Chapter 43
THE TASK NO ONE WANTS TO PERFORM
LEILANI
THE TUNNEL STRETCHES before us, a dark, fanged maw. But I’m leading us to the heart of this mountain, if it’s the last thing I do.
The passage is wider than I expected; three could walk abreast, though we descend in single file, hugging the wall, trusting its snaking contours to steer us through the darkness.
It was the right decision, discarding our packs, cloaks and gloves at the crater; it’s dank and slippery down here, hard enough to stay upright without the added bulk.
The rock face is thickly veined with starcrystal, and I press gingerly as I grope forwards to avoid slashing my fingers on its sharp facets.
Blayze limps behind me. He left his walking staff at the surface too, insistent he needed both hands to defend himself from the night-birds.
His tread is even more faltering than usual, every laboured step making it clear how loath he is to be here.
Serafine flies at my side, the faint glow of her feathers and the starstone around my neck our only sources of light.
If Blayze had accepted my scheme back at the surface, allowed me to extract Serafine’s last fire-feather there and then, we would have had light and heat as we descended the tunnel.
But in agreeing to enter the caves, he wasn’t agreeing to any such plan.
He made that point quite clear, practically spat the words at me. And hasn’t spoken to me again since.
My palms itch. Despite my promise to Orthriel, the temptation to unleash starshine to light our way is almost overwhelming, but the memory of the avalanche stays my hand.
Bringing the mountain down on our heads is unthinkable.
The walls already feel like they’re closing in.
I don’t want to risk exposure to that heady inhuman power again anyway, not with a blood rite still to perform.
As agreed, we walk in silence, eyes rooted to the ground to avoid looking at the night-birds, in case they’ve escaped the third cave.
Our footsteps echo through the winding tunnel, but I hear them only dimly over the starsong, growing steadily louder the deeper into the mountain we delve.
I flinch at every muffled sound, listening for the rush of wings, but also trying to count our footfalls, unable to shake the feeling Arden is walking behind me, her breath warming the back of my neck, her merciless high-pitched laugh piercing the silence behind the thrum of the fallen Wishing Star.
I cast occasional glances over my shoulder, but each time I check, there’s only the outline of Blayze’s broad shoulders, the wink of the torc around his neck.
I try to catch his eye, hoping he’ll look up just once, let me know everything’s all right – that it will be, at least. That he’ll agree to let Serafine sacrifice that feather, that he won’t let this all be for naught. That he’ll find a way to forgive me.
But his eyes remain pinned to the ground, and for all we’re bound by the brands we bear, my magic can’t pierce his mind.
His breathing is harried. Not unlike my own hitching gasps.
Strange, from a man who’s always made his home below ground.
I shudder at the thought. How can a people live like this, without sunlight, without stars, deprived of even a fresh breeze?
And then I remember the desperate blows Blayze levelled at the snow when we were trapped by the avalanche, his inflamed words as we searched for Serafine in the hills, railing against being penned in the dark.
Perhaps something more than his injuries and his simmering resentment is causing his feet to drag.
What is it costing Blayze to follow me into the bowels of this mountain?
The tunnel swerves to the left. Stumps of four great crystal pillars greet us as we turn the corner: white, red, green, blue. The Flarestones.
I slow to look at them and Blayze swears, almost crashing into me.
‘Sorry,’ I mumble.
He barely grunts in reply. I press the starstone to the icy callous walling my heart. I am sorry – sorry for everything. But sometimes, sorry isn’t enough. And the truth is, faced with the same choices, I’d do it all again.
A faint glow silvers the passage in front of us.
‘We’re approaching the first cave.’ My voice seems little more than a strangled whisper, but I might be shouting for all I know.
Starsong rings in my ears now, blotting out everything else.
If night-birds truly remain in the mountain, they won’t like this glare – it should be safe to look up.
A blessing, for I can’t miss the sight that awaits us round this next bend.
The tunnel veers to the right, yawing into a vast cavern – deep, wide and pockmarked, riddled with cavities that must once have held starstone fragments before my forebears harvested them to create the Starfields.
A small number remain in situ, glinting in the darkness like eyes staring back at us.
And in the middle of the cave, towering before us, is a sphere of pulsating prismatic light.
The remains of the Wishing Star.
There’s a sharp intake of breath, then a hush, as we huddle closer. We’re standing in a sacred space: the core of Estelia’s power. The source of its magic – my magic – within touching distance. I curl my hands into fists to stop myself reaching for it.
The others are shielding their eyes, but I’m able to look directly at the star, deep into its flickering depths.
They put those of even the brightest jewel to shame, seeming to go on forever, speaking of eternal secrets and other worlds, but there’s darkness at its core, threads of Shadow choking its otherworldly brilliance: the Sickening maintaining its stranglehold.
It’s a broken thing, and my chest aches the longer I look at it, but the entire cave still oscillates with its energy.
The vibrations thrum my body like rumbles of thunder, starsong pealing in my ears.
The Celestial Chain hangs heavier around my neck, drawing me forwards, like iron pulling towards a lodestone.
I cup the pendant and light bursts from it, stronger than ever before.
My hands sparkle too, and I twist them, marvelling.
They aren’t my hands anymore – I’m wearing a cielsylph’s incandescence.
A shiver of dread dances up my spine as I remember the Reliquary portrait.
These aren’t a cielsylph’s hands. They’re Noelani’s.
I’m less tired too – sharper. Reviving in the star’s presence as Blayze once described drought-withered smoketrees reflourishing in the Oralian Waste after a sudden desert storm.
The longer I gaze upon the star, the deeper I fall under its spell, swept along by the same heady current of bliss I experienced drinking the waters on Nimbi.
Only this time, that current is stronger.
Star-Aether envelops me now, threatening to drag me under.
I could stare into these depths for eternity and never tire of it.
I could drown in the star, fall into its orbit and never escape that pull.
I shake myself, tearing my gaze away. The effort it takes scares me. I remember the stories of those poor lost souls wasting their lives searching for Nimbi, and glance sidelong at the others. They wear the same glazed smiles of stupor that wreathed their faces on the banks of the Fade Falls.
‘We have to go.’ I shout the command as loud as I can. My words must break the star’s spell, for they stagger back, expressions turning more lucid.
Serafine swoops in front of me as I lead the Quaternity behind the star, towards the entrance to the passageway which, according to Noelani’s map, will lead to the second cave.
This tunnel is narrower. Two can walk abreast, but only just. I suck in a shallow breath, count backwards from a hundred, and try not to imagine the walls crushing us, burying us alive. Despite the smattering of starstones lining the walls, we’re once again plunged into near total darkness.
‘Eyes on the floor!’ I hiss. Night-birds might swoop from the shadows at any moment.
The hum of the Wishing Star ebbs the further we walk, and my courage along with it. Questions, for which I have no answers, crowd my mind, circling in a never-ending loop. What if Blayze refuses? What will become of us if he won’t let Serafine part with her fire-feather?
There are moments I swear I hear the rustle of wings. Each time, my breath catches. Then I remember the map. Not wings. Not yet. It’s water – running water.
*
THE SECOND CAVE is long, but narrower and lower than the first, its walls still veined with starcrystal, its ceiling icicled with stalactites.
And even though our arrival here means we’re one step closer to the night-birds, my chest relaxes as we step inside.
Anything to get out of that suffocating tunnel.
Only a handful of starstone fragments are scattered over the walls, but their absence is not due to harvesting.
There are no cavities here, no gouged eyes.
This cave appears intact – untouched. Orthriel said my ancestors never needed to venture this far through the caves to gather stones for the Starfields.
I shiver. We’re walking across territory only a handful of living beings – perhaps only Noelani, the night-birds, and the Dawn Sister herself – have ever set foot in.
The burble of running water grows louder as we move deeper inside the cave.
Maris turns towards the sound. ‘What is that?’
Serafine loops through the cave. The glow of her feathers soon reveals the source of the noise: a narrow cascade of rainbow-hued water, flowing into a circular pool.
‘The source of the Opaline River,’ I say, half to myself, muscles stiffening as memories of the Fade Falls swirl to the surface of my mind. The flail of my limbs, the burn in my lungs, the world darkening overhead as I breathed in water.
Stars save me, how am I ever going to cross it?