Lore of Sanctum Omnibus

by Elaina J Davidson

He did not stop. He loosed all those holds and surrendered to the darkness within, thrusting and withdrawing, every motion unleashing the chains holding this beast.

  Lowen yielded first. Her climax ripped through her, releasing every constraint. Her wild gyrations set Elianas off and he exploded against her, arching forward as he fell back.

  Torrullin, with two sets of shudders enveloping him, burst into flame and poured liquid fire into Lowen, pulse after pulse, with every atom feeling how he emptied himself of normality.

  Three sets of breathing filled the silence, and then they cautiously untangled. Torrullin reached down for his tunic and passed it to Lowen for mop up, giving her a lopsided grin.

  When she hopped away, he moved into the space she vacated and dragged Elianas to him, kissing him, pulling that hard body to him, and then simply held on.

  A dark head rested against him, those urging hands now gently caressing on his back.

  “What happened?” Torrullin asked.

  “Teroux. Fury,” came the muffled response.

  “How did you know, Lowen?”

  “You forget how I can read you,” she murmured, clambering into her dress.

  “This changes the dynamics between us again.”

  Elianas inflated and deflated against him, and then the man gently set him aside. “The lesser event, though. We can live with this.” He stood and gathered his clothes, pulling everything haphazardly on as if he needed shielding in a hurry.

  Torrullin glanced at Lowen, to see her watching Elianas with a frown. Lowen could definitely read him; it appeared she read Elianas well too.

  He took her hand and drew her to him. “You do not deserve to be in the middle of the two of us.”

  She stroked his cheek. “My so bright Torrullin. I cannot live without you, do you not yet know this? I have seen things and I know I am meant to split you from Elianas, and I also know others will employ that ethos against you, using me to make it happen.” She held her other hand to Elianas and drew him in. “And then there is you, and I fell so hard for you because you are part of Torrullin, and proved utterly unique too. Do you not see? There is no choice here, for me. I cannot expect either of you to commit only to me and I no longer want only one of you. I could not choose only one.”

  She smiled sadly and moved away from them.

  “Still, passing from one to the other is not a comfortable thought, and this threesome scenario is not too healthy either, although I do admit both of you holding me at the same time is my greatest satisfaction. I will abscond for a time to reassert a modicum of normality.”

  Lowen headed for the doorway.

  “By the way, these Shadow Wings? Try as you might, Torrullin, you cannot hide from me. That is how I found you tonight. Oh, and Alik? In case either of you think to use her? She is aware now of every nuance. She will give you the cold shoulder, Elianas, if you call on her.”

  “I do not want to call on her,” Elianas frowned.

  “Just saying. On the basis of visions, I chose to tweak. That future no longer exists.” She turned away. “I will be at my cottage. Someone still needs to keep a promise to fix my roof.”

  “Wait,” Torrullin said. “Lowen, will you attempt to contact Neolone? Please? We will both come to you in a few days to fix your roof.”

  She nodded without turning. Lowen was gone.

  In the silence, Elianas massaged his butt. “That desk is bloody unfriendly,” he muttered.

  Akhavar

  BACK ON AKHAVAR, the Throne-room was deserted.

  Together they stood before it.

  Tarlinn, Torrullin sent, preferring not to speak in the event someone listened.

  I am here.

  His name is Rivalen.

  This poses a problem, Tarlinn responded after a moment.

  It does.

  What is his true appearance?

  Torrullin described the strange white-skinned man with shadows moving over him. He also shared the ‘parts’ that made up the Timekeeper.

  Torrullin, this ‘Original’ did not exist. It is a concept much like the Mother Goddess. Claiming birth from a concept means this Rivalen is unaware of his true genetics.

  Torrullin frowned and glanced at Elianas. Everything I have heard tells me there was an Original and some call him Eurue.

  Not real, Tarlinn insisted. A concept, much like other gods have names and are unreal except in faith. Immirin, however, was real, if before my genesis. Find out who her mate was and there you will discover the truth. He made the clock and he called himself Eurue and it passed down as the godhood concept. I suggest listening to what Ixion shared with Tristan.

  What of Neolone?

  If you can reach him, but that Dragon is a bit of a drama queen, know that.

  Elianas grinned at his side, shaking his head.

  Torrullin sent, What are our options regarding an ending?

  There is never an ending, merely change of state. However, the simplest answer lies in returning him to the Path, which is not the easiest to achieve.

  And the complicated answer?

  Find Immirin.

  Torrullin and Elianas jerked to each other. Can she be found? Elianas demanded.

  If you are prepared to reveal the Daywalker, yes.

  Elianas withdrew instantly. Torrullin, after watching him for a moment, asked, Which realm?

  The Danae knows. The choice must be his. I am done.

  Elianas strode away. “I am getting some sleep. Do what the fuck you want to.”

  Torrullin pinched the bridge of his nose and went to Tristan.

  Valaris

  The Keep

  TRISTAN WAS WITH CABALLA at the Keep.

  It hit Torrullin in the gut, knowing this place was no longer his. It also felt as if he abandoned Torrke, the sentient valley.

  Tristan muttered in the dining room, pointing at objects to have them vanish. Torrullin’s appearance startled him.

  “Oh, hey. Aislinn asked, via Tian, that certain items be transferred to Akhavar. That is what I am doing, while Caballa gathers stuff in the study for Tian.” Tristan made a face. “Cannot stomach the Dome.”

  Torrullin nodded. “Carry on. I need a little while.” He headed through the Dragon doors into the valley.

  He ended up walking for hours along the fawn road that meandered with the contours of the land, over stone bridges, amid ancient trees, along animal paths, jumped streams and clambered over boulders.

  He loved this place as he loved Avaelyn.

  Finally, he rested against Millanu and Taranis’ - and Tristamil’s - crypt in the Graveyard, one hand resting on the immovable urn Saska’s ashes were once in.

  Leaving Valaris behind was harder than he thought it would be. He had already left, but the right to visit had remained. Now that too would end. Would someone eventually live in the Keep? It did not bear thinking about.

  Tristan found him there, half-asleep against the cold stone. When Torrullin looked at him, he said, “What happens to Torrke when you leave?”

  “Those choices now belong to another future.” Torrullin propped himself up. “Valleur have left many worlds behind in the past; this is simply another.”

  “Will you move them?” Tristan gestured at the crypt.

  “No, they belong here. Where is Caballa?”

  “Sleeping.”

  Nodding, Torrullin rose. He gently touched Saska’s urn a final time, stroked the names on the crypt, and said, “Let us pace a final time atop the battlements. I have said farewell to the valley and to them and now I need to release the Keep also.”

  “Right behind you.”

  VALARIS’ HEAVENS WERE star-filled bright. Leaning on the low parapet, site of many such introspective moments and hours, Torrullin gazed up.

  “It has once more come full circle for me. I return now to the place I first built a home. The Valleur return to the place I first agitated them into a future I could live with. Strange that. Here I stand where I was most happy and most hurt, but it does n
ot feature, for the time here was too short. Avaelyn and Akhavar have known ages of me, and there too I was most happy and most hurt. They have endured, despite time. Perhaps this will too and one day, ages hence, I shall stand here again.”

  “There is hope in there,” Tristan murmured.

  “Indeed there is,” Torrullin smiled. “I have many layers and most see only the darkness in me, but hope has ever kept me alive.”

  Tristan blinked. “Few realise it.”

  Torrullin sat on the low wall. “I know. The rest do not matter.”

  Tristan sat beside him, shoulder to shoulder. They were so alike; twins, for all intents, sat there together. Suddenly they looked at each other, as if realising it, and both laughed.

  Caballa, in the courtyard, heard them and, in that moment, understood parting lay ahead for her and Tristan. He was on a path to closely mirror the one Torrullin already followed.

  “How many times have you been mistaken for me?” Torrullin asked.

  “Not so much.” Tristan shrugged. “I do not wear the black.”

  Torrullin nodded, noting grey, blue, some green, in the man’s clothing. He lifted Tristan’s wrist and pressed two fingers there. “Tell me what Ixion says about accessing the Path of Shades.” Releasing, he waited, allowing Tristan the time to sift through the information now marching through his mind.

  Eventually Tristan leaned forward forearms on thighs. His hands linked and he stared into space. “I think you already know the answer.”

  Torrullin nodded. “The Lumin Sword. I had hoped for an alternative.”

  “A sword now under Alexander’s aegis.”

  “A conundrum indeed,” Torrullin muttered. He touched Tristan’s wrist again. “Look for anything about Rivalen, Immirin, Eurue, this creature’s genesis.”

  Tristan hung his head and Torrullin gazed over the far battlement towards the eastern entrance into Torrke. Valaris’ blue moon had just topped the high peak there to glow in the night.

  “I understand the elemental meaning inherent in Rivalen, but the entity must be unknown to Ixion. After his time, I guess. Eurue? No, nothing there. Immirin is another story. There is much about the Lorin also. And the Aleru.”

  Interest sparked in Torrullin’s eyes. “The Aleru?”

  Tristan nodded. “If I told you, we would be sitting here for days.”

  “Really?” Torrullin presented his wrist with alacrity.

  Grinning, Tristan laid fingers there. He closed his eyes and transferred the intelligence.

  In the aftermath, Torrullin stared at him. “By every god in the universe,” he whispered.

  “Might be relevant.”

  “Of course it is relevant.” He threaded hands through his hair. “Bloody hell, ignorance is bliss. Now I can never look at the past the same again.”

  “What do I do with this, Torrullin?”

  “I have no bloody idea,” Torrullin muttered. He leaned forward to stare at the stone walkway. “It is relevant, but how?” He abruptly straightened. “Isn’t it fortunate Quilla is paying a visit in the morning?”

  “I would like to be there.” Tristan squinted up. “Morning is but two hours away.”

  Torrullin swore. “Then I am off to snatch an hour or Quilla will tie me in knots. We shall see you then.” He stood, stared for long moments at the Dragon doors, touched his chest … and vanished.

  Chapter 26

  Heat is able to arise from a mere thought. The chill of fear comes from a heart beating out of rhythm.

  ~ Book of Sages ~

  Avaelyn

  HE FELL FACE FIRST and fully clothed onto his bed, and found oblivion instantly.

  Elianas, tossing next door, sat up in his bed. Padding barefooted through to Torrullin, he found the man lying at an odd angle. He removed boots and sword, shifted him to free a twisted arm and then left him in that position. Clambering in beside him, he drew covers over them as best he could and finally fell asleep as well.

  Too soon it was daylight and Quilla called from somewhere. Tristan’s tones added to the summons to awareness.

  Groaning, Torrullin rolled over to discover Elianas on one elbow looking at him.

  “I get very worried when you do that,” Torrullin muttered. “That is your ‘I am going to surprise you again’ look.”

  Elianas grinned and his noble features entirely transformed. “Hold onto your belt buckle today.”

  Torrullin responded to the grin. “Oh, yes? Got a few surprises for you too.”

  Laughing then, Elianas left the bed and headed to the shower. Smiling, Torrullin lay back. He dozed, waiting for his turn at the spray.

  Tristan could keep Quilla entertained.

  Hopefully Tristan knew how to make coffee.

  Millwold

  THE GUARD POST SITUATED on the rise behind the barn was unmanned.

  Rivalen leaned against the cracking door jamb, watching the activity below. Having just returned, he chose a deserted space to appear in, for he needed to garner a sense of the mood engendered by his absence. He had defeated their leader to become their leader, but they did not know him, as he remained unsure of them. He needed an army and this one was perfect. Not one man down there knew the meaning of conscience.

  He heard laughter; he also noted the jeering, and smirked. An impromptu training session was underway, but it had more to do with showmanship than any instruction worthy of the name.

  The men in his thrall loved to fight and barely required a reason for it. Nothing had changed in his time away. The men below had nowhere else to go and thus they never even considered revolution.

  “Kill him!” someone shouted from the ring of onlookers.

  Yes, one of the two men ‘training’ down there would not survive the session, and again he sneered, a silent witness to the dance of death. The cruelty these men inflicted upon each other prevented them asking questions. They followed blindly because they understood only survival, and the need to survive escalated their desire for appalling showmanship.

  They fought to stay alive. What they did not realise was that they fought also to die.

  Shaking his head at the contradiction in their beliefs, the insanity in their utter stupidity, Rivalen straightened. It was time to go down, but not to put an end to the brawl - it was time that they saw his true form.

  His alien visage would terrify them.

  Excellent.

  He needed them to fear him more than they feared death.

  Luvanor

  A DIRT PATH WITH hedges on either side marked the border between Senlu territory and Valleur land below the plateau.

  A Valleur unit camped around an inn west of the path, while a Senlu patrol paced in a horse paddock to the east of it.

  Soldiers stared over the hedges warily from both sides, praying that someone in authority would see reason soon.

  Avaelyn

  TRISTAN MADE DECENT COFFEE, unlike Teighlar.

  Elianas sat chin in hand sipping his, staring blearily at Quilla, when Torrullin entered and headed straight to the pot for the black brew. He mumbled about day-night cycles and feeling exhausted.

  Tristan was on his second cup.

  “After careful thought, I suggest the Avior door on Echolone is a terrible idea,” Quilla said when Torrullin took a seat. “This will bring attention to that world and they already cope with an influx of foreigners.”

  “Agreed,” Torrullin said. “We will employ the Lumin Sword.”

  Elianas stared at him. “One of those surprises, I assume? How? It is an energy weapon.”

  “In your hands it is that. In mine it takes me into the Path.”

  Elianas sat up. “You never said.”

  “I barely used it. There was nothing to tell.” Torrullin shrugged. “But I remember once showing Samuel,” and he glanced at Tristan briefly, “what happens when you wield that blade. Both of us landed up on the Path of Shades.”

  “That must have scared the daylights out of my father,” Tristan murmured.

 
“It did, yes.”

  “I shall retrieve the Lumin Sword from Grinwallin,” Quilla said. “I am still welcome there.” He glared at Torrullin. “You should fix that situation.”

  “I am, by leaving Alexander without a powerful witness. I go in there, Quilla, and Alexander gets to be what he wants to be. When Teighlar regains himself, then we can talk.”

  Quilla nodded after a time. “That is wisdom, yes.”

  “I am not entirely stupid,” Torrullin muttered.

  Elianas grinned. He eyed Tristan. “You are quiet.”

  “No sleep.”

  Quilla lifted a finger. “I have given thought to Rivalen’s claim about his parentage and I must say it makes no sense. I feel he is telling a story he claimed for himself. And, even if all he says is true, it is much less than the shadows he walks in.”

  “The shadows are paramount, I agree, and yet Tarlinn says to hark to Immirin’s story. Rivalen may not know his parentage, but Immirin is his mother,” Torrullin responded. “In fact, Tarlinn advocates we find her.”

  “Excuse me?” Tristan exclaimed. “After what we learned earlier?”

  “More than ever, given what we discovered.”

  “Another surprise,” Elianas murmured.

  “Ixion,” Tristan snapped, glaring at him.

  Quilla wagged his finger this time. “Let us be logical now. Let us then speak of this creature’s parentage. He was thus born to Immirin at a time when Valleur rulers were female. This is known as the Lorin line as I understand it. Ancient legends, according to the Dani historian, name his father as Eurue. Now here I have an issue.”

  “Eurue never existed,” Torrullin said.

  Quilla slapped the table. “Exactly!”

  “Who was his father? Who gifted him his otherworldly features?” Torrullin questioned. “He did not receive his pretty looks from his mother.”

  Quilla made a face. “I see now why you need to find her. Is that possible?”

  “Apparently,” Torrullin murmured.