The Nemisin Star (61 page)

Her eyes
widened. “That is why Tris may not see him?” He did not answer.
“Maybe he should get a chance to say goodbye also.”

“It’s not that
simple, Lowen.”

She sat on the
bed next to him and took his hand. “I know I’m just a child …”

“You are not a
child.”

A beat, two,
and then she went on as if he had not spoken. “… but I see things
and I see you exposing your emotions, one after the other, like you
can’t help it, can’t stop it. On Luvanor you were different, only
occasionally allowing emotion through, but here …”

“My mask has
slipped.”

“That is
better.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.
Especially now. I think you are instinctively finding the ways and
that means letting it out, taking it in. Real life.”

“At the
thirteenth hour.”

“The best time
… and your last chance.”

“True.”

“Now you must
deal with Tymall or it will be unfinished.”

“I have.”

“You have to
remember the good times - there were good times, weren’t there?” He
nodded after a moment. “Tell me, what do you remember first?”

Torrullin
glanced at her, a skewed unwillingness, and then unseeingly at the
opposite wall where a large map of Valaris hung above an ornate
dark wood cabinet of drawers.

“The day Lycea
brought the twins here for the first visit. Until then I went to
the Palace to see them, but that day … poor Saska didn’t know what
to do with me. She had prepared a ground floor nursery and was,
looking back, apprehensive, but Lycea treated her like a sister and
it went well. There we were, three adults on the floor like kids,
playing with two babies - it was a really good day. I think I made
my final decision then; I would not distinguish between them and in
no way were they ever to experience reservation from their
father.”

“It was the
right thing to do. Tell me about Tymall with you.”

“They were
seven. Tymall had a nightmare and I heard him calling and went to
him. He never did tell me the subject of his dream, but I stayed
with him the rest of the night and neither of us slept. We spent
the hours talking, everything, anything, small topics, large
issues, well, from a child’s perspective, and were closer after
that, not just love, but mutual respect.”

He smiled.
“There was the time I was teaching them to swim, Valleur can
breathe underwater, did you know?” Lowen shook her head. “They can,
but we are not truebloods and Tymall was bent on proving he could.”
Torrullin chuckled. “He nearly drowned and despite my warnings
tried it again; the young swipe knew I would heal him if it went
too far. Tris thought it was the funniest thing, one of the few
times I saw him laugh with his brother rather than at him.”

“And Tymall
the young man?”

“Good times?
Very few, I am afraid. He was aware of his power and used it
largely against Saska.”

“Torrullin
…”

He put his
other hand over hers. “I know what you are doing and you may be
right, but I am too much a realist.”

“You are not
just a realist; that simplifies you. And you have to remember
something nice.”

Looking at
their linked hands, he sighed. “The Dalrish clan, my
confessors.”

She shuddered,
but he did not feel it. She would remind him of those words one
day. One day.

“The day of
their Coming-of-Age he told me he loved me and thanked me for
loving him. I knew then which nature was dominant, but I was
overwhelmed. Despite what he was, he loved me.” Torrullin looked at
the serious young girl at his side. “I thought he hated me, Lowen,
so it was … it was the best day.”

“That is what
you need to hold in your heart.”

“I try … I
will try.”

She smiled and
leaned nearer to kiss his cheek. “I love you, too, Torrullin.”

He put an arm
around her and pulled her close, “And I you, little one. Will you
do something for me?”

“Cat?”

“Yes. She will
need help to come to terms with my leaving. She is strong, but she
will grieve, I think, in a manner to debilitate her.” He drew
breath. “I think she may be pregnant. I am not sure - human
genetics block awareness. Lowen, you may have to separate her from
Saska if it is true.” His head lowered, but she saw the faint light
in them, shining almost like … love.

“I thought you
couldn’t father more children.”

“Far too
sharp, my young friend. So did I, but I have also learned the usual
rules of immortality do not apply to me.” He looked up. “I dare not
dwell on this; a child, when I am about to lose my sons? A slippery
slide I must avoid.”

“Both of
them?”

“Unfortunately.”

She chewed at
her lip. “I’ll take care of Cat, don’t worry.”

“Thank you.
Tell her, later, when she is able to hear you. Tell her that I told
you I loved her … all right?”

“Is that the
truth?”

A brief pause,
“All that is human in me loves her.”

A few minutes
later Torrullin and Lowen, hand in hand, rejoined Dalrish in the
courtyard. He was talking to Saska.

“Science and
magic together,” Saska said. “A novel concept for Valaris.”

“For many
worlds, I think,” Dalrish responded in amusement, and caught sight
of his daughter. Saska had also assured him Lowen would come to no
harm, but he was nevertheless relieved to see her safe. By the look
of the Vallorin, she had worked her magic. How many times had she
not pulled him, her father, from the doldrums? “Hey, sweetheart;
ready to go?”

“Yup. Where’s
Cat?”

“Here,” her
voice came as she strode out.

“You have
nothing to take with you?” Saska asked Lowen.

“I packed a
few things,” the girl replied self-consciously.

Torrullin
snapped his fingers and five loaded bags appeared beside him. One
was Cat’s holdall from the ship she came in on, another was Matt’s,
and the other three were obviously Lowen’s. “Three bags,
Lowen?”

“Um, well, my
dad sent me from Xen with …”

“I’m teasing.
Quilla!”

Coming,
Enchanter.
The birdman materialised near the bags and sized
matters. “You want that I transfer our guests?”

“Cat and
Lowen,” Torrullin murmured.

“The bags? Let
me deal with those while you say goodbye. Back in a moment.” Quilla
and the five bags vanished.

Dalrish
whistled. “I have seen it before, but it continues to amaze.”

Saska knelt
before Lowen, “Don’t be sad now.”

“I’m not.
Torrullin won’t really be gone.” As Saska rose, covering her
surprise, Lowen tugged at Torrullin’s hand.

He lifted her
into his arms and held her. Quilla reappeared as he lowered her to
the ground, the two grinning at each other.

She wagged her
finger and went to stand beside the birdman. She noticed Vannis
near the Dragon doors, watching with detached calm, and waved at
him. He waved back, seeing in her eyes that she knew the situation.
He touched his forehead to her, a mark of respect, and she touched
her heart, a mark of love. They smiled at each other.

Cat and
Torrullin had locked gazes. Saska refused to budge.

Dalrish looked
from one to the other.

“This is it,
then,” Cat said.

Torrullin
closed the gap and took her face in his hands. “Take care, Cat.
There is a future beyond this.”

She frowned
and nodded, holding his hands to her face. Tears formed in her dark
eyes. He kissed her gently and her hands tightened on his - the
kiss deepened, deepened, and then he jerked himself away.

“Quilla. Now.”
Anguish in those words.

Quilla took
Lowen’s hand, laid the other on Cat’s shoulder, and they were gone.
To the last second Cat had not taken her eyes from the man she
loved.

“You liar!”
Saska said, striding off, leaving Dalrish and Torrullin to glance
at each other.

Play the
fiddle, fiddler! Dance a jig, jester! Serve your king, slave! Do
this until you have nothing left to give! Kings have no conscience
or compassion … and neither do I!

~ Tattle’s
Blunt Adventures

The Keep

E
vening
came, and then night, and Torrullin listened to the voices around
him.

He sat on the
Throne to absorb as much power as he could for the approaching
battle, and on couches drawn up in a jagged semi-circle about the
golden seat was Vannis, Tristamil, Quilla, Saska and Dalrish. In
that order from his left.

Dalrish
expressed a desire to meet the Kallanon, the tale of the mighty
Dragons having piqued his interest, and Torrullin had agreed. He
needed to speak with the Xenian and would do so before Quilla took
him west the following night. Saska stubbornly said she would leave
at the last possible moment, and Tristamil sombrely echoed
this.

Vannis was not
leaving, unless his release from life could be called thus.

Torrullin
listened to Saska, Dalrish and Quilla discuss the reparation, but
could not assimilate detail. Vannis and Tristamil whispered, their
voices too low for distinct words, but the sounds were
comforting.

He opened his
eyes and looked at them and only Quilla was aware of the scrutiny
from the Throne.

What would it
be like when he returned? Quilla would probably be about, a
blessing for the universe. Saska would be, if not on Valaris, at
least somewhere and doing something worthwhile. She would survive
the intervening years, she would ensure it, and remain the Lady of
Life … or not. Her driving reason for relinquishing responsibility
– himself - would vanish into the invisible realms with him. The
choice, when she made it, would be made freely, and that was better
for her.

Vannis would
be happy with his Raken, as Taranis was with Millanu. He had not
mentioned the likelihood of eternal separation to Vannis, for it
occurred to him Vannis and Raken were shaped from the same mould.
It was not longevity, actions or deeds, that determined the realm
of Hereafter; it was what lay behind. The soul. Vannis and Raken
shared a soul.

His gaze
rested on his grandfather. Unless Vannis manifested on the physical
plane in the future, a brief visitation at best, he would not see
him again. He adored Vannis in a way that went beyond family ties
and blood, and knew it would be strange to enter a future where his
grandfather was absent, but Vannis meant so much to him he would
not deny him happiness. In the man’s end lay his eternity. That was
not to be messed with.

Of
Tristamil’s, therefore Tymall’s, circumstances he was less sure.
Would they enter different realms due to their extreme polarity, or
would they find they were together in a place different from those
he knew about? It was beyond his control. He would probably never
see either again. His thoughts shied away.

And Valaris?
What would she be like in the future? Would technology and
population explosion go hand-in-hand and change her forever? Would
the Great Forest stand the test of time? Would there be peace or
war? Where would the Valleur be? Would Luvanor remain unsullied and
safe?

How long would
he float ethereally, if that were how to describe absence, before
feeling driven to return? What lay waiting beyond? Why was the
Darak Or confident? What did he know?

Unexpectedly,
he was frightened.

Margus knew
the etheric; he did not. He possessed theoretical knowledge gained
hurriedly inside Cèlaver and it gifted him salient tricks, but
Margus garnered practical knowledge over a long period. Margus was
confident; his ebbed swiftly. Although he would ensure Margus never
exited the realms, there was also a chance he would himself be
unable to leave.

Alive,
immortal, and invisible forever.

Until now he
was certain of success, of theory put into action; if not this
sorrow would be for naught, and his selfish wish to move on would
translate as the greatest mistake ever made. Not even Nemisin’s
pact with the demon Dragon Neolone came close.

He closed his
eyes lest anyone see his fear and rampant uncertainty, and breathed
slowly. He had to believe in himself, trust he made the right
choice. It
was
right, wasn’t it?

Yes.

Trust
that.

Trust.

He needed to
know his power from the inside out. Every nuance, every tiny item
used, remembered, learned, stored, sensed, embedded and surrounding
him, from core to release. Everything. His eyes snapped open.

Finding the
ways.

He had found
the way here, now he needed it for there. He had been lax in
acknowledging his talents recently, had honed physical form but not
mental attributes and talents. Hand gestures and transports were
insufficient to maintain peak condition, and hand gestures,
besides, were a dead giveaway.

The few
occasions he utilised Q’lin’la Song was not the magic he would rely
on out there, as ethereal as the Song was in retrospect. In the
etheric it would be his mind and his soul at his disposal; nothing
else would count, for there would be nothing else. His mind would
be his power; hand gestures were ludicrous. He had to exercise his
mind, concentrate power there until thought
was
gesture. He
had the ability now, but tended to laziness; he needed to infuse
himself in the very essence of power for it to be with him wherever
he went, at his command from the first micro-moment. Essence with
essence.

There was one
way to concentrate his power. He sat on it.

“Leave.”

Conversation
ceased.

Torrullin did
not await reaction. He closed his eyes again and relaxed into the
Throne, commencing the mantra from the Oracles - Nemisin’s rune s -
using only thought to loop it. He would become the Throne - one not
two.