The Vanishing Star: part 4

Relearning what has been forgotten

This is my ongoing scifi / fantasy / crime fiction serial. New chapter every week.

The Triverse is
Mid-Earth, an alternate 1980s 1970s London
Max-Earth, a vision of the 26th century
Palinor, where magic is real

Previously: Lola Styles is recovering, having woken from her coma….

The Appilan Rainforest. Palinor.
3204. Late Frostfield.

Nothing worked properly: not her legs, not her arms, not her neck or her back. Lola couldn’t eat solids for weeks after waking, forced to mash everything up or rely on soup. Lykasra made a mean selection of soups, which helped. Each day was the same collision of frustration and patience, of setbacks and tiny victories. Holding a cup for the first time. Sipping from it without pouring it down her front. Sitting up for longer than ten minutes before being exhausted. Standing unaided, battling against a total lack of balance.

They weren’t her limbs any more. Well, one leg remained. The rest were an odd patchwork, reminding her of the dolls her sister had as a child, the legs and arms sewn on awkwardly, stuffing escaping from the seams. Squeeze Lola too hard and her stuffing might come out.

The first time she’d had a bath and had seen her new body in its entirety, she’d wept and wept until the bath overflowed. Beyond being an awkward teenager, she’d never much thought about her body. Coming to Palinor had changed that, ushering in a sexual awakening that she hadn’t anticipated. Her body had been relevant for the first time, something to bring pleasure, something she was pleased with and evidently pleased others. That had been a new sensation. It had taken some getting used to.

And now it was gone. She was a torso with a scarred head and one leg. The new limbs didn’t feel like hers, didn’t look like hers. Lola expected them to fall off, without warning; to just plop to the floor unceremoniously. One arm then the other, leaving her standing looking like an idiot, then the leg and she’d go toppling over.

Professor Simova assured her that couldn’t happen. That the work had been remarkably successful, and it was only a matter of time until she regained mastery over herself. When she asked how much time? he would always change the subject. He examined her every day at first, taking blood samples, testing her responsiveness. Back in Bruglia, when she’d attended his lectures or visited him on campus, he’d been a kindly and gentle man; that manner had shifted, with him clearly seeing her more as a test subject than a person. He couldn’t suppress the scientist.

It was a complicated procedure, with Simova avoiding direct touch for fear of suffering the same problem as Daryla. Upon that first waking, when they’d hugged, something had happened between them. Daryla had collapsed, while Lola had felt a sudden, intense headache and an infusion of energy, equivalent to having drunk half a dozen cups of strong coffee in as many minutes. Combined with her incapacitated state it had been an alarming and embarrassing response, her body unable to control itself. The others were kind, Zlati in particular cleaning her and the bed without once complaining.

“It’s fascinating, really,” Simova had said. “I’d never even heard of these vaen’ka — they’re so rare, you see. My best hypothesis is that by grafting the creature’s limbs to your body, you have in some fashion inherited one of its abilities: magical vampirism.”

He’d said it like it was an interesting sub-heading in a report, or a curious aside to return to at a later date.

Simova used tools from a distance. Daryla sat in a chair at arms length while they talked. Yana would stand at the foot of the bed, observing, talking about one theory or another that had nothing to do with Lola and left her largely bewildered. She never saw Maxim. The magic wielders were afraid of her.

One cool morning, after Zlati had wheeled her out into the dappled sunshine, Pylpo appeared at her side. She’d been conspicuous by her absence. Lola was propped up on a stack of pillows, so that she could look around more easily.

“I’ve been on missions,” Pylpo said. “Keeping busy. Helping out. They need good medics. It’s getting pretty bad out there. Weapons we’ve never had to deal with before, brought over from your world.” She sat on the edge of the bed, her thigh bumping against Lola’s leg. Or the vaen’ka’s leg. She could never quite decide. “I’m glad you’re awake,” Pylpo said, smiling down at her.

“Yeah,” Lola said, “me too.” Her voice had returned, albeit a few notes lower than before. Talking for too long left her breathless.

Pylpo looked down at her hands, her fingers drumming on her knees. She wasn’t afraid, because she was aen’fa, and had no magic that could be siphoned away. “Daryla said some things while you were asleep.” She was avoiding eye contact. “Said that none of this would have happened if I hadn’t interfered. If I hadn’t confused you, and made things weird. That you were both arguing, and then this happened.”

Reaching out, Lola took Pylpo’s hand. It was good to touch someone without them recoiling, even though the effort was a strain. “We’re all adults, Pylpo. Things happened. None of this was down to that. If anything, it was me trying to prove something.” She smiled. “And you know what?”

“What?”

“I’m alive. You’re alive. Daryla’s alive. And we stopped the vaen’ka. Mission accomplished, right? Big heroes, right here.”

Pylpo laughed, quietly at first, then loudly, as if she’d been afraid to let it out. As if she hadn’t laughed for months. “Big heroes.”

“I mean, strictly speaking, I hear it was the Six Blades, but we don’t have to tell anyone about that.”

That had been a regret: not to have seen the Blades. Ellenbrin and Halbad and the others had been long gone by the time she’d emerged from her coma. Another time, perhaps.

“Main thing,” Pylpo said, “is that I don’t want to interfere. You two were made for each other. I don’t want to mess that up.”

Lola grimaced. “It’s not easy. We can’t even touch each other.” She couldn’t see the future, or a way forward. There would be one, somewhere, but it was out of sight.

“Yeah, whatever’s going on sounds scary.” She lifted Lola’s hand and squeezed it. “Doesn’t affect me, though!” She smiled mischievously. “Let me know if I can help. Like, if you need a liaison. A go-between. If you know what I mean.”

“Stop.”

Pylpo grinned. “Too soon?”

Daryla sat in the chair, leaning forward, elbows on knees and chin resting on her interlaced fingers. “What did you feel? When you woke, and we hugged?”

“Dizzy,” said Lola, trying to remember the sensation. “I was still mostly out of it, though, so it’s hard to say. It didn’t feel bad though. Not like it was for you.”

The princess nodded. “It’s not pleasant, that’s for certain. But look—” she held out a hand, a short distance from Lola’s exposed forearm, and Lola felt a tremor, a tickle, run up and down. “See? It came back. Same as when the vaen’ka attacked me. My powers go away for a couple of days, then return. Or perhaps they don’t go away, but are suppressed. Either way, it’s not permanent.”

“Thank god,” Lola said. “That would have been awful.”

“We don’t know much about vaen’ka, and even less about what’s happened to you.” Daryla’s eyes were brighter than usual. Lola knew the look: an idea was brewing. “I want to run some tests. You’re going to have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” Despite everything that had happened between them, all the difficulties of recent months, trust was not a problem.

“I’m going to put this just here,” Daryla said, opening a small, thumb-sized container and pouring sand onto the side of the bed. “Let’s see what happens if I do this,” Daryla said, reaching out and holding Lola’s arm tightly. Lola’s instinct was to pull away, but Daryla held tight. Her skin started to grow pale. “It’s OK. I’ll be fine. Now, talk me through it. Tell me what you’re feeling. Tell me everything.”

An early sketch of Daryla, from 2021

---

Meanwhile.

Some exciting bits and bobs this week. In no particular order…

I’m one of the judges for the 2025 Lunar Awards!

Winston Malone

has taken over running the awards for this year, and I’m hopping on board over the summer to assess the science fiction category. This is very exciting, and not a little intimidating. Can’t wait to see what comes out of it — there are so many excellent writers around these parts. Here’s how it works and how you can get involved:

Lunar Awards Season 10 Explained

I used to work at the National Centre for Writing here in the UK, and my lovely old colleagues mentioned to me (at the pub, of course) that they’ve got a one month challenge coming up in March that’s all about building a helpful writing habit. There will be a new prompt every day, introducing a range of techniques to help you get writing, plus expert tips and interviews.

It sounds great! And the best bit is that it’s only £30 (about US$37) and takes place online, so it doesn’t matter where you’re based. If you’re struggling to get going with your writing this year, it might turn out to be a very good investment. Find out more here.

On an unrelated note, I stuck up some thoughts on Eternal Strands over on my secret/not secret other newsletter. If you’re into games / movies / books / etc, do check it out:

Eternal Strands of the Colossus

And finally, I always like a good discussion about serialisation (you may have noticed), so here’s one to stick in your brain:

Oh, and if you’re about on Saturday early evening (UK time) do keep an eye on the Substack app, where I might be popping up with a mini-livestream of sorts.

Author notes

I enjoy when a story title has multiple meanings. ‘The Vanishing Star’ has a major meaning, which was touched upon in part 1 and we’ll get back to next week, as well as a minor meaning, which is what this week was all about.

Lola has always, from her very first appearance, been a beacon of hope. She’s the optimistic character, the one who has a positive impact on everyone she’s near. She pulled Clarke out of his later-life funk, which is no mean feat. That’s why seeing her injured so drastically has been especially upsetting. The hopelessness in her situation has been hard to contend with, and if Lola loses hope then what remains for anyone else?

Hence, the vanishing star.

This week’s chapter is Lola struggling back to who she was, who she is, albeit while incorporating the new aspects. There’s no going back, but this is her reclaiming what matters to her. It’s there in the way she is kind to Pylpo, and thinks of others before herself, despite her situation. It’s there in the small moments, like this line:

She couldn’t see the future, or a way forward. There would be one, somewhere, but it was out of sight.

Even in the darkest year of her life, Lola believes there is still a way forward. That attitude is what she passed on to Clarke — completely inadvertently, I should add — and it’s what enabled him to get through the five years in exile.

I’m also aware that the pace of the story has slowed down dramatically: we’ve now had two chapters of Lola lying in bed. This is a storyline that can’t really be rushed, though; to have Lola back up and running about straight away would feel disingenuous. And, as always in Triverse, everything is leading to something else.