Pilgrim. Sara Douglass
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had crawled on his hands and knees, and everything he touched that could be picked up he stuffed into his mouth and swallowed.
Stones, brambles, thorns, dried cattle dung — the man had even bitten off four of his own fingers in his quest to assuage his hunger.
He had died, eventually, by the low stone wall that had bounded the field. His internal organs had finally exploded with the weight of the rocks he carried within him. He’d died stuffing scraps of his bowel and liver into his mouth.
Sickened, the eagle had watched it all, and wondered if, eventually, he also would be caught outside when the badness billowed abroad.
Now he sat safe under the watchtower roof. The black cloud swooped low over a band of pigs that roamed savage and crazed to the west of Tare — yesterday, that band of pigs had caught and devoured several people trying to scrabble among the fields for some scraps to eat — and then rose into the sky again, and flew eastwards.
The eagle shuddered as their whispering sounded directly above him, and then slowly relaxed as they continued to fly westwards.
Drago lurched forward as the donkey bucked and kicked, and tried to grab at her brush-like mane.
But it was no good, and with a grunt of surprise, he slid to the ground.
He rolled to his feet immediately, grabbing his staff to use as a weapon — and then froze in utter astonishment.
Faraday already had her hands to her mouth, stifling her laughter.
The donkey bucked and kicked in a small circle, trying to dislodge what appeared to be a blue-feathered lizard that clutched at her tail trying with narrow-eyed determination to climb onto the donkey’s back.
Drago slowly rose to his feet, laid both staff and sack on the ground, and then cautiously approached the aggrieved donkey, holding out one hand and murmuring soothing words.
The donkey gave one final buck — the lizard still gripping her tail — and halted, trembling, allowing Drago to rub her cheek and neck.
The lizard gave a hiss of triumph, and then, with almost lightning speed, scrabbled up the donkey’s tail and onto her back.
Drago looked at it, looked at Faraday — who had quietened herself — and then ran his hand down the donkey’s neck and across her withers towards the lizard. He hesitated, then gently touched the lizard’s emerald and scarlet feathers just behind its head.
They were as soft as silk.
The lizard’s crest rose up and down as Drago scratched.
“What is it?” he asked, raising his eyes to Faraday.
“It is one of the fey creatures of Minstrelsea,” Faraday said. She explained how, when she’d planted the last tree for the forest, the borders between the forest and the Sacred Grove had opened, and Minstrelsea had been flooded with the strange creatures of the Groves. “I think it likes you.”
Drago grinned and ran his hand down the lizard’s blue back. “It’s beautiful,” he said, watching the shafts of light glint from its talons. “Entrancing …”
The lizard twisted a little, and grabbed at his hand with its mouth — and then began to wash the back of Drago’s hand with its bright pink tongue.
The donkey, grown bored, sighed and shifted her weight from one hind leg to another.
The lizard slipped, and Drago instinctively caught it up into his arms.
“What am I supposed to do with it?” he asked helplessly.
“I think it wants to come with us,” Faraday said. “And as to what you are supposed to do with it … well, I think it expects you to love it.”
For the rest of that day, and all the next, they travelled further south through the Woods. The lizard travelled with Drago, curled up in front of him on the donkey, the crystal talons of its fore-claws gripping the donkey’s mane for purchase.
The donkey put up with it with some bad grace, her floppy ears laid back along her skull, and she snapped whenever the lizard slipped. But at night she did not seem to mind when the lizard curled up beside her for warmth.
On the morning of the third day they neared Cauldron Lake, descending through thickening trees, and Faraday indicated they should dismount and walk the final fifteen or twenty paces to the edge of the trees.
The lizard, silent and watchful, crawled a pace behind them, careful of its footing on the slope.
“There,” Faraday murmured as they stopped within the gloom of the line of trees. “Cauldron Lake.”
Drago’s breath caught in his throat. As with so many of the wonders of Tencendor, he’d heard tales of this Lake, but had never seen it previously.
It lay in an almost perfectly circular depression, the entire forest sloping down towards it on all sides. To their left, perhaps some two hundred paces about the Lake’s edge, stood a circular Keep, built of pale yellow stone. Its door and all its windows were bolted tight.
But it was the water of the Lake that caught Drago’s attention. It shone a soft, gentle gold in the early-morning sun.
Without warning, a vicious hand clenched in his stomach, and Drago gagged.
Faraday grabbed his arm and dragged him behind a tree.
“Look,” she mouthed, and pointed across the Lake.
On the far shore a blackness had coalesced, and spread like a stain. It took Drago a few minutes to realise that it consisted of seven black and vaguely horse-like creatures.
And the Demons and StarLaughter.
“Curse them!” Faraday cried softly. “Gods! I’d hoped we could get here before them!”
“Should we —”
“No,” Faraday said. “If we try to get to Noah now they will see us.”
Drago sank down to the ground. He felt physically ill this close to the Demons, and he wondered again at the bond that existed between them.
“Will Noah survive them?” he asked.
“He’ll have to,” Faraday replied.
She sat down next to Drago and regarded him with concerned eyes. “Are you all right?”
He nodded, briefly closing his eyes, then he managed a small smile for her. “I am sick with frustration, no more. All I want to do is to see this friend of yours, and find out what it is I must do to help this land. Yet here the Demons have arrived before us, and so we must sit, and wait, and hope there is still a Noah to speak to once they have done.”
She touched his arm briefly, but did not reply.
The Demons had not enjoyed a particularly pleasant ride through the Silent Woman Woods. Their encounter with Isfrael and Shra had unnerved them and, even though they grew progressively stronger each hour that they hunted, the trees had made their way difficult.
Tangled roots had snapped at them from the soft, treacherous soil.
Branches had dipped and swayed and snapped.
Leaves had flowed through the air, burrowing beneath robes and into corners of eyes.
And things had hissed and wailed at them from behind trees.
StarLaughter had been terrified, not only by the malevolence of the Woods themselves, but by the fact that the Demons seemed unnerved by them as well. Surely they were too powerful for such as this?
But maybe they needed the power of Qeteb before they could rise to their full potential.
And that power was not so very