Starblood (The Starblood Trilogy) (24 page)

She lifts her left leg and pivots it. Watching the way the water runs in rivulets down her pale skin, she grabs the knife from the side of the bath and scratches the surface of her skin with its blade. She doesn’t stab at her leg, nor scratch too hard. Instead she enjoys the gentle sting of the continuous scratch. It takes a few seconds before the blood pushes through the damaged surface. When it does she plunges her leg into the hot water and gasps at the pain. She does the same with her right leg. It helps, but the dark thoughts are still there, just below the surface of her psyche, and she knows they are waiting to overwhelm her.

Closing her eyes, she lets her head sink under the water. Dull slaps of waves echo around her. She holds her breath, wanting desperately to remain beneath the surface. Her lungs rebel, her body shifts and her face rises.

Tiny, perfect spheres of water line her eyelashes, obscuring her sight. She sees a shadow in the room but cannot see its form. She brushes the water away and sees Lilith standing over her.

‘May I join you?’ Lilith asks.

Star nods and sits up to give her room. Discarding her clothes, Lilith stands naked. She steps into the bath and sits in the water. Lilith’s body shivers as the warmth washes over her skin.

‘You’ve been cutting yourself again.’ Lilith frowns at the threads of blood rising through the water.

‘Yes,’ Star answers.

‘Why do you do that?’ Lilith asks.

‘I guess the pain helps me.’

‘How?’ Lilith looks so innocent, sitting at the other end of the bathtub, unable to understand.

‘Life leaves me with a dull ache in my chest. Cutting externalises the pain. It feels…more manageable when it’s on the outside,’ she pauses to see if Lilith understands. ‘It’s good to feel something.’

Lilith moves her body closer. ‘If you want to feel something how about this?’ she says, lifting Star’s leg at the knee and licking the cut. ‘Does that help the dull ache?’

Star smiles. ‘One ache disappears and another surfaces when you do that,’ she says.

‘Where does it surface, my love?’ Lilith asks.

‘Here,’ Star answers, pointing to her stomach.

Lilith twists her body and kneels in the tight space. She submerges her face and starts to kiss Star’s stomach. Star strokes her hair. It feels sticky, like seaweed floating in the water. Star sinks under the surface again and their faces press together. A kiss shared under the water fills Star’s mouth with liquid. She realises her mistake and tries to push Lilith away. Lilith doesn’t seem to realise Star’s distress and hovers above her, kissing her face and mouth. Star tries to shout, but no sound escapes her drowning lungs. She thrashes her arms. Fear and panic take over.
No, I don’t want to drown. I didn’t mean it. I want to live forever, here in the arms of my lover.
Please Lilith, let me get up, let me breathe.
Lilith moves away, pulling Star up with her. Star bends double and coughs water from her burning lungs.

‘I’m sorry,’ Lilith says rubbing Star’s shoulders as she splutters.

‘It’s all right,’ Star says as soon as she can find the breath to say anything. The words tear at her throat but she wants to explain, put into words how she feels. ‘At least I know I don’t want to die.’

Lilith smiles. ‘I’ll see if I can find you a towel,’ she says. A trail of water follows in her wake.

Star cradles her knees and concentrates on breathing. Each cool breath reduces the pain in her lungs. By the time Lilith returns with two hand towels Star’s breathing feels almost normal again.

Standing up, Star pulls out the plug. She loves feeling the water drain away from her legs, ankles then toes. The liquid pulls the darkness away from her, leaving her lighter, purer.

Lilith rubs the first towel over Star’s shoulders and breasts. The feeling is luxurious. Star imagines her lover as her handmaiden. Bathing, drying and dressing her, not in clothes but in skin and kisses.

‘I love you,’ she whispers into the hair at Lilith’s crown. If her words are heard Lilith does not respond. She continues rubbing and drying, working at the creases of Star’s skin, at her armpits and under her breasts; her knees, elbows and her sex all get the same gentle yet thorough treatment. As Star steps out of the tub and onto the cold floor Lilith kneels at her feet to dry between her toes.

Star grabs the second towel and does the same for Lilith. Her lover’s skin is already drying but Star enjoys the sensation of tracing the lines of her body with tiny circles of the towel. Then both cloths are discarded and they are in each other’s arms again. Kissing and retracing the movements taken by the towels with eager fingers.

‘There’s a bed,’ Star says, and they run towards it, throwing themselves onto the itchy blankets in a tangle of limbs and sexual abandon.

Chapter 36

Freya wanders through the forest. Trees are cast into darkness under a pale grey sky. The last remaining leaves cling to the branches, shivering in the cold. She doesn’t feel discomfort from the fresh wind. It feels more like an awakening.

Ahead Freya sees a deeper darkness within the shadows. Picking up her speed she moves closer. Empty branches claw at her naked arms and legs. Blood trickles down her skin and she realises the scratches should hurt.
Why doesn’t it hurt?

All she can focus on is the beckoning semi-circle. While the trees try to bar her way she pushes forward, teeth clenched, jaw jutting outwards in a mask of determination. She wonders what she will find. At the back of her mind, dampened by her drive, fear grows.

Stumbling out of the forest, she pulls brambles from her knotted hair and coils of ivy from her ankles. In the mouth of a cave lies a single red rose petal. Freya reaches down to touch it and her fingers close around the soft velvet of its skin. Sniffing it, she is transported momentarily to childhood holidays. A cottage in the valleys, a rose garden where three siblings played together while their parents watched from rusting wrought iron chairs.
We were happy then, all of us. Life was simple.

She peers into the gloom not expecting to see anything. A tawny glow reflects off the walls. The source of the light must be just around the corner: a fire perhaps. She steps inside.

Toes sink into damp earth. Skin warms. While she didn’t feel cold outside she notices the heat immediately. The mud feels sensuous. It kisses her feet as she walks within it and its warmth spreads upwards.

Water drips like the chime of distant bells. Walls and ceiling glisten with moisture. Mud envelops her ankles. She watches each step, not wanting to slip and fall. Yet part of her wonders how it would feel to sink to the ground and roll in this mud. The swinish, greedy thought brings a smile to her lips.

Another rose petal rests on the surface one step ahead of Freya. She wonders whether she should pick it up or leave it to mark a safe route back. Giggling, she stares at the perfect petal for a moment then crushes it into the mud with her blackened foot. She moves onwards, deeper and deeper into the cave.

Just a few feet ahead the tunnel bends. Her heart quickens. Placing her hand on the cave wall, she leans forward to see what lies ahead. The wall is ridged and silver algae cling to its troughs. As she rests against the slimy surface it seems to move, bend outwards like elastic or living tissue rather than rock. It must be the heat. Her body is drenched with sweat.

The cave continues. There is no fire, no sign of life other than the trail of petals leading to the next bend. Looking behind her, she can barely see the exit. The cave seems to merge into the wood like an ever-spreading ink blot. For a moment she considers leaving the cave and returning to the world outside.
There is nothing of value for me there. I need to continue. I need to see, to understand the truth at the centre of my life. What if that truth is here and I simply walk away?

She pulls away from the pliant wall and takes another step. Her feet sink deeper. The mud reaches her calves. She wonders whether she will submerge completely before she reaches the next bend. Each step requires effort. Gritting her teeth, she tugs at each leg then lets it sink deliciously back into the mud. Again the thought that she might die here tickles her brain. She welcomes the thought. It would be a luxurious death to be swallowed by this ooze. With each step only half of Freya wishes to continue towards her goal. The other half wills her heavy limbs to slide from underneath her body and send her face first into the darkness.

She matches the rhythm of her steps to the beat of her heart and urges herself forwards. With each beat she moves closer to the light. Everything feels easier when she works to the music of her own body and she reaches the corner quickly. This time she does not try to hide. She does not attempt to peek around the corner unseen. She keeps walking. Her boldness is rewarded.

A woman sits cross-legged within a crescent of fire. She seems unbothered by the flames. Perhaps she controls them. She sits facing towards Freya, but looking downwards. On one side of her is a pile of red roses. Freya watches as the woman picks a new rose and gently teases the petals from the bloom. Some of these petals fall into her lap, which already looks blood red from her work, others catch in a mysterious breeze that Freya cannot feel, floating past her into the cave beyond.

‘Do I know you?’ Freya asks.

The woman doesn’t respond. Another rose is taken and stripped. Dirty and tangled blonde hair covers the naked woman’s bowed head. Freya moves closer. The cross-legged woman still doesn’t look up. Freya wonders why she came here.
What now?

Freya sits in front of the naked woman and studies her face. Maybe it’s the flickering flames but her features keep changing. She is old, now young. Her face is full of innocent beauty. Then it is cruel and terrible. Freya feels dizzy watching her. Her features, her life maybe, are in constant flux. Needing to focus on something else, she picks up a rose. A thorn pierces her thumb and draws a thin thread of blood. She sucks at it and tastes the metallic warmth of her essence. Gently, Freya tugs at the first petal. It’s held firmly in place. Freya watches the way the other woman wiggles the petals and does the same. It comes free, complete and perfect, untorn. Holding it up to her face, Freya stares at it. Beyond the red she sees the woman’s face lift. She smiles at Freya and closes her vivid green eyes.

‘Goddess,’ Freya whispers.

Petals fall all around her. Freya sits in a waterfall of red confetti. The scene blurs and vanishes.

She stands in her brother’s room.
Am I awake or asleep?
His bed is covered in rose petals. It must be a dream. He sleeps, his body turned slightly to his left side. One strong arm obscures his face. The navy duvet and ruined blossoms cover all of him below his pale shoulder. Freya wonders whether he’s dreaming.
Is he dreaming of me?
Brushing self-deprecating doubts from her mind, she tells herself he could be.

She grabs hold of the duvet at the bottom of his bed and pulls it away from him. Petals fall to the floor and the duvet lands in a crumpled heap on top of them. Freya pauses for a moment. Here lies the body she has worshipped for three years and never touched.
Dare I touch it now, here in the safety of my dream?
He is thin but not skinny. His skin glows. The soles of his feet are blackened. Pale hairs decorate his shins. The urge to lick his legs, let the hairs tickle her tongue, almost overwhelms her. She is frightened she might wake him. She can see the shapes of muscles on his thighs and the way they seamlessly join with his angular hips. The way he lies she can see the silhouette of his high white buttocks. Just a glimpse of that part of him makes her shiver. She crawls up the bed towards him. Her body warms as it moves so near to his flesh. She lets her body hover just above his.
If his body responds to mine we will be touching in moments.
She reaches across his tanned chest and traces his forehead with her thumb. A smudge of blood marks him as hers, her kin and her lover.

Leaning backwards, arching her body, she looks up at the ceiling. ‘Liebe Lilith,’ she prays then lowers herself down upon him.

Chapter 37

Star falls asleep under the covers. The room cools after the heat of their passion. The fire, dwindling to a few embers, does little to warm her. Her troubled dreams are haunted, again, by the image of Raven; her broken mouth spits words of venom.

Steve appears next to the phantom, he embraces it, drawing its gaping jaw towards his mouth. His hands caress its blood-soaked hair. She watches in fascination and horror as his penis grows. It becomes a serpent weaving itself around Raven’s body, squeezing Raven’s stomach and ribs so they shift and distort. Then with a final crush Raven vanishes and Steve is alone. Dressed now in his favourite black frilled shirt and tight jeans, he holds a dagger. He points it towards her.

‘Cut out the evil,’ he whispers.

Star hears a heavy shifting noise outside the dream world. She wants to stay with Dream-Steve, question him and learn the truth, but he evaporates as the real world beckons to her. Somebody is moving about in the next room. She looks next to her. Lilith is gone and her side of the bed is cold. Maybe she is relighting the fire.

Weak rays of sunlight creep through the window.
How long did I sleep?
Her mind does not hold the answer. Her waking senses struggle to analyse the clues, the light in the window, the cold mattress and her exhaustion, so that she might ground herself in reality. It is useless and, within moments, she stops trying.

Star stands up. Sleep clings to her muscles as she half walks, half falls to the door. Cold air shrouds her naked body. As she opens the bedroom door, she faces a grey-haired man. In his shaking arms he cradles a rifle, pointing it towards her startled face.

‘Wha’ the feck are youse doin’ in me hoose?’ he yells at her.

Stumbling backwards into the bedroom, she shakes her head trying to deny his presence.
It’s a dream. It has to be a dream.
As she moves he follows. The barrel of his gun reflects her movements; its mouth sways gently, twisting and weaving through the air in a tight figure of eight, like a snake charmer’s pungi flute.