The Key to Starveldt

by Foz Meadows

  She paused, chewing over the significance of the latter. He’s alive. Sharpsoft might not trust him, but he didn’t kill him, either. Was he still a threat? How culpable was he for the warehouse fire and the deaths of Phoebe, Claire and Tryst? A bitter smile found its way onto her lips. Dealing with Glide. That’s something to do, I suppose. Better than nothing, anyway. He always was a mystery.

  And, the Vampire Cynic added, while you’re in the business of solving problems, you can contemplate the eternal mystery of Sharpsoft. Where does he go, when he’s not guarding you from Sanguisidera? What does he do?

  But to that question, Solace had no answer.

  When she re-emerged into the satyrs’ grove, it was to find that Feyez, Salesian and Quin had not moved since her departure. All three lifted their heads and looked at her as she approached.

  ‘You are bruised,’ said Feyez, frowning at her. ‘What happened?’

  Solace glared at him. She was, she realised, heartily sick of being interrogated by strange, irritating men who thought themselves more powerful than she was. Her words were tart as she replied. ‘Whatever happened, it had nothing to do with our bargain. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?’

  Feyez snorted his indignation; Quin laughed out loud. ‘She has you there, Fey. I’ve never known the spring to leave bruises.’

  ‘But it does leave marks,’ Salesian countered, his tone suddenly serious. ‘Understand that nepenthe is made primarily from a distillation of the Castalian waters. What you have imbibed is a hundred times more potent. You are no briefling to be sent mad by the experience, but even so, do not expect the visions to leave you easily. They will cling to you.’

  ‘Briefling?’ asked Solace, trying to ignore the reference to going crazy. ‘You said that before. I don’t know what it means.’

  ‘It means a mortal,’ Quin said. ‘Rare or human, most inhabitants of your world exist for only a finite span. Their lives are brief.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Solace, realising she could have guessed as much from the context, and feeling slightly foolish for not having done so. ‘Right.’

  She wanted to say more, but the physical consequences of what she’d just done had caught up with her. She swayed where she stood, then crumpled to her knees like a paper-legged marionette, bracing her palms on the purple grass as she gasped for breath, shaken and wrung out. Her skin felt like it was rippling from the inside out. Nausea formed a plug in her throat. The satyrs made no move to help her, but any anger Solace felt at this was held at a distance, her awareness suddenly shrunken to the tunnel vision of a fall-down drunk. For minutes, all she could do was pant, her muscles wracked by ice, until, finally, the sensation ebbed away, passing like the darkness of an eclipse.

  ‘Bastards,’ Solace croaked. Her throat was raw, and it was difficult to stand, but still she forced herself up. ‘What just happened?’

  ‘Nothing to which you had not already consented.’ Salesian looked her up and down. ‘You are fine. The disorientation is temporary.’ He nodded towards the path they’d originally taken. ‘We have been gone for some time. Longer than I intended, at any rate. You should rejoin your friends. Your time in the grove is over.’

  Without waiting for her response, the three satyrs began to move on again. All at once, Solace felt furious. Hurrying to catch up, she grabbed Feyez by the arm and jerked him to a halt.

  ‘Why?’ She almost spat the word. ‘Why take me to the spring, and not just give us a bottle of nepenthe? Why all this –’ she waved an arm, searching for the right word, ‘– theatre?’

  Having half expected Feyez to growl or turn on her for the presumption of grabbing him, it came as something of a shock when the satyr sighed and prised her fingers off his skin. The gesture was an eerie echo of what she’d done with Manx not long before. Had it really been an hour since then? It felt like minutes. Or years.

  ‘We know why you are here,’ he told her. ‘You have come to seek an end to the Bloody Star. We are archivists, not combatants. The truth you found in the spring is stronger than anything we could distil. Regardless of whether you fail or triumph, we could have offered you nothing more.’

  Solace wasn’t mollified. ‘You said there’d be consequences.’

  ‘The same is true of every choice,’ Salesian pointed out. ‘Come,’ he continued, before she could offer an argument. ‘Your friends are waiting.’

  Resentfully, Solace fell silent, and followed.

  Evan became aware of Solace’s proximity a good five seconds before he heard her approach. Stretching his arms, he stood and turned in time to see Salesian and the other two satyrs escort her back into the clearing. If not for the frustrated anger swirling around her like mist, he might never have noticed the smudge of new bruising on her collarbone. It was largely obscured by the fall of her jacket, but unmistakeable for what it was. Other things leapt out at him then, too: there was dirt on her face and hands, a rip at the edge of her skirt, and a look in her face like she dearly wanted to hit someone. His chest tightened with anger as their gazes locked.

  Did they do this to you?

  Solace jumped, as though he’d spoken the question out loud. Evan felt himself freeze. Could she have heard him? It didn’t seem possible. Slowly, he flicked his gaze to indicate her bruising, then tilted his head towards the satyrs, hoping she would understand. To his relief, Solace gave an infinitesimal shake of her head. But before he could think of a silent way to ask her what had really occurred, Jess moved past him.

  ‘What happened? Are you all right?’

  ‘Fine. I’m fine.’ The vampire’s gaze stayed with him a half-second longer, then flickered over to Jess. Despite the pepper-and-chilli tang of her emotions, she managed a smile. ‘It was pretty weird, but I’ll live.’

  ‘So,’ asked Paige, ‘did you actually learn anything useful, or what? Where are we meant to go next?’

  ‘We are done here, humans,’ Salesian called suddenly. ‘Do not overstay your welcome.’

  ‘Heavens forefend.’ Solace looked disgusted. ‘You heard him. Let’s get back to the plains.’

  Still under the gaze of the satyrs, Paige shuddered. ‘No problem.’

  They moved out as a group, clumping together through some latent herd instinct as the satyrs shadowed them, dropping away one by one the further they travelled. By the time they reached the edge of the grove, only the female with coloured hair remained.

  ‘Look,’ Electra murmured, pointing ahead. ‘There’s Sylvia. She must have come back for us.’

  As they crossed into the open, the Rookery guard looked past them, her eyes marking where the satyr stood, still sheltered by the trees. Watching them, Evan felt as though he were passing from the one’s custodianship to the other’s.

  ‘Did you succeed?’ Sylvia asked them.

  All eyes, Evan’s included, turned to Solace.

  ‘We did,’ she said, curtly.

  There was a pause.

  Paige glared at her. ‘And?’

  ‘And,’ Solace shot back, ‘I had a fight with Sharpsoft. Not a real fight – well, it was a real fight, but only to show me that I could fight. He’s still on our side. I think. And I know we’re all anxious to do something about that, or at least to talk about it, but right now, speaking as someone who’s just swallowed a gutful of hallucinogenic pond water and gone three rounds with a teleporting maniac, I would really like to talk about it later. Please.’

  Solace fell silent, her bruised chest heaving. She was in pain, Evan realised abruptly, and only some of it physical. Whatever she’d undergone since leaving them had rattled her badly. He wanted to speak, to grant her permission to put the discussion off, but even without the advantage of his Trick, he knew his friends well enough to realise that he couldn’t speak for all of them.

  ‘You waited for me,’ Laine said softly, breaking the silence. ‘About being the Watcher. You let me wait to tell. I say, we can wait for you, too.’

  ‘No. It’s been long enough already.’ Paige’s words were
sharp. ‘We waited on the ground. With satyrs. We discuss this now.’

  A strange light came into Laine’s eyes. Evan felt the pull of her Rarity as she drew her thoughts tightly out of reach – out of his reach, he realised. Nobody else could possibly overhear her, and whatever she clutched to herself was something she couldn’t bear him to know. Given how much they’d already shared, albeit unintentionally, her secrecy intrigued him, so much so that he almost missed what she said next.

  ‘There are other discussions we could have now, Paige. Things that have gone too long unsaid. Would you speak of them, too?’

  The pixie girl looked furious, her emotions suddenly scarlet with fear and resentment. ‘No,’ she croaked. ‘We’ll wait.’ Her eyes shot to Solace. ‘We can all wait.’

  There was a pause, the kind into which inappropriate comments are all too easily dropped. To Evan’s absolute relief, Sylvia rescued them, though her sudden speech caused Manx and Jess both to jump.

  ‘If it helps,’ the guard said, ‘your suite is ready. Shall I lead you there?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Evan, before anyone else could. ‘Please. That would be good.’

  8

  Secrets All Unsaid

  Their suite was magnificent: eight separate bedrooms, each with its own private bathroom, joined to a common living area. A large, ornate tapestry depicting a scene from the Garden of Eden covered the entire far wall, while a semicircle of expensive yet comfy-looking lounges sat to one side, furnished with a low mahogany table and accessorised with some plump, soft cushions.

  ‘The freedom of the Rookery is yours,’ Sylvia reminded them. Throughout their gawking inspection, the guard had remained by the main doorway, leaning against the wall with her gun slung over her shoulder, as watchful as any soldier. ‘You may come and go as you please.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Solace, not quite looking up. Though her bruises were already fading, she’d still been shaken by the day’s events. Was it the same day? She felt she should know, but lacking a watch and with the Rookery’s unnatural sky devoid of the usual indicators, it was impossible to tell. Out of nowhere, an unpleasant spasm rippled through her nerves, one of many such aftershocks she’d experienced since drinking from the Castalian spring.

  ‘It is our pleasure,’ Sylvia said. Solace heard her straighten. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have duties elsewhere. Seek out the guards, should you require anything.’

  ‘You’re leaving?’

  From the doorway of one of the bedrooms, Manx swung his head back out into the common area.

  Sylvia nodded. ‘Don’t fear for me, little lion,’ she said, wryly. ‘We’ll meet again.’

  Before Manx could muster an appropriate response, the guard was gone, leaving them all completely unsupervised.

  ‘Well,’ said Jess, flopping down beside Solace. ‘That was abrupt.’

  ‘We should get out of here,’ Electra said, unexpectedly. When the others stared at her, she waved a hand. ‘You know what I mean. Get out there. See the sights. So long as we’re putting off the serious stuff, we might as well have some fun.’

  ‘I need a drink.’ The words were out before Solace could stop herself.

  Evan burst out laughing.

  Solace glared at him, but to no effect: he simply grinned at her. After a moment or two, she was forced to grin back.

  ‘At last, my wisdom prevails!’ Evan said. ‘Not to say I-told-you-so, but I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: drinks are necessary. Look!’ He gestured to the main door in a bid to convince the others, some of whom looked sceptical. ‘We’ve met satyrs and guards and wandered a bit, which was fine, but there’s a whole new world out there, a world with purple grass and unfathomable wonders, and how have we spent most of our time? Sitting. So as of now, I don’t care about ancient prophecies or Sharpsoft or crazy vampire women – present company excluded, of course –’ he tipped a non-existent hat at Solace, ‘– because we are going exploring. Somewhere out there,’ he went on, rubbing his hands together, ‘is a pub. I can smell the cider. What’s more, it is interstellar cider, distilled from the tears of angels and giant bees and crazy sentient wheat. Most importantly – need I remind you – it is free.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Any objections?’

  ‘None from me,’ said Harper, shrugging lazily.

  Manx pulled a face. ‘I hate it when you make sense.’

  ‘Don’t encourage him,’ Jess chided, but there was an unmistakeable light in her eyes, the kind Solace knew to associate with a particularly protracted evening at the Gadfly. It should have made her glad. And yet, as her friends mobilised, she found herself longing to do nothing so much as sleep. You need rest, the Vampire Cynic pointed out. Stubbornly, Solace clenched her fists and stood, ignoring it. This had, after all, been her idea.

  ‘Lead on,’ she found herself saying.

  For a moment, Evan’s joviality faltered. He looked at her – looked into her, almost – with a compassion that belied his usual carelessness. She returned his gaze and shook her head, afraid of ruining his fun. Then the moment passed: the empath grinned again and resumed his boisterous waving on of everyone, herding them out the door like cattle.

  It felt to Solace as though only Manx, Jess and Electra were truly enthused about their choice of activity. Paige and Laine were still engaged in hostile silence since whatever-it-was had passed between them outside the grove, each as blank-faced as a mannequin, while Harper’s smile seemed just a little too forced. And then there was Evan, whose loud enthusiasm would have placed him with the former, happier camp, if not for the look he’d just given Solace. The two of them were last out of the suite. As they passed, his fingers brushed the back of her hand. It wasn’t accidental. A shiver like electricity shot through her arm.

  ‘You’ll be all right,’ he murmured, too low for anyone else to hear. Despite being stunned by this statement, Solace found herself believing him, if only for an instant. Unconsciously, she straightened her shoulders and realised that Laine was staring at her. She looked quizzically back at her friend, wondering what had merited the attention, but rather than answer, the psychic merely blinked and turned away again.

  Oh, yes, the Vampire Cynic muttered. This is going to be wonderful.

  But with all the marvels of the Rookery spread before them, it was hard to remain troubled for long. Descending the temple stairs to the purple grass unchaperoned, it was like a pressure valve on their collective wildness was suddenly released – even in Solace, who had felt herself too tired for such antics only minutes earlier. Evan yelled something about trans-dimensional tag and whacked Jess on the shoulder. Before anyone could form a coherent adult thought, the seer shrieked her indignation and they were off, chasing each other through the improbable crowds with all the abandon of children at a playground.

  Reaching the summit of a gentle slope, Manx tackled them en masse, precipitating a group tumble into the clearing below. Solace began laughing so hard that breathing became painful, and then Laine, evidently jolted out of her doldrums, started the tickling. It was too much, all of it: they fell about in a heap, shrieking and wrestling and flailing without the slightest shred of dignity or embarrassment, gloriously mad beneath the glow of wide, white stars.

  It wasn’t until a woman with curly blue hair, bronze skin and an anxious face peeked over the edge of the valley and asked, in a language only Solace could understand, whether or not she ought to send for the guards, that they came back to themselves. Guilty and grinning, Solace replied in the negative. A short exchange later, and the woman was directing them to the nearest ale-stand – or at least, to its closest equivalent. In keeping with the ethos of the Rookery, it didn’t appear to sell ale so much as a fascinating array of hitherto undreamed-of alcoholic beverages. Evan’s eyes widened, and though Paige started to explain about being guests of Liluye, the store holder – more bird than man, with an eagle beak and taloned fingers – shook his head and pushed a small cup of unfamiliar liquid into her hands, his raptor-eyes bright with amuse
ment.

  It was the first drink of many. Time became fluid, stretching out like an endless ribbon. After the first few rounds, they moved away from the stall and out to the grass, carrying several amphorae of the drink Paige had initially sampled, which the store holder said was called jin’sa. Coloured with the bright fire of burnt amber and scenting headily of cinnamon, rose and blood-copper, it was both potent enough to set Solace’s throat on fire and so flavoursome that the burn didn’t matter. Each of them had acquired a small, glazed pottery cup, only slightly larger than the saké cups they’d once had at the warehouse, into which the jin’sa was poured and poured again, until keeping track of how much she’d drunk became dangerously difficult. Though a tired, reckless part of Solace insisted it didn’t care, she finally forced herself to set down the cup, refuse a further refill and start downing water instead. The wisdom of this decision became apparent from the first gulp: not only was she dehydrated, but her stomach was empty, too.

  She frowned, glancing at her friends. None of them had eaten since that morning, and if the merrymaking continued – which seemed extremely likely – then food was definitely necessary.

  ‘Anyone else hungry?’ she asked, pitching her voice to carry across their sprawling circle. From where she sat on the other side, Jess looked up and made an appreciative noise.

  ‘Starving! Do you reckon Liluye runs a kebab stand?’

  ‘Kebabs?’ Evan propped himself up on an elbow and grinned. ‘I could murder a good kebab.’

  ‘Should we all go?’ asked Paige, prompting a discussion as to who could be trusted to search out appropriately greasy food. In the end, it was decided that Jess, Manx and Electra would go, as they were most amenable to the idea of getting up. Solace almost went with them, but changed her mind at the last minute. Though the jin’sa seemed to have kept her spasms at bay, or at least made her numb enough that they passed without notice, she now found that her feet and hands were shaking.