Lore of Sanctum Omnibus

by Elaina J Davidson

  “A what?” Belun said.

  “Precisely the question that brought our friend to my mother, for he knows of her interest and thought to gift her a conundrum, and it was a conversation I was privy to. My mother tells of portals that exist in this realm, not portals that take one from here into the beyond, but something akin to highways between places. My lord Tristan, they act akin to our magical transport, a means of travel in the blink of an eye.”

  “We have heard of this.”

  “We heard rumours and legends we hoped were untrue. Like to wormholes, the art of swift transport is unstable and potentially dangerous in the wrong hands. The Drinic of the past messed with much in ignorance and delved into places and spaces they should never have imagined and yet did. Look what a disaster the portable doorway caused on Valaris.

  “Be that as it may, it was the wording around reality portals that had me avid. My mother, bless her heart, realised she had to say enough to send the man on his way and did not ask him about the rest of it. She asked it of me afterward and we discussed the portal concept in some detail.”

  Tristan leaned a hip against the console. “You are dragging the tale.”

  “I am aware. I need you to know there are two others who have seen the words, but neither understand meaning.”

  Tristan nodded. “Very well, point made.”

  Jonas hung onto every word, and Belun appeared casual and was far from it.

  Amunti tapped the console. “Potion of forever, my lord, and olden orb. And eternal companion.”

  “That is it?” Jonas was now disappointed.

  Tristan was not. He drew a breath. “Elixir, his homeworld and …”

  “… Elianas,” Belun murmured.

  Amunti nodded. “Exactly.”

  Jonas’ eyes grew wider.

  “How much was still worded?” Tristan demanded.

  “Hard to say what was, but what there is went like this; … the heart heals, the mind soothes, the soul sees the potion of forever and then there is a gap … upon an olden orb be the reality portal four in ten, and a huge hole in the old paper … wish for will for an eternal companion, wings of mist … there is more before, after and through the whole, but none of it is legible.”

  “Wings of mist,” Tristan whispered.

  Shadow Wings.

  Only two people in the entire universe ever possessed Shadow Wings and one of them was Elianas. The other was Elixir, the potion of forever, the Animated Spirit; Torrullin, his grandfather, who was currently Elianas’ prisoner. Torrullin, who believed his name was Rayne, as it was for a brief period in the past.

  Tristan rotated his shoulders to relieve tension and spoke calmly to the three party to this new telling.

  “Amunti, get that scroll by any means, even theft and bribery. Jonas, I suggest you do a technological search for the keywords, see what rolls out. Belun, recall the Kaval for tomorrow at two standard. Get Quilla in now; I need whatever he may have stored in that mind of his. I am off to Luvanor to speak to Teighlar and to stare at paintings.” His mouth pulled askew. “Hopefully one of them will jump out at me.”

  “You’re taking this seriously?” Jonas questioned.

  “Mention a potion of forever and most of us will be in the thick of an unravelling,” Belun murmured. He said to Tristan, “The Luvan paintings - surely we would have seen something before now?”

  Tristan shook his head. “Those images can scare the daylights out of me, for they seem to tell the tale only when one goes looking.” He shrugged. “They are as prophetic as words are, so let us hope something is there. Now I must go; you know where to find me. Send Quilla.”

  He stared at them a moment longer, looked up at the ceiling as if for inspiration, and strode purposefully for his ogive.

  It chimed exit soon after.

  Belun rubbed his palms together in glee.

  Chapter 6

  Butterflies have wings of lure, birds of necessity, angels of power. Dragonflies have wings of gossamer, bats of silence, demons of shadow.

  ~ On wings, Tattle ~

  Sanctuary

  The Villa

  QUILLA, WHILE ALL the events swirled around the ether of possibility, alighted in the spring garden before the villa on Sanctuary, but spared no thought for the excellent view.

  He entered, knowing he would find the young man in the library. Teroux paced before a blazing fire, his face strained. There was not much else in the chamber; Torrullin had his books removed when he handed the deed over to his grandson, and Teroux was not much of a collector.

  A set of armchairs stood in isolation upon a woolly carpet.

  The young man appeared exhausted, golden features pale even in flickering firelight. Quilla paused in the doorway to study him. Teroux was a true Golden - a Valleur - in features; golden hair, skin, and the tawny eyes of the Valleur. He was also tall and lean as most Valleur were, but unlike the majority of his race, this man possessed a greater capacity for nursing resentments. It made him a difficult character to deal logically with.

  “Teroux, it is good to see you,” Quilla murmured.

  Teroux came to a halt, but did not turn. “I am sorry, Quilla, to have summoned you, but my mind is currently in a mess. I need your help.”

  For Teroux, it was a plea, and Quilla answered it. “You know you have only to ask, my friend.”

  Teroux did turn then. “Am I? Your friend?”

  Quilla sighed inaudibly. In many ways Teroux was still immature, despite being older than his cousin Tianoman. “Always.” Again he studied the young man. “Something happened? You seem fragile.”

  Teroux did not bristle and it was another telling sign. “There was a storm on Mariner Lake and our ship went down. I and four others survived. Rose pulled me from the water.”

  Quilla paced forward and took Teroux’s hand. He pressed down upon the man’s pulse and listened to the information transmitted via his fingertips.

  A moment later he released and said, “You mend well.” He looked up into those yellow eyes. “You were on a ship?”

  Teroux did not need to travel as others did; he possessed transport ability.

  “I needed the journey to negotiate a deal for medical supplies.”

  Ah. “Was the storm a natural event?” Quilla asked.

  “I believe so.”

  “Survivor’s guilt, my friend? That is self-destructive. Let it go.”

  “I try.”

  Quilla nodded, well aware only time would mitigate the burden. “But you did not call to me over your accident.”

  Teroux moved towards the armchairs and flung into one. “As I emerged from the water I could see only one face. Rose’s image pulled me up to air, but it was Torrullin who assailed me once I started breathing again.”

  Ice gripped at Quilla’s heart. Akin to Rose, he understood Teroux was not given to visions. It sounded like a vision and, coming from Teroux, it meant whatever he saw possessed greater impetus.

  “Oh?” Quilla wandered nearer and perched sedately on an armchair to place him before the young Valla.

  “Yes, strange, not so? Why would my grandfather send a call for aid to the one who repudiated him? I accused him of terrible acts, Quilla.”

  “Torrullin is not the kind of man to bear grudges, Teroux. You are and will ever be one of three loved and honoured grandsons.” Quilla swallowed. “A call for aid, you say?”

  “Loved and honoured …” Teroux echoed. “Why, when I accused him of loving a man?”

  Quilla leaned back. Obviously he would need to draw the real reason for his summons out slowly. “Because he does love a man; you were not accusing him of an untruth.”

  Teroux’s face reddened. “How can he love Elianas, damn it?”

  “Elianas is not merely a man, my friend. Elianas is the Eternal Companion.”

  Teroux did not hear that. “He sleeps with a man! How … vile!”

  It was not like that and Quilla had, finally, had enough of that particular gripe. He snapped out, “
Teroux, unless you walk in your grandfather’s shoes and unless you know the real Elianas, you have not the right to judge them. They do not ‘sleep’ together and they …”

  “I saw them, Quilla! I saw how Elianas kissed him; I saw how Torrullin’s eyes fired.”

  “Yes, and the lure exists, I am not denying it, but they are not lovers. They are far more than such a union could imply.”

  Teroux stared at him, and then passed a shaking hand across his face. “Forgive me. I did not mean to go into it. I called because I think Torrullin is in trouble. I saw his eyes out there on the lake, Quilla, dead eyes, as if he is dying, and it felt as if he asked for someone to help him.”

  Quilla breathed in slowly and out even slower. “Torrullin cannot die.”

  “And as I said to Rose, there are many ways of dying.”

  Quilla nodded. Indeed.

  “He believes he is Rayne again, correct? An old persona that does not come near to the man he has become? What if Rayne has a stranglehold over his personality, his power, his mind? What if Rayne is winning, or what if Elianas strengthened Rayne’s hold over the real Torrullin?”

  Granted, if that were true, Torrullin could in a sense be ‘dying’, Quilla thought, although he refused to believe so. “Rayne and Torrullin have always been alike.”

  “That is why Elianas called to Rayne, I understand, knowing it would not bend Torrullin’s mind, but Rayne may now have subjugated …”

  “Stop there,” Quilla interrupted. “Neither of us has any idea what happens there.”

  Teroux smiled. “Exactly. Someone should go in and find out.”

  Ah. “I am not the one to send.” Decidedly not, Quilla mused.

  “Teighlar is the perfect choice.”

  Ah. “And you want me to speak to the Emperor?”

  “Yes. He would listen to you.”

  Teighlar would not entertain Teroux’s notions right now; the Senlu Emperor was peeved with this particular Valla. “He would need to be convinced,” Quilla said.

  Teroux leaned forward. “Tell him Rayne is taking over, Torrullin is about to lose the battle. Tell him Elianas is far too strong now, Torrullin no longer knows how to fight.”

  “Conjecture.”

  “I saw his eyes, Quilla! They were like leaden weights in my soul. He cries for help and someone needs to help him.” Teroux was on his feet again, pacing in agitation. “I may not like his relationship with Elianas, but this isn’t about that; this is about my grandfather. I love him, Quilla! How can I sit here and do nothing?”

  Quilla was convinced by the sincerity in that voice. “I shall go to Teighlar. If, as you say, Torrullin seeks aid, the Senlu will have felt the shivers also.”

  Teroux came to a standstill. “Teighlar will beat against Elianas’ defences. He is the only one that will not take that creature’s nonsense.”

  Tianoman is the better choice, Quilla mused, but Tianoman is wiser than this man, though he is the younger. “I shall speak with him.”

  Teroux slumped back into his seat and closed his eyes. “Thank you.”

  It was akin to a dismissal, but Quilla did not take offence. He rose. “I leave you now. Take care, my friend. Get some sleep.”

  “Sleep has dreams.”

  Quilla turned in the doorway. That statement, more than anything else, revealed how anxious the young man was. The birdman’s tiny heart twisted in sympathy.

  “I shall return later.”

  “Thank you, Quilla.”

  The feathered being wandered down the passage deep in thought, and almost walked into Rose.

  Luvanor

  Grinwallin

  IN WINTER THE CITY of Grinwallin transformed into a fairyland of icicles and snowy lace, and this year was no different.

  Winter was frosty this far north, but fortunately Luvanor’s seasons were short, following upon each other in rapid succession.

  Despite the bite in the air, Tristan found Emperor Teighlar pacing the open-air portico that marked the entry into Grinwallin inner city.

  Grinwallin, fairest of cities, had two faces and characters; the outer stone city built upon giant rising steps, and the larger part contained within the mountain. Both were beautiful, and they functioned as a unit. Neither part would stand the test of time alone. It was a profound symbiosis.

  Teighlar, fair of skin, tall and lean, with red-tinged hair and light blue eyes, had been ruler for millennia, although most of that time was spent in waiting for his people, the Senlu, to arise again. He was Torrullin’s greatest friend, but in him too was danger to Elixir, the Animated Spirit. Both men knew they were in many ways in opposition, and yet it had caused a budding friendship to become almost unassailable.

  Tristan, new to immortality and the rulership of the Dome, knew something of that bond, but did not quite grasp the nuances.

  He arrived upon the portico, shivered, and found the Emperor pacing as if troubled. About to call out and announce his presence, he discovered himself anticipated.

  “I knew you would come today.” Teighlar now ambled his way. “Another dream last night; I am plagued by dreams recently. I hate dreams.” He offered a wry smile. “And most have Torrullin in them. Why does that man rule even our subconscious thoroughly?”

  Tristan returned the gesture. “Shall I answer, or shall I just smile?”

  Teighlar barked a laugh. “Just smile, for pity’s sake, or we would still be discussing him this time tomorrow.” He stretched his hand out. “Welcome back, Tristan.”

  Tristan gripped the Emperor’s arm in ritual greeting. “In many ways Grinwallin is my true home, and thus I thank you.” Tristan spent long years as a child within the fair city’s precincts, as did Teroux and Tianoman.

  “You come about Torrullin, of course.”

  “A telling has come to light, yes.”

  Teighlar groaned. “Gods, not again. It certainly explains my recent foray into dreamland. Well, let us talk inside; even my hide is getting cold out here.”

  He led the way into the Great Hall of Grinwallin.

  TOGETHER THEY RELAXED in a library, before a smaller fire surrounded by hosts of books.

  The Senlu were avid readers. Luckily they also knew how to guard books against flames.

  A flask of fresh coffee sat between Teighlar and Tristan on a low table and both men sipped from steaming mugs. An overflowing plate of sandwiches had already reduced significantly; cold weather made a man hungry.

  “So, Kaval Leader, are you to reveal this telling to me?”

  Tristan sipped once, twice, his expression thoughtful. “It is incomplete, unfortunately.”

  “Tell me anyway. Who uncovered it?”

  “Amunti, on Drinic.”

  “Ah, the portal experts.”

  “The same, and portals are mentioned.”

  “Lovely.”

  Tristan grinned. “Precisely.”

  “What says Amunti?”

  “… the heart heals, the mind soothes, the soul sees the potion of forever and upon an olden orb be the reality portal four in ten and wish for will for an eternal companion, wings of mist … and that is it. Huge gaps.”

  Teighlar asked him to repeat it, which he did, and thereafter the Emperor sat for a time in silence. Eventually he cleared his throat and remarked, “Gaps or not, the information is pertinent.”

  “Amunti certainly thought so.”

  “How old is it?”

  “Original Drinic. Old.”

  Teighlar nodded, but said, “Old in human terms, maybe, but not Valleur.” He rose to go to a shelf, where he ran a finger along book spines. “It sounds familiar … ah …” He withdrew an unremarkable volume from an upper shelf and returned to his seat. Flipping through it, he said, “We should go down to the Painted Chamber.”

  “That was my thought also.”

  The pages settled and Teighlar squinted. “Here …” He pointed and started to read.

  “In time beyond measure there lies a great mystery, one no man shall uncover withou
t the synchronisation of heart, mind and soul. Let it be known that time is dependent on these factors, but not so the measurement of it. In much the same way is past, present and future presented, for heart is past, mind is present and soul is future. It is a truth that the heart heals, the mind soothes and the soul sees the potion of forever. Yet this is a mere portion of oneness, even as they are imperative in maintaining wholeness from the outset.

  “In time before, time after and time to come, travel was, is and will be limited by the strength of such synchronisation, although it be granted travel is able in artificiality, more so in magic, less so in mechanics. Yet, as in most ideals, there is exception; on an olden orb be the reality portal four in ten, but be warned, the way is filled with hazards and many dangers, and no journey should ever be undertaken lightly or without extreme thought.

  “Travel negates time and time negates travel. Listen to the heart, hear the mind and know the soul is at greatest output when wish is will and will is wish. Friend, reader, listener, wish for will seeks an eternal companion, for no sentient should be alone in time unbound and yet therein lays error and trial. No sentient is created exact and same, thus difference is challenge, danger and also greatest gift. The mystery is revealed when hearts beat as one. Oneness lies in the flight of a beating heart, borne aloft only by wings of mist. Safeguard all your futures; flee from the shadows mist brings your way.”

  Teighlar fell silent, and that silence stretched on.

  “Who wrote that?” Tristan voice sounded strained when he eventually spoke.

  Teighlar passed the book over. “It is Luvan.”

  Tristan reread the passage. “The Drinic may have borrowed bits.”

  “I do not see how, but we know prophecies have a way of splintering and spreading with a will their own.”

  “This is more than a prophecy, Teighlar. This is a warning.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Having read this, I begin to doubt it speaks of Torrullin and Elianas.”

  “On the contrary, I believe it is all about those two.”