The Dreamer Stones (19 page)

Teighlar shook
his head. “An over-simplification, Tannil. Torrullin is more than a
father who made a blunder, you know that.”

Tannil formed
a dismissive gesture. “The results are the same. Now, I need to go
to Teroux.” He turned on his heel and stalked out.

Teighlar
rubbed his face with one hand and stared after the retreating
form.

“Too soon,
Teighlar.” Saska emerged from behind a pillar. “You can’t reason
with a man who lost his wife soon after realising he was free to
love her.”

They looked at
each other and both sighed.

“Where’s
Torrullin? Gods, he should be here.”

She leaned
against the pillar. “He went to find salvation. He seeks
forgiveness, in advance, to kill Tymall.”

“Dear god.
Where?”

“Another realm
with some mysterious woman who knows how to get him in and out.”
Saska laughed, a self-mocking sound. “I can only do so much before
he turns to another.” She raised her hand when Teighlar made to
speak. “That’s the truth and I’ve accepted it. What concerns me is
this realm and what it will do to him if he finds that salvation.
He won’t be the same and I may not be enough for him then.”

“Saska, he
loves you.”

“Rayne loved
me, Teighlar,” Saska said, and left, following in Tannil’s
footsteps.

The Valla
house was silent.

Only Curin,
Tristan and Teroux now occupied what was on occasion a lively, busy
household. Tannil found the entertainment rooms empty, saw a silver
bracelet lying on the floor. Retrieving it, he turned it over in
his hands. And Saska. Saska lived here too.

He turned on
hearing someone behind him. “Ah, Saska.”

“I’m not the
object of your anger,” she said, moving into the sitting room. She
held her hand out and after a moment he placed the bracelet in her
palm. As she slipped it on, she said, “And neither is Torrullin.
You have to put aside ill will.”

“This is his
fault.”

“Will Tymall
win then? You know he set out to do this. He wants Valleur to turn
on Valleur, and more specifically, Valla on Valla.”

“Not too many
of us left now.”

“Four males
and Fay is not nothing. And each deserves loyalty and care, even
Fay. Particularly Fay.”

“Tymall is
Valla also.”

“Of course,
but I exclude him from loyalty and care.”

“You know,
I’ve blamed Torrullin for not getting to Tymall sooner, but I know
I couldn’t kill him either and that despite what he’s done to my
wife, my mother and Caltian. Vallas do not kill Vallas.”

“Tymall is in
a league of his own.”

“Yes.”

“He is
Margus’s creation. If you want to lay ultimate blame, Tannil,
that’s where it lies. If the Darak Or hadn’t subverted the mind of
an unborn, there’s a real chance Torrullin would’ve recognised his
twin son in a timely fashion, and all this would never have
begun.”

Tannil
inclined his head. “There’s logic in your words, but you forget one
thing. Shall I tell you? Prophecy. It was meant to happen because
Torrullin is the One. In a manner I don’t fathom, all that went
before is part of his testing, and thus is he the source,
inadvertently maybe, but ultimately responsible.”

“You mock what
he is.”

“Yes, I mock
what he is! The Immortal One, for Goddess’ sake! What was the
Pantheon of Gods thinking when they infused so much power into a
man knotted up inside? For all his posturing Torrullin still lives,
breathes, thinks and reacts like a man who has no tomorrow! What
good that? Look where it brought us! If he’s the One, he should act
like one!”

She wanted to
shake him until his teeth fell out. “You’re describing someone who
will be above petty emotion and thought! Someone not one of us will
reach! Do you want your grandfather to be a distant figure ignoring
you and yours? Is he less because he won’t kill his son? Dear god,
Tannil, it makes him more, can you not see that?”

“He should
make the sacrifice to stop the madness.”

Saska reared
back, angry beyond reason. She almost hyperventilated in her effort
to contain herself. And then, calmly, she said, “Torrullin has made
many sacrifices willingly. We didn’t ask and yet we received.” She
leaned forward. “Tannil, you ask after the fact. That sacrifice you
speak of is already in motion.”

“I don’t
follow.”

“He’s gone to
a place from where he’ll return as the One you desperately need,
and all your wishes will come true. He will come back with the
ability to kill his son, and when he does so, Tannil, Goddess help
us all, for he will not be Torrullin. Will you hate him then,
having received what you asked for?”

Tannil paled.
“Can we stop him?”

Saska closed
her eyes. “No, he’s already embarked.”

“I truly don’t
know what I want … or mean … anymore.”

Her heart
filled with pity. “I’m sorry.”

He nodded. “I
must find Teroux.”

“He knows -
Tristan told him.”

“How much harm
has that done?”

“Less than had
he heard it from you. A child, especially one like Tristan, has the
world of sympathy for another. I wasn’t present, but Curin says he
did it well, as if he considered it his duty and, although Teroux
was shocked, he wasn’t hysterical. He did cry and asked after you,
so he knows you’re coming and why.”

“Gods, I admit
I’m somewhat relieved. Thank you. Do you know where he is?”

“On the
roof.”

Tannil headed
for the external stairs on the other side of the house, and then
paused. “Will you come with me?”

Saska’s eyes
brightened with tears. “Of course.”

The little boy
looked up and pushed the board game aside.

He hurtled up
and into his father’s arms. Saska was not needed and neither were
Curin and Tristan.

All three left
the roof space without a word.

Chapter
Seventeen

Think before
you act. Listen before you speak. Does that help?

Awl

Samuel slept
for three days.

Caballa and
Kismet did not leave the meditation chamber in all that while.

Lucan was the
one who went out to find and bring back food and drink, water to
wash with, candles to keep the room lit. He slept fitfully between
his wanderings, but the other two never closed eyes.

On the third
afternoon, Samuel’s blinked open and he sat up groggily. Caballa
and Kismet stirred, but said nothing, watching him carefully.

Samuel looked
around him in some confusion, and then gripped an urn of cool water
near to hand, tipping it back to drink in noisy gulps, the overflow
spilling over his chest unheeded. He was still naked, although
Caballa covered him with a woollen blanket the first night,
inserting a pillow under his head.

He slept
unmoving all the time he was out, only once jerking, and that
signified to the watchers that his body felt what the mind had
opened up to.

Samuel lowered
the urn, stared at Lucan in his dark corner and turned grey eyes on
Caballa.

Knowing
eyes.

She slumped
and lifted a hand to her brow.

Samuel lifted
his gaze to Kismet, who stared steadily back, and then rose,
throwing the blanket off.

Kismet
whistled, before locking gazes with Caballa.

“It appears
you were right,” Samuel said, looking at them looking at each
other. He retrieved his clothes near Lucan, folded in a neat pile.
As he bent, he said to the Xenian, “Go, Lucan. Get some decent rest
and we’ll talk later.”

Lucan unwound
to rise stiffly. Samuel was different, but he was too exhausted to
question anything. He nodded and left.

“Samuel, there
are things we need to tell you,” Kismet began, but he got no
further.

“Later. Both
of you need healing sleep.” He headed for the door pulling his
clothes on and paused in the doorway. “I need to be alone for a
while.” He vanished through the exit.

Kismet cleared
his throat. “Typical Valla.”

Caballa
snorted. “Let us get some of that healing sleep first, old friend,
and leave those intricacies till later.” She rose and headed
out.

Kismet shook
his head resignedly and followed a few minutes after, having first
blown the candles out.

Samuel walked
out into the singing forest, sniffing at the heat of the day with
pleasure.

He did not
dwell on his new knowledge and insights, but instead opened his
mind and senses to the living day.

A sense of
brooding came to him and he halted. Not evil, a natural event. He
sniffed the air again. A tightness, like an electrical
overload.

“Storm
coming,” Byron’s booming voice sounded, and then the big man
appeared on a path from the right. “Do you sense it?”

Samuel smiled.
“Yes, and a big one, too.”

“Overdue,
bound to be big.” Byron halted and looked him over. “You look a bit
out of it, young Samuel.”

“Long sleep.
Induced. I feel as if I’ve awakened from the dead.” Samuel sighed
and sat hunched on a fallen trunk. “Strange thing, Byron. When we
first met - you, Marcus and me - you called me young because I’m
simply younger than you two, while I certainly didn’t feel young …
and now? Now I feel every one of my forty years, and I feel like a
babe.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I shall outlive my wife
by centuries, Byron. How do I deal with it?”

The big man
perched nearby and heaved a sigh. “Can’t answer that.”

“But you think
I’m blessed to have added years.”

Byron studied
him. “Academically, yes, but looking at you, seeing the strain in
Tannil and Torrullin, I wonder if humankind isn’t luckier in
shortened years.”

Samuel
laughed. “To the point.” He looked around him. “You’re outside.
What happened to the darklings?”

“We saw them
off. Margus’s creatures proved extremely effective.”

“Do I want to
hear detail?”

“No.”

“I thought as
much, but I’m glad that factor is gone.”

“As is every
Valarian.”

“What of the
food situation?”

“Not good, but
getting better. Lots of incoming aid from Beacon and Xen. The
Valleur have set about purifying watercourses and success there
escalates. Still, many will die, and I feel guilty every time I put
something in my mouth.” Byron sighed. “All mayors are dead and
replacements go the same way within a day. Nothing stops it. Our
farspeakers make continual contact, and most of it is bad news.
Marcus is paralysed in his home in Galilan waiting for the
Enchanter, hoping for a healing, and hoping also he’ll live long
enough. Mr Jackson died when Marcus made him acting-Electan …” He
fell silent.

“Valaris is
leaderless?”

Byron looked
up from under bushy brows. “Not quite. Torrke has retaken the
reins.”

Samuel stared
at him and then pinched his nose. Tension and disbelief. “Gods,
it’s like a different world. How long did I sleep, for pity’s
sake?”

“Three days.
Tannil asked after you.”

“And?”

“Lucan told us
to say nothing. What’s going on with you, Samuel?”

“I’m not sure
myself.”

“Secrets?”

“Valla
business.”

Byron pulled a
face and looked away.

“Are the
people content with Torrke in control?” Samuel asked in the ensuing
silence.

“What choice
do they have? At least the Valleur aren’t dropping like flies and
they do control the situation with a compassionate touch. Content?
Perhaps not. Relieved? Eminently so.”

“What are you
not telling me?”

Byron scrubbed
at his face. “It may not be my place to reveal this.”

“I take
responsibility. Tell me.”

“You sound
like the Enchanter.”

Samuel
shrugged and said nothing. He raised his brows, waiting.

“Very well.
Torrke is leaderless also at present, run by two Elders seconded
from Luvanor.”

“Where is -
dear god, did something happen to Tannil?”

“No, to Vania.
Tannil’s wife is dead and he left for Luvanor.”

“Vania? Gods,
no, she is … was …” Samuel clammed up and sat with his head bowed.
After a time his voice came out muffled, “How terrible for Tannil.
He and Vania finally chose to start afresh. She was a good person.
Curin adores her, as does Tristan. Poor Teroux, no mother.”

Byron realised
Samuel was deeply involved in the Valla family, knowing them well.
“I’m sorry, Samuel.”

Samuel looked
up. “Have you heard how she died?” Byron shook his head. “No, I
guess they’d keep it close. Where’s the Enchanter?”

“Still no
sign.”

Samuel jumped
up. “We’re facing one of the worst periods in our history and
there’s no one to do anything about it!” He paled. “Who’s guarding
the Darak Or?”

Byron
scratched his head. “He has disappeared.”

“Oh, great,”
Samuel muttered and then saw it was not his problem.

Byron said,
“There are dark days ahead, worse to come, I feel it in these aging
bones. Two thousand years back Torrullin prevented annihilation by
taking the Darak Or with him to another place, but it will be
different this time. There’ll be no easy answer. I suspect we’ll
witness similar catastrophes to those of the original battle
between Darak Or and Enchanter, and everyone knows only a quarter
of the population survived.”

Samuel did not
respond. Byron, unknowingly, spoke a truth, not realising a stage
on a grand scale was being manufactured and the playwright was his,
Samuel’s, genetic twin.

The storm
broke in the small hours and was ferocious, all consuming.

Lightning
flashed with thunderous accompaniment every few seconds, bright,
blue and surreal, and rain lashed at the facility’s windows,
charging across the roof like wild monkeys. There was no sleep to
be had once it began, but only Caballa rose from her bed, to go in
search of Samuel, the only other person not a-bed.