Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales) (63 page)

“That’s kind of honest, at least,” said Sam. “You must realize that when they did their
Thelma and Louise
act into the Abyss, it was only what they deserved.”

“Not so much what they deserved, as what they chose. That was my brother and sister all the way through. No one decided their fate for them.”

“And how about you?” Rosie asked softly. Mist smiled, but made no reply. Again Stevie ached to put her arms around him, but couldn’t. She felt him drifting away from her and she knew why. It was more than grief. That was why, in Aurata’s house, she’d told him they should separate.

Presently Vaidre Daima reappeared with seven Tyrynaians. They glided in robes covered with mantles of jewel colors; purple, green, deep blue. These garments were multilayered and intricately figured with mythic creatures like those engraved on the Felixatus. They wore headdresses of flowers or feathers or leaves that seemed part of their long shining hair. Aetherial fashions? The sight of this delicious dressing-up made Stevie smile, and wish she did not resemble a travel-worn vagrant. She longed for her own dresses and her necklaces of turquoise, amber and carnelian.

“We’ll transcribe everything you tell us, in order to keep a permanent record.”

“You know something?” Sam said, folding his arms. “We’re not obliged to tell you a damned thing. I mean, who are you? Yes, I know you call yourselves a ‘court’ as if you hold some kind of power over us, but the truth is, you don’t. We don’t even live here. And even if we did—no one rules the Spiral. Those who try tend to come to a nasty end.”

“True.” Vaidre Daima cleared his throat. “Still, we function as best we can to protect our realms. Every Aelyr accepts that. And as their elected spokesman, I bear a responsibility to find out the truth. To preserve and learn from it. That’s all.”

Sam spoke over him: “The problem is, the Spiral Court has no teeth. You lurk in the darkness, being mysterious, trying to control all Aetherials—the phrase ‘herding cats’ springs to mind—but when a power like Albin or Aurata rises, you’re impotent.”

Lucas said, “Sam, enough. We can’t have this argument now. Let’s cooperate, then we can go home.”

“I think that’s up to Mist and Stevie. They’re the ones who had the worst of it.”

“It’s all right.” Mist leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “We’ll tell you everything we know.”

“Let’s keep it brief, then,” said Stevie. She cradled the Felixatus on her thighs, feeling shudders and sparks deep within its structure. “We have something important to do.”

*   *   *

Later, their stories told, Vaidre Daima led them up to the very summit of Tyrynaia. Such a trek on Earth, Stevie imagined, would have taken a day and been utterly exhausting. In Tyrynaia, though, she felt weightless, tireless. If the air grew thin, she didn’t notice. This was another taste of her Aelyr resilience that thrilled and startled her.

At the highest point lay a small round terrace, inlaid with black opal tiles in a spiral pattern. Looking up, Stevie searched the sparkling infinity of stars until she began to pick out constellations, and at last found the topaz-yellow point of Capella in Auriga—or at least its Otherworld twin.

Mist said, “I’ve been told they call it the Summer Star, or Estel’s Jewel.”

In the center of the terrace stood a slender chest-high column, carved with designs similar to those on the Felixatus. There were symbols of the five realms, of mysteries into which Stevie had barely dipped her fingertips. On top was a small black angel statue; an Estalyr image, she realized. Vaidre Daima lifted the statue off and said, “Is this place suitable?”

“Perfect,” she said. “May I?”

He nodded, and she placed the Felixatus on top of the column. She set to work, rotating the base, adjusting gears until all axes were in perfect alignment. Before, she’d done her best to ensure the souls couldn’t escape to be used as Aurata’s weapon. Now she reversed those settings. A thin beam of light fell from the Summer Star, directly through the lens into the heart of the crystal sphere.

The Felixatus responded. Specks of light began to dance in their millions, faster and brighter until they became a single mass like a tiny sun. Mist stood with her. She saw dozens of Tyrynaians crowding around the terrace to watch.

The lens shot an answering beam into the heavens.

In an outpouring of light motes, a star-stream, all the soul-essences of the Felynx flew free.

Stevie gasped, laughing. The fierce white rush of fire was beautiful, like the wildest fireworks display ever seen. Night became day. She felt Mist’s hand firm on her shoulder. Were those who’d died in the fall of Azantios among them? Even Poectilictis and Theliome themselves?

It was impossible to know. Some questions would never be answered.

Thirty seconds was all it took. The stream faded and the Felixatus went dim.

Then she found herself surrounded by Aelyr from every realm. Their skin glowed in reflected starlight and their eyes were alluring jewels, their hair like streams of silk, all sublime loveliness. After all, why deny themselves beauty when all they had to do was shift form a little to appear exactly as they wished?

Humans would surely kill for such an ability.

There were Melusians, Sibeylans, many others she couldn’t identify, even green-skinned beings with iridescent lacy wings, others with draconic or feline features, tall coal-black demigods, smaller nut-brown creatures who could only have formed in wooded glades.

Perhaps some were from different worlds altogether.

They swarmed around her, around Sam and Luc and Rosie too, expressing thanks and praise so effusive that Stevie had to struggle free and fight her way back to Mist.

Now the Felixatus was dim, like an extinguished candle. She saw him breathe out slowly, bowing his head. Color came back into his face, and an expression of peace. A hint of green infused his grey irises.

She brushed the raven-black feathery hair away from his cheek to see him better. “Did we do the right thing?” she whispered.

“Oh, yes. The only possible thing.” He clasped her hand. “Thank you, Stevie. Thank you.”

“Father?” Sam’s voice rang out a few yards away. He was approaching a tall man in the crowd who resembled a fusion of Albin and Lucas; milky skin, ebony hair swept back from stern yet beautifully carved features.

Lawrence Wilder.

He looked, Stevie observed, not unlike Mist. An older, gaunter version.

But he would
, she thought.
If Aurata was his mother, that makes Mist … his uncle.
She caught her breath on the thought.
And that’s why Lucas, too, reminds me of Mist!

Sam and Lawrence greeted each other in a formal yet affectionate way, clasping hands, exchanging light kisses on the cheek. “Dad,” Sam said, and gave him a brief hug. Rosie and Lucas joined him, hanging back slightly.

Stevie recalled what they’d told her. Lawrence had been a formidable figure when he inhabited Stonegate. Much had happened to thaw their relationship with him, but old patterns of behavior lingered. Lawrence Wilder was still a high Sibeylan to be treated with due respect.

“I have been hearing tales,” Lawrence said. “Many rumors, chiefly that my father Albin is gone at last. I should mourn him, but I can’t. He almost destroyed the Spiral.”

“Well,” Sam said, taking a breath. “It’s worse than that. I met your mother, Maia, and lost her again. If you’ve heard stories about Aurata of the Felynx … that was her. She went into the Abyss.” Sam explained quickly, stumbling over the words. “What gets me is that she just went—without wanting to see you, without even thinking about you.”

Lawrence’s aquiline face barely changed. His eyes were serene.

“Okay, that’s fine.” Sam took a step back. “I didn’t expect a big reaction from you. Definitely no tears. You’re a thousand years old, and Maia’s long forgotten: why should it mean anything to you? I just thought you should know, that’s all.”

“Thank you.”

“You might want to think about going home to Virginia? She’s alone in her cottage. Who knows what effect Albin’s games had on Elysion? Do you want to go home to an ice elemental?”

“I am going back to her, Samuel. What, did she tell you I’d left her?”

“No. Only that you wander off sometimes. Fair enough; neither of you was ever a breeze to live with.”

Sam stood for a moment, downcast, shoulders slightly hunched. He began to turn away, but Lawrence said, “Sam, wait. Two things. I have seen Maia.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam turned back to him. “When?”

“She … I received a message many nightfalls ago. That’s why I came to Tyrynaia. I didn’t know who’d sent it, but when I arrived, she came to me. A stranger, in a crimson cloak and hood. I had no idea who she was.”

“You didn’t recognize your own mother?”

“It’s been such a long time. And we all change. Human, angel, animal—we transform to suit our mood or circumstances. She looked, really, as young as Rosie—although I should have learned by now that age means nothing in the Aelyr realms. The moment she said her name, I knew her.”

“What wouldn’t I have done to witness that!” Sam exclaimed. “So you knew she was Maia. But did she admit her other identity, Aurata of the Felynx?”

Lawrence smiled; a rare event, Stevie guessed. “No, she omitted that. I only found out today, but it makes sense of her cryptic remarks.”

“Come on. Tell all.”

Lawrence’s eyelids flickered and he looked into the middle distance. “She said she was sorry; that she needed to see me, just once, however reluctant I might be. All Aetherials wander away, she said, but that doesn’t mean we love each other less: the sort of stock phrase that would suit a greeting card, I thought. However, I believe she meant it. And she told me that an all-or-nothing change was on its way. Either a new world, or annihilation.”

“Did you ask what she meant?”

Lawrence shrugged. “Overexcitable Aelyr of different persuasions are prone to wild pronouncements that rarely have any basis in reality. As a veteran of such events, now content with my peaceful life, I wasn’t greatly interested.”

“Wow,” said Sam. “Father, I’m going to bring you the sleekest pair of designer shades I can lay hands on. You’re even more cool than I gave you credit for. What
did
you ask her?”

“Why she wanted to see me.”

“And?”

“One simple reason: to see her son, just once, before … before what, I didn’t know.”

“And now you do.” Sam exhaled. “Channeling Qesoth, melting the world, skydiving into the Abyss and all that fun stuff … I swear by Estel the Eternal, if Rosie and I ever have a child, we’ll be the most conventional bloody parents on the planet.”

Rosie put in softly, “But Maia came to see you, Lawrence. That’s the important thing. At least she came.”

Lawrence acknowledged her remark with a nod, a brief gentle glance.

“You said there were two things,” said Sam. “What was the other?”

“Oh.” Lawrence’s grey eyes narrowed. “Second point, a correction. Ancient I may be, but a thousand years old? Not yet.”

“Pah, that’s nothing.” Sam turned, beckoning Mist and Stevie. “Let me introduce you to Maia’s brother, Mistangamesh.”

*   *   *

Later, they left the Felixatus poised on Tyrynaia’s summit and made their way down to the lower levels, moving with the crowd. Mist and Stevie walked side by side, not touching. They stole glances at each other, but there was tension.

She’d made a firm break with him for all the sensible reasons. Certain she wouldn’t survive Aurata’s ritual, she hadn’t wanted him to endanger himself to save her. So much for that. But the problems went deeper. She knew Mist loved her, but would it be enough if he was so numb with trauma that no one could reach him?

She sensed him drifting away, becoming more Aelyr while she wanted to stay human. Tyrynaia might turn him into the remote, ancient Aetherial he was meant to be, someone like Poectilictis or Vaidre Daima. That was fine, if it was what Mist wanted.

And Stevie might even be older than him, one of the earliest energy beings … but she couldn’t remember that far back. For now, all she wanted was the safe human persona she’d woven. Stevie Silverwood might be far from perfect, but she was
real
.

She had to steel herself for an unknown future: to accept that it was unlikely to be the one she wanted.

Stevie smiled to herself, recalling one of Daniel’s paintings: a group of stylized angelic beings dressed in white, blue and black. One had been Mist, taking his place among a high senate that she now guessed must be the Spiral Court. That was Mist’s natural, rightful place.

She thought suddenly,
Was I in that picture? Damn, I can’t remember. He is a prince of Azantios
, she told herself.
Aetherial royalty.

I am an unemployed, homeless museum worker from Birmingham.

Yet I’m also Estalyr, one of the primal First … and a feted Tashralyr champion who walked among the Felynx and died for the secrets she learned. And Mist—setting aside the burdens of his high status—is simply the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met.

Isn’t it strange, how many different things one person can be?

No kidding, it’s a funny old world.

They reached a piazza, tiled with glossy onyx that reflected the stars so it appeared depthless, like a lake at midnight. In the center was a huge obsidian angel with wings folded down its back. From the scores of Aetherials milling about, and the sight of drinks being served from long stone tables, she understood that this was a customary gathering place. Turning, Stevie found Rosie, Sam and Lucas at her elbow. They drew her beneath a quiet colonnade to discuss their next move.

Somehow, in those few moments, she lost Mist in the crowd.

While the other three debated an immediate return to Earth, she looked around anxiously for Mist. No sign of him. A sickening pang plunged through her like a spear, even as she told herself it was best to slip away, with no awkward goodbyes.

She looked at the floor, wondering how far down it was to Persephone’s chamber. Perhaps she could slip down there, for old times’ sake, and sit in the green glow of Lake Meluis until finding and losing Mist stopped hurting. Then she recalled Persephone’s warning,
My realm is timeless. I may not remember you, nor you me.