Lore of Sanctum Omnibus

by Elaina J Davidson

  “Send co-ordinates when you are underground,” Lowen said.

  “Agreed,” Torrullin murmured.

  Lowen rose. “Then I’m off.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Always.” She was gone.

  Elianas murmured, “You are cavalier.”

  Torrullin ignored him.

  Caballa headed inside. “Let me throw a few items into a bag. There’s coffee in the kitchen.”

  Elianas glanced at his wife. “Are you strong enough for this?”

  An eyebrow arched. “Sweet caring - how novel. Yes, I can do this. Everything is new - people, food, places, the mixture of races, climate, language, the things you talk about. I am intrigued, challenged and love that it is different, and want to go adventuring. Elianas, now I am freed of my father’s yoke, I have freedom of choice also. Strength will follow.”

  “You are different.”

  “You are as well, and so is he.” She gestured at Torrullin. “Different people in different times and maybe different mistakes. Shall we aim for that this time? Let us do this and see where we are when we come away.”

  Torrullin said, “I admire your spirit, Cassy.”

  HALF AN HOUR later they headed for Echolone.

  Purpose awaited.

  Clearly the gods were fast asleep.

  Chapter 11

  Wake up!

  ~ Universal Demand

  IT IS A KNOWN truth that people vary in appearance, personality, goals, ambitions, character, desires, culture, creed, religion, temperament, intelligence, acceptance of system, government, others, in prejudice and fairness.

  Passion set people apart. Every sentient had a passion, even the lazy man; his passion was doing as little as possible. The mean-spirited, his passion was hurting others; the charitable soul loved helping those less fortunate. The academic, knowledge; a writer, words; a mother, her children; the scientist, order; the priest, love of his deity; a road builder, satisfaction of a job well done; a gardener, nature; the poor man, security; the rich man, more wealth; a beggar, change … and so forth.

  Which passions set the six about to delve into the complications of Echolone apart?

  The linguist from Cèlaver, a man by the name of Carlin who came with unseemly haste to Echolone, possessed two overriding passions. One was the challenge of language and the other was a desire to leave his underground habitat. Of course, he entered another delved place, but change made the difference.

  Lowen, immortal Xenian seer, possessed an underlying passion, one she had not acknowledged. Hers was the hope of freeing herself from a destructive relationship. She sought the tools to stand alone, without seeing herself as part of Torrullin. In the grotto before the Syllvan, instinct bade her say yes to death; it was an instinct to lead to the reality of freedom.

  Cassiopin, daughter of Nemisin, wife of Elianas, had a simple passion - she desired to be a new person. Everything else was the mechanism of achieving it. It was also the most complicated goal.

  Caballa had two passions. The one caused her to be happy and the other brought confusion. Happiness lay with Tristan, and she would never regret the commitment. Confusion lay in her visions. Always they had been a part of her, they defined her, and occasionally cursing them did not equate to denial. It would be denial of self. Her visions were her passion, present or absent, for in them she found understanding of much that was hidden. What was hidden always told the greater tale.

  Elianas, last dark Valleur, possessed manifold passions. Desire for change, future, redemption, new experiences, travel, knowledge, desire of place in time, a true home - peace. All these desires would exist were he alone in the universe, and yet none could be divorced from the force that was the connection to Torrullin. The allure of the forbidden. The thrill of power. Ultimate mastery. Elianas did not understand, in desiring thus, peace would not find him.

  Torrullin was, is and ever will be a wanderer. Through worlds, spaces, realms and time. Through the lives of others, into hearts and souls, without remaining present long. It was part of his charisma; others saw that about him and he knew it about himself. A wanderer who could not rest, and only Elianas knew of the one place he called home, a place to return to when all was new, or all had ended.

  In which direction lay the passion that was Elianas? Freedom from that obsession or embracing it completely? It was the complicated twists of Torrullin’s soul, and he functioned between them, because of the magnetism of the forbidden.

  Echolone

  ECHOLONE WAS A world once in the Forbidden Zone, now shot away from that hurtling phenomenon.

  For long ages Echolone was ignored and was thus unspoilt. As recent as fifteen hundred standard years ago, Echolone was uninhabited, and then Beacon found it and its great forests.

  Logging expeditions were organised and Echolone would have been stripped bare within a century had not the Guardians, forerunners of the Kaval, prevented the raping of a world. Buthos, Siric, was Guardian leader then, and his fury reverberated into the greedy souls of Beaconite exploiters. Beacon bowed out and Echolone was saved.

  Around the same time, great climactic changes occurred on Mon Unon, a small planet with a total population of fifty thousand humans. Drought wrought havoc and the population was on the brink of starvation. Aid came, but could not continue indefinitely. Mon Unon needed rain, but the rains did not come, and finally even aid was insufficient.

  The Guardians commenced a gigantic rescue effort, transporting fifty thousand people and necessities to Echolone, using and begging any transport available. Echolone, rich in forests, water and fertile plains, welcomed a desperate people. Mon Unon was now a dust bowl.

  The humans of Mon Unon, now Echolone, were different from others. They believed implicitly in the spirit world and a large percentage of the population was shaman trained, priests and priestesses who could enter the otherworld and communicate with the dead. They did little without first consulting with their ancestors.

  Echolone flourished until gold was discovered, and coal and diamonds, and people came to upset the natural balance and, in delving, a door was uncovered.

  A STEEP, DANGEROUS slope led into an amphitheatre carved in a hillside.

  On the far side, massive timber beams prevented a tunnel into the hill collapsing. The entrance to the goldmine. The outer area appeared more like a quarry than a mining operation, and was more dangerous. One cloudburst, and the arena would fill, the slope would become a mudslide, and all would hurtle into the hill to drown caught in the labyrinth of tunnels.

  Surly men stood guard over green dynamite boxes. Rough, helmeted men milled, appearing furious. Men in red coats argued with a crowd of men and women in green coveralls, the latter standing arms interlaced before the crude entrance. Older men and women holding picks and hessian bags argued with others in formal attire. Other men weaved among the crowd wearing headdresses, chanting.

  Explosives experts, common miners, their bosses, environmentalists, archaeologists, civic leaders and shamans. Present day Echolone in microcosm, and more volatile than Quilla suggested. Add to it a glowering sky, and disaster was a heartbeat away. Falling over haphazardly abandoned equipment in full flight alone would result in fatalities.

  Standing at the head of the slope, with crude huts adorning the landscape behind then, Torrullin said, “We came just in time.”

  “Only if they listen immediately,” Elianas remarked.

  “What an eyesore,” Cassy muttered. “Valleur quarries were never like this.”

  “Which is why we have greeners down there,” Caballa murmured. “Personally, I’m on their side.”

  “We are not taking sides,” Torrullin stated. “We get these people out and then seal that entrance before it rains. The rest can come later.”

  “Let us do it,” and Elianas started down.

  Halfway, when they were close enough to be adequately seen and heard, with height sufficient to lend authority, Torrullin called a halt. He sent a piercing whistle into the amphith
eatre.

  Gradually the noise receded and everyone faced their way.

  “Hey, buddy, butt out, will you?” someone shouted out. “We have enough to deal with here!”

  “Is that right?” Torrullin returned, throwing his voice. “I am here to tell you, you will be dealing with something far worse soon.”

  “Yeah, like what?” another shouted.

  “Torrential rain flowing into a hole you dug into the earth,” Torrullin said.

  Most looked up. Those in the fore ranks headed towards the slope.

  “Who are you?” the first voice demanded.

  “My name is Torrullin.”

  “Elixir?”

  “In the flesh,” Torrullin replied, “and I tell you, all here stare death in the face unless you vacate immediately.”

  Anxious whispers, and then the first raindrops fell. Within a minute, it was a downpour, and people charged the slope. Already it was mud, and the four spent energy in aiding them to high ground.

  By the time the arena was cleared, great rivulets hurtled into the entrance.

  “Go up!” Torrullin shouted at the two women over the noise of the drumming rain. “Keep them away from the edge, it’s undermined!”

  Caballa nodded, and she and Cassy clambered their way through shifting mud to the top.

  Torrullin and Elianas slid to the bottom and hit it running for the entrance.

  Fierce muttering brought about a solid rock sealing, but it took time to cover against the forces of nature and the water was at knee-height by the time the two enchanters were satisfied the sealing would hold.

  They waded back to the slope. The elemental nature of the magic around them reduced transport power and diminished the talent for communication.

  “We are in for a dunking,” Elianas called out.

  Lightning zigzagged across the sky and a bolt smashed with awesome power into the slope. It exploded in a rain of mud, and caved in. A wall of rock and soil charged at them.

  Elianas groaned and placed his back to the onslaught and braced. Torrullin, without options, did the same.

  ON HIGH GROUND, a petrified crowd struggled desperately as more and more ground gave way. A hut burst into flame, thunder shouting above it. Women screamed.

  Further away, a natural depression used as a dam around the stream flowing through it, surrendered to the force of water and poured into the makeshift village. Huge men were hurtled off their feet and women were swept into what was now a raging river.

  “High ground!” Caballa screamed, dragging a failing Cassy with her.

  Those that could, climbed. Those that could not, crawled. There they waited for the storm to pass, shivering and frightened.

  IN THE AMPHITHEATRE, Torrullin and Elianas swam upward through gritty mud, rock and other organic material, tearing cloth from body, skin from bone. In darkness they struggled, with only instinct to guide them in the right direction.

  They reached the surface and took in great gulps of air, and were then washed over the edge of the hole by the overfill, powered by masses of water and debris from behind. They tumbled down an adjacent slope and fell hurtling into a torrent of water to wash up bleeding and gasping on the other side.

  Again instinct kicked in and they crawled their way up to higher ground before collapsing.

  They were at least four sals from the others and had no idea how those fared.

  ELIANAS, ON HIS STOMACH, lifted to spit mud, and laughed. He flopped onto his back and laughed harder.

  Torrullin, struggling up, looked himself over, and then fell back muttering, “What is so funny?”

  “This! This is the first time a storm has left me with only a desire for dry clothes and a stiff drink.”

  “We got a bit more than expected.”

  Elianas laughed again. “The green junkies got their wish - no more mining.”

  “And the shamans will claim redress from ancestors,” Torrullin said in amusement.

  Elianas craned his head backward. “There is a cave up there.” He rolled over and stared at it, and managed to stand.

  Most of his clothes were shredded and blood dripped from various cuts and grazes. Mud clung everywhere. Torrullin, who was as bad, followed him up as he climbed.

  It was less than a cave, for they had to crawl in. There was no standing room and it was not large, but it was dry, and old branches gave solidity to snap a decent magical blaze into being. They huddled over it shivering until warmth crept back, and then set about healing the worst of their injuries.

  “I hope Cassy is all right.”

  Torrullin said, “Caballa is with her.”

  “We need to get to that door.”

  “From above. There’s no safe way to clear the cave-in.”

  Elianas peered through a curtain of rain. “How long before this lets up?”

  Torrullin shrugged.

  Elianas studied him. “What’s wrong?”

  “I am beginning to think this door situation is the opposite of the Void. A void is open, a door is closed. Always there are opposites, there has to be.”

  “Yes, but you are reaching. We do not know what the door looks like.”

  “No visions after the Void, visions here. An ancient world versus a new one. Grinwallin, long delved, this one recently intruded upon. The coincidences add up fast.”

  Elianas shoved his hair behind his ears. “Maybe.”

  “I agree, though, that we won’t know until we stand before it.”

  Elianas was silent, staring into the fire. “What would lie on the other side of a door like that?”

  “If the Void was empty …”

  “It was not empty, Torrullin. Everything lay in that eternal space.”

  “Then absolutely nothing lies beyond the door.”

  “True void?”

  “From everything comes nothing, thus from nothing comes everything, like visions renewed.”

  “Gods, that is a frightening thought.”

  “Indeed.”

  They looked at each other and both smiled.

  THE RAIN STOPPED eventually and the crowd on the hillside descended to a ruin of a village.

  One woman, an environmentalist, had died, and two men, miners, suffered broken bones. Of the mine entrance there would not again be a sign; nature had reclaimed it.

  Torrullin and Elianas, dry and smelling of wood smoke, joined the disheartened and disgruntled bunch milling amid torn planks and corrugated sheets.

  While Elianas bent over the two men with broken bones, Torrullin approached the woman who seemed to have the most authority. He introduced himself.

  She shook his hand. “I am Allith. Thank you for the warning. This could’ve been far worse.”

  He inclined his head and asked, “Are you qualified to speak for Echolone?”

  “I am the representative, yes.”

  “Good, then maybe you can tell me what is happening.”

  She led him away. “At first it was adventure, then greed, and miners started arriving by the hundred, dynamite in hand. This is only one mine, damn it; there are others. The environmentalists followed and stirred things up more, although, truth be told, I laud their efforts. Then our shamans started acting up, saying the ancestors were displeased, and they found the door. That’s what brought you, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “That bloody door has affected my people, the miners, even the greeners. It brought archaeologists and further heightened the tension. What you came upon earlier was a showdown. The businessmen, those arseholes in red jackets - red, I ask you - sorry, sorry.” She took a breath.

  He grinned. “It’s all right. I think they’re arseholes, too.”

  She laughed and then wiped a hand over her brow. “Anyway, it’s moot now, thank Aaru.”

  “Here, yes, but the other mines?”

  “Do you know anything about Echolone’s history?”

  “Some.”

  “Then you may know we live in harmony with nature and this situation goes aga
inst everything we stand for. The universe doesn’t need more coal, diamonds or gold, Elixir. Have we not advanced beyond that?”

  “Men need it, greedy men. Are you able to bring all parties to a table?”

  “I’ll threaten, if necessary. Will you talk to them?”

  “I will talk, yes.”

  She smiled. “Thank you. Shall we say in three days at Two Fork Tree?”

  “You have a date. Now, to more immediate matters. We will help you clear up here …”

  “No, no. Those idiots brought the mess, and they’ll take every scrap out of here, trust me.”

  His lips quirked. “They are wet and hungry.”

  “Good, then they’ll work faster.”

  Torrullin laughed outright. “I like your spirit.”

  She smiled and then was serious. “The door, it’s gone.”

  “It is there. We use other methods to get to it. Speaking of which - would it be possible to talk with your shaman leader? And maybe you know of one or two who will share their visions?”

  She watched his face. “This worries you, doesn’t it?”

  “Not knowing worries me.”

  “Join us, all four of you, in the village upstream. A dry place to sleep, good food, much talk, and our head shaman lives there.” She grinned. “He’s my father.”

  Torrullin bowed. “We thank you.”

  “The archaeologists and environmentalists board there also, and they love to share.”

  “All birds with one stone.”

  “Yes,” she laughed.

  “Thank you. Is there a place in your village that receives little sunlight?”

  “That’s a strange question.”

  “We are bringing a linguist in. Sunlight will kill him.”

  “My father prefers the dark as well; his home is set into the hillside. Your linguist will be quite safe there.”

  “Thank you again. You have been helpful.”

  “Well, I’m counting on you to help me, so we’re even.”