Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales)

by Freda Warrington

  “Maybe so.” Rufus’s head was tipped back, his voice tight with pain. “Full circle, she said.”

  “So work with me for once. We’re Aelyr, Felynx, sons of Poectilictis. It’s time to reclaim that power and do whatever it takes to stop her.”

  “Ow.” Rufus jerked loose. “Let go! Enough. I’m with you, Mist.” He bared his teeth in a smile, half-vicious, half-teasing. “You know I can’t resist you when you play rough.”

  * * *

  The promontory floated high above the chasm, exposed to the desert’s bitter cold. In the dark, overarched by a trillion stars, the height was barely discernible. Stevie could look up, and not think about the canyon far below.

  They’d put her into a robe of fine silk, exquisitely patterned like devoré velvet in shades of orange, gold and red, with subtle shapes that echoed the creatures on the Felixatus shell. Aurata and Veropardus—Stevie couldn’t think of him as “Oliver” anymore—were dressed in the same ritual garments, as were ten of Aurata’s followers. They might have looked slightly ridiculous, if they had not appeared so eldritch, like beautiful demons. The ten wore weightless headdresses like tongues of flame, and masks, too. Their eyes gleamed through holes in elongated, expressionless lynx faces.

  The night chill stung as they worked. Aurata had her adherents manhandle a block of stone to the edge of the lookout rock, then directed Stevie to set the Felixatus upon it.

  As she did so—as passive as a slave, suppressing all emotion—Veropardus’s hands hovered over hers, like those of an adult trying to guide a child. His touch made her cringe. He had no mask, but she would have preferred seeing a mask to his callous, naked face.

  “The lens must be angled to follow the constellation of Auriga,” he said. “We need to focus the maximum spectrum of starlight into—”

  “Veropardus.” Aurata’s curt tone stopped him. “Stand back. Let Stevie do this.”

  “It’s my duty,” he said fiercely.

  “Not anymore. We’ve been through this. She’s the one with the delicacy of touch. Would you please set aside your ego for the sake of the greater good?”

  “After I’ve worked so hard in the service of this cause, even died for it—you won’t let me fulfill my role?”

  They paused, glaring at each other in a battle of wills that Aurata was bound to win. She said smoothly, “Veropardus, I won’t tolerate an argument on this sacred night. Do you want to help me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then go back and gather everyone who remains, and have them guard the place where the arch joins the canyon edge. No one must have access to the path. The process begins now and must not be interrupted. That’s what I need from you tonight. Strength and protection. Can you do that?”

  He surrendered. “Yes, beloved lady of fire,” he murmured. He bent to kiss her hand, and, to Stevie’s relief, walked away along the spine of the arch.

  Aurata continued the explanation. “The Felixatus will concentrate starlight like a battery storing energy. The photons act to agitate the Felynx soul-essences that wait within.”

  A million of them, yet so tiny, Stevie thought, each curled up like a glow-worm no bigger than an atom … Just trying to imagine it made her head spin.

  “Meanwhile, my companions will be helping me to weave energy webs to weaken the structure of the Earth’s crust. And as the Felixatus becomes saturated with pent-up energy, we wait for sunrise.”

  Stevie caught her breath. “I’m no physicist, still less a magician—but won’t the first beam of sunlight cause a massive overload?”

  “Exactly!” Aurata squeezed her shoulders. “You get it.”

  “Do I? Won’t it simply explode?”

  “Of course it won’t. Think, Stevie: after all, you rebuilt it. The Felixatus is constructed so that its force can escape only from a precise point. The sphere will shoot out a beam of fire powerful enough to rip open reality itself. That’s the instant at which you swivel the apparatus and direct the beam right into the heart of our energy webs. The Earth itself will crack. Magma will erupt, beginning a self-sustaining process that will vaporize all barriers, melting Vaeth and Spiral one. And we’ll achieve our dream: reunification.”

  “Or the end of everything,” said Stevie.

  “That’s not for you to worry about.”

  “But all the trapped soul-energies—won’t this destroy them? I don’t see how they can survive. Are they happy to be sacrificed?”

  “In their position, I’d be ecstatic.” Aurata’s tone held a firm threat. “No more questions, Stevie, for Mist’s sake.”

  She set to work, rotating the Felixatus until it glimmered with evanescent light in response to the stars. Then she made tiny adjustments, a cog tooth at a time, angling the lens until it found the Auriga constellation overhead and focused upon the bright yellow star Capella amid the river of the Milky Way.

  At once a distinct thread of white light appeared between the lens and the heavens. The Felixatus began to vibrate, singing in a faint discord that sent shivers through her. Behind her and Aurata, the ten chosen Aetherials formed a circle—more of an oval, as the rock was narrow—and began a slow dance. Energy lines sizzled between them like sparkler trails.

  “Good girl,” said Aurata. “That’s it. Now we follow the star and wait for sunrise. Are you cold?”

  “No,” she lied. Aurata’s concern seemed ridiculous in the context of her general callousness. “I thought Rufus would be here.”

  “I had to pop him out of the way with Mist. No time for arguments or weakness.”

  “What will happen to them?”

  “Don’t worry about that.”

  “You really don’t care about anyone, do you?” Stevie’s voice was soft. “You claimed to love Fela, but you killed her without a moment’s hesitation.”

  “Oh, I hesitated, my dear. I’m not your enemy. Real love means putting tender feelings aside for the greater good.”

  Stevie felt it no longer mattered what she said. “So, how much did it hurt to watch Veropardus drowning Fela?”

  “It broke my heart.” The response was so quick, it might even be sincere.

  “Or to frame Rufus for her death?”

  “Likewise. Yet it was destiny—otherwise you wouldn’t be here now, holding secrets that even Veropardus has lost. The unseen mechanisms of the universe delivered you to us, like an orrery bringing the planets into alignment. Clockwork.”

  “If I hadn’t met Daniel … then Professor Manifold wouldn’t have found the Felixatus base … Mist wouldn’t have found me … and we might still be living our small peaceful lives in ignorance. I wish I could’ve stopped this before it began.”

  “Don’t say that.” Aurata’s voice was warm. “Stevie, what you’re doing is noble. You should be full of joy.”

  “Well, I’m not. I’m scared. But I’ve been on this journey before. If I come back as someone else, or dissolve into oblivion—I’ve no control over that.”

  “None of us has. That’s well said, because I don’t know if any of us will survive. The point is, we may not be doing this for ourselves, but for those who come after. Isn’t that the greatest sacrifice of all?”

  “A sacrifice to Qesoth?” Stevie’s voice trembled. She had a vision of the Earth, like molten gold in a crucible, being poured into a new mold.

  “And the completion of what we tried to do in Azantios, long ages ago.”

  Stevie wished she could love and trust Aurata as blindly as her followers did, to share their transcendent ecstasy. It was too late. Dr. Gregory’s kind face came into her mind and she longed to ask his opinion: Is Aurata mad, psychotic, deluded?

  Perhaps her plan was a delusion—but one thing was sure. Fela had died because she’d stumbled onto inappropriate knowledge, and nothing had changed: Stevie still knew too much. At some point, she was certain, Aurata would cast her into the canyon, a sacrifice with no one to save her.

  Close to dawn, a wash of luminescence rose from the horizon. “The zodiacal
light!” said Aurata. “What a beautiful omen. It’s nearly time.”

  Stars faded as the sky became a vast, paling dome of violet-blue. A line of bright gold formed along the horizon. Aurata rose to her feet, lifting Stevie with her.

  Stevie saw the drop yawning below, cold indigo shadow. She felt her legs weaken, her stomach tightening. Unstrung, she needed all her self-control to force the panic down.

  She tried to edge back, to gain a few inches of safety, but found she couldn’t move. Invisible wires constrained her. The air shuddered with waves of power, woven by the tenfold web of Aurata’s new Felynx. Their eyes glowed within their masks and their hair writhed with static charge.

  Aurata’s palm landed between Stevie’s shoulders, caressing her hair like a lover. The long drop below made her so dizzy she couldn’t move or think. Then Aurata raised both hands as if casting out a fishing net.

  Stevie realized Aurata was using the thickly spun energy of the tenfold web to create a force of her own. Hovering above the canyon, her spell appeared as a vast and quivering transparent disk like a giant lens, deforming the precipice behind it. Sparks raced around its circumference.

  “There,” said Aurata. “Do you see the vortex I’ve made? See how it distorts the light? The moment the sun touches the Felixatus, you must rotate the mechanism to send the beam straight into the center of the whorl. Steady hands. Don’t rush. Just be accurate. The fire beam will find its true route.”

  An eerie chanting rose from her acolytes, “Elysiana, O Melusina, Naamon-a-Asru, O-ah Sibeyla…” They stood with heads tilted back in rapture, weaving a bright complex mesh of power. The changing air pressure hurt her ears and the rock arch swayed alarmingly.

  Canyon and sky turned bright red, as if the world were dissolving into blood.

  The sun rose, boiling.

  The first ray struck the heart of the Felixatus. The globe lit up, dazzling. The earth began to tremble. On the far side of the canyon, rocks cracked and fell.

  “Now!” commanded Aurata.

  Stevie spun the globe. An answering beam shot out of the lens, yellow-hot and laser-straight, striking the center of Aurata’s vortex … accurate, except that she’d calibrated the markings on the meridian hoop a hairsbreadth off. Only starfire flew out. Not the souls themselves.

  She hoped.

  Would this tiny sabotage even make a difference? Her thoughts raced as if each second lasted a minute. If I do this—my only chance to help Rosie, Sam and Luc—Aurata will destroy Mist. If she doesn’t get him, the eruption will. So can I sacrifice him to save them? I have to. Mist, forgive me. You wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t. No choice.

  The landscape was quaking, the earth beginning to erupt along the canyon floor. Qesoth’s brilliance spilled through. Aurata was transforming into her fire shape, taller than before, pure golden brilliance like the sun’s corona.

  Her followers were crying out—more in shrieking fear than in wonder. As the rocks trembled, two of them slipped off the rim and went plunging down. Aurata took no notice.

  “Great Qesoth, fire of creation, manifest in me…” She flung her arms at the sky. “I am Qesoth.”

  And because she was Aetherial, and believed it, her words became the truth.

  * * *

  Mist wasn’t sure how to begin. Albin was right: There came a point when Aetherial powers faded and the flesh took over, leaving Aelyr as limited as humans. He sat cross-legged facing Rufus, recalling how he’d felt in Virginia’s waterfall when he and Stevie had transformed. An alchemical mix of terror and exhilaration …

  He was not comfortable, holding his brother’s gaze as he recalled vile memories of Rufus’s eyes glinting with cruelty and mischief. Mist forced himself to put all that aside, and stared into his brother’s soul without flinching. No anger, no judgment. They joined hands. After a time, discomfort fell away.

  They met as equals.

  Old skills could be recaptured, however rusty. The air shuddered around them as they wove their own web to push back Slahvin’s. Deep inside, Mist felt his lost fylgia, his connection to the Otherworld, awakening.

  His physical form was expanding, unfolding into something draconic, a great salamander sporting claws and fins. Rufus was changing with him, an expression of glee spreading over his face. Touching, they melded and became a twin creature.

  Human doubts fell away. There was only Aetheric force and purpose.

  Their prison gave way. Walls melted, swirling into coils, vanishing altogether. Slahvin and his gang of seven were revealed, surrounding them with their eyes closed, all their concentration focused on keeping their prisoners caged.

  Eight pairs of eyes snapped open as the web collapsed.

  In their dark suits they were like common human guards, no less menacing for that. Handguns swept from holsters. Mist and Rufus were outnumbered. Bullets might not touch their eternal essence, but could still rip apart their flesh, inflict hideous damage to their bodies, even death.

  To Mist’s surprise, they were in the main living room. Through the panoramic window, he saw a ruby dawn, and strange lights dancing on the canyon’s edge.

  Mistangamesh gazed at each of their captors in turn, rage smoldering low inside him. Their casual strength, their sense of entitlement infuriated him. Slahvin was the worst, a slithery psychopath too far beyond human to be reached.

  “Don’t move,” Slahvin barked.

  He’d been a servant to House Ephenaestus, and still served Veropardus and Aurata to this day. However, his sinister, alien aura suggested he was not Felynx at all but something older and darker. Mist could only guess what he really was, or what resentments had poisoned him over the years. Jealousy of Mist, hatred of Rufus? Like a dysir, Slahvin’s only purpose now was to protect Aurata.

  “A dog can only serve one master,” said Mist.

  This remark appeared to infuriate Slahvin. In a blink, he changed to a serpentine shape of darkest crimson, nearly black, his eyes burning blood-red.

  Mist and Rufus, meanwhile, had slipped back nearly to human shape. Regathering their strength they surged again, extruding claws and barbed fins. Uproar broke out among the guards. They were slow to use their guns, as if wary of harming Aurata’s brothers. Instead, heat buffeted the air: the energy of Naamon, rising. But the brothers were also creatures of fire and fed upon it. By reflex they flung up shields to deflect the attack. And the shields became wings, each feather a steel-sharp blade.

  Slahvin raised a handgun and fired.

  Mist-Rufus dodged the bullet, laughing. They divided in two, Rufus capering to draw their attention as Mist spun around behind Slahvin.

  Dragon jerked serpent into the air. Rufus lunged, stabbing Slahvin through the gut with a pinion-feather as sharp as a sword. Mist sliced his throat for good measure. He’d thought it would be harder, but Slahvin went down like a sack of rocks and Mist knew he was dead when he saw Slahvin’s soul-essence fleeing—a dark transparent snake flying out of him, vanishing into some deeper dimension.

  Dying, or reverting to a more primal form.

  With their leader gone, the other guards seemed to be at a loss. The brothers broke through their ranks and left them reeling. As one, Mist and Rufus ran and leapt at the huge plate-glass window, spiking it with sharp beaks that caused the whole pane to implode. Over the balcony rail they leapt, glass showering around them, bullets flying past.

  Changing again, they landed as lightly as a pair of panthers and ran on all fours towards the bloody fire of sunrise.

  * * *

  Ruby light flooded the desert. The far walls of the canyon glowed and the strangely contorted promontories resembled weird sculptures, striped red and orange and golden-yellow, as if the whole landscape was on fire, flowing with liquid flame.

  Stevie looked down in complete terror. The canyon floor appeared to be miles below. Her heartbeat was a single juddering rush and there was no shred of strength in her body. Where was her Aetherial core, her fylgia, her hidden powers? She felt entirely hum
an, helpless, petrified.

  She stared at the laser beam from the Felixatus piercing the whorl that Aurata had conjured. It was beginning to burn a portal, she saw, like the sun burning paper through a magnifying glass.

  The rock platform shook alarmingly. “Hold steady,” came a voice from the goddess beside her, a towering, coruscating figure of fire. Qesoth spoke, from far above, with Aurata’s voice. “Let Naamon come to us!”

  Yards behind them, where Veropardus stood guarding the path, Stevie heard shouts of anger. Her fleeting impression was that Aurata’s web-weavers had fled, but Veropardus wouldn’t let them past. The sounds were faint beneath the roar of blood in her ears. She didn’t look back.

  A strange ecstasy filled her, as if she were about to fly right out of her body.

  The Earth opened its mouth and grinned.

  In the maw, a crescent of white-yellow boiling rock, she saw a black spot. The ground shook and rumbled with the terrible deep tearing noise of lava. The base of the canyon split wide open and the air itself pulled apart, creating a vacuum. Sulfurous fumes rushed up to fill the space as oxygen was sucked out.

  “I can’t breathe,” Stevie said, trying to take an Aetherial form that didn’t need breath. Her leaden body was not listening. Flames and magma spread, and at the center of her vision—she couldn’t tell if it was down in the lava or floating in midair—the black spot went on spinning and growing …

  All this happened in a bare three seconds. Stevie knew what to do; it was what she’d always planned, and she was already in motion as the world turned inside out around her. She reached for the Felixatus, wrapped both arms around it and clutched the globe close against her chest.

  The beam cut out.

  “What are you doing?” roared Qesoth-Aurata.

  The only thing I can, aborting the process before it runs beyond control.

  She stepped off the edge—only to stick like a fly in treacle. The force of the tenfold web was still holding her, strong enough to resist gravity. She felt Qesoth reaching out to seize her, heat scorching her back.