The Sleeper Sword (4 page)

The Palace
overhung the northern cliffs inaccessible from the water, but the
southern side of the island was a gentle slope that resulted in a
long stretch of white sand. Palm trees dotted the beach, rustling
in the night air. To the west lay an inviting area of sweet grass
Teroux’s pony chomped since arriving, and he made his way there,
skirting the paths and ways of the garden it bordered. The Palace
occupied near half the island, the eastern half, and the rest was a
paradise landscape.

A paradise
prison, he sometimes thought, when he was particularly
despondent.

He strolled to
the western tip of the island.

A bridge
linked Valla Island with the next one in the chain and under the
width a broad jetty spanned the water, with a narrow central
passage. Sailing vessels of many varieties were tied there, bobbing
with the motion of a calm current. He stepped onto the bridge and
walked a distance, stopping eventually to lean against the rails.
The ocean sang with the kind of objective kindness that soothed the
soul.

The continent
underwent spring thaw, but out here the winds and currents were
kinder. There was a nip to the air, but spring had come. The
evidence was all around - blossoms, newborn chicks, the return of
bees and butterflies. Not that winter was harsh in the islands - it
never snowed, although it could get cold. It certainly rained and
that was welcome, as tanks were replenished with satisfying
regularity, even in summer.

He stared
fixedly at the water. A movement at the edge of the bridge caught
his attention, but he did not react. His shadow merely did his
duty.

The Elders
agreed with him. The majority would move to Luvanor.

It was a truth
they did not fight his directive. Perhaps they were frustrated with
island life also. A number of them recalled the days of the
Enchanter on the mainland and disliked this exile. They would go,
but exacted a promise from their Vallorin to recall them if
he
returned. They loved a long ago Vallorin more, and he did
not begrudge them.

Torrullin, by
all accounts, had been a charismatic and attracted loyalty few
could equal. The Elders and the Valleur loved him, Torrullin’s
grandson, but it was not the same and he was glad. He did not think
he had the strength to survive that kind of pedestal.

The rest of
the Elders, island-born, had been to Luvanor and were desirous of
the freedom afforded. Two, Kismet and Caballa, would remain at the
Palace and see to his duties when he was himself absent on Luvanor.
Those two knew Torrullin and refused to abandon Valaris.

Vania and
Teroux would make the transition. Vania said not a word. He hoped
she would at least be happier there.

His thoughts
returned to his disturbing dreams. The Lifesource Temple occupied
most of the adjacent island; perhaps he should enter. Who was he
fooling? The Temple was more Q’lin’la than it was Valleur, and the
Q’lin’la had been in the Forbidden Zone for over a century, with
infrequent visits to Valaris. Without the birdman Quilla to aid him
within the Temple, his wanderings there would prove pointless.

The Three
Gates would do the trick. He mulled that. He would need to uncloak
them. They were off the south-western point of the mainland and
thus safe from view. He would need someone to explain what to do,
someone with experience. It was not the uncloaking he needed help
with - it was the workings of the Gates themselves.

Kismet or
Caballa? Kismet would be less judgemental and it would be easier to
convince the man a site required uncloaking after two millennia,
but Caballa would assist in interpreting his dreams and would also
be direct in her analysis. Maybe he would ask both of them, the two
a foil for each other. He would talk to them in the morning.

Feeling better
for having reached a decision, Tannil turned for the Palace. He
headed over the grass to stride along the beach, deep in thought.
Stumbling as he reached the stone steps from the beach to the
Palace, he stopped in consternation.

A large stone
and shell circle was laid out on the sand, the stones round, the
shells the spiralling variety, and all of them of a size. The upper
curve touched the bottom of the first step, as if to waylay him,
and then wound out to touch the lapping ocean before returning. It
was a perfect circle as far as he could tell, and it was not there
before.

Someone was on
this beach in the last hours.

Tannil
whistled. His shadow materialised nearby. Pointing at the
unsettling design he asked the guard if he saw anyone place it. His
reaction confirmed Tannil’s worst fears.

“My Lord, I
don’t see anything.”

Tannil
dismissed the man and closed his eyes. After long moments he
reopened them. The hope was he imagined it. The circle was
there.

He pinched his
nose, deciding to let it lay untouched. Who knew what power was
trapped within? It would not be there in the morning, of that he
was certain. It was laid for him. Something or someone knew before
he did that he would walk that path this night - perhaps the thing
threatening him in his dreams.

With first
light he would corner Caballa and Kismet.

Quilla
wandered the Temple.

Ten minutes
earlier, and he would have seen Tannil on the bridge.

A hundred
years ago there was famine on Luvanor neither Senlu nor Valleur
could arrest, a natural event, a combination of disasters that
included a decade of no rain. The Q’lin’la left Valaris to assist,
and stayed. They knew the long peace meant the Enchanter was not
due and settled on Luvanor without guilt. He missed the Temple
terribly, and now walking the chambers within chambers brought
tears of joy to his eyes.

Outside,
Buthos grumbled and made himself comfortable in one of the guest
cottages. He could not enter the Lifesource - to do so would result
in the loss of his immortality.

Despite the
moans, he was happy to be on Valaris again. It had been a long
time. He chased Murs across the universe when Torrullin sacrificed
himself and while he had not spent much actual time on this world,
it felt like home, and had everything to do with the Enchanter and
no one else. Valaris was the ghostly domain of Torrullin Valla.

Both he and
Quilla misjudged the time difference, forgetting in their haste it
would be night here.

In the morning
they would see Tannil.

In Moor, an
old man opened a bleary eye, awakened from fretful slumber.

He rose
automatically to make his way to the outhouse - his old bladder no
longer played fair with his sleep - and then sat on the bed. He did
not feel the need to go - why had he awakened?

Muttering to
himself, he thought he may as well, or he would be awake before
long again.

He froze and
stared into the dark next to the window. Someone stood there, a
shadow darker than the corner. A glint of an eye.

His bladder
loosed. The acrid smell of urine filled the room and he
whimpered.

A chuckle
sounded from the corner and then a derisive snort. The shadow
detached and pushed the old man onto the bed.

“Move, old
man,” the shadow said. “Leave this house in the morning, for when I
return I shall obliterate it and everything in it.”

A young man’s
voice, full of hatred.

The shadow was
gone.

Chapter 5

Mortals take
the shorter view of history and destiny and that is as it should
be. Why burden oneself with matters of nuance if one won’t live
long enough to see results or understanding come to pass.

~ Beacon’s
political writings

Valaris did
not suffer radical change in the two thousand years that passed
beyond the Enchanter’s rule.

Changes were
achieved over time, a natural progression. The Great Forest did not
fall to the axe and continued to work its magic. It had grown to a
size greater than before the destruction the Darak Or brought upon
it. It no longer filled Valarians with superstitious dread either;
where it once divided north and south, it now hosted roads to the
three northern peninsulas, and the Ness River was a busy water
highway with great trees flanking the banks.

Sheshi in the
far north of the Nor Peninsula had been rebuilt as a staging post
for expeditions to the polar region. The Meth Peninsula, once the
clanlands, was repopulated and three new cities graced the western
seaboard. A fourth nestled in the angle of the mighty Stairs
Mountains, a playground for skiers, snowboarding enthusiasts and
the like. The wasteland of the Vall Peninsula was a sprawling
metropolis, a desert city that was hot only occasionally. The lake
formed in the destruction of a sacred site hosted many water
sports.

South of the
Great Forest not much had changed. The major centres - Farinwood,
Galilan, Gasmoor, Tetwan and Saswan - had spread, but farmland and
grazing regions remained largely unaltered. Luan, on the western
seaboard, now possessed more inns, taverns and jetties to cope with
holiday crowds and remained the popular point of departure to Actar
on Tor Island. Linmoor, to the south, was a slumbering town until
the market came to its shores.

Tor Island
itself was irrigated to stay the desert conditions of the past. The
cloaking of the island’s two sacred sites removed the garden beauty
of the Valleur, and folk on Tor thus decided to achieve it without
the magic. They did not wholly succeed, for the island was dry and
windswept, but they did not fail either. Actar, Tor’s main city,
was as ever a den of mannered iniquity.

The second big
island, Silas, between the Nor and Meth peninsulas, historically
shunned due to rife piracy and the worst of reputations, was
utterly transformed, a profound change. A large harbour played host
to ships from every port and inns of unparalleled luxury beckoned
the discerning guest. Sport fishing was a major attraction, and the
pristine beaches attracted a multitude in summer. The wetlands in
the centre of the island attracted an infinite variety of birds and
an almost inestimable number of bird watchers. Silas, pirate
island, was transformed.

Further south,
beyond deserted Menllik, the desert of the past was back, although
less than before and it gradually gave way to pasture. The greening
process started by the Valleur was wisely continued. Only the Gosa
Desert in the extreme south remained true, for it was unto
itself.

The spaceports
of Two Town, the Vall Peninsula and Barrier had grown and large
towns developed nearby each. Emerald Sound was a busy harbour for
sailing ships - the ocean itself was a major tourist attraction.
Nobody approached the Western Isles.

Bridges
spanned the great rivers where before ferries did duty. A rail
system connected the spaceports with the larger cities, with the
one from Two Town to Galilan passing through the outskirts of
Menllik city, the latter an attraction to offworlders - if only to
gaze upon in passing. No train stopped there.

Traversing the
continent was easier and faster. Despite that, horse, cart and
carriage, and foot, reigned supreme. Valaris’s human leaders
learned from other worlds technology did not necessarily equate to
prosperity. Travellers from other worlds were permitted to land at
designated ports, and smaller shuttles were not allowed to commute
between the three. Once the big ships were down, visitors had a
choice between the rail systems, ships or hired horses - with or
without carriage - or they could walk. A fair amount chose to hike,
the journey part of the vacation.

Galilan was
the vibrant capital city, and hosted embassies from Beacon, the
Dinor homeworld, Xen III, Ceta and many others, human and
otherwise. It was a cosmopolitan centre where many languages were
heard in a matter of steps, where cultures mixed with ease.

Trees grew old
with grace on Valaris, for the wonder of solar power completely
displaced the need for traditional fuel. Light industry flourished,
but none with emissions dangerous to the atmosphere or water
sources. Mining and its inherent dangers had not materialised; when
a delegation from Beacon, seeking to exploit, filed a report in
patent disgust over Valaris’s poor mineral content, others backed
off.

The continent
imported goods from elsewhere and had a healthy trading
relationship with many worlds. Valarians paid for goods with
currency earned from tourism - household gadgets, solar panels,
medical supplies and a number of exotic foods - and everything had
to be entirely recyclable. There were no landfills and nothing was
dumped into the oceans. The latter carried a hefty penalty.

There was some
technology, but it was limited to the early kind others elsewhere
had abandoned. Television, telephone and basic electrical
appliances. Electricity was solar and communication via satellite,
a single orbiter bought from Xen. No unsightly wires marred the
landscape.

Weapons were
not manufactured or permitted. A visitor carrying one was bound to
declare and hand it in at the spaceport or he or she faced
permanent expulsion. No visitor or Valarian was allowed to carry a
knife on his or her person. Crime cannot be wholly eradicated, but
it was minimal, another reason the tourism industry grew fast.

Dignitaries
from offworld were astounded progress was deliberately slow and
were informed to make a visit to Xen III. Xen, once the planet of
domes and a deadly poisonous atmosphere, now as backward as
Valaris. By choice.

Valaris had
civilised in universal terms over the past two thousand years, but
also managed to laud and maintain traditional ways.

And it
possessed a legendary past that drew visitors like a magnet.