Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales) (54 page)

“
You have a son?
” Mist interrupted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“There was no reason to mention it, until now.” Again the throwaway lightness that he couldn’t fathom. “Lawrence. A fine Sibeylan boy, but as cold as his father. Liliana wished to take him away into Vaeth to train him, which left Albin more bitter than he’d admit. By then, I knew it was time to leave. An Aetheric pull drew me away, a Spiral call far stronger than my ties to husband and son … so I went. I was semi-elemental for a time. I faded into deeper realms where Albin couldn’t find me.”

“I can understand you leaving Albin, but your son?”

“I couldn’t help it.” She gave a slight frown. “Lawrence had Liliana. I never felt any great maternal ties. Remember that Aetherials don’t cling like humans, but tend to drift apart, as self-sufficient as birds.”

“That’s true of some,” he replied, “but it’s a massive generalization.”

She shrugged. “You’re right. Think me heartless if you will. I can’t justify what I did. I’m simply telling you what happened.”

Mist didn’t feel in a position to judge her. He kept his tone plain. “So you’re the mother of Lawrence Wilder? The mother of Albin’s son.”

“Yes.” She looked puzzled. “What of it?”

Mist pushed windblown hair out of his eyes. “Because—didn’t you work it out? Of our three friends whom Albin is holding hostage,
two of them are your grandchildren
.”

To his gratification, that threw Aurata. She stiffened, paled slightly. Violet shadow slid like floodwater into the canyon, while the high rocks flared bright amber.

“Samuel Wilder and Lucas Fox are your grandsons,” he repeated. “Rosie is Luc’s half-sister and Sam’s partner. They’re three of the best Aetherials, the best
people
, I have ever met. Where do they stand in your schemes? If they turn to ash because they can’t transform into fire forms without warning, will that even matter to you? Or is your own flesh and blood as disposable as Daniel’s paintings? For pity’s sake, Aurata. You and Rufus deserve each other.”

She drew back from him, blinking. “I need to think about this, but I can’t let it change anything.”

He swallowed all the rage that was close to pouring out. “Help them, and I’ll help you,” he said.

“I’m going back to the house now,” she said coolly. “Are you coming with me?”

*   *   *

Twilight filled the workroom. The rank bonfire stink of burned wood had permeated from outside. Stevie put the finishing touches to the Felixatus, testing the small control knobs that adjusted the lens, ensuring the precision-calibrated gears locked or released as they should. She oiled and polished and double-checked. She knew she’d done a good job. The Felixatus, restored, pulsated like some translucent, luminous sea creature. She could almost hear the pleas of the captured souls.
Free us …

Mist loomed over her shoulder, a specter of sooty darkness and shadowed ivory. He gave her a hesitant, somber smile. “Stevie, can I have a word?”

“Of course,” she said very softly. “Close the door.”

He obeyed. Light from the Felixatus lent his face an eerie magnificence. He studied the object as if it was the most astonishing thing he’d ever seen. “You did this?” he said.

“Well, it’s just a repair job, but yes.”

“But you’ve remade all the metal parts from scratch, haven’t you? It’s exquisite. I had no idea you were so skilled.”

Stevie allowed herself a moment of pride. “It’s what I trained for at college. Plus I seem to have a photographic memory for things like this. And it’s fully adjustable: see the cogwheels, and the degree markings on the meridian ring? I suppose Aurata will need me to show her how to operate it.”

“And you wouldn’t dream of showing her wrong,” he said thoughtfully.

“Er…” She had no answer. “I wouldn’t dare. Have you seen her again?”

“Yes. She took me to Jigsaw Canyon. Spectacular, for those who are not afraid of heights.”

“Count me out,” she said with a grimace. “Did you mention…”

“You’d have admired my restraint,” he sighed. “Yes, I challenged her, but not blatantly enough for a full-out battle. She’s planning a ritual, a tenfold web involving the Felixatus. She intends to channel Qesoth.”

“Can she actually do that?”

He spoke so softly that she had to lip-read. “I don’t know. She believes she can. But she wants me as part of the web, which may be our only chance to stop her. That, and Albin…”

“What about Albin?”

He told her.

Stevie was dumbstruck. She made Mist go out into the studio, to make sure there were no Felynx spies lurking. When he returned, she found her voice. “Unbelievable. She and Albin were together? Our friends in peril are her family—and she doesn’t care? Fela thought she was a generous soul, in the Azantios days. How did we get her so wrong?”

Mist exhaled. “I wish I knew. We go through so many changes. She saw her city destroyed—which is no excuse, since she was already hatching a deeper plan of her own—but that sent us all half-mad. She turned elemental, wandered in the wilderness, lived other lives including one as someone called Maia who wedded Albin and bore a son, then walked away, slept and woke again … So who is the real Aurata? The only one of us who’s stayed the same is Rufus. He’s always kept to his path of maximum mischief, zero responsibility. I never thought I’d view his stability as vaguely reassuring! Gods, what have we come to?”

“We don’t choose our families,” she said. “I used to think it would be nice to have a family. Now I’m not sure.”

“You don’t remember your parents, from when you were Fela?”

She shook her head, uneasy. “No. Only friends, like Karn. I felt I’d always been there. Timeless. More animal or elemental than Aetherial.”

“Have you considered that you might be one of the First?”

“How d’you mean?”

“Estalyr, the earliest Aelyr who began as sentient scraps of energy.”

She laughed at the notion. “Maybe that’s why I love patchwork. I’m made of scraps, like a rag doll.”

“A beautiful rag doll,” he said tenderly.

“Don’t.”

“Sorry. Back to business.” He put his head in his hands, elbows on the bench. He was not quite touching her, but close enough to wake a hot turmoil of frustration. He said, “I’m serious about the Estalyr issue. ‘Scrap’ is the wrong word. Energy form, I should say. Our physical shapes, evolution, reproduction, the founding of dynasties—all that came much later. Underneath, we’re all primal. Powerful.”

“I’m not feeling the power,” said Stevie. “I feel mortal. My back aches, I’m tired and frightened. If you’re right, why can’t I remember?”

“Some Aelyr, like Albin, say we’ve turned too human. ‘Vaethyr’ to them means muddy. I think we lock memories away for our own protection.”

Like the shell enclosing the core of the Felixatus
, she thought. She stroked the crystalline globe. Light glowed red through her fingers. “I still can’t believe Poectilictis didn’t share the truth about the Felixatus with his son and heir.”

He brought his palms to hover over the transparent shell. Motes of lights danced on his skin. “It’s still full of Felynx essences. They’ve even soaked into the base and the lens. That’s why we were forbidden to approach it. If I’d been as sacrilegious as Rufus, I would have realized long ago.”

She nodded. “Listen. You can hear their song.”

His breathing quickened. “Father insisted this was created to save the Felynx.”

“Or to imprison them,” said Stevie. “Which do you think? Is it fair that they couldn’t continue their journeys into the Spiral? Did your parents hope to keep control of everyone, forever?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“And when your turn came, would you have allowed the process to continue?”

His eyelids fell, lips parting in an expression of dismay. “Yes, of course. I would have done exactly as Poectilictis instructed.”

“Wow. At least you’re honest.” Stevie’s words came out louder than she intended.

“Honest, and blind. This is an abomination.” His hands trembled, cupping the soul-light. “Thousands of Felynx trapped in here, many of them the folk I knew and loved? It’s unthinkable. These souls should be set free.”

“That’s not what Aurata and Oliver intend, though, is it?”

“They claim they do, but I don’t believe them. I suppose you know that Oliver has burned all Daniel’s work, to destroy the evidence?”

“I know, I watched him!” she said angrily. “But why do they need to destroy evidence if they’re so confident of victory? Oliver acted out of sheer spite, Mist. He’s just one mass of rage, jealousy and spite. For Daniel’s sake, I’ll never forgive him.”

“Nor I,” Mist murmured.

“I wish I knew what to do,” Stevie said, agonized. “Take the Felixatus and run? We wouldn’t get past the front door, let alone the razor wire.”

“No.” His eyes were the color of steel, like shutters falling. “But we can’t let this happen. And they needn’t think that Fela’s death will go unavenged.”

“Mist, don’t take revenge on my account. I know you still love your sister, or you wouldn’t be in such anguish.”

“I don’t know her anymore! Aren’t the most vicious conflicts always between siblings? If I make her choose between me and Qesoth, she’s made it plain which way she’ll go. She holds all the power.”

“I know, and I don’t want to die again,” Stevie confessed. “Yes, my essence might come back—but with no memory of you or Rosie or anything. I couldn’t bear it.”

“Nor could I.”

He fell quiet, watching as Stevie made last checks to the mechanism and polished the outer shell with a soft cloth. There stood the Felixatus, whole again. A mechanism of precise, gleaming beauty. Carved crystal structures suspended in a cage of hoops, spindles and gears. The repository of a million souls.

And a weapon.

Eventually Mist said, “We both know that we can only change this from the inside.”

“The subtlest of changes might do it.”

They gazed at each other in perfect wordless understanding.

The door opened and someone flicked on a light. Mist stepped away from Stevie as Aurata strode into the room. Oliver and Slahvin were with her, flanked by some of her followers; five male, five female, neat and menacing in their smart suits. Aurata went straight to the workbench, showing no sign she’d heard Stevie’s near-soundless exchange with Mist.

All their attention was on the Felixatus. Stevie slid off her seat and moved aside for them to look. Aurata gave an audible breath of wonder; Oliver was trembling, his expression pinched. Excited, envious? Smudges on his face from the bonfire made him look like a bruised ruffian.

“Finished?” Aurata asked.

Stevie gave a tight nod. “To your satisfaction, I hope.”

“Perfect.” To Stevie’s surprise, Aurata hugged her and shed tears, as if she’d been given a most wondrous gift. “Do you know what it means, to see this whole again? You’re a genius.”

“Let us hope so,” Oliver said aridly.

“Come out into the studio. Stevie, you carry the Felixatus. Oliver, call everyone in.”

Sourly he obeyed. Aurata pulled a tall stool into the middle of the space, directing Stevie to place the Felixatus on the seat—hardly a fitting plinth, but it had to do. Within minutes, most of Aurata’s disciples were in the room. There were only thirty or so, but their combined Aetheric presence was overwhelming. They exuded a powerful excitement that Stevie, as Fela, hadn’t tasted since race days at the height of Azantios. Their lovely faces were blissful. Completely focused on Aurata, they didn’t even notice Stevie. She was nothing, invisible.

Aurata waved them into a loose circle surrounding their grail.

“Behold, the Felixatus,” she said. “Did we even dare to dream we’d see it whole again?”

The studio felt barren with Daniel’s work gone. The globe’s light danced on bare wood-paneled walls. The gathered Aetherials emitted sighs of wonder. Some fell to their knees; others showed signs of changing shape, or simply began to weep. “Aurata, Aurata,” they murmured, like a chant.

“Where’s Rufus?” said Mist. His voice was a stone falling into the fervid atmosphere.

“Oh, you’ll see him in a few minutes,” Aurata replied.

He moved towards the Felixatus, breaching the sacred circular gap his sister had created. This looked shockingly irreverent.

“Are our parents in here? I don’t feel them … but how can we know?”

“We can’t,” said Aurata. “But if Poectilictis and Theliome are there, they’d surely give their strength and blessing to our intention.”

Her disciples made murmurs of agreement.

“Mist, step back.”

He obeyed, placing himself next to Stevie. She imagined him seizing the Felixatus, making a wild dash and hurling himself through the window; she wouldn’t put it past him to do just that. She glanced at Slahvin and his security contingent, who’d arranged themselves around the outside of the group. They positioned their hands strangely; palms down, fingers splayed. Faint lines of light danced between them. Stevie felt pressure in the air, as forceful as magnetism, and she realized.
Of course. They’re weaving a web to contain us. We’d never break through it.

Mist’s eyes widened. He knew.

“So, the ritual,” said Aurata. “A light supper, a brief rest, then we’ll begin. We’ll take the Felixatus to the lookout rock tonight. It must be positioned and adjusted to absorb the energy of the stars. When the sun rises and strikes the lens—that will begin the process. The mechanism must be precisely adjusted; can you do that?”

“Of course,” said Oliver.

Aurata gave a patient half-smile. “I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to Stevie.”

His lips turned bone-white. “But I am the Custodian. It’s my duty.”

“I’m sorry, Veropardus,” she said mildly. “Stevie rebuilt the Felixatus and she’s attuned to its energies. I can’t trust anyone else to operate it.”

“Can you trust her?” he said quietly.

When Stevie looked at him, she saw the face of Veropardus distorted through water as he forced her down into the swamp … She had to close her eyes. She felt Mist’s hand folding around hers—

The next instant, she and Mist were torn apart.