He also needed to separate Elianas from Torrullin, and Elianas, by the powers of his deductions, was the Dome’s creator. Thank all devils the Drinic was well informed. Energy to energy, not so? An edifice with a long history. A man as long enduring. Energy to energy indeed.
Yet it was also a truth this Dome would be hard to find and even more difficult to breach. While the clock was his priority, separating this great tandem universal being was as important. One would lead to the other, whichever sequence it happened in. A wise man, thus, would not place all his pretty rocks into one receptacle. A wise man would have a dual strategy, at the very least.
He needed someone special. Someone able to create a rift large enough between Torrullin and Elianas, one they could not easily repair or jump over, one that would remain in place long enough to allow for chaos to rule. In chaos even the Dome would be weakened.
Who?
Luvanor
Tunin Continent
Vinala
SOUTH OF TORRKAN, where the great Healers’ Enclave was, upon the grassy plains of Tunin, there nestled Vinala.
Vinala could not be called a city, but it was a large settlement. Over many sals it spread, along winding paths and amid rolling hills. Here the Valleur of Tunin congregated their farming capabilities, along with the trades necessary for farms to run well. From blacksmiths to bakers, Vinala had them all. Once a month a massive farmer’s market took over the level plain beyond the grain silos, and daily the town’s centre played host to stalls. From fresh meat and newly harvested vegetables to bread and herbs, all was on display. Valleur came from all over to buy, as Valleur from everywhere came to sell.
Not only the Valleur made their way through Vinala, though. The Senlu were regular visitors and many had permanent stalls in the bustling centre as well.
In the aftermath of being laughed at about his ignorance regarding farming, Emperor Teighlar of Grinwallin decided to wander through.
He did not expect to learn much, but sought to absorb the smells and the atmosphere surrounding those engaged in this fruitful way of life. Even Dechend, his number one Elder, often remarked the bread from Vinala far outscored the offerings from their Senlu bakers. Dechend admitted, however, perhaps to mollify his ruler, that the Senlu were better winemakers.
As he walked along the gravel paths wearing unremarkable clothes, Teighlar made a mental note to tell Elianas to visit Vinala. Perhaps the man would find his little seeds here without the need for guards.
Entering the lively central space amid pretty stone and thatch buildings, he noticed that not only food was on offer. He saw weapons, statues, jewellery, pots, fabric, horse paraphernalia and much else.
Intrigued by the statues, he closed in.
The artwork was outstanding. Cast in bronze, gold and pewter, there were intricate inhabitants of the natural world on display, from geckoes to hummingbirds. Little stone figurines were expertly carved. Tiny dragons and galloping horses perched alongside glorious eagles and fantastical creatures.
The man sitting behind the stall’s counter smiled when Teighlar smiled, clearly seeing here was a customer. He did not say anything, allowing his wares to speak for themselves.
When had he last bought something for himself that was not horse flesh? Teighlar grinned as he leaned over the display. Perhaps that small rearing horse would suit him. Still a horse - a man was who he was, after all - but at least not one he instantly wanted to ride. And the tiny hummingbird? Alik would love it.
Making his selection, he straightened.
The man behind was no longer smiling.
In fact, it was no longer the Valleur artist. Teighlar noticed a crumpled form to the left of the stall.
Rivalen unleashed his arms as whips and swiftly gripped the Senlu Emperor by his throat. Squeezing, he hauled Teighlar into the display.
“You know who I am. You are coming with me,” he whispered.
Teighlar remained calm. He did not in any way fight the grip. So this was the freak Rivalen. The creature created of time, a man cursed the moment he was born. At least the descriptions Torrullin shared were accurate. How did the man’s skin move between darkness and light like that? Amazing. Freakish.
“What do you want?” Teighlar gargled through the murderous hold.
He noticed peripherally how Valleur stall owners closed in, having seen the altercation. They would be useless against Rivalen, but they would serve to sound warning.
“You,” Rivalen responded.
“Try it,” Teighlar challenged. His voice came out as a hoarse squeak, but he spoke nonetheless for the ears of the growing gathering behind him. “Remember I am Alexander Diluvan also.”
A gasp moved through the crowd. They had not recognised the Senlu Emperor in his plain garb, had thought him a normal Senlu from Grinwallin, under pressure from someone with perhaps a grudge.
Of course it also revealed Rivalen. It was then clear to the watchers his assailant was no ordinary man either.
“That is why you will come with me,” Rivalen stated. “I have need of Alexander, not Teighlar.” He hauled his prize over the counter, scattering the artist’s beautiful statues.
Somehow that pissed Teighlar off even more than having been caught with his guard down. He lifted his arms as he landed untidily on the other side of the stall, shoved his hands in a prayer-like attitude between Rivalen’s over-stretched arms, and braced sideways. The grip at his neck loosed only slightly. The man was strong indeed.
Rivalen glanced at the gathering of Valleur and must have understood others were on the way. Grinning ferally, he pulled Teighlar close and took him instantly from there.
He made it no further than the first grain silo beyond town, for Teighlar fought the transport. They landed in a heap of arms and legs in the rough stones around the base of the stone tower.
“Do not fuck with me,” Teighlar said, rubbing his neck now that it again belonged to him. “Alexander does not go where another points him. You can render me unconscious and still you cannot take me where I choose not to go.”
Rivalen, untangling, stared at him. “That is quite a talent.”
Huffing in irritation, Teighlar stood. “Why me? What possible long term use am I to you?” He lifted his chin, noticing Senlu soldiers flood the grass beyond them. “First, you cannot take me and, second, using me against Torrullin will help you none.”
Rivalen glanced over his shoulder. He whistled softly. “I am impressed, Emperor. This,” and he waved an arm at the glowering soldiers, “proves you are exactly who I need. This kind of power will aid in my quest, but …” He inclined his head and offered his strange smile. “… to bring you to heel will take too much time. I see that now.”
Teighlar lifted a hand and his soldiers ceased moving forward. “Anything I am able to do, Torrullin can as well. What would you gain? I wonder if you thought about this logically.”
Rivalen nodded. “True … if this was about Torrullin.”
Arms akimbo, Teighlar stared thoughtfully at the giant, white-skinned man. “Elianas? Really? All gods, man, Elianas is even more slippery. You definitely have not thought this through.”
“I care not to manipulate either of those two, not in the manner you suspect,” Rivalen murmured. “I desire what is inside you.”
Teighlar’s eyes narrowed. “Alexander’s power?”
“Alexander’s blood.”
“Why?” Teighlar exclaimed. “You cannot kill me. Why seek my blood?”
Rivalen lifted one hand splayed to the air. A streak of red curled over his palm, tracking the lines. “I do not need your life, just your blood.” Closing his hand into a loose fist, he added, “I would prefer more, which is why I sought to capture you, but this will have to do.”
Teighlar touched his neck to find a nick in his skin. He lifted fingers coated in his blood away, stared at it, then glared at Rivalen. “Why?”
“Watch and learn, Alexander Diluvan. You are not all-powerful.” With that, the creature of time vac
ated the area.
Nonplussed, the Senlu stared at the emptied space.
Then, furious and with Senlu soldiers around him, he returned to the market. The Valleur artist was again on his feet, thank all gods.
Teighlar purchased ten little statues and considered himself the winner in the transaction.
Valaris
The Keep
THE KAVAL TRANSFERRED TO the Keep, there to rest after Millwold.
As yet no human on Valaris had been to what was once Torrullin’s home. The consensus was that they would wait. Valaris and its people understood how precious this place was to the Valla and his family. Perhaps the Vallas would return. Most hoped they would.
Thus the Kaval were undisturbed and alone. The Dome remained hidden for safety reasons and there were few places they could go to without being inundated by others.
Rivalen found them there.
He simply strode into the dining chamber where they were and summarily grabbed the first Kaval member to hand.
Jonas was the unfortunate one.
He squeezed the man’s neck, causing Jonas to splutter, his eyes to bulge. Jonas was not Teighlar.
As the others hurtled to their feet, weapons to hand, with Tristan barging closer and Quilla shifting stealthy to the right, Rivalen demanded, “Where is the Dome?”
No one answered. They watched for weakness, the gap which would allow them to act.
Rivalen twisted the neck in his hands and dropped the lifeless man to the floor. Crowing pleasure, he reached in and hauled Erin to him, his movements swift and certain. No one had opportunity to react; most had for a few precious moments transferred attention to the dead man.
“How many do I kill before you tell me?” Rivalen shouted, applying pressure.
Erin stamped on his feet, but he did not even flinch. She elbowed his gut, but he merely laughed and intensified his grip.”
“Three … two … one …”
Erin joined Jonas on the dining room’s stone tiles.
He reached for Chaim.
Tristan, his face without emotion, said, “You cannot find the Dome unless we recall it.”
Chaim flailed, thin legs kicking the air. He beat ineffectually at Rivalen’s chest, then scrabbled frantically at the hold around his neck.
“One of you do so,” Rivalen threatened. “Now!”
“No,” Tristan said.
Chaim was flung across the space and landed in a motionless heap against the far wall.
Quilla flitted into the space before Rivalen. “Take me,” he said, blue eyes innocent in his tiny face.
Rivalen did, and Quilla transported them away.
“Follow!” Tristan screamed.
Belun elbowed forward. “Quilla knows what to do. We let him do it. If we follow, more will die.” The Centuar swallowed and jerked his head down.
He knelt and placed two fingers in Jonas’ neck.
In silence the others awaited his verdict.
Belun shook his head and they sighed. He moved to Erin and simply drew in a breath for strength after. This time only silence greeted his actions.
Amunti then went to Chaim and hunkered there. “He lives,” he murmured a moment later.
Tristan closed his eyes. “We go to Akhavar for the foreseeable future. Bring them. I have summoned Torrullin.”
With two bodies and one barely breathing old man, the Kaval left the Keep.
Lax
Erithor
QUILLA WAS SWIFT.
Before Rivalen could even begin squeezing his tiny and fragile neck, he assumed the initiative in transport.
Moving across the spaces together in the blink of an eye meant one of the joined two needed to lead and state destination in the ether of their mode of travel. Quilla took that lead and brought them to Erithor where seven angelic statues reposed in unmoving serenity.
He was betting on Rivalen’s surprise to free himself from a life threatening grip.
The giant’s head snapped to the side as he sought to find his bearings and he released the birdman in that instant.
Quilla vanished from there immediately.
Chapter 57
It’s a prejudiced universe, this one
Ixion to Adagin
SNORTING HIS ASTONISHMENT, Rivalen admitted the sentience in this universe was clever indeed. Did he not find himself foiled at every turn?
The boy figures captured his attention. When he destroyed the city yonder he had not seen them. Strange. They were pretty damn obvious. And pretty as statues as well. The kind of angelic perfection that had escaped him from the moment of his birth. Anger seeped through his pores, seeing the beauty on display, but he forced it aside.
If the bird-like being thought to bring him here, an ingenious creature, then this place might possess some kind of meaning.
He stared at the perfection.
His parentage should have gifted him features close to these, along with golden tinged skin, tawny eyes and long fair hair. Instead he was cursed in conception and further cursed in birth. The face he wore as Tannil in exit from the crucible had been expediency and as close as he ever came to normality.
Muttering an oath under his breath to deny this kind of soul-searching - how useless was it to now expect something that could never be - Rivalen lowered to retrieve a rock nestled in the grass under his booted feet. He intended hurling it at the nearest stone face, hopefully to mar those features.
As he bent, his legs gave way.
Knees slammed into the turf.
Rivalen froze.
Control was no longer his.
MY NAME IS UNIMPORTANT, listener; I am a vessel placed and no more. Please do not speak; your task is to listen. We begin.
WHAT IS THIS? Rivalen questioned in his mind, for words had deserted him also, wondering if what hold he had on sanity had finally forsaken him.
He saw red cloaks flutter in the breeze, cloaks that, a moment ago, had not been there. The statues were alive?
Very well, Reaume, tell me your story. Maybe you have the indefinable something I need to ensure victory.
He settled his mind to listen, for here was the birdman’s reason for bringing him to this place.
BEFORE TIME WAS MEASURED there was chaos. All was random and nothing was known. Nothing was fixed and the laws of science had no bearing. There is still chaos and all remains random, for such is the way of immensity. This vastness of time, energy, matter and vacuum requires chaos to survive.
Chaos is the spark of life. You, penitent, seek a way to control it and thus you seek solutions in your unpredictability. Understand this; your actions engender chaos and thus life is sparked. Challenge is a spark. Others now discover answers and are led to more questions. Always one must question, listener, but learn to listen also to the silence. Silence, in all time and realms, is the one true beat of perfection. Tick, tick, time moves to the beat.
To end Time, scream into silence. I am done.
WHAT NONSENSE IS THIS? Rivalen thought as the boy on the far left slumped forward.
What was the meaning of this? Was this inanimate object suggesting that he created in fact his own downfall by creating chaos?
I AM HERE TO remind you of the singing stones. Because you hear me, you have heard also the tales stones are able to tell, their secrets and their prophecies. This is how you escaped the boundaries others imposed on you.
Have you listened well enough, man of time? The true measure of sentience lies in the building blocks of mountains, in the smooth orbs in ancient watercourses, within the mighty boulders that defy all wind and water to remain ever steadfast upon the plains of worlds. And yet, in all that randomness, there is one stone that was, is and will be. It came first and it will be last.
When you find it you will lose your control over the corners and curves. I am done.
I WILL LOSE WHAT made me?
The second boy folded and Rivalen was unmoving. Where were they leading him? By the nose to belief of failure?
Who set these messengers here in stone?
LONG AGES HAVE WE waited here in this space residing only in the sorcery of the true undead. You must be the product of a life undimmed eternally by death, or you would not hear us. There will be few of your kind and always you will be drawn together. Immortality requires witnesses and only others of your kind have the ability to be there.
Long ages ago another undead understood the need for a witness. You, however, are not the first witness. Another has heard these tales and he thus has the power of choice, as you do not.
The Original fashioned the first stone, it was told him, and it became the beginning and therefore also the end. Do not mistake it for godhood. The Original was not God in any form of the faiths of past and present and can never claim to be Mother Universe. The Mother is omnipresent, was then and will be after breath has fled in all spaces. And yet, by virtue of measurement, the Original stands in Time akin to a god. The Original is a myth, listener, and yet the first witness employed this myth to ask the correct questions.
Are you able to ask the same? Be wary of your choices now. What you believe is a choice may in fact be an answer. Be certain of your expectations. I am done.
TORRULLIN! YOU HEARD THIS, did you not? But you heard the Original message, while I am given only warning. What did you discover in these words?
Rivalen did not blink as the third boy fell face first into the dust. He shifted his gaze to the central figure of perfection.
His gut churned.
A TIMEDANCER IS ONE able to bridge the flows. A timedancer cannot die; he, she or it simply becomes something hard to hold and view … and hear. You know this. Already you have shouted it out into the spaces.
Lore of Sanctum Omnibus Page 239
