She nodded and opened her eyes. “A long time ago the only way to return him feeling was by invading him.” She glanced at Caballa. “I would jolt him back by … by …”
“… sleeping with him,” Caballa said. “I didn’t know and, gods, now it makes sense, you and him.”
“Yes, but now? After Elianas? I don’t know.”
“Seeing you, deliberately mortal, may be the jolt he requires,” Caballa said, “but the choice is yours alone.”
“There is no choice.” Lowen stepped onto the lightbridge and started walking.
“Lowen, damn it!” Tristan shouted, but she went on.
“It’s already too late. There walks a mortal woman now,” Caballa murmured.
Tristan watched her go. He thought her extraordinarily brave, and hoped Torrullin would appreciate her sacrifice.
QUILLA WAS AT the western arch when she got there.
He bowed low, his gaze filled with sadness and admiration. “He is wandering around somewhere.”
“Come with me, please.”
The Q’lin’la nodded and fell in beside her. Together they wandered through chamber after chamber, finding him beyond the eastern arch watching the snows melt from the highest peaks. Spring had come to Valaris.
He did not turn.
“Torrullin.”
His head dropped from the high view to stare straight ahead and he stiffened.
Lowen approached to lay a hand on a bony shoulder, feeling his hot skin through a thin robe. Christ, he is really ill.
“Torrullin, talk to me.”
“Why did you do this?” His voice was hoarse and strange.
Quilla sagged against the archway. Finally, finally. Now the healing could begin.
She moved to see his face. “Torrullin, she waits to be cremated. We all wait for you.”
“She is dead and it does not matter how long she waits now.”
Lowen punched his arm and pulled at him. “Snap out of it!” She reached up, took his head in her hands, but he pulled away and moved beyond her reach. Her hands dropped.
“It will not work this time, Lowen. I cannot feel anymore.”
“You refuse to!” She stamped her foot. “Saska needs to be cremated and Declan needs to be consigned to the deep, and you need to pull yourself together. Others need you, others love you, and you are hurting them.”
Torrullin noticed Quilla. “Thank you for your healing.”
“It is not enough, my friend,” Quilla said. “I got to you too late; you must do the rest yourself.”
Torrullin ran a hand over his broken arm. The cast fell away and he flexed it whole and healed. “Power,” he murmured. “I had to lose it to understand it.” He touched here, there, restoring health. He looked up. “I had to lose love to know love. I had to know death intimately to understand life. I hate life.”
Lowen strode in …
… and he impaled her with his eyes. “I thank you for this sacrifice, but it changes nothing. Speech does not restore a soul. Healing does not restore a heart.” He drew breath. “Elianas is dead and therefore I am dead.”
She gasped.
“He was not a true immortal, after all,” Torrullin added. “I am bereft.”
“Torrullin, oh, God, I am sorry.”
He moved towards the arch. “We shall light the fire for Saska and send Declan to the water’s embrace, and then I ask that you allow me to leave you.”
Torrullin moved past Quilla and walked on.
THEY FOUND HIM in the chamber Quilla placed the bodies of Declan and Saska, in coldness to preserve them.
“Have the services been spoken?”
“Yes,” Quilla replied. “A ship is ready in Danak Harbour for Declan and a pyre is prepared in the Gosa Desert.”
“Just the Kaval and immediate family. Danak, one hour.”
Quilla bowed. “I shall see to it.”
“Thank you.” Torrullin took a last look at Saska’s face and then pulled the shroud over. “Is Tristan on the land bridge?”
“Yes,” Lowen managed.
He walked on past her.
TRISTAN POINTED AND Caballa inhaled.
Torrullin strode over the bridge and came to a halt on land.
“I do not hear music anymore.” He walked past. “Danak, one hour.” He vanished.
Tristan and Caballa looked at each other and then Lowen ran towards them.
“Elianas died.”
Caballa put a hand to her mouth. “He will never recover.”
Lowen burst into tears and Tristan stepped forward and took her into his arms.
Danak
THE BEAUTIFUL SHIP sailed from harbour gracefully.
Aboard were the Kaval, the three cousins, Assint, Mahler, Rose and Caballa.
And Torrullin, splendid in his isolation.
He wore the black, with a long cloak, but had no sword and scabbard. His hair was cropped short and he was clean-shaven again. There was no expression on his face and he acknowledged none who came. He stood over Declan’s shrouded form as if guarding him, but was otherwise completely still, hands laced behind his back under his cloak.
They sailed west into deep water and there the sails were lowered, the anchor dropped. Torrullin lifted Declan and placed him on the plank. He stood there while everyone, including the captain of the ship, said something in farewell, but said nothing himself. When silence descended, he made the sign of a cross over Declan and tipped the plank.
The shrouded form slid away and splashed into the ocean. It sank immediately.
Torrullin blinked once and then gestured at the captain.
They returned to harbour.
Gosa Desert
TORRULLIN PLACED SASKA upon the pyre and lit it.
He retreated to stand where the flames could not get at him and did not move until she was consumed, along with every piece of wood. When all was ashes, his gaze raked the gathered; he bowed and was gone.
“Unbalance is restored,” Tristan said.
Tianoman said, “I give him one week and then I go after him.” Resolute, he returned to the Keep.
The others began raking the ashes together and placed a measure in an urn. Soon, it was hoped, Torrullin would complete the scattering Saska wished for.
“If only there was a body for Elianas,” Quilla murmured. “Then he could finish it.”
Lowen stood straighter. “There can’t be a body, because Elianas intends to return.” She drew breath as realisation dawned. “A seventh birth.”
Teroux said, “Surely Torrullin would know?”
Lowen glanced at the empty space. “I don’t think he does.”
“Are you certain Elianas will return?” Tristan frowned.
“No. It just makes sense.”
“Where would Torrullin go, Quilla?” Tristan asked.
“I cannot track him,” the birdman said. “Leave him for now. We can attempt restoration with a little more time.”
“But if Elianas is returning …” Teroux began.
“… and he will be forced to wait,” Quilla said. “Particularly if it is a rebirth. There is no rush and Torrullin needs to be alone.”
“He doesn’t need us,” Lowen murmured. “I am returning permanently to Xen this day. As a mortal Dalrish I will spend my remaining years among family.” She smiled. “Come and see me sometime, for I’ll miss you all dearly.”
“Lowen, don’t be hasty,” Caballa said.
“I am not. This thought has been growing since the parting on Echolone and now mortality has nudged me into a final decision. I regret it not. At least, thank God, I don’t regret it. Come see me, please.”
Everyone nodded and Lowen, eyes filling with tears, left immediately.
Caballa turned convulsively and found Tristan’s arms ready for her.
Gradually the desert emptied again, until only a black scar remained as evidence of a funeral.
The shifting sands would soon cover it.
Chapter 32
Memory is subjective, personal,
misleading, encompassing, and is the stuff of life. We are because we think, yes, but we are also the result of the years, events and experiences residing in memory. Without it we are born anew, and it is hard to start building a personality again … can one ever be the same?
~ Book of Sages
Avaelyn
PERHAPS IT WAS the name that drew him there - Avaelyn for peace - perhaps as part of grieving or perhaps it was the isolation.
There were hosts of galaxies in the universe, untold solar systems and incalculable planets. Some regions were more populated than others, such as the great spaces in which Xen, Beacon and Valaris lay, although they were billions upon billions of sals apart. Akhavar fell within the massive space, while Luvanor was outside of it.
Avaelyn, however, lay beyond thought; much like Pilan, but Pilan was inhabited; Avaelyn was empty.
It was marked on universe charts, a speck in a corner, and he was fortunate indeed he possessed the art of transport, for the way to that world was long and expensive.
Smaller than Valaris, it yet had three continents. Salty oceans teemed with life, as did freshwater lakes and countless rivers. Birds flew in azure skies, nested in mighty trees and mightier mountain ranges. Great and small beasts roamed the plains, moved through forests and slunk to waterholes in search of prey. Carnivores and herbivores, the variety was endless. It was world of contrasts, in topography, vegetation and climate; it was new daily, and older than imagination.
Perhaps he came because few recalled it now, not even the Valleur. Perhaps he came because it was home, or had been once.
Somewhere up on a cliff overlooking the ocean, in sync with nature, there his home had been. Perhaps something remained, for the other he discovered with Elianas lay only in the Time realm. Only there did it remain whole. Here time had wrought destruction or a more benign reclamation.
Perhaps here he would find a shiver remaining, a tiny sense of Elianas.
Elianas said to go home if he was lost and if he was absent.
Torrullin took the long way. He crossed rivers, hiked around lakes, moved stealthily through living forests, climbed mountains, abseiled down, and discovered a measure of acceptance in the hard and physical nature of his trek. He ate frugally and watched every creature as if they were created new for him.
He had succeeded in disappearing, he knew, for none came to bother him with words and well-meaning thoughts. After a month of seeing no one, feeling no tell-tale signatures, he finally relaxed.
Having achieved a state of perfect isolation, he picked up the pace. He stopped less, walked further, and another two weeks passed. The countryside was wild and beautiful, alive and free, and he drew energy from it. He thought little on his personal journey and it suited him as much as the walk did.
Shadows were hard to shake off; thus he ignored them.
On the morning he viewed the ridge and the blue ocean beyond it, he was ready to face what lay atop that cliff.
Time, himself, and Elianas.
His hair had grown again, the fairness constantly in his eyes, and he was lean and fit. His clothes were dusty and torn, and his boots had holes in now. His cloak he had rolled up, using it as a sleeping roll at night; not once had he used magic in the preceding six weeks, eating off the land, making fire the laborious way, and the cessation of constant reliance on magic showed in the easiness of his silvery gaze.
He walked a further two days, relaxing the pace, before he hiked around the ridge. The sun set over Avaelyn before he was able to view the place where the dwelling of the Lord Sorcerer and his apprentice once stood proud and strong, and he was relieved.
Dawn light would be better, for the shadows would be kinder than sunset.
He camped, drinking water and eating berries for supper. His stomach no longer protested the minimal fare. He slept soundly soon after and was awake and ready to go on as the sun peeped over the ridge to the east. A great shadow lay over the cliff top, and he walked into it.
Saska told him to go home even if he was alone. She accurately described what once was. Was he coming home?
Mount St Moor, that is what Elianas called the ridge a long time ago. He had no real reason for it, for there were no saints in Valleur culture, and moor would not describe the setting. He said it sounded good, easy on the tongue, and innocuous enough not to rouse Nemisin’s interest.
Mount St Moor. Torrullin smiled. Why not? When had anything really made sense? And why did everything need a reason? A name sounding good was reason enough. In Valleur it would be Monklicopin and that was a mouthful, without musical quality.
Elianas, in cycle two, loved the sound of common tongue words. Elianas loved many things. Elianas was gone.
Perhaps his spirit lingered nearby.
Yes, Torrullin, when you do not think spirits linger. Did you not tell Allith on Echolone? Listen to your own advice.
He rounded the jumble of rocks that kept the southerly winds to a low breeze and looked towards the outcrop. The shadow was deep; he could not see anything clearly.
His heart, however, was no longer his to control. It beat a tattoo that revealed how tense he was. Did he want something to remain as evidence of a long ago living space? Or would he prefer to see it dust, with nothing whatsoever left? What were his current expectations? He no longer knew, but was aware disappointment now lay in either direction.
He closed in, his sight sharpening.
The cloak-cum-bedroll fell from nerveless fingers, and he stopped, staring ahead.
His gaze flicked left, then right, beyond, down, closer.
Torrullin fell to his knees and gagged over emotions he thought buried.
In the Time realm this place remained untouched.
In reality it still waited. Untouched. Unmarked. As if he built it yesterday. As if Elianas had just stepped out.
Disappointment? No. Terror.
Lord Sorcerer’s home, and he hated it for the first time.
HE FOUND THE courage to stand and the strength to retrieve his cloak. Shivering, he donned it and wrapped it tight about himself. Then he mustered the will to step forward.
Over the bridge where bright fishes swam. Through the atrium where plants flourished. Beyond, into the solarium where he once placed prisms to play with the light. Further, into the spaces of memory. Reality, time and dream merged.
Go home, she said. Go home, he said. Well, here he was, home and alone, but there was no peace here, no hope, no future.
He wandered through and sunlight lit the spaces. All soft furnishings were gone, lost to time, but the dwelling stood as if eternal, and the natural features renewed its energy season after season.
Elianas did this, he thought. The power of energy, that was what this was. Who had he done it for? Himself? Lord Sorcerer? Or had he merely been lashing out?
Torrullin found the ledge where they sat to witness a storm, where Elianas’ mouth and hands roamed over his back, where betrayal wrought a pleasure he still felt in dreams. He stopped there, sat, and stared out.
The sun shone from a cloudless sky, the ocean was calm and the plateau shone emerald. He closed his eyes and saw the other, preferred view, the one of dark clouds roiling closer, with lightning in their depths, with thunder shaking the foundations and rain in torrents.
He had fallen asleep in the warmth of the afternoon on this very ledge, lying in the amber glows on a soft mattress. The approaching storm went unnoticed, as had Elianas dropping a mattress beside him. He knew Elianas would orchestrate this betrayal, but not the timing of it, or the place. The fact that it happened on the ledge still surprised him, and, perhaps, not so. Poetic, after all.
Elianas had lain down, probably without intention, and had fallen asleep also, and in the subconscious truths tended to surface.
Torrullin opened his eyes and rubbed at his forehead with a shaking hand. Too soon for that memory. He drew a breath, stood and stared over his domain. It was his, by virtue of time, by an energy manipulation, and by formal deed.
&nb
sp; The name on a piece of paper somewhere read Torrullin Agripson Valla. He had used Agripson with Nemisin and forced kinfire into abeyance every time he went near the man, but on that deed he revealed his true name, and Elianas found it. Agripson was Taranis’ family name, but he was Valla first and last. Elianas, curse him, bless him, started the dance soon after.
He left the ledge and wandered inward again. Home yes. Love it, hate it, he had chosen this the moment he set foot on Avaelyn.
It was time to start the process of comfort, for he was not leaving too soon, and when he did go he would come back.
Elianas was here, not in spirit or sense, but living on mightily in memory.
Chapter 33
Land, territory over which rule or control is exercised; Domain, badlands, kingdom, realm, terra firma; Bring into a different state (verb)
~ Titania Dictionary
Month of Skileiken
SPRING EQUINOX WAS behind them and Spring Festival a distant memory. Summer was around the corner; days grew ever longer.
Of Torrullin there was no sign or word.
Trade increased with the coming of spring, as did tourism. Torrke hosted a great variety of offworlders, among them Allith of Echolone, who reported Beacon was granted a mining licence. She brought beautiful crafts to thank Tianoman for sending a team of expert Valleur gardeners.
Beacon recovered from the communications glitch, none the wiser as to source. Lax discovered renewed spirit and went from strength to strength. Xen dispatched a new ambassador to Valaris in the person of Lowen Dalrish. She was often at the Keep.
Tianoman instituted a program of human and other settlements on Akhavar with Teroux’s aid. Most of the settlers were drawn from Sanctuary’s asylum seekers, and a process of building new towns commenced on the oldest recorded Valleur world. Tianoman’s ideal was to create a shared world on Akhavar from the outset.
Lore of Sanctum Omnibus Page 93
