Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales)

by Freda Warrington

  It would have been a good moment to flee, except for captors preventing escape in any direction. These beings, presumably Albin’s servants, stood motionless and alert. Out of water, their aquatic qualities diminished, scales fading to a smooth alabaster finish. They were like automatons. Their blankness horrified Stevie.

  As if they have no will of their own.

  She felt physically stuck to the ground as Albin bore down upon them, moon-white in the drifting vapor.

  Then he was in front of them, in human dimensions but at least half a foot taller than Mist. Now he had a cloak of feathers, a pale hawkish face. The transition happened in a flash: a display of effortless power, designed to intimidate.

  “The Spiral is such a small realm,” Albin said. “Wherever I go, it seems one of you always finds me. Welcome, Rosie, Samuel, Lucas…” He turned his cobalt-laser eyes to Mist. “I seem to know you, too. From the trial. Your name is Adam? I took you to be human, but I see I was mistaken.”

  Mist said nothing. Albin turned to Stevie with a chilly smile.

  “Someone new. Someone very old, yet reborn; it appears to me you haven’t so much kissed the Mirror Pool as nearly drowned in it. May I know your name?”

  Stevie saw a creature of ice. His face wasn’t emotionless; arctic, yes, but burning with the controlled idealism you saw in the eyes of religious fanatics. Bone-chilling. He reached out towards her. For a moment, his hand was the head of a snake. She tried to suppress her instinctive recoil, but of course he noticed. Albin missed nothing.

  “Stephanie,” she said woodenly.

  “Vaethyr.” Albin uttered the word with contempt. “Never mind. No one’s beyond hope. You are all welcome here. Won’t you come inside for a while?”

  Sam answered, “We’d love to, pops, but we’re in a hurry, so no, sorry. Another time. Can we have our boat back, please? And call off your guards. What are they, anyway?”

  Albin ignored Sam’s disrespect. Stevie became aware that in addition to his pallid servants, the air, water and fog around them swarmed with translucent elementals: more of Albin’s supporters, ready to act upon his signal. Did he even need such guards? His personal aura was irresistible, as if he’d thrown a chain-mail net over them. “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere,” said Lucas, pointing to the lake on the far side of the narrow island spur. “Antilineos, back to Vaeth, gone. Soon be out of your way.”

  “Not ‘nowhere,’ then. Now I am really curious. Explain.”

  Sam stepped forward, hands on hips. “How about you explain how you’ve managed to park a piece of Sibeyla across the middle of Melusiel with a bloody great tower on it? You’ve creating an obstruction. I’m sure there’s a Spiral Court law against this sort of thing.”

  “It’s my home,” Albin answered in a mild tone. “I move it wherever I wish.”

  “Is it on wheels, like a caravan?” Rosie said, staring upward. The white spindle shone, luminous against the steely sky. “How?”

  “Come inside and I’ll explain.”

  Mist shook his head. “No. We must go.”

  “But it’s growing dark. I can see you’re tired. You’ll need to rest at some point, so it may as well be here.”

  Eerie gloom was gathering, as if Albin himself had willed it. He turned, beckoning. They followed the sway of his magnificent cloak; Sam, Rosie and Lucas first, Mist and Stevie hanging back. No one argued, not even Sam. That was plain sinister.

  As Stevie began to walk, she felt pain piercing her left shoulder—Mist digging his fingernails into her. She opened her mouth to object, only to see that he wasn’t touching her at all. Her tiny translucent fylgia was on her shoulder, clawing her.

  Warning her, Don’t go in.

  Indicating the other three, Mist whispered in her ear, “Albin has their fylgias inside. That’s how he’s lured them here.”

  “What? How on earth could he do that?”

  “I’ve no idea. If you and I can break past his guards, we could run.”

  “And abandon our friends? What’s got into you?” she snapped, aggravated by the pain of the claws. She tried to pull the fylgia loose, couldn’t grasp its ectoplasmic form. “You haven’t been the same since—”

  “We can’t afford this delay!”

  Mist looked nearly unhinged. Stevie wished, not for the first time, that they’d never begun this journey. “Look, either Albin’s less scary than he looks and wants a friendly a chat with his grandsons—or he’s dangerous. Either way, we can’t let them go in there alone.”

  “I know,” Mist sighed, relenting. “But can’t you feel the power Albin’s emanating? He wasn’t like this before. Something’s happened to him.”

  “Yes, I feel it. Like trying to walk in a lead suit.” Stevie said nothing more. Mist was beginning to alarm her as much as the specters around them.

  Albin led them through a narrow aperture: a tunnel that brought them to the interior of the tower. Inside, there was nothing more than a pale cave, rugged, empty and smelling of cold stone. He guided them to a stairway rough-hewn around the wall, upwards to a smaller chamber above. This was a hollow cone of quartz, lit by floating white spheres. There were no chairs, no furniture at all, only rocks to sit on.

  Stevie touched the wall: polished ice. Wherever Albin looked, the walls reflected the concentrated spot of bright sapphire blue on his forehead. It was a jewel, but more than decoration; she had the horrible impression that it was the inner eye with which he saw the universe.

  Albin smiled and swept a hand around the space. “I live simply, as you see. Sit anywhere you wish. You’re wet and cold, I realize, but I have no means of warming you. I suggest you use your inner Aelyr resources to overcome the discomfort.”

  He spoke politely, but Stevie had never seen more frightening eyes. You saw that arrogance in the eyes of deposed dictators, who’d stashed away billions to furnish lives in luxurious exile. There was no luxury here, but Albin had exactly that martyred, unrepentant stare.

  Stevie wondered what he lived on. Raw fish, lake water, pure air?

  They found places to sit, forming a rough circle. Albin sat too, as if holding court. Sam rested his elbows on his knees, leaning towards him. “All right, Grandfather, what do you want with us?”

  “To talk.” Albin’s tone was as downy-soft as his cloak. “To catch up on old times, and new. I never could make Lawrence listen to me, but I would rectify that. You are my grandsons, after all, and Rosie virtually a granddaughter to me. Adam here—”

  “I’m Mistangamesh.”

  Albin stopped. Mist had actually managed to surprise him. “Indeed? So you’re the brother of Rufus Ephenaestus, after all? What are your feelings towards him now—he who wrought such devastation on his own race, and yet got clean away with it?”

  “My feelings are my own business.”

  “Have you seen him since?”

  Mist shook his head. “Seen nothing, heard nothing.”

  “When Vaidre Daima set Rufus free, I wasn’t the only one grievously betrayed by the Spiral Court and others I’d counted as allies. The Spiral itself was betrayed. I saw that I could rely on no one but myself. I work alone now. I’ve learned so much. Instead of trying to persuade Aelyr and Vaethyr to my cause, I looked into the Spiral itself. I learned so much about its moods and strange properties, the energies that some call roth.”

  “And are you happier?” said Rosie. She sounded sincere.

  “Happier?” Albin blinked. “That would be strangely unambitious. No, my dear Rosie. I seek to be stronger.”

  “So is this your new power base, then?” said Sam. “Mobile headquarters?”

  “If you like. Persuasion and politics haven’t worked. The Spiral Court has had its own way for far too long. Power, however—that’s the only answer. Force is the only language that most creatures understand, human or Aelyr. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  There was an awful silence. Albin’s tone was reasonable, but Stevie saw apprehension in the faces of her companions,
Luc’s in particular. The pain in her shoulder made her wince. Ease up, she told her fylgia. I get the message, and we will leave—but not yet. This is important.

  She said, “Any chance of a drink, Lord Albin? We are really tired. We brought supplies, but they’re running low.”

  “Of course.” He rose gracefully, his feathery cloak swaying. “How inhospitable of me.” He left the chamber, heading downward.

  “I wouldn’t put it past him to poison or drug us,” said Sam.

  Stevie looked at him. “Really?”

  “He puts curses on people, and the curses stick. Then he’ll try to make out he’s innocent, that it’s all in the victim’s mind. I’m telling you, he’s an arch-manipulator. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

  Rosie dumped her backpack on the floor and distributed a sad, damp collection of cereal bars. “Let’s eat and try not to get wound up. Yes, Albin can talk until he’s persuaded you night is day, but I’m not afraid of him. Last time I saw him, we met as equals.”

  “You were Estalyr that night,” said Sam. “It was a night of miracles. This is different.”

  “I’m still not scared of him!”

  “Well, neither am I. I’m just saying, I know him. He mistreated and alienated my father, Lawrence. That never gets forgiven. It damaged all of us.”

  “I know.” Rosie touched Sam’s fingers. “But I saw another side of him that night.”

  “Right, grabbing you with his serpent hand and stating that everyone who disagrees with him is perverse and polluted? Charming.”

  “It was quite an argument,” Rosie agreed, pushing her hair out of her face. “But mainly I sensed overwhelming loneliness.”

  “Of his own choice!” Sam rubbed his face. “Rosie, thousands of people suffer pain and loneliness. Most of us manage to deal with it. A few go crazy with guns. Some try to take over the Otherworld. It’s not an excuse.”

  “I didn’t say it was. But it’s a fact that his wife swanned off into the Spiral and left him heartbroken.”

  “Nah,” said Sam. “She left her son, my father, heartbroken. Albin has no heart. It’s years, if not centuries, since Maia went. He must be over it by now. That was possessiveness, not love. He’s had every chance in the universe to find someone else. He may have a dozen lovers, for all we know. His wife left him because he’s a twisted psychopath, not the other way round.”

  Rosie tilted her head. “How would you feel if I left you?”

  “How can you ask that?” Sam gazed back at her. “I’d be in pieces. But I wouldn’t rest until I’d found you. I definitely wouldn’t be venting my wrath on everyone around me, trying to punish the Spiral itself. He’s insane. No, love—I know you’ve got the softest heart in the world, but come on. Don’t feel sorry for him. He’s a bitter, twisted lunatic.”

  “Who can no doubt hear every word we’re saying,” said Mist.

  “Too bad.” Sam shrugged. “He knows what we think of him.”

  Lucas added, “And now he’s incredibly dangerous.”

  “He talked about the way we drift apart like galaxies because we live too long,” said Rosie. “It chilled me to the core, even more than this place.”

  Mist spoke quietly. “Albin’s whole purpose at the trial was to convince us that the Spiral should be severed from Earth, to stop maniacs like Rufus from running loose. He was defeated. His support collapsed.”

  “Not defeated, obviously,” said Luc. “It’s only made him stronger. He’s gathering an army. I’m sure no one knows about this. Virginia can’t have known or she’d have told us. Even Iola’s only just found out.”

  “The signs you were making at her?” said Mist.

  Luc’s answer was barely audible. “Yes, to warn the Court. Or anyone. If she makes it. Do you really think Albin could take over the Spiral, bend all the realms to his will and seal the Gates?”

  “No,” Rosie said quickly. “Don’t leap to the worst conclusion, Luc.”

  “Not that he couldn’t cause hellish chaos trying, of course,” said Sam.

  “Exactly. And you do realize that he’s taken us prisoner?” Lucas said grimly. “Since no one else will say it?”

  “It will be all right,” Rosie said. “He likes to play mind games, that’s all. He never had any true power over us. We’ll talk our way out.”

  Mist said quietly, “I don’t think we are going to talk our way out of this. He may have had no power before, but he’s got plenty now. Luc’s right. You know he has your fylgias? Not mine and Stevie’s: I don’t know where mine is, but I don’t sense it here, and hers is sticking fast to her. But yours were free in the Spiral, and he’s captured them.”

  All three stared at him in disbelief.

  “That’s impossible,” said Rosie. “We would have known.”

  “Would you, though? You might not feel a thing.”

  Long seconds of silence passed. Stevie saw that they couldn’t accept Mist’s assertion. Eventually Rosie spoke. “But the Spiral itself is sentient. If Albin’s up to no good, the knowledge would pass through the ground. Surely the whole Spiral would know?”

  “Unless Albin’s found a way of sealing himself off,” said Mist. “He might be powerful enough. Even Rufus hid from the Spiral Court for years, and he was an amateur in matters of energy manipulation.” Mist stood up, moving restlessly around the chamber. “We can’t let ourselves be side-tracked by this. We have to escape.”

  “I know,” said Lucas. He drummed a rhythm on his knees. “But how can I leave Albin to his own devices? The Gates are my responsibility. I have to do something.”

  “Iola,” Rosie whispered. “She’ll get word out.”

  Sam said, “It’s a fact that if Albin gets his way, we won’t be able to leave the Spiral, or get back in again. No one will be going anywhere or finding anyone.”

  Albin returned, bearing a tray with six glasses and a decanter, all of cobalt glass clasped in carved silver. He filled each with colorless liquor, saw them hesitate as he presented the tray.

  “Now you are not drinking? I promise, I wouldn’t do something so crude as to drug you. Please. I am trying to make peace.”

  Cautiously, Stevie accepted a glass and took a sip. She tasted elderberry and lemon, with a warming tang of alcohol. Then they all took a vessel, except Sam, who swigged from a plastic bottle of orange juice, and fixed Albin with an implacable glower.

  “Samuel?”

  “It’s all right. We’ll manage with what we’ve got.”

  “I can see how tired and hungry you are. There’s too much of Vaeth in you. Your bodies have forgotten how to survive without food and rest. If you’d surrender to the Spiral and become pure again, you’d know freedom from hunger and fatigue and pain. True freedom.”

  “What do you really want?” Sam said bluntly.

  “The same simple thing that I’ve always wanted,” said Albin with his icy smile. “Purity. I wish the Aelyr race all to be gathered back into the Spiral where we belong and all the gates and portals to be sealed. Stay with me, shake off your human camouflage, and become part of the true primal Aetherial race again. I wish fulfillment and happiness for all. However … I no longer see any way of achieving my goal, except by force.

  “Make yourselves comfortable, if you can. Remain in this chamber until it grows light. Sleep for a few hours. It’s all I can offer, but you are Aetherial and able to bear a little discomfort—unless living on Vaeth has left you too soft. It’s living too close to the human world that drains us of our true abilities. So, am I powerful, or is it you who are weak?”

  Sam gave a hard laugh and stood right in front of Albin, his arms folded. “One more ‘puny humans’ remark like that and we’ll see who’s weak. D’you know you’re insulting the bravest and best people I’ve ever known? We’re the only family you have; we might even have loved you, if you hadn’t turned into this arrogant jerk. Who summoned Brawth and tried to blame it on Lawrence, your own son? And who risked their lives to lay Brawth to rest again, if not Lawre
nce and Lucas, Rosie and me? Answer that, and then tell me who’s weak, Grandpa.”

  Albin’s face flickered with rage, but he didn’t take the bait. His voice stayed emotionless. “I’ll leave you in peace to think on what I’ve said.”

  * * *

  Mist drifted into uneasy sleep and dreamed about the scene that Rosie had described while they were in the coracle: Rosie in primal, winged, Estalyr form, Albin, a figure like a pale statue on the balcony of an alien city, his forearm twining around Rosie’s like a snake.

  “Don’t be so quick to pass judgment,” he’d said as she confronted him with his cruelty to his own son, his family. The snake-shaped hand reared and rubbed its dry cheek across Rosie’s. “I tired of the game … Child of Vaeth, don’t go back. You may not see your loved ones again, but you won’t care. Caring is a curse, when we live too long, and spend eternity like galaxies drifting away from each other.”

  A cascade of strange feelings spilled through Rosie. A strange coldness tugged her heart, like a distant call, or something urgent she had forgotten to do. The urge to fly was irresistible. Time shifted and she was airborne again, Albin a small pale figure looking up from the pooled shadows below. “Lawrence locked the Gates to protect Vaeth from terrible danger.” His voice was faint as the wind took her. “Are you so very sure that the true danger has yet shown itself?”

  The dream changed. Mist was holding Helena as she bled and bled … only it was not Helena dying in his arms, but Stevie.

  He woke violently, aching all over. A dim lavender glow showed the sleeping forms of his companions. Sam, nestled against Rosie, was as deeply asleep as the others, so their slumber couldn’t be the effect of Albin’s wine. In a trance he rose, and began to climb a stairway that spiraled up the wall to a higher room.

  He found himself in the tower’s highest chamber, a smaller cone rising to a pointed apex. There were narrow slits for windows, a stone shelf with a few items—reminding him of Jaap de Witt’s laboratory—arranged in a neat row. Crystals, bottles, instruments of quartz and brass. The central space was filled by a long oblong block of lapis-blue stone, like a bier.