The Nemisin Star (43 page)

“After all
that, he fought for his soul with fire the light between two
protagonists. Thereafter he issued the Three Voices and watched
Margus surrender life, and it was so depraved he cannot confront it
sufficiently to cease seeing it in dreams. One would think he would
wave his mighty hand over the fire to extinguish it. One would have
thought he would change what is here in order to cope.”

She shook
Tristamil’s arm. “He did none of that. He left the Pillars of Fire
as they were meant from the moment Valaris was born. He understood
that fire is life, even if it isn’t the ideal we accept.”

He gazed down
and faintly he could hear the whoosh of the continuous explosions.
“What am I to take from that?”

“Under the
surface is deceit. Less than three decades ago this was a place
filled with life, and now that has been revealed as a lie. Worlds
are like that. One sees them as wholesome, fertile, life
sustaining, but underneath is death or the ability to engender
death. Every death birthed a world. Every world hosts death. Souls
are exactly the same, for every sentient is a universe in
microcosm. And thus it follows that beneath is the deceit we
understand as death.”

“Death is
deceit?”

“Tris, you are
not listening. Death is fire. And until we recognise that, we
regard it as deceit.”

“Caballa, I do
not quite understand.”

“You are
young. The concept longevity has not pestered you …”

“Meaning?”

“Well, do you
think it is easy to live long? After a while the years get to one.
The Valleur live long, too long, I think, but that is neither here
nor there. We live long and when the time comes and we show age in
our final century, we are relieved. If you do not believe that,
speak to the grey ones in Menllik. But, conversely, we also regard
death as a kind of betrayal, life’s one great deceit. We bemoan the
years, but would not surrender them willingly. Until there is no
choice. And then there is epiphany. And we are transformed.”

He looked at
her.

She gave a
laugh. “And I have confused you further. You see, once you stop
fighting, you begin to see beyond the boundaries. It is close to
peeking into other realms, without stepping over. You realise there
is more than this timeline, and it could be the greatest adventure
of eternity. Death is but a step into another life. Death,
therefore …”

“… is fire,”
Tristamil said quietly. “It births worlds. It births souls.”

“Yes,” she
affirmed. She gestured at the Pillars. “When your father left these
to burn, he acknowledged that life and death are intertwined.”

“Fine.
So?”

“Can your
father die, Tris?”

He stared at
her.

She lifted her
brows. “Stumped?”

“He says he is
a true Immortal.”

“Ah. No death.
Where is the fire, then?”

Tristamil
swore and trudged to the pile of shattered rock. He found a stone
large enough to sit on, and did, to stare at the grit between his
booted feet, hands hanging limply from his knees, to sift through
the seer’s words.

Caballa
meanwhile opened her mind to look at the Pillars of Fire directly,
stressful as it was to her. She considered them beautiful, for they
belonged to this world as much as lakes and oceans did. Then she
closed her sight off and moved to find the young man.

He lifted his head. “Where
is
his fire, Caballa?”

“That is the
question, isn’t it?”

“Why have you
brought me to this point?”

Caballa moved
closer. “Is there a stone for me?”

He moved from
the one he sat on and led her to it. As she perched, he commenced
pacing.

She twitched
her gown around her knees and rested her hands in her lap. “I
brought you here for you to understand why he needs to leave. And
why he may take some time in returning. Torrullin the father
desires to be with you, to lead you to the point you take the
Throne from him, but Torrullin the Enchanter is exhausted and
disillusioned. Jaded. Without impetus. This is the result of long
uncounted years, although he does not know that yet. Tristamil,
your father is a wielder of the Light …”

Tristamil
gaped.

“Surprised you
again, have I? Well, he is. It is not missing or absent or in
retreat - he can call to it at will. He considers it as less,
because it has not the attraction of death. It has no fire.”

He tore his
hands through his hair.

She laughed
again. “These are the nuances, my young friend. And you have not
learned to see around them.”

“So state it
plain!”

“Fine,” she
responded with asperity. “Plain talk. Do not interrupt. The
Enchanter will leave, because he must. He must, because he will
suffocate otherwise. When he leaves, he leaves a void. The Light
the Kallanon queen seeks will go with him - he can, after all,
summon it at will. This is where you fit in. You are that part of
him that will go missing, and thus your real gift to him will be to
step into that void. By assuming your true destiny, you restore
balance.”

“It cannot be
that simple!”

“It is not
simple! How hard must you fight to get it back? Tell me! How far
have you strayed?” She pointed a finger at him. “Before I came here
I induced a vision. I sought to understand how it is you fell into
Mitrill’s destiny …”

“Was it meant
to be Tymall for her?”

“No!”

“But you saw
kinfire for her. You told her she had to sleep … oh. You thought it
would be …”

“Your father.
Yes.”

“That is
sick!”

“Is it?
Really?”

He did not
answer. He dared not, for, yes, it would be perversity.

She said,
“Perhaps you are right. As it is, he would not have touched her and
she would have been destroyed by the denial.”

He stared at
her in desperation, trying hard to understand.

“Tris, she
carries the Valleur heir. That was her destiny on Ardosia, because
Dantian had no future. Dante was the one meant to birth Vallorins,
and he did - he sired Mitrill. I saw that she would bring Vannis’
two lines back into one, and she will do exactly that. I saw
kinfire as the catalyst and thus prepared her. I did not see the
face of her lover … or husband …” She shrugged and smiled at him.
“I assumed it would be your father, because that made sense.”

“How is
that?”

“Twins at war
did not engender security.”

“Mitrill was
the failsafe?”

“Yes. Even
your father knew that.”

He closed his
eyes.

“You, however,
have a different reason for marrying the fair Mitrill. And it has
taken you far from the Light.”

“What have you
seen regarding my reasons?” Tristamil snapped.

“Not much, but
I understand certain nuances.”

“Ah. And they
are?”

“Let me see.
Your father is leaving us and that means he has somehow to stage
his death. You have recently been acknowledged as the son
recognised in the womb, and thus desire time to know your father,
as is proper. It will hurt when he goes, and thus you aim to make
the separation as short as possible. The only way to do that safely
is to prepare a host for your reincarnate father. Enter Valleur
womb awareness. Enter Mitrill. A woman already toying with fate.
How am I doing?”

“Too
well.”

Caballa
nodded. “There is one glaring error in your reasoning.”

“He will deny
the child?”

“He does not
need the child.”

“He is not
certain of that.”

“
I
am
certain.”

Tristamil
immediately crouched before her. “A vision?”

She took his
face into her hands. “I have told you many things, but that I
cannot reveal. That would be tweaking so badly we may never recover
from it. Please do not press me.”

He did not
move from her touch. “Caballa, what am I to do?”

“Follow your
heart.”

“That would
undo all my plans.”

She smiled
sadly. “Exactly. And return the Light.”

He took her
hands from his face and held them. “Skye?”

“Skye is
paramount to your wellbeing, yes, but she is not alone in that.
Accept the babe as your son, a true son. And honour your wife, for
she is of ultimate importance to the Valleur. We will mourn your
father’s passing, but a child will put us on the road to
recovery.”

“You know she
is pregnant?”

“A boy. I
sensed it.”

“Does my
father know?”

“Not yet.”

“What am I to
do?” he asked again.

“Find the
Light.”

“Do I turn my
back on my father?” The words tore from him. “I have the manner of
his return prepared!”

Caballa freed
her hands from his and reached out to smooth his hair from his
face. “The decision is yours. I have done what I can to present you
with choices.”

He nodded and
rose. Choices, and a lot to think about. “I can only promise to
think about it.”

“That is a
start.”

His gaze fell
again on the explosive columns below. “Did you bring me here to
show me how life and death is intertwined?”

“This is where
Margus wrote our future. Death is not the end.”

He blinked. He
was beginning to understand that. “Will my father find the fire he
requires in the realm beyond, Caballa?”

“Not this
time.”

He blinked
again. “He will do this again?”

“There are
other ways to enter realms.”

He groaned. “I
cannot take much more of this cryptic stuff.”

“And I have
had enough of speaking them. We can discuss this again, if you
like.”

“I am not sure
that I do.”

“Well, you are
young … time will come.” She shivered, but he, fortunately, was
looking the other way.

Love is
life.

~ Truth

The Keep

A
table stood under the window
covered in a plain white tablecloth; it was set for two.

Fluttering in
the slight draught, a single candle. Outside the Arrows were lit in
amber. Tristamil entered and his gaze went to the view, and those
tawny glows reminded him forcefully of the Pillars of Fire. His
gaze settled on the table. He felt as if he entered into a staged
setting; his gut tightened in dread.

“Husband.”

Mitrill came
from the bathroom wearing a plain white caftan. The silk rustled
against her skin as she approached.

“I did not
mean to frighten you,” she said.

“You
didn’t.”

She waved at
the table. “Are you hungry?”

Actually, he
was. He came up to their suite to ask whether she had eaten and, if
she had not, wanted to suggest they go down for an early supper.
But this … his appetite fled.

“I could
eat.”

She smiled.
“Good. Sit. I shall serve.”

Tristamil
blinked and sat. Again the view drew his attention. As he watched,
the clouds closed and the glows vanished. He was not certain if
that made him feel better. He was Valleur, after all, and it could
be construed as an omen.

“Eat.”

Twitching, he
exited reverie, to find his plate loaded with vegetables and strips
of chicken. “Mitrill, forgive me. I do not seem to be good
company.”

“That is why I
had this prepared. You are thinking too much now. Yesterday you
were acting, and thus could put thought aside …”

He did not
want to hear it. “You are right. Thank you for doing this.”

She lifted a
wineglass significantly. Lifting the open bottle of white near his
elbow, he filled her goblet and his own. They lightly touched
vessels.

“I wanted to
thank you,” she said.

“For
what?”

“My honour.
Status. You need not have married me.”

“I promised
your father.”

She nodded as
if that confirmed something. “Only he knew.” She smiled. “You have
honour. I admire that.”

He replaced
his glass without drinking and found his fork. “What is this really
about?”

“Can we not
have a meal in private as husband and wife?”

He was being
boorish. “Of course. Forgive me, I had a stressful day.”

Mitrill smiled
as if unaware of undercurrents. “There is nothing to forgive. Let
us eat and be ourselves for a while.”

Dipping his
fork into the vegetables, he had a mouthful. After he managed to
swallow, he asked, “Who are we?”

She laid her
utensils down with a sigh. “This is not working.”

“That depends
on your intention.”

“You are too
clever. Fine, Tris, I wanted to draw you out, talk about what
troubles you.”

“Why?” He took
a large swig of his wine.

“Because we
made a child.”

He stared at
her. “Why have we done that?”

“To fuse the
bloodline. To prevent future strife.”

“That sounds …
cold.”

“It is. And
then I realise I have a child growing inside me and I do not care
why it happened, only that it did, and that I love him
already.”

Tristamil
blinked and smiled, and understood she was concerned for their son,
as a mother would be, and it soothed him. “You will be a good
mother, Mitrill.”

She returned
the smile. “Thank you.” She lifted her glass. “My final sip.”

He grinned and
raised his glass to touch hers, and ceremoniously they both
sipped.

Mitrill
laughed after and placed her glass before him. “Finish it, before
my resolve fails!”

Laughing too,
he tucked into the meal with gusto.

Later, as she
cleared away, he sat in the other window and watched the evening
vanish into night.

“Tris, do you
love this child?”

He turned his
head to find her watching him, cradling the two wineglasses to her
chest as if the thought had just occurred to her.