The Nemisin Star (67 page)

Torrullin said
nothing, merely smoothed his son’s streaked hair with his left
hand, over and over, like a benediction, a father’s most profound
blessing. A last gift; there was no more he could give. His right
hand held Tristamil’s while Vannis held the other. Four arms
crossed the young man’s chest, bringing the three Valla men to
touch simultaneously. The blue fire sparked bright from all
three.

Saska moved.
She was the Lady of Life. Abdiah reached out.
No,
she
mouthed.
No
. Saska pulled away, back to the three men, and
understood Tristamil would founder in this realm without his
father, and that foundering Torrullin would
never
forgive.
She watched the kinfire fearfully and when a part of it began to
fade … she buckled, and only Quilla’s quick reaction saved her from
falling into the fire.

“Forgive me,
my son,” Torrullin whispered.

“You refused
my son as host; you have known for a while,” Tristamil said. His
gaze never left his father. “It hurt.”

“Like all
hell.”

“Come find
me,” Tristamil whispered. “You are a Walker; come find me.”

All gods.
“Fight, Tris!”

“The Dark in
him is too much.”

“Don’t let him
win!”

Tristamil
smiled. “Ty doesn’t win - you win. A sword of Light and Dark,
bound, indivisible, to carry with you into the invisible world.” He
sighed. “She was right, old crazy Blarney in Galilan; she told me
when I was ten, I would die for you.” He coughed, his strength
ebbing. “I thought she meant it symbolically, that I loved you so
much. I went to see her often, did you know? Mother always went
there … I cannot feel my body … father!”

“Tris!”
Torrullin gripped hard. “No, no, no, please god, no …”

A form
materialised at Tristamil’s head to kneel there. An ethereal
Tymall. He placed his hands on his twin’s brow, ignoring his
father’s hand, and looked deep into Tristamil’s eyes. Torrullin
snatched his hand away as Tristamil’s eyes rolled back to return
his brother’s summons.

“Go away!”

“He cannot
hear you,” Tristamil whispered, looking at his father again.
Beloved face; beloved man. “He has come to fetch me, and to bring
his sword.” He coughed again and his legs jerked, but he could no
longer feel anything.

Tymall
withdrew his blade from behind his back and tossed it uncaringly
aside. As it touched ground it solidified and burst into its unique
brilliance. The two pieces of ensorcelled metal lay side-by-side,
not deliberately achieved, drawn together perhaps by their design.
The strangeness captured Torrullin’s attention briefly.

A soft gasp …
love you, my father
…

“NO!”
Goddess, no.
Torrullin’s head swung back in new horror to
see his son’s eyes lose life. The small glow fixated on him swiftly
snuffed.

Gods, no.

Tymall rose
and moments later an ethereal Tristamil joined him. They stared at
each other, showing no emotion, and then turned a final time to
gaze upon their sire. Tymall bowed mockingly; Tristamil smiled and
put a hand to his breast.

Abruptly, they
were gone.

Torrullin
lowered his gaze to the eternally still form on the ground, its
blue fire forever extinguished, and whispered, “May you find peace,
my son.”

May you find
it too, Tymall.

He and Vannis
gripped hands then and sat with bowed heads for a long time.

Inwardly
Torrullin screamed and screamed until he had no more voice.

Saska sat
crying softly, unable to stop, with Quilla patting her shoulder
ineffectually, his eyes bright with tears and twin spots of colour
on cherubic cheeks.

She wanted
desperately to go to Torrullin, but knew he would not accept
sympathy or pity, not now, and given the time left, not ever.

Vannis was the
only one who could be there - Vannis, who would feel the loss of
this Valla as keenly as if he were also the father. Her tears
blurred vision, but she watched Torrullin, needing to be ready when
he exploded. For he would, she knew him. And his fury would
outshine anything they had seen in him before.

Taranis’ death
nearly drove him over the edge - how much more this? She was right
… and wrong.

He rose
finally, but did not erupt. Instead his anger was a cold and deadly
fury. Vannis, rising to stand, shared every nuance. Vannis’ eyes
were midnight black.

Torrullin
jerked his tunic open. He yanked the pouch from his neck and with
steady fingers withdrew the glorious pyramid diamond. He studied it
with distaste a moment and tossed it to land exactly between the
two glowing blades.

“There is a
chant …” Abdiah began, but clammed up at the cold look he threw
her. She quailed before the terrible fury he had bound within. As
powerful as she was, as massive as she was, she understood she was
no match for him and would never be. Every prophecy, she realised,
had been on the mark. He was the One, and beware all universes.

Torrullin held
his hand out, palm up. There was a blinding flash of light and a
sword appeared in his hand. His fingers curled around it.

After a moment
of self-debate he looked at it.

A yellow-gold
sword. A Valleur artefact now. It glowed a moment more before
dulling to matt gold. Gaudy. Although that was probably his anger
speaking. There was no scabbard at his waist, but as he commenced
the familiar motion of sheathing a sword, one appeared, and the
blade slid home.

“Quilla, take
Tristamil’s body to the islands, please. Hand him to the Elders.
Once there, stay there. Do not return.”

“Enchanter
…”

“Go now.”
Torrullin turned away.

He and Vannis
stepped aside as the birdman approached. An instant later Quilla
and the mortal remains of a beloved son were gone.

I am sorry,
Torrullin.

The Enchanter
ignored Quilla’s silently communicated sympathy. He looked to
Abdiah. “Fetch your companions and leave this place.”

“It will be
so, but before I go, the Kallanon speak Valleur because Neolone did
return to us bringing news of the Golden and many prophecies. He
was sent out a second time to achieve symbiosis with Nemisin.”

“You knew all
along. All of it.”

She inclined
her head. “Neolone did not remember or he would have revealed it to
you in the game of brinkmanship. The swords were deliberately
manufactured, because our tellings became entwined with yours.”

“Get from my
sight.”

Abdiah looked
to Vannis. “Lord Vannis …”

“Trust works
both ways, Dragonne Queen. Leave,” Vannis offered blandly. His eyes
remained black.

“You make a
grave mistake, Torrullin,” Abdiah intoned, and vanished.

A night that
began in expectation of change, progressing to joy and magic
reinstalled, became a night of great sorrow. Love found, love lost.
And now rage, and hurt such as no parent should know.

Only Saska
remained. The final witness.

Another
presence slid into proximity, there to soothe, to bear some of the
burden, but Torrullin was too far engaged in shoring up to take
note. He could not feel, not then; only rage.

And, sadly,
Elianas dissipated.

Quilla could
not leave it like that.

Two thousand
years was a long time to bear a terrible parting.

He
materialised under the grandfather tree, and kneeled.

And
waited.

Finally
Torrullin lifted his head to stare at him with deadened eyes.

“He is in a
good place, Enchanter.”

The dead stare
did not alter.

Quilla moved
closer. He snapped the embers into a bright blaze. “Look at me in
this light, Enchanter. Light is what your son was about. He is now
in the place he deserves, and you deny yourself peace in denying
that.”

“Peace?”

“Not yet, I
understand, but it will come.”

“Quilla, I do
not desire platitudes.”

“I know.
Torrullin …”

Torrullin
sighed. His stare muted. “Honour him at the ceremony, my
friend.”

A tear slid
over the birdman’s cheek. “That I will.”

“Please go
now. May all that is good give flight to your wings. Hold the fort
while I am gone.” Torrullin managed to smile, and there was love
for his friend and confidante in his yellow eyes. “Go, for I cannot
give more.”

Quilla nodded
sagely and rose. He stood on the other side of the blaze, looking
down. Moving around the fire, he came to place his small hands on
Torrullin’s fair head. “May all that is good aid you. I shall be
watching for the signs of your return.”

Torrullin
nodded under those hands, and then they lifted and Quilla was
gone.

And now we
reach the end of one road and step onto another. May it bring us
new experience.

~ Glory Mahone,
President of Beacon, at a ground breaking ceremony

Torrke

M
argus
came with the dawn.

“Time,
Enchanter.”

Torrullin
roused. “Indeed, it is.” He moved like a beaten man.

“Your current
state leaves much to be desired. I am almost disappointed. Where is
the challenge?”

Torrullin did
not bother to respond. He waited for Saska to rise, which she did
reluctantly, and said, “You must go, my love.”

She smiled, a
forced thing. “Come back to me, Torrullin, hear? Find me, promise
me.”

“I promise.”
He touched her face and dared no more. “Go, and know that I love
you.”

She put her
hands on his chest, to feel his heart beating. “And I love you,”
she whispered and turned convulsively to Vannis and embraced him.
“And you, Vannis.” She disengaged and stood a moment longer,
imprinting their faces for the long years ahead, and then she was
gone.

Torrullin
closed his eyes until he sensed Vannis come to rest at his
shoulder, heard him breathe unevenly. His final comfort, as he was
to his grandfather.

“Let us do
this,” Vannis murmured, “and be done at last.”

Torrullin
nodded. “No need to play now, Margus. The sites are cloaked barring
these two in the valley. It is sufficient to achieve what we
intend. I suggest we go directly to the Throne and cloak it without
challenge.”

“Fine, for I
have had enough also.”

The Keep

The Keep had
assumed an air of abandonment.

The beautiful
warm stone walls had taken on a dilapidated mien, and the
rose-tinted windows appeared dirty, uncared for. It was not so, but
it did point to the state of mind of the three men who paced in
under the gaping Dragon doors, in itself a mockery of the past.

The golden
caricature seemed dull and lifeless. The courtyard, site of many
occasions, meetings, pleasant interludes and confrontations, was
decrepit now, the blackened tree a mute accuser, and the upper
level echoed with ghostly sounds. Doors and windows stood open and
closed without pattern, without life. Even the cats had fled,
followed by mouse and rat, and not a bird welcomed the new day with
song.

Margus led the
way to the Throne.

“The Valleur
knew how to do it right.” He looked over his shoulder at Vannis.
“Your people chased mine into another realm - that is how the
Valleur first learned of the Rift - and we hated the Golden. We
thought we fled civil wars on our worlds, and it was so, but the
Valleur engendered those wars during the eras of your hatred of
humankind. You were oppressors and conquerors.

“Imagine how I
felt when aeons later Golden came through that same Rift. I am here
to take from you and yours the one man who could change it and make
amends for past crimes. I sincerely hope you have learned from
this, Vannis. I hope you have understood that nothing goes
unnoticed or unpunished, or even unrewarded.” He glanced at
Torrullin. “Even you, Enchanter. You have not led a blameless life,
and left to continue I have no doubt in the end you would
exacerbate the horror the Valleur have become for many.”

“It is not
altruism that drives you,” Torrullin remarked, neither admitting
nor refuting that statement.

“No, indeed,
but now you know we are all bound and the glue pulling us together
is the arrogance of the Golden.” Margus grimaced and faced the
Throne. “And this thing is a symbol of it - justice this day,
wouldn’t you agree?”

Vannis was
about to flare up when Torrullin spoke. “Justice? You can no longer
conceive of that; your path has been too winding. Further, you have
no idea what you speak of when you mention the Throne.”

He approached
the golden chair and ran a hand across an armrest. It remained
cold; the deal had been struck, and it had prepared for the
onslaught. There was no longer call for recognition.

“It cannot be
destroyed. Attempting to will cause havoc, which is exactly what we
rely upon today, but the chair itself, with all its power, will go
on always. It will outlive the last of us, Darak Or - Valleur,
human and otherwise.”

“No,” Margus
murmured, taken aback.

“Yes,” Vannis
said. “I have had it up to here with your superior attitude. You
say the Golden are the cause of all evil? I dispute that. It is
because we saw the coming of evil that we did what we did, and
although there are deeds and times we are not proud of, we as a
nation stand firmly behind our past and we applaud it.”

“You drove my
people to an empty realm to a world without a lifespan! You made
me! I hate you for that!”

“You are like
a child. Grow up and accept responsibility. Nobody forced you to
evil.”

“It is time
for you to go!” Margus snarled.

The man just
relished his next words. “Did you not realise, idiot? I am staying
beyond the destruction of Torrke.”