Rainbows and Portals

by Elaina J Davidson

  Blink.

  “You have no voice,” Torrullin understood.

  “He is of the Malnas.” Efur, returned, was also staring at the giant.

  Torrullin glanced at him.

  The Shadof lifted a shoulder. “Someone needs bear witness, not so?” He stabbed a finger in the air. “He is the last Malnas and the issue you referred to that creates the means to manipulation, is a death wish. I have no idea how old this man is, but I do know he no longer desires life. The Guildmaster promised him death eternal if he agreed to take the Wheel into the Dome.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “An aspect was fashioned that enables the speechless to communicate. I ran into a charmsmith or ten out there and they fell over themselves to reveal what they knew. Something to do with the truth being out before it’s too late.”

  “I’ve never heard of the Malnas.”

  “Few have. They are ancient in the way time is. Look at him. He was once flesh, but now he’s like the trees of the surrendered parts of the forest - petrified by the march of years.” Efur cleared his throat. “I think I would prefer death also, were I in his shoes.”

  Torrullin nodded.

  “He would make an outstanding Guardian, not so?”

  “Yes. Damn it.”

  “And that places you in a terrible position.”

  Torrullin jiggled the Wheel he clasped. “This tells me he is innocent.”

  “He is not so innocent, Torrullin. He agreed to do this. He knows what will happen.”

  Blink.

  AUGIN REMOVED THE NEED for choice. Perhaps he understood Torrullin could not act with clear conscience despite the Wheel that obviated listening to the inner voice of reason, or perhaps he understood his fate with greater insight than he had shared. Augin, despite a wish to live, now, knew he would die and thus chose the way of it.

  Hanging with purple face, struggling for air, he nonetheless summoned the strength of purpose, the will, to mutter words of magic. No one heard him, for he was voiceless, but his lips moved slowly, with great deliberation.

  Efur, seeing the movement, lifted a hand to draw attention to it, and then pressed his lips together and looked away. It was time, was it not, to allow destiny to take its course.

  The javelin smacked into Augin’s palm and he hefted it clumsily. Before anyone could react to that kind of movement, he had twisted in the Malnas’ death grip and shoved with whatever muscle strength he had left into the gut of the giant. He clearly retained some motor function, for the Malnas abruptly bent forward, mouth open as if uttering a grunt of pain … or surprise.

  Augin found himself released.

  As did the Guildmaster.

  Torrullin’s eyes flickered.

  “The soldier makes his stand, Enchanter. Do you allow him to die in vain?” Efur muttered.

  Torrullin swore and hurtled at the scuttling Guildmaster.

  Augin spun on his feet, hefting the clumsy weapon two-handed, gasping in great gulps of air, his gaze fixed on his quarry. The javelin sped round and around, a blur of movement, and then released. A solid whack caused a new expression of surprise on the Malnas’ face. Augin screamed intent and plunged forward, hitting with speed and abandon. His purpose, more than actual harm done, drove the giant back a step and then another.

  Torrullin gripped Kronin and shoved him against the rock face. “You did not see your death, because you are too arrogant to believe you can die.” He lifted the Wheel and shoved it hard against the Guild master’s chest. The man crumpled and lay as if turned to stone. Ignoring him then, Torrullin whirled around to go to Augin’s aid.

  At that moment the Malnas tore the javelin from his assailant’s grasp and snapped it in two. He tossed the shards aside and reached for Augin.

  “No!” Torrullin hurtled into the soldier and shoved him out of the way. The giant’s one hand settled for the new target, gripping Torrullin by the hair and hauling him closer.

  “No!” Augin shouted, and Efur closed his eyes and sighed.

  Torrullin launched into the air, tossed like a useless piece of flotsam, to land in a heap on top of Guildmaster Kronin. Swearing foully, he pushed off and then froze, staring down.

  Behind him, Augin screamed.

  KRONIN’S FIST CREPT UP from the floor, a slow and agonising movement filled with purpose. What was the man up to?

  Augin’s scream drew Torrullin’s attention.

  In time to see the soldier flung through the air. He landed in a heap upon the dead forge.

  Kronin’s fist reached his chest and fingers splayed open, an action perceived with only peripheral vision.

  And then the Guildmaster laughed.

  Torrullin jerked back to him and got to his feet, a movement imbued with disgust. He stared down. His head swivelled to stare at Augin motionless and silent. He wiped clammy hands on the stuff of his breeches.

  Kronin gargled his delight and sat up, his body shaking with the force of his mirth. “I told you!”

  “A life-wheel to restore you in the moment of imminent death.” Torrullin was expressionless.

  “Are they not so very precious, these Shadof creations?”

  “For your sake I hope you have a fair few in reserve. Your tormentor comes again.”

  Kronin’s laughter shut off abruptly and he peered around Torrullin to see the giant Malnas approach. Hands clawed at hidden pockets in desperation and swiftly the Guildmaster held at least seven wheels.

  “You disgust me,” Torrullin said. “Fight like a man.”

  “Against that? Are you insane? I always understood there was a chance he could turn. After all, I knew you would be in the mix, like a catalyst. I prepared. It is not yet time to die.”

  Torrullin bent, hands on knees, and stared at the Guildmaster as if he wanted to rip his soul from his body. “And what comes after? How do you find yourself in a universe of chaos if your champion dies here this day?”

  “Via you, dear Enchanter. Are you not unstable also? Soon you will enter the Dome.”

  “Stuff you, Kronin. I would never place my father’s enclave in danger. And I allow no one to use me.”

  Kronin laughed, but it was short-lived as his eyes grew round and fixed.

  Torrullin whirled around, holding aloft Arli’s Wheel.

  The Malnas halted.

  “I swear on the life of my friend there I shall not allow this vermin to live,” Torrullin said, his tone even, his hand steady. “I need him alive a mere few minutes more; he knows something I need to hear. You wish to die? Then give me your Wheel and take this one.”

  The massive sculpture blinked and turned by degree to look at Augin. When he had shuffled back to face Torrullin the great head bowed.

  “No!” Kronin screamed, and thereafter gargled when a curved blade glinted wickedly at his throat.

  Efur knelt beside him. “It would be for my brother, Guildmaster. Please, I beg of you, move.”

  Kronin froze. Only his eyes jerked from Efur to Torrullin to the Malnas.

  Torrullin reached up and slid the Immortality Wheel from that giant neck, dangling it from its chain without touching it. One handed, he managed to get Arli’s Wheel over, holding the strange disc closed in his fist.

  “Do you understand that when I place this against your skin it will mark your destiny? It sees only evil and therefore …”

  A giant hand lifted. To touch a giant throat.

  “An eye for an eye,” a mighty voice rasped. “A life for a life. Release me.”

  Torrullin stared up. And nodded.

  He carefully shifted his hand until it hovered where the Malnas still touched his throat. He gently pushed the medallion into position there and stepped back.

  A moment frozen arrived then, fraught with everything.

  The Malnas pushed the golden glint into his throat, and collapsed to his knees. The sound reverberated throughout the cavern system, a bell tolled anew somewhere, and shudders assailed the rock. Dust wafted down from the ceiling.


  The giant toppled, sightless.

  Tremors shook the cavern; small rocks hurtled down to the floor, vicious little weapons.

  And then all was still.

  “Well,” Efur muttered.

  PENDULIM

  12

  TORRULLIN STRODE OVER to Augin and gently turned him onto his back. Eyelids flickered and a smile came.

  “I’m not dead yet.”

  Torrullin grinned, one hand clenched bloodless at his side. “I see that.”

  “Finish it with that bastard, my Lord, and then take me outside into the sunshine.”

  Torrullin swallowed and managed to nod. “It will be as you say. Don’t die yet.”

  “Not yet,” Augin whispered. “Something remains undone between us.”

  Torrullin drew breath. “Good.” He turned on his heels and strode back to Kronin and Efur, and stood there as if blind.

  “I can kill him,” Efur offered.

  Torrullin blinked, and knelt. “At the moment the wish for immortality is greatest comes supreme danger. This wish, combined with something imbued with massive energy, is able to tear the fabric of time. Such is the strength of this desire. Allow it to come to pass without interference and life everywhere will become as nothing. A time tear is exactly so: every breath of the immortal acolyte will draw the breath of every life, until nothing remains. A time rift is a void. That is the warning. Not so, Kronin? And how you desire those breaths. You would be Supreme God.”

  Kronin blinked. Efur was as still as the dead Malnas.

  “God of nothing, of course, but what do you care? As long as you win. And thus a mighty Wheel in the Dome, and when it clashes with the forces there, you’d step in and grab eternal life. A lengthy wait, true, but also time to gather the riches for an even lengthier life to come.” Torrullin nodded. “It can happen here. A mighty Wheel,” and he held aloft the great medallion, “and, guess what, an Enchanter. All I have to do is slip it over my head, right? And your wish is fulfilled. No doubt you have a sweet hoard somewhere nearby for your grand future.”

  Kronin blinked rapidly.

  Efur stared at Torrullin.

  “The sacrifice is made, isn’t it? The Champion’s death activated this very special life-wheel. All is ready.”

  Torrullin rose and swung the chain over his head. Holding the Wheel away from his body, he looked up and smiled. A breath of laughter sounded behind him; his brother-in-arms had understood the nuance others had either overlooked or ignored.

  “Allow it to come to pass with interference and life everywhere will become very precious. A time tear is exactly so: every breath of the immortal acolyte will draw the breath of every life, until everything is. A time rift is existence.”

  Efur blinked while Kronin did not move a muscle.

  “The opposite to a warning, not so? The grace in this event. Until everything is. All it needs is a little interference. In the Dome’s case, it would be the Guardians becoming aware of the danger. Here, now, it would be me. I think this is what you hope for. You desire that I do interfere and you will be Supreme God of a living, breathing universe, now, one that will soon be at your mercy. Not so?”

  Kronin abruptly shoved Efur’s arm aside and sat up. “You have to interfere! You cannot allow a void.”

  “You’re right. I care about too many very special people to allow that to come to pass.”

  Kronin smiled in triumph.

  “Destroying this Wheel is interference, but its creators would die and I prefer avoiding that.”

  “I thought so. A weakling. All talk, no action,” Kronin sneered.

  “The alternative is to wear it,” Torrullin went on as if the man had not spoken. “Should do no harm. I am, after all, already immortal; it confers nothing.” He released the medallion; it thudded against his chest.

  Kronin and Efur both flinched.

  “See? A decoration, no more. And everyone remains safe. Why tempt the fates?” Torrullin stroked the intricate patterns, seemingly lost to the design. “I have just one issue with this - I’d have to wear the thing all the time to keep it out of the clutches of idiots like you.” He looked up without warning and captured the Guildmaster’s eyes, locking in. “Of course, it still has not touched my skin.”

  Kronin was unblinking.

  Efur approached and held his knife out, hilt first. He smiled.

  Torrullin took the blade and used it to cut a notch into the neckline of his tunic. Winking at Efur, he handed the weapon back. Then, lifting the Wheel aside, he tore his tunic open to expose his chest.

  The Dragon leapt.

  Kronin shrank into the wall behind him.

  “Ah, you begin to see,” Torrullin murmured.

  “Destroy it!”

  “That will kill you, Guildmaster.”

  “No, no, I’ll hold my life-wheels ready. Destroy it! Do not give it to the fire creature!”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Something forged in fire will be consumed in fire!”

  “Sounds like destruction to me.”

  Kronin pointed a shaking finger. “The aspect will be yours!”

  “So? As we have discovered, I am already immortal and thus nothing is conferred.”

  “You will be the Supreme!”

  Dead silence.

  And Torrullin stood. The Champion’s Wheel thudded against the skin of his chest. “I already am, you idiot.”

  Kronin stared in horror at Torrullin’s chest, but nothing happened. Efur sighed and began sharpening his knife on a nearby outcrop.

  “I don’t understand,” Kronin whispered.

  “That was your problem from the outset.” Abruptly Torrullin reached out and grabbed the Guildmaster’s right hand. Before the man could react he placed it over the medallion. Kronin, an instant later, was a dead as the Malnas. “Understanding is pretty important.”

  Efur glanced at the lifeless form beside him, no expression on his Shadof face, and then looked up at Torrullin. “And now?”

  “We take Augin outside.”

  PENDULIM

  13

  IT WAS MORNING. The sun was low in the east. Long tendrils of light.

  Birds sang.

  Augin lay on the sweet grass, his head propped with Torrullin’s cloak, eyes closed. During the process of bringing him into the sunshine, Augin, via Valleur touch, had transferred his memories of Ardosia to Torrullin, gifting his Vallorin what he needed for the meeting of Elders.

  “I am a healer,” Torrullin now said, preparing to lay hands.

  Augin whispered, “There’s a snowy field and a tree heavy with purple blossom, the air is so sweet it is almost unreal. Oh. Ambir! My love, I can see you … can you see me?”

  Torrullin sat. His hands clawed at his knees.

  “I’m coming, my love!” Augin laughed and opened his eyes. A moment of confusion, and then, “She is waiting for me.” He smiled at Torrullin. “Thank you.”

  “You are a lucky man, my friend.”

  Augin closed his eyes.

  And Torrullin lowered his chin to his chest and sat unmoving for a long time.

  Here the Pendulim mission ends

  THE

  HISTORY

  Of

  A R D O S I A

  ARDOSIA

  Foreword

  And a little backstory …

  WHEN READING LORE of Arcana, you will realise the Valleur left the universe through a tear they created into another, hoping to escape the unending wars.

  In the larger tale, their new home – Ardosia – is referred to and even visited in the fullness of time, and yet the how of settlement remains a mystery.

  Here, then, a brief history.

  Also, you know of the mighty Maghdim Medaillon, and how Vannis Valla intended for it to pierce the barrier between two realms upon his death … except it never came to pass. What was his son’s reaction?

  Find out here …

  ARDOSIA

  1

  LET US BEGIN AT the Beginning with the L
ore of Parallel.

  A long time ago Valleur and human went to war, fighting for the right to the same living spaces. They could not co-exist and thus, for many ages, they warred, Valleur employing sorcery, humans’ technological weaponry. Until the day came when the Valleur realised they faced extinction. The sane among them proposed leaving this universe for another, a space where humans had not put down footprints. A rift opened and the majority left this realm, sealing the tear behind them. To protect their location a mighty illusion was put in place and sent back in time to terrorise all. The Arcana legend was born then, and should anyone open the sealed rift, a great chaos manipulation awaited to scare them away.

  In the new and blessedly empty realm the Valleur hoped to begin anew, a life of peace, a chance to regain lost glory. This is their story.

  Hamon

  Fifteen thousand years ago

  THEY COULD NOT HOLD the ridge. Earthen bulwarks crumbled under bombardment and bodies lay in layers of death in the trenches. The air was thick with defeat. This was not a battlefield of their choosing; it was one accepted hastily in the face of a challenge.

  Vannis Valla glanced over his shoulder and knew it was hopeless. His anger and arrogance had brought them to this point.

  It was a mistake he would not make again.

  A week ago the barrel-chested human general, known here on Hamon as The Missile, sauntered into his command tent to throw the gauntlet down and the man’s very presence riled him from the moment he laid eyes on him.

  Clearly the human thought he had the upper hand and desired to squash his face into the mud of defeat. He relied on his massive size, using it as intimidation, a constant smirk on that ruddy face. When the imbecile challenged him to go forth and choose a ridge on the new field of battle by nightfall, if he dared, Vannis swore and agreed.