The Key to Starveldt

by Foz Meadows

  Evan almost laughed. ‘Yeah. That sounds about right.’

  Each helping the other, they stood, shambling back to Jess, Manx and Electra, who were still obliviously enjoying themselves.

  ‘We’re off,’ said Evan, his words sounding thick and slurred. ‘Back to the rooms.’

  ‘Sleepy,’ Solace added, and then, lest they get the wrong impression, ‘sick.’

  But her friends were too drunk to pass intelligent comment; Jess waved them away, while Electra lolled in Manx’s lap, her fine hair spread out like a net of gold. As she and Evan turned away, Solace found herself wondering, is that how we look from the outside? Are we always so senseless, when we’re drunk?

  The question obsessed her all the way back to the rooms. It was that, or think on what they’d learned.

  ‘Need to talk to you,’ said Evan, once they’d fumbled their way inside. ‘Not now, though. Too drunk. Too messed up.’ His blue eyes were bloodshot.

  Numbly, Solace nodded. ‘Just tell me when.’

  ‘I will.’

  She paused, resting her palm on the door of the room she’d claimed earlier. ‘Night, Evan. Or day. Or whatever.’

  ‘Night,’ he echoed. ‘Or whatever.’

  Solace was asleep before she even hit the mattress.

  Liluye had just closed her laptop when Sharpsoft materialised in her private chambers, bone-coloured coat aswirl in the green-tinged breeze of his teleportation. Sighing, she pushed her chair back from the small rosewood desk and stood, watching as his eyes glittered like constellations of silver, gold, amethyst. She shook her head, not quite laughing, and stepped forward.

  ‘You should know better than to stare at hawks.’

  ‘Hawks should know better than to stare at eagles.’

  ‘Eagle, are you?’ She tilted her head, savouring the familiarity of his features. She knew her share of immortals, but few she called friends, and fewer still lovers. Despite his gifts, Sharpsoft was an infrequent visitor, and never without reason. There were times his distance irked her. Nonetheless, she felt a ripple of pleasure at seeing him. ‘Have you news of Solace Eleuthera?’ she asked.

  ‘I have. She departed your Castalian room with a head full of secrets, theories, dreams. Now, she learns of herself, and of others.’

  ‘Do they learn, too?’

  ‘In part.’ He twined his fingers with hers. Liluye shivered, but did not move towards him. Not yet. ‘The smallest child still doubts. The rest look inwards, solving puzzles they have set themselves. Grief has a scheme concerning Starveldt from which I have been excluded. He doesn’t trust me. I expected as much, but it is troubling.’

  Energy strobed between them, pulsing like a third heart. ‘I wish it had not come to this,’ Liluye said. ‘These children, their choices. That so much should hang from so slender a thread! But of course, the universe jests with us. It has happened before; it will happen again. The prophecy is gilding. Nothing more.’

  He lifted her chin softly with the forefinger of his free hand. ‘You have interpreted it, then? What is to come?’

  ‘Though it grieves me.’ She pulled away from him, abruptly tired. He released her without protest. ‘I cannot tell them, Sascha. I said I would explain everything, but now that I know, it feels impossible. Such unearned truth would only damage their resolve; and they are so young. I fear I have forgotten youth. Do you remember it?’

  He smiled at her sadly. ‘When you call me by that name, I feel I can. The past is another country. We have become its disinherited kings.’

  ‘And queens.’ Liluye studied the far wall. She was a creature of confidence, but there were still times when words failed her, when four centuries of experience were not enough to convey the tensions wrapped in the beating muscle beside her left lung. Her chest tightened, expanded, tingled. She stared at the unicorn tapestries, two treasures she’d rescued from neglect and ignorance. Up close, they were worn – not threadbare, but ancient in the way of museum artefacts, woven from a mixture of silk and wool. The first showed a lion, a young woman and a unicorn seated beside a forest pool, gazing at their reflections in the still water. Other, smaller animals peeped out at them from the surrounding foliage: cat, greyhound, monkey, frog and – her mouth quirked – hawk, the latter perched imperiously on the outflung branch of a tree. In the second, the same maiden stood beneath a starry sky, her outstretched palms resting on the unicorn’s flank and the lion’s head. All three looked upwards with beatific expressions, eyes turned to where a hawk hung in flight beneath a full moon, its dark wings limned in silver.

  ‘Internal knowing,’ said Sharpsoft, coming to stand behind her, ‘and appreciation of external beauty. This is what they show?’

  Liluye nodded, enjoying the warm pressure of his hands on her shoulders. ‘There are six others, you know, on Solace’s Earth. They depict the five senses and an emotion commonly interpreted as love, or desire – a unitive bond. My two would complete the set.’

  ‘There is no set without them.’

  ‘So you say.’ She leaned her head back against his chest and closed her eyes. ‘Set theory disagrees.’

  She felt him chuckle. ‘Since when did you care for the vagaries of higher mathematics?’

  ‘Since when did you visit me without higher cause?’

  ‘Ah.’ He inhaled deeply. Liluye breathed with him: two chests rising, falling. It had been a long time, such a long time since she’d been close to someone. But Sharpsoft always had his price. ‘There, we come to the crux of things.’

  She spun slowly beneath his touch, until they were facing once more. His eyes whirled with a hunger different to that which lit her own, but one which was no less familiar. For an instant, she was saddened. Would that I knew you half so well.

  Sharpsoft gripped her arm. ‘You have a transgressor in the Halls of Iron, one who broke the Old Law. A slaver. Where is he?’

  ‘Awaiting justice.’

  He paused. Like a perfume, she could sense his guilt, his craving. She knew his path was a knife blade, but that made it no less of a conflict for her to abide. The Old Law does not forbid such punishment, such bargaining. Even so, I should refuse. And yet –

  He kissed her. A mulled wine heat, drugged with spice and narcotic. Power coursed through her, and knowledge. The bittersweet dregs of his existence mingled with the fire of her own. His hunger was like an infection, burrowing into the soft muscle of her lips and tongue until greed overtook her, and she kissed back with a ferocity that stifled any qualms. When they parted, her hands were clasped to his cheeks. A fine sheen of sweat covered both their faces, and their breath came in gasps.

  ‘A gift.’ He swallowed the plea.

  Liluye nodded, pressing her head to his. ‘A gift, then. For the dream of youth.’

  With some difficulty, she stepped back from him and called on the ties binding her to the Rookery. The Words sang through her skin like boiling music, knitting her consciousness into union with her strange home. With dizzying speed, she reached into the slaver’s cell, brushed the angry clamour of his mind and pulled, parting the atoms between there and here until, with a rush of displaced air, the criminal materialised, collapsed and gasping, at her feet.

  ‘Thank you,’ Sharpsoft whispered. Trembling with borrowed exhilaration, lust, exhaustion, Liluye stood aside. The man groaned, struggling to his knees, but Sharpsoft was already crouching across from him with eyes that spun like blades. Grasping the man at shoulder and chin, he sank his teeth into the slaver’s neck, savage with need. Liluye placed one hand on the back of Sharpsoft’s head, feeling the pull of muscle beneath scalp. The slaver moaned and spasmed. Blood shone red against the bone-pale leather of Sharpsoft’s sleeve, though little was wasted. He fed like a man starved; and he was starving. Being what he was, how else could he live?

  When Sharpsoft was done, Liluye recalled the Words and removed the slaver – not dead, but thoroughly drained – back to the cell. Knox was on duty, she faintly recalled. He’d know what to do.

&nbs
p; Beneath her palm, Sharpsoft shuddered and straightened. Wildness radiated from him, and guilt, commingled with Liluye’s own lust. A demon shared. There was a smear of blood on his mouth.

  ‘Justice, Lilu?’ he croaked.

  ‘Justice,’ she echoed, and pulled him hungrily towards her.

  9

  Bitter Dregs

  ‘It’s a hat,’ said Jess.

  Manx stretched. ‘Yes.’

  ‘A hat with – just to be clear – a lizard on it. A real, dead lizard.’

  ‘An iguana, yeah. It’s been stuffed.’

  ‘I can see that. Any idiot can see that, but it doesn’t address the issue!’

  ‘The issue being?’

  ‘Manx, you’re wearing a goddamn reptile! On your head! With pride! It’s like you’re the lovechild of Carmen Miranda and a taxidermist!’

  ‘Wasn’t there a movie about that?’

  ‘I don’t care if there was a miniseries starring Brad Pitt as the bowl of fruit – you’re wearing an iguana!’

  ‘Quick favour?’ interjected Solace, trying desperately to keep a straight face. ‘If you guys ever decide what the hell you’re talking about, don’t tell me.’

  Jess shut her eyes and gestured blindly at Manx’s head. ‘Just – look!’

  They hadn’t meant to get drunk. At least, nobody had ever stated it as last night’s goal, despite the enthusiasm with which they had worked towards it. Nonetheless, drunkenness in the Rookery – and its inevitable consequences – had occurred.

  Manx’s hat fell broadly into this category.

  With a pang of guilt, Solace realised she had no idea what had become of Paige, Laine and Harper. Had any of them made it back to the rooms? Had the vision she’d shared with Evan of Harper drinking alone already happened, or was it yet to come? And if so, shouldn’t they change it? Could they?

  Her head swam. Despite having switched to water long before everyone else, the jin’sa had still made such an impact that even her vampire constitution couldn’t prevent such a well-deserved hangover. Closing her eyes, she banished all thought of Manx’s headgear and tried to find some aspect of herself that didn’t feel grubby. There wasn’t one.

  From her perch on the edge of an armchair, Jess groaned with more feeling than theatre. Manx – sombrero and all – was sprawled on the lounge, and by his waxy skin and bruised eyes, Solace thought he must feel even worse than he looked.

  ‘Manx,’ she said, ‘take off the hat. You look ridiculous.’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been saying!’ Jess gave a limp toss of her hand. ‘Where did you even find it, anyway?’

  ‘Someone gave it to me last night, after the others left.’ Manx tugged weakly on the brim. ‘Huzzah for drunken souvenirs, right?’

  Jess opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the sight of Evan peering blearily out of the middlemost door, his hair a tousle of black knots. He raised a shaky finger to his lips.

  ‘Shhhhh,’ he murmured, shuddering with the effort. ‘You loud people! My ears hurt.’

  ‘Out of curiosity, brother dearest,’ said Jess, glancing at Manx, ‘exactly how much did you drink last night?’

  Evan’s eyes glazed. ‘Of the jin’sa? Lots. Because, I mean, we’re talking Zeus-on-a-bicycle wow. Corkscrew knockout.’

  He sounded flippant, but Solace felt a tug in her stomach that said otherwise. He’s playing it up, she realised, but if someone had asked her where her certainty came from, she couldn’t rightly have said. Somehow, she just knew.

  ‘How much, Ev?’

  The empath shuddered raggedly. ‘About a litre. I think I threw up in the bath.’ He coughed. ‘Among other places.’

  ‘Charming,’ said Jess, but if her green pallor was anything to go by, she was in no position to criticise.

  One of the other bedroom doors opened, revealing a bed-headed, red-eyed Paige. Solace felt her heart sink. Even before the other girl spoke, she knew the cause of her distress. Harper was missing.

  ‘We got separated,’ Paige gulped, when the others looked at her. ‘I thought he’d just come back here.’

  ‘He could just be asleep,’ said Manx, gesturing at the unopened doors. ‘Why not check?’

  Paige did as he suggested, but only succeeded in waking Laine and Electra.

  ‘We shouldn’t leave him out there alone,’ said Jess. ‘Did anyone see him?’

  ‘I did. Or at least, I think it was him.’ Evan blinked, his eyes unfocused. The lie slipped from him with ease. Solace found she was holding her breath. ‘Near a bar.’

  Jess frowned. ‘And you think he’ll still be there?’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ Evan shrugged. ‘Either way, it’s as good a place as any to start looking.’

  Although still half-asleep, Laine jerked her head up, turning towards Evan. Solace felt a tingling at the nape of her neck. The look on Laine’s face had nothing to do with what had passed between her, Paige and Harper the night before, and everything to do with the idea that Evan might know something about it. When her gaze progressed to Solace, neither of them could keep from frowning. Their eyes didn’t meet for more than a moment, but even so, it gave Solace pause for thought. That wasn’t her first strange look from Laine recently, and despite what the vision had shown her, she still didn’t know the reason for it.

  ‘Well,’ said Electra, breaking the silence. ‘Let’s get tidied up and go, then, shall we?’

  Everyone groggily agreed. Paige was first to dart back inside her room, followed quickly by Evan and Laine. Even Manx dragged himself off the lounge without a word of complaint. Though barely able to keep upright he made it back to his room without actually falling over.

  A minor miracle, the Vampire Cynic thought bitterly. But then, we were due for at least one.

  Evan barely made it to his room in time. No sooner had he shut the door than he felt the fiery, unpleasant lurch of bile in his throat. He stumbled onto the bathroom tiles, fell to his knees in front of the toilet and choked. Stomach acid, nostril-stinging and foul, was the only thing left in him, but it still came up in a series of rib-jerking spasms. He flushed the mess away, hung onto the cistern for what felt like an hour, then fumbled his boxers off and pushed himself into the shower.

  He turned on the cold tap, letting the sharp needles of water scrub him clean of night-sweat, drunk-stink, gut-mess. Wretched, that’s what he was, and all to no end. It hadn’t worked. His empathy still burned in him, tainting the back of his throat with the flavour of his friends’ worries, elations, hopes. He’d always been able to block out the effects of his Trick with alcohol, but his usual outlet had failed: the magic burned him with unprecedented strength. Worse still, thanks to whatever had happened with Solace, he knew things about three of his friends that he powerfully wanted not to.

  He rinsed his mouth over and over, shivering under the icy stream. Laine had always been complicated – he just hadn’t realised how complicated. Their sleeping together had been a mistake. Part of him winced to phrase it so bluntly, but that didn’t make it any less true. Even before she’d climbed into bed with him, their respective Tricks had started bleeding together, and now he could sense her feelings from three rooms away. It took conscious effort on his part just to keep from eavesdropping – so how was he supposed to hide what he’d learned, when every time he brushed too close he could feel her mind responding?

  Evan had slept with women before, but never with someone Rare, let alone a psychic. The sex had been … physically satisfying, at the very least, even though they’d both wound up in tears. Maybe if he’d ever really considered being with Laine, at a time when he was feeling neither lonely nor emotionally exhausted, things might be different. She was, after all, intelligent and attractive – and more, she was interested in him. But as things stood, he knew he didn’t want her that way. Guilt pricked at him like cat-claws. He’d actively pursued Phoebe, but only for sex. Now she was dead, and despite what Solace had said to him on the Opera House roof, he still felt guilty about it. Sle
eping with Laine was even worse. He should have realised she wanted more, and resisted the temptation to take advantage of it. But he hadn’t. He’d been selfish and stupid, and now that bloody vision had gone and made things even worse.

  The shower became too much to bear. Evan turned off the water, towelled himself down and began disentangling his clothes from the bedsheets. Every so often, his pulse would leap in the aftershock of his drunkenness. When this happened, he stood still, closed his eyes and tried to breathe.

  ‘I’m on another world,’ he said out loud. ‘That’s got to count for something.’

  As he dressed, he tried very, very hard to keep his mind on simple things, like putting his shirt on the right way round and zipping up his jeans. He couldn’t think about the vision. Even remembering it caused his chest to constrict, as though some giant snake were swallowing him whole. And how must Solace feel? He laughed a little: of anyone, he should know. And that was another thing to worry about – why had the vision taken him, too? What did it mean, that their Tricks had been wrapped together like that? Gently, as though lifting the edge of a recent scab, he tried to sense her feelings.

  She was tired. More than just tired – heartsick, and doing her utmost not to show it. Every now and then her muscles shook, though from drinking too much jin’sa or as an ongoing consequence of the Castalian magic, she couldn’t tell. She hated not being in control of her own body, as if some new talent might manifest at any moment and further erode her sense of being human, of being something more than just a vessel for the prophecy in her mother’s book. She felt –

  Evan pulled back and caught himself on the edge of the bed.

  ‘What the hell?’ he whispered.

  Unable to help himself, he looked again, more gingerly than before. This time, his awareness fell short of the full immersion that had so startled him, instead registering the vampire’s emotions as blue-green and salty, like kelp. Almost, the aberration might not have happened.

  But it had.

  He shut his eyes, trying to work out his own feelings on the matter. It should have been easy math: complications plus complications equalled trouble, and he was already in enough of that as it was. And yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to be angry or resentful, or even unduly worried.