by Foz Meadows
Before him was an open stone hall, perfectly square, with a different carving scored into each of the myriad flagstones comprising the floor. At one end, a man Glide half-recognised stood with a stern expression on his face, surrounded by a collection of equally serious men and women. Closest of these was an equally familiar dark-haired woman, whose strong, steady gaze, tempting mouth and curving figure would’ve looked right at home in a medieval gown, the kind with a low-cut bodice and dagged sleeves. Instead, she wore a pair of sleek black trousers tucked into knee-high riding boots and a loose white shirt. Around her neck was a long, linked chain, from which dangled a green-bronze key.
The key to Starveldt. Distantly, Glide felt his heart speed up. He realised why the man and woman looked familiar: these were Aaron and Morgause Eleuthera, whose dead bodies he’d once glimpsed in a different vision. Was this the interior of Starveldt? Given what Solace’s infamous tripwalk had shown him of the outside, it didn’t seem an unreasonable conclusion. As he watched, Morgause brushed a hand against Aaron’s arm – a gesture of comfort. Aaron glanced at her and looked as if he might speak, but at that moment, the door at the other end of the chamber opened, revealing three figures.
Two of the newcomers were guards, walking on either side of the third, an alien woman whose neck and wrists were bound with cold iron. She walked proudly, her pace measured. Power bled from her in waves, strongly enough that her whole body was suffused with a bright green glow, making it impossible to tell if her skin were naturally green or merely tinted that shade. She was neither tall nor short, but although somewhat human in shape, her bones were elongated, stretched to an unfamiliar length, so that she appeared sinewy. Below the knee, the woman’s legs were sloped backwards into an extra curve of bone and ending on the balls of two broad, clawed feet. A prehensile tail, long and slender, twitched behind her, its tip moving parallel to her middle back. Her eyes were solid blocks of colour, over-large and almond-shaped above the barest suggestion of a nose, while her small mouth was nearly lipless. Even her hair wasn’t hair at all, but a mane of ever-lengthening feathers sprouting from her scalp and neck. Her only clothes were a wrap of stitched leather concealing her breasts and a split skirt of the same material extending from hip to mid-thigh. Spiralling tattoos covered both her arms, ending severely at the shoulder.
She was wild and haughty, fierce and beautiful and defiant; and she was also, beyond any doubt, the exact same cat-creature currently guarding Solace.
Crossing the stone floor, her guards brought her to a halt within metres of Aaron, Morgause and their assembled companions. A silver-haired man, with eyes to match, stepped forward and addressed the captive in a heavy, regretful tone.
‘Worldweaver Vivari, you stand accused of murdering one Chyre Ko, a woman living under the protection of Aaron and Morgause Eleuthera of Starveldt, worldseekers of the Guild. Accordingly, you will be tried here and now, by the laws of the worldweavers and in the presence of our hosts. If found guilty, your rank within the Guild will be stripped, and punishment metered out in accordance with the level of your guilt. If found innocent, you will be set free. Do you comprehend the terms of this trial?’
The worldweaver woman – cat – Vivari – lifted her head and spoke. ‘I do.’ Her voice was soft and clear.
The silver-haired judge sighed. ‘So be it. What is your plea?’
‘Guilty in the first degree.’
The assembled worldweavers murmured among themselves, clearly shocked, while Aaron reached across and took Morgause’s hand. The judge blinked, taken aback. When he spoke again, there was a note of pleading in his voice.
‘You mean to say that there was no motive to your actions?’
‘No motive that would serve to ameliorate my guilt in the eyes of this court.’
Please, the judge wanted to say – Glide could see the word written in the old man’s eyes, almost taste the breath of it on his tongue. Instead, the judge went hard and blank.
‘You offer no defence. Is that correct?’
‘It is.’
‘In accordance with your plea, I am forced to enact the steepest penalty, with no recourse to the judgement of your peers. Do you accept the consequences of this verdict?’
Throughout the scene, Vivari had not so much as flinched. ‘I do.’
The old man steeled himself. ‘Then I have no choice. You are hereby cast out of the Guild. Your powers will be stripped and, in accordance with the length of your lifespan, you will enter into three centuries of servitude to the wardens of Starveldt, currently Aaron and Morgause, but including any who succeed them. Will you submit willingly to this process?’
‘I will,’ said Vivari, her voice flat and soft as ever, ‘but if it pleases the court, I do not think the traditional methods for the revocation of power will work in this instance. I am Aer, and half a child of the elements. My abilities are not an individual quirk of blood, but part of the flesh and fibre of all my kind, as much as my limbs and breath. You cannot contain me. I know the law. If the worlds cannot be taken from a weaver, then the weaver must be taken from the worlds. Your verdict is death.’
So absolute a silence greeted these words that it was like the hall and its occupants had been frozen. Glide felt a sting of sympathy for Vivari. He didn’t know why she’d committed murder or why she seemed so hell-bent on destroying herself, but he felt a twisted kind of respect for her courage. I wasn’t brave enough to die. If I was, I wouldn’t be here now, spying through time for Mikhail Savarin.
All the strength seemed to leave the judge. His hands trembled. ‘So be it. We cannot drain you, and without a limit placed on your power, you cannot exist in servitude. Death it must be.’
‘Wait.’ Aaron held up a hand. Vivari’s gaze flicked to him. He addressed his words to her and the judge both. ‘There is another way. True, the worldweavers cannot utterly deprive an Aer of her powers – by their very nature, the Aer are living conduits for the ambient power of the universe. Is that not so?’
‘It is.’ Hope flared in the judge’s silver eyes. ‘What do you suggest?’ ‘
A physical transformation. Bind Vivari’s essence into a lesser flesh, and she will live, but with diminished access to the power around her. Such a body would become stronger over time, but even if a new form was required from time to time, it would still be a suitable solution over three centuries. Starveldt is happy to accommodate such a compromise.’
Given her earlier insistence on death, Glide half expected Vivari to protest this suggestion. But she still existed in his own time; she must obviously have lived. The worldweaver fell to her knees, head bowed.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
The judge’s voice was hoarse with relief. ‘The verdict is passed, then. Vivari will serve House Eleuthera for three hundred years, in penance for murdering Chyre Ko. Until then, her body is forfeit. Such is the will of the Guild, on whom the pale moon gleams.’
The bystanders echoed his final words.
As the guards led Vivari out, Glide felt his control over the vision sway. Hunting down such a distant scene from so little and then staying focused had drained him. Surely, he had seen enough to ensure that Mikhail would not kill him outright. For all a part of him wanted to die, he had no desire to experience any of the painful, disturbing ways Sanguisidera’s acolytes might have of making that wish a reality. Slowly gathering himself, he swam back up through a fog of tattered worlds to his physical home, blinking as the deep carpet of the Bloodkin room reappeared before his eyes.
His body felt stiff and unresponsive, his mouth fuzzy. With unexpected gentleness, Mikhail Savarin crouched by his side and helped Glide into a sitting position. How much time had passed? He had no way of knowing. Jetlag and time zones have nothing on this.
‘Tell me.’ The mage’s voice was insistent, his expression hard. Glide had managed to lie to him before, but somehow, he knew that was no longer an option. ‘Tell me everything.’
And so, with a leaden heart, he did.
Join the Dance
They had almost made it back to the suite when Sylvia hailed them, striding up with her silver rifle slung across one shoulder. Manx’s eyes lit up on seeing her, and it was all Solace could do not to laugh out loud. Evan, having resented Manx’s teasing, sniggered suggestively.
‘It occurs to me,’ said Sylvia, gracefully choosing to ignore Evan, ‘that we have been remiss in our hospitality. Would you care for a tour of the markets? They are vast, and many of their wonders easily missed.’
‘I don’t see why not,’ said Manx, at whom the question seemed foremost to have been directed. He turned to glance at the others, only the slightest touch of colour in his cheeks. ‘Any objections?’
‘No!’ said Jess, so eagerly that Evan scowled.
‘What are you planning, sister dearest?’
‘Nothing that concerns you,’ Jess replied sweetly, linking arms with Electra. ‘Coming?’
‘No,’ Evan muttered, just as Electra said, ‘Yes.’
‘Me, too,’ echoed Manx, seemingly without thought. Evan gave a half-amused, half-irritated snort. The shapeshifter’s eyes were set firmly on Sylvia, a fact to which the guard did not appear oblivious.
‘Very well,’ she said, almost smiling. ‘Anyone else?’
‘Not me,’ said Laine. The psychic looped some hair away from her forehead, pushing her shoulders back. ‘No offence to anyone, but if we’re going to sightsee, I think I’d like to explore a bit on my own.’
‘You’re sure?’ asked Jess, surprised.
‘I’m sure.’
‘We might head out, too,’ said Paige, twining her hand with Harper’s. ‘Spend some time together.’
Laine looked a little put out, as though she’d been deprived of dramatic emphasis. Solace wondered whether she should offer to go with her friend, maybe try to find some kind of opportunity to tell her that she knew … what? The truth about Paige and Harper was so awful, she didn’t trust herself to put it into words, and yet she needed to try, to purge what felt like borrowed poison from her system. Every time she thought of it, her fists clenched and teeth grit. She felt angry and helpless, as though knowing what had happened should have granted her the power to set it right. Nothing she said or did could ever erase the truth of it, but if Evan could find the strength to endure the knowledge, then so could she. And that, too, was another source of guilt. They hadn’t done anything, but even with Laine’s claims at breakfast, Solace still felt uneasy in herself.
Laine caught her eye. A puzzled glance crossed the psychic’s face, as though she’d caught the tail end of Solace’s thoughts. Though such a silent means of communication would have been easier, Solace found herself drawing her secrets inwards, keeping them safe. Somehow, it would be dishonourable to take the simple way out, to let Laine know while simultaneously denying her the right of reply. Instead, she managed a half smile, which Laine returned, and the moment passed.
‘And what about you two?’ Sylvia asked.
The guard’s voice cut through Solace’s introspection. ‘Huh?’
‘Markets,’ said Jess, eyes sparkling. ‘Are you coming, or what?’
‘No,’ said Solace, much to her own surprise. ‘Actually, I think I’m going to loiter, too.’
‘Hey, don’t look at me,’ said Evan to Jess. ‘I already told you: I’m staying put.’
‘Well, then,’ said Sylvia, after a moment’s awkward hesitation. ‘We will find you later?’
Paige and Harper watched them go before turning to the others.
‘Any idea where you guys are headed?’ Paige asked.
‘None,’ said Laine, with a sideways glance at Evan and Solace.
‘Oh, well. Maybe we’ll bump into you,’ Paige said, waving as Harper started to lead her off. ‘Later!’
‘And then there were three,’ Evan muttered, clearly not in the best of moods. Tension descended like a falling hatchet.
‘I’ll go,’ said Laine, her voice soft. She cast a final, fathomless glance at Evan before drifting away in the opposite direction to everyone else, fading into the crowds as swiftly as she’d done that first day in the Rookery.
‘I guess that just leaves us,’ said Solace. A strange tingle ran up her arms. Why hadn’t she gone with the others? As much as she’d been wrapped up in her own thoughts, she didn’t feel the need for privacy. She just felt happy to stay with Evan. Maybe it was because of the bond, but Solace didn’t think so – not really, anyway. Coming to the Rookery seemed to have brought out a new side to him, a thoughtfulness that his penchant for pranks and spectacle had previously obscured. Or maybe it was just that she’d come to know him better.
‘So?’ he asked her. ‘What now?’
‘I don’t know.’ Solace glanced around. ‘There’s so much here, it’s hard to know where to start.’
‘I know where Jess will start,’ Evan muttered. ‘Ten bucks says she’s trying to buy me some stupid birthday present with Electra.’ He made a face, then sighed, signalling a begrudging return to cheerfulness. Crooking an arm, he tilted his chin towards the crowds. ‘Come on, then, my lady Lacey Might as well venture forth.’
Trying not to laugh, Solace slipped her arm through his. The thick leather of her jacket was a barrier between them, but as they strolled away across the grass, with the wide, impossible heavens gleaming overhead, the place where their elbows joined felt warm as bare skin under the sun.
‘You’re sure that’s what you heard? Solace’s guardian is of the Aer?’
‘Yes, my lady.’
Glide bowed his head to the sound of Sanguisidera’s laughter, unable to meet her gaze. Mikhail Savarin’s fingers dug sharply into his collarbone, an inescapable shackle. Some distant, stupid part of him had hoped that he’d be excused an interview with the Bloody Star. But as soon as the word ‘Aer’ had left his mouth, the Bloodkin mage had cried out in triumph, dragging him through the rough, sunless hallways of Sanguisidera’s world to give his report in person. Once free of the tunnels, he’d been led through a massive cavern, so large and crowded with Bloodkin that he had difficulty taking it in.
The Bloody Star held council at the summit of a stone promontory, clothed in virginal white velvet on her throne of ebony and garnets. To his absolute horror, Grief was there, too, along with Erasmus Lukin. Before this nightmare council, he was forced to relive his betrayal of Solace Eleuthera and her guardian, the worldweaver Vivari, who currently inhabited the flesh of a small, blue-white cat known as Duchess. He did not know what an Aer was, but to the Bloodkin scientists and their insane mistress, it was a source of malicious glee.
‘Boy,’ said Sanguisidera sharply.
Glide looked up, knowing she meant him, and hated himself for it.
‘You have brought us great intelligence. Do not think that madness precludes gratitude. Many gifts are within my power to bestow. But I am dissatisfied with the explanation of your continuing good health. My Sharpsoft claimed to have killed you. Did he lie? Have I been forsaken?’
Glide felt his whole body seize up. The Bloody Star pinned him with her black gaze. Dissembling was impossible. He fought to keep his mouth shut, but some external compulsion forced it open. ‘Yes,’ he rasped, the syllables scraping along the surface of his tongue. ‘He let me live. He’s been helping Solace.’
Sanguisidera hissed. A look of pure venom twisted her face. She struck him hard and fast, the nails of her left hand opening three long, thin scratches on his cheek. One ear rang from the blow. His vision swam. The Bloody Star sat back, shook her red-copper ringlets and smiled, once more outwardly calm.
‘Your sister steals from me, Grief,’ she said. ‘First her life, then the prophecy, and now my helper. Be sure to deprive her in kind.’
From where he stood behind her throne, Grief leaned down and kissed Sanguisidera on the cheek: a dutiful son. ‘Of course, mother. As soon as they try to open Starveldt –’
‘Try?’ Sanguisidera cut him off, a sharp note entering her voice. ‘T
hey will not only try, my Grief. They will succeed. I have erred once already as regards the castle, and will not do so again. Whatever power binds it away from this world has refused to yield to me and mine. I feel certain it will behave otherwise for Solace and her friends. Let her gain entry for us.’
‘As you wish.’
‘Of course,’ said Sanguisidera, ‘the castle will remain closed so long as your errant sister remains in the Rookery, safe in the claws of that hawk. My patience with her sojourn is diminishing. She needs to be drawn out.’
Grief raised an eyebrow. ‘You wish me to provoke her?’
‘I do.’
‘Hm.’ Absently, he lightly raked his hair with the tips of his fingers. The gesture made Glide shudder: Solace shared the exact same mannerism. ‘She has no other family. Her friends are all equally protected. Even Sharpsoft is with her.’ Then his eyes lit up. It was like watching neon spark in a black-painted bulb. ‘Still. There is one motivator left. I can be persuasive.’
‘My dear, handsome boy.’ Sanguisidera smiled at him. ‘You are nothing if not silver-tongued. Let us have done with this nonsense of hide-and-go-seek.’
Mikhail’s iron grip tightened on Glide’s shoulder. ‘What would you have us do with the traitor Sharpsoft, my lady?’ he asked.
The Bloody Star frowned. ‘Erasmus, do we possess a quantity of my former favourite’s blood?’
Professor Lukin shook his head. ‘Alas, we do not.’
Sanguisidera’s eyes narrowed. ‘A pity. We shall simply have to await his return, like hopeful wives with their eyes on a distant plain of battle.’
‘My lady, if it is any consolation, we do have the blood of Solace Eleuthera’s companions.’
A red diamond smile glittered on the Bloody Star’s lips.
‘The Starkine,’ she said. ‘Once Grief has drawn his sister out, you will summon the Starkine to me. Perhaps Sharpsoft shall be moved to try and effect a rescue.’
Lukin bowed. ‘It shall be done.’
‘Wait.’ Sanguisidera held up a hand. ‘There is still the matter of the Aer. The guardian must be dealt with. Have you a plan?’