The Dreamer Stones (83 page)

“
Father
…
Fay
…” Tymall launched from the bed, staring accusingly at
his father, staring reproachfully at Fay as if she was in some way
to blame.

Ignoring his
son’s state, Torrullin bent over the still woman. For the life of
him, he could not fathom the reasons why. She was dead and there
was no cause, no justification in the physical realm. He touched
here, there, but without life to speak to questing fingers, it was
difficult to diagnose what caused this.

“You can bring
her back,” Tymall whispered, begging.

“I
cannot.”

“You can! You
are Elixir!”

“I cannot, Ty.
I know not enough.”

“Try!”

Torrullin
straightened after closing Fay’s lids over her staring eyes. “She
is Valla and I shall not risk abomination.” He turned from the
bed.

“You. Will.
Try.” Tymall scrambled around the bed, grasping at his father and
tore at him in fury, pulling, pushing Torrullin back to Fay.

Torrullin
wrenched away and stood there breathing fast. “If you love her, you
will let her move on without interference.”

“How can you
say that? Now? I was close!”

Close to
turning around. Torrullin let out a resigned sigh and said, “I am
sorry, son.”

Tymall’s mouth
worked and then he sat on the bed facing Fay. Taking her lifeless
hand in his, he bent over it and sat in silent grief.

“Torrullin,
check the baby, please,” Lowen said. The little one continued to
wail unabated.

He nodded,
knowing damage was done that could not be repaired. Tymall’s grief
would become anger, and that led to misconceptions.

“Send Kismet
to find a wet nurse,” he murmured and took the small bundle from
her. He was clean, warmly wrapped, the tiny face screwed up red in
wailing fury. Despite the gravity of death behind him, he smiled.
Gently he touched his fingertips to the child’s forehead and smiled
again. Healthy. Strong. In this little one, like Teroux, the human
blood was negligible.

The babe
ceased crying and stared up with wondering eyes. His eyes were the
darkest blue, almost violet, but that was normal. True colour would
come later. Would it be grey or yellow or something else? Torrullin
smiled again, recalling how those same questions ran through his
mind when Tris and Ty came into the world.

His skin was
golden-pink and the down on his little head already promised gold.
A Valleur. A new Valla.

“She did it
for the child,” Tymall said behind him in a deadened voice. “She
died so he’d be free of both his parents. This was her
sacrifice.”

Torrullin
stuck his little finger into the baby’s mouth as it prepared to
wail anew, felt it suck down hard. Already he loved it. Holding it
close, he turned.

“She didn’t do
it deliberately. Fay was healthy and …”

“You prove my
point. The death was of the mind.”

“Teighlar can
order an autopsy.”

“Let her go
whole. It doesn’t matter anyway - I won’t be here to hear the
results.”

Torrullin and
Tymall locked gazes and then a commotion in the other room broke
the connection. Lowen shepherded a young Senlu woman in,
bright-eyed eager, with the reddest hair. She smiled and held her
arms out for the baby.

“My name is
Leila … may I?”

Torrullin
reluctantly withdrew his finger to pass the bundle over. Leila took
him and retreated to an armchair in the corner, which Fay probably
placed there to nurse herself.

Both men and
Lowen followed her with their eyes, watched as she popped out a
swollen breast and began to encourage the little one to drink. She
looked up with a contented air as he latched on. She glanced at the
still figure on the bed and then returned her attention to the
baby.

“Leila …”

“Hush,
Torrullin, let her get on with it,” Lowen murmured. “She has a four
month old at home, loves her to bits. Leila is happy and that’s
good for the baby, hmm? He needs to feel content.”

Tymall uttered
a sound in his throat and threw himself from the chamber.

Torrullin ran
after him, caught up outside, where Tymall came to a dead stop
staring at the Tracloc.

“How much time
do I have left?”

“Nine hours,
thirty-seven minutes.”

“Bugger off
until then.”

“I cannot do
that.”

Torrullin
gripped Tymall’s shoulder. “Walk with me.”

He exerted
pressure and turned Tymall away from the darkened form.

As they exited
the cul-de-sac, the Tracloc fell in behind them, but far enough
away to allow privacy.

They wandered
the night streets in silence until both felt ready to talk.

Their tail was
so silent it was as if he was not there.

“Life goes on
regardless,” Tymall said eventually. “I mean, look at them …” and
he gestured vaguely at a lit window where the drapes had not been
drawn, revealing a family around a table, laughing. “Wholly unaware
someone died tonight, someone loved, someone who would be a good
mother. Do you know we agreed, no matter what the future held she
would raise our son with love? He was to know a normal childhood.
That was why she returned to Luvanor, why she told everyone she was
forced into marriage … lies, lies to give him the opportunity to
grow up without burdens.”

“He will have
that, I promise.”

“But the lies
are there. How long before you change your mind? How long before
someone tells him who his parents really were?”

“You intended
that anyway.”

“No.”

“Yes. Do not
pretend, not now. You had a choice, son. Either you rule two
realities or your son rules this one. The choice is still
there.”

“Samuel lives,
as do you. I have no choice. My son has no choice.”

“Your choice
has changed. Will you allow the Vallorinship to proceed as
intended, or will you contest it? In choosing for Fay and the baby
you know it was for him to be Vallorin … of Luvanor.”

Tymall came to
a halt and faced his father.

Torrullin
stopped a pace away. “Did you think I wouldn’t know?

“There is time
to get to Samuel,” Tymall growled.

“And your son?
Can you go that far?”

Silence
greeted that intense question.

“You cannot.
You brought him into this world; yours were the first fingers to
touch his new innocence. Yours is the first touch. That is a bond
that cannot, will not, be sundered. Why, son, do you think I could
not smother you at birth or allow Vannis to do so? He offered and I
would have killed him first. Why could I not kill you later? Why
did I permit you to bring doom? Why have I begged the Tracloc to
look the other way? Mine was the first touch, Ty, and the bond is
in place despite everything since that moment. If you could kill
your son, I would kill you now and send you to the
netherworld.”

“I chose him
already.”

“Yes, and it
is something to be proud of, something to keep you warm when it
gets cold in the future.”

Tymall looked
away. “Was that how it was for you?”

“You know it
was and is.”

Tymall’s face
twisted. “I told Fay you’d be incapable of killing me - it was my
one advantage. Until I found out I couldn’t kill you, and at the
time it had nothing to do with emotion.”

“We were at
stalemate, until one of the Gatekeepers told me murder would not be
called for.”

“We played
each other. I lose.”

“Do you, Ty?
You have a son.”

A long silence
ensued in which Tymall moved forward aimlessly to wander the near
silent streets. “Will you name him your heir?”

“No.” The word
was soft, but the meaning was a direct challenge.

Tymall almost
lost his balance on a set of steps between two tiers. “Is he not
good enough? Do you intend despite your pretty words to remain
Vallorin?”

“You have set
things in motion for your son in the future. Despite
your
pretty words of love and normality, despite your concern for what
he will think of his parents, you set it up. Granted, it was before
he was born, but will you remove them now?”

“If you name
him heir.”

“No.”

“Pray
tell.”

“Are you ready
for more truth?”

“Now is the
time, father.”

“How right you
are. We understand each other now, Ty, and as I cannot permit you
the Throne, I cannot allow your son to take on that duty. You are
on the Path of Shades now, as I am, and one day your son too will
walk that road. The Valleur deserve better.”

Father and son
stared at each other. “Are you saying another family will take the
reign?”

“The Vallas
will reign. It is a symbiosis that cannot be undone without calling
down disintegration upon the Golden, and it is a symbiosis the
Throne will uphold into the far mists of time. I shall not name
your son heir - the Throne will choose when the time comes.”

Tymall
released an explosive breath. “You had me worried there.”

Torrullin
began walking, aiming for Fay’s apartment. “You misunderstand,
Tymall.”

“What?” His
father called him by his full name when something of import
approached.

“I read you a
long time back. I knew you would aim to place your son on the
Throne and thus I, too, put certain things in place.”

“Well,
naturally. Stupid you are not.”

“The Valleur
needed a foil for your son and I ensured they have one. Actually,
they have two,” Torrullin said.

He did not
look around, but as he passed the Tracloc in retracing their path,
he saw the anticipatory gleam in the creature’s black eyes.

“You aim to
counter the inheritance I’m leaving him; you will ensure he grows
up a good Valleur,” Tymall said. “That’s not so bad. Gods, I can’t
believe I said that.”

“Path of
Shades, Ty. A part of you desires the best for your child.”

“So it’s true,
then? You aim to bring him up well.”

“I am leaving
for the Dome when this is over. I shall have nothing to do with his
upbringing, but, yes, I aim to ensure he grows up well. I shall
have him protected as far as possible from harm and from the hell
you will put him through in the future.”

“You will have
nothing … gods! Who will raise him now that Fay is dead?” Tymall
grabbed at his father.

Torrullin
allowed himself to be pulled to a halt. “Samuel will raise him.
Samuel and his wife Curin.”

“She’s
dead!”

“She lives.
And Tristan and Teroux.”

Tymall fell
back a pace. “No.”

“Yes. There
are now three heirs to the Throne.”

“You
bastard!”

“Lash out if
you will, but did you expect me to sit back and watch you murder
the blood? You’re right; you lose. Samuel lives and he is the
guardian over three Valla heirs. In choosing your son, you
unleashed a power difficult to halt, beyond murder, thus I
unleashed equal power in choosing life for Teroux. The foil. But I
have an added advantage, a doubling of power, in Tristan. The
second foil. The Throne will choose the new ruler when the time
comes. Accept it. It is done.”

“Gods, I hate
you. Not even this could you let me have.”

“I hate that
you were prepared to kill them and believed you had.”

“Tristan is
not Vallorin material!”

“I would say
he is the better choice, but won’t dictate. I step off the Throne
when Agnimus is done with and a council of Elders with Samuel among
them will lead the Valleur until Teroux is of age.”

“You
disinherit him before he is old enough to make a play!”

“Teroux is the
natural successor, Ty. If he is judged unworthy, Tristan will get a
shot.”

“It’s
unfair!”

“What do you
want? Do you expect me to have them wait until your son is of age?
When I know what road he will walk?” Torrullin shook his head. “Be
real.”

Silence, and
then, “Of course, I get it. You’re forcing me to undo.”

“Yes.”

“If he grows
up not knowing …”

“He will have
an equal shot.”

“Ah.” Tymall
brushed past and took the lead in rapid steps. “My son is not to
know what I am. I think I’ll pass. He will have the strength to
take his birthright for himself.”

“You have nine
hours to change your mind,” Torrullin said, and lapsed into
silence.

As they
entered the dead woman’s home, leaving the silent Tracloc outside,
Tymall asked, “How did you fathom it was Luvanor?”

“You turned
your back on your birth world.”

“You didn’t
know it would be annexed for Digilan.”

“No, but
Luvanor taught you a few things way back, and is untouched and
unchanged since that time. It called to you the way it called to
the original Nine. It calls to me, Ty. How could I not sense
that?”

Tymall
stopped. His father bumped into him and peered over his shoulder. A
stretcher came through the doorway. Torrullin felt Tymall quiver
and gripped his shoulder.

“Your son is
in there, Ty. He will remember being in the same room with his
mother. Better the time is short for him.”

Tymall sagged
under his hand.

“Go up, son.
Say farewell.”

Tymall climbed
the last few stairs.

Chapter
Sixty-Six

Pray in this,
your final hour.

Death Row
Dictum

As the dead of
night approached, the entire universe seemed to tense … or thus it
was for Torrullin.

He sat in a
corner of Fay’s bedchamber, cleared of all trace of the recent
birth, the bed made and impersonal. He watched Tymall in the
opposite corner huddled with his son in the nursing chair. The baby
fell asleep a while back, giving Leila an opportunity to go home to
check on her family. More practical arrangements would be made in
the morning.