Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales)

by Freda Warrington

  “Any idea what you’d like to do next?” Rosie asked.

  “As long as it doesn’t involve falling off waterfalls, skydiving, swimming, bungee jumping or leaping off cliffs—anything.”

  They laughed, but this set Stevie thinking. She’d left the museum, and wasn’t sure it was wise to go back, but that didn’t mean she had to leave the Jewellery Quarter forever. There were always workshops for rent. She had skills.

  She couldn’t forget the feeling of the Felixatus taking shape under her hands.

  “Come on! Everyone out in the garden, now!” It was Lucas yelling over the noise and music. “It’s time for the fireworks!”

  “We’ve got fireworks?” said Sam, one eyebrow jerking upward.

  “Course,” said Rosie, taking Stevie’s hand. “Didn’t Luc tell you? He’s got a specialist firm in to set them up, cost a bloody fortune, so if we’re not out there to enjoy the show, there will be trouble.”

  Sam raised his glass and said cheerfully, “Welcome to Stonegate, Stevie Silverwood, and best of British luck.”

  * * *

  Mistangamesh slipped through the labyrinth of the Great Gates and emerged onto the flank of a hill. Trees rustled. The wind was light with the scent of spring blossom, new growth, the pungency of peaty earth and uncurling bracken fronds. He began to head downhill, following a path through a copse, following the noise.

  The lower windows of Stonegate Manor were open, spilling light and music into the night.

  “Everything that Samuel Wilder said is true,” Vaidre Daima had told him. “We should have protected the Spiral, but against rogue powers like Albin and Aurata, we were defenseless. We don’t fully understand the source of their power. The nature of the Spiral itself is still a mystery to us, even though we’re part of it. What if it happens again? In times of crisis, I have proved miserably ineffective. It is time for me to step down. Time for someone stronger to take charge.

  “Mistangamesh, the Spiral Court is in agreement. For the good of both Vaeth and the Otherworld, we wish you to become our new spokesperson. Style yourself leader, president, autarch—whatever you will. The Spiral needs strong protection. There will be an election process, of course, but it’s a formality, a foregone conclusion. You, the son of Poectilictis, have proved yourself the natural heir.”

  Vaidre Daima’s offer had floored him.

  Mist had paced around the city for what seemed days, turning over all the arguments. Strong leadership was needed, for the good of the Spiral. Mist wasn’t sure he could fill the role, but then came notions of obligation and responsibility …

  It’s my duty. It’s what Poectilictis would want for me. I belong here. Even Daniel saw that. It’s time to take my place among the senior ranks. Duty, duty …

  Finally, Mist had gone back to Vaidre Daima and said, “No.”

  In that awful gap of indecision, he’d let Stevie slip away. He knew exactly why she’d gone, and yet—in a numb trance of grief—he’d let her go anyway. It had been utter madness. Nothing would bring back Aurata and Rufus; he accepted that. Where was the sense in mourning the past, at the expense of the present? All he knew was that if he lost Stevie, he’d lost everything.

  “No?” said Vaidre Daima, his face turning dark with disbelief. “What possible reason could you have to refuse?”

  “The very fact that I couldn’t make a decision proves I’m not the right person. Or rather, I have made a decision but it’s not the one you wanted. I’m sorry.” Mist smiled ruefully at him. “You’ll find someone else. What about Lawrence Wilder? Or his wife, Virginia? She’d make a far wiser leader than me.”

  Maybe his choice was irresponsible, but he had human obligations too, not the least of which was the need to find gainful employment and pay back the money he owed to Dame Juliana, with interest. The thought was sheer relief. He’d had enough of high Aetherial matters. He understood at last why Rosie and Sam and so many others relished their life on Earth.

  If Stevie could forgive him, or trust him … If she could still love him, after all they’d been through … If she was even here …

  It was time to take a risk.

  Entering through the open front door, he found the interior deserted. The great hall was dimly lit by fire embers and strings of sparkling lights. Rock music played through the sound system, and a miasma of flowers and perfume and spilled alcohol hung in the air. He followed the murmur of voices through the hall, across the living room and out through the open French doors into the back garden.

  Dozens of people thronged the lawn, looking up at the sky for no obvious reason. Through the narrowest of gaps—as if the other guests were all translucent—he saw her instantly.

  She was standing with Sam and Rosie near the front of the crowd. Her back was to him, her hair a curtain of amber over the long blue and lilac flare of her dress. He wove between the other guests, approaching so quietly that she didn’t look round; didn’t even sense his aura.

  He had so much to say that he was shaking. In the end he said nothing at all.

  Instead he slipped his arms gently around her waist from behind. She started; he felt her stiffen with a wave of astonishment and heat.

  And then she went pliant in his arms. She leaned into him, her body softening, her hands folding over his. He rested his chin on her shoulder, and she turned her head until they found each other’s lips. With a deep, profound sigh of bliss she gave her answer.

  Together they watched fireworks exploding above Stonegate in showers of ecstatic white stars: an echo of the Felynx souls returning to the Spiral. Returning home.

  Coda

  Gifts and Mysteries

  “I wanted to see if this place was real,” said Mist.

  “The Avenue of Beautiful Secrets,” Stevie responded, looking up at the tiled roofs and empty windows. They walked hand in hand along the eerie street. The sounds of lapping water, boats and voices from unseen canals were distant and echoey. The houses had an antiquated grandeur, typical of the surface-world Venetian streets they’d followed to find their way here, but the atmosphere and tints were all of the Dusklands. Greyish violets and dusky blues, touches of luminous gold.

  Sometimes an elemental would brush past, making her shiver. Blurred faces appeared in windows and vanished again.

  “Do you think we’re welcome here?” she said, very softly. “Would this be a peaceful place to while away several hundred years in astral form?”

  “Not for me.” Mist’s hand tightened on hers. “If these Aetherials feel at home here, I’m pleased for them. But I had so many dreams about this place, as if Aurata was trapped here … It feels just as nightmarish in reality. I can hardly believe it’s real.”

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t have come,” she said. “We can turn around now, if you’re not comfortable. We could be sitting outside a little café watching the gondolas glide by. I’m dying for some ice cream, and I don’t think this is the best place to find any, do you?”

  He smiled. “True, but I have to go through with this. I’m all right, Stevie. I’d rather not be here, either, but I had to see for myself. I think this is her house…”

  They looked up at a once-grand mansion with flaking creamy-grey walls and timeworn decoration of lapis and gold around the windows. Mist pushed the tall front door. Unlocked, it swung open to his touch.

  They stepped cautiously into a large hall. The great curving staircase and the marble floor put Stevie in mind of a ballroom, neglected for several hundred years. The atmosphere swam with watery aqua gloom and swampy smells, like the decaying beauty of Venice distilled.

  “I can feel Aurata here, even though she’s gone.” Mist’s voice was hoarse; he sounded close to tears. In silence, she followed him upstairs, exploring all the haunted yet empty rooms. “I can feel Veropardus and Slahvin, even Rufus, as if they all left their imprints behind.”

  In the large salon, a flash of gold caught her eye. For a few moments, it seemed the walls were not empty but covered in paintings: all of
Felynx history, as portrayed by Daniel’s images. She glimpsed statues, and the glowing crystal sphere of the Felixatus itself, and other intricate clockwork models, and even the ghastly severed hand that had belonged to Rufus. But she could pin nothing down. As soon as she tried to look directly, the teasing ephemera vanished.

  “Can objects leave ghosts behind, too?” she whispered.

  “So it seems.” Mist looked calm but rather pale. “I think we should go, before we start meeting projections of my sister or Albin. Let them rest.”

  When they came back down into the hall again, Stevie stared at the spiral pattern in the floor and felt an irresistible impulse. She stepped onto the first black tile and slowly began to follow the spiral round and inward.

  Mist said, “Stevie, I don’t think you should…”

  She hesitated, knowing what he feared. Walking a spiral was to tread a magical path: especially risky, when it was one still soaked in Aurata’s rituals.

  “Come with me, then,” she said, holding out her hand. “If you want to lay all this to rest, don’t be scared.”

  “I am not scared,” he retorted. With a wry half-smile he took her hand and they trod the enchanted path together. It was an almost childish pleasure, like following a maze, thrilling yet unnerving.

  Not that she expected anything to happen—but as they reached the middle, she received the shock of her life. A tall, translucent man appeared from nowhere, poised like a statue on the round, star-flecked tile at the heart of the spiral. He had black and white robes, sleek black hair, and a dark lynx mask that he now removed to reveal a striking godlike face with golden eyes.

  Mist bumped into Stevie as she stopped dead. They clung hard to each other’s hands.

  “Father?” Mist gasped.

  “Mist, my dearest son.”

  Mist bowed to the apparition of Poectilictis, his right hand on his chest. Astonished, Stevie did the same. “What—how can you be here?”

  “I cannot explain. An inner call drew me to meet you. Time and place may become a magical intersection that can never be repeated, and we have both waited too long for this.”

  “What do you want of me?” Mist’s question sounded abrupt, but Stevie understood. He went straight to the point, because he knew his time with his father would be precious and limited.

  Poectilictis held a small, glowing blue jewel between his fingers and thumb, like a tiny Felixatus.

  “I made many grave mistakes,” he said. “Not least was trusting Veropardus. And trying to keep our exile from Naamon secret. And another lay in trapping so many soul-essences within the Felixatus.”

  “But you did all that to protect us, didn’t you?”

  Poectilictis shook his head. “Did you blame Veropardus for their imprisonment?”

  “Yes! I assumed that you acted to keep us safe, while he and Aurata wanted to control the Felynx forever. Didn’t they?”

  “Oh, you think too highly of me,” Poectilictis sighed. “None of us behaved well. It’s true that he and Aurata plotted against me, and tried to use the Felixatus for their own ends. But I was the one who wanted all the Felynx held captive. I wanted our small empire kept together for all time. I believed in unity and control, not freedom. I thought my motives were benign, but in truth, they were not.”

  Mist took in this confession with a look of near-grief. “This is not allowed. You’re my father, you’re not allowed to be imperfect! Don’t destroy my illusions!”

  Poectilictis chuckled. “My dear, best beloved son, I’m telling you for a reason. Don’t fall into the trap of thinking that you’re perfect either. Do you think it’s virtuous to relinquish power, to walk away from a position of authority over the Spiral Court? No, you’re only putting off the inevitable. One day, one day, you will have to go back and take up your responsibilities, because it is your vocation and your duty. Furthermore, I command it. It’s your very imperfection that will make you resilient enough to do the job. Do you love your father?”

  “Yes! Yes, I love you with all my being.”

  “Then will you obey me?”

  “No, I won’t obey,” Mist said stiffly. “But I will do as you ask, because it’s right.”

  Smiling, Poectilictis stretched out to touch both Mist’s hand and Stevie’s. “May the blessings of Estel the Eternal fall upon you both. I can go now, find Theliome, and rest at last.”

  He turned and began to glide away. Mist said, “Father, wait,” but Poectilictis didn’t react. His tall translucent figure diminished rapidly, as if he’d passed into a remote dimension. The hall was empty again. Stevie looked down to find he’d placed a small blue jewel on a silver chain into her hand. Mist was holding its twin.

  Each jewel was set into a delicate pendant shaped like an Aelyr creature. Carved silver snake coils encircled the blue stone, but the creature’s head, forming a bail through which the chain was threaded, was that of a lynx.

  “Damn,” said Mist at last, twisting the gem to catch the light. “There’s no escape, is there? One day, I will have to go into the Spiral and take charge, no doubt to defend us against a new threat. Why me? But why not?” He sounded resigned, very nearly cheerful. “Poectilictis laid this obligation on me the day I was born. I give in. There’s nothing to do but accept it.”

  “Not on your own, though. Look, he’s placed this bond on both of us.” Stevie held up her own jewel with a rueful grin. “What are these? Gifts from the Otherworld?”

  “It’s never that straightforward. Spiral gifts come with conditions.”

  “I thought as much. And they’re the exact color of the jewel Albin wore on his forehead … does that mean something? Deeper sight into other worlds?”

  “That would be useful,” said Mist. “However, I suspect we’ll be sent messages through them, when the time comes. A summoning.”

  “In that case, mightn’t we also be able to contact each other through the gems, if we happened to be apart?” Stevie moved closer to him, turning her head and sweeping her hair from her neck. “Will you put mine on for me, please?”

  She felt the cool links on her neck, but he hesitated. “Chains have multiple meanings,” he said softly. “These are more than decorative. They’re also chains of office, of being bound and constrained by duty.”

  “Just fasten it, then I’ll do yours.”

  With a sigh, he complied. It felt like an exchange of vows: not exactly a wedding, but something close. Stevie disentangled strands of Mist’s hair from the silver clasp, then smoothed the nape of his neck, taking her time. She reflected on the endless journey she’d endured to reach this point, and how far she’d evolved from the terrified, nameless girl who’d crawled out of the silver wood. Not to mention the blessings she’d already received, from Persephone and Virginia, Daniel and Frances, Rosie and so many others. Knowledge, confidence, wisdom … and greatest of all, the gift of Mist himself.

  The blue gem felt cool yet full of energy on her skin. She said, “Not all chains are bad. Love is a kind of chain that I can live with, can’t you?”

  “Soft, silvery and unbreakable.” He laughed, his expression brightening. “Stevie, I love you for seeing the positive side of this.”

  “We must, because I think I get it now. Sometime in the future, we’ll have no choice but to take the reins of the Spiral, at least for a while, and whatever harrowing experiences we face may still be caused by the fallout from Aurata and Albin’s excesses. So I vote we make a pact of sanity and balance. If Sam and Rosie can find equilibrium, I’m sure we can. Peace, love and all that.”

  “Gods, that is a pact I’m happy to make.” He pressed his lips to her temple and wrapped one arm around her, drawing her towards the door. Outside, elemental Aetherials with serene expressions watched them pass along the Viale dei Belli Segreti. “If we have a chance of bringing peace and renewal to the Spiral, I’d seize it in a heartbeat. We don’t have to repeat the mistakes that others have made.” Mist gave a twisted smile. “Of course, there are no guarantees. We may find
a whole lot of new mistakes to trip us up.”

  “True. But we won’t be alone. We’ll keep each other from screwing up, or going power-mad, right? It might even be fun.”

  The avenue ended, and they stepped into the real Venice, dazzled by a bright blue sky. Without breaking stride, Mist lifted Stevie, spun her in a circle and set her down again. “It certainly won’t be dull. And all we have to do is promise each other not to go crazy. Easy!”

  “I give you my word,” she said, breathless. “I promise, no drowning of the Otherworld with water elementals, no fire-channeling craziness; none of that, ever—on strict condition that you feed me with delicious Italian ice cream within the next ten minutes.”

  “I accept the challenge.” He grinned. “I’ll do my utmost to please you always, Stevie, my brave wild angel, however outrageous your desires may be.”

  “Careful, Mist,” she said, laughing. “Bewitch me with vows like that, and you never know … you already know.” Her voice turned soft and serious. “Like it or not, I’m yours forever.”

  Author’s Note

  Landscapes of the Fantastic

  Readers often ask writers where they get their ideas from. Although it may be a cliché, I believe the question is a valid and fascinating one. After all, what does go on in our heads?

  The basic inspiration behind my Aetherial Tales is simply that I’ve always been enthralled by the idea of mystical beings who look human but aren’t: elves, angels, demons, vampires, faeries, demigods and so on. My Aetherials, or Aelyr, developed as my own version of such a race.

  The “others” in the Aetherial Tales are not intended to be traditional elves, faeries, shapeshifters or demons. They are simply themselves. I imagined them as a race that evolved from pure energy, with access to other dimensions and an ability to manipulate reality. Now they have become chameleon creatures, able to blend in with humans when it suits them. Like humans, they are contradictory. Some are good and gentle, and some are most definitely not.