Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales)

by Freda Warrington

  Sam spread his hand at Luc. “See, this is why we came with you, Mist. Not for a free river trip. Because Luc has an instinct for when something really bad is brewing.”

  Mist smiled with grim satisfaction. “Thank you for taking us seriously.”

  “So, when you catch up with this brother of yours,” said Sam, “what are you planning to do?”

  Mist answered simply, “I am going to kill him.”

  * * *

  After few hours of uncomfortable sleep, they refloated the coracle and paddled out into the current once more. A hint of sunlight sprinkled the water with millions of tiny diamonds. Soon the lake narrowed into a gorge with high rock walls. The fabric of the rock was slumped like thick honeycomb toffee and pocked with small caves, making the walls appear full of mournful faces. The current built up and rushed their boat along the gorge in an exhilarating burst of white water.

  Stevie suddenly knew there would be no going back—at least, not by this route.

  The coracle spun and bucked alarmingly. They held on hard, fighting to stay afloat as they were flung down steep rapids: a slalom of rocks and gushing foam. Eventually the gorge spat them out and they surged into a vast, calm lake.

  No land was visible in any direction. Wisps of fog hung over the water. “Okay, Luc,” Sam gasped, pushing back his wet hair. “You’re still sure we’re on this antilineos that’s taking us from A to B with no weird detours?”

  “Yes,” said Lucas. “I can tell we’re moving in a straight line, even if you can’t.”

  “Fine,” said Sam. “Just checking.”

  Stevie looked down into the water. Instead of purplish murk, she was amazed to see green light rising from below, crystal clarity that went down and down, as if Meluis itself lay deep below the surface. The sight gave her a disturbing urge to dive in. It woke memories of Persephone’s cave, of diving and swimming towards rebirth, and diving again into Virginia’s pool to recapture her lost life.

  In response to a question from Mist, Rosie was talking about Lord Albin. “Yes, I met him, and he did say those words, ‘Are you sure that the true danger has yet shown itself?’ I assumed he was trying to unnerve me, but we can’t discount the possibility that he meant it. He might know there’s a secret catastrophe on its way, but if we can’t work it out in time—tough.”

  “That sort of cruel tease is just his style,” said Sam.

  “If there is a plan, it must be his,” Lucas said bleakly. “You can look back and see his bitterness feeding on itself. Albin was jealous that Liliana skipped over him for the role of Gatekeeper and gave it to her grandson Lawrence instead. His wife Maia left him. Then his mother and son, too, deserted him for Earth. I don’t see how Albin would ever have been satisfied with the Gatekeeper role, but he wanted it anyway, because he seems to want control of everything. Just because he’s been quiet doesn’t mean he’s stopped plotting to sever the Spiral from Vaeth. Worse, he might want to destroy every realm except Sibeyla itself. He won’t have stopped.”

  Sam added, “So the loss of a court case against Rufus and losing the support of a small monkish sect won’t have dented his ambition?”

  “It’s unlikely,” said Lucas. “He wanted to destroy the Gatekeeper—even his own son or grandson—and seal off the Otherworld forever.”

  “I concede,” said Mist. “Albin doesn’t sound the ideal ally against Rufus.”

  Stevie took in their words but could not tear her gaze out of the lake depths. Two fathoms below, she saw several Halathrim swimming the opposite way, skimming like torpedoes. They took no notice of the vessel above them. Their urgency alarmed her.

  “Why are they in such a hurry?” she asked. The others looked down but no one answered.

  Then Sam said, “What the hell is that?”

  A blur blanketed the horizon, like a roll of white cloud. From its center, a needle-thin tower pointed at the sky. As they drew closer, the shape resolved into a land spur across their path, strange because it didn’t seem part of Melusiel. The shoreline appeared airbrushed into the violet lake. Lights shimmered around the tower, a halo of ice crystals.

  Rosie said, “Luc, is that meant to be there?” The coracle began to rock on a fan of waves emanating from the shore.

  “I’ve no idea,” said Lucas. “It looks like part of Sibeyla intruding on Melusiel. Weird.”

  “Can the Spiral do that?” asked Stevie.

  “The Spiral can do whatever it likes,” Sam said with a shrug. “Which isn’t always a bad thing.”

  “But how?”

  “As soon as you think you understand, things change,” said Lucas. “Usually there’s a clear boundary between realms, a definite transition. But the geography shifts around unpredictably, like weather systems on Vaeth. No one understands whether the Spiral’s sentience makes conscious changes, or whether it’s asleep and having restless dreams.”

  Rosie said, “But it’s also a fact that webs of Aelyr can work together to create distortions. They can tap into the sentience and coax it to change. If some Aetherials wanted to create a Sibeylan spur across part of Melusiel, perhaps they could.”

  “But why?” Mist put in. “It would have to be an incredibly focused group of adepts, or a singularly powerful individual…”

  Luc said, “What we’re seeing may not even be solid, just a mirage projected from somewhere else. We’ll row around and pick up the antilineos on the far side. But if the waterway’s entirely blocked, we’ll disembark, drag the coracle across, and continue on the other side—”

  His words were cut off as a wave surged at them. The vessel plunged. Melusian water-beings were speeding upward from below, thrashing all around them. Webbed hands seized the sides of the boat, heads rose like seaweed-coated boulders.

  More Halathrim. The attack took Stevie and the others by surprise and for a few wild moments they could do nothing but cling on. Her human self still rebelled at the idea of drowning, while her deeper self knew she could change and swim, and so could Mist, but what about the others? Powerful ropy hands pulled at the vessel, dragging them back the way they’d come.

  Sam beat at the hands with his oar, trying to force them off. Rosie dislodged one of the Halathrim by jabbing her oar straight into its face. Stevie saw a change in Mist, his skin darkening and tendrils flowing amid his hair. He still had the steering oar, so she was looking around for some other weapon when Lucas yelled, almost screamed, “Iola! Sam, stop! Iola’s with them.”

  A naiad surfaced, water streaming from long bronze hair. She looked like a beautiful statue, come to life. “Lucas,” she gasped, gripping the front of the coracle as she tried to turn it, “Go back. There’s danger here.”

  “What danger? Get into the boat.”

  “No, I’m safer where I am.” She pointed at the white tower. “Turn away. You should know,” she paused for breath, “he’s growing too strong. You should be careful whose name you speak in the Otherworld, lest you summon them.”

  White hands came out of the water and seized her. Pulled under, she vanished in a mass of bubbles. “Iola!” Luc cried.

  Dozens of pale shadows were rushing underwater from the direction of the island. Not dusky Halathrim, but a different eretru, a shoal of pearl-white serpentine creatures. The water exploded into foam. All around them, the Halathrim were under attack. The coracle tipped violently, spinning. Water slopped in and they began to sink. Stevie stared down into the water, saw scores of attackers all around them, pale and scaly with powerful tails and sharp fins slashing at their enemies.

  Outnumbered, the Halathrim began to flee.

  The pallid ones circled the boat like sharks, then rose up, their smooth reptilian heads and webbed hands bursting from the water to seize the sides of the coracle. The vessel tipped wildly, inches from sinking.

  Sam, Rosie and Mist were all shouting, beating at the long pale hands with their oars. Stevie whirled her rucksack to catch one of them across the skull, to little effect. Unlike the Halathrim, these new creatures barely
seemed to feel the blows but hung on with muscular power. One reared up and seized Mist’s oar, forcing him to let go or be dragged overboard.

  Stevie saw Mist’s hands turn scaly for a moment, then revert to human skin. She felt a creeping, chilly power in the air—a force dampening their Aetheric natures and pulling them in like a magnet.

  The coracle, although three-quarters awash with water, began to rise. The creatures were bearing up the vessel. They had full power now to upend it like a soup bowl and tip out the passengers at their whim.

  “Stop fighting them!” said Rosie. “They’ll capsize us. Sam, stop!”

  Reluctantly he obeyed. Stevie clung to the sides, staring down at the pale forms in the water, their white scales ashimmer. She saw upturned snake faces with solid blue orbs for eyes. She held her breath, ready for impact with the water.

  Iola’s head broke the surface, yards behind. “Lucas!” she cried out, a call of despair.

  “Go!” he shouted at her. “Flee, fast as you can!” He pointed at the tower. “Whatever this is…” He made some urgent signs at her, which she obviously understood. Dolphin-swift she dived, and was gone.

  The coracle steadied. The serpent beings began to propel the vessel forward at speed. Stevie and Mist gripped each other. Sam was swearing under his breath. Helpless, they were carried to the island, effectively hijacked.

  The island looked translucent, like a reflection or a mirage: one image laid over another. The greyish, frost-dusted rocks supported the tower—a slender spire of quartz—that rose like a white spindle to pierce the clouds.

  Behind the tower, the sky held an impression of mountains, no more than chalk lines sketched on Melusiel’s rain-heavy canopy.

  Their captors brought the coracle to shore beneath the white tower. Despite their gossamer appearance, the rocks were real and solid. Some of the water dwellers clambered out, torsos streaming, tails bifurcating into legs. Dragging the coracle onto the rocks, they indicated Lucas’s party to disembark. They had no choice. Many others still lurked in the water behind them.

  “Just do what they want,” said Lucas. “Fighting will get us nowhere.”

  “Who are they?” Rosie asked in a tone of strong suspicion.

  “I don’t know,” said Lucas. “A misunderstanding to be sorted out, then they’ll let us go.”

  “You’d better be right, Luc,” Sam said with menace. “They’ll have a hell of a fight on their hands if they don’t.”

  “How?” said Stevie. “There’s a power here constricting us to human form. Can’t you feel it?”

  Mist gave her a dark look. That was too uncomfortable a question for anyone to answer. She became aware of how very wet, cold and exhausted she was.

  As they stepped onto the shore one by one, the air changed tangibly from the moistness of Melusiel to dry, sparkling cold. Snow lay like powdered sugar on the rocks. The structure before them might be a natural column of rock, or a tower carved from ice.

  Stevie recalled Luc’s and Rosie’s hints that the Aelyr could shape the Spiral by power of will. So, if someone had willed the tower into existence … it would make sense that it could look both natural and Aelyr-made, existing in both states at once.

  Looking up, Stevie saw a shape emerge from an embrasure near the very tip of the tower. Small as a feather at first, the shape drifted downwards to become a hawk, and then a winged angel, and finally, as it touched down on the shore, an Aelyr man in a cloak of feathers. Their aquatic captors parted to let him through, bowing in slave-like obeisance. He walked towards Luc’s party, his hands open in greeting.

  He was a swan-white man with three dazzling blue eyes, as Sam and Mist had described.

  Albin.

  16

  The White Tower

  The fire goddess is coming.

  Daniel applied a priming layer of gesso to a fresh panel. His hands were shaking. At least he’d finally stopped passing blood. Oliver’s second physical attack had been brief but thorough. “Defy me again and I’ll leave Slahvin to finish the job,” he’d said casually. Daniel knew he meant it.

  But the worst, the most horrifying thing was that he still loved Oliver.

  Or was under his angelic spell. He couldn’t tell the difference. Instead, bewildered, he pushed himself harder than ever to win back Oliver’s favor. After all, many artists saw visions of heaven, of angels or hidden worlds, but how many lived the reality?

  Daniel knew how privileged he was. And how heavy the price.

  He was struggling to work. He couldn’t eat or sleep or stop his thoughts whirling. Oliver had forbidden him to paint anything negative, but all his visions seemed malevolent.

  Movement outside caught his eye.

  He went to the huge window. Outside lay a vista of sand and rock, a barren estate of desert plants and razor wire. Farther away lay the rim of Jigsaw Canyon. All was scarlet, brown and dull gold. Against a rosy sky he saw a handful of figures, recognizable as members of Oliver’s staff but dressed in robes of burnt orange, with tall headdresses on their flowing hair. He counted ten. They were performing a strange dance, very slow, with intricate hand movements.

  Daniel watched, mesmerized. The air rippled above them—with heat haze or magical energy. One of his earlier icons showed a similar scene of creatures engaged in a mystical dance. He sensed the ritual might be a summoning … but of what, he had no idea.

  When he saw the group returning to the house, he rushed back to his easel. Presently Oliver strolled into the room, removing an orange, dusty-smelling robe to reveal a plain white T-shirt and jeans underneath. Daniel trembled, but Oliver was in a good mood for once.

  He smiled. “In case you wondered, we were rehearsing.”

  “Rehearsing for what?”

  “You ask me that, when you’ve painted such scenes?” Oliver swept a hand at the back wall, which was covered with Daniel’s artwork.

  “I told you, I’m just a cipher.”

  “Be glad of it. This is not for humans to understand.”

  He clenched his teeth. “Oliver, you need to appreciate…”

  “What?”

  “That I can’t see into the future.”

  “What exactly am I paying you for, then?”

  Daniel gave a sour smile. “Paying me? I haven’t seen a cent yet, not that it matters. I get it now. You’re not using me as an artist, but as a kind of risk assessor. I see a vision of your plans, and if you don’t see the outcome you want, you make changes. But what if I paint all possible worlds? How will you know which one is real?”

  Oliver frowned at him. “What are you saying?”

  “That I can see bits of your past, because it’s already happened. But I can’t see the future.” Daniel stared at the blank panel on his easel, avoiding Oliver’s stare. Physical blows might hurt less if he didn’t see them coming. “What I’m picking up are intentions.”

  Oliver’s hand landed on his back—caressing, not violent. “That makes sense.”

  “You believe me?”

  He turned Daniel to face him by swiveling his chair. “Of course. It’s a good thing, because the future can’t be pinned down, can it? No sooner do you try to define an outcome than it changes. Just give me the most beautiful image in your head.”

  All gilded beauty and smiling white teeth, Oliver leaned in and kissed Daniel. He felt his doubts evaporating, wild surrender pulling him down … the sense of wonder he’d felt when he first met Stevie, magnified: and a sense of relinquishing free will, like an unbeliever falling to his knees before a vehement evangelist. Every time he began to doubt Oliver, this feeling would ambush his spirit all over again.

  “There’s nothing much left in my head,” he said. “Visions of the fire goddess, blazing.”

  “Paint her in glory, then. Aurata enthroned. Daniel, I want you fully on our side, to be part of this. Don’t you want that too?”

  “Yes! About the triptych—I only wanted the world to know about this wonderful change. I made a mistake.”

>   “You realize that not all Aetherials would think it wonderful? That’s why it must be kept secret. We can’t risk anyone trying to stop us.”

  “I understand that now. I’m sorry.”

  “And I forgive you.” Oliver stroked Daniel’s matted hair. “Oh, and the little message you left for your friend Stevie?”

  Daniel went nauseous with terror, couldn’t speak.

  “I forgive you for that, too. If it brings the very people here who might have been a nuisance, you’ve done us all a favor.”

  “She won’t have found it,” he said.

  Oliver only half-closed his eyes. “Probably not. We’ll see. You’re a mess. Why don’t you go upstairs and shower and wait for me in bed?”

  “I want the visions to stop,” he groaned. “I’m exhausted.”

  “Oh, they’ll stop soon enough,” said Oliver. “The fire goddess is on her way.”

  * * *

  The central eye was actually a jewel that appeared to be inlaid in Albin’s skull, apparently as watchful as his true eyes, and as blue as the heart of a glacier.

  “Oh, god,” Rosie whispered.

  “Fucking hell, this is all we need!” Sam spoke more audibly. His words reached Albin, judging by the tilt of the snowy head.

  “But what’s he going to do?” said Stevie.

  “Probably nothing,” Rosie answered. “But every time we’re in the Spiral, Albin turns up. Well, not every time, but enough for it to be more than coincidence. How does he always manage to find us?”

  “You heard Iola,” said Mist. “Be careful what names you mention, lest you summon them. Perhaps you’re always finding him.”

  Lucas frowned at him. “Why would we want to do that?”

  “The same reason I want to find Rufus?”

  “I wanted information about him, but not like this, not now.”

  Albin changed as he approached. He became column of white flame, with vast wings blazing. Stevie, transfixed, felt Mist’s hand on her waist. Whatever was left of their fragile relationship, an instinct to protect each other remained. But what could you do against a blazing angel the height of a house?