The Key to Starveldt

by Foz Meadows

  The Key to Starveldt

  Foz Meadows is a self-confessed geek with a penchant for cheese, webcomics and silly hats. She currently lives in Scotland with not enough books and her very own philosopher.

  By the same author in this series

  The Rare: Book One – Solace & Grief

  The Key to Starveldt

  Foz Meadows

  First published by Ford Street Publishing, an imprint of

  Hybrid Publishers, PO Box 52, Ormond VIC 3204

  Melbourne Victoria Australia

  © Foz Meadows 2011

  2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

  This publication is copyright. Apart from any use

  as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part

  may be reproduced by any process without prior written

  permission from the publisher. Requests and enquiries

  concerning reproduction should be addressed to

  Ford Street Publishing Pty Ltd

  2 Ford Street, Clifton Hill VIC 3068.

  Ford Street website: www.fordstreetpublishing.com

  First published 2011

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:

  Author: Meadows, Foz

  Title: The key to Starveldt / Foz Meadows

  ISBN: 9781921665257 (pbk.)

  Target audience: Young adults

  Subjects: Vampires – Young adult fiction.

  Dewey Number: A823.4

  Cover design: Gittus Graphics ©

  In-house editor: Saralinda Turner

  Printing and quality control in China by

  Tingleman Pty Ltd

  For my grandmother,

  Mary Andrews (nee Ryan),

  who taught me that my legs were made for walking

  and that nobody is ever too old for adventures.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1 A Secrecy of Birds

  2 The Sign of the Singing Hawk

  3 The Rookery

  4 Harm’s Way

  5 Casting Stones

  6 Into the Woods

  7 Sparring Practices

  8 Secrets All Unsaid

  9 Bitter Dregs

  10 Consequences

  11 Restitution

  12 Traitors Under Friendly Skies

  13 Overload

  14 Moral High Ground

  15 Full Fathom Five

  16 Join the Dance

  17 Drawn & Quartered

  18 Paradise Lost

  19 Starkine’s Doom

  20 Pale Moon Gleaming

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  We are the music-makers,

  And we are the dreamers of dreams,

  Wandering by lone sea-breakers,

  And sitting by desolate streams;

  World-losers and world-forsakers,

  On whom the pale moon gleams:

  Yet we are the movers and shakers

  Of the world forever, it seems.

  With wonderful deathless ditties

  We build up the world’s great cities,

  And out of a fabulous story

  We fashion an empire’s glory:

  One man with a dream, at pleasure,

  Shall go forth and conquer a crown;

  And three with a new song’s measure

  Can trample an empire down.

  We, in the ages lying

  In the buried past of the earth,

  Built Nineveh with our sighing,

  And Babel itself with our mirth;

  And o’erthrew them with prophesying

  To the old of the new world’s worth;

  For each age is a dream that is dying,

  Or one that is coming to birth.

  Arthur O’Shaughnessy, Ode

  Prologue

  Erasmus Lukin’s night had been far from pleasant. Not only had Solace Eleuthera and her friends escaped, but they’d managed to do so through means utterly beyond his comprehension. That it was Rare in origin went without saying, but to Professor Lukin, that was less than useful. His lack of knowledge burned like shameful acid. He had spent the better part of three centuries struggling to unlock the vagaries of inherited magic. How could such a powerful phenomenon have eluded him?

  Sanguisidera had been wrathful at his ignorance – rightly so. Even her mildest rages were vicious, and yet Lukin’s current agony stemmed not from wounded flesh, but wounded pride. He should have known, and during the hours of his mortification, he had begged the Bloody Star for a chance to remedy his shortcomings. Sanguisidera had only laughed, the sound hard and angry and wonderful all at once, a melody of broken bells. Yet when the whip was put away, Lord Grief came and knelt quietly by Lukin’s side, ignoring the waste of blood spattered nearby.

  ‘Your ignorance in this matter has been irksome. Nonetheless, it is within your power to rectify. Give this matter your utmost attention, and no more will be said about it. For the time being.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Excellent.’ In a single motion, Grief grabbed Lukin by the hair at the nape of his neck and yanked the professor upright. ‘I have assigned your cousin a different task concerning the retrieval of my sister. Mikhail will explain the details. You will work. And then we will talk again.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘You are dismissed.’

  Wincing, Lukin obeyed, taking the swiftest route from Sanguisidera’s caverns to his lair at the university, where Mikhail was waiting. Without words, his cousin laved and bound his back and fetched a fresh shirt. Lukin contemplated what manner of being was able to teleport six people from Sanguisidera’s adjunct realm back to Earth without being physically present. Such noteworthy gifts were not usually the province of humans – at least, not on this plane – which suggested that the antagonist was altogether more exotic and intriguing. Even before Mikhail had finished the bandages, Lukin found himself rummaging through the myriad files and papers cluttering his desk, searching for every note he’d ever written on non-human magic-wielders, one-in-a-million Rarities and hybrid entities. Could he have missed something, after all?

  Behind him, Mikhail made a tutting noise at his disorganisation. Lukin pretended not to hear. More than once, his cousin had urged him to purchase a computer, but Lukin always refused, pointedly and with bitterness. Although human technology remained beyond his comprehension, he rooted his objections in more solid arguments: accessibility, the danger of protection, permanence. This last was of especial import. Lukin had held artefacts carved a thousand years ago that still remained intact, yet the floppy disks of even a decade past had long since grown obsolete. No. He preferred his quills. Trust only ink and feather. Nothing more.

  ‘You think the phenomenon is documented?’ Mikhail asked, interrupting his chain of thought.

  ‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. Either way, I will put a name to it.’

  ‘I do not doubt you.’ Stepping forward, Mikhail crouched down beside Lukin, bringing their eyes level. ‘My duty, however, is the recapture of Solace Eleuthera.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Lukin rubbed his head. ‘Tell me, is Lord Grief of a mind to try his hand at blood-magic again – or rather, to try your hand?’

  ‘He is. The experiment in your dungeon worked well enough. We have a purer sample to work with now, one that will hold her indefinitely.’

  ‘You have assured him of this?’

  ‘I have.’

  Lukin frowned. ‘Mikhail, you know I have no qualms about your abilities, but think for a moment! Who was it that told you the wards around Solace were weakening? Who has forever claimed that she is inaccessible, only to recant, now, for reasons unclear to the rest of us?’

  ‘Sharpsoft,’ said Mikhail after a moment. ‘I take your point, cousi
n, but surely –’

  ‘Surely what? I do not trust him,’ Lukin declared, and as he spoke, he realised it was true. ‘Never mind that the Bloody Star favours him. He has always been closely twined with Starveldt, and his first oath was not to our cause, but to House Eleuthera. That means serving Lord Grief, yes, but also encompasses duty to his sister.’

  Mikhail’s brows shot up. ‘You accuse him of being in league with her?’

  Lukin hesitated. ‘No. Not on the current evidence. I merely suggest that it is possible. You must agree that he shows a disquieting tendency to be merciful, especially to the young. That boy who stole the book for us – Glide, was it? He claimed to have killed him; and yet we saw no body, no evidence that Sharpsoft had fed. On that basis alone, I am inclined to doubt his word.’

  ‘There may be something to what you say.’ Mikhail tapped the fingers of one hand against his opposite arm. ‘The blood-magic will still proceed, but I am prepared to keep a watch on the warehouse shell. Assuming our catspaw lives, my instinct tells me he will return to what he knows. Bait the line, and see what bites?’

  ‘Yes. A sound policy.’

  Mikhail straightened. ‘Will you inform Lord Grief of our suspicions?’

  ‘I will,’ said Lukin, noting Mikhail’s use of the word our, and not quite liking it. ‘You do not require my assistance with your project?’

  ‘Not as such.’

  ‘Then I will continue researching the guardian.’

  Mikhail rested a hand on his shoulder, gentle of the surrounding wounds, and nodded. ‘Of course.’

  For a long time after his cousin departed, Lukin remained seated at his desk. Having voiced his suspicions about Sharpsoft, he now found himself unable to set them aside. By way of distraction, he picked up the surveys Solace and her companions had completed, leafing absently through them to be sure he’d missed nothing of their talents. It was always possible that the two friends of Solace who’d escaped capture had orchestrated the rescue of the others. Between the pair of them, he deemed the more likely culprit to be the blonde-bright Electra. Reading afresh of her strange ability to summon lost objects or transport known ones in the space of a heartbeat, Lukin hungered to claim the girl; to strap her down and probe the delicacies of her flesh until her blood gave up its secrets. Computers were one thing, but human science – and the ease with which it could be twisted to inhuman designs – was another. Though it was a daily temptation not to dine on certain of his mundane colleagues, their usefulness was undeniable. So long as he stood between them and the appetites of his masters, their blood analysis would continue.

  Concentrate. He shook his head, wincing as even so simple an action caused the wounds on his back to pull. Lord Grief required answers. Distractions were not an option. With renewed discipline, he threw himself into the study of his notes, thinking always of the nameless guardian who had thwarted Sanguisidera. Hours passed, but the professor neither moved nor relented.

  ‘How are you progressing?’

  Lukin jumped. Without his noticing, Lord Grief had entered the office. He was looking about the place with his usual flat curiosity.

  Setting aside his current page, Lukin stood, winced at the pain this swift action caused, and managed a half-bow. ‘My lord. I had not expected you so soon. I have been reading, but so far –’

  ‘Tell me,’ said Grief, cutting him off, ‘what do you think of Sharpsoft?’

  Lukin stared at him, unable to help himself. ‘Has Mikhail already spoken to you, my lord?’

  Grief ’s brow crinkled in puzzlement. ‘Mikhail? No. What of it?’

  Dry-mouthed for no reason he could articulate, Lukin related their earlier conversation. Lord Grief listened thoughtfully, his head cocked in the same attentive attitude he had always assumed in childhood lessons. When Lukin was finished, he leaned against the snake terrarium, a faint smile on his face.

  ‘Have you seen Morgause’s diary, Erasmus?’

  ‘Not yet, my lord.’

  ‘I have. Certain pages are missing – specifically, those pages concerning the prophecy. As my mother’s beloved freak was instrumental in its recovery, and as he further claimed to have killed the boy Glide – whose body has yet to be recovered – one begins to wonder where his loyalties lie.’

  ‘I agree, my lord. He is an unfathomable creature at best.’

  ‘Unfathomable. Yes. An excellent word.’

  There was a pause. Lukin looked from Grief to his notes and back again, uncertain as to where the conversation was headed. His back began to itch, but he stubbornly refused to scratch it, waiting instead until his lord leaned back from the snakes and stretched, pushing threads of black hair away from his handsome face.

  ‘I approve Mikhail’s plan to keep a watch on the warehouse,’ he said at last. ‘Should it eventuate that Glide has been left alive, he may prove a useful ally, either denouncing Sharpsoft as a traitor or by putting his talents to use. You will continue with your research as planned. I want to know, firstly, who guards my sister, and secondly, how I might kill them. Until the key to Starveldt is recovered, we cannot afford to leave any stone unturned. The castle will be ours. Is that clear?’

  Lukin exhaled, once more filled with purpose. ‘Crystal, my lord.’

  1

  A Secrecy of Birds

  If ever there’d been such a thing as normalcy, Solace considered, it must have had the life expectancy of a suicidal mayfly. Being saved from death by an inscrutable feline and deposited in a magically sealed safehouse was all well and good; but it didn’t explain how Evan had managed to procure a plastic apron with painted-on bosoms and a slogan about the kissability of cooks. The idea that a house provisioned by vampires – and worse, by her parents – contained such an item was alarming. Solace realised her mouth was open, and closed it.

  ‘Breakfast?’ Evan asked, by way of greeting. He waved a plastic spatula towards a nearby frypan and frowned. ‘Well, it’s brunch, technically. It just looks like breakfast. We’re in the realm of noon.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Solace, muzzily. She’d just woken up, and was only about seventy percent of the way towards full consciousness. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she glanced around.

  Besides Evan, the kitchen was staffed by Manx and Harper. Apart from Evan’s ludicrous apron, all three boys were clothed only in boxer shorts. Noticing this, Solace blushed and tightened her bathrobe – she’d left her clothes downstairs the night before, and had been forced to improvise. Seeing her expression, Manx cocked his head towards the laundry and raised a mischievous eyebrow.

  ‘Electra’s done a load of washing,’ he said. ‘Your stuff included. So we’re all reduced to toplessness, and everyone else is in robes.’

  ‘I lobbied for the other way round.’ Evan sighed. ‘But no one ever listens. Philistines.’

  ‘Clothes should be done soon, anyway,’ Harper said, ignoring Evan’s remark. ‘They’re on the line.’

  ‘And the others?’

  ‘Jess is in the shower,’ said Manx. ‘Laine’s upstairs, and Paige is outside with Electra. We’ve been taking turns at the hot water,’ he added. ‘We’re all done, but you can go next, assuming there’s any left.’

  Solace shrugged. ‘That’s okay. I had one last night.’ Craning her head, she peered longingly at the still-sizzling breakfast, which appeared to feature everything from bacon and minute steaks to fruit and cereal. Despite her guilty feast the previous evening, her stomach rumbled at the enticing smell.

  Seeing her expression, Harper grinned. ‘Give it another minute. We’ll call when it’s ready.’

  Nodding, Solace turned, walked past the lounge and flinched. There was Duchess, camouflaged against casual scrutiny by virtue of having furled herself into a cushion-shaped ball. Feeling a hard knot rise in her throat, Solace remembered their conversation of the night before: Duchess, who’d been silently guarding her since the group home, had allowed her friends to be captured by the Bloodkin. Though Solace’s rebellious internal monologue – a voice
she’d come to think of as the Vampire Cynic – urged her to confess, the little cat had forbidden her to speak of it. Instead, a more human part of her bowed its head and acquiesced, afraid of how her friends would react. As if my life isn’t already complicated enough.

  Shaking her head, she looked away and kept moving. Solace had small tolerance for her own selfpity, and rejected it fiercely now. It’s a new day, she told herself. More importantly, we all survived to see it. Lighten up!

  She paused at the back door. It was full-length glass. Wary of direct sunlight, she surveyed the sky. It was slightly overcast, and most of their small garden was in shade. Taking a deep breath, she slid the door open and slipped out, savouring the crisp, wintry flavour of the air.

  With her arms crossed over her knees, Electra was sitting with her back to the side wall. She watched the laden clothesline drift heavily round in the breeze, while Paige lay full stretch on the grass, eyes closed. Overhead, the drying clothes moved gently on the line. Solace recognised her own black shirt between Jess’s blue singlet and Laine’s corset, and hoped she could soon reclaim it.

  ‘Morning!’ Electra called, without turning around. Paige raised her head, waved, and lay back down again. Both girls wore their robes with an ease Solace envied.

  She stepped gingerly onto the grass, still wary of the hour. It was surprisingly green, dotted with greybeige paving stones that formed a broken, rambling footpath towards the back fence. Underfoot, it felt cool and dimly moist.

  ‘Thanks for doing the laundry.’

  ‘Don’t mention it.’ Electra turned and smiled.

  All too clearly, Solace remembered her friend’s trembling exhaustion the night before. Guilt churned within her briefly. Electra’s grey eyes were clear, her skin bright, her hair washed clean of smoke and sweat, but there was more to the transformation than hot water and a good night’s sleep could account for. Electra’s expression was serene, reflecting a quietude that bordered on the spiritual. Surprise must have shown in Solace’s face, because the blonde girl tilted her head in query.