Rainbows and Portals

by Elaina J Davidson

  “I want to look like you.”

  “Why?”

  Augin stared into those mesmerising grey eyes. “Because I will die here. Because I prefer to die as your brother-in-arms than a soldier in a leather skirt.”

  Absolute silence ensued.

  “Are you afraid I will look too much like the dark man, my Lord, if I don the black?”

  EFUR, A MAN MOST comfortable in the shifting shadows of trees, came to a halt holding his breath. The expressions on the men from another world’s faces were strange. It reminded him of his brother’s intensity just before he died. That kind of emotion one did not blunder into. Even if one was a wild one with the excuse of ignorance.

  “My devils are private.”

  The Enchanter’s voice was like to brittle glass. It would not take much to snap him into temper. Surely the soldier understood he had stepped onto a dangerous path?

  “Not so private. The Centuar knows of the dark man, and so does Vannis. And I felt the sting of your desperation when you thought I was him.”

  Why did the servant taunt the master? And, what dark man?

  “Explain him,” Augin said.

  Efur pulled a face in the shadows. Now the soldier showed his ignorance, but, yes, it would be nice to understand this nuance.

  Torrullin inhaled. “Visions, that’s what he is.”

  Interesting.

  “More than visions, I suspect. Feelings, my Lord. You have not only seen him wear black like to you, but you have felt … what? Brotherhood? Or is he an enemy?”

  Interesting how the Enchanter turned his head up at that moment. As if seeking an answer.

  “Both. Time will tell.”

  Those strange grey eyes appeared almost silver when he shifted his attention back to the soldier, and Efur shivered.

  “Well, unless I again don the mask I used for my first meeting with Vannis, you cannot pretend I am him. My fairness shines like a beacon in this place of shadows. I choose to dress like you.”

  “I don’t need a brother-in-arms, Augin.”

  “But I do. I lost everyone I cared about on Ardosia; I am without home and haven and real hope for our kind. I know I am to die here …”

  Efur stared at the soldier. That sounded much like a premonition, a short step from a vision. Did these Valleur all deal in the supernatural?

  “… the moment of death cannot be determined.”

  “But the place can, my Lord. Here.”

  “Then why come?”

  The soldier laughed under his breath. “Unluckily for me, I didn’t know until the first night here.”

  “Why stay?”

  “I should have died on Ardosia. I’ve had my reprieve. Why not stay? If it means doing something worthwhile … with you?”

  Efur nodded. Sometimes reverence led to stupidity, but sometimes it led to greatness.

  “I cannot accept that kind of sacrifice,” Torrullin snapped.

  “You’re not making it. The choice is mine.”

  Dead silence.

  And then the Enchanter laid hands on the soldier’s shoulders. He ran those hands over the slick, icy skin of the man’s arms. “The black, then. May it armour you as it has me.” He stepped away.

  And left the other clothed as himself. Black breeches and intricate tunic. Boots and lightweight cloak.

  Augin pulled the hood up. “Thank you.”

  “It won’t keep you dry.” The Enchanter slapped at his tunic, a waterlogged sound.

  Amusement had entered his tone, and Efur deflated. A steady fire once more, not the destruction of raging infernos.

  HIGH GROUND WAS RELATIVE. It rained continuously and swift rivers formed in the undergrowth. Footing was treacherous, visibility non-existent.

  “The cave is nearby,” Efur said. “No use stopping in the wet.” He bent over studying the sodden earth, eyes flicking from side-to-side. “That’s if I can find the path …”

  “Tell me of this time rift prophecy,” Torrullin said.

  He walked head uncovered, hand on sword hilt, and seemed entirely unconcerned. Augin, for his part, clutched his cloak tight to his body and said not a word.

  The Shadof straightened. “It takes concentration to find the path.”

  “I believe you could take us to this cave with your eyes closed, friend; you’ve had an attack of conscience. So, speak the words of doom and it might lend speed to your lagging feet.”

  “I don’t need to speak it.” He turned his back and lengthened his stride.

  “I need to hear it!” Torrullin called out.

  “Then let another do so for you,” Efur hurled over his shoulder.

  An hour later the unmistakable sound of a rushing waterfall reached out, and Efur tracked back to halt his companions. His hands were tucked into his abdominal sac and he shivered uncontrollably. He glowered at them when both appeared questioning.

  “Even wild ones get cold eventually.” He removed one hand to swing it backward. “Cliff, big waterfall, bigger now after rains. Step where I step; we need go behind the veil.” He turned on his heel, clearly impatient with his miserable state.

  They followed with care, and soon a great deluge thundered before them, water pouring with abandon into a chasm from on high. Visibility cleared somewhat, but it was cold, truly cold. Even Torrullin shivered.

  “Step where I step,” Efur repeated, “and do as I do.” He turned his small body sideways and shuffled up a slight incline. Seconds later he vanished behind a curtain of spray.

  PENDULIM

  6

  BATS PLAYED HAVOC with peace of mind as they waded through droppings along a narrow tunnel. Ahead, the flickering of firelight. Behind, the roar of swift water.

  The orange glow grew in size, beckoning, and they stepped into a warm cave.

  A wizened little man looked up through the steam from an iron cauldron, one hand gripping an ancient ladle, stirring without pause. He frowned at Efur and then rested his gaze on the Shadof’s companions.

  “No. This is wrong,” he said in unaccented Valleur. His free hand pointed at Augin. “He is the wrong one. Where’s your true apprentice, Lord Sorcerer?”

  “AND WHO ARE YOU?” Torrullin demanded.

  “A traveller,” the little man said. “I have heard tales from beyond the confines of this overly large world.”

  “Bump into a Valleur, did you, to speak our language that well? Highly unlikely, friend.”

  The man cackled and released the ladle. “A charmsmith is able to confer talents.”

  He stepped away from the cauldron and vanished from view. A muttering came, the flames below abruptly snuffed, and then the little man popped up again.

  “Broth is ready,” he declared. “Knew we’d have visitors this day, visitors cold and wet. Come closer.”

  “Arli, you’re sent from the gods,” Efur muttered, and strode to the blazing fire to the side. A host of mats and cushions surrounded that fire, and the Shadof huddled there as close to the warmth as he could get. Shaking hands nearly vanished into the flames.

  “Arli,” Torrullin said. He did not move.

  “I don’t bite, Enchanter. I have no destructive sorcery. Come closer.”

  “You called him ‘Lord Sorcerer’,” Augin said. He did not move either.

  A shrug. “Sort of the same thing, not so?”

  Torrullin nodded at Augin and the two followed Efur’s example. The Shadof ignored them, shivering uncontrollably. Aril noisily found hollow vessels to ladle broth into, set them onto a rough tray, plonked hunks of bread alongside, and brought the whole over.

  Setting it down amid his steaming visitors, he said, “I’m a good cook, enjoy. Oh, and I don’t believe poison is a good death. You can eat safely.” Cackling again, he waved at the tray and moved to find a place at the fire from where he could study his visitors.

  “I don’t believe this,” Torrullin muttered under his breath and took a bowl, and hunk of bread. He nudged Augin as he took a mouthful, and the Valleur followed sui
t.

  The silence was filled with the crackling of a fire and chewing, slurping noises.

  Efur stared at them and grabbed the final bowl.

  “Damn good,” Augin said eventually.

  “Surprisingly, yes,” Torrullin grinned.

  Arli cackled once more. And began to speak. “I dreamed one night of a fair man and dark man; brothers, friends, lovers …”

  Torrullin’s head jerked up.

  “… equals and enemies. A very complicated relationship. Do not interrupt, Enchanter. Listen. Nothing is that written and dreams are more frequently symbolic. This dream had me expecting you and him to come through the veil of mist, but clearly that time is not arrived. From the expression in your eyes, you do not even know his name yet. But …” and Arli leaned forward, his slanted Shadof eyes amber in the firelight, “you know him. You have forgotten. This man is not someone you must meet to know; he is all I have listed, and more. Once he was your apprentice; today he is your equal.”

  Torrullin dunked a last piece of bread into his broth and chewed.

  “Amazing how silence can say so much,” Arli laughed.

  “Lovers?” Augin said. His meal was forgotten in his hands in his lap.

  Arli ignored him for Torrullin. “You have not come for enlightenment about a half-sensed future, nor are you here to have your past memories restored …”

  Torrullin slammed his bowl onto the mat. “I hate riddles. Speak clearly.”

  A belly laugh jiggled the wizened creature. “All prophecies are riddles, Torrullin Valla! Hating them cannot alter their reality!”

  “Efur, who is this?” Torrullin growled.

  The Shadof shrugged. “He’s always like this. Probably why no one wants to work with him.”

  “I tell the truth, and many cannot appreciate that,” Arli said. “Therefore, I work alone. I survive. My wheels are temporary manifestations only, but much sought after. This gifts me freedom other charmsmiths do not even think about, and thus I travel. I hear things, see things, and incorporate it into my work.”

  He sighed and fingered his abdominal sac. “Soon my wheels will be more permanent, without the decades of creation and without the danger to my person should another misuse one.” Hands twisted together. “That will be the day the Guild bays at my door, of course … and thus I take great care in listening to every telling. Forewarned is forearmed.”

  “You don’t wear a wheel,” Augin said.

  “I’m not interested in prolonging life, friend, merely in marking my allotted time with as many milestones as possible.”

  Efur clambered to his feet, bowl in hand. Muttering about being hungry still, he made a beeline for the cauldron behind them.

  “What have I forgotten, charmsmith?” Torrullin said.

  “That would take more time to explain than you have.”

  “Efur mentioned a month to fashion a wheel.”

  Silence, an unbroken stare. “You are here for a wheel?”

  More silence.

  “Why have I come, then, according to your wisdom?”

  Arli smacked his hands on his knees. Both Torrullin and Augin flinched. “The time rift.”

  Efur swore foully behind them. The ladle thudded against the cauldron.

  “No. I am here for a means to prevent this champion causing problems for the Guardians. I am here for …”

  “The leader being your father.”

  “This goes beyond my father.”

  “Naturally. A time rift in the Dome is not to be trifled with.” Arli pointed a finger. “Remember that, Enchanter, when a man who is pure energy enters through one of the sacred ogives. Energy acts like a charm fashioned of fire would.”

  “When?”

  “Such impatience! Why hasten forward a time of terrible soul searching for you?”

  Torrullin growled. Augin’s tawny gaze fixed on him.

  “The time you seek to enter comes sooner than expected, Enchanter, have no fear. But it is not this day. Now you need forearm yourself.” An introspective nod followed that statement. “And perhaps a wheel fashioned here will do that for you, if only in the time we shall have to talk, yes.” Arli sighed. “Strange how expectation changes. I expected something else, and now find myself on a different path. What kind of charm do you seek?”

  “One that fools a fire creature into seeing only evil.”

  Alien eyes locked onto Torrullin’s chest. “Ah,” was all he said.

  “And a charm to ward all the souls of Valaris.”

  “Oh. Two, is it? One of which needs duplication after. That won’t be simple.”

  “Can it be done?”

  “On one condition.”

  Torrullin lifted an eyebrow.

  “Everything I arm you with for the future remains between us. You and me, no other.”

  Silence, and then, “Deal.”

  PENDULIM

  7

  IT WAS A LONG MONTH.

  Arli sent Efur to Hemna’s Cave for intelligence regarding the Champion, and Augin went with him, for intelligence about security. Neither was willing; neither was given a choice.

  It meant Torrullin had to suffer Arli’s wisdoms alone.

  It was a goddamn long month.

  A special fire burned in a recess removed from the living area of the ancient cave, a fire of both wood and magic, the latter only a touch. The wood gifted heat; magic ensured it never went out.

  Torrullin was dispatched to find the hari-hari tree and admonished to remove only branches from the upper third of the trunk, as gnarled as possible. Finding the tree was easy, for its bright red foliage was a beacon in the darkness of the forest beyond the massive waterfall, but climbing it was a nightmare of scratches and gouges. He had never come across a tree with so much goddamn growth twisted together, bloody ever.

  Arli laughed long and loud when Torrullin dragged his haul of gnarled branches through the veil of water. “That was to teach you patience, Enchanter!”

  “Stuff patience,’ Torrullin muttered, and tossed the sodden lot into a corner.

  “Also, you need understand magic eases the way for you. Sometimes your hands need to get dirty.”

  Torrullin glared. “I’m not here for lessons.”

  “True, but I am a teacher.”

  “Ha.”

  “Also …”

  “Spare me.”

  “… your mind needs distraction.”

  “From what?”

  “Betrayal.”

  Silence.

  “I was married once, some while back now …”

  “I don’t need your story.”

  “… and we had a good relationship, very comfortable with each other. Understood each other’s moods. No children, and that was the only subject of dissention.”

  Torrullin straightened from washing his hands to stare at the wizened Shadof.

  “A woman needs a child to feel complete and when it cannot happen she will always feel less, unworthy. She is immortal, isn’t she, the one you love? She therefore cannot have a child.”

  “Not your business.” Torrullin returned to washing his hands.

  “It will be yours, friend. Compassion is something you need learn now, if you want a lasting relationship. It can work, as long as you understand her darker days. What cannot be borne, however, is her man fathering a child elsewhere.”

  Torrullin smacked the water. “Enough!”

  “She can forgive you sleeping with another, Torrullin, with time. But know from the outset she will find it hard to forgive you for creating something she cannot gift you. My wife left me after a roll in the undergrowth accidentally resulted in a pregnancy. We never did fix it, because I loved knowing I would be a father.”

  Silence was first from Torrullin, and then a sigh. “And your child?”

  Arli gave a philosophical shrug. “Didn’t make term. And still she could not forgive.”

  “How do I regret a child, Arli?”

  “You don’t, friend, but you prioritise. Decid
e who you love most, and make her the most important person in your life.”

  “Surely the child …”

  “That is not what I meant. As a father, you will love your child before all, but as a man, you must make your woman feel she is first.”

  “Didn’t work for you.”

  “I was stupid. Learn from my mistake.”

  Silence.

  “WE FASHION TWO WHEELS in one crucible; that will cut the time, but I need a coin for the soul aspect that hasn’t been conjured.”

  “A conjured coin comes from a real place, Arli.”

  The Shadof’s eyebrows, such as they were, shot aloft. “Really? Didn’t know that. It’s akin to stealing then, isn't it? In fact, it is stealing. You snap your fingers here and someone loses out somewhere there.”

  “Not that kind of real place. Not in this reality. A conjured thing originates in a realm of …” Torrullin shrugged on a grin. “… imaginary things.” He laughed out loud. “I get your point.”

  “We need something of this realm, Torrullin.”

  Torrullin held a gold coin aloft, wiggled it.

  Arli snatched it, bit it and then scrutinised it. “This is ancient.”

  “And very real. A keepsake from Excelsior.”

  “I see that, but this is from the Halo Mark Era. Very very old. How come you by it?” A baleful stare impaled Torrullin. “You didn’t conjure something I’d recognise and hope for the best?”

  Torrullin sighed. “No. And even if I did, how could I know you’d possibly recognise that? Halo Mark coins are …”

  “… extremely rare, yes. I know of only one other.”

  “The one in Titania’s Library? Interesting, that you’ve been there.”

  “I travel. This isn’t that one, is it? A stolen thing is …”

  “Aaru, will you trust I know what’s best for Valaris? It’s real and I don’t know how I came by it. I’ve always had it, life after life.”