Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales)

by Freda Warrington

  “She told us to come and speak to Lucas Fox.”

  “My brother,” said Rosie. “Yes, Sam’s gone to get him; this house is so ridiculously big, you can lose people and wander round for an hour trying to find them. I swear it’s bigger inside than out. I still get lost. Sam grew up here—he’s my partner—and even he gets confused sometimes. Parts of Stonegate drift off into the Dusklands, so it’s not always very … stable. But really, it’s not so bad when you get used to it.”

  “Thanks for asking us in.” Stevie felt warm enough to take off her coat at last. “You must wonder what we’re doing here. I’m not sure myself, yet.”

  “What did Catherine say?” asked Mist, color returning to his face.

  “Not much,” Rosie said gently. “Two Aetherials in distress, seeking help. That’s what we’re here for. Back in two minutes.”

  She took their coats and left the room. Stevie sat in a high-backed armchair. Mist paced around, glancing outside through the curtains, looking around at the cream-colored walls and framed prints, mainly of Pre-Raphaelite images.

  Stevie said, “She’s the third person … What are people seeing in me that I’m missing?”

  “A similar aura to the one you didn’t see around Rosie Fox.”

  “Is it something you learn, like bird spotting?”

  “In a sense.”

  “Mist, are you okay? Are we safe here? Not that I know what safe means, anymore.”

  “Well, we’ll find out.” There was a sharp look in Mist’s eyes that she hadn’t seen before, as if he was rediscovering his strength, like a knight strapping on one plate of armor at a time. She pulled a calm veil over herself, remembering the feral Stevie who’d fought off teenage molesters.

  “We’re not defenseless,” she said firmly.

  Rosie returned with two men, the blonder one carrying a tray of mugs. Both males were a couple of inches short of Mist’s six foot, and both attractive in different ways. “This is Sam,” Rosie said, “and this is my brother Lucas. Stonegate is Lucas’s house, but we’re staying here too, because the place is so darned big.”

  Sam looked like a fighter; lean and muscular with a face that was a strong-boned, rugged work of art. His shortish hair was brushed back, golden-pale with dark roots. His eyes were a piercing blue-green beneath thick eyebrows that retained a demonic quirk despite his bright, friendly grin. He wore a charcoal sweater and blue jeans. If Stevie had been expecting Vaethyr to dress up like medieval royalty, she was disappointed.

  Lucas reminded her of Mist. He might have been Mist’s brother, a couple of years younger. The greatest difference was his air of innocence. Unlike Mist, she guessed, he had not been torn apart and remade several times over. Not yet.

  They exchanged handshakes and greetings. Stevie was relieved to find them so approachable, yet she sensed the soft-footed padding of creatures that could only be seen from the corner of the eye. These creatures were far bigger than her supposed fylgia, and dark, like Rottweilers. Mist sensed them too; she saw his uneasy glances.

  Lucas noticed too, and said, “Don’t worry, they’re my dysir. Elemental guardians. Like a guard of honor, but they only turn nasty if there’s a real threat. I’ve even given them names. More than most Gatekeepers have bothered to do.”

  “Did Catherine Lyon tell you who Luc is?” Rosie asked.

  “Gatekeeper to the Great Gates between the Earth and Spiral realms,” said Mist. “Was she supposed to give out that information?”

  Lucas shrugged. “Most Aetherials know. It’s not the best-kept secret. Anyway, I’m just a glorified security guard.”

  “More than that,” put in Sam.

  Stevie expected someone in such a position of responsibility to be older and more powerful in appearance than Lucas. Still, he compensated with an alertness that suggested he took his duties very seriously indeed.

  “Are the Great Gates easy to sabotage?” Mist asked.

  “Not really. Their function is to oppose sabotage. They’re to keep the realms from launching attacks on each other—and the ways are well guarded.”

  “Not foolproof, though,” said Mist.

  “No, but they’re not meant to be prison gates,” said Lucas. “Why?”

  Mist leaned on the back Stevie’s chair. “I’m looking for my brother, Rufus. A notorious troublemaker. He thinks I’m dead—twice over, if not more—but there’s a possibility he’s found me. I’m sorry to be so vague.”

  “I think this story might take awhile to tell,” said Stevie.

  “Are you talking about the Rufus Dionys Ephenaestus?” Lucas frowned, staying on his feet while Sam handed out mugs of chocolate. “We heard about him, partly from the Lyon clan and partly from Iola…”

  “His girlfriend,” said Sam.

  Lucas shot him a look. “When it suits her. Iola’s part-elemental. She comes and goes according to her own inner voice, but she keeps an eye on the Otherworld for me, while the dysir mainly watch this place.”

  Rosie sat bolt upright, nearly spilling her drink. “You’re Rufus’s brother? Part of the Felynx eretru of Azantios? I only know this stuff because my father’s an historian in his spare time—but they vanished so long ago, no one’s sure if they were real, or an Aetherial myth. So you’re … Mistangamesh?”

  “I’m amazed you’ve heard my name. Yes. Azantios was real.”

  “That’s incredible. You’re the oldest Aetherial I’ve ever met, to my knowledge.” Rosie gave a rueful smirk. “Sorry, that sounded gloriously offensive by human standards. You know what I mean.”

  “He is wonderfully well preserved,” said Stevie, daring to tease Mist. She shot a glance over her shoulder at him; he returned a look of mild amusement.

  Sam said, “Well, my grandfather Albin looks younger than I do, which is downright disturbing.”

  “According to my dad, the fount of all knowledge,” Rosie said, “we only have a struggle with this age thing because of trying to juggle our human lives with our Aelyr side. Who knows how old any of us are, really? When an Aetherial is born, apparently, we spread out to all points of space and time. So none of us are any older or younger than the others, on the Aetheric plane.”

  “Hey, I like that,” said Sam.

  “Was it even grammatical?”

  Mist, staring at Sam, said, “Wait—did you say that your grandfather is called Albin? From a noble Sibeylan house? He looks as if he’s made of ice, covered in swan feathers? Bright blue eyes…”

  Sam pointed at the center of his own forehead. “All three of them? You’ve met him?”

  “Briefly. He played a major part in putting Rufus on trial before the Spiral Court. Rufus slithered away, as he does, while Albin seemed to have got on the wrong side of everyone. I don’t know what went on behind the scenes. We were told it was a political clash between those who want to keep free access between Vaeth and Spiral, and those who want to seal off the Spiral forever.”

  “Figures,” said Sam. “Albin’s a monster. Seriously, he’s a complete bastard. Did a great job of screwing up my father and he’d do the same to us, if he could.”

  Lucas’s face was a mix of quiet anger and fear. “You don’t need to remind me about Lord Albin,” he said softly. Looking at Stevie and Mist, he added, “Albin tried to stop me becoming Gatekeeper, because in his twisted vision there should be no Gates and the Spiral should be cut off from Earth completely. I wasn’t told a thing about Rufus’s trial until afterwards, still less about Albin’s part in it. I try to put him out of my mind, but the truth is that I have no idea what he might be up to in the Otherworld, or whose ears he’s whispering in. Not that I’ve any sympathy for Rufus, but I was glad to hear that Albin lost that battle … because who knows what power Albin would have gained, if he’d won?”

  “And I don’t think he was the sort to give up easily,” said Mist.

  Lucas sighed. “True. Please, tell us your story. We might be able to fill in the gaps for each other.”

  “We’ll feed you,” Ros
ie said with genuine heart. “It goes without saying, you can stay over. We’ll warm up a spare bedroom for you.”

  “Er, two rooms,” Stevie said, and felt her face turn warm. Fortunately no one noticed. Their attention was on Mist as he gave a shorter version of the events he’d described to her.

  As he spoke, she was aware of unusual energies around her, as if she’d developed a new sense for the unseen. She noticed soft bluish veils washing around the room, the dysir prowling or lying down, and pale golden auras around everyone, even furring her own hands. Now and then she saw these auras infused by different colors, as if betraying emotion. Her fylgia clung to her knee. For the first time, she realized it was purring.

  All this felt weird, but not unpleasant. She was growing used to it.

  “Whatever Lord Albin has done,” Mist said when he’d finished, “I doubt it included the genocide of an entire civilization.” He was sitting on a sofa by then. To Stevie’s distress, he bowed his head and wept. “To lose something as precious as Azantios—I begged my mother and father to flee as the barbarians came, but they would not move. They gave up their life-essences to help us destroy the invaders; either way, the city was finished. My father told me to help weave the tenfold web, so I obeyed. The last promise I made was that I’d hunt down Rufus. I still owe my father that. I forgave Rufus too much in the past, but no more. This time it must end.”

  Lucas put a hand on Mist’s shoulder, only to be shrugged off. Stevie’s heart ached. Mist didn’t deserve this pain.

  Eventually Sam spoke. “So you’re up against an enemy you can’t see and can’t find?”

  “An enemy solid enough to have attacked both of us,” Stevie put in. She elaborated on her own experience, filling out the parts Mist had skimmed over. “He, or it, was determined to take both Daniel’s work and our piece of the Felixatus. So if you can give us even the tiniest clue as to what’s happening … we’re desperate. Aside from anything else, I’m really frightened for Daniel. His mother’s so ill that I’m terrified I won’t find him in time.”

  Lucas walked back and forth, arms crossed. “Being Gatekeeper doesn’t grant me a magical overview of the realms, unfortunately. We’ve heard nothing of this. We enter the Spiral, of course: usually the nearest realm, Elysion. We’ve noticed nothing unusual. Have we?”

  Rosie and Sam shook their heads. They sat close, her hand resting on his thigh.

  “Iola’s been deeper in, and reported the usual ebbs and flows; energy surges, the landscape changing, or an eretru creating a new small realm for which you hope they’ve got the Spiral Court’s permission,” Lucas went on. “Nothing especially worrying. We’ve heard nothing of Rufus Ephenaestus since his trial failed. Nothing of Lord Albin, either. To be honest, I really would like to know where Albin went.”

  Mist had composed himself, his eyes red-rimmed but dry. “Albin was associated with a sect who’d isolated themselves in Sibeyla, devoted to keeping the Spiral pure, whatever that means. I think he broke with them, though.”

  “Not extreme enough for him,” Sam said sardonically. “He’s probably in a cave surrounded by Nazi memorabilia. Rufus sounds Albin’s absolute opposite. Can’t see them becoming best mates.”

  Rosie said, “We’ll do anything we can to help—not only for you two, but for the sake of the Otherworld itself. The bigger picture, so to speak.”

  “We need to find Rufus and Daniel, and what’s left of the Felixatus too, I think.” Mist added, “I’m sorry to unload this onto you.”

  Rosie waved away his apology. “Don’t be daft. We’re so grateful you came. We depend on Aetherials reporting any weirdness to us.”

  “And it’s my duty to know,” said Lucas. “One thing I’ve learned since I’ve been in this role is how infinitely precious and fragile the Spiral is. Aetherials wove it, Aetherials can tear it apart like a spider’s web. Don’t underestimate the threat to the Otherworld of the sheer mind power of a determined enemy. There are checks in place, such as the Spiral Court and the Great Gates, and the fact that the realms can only be manipulated by groups of adepts working in webs. But it’s not enough. If a primal power such as Brawth arose, it might shred the Spiral into the Abyss in a day. What we’d lose is beyond measure. I can hardly bear to think about it, but I do, every hour, every day.”

  “That seems an awful burden to carry,” Stevie said softly. Lucas responded with a faint smile, resigned.

  “Look, whatever’s happening, we’ll crack it,” said Sam. “I like a challenge.”

  “Don’t you just,” Rosie said with a private glance. “Here’s a thought, Stevie: Have you got an email address? Maybe Daniel’s tried to contact you.”

  “He hasn’t so far, but it’s worth a try.” Stevie pulled her laptop out of her bag. “D’you have Wi-Fi?”

  “Yes, but the signal’s a bit dodgy. You’ll need to come up into the library.”

  Leaving the men in the sitting room, Rosie took her across the great hall and up a broad staircase. Upstairs, wide corridors led off in several directions. Stevie felt a fresh wave of the eldritch atmosphere: corridors stretched at impossible angles and eerie coldness pricked her skin. She observed, too, how much warmth and life Rosie, Sam and Lucas brought into the forbidding house.

  To have such a family …

  The room resembled an old-style public library, with rows of bookshelves and a large table, the musty scent of old books. The only sign of modernity was a modem winking in one corner. Stevie sat down and booted up the laptop.

  “The house belonged to Sam’s father, Lawrence Wilder, who was Gatekeeper before Lucas,” Rosie said. “Well, strictly speaking it belongs to whoever is Gatekeeper. We don’t like Lucas being here—our parents have a perfectly lovely house down the hill—but he has to, for tradition’s sake. Stonegate Manor’s a dreadful old pile, really. It’s haunted me all my life. I’m not crazy about living here, either, but Luc’s much happier with company and basically … I want to keep him from turning into Lawrence.”

  “Why, what happened to Lawrence?”

  Rosie paused in thought. “He was driven crazy by loneliness. That was part of it. Having Albin as a father didn’t help, of course. And in case you’re confused, I probably ought to explain that while Sam and I are not related, Lucas is half-brother to both of us. Lawrence had, er, a thing with my mother. It’s not secret, but it is a bit of a touchy subject. Just so as you know.”

  “You don’t need to explain,” Stevie said, pretending not to be intrigued. She trusted Rosie and it was a good feeling. “They both seem lovely.”

  “They are, in their different ways. Luc’s stronger than he looks, but he worries himself ragged, especially when Iola keeps vanishing into the Spiral. Sam’s wonderful, with a wicked streak—heaven help anyone who threatens me, Luc or the rest of our family. He’s the very man you want in a tight corner.”

  “How did you meet?”

  “Well.” Rosie blushed. “The full version would take all night. The short version is that we were next-door neighbors, give or take half a mile. We’ve always lived in Cloudcroft, pretending to be human but actually Vaethyr … our act is pretty seamless now. What about you, though?”

  Stevie checked her email. All spam, apart from a message from Dr. Gregory. Holding her breath, she opened it; he’d visited Frances in hospital, he said. She was still very poorly, but stable. Stevie let her breath go.

  “I’ve told you everything. People keep insisting I’m Aetherial and it’s starting not to seem so far-fetched anymore. The whole ‘appearing from nowhere and not knowing who I am’ experience has sent me nearly mad at times. I hate it, but what can I do?”

  “A similar thing happened to a friend of mine. She was convinced she was human, then discovered otherwise. Of course it freaked her out. It’s bound to. It’s rare, but maybe more common than we realize.”

  As they spoke, Stevie ran through one search after another, trying to find some recent trace of Daniel. “I wonder about Danny,” she said. “Perhaps he’
s a reborn Aetherial too? How else could he have channeled all those visions?”

  “It’s possible, but there are some humans who are hypersensitive to Aetherial energies. They might become witches or psychics or visionaries. Or be locked up, if they’re unlucky. We call them naemur.” Rosie leaned on folded arms on the table. “It sounds like Daniel may have had that gift, or misfortune.”

  Frustrated, Stevie entered “Danifold” as a domain name. A cloud storage site appeared, containing private files, accessible only by password. She bit the side of her lip. Remembering the name on Daniel’s shopping list, she typed in “Poectilictis.” Incorrect password, came the message.

  Then she remembered the curved arrow drawn over the word, and tried again, backwards. “Sitcilitceop.”

  The folder opened to reveal a list of digital image files. She clicked on one, and up came a painting in Daniel’s distinctive style; three silver creatures were chasing on all fours across the foreground, and standing on a hill above them was a red-haired figure with her hands outstretched like a saint giving blessing. Aurata again.

  “Yes,” Stevie said, amazed. “He left me the password! Look, Rosie, all his artwork must be on here.” She opened one after another, seeing a dozen scenes that Mist had described from his life. Aurata seemed to feature more than anyone else, which might indicate that Rufus was still obsessed with her memory. “This is unbelievable.”

  “And a text document,” said Rosie. “SS.doc. Updated yesterday. Your initials, no?”

  “Oh my god.” Stevie’s hand shook and she fumbled to get the mouse pointer in the right place. The document opened to show a letter.

  Stevie I’m so sorry. How did he get the triptych from you? Should never have sent it sorry sorry. He said I’m painting the end of the world but he won’t explain what he means but it’s forbidden knowledge. Something’s happening. No one knows but you and me. He brought me to Nevada a house called Red Cedars in Jigsaw Canyon. It’s like a fortress. He’s furious, won’t let me go. I’m so scared now. Can’t explain more, I’m so afraid but tell mum I’m all right.