The Sleeper Sword (9 page)

Caltian halted
in the centre of the lane.

Courage to
choose a new road. To make the hard decisions.

Forgive
myself. Done.

End my
marriage.
It would take more than courage to face the
self-possessed Mitrill, but this deadness was unhealthy.

He would spend
more time with Fay on Valaris. Perhaps in helping her shape a
future, he would shape his own.

Minutes later
he strolled in under the arch of the Academia’s imposing entrance,
and stood a moment to watch. The Brothers scurried, some arguing
about interpretation of some literary work, others walking with
eloquent fingers in the air punctuating their thoughts. Key-ler had
loved it.

He gazed at
the building. It was an exact replica of the original, but its soul
was profoundly changed. Today it was open-minded and there were no
Web Overlords to dampen the flames of truth.

It became what
its name implied, the Academia of Truth, and today dealt in matters
magical also. Here all the nuances of Torrullin and Vannis’s
remarkable lives were examined and chronicled. Here Torrullin’s
father, Taranis of the Guardians, was further immortalised in works
of universal note. Here the tangled tale of Millanu, Torrullin’s
mother, wife to Taranis, daughter of Vannis, was brought together
and made whole for the future Valleur. Her tale began beyond the
Rift, another universe, another world.

Caltian’s
heart started beating unevenly. Torrullin’s tale ended with
‘Remember now, there is the legend of the Sleeper who will one
night awake to claim the sword of previous awakenings. We
await.’

Literary
licence? Maybe.

Yet everyone
awaited his return. There was indeed a sword. The pieces were
discovered in Menllik and it was re-forged and waiting upon the
familiar hand of its wielder. Torrullin’s sword.

Caltian
admitted the real truth.

I wander
because I await my Lord.

Chapter
11

When the forces
of Darkness outnumber those of the Light, then goodness will flee.
And life will become as nothing. Hark, poet, to your actions, not
your words.

~ Taranis, Lord
of the Guardians

His diary - a
note in a margin

Samuel wished
he had a mobile to reassure his wife and son.

While they
lived comfortably, his income did not allow the luxury, or a
telephone in the house. He never found the need; always thought the
shrill interruption would distract him from his labour. He was a
jeweller and worked under contract for one of the larger studios in
Galilan, from home. His needs were simple; he enjoyed the rural
lifestyle and saw no driving need to change.

Samuel
wandered around Torrke and about Menllik and was unwilling to leave
despite his concern.

Do you feel
the blood, kinsman?

Who actually
touched him to set blue sparks alight?

Torrullin, or
a vision that recognised Valla blood through the boundaries? That
would be astounding magic.

Torrullin of
the past, an essence lingering, an essence that went beyond the
limitations of time? That was fantastical magic.

Dare he think
it was Torrullin of the present, of the invisible realm, reaching
beyond those doorways into this reality? Was it possible he had
interacted with the Sleeper in the present? Now that was
frighteningly powerful.

And terribly
exciting.

He did feel
the blood, as if it multiplied cell by cell within, as if it
overpowered the limitations of his human codes. And what was most
surprising was that he could think this and remain comfortable with
what it potentially meant.

His father had
not spoken of this happening. Either his imagination led him down
the road to fantasy or it never happened for his father in this
manner. Samuel wished his father was alive to compare experiences.
He wished he could share the wonder with someone who would
understand. What would this profound secret do to his marriage?

He came to a
halt before Linir. The Place Where Stars Meet.

Samuel looked
at it as one who knew. Would his life be like this now? Two
realities, two sets of measurements, two people? His marriage would
sunder under the pressure.

He climbed the
stairs and entered through the doorway placed as a short passage.
In this way, the architect ensured no daylight would detract from
the interior atmosphere. It was silent inside, a kind of death, and
the only light was a single sunbeam that pierced the small,
circular aperture in the domed, octagonal ceiling.

Another vision
came to him there.

Two men facing
each other on the radiating star on the floor. They were so alike
they had to be twins. One grasped a scroll; the other appeared to
deliberately ignore it.

Tristamil and
Tymall, the Enchanter’s twin sons.

The one
without the scroll was Tristamil, his forefather.

Samuel sat as
the vision dissipated. It was like looking at himself, two of him.
He possessed the same grey eyes, the same bone structure, features,
height and leanness. He was merely older, paler, and where the
twins were streaked auburn-fair, his hair was uniform brown.

They were like
young gods - did he appear that way to others? No, he had not that
aura, that intensity, and he did not hate anyone as those two hated
each other.

Still, and he
grinned; he was chased by everything feminine until Curin caught
his eye and heart. He was chased by the not so feminine also. He
chuckled and felt immeasurably better.

Linir was the
temple where on one night in every year Nemisin’s Star was directly
overhead to shine through the aperture overhead onto the star
below. It was a sacred site … and he realised something.

Linir was
uncloaked.

There was no
fear. Only curiosity.

He paced the
octagonal perimeter and wondered if his awakening invested him with
magical powers, but his thoughts halted at mere wondering. As far
as he knew this was the only sacred site on the continent
uncloaked. Were the Valleur aware? Of course they were aware, had
to be.

“The
island-bound Valleur have turned their eyes and thoughts from the
continent, human,” a voice intruded, answering his unspoken
question. A mocking voice of a young man.

Samuel turned,
but there was nobody there.

“You won’t see
me. Why do you always have the need to see to believe, you humans?
There are greater proofs of state than what the eye might gift. I’m
not a vision and I’m not an essence, but I am real even in
invisibility - trust that. I am in your present and presence.”

“Who are
you?”

“Why do all
ask that first? Never mind, you’ll know when the time is right. For
now hark to my words.” The voice moved. If it had form, it would be
pacing.

Samuel
retreated to a wall, an instinctively defensive gesture. While not
afraid, he was uncomfortable.

“I won’t harm
you. Not you.”

The hairs on
Samuel’s neck spiked.

“You are the
instrument to the Enchanter.”

“I am … what?”
Samuel gasped, shocked by both the words and the sotto-voice
delivery.

“Don’t
interrupt. Listen well. Linir was cloaked until a few moments
before you chose to halt before it. You did so because it was there
for you. I wanted you to come inside, wanted you to see and hear.
I’m doubtful anyone in the west feels it, and it causes a delay in
my planning. They have hardened their hearts to the mainland’s
troubles, when it is the mainland where the stage is to be set. You
must tell them.”

Samuel’s jaw
dropped.

“You must find
the Electan and Byron Morave. They too need to inform the Vallorin
of certain facts. You’ll be the proof that causes them to act and
together you must go west. The Electan, the Society’s best and a
Valla kinsman will be eloquent and believable. Tannil will be
forced to return his gaze in this direction.”

“Why?” Samuel
burst out.

“To bring them
to Torrke, human. You are the instrument and they are able to
assist you. Tell them and they will know. It is seven days to
Nemisin’s appearance in the heavens and it is a two thousand year
anniversary. Tell Tannil that and be sure to return to this land
before the Star is at its zenith.”

There was then
the clear sense of withdrawal and Samuel knew the presence had
left.

Instrument? To
the Enchanter?

Who had that
been?

He released a
pent-up breath and strode from the temple. Outside he stood a
moment to accustom his eyes to the over-bright sunshine and then
put fingers to lips to whistle.

It seems I’m
soon to be in the presence of Tannil, Vallorin of the Valleur.

His horse
pounded through deserted streets; he jumped on and turned the
animal to face north.

Somehow he
would get a message to his wife, but now he had to get to Galilan
as fast as he could.

Fay found her
brother on the edge of the cliff, adjacent the Palace where the
cantilever hid him from inspection overhead.

It was one of
his favourite hideaways for he could innocently claim he hid where
there were no corners.

He leaned over
the sturdy guardrail. It was a stormy day and the sea was grey and
angry, mesmerising him.

“Hiding,
brother?”

He shrugged
and did not turn.

She halted
beside him. “What’s wrong?” He did not reply, although he did
glance at her. There were dark lines under his eyes. “Not sleeping
again, Tannil?”

“Sleep has
become a luxury.”

“What are you
not telling me?”

He
straightened to turn to her. “I’m not hiding, Fay; I needed to
think without constant interruption. I mean not you, you’re always
welcome. With emigration under way, it’s this, then that and
something more … gods!”

“And you’re
having your nightmare again.”

“My observant
sister.”

“Can you not
tell me?”

“I went to the
Three Gates yesterday,” he said by way of an answer.

“That
bad?”

Tannil
inclined his head. “What was bad was when I awoke I felt hounded.
After the Gates that’s gone. Last night the dream came again and I
recall every detail. I doubt it will return. I am prompted
now.”

“To do what,
Tannil?”

“To
remember.”

She had to
trust he knew best. “Fine, I won’t probe, but ask if you need
help.”

He pulled her
into his arms. “Thank the Goddess I have you.”

Because
your wife is shunted aside, brother.
“You won’t marry me off
anytime soon, then?”

He grinned.
“As if you’d allow that.”

Caltian found
them there. “Fay!”

Her face lit.
She hurtled into her father’s arms. They stood like that for a
time, wrapped, content to let touch speak for them.

A smiling,
wistful Tannil watched them. Caltian was a father to him also, but
it was not the same bond of blood as with Fay.

“Tannil …
son,” Caltian said, putting Fay aside. He closed the gap, noting a
reticence and ignored it to clasp Tannil to him. “Goddess, I missed
you both.”

Tannil
returned his stepfather’s embrace with warmth. “We missed you
also.”

“Good, because
I aim to stay a time, so you may soon grow tired of my face.”

Fay whooped
like a tomboy. “Really? You’re staying? Don’t let Mother get the
better of you again. Don’t let her change your mind.”

“Not this
time, I promise. Your mother and I shall find … we’ll talk. And no
matter how it goes, I’m staying.”

Fay nodded.
Her father sounded confident.

Tannil asked,
“Why are you staying this time?”

Caltian stared
at him. “Do I need a reason?”

“No, but you
have a reason.”

“I sometimes
forget who you are, Tannil. Yes, beyond a desire to see you two,
there’s something, but it’s no great event. I made a few choices,
long overdue, and one of them was to return to Valaris.”

“And?” Tannil
asked.

“Gods,
brother, what’s with …?” Fay began.

“Torrullin has
been on my mind lately. I feel closer to him here.”

“Ah, yes,”
Tannil murmured. “First Quilla and Buthos, and now you. I wonder
who will come next.”

Chapter
12

Judge a nation
by the state of its capital city? Naturally. There the mood of a
nation is pressed into one container.

~ General
Adadis

Samuel was
fortunate in that the train from Two Town Spaceport pulled in at a
rural platform to take on farming folk and their goods.

He saw it come
to a halt and asked of his horse everything it had. Leaving the
lathered animal at the stables adjacent the platform and having
suffered a tongue-lashing from a disgusted stable master, he
overpaid the man and sprinted onto the platform, managing to hop
aboard as the train set into motion.

Falling into
the nearest seat, he drew deep breaths to still his racing heart.
He was unfit from squinting too many hours over his workbench.

The train was
not full despite the crowd on the platform. They dispersed over the
eight coaches and only six sat murmuring together along from him.
The interior of the train was comfortable and clean, the padded
wood welcoming. It was electrical, therefore silent, and the gentle
rocking soothed. He dozed; for the moment there was nothing he
could do.

The sun was
decidedly west when they pulled into Galilan Station. It was a
large modern complex of lounges, restaurants, tour operators,
accommodation counters, hiring facilities, refreshment stalls and
more. He ignored the bustle and made his way across the
concourse.

He walked into
a busy market. Colours, people, smells and noise. It was a jolt to
his rural sensibilities, but he soon noted everyone was friendly
and everything was ordered. He wandered through ignoring calls to
inspect wares and finally stepped into the relative quiet of a
grassed square.