Wolf Star Rise: The Claidi Journals Book 2 by Tanith Lee (children's ebooks online TXT) 📕

Scowling, I now concluded they’d want me to climb with them up the side of the cliff/building – by ropes – hanging on to the odd statue that stuck out, or wobbly windowsill. And I was getting ready to refuse point blank.

But we walked along around the cliff, through the trees, now and then into a dip and up again. And so reached an incredible staircase.

‘Before you ask, Claidi, it doesn’t move, it’s outside the outer wall.’

It was a mountain of a stair. I didn’t try to count the steps – but looking up and up at it from its foot, I guessed there must be hundreds upon hundreds. Thousands. It was far higher than the highest towers of the House. Perhaps the Wolf Tower.

The stair was also wide, oddly ornate, with carved handrails, and marble lions at intervals. (I think they were lions – they were very weathered and mossy.) (Could have been badgers, really.)

Anyway, we started to climb up.

After thirty solid minutes it was getting slightly exhausting, but then there was a broad terrace or landing before the next flight. These landings happen at intervals all the way up. Some even have drinking-water fountains.

The stairs are also crumbly in parts, and cracked where trees have rooted and pushed through. On the seventh landing, I think it was the seventh, when the world seemed already fallen far, far away to a green-blue ring, some big purplish monkeys were thumping about, which threw nectarines at us – until Grem made a loud whooping noise and they fled, leaping off the stairs into space – to catch black-handed on handy neighbouring boughs.

Neither Venn nor Grem seemed tired. I tried not to seem tired, ashamed of my feebleness. I’d thought I’d hardened up a lot, walking and riding with the Hulta. But climbing stairs isn’t the same.

We stopped for a longer rest, thank heavens, on the fifteenth landing, or whatever it was. We sheltered from the noon sun under a spreading melon tree. (Grem watered his hair at one of the fountain-taps.)

The view was awe-inspiring but samey. All you could see by now were things tapering away, getting smaller and smaller. The far blue world, the high blue sky.

A large bird flapped across on ragged wings.

Lucky thing.

We got there in the afternoon.

Out of the cliff, these two brown stone towers, not that tall, and without any real distinguishing marks, just a few scattered indigo roof-tiles left. Windows without glass. Shadows running sideways.

‘Sun and moon,’ said Venn.

‘Why?’

‘I haven’t a single idea. Do you, Grem?’

‘No, prince.’

Grem (and Jotto) call him ‘prince’ as if it’s an affectionate nickname.

Wedged between the two disappointing towers was a huge block of building with long glazed windows of coloured glass. It had a vaulted-arched doorway, with its own (yes, more of the things) steps. Guarded by two beasts that were like pigs more than anything.

The Library.

We – I – crawled up the last steps. They walked.

It was cool in the vault of the doorway.

Even if it takes off right now, I thought, and goes rambling back down into those kitchens, and won’t come out – I don’t care.

Venn was looking at the shut door. He said suddenly, ‘Try her ring, Claidi.’

Oh, so now we could talk about Her Ring without him going loopy.

‘I’ve put it away,’ I said huffily. But I was curious. I walked right up to the door, and started digging in my bag for the topaz.

I hadn’t even found it, let alone brought it out, when the door opened. Wide.

Inside looked cool, dust-moted and calm. It had that smell libraries always have, well, so far as I know. Of new paper and old paper, of bindings, and the powders of books.

In the high ceiling was one of those sky-lights, and patterns of sky scattered over the old, dark-tiled floor.

‘How did it—?’ said Venn.

I realized the door hadn’t been meant to open like that.

‘It recognized you,’ I stated.

‘Yes, it does recognize me – but not you. Not even Grem.’

‘Well, I probably touched the ring in the bag—’

‘You’d have to be wearing the ring, Claidi.’

I thought of the Old Ladies in the House, who had had such authority. Especially wonderful (untrustworthy) Jizania. I said, cool and calm as the library, ‘But I’m not. A mystery, then. But what isn’t a mystery,’ I added in my best Jizania voice, ‘is that I’d like some hot tea, now, as soon as possible. Thank you.’

They stared.

I walked on into the library coolness, head high. Secretly frantically hoping they’d hurry and follow, in case anything moved.

And they did. And five minutes later Grem handed me one of the travelling cups full of hot spicy tea.

Really, after what he did, anyway (reading this), I shouldn’t have any feelings for Venn, but contempt, distaste. Hatred.

None of that applies. I’ve almost tried to feel like that. It no longer works.

Instead I feel so sorry for him sometimes I could howl. At other times I want to kill him. And then – he just does something that charms me, turns me round. And then I remember how he held me in his arms when he found me in the kitchens.

Of course, I don’t want to feel close to him.

It’s the old thing, that thing that happened before. I fell for Nemian. (Who Venn is sometimes so like, not to look at, but in his manner. (Even the sudden charm.)) Then I met Argul. And Argul was right. He was meant, and I was meant.

But now am I just swinging away towards the nearest new attractive (he is) man – a new friend, a new interest. I don’t trust myself.

No, I don’t feel for Venn the way I feel for Argul – even though I feel I’ve lost Argul, somehow—

No, it’s not the same.

And yet—

Oh, Claidi, you absolute hopeless dupp.

Who can I rely on, if I can’t rely on myself?

(And now I half want to tear this page out – in case he reads it.)

I only want You to know. Well, I do trust you.