The Dreamer Stones (6 page)

Krikian blew
in as a whirlwind after Lowen retired to bed.

His golden
face was alight and filled with anticipation. He appeared in the
spartan main room, looking about with evident expectation.

The rumours
had reached him in the industrial sector.

His face fell
comically when he found the room unoccupied, and then a chuckle
from the tiny kitchen had him twirling around with a huge grin.

Torrullin
emerged with a mug of coffee. “You should see your face. Folk could
write a thesis on the contrasts! Well met again, my friend.”

Krikian was
speechless. It was one thing to hear something told; it was quite
another to see it presented. He did not know whether to fall to his
knees or grip his lord in an almighty embrace

Torrullin
solved his dilemma for him. Setting the mug on the table, he opened
his arms wide.

“My Lord,”
Krikian breathed, holding tight. “This is the best day of my
life.”

He then held
the Enchanter at arm’s length to look him over, acting like an
over-protective brother, and Torrullin allowed it, although with
difficulty. Close scrutiny was never pleasant.

“My Lord, it
has been too long. Still, you are not changed.”

Torrullin
returned the sentiment with an amused glance. “You’ve changed,
Krikian. Wiser, I think.”

Krikian
laughed and slapped those dear shoulders in a brotherly fashion,
and let go. “One learns independence when experiencing other
cultures.”

“Very
true.”

“Um, does my
Lord know that I am … er …”

“I’m aware you
underwent the Ritual, yes.”

“Does it
displease you?”

Torrullin
inclined his head. “I haven’t given it thought. I guess I am
concerned. You don’t strike me as the kind of soul who’d want to
live forever.”

The Valleur
shrugged. “I’m not so sure myself. If I’ve erred and realise it, I
can enter the Lifesource.” The Lifesource Temple of Valaris was the
only place in the universe where Immortality could be reversed.

“The decision
is yours alone.”

Lowen’s voice
intruded. “I’m considering paying a visit to said Temple.” She
entered, beaming welcome to Krikian.

“Really?”
Krikian said. “You never mentioned it before.”

She glared at
him. “Things change.”

Torrullin
watched her. “Why?”

“At this point
it’s mere consideration.”

Krikian looked
from one to the other. Why was he in control of his choice,
although the Enchanter made it subtly clear he should consider
reversing, but Lowen was not afforded the same freedom?

The Enchanter
did not want the Xenian seer to return to mortality, and it was
obvious to both of them without words being spoken. Why? Was it
merely the loss of an Immortal companion? Or did it go deeper? He
wished he witnessed their first meeting.

He felt as if
he had walked into an on-going conversation - one two thousand
years old.

“You should
consider carefully,” Torrullin muttered, turning away.

There was a
strange expression on Lowen’s face, one Torrullin did not see, but
Krikian did.

Elation? Had
he seen right?

When she
glanced at him, he saw only curiosity. She came forward and kissed
him on the cheek. “How did it go?”

“Turns out it
was a saboteur working for Santillana. The esteemed, now disgraced,
Prime Minister sought to delay his competition economically also.
We got the turbines going again. Still, it will be some time before
they recoup losses.” Krikian grinned, showing oil-stained hands to
Torrullin. “Magic wasn’t enough - I had fun getting dirty.” He
blushed when Torrullin laughed. “My Lord, the one thing we have not
in daily Valleur life is the opportunity to work with great
engines.”

“Thank the
gods,” Torrullin muttered, only half-joking.

It was
Krikian’s turn to laugh. “Daily may be pushing it!”

Lowen yawned
and then, “Now you’re here, Krik, we can get down to those things
that need discussing.”

“It can wait
till morning.” Torrullin said. “You need sleep.”

“I’m
fine.”

“Lowen,
tonight? I just got here, I need a bath and we have other things to
catch up on,” Krikian said.

Torrullin,
watching Lowen again, said, “Krikian requires the full picture on
Valaris before we leave him waiting. There are matters he needs be
prepared for.”

She retreated
down the passage. “Go have your bath. We’ll talk after.”

The Valleur
was indecisive. “My Lord, are you two fine? There’s tension … and
she waited long and was patient.” There was also accusation.

“You stand up
for her. Bless you. You are an astounding friend.”

Krikian bowed.
“Thank you.”

“It’s strange.
We saw this then and it didn’t prepare either of us. Relax, it will
be smoother soon.”

“Good. Well,
I’ll have that bath.” He wandered down the passage to the
bathroom.

Torrullin
retrieved his mug, found the brew in it lukewarm, but tossed it
back anyway.

The sound of
running water began and masked the sounds of Lowen throwing
something in her room, but not quite. He walked down the narrow
space and stood before her closed door. He heard Krikian muttering
next door, the sound of urinating … and opened her door.

She faced
away, pulling a dark tunic over her head. She was aware of him, for
she froze and then pulled her clothing into position before turning
around, dressed for another world. She raised her brows.

“Why are you
in a hurry now?” he asked.

“You’re about
to balk, that’s why. It’s time to begin, and you can’t change the
course.”

“I have no
intention of doing so.”

She sat on her
rumpled bed to pull boots on. As she bent to them, hair falling
over her face, she was much like Cat in appearance and attitude and
he nearly doubled over.

His eyes raked
her. “Dressed like that, you mean not to do this thing from
here.”

“Too
dangerous.”

“We’ll go
through it with Krikian just now.” A pause, and then, “How long
have you had those clothes?”

The tunic was
Valleur in design, woven and light with thermal properties, and the
breeches that emphasized her long legs were Xenian, of dark denim.
The boots were generic.

“Would you
prefer me robed for a ball?”

He muttered an
oath and swung away to return to the sitting area. Laughter trailed
him. He mouthed another silent oath. She was as contrary as he
could be. It set his teeth on edge, and itched him into action. He
realised also he relished every second of it - of her.

Torrullin
lurched into the kitchen space and started a big pot of coffee
brewing.

Krikian,
washed and shaven with hair slicked back, sat at the table,
drinking mug after mug, listening to Torrullin.

Lowen stayed
out of it.

He blanched
when Torrullin revealed the truth about Tymall, but did not
interrupt.

“My son is
Warlock and as it stands now, there are darklings on Valaris and I
am slandered. Tymall laughs up his sleeve.” Torrullin also downed a
number of mugs of his strong brew, and was fidgety. “I should be
there to negate the worst of it, but my presence could also
escalate the whole, particularly for Tannil. This journey with
Lowen has taken on new importance, however, and needs doing
first”

“From what she
told me, this is a realm walk. Her visions match a dream that
prompts you.”

“Appears
so.”

“Why?”

“If I knew I
wouldn’t need to go.”

“Yet you feel
it must be done now.”

Torrullin
pushed his mug away. His fingers twitched with impatience.
“According to Rosenroth …”

Krikian held a
finger aloft.

Torrullin
frowned at him.

“Rosenroth
deciphered this dreaming? Forgive my impertinence, but Rosenroth
can be a sensationalist.”

Torrullin
stared at him and then gave a nod. “He was a showman, all
right.”

“Tell me.
Allow me to confirm what Rosenroth said.”

Again
Torrullin stared at him. “Lowen …”

“What I know
from Lowen is from her point of view.”

Torrullin
nodded. “Very well.” He took a few moments to get his thoughts in
order. “Since the night of my Immortality Ritual, this particular
dream started. It came in times of great tension or turmoil; thus
wasn’t regular. It stopped around fifteen hundred years back, and
began again the day after I returned from the Plane, and thereafter
every time I closed my eyes.”

Krikian
listened. A recurring dream. The worst kind.

Torrullin
sighed and leaned back.

“I climb old,
worn steps of stone winding up a hillside carrying something light
and alive. I looked down to check on what I hold. A tiny pink face
peeks through the gap in the swaddling. Satisfied, I concentrate on
placing my feet on the steps, dangerous in encroaching mist. Soon
it will envelope all, block out sight and sound. I hurry up
cautiously, mindful of my cargo. I have to reach the modest stone
temple perched on the summit of this lone hill in the Plains of
Medinor before my pursuers plumb my purpose, and thank the Goddess
for sending mist to obscure my trail through the dust below. A
tribute, a sacrifice, that is what I bear. For me to live, it has
to die. I look down again, but now the white swirls are dense and
the tiny face is indistinct. I’m glad I can no longer see her. I’m
tired of running. Lifetimes of hiding. I can’t go forward looking
over my shoulder, wondering when they’ll find me, snare me for the
beast they think me, cage me until they’ve had enough sport. I
stand poised on the final step, lost in a world of choking white,
but know the shortest side step will plummet me and the babe, my
salvation, into the sharp rocks far below. Before me is the slight
shadow of the shrouded temple. I step forward and the baby
squirms.”

A pause as
Torrullin swallowed. “There’s detail, feelings also. As I run with
the babe in my arms, I have flashbacks of a time I was caged like
an animal, taunted with the sharpness of spears, spat on,
ridiculed, starved near to death, big men with no faces climbing
into the cage wielding maces, my bones crushing, knitting together
painfully - I think I was cripple for the initial flight across the
plain. I hear them coming for me, horses, but don’t see them, and I
know it’s me they hunt. I have overcome and they don’t like
that.

“Then the fog
descends, a saviour, a haven, the coolness a blessing, and I begin
to hope. I know the way to the rise, to the temple, and in the
blind I stumble up, my very soul dependent on my success. But she
is beautiful, tiny, perfect, my heart breaks, my resolve crumbles
and I cannot do it. I stand within the doorway of the temple and I
clutch the warm bundle and I cannot move, and behind me the unseen
men with their war clubs clamber up the hillside, cursing, in a
hurry, and I force myself to wake up.”

Words said
before, to Rosenroth, to Lucan Dalrish and to Tristan, the boy who
dreamed as he did.

Silence.

“Gods,”
Krikian said. “You wake up before you have to choose.”

“Yes.”

“What did
Rosenroth ask first?”

“Whether I
felt and feel caged.”

“Do you?”

“Absolutely.”

“How?”

“I don’t want
to go there again. That old fart put the screws to me already.”

Krikian sucked
at his teeth, and then, “How, my Lord?”

“For Aaru’s
sake …” Torrullin swallowed again, and gave a simplified
version.

“My mother’s
agelessness put me on guard. I was ruled by the need to find my
father. That led to Immortality, which in itself is a prison. Worse
was, nobody remembered my people, when I remembered well. Every day
was a cage, of the mind, of heritage, of loneliness. Then came
Rayne. Another cage, in the form of prophesy. My sons imprisoned me
and still do. Prophecy awaited me in the flatlands. Now I follow
the road I predicted. Yes, I feel caged.”

Krikian
sighed. “That is the crux. Rosenroth asked the right question.”

Torrullin
quirked a brow.

“Your dream is
about your soul.”

“Lowen could
have told you that.”

“She did not.
She spoke of the realm, the mechanics …”

“I’m sorry.
This is a touchy subject.”

Krikian
flashed a grin. “No doubt.” Then he was serious. “I have to
think.”

“Give
impressions. I cannot stomach another flaying.”

“Fine. As
brief as I can be. You dreamed time; what you saw the first time
was the future, and then it became your present, and now it is your
past. To be free of it, the dream being like your cage, you have to
confront whatever haunts you. The babe is about new beginnings, a
clean slate, an innocent that is the amalgam of many.”

Rosenroth said
something similar. “And where does another realm fit in?”

“The hill
signifies height - a higher plane. The mist is a veil, the temple
is a doorway - everything points to a journey. I don’t think it is
of this universe.”

“Why not?”

“My Lord,
we’re discussing you. If it was that simple, it would already be
behind you.”

Torrullin
stared at him and then coughed a laugh. “You’re basing it on
that?”

“I could base
it on a host of things, if I had the time and opportunity to
dissect it, but, honestly, that suffices.”

Torrullin
sighed, but was amused. “It will do, yes.”

“Something
dogs you, something not obvious,” Krikian mused. “And you feel it
must be confronted.”

“I wouldn’t
use
confront
. Just get through it, however it works. There’s
an answer to my dilemma over Tymall I need to find. That is my real
quest.”

“And you hope
it will come to you in another realm? What kind of answer? Why not
stop him and be done?”