Free Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales) by Freda Warrington Page B

always does. As I was saying, we can put the triptych on a table, because it’s freestanding. People will see it as they enter the exhibition room.”
    “So is Daniel’s mother okay about that? How did it go?”
    “Awful,” said Stevie, leaning on the counter. “Sad. Weird. Heartbreaking.”
    Fin’s expression turned sober. “And did you find out if he…”
    “That’s the worst thing. We don’t know. He vanished, leaving a mysterious letter. The police haven’t traced him so far. His mother’s devastated. She puts on a brave front, but I’m really worried about her.”
    As they carried the triptych into the larger room and positioned it on a narrow side table, Stevie gave a brief account of the visit.
    “Part of the reason Daniel and I split up was that his mother never liked me. She thinks I led her darling son astray. But I always did like her, in the perverse way that some people like sour lemons. I wanted her to trust me, and now she’s obliged to.”
    “You need a drink,” Fin said firmly, putting a hand on Stevie’s shoulder. “Honestly, you look drained.”
    “Thanks.” Stevie pressed her forefingers under her eyes, as if to press away the shadows.
    She studied the trio of images, seeing a mass of detail she hadn’t noticed before.
    First the central panel, the auburn-haired goddess against a blazing white-gold background, one hand holding up a glass orb to the stars, the other pointing at a fiery fissure in the ground. What she’d taken for mountains in the background now appeared to be an evanescent city of transparent, crumbling, smoking towers. She picked out the words inscribed on the frame, AURATA’S PROMISE.
    The left-hand panel showed a lofty hall of pillars, dominated by a pair of gigantic statues on twin thrones. A god and goddess, enthroned. Their faces were black and feline, possibly masked. The heights of the hall vanished into vague darkness that created a sense of desertion. Every pillar was covered in elaborate carving: decoration, or language? Some were broken stumps. Shafts of light fell through holes in the roof.
    She looked more closely and saw what appeared to be number of dead bodies around the base of the thrones, half-buried by rubble.
    In the right-hand panel, behind an exquisitely detailed armillary sphere, there was a rush of indistinct silvery creatures on all fours like hunting cheetahs. Not entirely cat-like, they possessed some disturbingly human qualities: a wild eye here, a human foot there. The sense of movement was intense, a race of life or death so ferocious that Stevie could almost feel the creatures’ hot breath, smell their sweat.
    The only still points of the image were the sphere itself, and the priest-like figure standing to one side.
    Ron could be heard whistling as he swept the floor in the café. Fin spoke thoughtfully. “They’re good. Do you think they’re good? You’re the art expert, not me.”
    “Hardly an expert. Striking, but very odd. That was Danny, though. A crazy genius.”
    “What’s it meant to mean?”
    “I wish I knew. Apparently these scenes were inspired by me ,” said Stevie. Her throat felt raw from too much talking, and the wintry air. “Don’t ask me how that works.”
    Fin said, “Whatever your ‘Danifold’ has done, it’s not down to you. I know you’ll do everything possible to find him, and I’ll help if I can.”
    Stevie grinned, grateful for her practicality. “Yes, what more can we do?”
    “The very fact that his work is here might mean that Daniel turns up to reclaim it.”
    “It’s possible.” Stevie hesitated. “His mother thinks he’s on drugs, delusional and even paranoid. He claimed some mystery buyer wanted all his work, because it’s too dangerous for the world to see.”
    “Ah,” said Fin. “That does sound a bit … loopy.”
    “But what if it’s true? He might have made an enemy of someone for any number of reasons, and vanished because he’s scared.”
    Fin mulled this over