Lore of Sanctum Omnibus

by Elaina J Davidson

  THE LIGAMENTS IN HIS hands retracted, curling his fingers into claws of agony.

  He opened his mouth to scream, but new needles of reality assailed him. His toes spread wide as muscles stiffened into cramp. White-hot flame seared into his belly, and he doubled over.

  Life.

  This was what it felt like to be born. A period of suffering to know, to understand, that life came with a price.

  He kneeled, holding his gut with taloned fingers.

  Of course he would pay it.

  He would pay willingly. He swallowed the sounds of suffering and concentrated.

  His time was on hand.

  Chapter 53

  Use your hands, man!

  ~ Tattle to his scribe ~

  Circle of Confrontation

  IN THE DOME THEY huddled before the monitors, silent.

  On the battlements of his fort Tymall waited for the sounds of battle to commence.

  In the citadel of rings Bannerman and Horatio grinned at each other.

  At the site of the palisade three men rushed at the wall of soldiers obscuring the path to neutral ground.

  THEY RAN, SWORDS RAISED, and nothing was as it seemed.

  Tristan stumbled over an obstacle in his path and fell hard.

  Torrullin ran into a web, the substance sticky as if massive spiders had laid a fresh trap.

  Elianas faltered to a halt as a tunnel formed before him.

  Nothing was as it seemed.

  IN THE DOME SHOCK registered.

  “They disappeared,” Belun blurted.

  On the battlements, Tymall frowned. Why did he not hear the sound of metal upon metal?

  In the citadel Bannerman lifted a hand. “Something is wrong.”

  At the palisade soldiers milled in confusion. There was no enemy to tackle. “To the citadel!” a corporal shouted. “We need new orders!”

  The circle of snow emptied.

  Tunnel of trees

  THE TUNNEL WAS A lane of trees and it elongated, the kind of action featured in dreams where nothing followed rules.

  The trunk walls curved strangely, first bulging out and then curled inward to form an impenetrable ceiling. All light extinguished only to return in spotlights. Every sense of comfort vanished.

  Elianas laughed in disbelief. So many ages, and the manipulation came in the form of a dreamscape? He had expected more. He expected challenge.

  He turned to find Torrullin, and froze in that twisted position for long moments.

  No Torrullin. No Tristan.

  He was alone.

  Elianas strode forward, every step revealing his disdain for this mundanity. And his heart thundered. Hands clenched on the Lumin Sword; it sparked blue and gold in the shadows of the dreamscape. Whispers dogged him, inane sounds containing little meaning, and merely served to underscore ordinariness. If someone desired to frighten him and throw him off the scent, this certainly was not the manner in which to achieve it. Where was imagination? This tunnel lived in the nightmares of children only.

  Right. And sweat beaded his brow.

  Elianas walked on with a smile, expecting dreadful creatures with fangs and vicious intent, perhaps even an otherworldly screech or two to round the whole off.

  He could deal with that.

  The rain, however, entirely changed his sense of perception.

  It began with a drip, drip, drip on the cusp of hearing.

  The smell of damp earth came next.

  Elianas came to a halt. A storm would be more fitting in this type of dreamscape. The lowered skies Torrullin had demanded for place of confrontation could be manipulated to unleash an unholy event. It would form part of the whole, as creatures of nightmares would right now.

  Rain, slow drips finding chinks in the armour of the tunnel ceiling, signified … reality.

  What did it mean?

  Where was he?

  Forest clearing

  THE WEB WAS NOT of spiders or the stuff of caterpillar cocoon. Although sticky, it was also slippery and did not hold him long. Torrullin fell through the netting into a forest clearing. It reminded him immediately of the circles in the forests of Pendulim where prophets and charmsmiths gathered before creating a Life Wheel.

  He had fallen through a veil between spaces, a gift available to a Walker of Realms, which he was. Did it mean he was, in fact, on Pendulim?

  Torrullin turned back to the veil after a swift perusal of the surroundings for signs of immediate danger. Looking for Elianas. And Tristan, but Elianas first. There was no one behind him, and there was no veil.

  What did it mean?

  Where was he?

  Mountains

  CURSING, TRISTAN CLAMBERED to his feet.

  He kicked at the rock in his path and then dusted his knees. Wiping his hands against each other to dislodge grit, his sword wedged under an arm, he straightened. And frowned.

  He stood on a ledge amid mountains, and did not know the place.

  As he began to take note, heat began to take note of him. The temperature soared and he gasped for air. All gods, how had this come to pass? From snow to heat and he merely stumbled over a damn rock. This had to be a vision.

  Tristan swung convulsively, feeling vulnerable, needing to find Torrullin at his shoulder, and Elianas too. Great apertures in ancient rock were his only companions, and a lonely eagle circling the bright blue overhead.

  What did it mean?

  Where was he?

  Tunnel of trees

  RAIN DRIPPED COLD UPON his cheeks. The heavens cried icy tears here. Elianas shuddered, no longer complacent, no longer in need of challenge. He wanted out.

  Hoisting the energy blade, he stepped forward. Action heralded change. Perhaps if he reached the end of this foliaged tunnel there would be an altering he could use to his advantage.

  He faltered to a halt for a second time. Ahead, a figure had materialised and it walked towards him with measured tread. A man. A man certain of his place in time and space.

  Elianas’ heart thundered loud. He gripped the Lumin Sword and held it two-handed before him.

  The man halted.

  Rain dripped.

  “My name is Skynis.”

  The sword dropped from nerveless fingers. Elianas slammed to his knees and stared up as the man came to a halt a foot away.

  Amber skin, dark hair cropped short, eyes near black. Danae nobility. The features he saw in the mirror.

  His son.

  The man kneeled and stared at him in a similar fashion.

  “You are my father.”

  Elianas opened his mouth to speak, but no sound emerged. He cleared his throat and attempted it again. “And you are my son.”

  Rain sluiced over then, a downpour that slicked hair to skulls and puddled in every crevice of skin.

  “It frightens you that Kalgaia was sundered and still Taranis Agripson Danae was born to be the father of Elixir. You desire to understand how it came to pass. More than that, though, you desire to understand why.”

  “It cannot matter, not with you kneeling with me,” Elianas said.

  Every nerve screamed for release. Never had he suffered such terrible tension. Nothing Torrullin had ever put him through had caused this … stretching.

  “It matters, for this is an answer to a question, not a forging of a connection we never had. I am here, mark that, but only in answer. We shall not create a bond that cannot ever be and we shall not move onward having discovered peace.”

  All gods. “Where is here?”

  “Everywhere and nowhere. It matters not.”

  “Why can we not create a bond?”

  “You did not know of my existence until recently, and thus has too much time passed for compassion, the kind that is part of harking to an absence sensed. You, Elianas Danae, never marked my absence in your life. And I heard the truth of my parentage only after my death, and thus I have not the ability to manufacture the compassion of absence either. I could not and cannot miss a father I did not know of.
”

  Elianas closed his eyes. His head dropped. “A clinical meeting. Do you deserve that, Skynis Danae?”

  “Look at me. My mortal time was good, and Menlore was a fine father. Set guilt aside, for I came to no harm. Our meeting is not clinical; it is simply without emotion.”

  “It is not without emotion.”

  A sigh. “I see that. I have had more time to prepare for this meeting, I suppose.”

  Elianas’ eyes travelled over the face before him. “How did they not see it? Your features are mine.”

  “The Danae star waned when you chose to side with the Lord Sorcerer. Few Lorin saw me, and even fewer Vallas. Menlore curtailed my movements as an added measure, although I was unaware of it at the time. That was then and no longer factors. I am here to explain how the bloodline survived.”

  Elianas swallowed. “I am not sure I want to know.”

  “And yet it will be told you. Murder came to Kalgaia, a serial killer. And on his heels a master of shadows, the cleaner. Between the two of you, you destroyed a city. You did not murder everyone, for a city has many people, but the majority fled to elsewhere, into obscurity, and Kalgaia was thus emptied. And then sanity prevailed. Before he bowed out from the arena of death, Torrullin Valla instituted the means of restitution. Today you believe you accessed that restitution in a realm of Time, and atoned on a certain level for the terror of our past. You did, have no fear, and planes and realms everywhere felt the shivers. The truth of sincere atonement has lifted the curse of that time. Elianas, know this; the Danae as word of power will remain always, but it can now be used for lumin kindred also. It has the power to do good. Atonement achieved it.”

  “It can destroy also.”

  “Indeed. We Danae are rather proud of it, are we not?”

  A smile blossomed. “It has resonance, yes.”

  Skynis lifted a hand to clear his face of the sluicing water. “Kalgaia awakened before atonement, an event not even the mighty Lord Sorcerer foresaw or knew of. He still does not know.”

  Ice flowed into Elianas’ veins and not merely from the cold pouring over his skin. “How, by all gods?”

  “Neolone. He was a Timekeeper. His choice of symbiosis with the House of Valla gifted him the long view. He did not understand nuances - he was not that clever - but he could see when a tweak was needed. His focus, long term, was Torrullin, and thus he saw most of what Torrullin would need to function. Torrullin functioning was, after all, to his benefit. And Torrullin needed Taranis, his father, to enter this timeline. And Taranis needed?”

  “You. Alive. Able to father the next generation.”

  “And there you have it.”

  Elianas considered, and blinked. “No. It does not fit. Neolone is of this timeline. Kalgaia was sundered in third cycle.”

  “And Taranis fathered Torrullin in first cycle. It does not fit, does it?”

  Elianas almost hyperventilated. “How?”

  “Planes and realms and shivers. Neolone tweaked, and it resonated backward.”

  “This is fact?”

  “Theory. We do not know exactly how. What we do know is that there was a period in which Kalgaia continued in a kind of isolation, as if it was surrounded by mists and stone no one was able to breech. I wed, my wife bore me a son, and that son one day took to the road and was never seen again. Ages later Taranis took his first wobbly steps.”

  Elianas sighed. “What was his name? Your son.”

  “Listen to the kin list.” Skynis paused there and then added, “His name is important, but I dare not say it aloud here. Listen to the kin list.” He rose and looked down at his muddy knees with a grimace. “I have answered your question.”

  Elianas clambered to his feet. He sheathed his sword and then was wordless.

  “Father, this is a connection. Seeing and speaking and knowing. It can be peace also.”

  Elianas nodded. “I wish I had known you.”

  “I do not think you had the time for me then, and I do not think you had the space in your heart to love another. I am not offended; my life was good. And now I must go.” Skynis reached out to clasp Elianas’ shoulder. “Well met, Elianas Danae, and stay well.”

  He vanished.

  So did the tunnel and the rain and peace of mind.

  Elianas swivelled round and around on the grass of neutral ground.

  Pendulim

  “IT IS GOOD TO SEE you again, Enchanter.”

  Torrullin turned. “Arli.”

  The wizened Shadof bowed. “You have returned.”

  Arli and Pendulim brought back memories of Augin, brother-in-arms. Many years dead now. How fast time could move, and how slow. It felt like yesterday.

  “The choice was not mine.”

  A cackle of laughter. “I know! It’s mine.”

  “How? Why?”

  Arli gripped the Life Wheel at his throat. “I never wore these, if you remember. Life is already too long, not so? This one, however, took on an aspect I could not ignore. In creation it whispered a name - yours. I understood the day would come when it would summon you, at a time you needed an answer to a question. This day.”

  Torrullin closed his eyes. “What is the question?”

  Arli spread his hands. “You tell me.”

  Sheathing his sword, Torrullin ambled to the stone fire-pit every forest circle possessed. There he sat on a boulder and rested elbows on knees, hands dangling. His head lowered. He did not speak.

  “Too many questions, I think,” Arli murmured. “Ask. What has an answer will be given you. If I do not know, the question is not mine to answer.”

  He perched on an opposite boulder and snapped a fire into blaze between them. Folding his hands into his abdominal sac, he waited.

  Torrullin did not look up, or speak.

  Arli filled the silence. “After you left, the Fire Guild’s power was stripped away and the creation of Life Wheels diminished until sound controls could be entrenched. It worked for a time, but folk are greedy universe over and the demands for aspects and extended life brought with it the promise of wealth. We are today back to the old ways and I still hide out in my cave. Efur pays a visit occasionally and between the two of us we have created a sizeable retirement nest with the gold you left us. We are fine, know that.”

  Torrullin’s head lifted. “Good.”

  A nod. “When you first entered my space I expected you to arrive with another. I recall naming him your apprentice. It was not the Palace Guard at your side when I first saw you.”

  Torrullin did not speak, but he did not look away.

  “Elianas I believe they call him today. The one at your side in this time. The Alhazen. No longer an apprentice, of course. I expected him also, this day. The Wheel whispered your name, but I expected him at your side. We spoke long of the dark man, did we not? You were in knots about him.”

  “What is your point, Arli?”

  “Are the knots still there?”

  Silence. And then a bark of laughter. “Yes.”

  “Do you recall us speaking at length of prophecies?”

  Torrullin sighed. “At length, yes.”

  “I will bet folk have mouthed off about wings of mist to you recently. Something about them being noble, replacing shadow stuff.”

  Torrullin’s eyes glittered. “Folk have mouthed, yes.”

  “Absolute esoteric claptrap bullshit! Wings of mist are exactly that - mist. Nothing, a non-entity, fairy bloody inventions!” Arli lifted an eyebrow. “Huh? Fairies have more substance to their wings, point of fact. I insult them.” He looked up at the grey sky briefly. “Sorry. It was merely an analogy.” His gaze returned to Torrullin. “That prophecy misleads. Put it aside.”

  “I must ignore the implicit warning?”

  “Nothing implicit in there except the means to twist knots into humdingers!”

  Torrullin stared at him. “I do not agree. It speaks of time and travel and heart and soul and so forth. A lot of truth there.”

  “Until you ge
t to the end. Flee from the shadows mist brings your way. Right? And the Dalrish seer reveals your Elianas has Wings of Mist. In fact, he believes he has them.” Arli leaned forward. “Torrullin, wings are wings. If you have them, it is what is in your heart and soul and mind that determine how you use them. If you have relinquished them, they are gone. You have both relinquished wings. Neither can now fly as in the past.” He leaned further forward and nearly fell from his perch. “’Oneness lies in the flight of a beating heart, borne aloft by wings of mist.’ A sweet sentiment, but romantic nonsense. Oneness is not flight.”

  Adagin had also spoken of oneness, but he focused on the how of it. “What is it then?”

  Arli smiled. “And there is your question.”

  Torrullin swore under his breath.

  “Accept the differences. You do not need to know all there is to know about another, my friend. Where is the surprise if there is nothing new?”

  “What of hidden truths?”

  “Truth is subjective, Torrullin, you know it. Oneness means understanding your truth may not be another’s, just as this thing Elianas hides from you may be a ripple in the pond that cannot affect you. It affects him; the burden is his. He chooses to shoulder it; he must choose to release it. When he does, you leave it on the ground, you do not pick it up. You allow the air of real freedom to pass over him. You accept him as he is; whatever it is. And hope he understands and extends you the same acceptance when you release your burden. Perhaps you should lead by example. Oneness, friend, means do not judge. Live and let live. And revel in surprise.”

  “I hear you.”

  “Good.”

  “We are far from that point,” Torrullin said, staring into the trees.

  “You are not. When the music plays, the time nears.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Arli smiled. “Ah, the composer has revealed the instrument and the instrument has revealed the composer. The time nears, trust me.”