Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales) (61 page)

Mist felt a long, deep pang.
The only true family …
“After what she tried to do?”

Rufus shrugged. “She’s still my sister, and the love of my life. I’ve done worse myself; I can overlook a little fire-goddess-channeling lunacy, can’t you? So she went mad for a while. Who hasn’t?”

“The Abyss,” said Aurata, as if she hadn’t heard their conversation. She turned to them, her face golden-white like a luminous shell. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Yes, fantastic,” said Rufus. His voice shook. “Now step away from the edge. Come on, Aurata, think about this. They’re only going to question us. How bad can it be?”

“I feel safe here. Mist, come closer. See how beautiful it is.”

“We’ve seen,” he said. “I know today has been disastrous. Your onetime husband is dead, Veropardus and Slahvin are dead, and your power is gone. But—look, your brothers are still here. We’ll help you.”

She laughed. “What are you, the men in white coats?”

Stevie said cautiously, “Your two grandsons would quite like to meet you.”

“If I was the ordinary Aurata you want me to be, possibly. I wish them well, but I’m a stranger to them. I can’t see it would do them any good to meet a madwoman.” Her voice turned low and savage. “There are no true Aetherials left.”

“Admit your plan could never have worked,” said Rufus. “Let’s go away somewhere. Like when we were in Venice, remember? Forgive me. It could be you and me again. Mist, too, if he changes his mind. And lovely Fela, if she can forgive you for the swamp business and Daniel and all that. Don’t you remember how fond you were of her? What else matters?”

“Nothing,” she said dully. Placing her hands on Rufus’s shoulders, she kissed him on the mouth. “Nothing else matters. But it can’t happen, because the Spiral Court will incarcerate me for eternity. You’re right; I was carried away with delusions. Qesoth will not rise, there will be no new golden empire of the Felynx. But what should we have done instead?”

“Anything.”

“Not me. I can’t live a small life. Even if I was wrong, I hold to my destiny and I do nothing that is not my own choice.”

“Don’t move!” Vaidre Daima shouted from a distance. A hundred armed crossbows glowed red in the darkness. “Aurata of the Felynx, this is your final warning. Surrender yourself to the Spiral Court!”

“Not a chance,” said Aurata. She looked at Rufus, her face aglow. “Are you still with me?”

“Always.” He smiled back. They joined hands, both stretching into tawny, lynx-like forms. Laughing.

“No!” Mist yelled. Too late. They bounded and leapt—

Stevie vanished with them.

It was a trick so fast that Mist barely saw it, let alone had a chance to act. In a last stroke of mischief, Rufus had grabbed Stevie’s wrist and taken her over the precipice with him.

With a yell of anguish, Mist plunged after her. Missiles whizzed past his ears. He felt the searing pain of a crossbow bolt gouging the skin of his upper arm, but then he was far beyond the range of Vaidre Daima’s army. Falling, falling into the Abyss.

*   *   *

How is it possible to fall
, Stevie wondered,
when we’re out in space with no gravity to seize us? It must be the pull of the Cauldron itself.

She was too stunned to feel fear. She remembered the sense of calm when she’d drowned. This was the same. She felt wonder and resignation as she stared down into the great spiraling mass of stars, billions of stars that never seemed to grow closer however far they fell. She heard their soft roar, a sound she’d never dreamed could exist, the song of eternity.

Aurata shone like a comet, leading the way. Rufus was still gripping Stevie’s wrist, his head thrown back and a cry of exhilaration pouring from his throat. She glanced upward, but could no longer see the edge from which they’d fallen.

All she saw was Mist falling after her. He was reaching out, altering his position like a skydiver to catch her up.

Shock jolted her from calm trance into frantic horror.

“You bastard, Rufus.” Mist’s voice was thin, carried away by their speed. “You haven’t changed, you will never change!”

“But we’ll all be together. Don’t you want to know the secrets of the Cauldron?”

“Death. True death.”

“An awfully big adventure, as some wise man put it. I know now why I could never die. It’s because the Spiral itself rejected me! This is how it must end, don’t you see? The three of us, together…” Rufus’s words were becoming drawn out now, slow and breathless. “If one goes, all must go. The four of us. Stevie’s part of us now. This way, we will all be together … forever.”

There was joyous exuberance in Aurata’s curving descent. Rufus smiled manically, laughing without sound. Stevie saw the wound in Mist’s shoulder, saw his eyes grow heavy as he fought the effects of the drugged crossbow bolt.

Every fiber of her screamed denial.

All the time, Mist was struggling to prize Rufus’s hand off Stevie’s wrist. He forced himself to stay conscious, would not give up. And she saw Mist’s hand suddenly change, sprouting a claw like a butcher’s blade.

Stevie saw the claw slice straight through Rufus’s wrist. The hand remained clamped around her forearm—but Rufus, cut loose, his mouth wide open in disbelief, floated and rotated away in Aurata’s fire trail.

Mist gave a hoarse scream.

She was free, but they were still falling. Beneath them the Cauldron waited, a vast mass of starfire trailing its arms into the void. The great black eye turned, strangely soft and inviting, even merciful—like Persephone’s eyes—but inescapable. Stevie knew that they might fall for a thousand years before they reached the center.

Estalyr.

The word dropped into her mind from nowhere, something Rosie had said. She thought,
But we can fly, we can fly, why do we have to fall?

Stevie pushed deep inside herself, into the most ancient parts of her brain, the long-forgotten core of herself buried like a fossil under layers and layers of time, right back to the beginning.
Wings can’t beat if there’s no air …

But to the Estalyr, the First, it doesn’t matter. Those rules don’t touch us.
She felt a rush of blue-black energy, strange yet achingly familiar.
How could I forget this?
Heat rushed through her, like a million stars powering her from within. She felt vast wings leaping from her back like sails.

Stevie caught hold of Mist and clung to him as she unleashed her wings in long, powerful beats.

There was no effect at first. Then a slight deceleration, but they were still falling. And then—equilibrium. They hung in the void, but she could not gain height. She realized that Mist, although barely conscious, was also taking winged Estalyr form. His valiant efforts made little difference. Yet, however little, it helped.

Below them, his brother and sister fell, tumbling, swirling downward like sparks of fire. Stevie knew that Mist would swoop down and save them if he could, despite all they’d done. She knew it broke his heart that he couldn’t. His body shook with despair against hers. Yet he held on to her with all his strength and worked frantically to help them gain height.

The pull of the Abyss was too strong. Their wings beat like giant sails against nothingness. They were weightless, like astronauts in orbit, losing height again. Even their primal essence was not enough.

“We tried,” Mist said into her ear. “Don’t be afraid. At least we’re together.”

“No,” said Stevie. “We must try harder. I won’t let you fall!”

She saw dark shapes around them like falling leaves. More Estalyr, soaring on great dark wings: indigo-black angels with golden suns for eyes.

Stevie gave her wings an extra, desperate push. Mist reached up with one hand, caught the hand of the Estalyr that was extended to him from above.

The effort was like clinging to twigs in a flood. With infinitely slow progress they all strove against the heavy pull of the Abyss, as if trying to swim up a waterfall. Like salmon leaping upstream, they strove for the impossible … and began to win.

A last desperate push, with several pairs of wings sweeping, straining, they reached the lip of the chasm, hung on and climbed, clawed their way, as ungainly as bats, onto flat ground.

Their Estalyr forms dropped away with sheer exhaustion. Stevie and Mist stood clinging hard to each other as they saw who had rescued them: Rosie, Sam and Lucas.

23

Always Summer

“I’m not squeamish,” said Stevie, “truly, I’m not, but someone please get this thing off me!”

She stretched out her right arm behind her, turning her head the other way. Rufus’s severed hand was locked around her wrist and she feared she might have to wear it like some grisly bracelet for eternity.

There was activity behind her. The pain worsened, making her wince.

“Stevie, it’s gone,” said Sam.

“I can still feel it!”

She glanced around to see Sam holding the object balanced on his palm, his mouth twisted in a wry expression of distaste. The hand did not look human. It was like a paw sheened with reddish fur, the long, bony digits tapering to neat claws. She hadn’t felt it come free, and could still feel claw tips in her skin. She rubbed briskly at her forearm, trying not to gag.

“See?” said Rosie. “It must be like when you pull out a splinter but it still hurts like hell for a while.”

“Oh, god,” she whispered. “Thanks.”

“Right, come on,” said Mist, sliding a firm arm around her. His irises reflected the pale rock, matching the ghastly bone-white hue of his face. “Let’s get away from here. Nothing Vaidre Daima does can matter to us now.”

In a ragged bunch, stumbling from sheer weariness, the five of them made their way towards the warrior horde. The crystalline rock was like ice beneath their feet. They held one another upright.

No one spoke. Stevie kept catching her breath on waves of wonder and horror. Part of her wanted to pour out all the obvious sentiments:
Is everyone all right? How did we all find the strength to become Estalyr? It’s supposed to be near-impossible, so how…? Incredible, what sheer desperation will achieve. We’ve done the impossible, escaped the Abyss … I never imagined such terror. We should be dead, annihilated, but we’re still alive. We’re alive!

She held all this inside. Words were inadequate. She couldn’t believe that Sam, Rosie and Lucas had risked their own lives to save her and Mist, yet they had, and their bravery struck her speechless. Perhaps the same thoughts were in her companions’ minds … but what could she say to Mist, who’d watched his siblings arcing away like meteors into the void? She couldn’t begin to imagine his feelings, still less to comfort him.

He was clearly in such deep shock that she wondered if he’d ever recover. Fear squeezed her heart, worse than anything Aurata, Rufus or Albin had done.

There was a flurry of activity on the rocks where Albin had fallen. A handful of Tyrynaian warriors came to meet Mist and the others, armed but keeping a wary distance.

Vaidre Daima was grim-faced, shaken. Approaching, he began to say something, only for Mist’s left hand to shoot out and connect with his chest, stopping him in his tracks. “Do not speak to me. You drove my sister and brother into the Abyss. I assume that’s what you intended.”

“No! Absolutely not. Only to question them. I made it clear—”

Sam said, “Obviously Aurata didn’t care to answer your questions. You might think about putting a safety fence along the edge there.”

“As I explained, the Spiral is unstable. The Abyss shifts position. Until the fog cleared, we had no idea it was there. I swear … What we’ve witnessed today is unprecedented, almost beyond our comprehension.”

“You should have been there,” Sam retorted. “What do you want us to do? We need to rest and then go home. Nothing difficult.”

Vaidre Daima’s voice was gruff as he retrieved his tattered dignity. “As a courtesy I invite you all to Tyrynaia. Rest, answer our questions, then you can go.”

“Yes, we accept,” said Lucas. “Would you please tell your guards to lower their weapons? There’s no need to treat us like prisoners. We won’t resist.”

Vaidre Daima made a brusque gesture; all crossbows were lowered and disarmed. Some of the guards moved away and reverted to upright, nonreptilian forms. “I apologize. You are our guests, of course. The guards are here to protect you, an escort of honor.”

“Wait,” said Lucas, indicating the flutter of white feathers on the rocks. “What about Albin? We can’t just leave him there.”

Sam led the way, pushing through the Tyrynaians who were grouped loosely around the body. Albin lay where Rufus had felled him, on his side with a purple wound grinning across his throat.

Sam bent down and said, “He’s not dead.”

Then Stevie saw in shock that Albin’s eyes were flickering. His lips moved feebly. It was an awful moment. Everyone gathered around him was paralyzed with pity and horror.

Eventually Mist said, “I can’t deal a death blow to him. Not in cold blood.”

Sam gave a slight nod, one hand spread in Mist’s direction to show he understood. “I wouldn’t ask that of anyone.” He dropped to his knees beside Albin’s shoulder, leaning over him. “He might yet heal, and live.” Sam’s voice was rough. “The Spiral does that to us.”

A faint noise creaked from Albin’s lips. “No. Take me into my tower.”

Hearing him speak was the worst thing of all. His neck was cut nearly through to the spine and yet he found a voice, like a severed head in a folktale.

Mistangamesh looked frigidly at Vaidre Daima. “Will you trust us to do that, at least? Whatever Albin’s crimes, he’s kin to Lucas and Sam, as Rufus and Aurata were to me. Let them do what they must. Afterwards, we’ll come with you.”

Vaidre Daima hesitated. Lucas raised his head and glared. “I am your Gatekeeper,” he said fiercely. Stevie had never seen him angry before. “Your Court appointed me. If you don’t trust me to perform an act of respect for my grandfather and then go willingly to the city with you, I resign.”

The Spiral Court leader stepped back, green feathers swaying as he dipped his head, his palms open in apology. “Forgive me. Do what you must. In fact I’ll send the guards back and escort you to Tyrynaia alone. That will prove my trust in you, I hope.”