Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales) (57 page)

The portal?

A few bright streaks arced down like meteors, gone as soon as she blinked. Falling debris, optical illusion … or pursuit?

Her plan—to punch the portal half a degree off so it wouldn’t connect with Naamon, then throwing herself through before the hole spread to engulf the world—had been her only chance to thwart Aurata. Whether her actions would help her imprisoned friends or Mist in the slightest, she’d no way of knowing. She might have made things a hundred times worse.
I followed my
fylgia
, my intuition
, she thought.
They told me that the shadow-self always knows the right path. Oh, my dear friends, you’d better be right.

With an effort she pulled the Felixatus from under herself and set it upright. Her palms were bruised from holding on so tight. The metalwork bore a few small dents, but no obvious damage to the structure or mechanism. Within the shell of engraved symbolic animals, the central globe shone like a small moon in the gloom.

Whump
. A weight hit her from behind, flattening her. Torrid heat overwhelmed her existing pain as multiple hot irons dug into her arms. Her ritual robe caught fire, and pieces floated away like burning paper. A voice grated in her ear, “Fela, what have you done?”

Aurata-Qesoth.

Stevie changed shape without thinking. Deep instinct kicked her into Fela’s racing shape, a creature of muscle and sinew, coated in striped silver fur. The fur was her only defense against Aurata’s searing heat.

Twisting her neck, Stevie looked into a leonine face inside a caul of flame. Eyes like white-hot suns. A stench of singeing hair, sulfur and burning metal. Her radiance turned the fog to steam, creating turbulence full of ghostly shapes.

The red-hot irons gripping her were Aurata’s fingertips. “Let go,” Stevie gasped. “Please. I can’t run anywhere.”

“What did you do?”

“Opened a way to the Spiral, as you wanted.”

The voice inside the fire was fierce. “You betrayed me.”

“How can that be a surprise?”

“Oh, you still have the spirit for sarcasm, little slave?”

Those two words broke any illusion that Aurata had a shred of compassion for her. In the days of Azantios, their relationship had been about possession. Never love.

The burning grip loosened. Aurata jerked her forcibly into a sitting position, shook her like a doll. Even in Tashralyr shape, Stevie was weak. Every joint shrieked with pain and her muscles felt like wet string. Sizzling heat and raw cold played cruel sensory games.

“Look up,” said Aurata, pointing at the greyed-out sun. The disk was drifting away, shrinking, pulling in its tattered edges like tentacles.

“The portal,” Stevie whispered. “What’s happening up there? Where’s Mist?”

“I don’t know.”
Wrong answer
, thought Stevie;
how can she not know, unless he escaped?
“The real question is, where have you brought us? What is this … nothingness?”

Inside Aurata’s controlled rage, there was a hint of fear. Stevie replied, “I’ve no idea. And if you’re furious enough to kill me—again—just get on with it.”

“Oh, I’m tempted. I can trust no one,
no one
. Those who are loyal are too weak to defend me, while others I thought worthy to be my equals turn against me.”

“Because your plan couldn’t work!” Stevie ignored the pain, seizing a last chance to defy her. “You can’t meld Vaeth and Spiral together and rule both. It’s insane. You don’t care who gets hurt, even your own family. You were my only hope of helping our friends to escape from Albin, but I knew you wouldn’t, because you don’t care. Finding out they’re your family was an inconvenience, wasn’t it?”

“Not true.”

“All I hope is that I prevented devastation on Earth. This isn’t about a grand plan to rule the universe—which never works for anyone—it’s about stopping your megalomania!”

“Have you finished?”

“No. I could have loved you like a sister, Aurata. But you’re no better than any dictator on Earth. You don’t give a damn who gets hurt while you grab your power, because you’re convinced you have a divine right. God’s will, Qesoth’s will, what’s the difference? I’m shouting at a brick wall, aren’t I? You
know
you’re right.”

“And if I were sitting in my dictator’s palace listening to this diatribe I would have you dragged out and shot.” Aurata’s voice was a blade. “One thing I learned from Earth is that if you don’t grab power, someone else will. This is not over, Stevie. You’ve slowed me down, that’s all. Your function was only to ignite the process, because true power isn’t in the Felixatus. Power is Qesoth herself.”

“So where are your followers?”

“Fled, or perished. They tried, but they weren’t true Felynx. Too young, too weak. I don’t need them.”

Stevie drew back. Above, the remaining dot of the portal vanished. “You can’t channel Qesoth. The primal powers are long gone. Why should they listen to you anyway?”

“You are so wrong.” Aurata stretched out her arms, two long jets of fire. “I told you, Aetherial dreams become reality, if the will is strong enough.” She rose to her feet, and kept rising until she was twelve feet tall, a blazing demon. “Qesoth is already here. She manifests through me. Every realm shall bow to her and despair!”

A whip of lightning lashed Stevie’s chest and sent her tumbling backwards. Her protective Fela form evaporated. She lay gasping in agony on the rocks, one side of her body freezing, the other scorched.

“Can I trust you with one task, at least?” came a voice out of the flames. “Take care of the Felixatus until I return. I never wished harm to anyone, but you
must
learn to obey me.”

Stevie found the strength to sit up. Edging away, she gathered the Felixatus into her arms. “Where are you going?”

“To find the source of this fog and clear it. Then we’ll see. We shall literally
see
.”

Aurata-Qeosth arrowed upward like a missile; a roaring flame, leaving a jet trail. Steam swirled in the space where she’d been. Stevie was alone once more in limbo, wondering if Mist was even still alive.

Sobbing with pain, she found her feet and began to walk in hope of finding a landmark, some clue as to where she might be.
I’m Aetherial
, she told herself.
We heal quickly. We can change reality, if the will is strong enough … Oh, fuck, how did I get into this mess?

She was climbing a shallow slope. With every step, the clammy haze thickened. Specters moved all around her, forming and dissipating. She caught a brief flicker of her
fylgia
ahead, like a candle flame, transmitting a warning. A ruthless presence was gathering and moving towards her.

It was mere illusion, she told herself. Yet the wraiths continued to shepherd her every step.

*   *   *

Mistangamesh and Rufus each broke the other’s fall, tumbling over and over down a slope of loose rock. In Aetherial shape, they were a tangle of spines and feathers, scales and fur and muscular clawed limbs. Rufus rose to all fours, panting like a leopard between curses.

“Where the fuck’s Aurata?” he snarled. “Can’t see a damned thing. Mist?”

“I’m here.” Mist let his damaged Otherworld form shrink to human size, keeping only the blue-black nimbus of his Felynx self around him. “Were you calling to me, or describing this murk?”

“This isn’t mist, it’s what they used to call a pea-souper. We must be on a mountaintop to be inside cloud like this.”

Mist raised his head and shouted, “Stevie!”

His call carried, but received no answer. The pale rock and billowing fog raised a primitive fear, verging on claustrophobia. For a split second he was human Adam again, terrified in the trenches, suffocating on the smoke of battle …

“Great,” said Rufus. “Now we’re wonderfully screwed. Where the hell are we?”

“Still alive, at least. In the Spiral, I think.”

“Yeah, but which realm?”

“Sibeyla? I can’t tell,” said Mist. “This fog … It has to be Albin’s work.”

“Why do you think that?”

Mist raised his head, scenting the air. “I’m getting the same bad feeling as when he held us in his tower. I can’t define it. Same cold smell.”

“Is it me, or is it full of elementals?”

“Rufus … I think that the fog is
made
of elementals.”

“Oh, no. That’s too creepy even for me. I need to sit down. One of Slahvin’s bullets winged me.”

Rufus was a dark shape hunched on the rocks, his long hair turning to rat’s tails in the damp. “You can’t sit down,” said Mist. “We have people to find.”

“And how is wandering in random circles going to achieve that?” Rufus snapped. “Two minutes. Let’s get our bearings.”

“All right, but it isn’t like you to admit weakness, or to start talking sense.”

“Mm.” Rufus, now back in his familiar form, glared as Mist knelt beside him. “It’s not like you, either, to fight like a berserker and start killing people all over the place.”

“Two creatures, who both deserved it,” Mist said softly. “They should have gone into the Abyss, from which there’s no return.”

“I’m not arguing, but I’ve never in my life seen you kill anyone. I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be. And shut up. I’m not proud of it.”

“Don’t feel bad. Sometimes it has to be done.” Rufus gave a sigh that turned into a growl. “Look what Aurata’s brought us to. All I did was try to talk her out of this lunacy! I’m not her enemy. She knows she’s everything to me. I wanted the fun Aurata back, the one who took me to Venice and Las Vegas, made me feel life was worth living after all. That’s all I wanted. Not this raving nutcase she’s turned into.”

Mist put his hand on Rufus’s shoulder. “You wanted an illusion. We’ve all been trying to save her from herself, while she looks down on our feeble attempts from a great height with the disdain we probably deserve.” He stood up. “There’s someone coming.”

“What? Who?”

Figures took shape through the clammy shroud … a small Aetherial army. Mist made out a group of at least fifty Aelyr in crouched reptilian forms, clad in dark armor and bristling with spines and claws. He recognized this form as similar to the hunting mode taken by Initiators: those Aelyr who chose to pursue and brand “virgin” Vaethyr entering the Spiral for the first time. These were different—more of an organized unit—but apparently carrying Initiator-style weapons: crossbows armed with glowing, drug-tipped bolts.

A voice shouted, “By the command of Tyrynaia, don’t move!”

“Oh, good.” Rufus rose and leaned on Mist. “Just when you think things can’t get worse, a bunch of prancing ninjas from the Spiral Court turns up.”

“Who might help us?” said Mist.

They waited, resigned to capture since fleeing blindly was a worse option.

The unit spread to surround them, fading in and out of view in the greyness. Their commander was a high Aetherial clothed in peacock shades of bronze and green, feathers shivering in his hair.

Mist recognized him. The peacock-man was the spokesman for the Spiral Court, their leader, in effect, at least until another rose to replace him. He’d conducted the failed trial against Rufus. “It’s Vaidre Daima.”

“So I see.” Rufus groaned. “Wonderful! This is all we need. Let’s run for it.”

Mist caught his arm. “No. He could help. He let you go free, didn’t he?”

“Only because there was no evidence against me. The trial was all about Albin grandstanding, and not really about me at all. I’m sure he hates my guts. It’s a tradition.”

Mist said firmly, “This isn’t about you, either. Come on, he’s no enemy.”

“I wouldn’t take bets on that.”

Reaching them, Vaidre Daima gave a formal nod, his head feathers rustling. “Rufus Ephenaestus? And … Mistangamesh? We had reports of an illicit portal torn from Vaeth. How did you come here?”

“Through that very portal,” said Mist. The warriors pressed closer, their eyes gleaming red. He put up his palms to pacify them. “Wait—before you detain us—it wasn’t our doing. We were trying to prevent someone … we fell through … look, it’s desperately urgent we find certain Aetherials. We throw ourselves on your mercy.”

“Mist speaks for himself,” said Rufus. “I’m not throwing myself anywhere.”

“Explain. We have a dire situation here. Who or what made the portal?”

Mist hesitated. Even now he was reluctant to name his own sister. “Someone tried to summon Qesoth.”

“Qesoth?”

“There’s no time to explain. If you help us search, I’ll explain as we go. Where are we?”

“On a boundary between Sibeyla and Asru, but the structure of the Spiral is dangerously unstable. We’re under siege. If we stay in the open much longer, we’ll succumb to worse than the cold. The end is closing in … so I tell you, if Qesoth were to appear, I’d welcome her.”

Mist and Rufus exchanged a glance. Mist said, “Is this fog Albin’s doing?”

Vaidre Daima’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know?”

“Because we encountered him not long ago,” said Mist. “‘Fanatical’ is an understatement. We sent a messenger to warn the Spiral Court. Iola?”

Vaidre Daima waved a command at his guards to lower their weapons. He began to guide the party downhill. Mist hoped he knew where he was going in the thick grey pall.

“Iola reached us, but there was nothing we could do. Albin wove this fog some five nightfalls ago. It smothers everything.”

“I don’t understand. When we met him, which was only a few days ago, or so I thought, he had control of just one small island with a tower and few hundred elemental servants.”

“Well, now he has control of nearly the whole Spiral. We’ve no idea how he became so powerful so fast, nor how to stop him. Aelyr refugees have flooded into Asru from the other realms to warn us, too late. It was a stealth attack. This stuff has swamped the whole Spiral. Every realm.”

“It’s only fog,” Rufus said uncertainly. “Isn’t it?”

Vaidre Daima’s expression was stony. “No. It’s a pernicious force that sucks out Aetherial life force and turns us into—I hesitate to use terms like ‘ghosts’ or ‘shells.’ Let me say ice elementals, who become Albin’s slaves, with no will left of their own.”