The Nemisin Star (56 page)

Saska dipped
her hands into the mosaic pool, deep in thought. Periodically she
glanced at the statue, her expression enigmatic. Did she wonder if
she would see it again … or if he would? She felt his gaze, for she
looked up. She sent him comfort when he was abandoning her. He did
not deserve her.

Dalrish, Lowen
and Cat talked together near the entrance to the chamber of the
Throne - no longer a Throne-room - and by Lowen’s waving hands it
was obvious she imparted succinct tales of the gatherings she
attended.

He looked up.
The air was fresh with a hint of promise. It brought to mind a
similar day over twenty year ago, a glorious day when the people of
Valaris came out into the sunshine of their beautiful world to
count their blessings. To the last man, woman and child, they were
prepared to die that day, a sacrifice for others to live. They were
armed with amulets against the Darak Or’s need for souls. A fatidic
day … and one filled with laughter.

Humans were
hardy and came into their own during times of strife, as they would
again. This time they were spared destruction and slaughter; this
time the Valleur bore the brunt. Tomorrow or the next day Valarians
would awake and know it as over. This time the Enchanter did not
live to tell the tale.

Would they
mourn his passing or would they be relieved? Torrke was not
accessible to them until recently and they would not miss it, and
yet the evidence of destruction would serve as an awakening.
Perhaps, they would murmur to each other, it was better the
Enchanter was gone, as Caballa predicted.

Their lives
were too short to comprehend the likelihood of his return; they
would grow without his shadow over them. Caballa could be right
that the day would come when Valarians would again forget the
Golden and their talents. A new kind of persecution would result
for the Valleur.

Thank the
Goddess for Luvanor. It appeared now, after the fact, that the
Taliesman served a greater purpose - it created, nurtured, and grew
the real Valleur future in an unassailable place. Perhaps Nemisin
was not that selfish, after all. He could not avoid the Dragon, but
he ensured the Valleur would survive.

Torrullin
climbed onto the wall to teeter on the edge and lifted into the
air. His attention soared outward. To fly was to be free. Into the
heavens, startling a trio of hawks, higher, higher into the
thinning of the atmosphere.

Valaris was a
beautiful world, a blue jewel, priceless.

Snow covered
large tracts, but the green of verdancy peeped out. The rivers were
flowing fast and full, and animals and birds abounded, ready for a
calm day in winter. People hid, awaiting the disaster that would
not now come to them. Thank all that was good. It was another point
of light

He flew west,
but stopped short of over-flying the islands.

There were
thousands of them, from one single rock home to birds only, to
large shapes that could found three to four towns with ample room
left for farming. The weather out here would be kinder also in
winter; the Valleur could thrive. It was strange how humans never
ventured this far, for their ships could sail the distance with
ease. Monsters, magic, agoraphobia, storms - an amalgam of those
fears and others.

Whatever it
was, thousands of untouched and fertile islands would now become
home to the Golden. It would not be a bad life out here - sun, sea,
land, and serious talent for building. Soon glorious bridges would
span the water to connect the islands and beautiful, graceful ships
would ply the currents. It was almost romantic.

Add to that a
highway through the spaces of worlds and there was Luvanor, a
heartbeat away, a glory of lost Valleur. His burden lightened and
there was the cessation of unrewarding guilt. As Vannis said, maybe
it was
all
right.

Lighter, freer
and reassured, Torrullin turned for home.

His grandson
would have a good life, one without strife. Vannis sacrificed
himself to gift his son that; he would do so for his grandson. It
would have to be enough; a beacon of hope.

The deaths of
Tristamil and Tymall did not bear thinking about.

Torrullin
alighted in the courtyard startling the three Dalrish.

“Torrullin,
you can fly!” Lowen burst out.

He rubbed his
hands together. “An advantage of being a sorcerer, sweetheart.”

“It does
wonders, I see,” Cat fumed.

“Hmm,”
Torrullin returned. “I find I am hungry.”

The three
followed him indoors, Cat trailing in her anger.

Saska remained
where she was at the pool, thanking the deities for flight.

“I am handy in
the kitchen,” Dalrish murmured, upon entering to find Torrullin
loading eggs onto the table.

Torrullin
grinned. “Excellent. Shall we?”

Dalrish shook
his head over the man’s change in temperament and fell to the
task.

Cat retreated
to a corner, simmering, but Lowen entered into the spirit, and when
Vannis and Quilla returned a while later, it was to find the
kitchen a-bustle with cooks and delicious aromas.

Luan

In the quiet
of dawn they wandered along Luan’s beach.

It was chilly
and the ocean lapped gentle music onto the sand. He had taken her
to the house, but Skye balked at the door, not wanting to remember
him inside, and suggested a stroll.

Now she
wondered if this was not worse; every time she looked at the sea
she would see him against it, walking slowly, hands laced behind
his back.

Tristamil did
not know what to say and she was unable to break the silence.

They walked
north away from town and periodically she dipped to pick up a shell
or a piece of coral, felt then his eyes on her. Coming upon a large
driftwood trunk she sat, dropping her collection into the sand at
her feet. He knelt before her, putting his hands on either side of
her on the trunk. It brought him close.

“This is
goodbye,” he said, his grey eyes silvery in the dawn.

“It doesn’t
have to be,” she responded after a while. “I was wrong, I’d rather
share you with …”

He shook his
head. “I won’t return to the mainland unless it is to lift the
Throne from the valley. My future lies elsewhere now.”

“You will be
Vallorin.”

“Yes. You were
right.”

Skye asked the
question niggling at her for days. “You changed suddenly and acted
out of character. The one moment we argued about becoming lovers
and the next … you took another. You married her and she is
pregnant. Why?”

“I had my
reasons.”

“Tell me,
please. If this is goodbye then leave me at the least with a
measure of understanding. I don’t want to wonder the rest of my
life why I wasn’t good enough.”

Tristamil
closed his eyes and rose to stare out across the water. “It wasn’t
you, and it wasn’t the spectre of Tymall in your mind. You were the
one I wanted in my life to share everything with. In fact, you are
too good for me, moral and kind; I would be the one blessed.”

“Then
why?”

He sat beside
her, looking steadily west. “I had little time after we returned
from Cèlaver to do something to aid my father to return … to return
to me, I admit. I am selfish where he is concerned. He needed a
host and that is no simple matter and thus I used the Valleur womb
awareness. I created a host.”

“You slept
with Mitrill to get her pregnant for Torrullin? To rebirth? My god,
Torrullin agreed to this?”

“He was
adamant that I leave it alone.”

“And you did
it anyway, hoping he wouldn’t deny you at the last. And Mitrill
approved?”

“She knew
something already, before I went to her, although exactly what that
is, I don’t know. I had not even known she existed and she knew I
would come. She knows far more than she lets on, even now. Are
women always ahead of us stupid males?” Tristamil ran a hand
through his hair.

“Not this
woman,” Skye muttered. “Torrullin said he was refusing your offer -
this was what he meant, wasn’t it?”

“Somehow he
found out. I will do what I can to change his mind.”

“Your father
speaks of your unborn child as Vallorin. Your son, Tris. Your son
and your father the same person in thirty years? Can you really
allow that and do you honestly think Torrullin will?”

His face
twisted and he lowered his head. “I know he won’t, but if I could
convince him there will be other children, another who could be
Vallorin …”

Skye took his
hand and squeezed it. “Don’t do this to yourself. Accept that your
father won’t create that kind of madness, especially for you. He
wants you to love your son, for only then can you begin to know
your father. My father always said you only truly understand your
parents when you yourself become one, and you are going to be one.
You would regret doing this for these reasons.”

“Maybe, but …
I cannot see … lord, Skye, I will live two, three, four thousand
years, more … without my father?”

She paled.

It would never
have worked. Sixty, seventy years, was all she could count on,
getting older with every passing day. Perhaps it was as well this
came to pass. She steadied herself. “A long time, Tris. You will
see him again.”

“And if he
doesn’t find a host from the other side in time? It isn’t easy to
do from beyond, you know.”

“He is the
Enchanter.”

“Of course he
is.” Tristamil scrubbed at his face. “Why do I doubt? Why do I
doubt myself so much?”

She was
composed. “You still need to learn the patience of Valleur
longevity.”

“Caballa said
that. You are right, I know you are right. I should have spoken to
you before I did this crazy thing.”

Skye shook her
head, saying nothing to that. She did not tell him she thought it
would have happened anyway, host or not. Torrullin had spoken of
that unborn child as Vallorin, as if he knew beyond doubt. As if he
knew Tristamil would not be, or not for long. Torrullin knew
something important about the future, even if he was not to play a
part in it.

She inhaled a
deep inaudible breath to steady her anxiety, and released it slowly
so as not to alert him. A future in which Tristamil had no part
either, and Torrullin knew that. Mother Universe. Tristamil secured
the bloodline barely in time. After glancing at him, his beautiful
profile, she closed her eyes and looked away. She would outlive him
… by sixty, seventy years.

With a cry she
leapt up and ran.

No, not
this!

She could cope
with all of it if she knew he was somewhere out there alive,
breathing and thinking of her from time to time.

He is not to
know.

There was
enough sorrow for him already; he need not know what his father
felt. No wonder Torrullin’s eyes kept straying to his son, almost
as if checking on his presence; no wonder he had not forced Tris to
go west. He needed the last days, hours, with his son. And Tris was
not to know. Torrullin wanted to leave before he saw it come to
pass.

As he caught
up with her, she flung into his arms. “I’m going to miss you!” she
sobbed. Let him think it was because they were parting, and that
was true, after all. More than he understood.

He held her
and put his face in her neck. “I am going to miss you, too.” He
kissed her warm skin. “I love you, Skye, only you, forever.”

She drew him
even closer. “I love you, Tris, forever.”

It no longer
mattered what he felt for Mitrill, although she had intended to
ask. She suspected he was sexually infatuated with her, which he
would never admit anyway.

Mitrill knew
something of the future as well, for she asked if he knew what he
was doing in asking her to stay in Torrke. She knew her son would
be Vallorin and dared not put him at risk. It did not matter,
really, what Mitrill felt for Tristamil; she did the ultimate duty
by the Valleur and love did not enter into it. Actually, Skye
suspected Mitrill loved only Torrullin and who could blame her -
she once felt the same way. Torrullin, unluckily for him, had that
effect.

“Skye?”
Tristamil lifted his head and looked into her eyes, brushing her
hair from her face.

“Yes, Tris. I
need you to make love to me.”

He lifted her
into his arms and carried her to the trees above the high water
mark, there to lay her gently on the soft sand, his mouth sinking
down to hers.

A bright amber
beam of light pierced the greyness and lit them as if they were the
last two people left on the planet.

A searchlight
for love … and life.

We require the
Light in all its brilliance.

~ Abdiah to
Torrullin during the Atrudis War

White
Palace

T
ymall
screamed and rattled the bars impotently, kicked, spat.

I hate
you.

I hate
you.

You will pay,
every last one of you!

Elsewhere

A much reduced
Kallanon court flew through the spaces of the universe led by the
two who were on Valaris until recently.

They were en
route to witness the battle for the Light.

Western
Isles

Caballa
sighed.

A beautiful
island, but exile nonetheless. She looked to the Elders and they
gazed back at her as if searching for leadership, for Kismet was
caught in depressive sorrow. Tears ran unchecked over his gold-hued
cheeks.

Afraid she was
about to degenerate into that state, she said, “We must be ready to
cloak the sacred sites permanently, the way Lord Vannis did
thousands of years ago.”