Whose staff, though? Daniel wondered. Oliver was firmly in charge, but had an air of tense hyperactivity about him that suggested he was managing a business rather than simply living here. He seemed to have no family, and was not the relaxed, wealthy head of household that Daniel might have expected. Sometimes they would all vanish into a private room and he’d hear eerie chanting. If this was a cult, Oliver must be their leader … but he acted more like a commandant than a serene guru.
Daniel had learned the hard way not to ask questions. The response was either silence or rage. His duty was to work, and keep his mouth shut.
Swiftly he sketched a body floating face up, like Ophelia drowning. He added the hint of shady figures retreating in the distance, their crime complete. The colors in his mind were grey and aqua.
“What the hell is this?” Oliver said over his shoulder.
Daniel started violently. His nerves were on fire.
“I-I-I don’t know. Murder, perhaps … I keep telling you, I only see things. I don’t know what they mean, I never have.”
Oliver ripped the page out of the sketch book and shredded it.
Daniel recoiled in shock. “What are you doing? You said paint whatever I see!”
“Not that one.”
“So now you’re censoring me? Why have you changed your mind?” Daniel cowered after he spoke, waiting for a blow. He hated himself for the reflex, but he’d never been the fighting type. When his lover turned from mentor to monster, he had no defense. His awe of Oliver was collapsing into plain terror.
Oliver grabbed his hair and jerked his head back, sneering at Daniel’s gasp of pain. “No. I said I want to know every detail that you’re channeling. I decide whether it’s fit to be seen by my … colleagues, or better buried. If you think I am harsh, believe me, there are higher powers whom we truly do not want to displease.”
If Oliver answered to unseen superiors, it might explain his own manic tension and his impulse to take out his frustration on Daniel … or it might simply mean he was mad. Daniel understood now that Oliver was eventually going to kill him. He would squeeze out every last drop of inspiration, then throw away the husk. What was to stop him? This was a stronghold, with no escape, and nothing beyond the security fences but miles of desert.
Worse than this was his fear of dying without ever learning the truth. He’d painted otherworldly beings and then discovered they were real. That knowledge was enough to drive him insane. But never to learn what was going on, what Oliver needed from his work—the frustration was unbearable.
He’d no way of knowing if his panicky message would reach Stevie. It was unlikely. He’d had only five minutes on an unattended laptop to write the document and pray that no one saw it. Oliver had made him set up the secret file storage, apparently so that unnamed absent “colleagues” could view the images.
For Daniel to add a personal, subversive message was a mad risk. As smart as Stevie was, there was little chance she’d ever see it. Now, for her own safety, he hoped she hadn’t.
All this flew through his mind as Oliver gave him a painful upside-down kiss then let go, shoving Daniel away from him with such force that he slipped off his seat onto the floor. As he got shakily back to his feet, he saw that Oliver was holding a familiar stone disk between his palms. With a menacing smile he asked, “D’you recognize this?”
Daniel stared in horror at the familiar carved object that he’d last seen in his display case at home. He couldn’t breathe. “How the hell did you get that?”
“The question is, why didn’t you give it to me when you had the chance?”
“It’s my mother’s. If I’d known it mattered to you…”
“Well, my good assistant Mr. Slahvin is attuned to sniff out artifacts such as this, and the triptych, and bring them to me. There’s nothing you can hide from us. Nothing.”
“Did he harm my mother, or my friend Stevie? If I ever find out he hurt them—”
“You’ll do what?” Oliver laughed. “Don’t worry. People only get hurt if they defy me. Stop fighting me, Daniel, you dear fool.” Oliver regarded him with an expression of glowing, cruel-to-be-kind love that rendered him helpless.
“I’m not fighting.” Daniel’s voice came out as a husky whisper. “I want to make you happy. But this is not what I expected.”
“I don’t care what you expected. Most artists would kill to be given a studio like this and the promise of great rewards in exchange for indulging their talent all day. Yet you’re complaining?”
“No. You’re missing the point. This can’t work.” Daniel pulled at his own hair and glared up at Oliver. “You’re angry because I’m not painting what you want to see!”
“That’s what you think?”
“Yes. You described me as a ‘court artist.’ That means you want flattery. You want me to produce a happy ending of some kind. But I can’t. I don’t see one. I see betrayal. Some kind of fire goddess, and the Earth in ruins.”
Oliver hissed. For a half-second, Daniel saw him as a savage lynx-faced being who might have stepped from one of his paintings. “Just paint the truth. Suppose the fire goddess is on her way? We need to prepare for her arrival.”
“How?”
Oliver pointed at Aurata’s Promise. “Read my mind. Paint her again, in a posture of triumphant glory. I know you can do it.”
“What if I can’t?”
“As I said, no one needs to get hurt. However, if you continue with tricks like sending paintings astray, forgetting to give me sacred artifacts, or trying to send pathetic little secret messages to your friend Stevie, it will be a very different story.”
Daniel froze. Oliver’s tone was soft and dangerous. “There’s little chance she will have seen it. But suppose she did? Do you really suppose she would attempt to find you? All you’d achieve is to put her in the most incredible danger. Had you thought of that? Is it what you want?”
Daniel couldn’t answer. Of course he’d had those thoughts, so chilling they kept him awake at night. He braced himself for a physical blow, but Oliver only stood towering over him like a white-gold angel, laughing and laughing at him.
* * *
The deepest chamber was a black obsidian cave, dappled with watery light from below. Fela slunk in, clinging to the contours of the cave-wall until she found a recess. There was nothing left of her but an indistinct, whitish shape the size of a lynx. She pressed her elemental form into the angle where floor met wall, wishing herself invisible.
Whoever she’d been before was lost. All she knew was that her soul-essence had been severed from her body: that she was dead, or worse: suspended in some strange half-death.
This echoing black space that rippled with reflections was her last refuge, a cave beyond the world.
The source of the glow was an oblong hole in the cave floor, perhaps fifteen feet wide, like a large sunken pond. The ever-moving light made the chamber seem full of water. She imagined she lay at the bottom of a lake, all breath and life crushed out by the water’s weight.
Fela became aware of a figure moving around the chamber; a female silhouette with raven hair falling loose. She turned, revealing a lovely, ageless face with bright skin. The long pointed sleeves of her dress brushed the ground and were lined with blood red.
The splash of red made Fela tremble. The dark maiden looked at her with grave, kind eyes of darkest purplish brown.
“Welcome, Fela. I’m Persephone. I like that name best, of the many given to me. You’re safe here.”
Fela dared not believe it.
The jade glow transfixed her, mysterious and ineffable. Water had become an element to dread. A mesh of soft blue-green radiance reflected from every surface, creating an ever-lapping hypnotic rhythm.
Meanwhile Persephone swept the shiny-dark surface of the floor with a twig broom, then lit candles in niches around the cave walls. After a time she spoke again. “Fela, my dear soul. No one will disturb you here. Speak or be silent, as you wish.”
She hesitated, tried to speak and was surprised when a rusty whisper came out. “The water … what is it?”
“It’s Meluis, the underground lake. It shines always.”
“Make it stop!”
The dark maiden blinked. “I can’t, but it won’t harm you. Most find the light soothing.” She held out a hand. “Come and see.”
Persephone’s voice was steady and mellow, but Fela’s dread was strong and she clung to the cave wall. “No,” she said. “No.”
With a grave look, the maiden nodded, and turned away.
Fela crouched in her niche. Slowly the fear sank down inside her: still there but quiet, like a steadily beating heart. As helpless as a wounded animal, she closed her eyes and went into a dream-like trance. She heard a stream of soft words. Even when she realized she was speaking her own thoughts, she couldn’t stop.
* * *
Aurata leads me into the citadel amid a laughing group of Felynx. I’m used to the soft waterways of the wetlands, to solitude and twilight, so I’m overwhelmed. The Felynx are creatures of the sun and the stars; the Tashralyr dwell in the dusky, damp forests. We are not enemies. We simply coexist, fiery sun and remote shadow. Yet … who can resist the temptation of being cheered and celebrated for our speed, taken among the golden ones and celebrated, almost worshipped—if only for a year or two?
Aurata and her brothers are so beautiful. They seem to delight in my innocence, my wide-eyed stares at every new sight. Because I’m unused to holding a two-legged shape like theirs, I feel insubstantial, like a creature of rippling silk amid their golden solidity.
Aurata takes me through one vast hall after another. There seem to be no walls, only columns holding up ceilings of light and gauze. I’m dazzled. The palace is cream and pale gold, with splashes of ruby-red and turquoise. Dozens of beautiful wildcat masks turn to stare as we pass. I walk taller, reminding myself that Karn and Tamis and I are here to represent the Tashralyr, and for that reason I feel proud. We move among the Felynx with all the grace we can gather, like columns of cool water sliding between them.
I look around in wonder at the Audience Hall, at the high ornate chairs on a dais beneath a high canopy like a starry sky. “This is where our parents, the Sovereigns Elect, sit to preside over Azantios,” Aurata tells me.
The thrones are empty, but later I see Poectilictis and Theliome in person: two tall figures robed in stiff garments striped with red, black and gold. Their faces are covered by dark lynx masks with golden eyes. My heart races with excitement. They are gentle rulers, yet still remote and awe-inspiring.
Their offspring, Rufus and Aurata and Mistangamesh, greet them with graceful bows. I echo the gesture, spreading my palms and inclining forward over my pointed toe. I didn’t expect to be so moved by their presence, yet I am.
They’ve held their position longer than I know, but they won’t be here forever. One day Mistangamesh and Aurata will take their place. What kind of leaders will they make? Mist is not full of laughter and sardonic wit like his brother and sister. He stands aloof and watchful.
The first time Aurata brings me here, I find Mistangamesh at my shoulder—first congratulating me on my victory and then murmuring a warning. “Be careful of my brother and sister. They will play games with you. I’d urge you to flee the palace now, if you would—but if you stay, be wary.”
His concern touches me. More than that: his kindness is a jewel in my heart that will stay forever.
Soon I discover what he means. If Aurata leaves my side, Rufus is with me at once, flattering and cajoling. He is the most beautiful of the Felynx, but I’m afraid of him because I’ve heard tales. I fear that if he can’t seduce me away from Aurata, he might try to lame me instead. More than once, Mistangamesh physically drags Rufus away and warns him, angrily, to let me alone. He already has Karn—and others—but he wants everyone.
Sometimes Aurata takes me to her bed. I find this pleasurable but awkward, because we can never be genuinely intimate as lovers, friends or sisters. She keeps herself closed away; a stranger. I am her plaything.
Mistangamesh is different. Whenever he’s there, my gaze is drawn to him. He appears lonely. He has a paler complexion and darker hair than his siblings, as if there is more water than fire in his soul-essence. Does he have many lovers or none? He is a mystery. I shouldn’t even contemplate the question.
My time of glory is brief. After I win the greatest race of the following season, there is a vast celebration and I drink too much spicy wine. Aurata is missing. Needing fresh air, I become lost in the endless halls of the palace and Rufus appears at my side, all smiles and flowing russet mane. He tries to kiss me, but when I push him away he only laughs. It’s something else he wants. “Come with me, swift Fela, to a view a sacred sight that few are privileged to see.”
I know him well enough by now to be impudent. His one good point is that he never takes offense. “Please, my lord Ephenaestus, stop,” I whisper. “From what I hear, half the population of Azantios is familiar with the sight.”
Rufus throws back his head in delight. “I’m not referring to my personal attributes, as pleasurable as I’m sure you’d find them.” He puts his lips to my ear. “I’m talking about the sacred heart of the Felynx.”
He guides me up secret, winding ways to a spire at the summit of the mountain. The topmost chamber is covered by a crystal dome, and in the center, the Felixatus stands on a column the height of my chest.
I see spheres within spheres, with a web of metalwork securing the structure to a base that is carved with Felynx symbols. The mechanism shines so brightly that I can’t look away.
Then I understand. The Felixatus shines with the soul-sparks of a million Felynx. They are falling into it like dust from the stars as I watch.
Rufus is talking, though I barely hear him. “This is a place so sacred that the only ones allowed to set foot here are my parents and the Keeper, Veropardus. So consider yourself privileged, little swamp dweller. You’re standing in the holy of holies.”
I wonder, then, why the chamber isn’t guarded. “Where is Veropardus?”
“He’s busy in bed with my sister,” Rufus replies with a mixture of resentment and glee. “She lured him away. That’s why I knew there’d be no one here.”
I walk towards the Felixatus. The soul-light dazzles and mesmerizes. I hear Rufus exclaim, “No, don’t touch it!”—too late. I lay my hands on the casing and at once I know.
Everything.
I must have cried out because he demands, “What is it? What are you seeing?”
Rufus looks shocked and angry … more so when I begin to tell him.
* * *
Fela drifted, half-dreaming. From her low angle, the glowing pool was foreshortened to a green slot in the flat black floor. By its radiance, she saw a man lying along the far rim. His arm was curled under his head, his face hidden. She quailed to see him lying so close to the lip, as if he’d fallen carelessly asleep on the edge of a cliff.
Then she saw a tremor in his shoulders. He was weeping. For a long time, Persephone watched over him, but asked no questions. Then he began to murmur of a broken heart. Persephone tended gently to him as he poured out his sorrow.
“Is it so wrong, to want oblivion?” said a new voice, female. A woman had joined them, sitting on the edge with her feet dangling in the green light of Meluis. “I am Aelyr. I cannot die. Not properly, at least; not finally. I could slit my own throat and bleed out my life—but my soul-essence would still be aware. Is there no respite from consciousness? I don’t want to continue indefinitely! I don’t desire one life after another. Nor do I want to fade into the Spiral, part of a sentient mass that never rests. I dread it.”
The man said, “To merge with the forces that created us—what form of being could be more blissful?” He frowned. “It’s natural.”
“Am I the only one who feels this terror?” the woman asked. “I feel ashamed.”
Quivering, Fela murmured to herself, “You’re not the on
ly one. Being torn out of yourself and dropped into darkness … What could be more horrifying? Who would not be afraid?”
Only Persephone seemed to hear, and gave her a quick, kind glance. Fela understood, without being told, that this was a place where no one would be judged.
“No shame. Never feel that,” said Persephone.
“But what does it mean to exist forever?” the woman implored.
“What does it mean to exist without love?” the man countered. “You’re asking for an answer no one can give.”
“I know there’s no answer.” Her voice was calmer, and she pressed the man’s hand with her own. “I can bear it, as long as we can bring our pain here, where no one judges us. Persephone’s acceptance is everything.”
The man said, “Good Lady Persephone, have you no advice? Won’t you stop us wallowing in misery, and thrust us back onto the path of shining Aelyr perfection?”
“There are countless others to do that,” she answered wryly. “This is a place where nothing is demanded of you. That’s all.”
“There must be more.”
“Only if you need more.”
With a start, Fela awoke properly. She had a lingering impression that many others had come to confess their fears and sorrows while she slept, but they were all gone now. Only the dark maiden remained.
Fela began to edge across the cave floor, which was smooth and cool beneath her outstretched form. She felt as if her skin were stretching, cracking to reveal new flesh. Anxiety rose but she pushed herself forward inch by inch until her head crested the lip of the fearful lake.
An arm’s length below the edge lay a body of aqueous light without boundaries. The surface glittered. The first few feet were transparent, but the deeper down the water turned opaque like cloudy emerald, hinting at unimaginable depths, unbearable weight.
Terror surged and choked her.
She imagined falling in, sinking forever through a fissure in the underworld into an ocean abyss, eternally drowning but never dying … She jerked in a spasm of horror. Her form was changing, unfolding. She tried to scream. Only a rasp emerged.
Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales) Page 26
