The Key to Starveldt (10 page)

‘Jess?’ she asked. ‘What’s happening?’

Slowly, the seer lowered her hands and opened her eyes. The casting music died in her throat. A look of bewilderment crossed her face.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘The words are gone. It’s like that feeling you get when you’re about to sneeze, but no matter how much it tickles, nothing happens.’

‘Has it been like this before?’ Electra asked.

‘Yes,’ said Jess, her voice picking up both pitch and pace, ‘but not for years. I mean, there were these times, right, when someone would tell me what to look for – not ask, tell, only I didn’t understand what he meant, so I couldn’t focus clearly on the cast. Or else he’d ask me for something too broad, which is weird, you know, because you’d think that specific stuff would be harder. But the more specific I am, the more I can feel all the different things a cast can touch on, you know? So I’m throwing a broader net, but if the question is unfocused, then I can’t get a grip on anything, the words slide away and –’

‘Jess.’ Evan grabbed his sister firmly by the shoulders and gave the tiniest of shakes. ‘It’s all right. Just breathe, okay? He doesn’t matter anymore. You don’t owe anyone anything.’

He
? Solace wanted to ask, but as Jess gulped and nodded, she couldn’t bring herself to speak. Seeing her friend so uncomfortable was unnerving.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Electra. ‘We can find our own way. We’ve already got one prophecy to deal with.’

‘Thanks,’ said Jess, albeit weakly. ‘I just wish there was something else we could do, you know, to get our bearings.’

‘There is,’ said Laine, startling everyone. From where she sat, head bowed, at the far end of the table, the psychic raised her gaze. ‘Nepenthe,’ she said, in answer to their expressions. ‘Tripwalking.’

‘That’s actually –’ Jess began, but found herself forestalled by a sharp snort from Paige.

‘– really, really stupid,’ the pixie girl declared. ‘Firstly, we used up the last of your stash at the warehouse. Secondly, remember how
that
worked out, with the screaming and terrible fires?
Not
cool. Thirdly, we’re in a pocket dimension, as in, a galaxy far far away, and then some. You think that stuff grows on trees?’

‘Some of the ingredients do,’ Laine said insolently. ‘But what would you know about it?’

‘Can you really find some here, do you think?’ Jess asked, snatching the pause before Paige could prolong their argument. ‘Nepenthe, that is.’

Laine’s eyes glittered. ‘Absolutely.’

‘Well, then.’ The seer abruptly emptied her hands onto the table, her summoned oddments twisting and falling, as carelessly spilt as the contents of a kicked toy box. There was a hissing sound as the porcelain cat statuette shattered into powder under the strength of its impact, but otherwise, the pieces remained whole. There was a small silence as everyone stared at her.

‘Um,’ said Jess, blushing. ‘I probably shouldn’t have done that. I mean, the cat’s kind of broken.’

‘Who cares?’ said Evan. ‘I’ll bet that stranger things have been left on stranger Rookery tables by stranger people than us. Just leave them.’

‘We’re going, then?’ said Paige, sharply. ‘Following her?’

Only Harper looked remotely apologetic. ‘What else can we do?’

‘Something sensible,’ Paige muttered, but when the others stood, she followed.

Outside the room, Sylvia was waiting for them.

‘May I help further?’ she asked, more amused than polite.

Solace didn’t speak. Like the others, she turned instead to Laine, who smoothed her hands down her skirt and stepped forward.

‘Satyrs,’ she said. ‘They have a grove here, somewhere near the Castalian spring. Can you take us to them?’

Pleasant surprise flashed across Sylvia’s features, followed quickly by concern. ‘You are less ignorant than one might have supposed. And yet, this might not be the wisest course of action. Your friends – do they understand the risks?’

‘Laine?’ asked Solace, her voice coming out a little higher than she’d intended. ‘You didn’t say anything about satyrs. Have you been here before?’

‘No,’ said the Goth girl, not looking round, but her shoulders twitched in a way that suggested secrecy.

Solace felt as though her head was floating above her neck, instead of being properly connected to her body. The day had already held so many weird revelations that one more shouldn’t have mattered, but somehow, the idea that Laine knew more than any of them about the Rookery was the most alarming of all. Clearly, Solace wasn’t alone in this perception: Paige swore violently, and when it became apparent that the psychic wasn’t about to turn and explain herself, Evan reached out and grabbed her by the elbow.

Laine whirled, shocked and angry. ‘Hey!’

‘What aren’t you telling us?’ Evan’s voice was frighteningly level. His eyes bored into hers for long seconds, the contrasting blues of their irises like the iridescent shades of a beetle’s shell. Laine’s lips parted, but that was all. Evan waited a moment longer, then dropped his hand and let her go. Laine didn’t move, but somehow, it still felt to Solace as though she’d stumbled. A blush crept up the psychic’s neck.

‘We’ll take the risk,’ said Evan. His eyes didn’t leave Laine, but his words were directed at Sylvia. ‘Take us where we need to go.’

The Rookery guard raised an eyebrow. ‘You are all agreed?’

Solace braced for Paige’s objection, but nobody spoke. She turned and looked at her friends. Beside her, Manx shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Harper stood tense, while Jess seemed unusually lost, still disoriented by the failure of her Trick. Electra rested one hand on the seer’s shoulder, golden and serene. Paige looked furious, her lips drawn in a tight line, but as though she feared the childishness of her anger, she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the middle distance.

Only when it became apparent that Sylvia really did want an answer did Solace speak. ‘We are agreed,’ she said.

The guard inclined her head. ‘Then follow me.’

T
he Rookery was vast, and to Laine, almost unbearable. Whatever sleeping with Evan had done to her psychic sensitivity showed no signs of dissipating. Despite her wards, the sheer number and variety of nearby minds was overwhelming, such that she could scarcely keep control of herself. Paige’s open hostility wasn’t helping, either. Part of her desperately wanted to collapse, but instead she found herself placing one foot in front of the other, focusing on the deep purple grass and massive white stars as Sylvia led them onwards through the crowds.

For the first five minutes, nobody spoke to her. It was ridiculous. She could
hear
their curiosity, a sort of low-pitched, wordless whine that hummed in her awareness like a mosquito. Not for the first time, Laine found herself wishing wearily that people would just be honest with one another, even as she recognised that truth could be equally as problematic as falsehood, if not more so. Which is why, when Solace fell into step beside her, she actually found herself smiling.

‘So,’ said the vampire, glancing at Laine from the corner of one ink-black eye. ‘You know many satyrs?’

‘I’ve admitted to having secrets. That’s not the same thing as sharing them.’

‘I never said it was.’

Laine sighed. Her head throbbed with thoughtnoise, but despite her sudden proximity to Solace, the other girl’s mind remained blissfully silent. Not unreadable, as her earlier experience had already proven, but somehow mute. Self-contained, as though she were watching a TV show with the sound off, able to read the basic cues as to what was going on, but protected from more detailed chatter. It did nothing to alleviate the ambient roar, of course, but finding such a pocket of quiet was like taking a sip of cool water on a hot day. It calmed her.

‘I know one,’ she found herself saying. ‘Feyez. I met him in Newtown.’

‘Newtown,’ Solace echoed, her tone a wry mix of amusement and wonder. ‘He sold you the nepenthe?’

Laine shook her head. ‘Traded, not sold. There’s a difference. But, yes. It came from him. We only ever met a few times, and he didn’t tell me much. Of course –’ she tapped the side of her head, ‘– he didn’t need to.’

Solace said nothing. Laine found herself studying the vampire, taking in the line of her throat, her thick hair and easy gait.
You’re the reason we’re here
, she almost said, but held the words back. Solace was still growing into herself, and more trusting in some ways than Laine could comfortably ignore. Although, by way of compensation, she was also strong and unexpectedly kind; maybe even clever. But underneath everything was a loneliness that went so deep it frightened Laine, who knew about isolation. More troubling was the extent to which Solace refused to acknowledge what she felt. Sooner or later, Laine feared, it would cause Solace to do something regrettable, if not downright foolish. Laine had no delusions about her own inner turmoil, but at least she understood where it came from, and could guard against it. Most of the time.

‘What are you thinking now?’ asked Solace, so suddenly that Laine almost jumped. To cover her surprise, she laughed.

‘I was thinking about you, actually. About what you are.’

‘Me too.’

The vampire glanced over her shoulder. After a moment, Laine did likewise. Behind them, the rest of their friends were gawking at the Rookery – not all the curiosity she’d sensed was directed at her, after all. Only Evan noticed their scrutiny: he acknowledged their gazes, unblinking. His thoughts were wrapped closely together, foggy in Laine’s perception, but still potentially readable. She refrained from probing them, struck by the double memory of how he’d looked when washing the blood from Solace’s face, and how quietly the vampire had sat while he did it. Though her conscious mind had registered nothing of the sort, Solace’s whole skin had burned with the need to be held, to be touched, to be comforted. Laine wondered if Evan had sensed it, too, and whether it mattered, or ought to. For any of them.

Only a few seconds had passed. Both girls returned their gaze to the brightness of Sylvia’s rifle, the solidity of her armour.

‘I wish I knew what I was,’ Solace said, so quietly that Laine almost didn’t hear.

Me too
, Laine thought.

Around them, the Rookery teemed like a ragtag shoal of tropical fish. Sylvia walked with a purposeful stride, her silver rifle slung against one shoulder. Laine jolted out of her reverie and noticed that Manx was chatting with the guard – and more, that Sylvia was smiling. Had they been on Earth, the disparity in their heights would’ve been enough to mark them out in a crowd, never mind Sylvia’s strange appearance or the mismatched colours of Manx’s eyes, but here, amid all the disjunctive pairings of the Rookery, they were entirely unremarkable. Neither had any mechanical or overtly animal parts, and both moved with efficient grace, the relaxed tension of jungle predators evident in every muscle.

Curiosity got the better of her. Sharing a conspiratorial glance with Solace – the vampire had noticed them, too, and was already eavesdropping – Laine turned her attention to Manx and Sylvia’s conversation. Unlike Solace, however, she had to take care to overhear only what was said out loud.

‘– looks so human,’ Manx was saying. ‘Or at least, if
human
isn’t a good enough word, then similar. We’re all so physically similar, but from such diverse worlds! Doesn’t that seem more than coincidental? As though we’ve all been made that way?’

Sylvia’s eyes were warm with amusement. ‘Yes, we are similar in some respects. But the brute mechanics of the universe don’t change just because the sun of your world is yellow, or because I was born beneath three moons. Spheres are an efficient shape for bubbles everywhere – that requires no artistry, just adherence to natural law. Why should life be any different?’

‘Because of the greater complexity,’ Manx argued.

Sylvia laughed. ‘True, life is complex. But so are a great many accidents. We are all born so small, we cannot help but look at the vastness of everything else and assume it contains a pattern, that our presence is both necessary and purposeful. Yet other animals manage without a concept of destiny, and are content to do so. Why should we be an exception, simply because our intelligence is greater?’

Manx considered this. ‘Do you think your own life matters? If nothing higher guides you, if all this –’ he gestured at the Rookery, ‘– is, I don’t know, the equivalent of cosmic noise, just coincidental in the grand life of the universe, why do we bother? Does any of it matter?’

‘Of course it matters! As well to argue that there is no joy in existence without an audience. We make our own necessity, forge our own purpose: we need not matter to everyone; just to ourselves, and perhaps an important few.’

‘Maybe,’ grudged Manx, ‘but even if we weren’t here to decide what’s important and what isn’t – even if there was no life, just rocks and water and empty worlds – then everything would still matter, I think, even without an audience or a name. A person still matters even if they don’t believe so, even if nobody else agrees.’

Sylvia smiled. ‘You have a philosopher’s heart, little lion, and a soldier’s eyes. That matters to me.’

Manx grinned, dropping his gaze to the purple grass. Laine had bigger things to worry about than a blue-armoured guard flirting with a man who changed into a housecat, but just at that moment, she found herself at a loss to remember them. Stifling the urge to laugh, she glanced over her shoulder, curious as to whether anyone else had noticed the exchange, and found that Evan, at least, was not entirely oblivious. He winked broadly in acknowledgement of her raised eyebrow, then feigned ignorance when Jess demanded an explanation.

Before any damage could be done, Sylvia came to a halt, effectively putting an end to conversation. Above them, the sky was the same as ever, but the slope of the ground had altered, flattening out to a circular plain at the base of a long hill.

For the first time, Laine caught a glimpse of what might reasonably be termed the horizon, and was startled to realise that, aside from those animals for sale in the Rookery markets, the dimension boasted wildlife of its own. Birds hovered in the skyline, thick-winged, legless and queerly featherless, beautiful only by grace of their slender swan necks and fluid, prehensile tails. Beside her, Solace laughed out loud as one such creature, roughly the size of a cat, swooped low overhead, displaying wide blue eyes and a pinkish bat-skin complexion mottled with purple lines – perfect camouflage for a dusk and twilit world. Its cry was like the echo of a bell. Laine opened her mouth to ask Sylvia what they were called, then stopped, staring: one of the creatures had winked out of existence with a tacit
pop
, only to reappear some fifteen metres away, hovering.