The Nemisin Star (38 page)

“I have survived worse. Go.”
And may
all your dreams come true, Atrudisin friend,
he thought.

Illness was
not an excuse to send Caltian away, but at least the man would be
safely removed from Valaris. It was also one less parting he had to
deal with face-to-face.

Caltian left
to meet up with Krikian at Ren Lake. He would not see Torrullin
again soon, and the absence would bring on devils avoided as he
grew up.

Torrullin
watched the man leave. Healing hands. It was time once more to deal
with the consequences of life and death. Margus would pay for this
latest insult as well. The Darak Or’s list grew unwieldy.

“Kismet, take
me to Pianote and Darian.”

They entered
the offices where Tristamil spoke with Rillinon the day before and
found it congested with people, many of them ill and dying.

It was minutes
since the two Elders returned with the disease.

Clearly it was
engineered for maximum effect. Outside, the courtyard swelled with
the sick.

“Kismet,
squash that Dinor rumour right now,” Torrullin said, pushing the
man out.

Pianote and
Darian lay side by side on the table and as he watched lesions
appeared and erupted and the sound of their breathing was a gasping
rattle. Gods, it was virulent. It would be difficult to
contain.

Torrullin heard Saska move among the crowd outside -
he
felt
her - and
sensed how calming her presence was. She was, after all, the Lady
of Life. He drew breath, wondering how far her brief stretched. It
had already failed him once. He went to her directly and she shook
her head. Of course. When would it ever be simple?

“Many dead
already, and I am not permitted to raise those who would spread
this. I would be working against the tenets of life.” There was a
trace of fury in her tone. She did not like her brief either.

He wordlessly
returned to the conference room. Someone vomited uncontrollably,
while a few voided their bowels. The smells, sounds, and sights
were appalling.

“Darian is
gone,” a young woman, one of the Keep’s maids, said tearfully. As
she spoke a pustule burst open on her forehead.

Kismet had
followed him back in and retreated in horror; Torrullin gripped his
arm hard. “You are immune and I need your help.”

Kismet
swallowed, eyes reflecting guilty relief, and nodded.

“I want twenty
healthy men outside the Dragon doors in five minutes,” Torrullin
stared him into compliance. “I shall immunise and I want them to
fetch the sick, bring them to the level area outside. We are
creating quarantine. The healthy that have come into contact with
the sick are to be separated for immunisation. The dead are to be
taken to the parade ground in the mountains and burned. Contact the
Farspeakers and the soldiers on duty elsewhere and ask them to do
likewise, if necessary. Got it, Elder?” Kismet stared at him.
Torrullin leaned forward. “Forget the Dinor, the who or what.
Follow my orders!”

Kismet swung
away to fight his way through the growing crowd persistent at the
door, vanishing among the press of people outside. An angry mood
assumed the upper hand and alongside it desperation. Torrullin
muttered, looking over his shoulder.

“I will see to
them,” Saska said from nearby. He had not seen her enter and she
too fought her way out. Soon her voice was heard, remonstrating,
cajoling, giving comfort and restoring order.

Quilla and
four Q’lin’la appeared beside Torrullin and, after gazing at each
other in perturbed silence, the six commenced the long and
laborious task of healing.

Torrullin
reached out to the maid staring at him fixedly, healed her and bid
her find bandages, water, buckets and soap. He made his way to
Pianote.

Behind him the
crowd stirred as Vannis and Tristamil arrived.

They were
still at it, exhausted and unceasing, many hours later.

There was no
time to think, just do, ignoring the smell, the discomfort, the
soiled material gathering under their feet.

The plague
appeared to affect only Valleur. From first contact to death was a
mere hour, and many died, among them the strongest and healthiest.
Many recovered under Torrullin’s ministrations, and Quilla and his
team were as successful.

Initial
immunisation aided in bringing the voraciousness of the disease
under control, and the quarantine area concentrated the sick for
swifter healing, and yet every death weighed heavily. It felt like
failure.

After forty
hours the number of incoming ill dwindled to stragglers.

Quilla
breathed a sigh of heartfelt relief and sent Torrullin away. The
Enchanter was near the point of no return. His hands shook
uncontrollably and his eyes were like brittle glass. Damn the Darak
Or. Damn him to everlasting hell.

Torrullin sat
bone-weary in the dining chamber swallowing down cup after cup of
strong coffee, needing to stay awake until it was over. His hands
continued to shake.

“It is Margus’
doing,” he murmured, raising dulled eyes to Saska opposite him. She
was as exhausted, had never faltered in the preceding hours and,
like him, could not find rest until their minds were eased.

Vannis and
Tristamil sprawled heads on arms on one side of the table,
seemingly asleep. Around them people came and went with food,
water, soap, towels.

“Yes, but this
I couldn’t fix,” Saska whispered.

“He looked at
my hands in the hospital, and this horror was born.”

She simply
gazed at him.

“I cannot
visit this on the innocent, Saska; I cannot, no matter what I have
to ostensibly prove.”

“I know, my
love.”

“And thus he
has the psychological advantage.”

She reached
across the table and took his trembling fingers in her own. “You
need to rest, Torrullin. We can deal with the aftermath in a few
hours.”

“Yes,” he
finally admitted, and rose, swaying. As uncertain on her feet, she
was nonetheless there for him, and the two helped each other from
the chamber.

In the new
silence Vannis raised his head and then crashed down again. He was
among those to take the dead to the parade ground in the mountains,
a grim task he had used his simmering anger to accomplish.

Raken, I do
not want this life any longer.

Two men lifted
him onto an empty couch, but when they leaned in to help Tristamil,
the younger man straightened and rose unaided.

Lifesource
Temple

Tristamil went
to Mitrill at the Lifesource.

She was in
tears, afraid for her father, guilty over staying away, and he
wanted to check on Skye and dared not. In an emotionally charged
atmosphere they managed to calm each other.

Nearby Cat and
Lowen murmured in subdued voices, wondering what happened out in
the world.

Cat would not
remain out of the fray much longer.

The Keep

When the body
count came in, four hundred men, women and children were dead,
including in that number half the Keep’s retainers - the other half
were human - as well as the Elders Pianote, Darian and Rillinon,
Mitrill’s adoptive father.

Tristamil had
briefly shown signs of illness, but Saska came upon him and hauled
him to his father.

The Valleur
were not scientists and had therefore no name for the horrific
disease, nor means to scientifically prevent reoccurrence - magic
made it; only magic could stop it.

To prevent it
reoccurring meant the creator of the disease had to be
curtailed.

Lifesource
Temple

Again
Tristamil went to Mitrill, and held her as she sobbed for
Rillinon.

He
already understood how it felt to
lose a father.

Shared pain
brought them closer. He realised he could love her.

His heart was
breaking.

Change in full
glory and emotion is again upon us.

~ Unknown

The Keep

I
t was a sombre gathering in the
Throne-room, encompassing the remaining Valleur of
Valaris.

The massive
chamber seemed empty. The human leaders were in attendance, as well
as the Q’lin’la. Gren and Belun were unobtrusive in the background
and would return to the Dome near Glorium after the meeting. Cat,
Lowen and Skye were there, sitting together in subdued silence. Cat
had insisted and Quilla agreed.

Torrullin sat
on the Throne listening to reports concerning the evacuation. The
news was good; near half the human population had left, the north
was safely ensconced, all travellers had left taking the last
offworlders to safety, and everyone else prepared for disaster.

Yet he found
his mind wandering and largely his thoughts centred on Torrke. What
did the unique intelligence that was Torrke know that he,
Torrullin, was clearly unaware of? Saska nudged him and he gave his
full attention to the gathering. They had exhausted news on
preparation and waited for him to speak. Gods, he wanted to crawl
into a dark hole.

Finding the
required fortitude, he then commenced the reading of the long list
of the dead. After every name spoken someone rose to speak in
memorial. There were unashamed tears, and there was also laughter
when someone shared an anecdote.

When
Rillinon’s name was called Mitrill rose from her seat among the
Elder families and spoke eloquently for the only father she
remembered. She was calm and Tristamil’s gaze was unblinking on
her.

Hours later
three new Elders were sworn in; Pretora’s son Prestor, Nanari, an
excellent communicator and farspeaker, and Caballa. Her status had
risen considerably since her involvement with the Dragon saga and
thus there were no murmurs. All three took their new seats and
positions in the Valleur hierarchy, with due reverence. Torrullin
declared a recess and called Matt to him, telling him to take the
time with his family.

Three days had
passed, and it was time for Matt to speak the words of formal
oath.

Matt drew Cat
and Lowen into a quiet space near the big tree.

He was glad
Quilla brought them, or time would be wasted in fetching. It was
time to say farewell for ten long years. He had not told either of
them about his oath. Now he had little time to explain it.

Lowen looked
up at him. “You are going away.”

She would be
in her twenties before he saw her again. “Yes.”

Cat frowned.
“Are you off on some crazy mission again, like world hopping? Matt,
you were like the walking dead after that! Why do it again?”

He took her
hand and held it. “Cat, it’s not world hopping. It’s training.”

“In what?” she
lashed out, sensing how serious he was and that she could not come.
They did most things together in the past, had supported each other
in everything. Until recently he was her lifeline, her only true
friend, her family.

He squeezed
his eyes shut. His sister would be forty when he returned. He would
miss out on the last years they could go adventuring. They had
flown together throughout the universe, supported each other in the
nightmare that was Xen, whispered in the dark about fearing their
uncle, Reni the Peacekeeper, and accepted employment with Torrullin
as a team, flying thereafter directly into danger in the Forbidden
Zone. They fought with others in the Atrudis War. And now their
adventuring days would be curtailed. He did not doubt his decision,
but he wished there was a simpler way to achieve it.

“I’m off to do
Valleur training.”

“Magic?” Lowen
asked.

“Yes,
sorcery.”

Cat was
horrified. “Why?” She made to snatch her hand from his, but he held
on.

“I am a
Valleur subject.”

“So?”

“Cat, please
listen, I don’t have much time …”

“Why not, by
God?”

“Man, you are
stubborn. Will you just listen?”

She nodded.
Her fingers latched onto his hands.

“During that
time we world hopped, I realised I needed to stake a place among
the Valleur for the future. I saw how much Torrullin, Tristamil and
Vannis cared about their people, so much so they flitted throughout
the universe to keep the Darak Or away. I saw that same caring on
Luvanor. You are going to say humans have it too. Well, I don’t
really agree. Look at Xen; look at the militaristic regime on Ceta
and the overcrowding on Beacon. That is just three worlds.
Valarians are great, but they are also kind of insular - they care
what happens to Valaris’ humans only. The Valleur take a broad,
long view and care in great amounts to protect the future. All
future, not just theirs. Cat, that is a great ideal, and I want to
be part of it.” He paused and she did not interrupt. “Living on
Valaris is fantastic, but it makes me a Valarian, and I want to be
Valleur. I obviously can’t be of the blood, and so I chose to
become a subject …” He shook his head when she tried to speak. “I
swore an oath of allegiance to Torrullin.”

She tore her
hand from his. “You did what?”

Lowen stared
up without speaking.

“It was an
informal oath and afterward he told me there would be training
involved.”

“He could have
warned you!”

“He tried to,
but I want this too much. Three days ago he gave me the opportunity
to withdraw and I denied him. Cat, understand, I’m doing this
whether or not you agree.”

She stared at
her brother unblinkingly, and Lowen murmured, “In our own ways
we’re all making oaths to Torrullin.”