Where had they come from? Then Drago remembered the silver coin he’d found to pay the ferryman on the Nordra. Were they somehow connected with the lost Sceptre?
“I carry my wealth about with me,” he said lightly. “I trust no-one.”
StarLaughter’s face lost its humour. “Trust no-one,” she said, and her voice had hardened as well. “Yes, yes. Trust no-one. That is a good plan. I trusted WolfStar, and look what he did to me.”
She turned away, walking slowly towards the pillars, then whipped about, holding out a hand. Once again her face was lit with a smile.
“Will you come with me, Drago SunSoar? There are others you should meet.”
Drago swept the coins back into the sack and tied it to his belt.
“We’ll find you a bath and some clean clothes,” StarLaughter said, linking her arm through his as he joined her. “I do not like the stink of sweat and dirt.”
She wrinkled her nose at him, smiled and laughed yet again, and led him through the pillars.
There was a garden outside, and a sky and a sun, but all was different to anything Drago had ever experienced. The air was heavier, far more oppressive than even the Tencendorian summer, yet it was not hot. The sky was a dark purple, roiling with high clouds, and the sun shone weak silver, as if its own light were an effort it could not endure much longer.
The garden consisted of regularly distanced trees with large lawned spaces between them. The trees, like the light, seemed weak. Their trunks were spindly, their foliage sparse.
Some distance away, just out of Drago’s vision, a cloud moved swiftly among the trees. Perhaps not a cloud, but whatever its true nature, it was dark and insubstantial, moving this way, now that.
“I can comprehend none of this,” he said helplessly.
StarLaughter squeezed his arm sympathetically. “I understand your disorientation. This is a world far away from our home. A world distant from Tencendor. A world that would be but a bare speck, were you still gazing through the Star Gate from the safety and comfort of Tencendor.”
“I have so many questions…”
“Then ask, sweet Drago,” she said, leading him slowly though the trees. “Ask.”
“What happened to me when I stepped through the Star Gate?”
She considered carefully before answering. “In a manner of speaking you died, but death is so unknown, and so largely misunderstood, that to use that expression will probably create illusions in your mind.”
She paused. “You came through, you changed, and yet you are the same.”
“But how did I get here?”
“The Questors felt you, as did my companions. The Questors, bless them, saved you as they saved us.”
Us? “Saved you? StarLaughter, what happened to you and your… companions… after WolfStar threw you through the Star Gate?”
StarLaughter’s entire body tensed, and her face hardened into a mask of utter hatred.
“We drifted, dead yet undead, for time unknown. We drifted, we hated, we lusted for revenge. But we were lost and helpless. Then,” she took a deep breath and visibly relaxed, “then the Questors found us. Oh, Drago! We owe them so much! Look! Here are my friends, my companions, come to greet you!”
The cloud hurtled closer. Drago halted, wary, but StarLaughter patted his arm and drew him closer, comforting.
“Be not afraid,” she said, “for these are they who, with the Questors’ help, brought you here.”
Some fifteen paces from them the cloud resolved itself into a dense pack of moving bodies. They were Icarü, Drago saw, and yet not at all, but he could not quite discern why. They were the children WolfStar had sacrificed in his mad ambition. Some were as young as ten or eleven, others were nearing adulthood, but all had flat black eyes and expressions of implacable hatred.
There was something else, something Drago could not quite see… something…
As one they tilted their heads to the left, and regarded Drago. As one they fluttered, and twitched their heads to the other side. Curious. A strange murmuring arose from them, and then quieted.
As one, they shifted from leg to leg, and fluttered their wings behind them.
And as they tilted their heads, yet again as one, Drago had the impression of beaks and talons, although his eyes only saw faces and hands.
Abruptly he realised what it was about the children. They were more birdlike than Icarü.
They were a flock. A flock with a single mind.
“Revenge,” StarLaughter said, and left Drago’s side to scratch under the chin of the nearest child, and then to smooth back its hair from its forehead. “We all quest for revenge. My Hawkchilds and I.”
She looked back at Drago. “What happened to us, Drago? We were betrayed. Our futures and our heritage were stolen from us.”
A frightful murmuring arose from the flock behind her, and she waited until it had died down before repeating, “Betrayed, and our heritage stolen.”
“Yes! As my heritage was betrayed and my future stolen!”
“Yes!” cried StarLaughter. “And as the Questors’ heritage was stolen from them by the Enemy. Don’t you see, Drago? We are all the Betrayed, and we are all engaged in the same crusade. To recover that which was stolen from us!”
Drago stared at her, unable to believe his good fortune. These beings sympathised with him, they liked him, and they would help him recover his Icarü power. Drago was overcome with the idea that for the first time in his life he was no longer alone. Others had been as badly treated as he. He smiled, and then laughed.
Suddenly StarLaughter was in Drago’s arms and he held her tight and kissed her passionately – it was the first time he’d ever held an Icarü woman. He was home. Revenge would be his!
From the garden StarLaughter led him back inside the building – Drago had only the haziest impression of a large domed structure – and into a chamber different from the one he had woken in. It was smaller, and obviously a living chamber.
“There is one more you must meet,” StarLaughter said softly, and she led Drago to a crib.
She lifted a bundle from it, and beckoned Drago closer. “See?” she said as he stood at her side. “See? My son.”
Drago looked, and swallowed instant revulsion. StarLaughter carried a baby in her arms, but he was not alive – though neither was he dead.
Drago frowned. The baby neither breathed nor moved. His skin was pale and waxy. His eyes stared wide open, as flat and black as Drago had seen in the faces of the children outside. Strange, disturbing eyes. The baby showed no reaction to StarLaughter.
“Pretty, sweet baby,” StarLaughter crooned. She rocked him gently in her arms. “Sweet, lovely son. See my new friend? His name is Drago, and he will help us wreak revenge upon your father.”
Suddenly, horrifyingly, she lifted the baby into Drago’s arms. He had to bite down nausea. His fingers grazed the baby’s skin above the wraps, and it felt cold and clammy.
The baby’s eyes stared straight ahead, unknowing.
Dead but not dead.
Hastily Drago handed the baby back to his mother. “He was born after you came through the Star Gate?”
“He slipped from my body with the shock, yes. But, see, Drago, is he not beautiful? Is he not lovely? My sweet, sweet son – what a man you will grow to be!”
StarLaughter sat down on a chair and bared a breast, lifting her child to suckle. She turned his head to her breast, but the baby’s head flopped, and the nipple slipped from its unresponsive mouth.
StarLaughter seemed not to notice. She sat and crooned to her child as if he suckled vigorously, encouraging him, telling him what a wonderful, strong, healthy child he was.
Unable to turn away, Drago watched, sickened. After some minutes StarLaughter wiped the baby’s mouth, even though there was no hint of moisture there, covered her breast, and placed the baby back in the cot.
“We’ll leave him to sleep,” she whispered, and drew Drago away. “He is growing so fast, he needs his rest.”
Drago wondered if her experiences had left StarLaughter slightly unhinged. Could she not see what was wrong with the babe?
But maybe she couldn’t bear to let him go.
Yes, some mothers were like that. Unable to let a dead child go.
But that child was not quite dead.
Drago shuddered, and StarLaughter frowned as she sat him down on a couch overlooking the garden.
“What ails you, Drago? Are you in pain? Hungry? Perhaps I should draw you a bath, you -”
“No, no, I am well, StarLaughter. Tell me,” he forced the baby from his mind, “what did you mean ‘usable’ when you spoke to the Questors earlier? And how can I help you get back through the Star Gate?”
“Ah.” StarLaughter snuggled close to Drago’s body and put her head on his shoulder. Drago relaxed, enjoying the warmth. It had been a very long time since anyone had given him so much affection.
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