The Key to Starveldt

By Foz Meadows

In Book 1, Solace & Grief, readers were introduced to Solace Morgan, a seventeen year old girl raised in care unaware that she is a vampire named in an ancient prophesy. Compelled by a voice in her dreams, Solace left the only home she knew and trekked across Sydney in search of belonging. She found it in a group of misfits known as Rare: those with hidden talents and abilities—young people like Solace who have never quite fitted into society. With these newfound friends she set out to learn of her origins and find her true purpose.
With the key to Starveldt and pages from her mother’s book containing the prophesy in her possession, Solace and friends regroup after the dramatic events at the close of Solace & Grief. As prophesised, there are eight of them, and each has a role to play in the quest for Starveldt.
‘In a place of nameless speaking
bloody-eyed a star is seeking
memories undone
come will eight of rarest making
in their echoes power waking
in their selves and selves forsaking
darkness overrun.’
From the prophesy (P21)
Making their way to the Rookery, a place of safety that exists within and without the world as we know it, the eight learn that Starveldt is much more than just a castle. Within the castle, the key will open a powerful portal that links to every other portal in existence, thereby giving the key-holder access to an infinity of realms. But just as Solace has the ability to open this portal, so, too, does her brother Grief, who was stolen and raised by the evil Sanguisidera (the Bloody Star). The pair will stop at nothing to possess the key.
Dogged by friends who are foes, foes who may be friends, and guided by visions and the utterances of a telepathic cat, Solace and gang must grasp the key’s full meaning and discover who and what they truly are while wrestling evil and their own rampaging hormones. No easy feat. But hey, they have youth on their side and a bag of tricks up their sleeves, so if anyone can triumph these kids can.
The Rare isn’t just a story of good and evil, it’s about friendship, loyalty, belonging and dealing with difference. As Solace tries to resist the lust for human blood encoded in her genes—traits her dark brother has embraced—questions of nature versus nurture, not to mention our ability to choose our own fate, are brought to the fore.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ford Street Publishing
• Release date: May 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781921665622

Book preview

Prologue

Erasmus Lukin’s night had been far from pleasant. Not only had Solace Eleuthera and her friends escaped, but they’d managed to do so through means utterly beyond his comprehension. That it was Rare in origin went without saying, but to Professor Lukin, that was less than useful. His lack of knowledge burned like shameful acid. He had spent the better part of three centuries struggling to unlock the vagaries of inherited magic. How could such a powerful phenomenon have eluded him?

Sanguisidera had been wrathful at his ignorance – rightly so. Even her mildest rages were vicious, and yet Lukin’s current agony stemmed not from wounded flesh, but wounded pride. He should have known, and during the hours of his mortification, he had begged the Bloody Star for a chance to remedy his shortcomings. Sanguisidera had only laughed, the sound hard and angry and wonderful all at once, a melody of broken bells. Yet when the whip was put away, Lord Grief came and knelt quietly by Lukin’s side, ignoring the waste of blood spattered nearby.

‘Your ignorance in this matter has been irksome. Nonetheless, it is within your power to rectify. Give this matter your utmost attention, and no more will be said about it. For the time being.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Excellent.’ In a single motion, Grief grabbed Lukin by the hair at the nape of his neck and yanked the professor upright. ‘I have assigned your cousin a different task concerning the retrieval of my sister. Mikhail will explain the details. You will work. And then we will talk again.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘You are dismissed.’

Wincing, Lukin obeyed, taking the swiftest route from Sanguisidera’s caverns to his lair at the university, where Mikhail was waiting. Without words, his cousin laved and bound his back and fetched a fresh shirt. Lukin contemplated what manner of being was able to teleport six people from Sanguisidera’s adjunct realm back to Earth without being physically present. Such noteworthy gifts were not usually the province of humans – at least, not on this plane – which suggested that the antagonist was altogether more exotic and intriguing. Even before Mikhail had finished the bandages, Lukin found himself rummaging through the myriad files and papers cluttering his desk, searching for every note he’d ever written on non-human magic-wielders, one-in-a-million Rarities and hybrid entities. Could he have missed something, after all?

Behind him, Mikhail made a tutting noise at his disorganisation. Lukin pretended not to hear. More than once, his cousin had urged him to purchase a computer, but Lukin always refused, pointedly and with bitterness. Although human technology remained beyond his comprehension, he rooted his objections in more solid arguments: accessibility, the danger of protection, permanence. This last was of especial import. Lukin had held artefacts carved a thousand years ago that still remained intact, yet the floppy disks of even a decade past had long since grown obsolete. No. He preferred his quills. Trust only ink and feather. Nothing more.

‘You think the phenomenon is documented?’ Mikhail asked, interrupting his chain of thought.

‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. Either way, I will put a name to it.’

‘I do not doubt you.’ Stepping forward, Mikhail crouched down beside Lukin, bringing their eyes level. ‘My duty, however, is the recapture of Solace Eleuthera.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Lukin rubbed his head. ‘Tell me, is Lord Grief of a mind to try his hand at blood-magic again – or rather, to try your hand?’

‘He is. The experiment in your dungeon worked well enough. We have a purer sample to work with now, one that will hold her indefinitely.’

‘You have assured him of this?’

‘I have.’

Lukin frowned. ‘Mikhail, you know I have no qualms about your abilities, but think for a moment! Who was it that told you the wards around Solace were weakening? Who has forever claimed that she is inaccessible, only to recant, now, for reasons unclear to the rest of us?’

‘Sharpsoft,’ said Mikhail after a moment. ‘I take your point, cousin, but surely –’

‘Surely what? I do not trust him,’ Lukin declared, and as he spoke, he realised it was true. ‘Never mind that the Bloody Star favours him. He has always been closely twined with Starveldt, and his first oath was not to our cause, but to House Eleuthera. That means serving Lord Grief, yes, but also encompasses duty to his sister.’

Mikhail’s brows shot up. ‘You accuse him of being in league with her?’

Lukin hesitated. ‘No. Not on the current evidence. I merely suggest that it is possible. You must agree that he shows a disquieting tendency to be merciful, especially to the young. That boy who stole the book for us – Glide, was it? He claimed to have killed him; and yet we saw no body, no evidence that Sharpsoft had fed. On that basis alone, I am inclined to doubt his word.’

‘There may be something to what you say.’ Mikhail tapped the fingers of one hand against his opposite arm. ‘The blood-magic will still proceed, but I am prepared to keep a watch on the warehouse shell. Assuming our catspaw lives, my instinct tells me he will return to what he knows. Bait the line, and see what bites?’

‘Yes. A sound policy.’

Mikhail straightened. ‘Will you inform Lord Grief of our suspicions?’

‘I will,’ said Lukin, noting Mikhail’s use of the word our, and not quite liking it. ‘You do not require my assistance with your project?’

‘Not as such.’

‘Then I will continue researching the guardian.’

Mikhail rested a hand on his shoulder, gentle of the surrounding wounds, and nodded. ‘Of course.’

For a long time after his cousin departed, Lukin remained seated at his desk. Having voiced his suspicions about Sharpsoft, he now found himself unable to set them aside. By way of distraction, he picked up the surveys Solace and her companions had completed, leafing absently through them to be sure he’d missed nothing of their talents. It was always possible that the two friends of Solace who’d escaped capture had orchestrated the rescue of the others. Between the pair of them, he deemed the more likely culprit to be the blonde-bright Electra. Reading afresh of her strange ability to summon lost objects or transport known ones in the space of a heartbeat, Lukin hungered to claim the girl; to strap her down and probe the delicacies of her flesh until her blood gave up its secrets. Computers were one thing, but human science – and the ease with which it could be twisted to inhuman designs – was another. Though it was a daily temptation not to dine on certain of his mundane colleagues, their usefulness was undeniable. So long as he stood between them and the appetites of his masters, their blood analysis would continue.

Concentrate. He shook his head, wincing as even so simple an action caused the wounds on his back to pull. Lord Grief required answers. Distractions were not an option. With renewed discipline, he threw himself into the study of his notes, thinking always of the nameless guardian who had thwarted Sanguisidera. Hours passed, but the professor neither moved nor relented.

‘How are you progressing?’

Lukin jumped. Without his noticing, Lord Grief had entered the office. He was looking about the place with his usual flat curiosity.

Setting aside his current page, Lukin stood, winced at the pain this swift action caused, and managed a half-bow. ‘My lord. I had not expected you so soon. I have been reading, but so far –’

‘Tell me,’ said Grief, cutting him off, ‘what do you think of Sharpsoft?’

Lukin stared at him, unable to help himself. ‘Has Mikhail already spoken to you, my lord?’

Grief ’s brow crinkled in puzzlement. ‘Mikhail? No. What of it?’

Dry-mouthed for no reason he could articulate, Lukin related their earlier conversation. Lord Grief listened thoughtfully, his head cocked in the same attentive attitude he had always assumed in childhood lessons. When Lukin was finished, he leaned against the snake terrarium, a faint smile on his face.

‘Have you seen Morgause’s diary, Erasmus?’

‘Not yet, my lord.’

‘I have. Certain pages are missing – specifically, those pages concerning the prophecy. As my mother’s beloved freak was instrumental in its recovery, and as he further claimed to have killed the boy Glide – whose body has yet to be recovered – one begins to wonder where his loyalties lie.’

‘I agree, my lord. He is an unfathomable creature at best.’

‘Unfathomable. Yes. An excellent word.’

There was a pause. Lukin looked from Grief to his notes and back again, uncertain as to where the conversation was headed. His back began to itch, but he stubbornly refused to scratch it, waiting instead until his lord leaned back from the snakes and stretched, pushing threads of black hair away from his handsome face.

‘I approve Mikhail’s plan to keep a watch on the warehouse,’ he said at last. ‘Should it eventuate that Glide has been left alive, he may prove a useful ally, either denouncing Sharpsoft as a traitor or by putting his talents to use. You will continue with your research as planned. I want to know, firstly, who guards my sister, and secondly, how I might kill them. Until the key to Starveldt is recovered, we cannot afford to leave any stone unturned. The castle will be ours. Is that clear?’

Lukin exhaled, once more filled with purpose. ‘Crystal, my lord.’

1

A Secrecy of Birds

If ever there’d been such a thing as normalcy, Solace considered, it must have had the life expectancy of a suicidal mayfly. Being saved from death by an inscrutable feline and deposited in a magically sealed safehouse was all well and good; but it didn’t explain how Evan had managed to procure a plastic apron with painted-on bosoms and a slogan about the kissability of cooks. The idea that a house provisioned by vampires – and worse, by her parents – contained such an item was alarming. Solace realised her mouth was open, and closed it.

‘Breakfast?’ Evan asked, by way of greeting. He waved a plastic spatula towards a nearby frypan and frowned. ‘Well, it’s brunch, technically. It just looks like breakfast. We’re in the realm of noon.’

‘Yes,’ said Solace, muzzily. She’d just woken up, and was only about seventy percent of the way towards full consciousness. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she glanced around.

Besides Evan, the kitchen was staffed by Manx and Harper. Apart from Evan’s ludicrous apron, all three boys were clothed only in boxer shorts. Noticing this, Solace blushed and tightened her bathrobe – she’d left her clothes downstairs the night before, and had been forced to improvise. Seeing her expression, Manx cocked his head towards the laundry and raised a mischievous eyebrow.

‘Electra’s done a load of washing,’ he said. ‘Your stuff included. So we’re all reduced to toplessness, and everyone else is in robes.’

‘I lobbied for the other way round.’ Evan sighed. ‘But no one ever listens. Philistines.’

‘Clothes should be done soon, anyway,’ Harper said, ignoring Evan’s remark. ‘They’re on the line.’

‘And the others?’

‘Jess is in the shower,’ said Manx. ‘Laine’s upstairs, and Paige is outside with Electra. We’ve been taking turns at the hot water,’ he added. ‘We’re all done, but you can go next, assuming there’s any left.’

Solace shrugged. ‘That’s okay. I had one last night.’ Craning her head, she peered longingly at the still-sizzling breakfast, which appeared to feature everything from bacon and minute steaks to fruit and cereal. Despite her guilty feast the previous evening, her stomach rumbled at the enticing smell.

Seeing her expression, Harper grinned. ‘Give it another minute. We’ll call when it’s ready.’

Nodding, Solace turned, walked past the lounge and flinched. There was Duchess, camouflaged against casual scrutiny by virtue of having furled herself into a cushion-shaped ball. Feeling a hard knot rise in her throat, Solace remembered their conversation of the night before: Duchess, who’d been silently guarding her since the group home, had allowed her friends to be captured by the Bloodkin. Though Solace’s rebellious internal monologue – a voice she’d come to think of as the Vampire Cynic – urged her to confess, the little cat had forbidden her to speak of it. Instead, a more human part of her bowed its head and acquiesced, afraid of how her friends would react. As if my life isn’t already complicated enough.

Shaking her head, she looked away and kept moving. Solace had small tolerance for her own selfpity, and rejected it fiercely now. It’s a new day, she told herself. More importantly, we all survived to see it. Lighten up!

She paused at the back door. It was full-length glass. Wary of direct sunlight, she surveyed the sky. It was slightly overcast, and most of their small garden was in shade. Taking a deep breath, she slid the door open and slipped out, savouring the crisp, wintry flavour of the air.

With her arms crossed over her knees, Electra was sitting with her back to the side wall. She watched the laden clothesline drift heavily round in the breeze, while Paige lay full stretch on the grass, eyes closed. Overhead, the drying clothes moved gently on the line. Solace recognised her own black shirt between Jess’s blue singlet and Laine’s corset, and hoped she could soon reclaim it.

‘Morning!’ Electra called, without turning around. Paige raised her head, waved, and lay back down again. Both girls wore their robes with an ease Solace envied.

She stepped gingerly onto the grass, still wary of the hour. It was surprisingly green, dotted with greybeige paving stones that formed a broken, rambling footpath towards the back fence. Underfoot, it felt cool and dimly moist.

‘Thanks for doing the laundry.’

‘Don’t mention it.’ Electra turned and smiled.

All too clearly, Solace remembered her friend’s trembling exhaustion the night before. Guilt churned within her briefly. Electra’s grey eyes were clear, her skin bright, her hair washed clean of smoke and sweat, but there was more to the transformation than hot water and a good night’s sleep could account for. Electra’s expression was serene, reflecting a quietude that bordered on the spiritual. Surprise must have shown in Solace’s face, because the blonde girl tilted her head in query.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. I mean, you just look very calm today, that’s all. And last night was … I’m trying to think of a better description than Book of Revelations meets magic cat, but it’s just not coming to me.’

Electra snorted. Paige laughed with enough force to make her midsection spasm uncomfortably, prompting her to turn and prop herself up on an elbow.

‘Breakfast ready?’ she asked, rubbing her ribs.

‘Just about.’

‘Come on, then.’ With a pleasant sigh, Electra straightened and stood, flexing her fingers. She nodded to the clothesline. ‘These are nearly dry, anyway.’

They stepped back inside, shutting the door behind them. As Paige slipped past to the kitchen, Electra turned to Solace. ‘Am I going nuts, or has this house been made for us? I mean, exactly the right number of beds, toothbrushes, towels, an absence of anyone else …’

‘You’re not going nuts,’ Solace promised. ‘Although the universe might be.’ She paused, before steering back to safer territory. ‘Speaking of which, didn’t you promise Duchess another swan? She’s asleep now, but when she wakes up –’

Electra grimaced. ‘Ye gods. Don’t remind me.’

‘Remind you of what?’ asked Jess, startling them both.

Solace turned. Newly emerged from the bathroom and dressed in yet another ubiquitous robe, the seer waved a cheerful good morning with one hand, wringing out her wet hair with the other.

‘Swans,’ said Electra.

Jess made a face. ‘Gotcha.’

‘Breakfast!’ called Manx. ‘Anyone want to call Laine?’

‘No need.’ From her spot by the counter, Paige pointed: the Goth girl was already making her way downstairs, evidently having sensed the imminence of food.

They ate in silence, or rather, the closest approximation to silence involving chewing, condiment-clinking, the scraping of knives and other such interruptions. The only conversation consisted of requests to pass the jam, toast, steak, bacon, onions, sauce, sausages, fruit, juice, cereal, bread, milk or eggs, although Solace declined these last two and all the condiments on the grounds of allergy.

It was a veritable feast, and each of them was ravenous.

Eventually the meal was gone: crusts chewed, yolk mopped up, bacon rind scavenged and bowls emptied. Stuffed to the gills, they sat back, savouring satiety and enjoying a moment of peace.

Then Laine spoke, glancing at the three boys. ‘So. You guys cooked all that?’

Guardedly, Evan raised his head. ‘What of it?’

‘Nothing.’ She stretched. ‘I’m just amazed you knew what the stove was for. And that it was all so tasty.’

From where he sat, Harper managed a gracious half-bow. Manx feigned wounded dignity. Solace laughed.

‘It’s like a Christmas miracle,’ Evan grumbled, not quite blushing at the backhanded praise.

They all rose and began to clean up, stacking so much into the dishwasher that it barely closed, while Electra fielded queries as to the readiness of their clothes.

‘God, yes,’ said Jess, with profound enthusiasm. ‘Don’t get me wrong – I love the robes – but a houseful of semi-naked people isn’t nearly as much fun as Big Brother makes out.’

‘Volunteers to change that state of affairs?’ quipped Evan. ‘I think there’s some whipped cream in the fridge.’

Jess groaned. ‘Older sister standing right here!’

‘Clothes,’ said Electra firmly, before Evan could respond. Nonetheless, her mouth twitched at the corners. ‘Come on. They should be dry by now.’

With the exception of Harper’s shirt, several thick pairs of socks, and – regrettably – Evan’s jeans, she was proven correct. While her brother lounged by the clothesline, Jess rolled her eyes and went back to the bathroom, leaving everyone else to find their own changing space. Pulling on fresh clothes made Solace wince to realise how genuinely filthy they’d been before. Never again will I take hot water for granted. The simple luxury of clean fabric made her feel more human than she had in weeks. Well, amended the Vampire Cynic, for a given value of human.

Once dressed, however, their energy dissipated. No matter how calm they all appeared, Solace knew, no one had forgotten the dungeon. They moved like ants disoriented by a broken food trail, milling and directionless. Rubbing her arms, she glanced round for her leather jacket, the one article of her clothing Electra hadn’t been able to wash. She wasn’t cold, but the coat was comforting. She found it folded in a corner of the dining room. As she pulled it on, something crackled in the left-hand pocket. Her hand touched paper.

Sharpsoft. My mother’s book.

How could she have forgotten? Mentally cursing herself, Solace pulled the pages free and walked back to her friends. ‘We need to look at these,’ she said firmly. Her heart was racing.

‘Right,’ said Harper. ‘Let’s –’ He stopped, staring at the lounge.

‘What?’ Solace asked, then looked herself. The others followed suit, until eight pairs of eyes were fixed on the big sofa.

Tiny and graceful, Duchess stretched her slender white forepaws. Yawning sweetly, she sat on her haunches and winked her pale green eyes, glancing around the room before fixing her sights firmly on Electra.

There was a moment’s pause. Electra turned apprehensively to Solace.

‘Did she just say –’

Solace grinned, unable to stop herself. ‘She wants her swan.’

‘Dammit.’ Electra sighed, glancing at Duchess. ‘Just hang on a minute, will you? I need to put some clothes in the dryer.’

Dutifully, Solace relayed the message, feeling her cheeks ache with the strain of not laughing. Shoulders slumped, Electra trudged outside, grabbed the remaining wet clothes off the line and hauled them into the laundry. A minute later, she reappeared as the whirring, thumping sound of an older model dryer filtered into the background. Helplessly, the summoner looked to each of them in turn, but Duchess’s will was immutable. Jess, at least, had the grace to look somewhat abashed, but when faced with her friend’s pleading eyes, she made a surprisingly Evan-esque bow and waved her into the kitchen.

‘Tiles, I think,’ she added over the top of Electra’s resigned exhalation. ‘The last one bled a bit.’

As Duchess leapt neatly down from the lounge and padded into the kitchen, Paige stood on tiptoes and leant over the counter-top, peering downwards with undisguised fascination. ‘Speaking of which, what happened to the carcass? Did she, I mean –’ she flicked her eyes to Jess, ‘– eat all of it? Like, even the beak?’

Jess made a face. ‘You’ll see.’

Evan edged nearer the stove, one arm wrapped around his naked torso, having divested himself of his apron when the others changed. ‘Just to be clear? This is utterly sick. We’re utterly sick. And I cannot for the life of me look away.’

‘Thanks for that,’ said Solace.

‘Hoo, boy,’ murmured Electra, closing her eyes. There was a pause. Duchess flicked the tip of her tail.

A pale gold glow suffused the kitchen, growing in intensity until it was bright to the point of blinding. Electra let out her breath. The light died. Everyone craned forwards, staring at the far corner of the kitchen.

Flapping its clipped wings and hissing in wild agitation, a large swan arched its neck at Duchess, watching her from the corner of one small and frightened eye.

So quickly that Solace almost missed it, Duchess pounced, grappling the startled bird mongoosestyle, closing her jaws around the back of its head. Digging her sharp fore claws into its breastbone, she bit down hard – harder than she should have been able to. With a sickening crack, the swan’s neck broke. Honking and hissing, it began to spasm, blood marring its white feathers in ever-thickening rivulets as Duchess snaked her head around to finish it off at the throat. With a final, piercing shriek, the swan died, collapsing into a heap of defeated bird flesh, extremities twitching in the aftershock of pain.

Small and exultant, Duchess began to eat.

It wasn’t until a bloody pinion landed near Solace’s foot that she tore her eyes away, uttering a small cry. Electra, who was closest, made an ungainly jump over both cat and prey, rushing to put distance between her and the macabre spectacle. Even Jess, who had joked about the first swan, looked pale.

‘She … she’ll vanish the bones and … leftovers. When she’s done.’ Jess gulped, running a hand over her eyes. ‘We must really have been on another plane last night.’

‘And you’ve just now figured that out?’ Paige’s voice shook with a mixture of horror and selfdisgust. ‘Remind me to hit you later.’

As Duchess cracked what sounded like a particularly sturdy bone, Jess blanched. ‘I’m not going to argue.’

‘Grim,’ commented Harper.

‘So,’ said Evan, into the resultant silence. ‘Where were we?’

‘Pages,’ said Solace, faintly. ‘Sharpsoft’s pages. Unless anyone else has a better idea?’

Automatically and with no small amount of trepidation, Manx and Solace turned to see Duchess poking her head around the corner of the bench, her normally blue-and-white features streaked with red.

Purring, she licked her lips and vanished back into the kitchen.

‘Duchess says thanks,’ Solace said, wincing a little as she spoke. ‘At least one of us is happy.’

Electra shuddered. ‘Let’s make a pact, all right? This is not to be mentioned ever again, on pain of disembowelment. Ever.’ When nobody objected, she let out a sigh and gestured to the lounges. ‘Right. So. Let’s see what Sharpsoft has to say. Or at least, what Sharpsoft thinks we should know.’

Nodding, Solace smoothed out the pages, and walked over to the armchair Laine and Evan had shared the previous evening. She sat down, trying not to tremble. What did they say about her? For a moment, her throat was too tight to speak. Then she glanced across to where Jess and Electra were recovering via the time-honoured practice of mocking Evan, and felt her spirits recover. Whatever Sharpsoft had brought them, she could bear it.

‘My mother’s book,’ she said, by way of introduction. The others looked up. Solace took a deep breath and smoothed out a final crease. Tantalisingly, the first sentence started halfway through – had Sharpsoft been too hurried to notice, or was it a deliberate omission? Had Sanguisidera noticed the pages were gone, or had they been stolen before she saw the book? Putting these thoughts aside, she started to read aloud:

‘… prophecy is, although quite beautiful, damnably vague. Such is always the way with seers. In any case some warning of the future, no matter how cryptic, is infinitely preferable to no warning at all. As I have become the chronicler of these events, Aaron has warned me of the trouble in punctuating prophecy when we do not know where the correct emphasis should lie, and so I have endeavoured to be careful. Here, then, are the words we were given:

‘In a place of nameless speaking

bloody-eyed a star is seeking

memories undone

come will eight of rarest making

in their echoes power waking

in their selves and selves forsaking

darkness overrun.

‘At the doom of Starkine’s crossing

Trueheart grieved in turmoil tossing

Watcher’s secrets all unsaid

Daughter chained and hope unlocking

where the fates are cruel and mocking

and where worlds are

Reviews for The Key to Starveldt

[Lorens · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I liked these two books very much, and I liked Manifold Worlds even more.