head drooped. He’d thought to have escaped both the sadnesses of life and the

crippling pains of the body. If he hoped hard enough, would death come back?

4

What To Do?

The might of Tencendor‘s once proud army now stood in groups of five or six under the

trees of the northern Silent Woman Woods, eyes shifting nervously. Some members of the Icarii

Strike Force preferred to huddle in the lower branches of the trees, as if that way they could be

slightly closer to the stars they had lost contact with. Thirty thousand men and Icarii adrift in a

world they no longer understood.

Their leader, StarSon Caelum, walked slowly about, the fingers of one hand rubbing at

his chin and cheek, his eyes sliding away from the fear in his men‘s faces, thinking that now he

knew how Drago must have felt when his Icarii powers had been quashed.

There was nothing left. No Star Dance. No enchantment. Nothing. Just an emptiness. And

a sense of uselessness so profound that Caelum thought he would go mad if he had to live

beyond a day with it.

―Faraday said she would join us here,‖ Zared said, watching Caelum pace to and fro. He

sat on a log, his hands dangling down between his knees, his face impassive.

―And you think she can help us against this…this…?‖ Caelum drifted to a halt, not sure

quite what to call this calamity that had enveloped them.

―Can you?‖

Caelum spun about on his heel and walked a few paces away.

―We can do little, Caelum, until we hear from Faraday.‖

―Or my parents.‖

―Or your parents,‖ Zared agreed. He paused, watching Caelum pace about. He did not

care for the loss that Caelum—and every other Enchanter—had suffered. They relied so deeply

on their powers and their beloved Star Dance, that Zared did not know if they could continue to

function effectively without it. Caelum was StarSon, the man who must pull them through this crisis—but could he do it if he was essentially not the same man he had been a few weeks ago?

How could anyone who had previously relied on the Star Dance remain effective?

Maybe Axis. Axis had been BattleAxe, and a good BattleAxe, for years before he‘d

known anything about the Star Dance.

And yet hadn‘t Axis said that even when he‘d thought himself human, mortal, he‘d still

subconsciously drawn on the Star Dance? Still used its power and aid?

Well, time would tell if Icarii blood was worth anything without the music of the Star

Dance.

At the moment, Zared had his doubts. He would gladly trade Tencendor‘s entire stock of

useless Enchanters and SunSoars for the hope Faraday offered.

Suddenly sick of watching Caelum pacing uselessly to and fro, Zared stood and walked

over to where Herme, Theod, DareWing FullHeart and Leagh were engaged in a lacklustre game

of ghemt.

Leagh looked up and smiled for him as he approached, and Zared squatted down by her, a

hand on her shoulder.

―How goes it, Leagh?‖

―She wins,‖ Herme replied, ―for how can we,‖ his hand indicated his two companions,

―allow such a beautiful woman to lose?‖

Leagh grinned. ―My ‗beauty‘ has nothing to do with the fact, my good Earl Herme, that I

am far more skilled than you.‖

All the men laughed, and threw their gaming sticks into the centre of the circle scratched

into the dirt before them.

Zared touched Leagh‘s cheek softly, then looked to DareWing. ―My friend, I wonder if I

might ask something of you?‖

The Strike Leader inclined his head. ―Speak.‖

―Faraday told us that there were certain times of the day when it would be dangerous to

go outside, times when the Demons would spread their evil. DareWing, I need to know when

exactly these times are.‖

―Dawn, dusk, mid-morning and mid-afternoon, and night,‖ Theod said. ―This we know.‖

―Yes, but we need to know more specifically. If we know exactly when it is safe for us to

roam abroad, then we will have a better idea of how to counter these Demons…or at least, when

we can try to do so. Besides, somehow we will have to rebuild life around,‖ he paused, his mouth

working as if he chewed something distasteful, ―our new-found restrictions. We need to know

when it is safe to live.‖

DareWing nodded. ―I agree…but how?‖

―Can you station members of your Strike Force, perhaps twenty at any one time, along

the south-west borders of the Silent Woman Woods? They will be safe enough if they remain

among the trees, and perhaps they can observe…observe the behaviour of those still trapped in

the open.‖

DareWing nodded, agreeing with the location. The south-west border of the Woods

would be close to Tare, an area more highly populated than the northern or southern borders of

the Woods. If they needed to observe, that would give them their best possible chance.

―The more we learn,‖ he said, ―the more hope we have.‖

―You do not want any of our men stationed there?‖ Herme asked quietly.

―My friend,‖ Zared said. ―I ask only the Icarii because they can move between the border

and back to our placement faster than can human or horse legs.‖ He stood up. ―I profess myself sick at not knowing how to react, or what to do next. Until Faraday returns we must do what we

can.‖

DareWing rose to his feet, nodded at Zared, and faded into the gloom of the forest.

Fifteen paces away Askam sat with his back against a small sapling, his eyes narrow and

unreadable as he watched Zared move to talk quietly with Caelum.

His mouth thinned as he saw Caelum nod at Zared‘s words and place a hand briefly on

the King‘s shoulder.

After three days of observation, they had a better idea of the span of the Demonic Hours.

From dusk to the time when the sun was well above the horizon was a time of horror, the time

when first Raspu, then Rox and finally Mot ruled the land. Pestilence, terror and hunger roamed,

and those few who were caught outside succumbed to the infection of whichever Demon had

caught them. After the dawn hour there were three hours of peace, a time of recovery, before

Barzula, tempest, struck at mid-morning.

Although the occasional storm rolled across the landscape during Barzula‘s

time—whirlwinds of ice or of fire—the scouts reported that the primary influence of the tempest

appeared to occur within the minds of those caught outside. Once Barzula‘s hour had passed and