The Dreamer Stones (58 page)

“Torrullin
brought you yesterday and put you into enchanted sleep.” She
squeezed Saska’s hand and smiled.

“He’s
back?”

“He has an
errand, but will be back before dark.”

“He came back?
He got through?”

Caballa
nodded. “The Throne.”

Saska sighed,
drew her hand away and smiled at the woman. “Gods, you won’t
believe it, I had a nightmare about darkling-soltakin …” Her words
came to an end. “It’s true?”

“Yes.”

Saska wrapped
herself in her arms. “I hoped … I-I saw them enter Galilan … I hid
… I hid like a frightened rabbit, I was useless …”

“Saska. Many
are dead, human and golden. You did the most sensible thing you
could, do you understand?”

“I should have
tried …”

“Tried what?”
Caballa whispered, leaning forward. “To die? Gods, woman, your
husband returned as Elixir! He’s not the same! Had you been dead,
he … gods, he would have exploded! You alive meant he could revert
to Enchanter for this battle. Do not blame yourself for hiding -
gods, we all hid at the bloody Keep!” Caballa drew breath. “What
else was there to do but survive?”

Saska heard
none of that, except … “He’s not the same?”

Caballa sat
back. “He pretends to be as before, but no.”

Saska nodded
and sat straighter. Her colour and resilience returned. “Where is
he?”

Caballa
debated and then, “I don’t know.” The truth, after all.

“Offworld.”

A rueful
smile. “I’m afraid so.”

Saska rose
from the bed. “Well, the last thing he needs is a weak, bed-ridden
wife; I’m okay, leave me now.” She vanished into the bathroom.

Caballa,
shaking her head and thinking she had not handled that well, left
the chamber.

The child was
near death, and there was nothing she could do.

Lowen looked
up from the tiny form to stare at the mother, who nodded and
gathered the little one to her breast, walking wordlessly away.
Watching her go, impotent fury infused Lowen. Torrullin should be
here helping these children.

She drew deep
breaths, telling herself she was unrealistic. Torrullin could not
be everywhere at once and could not therefore save every dying
child. To expect it was not only selfish but also unfair.

Gazing blindly
at the empty makeshift bed she did not see Saska descend the stairs
into the courtyard, did not see her stop and stand dead still when
she caught sight of Lowen at the row of beds beside the Dragon
doors.

She did not
see the spasm that crossed Saska’s face, but she heard Samuel come
up behind her whispering, “Head’s up, Lowen, Saska’s coming
over.”

Lowen gulped a
breath and forced herself to tidy the bed as if nothing was wrong,
when nothing was right. Then she took another breath and glanced
up.

Saska stood
nearby, watching in silence.

“Saska, it’s
good to see you … up.”

Saska nodded.
“I’ll cope, thank you.”

“Um, I-I … I’m
examining the children as they arrive …”

“I see that.
Admirable. You came with Torrullin?”

It was
unexpected and caught her off guard. “Yes, via the Throne.”

“I see. He
needed you on Valaris. With him.”

Lowen
straightened. “What are you implying?”

A cold smile.
“The Throne would not bring you in unless you were … together. What
was it? An embrace? A kiss? Or more than that?”

Lowen paled.
“It was to bring me in, Saska.”

“How,
Lowen?”

Lowen glanced
to her left and noticed Samuel ostensibly tidying a nearby bed. He
was of no help. She turned back to Saska. “A kiss, but it was
expediency.”

Saska nodded,
smiled, and was frostier than ever. “To him, perhaps … but for you?
You can barely look me in the eye and your hands are shaking.
Guilt?” She stepped closer and whispered, “I couldn’t stop him with
Lycea or Cat, but so help me, Lowen, I’ll not allow you to take my
husband from me, understand? I shall, I swear, kill you first.”

She turned on
her heel and stalked through the subdued crowds.

Lowen released
an explosive breath and turned away. Found Samuel there looking at
her. “Gods, Samuel, not you, too! It was no more than a platonic
kiss!”

Samuel stared
back. “It’s not my place to judge, but you’re lying.”

Her eyes
dropped. “It got to me, that’s all. Come, Samuel, sex and I, we’re
not exactly … bedfellows, you know?” She coloured and turned
away.

Samuel sighed.
“Just don’t lie to yourself, Lowen.” He moved on further up the row
of beds to see to a young boy calling for him.

Lowen stared
down at her hands - they were indeed shaking - and wondered if she
was
lying to herself.

Then,
resolutely, she got on with her task.

Saska found
Caballa in the kitchen overseeing the large volumes of food in
preparation, and called her outside.

They exited
the small door at the back into the rambling herb garden. It had
not received attention in a while.

“You look
better,” Caballa murmured.

Saska was
dressed for battle - breeches, boots, narrow but warm overcoat, her
bluish hair tied away from her face. She stood with her hands deep
in her pockets and returned Caballa’s study.

The Valleur
woman usually wore a robe of some design and even now it was no
different, although, admittedly, it was both warm and practical, of
a dark blue, her feet encased in long, sturdy boots. Her golden
hair was tied and tendrils escaped, and it was part of her
charm.

“Caballa,”
Saska said in surprise, “you are a beautiful woman.”

Caballa smiled
uncertainly. “Thank you. What brought that on?”

“Am I?
Beautiful?”

Caballa’s
uncertainty cleared. Ah. Insecurity. Jealousy? “Need you ask?”

“Today I do,
yes.”

“Well, then
yes. No, don’t turn away. You’re beautiful, and you know that. What
is it?”

“I don’t know.
I miss him, I suppose.” Could she confide in Caballa? What did this
woman feel for her husband?

“Ask me,”
Caballa insisted as if reading her thoughts. “I’ll not hold
anything back from you, I swear.”

Saska sighed
and moved along the overgrown paths amid aromatic herbs. “Do you
love him, Caballa?”

Caballa
followed, unafraid. “Yes.”

Saska’s steps
faltered, but she did not turn. Moving on, she asked, “Have you …?”
She could not complete the words.

“Yes. A long
time ago. Once.”

Saska came to
a halt. She did not turn. “Where was I?”

“Away,”
Caballa answered. “We both needed the comfort; it was no more than
that. No regrets. We are friends now, good friends.”

“Yet you say
you love him.”

“Saska, look
at me.” Caballa waited until Saska found the courage to turn and
meet her eyes. “Many have loved that man and many will in the
future. He rarely reciprocates. He loves you and no other.”

Saska’s eyes
blinked closed and then opened slowly. “And Lowen?”

The crux of
the matter. “Honestly? I’m not sure.”

“Guess,” Saska
whispered.

Caballa found
an old stump to sit on. Staring into the tangle of bush on the
other side of the path, she said, “Well, I believe if you dwell on
something long enough, suspect without proof, ask uncomfortable
questions, you may create the very situation you’re attempting to
avoid. Let it go. Men are strange creatures - force him into either
denial or confirmation and, true or not, he may turn around and do
something stupid out of anger.”

“You’re not
answering me.”

“No?” Caballa
looked up, her gaze serious. “Ask him if there’s a relationship
between him and Lowen and he will say yes, for there is one. It’s
not what you think, but insist and it may become what you fear. Let
it go. Trust him and it will reward you.”

“She feels
something …”

“Of course she
does!” Caballa blurted. “The scullery maids feel something for him!
Torrullin is charismatic and so damn difficult to know it brings
out every womanly instinct in every sane woman! One would have to
be without intelligence, sight, hearing, sense in all things to not
feel something.”

Saska
spluttered and then chuckled, her stern demeanour relaxing. “I
guess so.”

“Damn
right.”

“But … Cat,
Caballa? Why was she different?”

“Cat was a
lost soul, my dear, and so was he back then. She needed him and he
needed to be needed, hmm?”

Saska inclined
her head. She needed him back then and he had not seen it, perhaps
she had not shown him … but that was gone. The time to change it
was gone and still she would pay.

One day soon
Torrullin would find out she allowed his child to die. Cat’s child.
And now, Lowen. Did
she
need him? Would he respond to that?
Would this cycle of infidelity start again?

“I’ll say
nothing, but so help her if she … if she …”

“Don’t do this
to yourself. You are his wife.”

Saska nodded.
It had not stopped him in the past.

“Caballa, has
he ever mentioned …? Maybe I shouldn’t go
there
.”

Caballa,
Valleur Elder and seer, was intrigued. “Another woman to capture a
roving eye?”

“You admit he
has a roving …”

“No. I’m
trying to prompt you into revealing what is obviously a deeper
secret. I’m curious.”

Saska sighed.
“As you say, sometimes it’s better not to ask, to question, but,
Caballa, between you and me, for years he has dreamed of someone
called Elianas.”

Caballa
frowned. “That’s a man’s name. A frightening one, too.”

“I know - what
do you mean, frightening?”

“Elianas means
nemesis
.”

Saska stared
at her, and shivered.

The Elder’s
frown deepened. “You’re not making sense, Saska.”

“No, I guess
not, it doesn’t matter.”

She brushed
past Caballa and entered the Keep to vanish within.

Caballa rose
and made her way indoors as well.

She would
follow her own advice. She would say nothing, ask nothing, for in
doing something she could stir the pot and set things in motion.
No, she would watch and hope and, if it came to that, warn Lowen
when her life was in danger.

While she
watched, she would look into her visions for a snapshot of this
mysterious Elianas.

Chapter
Forty-Seven

The trees
whisper, the mist thickens and the stone is slick and cold. Sharpen
your knives now and bring forth the sacrifice.

Arun, druid

The surgeon’s
name was Lorer Garin, a married man with two young children.

He adored his
kids and would do everything for them, so when the fair man asked
to see his son, Garin’s heart contracted in sympathy and he
immediately took him to the intensive care facility. He recalled,
yes, the feverish curses the sick young man heaped on his father,
but delirium was delirium and not to be trusted.

No, the father
was here and that was a good sign; it might even aid the young
man’s recovery.

He led him to
the small glassed-in chamber where the man tossed and muttered,
explaining it was a sealed unit to prevent contamination. Germs
could worsen an already dangerous infection.

Torrullin had
to don complete surgical gear to visit with his boy. Torrullin
expressed his willingness and while he suited up the surgeon
succinctly revealed details of the mutilation and subsequent
operative procedures. Torrullin listened in silence, suspecting the
man would have him in chains if he were not suitably concerned and
attentive.

Finally,
covered head to toe in sickly green gear, Lorer Garin permitted
Torrullin to enter, remaining outside.

It was a
gesture of privacy only, for all manner of monitors and sensors
revealed every movement, heartbeat and word on a bank of screens
beyond the chamber. Again, Torrullin had to let it go, for if he
dared seal the technology from inside, Garin would yank him out
before he even reached the bed.

He hoped the
good doctor could not understand Valleur. And would misinterpret
Tymall’s reaction to seeing his father as a product of his
illness.

Ignoring the
watchful figure at the window, Torrullin approached the bed.

Tymall was
lost under tubes, nodes and monitoring devices. A curious tenting
effect obscured his lower body, to keep the material from touching.
His skin was pasty, the gold undertones missing, and a thin film of
moisture shone under the overhead lighting. Deep purple gouges
underscored his eyelids, the eyes moving ceaselessly underneath.
His lips were thin, cracked and colourless and his streaked hair
matted and damp. Two bright flashes of scarlet came and went upon
his stretched cheeks. He seemed to be wasting away.

Torrullin drew
a deep breath and found it unsteady. He could not afford pity, but
this was his only living son. Had he not the right as a father to
ease his child’s suffering? He stared down, and knew pity. For a
moment it nearly crippled him, nearly swayed him, and then he drew
on Elixir’s encompassing sight. No. Tymall did things he needed pay
for in this reality.

Realising he
still held his breath, Torrullin allowed it to explode out and felt
better. Almost, but not quite emotionless.

“Doctor
Garin,” he said softly, and waited.

The man
replied immediately. “Yes?”

Every word
could be heard. “Can you mute the lighting? This harshness is
disturbing, and would not be comforting to wake up to.”

“We require
light to monitor …”

“I believe
there are enough sensors on my son.”

A moment’s
silence and then, “Perhaps you’re right.” Lorer Garin’s voice
lifted somewhat at the end as if seeking to put a name to the man
inside the cubicle.