Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales)

by Freda Warrington

  “No.” Mist turned as pale as the blue-white lilies swaying in Virginia’s garden. “We heard rumors, but Poectilictis would never have allowed such an atrocity.”

  She let her hands fall. “Well, you know your father better than I did. He was a good man.”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “Veropardus wasn’t, though. What if he was capturing souls in order to seize power? I believe that’s why Fela was killed,” she finished. “She knew too much and, after all, she wasn’t Felynx, only a marsh dweller.”

  “Rufus never said that the knowledge came from you.”

  “Well, he wouldn’t. But it did. So it was my fault—his rebellion, the fall of Azantios, everything. All Fela’s fault.”

  Stevie ran out of words. She felt drained. Where could her embryonic relationship with Mist go now? As strangers, in the guise of modern humans, they’d met as equals. As Aetherials, though, they’d been utterly different. Mistangamesh had been a prince of fire, Fela a creature of the wild. She might have adored him in secret, but she’d had to accept that nothing would ever come of it.

  “No,” he said. “It was all Rufus’s doing. And ours, for being negligent. But absolutely not your fault, Fela.”

  “Don’t call me that!” she flared. “I am not Fela. I have her memories, but I’m different now.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “Of course. I lived as Adam for a century. Even with Rufus constantly in my face tormenting me, I couldn’t rouse the slightest memory of being Aetherial. I know how it feels.”

  “All right, I can’t argue with that. But I’ve no experience of being born human. All I recall is lurching out of a woodland, fully grown but mindless. I was only half a person.”

  “You will feel complete again. It takes time.”

  “I don’t know that I want to. I’m Stephanie Silverwood now. I don’t want to be Fela, I want to be complete as Stevie.”

  Mist, still pale, spoke without emotion. “Fela did nothing wrong.”

  “All the same—been there, done that,” she retorted.

  “Why are you angry?”

  The question made her more furious. She controlled herself and tried to explain in a rational tone. “You didn’t see the Tashralyr as equal. Why should you? The Felynx were the elite. You didn’t care that we’d made a peaceful home on Vaeth eons before you arrived.”

  “We could be arrogant. I can’t deny it.”

  “Oh, not you personally.” She paused and spoke more gently. “You were different, Mist; you seemed kind, but we still never had a chance to make friends. I’m thinking of Rufus and his cronies, loving us for our entertainment value. Aurata was Fela’s patron, as in patronize, or whatever word we used in a language I can’t remember.”

  “I agree. Aetherials have no excuse take such attitudes,” said Mist. “Yet why should we be egalitarian and perfect in a way that humans aren’t? We’re not angels. We’re simply a different race.” He lowered his eyes. “But I swear, I never looked down on the Tashralyr. They were magnificent beings. If I’m honest, I was a little envious of Aurata for having your companionship.”

  “Envious?” She was startled. When Mist didn’t expand on the remark, she went on, “I don’t know if this means anything but sometimes … Aurata would talk in her sleep. She’d say Veropardus’s name, and mutter about being trapped inside ice, and needing to break barriers. I had no idea what it meant. Usually I’d be booted out of her bedchamber long before she fell asleep.”

  Mist exhaled, and spoke at last. “I’m not denying there was exploitation. The Felynx were like pampered cats, basking in the sun. However, I know how hard my mother and father worked to maintain that state of grace, and I was so afraid that, when my turn came, I wouldn’t have the wisdom necessary to sustain it.”

  Stevie half-smiled. “I’m sure you would have. What would you have done about the Felixatus, though?”

  “I don’t know. It’s academic, since it was lost when Azantios fell.”

  “Yes, it was gone, but it’s come back to haunt us. I know how self-centered this sounds, but is it coincidence that I met Daniel, and suddenly all these fragments of the past are spilling out and someone is trying to suppress them?”

  He met her gaze. His face and eyes, luminous in the sapphire gloom, contained a mass of thoughts she couldn’t fathom but which she was sure were deadly serious. “You dived into Meluis, were lost for thousands of years, and emerged at a precise point in the modern world?”

  “Give or take the ten years that I needed to acclimatize.”

  “It could be the Spiral pushing us around, or some deeper knowledge inside you that sent you where you needed to be. So no, Fela, I’m sure it’s not coincidence.”

  “Great,” she said thinly, “but if you call me Fela one more time, I’ll kick you into that bramble hedge! I’m Stevie!”

  A wedge of light fell out of the cottage. “Guys?” came Sam’s voice from the doorway. The edges of his hair were a spun halo. “D’you know we can hear every word in here? How about you come inside and tell us all about it?”

  * * *

  “… Meluis itself was a dream. Green glass, fading into nothingness. And then the Spiral spat me out.” Stevie completed her tale, now dry and dressed and basking in the delicious heat from Virginia’s fireplace. “All I remember is clawing my way out of a swamp, clinging onto tussocks of moss and tree roots. There were thin pale birch trees all around me. I dragged myself up off the wet ground as if I’d just been born. I had a human body, and I was soaked, with only my hair to cover me—that and a layer of mud. No memories. I slipped between the trees like a dryad, hiding when aliens in strange clothing went past. I realize now they were just ordinary people out walking. Some had dogs, and if the dog wasn’t on a leash it would come bounding towards me—but the humans never saw me.”

  “You must have been terrified,” said Rosie.

  “And completely disorientated. I came to a field with a gate onto a lane. Someone had left a pile of garbage in the gateway—a horrible mess of truck tires, rubble and old clothes and furniture—and there was a dress: grubby white cotton with little flowers. I put it on and I started walking along the lane until the police picked me up.”

  Sam asked, “What did you tell them?”

  “I had nothing.” Stevie shivered at the memory. “Not even my name, age, where I was from, nothing. They took me to hospital, where I was washed and fed and examined. They questioned me for hours, then passed me to social services. I was put on a psychiatric ward for a few weeks, then into foster care while they tried to find out who I was, if I’d been attacked or drugged or suffered some trauma to account for my state. I hate to think about those days. All these strangers making a fuss over me, even though I was nobody to them. I started speaking after a few weeks, picking up the language and mimicking their behavior until I sort of fit in.”

  She briefly described the families who’d tried to care for her, but found her too disturbed. “I was obsessed with water, and kept leaving taps to run, playing Ophelia in the bath, and not really understanding why they freaked out when I caused a flood. I also had a habit of taking household equipment to pieces. I’ve only recently realized it was my way of trying to understand how the world worked. No wonder they kept taking me for psychiatric assessments!” Stevie grinned, amazed to find she could suddenly laugh about it. “I was pretty violent, too. Sometimes there were older boys in the family who would try their luck with me, not realizing how hard I could hit. The bruises were impressive enough to get me moved, at least four times.”

  “Wow, it sounds like a nightmare,” said Rosie.

  “For them as much as me.” Stevie smiled. “In the end I ran away. I found a job and lodgings, and that was when I met Daniel. Everything changed then. He was someone I could talk to. He made me feel I was real, that I had a personality and identity after all.”

  As she spoke, it struck her powerfully that her companions accepted everything she w
as saying as though it were perfectly normal. Virginia seemed the archetypal wisewoman—a more down-to-earth Persephone—who’d heard scores of such tales. Dive into her waterfall and emerge transformed? The most natural thing in the world.

  Virginia asked, “So, although you forgot your Aetherial past, Daniel picked up images from you?”

  “Apparently, but not only from me. He’s painted scenes that Fela couldn’t possibly have known about, because she was gone by then.”

  “There’s a name for humans who can channel Aelyr energies,” said Virginia.

  “Naemur,” said Rosie.

  Virginia gave her cool smile, tempered by a wink. “Thank you, Rosie. Now I know who to call if I need a quiz team.”

  Lucas asked, “Could Daniel have once been Aetherial?”

  “I don’t know,” said Stevie. “It’s a nice thought, but if he was, I’m sure I’d feel it inside. All I remember sensing from Dan was … humanness. I think he’s exactly that: a wild, visionary naemur.”

  “And someone,” said Rosie, “possibly Rufus, saw Dan’s work and perceived it as dangerous because it would reveal Aelyr secrets. So they’ve won his trust and kidnapped him. Right?”

  “That’s how it looks,” said Stevie.

  Sam said, “Mum, have you picked up any insider knowledge? Is this anything to do with why Lawrence went to Tyrynaia?”

  His mother shook back her crinkly hair. “I don’t think so. I’m attuned to my little patch of Elysion, but the Spiral’s deeper currents don’t reach me unless they’re extremely powerful. If you were attuned to every stirring, you’d go mad.” A pause. “I often feel and see things that are … disturbing. But that’s common, it’s all part of the ebb and flow.”

  “Spiral weather,” said Lucas.

  “Quite. So I’m here to do what little I can, if only to offer shelter.”

  “You’ve done far more than that,” Stevie said warmly. “Did Rosie tell you, we found an address? I don’t know if it’s genuine or a trick. And it’s in Nevada, and I’ve got no passport and not much money.”

  “But like I said,” Lucas interrupted, “why would Aetherials need passports?”

  “Well,” said Virginia, “because it’s usually easier for us to hop on a plane than struggle through the coils of the Otherworld.”

  “Doesn’t have to be. There are shortcuts.”

  “Oh … You’re thinking antilineos?” Virginia’s eyebrows rose. “I should get out more. I’m not aware of any path that leads from here to that part of the States.”

  “I’m not just thinking it,” Lucas said with a grin. “I’ve got the route all mapped out. All we need to do is get to the edge of Melusiel and away we go.”

  “Luc’s actually rather good at this sort of thing,” Rosie said with clear pride.

  “Well, that’s what I’m here for.” Lucas smiled. “Trust me, I’m a Gatekeeper.”

  15

  Melusiel

  The landscape of violet mist was more water than land, with placid lakes edged by reed beds, distant hills vanishing into the pastel softness of the clouds. The sky was low and full of rain, with no sign of the wondrous cosmos Stevie had seen in Elysion. Instead the Spiral turned fluid, awash in amethyst, lavender and grey: mournful shades that made her feel like crying, as if she’d come home without knowing it.

  A night in Virginia’s strange cottage—despite sleeping in a room that seemed to have no boundaries, on a bed of dried flowers, next to a cave with icy running water for a bathroom—had left her refreshed. When morning came, Virginia fed them and kissed them all farewell.

  Lucas had again told Sam and Rosie that there was no need for them to travel all the way if they’d prefer to go home. The argument had been brief: they were coming, whether Luc liked it or not. Stevie was secretly, deeply glad of their company, and guessed that Lucas was too.

  Lucas led the party through Elysion’s lush greenery and oceanic forests for three or four hours. Occasionally they saw dark-clad figures running through the wildwoods in the distance. “They’re Fheylim,” Rosie said. “My uncle’s of that eretru. They’re a taciturn lot, but harmless as long as you don’t get on their wrong side.”

  The border was surprisingly distinct. Elysion ended on a scarp of lush ferns and flowers. Below lay the violet water realm, exuding a cool scent of rain.

  “The antilineos lies across Melusiel,” said Lucas. “It should take us two days, maximum, to reach the portal that comes out somewhere in Nevada. Or California.”

  “Could you sound a bit more confident?” said Sam. “What you need is assertiveness training, mate. Convince us you know what you’re doing, even if you don’t. You do have some clue how big the States are, don’t you?”

  “Leave him alone,” Rosie said mildly. “When’s Luc ever led us wrong? I’d rather he was a bit cautious than insanely hot-headed. Mentioning no names.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow at her. “Hey, you can talk.”

  “Only two days?” said Stevie. “I thought the Spiral was big, verging on infinite.”

  “Yes, but because it twists around on itself”—Lucas demonstrated with a vague twirl of his hands—“and intersects with the Earth at various points, that creates shortcuts. Shortish, anyway.”

  “Not forgetting wettish,” said Rosie.

  Mist said, “We need a boat.” It was the first time he’d spoken for a while. Since their experience at the waterfall, Mist had been very quiet. He barely seemed able to look at Stevie this morning, let alone speak to her.

  She was concerned, and a bit hurt. Of course he was anxious about the journey and what might await them; that was only natural. Was his silence a symptom of delayed shock, from learning the truth about her origins? Was he disappointed that she’d once been Fela, and not a reincarnation of his beloved Helena? Perhaps his mood was due to something else entirely. Stevie sighed to herself, and let him be.

  “Boat. Good point,” said Lucas. “I should have thought of that. Vast tracts of water and only a few fingers of squelchy grass to walk along—trying to cross Melusiel on foot isn’t the brightest idea.”

  They descended the scarp, working their way diagonally across the wide, concave slope with dark flint sliding under their boots. Stevie felt more than a change of climate or damp air on her skin; she felt a different energy, an indefinable shift of atmosphere, as she’d felt at Stonegate Manor.

  “Why do we need feet, or boats?” said Sam. “C’mon, Mistangamesh—you spent half of yesterday as a bloody great water dragon. Stevie’s apparently from a Melusiel-related clan. I’m sure the rest of us can manage with doggy paddle, or sprout a few fins.”

  “You are joking?” said Rosie.

  “No, I’m suggesting we use our Aetherial attributes. Or wings! Who can produce wings? Come to think of it, we all can, if we revert to our most primal form. You ever done that? Become Estalyr? It’s quite a wild ride.”

  “No,” Mist said softly. “I don’t believe I have. One transformation was enough for me.”

  Rosie was shaking her head. “Sam, it won’t work. Becoming Estalyr takes a huge amount of group energy and even if we could, you know it makes us go strange in the head. The last thing we need is everyone heading off in different directions and vanishing.”

  “I’d rather not,” said Stevie. “Change form and swim, I mean. I don’t know why, but I need to stay … human-shaped for now. Feels more controllable.”

  “You may not be in the best place, if you like things controllable,” Sam said dryly.

  “I’m not a complete control freak.”

  “Didn’t say you were.”

  “Okay, maybe a bit,” Stevie allowed. “This is all new to me, but also very old, as if it happened to someone else. I feel … out of joint.”

  Rosie put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, we all know that feeling. Practical point, we don’t want to end up losing clothes and belongings en route, do we?”

  The scarp flattened onto the wide, reedy bank of a waterway.
Looking back, Stevie saw nothing beyond the edge from which they’d descended; only cloud vapor, concealing any hint of Elysion.

  Sam asked, “So where do we get a boat from?”

  “We’ll ask the Halathrim,” said Lucas.

  Following Luc’s gaze, they saw a handful of Aetherials sitting at the water’s edge, barely visible amid tall reeds. Their hair was long and dull violet in hue, their skin the silver of rain. They turned to look at the newcomers with slow, sinuous movements like waterweed.

  As Lucas approached, all the Halathrim slid into the water, leaving only fanning ripples behind.

  “Wait!” he called. “I’m Lucas Fox, the Gatekeeper to Vaeth. Please, good Halathrim, we need your help.”

  A head broke the water. It was a female with a grey-green complexion, purplish hair floating around her shoulders. She appeared to be naked, although mostly concealed by the light-distortions of the water. Her body was strong and long-limbed and she paddled gently to keep herself afloat.

  “Where are you going, Vaethyr friends?” she said.

  She was a true water spirit, some kind of naiad. Stevie wondered if the Halathrim and Tashralyr were related in some way … if there were any Tashralyr left. Stevie felt no particular kinship to the naiad. Still, she seemed friendly enough, regarding them with calm green eyes. Other heads broke the surface as her fellows trod water around her.

  “We’re following an antilineos to another part of Vaeth,” said Lucas. “Will you let us pass? We won’t disturb you.”

  “Go wherever you wish. We don’t own the realm. No one owns the Spiral.”

  That was a strangely obvious assertion to make, Stevie thought. Lucas said, “Could you help us find a boat of some kind?”

  The Halathrim looked amused, as if pitying the land dwellers. “Obviously you don’t need boats,” Rosie said, crouching down beside her brother. “But we would like to stay dry, and there must be many Melusians who live beside the water, not in it.” She indicated Stevie. “Our friend here used to.”

  The naiad smiled. “There are, although not close to this place. Still … I know where there’s an old vessel abandoned in the reeds.”