The Key to Starveldt (14 page)

Beside her, Sharpsoft groaned and swayed to his feet with infuriating calmness. Solace straightened in response, staring at him, thoughts awhirl. The muscles in her forearms burned, but even as she probed the hurt with her fingers, she felt it recede. Her body was already healing itself, and though a quick check of her skin revealed some bruises, somehow she knew that they would not last long.

Her guardian was waiting for something. ‘Well?’ he asked.

‘I –’ Solace bit her lip. What did you say at a time like this? Being proven wrong both thrilled and frightened her. Like her strange facility with languages, her martial strength was something unearned that nonetheless belonged to her,
was
her. The fact that both gifts were so innate to be automatic made her feel like a passenger in her own body. She’d gone through a mythology phase early in adolescence, reading everything she could find on legends, religion and ancient cultures. Now, the Voudon concept of
loas
came back to her, spirit-gods that rode the bodies of
hounsi
– human priests acting as conduits.
Which am I?
she wondered.
Human mind or vampire instinct?
Loa
or
hounsi?
And when the
loa
rides, is there any difference
?

Out loud, she said, ‘You were right. I can fight.’

I am a weapon
.

‘Solace.’ Sharpsoft’s odd eyes flickered. ‘It’s not just that you can fight. It’s that you must. Each of your friends is strong in his or her own way, but though they are Rare, they are not warriors. If you cannot protect them – if they cannot shield themselves – they will die.’

A yawning chasm opened up beneath her ribs. For an instant, the clean scent of the Castalian spring was replaced by the sharpness of smoke, the char of flesh. In her mind’s eye, she saw the warehouse fire, felt the brush of Glide’s lips against her own, flinched as Grief plunged a needle into her arm, and was overtaken by a fear so absolute that she staggered. But then she remembered something else, and clung to the question it spawned, lest she be overwhelmed.

‘Blood,’ she said, trembling only a little. ‘My blood. Lukin took it twice. Or I mean, one of his researchers took a sample, but Grief and Mikhail already had some. They half-vanished me from the dungeon, sedated me, strapped me down –’ She stared at Sharpsoft. ‘Was that … did they do the same thing as today? How did they do it? Why?’

Sharpsoft sighed. ‘It was the same, though orchestrated differently. That first time, Grief used a sample of his own blood. Being siblings, it was close enough to yours that, once you entered their realm, he could use it to summon you, but even then, it did not bring you all the way across.’

‘But today? He has a pure sample now. Why didn’t it work?’

‘The Rookery magic,’ Sharpsoft replied. ‘You were under Liluye’s protection. He wants you to join him, which is why he let you live rather than force the issue. But twice and no more is, I think, the limit of his mercy. Do not count on it again.’

Solace looked away, feeling almost as drained as she had following her most recent ordeal with Grief. Then a horrible thought occurred to her.

‘My friends, though,’ she said, trying to keep the panic from her voice. ‘Lukin took blood from all of us. He could summon or kill them that way, couldn’t he?’

Sharpsoft smiled. ‘He could, if he still had his samples.’

‘And does he?’

‘Not since he finished the main tests. I got rid of them – refilled the vials with my own. If he ever decides to summon your friends, he’ll end up with me instead.’

‘
If
he decides? And what if he notices you’ve swapped the blood before then? I mean, that’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it?’

‘There wasn’t another option.’ Sharpsoft shrugged. ‘No matter what I did, the tampering would be obvious, and your brother already suspects me. At least this way, I’ll know he’s found me out as soon as he tries anything. Who knows? I might even be able to vanish again before he straps me down.’ There was a mad glint in his eyes.

‘Well, then.’ Solace fiddled with the hem of her jacket, disquieted. ‘What now? Are you staying in the Rookery, or going back, or what?’

Sharpsoft shook his head and winked. ‘Both and neither, my lady.’

And then he vanished.

Sighing, Solace rubbed her face. There were too many unanswered questions to contend with. For a moment, she felt paralysed. But then she remembered the satyrs were still outside, and after that, there were her friends to face. A new guilt stabbed at her: what could she tell them of any use? The whole point of coming to the grove had been to find out what they might do next. The vision had shown her three things only: a fragment of Luci’s new life at the group home, a frightening future glimpse into Lukin’s dungeon, and Glide.

She paused, chewing over the significance of the latter.
He’s alive. Sharpsoft might not trust him, but he didn’t kill him, either.
Was he still a threat? How culpable was he for the warehouse fire and the deaths of Phoebe, Claire and Tryst? A bitter smile found its way onto her lips.
Dealing with Glide. That’s something to do, I suppose. Better than nothing, anyway. He always was a mystery
.

And
, the Vampire Cynic added,
while you’re in the business of solving problems, you can contemplate the eternal mystery of Sharpsoft. Where does he go, when he’s not guarding you from Sanguisidera? What does he do
?

But to that question, Solace had no answer.

When she re-emerged into the satyrs’ grove, it was to find that Feyez, Salesian and Quin had not moved since her departure. All three lifted their heads and looked at her as she approached.

‘You are bruised,’ said Feyez, frowning at her. ‘What happened?’

Solace glared at him. She was, she realised, heartily sick of being interrogated by strange, irritating men who thought themselves more powerful than she was. Her words were tart as she replied. ‘Whatever happened, it had nothing to do with our bargain. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?’

Feyez snorted his indignation; Quin laughed out loud. ‘She has you there, Fey. I’ve never known the spring to leave bruises.’

‘But it does leave marks,’ Salesian countered, his tone suddenly serious. ‘Understand that nepenthe is made primarily from a distillation of the Castalian waters. What you have imbibed is a hundred times more potent. You are no briefling to be sent mad by the experience, but even so, do not expect the visions to leave you easily. They will cling to you.’

‘Briefling?’ asked Solace, trying to ignore the reference to going crazy. ‘You said that before. I don’t know what it means.’

‘It means a mortal,’ Quin said. ‘Rare or human, most inhabitants of your world exist for only a finite span. Their lives are brief.’

‘Oh,’ said Solace, realising she could have guessed as much from the context, and feeling slightly foolish for not having done so. ‘Right.’

She wanted to say more, but the physical consequences of what she’d just done had caught up with her. She swayed where she stood, then crumpled to her knees like a paper-legged marionette, bracing her palms on the purple grass as she gasped for breath, shaken and wrung out. Her skin felt like it was rippling from the inside out. Nausea formed a plug in her throat. The satyrs made no move to help her, but any anger Solace felt at this was held at a distance, her awareness suddenly shrunken to the tunnel vision of a fall-down drunk. For minutes, all she could do was pant, her muscles wracked by ice, until, finally, the sensation ebbed away, passing like the darkness of an eclipse.

‘Bastards,’ Solace croaked. Her throat was raw, and it was difficult to stand, but still she forced herself up. ‘What just happened?’

‘Nothing to which you had not already consented.’ Salesian looked her up and down. ‘You are fine. The disorientation is temporary.’ He nodded towards the path they’d originally taken. ‘We have been gone for some time. Longer than I intended, at any rate. You should rejoin your friends. Your time in the grove is over.’

Without waiting for her response, the three satyrs began to move on again. All at once, Solace felt furious. Hurrying to catch up, she grabbed Feyez by the arm and jerked him to a halt.

‘Why?’ She almost spat the word. ‘Why take me to the spring, and not just give us a bottle of nepenthe? Why all this –’ she waved an arm, searching for the right word, ‘–
theatre
?’

Having half expected Feyez to growl or turn on her for the presumption of grabbing him, it came as something of a shock when the satyr sighed and prised her fingers off his skin. The gesture was an eerie echo of what she’d done with Manx not long before. Had it really been an hour since then? It felt like minutes. Or years.

‘We know why you are here,’ he told her. ‘You have come to seek an end to the Bloody Star. We are archivists, not combatants. The truth you found in the spring is stronger than anything we could distil. Regardless of whether you fail or triumph, we could have offered you nothing more.’

Solace wasn’t mollified. ‘You said there’d be consequences.’

‘The same is true of every choice,’ Salesian pointed out. ‘Come,’ he continued, before she could offer an argument. ‘Your friends are waiting.’

Resentfully, Solace fell silent, and followed.

Evan became aware of Solace’s proximity a good five seconds before he heard her approach. Stretching his arms, he stood and turned in time to see Salesian and the other two satyrs escort her back into the clearing. If not for the frustrated anger swirling around her like mist, he might never have noticed the smudge of new bruising on her collarbone. It was largely obscured by the fall of her jacket, but unmistakeable for what it was. Other things leapt out at him then, too: there was dirt on her face and hands, a rip at the edge of her skirt, and a look in her face like she dearly wanted to hit someone. His chest tightened with anger as their gazes locked.

Did
they
do this to you
?

Solace jumped, as though he’d spoken the question out loud. Evan felt himself freeze. Could she have
heard
him? It didn’t seem possible. Slowly, he flicked his gaze to indicate her bruising, then tilted his head towards the satyrs, hoping she would understand. To his relief, Solace gave an infinitesimal shake of her head. But before he could think of a silent way to ask her what had really occurred, Jess moved past him.

‘What happened? Are you all right?’

‘Fine. I’m fine.’ The vampire’s gaze stayed with him a half-second longer, then flickered over to Jess. Despite the pepper-and-chilli tang of her emotions, she managed a smile. ‘It was pretty weird, but I’ll live.’

‘So,’ asked Paige, ‘did you actually learn anything useful, or what? Where are we meant to go next?’

‘We are done here, humans,’ Salesian called suddenly. ‘Do not overstay your welcome.’

‘Heavens forefend.’ Solace looked disgusted. ‘You heard him. Let’s get back to the plains.’

Still under the gaze of the satyrs, Paige shuddered. ‘No problem.’

They moved out as a group, clumping together through some latent herd instinct as the satyrs shadowed them, dropping away one by one the further they travelled. By the time they reached the edge of the grove, only the female with coloured hair remained.

‘Look,’ Electra murmured, pointing ahead. ‘There’s Sylvia. She must have come back for us.’

As they crossed into the open, the Rookery guard looked past them, her eyes marking where the satyr stood, still sheltered by the trees. Watching them, Evan felt as though he were passing from the one’s custodianship to the other’s.

‘Did you succeed?’ Sylvia asked them.

All eyes, Evan’s included, turned to Solace.

‘We did,’ she said, curtly.

There was a pause.

Paige glared at her. ‘
And
?’

‘
And
,’ Solace shot back, ‘I had a fight with Sharpsoft. Not a real fight – well, it
was
a real fight, but only to show me that I
could
fight. He’s still on our side. I think. And I know we’re all anxious to do something about that, or at least to talk about it, but right now, speaking as someone who’s just swallowed a gutful of hallucinogenic pond water and gone three rounds with a teleporting maniac, I would really like to talk about it later. Please.’