The
LORE of SANCTUM
OMNIBUS
Edition
By
Elaina J. Davidson
Lore of Sanctum Omnibus Edition
Published 2019
Copyright Elaina J Davidson 2018
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters, and incidents, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organisations, events or locales, or any other entity, is entirely coincidental.
Cover designed by Southern Stiles Design
BLURB
FROM A STERILE WORLD reclaimed to a heartworld abandoned, from the purity of a unicorn to the hunt for the ultimate clock, the Sanctum series uncovers the accumulated traditions and beliefs of every sentient being in the multiverse. This visionary omnibus edition includes The Nemesis Blade, The Echolone Mine, The Nowhere Sphere and The Master Mechanism.
With the energy that connects an ancient sword and throne, a man steps forth to entirely alter the future. Waiting for him is Torrullin Valla, but another is in the wings and wishes to negate the bliss of the Light, sinking into depravity and dragging all with him into a pit of psychic darkness.
Wielding the Lumin Sword and a blade that is all about Catharsis, with Nemesis at his side, The Valla strides through Time itself, scattering behind him both the light and the dark. Only one factor can now save him; sacred space.
In Lore of Sanctum the need for inviolate, sacred space is revealed; it about sanctuary and it also delves into the truth resident in souls.
THE NEMESIS BLADE
Part I: Sanctuary
Part II: Ancient Luvanor
Part III: Sacred and Profane
Part IV: My Name is Nemesis
THE ECHOLONE MINE
Part I: Wish and Will
Part II: Shadowland
Part III: Healer’s Hands
Part IV: Goddess of Souls
Part V: Lethe
Part VI: Nemisin
THE NOWHERE SPHERE
Part I: Awakening
Part II: Song of the Spaces
Part III: Castles and Citadels
Part IV: Mist and Shadow
THE MASTER MECHANISM
Part I: Master Manipulator
Part II: Masterful Past
Part III: Master of Elements
Part V: Masterful Future
THE NEMESIS BLADE
Lore of Sanctum I
PROLOGUE
A long time ago
Elsewhere
AIR FLOWED THROUGH the dungeon block and the straw underfoot was fresh. Flickering from the lantern at the guard station gave enough light also.
Torrullin shrugged in the gloom, thinking about conditions. These cells were more about safety than punishment; it was not so terrible waiting it out in the small space. Someone would come soon enough to alter the dynamics, probably Elianas …
Ah, there, the sounds of approach.
He clambered to his feet as two guards dragged an inert form closer. They pitched a man into the cell opposite his, slammed and locked the iron door, and went away whistling.
Groaning, the captive crawled to the bars.
Torrullin hunkered. That man’s father had him, Torrullin, thrown below, and now the son was imprisoned? Clearly loyalties switched swiftly in the halls above.
“Prince, what happens?” he called.
A bruised and bloodied face lifted his way. “Your friend the baron killed my father and had me beaten.”
The unmistakable sounds of fighting then penetrated the silence. Whatever happened up there was now moving into the lower passages also. A shadow of a man wavered into view, backlit by the lantern at the end of the block. Metal scraped on stone.
Torrullin and the prince stood and moved away from the bars. Both were wary.
“Time to leave here, Torrullin,” the shadow rasped, halting to lean on his bloodied sword.
Relief overcame him, and Torrullin grinned at the dark-haired man braced in the corridor. It appeared Elianas had altered the dynamics again.
“The baron was not fit to rule either,” Elianas murmured, “and thus I made a choice.”
After slamming his blade into its scabbard, he extended his arms to either side. Turning his head to the right to sight along his outstretched arm, he then flipped his fingers up as an eagle’s wingtips would. He mirrored the gesture to his left.
Shadows gathered behind Elianas to imitate mighty wings, and Torrullin shivered. It was time to leave indeed. Elianas was on the edge.
“Between us, we have done our worst. I aided this man’s enemy,” and Torrullin glanced at the young man opposite, “while you chose a side in opposition to me. They will not trust us now.”
Elianas lowered his arms “I agree. We leave this mess to the prince. He may prove better than his father.” He studied the young man as the shadow wings vanished. “He cannot restore calm in his condition, however.”
“I shall heal him, and then we leave. It did not work as we hoped, this going elsewhere to make different choices. Again we leave only blood in our wake, Elianas. This cannot go on.”
The dark-haired man gripped Torrullin’s cell bars convulsively. “We cannot change what happens unless we change ourselves. You are right. It is time to forget. It is time to hibernate.”
Torrullin clasped those hands raw from fighting. “Until time is for us entirely new?”
“Until then,” Elianas whispered.
The present
Somewhere
OBLIVION WAS A less than satisfactory state.
While periods of blackout aided in reducing the long wait, it did little to stave off boredom, frustration and sometimes approaching madness. One could only wait so long before insanity became more than a spectre.
Elianas knew this, and therefore understood how to keep it at bay.
Frustration was another matter entirely, as was impatience.
Here he was, waiting. Here he was, aware and awake.
How much longer, he cried out to the heavens. I cannot remain patient and stay sane.
Perhaps oblivion was not so bad.
Green blades of long grass undulated around him in a gentle breeze. He wandered aimlessly, gaze drawn to distance. This plain was vast; he could roam without a care for his safety. He would see predators with time to spare; not that anything could touch him … as he could not touch anything.
He extended slender fingers to trail over emerald spikes and furry seed ears, desiring to feel the freshness of nature, to know the cool of living grass … and felt nothing.
Elianas halted. How much longer, by Aaru? I cannot do this anymore. I am a spectre, I am as nothing.
About to kneel in surrender upon the untouchable rich earth, a shiver of recognition passed through him, holding him upright. The shiver transformed into a current of awareness, as if live nodes attached to his skin everywhere. Unexpectedly his ethereal form was able to feel, taste, smell … know.
He did fall to his knees then, fingers clawing at soil and sward. He felt it, every drop of moisture and coarse facet.
Hyperventilating at the onset of senses and emotions, he forced renewed calm. Listen, idiot, or you will not know the timing of your freedom. Listen.
Elianas hurtled to his feet to stand unmoving.
He listened.
Torrullin,
help me! A woman in trouble shouted out her need into the spaces between worlds. He knew her, as he knew the one she called to. Would Torrullin respond or had he sunk into depression so far he could no longer hear?
A long time passed, but Elianas did not move. Then, watching night descend over his ethereal realm, he finally smiled.
Torrullin was awake once more. As he, Elianas, was alert. Both of them were now aware in exactly the same period. How new. How utterly challenging.
It was time at last to bring Torrullin to the place of reconciliation.
Elianas swivelled on the balls of his feet to stare at the mighty mountains beyond the plain. There, he thought, where it all began. In the hallowed stone of antiquity, where once a golden seat created destiny.
There he would greet his brother, and finally Torrullin would have his answers.
Listen now, Torrullin, and you will hear me.
Part I
SANCTUARY
Chapter 1
Listen not only with ears, friend. Listen also with your skin.
~ Arun, Druid
Sanctuary
ROCK STRATA SURROUNDING him revealed he was deep within the layering of ancient rock.
Shades of colour gave evidence of depth. There was disconcertingly little else to see. It was akin to being far back in time.
“Help me!”
Her desperate scream assaulted him anew and he swung swiftly, seeking, ever seeking. That terrified plea was behind him, as it was behind a moment ago, and the moment before, and yet he found nothing every time he moved, and found nothing now … only the sad echoes of opportunities forever lost.
Then the uncaring rock moved to close in and he was the one screaming.
TORRULLIN SAT UP, sweat-drenched and chilled. The sheets were twisted, pillows on the floor and there were scuffling sounds in the night.
He took a breath, another and another to still his pounding blood, and swiped damp hair from his face. Ordinary sounds filled the dark - crickets, a far nightjar, perhaps a mouse in the closet - nothing alien, nothing frightening. A dream, and he was in his bed and there was no danger.
Shivering, he rose and found his robe by touch, pulled it on and wrapped his arms about his chest for warmth. Swallowing, he headed to the bathroom for a drink of water, and did not bother with lights.
On his way back to bed, he halted in the centre of the large and darkened space.
“Help me!”
Torrullin swore under his breath and closed his eyes to listen to the echoes, really listened, but there was no more. He stood a long time waiting for the cry to repeat and, when it was not forthcoming, knew with certainty he would not hear it again.
It had now gone beyond his ability to perceive and it meant one of three possibilities.
One, it had been a dream and his waking mind toyed with him.
Two, she was already dead, and that should not be possible.
Three, god help her, she was in real danger, had sent a call, and was now masked from him.
Fingers tightened on the fabric of the robe. A disturbing, repeated dream he could swallow, for it no doubt spoke of his turmoil over this woman. Death he did not see as likely, for she was like to him. But the latter did not sit well.
He was in motion. The robe flew across the chamber, he dressed feverishly, returned to the bathroom to splash water on his face, brushed his teeth with hurried movements, and then vanished from there.
There was one person able to understand. Even if he said not a word, his presence aided clarity.
Luvanor
Grinwallin
TEIGHLAR, SENLU EMPEROR and lord of Grinwallin, looked up in surprise from his midday meal.
The sun-dappled portico threw geometric shadows over his pale face, darkening his blue eyes to the colour of deep water.
“Torrullin?”
“Gods, it’s day here … thank Aaru, for I need a stiff drink.” Torrullin flopped into a seat opposite the Emperor, shifting his sword out of the way when it bit into his thigh.
“Hello to you, too,” Teighlar muttered. “There is only wine on the table, but help yourself.”
Torrullin was already pouring. “Forgive me, my friend. Am I intruding?” He barely tasted the first glass, slugging it back without appreciation.
“Besides ruining my taste buds with your rudeness? No. Is something wrong?” Teighlar pushed his meal aside. “You are armed, as ever, but I see you give the blade little attention. So what is it?”
The second glass went down more slowly. “Dreams.”
“Ah. Bad?”
“Yes. This is excellent wine.”
“Thank you. It is Senlu red, about five years old, and thank the gods you have reverted to more civilised behaviour. My winemakers would shudder to see your treatment of their finest. I assume it is night back on your sanctuary world, you just dreamed, and now hasten to me and daylight?”
“I did not realise it was day.”
“You were to pull me from my bed, then?” Teighlar grinned.
Torrullin responded in like fashion. “If necessary.” The grin vanished and he set his goblet down. “Fourth night in a row, damn it. Exactly the same.”
“Why come to me? I am no expert.”
“You are a friend.”
“You want a sounding board.”
“Maybe.” Torrullin lifted a shoulder.
“That bad.”
“I fool myself into seeing a dream as a mere dream, but tonight I heard her after I awakened.”
“Heard who?”
Torrullin pulled a face. “Lowen.”
“Ah. Erotic dreams?”
“I do not have erotic dreams, Emperor.”
Teighlar snorted. “Then you are unique as a man.”
“Dreams do not do justice to reality.”
“Lucky, too, as a man,” Teighlar muttered, finding himself currently between mistresses.
“Lowen is in danger and cries for help. I hear her only in a dream.”
Teighlar sobered. “A premonition?”
Torrullin frowned. “I do not know. I hope so.”
“You hope so?”
“I can do something, idiot, if it is premonition.”
“Of course. Have you tried to find her?”
“No.”
Teighlar swirled his tongue inside his mouth, throwing his friend a thoughtful look. The subject of Lowen, he was well aware, was a sensitive issue, and largely taboo.
“Perhaps you should find her, then, and check on the veracity of your dream.”
Torrullin stared at him, but was not really looking.
“Torrullin?”
A slow focus. “The rock encloses me. Why is that?”
“I am afraid you have lost me.”
“In the dream I turn again and again to find her and there is nothing, only rock, layers, strata. The rock moves to envelop me and I am the one screaming - it does not make sense. I have no fear of enclosed space and I would simply transport away from that kind of situation in reality. Why am I afraid?”
Teighlar poured more wine and lifted his glass to stare into the ruby depths. “Sounds like Grinwallin rock.”
Torrullin’s gaze sharpened. “Why do you say that?”
Teighlar took a long pull of the wine and swallowed. He gestured with the vessel at the arches nearby; Grinwallin, the inner city’s entry into the mountain.
“I often feel as if the stones in that mighty mound are alive, sometimes watching, sometimes slumbering, and I have often speculated, were a disaster to befall the actual building blocks of Grinwallin, it would arise.” The Emperor shrugged. “It would be in control. No escape.”
A long silence ensued, and then, “Has Lowen been here?”
Another long silence, for they knew each other’s minds well. “A week ago.”
Torrullin nodded. “What did she discover inside the mountain?”
Teighlar released a breath. “She would not say, and these factors may not be linked.”
Torrullin lifted an eyebrow.
A finger pointed. “You should talk to her, sort this impasse out one way or the other. No, listen to me. She is like the walking dead, and you have shut yourself away from everything. It is unhealthy and that may be the danger in your dream. Talk to her, soon.”
A brief silence answered this time. “I hear you, but that is not it. There is real threat.”
“The more reason to find her.”
Torrullin grimaced. “Where is she?”
“I do not know.”
“Or will not say?”
“Why would I hold out when I am the one advocating you talk? I do not know, for she did not say. She barely spoke to me.”
Torrullin nodded. “How is Grinwallin?”
“As demanding as ever,” Teighlar grinned. Then he was serious. “Samuel was here.”
“How is he?”
“Hurting.”
A veiled look went to the Emperor. “Why?”
“Curin passed away.”
A deep breath followed. “Damn, I did not know.”
Teighlar tossed him a significant look. “You have separated from too much, Torrullin. Oh, I know why, you think you know why, and your family trust they understand, but there are limits.” Teighlar paused there. “Saska was at the funeral.”
Uninterrupted silence arrived in answer.
The Senlu gave a snort. “Elixir is the walking dead. You are a fool! Wake up before the perils - which are many-facetted - in your dreams overwhelm you and you find you are helpless …”
“Teighlar …”
“… no, pal! The rock encloses because it is a warning. Wake up to the issues before only regret finds you.”
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