Pilgrim by Sara Douglas

morning, and for the pale faces and forms of their prey to peek out from the cave, and emerge to

creep ever higher into the mountains?

When would they attack? Axis did not think it would be very long, for he, Azhure and

Caelum were growing weaker, and soon would not be able to defend themselves from an irate

millipede, let alone the Hawkchilds‘ spiteful wrath. He sighed, irritated with himself. None of

them could afford to even contemplate defeat. And yet, did he have the strength to go on

fighting? How much would Tencendor demand of him?

Azhure leaned in tight under Axis‘ arm, wishing she could give him more comfort. She

remembered how he‘d once provided them with magical fires to warm them the last time they‘d

traversed these mountain paths. She lifted her head slightly, and glanced into Axis‘ eyes, and

wondered if he, too, remembered.

Stars! How she wished she could enjoy her power again, if only so she could revel in the

intimacy of sharing Axis‘ every thought.

Azhure dropped her gaze and clung as tightly to her husband as she could. Behind her

Sicarius and his mate, FortHeart, pressed their warm backs against hers. Azhure briefly scratched

Sicarius‘ head, then relaxed, and slipped into a dreamless sleep. A few minutes later Axis, too,

slipped into sleep.

Caelum, already deep in sleep on Axis‘ other side, was not so fortunate. Again and again

that night DragonStar hunted him through forest and plain. But in the fifth visitation, the dream

hunt took on a different aspect.

Caelum found himself running through a maze, trapped by walls that rose three paces

above his head and stopped his headlong flight again and again with their frightful blank

dead-ends. Behind him echoed the sounds of the hunt. Again and again Caelum found himself

having to retrace his steps, certain each time that he would retreat directly into the jaws of the hunt, trying to find an escape from the twisting, confusing paths.

Every time, just as he was sure he‘d found a straight run, it would curve into yet another

cul-de-sac. And every time he ran into the blank, mocking wall, he thought he heard the faint

sounds of laughter behind him.

The sound of the hunt closed. Caelum could feel, if not yet see, DragonStar urging his

great black horse forwards, could feel it as his brother raised his arm and steadied the sword.

Could hear his breath come quick with excitement and the lust of the hunt, could feel its

fevered warmth at his back.

Caelum‘s entire body tightened as he dreamed, and Axis murmured in his own sleep, as

yet not disturbed enough to wake.

One of the hounds whimpered, and curled into a tighter ball.

Suddenly Caelum stopped, leaning heavily on a wall with one hand, his breath heaving in

and out of his throat. What was he doing? Why was he running? DragonStar would eventually

find him, whatever Caelum did to try and evade him, and it was surely better to turn and face

him with what courage he had left than continue to waste his energy on flight.

For the first time, for the very first time since this horror had started months ago, all fear

left Caelum.

Its sudden absence left him feeling exhilarated. Why hadn‘t he done this before?

Embraced his fate, instead of running from it?

He straightened, and his breathing steadied. He dropped his hand from the wall, and

turned to face the way he‘d come.

The sound of the hunt pounded closer. Now that his own breathing was calmer, Caelum

heard the laboured breath of the closing horses.

He felt the pavement tremble under his feet.

Caelum carried no weapon—either the dream or fate would not allow it—and so he just

stood, the tension of months of uselessness draining from his muscles, and waited.

A quiet joy filled him.

There was a howl from the way he‘d just come, and then the dark shadow of the

Hawkchilds as they swept low overhead.

Trapped! He’s trapped!

And just standing, resigned, the weak fool!

―Resigned?‖

The voice filtered about the turn of the Maze before Caelum.

―Resigned?‖

And for the first time Caelum heard a measure of uncertainty in the voice. It was a dream

of many firsts, he decided, and smiled.

And then a third time—

―Resigned?‖

A long shadow moved on the pavement before him. Again it moved, and then again, and

then DragonStar rode his horrid beast about the corner…at an extremely careful and controlled

walk.

Whatever the black beast had once started out as, it no longer resembled a horse. It had

four stout legs, with four rippling talon-tipped paws to tread on. Its body was twice as long as a

horse‘s, and had only a waggling stump where its tail had once been. The head of the horse was

gone, replaced with a gigantic eel‘s head at the end of a lithe, snaking neck.

Caelum stared at it, wondering that it engendered no fear in him.

Then he raised his eyes—and sorrow enveloped him.

DragonStar sat the beast, his black armour absorbing all light. His visor was raised, and

Caelum saw that his brother‘s thin, lined face was remarkably sensuous when it was enlivened

with power.

DragonStar was smiling.

He raised his right arm, and in his hand Caelum saw that he held a great sword of light,

its hilt guard a mass of writhing serpents that twisted about hilt and DragonStar‘s wrist alike.

―Fool,‖ DragonStar hissed. ―Why don‘t you run?‖

And Caelum said to him what he needed most to hear himself. ―I forgive you.‖

DragonStar screamed, and dug his heels into his beast‘s flanks. It cried with the warbling

voice of a bird, and lunged forward.

The sword arced through the air.

Caelum did not move, nor even flinch. ―I forgive you,‖ he repeated.

― I do not need forgiveness! ‖ DragonStar screamed, and the sword whistled down through

the air and sliced deep into Caelum‘s chest.

Yet even as he felt his lungs and then mouth fill with blood, even as the face of his

tormentor filled his eyes, Caelum finally came to an understanding. That face beneath the helmet

was like, but unlike, his brother.

This DragonStar was not his brother.

―Forgive me,‖ he mouthed, and then his world disintegrated into clouds of pain and black

feathers and sharp blades and claws and beaks that tore into his flesh and drove spikes of agony

deep into his mind.

Despite his resolve, he felt himself begin to thrash about on the point of the sword.

Maybe he did want to live, after all.

He twisted, and opened his mouth to shout, but found it filled with feathers and a taste so

foul he gagged.

Agony continued to slice through his body. If anything, it had got worse. Far worse.

Caelum opened his eyes, and found he had woken into a nightmare as bad as his dream.

The entire world was a mass of black feathers, mad whispering, and claws that scratched and

beaks that bit deep into flesh.

The Hawkchilds had attacked.

The cave was literally packed with them. So completely did they fill the space between

floor and rock ceiling that it seemed they‘d driven out all the air.

Caelum gasped for breath, trying to beat the three Hawkchilds that clung to him back far

enough to allow him to draw his sword.

To one side he could hear the sounds of his parents similarly fighting for their lives, and

the howls and snapping jaws of the Alaunt.

But however Caelum struggled, the Hawkchilds only clung closer. One of them drove his

beak deep into Caelum‘s shoulder, tearing away a strip of flesh, and Caelum screamed, only to

have another thrust the clawed hand at the tip of its wing into his mouth, the claws tickling and

scratching deep into his throat.

Caelum‘s scream was cut off, and he gagged, his entire body shuddering with the effort.

Again he gagged, so badly one part of his mind wondered if he would vomit his entire gut up

through his mouth, and then again, and again.

The claws tickled deeper, and then more struck at his face, his eyes, and something vile

sank into his belly. Caelum‘s consciousness greyed, his mind unable to cope with the horror of

the attack and the pain and weight of the Hawkchilds.

They began to sing.

It was a lullaby, something that Caelum—even in his extremity—remembered Azhure

singing to him as a child, but a frightful parody of the lullaby.

Here were no sweet, comforting verses, but words that jested at the futility of life, words

that spoke longingly of the embrace of pain and disease, words that wished upon the listener a

life marked with the rewards of disappointment and the joys of despair.

And while the lullaby embraced him and drifted through his mind, the Hawkchilds sank

their beaks and claws deeper and deeper into Caelum‘s body, tearing at belly and throat and