Starblood Trilogy

by Carmilla Voiez

  She stops moving upwards and tips her head to look at Satori.

  ‘Star,’ he mumbles.

  She nods and twists her wrists to tip the jugs at forty-five degree angles. From her left a thick red liquid drips from the jug. From her right flows a white liquid. Behind her the tower shudders.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asks her.

  ‘Nothing,’ she answers. ‘You’re doing it. Let it all disintegrate. You don’t need it any longer.’

  He shakes his head. ‘Why?’

  She holds his stare, but keeps her mouth tightly closed. The corners of her lips turn up a little, but the smile, if indeed it can be called a smile, is cold and humourless. The tower shakes. Stones detach themselves from the top and bounce off the sides as they fall to the ground. More follow, shaken by the blows from other stones; the speed increases and more of the building crumbles and falls.

  Satori wants to run towards it, demand that it rebuild itself for him, but he is rooted to the spot, unable to move. Everything is wrong, nothing is stable and he doesn’t understand any of it. He holds his ears and closes his eyes.

  ‘Satori…Satori, wake up, darling.’

  Satori opens his eyes and stares at the shadowy ceiling above him. He removes his hands from his ears and looks around the empty room. His eyes settle on the oval mirror. A soft glow comes from it. He stands up slowly and takes a step towards the mirror. Unsure of whether he is awake or asleep, he holds his breath. Terror fills him. He doesn’t know what he will see in the mirror but he is convinced he will not like it.

  He steps closer again. He can see part of the room reflected. The room looks similar to the one in which he stands, although the lighting is different. Stepping forwards again, he stands directly in front of the mirror. The room is reflected back at him. Daylight streams through the window in the mirror-room, but the furniture is the same. The bed he just left is reflected back at him, covers creased where he pushed them from his body. Everything seems the same but different. Everything is present, but the light makes objects clearer and easier to see. He can see tree tops framed by the window beside him. He can see everything other than his own face and body. He has no reflection.

  ‘Satori. Satori, darling, wake up.’

  He knows that voice. He turns to look over his shoulder. ‘Raven?’

  Something hits his chest. The sudden blow forces him backwards and he falls. His body drops, sinks and plunges. He does not hit the floor. The floor has gone. He falls into a void. All is darkness. He cannot see if there are walls around him. All he can see is an oval far above, glowing with golden light that gets smaller and smaller until it disappears completely, and still he falls.

  .

  Chapter 40

  Mark wakes suddenly. He sits up straight and looks around him. What woke me? Beyond the tapestry curtains drawn around the huge four-poster the room is dark. The house is silent. Did he imagine a noise? Was it a dream?

  He lies back on his pillow. His body feels restless. Adrenaline pumps through his veins and he knows he will not sleep again until he checks the house for intruders. Anyone could have wandered through the open back door. We did.

  He stands up. Goosebumps instantly rise on his flesh and he feels around for his jumper. When he finds it the fibres feel damp and colder than his skin, but he decides to wear it anyway, hoping symbiosis will warm both garment and body.

  He stumbles across the dark floor and reaches for the door handle. The landing is quiet and still. Mark decides to check Satori’s room first. As he opens the door he sees the man flat on his back in the middle of the floor. He rushes across and lifts Satori’s head. ‘Satori. What happened? Are you okay?’

  Satori doesn’t open his eyes or reply. Mark puts his ear to Satori’s chest and hears a steady heartbeat. Checking the back of the man’s skull for blood, he cups his hand around Satori’s hair. Satori’s head feels dry and when he checks his hand it comes back clean. He shakes Satori’s shoulders. ‘Wake up, Satori. It’s Mark.’

  There is no response. Mark puts his hands under his father’s shoulders and half-carries, half-drags the heavy body towards the bed.

  He lifts head, shoulders and torso onto the bed then swings Satori’s legs from the floor. Satisfied that Satori is safe from falling, Mark replaces the blanket over the unconscious form. He kneels beside the bed and speaks again, close to Satori’s ear. His breath makes Satori’s ear-rings shudder, but it does not rouse him from his slumber. Mark gives up and decides to check the rest of the house.

  He checks the bathrooms, the third, fourth and fifth bedrooms then heads towards the large and desolate upstairs room they checked earlier. As he looks around at empty display cabinets and bare bookshelves he wonders what this room was for. He strides closer to the centre of the square room. His skin tingles. A shadow deeper than the rest lurks at the centre, and his flashlight refuses to define or dispel the shape. The shape moves, uncurling before his eyes. It grows upwards, stretching until it stands a foot taller than Mark. The torch shakes in his hand as he watches in awe. Two limbs, arms perhaps, separate from the bulk and rise above what looks like the shadow’s head. The right shadow-limb is longer than the other and ends with a curved narrow point, a blade. Both arms are held aloft, reaching towards the ceiling. The black shape of the blade draws energy from above. Sparks, like lightning bolts, spread between ceiling and knife. Bright blue and vivid green arcs of energy crackle. The room flashes with their light, but the silhouette remains dark and unformed.

  Mark clutches his torch like an insufficient weapon, not caring any longer which part of the room the beam hits. Lightning flashes illuminate everything around him, everything apart from the shadow, man or demon, who stands in the centre, drawing light and power into him. Mark shakes where he stands. Part of him wants to approach the figure, understand its nature; the other half wants to flee from the room and try once more to wake the sleeping Satori. Adrenaline floods his body. His limbs scream for movement in one direction or the other, but his mind is in chaos.

  ‘Who are you?’ His voice trembles as he speaks.

  The silhouette changes. Mark sees a nose and chin protrude from the dark face as it turns around. Then the shape returns to its less-defined state. The creature faces him now, or so Mark presumes. It is aware of his presence in the room. Running is pointless. The urge to fight grows from his adrenaline-fuelled instincts, but to fight he must first understand.

  He takes a step towards the lightning rod, entranced by the beautiful light and the mysterious darkness. All thoughts other than the need to understand leave him. Another step closer and he is chilled by the freezing air that rotates around the figure. He stretches his right arm towards the shadow, almost touching it. Another step and he will know how it feels. He hovers, breathing heavily before taking that final step. What he touches feels like slime: cold, moving, sucking slime. He pushes forwards, eyes focused on the black void which looks like a torso.

  The figure falls away. It topples backwards, like a body pushed from the top of the stairs or the edge of the building. The wind around the shadow whistles painfully in Mark’s ears. The room is dark, the lightning gone. Mark sweeps the beam of torchlight to where the shadow once stood, watching it tumble backwards to the floor, through the floor, vanishing without a trace.

  Chapter 41

  “Life and death is an entering and leaving of different dream worlds, and reality is where we find or make it.”

  Austin Osman Spare.

  Satori falls through darkness. Arms and limbs flail as his body panics. Terrified he stares upwards. His mind tumbles with him. He grasps at memories as though they are straws to a drowning man: the mirror, the voice, the fall. I’m dreaming. He tries to wake up, but the pull downwards is irresistible. Burying his fear, he concentrates on his breath. The process calms him and his panic subsides. He stills his body, straightens his limbs and puts his hands either side of his hips, palms down. Opening his eyes, he searches for meaning in the darkness. What is t
he dream showing me? What must I understand? When his eyes adjust, he sees bright specks, like dust motes, fall around him. As he studies them they become brighter and brighter until he is afraid the power of their glow will burn his retinas. In the thick darkness, it is as though thousands of stars fall with him.

  He feels like Alice, tumbling down the rabbit hole. His progress feels gentle. The air doesn’t rush past his body as he falls. Instead he seems to float, feather-like, but without the horizontal rocking movement a feather might make as it is carried upon a breeze or updraft of air. Something damp hits his cheek and another wets the palm of his hand. The brightness of stars fade and he sees millions of bubbles; some are as small as the pupils of his eyes and others as large as his entire head. They float upwards as he falls downwards, some pop against his skin and others float past into the darkness above.

  The darkness shifts again. A black circle, somehow deeper than the absolute darkness around it, imposes itself on the gloom above. Around the circle a ring of red appears then grows brighter until its glow looks like flames around the silhouette of a black moon or sun. The crimson halo moves like water, expanding and contracting around the black circle. Bright red spots break off and drip downwards. Falling through the bubbles and stars, they change shape as they fall. Sometimes they are perfect spheres, other times they look like beans and splatters. They fall faster than him, racing towards Satori through the darkness, colliding with bubbles in explosions of violent pink spray.

  The first drip to hit Satori splatters against his face, the second, the back of his hand. Redness spreads across his skin, thick and sticky, like blood. The red rain continues to fall, covering his skin and clothes. It feels warm as it soaks him, this blood from the black moon or black sun, covering him in warm slime, like an embryo in a womb. It hits his mouth and seeps between his lips. It tastes bitter and metallic, crawling across his tongue and into his throat, too thick to swallow. He tries to cough it up, bending his body double as he does so.

  Air whistles past his ears as he falls faster. Blood no longer reaches him but falls back steadily, beyond his reach, lighting the sky above like fireflies. He keeps coughing and gagging until a sphere of crimson is pushed from his throat back onto his tongue then out into the air around him. It explodes like a firework, lighting the sky. In the flash he sees a ladder bolted to the wall a few metres from his hand. He kicks his legs and tries to move against the air like a swimmer. As he flattens his body his descent slows and the blood drops gain on him again. He keeps kicking towards the wall of the cavern and the ladder he hopes is still there. His fingers stretch. Trying to touch something solid, he kicks again and again.

  Bubbles pop against his back and legs, blood drips onto his face and chest. He keeps reaching, kicking and pushing himself to where he hopes the ladder hangs. At last his hand touches something cold and smooth. Another fierce kick and he wraps his fingers around a metal bar. His feet keep falling but his hand clings to the ladder. As his body becomes vertical his calves knock against metal and stone. He searches with his heel for a rung and finds one. He clings to the ladder as blood falls onto his head and shoulders. His hands are slippery and he is terrified he might lose his hold. He just hangs there, clinging to invisible metal while blood covers him. He shakes his head and blinks, trying to see through the crimson film that covers his eyes.

  The vicious rain ceases. One moment it is as heavy as ever, drenching him, and the next it stops falling. He looks up and can no longer see the black sun or the red ring of blood-fire, which surrounded it. Bubbles glow as they drift upwards through starlight, reflecting the silver light back as they float towards an unknown destination.

  Carefully, he turns his body so he faces the wall. Fists wrapped tightly around the rung of the iron ladder, he wonders whether he should climb upwards in pursuit of the bubbles or downwards to search for their source. He considers both options while remaining still. If he wishes to descend he can let himself fall. If he climbs a while and finds nothing, he can choose the fall again. Continuing downwards is a passive gesture, accepting what will be. If that was the only option the ladder would not exist. To find this here, to reach it and be able to cling to it in spite of the slippery deluge, must surely mean he is meant to climb upwards.

  He moves one hand to the rung above and moves his foot upwards as well. He continues in this way. In time the blood is rubbed from his hands and his grip becomes firmer, his progress swifter as he climbs towards whatever he might find.

  Satori follows the bubbles upwards and reaches a ledge at the top of the ladder. He crawls from the pit. He dare not walk in case the ground vanishes beneath his feet again. He hears laughter to his left, its source unseen in the dark. He keeps moving away from the pit, trying to ignore the mocking laughter.

  The sound follows him as he moves on hands and knees across the rock. Blood soaks his hands again, this time it is his blood, cut on jagged pieces of stone. Slipping and sliding he continues forwards. Darkness blinds him. Hopelessness settles in his chest. I will never find my way.

  What if I can make my own light?

  He unfurls his body and stands proud. Breathing deeply, he calms his mind and body. He reminds himself that like all realities and dreams this one is within his mind and he can alter it. Closing his eyes, he tries to draw light and energy into his body. Instead of bright light, he feels darkness pushing through his open chakras and closes them again. Okay, he thinks. He concentrates on a light inside him, love, burning in his stomach and chest. The light grows and warms him. Opening his eyes, he detects shapes in the gloom. The ground below him is solid as far as he can see. He walks within his self-made spotlight and marvels at how quickly his vision adjusts until he is barely aware of the viscous, pulsing darkness surrounding him, held at bay by his love.

  Satori is in a large, wide tunnel. The walls look organic rather than man-made, perhaps hewn by water or a giant worm. Shapes move against the walls, they appear sentient but do not approach him and he has no desire to study them closer.

  The air ahead glows red. He keeps walking. There is a bend in the tunnel and as he rounds it he sees something which steals his breath. Two great obelisks reach beyond the limits of the tunnel. One pillar is white, the other black and between them a crimson sun hovers. He looks left and right. There are no alternative routes to take. He keeps walking towards these twin towers, the dark and the light in balance, with the sun setting between them.

  Hot air stifles him. Satori pulls at the t-shirt around his neck,. his face and body dripping sweat. A dog howls then something low and heavy approaches him from behind. Afraid to turn and look at his pursuer, Satori hurries. He sprints forwards, between the pillars. Energy hits him and every molecule in his body spasms. He feels new connections form in his brain and nervous system. A wide grin spreads across his face. The feeling is wonderful. The balance between his spirit and his body has never felt more intact. Reluctantly he steps forwards and leaves the obelisks behind. The dying sun falls below the tunnel floor and reveals a chamber beyond. He strides towards it, energised.

  Chapter 42

  Freya pads down the stairs of her family home. As she enters the living room, she sees her mother cradling Jasmine, a look of pure love on her face.

  ‘Morning, Mum.’

  ‘Good morning, darling. Did you sleep well? I’m sorry, I heard Jasmine wake up and thought I’d let you sleep longer. Is that okay?’

  Freya shrugs. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Do you want breakfast?’ Lorraine asks.

  Freya watches the sleeping infant, secure and surrounded by love, in Lorraine’s arms. She smiles, but inside her chest a maggot of jealousy wriggles. ‘I can sort myself out. I remember where everything is. Want a cuppa?’

  ‘And have to put this little cutie to one side while I drink it? ... Oh I’m sorry, Freya. Here do you want her?’

  Freya considers the question for a moment then shakes her head. ‘I’m fine, Mum. She seems settled where she is. Wasn’t she hungry when she
woke, though?’

  ‘No, she just needed a cuddle.’

  ‘She’ll be hungry soon.’ Freya’s breasts are heavy with milk. They ache to be emptied.

  ‘Can I make up her bottle? Please, Freya.’

  ‘Mum, I breastfeed her.’ Freya scowls. She pushes her anger back down and it lurks in the shadows of her heart, waiting for the moment she can release it.

  ‘Oh yes, of course. Well, she’s okay for the moment. We’ll just cuddle while you get yourself something to eat. You need to keep up your strength, after all you’re feeding two.’

  Freya sighs and turns to leave the room. ‘Yes, Mum.’

  ‘Freya.’

  Freya glances back at her mother. ‘Yes.’

  Lorraine smiles serenely. Her eyes shine with joy. ‘It’s great to have you home. Stay as long as you want.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  Freya fetches some toast and a mug of coffee from the kitchen and returns to the living room.

  ‘Is that all you’re having?’ Lorraine asks.

  Freya laughs. ‘For now, Mum. Where are Dad and Ivan?’

  ‘Your Dad had to work an extra shift today. He should be home around three. Ivan’s gone to see Sarah.’

  ‘Sarah?’

  ‘Yes.’ Lorraine nods.

  ‘As in Star?’

  Lorraine’s lips tremble behind the smile. Her eyes darken. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Why?’