Pilgrim by Sara Douglas

their haunches about the glade, concentrating on the magic needed to maintain the ward.

Behind the ward, WolfStar was seething. His words did not penetrate the dome, but his

vengeful expression was message enough. He paced to and fro, occasionally lunging at the Banes

seated outside as if he hoped to distract them from their work, and slamming fists and heels into

the walls of the dome.

As StarDrifter watched, WolfStar rose on his wings, and tore at the apex of the dome

with his fingernails and teeth, until dark streaks of the Enchanter‘s blood became clearly evident

on the inside surface.

StarDrifter turned away, wishing Drago had allowed him to kill the Enchanter. ―Where is

she?‖ he asked quietly.

―This way.‖ Isfrael led him through a screen of bushes to a much smaller space.

The girl-woman—Niah, if this soulless automat dared be called by any name—sat

motionless, expressionless, dead save for the rise and fall of her pubescent breasts.

Her beautiful, angelic face was almost identical to Zenith‘s, bespeaking the close soul

and blood bond between them, although it lacked any warmth or charm, or Zenith‘s deep

compassion.

―I wish we could kill her!‖ StarDrifter said, with a savageness that astounded Isfrael as

much as his grandfather‘s previous self-mockery had.

―We already tried,‖ he said.

Now StarDrifter was the one to stare. ―You tried to—‖

―Watch.‖

At Isfrael‘s nod, an Avar man stepped forth from the shadows of the ring of trees, a long

curved knife in his hand. Isfrael nodded again, and the man stepped over to the girl, and plunged

the knife into her belly, twisting and turning it mercilessly.

StarDrifter forced himself to watch, although the sight sickened him. The girl sat there,

no change in her expression, nor in the gentle rise and fall of her breasts.

The Avar man withdrew the knife, clotted with blood and pieces of the internal organs

he‘d sliced apart, but as the knife slid out, so the girl‘s belly skin mended as if there had never

been any attack made on her person.

―I myself have tried,‖ Isfrael said. ―We have surrounded her with dead wood and burned

her. We have crushed her beneath rocks. We have—‖

―Stop!‖ StarDrifter said. He turned away, then forced himself to look back a last time.

―What will you do with her, and with WolfStar?‖

Isfrael took his time in replying. ―I do not know,‖ he said, and walked back into the

shadows.

StarDrifter went back to Sanctuary. It was time he talked with Zenith. Once he had

walked across the silver-tracery bridge, the long line of Icarii wending their way down to the

bridge seemingly never-ending, he lifted into the blue sky of Sanctuary and flew towards the

valley mouth.

StarDrifter rose high, very high, and the wind felt warm and powerful under his wings.

The sky, as Sanctuary, was apparently limitless, but StarDrifter wondered what would happen if

he gave in to his urge to flip over onto his back and relax and let the thermals carry him ever

higher.

Would he circle into infinity? Or would he smash against some ward that, like the

emerald dome about WolfStar, would prove his imprisonment?

Unsettled, he flew further, soaring above the valley mouth and the first of the endless

orchards, paths, ponds and palaces.

Everything was so perfect, so beautiful, so…so cloying.

A prison, just like a dark, barred cell.

Did those below perceive it thus, or were they still lost in Sanctuary‘s beauty and

comfort? Did he only see it because he‘d crossed to and fro some dozen times on various

businesses?

―Stars grant Drago success,‖ StarDrifter whispered as he began to descend, ―for I would

not want to be incarcerated in this prison for ever more.‖

He hunted for Zenith for over an hour before an Icarii woman told him where to find her.

She was comfortably settled in a pretty crystal-domed chamber on an upper level of one

of the myriad of palaces, staring at herself in a mirror.

―Zenith,‖ StarDrifter said softly, and walked over to her as she twisted about on a stool.

She was wearing a blue and silver gown, and he thought she‘d never looked so beautiful…nor so

vulnerable.

Her eyes were wide, almost frightened, and StarDrifter instinctively dropped to his knees

before her, trailing his wings across the floor behind him.

Zenith hesitated, then held out her hands for him to take. ―We have to talk, you and I,‖

she said.

―Zenith, WolfStar is bound. Safe. He will never trouble you again. Isfrael has him—‖

―No. StarDrifter, the problem between you and I is not WolfStar, nor even what he did to

me. Will you listen if I talk?‖

StarDrifter nodded, feeling with an icy certainty that he was going to lose Zenith before

he‘d even had a chance to love her.

His face was rigid, unreadable, and Zenith had to briefly close her eyes and summon her

courage before she could go on.

―Dear gods, I love you, StarDrifter,‖ she whispered, and dropped her eyes to their clasped

hands, ―but I do not know how I can ever be your lover—‖

―No!‖

― Listen to me! Please…please, just listen to me.‖

And so Zenith talked, haltingly at first, and then with more resolve. She told him that

WolfStar‘s rape was not that which lay between them—gods, how desperately she wanted some

other, more loving memory to overlay that one!—but that she could not overcome her revulsion

at having a grandfather touch her carnally.

Zenith stumbled at that point, still feeling guilt that she should couch StarDrifter‘s love in

such a shameful construct, then hurried on before he could say anything.

―Whenever you kiss me, or touch me, I feel such revulsion—‖

Stars! Why had she said it so badly! What had she done? Zenith opened her mouth but,

not knowing how to snatch back what she‘d just said, said nothing at all.

Silence. StarDrifter did not speak, even his hands lay unspeaking and unmoving in hers.

She raised her eyes and looked him in the face.

And all she saw there was panic. Not condemnation. Not frustration. Not rejection. Not

even puzzlement.

Panic.

―Zenith…gods! I had no idea…I don‘t know what to say…what can I say…‖ The words

tumbled awkwardly, and the depth of dread in StarDrifter‘s face increased. ―Zenith, I want you

for my wife—‖

And until those words were out StarDrifter had no idea how desperately he wanted

Zenith for his wife.

―—and there is no shame in that. Is there?‖

Zenith was crying. ―No, no, there‘s no shame in that save what I feel in here!‖ She

wrenched her hands from his and buried her fingers in her hair, giving her head a shake. ―Oh

gods! Why did RiverStar get all the wantonness and I all the inhibitions? Why can‘t I—‖

―Zenith!‖ StarDrifter leaned forward as if to wrap his arms about her, hesitated, then gave

an incoherent cry of frustration and, jumping to his feet, stalked over to the window.

Outside the sham sun shone over the sham world of Sanctuary, and StarDrifter thought he

would scream if he saw so much as one smiling face.

And then, gently, hesitantly, stunningly, he felt arms slide about him, and Zenith‘s damp

face press against his back.

―Please don‘t blame me,‖ she whispered. ―I want so much to be able to love you as we

both want.‖

StarDrifter‘s heart broke. He turned around in her arms and hugged her to him.

―Don‘t run away from me,‖ he whispered into her hair. ―Please. I will do anything—‖

She raised her face and looked at him. ―Will you wait for me?‖

Wait for what? he wondered. Wait for instinctive revulsion to fade?

―One day,‖ and now she was smiling a little through her tears, ―your silly granddaughter

will grow up and become a woman who will see you with a woman‘s eyes. Will you wait for that day?‖

StarDrifter nodded, and Zenith turned her face away so she did not have to see the tears

in his eyes.

55

An Enchantment Made Visible

―Leagh?‖ Zared asked. ―Why Leagh? Do you need to view her yourself? Would you like

a portrait done of her in her current curious animalistic form? Would you like to see—‖

―That‘s enough, Zared!‖ Drago snapped. ―You are King of the Acharites, damn you, and

you have been given responsibility for all Tencendor, not just one woman. How dare you sit here and go into a guilt-ridden fugue while Theod desperately tries to save the last remaining vestiges

of your realm outside this city. He has a right to verbally lash me…but not you.‖

Zared visibly flinched, but he sat up slightly straighter. ―I ask again, Drago. Why do you

need to see Leagh? She does not deserve to be inspected like a curious freak displayed on fair

days.‖

―I ask to see her so that I might help Tencendor.‖

―That makes no sense, Drago,‖ Theod said, his voice hard. ―At least I agree with Zared