Rainbows and Portals

by Elaina J Davidson

  “Ah,” was Arli’s only response. Then, “It will work for the wards, yes. Can you part with it?”

  “I’ve given it to you, haven’t I?” Torrullin threaded a hand through his hair, clearly irritated.

  “True. Let us begin.”

  THAT NIGHT, AFTER A MEAL and after Arli set a mixture of the gold and worn copper to melt in a strangely marked crucible, Torrullin said, “What of the time rift?”

  “I know little of rifts or time and even less of the two together. One day that will be your realm of expertise and perhaps you may return here to tell me … if I survive that long. I know the magic of charms and fire, and am versed in prophecy. Tellings ancient and fresh are a hobby - I collect them as some would pretty jewels … or women or …”

  “I get the picture.”

  “First we must speak once more of the dark man. He is of time.”

  Torrullin closed his eyes. “It is hard to speak of him.”

  “I’ve received that state of conundrum from your reluctance, yes. Allow me thus to do so. I need no response, just your attention, and when we are done, we shall move on and speak of it no more.”

  After a while Torrullin jerked a nod.

  “You are aware of the Q’lin’la, I believe, and how they collected prophecies before the decision to hide as immortal birds, becoming thereafter part of the Dome Guardians. How do I know of them? Collect enough, friend, and truth and nuance blur and a grand picture emerges. This is what they did, and it is also how I am able to speak of these matters confidently. Not that I am always right, of course. No one is perfect, ever.”

  Arli rose to fetch two chipped mugs from his stash of dishes. And set them before Torrullin.

  Who barked a laugh and waved one hand over them. Steam from fresh coffee wafted up.

  Arli grabbed one to slurp with pleasure. “Nectar of the gods, I thank you. Where was I? Prophecies deal in time. But, and this I read between the lines, often what is regarded as a prophecy can be an actual recount of an event already happened.”

  Torrullin stared at him, his brew ignored.

  “An example: ‘A golden hand will grasp cold moonlight of alien light and drag it into history. Hard moonlight will be at hand when violence reigns.’ Know it?” Arli snorted. “Few do; not even the Q’lin’la, I think. It has happened. Golden hands gripping swords to use them in battle.”

  “The Valleur finding swords on Orb.”

  “Exactly. Now hear this: ‘There are two faces to make one whole, one has value, the other has origin.’”

  “The beginning of coinage.”

  “Right again. And yet you will find both those in a volume of prophecies. It appears most cannot tell an event from a telling. Now you need listen only. Hear this: ‘The apprentice looks up at his master and the master looks down. In that moment are they equal. In their combined hands lay the orbs of creation, achieved together.’”

  Torrullin shrugged his mystification.

  “You have done this, Enchanter, known as Lord Sorcerer. And your apprentice then was the dark man … wait, there’s more to explain it. ‘In the wind and rain of desolation, stones vibrated when dark and fair heads bent to the task, finally equal.’”

  Torrullin closed his eyes. A flash of a stone dwelling, a dark head. “Gods.”

  “And that was a memory. And sufficient proof. Now we move on. Allow the time between now and then to unlock what can be unlocked, or be philosophical about it, don’t force anything. Let us now speak of the time rift telling.”

  Torrullin lifted his mug, sipped.

  Arli loosed a loud cackle. “I bet you wish with everything you are to force me into telling you everything! A useless exercise, for I know too little to make it sensible for you.”

  Torrullin sipped again.

  “And it won’t have meaning. You must find the truth.”

  “Fine. The time rift, then.”

  “And we get to it.”

  PENDULIM

  8

  HALFWAY THROUGH THE process of creating the wheel, Augin and Efur returned, both markedly thinner.

  “We couldn’t get into the cave, too well-guarded,” Augin said to Torrullin in a private report. “The Champion sleeps, apparently, to attain the strength needed to wear the Wheel. Efur’s contact told us they are worried; the charmsmiths and flame-wrights feel too much went into the creation, and far too much selfishness. A wheel should be formed without emotion, but this one is imbued with it.”

  “Is it unstable?”

  “Not yet. Right now it’s dormant while the man sleeps. And it probably won’t show its real facets for years, because the man is strong physically also - he can deal with side effects for some while before it potentially bows him.”

  “But?”

  “Honestly? I don’t think they know. But they are worried.”

  “When does he wake?”

  Augin gave a wry smile. “Around the time your wheel will be ready.”

  “Serendipity.”

  “I don’t know. There’s a lot of nature between us and that place, and it’s particularly secure.”

  “Tell me of conditions …”

  ARLI AND EFUR SAT on opposite sides of Arli’s scarred workbench. Efur watched his companion’s hands, the man carefully engraving the outer rim of the medallion fashioned over the hari-hari fire. His vice was ancient, but effective still. Those hands were sure and steady.

  “A thing that forces one to see evil, Arli? This is not a good Wheel.”

  “It is needed. And it isn’t for him; it’s for the creature.”

  “What is he paying you?”

  “We haven’t discussed payment.”

  Efur lifted his gaze to his companion’s face. “That’s unusual for you.”

  “I have an unusual client.”

  “Yes, well, now that is a truth.” Efur sighed when he saw Arli would not be drawn into further discussion about Torrullin. “The soldier tried my patience. He’s sharp; he’s fast and sees too much. I thought he’s doing this thing out of reverence for the one he follows, but he really does it to atone, I think.”

  “For what?”

  “For not saving the Vallorin on Ardosia, for not dying at the Rift as the other Palace Guards did.”

  Arli glanced towards the fire where Torrullin and Augin sat in conversation, their voices low murmurs. “Where was he while the fight went on?”

  “His war leader commanded him to defend a door for evacuees.”

  “A noble stand.”

  “Lives were saved, indeed. But he feels less.”

  “How complicated sentience is.”

  Efur snorted derisively. “Plain stupid, if you ask me.”

  A grin. “There is that.”

  “… FASHION MEDALLIONS. I guess I could now give Vannis a challenge.”

  “Magic should be in the mind, of the mind. These devices, so easily made, scare the daylights out of me.”

  Torrullin looked over his shoulder at the two Shadof. “Quilla would agree with you. I agree with you. And yet we have not the right to interfere in an entire world’s culture. And their economic means.”

  “You’re calmer than when I left.”

  “Time to think.”

  Augin grinned. “And Arli didn’t drive you insane?”

  “Dear god, I swear I’m in two minds about him,” Torrullin muttered. “On the one hand I want to throttle him, but the rational part of me finds his wisdom intriguing. A strange character.”

  “Did he tell you of the time rift?”

  “Yes.”

  Augin lifted a brow.

  Torrullin sighed and clambered to his feet. “Let us walk in the outside air.”

  Augin, disquieted, followed.

  THE AIR WAS FRIGID. And so clear they could see far into the distance over treetops from the vantage of height. Drawing cloaks close, they wandered amongst giant rocks above the waterfall.

  “I made a deal to not share this information.’

  “I’m not forcing
you, my Lord.”

  “A man’s word is his honour,” Torrullin sighed, “but there are other matters to discuss. Perhaps you can infer meaning from them.”

  “Fine, but before we start that, I’d like to ask you something. Actually, say something.”

  Leaning against a boulder out of the wind, Torrullin waited.

  Augin stood braced before him, cloak hugged tight. “You are the kind of man even men can love …”

  Torrullin’s eyes narrowed. “Stop right there, friend. I’m not discussing a vision of a memory of someone forgotten; no more.”

  “All I’m saying is …”

  “I hear you.” Silence, and then, “I’m not the man men love, Augin. He is.”

  “Ah.” A beat, two. “You heard what you said, of course. He is.”

  “Gods. Yes.”

  “How does this fit in with Saska …”

  Cold eyes, unblinking.

  Augin pulled a face and turned away. A subject out of bounds. And then he stood hands on hips; the wind whipped his cloak into a frenzy of movement. “You get yourself into trouble without even trying. Man, I’d hate to be in your place.”

  Torrullin spluttered into laughter. “I know!” He straightened and gripped Augin’s arm. “Exercise will warm us.” Striding with the man, he said, “We must discuss the remnant Valleur before we confront the Champion.”

  “Before I die, you mean.”

  A sideways glance. “Yes.”

  A smile. “Death isn’t the end of life.”

  A nod. “It’s the path into a new adventure, agreed.”

  A step, two, three. “They are hidden in the Far Reaches and doing poorly. It isn’t suitable for settlement, even temporarily. There’s a sense of desperation now … and that’s probably why they had me up for treason …”

  Torrullin pulled him to a halt. “Treason? Why?”

  A wry smile. “I gave my oath of loyalty to you without their consent, and did so before you were Vallorin.”

  “Ah. I assume the outcome went your way.”

  “I am to stand before Vannis for final judgement.”

  “I am Vallorin. You are absolved of any perceived crimes.”

  “Except the personal ones.”

  “Our devils are creatures only we are able to deal with. No one can do that for you.”

  “I’m well aware of that.”

  A sigh. “I sometimes think Nemisin placed a curse on the Golden. Never to know lasting peace, not in the grand design and not in the small things that define a soul.”

  “Many have said that.”

  “Then perhaps Nemisin should carry blame in some form. Don’t they say where’s there’s smoke there’s fire?”

  “I believe that’s a human saying.”

  “Ha. Another thing borrowed. Let’s walk.”

  They walked, swift and silent, around boulders, ducking under whipping tree branches. This was the start of the highlands of Shyala and often contrary in weather. Below the cliffs it would be warmer, but also claustrophobic for two men accustomed to open spaces.

  “How much do you know of the history of Ardosia, my Lord? Has the Rift separated our race memories?”

  “To a degree. I can go back to events eons ago, but only in this universe. I am able, however, to garner a vague sense of Ardosia. Feelings, more than truth. Of course, now that the Rift remains unsealed, there’s more. Memories begin to form and slowly expand, but it’s a slow process and I do not have the time to examine them properly. Not only is my mind on Margus, but my heart is … divided. Hard to accept the nuances of our kind, then.”

  “The Elders will expect you to know all.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “Delaying them for safety reasons could work in your favour also.”

  Torrullin smiled. “You should be a negotiator. You would make an outstanding Elder one day. Change your fate, here, now,” he said. “Leave. Return to the Far Reaches.”

  “No.”

  “What, in all gods’ names, do you have to atone for?”

  “I lived.”

  “That is a guilt many carry.”

  “Including you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you haven’t placed yourself in a situation where you knew you faced death … and welcomed it?”

  Torrullin pinched the bridge of his nose and said not a word.

  “My point.”

  “Were you married, Augin?”

  Dead silence.

  “Ah. Forgive me. And now I understand.”

  “You do not.”

  “She died before Margus invaded Ardosia. The only purpose you saw for yourself thereafter was to be in a position to die for your Vallorin. It didn’t happen on Ardosia, but you believe it will happen here.”

  A shrug. “My devils.”

  “And what would you say if I tell you it is foolish? That this Vallorin,” and Torrullin smacked his chest flat-handed, “cannot die?”

  Augin turned to face him head-on and studied those eyes. “It makes no difference. I would spare you hurt, if that’s all I can do for you.”

  Torrullin swore. “No one can spare me that! Your death will hurt!’

  Augin flinched.

  Torrullin jabbed him in the chest. “Do you see another Valleur here with me?” He jabbed again. “Did anyone follow when I ran with my goddamn tail between my legs like a coward because of something I did to myself? Yes! Goddamn it - you! And you listen … and hear.” He turned aside. “Bloody hell.”

  “I can’t change it,” Augin said quietly.

  Torrullin strode away.

  “You need him, Torrullin! He is the someone who won’t run or die or let you down. A brother in truth.”

  A WEEK LATER THE Wheels were ready. Dull red-gold, marked with tiny, intricate symbols. One was thinner than the other.

  Arli handed the thinner one over to Torrullin first. “Wear this only when the need arises. It doesn’t confer added life and it can’t be borne by another. It is for the fire-creature only.”

  “How long will it work?”

  “Two days.”

  “Efur said an hour or two; I need a month.”

  “We’d need longer than you now have before the Champion awakes to achieve that.” Arli passed the thicker gold medallion over, stroking it lightly as he laid it into Torrullin’s palm. “This one is special. Do not ever wear it near your heart. It is again like to the Halo keepsake, for you. Give it to someone able to fashion multiple from singular. As it is, it’s effective for one year. Duplicated, the period is less … around four months.”

  Torrullin nodded. He fingered the two wheels to know their difference by touch. And then looked up. “What of payment?”

  “Save Pendulim from that rift. That is my payment.”

  “No one is that altruistic.”

  “Fine, Enchanter, then how about a stack of gold coins I can fashion to my advantage in the years to come?”

  Torrullin stared at him. The strange Shadof really did not require anything as compensation for time spent. Or for opening his den to strangers from another world. “Consider it done.”

  Efur, somewhere, whistled his astonishment.

  Augin had another matter on his mind. “When do we leave?”

  “In the morning.”

  The wheels vanished into a pocket.

  PENDULIM

  9

  THE SYSTEM OF CAVERNS known as Hemna’s Cave began with a gaping slash across the rock face of the lower Shynan Mountains. Thousands of wind chimes hung in the entrance, of bright glass, shiny crystal, colourful tin, gaudy beads and whispery tinsel. Hemna’s Cave summoned with sweet melodies from afar.

  An ancient corridor of deciduous trees marked the pathway, currently clad in late summer olive. Hosts of booths sprouted like misshapen mushrooms on either side, selling wares useful and frivolous. The small green Shadof were everywhere, and if the chimes had not summoned, this cacophony would.

  A number of outlanders were in evidence, am
ong them humans.

  “We can hide among the many here,” Torrullin murmured.

  “Note the Fire Guild banners,” Efur said. “The Guildmaster is in residence.” Bright amber cloth fluttered in the breeze, a black emblem too distant to discern.

  Augin lifted his chin towards the entrance. “Note the guards. Papers are thoroughly vetted.” Shadof dressed also in amber. Wrap skirts and waistcoats, black batons at the waist.

  Efur murmured, “Papers can be bought.” He gestured in a direction and they followed him through the crowds.

  Vendors shouted out prices and pitches. Buyers argued, and no one paid them the slightest heed. A fair-haired woman bent over a tray of jewellery, her gaze avid. Probably a Beaconite. A Ymirian’s brow ridges knotted in concentration over a selection of gold blanks. Four Shadof haggled with a shaman from Indus over strange fetishes.

  Saska would love it.

  Torrullin pushed thoughts of her aside and casually studied the crowd and listened to the atmosphere. There was no sense of urgency, beyond that of seeking a bargain and the greed of vendors, and no sense of approaching calamity. Why should there be? The real tale lay within the confines of yonder rock; here it was life as everyone in the vicinity accepted as norm.

  Efur halted before a red booth to pull aside a gauzy curtain. He leaned in and whispered some. Moments later he withdrew and returned.

  “Two hundred sester each. Papers that allow us beyond the second cave to confer with the charmsmiths. Apparently legal; the high price is for speed.”

  “Show me a sester,” Torrullin said.

  Efur palmed a silver coin, held it out.

  “A larger denomination, Efur. That,” and Torrullin jabbed at the coin, “will need too big a pouch.”

  “You think I’m made of money?” But he scratched in his abdominal sac and came forth with a gold coin.

  “Better.” Torrullin’s hands vanished beneath his cloak and moments after he held a plain pouch out. “Six hundred sester in gold.”

  Efur snatched it, looking around. “Man, some tact! And what about keeping a few? I’m starving.”