Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales) (40 page)

“Samuel?”

“It’s all right. We’ll manage with what we’ve got.”

“I can see how tired and hungry you are. There’s too much of Vaeth in you. Your bodies have forgotten how to survive without food and rest. If you’d surrender to the Spiral and become pure again, you’d know freedom from hunger and fatigue and pain. True freedom.”

“What do you really want?” Sam said bluntly.

“The same simple thing that I’ve always wanted,” said Albin with his icy smile. “Purity. I wish the Aelyr race all to be gathered back into the Spiral where we belong and all the gates and portals to be sealed. Stay with me, shake off your human camouflage, and become part of the true primal Aetherial race again. I wish fulfillment and happiness for all. However … I no longer see any way of achieving my goal, except by force.

“Make yourselves comfortable, if you can. Remain in this chamber until it grows light. Sleep for a few hours. It’s all I can offer, but you are Aetherial and able to bear a little discomfort—unless living on Vaeth has left you
too
soft. It’s living too close to the human world that drains us of our true abilities. So, am I powerful, or is it you who are weak?”

Sam gave a hard laugh and stood right in front of Albin, his arms folded. “One more ‘puny humans’ remark like that and we’ll see who’s weak. D’you know you’re insulting the bravest and best people I’ve ever known? We’re the only family you have; we might even have loved you, if you hadn’t turned into this arrogant jerk. Who summoned Brawth and tried to blame it on Lawrence, your own son? And who risked their lives to lay Brawth to rest again, if not Lawrence and Lucas, Rosie and me? Answer that, and then tell me who’s weak,
Grandpa
.”

Albin’s face flickered with rage, but he didn’t take the bait. His voice stayed emotionless. “I’ll leave you in peace to think on what I’ve said.”

*   *   *

Mist drifted into uneasy sleep and dreamed about the scene that Rosie had described while they were in the coracle: Rosie in primal, winged, Estalyr form, Albin, a figure like a pale statue on the balcony of an alien city, his forearm twining around Rosie’s like a snake.

“Don’t be so quick to pass judgment,” he’d said as she confronted him with his cruelty to his own son, his family. The snake-shaped hand reared and rubbed its dry cheek across Rosie’s. “I tired of the game … Child of Vaeth, don’t go back. You may not see your loved ones again, but you won’t care. Caring is a curse, when we live too long, and spend eternity like galaxies drifting away from each other.”

A cascade of strange feelings spilled through Rosie. A strange coldness tugged her heart, like a distant call, or something urgent she had forgotten to do. The urge to fly was irresistible. Time shifted and she was airborne again, Albin a small pale figure looking up from the pooled shadows below. “Lawrence locked the Gates to protect Vaeth from terrible danger.” His voice was faint as the wind took her. “Are you so very sure that the true danger has yet shown itself?”

The dream changed. Mist was holding Helena as she bled and bled … only it was not Helena dying in his arms, but Stevie.

He woke violently, aching all over. A dim lavender glow showed the sleeping forms of his companions. Sam, nestled against Rosie, was as deeply asleep as the others, so their slumber couldn’t be the effect of Albin’s wine. In a trance he rose, and began to climb a stairway that spiraled up the wall to a higher room.

He found himself in the tower’s highest chamber, a smaller cone rising to a pointed apex. There were narrow slits for windows, a stone shelf with a few items—reminding him of Jaap de Witt’s laboratory—arranged in a neat row. Crystals, bottles, instruments of quartz and brass. The central space was filled by a long oblong block of lapis-blue stone, like a bier.

On this block, Albin lay asleep.

Mist felt no fear. Surely they were equals. How real was Albin’s power? Rosie might be right, that Albin was a lonely eccentric given to dramatic posturing. And perhaps it was their own fault they couldn’t match his apparent strength.

He looked out of an embrasure at a starry sky that seemed to belong to Sibeyla, not Melusiel. The landscape was a blur, the horizon curving in odd directions.

A cold voice said, “Did I not ask you to remain in the chamber below until light returns?”

Albin was on his feet. Mist turned to face him, unperturbed. “When dawn comes, you must let us go. I’m trying to find Rufus—to finish what the Spiral Court could not. In that regard, you and I are on the same side.”

Moving beside him, Albin looked out of the narrow window at the dark landscape beneath his tall narrow spire. “Rufus is a spent force,” he said.

“How can you know that?”

“My sight is clear, up here in the cold. I hold the power of one who’s given up, lost everything. Every bid I made to seal the Spiral from the Earth, to sever those destructive connections, has failed. All the supporters I had on the inner council of the Spiral Court fell away. I had nothing. So I created my tower.”

“It’s impressive,” Mist agreed.

Albin picked up a small orb of quartz. “Do you know what this is? In other versions of the Spiral, they call it an
anametris
sphere. It is used to open and close portals. The sphere won’t work in our realm, but it must be useful to have such devices, literal keys to lock the Gates. Were you even aware that there are other Spirals, attached to other Vaeths? Other tribes of Aelyr, interacting with different worlds?”

“I never thought of it.”

“No. Few do. But when I close my eyes I see them, like shifting, shimmering planes intersecting with each other. How can I hope to seal them all?”

“Why would you want to?”

Albin gave a thin smile. “Indeed, I can only concentrate my energies on my own realm. I come from a long line of pure Sibeylans, pale and ascetic, who consider ourselves the purest of all Aetherials, closest in spirit to the icy energies of the Spiral, of the stars themselves. My
eretru
, the senior House of Sibeyla, has long held and passed down the office of Gatekeeper, first appointed by Sepheron, whose mother, Jeleel, overthrew the tyrant Malikala, so-called Queen of Fire.

“However, there’s a paradox. The office of Gatekeeper is an earthy one—in the elemental sense—to do with manipulating rock and matter. It has an intellectual dimension, too, of esoteric calculations, but that’s more a matter of instinct than science. It’s a role that involves dealing too intimately with Vaeth. And there’s the biggest concern of all: that while the role of Gatekeeper is important, it cannot be seized or held. The unseen energies of the Spiral bestow or withdraw the power. Those energies are as moody as the ocean.”

“Sam and Lucas mentioned this,” Mist said evenly. “Your magnificent mother, Liliana, held the role, and was followed by your son, Lawrence. But you were overlooked.”

“That’s unimportant.” Albin placed the
anametris
sphere back on its tripod.

“Is it? Weren’t you jealous?”

His smile became a thin flat line. “I had a higher purpose. All that distressed me was that Liliana took Lawrence to Vaeth to train him. To corrupt him.”

Yes, jealousy
, thought Mist,
though he’d never admit it
. There must have been closeness between Liliana and Lawrence from which Albin was excluded. Perhaps he, by his cold nature, had excluded himself. “I wondered which came first. Did your anti-Vaeth philosophy make you an unsuitable Gatekeeper? Or was it being passed over that turned you against the system?”

“Don’t try to analyze me,” Albin said softly. “My reasons are far deeper. Indulging in such shallow speculation is entirely the wrong approach. All family ties are long severed and dead to me.”

“Truly?” said Mist. “So Lucas and Sam could be just anyone?”

“Yes.” A pause. “Although I admit that the connection amuses me. It would give me particular satisfaction to bend them to my ideals.”

“Aetheric purity,” said Mist, thinking that Sam was right. Whatever sadness Albin had endured did not excuse him turning into some form of Sibeylan fascist. “It’s not true, then, that your father came from Elysion, nicely saturated in the energies of rocks and earth and trees? I picture him as an earth god: a big, laughing man all in gold and green, with a curling golden beard.”

Albin’s eyes turned to glass. He breathed out in a soft hiss. “You should know better than me, ancient Felynx, that blood does not equal affinity. You could be born of parents from Elysion and Naamon—clod-like earth and aggressive fire—who lived the basest, nearly human life on Vaeth, and yet if the spirit of a different realm called, you would fly home. The true Aelyr spirit can escape its binding roots, soar back to the Spiral and be purged of all contamination. Being Sibeylan—a creature of pure intellect, of ice and stars and all things celestial—is a state of mind, not a factor of birth.”

“So there’s hope for all the muddy, contaminated ones?” Mist glanced around the chamber, hoping for some sign of the trapped
fylgias
. He sensed nothing. “Even an anarchist like Rufus?”

Albin didn’t react to his hint of sarcasm. “Yes, I’m certain that all Aetherials can achieve this state. I believe they
must
. And believing it, I’ve found a degree of equilibrium. Peace.” Albin smiled, a genuinely warm natural smile—all the more unnerving for the words he’d spoken. “I don’t know why it took me so long to see the light, but that’s wisdom for you. A quality that takes many years to mature. Go back now and sleep, Mistangamesh.”

“You are a fascinating man,” Mist said softly, “and I must ask again one favor of you. Let us go on our way, so that I can destroy Rufus.”

Albin only repeated, “Go back to sleep.”

*   *   *

Stevie woke abruptly, aching to the bone. For a moment she had no idea where she was, and only faintly recalled some odd dreams. Then she saw the others waking, stiffly sitting up. The first brush of dawn light entered the chamber from the stairwell. Fully clothed, she felt damp and stale.

“C’mon, let’s get going,” said Sam. “I’m not listening to any more shit from Albin. If he’s obstructive, we’ll fight our way out. Change shape, use our fists—whatever works. Agreed?”

“I spoke to him in the night,” said Mist. “I couldn’t sleep, so I went to the top chamber and he was there. He told me about his ideas, and about Aetherial powers.”

The other four gaped at him, astonished.

“But
I
was talking to him,” said Stevie. “For ages. You weren’t there. You were fast asleep.”

“That’s weird,” said Lucas. “I went up and spoke to him, too.”

Sam and Rosie were nodding, their faces a picture of shock and bewilderment.

“Looks like he had us all,” said Sam.

They went down the stairway and through the lowest chamber, meeting no challenge. Albin was waiting for them on the shore outside, surrounded by his aquatic guards and hundreds of elementals, swarming thickly in the fog.

“Don’t go,” he said. “Think about all I’ve said, dear children. Leave behind all pollution and become pure Aelyr: part of the Spiral, as you were meant to be. It’s who you really are.”

He spoke so passionately that Stevie, for a moment, was tempted. What else did she have?
Daniel
, she told herself.
Frances, and my friends. For goodness’ sake, Albin, get out of my head!

“Come on, it’s time to go,” said Sam. “Grandfather, I’m asking nicely. Stand aside.”

“Please stay.”

“I’m sorry, Lord Albin,” said Rosie. “You have your way of seeing things, but we can’t share it. Sorry.”

“You misunderstand. I’d prefer you to stay of your own volition, but you are staying here, in any case.”

“Albin, please.” Rosie’s tone verged on anger. “We’re your family. We’re not doing any harm. We’ve got stuff to sort out. We’ll happily come back and see you again—but only if you let us come and go freely.”

“As if I am some befuddled old grandfather to be humored?” Albin’s expression was intransigent.

“It’s not happening,” said Sam. “We’re going.”

“Nowhere,” said Albin.

Lucas squared up to his grandfather with strength Stevie hadn’t seen in him before. “You summoned Brawth! All along, everyone blamed Lawrence, and he blamed himself—but you did it, to torment and undermine him. I’ve always known it. The whole Spiral will know, unless you let us go
now
.”

“You don’t seem to understand,” Albin said softly. “None of you can leave. You think I would let the Gatekeeper go? Let any of you go?”

He opened his hands, and the air began to ripple with lines of light, weaving a cat’s cradle all around them.

Stevie found herself moving slowly, like a fly stuck in honey—and then unable to move at all. She was frozen to the spot. Cold air iced her skin. Albin’s cage of light wound tighter and tighter around her: a horrible feeling of numbness.

She saw the same happening to Sam, Rosie and Lucas; saw them trying to move towards one another, ever more slowly as time seemed to slow down, their mouths opening to shout to one another but no sound emerging as they turned from flesh to quartz.

Stevie was paralyzed, staring through a glass pane at three statues, half-seen through drifting ice vapor. Time stopped and she was caught there, forever staring and horrified and not knowing why.

Movement. A dark blur … Mist was still moving. He struggled as if battling a hurricane. She felt herself pulled sideways, throbs of power shaking her. He was in his water-dragon form again, taller than Albin. She saw two figures wrestling briefly, one white, the other ink-blue and emanating orange crackles of fire …

There was a roar of rage. Albin? She saw Mist fall back. As he fell she felt herself seized by hands, or tendrils, that were muscular, irresistible.

She and Mist fell together and hit water.

Down, down they sank. She could move again and found she’d transformed by instinct into the new water-breathing creature she’d been in Persephone’s cave and Virginia’s pool.

Mist was beside her in seahorse form. Albin’s slaves were in the water all around them, trying to herd them back to shore. They fought. Stevie felt parts of herself ripped off; saw fragments of her own fins and Mist’s leafy tendrils floating around them. She saw blood in the water.