Starflower (25 page)

“Yes,” muttered one man. “Give him what he asks.” Then another took up the sound. Soon the men were shouting, and even the women raised fists in the air in agreement. “Give the Beast what he asks!” all cried.

My father was as silent as a woman before them.

Wolf Tongue turned suddenly, and his gaze fixed upon me where I hid. I realized he had known where I was all along. I gasped and drew back into the shadows of the outer buildings, but he was striding toward me in an instant. Frostbite yelped and fled before me up the hill. Though I tried to follow, I could not make my feet move. The High Priest's hand came down upon my shoulder.

The next thing I knew, he had taken Fairbird. I fell to my knees as she was pulled from my arms, and watched as Wolf Tongue flung my sister across his shoulder and strode back to the crowd. Her eyes and mouth were wide with terror, and her tiny hands reached back for me. She seemed so far away, miles and miles beyond my help.

Oh, Fairbird!

Holding her in his arms, Wolf Tongue strode to the middle of the crowd. He raised one hand, and instant silence fell. Then he spoke, this time in a voice so soft, so gentle, I would have thought he soothed his own children. It was like pure honey in its sweetness, and for a moment, even my heart calmed.

“My only thought,” he said, “is to protect you. Helpless as you are before the wrath of the Beast, I long to stand between you, to give you shelter from the storm of his fury. But how can I?” he persisted. “How can I, if you resist me so? The Beast has made his will known. If you will not give him the blood he requires, he will take it from you in other ways! Today, livestock. Tomorrow, your children!”

Women gasped and clutched their little ones. Men brandished spears and stone knives, shouting battle cries. But those who had seen the carnage in the field knew there could be no fighting this enemy. The cry was taken up again, “Give the Beast what he asks!”

“The Eldest has two daughters!” cried the High Priest. “One belongs to the Beast by law!” He raised my sister, struggling uselessly in his grasp, high above his head. And the Eldest, standing behind Wolf Tongue, hid his face in his hand.

In that moment, I thought I hated my father.

Teeth grinding, my fingers like claws, I tore into the crowd. None, not even the largest men, dared stand in my way. I tore and kicked and even bit as needed until I broke through them all. I leapt at Wolf Tongue with
the fury of a wildcat, clawing at his bare chest in my efforts to reach my sister. But he held her out of my reach. Leaning forward, he whispered so that only I could hear:

“Will you spit in my eye again, lovely one?”

If only I had been born a man! If only I'd had a spear in my hand at that moment! How different would be the story I tell you now!

But I had no weapon. I had not even a voice. I had only my decision, made long ago on the dark night my sister was born.

My eyes spoke everything I had to say. Wolf Tongue understood. His own eyes flared with triumph and . . . hunger, I thought.

I took a step back. I held out my arms. Wolf Tongue placed my sobbing sister in my grasp, and I hugged her as she wept into my neck. Then I walked slowly away from the crowd. I spared a single glance for my father, but he did not look up. He knew the choice had been made. He knew, as did all the people of Redclay. They parted, letting me through, and I walked between them as I carried my sister back up the hill to the Eldest's House.

Behind me, I heard Wolf Tongue shouting orders to the village. “Prepare the procession. Make ready the rites. We journey tomorrow to the Place of the Teeth!”

E
ANRIN

E
VERY
STEP
WAS
A
BATTLE
OF
WILLS
. He may as well have walked on burning coals. But there was no fire here, no heat; only darkness on all sides.

Except, not complete darkness. Eanrin's hand trembled as it clutched the handle of Asha lantern. It was unbelievable yet undeniable. He, the Chief Poet of Iubdan Rudiobus, held the Light of Sir Akilun. The glow that lit the many Houses of Lights in the Near World of long ago, before Hri Sora burned those houses to the ground and banished the lights, leaving shadows in the wake of her flames.

And following that destruction, before rebuilding could begin, Akilun himself had journeyed into Death's realm and never returned.

Eanrin had assumed, along with all the Faerie folk, that Asha had gone out when Akilun died. But here it was. He tried to tell himself he was mistaken; it must be some other lamp. After all, he had never seen Asha with his own eyes. Could this not be a replica?

Might it not, rather than lighting his way out of darkness, direct him only into deeper death?

Even as the thought crossed his mind, Eanrin cursed himself for thinking it. No matter how many blasphemous lies he might try to tell himself, he could not deny what he absolutely knew in the depths of his heart. The lantern was real. And the Path it showed him led to safety.

The face of the Hound flashed before his eyes.

“You fool,” he whispered, his mind crying out against his heart. “You fool, Eanrin! You have given in. You've accepted
his
way and
his
help. He will devour your soul at last.”

But his heart responded with a shrug. After all, it was follow the light or remain in blindness. It was accept the aid of the Hound or succumb to the will of the Dragon. Was there a choice in the end?

“I should never have rescued Imraldera,” he said. “I should have left her by the River and gone my own way. If I had, I would never have been made to look into the face of Death. At least, not for many generations to come.”

Again he cursed and closed his eyes, wishing he could block the lantern's light. But it glowed down into the farthest reaches of his mind, separating truth from lies.

“I'm glad I saved her. I'm glad I've been brought to this place.”

The light flared brighter still. Eanrin opened his eyes hesitantly, afraid of the sudden brilliance. But it was gentle even in its power, and he found that he could bear to look upon it. He could also now get some sense of where he stood. A tunnel led as far as he could see both before and behind. His feet were turned up an incline, his back to a gaping descent. He knew, without knowing how he knew, that not many paces behind him the Dark Water still waited.

Shuddering, he faced forward and squared his shoulders. As he went, his gaze shifted more and more often to look at Asha, to study the wonder that he held.

It was silver and delicate, made by craftsmen of such skill, Eanrin could not begin to guess who they were. Surely not the goblins, even before they forsook their craft. Nor dwarves, for its beauty was of a different kind than their work. No one he knew in all of Faerie could
have done something like this. But still more amazing to his eyes was the light it held.

It was as though one of the moon's own children had come down from the heavens to dwell inside. White as purity, but full of all the colors of all the worlds, it warmed and it cooled, refreshing the spirit. When he breathed, Eanrin took in the scents of spring, of summer, of autumn and winter together, pursuing their ageless, circular dance.

As he looked at it, Eanrin knew that what he had seen on the edge of the Dark Water was no dream.

Guilt weighed upon him. How, in his arrogance, could he have been so foolish? How could he have believed that the work of the Dragon only affected
other
people? Wicked people who deserved their fate if they were willing to listen to those lies. He breathed a long sigh, remembering the scales he had seen at his feet, where they had fallen from his own face. How close had he been to becoming one of the Dragon's brood?

Gazing at the light, Eanrin felt his heart settling into a steady beat. “My life will never be the same,” he whispered. “I have forsaken the Dragon. So I must be devoured—”

“Hallo in the dark! Be you living or dead?”

In that moment, Eanrin realized what miracles might occur in these deep places of the world. For, when he heard Glomar's voice ringing in the darkness, he felt a surge of good feeling, of camaraderie, of brotherly affection and even . . . yes, even love. It was a dizzying sensation! He hollered back:

“Lumé's crown and scepter! I never thought I'd see the day when your voice would give me joy!”

There was a long pause. Then, “Dragon-eaten vapors. For a moment, I thought that was real. Ah well . . .”

“No! Glomar!” Eanrin shouted. “Glomar, you blundering oaf of a badger-man, stay where you are!”

“That was more like. Is that you there, cat?”

Eanrin sprang forward, little caring in that moment if he followed the Path of the lantern or not. His longing for a familiar face, a good old Rudioban face, beat all other concerns into nothing. Asha shone upon the startled features of the guard, who had just time to open his eyes
wide and exclaim, “What by all the Dragon's brood is—” before Eanrin clasped him in glad embrace.

“You dirt-nosing lug!” he exclaimed, slapping the guard repeatedly upon the shoulders. “Fancy meeting you in these foul parts! To what depths have the mighty plummeted, eh?”

Glomar growled and pushed the poet away. “The darkness has made you mad. Or madder than you were.”

“Perhaps,” said the poet, stepping back and smiling. Asha swung gently in his hand, spreading its glow up and down the long tunnel. “Or perhaps it is here that I have finally seen the light.”

“Little enough light, if any,” said the badger. His eyes squinted as though he were peering through heavy murk. “I can hardly see my hand before my face in this tomb. It's a good thing I depend on my nose rather than my eyes, or I'd be lost indeed.”

Eanrin blinked, and his smile drooped into a frown. “Are you daft, Glomar?”

Glomar snorted. “I've no time for this. Follow me if you'd like; I'm not opposed to your company in this place, but I am opposed to your wicked tongue. Keep it behind your teeth, and perhaps we'll find our way out of here.” He moved heavily past Eanrin, stumping several steps down the long incline.

“Lumé's crown!” Eanrin darted out a hand to catch the captain by his shoulder. “Have you gone blind?”

“Blind? I'm a badger! Blindness makes no difference to me.”

Eanrin began to tremble. Asha's light shivered in his grasp. “Can you not see the lantern, then?” he asked.

“What lantern?”

So perhaps Eanrin had gone mad. Visions of dragons and black lakes and hounds! He gazed from Glomar's stern face to the silver light and back again and saw that Glomar, indeed, had no perception of what Eanrin held.

“No,” he whispered. “I know what I saw. I know what I
see
, even if he does not! And it's more real than real.”

“What are you babbling about, cat?”

Eanrin licked his lips. “I've been down that way,” he said. “It's . . . it's a dead end.”

Glomar grunted. “I trust my nose.”

“In that case, tell it to sniff this.” Eanrin lifted the lantern right up to Glomar's face.

“What are you doing, cat?”

“Please, stand a moment and
smell
!”

Glomar had never heard Eanrin's voice so urgent. It was enough to shock him into momentary obedience. He stood where he was, inhaling deeply, though he did not know what he was supposed to smell. The light of Asha fell upon his rough features, washing away the golden man of Rudiobus into the truth of the badger underneath. Eanrin, however, saw no understanding in his face. No sudden revelation of the wonder that gleamed so brightly just before his eyes.

Suddenly the guard snorted. “What is that?” he said.

“What is what?”

“I do smell some . . .” Here he gave a glad, wordless cry. “Come on, cat!” he said, turning, taking Eanrin's arm, and running up the inclined path. “I smell it now! Fresh air, this way!”

It wasn't at all what Eanrin had expected. But as long as the badger-man hastened in the direction Asha was indicating, he supposed they couldn't get into too much trouble, at least, no worse than they were already in. He hastened after his rival, watching how the lantern lit the Path one step ahead of Glomar's scurrying feet. Only a single step, but it was enough.

Eanrin wondered how long he had been so guided without knowing it.

“How did you end up here, cat?” Glomar asked after they had progressed some moments. “Did you fall for the vision too?”

“What vision, Glomar?”

The captain growled. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” He was silent several paces. Then, “Seriously, though, how did you end up in this tomb?”

“Tomb?”

“Yes, tomb. Don't tell me you didn't know.”

“Didn't know what?”

“Gah! I should never expect a straight answer from you, should I?”

“Lumé's crown, Glomar,” Eanrin cried, tempted to kick the captain's heels, “I wish I had some idea what you were going on about! By the
Flowing Gold itself, I know of no tomb, nor visions. I fell into a pit, a nasty, dark, and stinking pit. And what with one thing and another”—there was little use, he decided, in trying to explain the Dark Water or, still less, the Hound—“I ended up here. With you, more's the pity. But I know nothing of any tomb.”

“Must be the city playing its tricks again,” Glomar said with a shrug and continued along his stumping way. “It's getting stronger, I shouldn't wonder, the longer Hri Sora is awake. They're feeding off each other. I can smell it. Here in the dark places I sense what I couldn't up there under the red sky. Hri Sora is getting stronger.”

Eanrin frowned, surprised at the captain's words. He had felt no such sensations himself. But then, his adventure had obviously led him an entirely different route than Glomar's, and his senses had been distracted.

“What tomb are we in?” he asked the badger-man.

“Hers,”
Glomar said, his voice sinking to a low growl. “Or at least, hers before she became
her.
Before she took the fire. This is the tomb for the last Queen of Etalpalli, and her name has been melted away from above the door.”

Eanrin shuddered. “Hri Sora is the last Queen of Etalpalli,” he said.

“Hri Sora is its mistress,” said Glomar. “But she is not queen.”

Were they, then, still in the tomb as Glomar believed? Eanrin wondered. Or were they both now in the Netherworld, still near the Dark Water? If Glomar had died in the tomb, and Eanrin in the fall, then there could be no doubt the Netherworld was their fate. Terrible thoughts for an immortal to consider, and Eanrin found his mind rejecting the notion. He focused once more upon Asha.

“Light,” said Glomar.

“What?” Eanrin looked up, wondering if the captain had suddenly perceived the lantern after all. But no. He saw beyond the glow of Asha another, more distant source. A pinprick of daylight.

The tunnel had an end.
But what end?
Eanrin wondered.

It didn't matter. He and Glomar were instantly running, Asha swinging lightly in Eanrin's hand, still guiding, though neither looked to it for guidance. The daylight seemed forever away, but they were immortal and lived without thought of Time, so
forever
mattered less than the
need to somehow get there. How long they ran in the dark could not be measured in minutes or hours. But run they did, neither speaking, both hoping beyond hope for an end at last to this blackness.

Suddenly the pinprick was a window, then the window was a door. The two men of Rudiobus burst through from darkness to light, momentarily blinded. They cried out, whether in joy or pain, neither could guess. It was impossible to emerge from that tunnel, like a newborn bursting into the world for the first time, and not make a cry. And they fell upon the ground and lay for some while.

At last Eanrin raised his head and looked about.

Then he gasped and sat up. “Glomar!”

His companion lay beside him, still groaning, feet splayed out behind him. Eanrin grabbed him by the hair atop his head and gave a little shake. “Glomar, look around you, man! A fine mess this is.”

Glomar huffed and spluttered what might have been curses had they been coherent and pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Lumé smite me,” he growled, shaking his head. “We're in the dragon-eaten Between.”

So they were. They lay on the banks of the River, beneath the shadows of the Wood, and both could hear the roar of Cozamaloti's not-too-distant falls.

Eanrin leapt to his feet, then realized his hands were empty. He cast about like a lunatic, searching the banks, even stepping down close to the water. The River snarled at him, and he backed up quickly, his eyes wide and his hair bristling. The River was not one to soon forget an offense. Eanrin scrambled over slippery rocks onto a higher tuft of ground, searching.

It was no use. Asha was gone. Perhaps it had never been. Eanrin ground his teeth. Curse that Hound! Curse that Light! He was back where he'd started from and he'd . . .

“Dragon's teeth,” he breathed. “Dragon's teeth and tail. I left her behind.”

“Gleamdren!” Glomar cried, rallying himself and getting to his feet. He stood on the River's edge, shaking his fists, his face red with anger. “We left her, cat! The queen's own cousin, lost to the dragon's clutches!”

Out of habit Eanrin fumbled for his comb, gnashing his teeth when
he remembered he'd lost it. Running his fingers swiftly through his hair, he stepped down beside his rival. He spoke firmly, his face set. “We've got to go back for her, Glomar.”